#I could say I have trauma surrounding Christmas

[dnd-shithouse]

I’m gonna say something so evil and controversial!!

If I knew Glenn in real life, I would despise him.

Not because he lets his son smoke pot, or because he is an absent dad or even because he likes Disney world.

I’d hate him because he plays Christmas Rock music.

[bi-writes]

i didn't have an amazing christmas this year so i projected this onto bestfriend!roommate!simon and im sorry about it but im also not sorry about it but i tried to end it nice

more bestfriend!roommate!simon (part 6/?)

cw: mature language and content, mentions of past trauma, mentions of unrequited love and lack of family, mentions of death and loneliness, allusions to violence

you waited for the ringing of the call to stop. you were seated on the couch, the laptop propped up in your lap as you stared at the screen hopefully. your heart skipped a beat when the ringing stopped, a circling loading screen popping up until a grainy video came through.

simon was seated in the dark; you guessed that he was hunkered down in his room, seated on his bunk. he had his skull mask on; the plate sewn onto a balaclava, eye-black hiding most of him in the void of the terrible quality video, and you tried not to notice the mysterious drops of something against the white of his mask.

"hey, simon," you greeted him, giving him a gentle smile. simon ran a gloved hand over his head, nodding.

"''ello, luv. i know the time is bad, if...if you want to head to bed, 's alright with me."

you scoffed, "you know that's not happening. i don't care what time it is here...i always want to talk to you."

he grunted lowly, looking away for a moment at something out of your view before looking back. you moved to go sit by the window, keeping the laptop propped up as you looked outside. you could see the soft lights lighting up the neighborhood; twinkling lights, mostly in red and green, sparkling between the soft snowfall that had began to fall against the pavement.

there was something so peaceful about the moment. you could see the wind pushing the snow at an angle as it fell, starting to add a fresh blanket of white to everything. if you squinted, you could see two people in the apartment across the street, trying to build a small bike in the early hours of the morning. one of them held papers, instructions you guessed, and the other held a screwdriver and was trying to fit the two back wheels onto a base.

"how are you?" you asked suddenly, looking back down at the laptop. "you look like shit."

simon laughed dryly, "you can't even see me."

"i know you," you laughed with him. "and i know that even through the shitty camera, you're worse for wear."

he hummed, looking down for a moment.

"i've had better days," was all he offered, and you swallowed hard, trying to look at him better.

"i miss you, simon."

you said it easily. you did miss him. he was so far away; you didn't know where he was, but you knew it was far. and he did not say when he would be coming back; you suspected he didn't even know himself when he would be.

"i miss you, too, luv."

you looked out the window again. you looked at the couple again, watching one of them take a few bites of some cookies that were laid out while the other had a few hearty gulps of the milk in the glass beside them. your eyes watered a little. their house looked...full. stockings hung over a dwindling fireplace, christmas tree lights giving the room a soft yellow glow, a mountain of presents gathered under a full tree of ornaments.

there was nothing in your apartment. no lights, no tree. you never liked to keep one; you had no one to buy presents for. and simon--this day only brought the wrong kind of feelings to the surface. feelings of torture, of unexpected discovery, of death and the stench of it which couldn't be covered by lighting evergreen candles or baking sugar cookies.

so much of the day surrounded family--of which you didn't have. no one to visit, no one to bring the wine while you cooked the ham, no one to hand you a gift and no one for you to give one to either. you had learned a long time that it was best not to dwell, but it was hard. it was hard when you looked across the street and saw people that had so much more of something. something that you desperately wanted, but couldn't be bought.

when you looked back down at the laptop, simon could see the tears in your eyes clear as day. your eyes were so glossy and wet, and he swallowed hard as he looked at your face, illuminated by the twinkling lights that were bright outside.

"sorry--" you whispered, reaching up and wiping your cheeks with the sleeves of your sweater. "sorry, i don't know why...i don't know what's wrong with me." you laughed it off, but simon could hear the pain in your voice. something aching and scratchy, something hollow.

"did...did you get what i sent?"

you looked up at him, frowning a little.

"sent? like...a package?"

"oh, christ, luv, don't tell me you haven't left the flat all day?"

you opened your mouth to respond, but you closed it, smiling shyly.

"just...go check outside. i can see it bloody snowing, go get it before it gets ruined."

you got up from your seat, going outside momentarily. when you came back inside, you had a wet box in your hands, and you set it down on the table as you when to go get something to cut the tape off. when you had opened the box, there was a smaller one inside, a nicely wrapped burgundy box that fit in your lap. you took a seat in front of the camera again, seeing simon's messy handwriting on the top of the box.

happy december 25th.

you laughed reading it, looking up at the camera after you reading the message.

"just another day, right?" he asked. you had new tears now, but they weren't sad. your heart was beating fast, making you take shaky, fast breaths, and you tried to smile, but it was hard.

"j-just another day," you whispered back to him. you took the top off the box, taking the tissue paper out to reveal a little plushie inside. it was a black teddy bear, but this one was unique. someone had fashioned a little skull mask of it out of felt, messily sewn fabric fit over the bear's face with the beady black eyes peeking out from the eyeholes--just like simon's. you picked up the bear, letting the box fall to the floor, and you tipped your head back as you tried to keep your tears inside. "simon--"

you and simon had never really gotten the chance to just be kids. to just be. to just enjoy and to receive something that didn't serve a purpose or a function, something unnecessary and trivial--something considered extra. because possessions were luxury, and you can't remember the last luxurious thing you had ever gotten.

"i know," he said lowly. "fuck, i--"

he pushed his own laptop down, and the camera tilted so you could only see his lower half. you watched him lose a bit of control, more tears coming down your face as you held your breath. simon cleared his throat loudly, ringing his hands together nervously before he picked the camera back up to his face.

"i'm getting the next fuckin' plane out of here, y'hear me?"

you brought the bear to your chest, hugging it gently before nodding. you wondered if this was why he had gotten you something like this--something to hold onto when he was gone. something to remind. something that would make you remember in the simon-shaped void you seemed to dwell in all too often.

"okay."

you had spent many december 25ths without him. you had spent many december 25ths right here, on a lonely windowsill, watching through the windows of lives that you wished you were living. this loneliness was not new--but now the loneliness was shared, and it hurt to share it.

you fell asleep there, watching glittering lights between the snowfall and holding the bear to your heart. the laptop went dark after awhile, and you slept there by the windowsill, wondering if anyone looked in and wanted to live this life instead.

the empty, quiet life of nothingness and bad dreams.

but it was something warm that woke you. a familiar hand, cradling the back of your head, whispering against your hair.

his breath was shaky. sucking in with difficulty, and then breathing out in rough stutters. your eyes opened slowly, your cheek squished against his tactical vest. you realized that he must've just gotten home--he was still head-to-toe in his gear, and you were staring up into the skull plate.

"simon--!"

you wrapped your arms tight around his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. you gasped as you held him close, and it took everything in you not to burst into tears. your heart fluttered at the thought that he must've left as soon as he told you last night--determined to get back to you.

when you pulled back, simon rested his forehead against yours. you nuzzled your face against his, soft breaths as you grounded yourself in the realization that he's here, he's with me, he's alive.

"just another day," simon murmured, gripping your head with both hands. you swallowed hard, opening your eyes and meeting his own. you swear you saw something sad in them, something emotional, tears of some kind, but he blinked it away before you could look too long. "but i...had to come home."

your nodded reaching up and putting your hands over his on your face.

"i love you, simon."

if he had paid enough attention, he would've heard what those words truly meant. that you didn't just love him, you love him. not want, need, not a preference, but a requirement. undeniable, endless, raw, soul-sucking love--the kind that tore up your insides and spit them out without remorse.

but how can you really love someone like me?

simon tangled his gloved hands into your hair now, tugging gently.

"i love you more."

how can you love someone who's already dead?

[babiebom]

How Many kids I think the Bachelor/ettes would (want to) have

A/N: because I like thinking about things~ also because I started thinking about it because I want a lot of kids and I wondered who I would actually work well with. Late Merry Christmas btw!!! And happy holidays!!

Tw:sex, maybe cursing idk I always put cursing, childbirth/children, mentions of issues with childbirth, mentions of postpartum depression, mentions of adoptions and other stuff surrounding it.

Wc: at least 5 bullet points for each

Sdv Masterlist

Sebastian

I think he would want either one kid only or as many as his partner wants

Because I can see him being a good dad to his kids

But like I also think that people like him only have one kid because they didn’t get along with their own siblings

So the trauma is like I don’t want to have to choose between my kids when they don’t get along and I don’t want any problems so having one is good

But I also thinks he would want to see how close siblings could be to live somewhat through them

So it’s literally a toss up

On the topic of adoption though he’d probably adopt an older kid if you’re okay with it

Like a teen that doesn’t have a family and is about to age out

I think he’s that type of person and you could adopt a baby or a younger kid later on.

I also think Robin would be present but not like constantly there. Like it’s grandmas for Christmas and other holidays and sometimes she visits but that’s it.

I do think that he would probably end up with a lot of kids bc he can’t keep it in his pants now that he has a significant other.

Sam

He’s going to have at least 3

I see him having 2 boys and a girl if I’m being honest and it would be really cute

All of them are learning to skateboard and something about music

I think he would be a very chaotic dad

Like you have a heart attack every couple of minutes being married to him

Like “yeah! Junior lost a tooth” “how’d he lose a tooth?” “He absolutely ate shit at the skatepark”

I think he would be happy to adopt but probably wouldn’t because of Jodi

I do headcanon Jodi as bit of judgemental

Like she won’t say anything outright but she will be passive aggressive like “I love allllll of my grandkids! Even (adopted child’s name)”

So if you guys do end up adopting for one reason or another you’ll only see Jodi for big holidays unless Sam can get her to change

Vincent is a sweet uncle though and Kent is a decent grandfather. Refuses to tell stories of the war to them though. Jodi is an overbearing but GREAT grandmother when she’s not being petty

Shane

Well he already has Jas so he either will have one more so she has a sibling/cousin

or he will have like 4 more to make the total 5

I do think he would like a big family

But all of the kids are a couple years apart at least because he does want to make sure they all are happy

It takes a while for you two to have kids or adopt because he does still have depression and thinks he would be a shitty father

But he’d be the best out of the bachelors I think maybe number two

Because I feel like out of all of them his love would be greater simply because he does have that self hate and he wants to make sure he’s doing as well as he can

Jas is VERY happy to be a big sister

Harvey

Harvey is a 2 kid guy

Like he would be a 1 kid guy but he’s afraid that the child would be lonely

I also think he would be an only child so he doesn’t want his kid to have the same childhood as him

But the kids would definitely have an age gap

Like at least 8 years because he wants to make sure you(if you’re a person who can give birth) are okay after giving birth.

I also think that if he adopts he would go for siblings specifically

Like two kids that don’t want to be separated by the system or two kids who are biologically related he would go for them

Simply because he wants two kids anyways and keeping people together is what would make him happy

Alex

Either 1 or 4 there’s no in between

I feel like you would have either all boys or all girls with him

Like his genes are very predictable not gonna lie

No matter what gender I think he would make all of them play gridball

Would be hella sad if none of the kids liked the sport bc COME ON

I do think that in his heart he would like to adopt

Especially if it’s to save a kid that’s in a bad family situation

Because in a way his grandparents adopted him after his father left and his mother died

Like those are his parents for lack of actual mom and dad

Very sweet dad but does have sexist tendencies

Like if you have daughters he would be much more strict with them but also would spoil them rotten

And while he’s not as strict with the boys he’s also not as sweet on them.

You have to get him to open up and realize that raising the kids in a specific way can breed resentment towards him. He gets smarter the more kids you have.

Elliott

I think Elliott would want one or two

I don’t know why but I see him as a guy that doesn’t have a lot of kids

Mostly because I feel like he would still like to have time with his partner and having a lot of kids would take away from that unless you can get a sitter or something

But I also feel like he wouldn’t want daycare or a babysitter or nanny

He wants to raise the kids together especially because you both work from home

Also having more than I think 3 for him would make it so he has no time to work on writing

And having only a couple would mean he can evenly give enough attention to the kids.

While for some people having a lot of kids is not a problem with attention and love I think Elliot knows that he’s the type of person that cannot be spread too thin.

Which isn’t a bad thing.

If you’re same sex he is not opposed to adoption

Would like to adopt twins though

Would prefer boy girl twins but obviously won’t throw a fit if it doesn’t work out that way

You’re adopting kids not a dog.

Penny

Easily at least 6

I don’t think she would have the most easy pregnancies

But she will make it look as if she’s the perfect housewife and that bearing children is a breeze for her

She loves kids and wants a big happy family especially because of her upbringing

So if you marry her expect her to want to have kids that are all at least a year apart in age

Doesn’t mind getting pregnant again as soon as you’re cleared for sex

I do think she would prefer to bear children instead of adopt but she’s not opposed to it

I could also see her becoming a foster mother at some point and taking in a bunch of children because she has an empty nest

If you’re the same sex she would probably want ivf

Like obviously this isn’t meant to be offensive and some people have different takes

But she also won’t like be upset that you have to adopt and she would make sure to adopt a BUNCH of children

Is a good mother and tries hard to spread her attention evenly.

You having a farm is great for this type of situation not gonna lie

Leah

To be VERY honest I see Leah as the kind of woman to be a single mom

Not because she gets divorced or her partner dies

It’s literally by choice only her and her kid in their cabin painting.

BUT OBVIOUSLY in this scenario she’s married to you

She would still only have 1 or 2 kids

I don’t think she would really enjoy being pregnant

Like she would like doing the pregnancy art things

But the state of being that she’s in is HORRIBLE she HATES IT

But she loves her kid so much that she’s like okay I can do it one more time.

Maru

Maru is either a one person kid or a 5 person kid tbh

And I do think that science people be lowkey freaky

So I do think she would have a lot of kids

Like somehow she’s always pregnant and everyone is like ?????? Another kid?????

And shes like YEAH I KNOW ISNT THE HUMAN BODY AMAZING????

Y’all’s kids are super smart ngl

Like you’re like???????wtf

Like even if you end up adopting they’re super smart and you’re like ????????? WTF HOW

Though they are still very interested in farming.

Somehow combines the two and creates a super farm

Like you make so much more money after having kids it’s insane.

Haley

Two or three kid woman

No matter how strong your genes are your kids will always have either blonde hair or blue eyes if not both.

Out of all the people having kids your kids with her would have the most normal names

She was a mean girl in high school she’s not setting up her kids for failure from the beginning

Unlike the others who would be on board with homeschooling if that’s what you wanted Haley wants the kids in public or private school.

Shes not much of a teacher and you’re always working on the farm so she wants them to have a good chance of being smart.

I think that y’all would have tons of baby books for the kids because she takes at least 10 pictures a day

Like there is no running out of embarrassing baby pictures your kids better behave lmao

Actually a good mom and ends up being one of those “I’m a cool mom right” women

But she’s actually kinda cool when she’s not making dated references.

Emily

One kid that is just as weird as she is

It doesn’t matter if the kid is adopted or not they behave just like her

But also I think she would go for adopting or fostering the more troubled children because they need love too

And I think she’s the perfect person to understand people on a different level than others.

A very sweet mother that is different than the other bachelor/ettes

Your kid turns out very happy, kind, and connected to the world

They might be a little weird like her

But are well liked by the people who find themselves misunderstood.

She would also be the type of person to run a foster home.

Abigail

I think Abby would like 2 kids.

I think she was very lonely as a kid

Especially with her father only focusing on his work and her mother hanging out with her but not really understanding her likes and hobbies

If she had a sibling there could be a chance that they won’t get along but she feels in her heart that they would’ve been close

So she would have two kids that are like maybe 2 years apart or 5 years apart

I don’t think she would enjoy being pregnant but she enjoys it more than she thought she would

Is not willing to go through giving birth again

So if you’re a person who could give birth if you want more than 2 kids then you’re giving birth

If you’re a person that can get others pregnant then you better plan for a surrogate or adoption because like I said she’s not going through that labor shit again

She is open to having more than 2 kids but like there’s other things that you have to do if you want them

Is a decent mom is kinda awkward with mothering but tries her best

[moments-on-film]

Moments on Film: Carmy and “Just Keep Going”

“Just keep going” is a recurring mantra in The Bear. The first time we hear it, it’s Marcus telling Sydney as he helps her clean up the spilled veal stock in S1. Cousin Michelle says it to Carmy during their poignant scene at the Christmas dinner. Carmy says it to himself by replaying Michelle’s words in his head as he awaits the results of the fire suppression test. The last time we hear it, Carmy says it to Sydney to help her focus and calm down as she’s recovering from Marcus’s outburst in the S2 finale.

I think “just keep going” has been Carmen’s personal mantra his entire life. It has had to be. And while it may have served him well in years prior, I believe it has now, finally all caught up with him.

Because of Carmy’s traumatic and abusive upbringing, he has trained himself to never properly reflect on what just happened. How could he possibly? From what we have been shown so far, his mother is extremely abusive, controlling, manipulative, and threatening. In their brief scenes together, she called him by his brother’s name, threatened him to the point that I believe she physically abuses him, and in fact slapped his face while he was very sweetly comforting her and trying to calm her down. The look on his face after being slapped is gut wrenching, mainly because, as always, there’s so much in his expression—a world of hurt and emotions, and you know he will never tell anyone about what she just did. All he can do is repress his feelings, suppress the urge to react in any way, and literally just keep going. He has to. It’s how he has survived. And it’s killing him.

Gif source: @sarcasmcloud

We still don’t know what Carmy’s relationship with his dad was like. He says he “didn’t really know him well enough to miss him.” Is this true? Or did Carmy also have to survive physical and emotional abuse, in addition to neglect from him, starting at a very young age? Either way, he’s had to keep moving forward and not look back, likely afraid of what will happen if he stops and actually does. This is another reason why he’s always scanning people’s faces, body language and tone to see if they’re mad at him, and waiting for the other shoe to drop. He has been surrounded by erratic, unpredictable behavior. He has had to think ahead, plan his next move, anticipate people’s behavior, reactions and responses so he can be prepared. He has had to live a life of propulsion, never looking back. Staying still, reflecting on the abuse he has had to survive as well as the recent trauma of his brother’s suicide could potentially cause a complete and total nervous breakdown, so he pushes on.

In the flashback scene in New York, we get another, heartbreaking example of how “just keep going” is killing Carmy. His boss is an emotionally abusive tyrant, but for Carmy to call it out, first he would have to acknowledge it. To do that, he might also have to think about and acknowledge the abuse he’s suffered, likely from his dad, certainly his mom, possibly his “uncle” Lee, even his brother. He is not ready to reckon with any of the abusive behavior in those relationships, so he keeps his head down, and does anything he can to get through the day, even if that means vomiting his unspoken feelings out of his sick and exhausted body before every single shift.

Even before New York, which—ironically and devastatingly, was supposed to be a time where he could “decompress” and escape the trauma at home, he was doing anything and everything to stay ahead of slowing down and facing what he’s been through. For years he’s been putting one foot in front of the other, scared to look down, lest he fall off the tightrope.

Presumably since after high school, he’s been traveling around, and in constant motion. Numerous restaurants in California, Copenhagen, then New York. Carmy has so much unprocessed trauma from multiple sources that has never really dealt with, he’s literally been on the run. He has been distracting himself and filling the void by throwing himself into work, and in the words of cousin Michelle at Christmas dinner, he has, in fact, been, “running around like crazy.” He might change his location, but his unprocessed trauma follows him everywhere he goes, causing him paranoia, anger, shame, guilt, self loathing, dread and fear. It’s also made him sick.

The only way to escape is to never be idle for a second, which is why he’s in constant motion. Carmy as a character is rarely completely still. His hands are constantly moving, in S1 in particular he is perpetually running his hands through his hair, feeling his forehead, smoking, and fiddling with his spoon. He hands tremor and tremble when there’s nothing to occupy them. None of this is an issue when he’s scrubbing floors or furiously chopping vegetables. He can be so unsettled and it all stems from the need to stay in motion to distract himself.

Life in a kitchen can easily swallow someone’s entire life. There’s always so much to do—from the prep to the cooking, the tasting, managing staff, actual service, cleaning, ordering supplies, and doing it all over again to keep the place running. Orders come in that have to be filled. It’s relentless, and at the highest level, requires complete and utter focus to be completed successfully. Natalie correctly points out the toll the restaurant takes on Carmy in her first scene with him. “It’s eating you alive”, she tells him. And it is. In S1, Carmy talks about how much time they would spend cleaning at The French Laundry. It’s hard to let your mind wander when you’re in motion and just keep going, so that’s exactly what Carmen does.

The rare moments where Carmy does pause and rest, he has life threatening night terrors, crippling nightmares, and horrible anxiety. In a prior post I analyzed Carmy’s visibly elevated vital signs in S1 and S2. He is so repressed and stressed out it impacts his entire body. With no outlet, his unresolved trauma, undiagnosed PTSD and extreme anxiety manifests inwardly and makes him ill. His dangerously heightened pulse and heartbeat are often visible onscreen. He has trouble breathing. He’s constantly chewing tums or chugging Pepto Bismol to calm his stomach. One of the few items in his apartment visible to Sydney as she enters is a giant bottle of ibuprofen. As I mentioned before, he often looks sick. There’s so much tension coursing through his body sometimes he actually looks like he’s burning up with fever. He’s not taking care of himself. He’s not eating well, and he barely sleeps. His coat is too thin for the freezing Chicago weather, and that’s when he actually wears it to go outside. He blinks his eyes hard in stressful moments, which is a trauma response. The way his body reacts during his panic attacks is frightening. There have been several moments where he looked like he was going to collapse and have a heart attack.

He has been running around, over working himself, repressing his emotions and feelings, neglecting his own needs, health and happiness and in constant motion for probably the past decade. As I detailed in a prior post, Carmy is lost at the present because he’s never allowed himself to slow down and find out who he really is and what actually makes him happy. He’s been in complete and total survival mode.

There is no way he can keep up at the level he has been operating and not completely collapse at some point. I think that’s a huge reason, subconsciously, that he slipped into the relationship with Claire. Among other reasons, he is exhausted and it was a way out and seemingly a soft place to land. She is also probably the first person to physically touch him, maybe in years. Of course he wanted to lean into the potential comfort and care that he thought she might be able to provide. He needs touch and tenderness so desperately that he invited her to the restaurant, his sacred space, mere seconds after she stroked his face, a turning point in their “relationship.”

Claire initially allowed him just enough relief that he wasn’t about to explode. However, in the end, it proved to be such a distraction that it pulled him even further from reality, his duties, and people who he actually should have been spending time with, namely, Sydney. The lack of healthy balance caused him increased anxiety and much more harm than good. His panic attacks actually increased and got worse during his time with Claire. She also only served to unhealthily unearth the past he’s been running away from by bringing painful memories he’s tried to suppress screaming to the surface.

I am very worried about where a potential next season(s) will take Carmy, emotionally and physically. He is headed for a serious crash and burn if he thinks he can just ignore his numerous health problems and keep running from his past. He is only human. They will all catch up with him and I believe they already have.

I’m also worried because we know the writers like to do call backs and tie threads together. Plot points, relationships and lines are never wasted. I’ve said in my posts prior to S2 how badly I think Carmen needs to see a Doctor. The fact that Claire is one, but it never factored into S2 is so odd to me. This is what makes me think we perhaps have not seen the last of Claire.

Carmy physically exhibits crippling distress, and noticeably elevated vital signs, in the form of shallow breathing, rapid pulse, pounding heartbeat and a face that often looks flushed with fever. He actually had a “gnarly” panic attack while he was with Claire. He needs medical attention, but we were never shown her acknowledge this or make a recommendation about the help he needs, or give him tips to calm down, apart from essentially “just ignore your problems and they’ll go away.” This is all so strange to me because Carmy is not well, Claire’s an ER Doctor in residency, and she experienced him during a horrible panic attack. What is the first thing they do at the Emergency Room? Check your vital signs. Can’t she see he’s sick? Wouldn’t she want to help him, personally, not to mention professionally, to get treatment and ease his suffering? It doesn’t make any sense to me.

He has, however, found a new way to self soothe in his most painful moments to calm down his nervous system—with visions of the one thing that helps him stabilize and breathe, visions of Sydney.

I really hope that the next time Carmy and Claire see each other isn’t because he’s being brought to the Emergency Room where she’s a Doctor because of something terrible, like an illness, accident, or major health emergency. That said, I think he is on the brink of a crisis. A major health issue might be the only way for him to stop and actually slow down enough to rethink his life and how he’s been spending it these past years.

Season 2 ends with Carmy believing he needs to double down on his mantra and “just keep going”like he always has, push himself to the max, and sacrifice his entire existence to run the restaurant, but that is not sustainable. It is not service, it is servitude. I believe he is exhausted, burnt out and headed for disaster from living this way for the past decade. He’s a master at masking that he’s barely hanging on by a thread. This is a huge reason why Sydney is his lifeline. Unlike Claire, who’s supposedly “known” Carmy for years, within days Sydney accurately diagnosed Carmy’s problem (S1E2) “you need help”, she told him. She saw through what he was trying to hide, to what he needs most. She caught him before he fell and she’s been holding him this whole time. I honestly believe that by walking in the doors of The Beef, Sydney saved Carmen’s life, but neither one of them truly realizes it yet.

I really hope for the sake of Carmy’s physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual health he will see that slowing down, coming to terms with the abuse and trauma he’s survived, taking care of himself, resting, and getting professional help is a life and death situation for him.

Carmen needs to realize that he hasn’t and isn’t living a full life with the mantra “just keep going.” It has worked so far as a survival tactic but he deserves and needs to live a life where he can be healthy, fulfilled and happy. A life where he’s not just going but growing. I hope he realizes this before it’s too late. For the sake of his health the stakes are extremely high and he has no time to lose. Every second counts, indeed.

©️moments-on-film 2023

[championashley]

Alright. I said I would write this and I’m gonna stay true to my word.

I’ve been seeing a lot of takes since The Giggle has come out questioning the potency of 14’s ending. People have been citing multiple different times during the reboot era where the Doctor has “settled down” somewhere, from Darillium, the university in S10, to even Trenzalore. However, I think all of these comparisons are apples to oranges, completely missing the details of each instance and how The Giggle’s ending rebukes all of them. 

So, because I cannot leave an inaccurate take alone, I’m going through every single one of these instances and explain why 14’s ending is different from them, in chronological order.

I’m gonna start with a weird one: S7EP4, The Power of Three. Because it provides a good example of all the things we’re going to be talking about. 

Prior to this episode, long time fans already had a good idea that the Doctor…does not do well in monotonous environments, a truth that is consistent across multiple incarnations.

“I don’t do families.”

“Street corner, two in the morning, getting a taxi home. I’ve never had a life like that.”

“Here you are, Living a life, day after day. The one adventure I could never have.”

“Christmas dinner.” “I don’t do that sort of thing.”

“Oh god I had a terrible nightmare about you two!” [Talking about Amy and Rory having a normal life in Leadworth]

The entirety of The Lodger

“There’s a bigger, scarier adventure waiting for you in there.”

The Power of Three, spells this truth out in bold, montage style marker pen. The Doctor “needs to be busy”. Why, as Amy later asks?

Personally I think this answer varies slightly between regenerations, based on experiences and losses each face goes through. 9 couldn’t imagine a life of peace coming out of a war, a war that he had a major hand in. 10 continues that idea, with the added baggage of losing Rose. 11’s reasoning is a bit subtler: he says to Amy that he is running to things before they go, as if he now understands how short beautiful things last. He’s going from one thing to the next in avoidance of staying to watch things die. 

“And what’s the alternative? Me standing over your grave?”

This doesn’t change by the end of the episode. The Doctor explicitly tells the Ponds that he’s only staying to watch the cubes, and once the threat is gone, he’s already out the door. He only stops because of a potential threat, an idea we will return to in the next example. He even accepts the idea of Amy and Rory wanting to stay behind: “things to do. Worlds to save. Swings to swing on. Look, I know. You both have lives here. beautiful, messy lives. That is what makes you so fabulously human. You don’t want to give them up. I understand.” The Doctor is saying, ‘I know you have lives here, and that I can’t always be a part of that. And that’s ok.’ 

This episode in my opinion is a perfect microcosm of The Doctor regarding this topic, spelling out explicitly why The Doctor can't ever settle down. The Doctor needs to have something to run to because they don't feel secure enough in any place to not allow their altruism outweigh their need to process their trauma. The only thing that could motivate the Doctor to stop, even just for a second, is the promise that their friend(s) will be there too. The next example is the worst-case scenario of this issue.

Trenzalore is an interesting case. When I first heard of it being counted, I immediately shut it down, because Trenzalore was a literal war zone (wars are obviously not a good place for mental health time). But in doing research, there is actually way more baggage contained in this period making it unsuitable for this argument than just that fact. 

Trenzalore was set up to be the Doctor’s final resting place, where they would truly die. It wasn’t the first time a death prophecy had surrounded the Time Lord, and once again, just as with The End of Time, the thing that kills them is, what Davros would later call The Doctor's “greatest indulgence”: compassion. Tasha Leem warns 11 that she will burn the planet upon the possibility of the Time Lords returning, a warning the Doctor takes extremely seriously.

“This planet is protected.”

“Christmas has a new sheriff.”

For 300 years, 11 stayed true to his word. He fought long and hard, for the townspeople and his own. He was celebrated and was loved. But Clara returning with the TARDIS revealed how he really felt about all of it. 

“Everyone gets stuck somewhere eventually.”

“But you didn’t have your TARDIS.” “Well, that made it easier to stay.” 

There’s an unspoken sentiment in these words, echoing 11's philosophy in Power of Three: the Doctor will always want to leave, in this case, to understandably avoid his prophesied death. But he doesn’t, because “Every life I save is a victory”. Their compulsion to help, their innate capacity to help those in need. So often it’s been their greatest strength, but here it’s framed as destructive selflessness. 11 has become so wholly committed to helping others before himself that he’s willing to accept his own death. 

Clara correctly calls this out: “What about your life? Just for once, After all this time, have you not earned the right to think about that?” The Doctor didn’t stay on Trenzalore for himself, he stayed for everyone besides himself. It’s only because Clara gave the Time Lords a proper verbal smackdown that the Doctor managed to survive. Had they not intervened, The Doctor would've suffered and died, once again to protect them, despite already saving them from annihilation in the previous episode, Day of The Doctor. Trenzalore wasn't The Doctor stopping, it was a century-long effort to keep satiating the bottomless survivor's guilt they still carried from The Time War.

Darillium is yet another case of looking like a time the Doctor settled down somewhere on the surface. But the details don’t match that conclusion. The entire thesis of 12 and River’s final conversation was about the fleeting nature of their situation. 

“Times end, River, because they have to. Because there’s no such thing as happily ever after. It’s just a lie we tell ourselves because the truth is so hard.”

The Doctor says this, cries at hearing the Singing Towers, despite already knowing they have 24 years in a night. Because he knows it can’t last. There’s already a deadline on their moment of peace before it’s begun. Eventually River must go to The Library. 

The final quote of the episode punctuates this: “And they lived happily ever after.” Fading away until “happily” remains. Because they didn’t have their “ever after” and they didn’t “live”, because a person can’t entirely experience life to the fullest with a clock hanging over their head. 

While they got their moment of happiness, it was only a moment. 24 years is just a blink of an eye for a Time Lord, and sure enough, we see by the end of “The Return of Doctor Mysterio”, the next chronological episode, 12 is ready to leap back into the fray. Still the same overall Doctor he was before.

The University is an extension of this. We find out that the only reason he has stayed is to guard Missy in the vault. When 12 tries to mindwipe Bill (an eerie parallel to both Donna and Clara), he directly says: “I have no choice, I’m in disguise. I have promises to keep.” Just like with Trenzalore, The Doctor’s altruism has trapped him somewhere he doesn’t actually want to be. The second he hesitates, he immediately runs after Bill, inviting her into the TARDIS and sneaks off to the universe behind Nardole’s back.

So, now that we’ve gone through each past instance, what’s the connection? What’s the key issue(s) that prevented the Doctor from permanently stopping in any of these cases?

The (fear of) loss of their friends, and the Doctor’s own self-loathing. Either out of fear of the march of time, or the chains that their altruistic nature binds them to, The Doctor always runs away from the picket fence life.

Now, let’s look at 14 and how this ending departs from all other examples.

Wild Blue Yonder and The Giggle more prominently explains 14’s origins as a coping mechanism. The reason why 10’s face came back was to retreat to an incarnation that didn’t invoke the loss of The Ponds, Clara, and Bill. The second destruction of Gallifrey and the reveal of The Timeless Child. The Doctor’s avoidance of their trauma has now been made physical, just like how mental stress can often manifest as physical changes or ailments. 

“We stand here now, on the edge of creation, a creation that I devastated, so yes I keep running, of course I keep running!! How am I supposed to look back on that?!”

Already this is a departure from the instances we’ve discussed, because by the very nature of having 10’s face again, it’s forcing the Doctor to ask why. 

“It’s like I'm trying to tell myself something. Like I’m trying to make a point.”

But 14 chooses not to answer it, because answering it means accepting the truth: it’s too much. The trauma can’t be avoided anymore, because The Doctor would always be reminded of what they’re trying to avoid by looking in a reflection. 14 telling Shirley, “I don’t know who I am anymore.” Then asking Donna, “what am I? What am I now?” It’s not because he’s been given a blank slate and doesn’t know what to do with it, like other regeneration stories. In trying to run away again, to bury the trauma and pain, The Doctor has made it more visible than ever, and doesn’t know what to do with that. 

Ironically, the Toymaker causing the bi-generation was the greatest gift he could’ve given the Doctor, because 15 was exactly who 14 needed to see. He’s happy, energetic, full of life and wonder, but also empathetic, understanding and open. He’s the only other person in the entire universe who The Doctor will listen to (well, one person, we’ll get to the other later), because he knows all of the trauma they went through, and yet, made it through ok.

“But you’re fine.”

“I’m fine, because you fix yourself.”

15 is leading by example, their own ‘ghost of Christmas future’ but positive. 14 now has an ideal self to strive towards, a face born from love and empathy. 14 doesn’t have to ground herself out of moral obligation, 15 will now protect the universe. 

But that leaves one question: why Donna? Out of all of the people to settle down with, why her? That’s easy: because she gets it. 

Donna, out of all of the companions the Doctor traveled with, understood the soul behind the legend, because she recognized someone fundamentally similar to herself. One of Donna’s signature character flaws is her horrendously low self esteem: “I’m nothing special.” no one ever listened to her (thanks Sylvia, for at least cleaning up your act later), so she covered up the silence with noise. She held onto whatever indisputable moments of genius she had to drown out the cacophony of voices shutting her up. Wild Blue Yonder explained this perfectly: Donna believes she is both brilliant and stupid at the same time. 

She lives in two contradictory self images at once, and so does The Doctor. The genius and the idiot. The universe’s most fascinating person, and the person who would easily throw away their life for the betterment of others. She’s seen their blinding arrogance/rage (the Racnoss, Jenny) and their crippling self doubt/loneliness, and always met both with empathy and kindness. 

“Doctor! You can stop now!”

“Cause sometimes I think you need someone to stop you.” 

“It won’t stay like that. She’ll help you. We both will.” 

“Is ‘alright’ special Time Lord code for ‘really not alright’ at all?” “Why?” “Cause I’m alright too.”

Donna shouldered the burden of destroying Pompeii, she silently hugged 10 after coming back from Midnight. All because she knew what all of that would feel like in her own life. She didn’t need to know the history of The Doctor and Davros, because she saw her best friend afraid and knew he would want comfort, because she would too.

Even if Dalek Caan manipulated the timelines to get Donna to him, That friendship was completely real to both of them. We saw what Donna was like without the Doctor in Forest of the Dead and Turn Left, and she always felt some level of unhappiness. 15 years removed from them and she still felt as if something was missing. In every future/reality, she always wanted them there. Same for the Doctor too. Within only a few episodes of losing her, 10 started to fall into becoming the “time lord victorious”. 12 looks the way he does because of Donna’s plea to adhere to his name, and save people. Even before 14 came into existence, the Doctor was willing to tell other people how important she was to them, on account of River recognizing Donna by her name: “you’re Donna, Donna Noble.”

Donna didn’t just travel with the Doctor and she wasn’t just friends with them. She completely understood them, their soulmate. Two halves of a greater whole, The DoctorDonna. 14 stayed because there was a more stable incarnation to take his place, and because his best friend would be there alongside him, helping and supporting him through and through. The Doctor stayed because, for the first time in their life, they felt safe. In where they would be staying, and what they would be leaving behind. 

That's why 15 doubling the TARDIS was so significant. In giving 14 her own TARDIS, 15 is allowing his younger self to have what they always removed from the equation: free will. The Doctor can still go anywhere they want, which makes them even more motivated to stay and fix themself. 14 can feel safe staying with Donna, Wilf, Mel, Rose, Shaun, and Sylvia because the option to travel is still there.

And the truly amazing part of all of this is that the TARDIS knew it from the beginning. Was it a coincidence that very soon after 13 regenerated into 14, the TARDIS landed close to where Donna and Rose would be shopping? 

“You didn’t always take me where I wanted to go.” “No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

The TARDIS brought the Doctor home, and this time, they stayed. Because it was a place where they wanted and needed to be. 

[piratefishmama]

OK, au where Eddie survived,

Its 1990, Steve hears this song and decides to drunkenly serenade Eddie with it

https://youtu.be/wv-34w8kGPM

Steve had had maybe… four beers, maximum, maybe one little fruity cocktail, and a shot of something that tasted like apple but that was it.

He wasnt even thirty yet and already his alcohol tolerance had gone to shit.

It was new year’s though! They’d hit the big Nine-O! The kids were allowed to be there, to celebrate with them as adults! They’d made it to ADULTHOOD, They’d, against literally all odds, survived the eighties and all the horrors that came with them.He was allowed to get a little white girl wasted in his and Robin’s apartment.

He was allowed to be free and silly in his own space surrounded by only his people.

No strangers to be seen in that apartment. Sure there were a few friends of the family, but he knew them, he knew them well enough that they knew him. The new and improved him, not the douchey high school him they once sort of knew. There were no strangers.

The music was loud, the track list riddled with cheesy pop, glam metal, rock, one or two reasonable metal tracks that the CC boys wouldn’t ridicule because Steve had been adamant that he wanted them (Eddie) to enjoy themselves, a few Madonna tracks, Queen, Bowie, plus, Dustin had brought a karaoke machine, in the hopes that Jonathan would capture something stupid on the fancy video camera Hopper got him for Christmas.

Wasted Steve was happy to accommodate as the something stupid.

Happy to be the first person brave enough, or drunk enough, to turn that silly little machine on because he was the only one just drunk enough to not care about embarrassing himself for fun. He was happy to peruse the list of songs Suzie had managed to acquire for it like a wine list at a fine restaurant, feeling excited eyes drawn to him. It was happening. Someone was going for the Karaoke.

Who better than Steve.

Who better than the King?

Who could switch from kegs to karaoke so seamlessly that it felt effortless, Steve. That’s who.

They had a projector screen for the words, but Steve didn’t need them, he’d been humming that damn song under his breath for weeks, having heard it on the radio driving to work. He related to it is all. Having a stupid crush that wouldn’t go away on someone who clearly didn’t seem to feel the same, but he couldn’t get over it.

He didn’t want anyone else.

Who else could say they’d understand the trauma they’d been through? Who else could be woken up in the middle of the night by screaming nightmares and just get it without having to ask? Who could he even talk to without breaking several NDA’s?

That issue alone had lost him a few partners since ’86. Who wanted to be with someone who couldn’t tell them the truth?

He hadn’t gone through a whole goddamn bisexual crisis in ’88 when he REALISED his crush was an actual sexual sort of crush and not a ‘he’s just pretty Robin, it doesn’t have to mean anything!’ appreciation of another man’s ridiculously pretty face. Honestly what the fuck was up with his big doe eyes, his laugh, those lips, he made facial scars look so damn good, and—

The music was starting, he found Eddie’s eyes from across the room and locked on them, laser focus, go big or go broke! Worst case scenario Eddie punched him, he could probably take Eddie in a fight.

Maybe. Eddie was scrappy. But Steve had back up. At least a fight would probably shut his crush up.

“I love myself, I want you to love me When I'm feelin' down, I want you above me—” Jonathan’s camera was ON him.The kids mortified, like they were watching a train wreck in motion, unable to look away. Eddie was just staring at him, wide eyed and flush cheeked. Or was that his usual big ol doe eyed stare and the alcohol hitting his cheeks? Steve was too drunk to know for sure, but he felt seen. He felt warm, full of liquid courage!

“I search myself, I want you to find me I forget myself, I want you to remind me” Eddie wasn’t moving, so Steve, in his infinite white girl wasted wisdom, decided to take a step from centre stage, to cross that distance and hope those pesky bandmates of Eddie’s didn’t get in the way. They didn’t. they moved out of the way actually. Leaving Eddie to gaze up at him from his seat while onlookers stared in amazement.

And maybe a little horror on the kids part, Dustin especially.

Those were his dads. His male role models. His big brothers. His dudes.

One of which was damn near sensually lowering his pretty self down into the other man’s lap, straddling it as if they were the only two people in the room. They were not. Steve didn’t care. “I don't want anybody else, When I think about you, I touch myse—”

“Alrighty that’s enough of that!” And the music was gone. Leaving Steve to awkwardly look over his shoulder at the culprit who’d turned off his thing. Eddie’s hand had landed on his hip to steady him, which was nice. Warm. Big. Grounding. He liked it.

Didn’t mean he was gonna focus on that instead of the culprit. “Dustin you shit! That was my big MOMENT!”

“That was horrifying beyond anything I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’ve seen. Some. Shit. No dry humping our DM at the GROUP New Year’s party! Do that in your own private time! In your own room!” At least he wasn’t saying not to do it. just. Not in public. Got it.

“Boy you have no idea what dry humping is, you’re like twelve.”

“I do TOO!”

“Do not!”

“Do too!!”

Robin chose that moment to turn the normal music back on to drown their bickering out so the party could continue around them. It did. There were no strangers at that party. No matter how surprising Steve Harrington serenading Eddie Munson with a sexy song was, there were no strangers at that party. They were family.

Even the other Corroded Coffin boys were family by association. Nobody would start shit in that apartment.

They’d be outnumbered.

That hand was still on his hip. Squeezing to get his attention back from where Dustin had managed to claim it. Whatever words he’d been yelling in a failed attempt to get over the music dying in his throat when he looked down at the man he was still straddling. He knew that look. Recognised it from days long since passed. Want.

Desire, lust, need, Steve swallowed his own saliva, then licked his lips to dampen the drying skin.

“You touch yourself a lot, Harrington?”

“Mmnhm, I’ve been needing a hand with it actually, you offering, Munson?”

“Bedroom, now.”

Nothing quite like bringing in the new year with one hell of a bang.

[gingerylangylang1979]

Male identity: Carmy and Richie

I’m finding that a certain demographic of fans have a much harder time relating to Carmy but very much relate to Richie. Granted, a lot of this has to do with what fandom platform you observe. I actually kind of hate The Bear subreddit but continue to browse it periodically because it’s super interesting to hear what “the others” are talking about. I rarely engage anymore because it’s mostly nonsense and a totally different vibe than Tumblr. The contingent is definitely very anti-Carmy x Sydney and seems to hate Sydney. I’ve also noticed that while there is a lot of love for Carmy there is even more love for Richie. I’m very intrigued by this perspective. 

This season Richie was definitely a standout. I think Ebon is an amazing actor and am glad he is finally getting nominated for his role. I thought he got robbed with the non-Emmy nominations. But even before S2 I noticed that Richie was the most favored character among the Reddit demo and perhaps a big part of the general audience. That’s fine, people can favor who they like. I know that doesn’t represent everyone but I do think that speaks for what I consider general audience and makes sense considering how society still views manhood despite social progress. This season even a lot of the reviews were kind of meh about Carmy. I get it, I initially was writing him off too, was pissed, and thought he had the worst arc. Then once thoughts settled he went back to being my hero. Deeply flawed, but I just relate to him so much and he’s fascinating to watch. I’m a woman, so maybe that helps my empathy. I also don’t think The Bear would work with Richie as the lead as some have suggested. 

The thing is Carmy is a more difficult character because he has multiple layers of trauma, his work is so specialized and niche, he is a sensitive soul, he’s artistic, and he doesn’t fit the mold of the working class male models he was surrounded by. Your typical man can’t relate to him. And most likely your typical conservative leaning woman can’t either. At the Christmas party he was appalled at how the other guys were talking about Claire. And this is a woman he had a crush on and is present day attracted to. He could have easily been superficial and macho and laughed at the jokes as expected. He didn’t let Richie get away with calling Syd sweetheart. Richie says he’s “woke”. He employs a woman in a leadership role. He’s built different. 

He is struggling in many ways that are hidden and he also lashes out. The hidden ways and the lashing out are interpreted as whiny and annoying by people that can’t relate. He’s been cited as not growing but people can’t acknowledge that his healing won’t be linear. But how can it be when his trauma was collected in overlapping seasons for most of his life? The pain didn’t develop in a linear path. He had a stutter when he was young. There are hints that there is a learning issue of some sort (I’m not going to try and diagnose). He was always the “different” one in the family. The other guys call him “weird”. His father was absent. His mom has mental health issues and is an alcoholic. He witnessed the traumatic incident at Christmas and I’m sure it wasn’t the only such incident. His brother was an addict that pushed him away, then killed himself. He went into a chaotic, highly demanding field that required him to isolate to excel. He is shy and has trouble forming close bonds. He had a mentally abusive boss. He was always super competitive. He comes back to own The Beef and it’s problem after problem. How are people expecting him to be “fun” and have an easy comeback like Richie? 

Richie has issues, too. Stagnant in mid-life, spent years devoted to an addict, failed marriage, feeling disillusioned and displaced, also an absent father. But when we meet Richie he’s not as wounded as Carmy. Carmy is literally sleep cooking, almost starting fires, dissociating, having panic attacks. Richie is sad but it mostly manifests as him being kind of nasty and grumpy. He’s like a sour old man with dated and offensive jokes. His behavior is dismissed because he’s grieving. Which yes, he deserves a pass. But why does he deserve a bigger pass than Carmy who is dealing with so much more or Sydney who seemed to bear the biggest brunt of his outrage and was also struggling? Carmy is literally on the verge of a breakdown and has the weight of trying to keep the staff, the business, and himself afloat. Despite all this Richie gets a lot of indulgences for his bad behavior that Carmy isn’t. 

Richie is easier for a lot of people to digest because he’s funny, he’s the working class representative, he’s tall (yes people have height bias, especially with men). Carmy is viewed as the pompous prodigal son that’s trying to ruin Richie’s delicate ecosystem by gentrifying and kicking out “the working man”. There are people posting in disgust that he dare change The Beef despite it being a hell hole money pit. 

It’s just so interesting that in reality we are dealing with an unprecedented numbers of men who report extreme loneliness, depression, hopelessness. Richie and Carmy both fit that profile. Yet, a man like Richie is broadly understood and accepted and a man like Carmy isn’t. It goes back IMO to the continual coding of masculine/good vs feminine/bad. Richie is the stereotypical red blooded American male. He wants the stripper’s panties. He has a gun. He needs to be alpha. He views anything outside the norm as a threat. He wants to preserve tradition at all costs. Carmy is his foil. Carmy is viewed as feminine. 

I see it even on Tumblr with the persistent identification of Carmy as somehow feminine. Like he can’t be soft and traumatized and just be a man. So what does that say when even people who would probably consider themselves progressive still classify a man in feminine terms if he isn’t a MAN? We accept all types of gender identities but still struggle with a man not fitting the correct paradigm. Society still has issues accepting that men can be vulnerable and struggling without being feminized. People also make assumptions about Carmy’s gender identity and sexuality based on his trauma. Like, of course he has to be XYZ because well, look at him, he’s sad an pathetic. What does that say about men’s sexuality and identity? Are only queer men accepted as sad? Carmy could be a queer character, cool, representation matters. But I just find the semi-automatic equation of queerness with an atypical male to be odd and a bit regressive. 

Edited to add on above: I hope what I’m saying doesn’t get interpreted as dismissing queer people who identify with Carmy. I get it, I support it. What I’m speaking to is the insistence that canon Carmy is queer because of his interests, aesthetic, and mental health as if that is the only identity option. Granted, he could be bi. I also think some people are insistent on this, just as they are on Syd not being into men, as a way to negate the possibility of them being romantic. Again, I’m saying some people. Also, proximity and shared struggle doesn’t equal identity. This makes me think of once when a white gay male bestie claimed we are the same because I’m a black women. I had to kindly correct. We share the same haters, we are both marginalized, but he will never know my experience just like I will never know his. We can bond on the commonalities but we aren’t exactly the same. IMO, it would be a disservice to both of us to claim different.

I’m really rambling, but just thought I would share my thoughts and open a conversation about this. 

[bakubros-boo-thang]

Summary: As a single mum, the love for your child is often sharing space with a ton of other emotions, what you don't seem to grasp is the fact something loves feeding off those negative emotions...

Gojo x F!reader, Toji x F!reader (past)

Disclaimer: sfw, scary, angst

Word-count: 2,3K

A/N: It has been over a year since I looked at this story and I only publish it now, because otherwise I never will. My mind is always filled with lots of fun ideas, but finding the time to write them out and actually enjoying the finished product is still something I struggle with. I enjoyed rereading the start of this story and I'm gonna try to prepare a little something for Christmas (something related to my 'Imagine that' story). As you may have noticed by now I can't help but obsess over dad Gojo and always find a way to throw my own maternal feelings (while being childless LOL) into my writing. Hope you enjoy another story, even without it being beta-read <3

Sometimes you would remember the way he kissed you, especially after being away from each other for far too long. Was it love? No idea. Was it just lust? It couldn’t be, right?  It had to be something in the middle, something neither of you could answer. And an answer wasn't needed, because it was just the two of you. Until he stopped visiting. Most of his visits were unexpected, but still, it was shocking when even those visits weren’t a thing anymore. It took time to get over someone you never dated. Someone that was still a mystery to you, but you managed, because there was no proof of your attachment, he had only hurt you and no one knew about the two of you. The issue came when you discovered that the missing proof was growing in your womb though…

Looking through the photo album, you are met with a younger version of yourself. It had been 5 years and as they said: ‘’time heals all wounds’’, still when you looked at the little guy running through your apartment, you couldn’t help but wonder where he was. Toji was not afraid of anything, and assuming by his scars there were a lot of scary things that came across his path. Ironic enough you were scared of many things, opposites attract right? And having someone that’s not afraid of anything would’ve been convenient since your five your old keeps making weird comments about his surroundings. 

It had started with just weird faces when he was two years old. Discovering the ability to make expressions is supposed to be normal for toddlers, but even with the silly smiles and stink faces, there were some expressions that made your skin crawl. You tried to be good about it, telling yourself, that you should catch the expressions, and make sure there’s no trauma involved, but still, it felt like every time you felt bad about something he would give you that look. It was not even a shocked face, but just a weird mix of curiosity and being terrified, even when curiosity was a common expression for toddlers, being absolutely terrified was a lot more complicated. On multiple occasions, the expression had made you run to your room and lock yourself in your room. Thoughts of being a bad mother haunted you before you slowly made your way back to your little blessing, tears in your eyes and guilt all written over your face because the sweet boy's face still lit up seeing you coming back. 

Being a mom has its highs as well. Makoto was everything you had and most moments with him were spent in total bliss, just the two of you. Now five years old, he has a lot to say, as he was the one that made the connection between his fears and the way you were feeling. ‘’Mom, You’re tired today right?’’ He says as he stands before you, debating whether he should climb on your lap. You give him a tired smile as you pat your lap. He’s right, of course, raising a kid by yourself, working two jobs, and pretending your fine with the father of your child just disappearing is quite a lot. ‘’Keep it together.’’ Is all you think. ‘’Don’t scare him please’’, but it’s too late. In the three years since this started, his expression has changed, he tries to hide his fear, which is nowadays mixed with anger and again you feel like you failed. You know he loves you; You see it in the way his eyes light up when you pick him up from school, the way his messy hair bounces when he runs to you, and the way he tries to hide the way his body reacts to you sometimes. That poor brave boy… He probably sees how you feel and already his expression turns into determination. He jumps on your lap and as his tiny arms wrap around your neck you can hear him whisper ‘’Please leave my mommy alone…’’. And for the moment that’s everything you need to forget about the exhaustion you feel.

Makoto is not one of those kids that need to sleep in his mom's bed, he likes sleeping in his own room. You wish he would be one of those kids sometimes, but you know why he isn’t and that’s why you spend yet another night by yourself, This time though you allow yourself to think about his words: ‘’Leave my mom alone.’’ and as strange as they sound, you cannot help but feel that he’s speaking the truth. He had held on to you for dear life, making it seem that he was terrified and wanted to protect you from something. Especially the past years had been filled with these types of situations and yet you had chosen to just ignore them. That needed to change, tomorrow you would stop ignoring the problem, but tonight you needed to try to get some rest. Closing your eyes for another night, a moment of peace and quietness, you can already sense that tonight will be different. 

The moment you close your eyes, you feel your body stiffen and you sense it. It being the weight on your shoulder. You don’t know what it is, but it feels like it’s breathing in your neck. You’re terrified. You want to scream, but you can’t move. You can only close your eyes and pray that Makoto gets away safely, that someone will take care of him and that his memories of you are happy ones... A harsh pull on your arm and you fall off the bed. Standing there before you is your sweet boy. His eyes are yet again determined and as he helps you get up he tells you that he’s happy. ‘’Why are you happy Koto?’’ You let out as you grab his arm and make your way out of that damned bedroom. ‘’Because you know that I’m not lying.’’ And he is right, whatever scares him, is not you, it’s something on you. You can’t explain it, and you don’t know how to get rid of it, but you know it’s there. You kneel before him as you squeeze his chubby cheeks and let out a brave smile. ‘’I know you’re protecting me baby. I don’t feel like staying here, let’s go outside.’’ And with that, the two of you quickly put on some shoes and your jackets before practically running down the stairs of your apartment. 

After roaming through the streets for at least half an hour you decide that this is no way to spend the evening with a five-year-old. ‘’You want a hot chocolate? We could share some milk bread as well! Just for today, because we deserve it…’’ You say as you point to the small diner across the street. You never visited this street, so you can only hope that they have some space to be seated. Leaving the house was a great idea, but you know that the house wasn’t the problem. You are, well not you, but the thing you can still feel on your shoulders. it feels a little lighter and you can only blame your brave son for that, but it’s there and it feels like it grows bigger every second you stress about it. Before crossing the street you pick up Koto, making sure that he is safe, especially with the streets getting dark quicker around this time of year. ‘’Mommy, can I have marshmallows in my chocolate milk?’’ Koto asks as the two of you enter the diner. It’s almost empty….except for a table with two men. Good, you’re not the only one here and the shop won’t close for at least two hours. Being surrounded feels safe at this point. ‘’Koto, you can pick out a table over there, while I order for us.’’ You say as you put him down. He gives you a smile before he carefully debates which table is the best for the two of you. It makes you happy. The fact that he can still smile at you. ‘What will it be ma'am’’ The girl behind the counter asks you and after your are done giving your order, you make your way to the best table there is. As you set down the plate with a small milk bread you take a seat across from Makoto. ‘’Our drinks will be there in a few, you can start with the milk bread… It’s really good.’’ You finish as you sneak in a bite. You forgot to bring some of his toys and you can feel yourself getting tired. ‘’Not here please.’’ Is all you can think. ‘’Mom, you can nap until our drinks are here… I will guard you.’’ And even though you shouldn’t use that as a reason to close your eyes, you still do. ‘’Love you Koto baby, enjoy your bread.’’ Is the last thing you say as you see your smiling boy disappear behind the black of your own eyes.

‘’Are we done here, Gojo?’’ Nanami lets out as he can feel the vein on his forehead pop up. ‘’Just a quick mission’’, was all Gojo had said. Nothing about eating milk bread at 10 pm. Amazing milk bread, from his favorite diner nonetheless, but still he didn’t plan to spend extra time with the reason for all his stress. ‘’Wait, look at that woman…’’ Was all Gojo let out. He had noticed you when you came in, carrying your young child. Looking tired, but obviously happy, or at least that was what he thought. Obviously, it had been a facade, something to put your kid to ease, because the curse on your shoulder was huge. It still was nothing for either of them, but for a non-sorcerer, this could turn out very dangerous. ‘’We should exorcise it and go, can’t bother her kid with your behavior.’’ Nanami stated as he got up from his chair. ‘’Wait, I need to do it.’’ Gojo said as he moved to your table before Nanami could. Gojo had noticed more than just the curse. He had noticed an ever stronger cursed energy than that of the curse. The cursed energy of your son and even without that he could’ve noticed that your child knew what was going on. He saw it in the way he kept looking at you. Even while enjoying his drink, he noticed the expression on his face. When he locked eyes with you he looks concerned and with a sad smile, but when his eyes slightly moved to the side he could see the nervousness and anger directed at the curse. He had to be fast, it was a wonder that the curse had not attacked either of you guys. As he reached the table he quickly slid next to the little boy. The boy didn’t seem fazed or surprised by him sitting next to him. ‘’Why are you here?’’ Was all he said as he took a sip of his hot chocolate, his gaze never leaving his mother. Gojo took a quick peek at your sleeping face. You were pretty, but obviously in distress. Your face was scrunched together and it seemed as if you were stuck in a sleepless sleep. Turning his focus back to the boy next to him he was met with another unimpressed expression he knew all too well. He had one of those in the teen variant at his home. He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him but was met with an annoyed sigh from Nanami and a ‘’What?’’ from the little boy. Turning back his focus to the mission he leaned into the boy. ‘’How are you gonna fix your mom, little one?’’ He whispered. And for a moment the boy's expression was insecure, full of doubts, before returning to the unimpressed expression he had at first. ‘’ I’m going to get rid of that thing…” It felt weird for Gojo seeing another kid filled with confidence at such a young age. It reminded him of Megumi… the day they had met. The unimpressed boy next to the good-for-nothing dad. Now he was the dad. Kind of. Megumi still acted as unimpressed as the day they had met, but from time to time they would spend a day together. Do something Megumi liked and the biggest gift was the small impressed smile he gave Gojo after those types of days. “My mom is waking up.” Was all it took for Gojo to turn his attention back on you.

‘’How long did I nap?’’ Was all you thought as you opened up your eyes. Only to be met with a stranger with sunglasses. The guy from the other table. You could feel the embarrassment spreading across your body. You had fallen asleep, with your five-year-old entertaining himself and now someone was probably here to lecture you. As you opened up your mouth to say your apologies, you noticed that you couldn’t make a sound. It was on your neck and with every second the feeling of a hand of sorts around your throat got worse. As you take a look down you notice two black shadows on your throat and before you know it your eyes follow the shadows until you finally see what’s been bothering you and your son. On your shoulder is an entity. It has human-like limbs but the body is almost smoke-like, and that explains why it fits on your shoulder. It makes sense. Even when the whole situation doesn’t make any sense at all. All of this happens in a few seconds because as you feel the fear reach every part of your body, you also notice your son grabbing your hand and the stranger removing his eyeglasses, only to reveal two hypnotizing blue eyes.  Before you can see what’s happening you feel two fingers on your forehead and that’s when once again you're left by nothing but darkness surrounding your eyes.

[circular-bircular]

Miscellaneous thoughts about syscourse and my religion under the cut.

I left my family about 2 years ago, and only made the mostly clean cut in August. It’s been hard.

I made the divorce from my religion long before that, but cutting off from my family felt like the time I finally admitted it. That’s when I went from “figuring it out or maybe atheist” to “atheist for the most part.” But can I really be called that? Can I really claim that when so much of my life surrounds Christianity and the trauma I have from being raised in that religion? Does it even count as trauma? I struggle to tell.

I look at the spaces I’m in. I can’t speak about Christmas without a trigger warning, but this does not go for most other holidays — not in the same way, at least. I’ve been told it is because of the harm done by Christians, which I get — lord knows I’ve been hurt too.

I grew up knowing Christmas was a Christian holiday — going to Christmas Eve service each year, remembering the birth of Christ and what that meant to me…

Christmas, for me, wasn’t Christ’s birthday, really. It was more a reminder to be kind and do good, because that’s what Jesus would’ve wanted. It was the day the kings and wise men and peasants came together and agreed on something. I don’t see why Christmas can’t still mean that to me, now, even though my relationship with Christianity is… far more complicated, now. Can I still celebrate Christmas if I’m not Christian? Furthermore, can I still celebrate when I’m simultaneously multiple types of trans, multiple sexualities, and 2 demons and an angel in a trenchcoat? What does this mean for us as a system when we have such varied beliefs?

But I feel as though I can’t talk about this. For one thing, Christianity has hurt people. A lot. Myself included. But, more importantly to myself in this moment, it feels as though I can’t bring it up without starting some sort of argument, particularly due to people’s views on spirituality in system spaces. Some folks avoid it like the plague, which I don’t disagree with (for the most part, I do the same, esp having led such a sheltered life). Some see it as this Exotic Thing to be mentioned in passing to make a point, which… yeah fuck off ugh.

But the thing bothering me this season is the folks who use other people’s spirituality to either poke fun or win arguments, while simultaneously ignoring that spirituality. I wouldn’t say anything here, except I’ve seen it more than once this season, and it’s so frustrating as someone dealing with the loss of so much this year.

I’m not going to go into specifics. There isn’t any point repeating what I’ve seen said about Christmas this year. It’s just… I know so many systems who have experienced trauma regarding spirituality and religion, regardless of the religion they’ve been part of. They deserve the chance to be heard. So when individuals discount all of those experiences as purely psychological, or make jokes about that belief (especially when it’s meant to piss someone off, specifically, but even in the unintentional ways), it just. Burns.

I want to end this on a happy note, though.

My partner celebrates Yule. They do not celebrate Christmas. But last night, they agreed to leave our house and go to their parents (currently empty) house so that we could play Muppet’s Christmas Carol on full blast so I could sing along as loudly as I cared. This morning, they woke up early to make cinnamon rolls, because I have had these traditions all my life. We opened wrapped gifts and snuggled by the tree.

They do not believe in Christ. They do not celebrate Christmas. But they were with me while I celebrated, just as I’ve celebrated Samhain in the past with them, or learned what I could about their tarot, despite not believing in their beliefs.

They understand how happy this makes me. They understand that this brings me joy. And how could they ever work against that joy?

I hope all that celebrate had a merry, blessed Christmas. I hope that all who do not had a merry, blessed day. And I hope you all rest well until the New Year.

[samueldeckerthompson]

My mother, Cassandra Decker, died yesterday, and I'm not sad about it.

Mom wasn't an evil person, she wasn't even a bad person, in fact, she was extraordinarily sweet, kind, and giving, and she always did her best to be the best mother that she could be to her three children.

Unfortunately, she also inflicted untold trauma on me for the vast majority of my life.

These statements would seem to be in opposition of each other, but they are both true, she did indeed try her best, I have no doubts about that, but her severe mental illness almost always stood in the way of those efforts.

When I was still in elementary school my Mom began to do a lot of strange things;

She randomly dressed up as a clown at a soccer game, ran out onto the field and stole the ball from the ref.

At my baseball game when I made all-stars she stood in the crowd yelling vile insults and taunts as I tried to pitch, causing me to walk three batters in a row and hit the fourth.

One Christmas I received the most amazing toy car from an Uncle who lived in France, she forced me to destroy it with a hammer, saying my Uncle was a warlock and the car was possessed with an evil spirit.

One evening she picked up our heavy solid oak kitchen table and flipped it over on myself and my little sister, the cops were called, and they wrestled her out of the house as she screamed and wailed with rage in just one of many instances where I'd witness her being arrested for bizarre and sometimes violent behavior.

At that point she was diagnosed as being paranoid-schizophrenic and bipolar-manic depressive. She spent a couple months in an institution and although her meds would help intermittently, she was never the same again.

From that point forward, she'd generally have at least one major mental break each year of her life and spend a month or two in the looney bin.

Visiting her there as a child and young adult was just horrific, sometimes she'd be strapped down, other times doped up and almost comatose, another time I remember her holding a big ole palo verde beetle and absentmindedly petting it as if it was her favorite cat.

The last straw for visits there was the time she suddenly decided to cover herself and the visiting area in her own feces.

The tragedy was she'd always try to get her life back together after these episodes, but each time she was starting from scratch, during the time she was away she'd have lost a job or been evicted, all her stuff would get ransacked by roomates or stolen by neighbors if the cops didn't lock the doors when they took her away.

At one point she even went to beauty school, obtained her license, and opened her own salon. I was so proud of her, she was doing well, but it was in a rough part of town, hard to make a profit, and eventually the stress there caused another episode and she lost that too.

My sister and I each tried having her live with us at different times, but I couldn't make it work as I just wasn't willing to subject my kids to the same trauma I experienced.

The final time my mother lived on her own I showed up to check on her after not hearing from her and found her completely naked, sitting in her kitchen shivering and starving, babbling about how an imaginary government agency she called AARDVARK was monitoring her and she couldn't move from the floor or she'd show up on their radar and they'd know she was there.

The last thing she'd eaten was a rotisserie chicken that had apparently been on the counter for many days as it was rotting with bugs and maggots all over it. I vomited in the sink, and then helped her get dressed, she was so frail and feeble. An ambulance came and from there she mostly became a ward of the state, living in group homes for people with mental health issues, which was horrible for her during the months when she was sane, but surrounded by the lunacy of the other patients.

I tried to keep in touch, take her out to lunch, let her see her grandkids, had her over for Thanksgiving, birthday parties, and stuff like that, but as she was aging she started to become abusive, saying all sorts of awful things, and I began to withdraw and detach myself from her so I could protect myself and just focus on my children.

The last time I really interacted with her was not too long after my big brother died, which affected me profoundly, and she kept feeling the need to tell me that my brother was an evil person and would definitely spend eternity in fire.

I'm an atheist, but her insistence on repeating this led to me just cutting her off.

From there she developed dementia/Alzheimers and really seemed to go downhill quickly, and this ultimately led to her death.

Last night my eldest daughter was asking me if I had any happy memories of her grandma, and I just couldn't think of one in that moment, every memory that came to mind throughout the entirety of my life with my mother was bad, 100% trauma, dark thoughts just overshadowed everything,

but today I can remember that way back in the beginning she was a realllly good mom. She was an incredible cook, like world class, and I remember her teaching me things in the kitchen. I remember her helping with my homework, doing arts and crafts projects, and she'd sew clothes for us, and even make incredible pro-level costumes for Halloween and school plays. One day I came home and said I needed a bull costume with really big horns for a school play, she went out and bought fur and sewed me a full length costume with a long tail and somehow used paper mache to make this super realistic bull head with horns and everything. When I showed up for the play all the other kids just had horns cut out of paper that were clipped to their hair, and I was moved to the center of the stage to become the focal point of the whole play. It was incredible.

Also, she is the one who taught me to love to read, we used to all just lay on couches for hours and read, so much so that in 4th grade I was testing at post-college Ievels in reading comprehension and grammar.

My mom also taught me the beauty in writing poetry, and how cathartic it could be. Her poetry was actually the first I read as an adult. Unlike my pithy poems, hers flowed gorgeously and was dripping with flowery language in the old style of centuries past.

So, in the end, that's how I'll try to remember her, as a loving, caring, and talented mother who just got sick and never recovered. Hopefully in time I'll learn to let go of the bad memories and more good ones will come to me, but at the very least I'll always owe her a debt for giving me the gift of poetry.

I'm glad you finally have peace, Mom.

Cassandra Estella Decker

2/2/50 - 11/1/23

PS: I'll never get over how strange it is that such vivacious young people eventually become this decrepit older version of themselves as you see my mom devolve into in this last photo. Life is such a tragedy.

[whiskeynwriting]

Aay'han

Din Djarin (no reader)

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Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Mentions of death, recollections of trauma and violence. 

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A/N: Merry Christmas @mando-din-lorian ! I’m your secret Santa! (: I tried to make this heartfelt and sweet, and I really hope you love it! 

Participating in @pedrostories Secret Santa was so fun this year, I hope you guys make it a tradition! 

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Where there once was darkness, there is now light… along with a tiny little whine. He’s thrown the flap to our tent open, brightness now shining in. We’re also no longer wrapped in the quiet comfort of darkness, thanks to him. Noises from the outside world flood in, chirps and songs from the harmless animals surrounding us. It’s not the first time he’s woken me from my sleep, and I know it won’t be the last. He’s… grumpy, especially in the morning. But I guess you could say I am, too. 

Groaning quietly, I tilt my head up. “Grogu?” 

That tiny little noise, his perplexed eyeballs staring down at me. 

“Shut the door.” It’s not really a door, but same-same.

And then, that tiny, angry face. His forehead crinkling more than it should be. 

“It’s too early.” I continue, trying to persuade him. But he’s having none of it. 

His persistent coos of discontentment win in the end, that happy squeal floating through the tent as I finally shimmy by body along my makeshift bed. Ducking, I make sure not to hit his fabricated cradle, one he’s grown quite comfortable with. 

Usually, he’ll hold his arms out to me; he likes being close to me. And I have to admit, I love holding him. But sometimes, he’s stubborn, refusing my help and insisting he get down himself. After waddling out of the tent, I stand, folding the flaps out completely and letting the sun shine in. Crouching with a grin, I wait for him, that small head snapping up at me when he hears my chuckle. 

“Well,” I shrug, gesturing out to him. “Go on, then.”

Amusement was a rare thing in my life before him. When I was on my own, I slept when I wanted, ate and worked when I wanted. But he’s thrown a wrench in all of that. And at first, it made me uncertain. I never knew how to provide for a child. Grogu didn’t let those thoughts linger in my head, though, not when he had so much love to give. 

“Can’t do it?” Gently questioning him, I tilt my head.

Genuinely, I like to see him try. I can’t teach him how to use his skills, but I can encourage him to use them. Either way, I try. 

“Come here, buddy.” Bending forward, I reach in, my hands held out in his direction. 

Snuggling them underneath his tiny armpits, I lift the little green menace, bringing him down from his cloth crib. His small sigh prompts my own, settling him into my arms once again. 

“Are you hungry?” Comes my next question, finger tapping the tiniest of noses. Turning, I look at the ship, reminded of our near non-existent amount of storage. “We have some… dried fruit left. I think.” I don’t have to meet his gaze to know he’s not amused by that. 

New Plympto doesn’t offer much when it comes to food. Though, I wasn’t looking for five-star restaurants when I found it. I chose this planet in an attempt to reconnect Grogu to his past. The Jedi once used the inhabitants of this world as recruits, and I was thinking, hoping, he’d… feel something. But it’s been no use. Since returning from Luke, using his powers has become a rare thing. 

“There’s not much around here.” Tapping the signal on my helmet, I scan for warm-blooded figures. The creatures near are small prey animals with no predator in sight. But there’s a distant rumble coming from above, prompting the kid’s own search. His eyes look to the sky, taking in the swirling clouds in the distance. He coos timidly at the darkness within them.

“I see it, too.” 

Considering the amount of pleasant-tempered animals in the area, I set him down, letting him explore on his own. But not out of my sight. This hasn’t been easy, giving him a sense of freedom. All I want is to keep him in my arms, to keep him safe. And when he’s wandering around on the ground, how can I do that? But I keep close, my eyes never leaving his tiny figure for long. 

Almost every single skill Grogu learned before coming to me is, for lack of better wording, useless. He doesn’t really need any of it. It’s almost as if that was never even his life. Like blips of another timeline somehow, and for some reason, spilled into his world. War, conflict, trauma, none of it was ever meant for him. But truthfully, I wasn’t, either. I’m not fit to care for him. The way our paths crossed is evidence of that. 

“We should probably find some food, don’t you thi-”

Turning, I witness the sad sight of a frog lodged in the kid’s throat. He gurgles, before ultimately swallowing it whole. And then, he burps. Little menace. 

“O…kay.” But that makes things easier, I’m fine with dried fruit. 

The storm isn’t too bad, starting shortly after we retreat to the tent. Securing the flaps shut, I prepare to keep us in for the night. The extra coin spent on the waterproofed roof was worth it. 

Before we went back into our quaint fortress, I grabbed a few things from the ship. Dried fruit for me, and some coloring tools for him. Back on the Crest, I had quite a few things that interested him. Most of them came from Naboo, their educational systems grand in every sense of the word. I bought picture books about animals and planets, puzzles and toy speeders, games of both strategy and chance. And every time I brought something back, it would interest him. He played with everything I got him. But all of that was destroyed on the Crest. Since that, I’ve been able to get him some crayons and a notepad. 

Breaking open the bag, I lift the edge of my mask to eat a few pieces, Grogu’s back facing me. He’s sitting on the floor, resting on my bed of blankets. He’s coloring, and it’s incredibly cute, watching him create things. 

His tiny coos bring me out of my head, lowering my helmet again. They’re not happy noises, they're… sad. Immediately, I lean forward, peering over his head to see what’s making him so blue. It’s a simple act, doing nothing to prepare me for what I see. 

Clear as day, I see clone troopers, their blasters drawn. And then those… laser swords, some different colors than Luke’s. There’s blue and even a purple one, too. The people holding them look… scared, terrified, actually. And in the background he’s drawn some pretty intricate details, appearing to be stained glass windows on the walls and ceiling. 

“Is…” Scooching closer, I continue to analyze the drawing. The distant rumble of thunder makes the moment feel dark, intense. “Are those Jedi?” 

At that word, Grogu looks at me, wide eyes searching for answers, but receiving only silence. And not just from me, but from everywhere he’s looked in life. He doesn’t know why… why did this happen? 

The sadness radiating from him is powerful, knocking the breath from my chest. Gently, he waddles over to me, climbing into my lap. Sightlessly, my hands find him, palms cradling his frame as he settles against my legs. 

It angers me greatly, knowing this happened to him, knowing he’s felt the same pain as me. Having to witness your caregivers, your parents, be brutally massacred, is something a child should never have to see. Experiencing that kind of violence and trauma at such a young age… it scars you. It scarred me. How has he not let this affect him? How has he not turned sour from this? How does he not feel anger, and the intense desire for revenge? 

Something strange wraps around me, around my emotions and thoughts. And then, that tiny hand, folding gently over my thumb. Looking down, I see him; he’s staring up at me. I don’t know what to call it exactly, his… energy? It reaches out to me, touches me, comforts me. Those hateful thoughts leave my body, and quite easily. 

Oftentimes, I think Grogu does more for me than I’ll ever be able to do for him. I’ll never be able to teach him the ways of the Jedi. But… I have considered The Way. He’s my foundling, after all. It’s my right to do so, and his right to learn it, or at least have the opportunity to. He’s no longer the child, he’s my child. 

“I’m so sorry, Grogu.” It’s already happened, I can’t take away his hurt. But I can be here to comfort him. 

Before I realize what he’s doing, he’s popping up and out of my arms, scurrying across the ground and through the hole at the bottom tent flaps. 

“Grogu!” Rolling up onto my knees, I undo the opening, lunging out to find him.

Immediately, the forceful and repeated taps of rain echo around my head. It’s storming out, the ground beneath my feet now made of mud. Looking every which way for him, I end up finding him only a few feet away. 

“What’re you…” 

The closer I get, the more prominent his giggles become. He’s reaching up, welcoming the downpour. And he’s smiling, too. Those little feet jump into the puddles, those bright eyes finding me. 

“This is fun for you?” I ask while smiling, amused. 

All he does is laugh, that joyous noise floating into my ears. With a small sigh, I decide to sit, knowing I’ll regret it later but right now, I can’t bring myself to care. His robe is completely muddy and he’ll need a bath when the weather clears up, and so will I. But it’s alright, we’re due for it, anyway. 

The loud boom of thunder makes him shriek, now ducking and running to me. Laughing quietly, I hold him, whispering it’s okay. Reaching out, I then put my fingers in a nearby puddle, splashing some water at him. And that brings back his happiness all over again. 

Part of me thinks this way of life is too chaotic for him; I don’t think the way we live is anything close to his life before. Maybe he needs more structure, more balance. And I… I don’t know if I can give him that. 

But inside Grogu’s head, all he’s thinking about is how he never got to do this before finding his dad. He never got to meet new people, see new places, he never got to have fun. The Jedi were detached, too, and Din is just the opposite of that. Grogu has never felt more attached to someone in his entire life. He may not have one place to call home, but he doesn’t need to when home becomes a person. Whether Din knows it or not, he’s everything Grogu will ever need. 

Aay’han

(AY-ye-haan)

Bittersweet. Perfect moment of mourning and joy - remembering and celebrating.

[mariacallous]

Beyond the padlocked metal gate, beyond the silent train crossing, lie 4.8 million square feet of concrete—weeds and saplings pressing through the cracks, rubble heaped on the ground, environmental dangers lurking in the soil.

The immense site, especially dreary on the hard-rain, late-winter morning when I was back in Janesville, was the home of General Motors’ oldest operating assembly plant, long the heart and economic soul of this small southern Wisconsin city. In its heyday a half-century ago, the Janesville Assembly Plant boasted 7,000 workers.

Even when the last Chevy Tahoe rolled off the assembly line two days before Christmas of 2008, about 3,000 GM’ers were still there that final year to lose their well-paid jobs, and the closing and the bad economy swept away thousands of other jobs nearby.

I had first come to Janesville as the United States was creeping out of the Great Recession. I was looking for a spot to write a close-up of what happens to a perfectly ordinary place when good work goes away, and this county seat, surrounded by farmland about 100 miles northwest of Chicago, seemed promising. I spent several years getting to know auto-working families stung by vanished jobs, community leaders trying to coax the city out of the economic trauma and the shifting texture of Janesville itself.

Falling out of the middle class, I learned, is not the same as having been poor all along, bruising people’s identity along with their standard of living. Job retraining, I found, was not always a panacea. And as the 2016 election cycle was bringing Donald Trump to the fore, I saw the kind of post-industrial distress that attracted voters elsewhere to his flavor of populism—even as Janesville remained a Democratic-leaning union town.

Now, seven years after my book, Janesville: An American Story, came out, as the rain clattered on my rental car, I wondered what lessons this place might yield about the United States’ economy and communities’ hopes in this starkly different time. If this small city in America’s heartland served as a handy microcosm of what happened during the recession of 2007 to 2009, what could it tell us about the kinds of jobs America has been spawning lately, the geography of industrial development, the expectations that Biden administration policies have infused in another election year among communities in which traditional industry has become merely a memory.

And what I learned this time is a reminder that, often, more than one thing can be true at once. This small city has a plucky, resilient streak, so I was not surprised to hear while I was back in town an overt pride in its considerable recovery. And yet, that is not its only trajectory. The present-day story of Janesville also illustrates U.S. manufacturing’s waning and, in particular, the difficulty of finding fresh uses for the vestiges of auto plants the country has abandoned.

[curatoroffiction]

MC Who Can’t Sleep Well When Excited About Something

This one’s taking a page right outta my own book tonight, as I cannot FUCKIN’ sleep, and it is COMPLETELY because I’m excited for something happening this weekend. ----- This is an MC who is rarely flappable. This MC remains relatively unflapped in most circumstances. It’s hard to get them flustered or get them to show a more unkempt aspect about themselves. The majority of the characters consider them to be suave, or at the very least, charismatic to a point. They figure the stoic responses to the world around them is because they’ve seen it all, lived it all, and they’re worldly in that regard.

But this is not because this MC has so much experience under their belt, this MC just doesn’t cognitively experience their most intense emotions. They only physically experience those emotions. Anxious? Their leg is tapping, but this MC doesn’t skip a beat and is pretty useful in the dialogue. Scared? This MC’s heart is pounding away, but they continue to press forward and even appear to think fairly rationally under the pressure. It’s a trauma response, to be sure - MC’s had it rough, and the best way to survive and keep their head above water was to shut down their emotional responses so they could use their brain. The body just didn’t get the memo. The kicker is when this MC falls for someone. They don’t really realize it themself - They enjoy the person’s company, sure, but they don’t see that person in a romantic light at first. This MC focused way more on friendship than they ever did romance, and so they’re surrounded by a cast of close-knit friends who love them and want to take care of them in any way they can. So this MC finds themselves struggling to sleep at night. They take stock of their body, and their body keeps saying “Hey, I need to be hugged” - It’s only a coincidence that they’re thinking of that special person whenever this happens, right? Soon, they find themselves unable to sleep at all after speaking with that special person. If it’s through text, the MC finds themselves looking through pages of shared chat histories, unable to sleep. If it’s through calls, MC finds themselves unable to sleep because they keep replaying the person’s words in their head. In person? MC can’t sleep because they’re too busy basking in the afterglow of seeing that special person. It’s just as bad when MC has a big event they’re looking forward to. The cast at large find this to be a mix of concerning and adorable. On one hand, their generally unflusterable MC is now so flustered that they can’t even sleep properly! It’s like a kid excited for Christmas. On the other hand, their MC isn’t sleeping well, which isn’t great for their health. So when the MC is struggling to sleep, you’ll get a mix of the cast trying to support them. If MC is attracted to someone, they’ll tell that person that they’re struggling to sleep, but they won’t tell them why. Cool-headed/responsible characters tend to try to take care of MC’s needs and help them avoid caffeine during weeks where they’ve got something really big and important coming up. Making them food, or helping them stick to a schedule. MC can’t stick to a schedule easily, but the food and reminders are really helpful for operating at less than 100%. Dumb-Of-Ass/Heart-Of-Gold characters will try to find various methods to knock MC out. “MC, I heard Melatonin can help you sleep better!” “I also heard that eating lots of peppers before you sleep can help you sleep better!” MC ends up getting some really weird-ass dreams and getting conked out hard (Almost unable to go about their day) because of these characters. Passionate/Family-loving characters tend to bring MC home remedies that their parents or grandparents or caretakers taught them for a rough night of insomnia. These are all varying levels of helpful. Sometimes they work like a charm. Sometimes they have zero effect. Sometimes techniques that worked well before don’t work the next time, and vice-versa. Home remedies are a complete gamble for MC, but the company of the people doting on them is always nice. Grouchy/Intimidating characters tend to hoist MC up and forcibly attempt to make them go to bed, thinking it’s just a matter of mind over matter. When MC is physically incapable of sleeping for four hours, spending the whole night tossing and turning, the Grouchy/Intimidating characters then switch tracks to finding someone who CAN help MC sleep better, looking for the answers so they can fix this problem. It’s much less about MC’s wellbeing (Though that is a big part of it) and much more about this lil’ insomnia problem getting in the way of activities they wanna do with MC. Rich/Resourceful characters focus on creature comforts for MC, making sure they’ve got good blankets and pillows and cozy things that help to soothe the nerves before slumber. They’ll cover every possible angle of coziness and comfort. Resourceful characters are discerned from Rich characters in that they’re not rich, but they certainly know how to get their hands on fancy shit. Nothing’s too good for their dear MC. Sweet/Gentle characters bring the snuggles - Offering to cuddle with MC to help them sleep better. Massaging into their back, scritching their head, nuzzling in close, helping to soothe them in any little ways they can, just delighted to get to share that level of closeness with MC. They’ll also buy or make MC food, doing everything within their power to help soothe MC’s nerves. These characters expect nothing in return, and are just eager to be of some kind of help. Gremlin characters find little trinkets and things to give to MC - An old sleeping shirt that helped them feel cozy, a necklace that’s supposed to help people feel safe, A weird little machine that projects stars around the room - They find the strangest and most interesting items to adorn and surround their MC with to try to help herald in good rest. Oftentimes, the trinkets and things are items of personal comfort that they’re sharing. Intelligent/Calculating characters try to research into insomnia and its causes, trying to find medical (Or magical, if the environment works for it) methods of combatting the problem. Depending on their level of shadiness, this can sometimes result in them showing up at MC’s room/place at 2am with a bottle like “Drink this to cure what ails ya’.”. If their shadiness is relatively low, then they’ll come to MC with a collection of options for sleep resources/clinics. The shadier they are, the more likely their solutions are to work. Gossipy characters will consider this an emergency of self-care. It’s time to dish about everything on MC’s mind while they do masks and skin care treatments to combat the lack of sleep. They have all the best supplies for MC’s body type needs, and they know exactly what questions to ask to shoot to the heart of the matter. Wise beyond their years. It’s like the sleepover that MC needed to gush about everything on their mind and their excitement. 9/10 times, works perfectly, and MC’s out within 2 hours. Gamer characters are the only ones literally not trying to help MC, and are actively encouraging MC to fuckin’ turn to the dark side and just play games with them all night. (This one goes out to my gaming friends in different timezones who get excited when I have insomnia, you fuckin’ sirens of the night)

[chrisgates]

Have Yourself A Merry Little Krampus...

Timing: Just after Christmas Location: Unknown, Krampus' Cabin Parties: @chrisgates and @zofiawithaz Triggers: head trauma and drooling Summary: Zofia and Chris are abducted by Krampus because they've been 'naughty'. The pair manage to escape but not without a visit from the werewolf, a scuffle and some good ol' fashion cast iron wielding. Hopefully next year, they make it onto the 'nice' list.

There were a great many things Zofia didn’t like about the holiday season this year. 

All of the sweet Christmas love songs that were constantly playing on the radio made her want to reach through the airwaves and strangle the dj responsible. If she heard one more caroler singing at her to ‘have herself a merry little Christmas’ she was liable to give them a merry little bite to the neck. Add on top of those normal offenses, Wicked’s Rest came with its own special variety of holiday insanity. 

Teleporting reindeer and sentient snowmen were the least of her troubles. Especially now that she’d been chucked in a bag and was now…

Well she wasn’t sure where she was exactly. Only that there had been jingling bells in the background of her kidnapping. And there was someone else there.

“Psst-“ she hissed in a whisper, trying to get the strangers attention. “Hey you-“ she picked up a little pebble and chucked it on the ground next to him. “Do you know where we are?

The last thing that Chris remembered before the lights were knocked right out of him was his walk to the motel to get the rest of his stuff — he didn’t think he could stay there anymore, even if he didn’t exactly have anywhere solid to go to. He just needed out. But he couldn’t do that, not when he was waking up to the sound of someone’s voice and a small, yet sharp tack of a sound that hit the ground beside him.

Normally when he woke up somewhere strange and unusual, he was naked, covered in blood and alone. This time, there was someone else there. It took him a second to register that this was not his usual bender when he started awake, his heart thrumming and eyes wide — though his breath was quick, his body was tense.

“No…” he drew out with uncertainty and rubbed at his forehead with a groan. His head hurt. “What happened?”

Zofia let out a string of muttered Polish swears under her breath before sitting up to take in there surroundings, even as fear gripped at her chest. This entire situation was all too familiar. But it wasn’t the same as before. Before she’d been alone. Before there’s been water dripping on pipes, and footsteps in the hall. This place was different. 

It was dark and dank, yes, but embers smoldered in a large fireplace. The crackles of the dying logs and their hushed voices and ragged breathing were the only noises this… cabin?- offered. Cold winter wind howled outside, the chill seeping into the space despite the fading fire. 

“I don’t know. I was -“ Zofia stopped herself from finishing the statement. Her previous activities had included drinking from a very pretty but incredibly rude young woman she’d come across in the bathroom of the Masque. She was also incredibly foolish, as she didn’t seem to realize she was on the menu in a place like that.

 Makayla or whatever her name was, had the audacity and unmitigated gall to insult the vampires appearance, asking her ‘where she’d gotten that fugly old dress and if she liked looking like someone’s grandmother’, complain about everything in the club, and then tell the vampire that she’d wasted her time so Zofia should pay for her offenses with free drinks for the young blonde and her friends. 

Needless to say, Makayla had been incredibly woozy from blood loss when Zofia had left her to head home. She had made it about half a block when she heard jingling and then- she was here. “I don’t know what happened to you… I was snatched on the street. What do you remember?”

Between not knowing where he was and the loop wound tight around his ankle, Chris would have been in a worse state had it not been for his company who seemed to be in the same boat. That didn’t stop the panic that started in his chest, however, only staved it off. 

What was he doing? “I was… Heading to my room..” Did he get hit in the head? Is that why it was hurting so much? “At the motel,” he clarified as he took in the room around them. The sound of the wind outside was slightly comforting. “I was just walking - I… I didn’t even see anything. I just heard… Bells.” He also smelled a lot, too, but he wasn’t about to get into that. Not when the only thing on his mind was getting out.

Chris looked down at his bound ankle — it’s not the same thing, don’t worry, it never even happened anywa- “We need to get out of here,” he spoke in a hushed undertone, though there was a hint of urgency to his voice, a trembling that followed his fingers when he reached down to try to wiggle one or two beneath the thick rope that cut into his cold, wet skin.

Somewhere at the back of the cabin, one could assume, came a creak. It was probably just the snow.

Zofia went to stand up and heard the soft rattle of chain. She looked down to see a cuff linked round her ankle. The panic that had seized in her chest turned to fury. Not again. Absolutely not. Letting out a torrent of swears that would have made her mother turn over in her grave,  she fished a pin from her hair and set to work on the lock. 

“Did you get a lump of coal too?” She asked, swearing still under her breath as she missed the pin in the lock and started again. Red eyes were locked on the cuff, determined to get herself free. 

“Already working on it,” Zofia grumbled, twisting the pin inside the lock. It popped open, and she shook her leg free. The vampire looked back at the young man, still very much trapped. He looked like a scared puppy, the poor thing. She sighed. She couldn’t just leave him. “Kurwa piekło,” she muttered before scooting over to set to work on his bindings. 

Cold fingers began to try picking at the tight knot, when she heard a creak. The vampire froze, waiting to see if another sound followed. Silence. She set back to work. “What’s your name?” She asked. 

The last time Chris remembered waking up bound like that was years ago, before the Great Blip, as he affectionately liked to call it. He remembered the ropes, the dimly lit room and all the metal on the walls. He remembered the cage and its too small of a size. It was claustrophobic. This room was not like that. It was small, sure, but the fireplace and various Christmas decorations, as old and decrepit as they were, made this kidnapping feel weirdly homey. 

“Yeah..” he urged himself to say amidst his desperate attempts at removing the knot. He had almost forgotten about that stupid little piece of coal. “What, do you think it has something to do with this?” The panic was still in full effect, but it did make room for a bout of curiosity. Chris had assumed that he was just being blackmailed, that someone knew about the horrible shit he kept telling himself wasn’t actually happening, but if she got coal, too, then maybe it wasn’t as targeted as he thought.

He glanced over, catching as she worked to remove her own chain with what looked like a hairpin. Of course she could pick locks. She looked cool enough for that. Meanwhile, he still fumbled with the rope — like an idiot. Maybe whoever grabbed him knew he’d fail. He was half tempted to start gnawing at it when her hands flew in and started on the knot instead. The sound they had both heard seemed to settle down, giving them a false sense of time that they may or may not have. They weren’t dead, yet, which seemed to be a good thing. Confusing and worrying, though, as it painted that their abductor had plans for them other than an immediate death.

He tried to hold two sides of the knot to give her a little wiggle room. “It’s Chris… you?” There was another creak. Why did it sound like a footstep? Chris thought his heart was going to pop out of his chest. 

“I don’t know,” she said through gritted teeth as she glanced around the space. “But I wouldn’t call anything in this damned town a coincidence. Everything is suspect.” There were holiday decorations scattered about the place- garlands and wreaths- but they all seemed… off. As though the holiday cheer they should represent had been replaced with ill omens. 

“I’m Zofia,” she said quietly as she worked, not willing to raise her voice much above a whisper in case someone else was listening. “Are you any good in a fight, Chris?” It was worth the ask- she needed to know if she’d be pulling all the weight in their little escape attempt. “Don’t lie if you’re not. I don’t want to be down an extra pair of hands because you thought it would be cute to show off.” Humor would have colored her voice had she not been so focused on getting him free. 

The knot finally started to loosen, when another creak sounded from within the cabin, along with the sound of faint sleigh bells. She quietly muttered a curse and worked faster, finally tugging the rope free from his ankle. She swatted at him, and pointed at a shadow that was cast on the floor far on the other side of the room. “Fight or hide?” She mouthed, freezing in hopes that whatever it was that had dragged them there hadn’t noticed they were free of their bindings yet.

That didn’t exactly make Chris feel any better. There was a lot of weirdness in Wicked’s Rest, but most of it he could brush off. But if she was saying that everything was suspicious, that there weren’t really any true coincidences to be found - well, that tickled his paranoia in the worst way possible. Coupling that feeling with the unmistakable sounds of a heavy weight shifting against old wood, causing it to groan and bend beneath the massive footsteps, sent his anxiety through the roof. Her words helped to ground him, even if the softness in her tone only came from tension.

Her question gave him pause and only served to worry him more. “Uh, no? I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t… If I had to, I guess, sure?” But not out the gate; Chris wasn’t an inherently dangerous person. He didn’t go out looking for trouble or tried to pick fights. He didn’t even know how to fight, not unless it was adrenaline that guided his hand, but any altercation that had ever crossed his path seemed to end in the same way - with him unable to remember it completely and someone either pissed off at him or terrified of him.

He did his best to help Zofia get the rest of the thick rope from around his ankle with hurried and shaky hands; he took note of the hidden spot she pointed out. “Hide,” for sure, not unless he had no other option. Right now though, they didn’t even know who or what was on the other side of that door. It was best to assess the situation first.

With as quiet a scramble as he could muster, one that might even make a mouse feel envious, Chris did his best to make it to the spot Zofia chose for them. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as fast as she was and managed to press himself against the old, stained and musty armchair that thankfully hid him from whatever it was that just creaked open the door. His entire body went stiff, head and back pressed against the aging leather, his breath held to keep it from shaking. A warmth flooded him, that uneasy feeling that liked to creep in during difficult situations, situations that reminded him of things he didn’t want to be reminded of.

His eyes turned to where Zofia managed to hide, wondering if he could spot her face, her eyes, anything to get a gauge as to who was in the room with them.

The vampire barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Just her luck, to be fortunate enough to be trapped with someone, but unlucky enough for that person to be no use in a situation where they needed to fight. Not that she was much use in a fight, typically. But desperate times…

Zofia nodded. Hide it was. She quickly, quietly slipped into a shadow in the corner and sat unnaturally still, ready to spring into action if she needed to. Chris, however, hadn’t moved as quickly. He was hidden behind an old armchair when the door swung open. 

The vampire wasn’t sure what it was exactly. But it sure as hell wasn’t human. Her eyes widened as she watched the horned figure stoop down to clear the doorway, before standing upright. It loomed over the space, horns scraping lines the ceiling. Zofia swallowed. A human she could take in a fight. Whatever that was… probably not. And unfortunately, it was heading toward Chris’s hiding spot. 

She had no time to think. She snatched up a loose piece of kindling on the floor and chucked it across the room, causing it to clatter in the corner of the cabin opposite of where Chris was hiding. The beast’s head swung around, refocusing on the noise. Zofia stared at her fellow escape artist. Hurry! She mouthed, waving him on frantically.

Of course it was coming right for him — whatever it was. He didn’t see it when it came in, wouldn’t dare sneak a peek, but he could tell how large it was. Chris would have that kind of shit luck, though. It was sort of a constant in his life and he even tried to act like it wasn’t. He couldn’t act like it wasn’t now, not with some huge, monstrous creature searching for them. The snuffling and scraping sent chills down his spine. It was angry they were gone. He would have mentally kicked himself for not making it to Zofia’s hiding spot if he wasn’t so scared. 

His heart was about ready to burst through his throat — at least, that’s what it felt like. It pounded and beat frantically behind his ribcage, terror gripping it, and him, completely. There was only so much space behind the chair where he could hide himself before a foot or hand or even the top of his head was visible. If the scraping on the ceiling was any indication, he didn’t really have much time. He didn’t know if luck felt bad for him or not, but it was then that he saw a flurry of movement and a rather convincingly distracting sound, he thought maybe the tides were turning.

Zofia’s frantic urging helped to spurn a bullet of courage that shot him from his poor excuse of a hiding spot and towards the only door that led in or out. He had one hand out, as if to tell her to follow him in turn through the doorway while the creature was distracted. There was no way he was going to spend another second in that room, but he couldn’t leave her. He wouldn’t.

It seemed the young man had found his courage. Zofia watched as he made a frantic beeline toward the door, waving for her to follow. The vampire didn’t see many options. It was either scramble after Chris and risk death at the hands of whatever was in the cottage with them, or stay put and guarantee death for herself. 

Not liking the certainty of death that came with staying out, Zofia hurried along behind Chris. Keeping her footsteps quick and light, she risked a glance in the direction of it, trying to get a better look at it. It was some sort of beast with hooves and a long tail. A long tongue licked over its snout, as though it were trying to taste the air to find them. It had some sort of pouch slung over it’s back, and it’s eyes -a bright yellow- scanned the space for what had gone missing. 

It was objectively the ugliest thing Zofia had ever seen. Well, maybe the second, if she included the chimera. The vampire forced her legs to move faster. Then, one of the old floorboards betrayed both of the prisoners and let out a long, loud, creak. Those yellow eyes swiveled and locked on the pair. Shit. 

Chris knew better than to look back. He didn’t want to know what the thing looked like, not if it smelled the way it did or moved the way it did or made the sounds it did. It sounded like a nightmare, like if it found him, it could easily scoop him up in its clutches and bite into his body, breaking him completely. He didn’t want to be its meal, he wanted to get the hell out of there!

But Zofia needed to go first; even though he didn’t know her and she seemed capable of taking care of herself, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he let her get in harm’s way because of self-preservation. That wouldn’t be right. His sister taught him better than that. 

No good deed went unpunished, though. It was almost expected, like this whole situation was written to play out like a stereotypical horror movie — Chris could never get through any of them before he was left a shivering mess under a blanket or hiding in another room. This time, he didn’t get that reprieve. 

He made the mistake of looking at it when Zofia made it to the creaky hallway. The monster was too close even though it was on the other side of the living area. Its mass made its short walk even shorter and it dragged a long arm across the floor while the other reached out with intent. It smell only grew the closer it got. Chris’ eyes darted from the thing chasing them to the doorknob in front of him and, without a thought, reached out to grab it.

The wooden door was pulled back with his falling, fearful weight. He felt the floor of the hallway meet his back when he heard the telltale shut of his success. It wouldn’t hold, but he hoped it would give them at least a second to get some space between them, even just a breath’s worth. But the hallway wasn’t very long and that door wasn’t very strong. They made the few steps it took to get to the mouth of the even colder kitchen before the door gave way with a sickening snap of its wood boards and groans of its metal hinges.

The kitchen seemed bluer, cooler, and lonelier than the golden warmth from the livelier, if intimidating, living space — but it was their only way out.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Zofia darted through the door Chris held open for her. It may have been foolish of him to do the gentlemanly thing and let her go first, but at least chivalry wasn’t completely dead. Unlike what they would be, if the beast behind them got what it wanted. 

She heard the thud as her new friend hit the ground. She needed to think. Zofia doubted something of that size would feel much pain from her teeth, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to taste its blood anyway. She’d need a different weapon. Snatching Chris’s wrist, she towed him along behind her to- a kitchen. Well that was fortunate. 

She let go of the young man as she rifled through drawers and cabinets, looking for something, anything to carry as they made a run for it. There were surprisingly few knives. She didn’t want to think about how sharp that must have meant the monsters teeth were. She did, however, lay her eyes on a rusty old cast iron skillet. She snatched it up before turning back to Chris. “We need to go. Now.”

He was grateful for Zofia’s immediate hold on the situation—and his arm. Without it, Chris didn’t think his legs would work well enough to get him away from the danger fast enough. It was literally right behind them; his heart felt like it was in his throat just at the thought. If he was alone he probably wouldn’t have made it this far. He likely would still be tied up or cornered in the living room and made into a meal, for sure.

Speaking of meal, Zofia managed to find herself a decently weighted cast iron skillet. It would do some damage to any normal person, but to that thing? He hoped they didn’t have to find out. Still, he was happy to see something in their favor even if he wished it was a way out. He would have been happier if he didn’t feel a leg being pulled out from under him. The monster had him—it had him and it dragged him back towards the living area. 

Chris kicked and struggled against its grip, but he was dragged away from the kitchen and away from potential freedom. That thought set him off; it made the view of the fireplace and the smell of meat and musk fade into darkness, a familiar and, currently welcome, unconsciousness. The large, looming creature returned back through the now broken doorway to get to Zofia. But that was the last thing he heard before his body started to contort and break.

Just when Zofia thought she had everything under control, the demented holiday demon had closed its long clawed fingers around Chris’s ankle and yanked the young man back into the dim glow of the living room. “Sukinsynu, chyba sobie kurwa żartujesz!” She hissed. She couldn’t just leave him. Not when he’d been so nice as to hold the door for an old woman like her. 

The vampire moved quickly trying to keep pace with the beast and the terrified young man it had in its clutches. She’d just cleared the doorway when a loud snap sounded. She paused, frightened for a moment that she was to late, that she hadn’t been fast enough. Then it sounded again, and again, and she watched as the young man’s form struggled and twisted into something… lupine. 

Zofia could only hope he’d remember in this new form she was friend, not foe. Taking advantage of the distraction in the demons arms, she crept closer, twirling the pan in her fingers, prepared to strike. 

The horned monster didn’t get the chance to go after the vampire before she was already in the room to witness the changing. Perhaps it should have killed the wolf before it woke, but hindsight was, of course, 20/20.

Chris was glad it didn’t, but he didn’t like what ended up happening to him, either. Which one was worse? He’d end up thinking about it later. For now, he took a mental nosedive to make room for the wolf and its rage. With a wet snarl, it made a move for the cloaked demon, its teeth bare and clawed hands grasping. 

The hurried movement was enough to rock the monster off its hooved feet, but not enough to get it on the ground and in a more vulnerable position for biting. The beast pushed back, its strength surprising and teeth just as long. It seemed bigger somehow, but maybe that was the tall mane of hair or the spiraled horns that threatened to whack the wolf in the head. 

Its musk was overpowering; that was all the wolf could smell every time it snapped its teeth close to the wet, stringy, fur that covered its body. The wolf was not much better with its deformed hands and feet, but at least it had a cute nose. This thing just looked like a demented yeti. A demented yeti the wolf wanted nothing more than to rip the head off of.

It was like something out of an old movie, watching her young friend transform. He’d gone from fresh faced and terrified to bared fangs and snarling. Zofia swallowed. She wasn’t the only threatening thing in the room aside from the demon any longer. She gave a slow nod of understanding. 

It was terrifying the way they fought. Two forces of nature struggling against each other. She ought to have left. She ought to have taken advantage of the moment and ran far away as fast as she could. But this poor sweet man- wolf?- was fighting for his damned life. Zofia adjusted her grip on the pan. 

She waited until she saw an opening. The beast was swiping and snapping at her new friend, and its back was to her. Zofia’s eyes lit up. Winding up like a star player at the World Series, the vampire swung the cast iron pan like a baseball bat to the demon’s head, striking it like she’d hit a game winning home run. Good. The wolf could get away now. 

In truth, the wolf would have continued on until one of them was dead, but a good thunk to the head with a kitchen utensil caused its opponent to flee. It didn’t flee in the usual sense. The immense creature simply vanished with a disgruntled groan after it regained its composure from the whack. A sprinkling of snow was left in its place, but the creature had gone.

The wolf swiped at nothing but air, confused as to where the monster had just gone. It swung its massive head around the room and laid eyes on the vampire woman still in the room with them. No, she wasn’t the problem. The way she held the pan was questionable, but she was not the one who brought them there. 

It snarled at her, obviously frustrated with how that all turned out, but it was grateful nonetheless at getting to live another day. It then chose that unusually quiet moment to scrape and pull itself through a nearby window, its mass too large for the window frame; wood creaked and cracked and glass shattered and cut until the wolf was through, its nose keen to find the scent of the horned demon that abducted them.

Moments after the pan had found connection with the horned skull, it vanished into thin air. Zofia gaped, having been prepared to swing at it again. Instead, she was left locking eyes with the tawny werewolf that stood in the center of the room. 

The vampire stood unnaturally still. She prayed tow whatever forces might listen that he wouldn’t attack her. He’d been sweet- the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. After a long, tense moment, the wolf snarled before turning to pull himself out the window. 

Zofia blinked, watching as the wolf left the space in an almost cartoonish fashion. The wolf- Chris- disappeared into the night, leaving a vaguely wolf shaped hole where the window had been. The demon was gone, and the vampire had nothing else to do. Her hand still wrapped around the pan (just in case), she made her way out into the night. Next year she’d be sure to be kinder, or at least less murderous. Or more selective in those she chose to feed upon. She would not be receiving coal again, and she hoped the wolf wouldn’t either. 

[msmercury84]

"I Double Dare You," The First Christmas as Mr. and Mrs. Guarnere

*Author's note: Prices of women's dresses were researched at a website dedicated to the prices of women's clothing in the 1940s. Bill and some of the Easy Company veterans would say, when it was snowing, "At least I'm not in Bastogne." The real Wild Bill didn't discuss the war with his family until HBO featured "Band of Brothers." Until the book and movie came out, they had no idea how he lost his right leg. For this reason, I'm having my fictional version of Guarnere keeping his nightmares and trauma to himself. The black and white picture is Gimbel's department store in Philadelphia during the mid to late 1940s.*

***********************************************************************

Bill and Leigh decided to drive to the heart of downtown Philadelphia to see the Christmas lights and do some window shopping. Both of the Guarneres were trying to find the perfect Christmas gift for each other. They strolled the streets hand-in-hand, looking at the decorated window displays of some department stores and smaller shops.

While looking at the display in a department store's window, Leigh noticed a red wiggle dress with a red satin bow in the back. The dress had a square neckline and she was quite taken with it until she saw the small sign beside the garment stating, "Only $45, perfect for decking the halls or ringing in the new year."

She decided to remain quiet about liking the dress because it cost nearly three times the price of the dresses worn by most women in that era. The department store had prices higher than other stores, but their items for sale were considered top quality.

Bill noticed the way Leigh was gazing at the dress.

"Baby, that (he pronounced the word as 'dat') would look stunnin' on you."

"It's very pretty, but the price is extortionistic. I could make a dress similar to it for much less money." She secretly hoped that the manager of the Women's Clothing section would allow her to put it on layaway after the holidays were over and she could wear it next Christmas.

While waiting to cross the street, Bill told her,

"Sweetheart, I done a real stupid thing earlier today. When I was gettin' in the car to go home from work, I kinda tripped an' smashed the hell outta that nice watch ya got me for my birthday before we went overseas."

"Honey, are you OK? I hope you didn't get hurt."

"I tripped on my good leg. I'm fine. I'm really sorry about breakin' the watch."

"A watch can be replaced. As long as you're not hurt, that's the most important thing." They continued their walk down the street. Leigh decided to find a nice replacement for the watch that was broken. She thought that she would look at watches during her lunch hour on the following day.

On the way home, Leigh said,

"I'm looking forward to helping Mama with the Feast of the Seven Fishes this year."

"You done one hell of a good job fixin' the feast in Aldebourne." He had a devilish grin as he added, "I remember not havin' you beside me an' sittin' up so I could see where ya were. I got treated to a beautiful sight o' you bent over tendin' the fire. You looked really sexy in that silk an' lace set I bought for your birthday.

That reminds me, I might find a little somethin' for ya to wear that's sexy. I enjoy seein' you in that fancy stuff anytime."

Snow began to fall and Bill was glad they didn't have a long drive to get home. The weather made him think about Bastogne. He didn't notice the hushed atmosphere outside as the snowflakes swirled in the air. Guarnere was transported to the frozen Bois St. Jacques where endless shelling from the enemy shook the ground and the deafening barrage seemed to go on forever.

Bill was aware of his surroundings as he drove to South Philadelphia, he saw the traffic, the movement of the windshield wipers and the snow. Still, he felt as if he could hear the exploding shells and the occasional screaming from men who were hit by enemy bullets or shells and the shouts of "Medic!"

Counseling for veterans wasn't provided along with the physical therapy for those who needed it and the reintegration into civilian life. Veterans had to deal with what would be known today as PTSD. The term used to describe the psychological trauma some of the veterans had was called shell shock.

Those suffering from this type of trauma were encouraged to "suck it up," "keep a stiff upper lip" and to "get on with their lives." For these reasons, most veterans never discussed what they did in the war with their wives and families. As far as some of these veterans were concerned, the war was over and they had to go on with everyday life.

Leigh noticed that Bill was unusually quiet and she guessed that he was thinking about the war. She knew that the one year anniversary of his life changing injury was coming up and she hoped that she could help him if the memories were too intense.

Guarnere forced himself to stop living in the past. He saw that Leigh looked worried.

"Sweetheart, I'm gonna be OK. There ain't nothin' for you to worry about. I'm just thankful that I'm not in Bastogne."

Bill pulled the car into a parking space behind the rowhouse. He shut off the engine and took the key out of the switch. Then, he got out and opened the car door for Leigh. As she exited the car, Bill ensured that the car doors were locked.

Guarnere took her hand and they walked up the back steps. Leigh unlocked the door and they entered the kitchen. After supper was over, Bill helped her do the dishes and they listened to the radio before going to bed.

After being asleep for about three hours, Leigh noticed that Bill was restless. She immediately noticed that their bedroom was very cold and Leigh knew that Bill couldn't sleep in a cold room.

"The temperature must have dropped quite a bit outside. I'm going downstairs to put more coal in the furnace. Would you like to have an extra blanket on the bed, Honey?" Guarnere was already putting on his wooden leg. As he donned his trousers, he told her,

"I can take care o' the furnace, Baby. You don't have to do that. Leigh, I know you're lookin' out for me an' I know you're doin' this because ya love me. Sweetheart, let me do what I know I can do."

"I'm sorry, Bill. I didn't mean to treat you like an invalid. I got carried away. From now on, if you know you can do something, I won't try to stop you." Guarnere put on the shirt he had worn earlier in the day and some shoes. He walked over to Leigh's side of the bed and kissed her.

"Thanks for understandin', Baby. You didn't hurt my feelins. While I'm in the basement, you could put an extra blanket on the bed if you want, 'cause it takes time for the room to get warm."

Leigh got up and went to their closet. The blankets were folded and stored on a shelf. She selected a soft wool blanket that she bought in London and put it on the bed. Then, she got back into bed and waited for Bill to return from the basement. Guarnere soon entered their bedroom,

"We should be feelin' warm soon, Sweetheart." He took off his shirt, trousers, socks and shoes. Then he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his wooden leg. Once he was in bed, Leigh turned off the lamp on the bedside table. Bill stretched out on the bed, pulling Leigh close to him.

"I can think of a real good way to warm up, Baby." Guarnere kissed Leigh, quickly deepening the kiss as he began to caress her." After the kiss ended, Leigh told him,

"I like the way you think, Honey. Let me put my diaphragm in and then I'm all yours."

Two days after Bill and Leigh noticed the red dress in the department store's window, Guarnere was on his lunch break. He decided to drive to a diner that was in the area of the department stores. While he was stopped at a red light, Bill noticed Leigh looking at the red dress in the window of the store.

Leigh entered the store. Bill found a parking spot close to the diner. As he crossed the street to the diner, he hoped to find a table next to the window. Guarnere wanted to find out if his wife was purchasing the dress.

He got a seat at the last table available that was beside the window. After a waitress took his order, Bill watched the front doors of the store. Soon, Leigh exited the shop. She was disappointed because the store didn't have a layaway policy.

Guarnere noticed that Leigh didn't purchase anything since she had no bags from the store. After he finished his lunch and a cigarette, Bill went into the shop and found a middle aged woman who was a sales clerk. He described Leigh to the woman and she confirmed that a customer fitting her description asked her about the possibility of putting a dress on layaway.

Bill told the sales clerk that the woman in question was his wife and he wondered if she put the red dress in the window on layaway. The clerk said that her customer was disappointed because the department store didn't do layaways.

"Ma'am, would ya happen to know what size dress she wanted? I want to buy that for her Christmas present, but I don't know much about the sizes for women's clothes." He gave the clerk what he hoped was his most appealing smile.

The woman was charmed by Bill's polite demeanor and his smile. She told him the size of the dress that Leigh wanted. Guarnere thanked her for her help and asked,

"Ma'am, is there a way for you to hold the size she wanted in that dress until tomorrow? I can pay for it on my lunch break." She took Bill's name and he gave her Augusta's number so if a call was made about the dress, Leigh wouldn't find out. The clerk told him that the dress would be held until 1 p.m. the following day.

Leigh went from the department store to a jewelry store that was further up the street. She was unaware that Bill had seen her and she was hoping to find a nice watch for him.

The jewelry store had a nice selection of men's watches, but Leigh was unable to find what she wanted. She left the shop and went to a nearby department store. After looking around for a few minutes, Leigh found a watch that was a very popular brand. It was guaranteed to have unbreakable glass on the face.

Since the extended Guarnere family was so large, the adults drew names of family members. Leigh was happy to have Augusta as the recipient of her gift. Bill had selected Teresa as the recipient of his gift.

Leigh was hoping that Bill would honor the decision they made to buy one gift for each other. While they both worked, neither position paid a large amount of money. She had just started working for the radio station in late August and while Leigh technically had her own show, she was paid the same salary as anyone starting out on the radio at the CBS station in Philadelphia.

The following day, Bill visited the department store on his lunch break and purchased the dress for Leigh. The sales clerk who helped him put the dress on hold asked him,

"Sir, would you be interested in some lingerie for your wife? We have a lovely red silk bra, garter belt and tap panty set that arrived this morning." Guarnere was interested in seeing the set. He remembered Leigh's bra and panty size from the time he bought the satin and lace set for her birthday. He bought the red silk set. The lingerie was a little more expensive than Bill realized, but he thought,

"I never had a chance to spoil my baby very much durin' the war. I know we agreed to one gift, but Leigh's done so much for me an' she deserves a little somethin' extra. It won't hurt me to take my lunch to work wit' me instead o' eatin' in town." As Bill paid for the items, the clerk told him,

"Your purchases qualify for free gift wrapping. Would you like to have the gifts wrapped, Sir?" Bill agreed and he went to the gift wrapping department of the store.

He chose shiny red wrapping paper with small gold bells printed on it for the box containing the dress. It was topped with a gold ribbon and a large gold bow. The box containing the lingerie set was wrapped in blue paper printed with tiny silver angels. This package had a silver ribbon and it was topped with a medium sized silver bow.

Guarnere thanked the young woman who wrapped the gifts. She carefully placed small cardboard guards around the bows and placed both packages in a large shopping bag. As she handed the bag to Bill, the gift wrapper told him,

"Your wife is a lucky woman to have a nice, good looking guy like you for her husband."

"Thanks, Miss. I'm really lucky to have a beautiful angel for my wife. Maybe you heard her singing on the radio? She has two shows on the CBS station here in town. Her name is Leigh Guarnere."

"I only get to hear her early morning show before I go to work. She's extremely talented." Bill thanked the young woman for her help and her compliment about Leigh. He then looked for a Christmas card for Leigh.

Guarnere found a selection of Christmas cards nearby and looked for a few minutes until he found the perfect card. It had poinsettias on the front of the card that were accentuated with red glitter.

Written across the top of the card in gold colored cursive writing was, "Merry Christmas to My Sweet Wife." Guarnere paid for the card and borrowed a sales clerk's pen to write on the inside of the card,

"Baby, I love you more and more every day. This Christmas is extra special because it's our first Christmas together as husband and wife. Marrying you is the best thing I ever did. All my love, Bill."

Two weeks before Christmas, Leigh paid the remaining balance on the watch. The department store had free gift wrapping and she selected shiny red wrapping paper with a gold bow.

She also had a package wrapped for Augusta. Teresa told Leigh that she overheard her mother saying to Louise Spencer that she accidentally ruined her bathrobe in the wringer of her washer.

Leigh got the correct size from Teresa and she selected a chenille bathrobe in the same shade as her favorite robe, white with a red rose appliqued on the front. Augusta's gift was wrapped in white paper printed with holly berries and it was topped with a large red bow and red ribbons.

She found a card for Bill that had a picture of a cozy room with wood burning in a fireplace. The printed message on the front said,"Merry Christmas to My Dear Husband." Leigh wrote,

"Bill, this reminded me of the living room in Aldebourne where we spent a very special Christmas. You make our house a home and I will love you for eternity, Leigh."

Next, she purchased a card for Augusta that had a Christmas Tree with glittery ornaments. The message said, "Merry Christmas to My Mother-In-Law." Leigh wrote,

"Mama, you made me feel as if I was part of the family from the first time we met. Your cooking advice is making me a better cook and a better wife for Bill. You're a good friend and you're like a second mother to me."

Leigh called Augusta when she got home from work the following afternoon. She told her about an idea she had for an extra gift for Bill, saying,

"Mama, does Pop have time to take on extra work? Bill doesn't have a nice suit. When we had our portrait done, Bill said that his dress uniform was the best suit he had.

If Pop has the time, I'd like to pay him his usual fee and ask if he would make a suit for Bill." Augusta asked Joseph and he said that he would be happy to make a nice suit for his son.

"Sweetie, just bring over Billy's uniform. He can use that to get the right length for the trousers and a nice jacket. Pop said for you to pick out the material for the suit and the lining of the jacket.

He doesn't want to take your money, but I told him that you insisted on payin' for the suit since it's a present for Billy. Joseph wonders if you can drop off the uniform in a couple of days." Leigh told her that she would drop off the uniform after she finished her afternoon show.

Since the elder Guarneres lived within walking distance of Bill and Leigh, she got Bill's dress uniform from the closet, placing it in a large department store bag and took it to her father-in-law. He calculated how much fabric should be purchased and Joseph told Leigh that he had buttons for the trousers and the suit coat. She only needed to buy thread that matched the color of the material.

Leigh took a bus into the downtown area to visit a department store that sold fabric and items used for sewing. She found a nice cotton/wool blend fabric in dark charcoal gray and the matching thread. Then, she located a dark gray silk lining for the suit.

Once the items were purchased, Leigh took the bus back to South Philadelphia and dropped off the items for the suit at her in-laws' house.

Joseph took Bill's uniform and the material to his shop that was in the basement of their house. He wrote down the measurements for the length of the sleeves, the length of the trousers, the waist of the trousers and the width of the chest area and the width of the shoulders for the suit coat.

Leigh stopped by her in-laws' house later that day to retrieve Bill's dress uniform. She returned it to their closet and Guarnere never noticed that the uniform had been missing for one day.

The week before Christmas, Augusta called the secretary at the CBS radio station in downtown Philadelphia to leave a message for Leigh. She was happy to learn that the suit was completed.

Leigh took the bus home and walked to Joseph's and Augusta's house. Joseph was very pleased when she told him while paying for the suit,

"Pop, this is much better quality clothing than anything in the stores. It's beautifully made." The elder Guarnere put the suit in a box and the box went into an unmarked bag. He hugged his daughter-in-law and told her that he looks forward to having her and Bill at the annual Christmas Eve feast.

Leigh walked home and was surprised to see that Bill was already home. He had returned from hiding her gifts under the bed in the guest room. After he embraced and kissed her, Guarnere asked,

"Did ya do some Christmas shoppin', Baby?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. I need to put this away, and then I'll get supper started." She went to their bedroom and put the box under their bed. Leigh hid the box among the gifts that were already wrapped and stored under the bed.

Julia and Teresa told Leigh that Bill was notorious for snooping around to find his gifts for Christmas. Leigh stashed the wrapped box containing the watch behind a large box of tampons. She knew that Bill wouldn't look in the area around the box.

She was slightly amused by her husband's embarrassment seeing her feminine hygiene products. Although Bill knew about women having periods, he felt no need to discuss the topic with his wife.

Leigh was talking on the phone with Teresa when she told her,

"You know I love Bill, but I had to laugh when I came back from the drugstore last week with a box of Tampax. He walked upstairs with me and we were talking about what to have for supper.

I went into the bathroom and got the box out of the brown paper bag. Bill started to follow me into the bathroom until he saw the box. He slightly blushed and backed away from it." Teresa laughed, replying,

"One of my friends at work has been married for ten years. She sends her husband out to buy feminine napkins from the drugstore. Joann says it used to embarrass him. Now it doesn't bother him one bit. Could you imagine Billy Baby buying that stuff? His face would be as red as a tomato."

"I agree, but I can't do that to him. He's so sweet and kind. I don't want to do anything to embarrass Bill." Teresa told her sister-in-law that she understood.

"I'd like to have a good marriage like you and my baby brother. Ma says that you two were made for each other."

The following evening after work, Bill drove downtown to buy a Christmas Tree and a tree stand. Once he purchased the items, he was walking back to his car. He passed the upscale department store where he'd purchased Leigh's dress.

Guarnere glanced in the display window and noticed a small sign advertising personalized Christmas ornaments. Blown glass angels with various shades of hair colors hung on a small Christmas Tree. "A perfect gift for the angel in your life. Our in-store artist will paint the correct shade of hair and the name of your loved one on the ornament for a small fee."

Bill walked into the store and asked a clerk where he could buy the personalized angel ornament. He was directed to a department in the middle of the first floor.

After waiting patiently in line for fifteen minutes, Guarnere bought the angel ornament for $7. Most ornaments sold for prices ranging from fifty cents to $2. The artist made the angel's hair brown and painted Leigh's name on the back.

A small machine that blew a stream of warm air sat on a table next to the artist. He carefully held the ornament in the warm air until the paint was dry. Then, he carefully packed the fragile ornament into a box.

Bill declined having the box wrapped since he was eager to get home. When he entered the kitchen, after embracing and kissing Leigh, Guarnere got the box containing the ornament out of his overcoat pocket.

"I got a little somethin' for our Christmas Tree, Sweetheart." Leigh opened the box and was surprised to find the personalized ornament.

"Honey, it's beautiful! I didn't know the hair color and a name could be added to an ornament. Thanks, Bill. You're so sweet and thoughtful."

"I wanted my angel to have a special angel for our Christmas Tree." After supper, Bill got the tree into the tree stand. He and Leigh put on the lights and a new set of bubble lights.

Leigh put on the decorations she took to Aldebourne. Bill helped her place the new ornament toward the top of the tree, along with the star for the top of the tree. The angel ornament was included on every Christmas Tree the Guarneres had over the years.

The Spencers and Louise's parents, John and Mary Elliott, reserved hotel rooms and took a train to Philadelphia to celebrate with the Guarnere family.

Both Louise and her mother were in awe of the amount of food prepared for the Feast of the Seven Fishes. Family members crowded the dining room and a smaller table was set up to accommodate the guests. Everyone enjoyed the food and conversations during the feast. After the feast was finished and the dishes were washed and put away, the Guarneres, the Elliotts and the Spencers attended Midnight Mass.

Bill awoke on Christmas morning as dawn was breaking. He was eager to give Leigh her presents. Guarnere quietly got out of bed and put on the clothes he had worn the day before and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

He knew that Leigh had bought the ingredients for Strata. Bill decided to surprise her by preparing the Strata and the coffee. It didn't take him long to get the ingredients into a pan and into the oven.

While their breakfast was baking, Guarnere made fresh coffee. He got out two trays, two plates, silverware, two coffee cups and napkins. Once the Strata was ready, Bill put a portion on Leigh's plate and the plate went onto the tray. He filled the cup with coffee, got the silverware and a napkin.

Then he carried the tray to their bedroom. Guarnere walked to Leigh's side of the bed and kissed her cheek, telling her,

"Merry Christmas, Baby." She awoke and was surprised to see the tray in Bill's hands.

"Merry Christmas, Honey. I slept too long. You didn't have to make breakfast."

"I enjoy cookin' an' I wanna spoil my angel."

"Thanks, Bill. You're so sweet. That Strata looks delicious!"

After breakfast was over and the dishes were washed, Bill went into the guest room to retrieve Leigh's gifts. She went into their bedroom to get the package containing Bill's suit and his Christmas card. Then she got the box containing the watch from the bathroom cabinet.

She carried the gifts and card downstairs, placing them under the Christmas Tree. Leigh saw two gifts under the tree. She grinned, thinking,

"We both decided not to honor the decision to get one gift for each other." Bill was sitting on the couch."

"Go ahead an' open your presents, Baby. I hope ya like 'em." Leigh got her gifts and placed them on the coffee table, along with the card from Bill. She bought his gifts and card, placing them on the coffee table next to her presents.

Leigh got the larger box and remarked,

"This is beautifully wrapped." She removed the paper, saving the ribbon and bow to use again, and opened the box. Leigh was extremely surprised to see the red wiggle dress.

"Honey, this is a wonderful surprise! I wanted to put this on layaway, but the store doesn't do layaway on items. Oh, Bill, this is beautiful and very extravagant." She hugged and kissed him, "Thank you. I never thought that I would have this dress." Bill smiled,

"I'm glad ya like it, Baby. That dress was made for you." Leigh handed Bill the large box.

"I hope I got the right color for you, Honey." He removed the wrapping paper and opened the lid. He wasn't expecting a new suit. Guarnere took out the suit coat and trousers.

"Baby, the color is perfect." He tried on the jacket and held up the trousers, adding," It looks custom made."

"It is custom made by one of the best tailors in Philadelphia for his son. I paid Pop for his work since this is your present. Plus, I didn't want to take advantage of Pop's generous nature."

"Leigh, you're an angel, ain't no way you would take advantage o' anybody. It's sweet o' you to pay Pop for his sewin'. You're real thoughtful, too. I needed a good suit." She returned Bill's embrace,

"When we had our portrait made, you said that your dress uniform was the only good suit you had." She opened the next present,

"Oh, Baby, it's gorgeous! I'm looking forward to modeling it for you." Leigh gave Guarnere a passionate kiss. After the kiss ended, she handed the second gift to Bill.

"You have another present, Honey." He opened the gift and grinned as he saw the watch.

"You know I needed this. It's shock proof, the glass is unbreakable an' it's even waterproof! Ya went all out 'cause this is a really good watch. I'm puttin' it on right now." Guarnere set and wound the watch before he put it on. He embraced and kissed her.

"That's a classy lookin' watch an' suit. Since we wear nice clothes for Christmas, I'm wearin' my new suit to Ma's and Pop's house." He gave Leigh her card and she handed Bill's card to him.

She read the message and hugged him,

"It's beautiful and I love what you wrote, Honey. Marrying you is the best thing I ever did, too. I want to display my card on the table before I get cleaned up. I'm wearing that exquisite dress today and I plan to model that lovely set for you soon."

Guarnere opened his card and read the message written by Leigh. He tenderly kissed her.

"That does remind me of the livin' room in Aldebourne. That was a hot time on that couch. Baby, even then,I was hopin' that you would be my wife someday. You make this house a home for me, too. That was a sweet thing to say."

There was a small gathering at the Guarneres' since Julia and Maria were spending Christmas Day at the homes of their in-laws. Both sets of parents and Leigh's grandparents thought Leigh's new dress was very pretty and that Bill looked very handsome in his new suit. Joseph was proud to hear his daughter-in-law say that one of the best tailors in the city made Bill's suit.

Augusta was surprised to have her favorite robe replaced and she also enjoyed the card Leigh gave her. Bill and Leigh had given their parents and her grandparents 8x10" copies of the portrait they had made shortly after their wedding.

The newlyweds were glad to get a gift of frozen steaks and some other cuts of beef from Leigh's grandpa. Cal and Louise gave Bill and Leigh a $25 gift certificate from Popi's restaurant. The Spencers also gave a gift certificate in the same amount to the elder Guarneres. Teresa liked Bill's gift of a new purse. Leigh helped him pick it out in one of the local department stores.

Before Bill and Leigh returned home for the evening, Augusta gave her a gift from Julia, since she got Leigh's name for the gift exchange.

"Sweetie, Julia said that you might want to open this at home. That's why I didn't bring it out earlier." Leigh was both eager and curious to find out what her sister-in-law bought.

Once they got home, she opened the box from Julia and was surprised to find a red silk robe that matched the lingerie set from Bill. One of Julia's friends worked in the store and she saw Guarnere buying the gift. She let Julia use her employee's discount so she could purchase the robe.

Bill was pleased to see that Leigh had the matching robe to the set. He wasn't aware it was for sale and he guessed that it went on sale after he bought the lingerie for Leigh. The day after Christmas, Leigh called and thanked Julia for her gift, telling her,

"It was a perfect match for a set Bill bought." Then, Julia told her about her friend who worked in the store and saw Bill buying the red satin set.

"My friend told me about a fresh little girl who works in gift wrappin'. She heard the girl tell Billy Baby, 'Your wife is lucky to have a nice, good lookin' guy like you." Leigh smiled when Julia told her Bill's reply to the girl. Before going to bed, Leigh began to plan a special supper for New Year's Eve.

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Heart’s Choice - Chapter 22

*Warning Adult Content*

- Carlos -

I've never been able to pinpoint the exact moment my consciousness slips free of my body and leaves it behind.

I just know when it's happened.

I know it's happened when I open my eyes and find myself outside the circle, watching myself and John.

My body looks still and peaceful as a statue of the seated Buddha, while John watches warily, on the lookout for any sign of a change.

For the moment, we're both safe.

Things are under control and I sense only one other presence.

"Mr. Martinez?"

I turn, my astral body feeling as real as my physical one and see Kyle watching me from the shadows in the corner of the shop.

Right. Not creepy at all."

Kyle?" I move towards him cautiously. "Are you okay?"

His eyes gleam with uncanny light, like an animal's at night.

"I'm scared," he whispers.

Christ. Poor kid.

"Do you remember what happened?"

He shakes his head.

"I went to buy lunch. Then... I was back here. I keep trying to leave. Sometimes I go home. But I always come back here."

Great. He's stuck in a loop.

I suck my bottom lip and try to come up with the right words.

"Kyle, it's okay. Don't worry about lunch. I'm not hungry anymore. Are you?"

"No," he says, his voice small and soft as a child's. "I don't feel anything anymore. What's happening to me, Mr. Martinez? Why am I like this?"

Fuck. This is messed up.

I hold out my hand to him.

"Kyle, come here. I'm gonna show you something, okay?"

With heartbreaking trust, he comes towards me and takes my hand.

"Close your eyes. I'm gonna take us somewhere. Don't open them until I say."

He nods and shuts his creepily gleaming eyes obediently.

I shut mine as well and envision the place I want to take us as strongly as I can.

When the sounds and smells of the location surround me, I open my eyes and blink against the glare of a bright, mid-morning sun, which makes me very glad my astral body isn't as hungover as my physical one.

"Okay, you can look now," I say.

Kyle blinks and rubs a hand, still blackened with ghostly engine grease, against his brow.

"Why are we in a cemetery, Mr. Martinez?"

Confronting someone with the fact of their death isn't the gentlest way to go about getting them to realize that they're dead but I need Kyle to get the point quickly.

It seems like he's fragmented, probably shattered by the extreme trauma of the manner in which he was killed and he doesn't seem aware of our previous encounters.

He probably forgets everything he's done as soon as he resets in the garage, like an NPC restarting a level in a video game.

Like the Ghost of Christmas Past, I point to the plain, budget grave marker at Kyle's feet.

It's not even a headstone... just a small plaque set in the grass and like someone trying to read in a dream, Kyle struggles to make out what it says.

I give him a minute and when he finally figures it out, his spirit flickers and loses a few shades of saturation as he looks up at me with eyes full of tragic defeat.

"Oh, yeah. I'm dead," he says. "I keep forgetting. Sorry, Mr. Martinez."

"It's okay. I just wanna help you. Do you remember what happened?"

Kyle gets a faraway look, as if he's daydreaming about something else... literally another life but after a moment, he shakes his head.

"Sorry, Mr. Martinez. I remember going for lunch. There were no burgers left. I was afraid you'd be mad, so I went... somewhere else. Then it's all... blurry after that."

I bite back a sigh of exasperation.

On the one hand, it's a mercy Kyle doesn't remember what happened to him.

Seeing his insides become outsides, while he was still alive and knowing there was no way he could survive something like that, is a trauma that would break anyone's mind.

On the other hand, it would have been really convenient if he could just tell me who the bad guy was.

"What's the last thing you remember clearly?" I ask.

"Someone called my name," he says. "They called me and I was happy because..."

He trails off as his expression goes blank.

He flickers again, now so drained of color he's practically in black and white.

'Fuck, I'm losing him. If he resets, I'll have to start all over.'

"Kyle, concentrate. Who was it? Who called your name?"

"My name?"

He looks at me and suddenly his eyes are completely clear and lucid and full of fear.

"My parents."

"What? Kyle, your parents are..."

Sheer terror contorts his face and he reaches for me, grasping my left shoulder with a hand like ice.

'Find my parents, Mr. Martinez. And stay away from him."

"Who is 'him' Kyle?"

He's fading fast, almost transparent and his voice is a thin echo of what it was.

"Help me."

With those two, barely audible words, he's gone.

Then my world tips to the side, flipped like a rotating mirror and goes dark.

Dizzy and disoriented, I pick myself up.

Darkness surrounds me and while I stand in my astral body, I get the sense there is no real 'down' or 'up' in this place.

Great. I slipped into a shadow plane, probably dragged along by Kyle.

He's not here, though. And yet, I'm not alone.

Something dark is watching me... something close.

I've only felt a presence like this once before.

Aunt Toni barely dragged me back to the living world on time and I had nightmares for months.

It's the same feeling of swimming in dark water and being suddenly convinced that there's something beneath you, about to grab you and drag you down or feeling you're being watched from the shadows in the woods.

A primal, instinctive fear that can quickly escalate to panic.

I tamp down on it, hard, doing my best to remain calm.

Emotions are energy and in a place like this, energy attracts demons the way movement attracts the Rex in Jurassic Park.

Then again, just like a real t-rex probably had pretty good eye-sight and would have had no problem spotting someone even if he was holding still, so too, whatever's in this place will have no trouble finding me.

As it nears, its presence overwhelms me.

Whatever it is, it's big and bad and I don't know if even the world's greatest exorcist 'whoever that is' would have a chance against something like this.

It's as many times more powerful than I am as I am to an ant.

Still, ants can bite and I ready what defenses I have and prepare to fight.

Something looms above me, big as a building.

I get an impression of an immense form, leathery wings, bone and stinking flesh... fire, ash and rot.

I choke, falling back beneath the stench and then I'm falling again, my world flips like an hourglass and my eyes... my real, flesh and blood eyes... snap open.

I'm on my back, lying on the hard, cold, deliciously real concrete of my garage and the face of an angel looks down on me.

"Jesus fucking Christ Carlos, are you alive?" John asks.

I cough and fill my lungs with air a few times.

"Yeah. Looks that way."

"Fuck."

He hangs his head and I wince and rub my chest, which is weirdly sore.

Also my mouth tastes like mint.

"What happened?" I ask. "Is the circle intact?"

He lifts his head and glares at me, eyes bloodshot with stress.

"Yeah, the circle's fine. You, on the other hand, fell over and had what looked like a seizure. Then you stopped breathing. I gave you CPR. I just about gave up when... you came back."

He rubs a hand over his mouth and stares down at me, as if afraid I'll pass out again or disappear if he takes his eyes off me.

Meanwhile, I'm boneless as a jellyfish with relief.

Wherever I was, whatever I saw, it didn't follow me through.

Neither is there any trace of Kyle.

"Sorry," I say, sitting up gingerly. "I should have warned you that might happen."

"You think?"

I cough and laugh.

"I'm okay, really. It's not impossible for someone to lose the connection to their physical body entirely while traveling but it's super rare."

"So, what you're saying is the chance you could have died is greater than zero."

"Uh... yeah. I guess."

"Fucking hell," he sighs and shakes his head. "Okay, what now?"

"Help me up."

I ask more because I want to feel the solid, physical warmth of a living body than because I really need help but he obliges.

I lean into his strength, breathe his scent and accidentally find myself resting against his chest, my head on his shoulder and my arms around his waist.

"Uh... So are you okay now?" he asks, sounding a bit strained, when I finally come back to reality.

"Sorry," I release him and step back a pace. "I just needed to get grounded again. This will just take a minute."

Quickly, I complete the ritual, sending any lingering spirits back to their home realms and cleansing the circle before I break it, releasing the sacred space.

"So, what did you get?" John asks, as I cross to my work bench, grab a clean rag and use it to wipe the sweat from my face.

I tell him what Kyle told me.

"He wants you to look for his parents? That case is long cold," John says, frowning. "Anything else?"

After a slight hesitation, I tell him about the presence.

He listens non-reactively, neither accepting nor rejecting but simply absorbing what I have to say.

'Again, perfect guy.'

"What's wrong now?" he asks, as I slump a little and sigh.

"Nothing. Did I say anything on this side?"

"Nope. You just sat there until you fell over and had a fit."

I laugh and then cough again, rubbing my sore sternum.

"Thanks for trying to save me, even if it wasn't necessary."

"Are you sure it wasn't?" he asks. "I gave you artificial respiration for almost five minutes. People have been brain dead after not breathing for less time."

'Mouth to mouth for five minutes? Why did I have to be unconscious for that?'

I frown at him.

"My body is used to it. And it might look like I'm not breathing, but I am... just very slowly. In fact, forcing me to breathe faster might do more harm than good. But... thank you for saving my life."

He breaks eye contact and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he checks his cell-phone.

"Shit," he swears, scrolling through his messages.

"What?"

"They ID'd the body we found in the park."

"Who was it?" I ask, craning to see over his shoulder.

"One Daryl Sparks. A private investigator based out of Shasta City."

He taps a link in a message and a website opens on his phone.

A balding white guy with teeth so bleached they put snow to shame grins from the top of a page full of glowing endorsements, including... 'The best detective since Sherlock Holmes'... which, honestly, seems like a bit of a stretch.

"What was he doing in Spring Lakes?" I ask.

Shasta's only about an hour away, which isn't that much in this region of remote little towns but still not a drive one takes without a reason.

"That, dear Watson, is the question," John murmurs.

"Or rather, given where and how he was killed, I'd bet my last dollar he was investigating Kyle's death. So, the real question is... who hired him?"

"Can't you find out? Hack his computer or whatever?"

He looks over his shoulder at me.

"Probably. That's my next move, anyway. You up for a little drive?"

"You... want me to come with you?" I ask, hoping I don't sound as desperately hopeful as I feel.

He turns and meets my eyes with an intensity that roots me to the spot.

"Yeah. If this guy's a ghost now, he might go back to a place he's connected to, right? Besides, after what just happened, I am not letting you out of my sight until this is over and done. Especially not tonight. Understand?"

I nod. Unless we can stop it, tonight is the night of the second Feast.

"Good. Grab whatever you need for your ghost hunt and let's go."