#I feel that I am slowly on my way to becoming the advocate for demon's rights

[im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley]

If demons can't spell... what is written on all the papers in hell?

[letfatewritethewords]

I process things with art. I process with written words in the hopes that one day it can be spoken without my voice shaking. This week has been one for the books.. and I decided to share. This is long, but I want to remember what I’m learning.. how I’m processing.. if you decide to read, thank you. If not, this will still be here as a reminder of my progress every year.

I always tell people that there was no reason for my name, but it’s a lie. I’m named after Samantha on BeWitched. My grandfather loved that show and suggested it when my mother couldn’t decide. I was born in early September and that makes me a Virgo. Astrology is one of my favorite things. There’s something extraordinary about the idea that we’re connected to the universe by the positioning of the stars. Sometimes it’s so vague.. but other times, it’s right on the nose and my horoscopes will make me cry. Speaking of that, I’m an empath and a 2. When I’m unhealthy, I’m a 4 and If you know what any of that means, I’d love to talk to you more about it. Winter is my favorite season. Fall is a close second. I love the snow and how muted everything is. I like the quiet, the beauty. Sometimes, the light from the sun will shimmer off a fresh coat of snow on the ground. It is absolutely blinding, but I’d still stare, and when the snow fell at night, I’d watch it under the street light across from my house and it felt like time stood still. When I was little, I would lay in the yard full of snow, alone, in my puffy suite, until my fingers and toes would go numb from the cold, listening to the silence, but the best part of those days was going back into my grandparents house and warming up with hot coco made on the stove, wrapping myself in a soft blanket and watching old movies with my grandfather. To me, the Winter is magical. My love languages are Quality Time and Acts of Service. I’m an introvert but I love people. I like to observe, I like to really understand how the mind works and Im eager to help. I thrive in controlled chaos. I like puzzles, I love music, I like crafts, I like to fix things because grandpa always taught me that nothing is to broken to fix. Nothing. No one.

This is the light. This is the part of me that I give willingly to anyone I meet. I wear it on my sleeve. It’s only the light. Until the last 2 years.. this was all I could give of myself because I’ve always been scared of the dark.

The darkest part of me lasted 8 years, my rock bottom lasted 4.5, but as a whole it’s taken up almost 12 years of my life. Sometimes I worry that all I'm ever going to be is this thing that happened to me. That this will define me for the rest of my life and I need to remind myself that I’m a person that can live separate from an event.

I went to the police station this week, I filled out more forms. I’ve filled out so many forms over the last 2 years. For an emergency restraining order this time. For Florida this time. I knew it would eventually follow me here but typhus felt too soon. The clerk called me brave. I smile and thank them every time but I never know how to respond to that. She has no idea how weak it feels and I mean.. how could she. This is the right choice, the obvious choice, the smart choice. In a different situation, it’s one of the many steps I’d be urging someone else to take. In all the chaos, all the hurt, in all the anger and sadness.. it always circles back to “I loved him”. I did. I wanted to fix him. I wanted to see him grow and heal and if I loved him hard enough for the both of us, it would’ve evened out eventually… right?

I failed.

He was always who he was, but I was young and naive and ready to fix the whole world. When I was 18 and we were free, I would’ve told you he saved me. Now that I’m in my 30’s… and he’s in prison and I’m in limbo.. I don’t know what I’d tell you. He didn’t save me, but he didn’t destroy me either. I had every opportunity to tap out and give up.. but I grew into a person I might not have been if I never met him.

Am I angry? All of the time.

Am I scared? Yes.

I see things more clearly now though. People talk about how you never know someone’s story, and that’s because we are experts at playing pretend like we have it all figured out until we’re alone and have to face truest selves. The facade is the hardest thing to give up. Some people saw through mine and there are others, who have built their own, that never will. I share posts about what I’ve learned, how I see people, how I’ve try to treat people with grace and teach children with love and patience in hopes that a little of that sinks into whoever it reaches, but I very rarely show the journey. Partly because I know the details are gruesome and that’s not for everyone, but mostly because I’m scared.

How will you see me?

What will you think?

I’m learning that I’m not this big awful thing that happened to me. I was never anyone’s property and I’m not chained to it anymore. I was very much lied to and manipulated and hurt long enough that it flipped onto me and I carried it without missing a step. I wanted to love him so much that I would heal him. Instead, he “loved” me so much it almost killed me, and he did call it love. Enough times that he re-defined it and I didn’t use that word for a very long time in any meaningful situation. He, for better or for worse, drastically changed the trajectory of my life.

But it’s ok.

I’m wounded but I’m healing. I’m lonely, but I’m learning how to slowly welcome more people in and step out of my comfort zone. If I’m being honest, I’m relearning a lot of things, including how to exist in a world where I have room to make mistakes and fail. I can say or do the wrong thing and be gently corrected for it by my people and move on … sans violence. There are no words for amount of relief I feel because of that truth.

Is it over? No.

He was sentenced to 7 years last year and every year around mid July early August there is an opportunity to apply for an appeal based on his behavior, which will always be immaculate because he is not as tough as he thinks he is. This means that if he applies and it goes to trial, I’m also notified and have to reappear, show any new evidence, and reexplain why he needs to stay there for the safety of others and myself. Telling my story once a year on a whim to a room full of strangers, always men, so they can decide my fate, as well as the fate of this “upstanding young man with a good head on his shoulders” (actual words used during my initial rape/domestic abuse trial against him), was never what I imagined finally turning him in would look like. I really never thought that after everything, his sentence wouldn’t even be as long as our relationship. The original sentence was 5 years. After he got out on a Governor Cuomo Covid related prison loophole and broke his parole almost immediately, he was sentenced to another 2 on top of that. He has 6 left. We talk about how flawed our system is, but really seeing it is a different kind of punch. Women aren’t believed. There’s a reason so many of these crimes go unreported, and why so many women die at the hands of angry men. The hoops you have to jump through are miles high and on fire, and when you and the advocate show up armed only with your truth, your tears and a little evidence from one night at a bar when he got to drunk and forgot he was in public, it’s very easy for a judge to rule on the softer side. Because, as you all know, we’d never want to ruin a wealthy mans life unless there’s cold, hard, reason to.

Seeing his face when they read out his sentence, after years of terror, was satisfying to say the least and if I hadn’t been so numb to get through the hearing, I would’ve enjoyed it more. I will never forget going to a trusted friends house after that hearing and being completely overwhelmed with all of the emotions. Relief, guilt, sadness, anger, happiness, fear.. so many I couldn’t express.. all at once because the novocain wears off and numb isn’t forever and I fell asleep with their dog after a lot of crying. I’d be lying though if I said that 18 year old in me didn’t feel a loss. I grew up with incredible grandparents that did amazing things in teaching me how to love people and be a good human, but no one can protect us from everything. I also grew up with a mother who fights demons of her own and never had the capacity to love two kids. In a situation like that, someone becomes the punching bag. I became the punching bag and desperately looked for ways out, an opportunity to run.. and I ran right into him, who accepted me with open arms for the first time in my young, very inexperienced life.. and I followed him blindly and he was my whole world. Until I was 27, I didn’t have a guide. By the grace of God I landed into a community in Florida that slowly helped me realize my worth.

So.. what now.

How do we fix what our parents and past broke?

How do you reparent yourself?

The mental health journey is proving to be my biggest struggle yet. There’s no more outside factors, it’s just me and the lies that have fed me for years and altered how I think and feel and understand the world. I can feel myself frustrating people I’ve let close to me. I feel myself getting nervous and pushing people away. Sometimes I can catch it and regroup, other times that nasty little voice is too loud and I’m exhausted. My goodness though, how cool is it to learn so much about yourself? I know I have the capacity to love that broken part of me eventually, but it’s still hard to face. Getting to learn and understand the reason behind your actions is terrifyingly amazing. I am proud of this journey. Even when I don’t always come up on top. It’s hard to see the progress while you’re in it, but laying it all out like this.. I can safely say I’m never going to be that 18 year old girl ever again. Some days this journey looks different, some days the darkness wins, because healing isn’t linear. Sometimes it’s one step forward, 2 steps back… but nothing is too broken to fix.. and I will never call that darkness home again.

[jimlingss]

The Devil’s Advocate

➜ Words: 11.8k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Smut, Devil!AU

➜ Summary: The devil is a lazy. selfish. bastard. He never shows up for work and forces you to take his place at the gates of Hell. But when he follows you on your vacation — you have an inkling of his intentions. After all, you are his advocate.

➜ Warnings: Implied smut, violence, killing, etc.

There’s a proverb out there that says: talk of the devil and he is sure to appear.   But no matter how much you talk, curse, and wish for him to show up to his damned job — he never does. So because of him, every single day in this burning inferno eternity, you're always running.   "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"   The guards step swiftly away as you sprint past with fire on your heels — they're not unfamiliar with this sort of sight. After all, the same thing happens day in and day out.   Yoongi is seated at his desk, feet propped up on the surface of said desk. He’s casually leaning back on his chair, elbow propped up on the armrest, fingers playing with a few strands of his hair. “You're late.”   “I know.” You’re heaving for air while balancing the pile of file folders and paperwork that goes over your head. You drop it on your desk with a massive thump that teeters the desk’s legs from the sheer force and has the people wincing.   He would make another snarky comment but your deep eye bags and trembling hands are pitiful enough.   “Alright.” The angel stands onto his feet again. “First person, please.”   One of Yoongi's assistance in her white robes looks down at the clipboard and calls the next dead soul that's been in line. “Kim Namjoon.”   Immediately, you shuffle your files to find the right one, struggling in the mess of yet another late night. In the meanwhile, the man steps up with a nervous posture, reverent with his hands folded in front of him and Yoongi reads from his own papers.   “Alright. Looks like you were an academic most of your life. A very quiet existence, huh? Never married or any kids. Let's see here. Oh. You dedicated your life to research of koala birth control. A very good contribution to society. You volunteered at soup kitchens a lot too — even on the day of your death.”   “I like to help people,” the man pipes up in a timid mutter.   Yoongi's cat-like eyes flicker to the top of his paper, having never asked him to speak. And the glare from the angel has the man tight-lipped again. “Your history shows you were very altruistic. Looks like you can head to heaven.”   “Wait!” You stand up once you finally find the right file, stopping the soul before it can take a step closer towards the glowy gates.    At your rebuttal, Yoongi rolls his eyes and plops back down into his swivel chair.   “Here we go again....”   You hold the file up. “Kim Namjoon, you were at Imlings Street on October twenty fifth, twenty nineteen, correct?”   “Y-Yes?” The deceased human swallows hard, not sure where you're going with this. But he’s undoubtedly nervous that you're speaking, after all you’re the woman in bright carmine. Namjoon looks at the angel for help but Yoongi doesn't even blink. “I worked near there.”   “And you were there that night at ten?”   “I-I don't remember.”   “Well, you were celebrating your friend's birthday that night, right?”   “Oh yeah…” His brows furrow as it slowly comes back to him.   “And at some point, you were standing near the corner street near Fifth avenue, correct?”   “Yes...? I suppose.”   “Is it true you could see down the alleyway the restaurant called Dog World?”   Namjoon pales. “Umm....”   The deceased human obviously recalls why this night was significant in particular — and it seems to be a memory that he’s attempted to suppress through his entire lifetime.   “Answer the question, human,” Yoongi sighs, fiddling with a pen in his cup holder.   “Yes.”   “And you witnessed a woman being murdered, correct?”   The man nearly starts sobbing. He whimpers, and manages a slight nod.   “We need you to speak, Mr. Kim.”   “Yes!” he shouts, distressed.    “You did nothing to stop it, right?”   “I...I couldn’t!”   “Well, you didn't call the police?”   “I didn't.”   “You just left while the woman was being murdered.” As you speak, the man starts wailing hysterically, aware of where this is going. He attempts to beg for forgiveness, but neither you nor Yoongi pay any mind. It’s always the last moments that humans are filled with regret — the moments when it matters, not the moments when it didn’t. “Are you aware that the omission to act when you have a moral duty to is a grave sin?”   He hiccups, sobbing.   “It is equally as bad to be a bystander as a perpetrator,” you continue. “You could've saved her.”   Yoongi waves his hand. “Alright, alright. You've convinced us.” The angel spares the man from being berated and grilled, granting him at least a bit of mercy. “You're going to hell.”   “No! No!”    He howls at the top of his lungs, but the two guards grab each side of him and begin dragging him past you. The barbed, black gates open wide to welcome him in, creaking on their hinges, and his scream is heard echoing as he’s thrown down the red-glowing, inferno pit.   You don’t know why they’re always crying — it’s kind of insulting to your home.   Hell’s not that bad.   “Next person!” Yoongi calls.   When humans die, most of their souls rise to purgatory — an empty void of nothingness — where they stand in a single-file line waiting to get to the gates. There, the devil and an angel representative come to judge where the soul shall reside as each come up one by one.    But the devil never shows up to do his job, to serve judgment to human souls.   You’re his substitute.    You’re the devil’s advocate.   “Am I going to see you tomorrow?”   It’s been a long day and you feel your eyeballs burning as you pack up the mess of your files. You’ll have to sort them again, but for now, you stuff whatever you can back into your briefcase.   “No, it's my day off. Jimin'll probably be here instead.” Yoongi sips the glittering golden liquid in his chalice. Angels — always so pretentious. “Let me guess, you’ll still be here.”   “Hopefully not.” There’s a small smile gracing your lips, but it’s futile. Everyone knows you’ll have to show up. The lazy devil never shows up and does his own bidding.   “You’re overworking yourself, Y/N,” Yoongi mumbles in disgust as he watches you try to pile your stack of papers that’s practically teetering from side to side. “Haven’t you thought about going on vacation or something?”   “Vacation?” you exhale, arms straining under the weight.   His eyes light up as he remembers something. “Have you ever heard about that famous cruise? What was it again?” Yoongi looks over at his assistant and her eyes flicker up.   “Sins Cruise Line,” she deadpans.   He snaps his fingers. “Right. I heard it was amazing. Each day is dedicated to a deadly sin or something. Too bad they only have it in hell — makes me want to visit some time. But does the publicity live up to the name?”   “How am I supposed to know?”   Yoongi’s eyes dim. His excitement dies on the spot. “Of course you wouldn’t.” The angel grabs his briefcase. “Well see you some time, Y/N. I’m going to my vacation home over the long weekend.”   “Goodbye, Yoongi.”   He enters the gates of Heaven and disappears from sight. You go on your own way, bringing your tall files back. But his words stick to you. They’re devilishly tempting.   //   You’re writing away on parchment with your quill dipped with black ink, preparing more documents and affidavits. But you stop momentarily to roll your neck and ease your tense muscles. You lean back in your chair, staring around at the red room you’re in, and the tiny desk that you occupy. Across the room is the devil’s desk, large and imposing, with an uncomfortable chair across his velvet one. Though the surface has collected a thick layer of dust on the surface.   “Debra!” you shout her name and the sluggish secretary comes in. She has gray hair, kitten heels clicking on the scarlet carpet, skirt past her knees. The demon woman reminds you of church-goer humans who often shout profanities at you as if they’re attempting to exorcise you while you’re just trying to make a legal case — they frequently run into Yoongi’s arms too, impressing neither you nor him.   “Yes?”   You set your quill down. “Have you ever heard of Sins Cruise Line?”   She exhales in exhaustion. “Can’t say I have…”   “Well...then. Umm, can you find me a pamphlet of theirs?”   She stares and then slowly turns away from the room without acknowledgment.   But the secretary eventually comes back half an hour later and slaps the rectangular papers to your desk. She turns away, returning to her front desk, and while you try to focus on your work until the next break, the temptation of the pamphlet sitting at the corner becomes too strong.   You put down your quill to open it.   At once, your pupils dilate. There’s a picture of the glorious red sea, the colour of crimson and a white pristine ship on it. Your indulgence is ours. How fancy. It looks like there’s a variety of facilities and lots of activities to do. It looks fantastic and your muscles are already relaxing as you look at the pictures.   But you can’t….   You can’t just leave your job….   Can you?

Turns out you can — that it is in fact possible.   It’s so surreal, you can’t believe that you’ve somehow managed to actually get time off, that the infamously lazy devil actually agreed to it and will come back to work so you can take a break.   Now you’re standing on the harbour with your suitcase in hand, staring at the white ship in front of you. Yoongi would be proud.   “Cocktail?”   The worker hands one to you on his platter, and you hesitate. “Can I really?”   “Of course.” He grins. “Your indulgence is our pleasure.”   You hold the cool glass while stepping onto the incline to get on the ship’s deck. The chilling wind entwines into your hair and you sip the liquid, your feet afloat already. “Welcome aboard to Sins Cruise Line! Your indulgence is our pleasure!”   The workers wave, giving a warm welcome with perfect smiles. You might be in Heaven.   “We can show you the way to your room. What is your name?”   “Y/N L/N.” One of the demon women takes a look at your ticket and smiles. “Right this way.”   After a millennium of working, this is what you deserve.   You’re given a short, brief tour of the massive cruise ship. “—week-long, each day to indulge in a deadly sin—” And not long after are you brought to your modest-sized ocean view room. “—canal surrounds hell. It’s quite lovely during the night when the water glows red. Have you ever seen it before?”   “No, I can’t say that I have,” your voice trails off and you look at towels shaped into animals on your bed as well as the edible arrangement on your coffee table. “Wow….”   “I’m glad you like it. It’s all complimentary,” the girl giggles. “I should also tell you that today is dedicated to greed. We’ll be having a gambling night down at the casino floor starting in the evening. Other than that, feel free to ask anything whatsoever. We’ll always be around.”   “Thank you.”   And you’re sincere about your gratitude. You’ve never experienced something like this before.   You flop down onto the soft bed before getting up after a moment. There’s too much to explore, too much to see than to stay in a small space between four walls. You’ve done that enough and you find yourself quickly slipping away from your room.   As you pace the area, you muse that you could potentially spend the rest of your existence on this ship, indulging like you should be, giving into temptation, living in a daze, high on bliss—   “Where’s my refill?! I’ve been waiting for five minutes!”   Your smile falls. Goosebumps raise all over your body. The barking voice is so familiar that it sends chills down your spine. It’s an automatic response, like a dog made on alert, and your head swivels over.   Instantaneously, your eyes connect to darker ones. They’re pools of deep brown nearing black. And the corner of their plump lip tugs into a sly smirk.   What the hell was the devil doing here?   “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” He abandons his drink on the tray of the server that just rushed over and ignores him in favour of you. The devil makes long strides across the deck towards you and when you stumble back, his smile widens into a friendlier one. Had you blinked, you would’ve missed the sparkle of dangerous mischief in his eyes. “What a coincidence.”   “A coincidence?!”   You’re unintentionally cowering lower than him, posture bending to his imposing aura. He looms over you with his tall height, covering you with his shadows that seems to snicker.   “Course it would be. What? You think I followed you here?”   That’s exactly it — you put in a note requesting time off, and when he asked where you were going via letter, you wrote it down. There’s no way that this was a mere coincidence.   But you don’t dare say it out loud.   “Who’s….who’s working?”   He grins. Of course the first question you would ask him is about work.   “I put Taehyung in charge.”   “He’s not trained!” you hiss in distress, just considering the wrong things he’ll do, the trouble he’ll cause and mess he’ll make for you to clean up.   But the devil man shrugs. “He’ll be fine. So what are you doing now? This is one hell of a ship, huh?”   You’re in hell.    You’re stuck in the middle of a canal, on a cruise ship, with no escape from Kim Seokjin.   //   What was supposed to be an easy vacation has turned into a nightmare.    Every corner you turn, you peek from it. You slink behind pillars to scan the premise. You crawl in the shadows to—   “Are you lost?”   You jump from your spot, turning to find a short worker, an attendant wearing the cruise uniform while adorning a warm smile.    “You scared the living daylights out of me!” you harshly whisper, holding your hand over your unbeating heart.   “My apologies, ma’am. I was just asking if you’re lost. Or are you looking for the way to the casino for our gambling night?”   That’s right. You’ve lost sight as to why you came here.   It’s supposed to be a break, a break from your job, from your stress, from your intimidating boss that never appears at work anyways. You shouldn’t have lost focus on it. You paid a lot of gold coins to be here.   “Where is it again?”   “Oh, turn to your left, walk down the hall and just take the elevator to the third floor. You’ll be right there! Hard to miss.”   “Thanks…”   You shouldn’t waste such a good trip.   Once you arrive at the floor, the intoxicating air overwhelms your senses. It’s hard to think, and the many lights blind your vision, a mosaic of colours that makes the surroundings a whirlwind. There’s the crisp sound of cards divided up, tables and roulette boards spinning, machines being pulled and coins falling out the slots.   Someone hands you a drink and you grasp onto it to stay grounded. But sipping the liquid only intensifies the experience.   You stand back to watch the demons play, gambling the lives of humans souls indebted to them.   “I was looking for you.” A voice pipes up beside you, and you’re genuinely scared this time.   The entity manifested beside you, looking straight ahead. You wonder why you even tried to run today. There’s no point. He’s the devil.   “Why?”   “Just cause.” Seokjin grins, turning his head to stare at you. He’s dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbow, black trousers tight around his thighs — he’s missing the traditional, black cape that calls attention whenever he steps into the room. “You’re my favourite little worker. So it’s nice to see you in a different setting.”   You aren’t particularly amused. “Where have you been?”   Seokjin shrugs. “Around.”   You thought because he’d be busy with other affairs which would be understandable considering his status in this realm. But to hear such a nonchalant answer brings forth more questions to your mind. “Why haven’t you been to work?”   “I don’t like work much, but you already knew that.” His eyes twinkle with playfulness and plump lips pull into yet another sly smirk. Jin’s voice moves down a pitch into a rumbling timbre. “Plus, how could I ever replace you? You’re the best at my job.”   You don’t know what to say to that, so you take a sip of your drink. There’s too many questions still left unanswered, but you don’t bother asking.   This is all a game to him anyways. He followed you here to pester you on your break, to ruin your chances of rest.   Seokjin is truly the devil.   “Let’s play a game, Y/N,” he sing-songs. “Should we bet?”   “Bet what?” you ask, hesitating. It was never good to make deals with the devil.   He leans in closer, overwhelming you with his aroma and blocking out the intoxicating air manufactured to create a greedy atmosphere. “If I win, I get to kiss you.”   Seokjin laughs at your disgusted expression. He’s a sadist through and through. The damned devil loves seeing pain on your face.   “And if you win, I’ll come back to work. How about that?”   You don’t get a chance to answer before you’re brought over to the poker table. The two of you play a long game, lifting your cards for only your eyes, pupils flickering up to meet his and trying to read his expression. But you should’ve known. He’s too good at bluffing. He’s the devil after all.   And he always wins.   “A deal’s a deal and you made a deal with the devil.”   Seokjin wolfishly smiles when the pair of you join together again and he taps his pink, plush lips with a single finger. Everything about him is made to tempt others — from his clear skin to his eyes shining with endless greed. There’s a gravitational pull that comes from his perfect exterior. He’s a marble sculpture made from the gods’ temptations.   But you don’t feel seduced as you do feel burdened.   “I never agreed to it, did I?”   The devil’s brow quirks and he bursts out laughing. “Now that’s not fair.”   “No, but it is true.”   You walk away before he can put his mouth on you and above the coins clicking, the machines being pulled, you hear the smirk in his voice. “What a sore loser.”   Seokjin is good at reminding you that you’re in hell.   //   The next morning, there’s a loud knock at your door.   “Room service! Good morning, Miss Y/N.” The worker wheels the whole cart in, and your eyes are wide with what he presents you. There’s more edible arrangements, platter of fruits and vegetables and a whole stack of pancakes. “I hope I didn’t awake you from any sleep.”   “Oh no, it’s fine.”   The girl beside him clasps her hands together and presents you with a paper package, including advertisements, directory maps, and all the things you need for the day. “Today is wrath day. There will be an anger room where you can beat and smash things until you’re content. Also at noon, there will be human souls up on the top deck that you can freely torture. We collected the scum of the pit and don’t worry, they’ll be disposed there as well.”   “There’s also a complimentary hate letter you can write to the person you most despise,” the demon boy exclaims with a happy grin.   “We won’t send them,” the girl clarifies. “Don’t worry. We burn them in a pit of fire, but hopefully it can ease some of your anger.”   You thank them for their services and they bow their heads, taking their leave. For the first little while, you chew on some breakfast and go through the package. None of the activities seem particularly appealing to you, but you keep an open mind, deciding to head up to the main deck afterwards.   And of course, Seokjin is taking full advantage of the activities.   There’s a blood-curdling scream.   “Arrow, please.” His palm is out and the worker places another arrow in the devil’s hands. Seokjin positions and fires again, piercing the human in the shoulder, pinning him against the wooden wall. There’s another scream that makes you wince from the sheer volume.    It’s like he’s playing darts.   There are screeches everywhere, pain felt but the humans unable to die.   Seokjin catches sight of you as you’re looking around.   “Y/N!” He waves over with an enormous grin. “Come join me.”   “Thank you, but I’d rather not,” you politely decline.   He shakes his head in feigned disapproval, yet continues to draw his bow when another arrow is handed to him. “You’re too uptight. You’re always dealing with souls, don’t you want to play with one?”   “I work with so many souls, I’d rather not have to deal with them on my down time.”   “You always have rebuttals, don’t you?” Seokjin muses, mostly to himself, and then smiles. “But fair enough.”   You step by his side, watching him fire yet another arrow to the human that’s already died.   You must admit, the screams are kind of delightful.    You turn to watch a demon rip apart someone’s limbs and dangle it in front of them, another throwing someone off the ship into the red canal. And you overlook one of the humans in their pen glaring right at you.    He recognizes you.    You’re the one who dragged him here, who judged his soul and deemed him evil enough for hell. He screams and jumps from his pen, escaping the railings with the vigour of a vengeance boiling for an eternity. He swipes a knife from the table of weapons.   There are gasps of workers. Demons that turn. Seokjin’s eyes harden. His arm drops, bow by his side. You look down. The blade of the knife is poking through your abdomen, the tip of it exposed on the other side and shining from the little light of the overcasted red sky.    “You brought me here! Demon! Witch! You—”   “You know I can’t die, right?” you interrupt with half a glare, more annoyed than anything.   You pull the blade out of you and the metal clangs on the wooden deck. The workers rush over and five of them apprehend the screaming human to chuck him overboard. There’s a loud splash in the canal and others rush to your side, fussing about and apologizing.   “Were you not watching them?!” Seokjin shouts with the true wrath of the devil.   “We are so sorry, we sincerely apologize for any inconvenience.”   “I’ve never seen such an unprofessional group in my entire existence!” he barks back at them.   You watch him and sigh.   Seokjin is baffled beyond belief, berating the workers for not being careful enough, for not securing the pen. He yells at them to clean up the mess, making an absolute ruckus. When his anger simmers down, he turns around, about to ask if you’re alright.   But unfortunately you’re gone. You’ve escaped, vanished out of thin air.   //   Angry?   You used to be angry a lot but then the futile emotion became crushed by the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. After a millennium, you’re too stressed and tired to be angry. Being angry took too much energy.   You retire to your room early, just before dinner, and while you’re wondering if you should rest, your eyes catch the open letter on the vanity. You contemplate for a while before you finally decide to sit down. You grab the quill and dip the tip into the pot of ink. Never has it been easier to write a letter. A letter of hatred towards the devil, Kim Seokjin.   It’s been known that the lazy devil makes your life harder than need be. He draws attention in ways you don’t want it to be drawn. He’s never there when you need him and there when you don’t.   He’s a lazy bastard who never gets work done. Who always pours endless tasks on your shoulders for you to bear. Who never shows up to work. Who never appreciates anything you have to do. He’s sick and sadistic, ego bigger than his own head.   Seokjin is a pathetic leader.   It feels good to write it out, to put your thoughts onto paper. The ink stains the parchment quickly, curves and loops of your letters smooth. You breathe a sigh of relief as you finish and lick the envelope closed, wrapping it up.   He’ll never see it, but it was pleasant to put your anger on tangible material. It’s liberating. And for a brief period, you feel less stressed.   You toss the hate letter aside for pickup.

The worker hums to himself, sack in hand that’s heavy and filled with letters ready to be tossed and burned. He’s had a long day of working and this was his last job before he can rest. But once he exits your room, he’s suddenly stopped in the hallway.   “Mr. Kim.” He recognizes him like everyone else. Once they heard the devil was arriving, they made sure to iron their dark blue uniforms and ensure things were in tip-top shape.   The devil beckons him over once with his hand. “I’d like to see Miss Y/N’s letter.”   “I...I’m sorry, I can’t do that. That’s against policy. We assured all guests that they are entitled to their own privacy and, uh, that would be going against the rules.”   “Rules?” His gaze darkens, becoming cold. Seokjin reminds him, “I’m the devil.”

When you open the door to your room, shivers crawl up your skin, traveling down your spine. You flicker on the light to discover someone seated in the armchair in the corner of the room. Their broad backside faces you.   “I wish you would know how much you stress me out.” He pauses and exhales thoughtfully. “When you’re around me, you stress me out. When you’re not around, you stress me out. I think you truly make hell hell, so congratulations for at least doing one job correctly.”   Mortified is an understatement.   You’re frozen in your spot. The door closes behind you from the momentum. You’re trapped in a room with him, and the devil turns his head to greet you with a smile. Your letter is open in his hand. “I’m surprised, Y/N. I knew you didn’t like me, but I didn’t know you hated me so much.”   He puts it down, slowly rises to his feet and closes the distance between your physical bodies within three strides. “But if you felt so strongly about me, you should’ve said something.”   Seokjin corners you in your small room until your back is pressed against the surface of the door.    “If I felt strongly or not, why should I tell you?” you ask, voice unintentionally shaking.   Even in such a moment, you’re still playing devil’s advocate. It makes him smirk. “Because I’d like to know.”   He’s close to you, aura heavy and imposing. Seokjin doesn’t touch you but you can feel him.   And strangely enough, he doesn’t punish you in the way you think he would for thinking such ill thoughts of him.   “You still owe me that kiss. You can kiss me hard if you want — to try to relent your anger and what was it again? Oh yeah, tell me what a pathetic leader I am.”   Your eyes meet his — yours stern, but his softened. Despite Seokjin’s greased words, he steps back and you move out of the way. He reaches for the door knob.   “You weren’t supposed to read it,” you mutter before he can leave. “Are you…”   “Angry?” There’s a ghost of a tender smile on his features. He doesn’t look at you. He simply sighs. “No, I’m not.”   The male opens the door, but lingers. He decides to grace you with the profile of his beautiful visage. “Earlier. When you stabbed. Are you okay?”   “I, uh, I’m fine.”   “Good.”   //   The following day is dedicated to gluttony. All over the cruise ship are demons feasting, eating, drinking, consumption galore. The banquet hall is vast with a table stretching across the space — every inch of the surface covered in luxurious dishes. The floor is also soaked with wine, the liquid that haphazardly splashed over the rim of demons’ glasses.   It’s hard to resist eating and drinking copious amounts when the gravity quite literally pulls you in. And Seokjin finds you there, leaning on the wall, hand glued to your glass, intoxicated enough not to jump when you see him.   “I never took you for a drinker.” He wears an amused smile as he takes your sloppy form in.   “On the contrary.” You wave a finger in the air. “Why didn't you take me as a drinker?”   “That doesn't make any sense.”   You eye him with a slight pout. “Why aren't you drinking?”   Seokjin shrugs and looks around. “These childish spells don't affect me.”   “Psh. Don't act like you're better 'cause you're the devil.”   “But I am better because I'm the devil.” He smirks. “Stronger. Resistant. Handsomer.”   “Handsomer's not a word. ‘t's more handsome.”   “You're fun at parties.”   “Hey, it's my job.” You sigh, trying to reason with him. “My job that you gave me. I just gotta play the devil's advocate.”   Seokjin smiles, a puff of air leaving his nose. He leans on the wall beside you, looking out and you take the chance to blatantly stare at him, openly ogling. You muse that he almost looks...normal like this. Well, as normal as demons can get. He’s not so imposing.   “Are you sad?”   “What?”   “I wanted to ask if you were sad, not mad. Over my letter.”   “Pft. Sad? I don't get sad. I'm the devil,” he declares as if you need to be reminded.   “Doesn’t mean you can’t be sad,” you huff, “Then you're not hurt?”   “Not really.” The devil lolls his head to the side, peeking at you when you keep staring at him. “I'm already hated by many in every realm. I thrive off the hatred.”   His eyes glimmer with mischief and he leans down to connect his eyes with you at the same level. His breath is on your skin, so close that you can see his lashes one by one. But you don’t move away or lean back as you usually would. Your interest is piqued.   The corners of Seokjin’s plump lips pull.   In the chaos of the masses eating and devouring food like monsters, there’s a private, intimate moment tucked away in the corner of the banquet hall where it’s just you and him. “It's not like I don't deserve it anyways. I'm not a 'good' entity. Since when did the devil help anyone?”   “Since when did the devil need to help anyone?” you ask on impulse. It’s become your pure instincts to doubt everything told to you. “Since when did anyone need help?”   “You're right.” Seokjin grins wolfishly. “But the alternative of hatred is love anyways, and that's sickening.”   There’s a second of silence.   And then you burst out laughing.   Seokjin whips his head over, watching the sound leaving your lips.    “I should bring you love then, just to make you suffer then,” your words slur as you poke his shoulder. “But knowing you, you'd probably enjoy suffering too because you're that sick and twisted.”   The corners of his mouth tugs into yet another smile as a light scoff leaves his throat. The devil can’t love, but what he feels towards you is what he thinks is pretty damn close to it.   //   The day that follows if focused on envy.   The workers greet you with another package of activities to do and a promise that they can get you one thing you’ve always wanted, if it’s within their abilities. But you don’t know what to tell them.   You end up loitering around for most of the day, checking facilities and eating, walking around until night falls where you head down to the luxurious bar, drawn in by the blue lights and entrancing music.    Halfway through nursing a drink at the counter, someone slides up on the stool next to you. It’s not the person you were anticipating unfortunately. Wait.   Unfortunately?   You wonder why you automatically thought it was unfortunate. You momentarily ponder why you were filled with a brief emotion of disappointment when it wasn’t the person you expected.   “Hi, I was just sitting across the bar, but I couldn’t help coming over and telling you that you look stunning in that dress.”   It’s a demon with doe eyes and a boyish smile. He makes you look down at yourself to inspect the rather simple number — compared to the layered robes you often have to show up in for the judgment process, this was just a floor length dress, black and sleek with one sleeve and the other side off the shoulder.   “Thanks.”   “I’m Jeon Jungkook.”   He puts out his hand and you shake it after a short pause. “L/N Y/N.”   “Sounds familiar,” he hums, red eyes piercing through yours. The demon plasters on a grin. “Do I know you from somewhere?”   “Probably not.”   “You’re right. I would’ve remembered someone so beautiful.” The grease reminds you of that someone you thought would have appeared by now, but the stranger isn’t as smooth when he says the one-liners. It doesn’t sound as pleasant to the ears. “Can I buy you a drink, Y/N?”   “Um…”   “Sorry, I’m already buying her one.”   Another voice pipes up — the person you were unknowingly waiting for finally manifested himself.    Kim Seokjin appears with his hair pushed back, forehead on full display, dressed in another one of his dress shirts with sleeves rolled up and casual trousers deliciously tight around the thighs. His pink, plump lips quirk into a smile as he looks at you. Meanwhile, Jungkook visibly pales.   “Oh. Sorry, I, I didn’t know she was, uh, um…” The stranger recognizes you now. With you beside the devil, he recalls where he’s seen you before.   You’re the devil’s advocate. “Yeah, why don’t you get lost?” Seokjin moves his head to the side and Jungkook slides off the stool so quickly, he almost loses footing and falls flat on his face. Luckily, he catches himself and you watch him sprint away practically with his tail caught between his legs.   What a shame. “He was nice.”   “I bet he was,” he mutters, glaring at the fleeting demon’s backside with a force that could light the entire place aflame.   “Kind of cute too.” You turn your head to look back at Seokjin. You’re not sure why it’s so fun to aggravate him at the moment. Maybe you realized it’s a way to get under his skin. “You didn’t have to scare him off.”   “Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten scared so easily,” he refutes and it’s a rather good point. Jin orders a drink, getting served immediately. He sips on it and peeks at you through the rim of his glass. “Were you going to reject him or were you planning on getting his room key?”   “Does it matter?” Your elbow is to the counter, chin casually rested in your palm. You’re discreetly challenging him and it’s a dangerous game, but one you feel like playing tonight. “Shouldn’t I be enjoying myself to the fullest extent, Seokjin?”   His brow quirks at how you call him by his name directly. “I don’t like people associated with me playing with sub-par trash. It makes me look bad.”   “Or it makes you look inclusive.”   The devil scoffs. “You always have a way to argue, don’t you?”   “It’s my job.”   He hums a low note and redirects his gaze at you. “Want to go outside for a breather?”   “I don’t think hell’s air is very fresh, but sure.”   The two of you try to exit the noisy bar. You struggle to weave through the crowd of sweaty demons dancing and grinding on one another. But then Seokjin grasps your shoulder tenderly and shifts you to walk behind him. You realize that the mass of demons splits when he walks through. Even in their inebriated state, they know to cower down and move out the way.   Once it’s clear, you open the west-side door and enter a quiet area absent from any other entity. It’s easier to breathe out here, silent, and you lean against the ship’s railing to watch how the canal’s water glows a deep crimson hue. The ship moves through it, and you listen to the noise of the water sloshing against the side of the ship.   When your head tilts up, you stare at the mahogany sky nearing black.   “I heard the human realm was really beautiful. Apparently they have something called stars and it appears at night. They’re tiny but they twinkle. Have you heard of them?”   He doesn’t respond, but he lifts his hand and waves his palm up. Suddenly, the sky is blanketed in complete black. The shade bleeds throughout, sweeping across the horizon, and you furrow your brows unable to understand what he’s doing. But as you stare, tiny sparkles become apparent.   “They’re only an illusion, but it’s the best I can do,” he breathes out.   Your eyes are wide and you glance at him. “I….I love it….”   “Good.”   Seokjin grins when a smile expands across your face. The stars gleam like jewels spilled across the canvas — what you’ve heard and read about for so long finally in front of you. They sparkle from the distance, glittering, and the longer you stare, more appear. The entire horizon soon becomes filled with them, and you’re breathless.   It’s a shame only you and Seokjin can view them.   “Are you seeing this?” You hold your hand out, trying to gesture. The more you stare, the more it sinks in just how spectacular this feat is. You’ve only ever seen the sky black, red, and maybe a shade of azure when you reach the in-between of the gates of Heaven and Hell. You’re seeing stars for the first time and it’s more amazing than you thought was possible. “Holy hell!”   “Not sure how hell could be holy,” Seokjin laughs and stares at you with a smile. “Do you really like it this much? You’re so simple. I could’ve done this ages ago.”   “I didn’t know…..”   “You could’ve asked.”   “Yeah, but you never answer me anyways when I call,” you murmur without thinking twice, unaware of how his gaze on you softens. Your hands against the railing tighten and you exhale. But eventually, you focus again when it occurs to you such a long stretch of silence has passed in comfortable silence. “What did you request today? Did they fulfill any of your wishes?”   Seokjin leans against the railing and tilts his head to stare at you. “I asked for something they can’t give me.” You meet his intense eyes, wondering what he means. The corner of his plump lips pulls and he blinks, easing. “What did you ask for?”   “It’s also something they can’t give to me.”   “What is it?”   “Your job.”   The devil chuckles, head lolling up to look at you. “Why would you want that? Don’t you hate working for me?”   “Exactly. I hate working for you. I’d rather take over. I would restructure the entire system, I’d delegate more duties, lessen my own workload, I’d be able to prepare better instead of working so last minute.”   “Sounds like you have a whole plan.”   “I may or may not have spent a lot of time thinking about it,” you hum in slight pride.   Seokjin grins and shakes his head. “Too bad the position at the gates is a traditional, symbolic role. The only way you’d be able to acquire it officially through proper tradition is becoming the devil’s lady.”   You know it too. Thought about it after a millennium and damned the rules that restricted your abilities so many times. The only way to claim his position completely was to wed to him and be named the devil’s lady. But it’s an absurd idea, one you never even thought twice about. Although, for some reason, the way the devil says it isn’t like he’s stating a plain, boring fact.   It’s almost as if he’s….considering it.   Seokjin leans in close. His eyes are not unlike the stars, twinkling with mischief. “Don’t tempt me.”   //   The next day that comes is your absolute favourite.   It’s what you’ve been prepared for.   When the workers knock on your door with the usual room service and daily package, you’re ecstatically tearing papers apart and reading all the descriptions, ready to take full advantage of all the activities included. After all, it’s a day of sloth — a day of guaranteed relaxation.   You start off by laying in bed the entire morning, lazing around until you head to the spa. There you get a head to toe scrub, hair and nails done, and you nap in the steam room. The masseuse is also surprised at the number of knots in your muscles and three demons end up working on you, slapping and massaging your tense muscles.   Once you’re finished, you feel like you’re floating on air. For the first time in a thousand years, you’re stress-free. Nothing could ruin your mood. Not even Kim Seokjin.   You head up to the deck for another nap, claiming a lounge chair in the corner, and being as quiet as possible to not disturb other demons sleeping away. But before you can drift off, the warm light on your skin ceases. You feel a shadow overtop of you. And you slide your sunglasses down the slope of your nose.   The devil looms over your body with a smirk.    “Looks like someone’s been enjoying themselves.”   You sit up and instantly pull him down to sit beside you. Jin’s brows are lifted in surprise from the affectionate invitation. You grin at him. “Have you been down to the spa yet?”   “No.”   “Hell, you need to go down there right now then. It’s. Amazing. Jin.” From your sheer excitement, he grins and you giggle. Giggle. Now that’s a sound he hasn’t heard from you before. Seokjin can’t help but wonder what other sounds you can make. “You need to go to try it and get the Swedish massage. Can’t say the Shiatsu massage is as good. But try out the deep tissue one. That was good too.”   “How many massages did you have today?”   “I tried all of them,” you sing-song and sit back in your lounge chair, humming to yourself. You inspect your clean nails, the french tips done, holding your hand out in front of you.   Seokjin smiles as he looks at you. You’re so much happier and relaxed. You in your little swimsuit and your translucent, silky cover up.   “What else did you do?”   “Got my hair washed. Got my nails done. Got two kinds of facials. You should just check it out for yourself, seriously, it would be a waste if you didn’t.” Suddenly, your eyes light up over the rim of your dark sunglasses. “Should we go together?”   His plump lip pulls. “You want to go to the spa...with me?”   He’s the entity you hate the most. To be given such an invitation from you is no less shocking. But you don’t seem to care. You even laugh and swat at his arm playfully. “We can go together after I take my nap. It’s all day and I really want to get the hot stone massage again.”   “Okay.” He laughs. The devil’s not a very spa-kind of man, but he’ll go with you.   “We can head down in an hour.” You lay back again, eyes fluttering for a shut-eye, but you keep them open to look at him for a second longer. “Do you want to sleep with me?”   “Careful how you ask that question.” He smirks slyly, making you scoff.   “You know what I mean.”   Seokjin hums a low note, considering something else. “Do you want to watch a show tonight? They’re putting on something in the theater.”   “Really? Sure!” You joyfully agree, so easily at it too, cheeks inflated with your smile. He snorts at how fast you answered. It’s such a difference from your tense self. Not to mention, you’re unbothered with him sitting there at the end of your lounge chair as you drift off and he observes how you’re snoring a minute later.   You don’t realize that an idle mind is the devil’s workshop, and he’s ready to have some fun with you.   //   There’s a permanent skip in your step.    You’ve learnt to navigate the entire area of the spa and you don’t notice how everyone is intimidated with Seokjin here. Even when he’s comedically dressed in a white robe, white towels wrapped up on his head, and feet decked out with white slippers — white from top to bottom as if he’s wearing the skin of an angel. Each demon moves out of the way when they realize the devil is here. But he pays no mind to them, following after you. You, who looks like a true angel with how you smile and how radiant you shine in pure white…..   Although the exterior is a bit ruined when you bark at the masseuses to dig into your muscles harder.   You’re even more giddy after you take your third nap in the steam room and he enjoys dinner with you. It’s hard not to when you’re such great company, and you don’t seem to bat a lash when you glue yourself by his side, joining him to watch the evening show.    It’s a game show of some sort, couples on honeymoons together and answering trivia questions about one another. Seokjin sits beside you, a bit bored as he rests his chin in his hand, elbow on the arm rest. His mind wanders before he finds himself glancing over at you.   You seem to be enjoying yourself and that’s enough for him to sit through it.   He wonders what it takes to make you happy like this all the time.   But eventually his train of thought is interrupted when he catches your eye, when he notices you peeking at him at the corner of your vision, trying to glance at him. His lip tugs into another smirk.   Seokjin leans in close. “Y/N.”   He whispers your name into your ear, hot breath skimming on your skin, and he watches the way goosebumps raise over the back of your arms. He pauses for added suspense.   And then he exhales. “You can kiss me if you want. I wouldn’t stop you.”   An immediate frown forms, your lips lopsided, your entire body stiff again. That’s all that’s needed to make you tense again — it’s so easy that it’s amusing. He laughs quietly at your glare.   One of these days, he knows you’ll give into his outlandish idea. Seokjin just can’t help planting the seed there.   //   Right after your favourite day is your least favourite. Lust.    You’re shaken awake in the morning by a sudden bang. It comes from the room next over despite the walls supposedly being soundproof. You would think someone was being tortured or punching the wall over and over again, but what follows the noises that are loud enough to leak through are moans and whines of ‘harder’.   You are sorely not impressed.   “There’s an orgy party tonight,” Seokjin tells you, crowding beside you at the breakfast buffet. It’s hard to ignore the smacking sound of kissing occurring behind the food bar and it makes the food unappetizing.   “I heard.”   “Are you coming?”   “I don’t know.”   “You should.”   “Why?” you question his insistence.   “I would explain to you what I’ve heard about it, but it would be a...mouthful.” Seokjin fully intends the pun, irises sparkling with mischief.    You feign a glare at him, and he follows you to a table, sitting across from you. The devil digs into his sweet stack of waffles, and tears his teeth into a medium rare steak.   “You’re gross.”   “It’s not gross if you feel the same way.”   “Who said I do?”   “Who says you don’t?” he challenges, bringing your lips into a smirk.   The two of you banter back and forth, and you don’t realize that you’re having breakfast with him willingly. That you’re tucked into the corner of the restaurant serving leftovers from the feast from the day of gluttony. You’ve both fallen into a natural course, fallen in line with one another unconsciously. It’s too easy to be in each other’s presence.   But eventually you part ways, and it’s difficult to weave your way out of the bodies pressed together. Guests are practically dry humping one another and the workers are actively encouraging the lust. You guess this is what they mean by indulging in the sins.   You retire to your room early to escape the scandalous sights.   But your sanctuary is interrupted with a knock on the door.   “Good afternoon, Miss Y/N.” The worker greets you, holding onto a clipboard like a door to door salesman.   “Is there something I can help you with?”   “We were just wondering if you were going to attend tonight’s event. We’d like to know about how many people are coming so we can accommodate them properly.”   “Oh.”   "If you are to attend, we have complementary masks to wear." The worker smiles, cheeks rosy.   A masquerade orgy isn't appealing to you. But your thoughts stray to a certain someone who asked you if you were coming this very morning. Someone with dark hair and dark eyes staring into yours. Someone whose plump lips always pulls into that sly smirk and makes you feel a certain kind of way.   "Sure."   Why not. You came here for new experiences after all.    "Fantastic!" The worker exclaims and gestures down the hall. You hear wheels rolling against the carpet and a girl appears with a cart showing a selection of masks. "Feel free to choose whatever is appealing. We also have a catalogue you can order from for free if none of these are to your satisfaction."   You look over them, from the intricate designs in gold and red, to those decorated with jewels and ribbons, and ones delicately painted. But one in particular catches your attention.   "This one’s fine."   You pick the black lace mask, one that's simple but sufficient.   The night arrives sooner than expected. The sky turns a shade of deep mahogany without a moon or sparkle in sight, clouding the horizon over in uncertainty, while the canal glows a hue of rose.   You enter the ballroom on the fourth floor in a black floor length dress, a slit on your left side to top of your thigh. Others seemed to be dressed even more luxuriously, while some of them are already nude and their clothing littered on the ground.   The room is a circular space, ceiling high with paintings of angels on it — ironically to overlook the sinning. The columns spiral high, decorated with gold and made from shiny porcelain like the floor tiles. Slow music plays in the background, accompanying the soft smacking noise of mouths colliding. There are also chaise lounge chairs off to the side, curtains drawn to cover the private areas. But the shadows and silhouettes show they’re doing something less than decent.   There are three or four people participating behind the curtains, those participating, those watching, those that like to be watched. You even catch moans and whimpers as you pass by.   By oddly enough, instead of disgusted, you feel entranced.   Suddenly someone’s warm arm slinks across your abdomen, rough hands that find purchase on your waist. You gasp as your ass is shoved against their hardening groin. Their other hand palms the meat of your ass. And you find yourself giving in, leaning closer to the body heat that feels like cozy flames.    You turn around, meeting brown, doe eyes behind a white mask. You swallow your mouthful of saliva. Their lips look so soft, irresistible. You surrender without an ounce of self-control, this time to the temptation. The man leans in as well—   But then you’re suddenly yanked away by another.   The spell breaks.    “Buzz of. This is mine.” It’s a familiar voice, a sonorous tone but rumbling timbre. The doe-eyed man nods wordlessly and stumbles back into the crowd.   “Jin?”   Where he’s encircled your wrist, you can feel how his skin is warmer than the stranger’s, like a fire is burning underneath his flesh. Behind the black mask, with tiny sparkles that remind you of the stars, are eyes you recognize — dark pools like chocolate, full of indulgence.    Instantly, he lets you go.   “I’m sorry…”   You’re bewitched by him. And you cave into the magnetizing pull. You latch onto him before he can leave. “You shouldn’t have any reason to be sorry.”   The devil meets your gaze.    Everything about him is to lure and entice you, meant for you to indulge in. From the pinkness and plumpness of his lips, to his eyes that are shaped soft and sheepish. His sculpted face, his scent, the sound of his voice...   The devil would never come to such an event to get himself dirty with lowly demons. His hubris is much too high to be touched by strangers. He’s here for a specific purpose — and you think you know what it might be, or rather, for who.   “There’s a reason you’re here, right?”   Seokjin knows you well too, knows that you don’t like to be touched by strangers. His mouth pulls into a smile. “Do you have the same reason as I do?”   You grasp onto the collar of his fitted suit, lust overwhelming you. He stares at your mouth through half-lidded eyes, his own parted.    “I...don’t want this to affect my job,” you murmur, breath already on his.   “It’s going to affect it either way. You’ve stopped being just my advocate long ago.” His large hands hold your hips. “Why do you think I always skip out on my duties? I have to make sure not to come and replace you. I need a reason to keep you around.”   “You bastard.”   The puzzles you had finally click into place. The dots connect. It makes sense, more than it ever has.   “I know.”   “You’re a selfish prick. But one I still owe a kiss to.”   Finally after a millennium, you relinquish your dignity and fully indulge in Kim Seokjin.   You dance with the devil, mouth pushing against his. Immediately, he deepens it, slipping his hot tongue in to claim you as his. Seokjin makes your lips swell as he kisses you hungrily. Sinfully.   He savours your muffled groan as you feel yourself wrapping in the heat that emanates off his body, drowning in his scent. The devil’s lips are of velvet, addicting, and you can’t stop. You’re too frantic to notice that his eyes are still half-lidded, drinking in your pleasured expression.   But in the middle of the kiss, you sense someone else’s presence. Your eyes peel back to see a female stroking her hands over his broad shoulders. You break apart with a forceful smack, thin string of saliva breaking.    “Fuck off,” you spit at her.   The female demon doesn’t hear you. Her hands slowly trail downwards to the thick lump forming in his tight trousers. But Seokjin catches her wandering palms before she can actually touch him. He throws her arms off him. “You heard her. You’re not invited.”   She openly scoffs, and rolls her eyes before walking away.   You won’t let third parties in. You won’t let anyone else touch him. You’re too selfish and greedy to do so.   “Let’s get out of here.”   Seokjin locks his hands in yours, and you’re finally able to revel in how he looks in his fitted suit, how broad his shoulders are, the thickness of his thighs.    Even when you leave the ballroom, the lustful atmosphere never lessens. Instead, the suspense builds. The tension becomes overwhelming. It’s awkward to stand in the elevator and listen to the boring jazz, suffocating in the small space. The heat is tangible.   You end up tackling Seokjin against the wall. You kiss away his laugh by shoving your tongue down his throat. It’s obscene but you don’t care much for your pride at the moment.   “I won’t be seen fornicating in the elevator,” the devil scolds in a low tone, peeling you away after another ravenous make out session, his grip having been tight on your thigh. “Come on.”   Seokjin leads you to his floor, and the door automatically opens when he steps in front of it. The lust is instantly exchanged for amazement.   His suite room is breathtaking, private windows allowing a wide view of the red canal and the horizon. It’s an open space with many rooms, a luxurious bathroom and enormous bed. Like his own personal home.   “This….this….h-how much does this even cost?!”   “Does it matter?” Seokjin loosens his tie. He chuckles watching you run around, checking all the rooms and inspecting the furniture. “I would’ve invited you sooner, but I didn’t want to get slapped.”   You scoff in the other room, and he follows after you. “You know I can’t slap you.”    “Yeah, but you always look like you want to.”   “Just cause I want to, doesn’t mean I can or will do it.”   “Alright, enough of this chit chat.”   Seokjin picks you up from where you’re marveling at his closet. He heaves you up and over his shoulder, carrying you across his suite and he lightly tosses you onto his soft mattress. The devil corners you. He grabs your ankle when you playfully try to escape and he climbs on top of you, straddling your waist to trap you in place.   “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he whispers as he relishes the way you’re pinned beneath him.   You cock your head to the side. “Really? I think if you were waiting for that long, you would’ve done something about a century ago.”   Seokjin sighs at how you’re trying to pick an argument with him even in such a situation. “Love, if you don’t stop trying to pick fights with me, I’m going to gag you with your own underwear.”   You would nod and be obedient. But it’s intrinsic for you to doubt.    Instinctively, the words spill out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Why are you assuming I have underwear on?”   A muscle in his cheek twitches. Seokjin flips you over, and instantaneously delivers a slap to the meat of your ass. You moan, arching into him, but you quickly turn your head with a frown.   “What was that for?!”   “You know what it’s for,” Jin barks. “It’s going to be a long night if you don’t listen to me, Y/N.”   The devil follows through with his word. It indeed becomes a long, long night.   It’s too delicious to see his irritation. How his ears can turn into a shade of scarlet that matches the colour rising from his neck to his forehead. But you bend to his will after a while, giving into his command.    It’s the most sinning you’ve done. The most indulgent you’ve ever been. Seokjin’s sweat drips on top of you before it’s your sweat on him when you get on top. He’s merciless, leaving bruises along your thighs from his tight grip and where he kept your legs spread. He leaves blue, purple, red marks along the column of your neck. You sink down on his cock enough times that your cunt stretches out to match his girth and length into a perfect, snug fit. And you get to know the flavour of each other’s spit and cum until it’s all you can taste.   You’re glad no one shares Seokjin’s walls or else they’d hear the way your voice grows hoarse over the course of the night. They’d hear the creak of the bed, the slamming of the headboard. Anyone on the same floor would hear your name groaned through those beautiful lips licking into you.   You’re sure if there was another level to hell or damnation — you and Seokjin will be arriving there in each other’s arms.   //   The last day of the cruise finally arrives and you’re devastated.   Tomorrow, you’ll return to work and continue the cycle of late nights preparing documents and affidavits and judging human souls in line at purgatory only for them to scream obscenities at you no matter what gate they end up entering.   Your train of thought is interrupted by a knock on the door.   “G-Good morning, Miss. Y/N!” The male worker jumps, surprised to discover you answering the door. “I didn’t think you’d be in your room.”   “Where else would I be?” you deadpan.   The female demon worker smiles and steps forward. “We have room service for you!”   You widen the door and they wheel the cart in. “We just wanted to ask about your stay here and if there were any concerns whatsoever.”   “Oh no.” You bat your hand. “It was absolutely lovely. Thank you for the past seven days. It couldn’t have gone better.”   “That’s great to hear.” They grin and gesture to the pamphlet placed with your meal.   “We’d also like to mention that there’s a honeymoon package and an express cruise that travels to all three realms, hell, heaven, and human. It’s just a promotion. I thought I’d mention it.”   You laugh, nodding. “Okay, thank you.”   “There’s one event left. A farewell party for tonight for all guests on this trip.”    You receive the invitation. Today’s a day of pride and in its celebration, the cruise has a farewell ceremony where they read each guests’ accomplishments. It’s a sweet gesture, perfect to top off the trip.   But you can’t fully look forward to it when you’re plagued by your thoughts. You still haven’t decided if last night was a mistake, if it was just the lust in the air.    Seokjin was insatiable, that much was clear, and you swear you feel permanently hot in your face. The in between of your legs still ache whenever you move. It’s impossible to try to forget or disregard what occurred. And when you’re unable to cover up his marks all over your neck, you find yourself deciding to wear it with pride.   You wonder how he feels about last night too. If the devil simply likes to spoil his advocates.   But your questions are answered when you see him again at the party.   “Evening.”   “Good evening.”   You raise your wine glasses up at one another in mutual acknowledgment before turning to watch the room. The pair of you are tucked in the corner again as if you were the hosts and everyone else were guests in your domain.   The silence broken by him. “It was...regrettable that you ran out so soon this morning.”   You agree. “It was regrettable, but it’s the right thing to do.”   “You think with your head too much sometimes,” Seokjin muses.   “Jeon Jungkook,” the worker on stage announces into the staticy mic. “He has tricked twenty four humans into giving their soul to him.” There’s a collective ‘ooh’ from other workers and a loud applause. “He works in marketing and coworkers call him proactive!”   They allow every guest to indulge in their own pride and you don’t expect much as you watch, but then your name is called. “The devil’s advocate, L/N Y/N.”   “Persuasive and diligent. In her existence thus far, she’s captured two hundred forty three souls before working for the devil where she’s passed judgment for eighty six hundred thousand sixty six human souls,” they continue to read your long list of accomplishments and it’s seemingly never ending. The worker runs out of breath and has to take a drink of water to keep going.   The devil is in the details after all.   But you didn’t realize you had done so much.   “Impressive.” Seokjin nudges you with a quirked brow and an amused smile.   Suddenly, you’re called on again. “L/N Y/N, will you please come onto the stage to receive a special award.”   “What?”   “Don’t just stand there, idiot.” Seokjin mischievously bumps you forward and your steps stagger. With half a mind, you pass the tables and demons watching you, up the stairs to the modest stage. The spotlight is absolutely blinding.   The worker shakes your hand and gives you a golden frame. Inside is a certificate of accomplishment. It’s stamped with the crest of hell, the official insignia of honour.    “It was signed by the devil, himself,” the worker tells you privately. “He insisted that it would be given to you. Congratulations, Miss Y/N.”   There’s a roar of applause. Your eyes stray off the side to see him, standing with his feet shoulder-width apart, a proud smile placed on his features. Something blooms inside your chest.   Finally, you’ve received recognition for what you’ve done, for all your hard work.   You step off stage, cutting through the crowd to get to him. But then you’re stopped by yet another worker. “Miss. Y/N, thank you for being a part of Sins Cruise Line. We’d like to gift you this photo album compiling your best moments of this trip.”   “Oh, t-thank you.”   You move off and out of the way to open the leather album. What you find are photographs you didn’t know the workers took. There’s a picture of you stepping on this ship for the first time and looking out at the horizon with your drink in hand and the wind blowing through your hair. There’s another with you sitting across the poker table and Seokjin on the other side, the dim lights shining on your heads and illuminating your faces.   You continue to flip through, and you discover countless pictures of you and Seokjin together.   Him shooting at a human with you standing beside him. Laughing with Seokjin while you’re both in the corner of the feasting room. Out on the lounge chairs together. At the spa. Watching a show in the theater room. Looking into each other’s eyes in the ballroom before your shared kiss.   They’re beautiful photographs — precious moments captured in time. You didn’t realize you looked at him in such a way, or that he looked at you so tenderly.   You find Seokjin in the crowd again, as you’re grasping the album and the certificate to your chest.   “Congratulations, Miss. Devil’s Advocate.”   “I can’t believe you did all this.” You’re still breathless, unable to comprehend why he would go to such lengths for you.   “You deserve it.” Seokjin matches your softened smile. “Are you sad about leaving?”   “Can’t say I’m excited to go,” you admit. “But I have to go back. There’s probably a lot that’s piled up. Taehyung doesn’t know how to work on cases properly.”   “Well, take it easy,” the devil says with a grin and stares at you for a moment. It’s silent, the two of you gazing at one another, but then he catches himself and inhales a breath. “Actually, I’m planning on restructuring some things. I want to delegate more duties and lessen workloads so others can better prepare instead of working so last minute.”   His eyes twinkle with mischief. He literally took the words right out of your mouth, quoting you exactly. “I’m going to need some advice and personal help for the next while.”   “Personal help?” Your brows raise with a giggle.   “Personal help.” Seokjin nods. “Hey, you’re free right now, right? Do you want to talk it over during dinner?”   Laughter bubbles out of you and your gaze becomes tender. “I’d love to.”

It was undoubtedly hard to walk off that cruise ship.   A part of you wishes it could last forever. But alas, all good things must come to an eventual end.   Yoongi is seated at his desk, feet propped up on the surface of said desk. He’s casually leaning back on his chair, elbow propped up on the armrest, fingers playing with a few strands of his hair. He’s humming to himself, but then he sees the demon guard move aside, and his brows raise.   He’s pleasantly surprised. “You’re early.”   “Only a little.” You smile at the angel.   “Welcome back.” He takes his feet off his desk and deadpans, “I missed you. Too many people have been getting through Heaven lately, it’s been disastrous.”   “I’m sure Taehyung wasn’t that bad,” you murmur in the demon’s defense, but it’s weak and half-hearted. You both know he’s pretty terrible — Taehyung’s impatience and lack of meticulousness isn’t exactly great for this job.   “What was worse was that he was so annoying. I’d never thought I’d say it, but I’d much prefer you. Did you enjoy your vacation?” he asks. “I heard you went on that cruise.”   You smile to yourself. “Yeah, it was good.”   “Did it live up to its name?”   You contemplate it for a moment before you find yourself nodding. “I have to say that it does.”   “Wow, just rub in your good time, bitch,” Yoongi mutters passively aggressively, glaring through the slits of his eyes. Then he relents and sighs. “I’m glad you finally took a break. You look better. Healthier.”   “Thanks. Actually, it’s really thanks to—”   “You forgot this file, Y/N.”   A voice pipes up and the guards move aside. A man appears with his cape billowing behind him, dark robes decorated with gold, official and intimidating. Yoongi’s eyeballs nearly fall out of his socket. The angel’s mouth draws open, his nostrils flared.   Seokjin is behind you and hands you the file before taking a seat beside you.    He pushes his round spectacles up the bridge of his nose, focusing downwards to the paperwork. “I have to sign where?”   “Here.”   He’s helping you, has been since you’ve gotten back.    Yoongi doesn’t try to hide his shock. You smile at the angel with a look that equally shares his pleasant surprise and shows how impressed you are.   “You two are close,” Yoongi says when he finds his power of speech again.   Seokjin lifts his chin, glances at the angel and then at you. The pair of you share a warm smile together. “I’d say we’re a bit more than close at this point.”   You already know Seokjin’s intentions — you’re his advocate after all.

[hawkeish]

Those prompts are so hard to choose from! But how about "We were dancing but all of a sudden it’s a slow song and we’re standing here awkwardly staring at each other" for whoever you feel like writing?

I am SO sorry it's taken me an entire month to finish this (writer’s block is the worst am I right ladies!). But I love this prompt - although I took a few liberties - and it screamed Carver/Merrill, so here you go...

Rated T, CWs for implied character death, death mention

1.9k (I have no restraint)

Read on AO3 // Read my other Carver/Merrill fic (it’s referenced a couple of times)

Carver’s perfectly happy where he is.

Leaning against the rough stone wall with a drink in hand, that is. Watching Ri make a tit out of herself, as usual.

The Hanged Man’s packed, warm as a funeral pyre and smelling almost as ripe. Word obviously got round that it was the night before the big expedition: half of Lowtown must be squeezed in here. They’re all eager to toast with Kirkwall’s most eminent storyteller and his new, stabby, impulse-control-free muse, before they set off on their quest for riches and honour and whatever other noble shite lies abandoned beneath the surface.

At least, that’s how Varric’s telling it. Carver’s not sure exactly what’s noble about plundering some dead dwarves’ abandoned thaig. But if it makes his mother happy and his sister finally proud—and if it means his longbar blade can taste the innards of as many darkspawn as he could dream of, for Beth—he’s not going to argue.

Strange to think this is his last night on the surface for a while. And that he’s spending it here, of all places. Something in him flutters with worry at the thought as he tries to tune out the musicians from over in the corner, who’ve kindly decided to abuse some lutes and fiddles. Could this be his last ale? The last full moon he’ll ever see? The last chance he’ll get to be with all these irritating people in one room, together?

But worry’s for bairns and people who can’t hit hard enough to knock teeth out. So Carver buries his nerves with another swig of his drink, then settles back against the wall and does what he likes to do best: observes.

Like some silver-tongued dragon lazed upon a wordhord, Varric’s planted himself on the tallest stool at the bar, surrounded by the usual mob of ruddy cheeked patrons eating up his every word. Half of which will be lies, but that’s good for business; the Hawkes wouldn’t be in on this trip if Varric had a predilection for honesty, after all. Beside him, Isabela’s flashing a grin sharper than her knives and adding flowery embellishment any time Varric pauses for effect. Across from her, Aveline’s desperately trying to counter whatever salacious gossip the pirate’s spreading. Judging by the look on the warrior’s face, it doesn’t seem to be working.

Meanwhile, Ri’s by the fire with Anders, unsurprisingly. She’s tipsy, attempting to flirt by playing demon’s advocate; he’s taking her bait and gesticulating wildly, like usual. They’ve been spending a strange amount of time together recently. Debating—mage this, mage that, freedom, whatever. Carver wouldn’t normally care, only these arguments leave them both blushing and breathless and grinning like fools, and the whole thing’s slightly sickening. Of course Marian would be interested in the possessed apostate. Reckless infatuation is a Hawke family trait.

Whatever they’re banging on about now, it’s drowned out by the music, thank the Maker. If Fenris could hear, the mood wouldn’t be half as merry. But, Carver realises, as his eyes dart around the bustling room in search of that familiar flash of white hair, Fenris is occupied.

In the middle of the tavern, they’ve haphazardly shoved the tables and benches to the side, to make a little space. And in the centre of that dusty, empty floor, as the music gets much faster and much worse, Fenris is dancing.

With Merrill. Who’s got hold of the other elf by the wrists and is whirling him around in a mad circle, looking delighted—maybe more delighted than Carver thinks he’s ever seen her. Eyes wide as moons, smile wild and even wider. And Maker, she looks lovely, too. Cast in a hazy golden glow by the torch-flame, she moves so easily that all Carver can think of is sunlight…

Andraste’s flaming ass. Carver pulls his gaze away, forces himself to gulp some beer, tries to ignore the weird feeling wriggling around his ribcage. Don’t do this, he thinks. Since the moment by the vhenadahl, he told himself he wouldn’t think about Merrill this way. Merrill, his sister’s friend. Merrill, the blood mage. She’s not sunlight. She’s—

“Merrill!” Fenris squawks. The sound knocks Carver from his fluster; he’s not sure he’s ever heard Fenris squawk before. But the warrior looks almost panicked, and very much as though he wishes that he could melt into the floor. “Can you please let me—”

“Not like that!” She’s saying excitedly, pulling at Fenris’ arm, nudging him with her knee and the pointed tips of her toes as he tries, desperately, to wriggle out of her grip. As if egged on, the musicians suddenly strike up a different—but in no way better— jig. “Left foot first, remember, then you hop back a bit, then clap! Oh, you’re like a toddler! Or a little halla foal…”

Fenris makes a strangled noise of protest. “I am not! And I do not wish to hop, Merrill—”

Merrill laughs: the sound’s like chimes, floating over the new reel, and it makes Carver’s skin prickle and flush in that weird, horrible, lovely way. “You have the rhythm, Fenris! Just follow what I do!”

Fenris does have the rhythm. The exact moves, no—although whatever the exact moves are, Carver can’t work out: there’s a lot of spinning and and whirling and jumping and, on Fenris’ part, flailing in many directions. But at least Fenris is doing all the wrong actions at all the right times. There’s something almost hypnotic about it, almost graceful. Between the two elves, Carver doesn’t know where to look.

Knowing where he wants to look is a different matter. Even with Fenris as distraction, Carver’s gaze can’t help but drift past him, to Merrill. She has her eyes half-closed and her head tilted to the sky, a perfect smile on her face—

“Carver!”

And then her head’s whipped around, her eyes are open and locked right on him, and her smile’s so bright and so caught-off-guard that it’s making Carver feel slightly lightheaded. Because Fenris has finally managed to slip out of her hold, has called Carver’s name loud enough to wake the dead—or the very drunk—and is charging towards him like a man possessed.

“Oh no,” Fenris declares drily, as he bridges the gap and pulls Carver’s near full-to-the-brim mug of ale from the warrior’s hands in one, smooth movement. “Just as I thought! It looks like Carver needs another drink.”

He does? Carver blinks down at his empty hands, then up at the elf. “I do?”

Looking him dead in the eye, Fenris smiles wickedly and proceeds to tip most of Carver’s beer onto the straw-covered floor.

“How clumsy of me!” Fenris declares drily. “It appears I owe you some of…” He wrinkles his nose at the damp straw. “Whatever that was.” Then, he claps Carver on the shoulder, the grin returning. “Well, what a shame I can’t return to Merrill. Enjoy your dance!”

Fenris’ friendly shove is hard enough to almost throw a man to the floor: Carver stumbles forward, almost toppling over, knocking into sweaty bodies. A mess of people has started to pack the dance-floor, merry and boisterous; they jostle Carver as he steadies himself, red-cheeked and mumbling apologies. Embarrassment fizzes in his stomach—pressed so close to strangers, he’s suddenly even more aware of his height and...well, brawn. Where Fenris was graceful and lithe, Carver’s a lump, taking up too much space. Although he can dance, kind of. He used to dance for Bethy, didn’t he? To make her laugh when she was upset. Carver’s special jig, she called it.

He hasn’t danced in a long time. Even when he’s been rat-arsed, or when Ri’s needed cheering up. Since Beth died, really. He’s not done a lot of things since she died. Perhaps, he thinks, a part of him went with her. Perhaps, he thinks, if he meets his own end in the Deep Roads, it wouldn’t be so bad—

“Carver!” comes a voice, cutting past the singing and the music and the thud of dozens of feet moving as one. “Carver, are you all right?”

And then Carver realises that he’s stood stock-still in the middle of a whirling mass, thinking of a dead girl, staring at nothing.

No. Not staring at nothing. Staring, he realises, as his vision focuses, directly at Merrill. Who’s stopped dancing, a frown clouding her features: she weaves past revellers, slipping through a gap in the crowd in front of him, until there’s barely a whisper of space between them.

A knot of nerves coils in Carver’s gut. The air’s warm as sin, but there’s gooseflesh prickling across his arms, and a weird chill running down his spine. The last time they were this close was beneath the sprawling branches of the vhenadahl. And look how that went.

“Me?” he answers, not sure where to look again. She’s all red-cheeked and breathless from dancing, and her eyes are sparkling, and Maker, he needs to stop. “Fine. I’m fine! I’m just…”

“Stood completely still,” Merrill notes. “In the middle of a… what was it?” Dodging a rogue elbow, she edges closer to him; somehow, even the smallest of her movements flow in time with the music swelling around them. “A ceilidh? We have a different name for dances like this. I’m not sure one of the moves we have is standing still, though. But you do it well. Very pensive. You’d make a fine statue.”

Is she taking the piss? Is she flirting? Carver’s muscles tighten as he becomes even more horribly aware of her presence. Slowly, palms clammy, he nods. “A ceilidh, yeah.”

“And you’re meant to have a partner for this kind of thing, no?” Merrill asks. “At least, that’s what I thought, although Fenris seemed a bit less…enthusiastic.”

Partners. Two people, dancing. Could he ask...

No. She wouldn’t want to. Not with him. The kid brother. The layabout. Why would she agree? Probably just to be polite, right? She’s always polite. And kind, and warm, and clever—

“Partner? I—yeah,” Carver mumbles again, trying to compose himself. Maker, why does she make him feel so muddled? So much for being less of a wet blanket. “I think.”

“Well.” She gestures to the other revellers, who’ve now started actively dancing around them, shooting them glares vicious enough to wilt flowers. “We look slightly silly, don’t we? Did you maybe…want to dance? With me, I mean. Although of course I meant that. Creators, listen to me.”

Dance. Does Carver want to dance, with Merrill?

No, he tells himself. Not at all. Not in front of everyone. Not front of his sister, who’ll never fucking shut up about it for the rest of her days.

Yes, everything else in him hollers. For they must look a bit ridiculous. And it is his last night up here. And, most of all, because Merrill’s looking at him in a way that makes him feel dizzy. The music’s suddenly slowing, softening, and for some reason, everything feels right.

A heartbeat passes.

Carver nods.

Merril doesn’t say anything, just smiles—a bright and blinding smile, one that makes everything around them fade to grey. Then, gently, she reaches out to take his hands, turns them over, and rests her palms on top of his.

“Follow what I do,” she murmurs, drawing her gaze up from their hands to him.

As the music slips away, and he can feel Merrill’s soft fingertips balanced light as air on his upturned wrists, Carver is perfectly happy where he is.

[acesophiewalten]

Audrey

Hey, everyone! 

So, this whole thing started when I was going through a really awesome blog, @hazbin-hotel-imagines, and I saw the Lucifer x Angel!Reader hcs. I came up with a full character for the angel, and I wrote something on it! 

WARNING: This gets angsty at the end. Some descriptions of cuts, scrapes, bruises, and broken bones. 

It isn’t okay, someone help Lucifer

The oneshot is under the cut, I’m sorry if it’s bad. Hope you like it!

Audrey

That was the name bestowed upon her, the older angels buzzing around this new arrival. Her wings flapped excitedly, her feathers in colors of royal blue, gold, and deep, blood red. Her skin was nearly flawless and her eyes held depth before their color could be assessed. Among the crowd of angels around her, there was one whose heart suddenly beat faster and faster as she looked at him, smiling kindly. He felt like he needed to touch her, hold her, kiss her, his fingers suddenly tingled.

God’s voice boomed over them all, “Lucifer, come forward.”

He walked forward, his legs shaking slightly as he approached her. She smiled wider at him, lips stretching, and he wasn’t sure why someone like her was allowed to even be in his scope of vision. He wanted to feel her, this new angel, this new being who looked at him with so much love. That was what it was, no doubt about it, the shine in her eyes and the glow on her face were both clear signs. He’d heard about it.

God said, almost approvingly, “I made her for you.”

She gave Lucifer a wide, wide smile, pushing her shining locks of auburn hair behind her ears, and she walked towards him. He was stuck in place, his rosy cheeks growing even redder with his blushing, and she walked so she was directly in front of him.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said.  

Her voice was smooth, high, pleasant to listen to. But to him, him, it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. He cupped her face in his hands, her eyes were baby blue and there was the faintest blush on her cheeks. She brought up her hands, putting them over Lucifer’s,

“Would it be alright if I kissed you?”

His own yellowing eyes widened, and he nodded quickly. He wanted to feel her lips on his skin, to see what they felt like.

She leaned forward and gave a quick kiss to his temple, while smoothing back his white-blonde hair back. What really shocked him was that she just asked him, not God, this intimacy had to normally be approved first. But no, no, she just assumed that her creator would like it if she started to show affection to the angel she was supposed to be with.

Her lips were gorgeous, and he felt the adoration radiating off where she kissed. He stopped cupping her face only to hold her hands, and she held back tightly. His smile was wider than it had ever been.

“What do you think?” She asked, widening her eyes lightly.

She was giving herself a look of extreme innocence, he realized, and he leaned so that they were pressed up against each other. He wanted to hold her forever, she was smaller and would be easy to pick up.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

                          __________________________________________

That was just the beginning. Neither of them seemed to be alone anymore, for she was always near him, her hands intertwined with his or cuddling up to his arm. Yet, they always went a little too far by angel standards, for every session of cuddling turned into them trying to figure out how humans made sex look so easy, every kiss turned hungry, encouraging words turned to the most blatant and terrible attempts at seduction both of them had ever heard.

Their topics of conversation, other than who could fuck the best when given the proper education, were normally about taking over heaven.

There was one instance in particular, when they were up in the middle of the night sitting in one of heaven’s many gardens, and he said to her, “I could run this place better.”

She raised her eyebrows, black eyelashes fluttering in the wind, “I don’t believe it. I mean - how would you even get control of this place? Are you going to shoot at their knees?”

He smiled, laughing slightly, “You’re shorter than I am!”

“So, I’ll shoot at their knees and you aim up at the chest?”

“How’d you guess my entire plan?”

She rolled her eyes, huffing with that gorgeous smile on her face, “If you take over, I’ll be out of here. I’d rather be in Hell.”

“Hell, Aud? You hate me that much?”

She quickly moved closer to him, head resting on his shoulder.

“My love, my Luci, I loathe you. I regret not getting rid of you when I had the chance.”

They both dissolved into chuckles, for her joking tone and wide, ear-to-ear grin said it all. He hoped, and he believed, that she loved him, and he wanted her to hope and believe and understand that he loved her as well.

“Why’d you want to go to Hell, anyways? I hear it’s one big wasteland.”

“It’s got a stable monarchy. The queen’s richer than all of us combined, and really hot.”

“Are you going to leave me for the Queen of Hell?”

“Not exactly. Maybe we could both marry her.”

“Are you advocating that we commit polyamory with the fucking-”

“Fucking can be included too, yes.”

He laughed fully then, falling back, tears nearly running out of his eyes. When he laughed like that, full-scale, she always did it as well, and two angels drunk on happiness were suddenly laying down on the freshly cut grass. Words could not describe the sheer pleasantness of being with her, the joy of someone being able to make him feel unadulterated bliss if only for a few minutes. As soon as they’d calmed down, she reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers and moving herself next to him again.

“If you do take over,” she said, quietly, “you better not leave me out of it when you win.”  

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

She smiled, “Lovely. I’ve always wanted to have obscene amounts of money and power.”

They both giggled, and all of a sudden she was on his lap, head resting in the crook of his shoulder. He placed a delicate kiss on her temple, smoothing her hair back with his left hand, it had become their special gesture of love, appreciation, or at least a message that they accepted each other, that nothing would ever happen as long as the other were around.

“I swear, Audrey, it’s going to be you and me, always. The moment I take over, you’ll be the best queen heaven’s ever seen. I promise.”

She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder again.

There were a couple minutes of silence before she said, “I love you too.”  

                          __________________________________________

So much for promises.

The way down to Hell was punctuated by his screams, cries, attempts to claw himself back onto the clouds. The tears that fell from his eyes seemingly burned the ground, lighting it aflame, but he wasn’t just crying for himself being banished from heaven. No, it was his poor, screeching Audrey, hair thrown around wildly, eyes wide with fear and her small, delicate hands trying to reach out for him. He thought he wouldn’t mind this so much if she was with him, for at least he would still have her form to hold, her wavy hair to run his hands through, and they could tend to each other’s wounds while cursing out the ‘gracious’ God who threw them out. But He thought it was a good idea to separate them, to make Lucifer hear not only the jeers of other angels but also the pure sniveling sobs of his beloved.

His entire body seemed to ache, bloody scratches and gashes adorned his sickly pale skin, his forehead broke out in a sweat due to the heat and he was pretty sure his right arm was broken. Yet, he got up, looked around, and saw the Queen of Hell looking over him, curiously.

Her eyes themselves were half-lidded, silver, and gleaming. Her hair was white-blonde as well, going all the way down to her ankles in fluffy, straight strands. She was incredibly tall, and he could see that she towered over him, a foot or larger. Her skin was certainly flawless, too flawless, and her nose was small and pointed.

“I’m Lilith. Are you okay?”

He paused. Was he okay? Was he? He looked down, slowly, he definitely wasn’t physically okay. After all, his arm was bending the wrong way, bruises aplenty along with all of the aforementioned scratches and injuries. Yet, what was really wounded was his mind, and he looked up. There wasn’t even a deep red feather on its way down, and he looked her in her eyes, glimmering but flat. Flat. She was very pretty, though, skinny, two purple horns coming out of her head. She was so obviously a demon, succumbus variety, that was accepting her silent offer of help really worth it?

He sighed. He was near bleeding out, and he just realized that his feathers were falling off and his wing was bent. He really, really, really messed up, and this also was a pretty good way to climb up to being the king of this place. He should be productive down here, he figured, it would be one big fuck-you to God.

And it might impress her, if she ever saw him again.

He smiled, slightly, “No, I don’t think so.”

They became a couple a short time later, however it wasn’t like it happened overnight. It started off with her insisting that he stay over at the palace, (“You have no mobility in your arm, Luci.”) then he climbed into bed with her tentatively, (“I haven’t had my arms wrapped around someone in so long.”) and then them finally, eventually getting married (“I love you. I love you. I love you.”). 

He wasn’t sure if he meant it or not.

                       __________________________________________

Of all places Lucifer expected Audrey to be, any part of Hell was not one of them.

He hadn’t talked with his daughter ever since they got into their fight about that damn redemption hotel, and he still wasn’t fully onboard with the idea. It was laughable, really, most demons wanted to stay in hell! He and his wife had managed to strike a deal a while ago with God, Hell could be a bunch of dead demons hanging out instead of being tortured.  It was easier to rule.

Lilith didn’t exactly like the hotel idea, but she insisted on talking to her, sending money over when she could, and even going over once or twice, despite the fact that she didn’t really like it. He admired her loyalty for her daughter, sure, but their relationship happiness had started to wear off a while ago, and her ever-present love was starting to get on his nerves. He loved Charlie, of course he did, but when he tried to show it he was either utterly overblown or extremely underwhelming.

Another reason he wasn’t thinking of Lilith and Charlie a lot lately, and he tried to convince himself that this wasn’t the primary reason, was because his angel had bloomed large in his mind. His memories of her were slipping, although he still had her face memorized and he could almost feel her soft, glossy wings. But he was forgetting what her voice sounded like, he was forgetting what she liked and disliked, and it was driving him insane. He’d managed to get some photos of her, and he often stared at them, hoping she would pop out and he would tell him that she still loved him, that she didn’t care that he was now the king of a grimy, disgusting realm of demons. She didn’t care, she couldn’t!

And then, one day, it happened. Lilith was getting ready to go to a nighttime meeting, and she had her daughter on her phone, and Lucifer had to resist telling her to take the damn thing off speaker - for Charlie would be fine without talking to her for the day, and at least he wouldn’t have to listen to that peppy, sing-song voice talk about their tenants and managers and workers.

He was brushing his hair in the mirror, right after showering, trying not to listen or interject, and suddenly, he heard her. Wait - Her! Her! Her!

“Hiya, Your Majesty! How’re you doing?”

He now relearned what her voice sounded like. It wasn’t simply pleasant, it was the fury of falling snowflakes, the highness was the rising of the morning sun, the ease was a babbling, churning brook. He hadn’t seen any of those things in a while, yet he could perfectly envision them with the help of her voice. He was suddenly rushing to get on his best clothes and get the hell out of his mansion, he didn’t have time to explain to his wife why he was going out.

He had to see her. He had to love her, he would do absolutely anything to keep her by his side and not let her go. He wanted to do the things they couldn’t really do as angels, Audrey! Audrey! The name would finally be said through his lips again, and he would have her there, her warmth and her hair. The population would love her, and if they didn’t, well, he could technically kill demons. It wouldn’t be too hard.

He didn’t even have to step foot in the hotel, for she was already leaving. Her hair was cut, he realized that almost immediately, it ended just below her ribcage instead of going all the way down to her waist. But it was still auburn, still beautiful, and she wore a black tank top and some black leggings. He wanted to go up to her and grab her, kiss her, it was just like when he first met her. His entire arms tingled, now.

“Audrey! Audrey! Audrey!”

She turned around, and he promptly noticed that she didn’t look the same. Sure, her eyes were still the baby blue that he adored, but there were bags under them, and she looked considerably worn out. He wanted to hold her, consol her, tell his darling that she wouldn’t need to worry anymore. Wearing nothing but the finest clothing, dripping in the best diamonds and pearls, surrounded by silken clothing, and safe, safe.

“H-Hey!”

Her voice was slightly shaking, although he didn’t notice this. He simply grabbed her hand, kissing it, which he knew wasn’t necessary but he felt like he had to. Her hands were still warm, and beautiful, but she pulled them away quickly.

“Darling, I missed you so much…”

He tried to get a little closer to her, attempting to wrap his arms around her, yet she backed up. She took a breath in, looking around, she seemed to look for someone to save her. His smile faltered, what was wrong? Wasn’t she happy, too? Wasn’t she yearning for him, too? She must’ve been nervous, he assumed, but he wasn’t sure. Her smile was anxious, and she looked around again.

She looked at him straight in the face with visible effort, “Can we sit down? I need to talk to you about something.”

He grabbed her arms again, “Sweetheart, Aud, of course!”

His voice was a little too lively, he was running on pure ecstasy. It was her! Her! More overworked, more concerned, but her! He had to restrain himself from bending her over and worshipping her, he had to listen to her first. He wasn’t sure why she was looking so distressed, her hands looked to be in knots. She scrambled onto a bench, and he followed her, and he hoped his eyes showed the adoration he felt for her in that moment.

She took a couple of breaths, and he was starting to get worried. What was so terrible that his calm, sweet Audrey felt she had to make sure she was okay before sitting down to tell him? Was someone threatening her? He’d torture them, he’d drive them into the damn ground! But if it wasn’t that, what was so awful?

“I’m not in love with you anymore.”

Yep. That was it, if anything. His smile fell more, never reaching his ears and ending at his cheeks. What? What? How? He could hear his heart slowly breaking, she was rejecting him, wasn’t she? His claws were suddenly digging into his palms, what the hell was happening? She looked slightly happy to get it out, as if she had been holding it in for a while. This is what this whole thing was leading up to?

“W-Why?”

He tried to keep his cool, hoping that she was just making a joke. He’d forgotten what her face had looked like, when it was serious, and he just wanted to figure that she was kidding with him. He was waiting for her to laugh, to kiss him, to tease him for believing it. Instead, she started explaining.

“I - I don’t love you. I can’t lie to you, I don’t love you anymore. I’m sorry.”

Her voice was mournful, sad, she sounded like she was about to cry.

He grabbed her wrist, tightly.

“But - But why? What did I do?”

She sighed, “I moved on. I can’t lie to you and tell you I love you back. I - I thought you moved on too.”

He let go of her wrist, his hands were shaking madly.

“I couldn’t. Aud, you’re perfect, I wouldn’t ever,” he cut himself off.

He shouldn’t let her out of his sight. He should grab her and drag her off, make her his whether she liked it or not.

“Even if I still,” she paused again, “I still wouldn’t. I cannot. I have a life up in heaven, Lucifer, I couldn’t leave it for anything…”

His breath was hitching, his body seemed glued to the seat. Yet, she got up easily, scrambling, she took another breath.

“Do you want me to do anything?”

She pities you. She pities you.

“Could you - could you do the - the -”

She knew what he was talking about, as she leaned down and kissed his temple while smoothing back the hair she could find. But it was without any love, adoration, pleasure, acceptance, that little gesture didn’t do anything now.

He looked up, and her eyes had filled with tears.

She had run off before he could say anything else, her wings stretching out and allowing her to fly away at top speed. He reached out, but she was gone, gone, gone, and in hell’s moonlight he could realize that her feathers were still miraculously taken care of, still shining, still perfect.

He sat on that bench for the entire night, hoping she’d come back.

She did not.

[wheremytwinwatches]

[Where My Twin Watches]: Puella Magi Madoka Magica Episode 7

*Finishes re-rewatching Treasure Planet* Ah, what a good movie. That and I,Robot and Terminator 2 and Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Star Wars and- Wait, why did I start watching all these movies again? I remember it had something to do with Transhumanism. Something about contracts and a Bunny-cat being a dick and girls who were actually lichs… Oh crap, the thread! That is a very big moon.

Sayaka’s slowly walking back to her apartment, her face shadowed and… what, seriously? Madoka isn’t there? What the heck, Madoka? You just let your friend leave on her own after that whammy? She’s entered her apartment now, not being very quiet about closing the door. Does she live on her own? If it turns out she’s an orphan too I’m going to snap. Lights on, Sayaka tosses her Soul Gem (which is actually herself, what the heck) onto the table KYUBEY. GET OUT. BACK TO THE LIST CORNER WITH YOU. “You tricked us, didn’t you?” She didn’t even have to turn around and see he was there, did she? It’s obvious that the little jerk would waltz in uninvited. Oh you are such an asshole! “I just didn’t explain exactly what form you’d be taking to do that”? Oh yeah, that’s such a minor detail, not worth mentioning, really! “Because you never asked.” Because they never asked?! Informed consent, Bunny-cat! Learn it! Aw HELL no. You don’t get to use “even Mami never noticed to the very end” as an excuse. Ever think that maybe if she knew the risks she wouldn’t have worn her literal soul as a hairpin?! The little jerk keep on listing the advantages of Soul Gems. He really doesn’t see anything wrong with what he’s done, does he? Kyubey? What are you doing with Sayaka’s Soul Gem? What the hell is wrong with you, Bunny-cat? You want to show how relatively fragile a human body is to pain? Fine, there are plenty of other ways to show that without inflicting Sayaka with enough pain to make her collapse! WHY ARE YOU STILL DOING IT?! We get it, Soul Gems dampen pain reception between the mind and body! Stop torturing Sayaka! Please, she’s crying! Friggen finally. Sayaka, you need to get up, grab that little demon, and chuck him out the window. And never let him get close to your Gem, alright? As Sayaka recovers, Kyubey is rambling about how Magical Girls can control the degree of pain reception on their own, but he doesn’t recommend it at it lowers reaction time. ...wow, ok. Even I can see that manipulation at work there. You inflict Sayaka with severe pain, and then ‘offhandedly mention’ that she can make it so she feels no pain at all? Real subtle, Bunny-cat. Because why worry about the well-being of these girls when you can make them that much more aggressive in getting you food? And then he uses the “I’ve granted the Wish that you (unintentionally) sold your soul for” card. Yep, I just saw the show’s familiar torture one of the main characters, manipulate her into unlocking a pain-free fighting style (who needs the warnings that a body part is damaged, anyway?) and claim that she owes him for services rendered. So of course, we go into the bright and poppy Intro of Lies! Ugh. Get out of Madoka’s room, you jerk. And get away from Mami, too! Episode 7: Can you face your true feelings? It’s school the next day, seems that Sayaka skipped out. Wonder if the attendance office would accept a “I was tricked out of my soul by a Bunny-cat” as an excused absence. Aw. Looks like she’s been curled up under her blankets since last night, she didn’t even change her clothes. But hey, why worry about what you meat-puppet is wearing, right? On Fancy Rooftop now, Madoka’s meeting with Homura. Hey, that’s right, she knew about the “MGs are actually inside the Soul Gem” thing, right? Why didn’t you say anything, Homura? Damn! Madoka’s actually calling Homura out on it, asking if she really did know… but she says she tried telling others in the past. And nobody ever believed her. Ouch. I mean… yeah, it’s a really farfetched story. And I guess the only way to prove it would be for her to purposefully get far away from her Soul Gem. And that’s way too big a risk to take. Now they’re talking about how Kyubey doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong. Interesting how Homura’s calling him an it now, saying it cannot comprehend human values. I’ll be using that for Bunny-cat from now on, matches the clinical detachment. Sure, it insists that “a (short) lifetime of fighting Witches to feed me” is equal to “granting a single Wish”. Yup, Madoka’s not agreeing to the exchange rate. Healing one person’s non-fatal injuries does not equal service as a Magical Lunch Lady. But Homura’s simply saying that it was a miracle, something impossible made possible. ...oh stop being so moody, Homura. You can’t know that medical science would never be able to heal his hands. The guy’s still in middle school, for crying out loud, he has his whole life ahead of him! Just because current science isn’t able to do it, doesn’t mean you should assume that it never will. I will concede that a miracle, a proper miracle, is a Big Deal. I’m a little more iffy on whether it is of greater value that an entire human life. But you will NOT convince me that healing one person’s hands is equal to the life of a Magical Girl. Ooh, good point Madoka! For all of Homura’s “give up on her” talk, if she hadn’t become a Magical Girl then Madoka, Hitomi, and all the other people in that factory would have died! (Urgh, I’m am so torn between my I WAS RIGHT from that episode and my understanding now of what becoming a Magical Girl does) Oh. “Don’t confuse gratitude with responsibility.” That’s… that’s pretty heavy. Homura’s hammering home the point that Madoka is just a human, who has no ability to save Sayaka Miki. She shouldn’t try to ‘repay’ Sayaka to alleviate her sense of guilt. ...wow. That is… wow. Somewhere the ghost of Thomas Hobbes is applauding Homura’s self-interest philosophy. Well, ok. I guess one’s sense of morality can be slightly affected by being an undead magic user. It’s a lot easier to justify self-interest when the Muggles you know die of old age and your associates keep getting killed by these monsters. Why stay constrained by human ethics when you see yourself as no longer human? So does that make Mami a Pro-Human Transhuman, then? Sayaka’s still in her bed… Oh. Oh DAMN. That’s… Um. I mean, it’s, uh, not really that bad? I mean, just because your soul now fits in your pocket that doesn’t mean you can’t still date and… Damn. That’s something I didn’t even consider. The basis of Sayaka making the Contract was to heal Kamijo, and we have to admit there was a degree of “I can get his affection” in that Wish. But with the realization of how she relates to her former body now? Not to mention the whole “eternally young” thing. Damn it, Bunny-cat. The hell? Who just spoke? Kyoko? She wants to talk? Sayaka’s dressed and following Kyoko through the park now, who’s busy chomping down apples. Huh, she says she’s ok with the whole zombie thing. Well, you can’t deny that the powers of a Magical Girl can be useful, I suppose if you focus enough on the benefits you can rationalize the whole lich thing. Sayaka calls her out on her “you get what you pay for” attitude. Although I’m suddenly wondering if she paid of all the food she’s been eating. Having MG powers probably makes it easier to get five-finger discounts. Kyoko cheerfully agrees. Huh. “And if you live only to benefit yourself, you’ve got to pay for your own mistakes too.” And suddenly you’ve made self-interest sound noble. If you don’t involve others, then you don’t- *Suddenly remembers that Kyoko has advocated letting Familiars kill bystanders in order to get more Grief Seeds* Nope, never mind, still hate you. The sun’s sinking lower as the two girls reach some sort of old building, which Kyoko kicks down the door of. Broken stained glass? So is this an old church or art gallery or something? Well, whatever this place is, it’s certainly seen better days.

We're at the dilapidated stained-glass building, I'm thinking it's a church of some sort as the camera's looking at an altar sort of thing in front of where the biggest window would be.

Sayaka's asking why Kyoko had her come out here, Kyoko says it's a long story and tosses her an apple. Huh, is this like when she offered Homura pocky, a sign of trust?

Ooh, but Sayaka just tossed it to the ground. I don’t mean to nitpick, Sayaka, but it looks like Kyoko’s extending an olive branch here. You don’t have to like the hard-line MG, but maybe a truce could

WHOA ok Kyoko did not like that, she rushed forward and his lifting Sayaka off the ground. And that is a gruesome crackling sound, I really hope that’s just her uniform.

“Don’t ever waste food. I’ll kill you if you do.” Don’t waste food around Kyoko, got it.

Yup, Kyoko is bodily lifting Sayaka by the collar, until she calms down and lets her drop. Then she picks up the apple, dusts it off and puts it back in the bag.

Ooh, new music? Backstory for Kyoko? I still hate her for the whole “letting Familiars go” thing, but after my Homura rage was shown to be a little excessive and Kyubey proved to be a dick I’m willing to hear this story out.

“See… this was my dad’s church.” Aha, it is a church! Wait, ‘was’?

Aw, paper-cutout stick puppets! That’s adorable. We see Kyoko’s pastor dad get passed by two smaller cutouts… little sister? Aw dammit, this is another “How a MG became an orphan” story, isn’t it?

“He thought that in order to save a new generation, we needed to have a new religion.” Well, hopefully without sparking any religious debate, that sounds pretty good to me. Not quite sure about the “preaching stuff that wasn’t in the Bible” part, but he seems earnest at least.

So people stopped attending the church, and he got excommunicated by the overall Church? Harsh.

“From the outside, he probably looked like some raving cultist.” Good to see that Kyoko recognizes that while she believes (believed?) in what he taught she understands it could be seen as radical. Although was it really necessary to dump water on the guy, random person? Yes he’s preaching at your house, but that doesn’t mean you should treat him like that.

Side note: dumping water out a window? Do people still do that, now? Or is this Backstory set in a time when it was more common? After all, with the whole meat puppet thing, I don’t think it’s that much of a stretch to place this way back when.

“It got to the point where our entire family didn’t even have food to eat.” Oh, explanation for why she always has food! Nice touch, show!

...damn it, this show’s making my sympathize with the character who argued for Muggles as Monster Chow by showing how her family was starving… ok, fine, Kyoko. You can have a cushion for your chair.

Nice art style here! Showing Kyoko playing with these paper stick puppets while the girls’ art style stands out against the background.

Little Girl Kyoko just couldn't understand why all this was happening. Why people couldn’t just hear her father out and see that he was right.

And then she met Kyubey.

“And so I asked Kyubey to make everyone listen seriously to what my dad said.”

Oh. Oh no.

The very next day the church was packed full of people again. And each of their paper cutouts has red eyes and an image of Kyoko’s Soul Gem on their chest.

Damn it, Kyubey. She asked for people to listen to her dad, not get mind-controlled by him.

Bunny-Cat Jerk: “What’s the difference? They’re hearing the same words either way.”

It must have seemed so perfect. Her dad’s church is doing well, and she’s got cool new superpowers and monsters to fight. Her dad got to preach to the world, and she took care of the Witches. So she threw herself into Witch-hunting. Because between the two of them, they could save the world.

Hey, cutout of a taller woman holding hands with them! Wasn’t sure there was a mom in the picture until now.

But then her dad found out. And when he found out that the people were compelled to come by magic rather than belief, he “flipped out”. He called Kyoko “a witch who tainted people’s hearts”. WOW. Ok, in any magical setting that would be some harsh words, but when the demons are called Witches…when she hunted real Witches every night...

Oh no.

Yup. Orphan story.

Damn it. This doesn’t excuse her letting innocents die, but when it resulted in her father killing the rest of the family and then committing suicide…

I’ll be right back, going to get Kyoko some pocky to snack on.

“My wish destroyed my whole family.” Kyoko says that because she went and made a wish for someone else, without really knowing what he wanted, it brought everyone misfortune.

“Right then, I vowed in my heart never to use magic to help anyone else again.” Ouch. So Kyoko’s self-interest stems from the results of her Wish. If helping others only ends up in misfortune, then it is best to use if for your sake and yours alone.

This show seems to really be stressing a philosophy of ‘equal and opposite reaction’. Is karma the right term? “If you wish for hope, an equal amount of despair will be rained down upon you, too”. Seems that’s what Kyoko believes now, seeing it as preserving the world’s balance.

Sayaka asks Kyoko why she told her all of this. Huh, Kyoko really is trying to teach Sayaka, isn’t she? Like Homura’s trying to keep Madoka from making a contract and losing her soul, Kyoko’s trying to get Sayaka to, from her perspective, stop wasting her energy on helping others when whatever good she does will be countered by despair… I don’t think that Sayaka’s going to really approve of this philosophy.

Sayaka questions where “teaching others about how the world sucks” falls in a self-interest philosophy, Kyoko says that she’s trying to stop Sayaka from a life that will bring more regrets. You’ve already “paid your dues”, time to get your money’s worth! (Unintentionally) sold your soul? Then live it up on earth!

“I was really wrong about you.” Sayaka?

Oh! She’s apologizing for her initial opinion of Kyoko. But she still doesn’t regret making her wish for someone else’s sake. Go Sayaka!

“I’ve decided that I’ll never regret anything. Ever.” Um. Go Sayaka? I mean, good words, but I’m not sure that anyone could live up to that.

Huh. You don’t think you paid too high a price? We are still talking about your soul here, right?

“Because, depending on how we use it, this magic can be used for wonderful things.” Alright! Ally of Justice, everyone! Screw how dark this show’s gotten, we can still turn this around! Right?

Right?

Oh dear. She wants to know where Kyoko got her apples from.

Aw crap. Just when I get all excited about Sayaka not getting turned away from being a Hero, she goes full-on Paladin. And not the Paladin that you want in your party, either, but the “Almighty Babysitter” type a DM would use to keep the players in check. Yes, you want the rogue to exercise some self-control, but nobody likes partying with a Lawful Stupid character.

Sayaka. Kyoko just told you her Tragic Backstory in the ruins of her father’s church. Are you really going to chastise her about where she stole a bag of apples? Yes, yes you are. *sigh*

Kyoko is not happy about her advice getting so totally rejected, angrily eats an apple while Sayaka walks away.

Well this is just great. I can admire Sayaka not regretting her choice, but you do remember your last ‘fight’ with the more-experienced MG? It did not end well. What makes you think you could do better next time?

Sayaka’s walking to school now, I assume the next day. Hey, Madoka and NPC, I mean Hitomi! All three are walking along, Sayaka claims she was feeling sick the day before-

Hey, Kamijo! Oh. Kamijo. And Sayaka didn’t know he was going back to school

In class Kamijo’s the center of attention, chatting about he’s aiming to set aside the crutches next week. Madoka suggests that Sayaka go talk with him, but she says that she’s fine.

Closeup of Hitomi?

Wait, why are they at Fancy Food Court again? And it’s just Sayaka and Hitomi.

“About love.” Wait. Wait, no. No no no NO.

Hitomi has a crush on Kamijo.

Hitomi, please stop. This is…

Hitomi. You have no idea what damage you are causing right now. I understand from your perspective you are just expressing your intent to a friend of yours in an attempt to prevent any bad feelings. That’s commendable, really, a proper thing to do. Good manners.

But this is the boy that Sayaka, while unintentionally, sold her soul to heal.

I am begging you, do not do this.

Great, a deadline. Hitomi’s waiting until after school the next day to confess her feelings to Kamijo, so Sayaka has a chance to.

Well, great.

Later that night, at Sayaka’s apartment complex…

KYUBEY. SCREW YOU.

Bunny-Cat Jerk: “Ah, whatever. Time for my magical lunch ladies to get me more food!”

Madoka’s waiting for Sayaka again. What a good friend. And after the wtfery of the last few days, from listening to Kyoko’s Tragic Backstory to Hitomi’s deadline, Sayaka starts crying. She had a moment that day where she almost regretted something…

Sayaka, it’s ok to regret things. Nobody is perfect-

WOW OK. That’s a little different, thinking “If only I hadn’t saved Hitomi that time…”

Let me try that again. Sayaka, there are things that it is ok to regret, but succeeding in saving a life is not one of them. By all means, never regret that. And stop trying to hold yourself up to Mami’s level, you are at most a few weeks into the job, if not days. You’ll become a worthy Magical Girl in your own time, there’s no shame in that.

And I’m sorry about the Hitomi situation, that you feel that it’s inevitable and there’s nothing you can do because you’re “already dead”. Please, Sayaka. It sucks that your life is now this because of Bunny-Cat’s dick move, and I can’t see a painless way to get out of this. But please, talk with Madoka. Be a good example to Kyoko and Homura. Don’t let the problems of today weigh you down. You are Sayaka Miki, student of Mami Tomoe. You will be a glorious Magical Girl, a hero. Just stay strong.

Sayaka’s doing a little better after Madoka give a shoulder to cry on. Keep being a good friend, Madoka. Now, let’s go save the Muggles!

In what looks like an old construction site…

Kyoko’s there, chomping on a popsicle as she looks at a labyrinth. Are the others in there already?

Oh hey, Homura! She questions why Kyoko is on the sidelines right now, Kyoko says that Sayaka’s fighting a full-fledged Witch tonight. So since it’s sure to drop a Grief Seed, no reason to let the Familiar go to eat more people. As for why she’s letting someone else fight the ‘prey’? She doesn’t answer. Hmm, did Sayaka’s response leave an impact?

Inside the labyrinth, the art style seems to be black silhouettes against a white background.

Hey, this is Sayaka’s theme, isn’t it?

Sayaka’s charging the Witch, but keeps getting blocked by these dragon-head things. She almost reaches the… bonsai tree? But a branch grows and traps her. Madoka runs forward- oh hey, Kyoko’s here and cut her loose! She scoffs about Sayaka’s performance and gets ready to atta- nope, Sayaka tells her to get out of the way, that she’ll do this alone. Are you sure about that, Sayaka? This is a Witch, after all.

Ouch, that’s got to hurt. Good thing she can heal, though.

Wait. Is she laughing?

Um. She’s not dodging anymore, just charging. And now she’s slashing wildly at the Witch while still laughing.

“It’s really true! If I just detach myself…”

Oh no.

Ranubis said:As Sayaka recovers, Kyubey is rambling about how Magical Girls can control the degree of pain reception on their own, but he doesn’t recommend it at it lowers reaction time. ...wow, ok. Even I can see that manipulation at work there. You inflict Sayaka with severe pain, and then ‘offhandedly mention’ that she can make it so she feels no pain at all? Real subtle, Bunny-cat. Because why worry about the well-being of these girls when you can make them that much more aggressive in getting you food?

Well, this is just GREAT. Sayaka’s gone and turned into a Berserker Paladin, hasn’t she?

“...I really don’t feel any pain! *crazed laughter*”

Sayaka. Sayaka, please. Don’t do this. Going into a Berserker Rage never helps.

Can’t you hear Madoka begging you to stop?!

Well. That was certainly a cheery point to end the episode. Last time we discovered that the girls were lichs. Now Sayaka’s gone and started fighting in Berserker Mode. What’ll happen next, Madoka’s Mom gets killed by a Witch?!

Ugh. This show, you guys.

After Credits Picture! And adorable image of Kyoko, Sayaka and Madoka snacking on fish treats, while Sayaka yanks Kyubey away from the bag. If only this was the show that we had…

“I’m going to be a different kind of magical girl from all of you...That’s what I’ve decided...I don’t need thanks or recompense. I’ll be the one magical girl who won’t use her magic for herself.”

Well, that’s a good Hero Statement. Good for you Saya-

Episode 8: I Was Stupid… So Stupid

...what. No. NO. THAT IS A HORRIBLE EPISODE TITLE, WHY WOULD YOU-

[everythingstevieking]

Let Me Explain: Being In Love

Alright!!! Okay!!! You want us to talk? Let’s do it. Let’s bloody well have a conversation which I do not at all want to take part in but for the sake of fucking exclusivity, I’m going to talk to you right here and right now. Brace yourself.

Yes, I am advocate of love. Love is the greatest gift that God has ever passed down to us and treated well, love is the most rewarding thing on His beautiful green planet. However, there are terrorist prisoners who are being waterboarded in Guantanamo Bay who are having a better tie now than they ever did being in love. Yes, because being in love is the most tormenting, agonizing and emotionally taxing thing that we as human go through.

Movies, music, series etc. have sold us this amazing idea of what being in love is. Boy meets girl, they share a moment, they start sating, they have a minor hiccup, they resolve everything and they live happily ever after. That is not how real life works, my angel. In real life, you play the background until one day, you summon the courage that only Greek gods possessed to tell her how you feel, only for her to respond with the most painful sentence ever constructed by man: “Awww!!! I love you but…”. Of course, I’ll leave the rest to you to figure out because honestly speaking, I have no desire going through the long list of reasons why being in love doesn’t work in real life like it does in movies.

The total heart-shattering and hope-ending rejection that she hands over to you like the head of John the Baptist to Salome is not the worst thing. Shocked? I know. And let me explain. Sometimes, she strings you along. Sometimes she allows you to share everything that you feel for her, she lets you get in real deep, and she flashes a smile that its beauty cannot be described by mere mortal language and she gives you hope. Not an answer.  She gives you neither yes nor no. She just gives you hope. A hope that will carry you through life but you will never get to fully appreciate or enjoy the delights that comes with it but man, you will have that someday, you and the one who holds your heart shall be.

Rejection and false hope are also not entirely bad. They are not because somehow, no one has the true answer, you let it go and begin to heal. It could be time, substance abuse, church or whatever else that works for you but eventually, you let go and begin to heal. There’s something that is not all that easy to heal from though and that is yourself. They tell you that you can and they get very convincing but you can’t. You may be able to quiet the voices for a while but you know they are there and the slightest of incidents, they coming roaring down like Victoria Falls and like the rocks at the bottom of a major waterfall, they drown you.

You may throw every piece of self-help advice and whatever Eric Thomas once said on Youtube video that you watched, but it doesn’t work. You want to know why? Because – believe it or not – everything, that you may think about yourself, has been said out loud by those closest to you and that brought most of these demons to live. And you lived with them so long that they went from being unwelcomed guests to being the only things that have yet to leave you. So, what happens at this point? Your heart slowly closes off to the world. We keep everybody at arm’s reach. And you, systemically, begin to detach yourself from anything and everything which once give your life meaning and joy. Your reality becomes darker with every morning that you wake up because a major part of you wishes that you didn’t get to see it. It would easier to take the path that many have taken and just end it but you don’t even have the fortitude do something that brave. All you do is go through the routine that you call life and hope it won’t be any longer than it already has been.

You barely have love for yourself. You meet someone whom you connect with but you push them away as a defense mechanism. You find fault in everyone who comes close to you because you know how broken this vessel is and there is no way anyone would want it associated with them. There are so many reasons, you give, as to why you find comfort in being alone and you would never tell the world that it’s because you believe no one actually want to be with you. But that is pretty much it, isn’t it?

Now, to answer your question about how I feel about this lady. Let me answer you as honest as I’ve always been to you. Imagine feeling all these things about yourself, on a constant basis, and then your heart and emotions decide to royally screw you over by making you fall in love with a delicate little flower which you have no sensibility nor ability to take care of? What do you do? GO!!!

[hekate1308]

One True Love

Sam x Eileen focused, but definitely Destiel. Creature AU. Enjoy!

Sam never looks back once he’s taken the leap. Sure, some of the monsters can be annoying, and it takes getting used to strange stuff happening around him at all times; but he has his brother back, it seems like he’ll build a career of being the legal advocate for the monsters in town, and he’s happy.

True, sometimes when he sees Dean and Cas together, he feels... envious. The last relationship he thought could lead to something fizzled out in college when he and Jess realized they want different things, and now...

Although he wouldn’t change a thing about his life if he could, there are... consequences to dating him now.

Like Dean when he fell for Cas, any woman interested in him will have to accept magic becoming a part of her life.

Still... Cas found Dean. There has to be someone out there for Sam, too.

He’s not really looking right now, anyway. There’s no rush.

He meets Sarah at an art house opening one of their clients invited him to. One of their humans ones, for that. He’s allowed to bring up to two guests, so he naturally chooses Dean and Cas.

The art’s not bad, but not quite to his taste. Dean seems pretty struck with a few of the abstracts, but if this happens to be because he likes the paintings or because the blue in them reminds him of Cas’ eyes is anyone’s guess.

He and Sarah meet on the balcony; they both need a breather.

Dean has long since become used to the stares people throw his and Cas’ way, but Sam still gets angry on their behalf. It’s not Cas’ fault that he’s a siren; hell, he doesn’t even need to feed off of people anymore, so why does everyone feel they have a right to judge him and their relationship?

When he sees the dark-haired woman looking at him, he sighs. “I’m the one who’s here with the siren and his husband, yes.”

“I was about to say so, to get the awkwardness out of the way” she replies. “I’ve watched you three for over an hour now – everyone has – and it’s pretty clear nothing bad will happen, so I don’t get why everyone is still walking on eggshells around them.”

“Dean says you get used to it” he supplies.

She nods. “They had to, I imagine.” She holds out her hand. “Sarah Blake.”

“Sam Winchester” he introduces himself, shaking it. “Dean’s brother.”

“That would be the human, then, right?” In the next moment, she shakes her head. “Dear God, what do I sound like. “Which one of you is the human” as if I have any right to ask.”

Despite thinking the same only a minute ago, Sam can’t help but be grateful that she at least noticed.

They start talking about the art pieces.

They take it slow. Sam tells her what dating him will entail on their second date to make sure nothing happens while he’s not there to explain it (considering what Bobby told him about a fishing trip that ended with him speaking to merfolk).

“So this is all or nothing?” Sarah asks calmly.

Sam nods.

She reaches out and touches his hand. “I can make no promises. The only monster I ever came close to is Cas, and we didn’t even speak. I will try and... no, that’s not the right word. I’ll do my best to see if I am cut out for this life. There is a reason why many people prefer it on this side.”

Really, it’s a better reaction than Sam hoped for.

Dean looks sceptical when he tells him during their shared lunch, though.

“What?” he asks when his brother just shrugs. “She’s ready to take a chance! That’s good! I wish half the people we meet would be as tolerant –“

“Not what I mean. Look, Sam, I get that you’re happy you found someone who openly listens to what you have to say, but... There was never a moment where I hesitated with Cas.”

“That’s what happens when your siren boyfriend ensnares you” Sam snaps, realizing what he said when Dean pales. “I didn’t – I’m sorry –“

“I need to go” Dean stands up and throws a few bills on the table. “Restoration. Can’t wait.”

And with that, he sweeps out of the diner.

Sam sighs. He really screwed up.

He feels someone glaring at him and when he raises his head, it’s not difficult to spot the sybil glaring at him.

Of course there’s a fortune teller, a seer right where he and Dean have their first big fight. Of course there is.

He leaves as quickly as he can.

He and Dean don’t talk for the rest of the week; instead, he has a normal date or two with Sarah and wonders why he doesn’t feel wholly comfortable anymore in so completely mundane surroundings.

Until they have dinner at a restaurant and he notices something out of the corner of his eye. “Oh.”

“What is it?” Sarah asks.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but... I think the kitchen has a pixie problem.”

“Would you repeat that?” she asks slowly.

“There are pixies in the kitchen, and I’m guessing that’s the reason so many of us are still waiting for our food.”

“What should we do about it, then?” she asks immediately.

They spring into action. Sam hails a waiter who starts apologizing but stops when Sam explains that they are aware what is going on, and that he actually has some experience when it comes to matters like this.

The chef looks like he’s about to kiss him. “Thank you so much! One of our regulars is a mavka... Don’t get me wrong, we all love her, but she does bring a certain... supernatural flair with her.”

“Seems like she tipped the balance” Sam agrees. “Don’t worry, just give me an empty pot, I can catch them –“

“I’ll help” Sarah pipes in.

She’s rather talented when it comes to catching pixies, and within an hour, they’ve managed to get every small one.

They get a free meal for their troubles.

Sarah seems relaxed enough, but there’s nothing of that joy and pride Sam experienced when he helped Dean and Cas, nothing of the surge of adrenaline he felt, and he somehow knows how the evening will end.

When he drops her home, she says gently, “Remember when I said I’d do my best?”

“You did. You’re quite the pixie catcher” he says, and she laughs.

“I guess. But... Sam, I – I don’t think everyone is cut out for this life, and by that I mean not everyone wants this life. And I want to manage the gallery, and not find magic around every corner. Normal has always been enough for me.”

“It’s fine” he answers, and to his surprise, he realizes that it’s true. She never lied to him, she left before either of them could develop serious feelings for one another, and she did try.”

They part with a kiss and a gentle reprimand that he should apologize to his brother because she can see their fight has been gnawing at him.

He decides to call Dean tomorrow.

Instead, he comes home and turns on the light to find Crowley sitting on his couch and drinking Craig. He almost jumps straight back out of the door. “What the –“

“Do you know how much Squirrel has been moping these past few days? Of course you don’t. So, you’re coming with me and you two are going to bury the hatchet, do you hear?”

Crowley snaps his fingers and in the next moment, they were standing in Dean’s and Cas’ living room. “You can thank me later.” The demon vanishes.

Dean sighs. “Should have known he would do something like this eventually.”

“I’ll leave you two to talk” Cas decides at the same time, pressing a gentle kiss against Dean’s lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you too”.

Once they are alone, Dean takes a deep breath. “I know I overreacted –“

“You didn’t” Sam says. “If I loved someone and someone accused them of manipulating me...”

“You didn’t –“

“Yes I did” he interrupts him. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

“Then I’m sorry for storming off before we could clear the air” Dean decides. “Want a beer?”

And just like that he’s forgiven.

He tells him about Sarah. Dean isn’t surprised. “had a feeling it wouldn’t last.”

“How?” Sam demands. When he thinks back on their teenage years, he still can’t figure out how Dean’s the one who ended up happily married – not that he doesn’t deserve it, because he does; but still.

Dean shrugs. “i don’t know. Maybe it’s because I am happily married to the love of my life? Or I am somehow able to sense attraction now that I’ve been with Cas for so long...” he snorts. “Maybe not the latter.”

Sam sighs. “In case you ever do develop the ability, please let me know if you notice anyone being interested in me.”

“Anyone?” Dean asks, his eyes sparkling mischievously, and Sam rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Come on Sammy, you’re a catch. The right one will come along. You just have to give it some time.”

Sam prides himself on his observational skills in the court room.

And yet, when the right one comes along, he almost misses it.

Eileen Leary, the new DA, is clever, hardworking and friendly, and they’re soon on their way to become friends.

One evening during dinner at Dean’s and Cas’ his brother asks, “So, when are you bringing her over?”

“Who?”

“Eileen, of coruse.”

“What do you mean, of course?”

“You talk enough about her. Have to make sure she’s good enough for my little brother.”

“Dean” Cas shakes his head at him while Sam tries to figure out what exactly gave Dean the impression that he and Eileen could ever...

“She’s the DA.”

“And? There have to be more cases than yours she can work on.”

In the end, Sam acquiesces to stop his brother sniggering over his supposed crush.

Eileen is very interested when he invites her to their next barbecue – while she is in no way as intrusive as some other people who start asking questions the second they hear about his brother-in-law, she explained to him once that she has a big interest in monsters because “I’m an outsider to, in a way.”

Sam doesn’t think her deafness really holds her back; he’s never had any troubles understanding her.

Still, they attend the barbecue together and are immediately greeted by Crowley.

“Hello, Moose. And I assume your charming acquaintance is Miss Leary?”

To Sam’s surprise, they begin a conversation in sign language.

“Did you know he could do that?” he asks Dean and Cas, stepping up to them.

“No, but it’s Crowley. He probably picked up a few things in the centuries since he was born.”

Fair enough.

Eileen fits right in, chatting happily with the monsters and eating Dean’s burger with relish.

She’s quiet when he drives her home, however.

It’s explained when he parks in front of her apartment building and she says “I’ve never met a group who were so... normal to me before.”

Sam wonders what that says about his fellow human beings.

When she looks at him with tears in her eyes despite the smile on her lips, what this actually is and what he wants strikes him at the speed of lightning.

Oh.

Maybe he should listen to his brother more often.

After their first kiss – he’ll later think that it might not be the best timing, but his mind isn’t exactly clear at the moment – he tells her, “If this continues, you’ll have to get used to the supernatural popping up wherever you go.”

She chuckles. “I think that will not be a problem.”

When he calls Dean the next morning, his brother only laughs. “You do realize that Crowley asked her if you had already made a move, right?”

[katherinelhughes]

A Car Accident in the Age of Impeachment

Dec. 11th—it’s becoming clear to me that I need to get some thoughts on paper before I can even hope to embrace any kind of holiday spirit.  It’s been a challenging few weeks.  I wrote my only other blog about a year ago, upon my return from a glorious trip to Ireland with my daughter.  I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression from that blog post.  No, Katherine is not all rainbows and unicorns.  Though I did see an astounding number of rainbows in Ireland, and I do have a Pillow Pet that is a rainbow unicorn.  But I digress…

It’s just that I’ve come to this really painful realization: IT’S US AGAINST THEM.  I know that this is the antithesis of the spirit of the holiday season.  But I’m going to need some kind of Scrooge-like epiphany right now to convince me otherwise.  I’m hoping that writing this blog will be the exorcism that gets this dangerous and demonic idea out of my head: it’s us against them.  

First, the car accident.  Nov. 5th—I’m traveling west on Touhy Avenue in a little stretch of Chicago that is between Niles and Park Ridge.  (…a fact that is meaningful only to Chicagoans)  Ahead of me I see a car pull slowly into my lane of traffic, and almost immediately veer into the oncoming lane, and back again.  Then I see the vehicle stopped on the side of the road, and as I pass, I see an elderly woman staring malevolently at me through the vehicle’s window.  Actually, I probably made up that part, in which the woman becomes this almost cartoonish representation of a mean old lady.  Maybe my psyche’s attempt to come to terms with what is about to happen…  Anyway, I’m relieved that she seems no longer to be a present danger on the road.  I come up to the next light, and as I sit there, reality suddenly shifts.  I hear and feel what I take at first to be an explosion, until I realize that someone has plowed into the rear end of my car.  It is of course the erratically-driving woman—my cartoon nemesis.  She has pushed my car into the car in front of me, but thankfully its occupants are unharmed.

I call to report the accident, which has already been reported by an off-duty officer who happens to be on the scene.  In minutes the police arrive and also, like circling vultures, a tow truck driver and the representative of the tow yard.  Both the police and the towing people are very solicitous, and want to be sure I’m okay.  And really, all things considered, I am.  I can’t say the same for the lady who hit me.  It becomes pretty clear that she is completely incapacitated, most likely by prescription med’s.  She is unable to answer the questions of the police, though she seems not to have sustained physical injuries, and they take her away in an ambulance.  The tow truck people are hovering around me, anxious to take my car away, but I insist on waiting until my husband arrives.  As we’re waiting, they open the lady’s car door and show me a gallon plastic bag filled with pill bottles.  On the passenger seat, in plain view.

And by the way, tow yards are a scam.  My car sat in that lot, racking up charges, until Nov. 11th.  The lot’s owner rarely answered his phone, and its hours were only 10 AM to 2 PM.  Remember the Steve Goodman song “Lincoln Park Pirates” about the infamous Lincoln Towing Service?  I should have been paying more attention!

Okay, I won’t draw out the details of the accident any further—you saw the picture.  It has become this script I deliver anyway, and I’m frankly ready for some new material.  And you’re probably wondering, it’s us against them, car accident, impeachment?  Where is she going with this?

In the aftermath of the accident, I am catching bits and pieces of the Intelligence Committee impeachment hearings on my rented car’s radio.  Some impressions of what I hear: 

Nov. 15th—Marie Yovanovitch, ambassador to Ukraine, reminds me of Christine Blasey Ford.  A very reasonable but somewhat soft-spoken woman.  Just the kind of woman that Donald Trump and his ilk like to bully.  Oh, I probably forgot to say how much I despise Donald Trump.  As a true liberal (Come on guys, can’t we all just get along?), it’s very painful to have to admit despising someone.  I give Nancy Pelosi kudos for praying for him—I’m not quite there on my journey toward enlightenment…

Nov. 20th—Gordon Sondland, ambassador to the EU: “(President Zelensky) loves your ass!”  Seriously?  And as journalist Ana Kasparian noted, hey, doesn’t the EU ambassador position cost at least $6 million? 

Nov.  21st—My new hero, Fiona Hill!  The way she squashes that ridiculous theory about Ukraine’s involvement in the 2016 election.  And that northeastern-England accent—simply delightful!  Yes, she’s from a coal-mining town, and her father lost his livelihood when the coal mines shut down.  Other countries in the developed world are shutting down their coal operations.  Not the US—our president ran on the promise of bringing back coal jobs!!!  Sorry, again I digress.

But my impression overall of the hearings?  It’s us against them.  Democrats versus Republicans.  What, did they all do debate team in high school?  Decide which side you’re on, and say ANYTHING you have to say to support that side’s position?  Of course I see the Republicans’ argument as completely bogus—that what Trump did doesn’t rise to high crimes and misdemeanors.  I think he should be impeached and then convicted by the senate.  It ain’t happening though.  Why?  Because it’s us against them.  Democratic control of the House and Republican control of the Senate. 

Until we have a multi-party system of government, we will be forever locked in this battle.  And until we admit that our system of government is a money-power oligarchy, we will never change the fact that most of us in this country are without true representation.  And by the way, I have to laugh at the “framers-of-the-constitution” talking point that the Democrats trot out constantly.  Oh yeah, that little group of money-power oligarchs that wrote our sacred document?  Donald Trump is only one in a long line of wealthy men who have wielded great power in this land.  Ooh, better go hug my unicorn pillow and calm down a bit!

But it’s not just in the political sphere that I’m feeling the us-against-them dynamic.  The whole car accident experience was fraught with it.  I certainly felt that I was in an adversarial position with my own insurance company.  Since they declared my car totaled, they had to give me an estimate of its value.  To them, it was not worth much—to me, it was invaluable.  Because the car was ten years old, and had about 153,000 miles on it, I didn’t even get enough to buy a lesser car—we had to fork over extra money to buy a replacement car that is two years older and not a hybrid.  Thankfully, I was coached not to accept the first offer I got, or we would have received even less. 

Memorable comments I got when I related my insurance woes: “Insurance companies are evil incarnate,” and “Most individuals walk away bloodied after an encounter with one.”  And I do know that I should be grateful that I didn’t walk away literally bloodied.  Just some bruises on my knees, and maybe some different pain in my back and shoulders.  Hard to be sure since this season can be hard on us violin-players anyway…

A little aside about cars.  I have always prided myself on avoiding attachment to earthly possessions—cars in particular.  I’m serious about this journey-toward-enlightenment thing.  But I think I actually had to mourn the loss of this car.  Maybe that’s normal—I don’t know since I’ve never had a car totaled before.  It was a red ’09 Toyota Camry Hybrid.  I am thankful that it gave its life so that I might be saved…

We’re always reminded to drive defensively, and believe me, I have wondered if there was something I could have done to avoid the accident.  But the thing that really bothers me is that this defensive posture extends to other areas beyond driving.  The us-against-them conflict seems to play out in so many arenas.  I feel that I’m having to relentlessly advocate for my own interests with the companies that are “providing services” for me.  I don’t like this defensive stance.  I resent the energy it requires—it could be used in much more creative ways.  Yeah, I’m talking to you, Cigna.  And you, Verizon.  And—well, the list goes on.

Dec. 11th—the impeachment hearings have continued into the Judiciary Committee and beyond, and there is deadlock in that particular us-against-them impasse.  Is the impeachment exercise also a waste of energy?  It’s hard to imagine that it will do anything but ramp up the animosity between the two sides.  I guess it has to be done for the sake of our democracy—oh right, I said we’re a money-power oligarchy, so never mind.  Meanwhile I will bury my head in the iridescent fur of my rainbow unicorn.  I want to believe that we’re all in this together.  Still waiting for that ghostly visit that will turn my head around before Christmas…

[culinarystrategist]

@malveiillant

Written as a companion & response to this.

Revenge, so the adage goes, is sweet.

If you take everything away from a man, and he feels he has nothing left to lose, then there are no limits to the depths to which that man will plunge in order to scour his soul of what ails him. Loss has made Ignis bitter. Grief has made him brutal. Anger has made him merciless.

Time does not heal all wounds. His body still bears the marks of his torture at the hand of Ravus. Milky vision, twitchy nerves and nightmares to fray even the sturdiness of nerves all combine to keep those hours Ignis suffered very much alive in his mind. He doesn’t want to relive that time. Who but the most disturbed would? Ravus, he imagines, probably often thinks back to that fateful day, revelling in the torment he meted out not just to Ignis. Did he believe himself justified back then? Did he think his actions were a fair act of punishment against his transgressors?

Ignis simply couldn’t care less. What Ravus did can never be advocated, however it can be replicated and requited. The compassion which ran as a current throughout his life, guiding him through the most difficult situations and acting as a moral beacon to light his way, is gone. The well has run dry and only rancour remains, fuelled by each painful reminder. Catching sight of a scar, or a certain smell invokes unbidden memories which leave Ignis gasping for breath as though he were right back there, in Ravus’ cruel clutches. In those instants, those moment of anguish and terror, Ignis all but pleads for the Astrals to take him from this mortal coil and allay horrors for once and for all.

When those visions pass, and Ignis finds his throat is no longer constricted, allowing breaths of sweet air to flood his lungs, he’s left with one solitary thought: retribution. It becomes all-consuming and he finds himself fantasising about taking Ravus apart, piece by sorry piece, and showing him every inch of the corruption that resides within his body. And so, a plan is formed.

As a man who has always prided himself upon the goodness of his heart, Ignis discovers it’s surprisingly easy to insert himself into the domain of nefarious activities. Money always helps. He spends a little cash here, makes a little investment there, and favours are given and earned in return. It takes virtually no time at all for Ignis’ name to get out there as someone who knows how to get things done. A far cry from his previous life and one he’d never have imagined himself leading, but necessity is the mother of invention and a little diversification never did anyone any harm.

Ignis the kingpin, ruling with a ruthless hand and taking no shit from anyone. You cross him? The consequences are simple: you die. As far as his former cohorts are concerned, he’s taken himself off on a pilgrimage to try and cleanse himself of the impurities Ravus instilled in him. If they could see him now, they’d swear it was a different man altogether.

Ignis? Callous? No, never. Even that time he hit his thumb with the meat tenderiser, the worst that happened was a mild curse. He doesn’t have it in him to be cruel.

That’s what they’d say, dear Gladio and Prompto, because even though they battled their own demons, their faith in the former royal advisor was unshakable. Some thing never change, and that includes - in their eyes - the stalwart Ignis.

Fuck them. Fuck them and their naivete. If they want to sit in circles with other poor saps and talk about their feelings, let them. Ignis believes otherwise. He believes that the only way of solving a problem is through decisive and firm action and when he feels the time is right, he gives the order for capture. How its done, he doesn’t care. The finer details are irrelevant. As long as Ravus is delivered to the specified location and the required time, Ignis’ accomplices will be handsomely paid.

The spot is chosen for its remoteness - a place where a man can scream at the top of his lungs and the only thing around to hear is the wildlife. A table takes up the centre of a barren room, flanked by two moveable carts, laden with instruments. Ignis leans against the back wall, waiting for his quarry to arrive. He’s already ensured that each dagger, knife and scalpel is as sharp as possible, and that the straps which will secure Ravus to the table are impossible to break. It’s just a matter of time before he hears the rumble of an engine, followed by the slamming of truck doors.

“Make sure he is unable to move,” Ignis barks out. “And remove that damnable arm. Rip it off, if you have to.” The men move quickly to carry out the order, stripping Ravus of his long coat and tossing it into a dark, dusty corner of the room. While Ravus is prepared for what is to follow, Ignis inspects the tools of his trade. He’s taken the step of colour-coding each weapon with a little bit of tape around the handle or hilt. Green to start off with - the larger blades. Orange will come next and finally, red. Each step has been carefully plotted in his mind and there is no room for error.

“He’s ready, boss,” the foreman announces, herding his companions towards the door. “Just call me when you need the clean up crew.” With that, he’s gone, leaving only Ignis and Ravus in the room.

In the time it takes for Ravus to rouse from his impromptu nap, Ignis dons a leather apron and a matching pair of gloves - because there’s never any excuse for not wearing a coordinated outfit. As soon as Ignis hears the first sign of wakefulness - a softly confused and muffled groan - he pushes the trolley holding the green knives closer to the table and looms over Ravus.

“My apologies for the dim lighting,” he says, his voice as sweet and as pleasant as it ought to be when dealing with a foreign dignitary. “But I’m afraid my eyes are somewhat damaged and cannot take anything too bright.” His lilting tone belies the pointed barb and his smile hides true intent. “I must also apologise for the nature of your invitation to join me here, however I am certain that had I stuck with conventional means, you would have declined. As for the gag...” Leaning forwards, Ignis tapped the tip of his index finger against the band of fabric covering Ravus’ mouth. “That is entirely for my own entertainment at this stage.”

With a step backwards, Ignis allows himself a moment to peruse his choice of knives. Selecting the right one cannot be rushed. As he runs his fingers along the edge of the cart, he speaks again.

“You’ll also notice that I have divested you of your arm. I realise that must be disconcerting for you, but I’m sure you’ll be all right.” Covering his mouth with a gloved hand, Ignis chuckles quietly. “Ah, forgive me. That pun was terrible. Oh yes, I know, I know. I shouldn’t ever make light of someone’s disabilities. Chalk it up to nerves? I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Ravus bucks against his bonds, his lithe body arching off the table to no avail. There’s enough leeway in the straps to give the illusion that breaking free might be possible, when in actuality, there’s no chance at all. A nice little twist, Ignis thinks, to mess with Ravus’ head.

“Ah, now, here we go!” Knife picked and in his hand, Ignis returns to the table and Ravus’ hateful gaze. The man is proud, that much is obvious, and that is ideal as far as Ignis is concerned. That contempt will contribute to his downfall, which will be crushing. “I believe in openness and honesty, Ravus, and so I will inform you at the outset, so you are under no misapprehension about what is going to occur here, that I am going to cause you as much agony as I am capable. I have twenty-two knives here, and I am going to use each one of them on you. Some, like this one here,” Ignis says, holding up the long dagger so Ravus has a clear view of it, “look like they will inflict a lot of damage. But truth be told, although it will cut into your flesh, it will actually leave behind a shallow wound. Allow me to demonstrate.”

Lowering the knife, Ignis places the point against Ravus’ sternum and slowly draws it downwards. True to what he’d said, the knife did cut, but not very deeply. It hurt, though, to judge by the way Ravus’ brows knitted together and his fist clenched at his side. If he wanted to internalise the pain, that was his prerogative.

“It takes a few seconds for the blood to appear,” Ignis said, leaning closer and squinting through his murky vision. Beads of red slowly formed on the surface of the cut, but not enough to trickle. “You see? Disappointing. One would hope for far more than that. Let’s see if we can do a little better next time, yes?” A second cut joins the first, running parallel, but only a similar amount of blood seeps out, prompting a frustrated scowl.

“I should have known better. I’ve chosen to start in the wrong place! Silly me.” To rectify his error, Ignis stabs the tip of the knife into Ravus’ forearm and that nets him a stifled, yet satisfying yelp of pain. As soon as Ignis pulls the knife free, a strong spurt of blood escapes the wound and rolls in a steady rivulet over Ravus’ wrist. “Shall we see what the next knife can do?”

Twelve knives later - not all of them used as some were discarded as unneeded - Ravus’ skin is a patchwork of cuts, gashes, lacerations and carvings. Admiring his handiwork, Ignis muses that he ought to have been an artist. Red lines intersect over pale skin, and the the only part of Ravus’ body untouched by sharpened metal so far is his face. The cuts on the bottom of each foot were particularly gratifying because Ignis knows that those will take a near eternity to heal. Bruising forms where the harnesses restrain, adding a pretty touch of blue and purple to the red and pink.

“I don’t believe I have ever told you this before, Ravus, and that is most likely because I have never had the opportunity nor the reason to, but I must admit you are quite stunning. Beautiful, one might say. Were it not for that hideous arm of yours, one might speculate that you are the pinnacle of masculine perfection. It’s as though you were hewn from the finest marble, by the most skilled hands.” The smile Ignis wears fades to something altogether more sober. “Mine shall be the last eyes to gaze upon you in your present, exquisite form.”

With something akin to regret, Ignis takes up one of the scalpels and holds the edge just above Ravus’ cheek. Although his vision is far from acute, even he can see the fear reflected back from those mismatched eyes. It’s a pleasing sight to see. The pride that was so prevalent earlier has now completely dissipated, and while Ravus may not yet be broken, he’s beginning to unravel.

“Do you fear for your life?” Ignis asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do not, for I do not intend to kill you. You may die, but I promise that I will not strike the final blow.”

Narrowed eyes glare venom at him and he thinks his vow may have fallen upon deaf ears. He knows it to be the truth, though, and that’s all that matters. Nodding sombrely, he closes the gap between blade and flesh, but instead of a clean cut down, he slices in.

“When I was learning to cook,” comes the added commentary as Ignis carefully removes a sliver of meat from Ravus’ cheek. “I studied for a while under the Citadel’s head chef. He used to be a butcher, you know? He taught me how to incise with perfect accuracy. You have to go with the grain of the meat to ensure a clean slice.” Holding up the portion of cleaved flesh, he turns it towards the light so he can inspect his work. “Of course, a carcass would have been hung for a while prior to preparing so there would be far less blood than this.”

The way Ignis tosses the cheek fragment over his shoulder is careless and dismissive. It slaps wetly against the wooden floorboards a metre or so behind him. More joins it, every one wringing deadened screams, jerky movements and death glares from Ravus. The man on the table looks less like a man and more like the floor of an abattoir with each passing minute. White hair becomes streaked with red, fine strands matting together as blood congeals. Throughout it all, Ignis maintains his narration, treating Ravus to a monologue about his journey from novice cook to damned near professional chef, with the odd little anecdote tossed in along the way.

“I believe I am done.” Panting heavily, as though completing a task of great physical exertion, Ignis stands back, hands on hips, and expression pleased. “I doubt even your own sister would recognise you now. Oh my... There I go again, putting my foot in my mouth. May the Astrals preserve dear Lunafreya’s soul. Still, my point still stands. Now, you just bear with me a moment, while I-”

Ignis tails off, drops his scalpel onto the cart and ducks down to retrieve something from the lower shelf.

“Here we go! I’m sure you’d like to see what we’ve achieved here today, wouldn’t you?” Mimicking a barber, showing off a new hairstyle to his client, Ignis holds a mirror up in front of Ravus’ face. “What do you think? Personally, I’d say it’s so you. Perhaps to accompany your new style, you should rethink your wardrobe? Red is the new white!”

A ghoulish sight greets Ravus’ eyes. Barely a scrap of skin remains on his face, muscles and sinew on show for all the world to see. His lips are intact, but stained and bruised, and around his eyes, a hint of pink can still be seen below the smears of blood.

“It has been an honour to work with you, Ravus,” Ignis says and takes the mirror away to replace it on the cart. “As I said, I am done with you, but one last task remains. Before I get to that, I shall advise you that within the pocket of my apron is a phone with only one number programmed into it. The number belongs to the men who brought you here and they will happily provide a taxi service for you to return from whence you came.”

Ignis doesn’t plan on leaving this place. He knows that if he does, and if he leaves Ravus alive, then further vengeance will come. Besides, this is the only thing that’s kept him going since the day Ravus took Noctis’ life and now that it’s over, there’s no reason for Ignis to continue living. Selecting the largest knife he has on either of the carts, Ignis places it down on the table, the hilt at Ravus’ hand. Once it’s in place, he reaches for a second, a smaller knife with a curved blade.

“I recommend you work quickly. No doubt, you are already feeling rather drained and if you tarry too long, you’ll find yourself incapable of cutting yourself free and will likely expire where you lie.” Even before Ignis finishes speaking, Ravus is working the knife into his grasp to try and saw through his leather bonds. “As for me, the time has come for me to bid you farewell. As I said, it has been a pleasure and I wish you luck in your future endeavours. If I see your sister, I’ll give her your best wishes.”

With a smile, Ignis raises his hand and slashes the knife across his throat.

[smol-space-cadet]

World Suicide Prevention Day

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. Today we bring attention to the silent illness, the hidden killer, the misguided ghosts. Today we hug our loved ones and remind them that they are loved, they do belong here, and that we would miss them greatly if they left. Today we remember the people we lost to depression, the people who felt so hopeless, so lost, that they decided there was no reason to live, because every day would just be another battle. Mental illness is the war that no one wants to talk about. It's the elephant in the room. It's the murderer that no one can catch. Everyone is scared of it. Depression, anxiety, borderline, bipolar, PTSD, OCD, and many other mental ailments are frequently misunderstood. People veer around them like the homeless man on the street corner. He's dirty, he's worthless, he's a mystery, he's something that no one dares to approach. This is the problem with mental illness. Everyone is too scared to talk about it. No one wants to tell their friends that last night they thought about taking a few handfuls of pills. No one wants to confess to their family that, every night, they cry themselves to sleep. Mental illness is treated like an idea rather than a serious thing. Teens who struggle with anxiety and depression are told that they'll get over it eventually. Adults who never got over it are told to suck it up, go see a doctor, get some pills, get some help, stop being so dramatic. Everyone tries to push away the problem that is mental illness. They won't touch it with a ten-foot pole. "Let the professionals handle it, there's nothing I can say that could help. One wrong word could send this person straight off the edge, right?"

Wrong.

There is no wrong word. There is only a lack of words.

If someone tells you that they have a mental illness, if they take the time and courage to open up to you about the demons in their head, they are trusting you to help them. They don't want to be shoved into a doctor's office or given the number of that therapist you know. They want you to TALK to them. They want to know that you will support them no matter what. They want to be treated like their pain matters. They want to know that they don't have to fight alone.

Mental illness is a war. Every day is a new battle. Sometimes, you win. Sometimes, you lose. And some people lose the war entirely. They are sliced down by the blade of suicide.

Suicide is the other elephant, the other homeless man. No one wants to talk about it. No one wants to take it seriously. "He took his own life? He must be a coward." It has nothing to do with fear, nothing to do with being lazy, nothing to do with being a coward. Suicide is a gradual darkness that starts to spread through a person's brain, telling them that they don't need to live, showing them all the ways and all the reasons to die. It keeps spreading until the person finally succumbs, they finally lose control and they pick up their weapon of self-destruction.

They think that no one will notice or care when they're gone, but that is false. Everyone notices, everyone cares. Some people care more than others. Some people make a joke of it, calling the dead a coward. Some people treat it like a delicate flower, unsure if they should even approach it. Some people break. Some people break, then put themselves back together and become advocates for mental health.

The truth is, despite the pain of losing someone to suicide, it is not a subject that should be approached delicately as many people believe. You shouldn't shove it in anyone's face that so-and-so just died by suicide, but you shouldn't dance around it, either. Too many people are too afraid to talk about suicide and mental illness, and that's why it stays in the dark.

Suicide and mental illness need to come into the light. That's the only way we can fight against the darkness.

So many people hide their mental illness because they don't want to be shunned, or babied. They hide their death wish because they don't want to be called crazy and sick, they don't want to scare people away.

I stayed quiet about my mental health for a long time. I didn't tell anyone when I started having panic attacks. I didn't say anything on the days when I felt like I had no soul. I didn't reach out for a long time. While I would have never actually taken my own life, the thought did occasionally cross my mind, but I never told anyone that. I just stayed quiet and kept smiling, just like I'd done my entire life. I felt this pressure to be happy all the time, because that's what everyone knew me to be. I was Smiley, I was the girl who was always laughing. How could I shatter that girl? How could I reveal the truth? Especially as a hormonal teenager whose emotions shouldn't be trusted.

When I finally did open up, it was slow. I started with my closest friend, and slowly worked from there. Telling my friends how I felt was easy, they understood. Telling my parents was harder. I didn't say anything until late in my senior year, I was scared to tell them. I felt better once I did tell them, though. And they didn't baby me. They didn't immediately send me off to a doctor. They just reminded me that I am loved, and that I can always talk to them.

Now it's easier for me to talk about my mental health. I don't rub it in anyone's face. I don't just straight up say, "I have anxiety and depression!" It's something that I reveal once I get to know a person, once I feel that I can trust them and talk to them. And when I have a bad day, I always have someone I can talk to about it.

It's important to be open and honest about mental health. It's important to LISTEN to someone when they're telling you about their mental health. And it's important to speak up if you're worried about someone. If a friend or family member is acting odd, if they seem like they might need some extra TLC, talk to them. Let them know that you're there for them.

And don't dance around the topics of mental health and suicide. It's difficult to talk about, but it's something that has to be addressed.

Suicide is a tragedy, but if we can end the stigma of mental health and learn to open up, it's a tragedy that we can someday put an end to.

If any of my friends ever need someone to talk to, don't be afraid to message me!

You can also call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

[lifeofthelostjuliet-blog]

What would you do if you were me?

What would you do if you were me? That’s a question I have asked but always get different answers. I think they honestly miss the actual question being asked, because people are fully capable of giving their opinions to what they think they would do. But that’s the thing, it’s what THEY would do, not you. It’s like they have completely misunderstood the question. They see 1 side, they react as if it was them, but if they were you would they really do what they are telling you to do? It’s always easier giving advice to situation that you don’t have to live through, you see the obvious course of action but is it really the easiest? For them maybe it’s clear as day, but for you it’s not just black and white, it’s black and white but also every shade of grey and in between them there are multicolours that you can’t explain. You see the problem is, no one is you, so how can you even ask that question and expect an answer or some advice that you can hand on heart actually follow? So again I ask the question, “What would you do if you were me?” And now really think about it, If you had the same personality, same mental defects and personal issues, the same history and life story, the same feelings and emotions, the same temperament, the same knowledge of the situation, the full unedited version of the story and the true knowing of the other people involved, now take a step back and then be honest with yourself, would you really keep to the same opinion you were giving or would it change?  Would you be more hopeful, more optimistic, maybe you realise you are more accepting of the other person’s failings or idiotic unforgivable behaviour? The chances you keep telling that person to stop giving, you realise you would actually give more. Those words you are telling that person to say you realise you could never say in a million years. Now do you see the problem? Now you can understand that this is the exact situation I am currently in; I have heard every side to each argument, I have heard every opinion and bit of advice you could possibly think of, I have heard the blunt pessimistic views of people playing the devil’s advocate, I have heard the views of people saying what they think the other person truly feels and why they are doing what they are doing, I have had the middle ground where although mainly negative the person sees both sides and tries to not tell you the right thing to do because of the fear that they might actually be wrong, and then you get the optimistic views, these are sometimes the worst views to get, you know the ones where they fully believe that the universe works in amazing unexplained ways, that everyone meets for a reason, connections and souls exist, and that everything works out exactly how it should,  and finally because they have seen it they know it will work out in the most beautiful way possible, and that’s because they have that gut feeling as if they just know, you see now why sometimes this is the one view you really don’t want to hear? The most useful ones however is when you get the viewpoints of people who know what it’s like for the other person so can sometimes excuse and also explain some of the actions performed by that person, However annoying it is because you genuinely would rather think the other person is a heartless robot with an emotional range of a tea spoon, the point is you start to see the bigger picture, you know the one you would rather pretend didn’t exist?  Yeah that one! And when you start to see that, then you start to think that maybe the other person is suffering too, just not in the same way you are. And that’s when it hits you, because this is the same situation you are in, when you are telling people they are not you so how can they tell you what to do, you realise that you are not them either, so how can you judge them or tell them how they should handle a situation? It’s a complicated process to understand, everyone handles things differently, everyone sees things differently, and everyone processes or handles certain events or hardships differently. We are not the same, and whereas you might be able to deal with a certain difficulty with great ease or very little pain, another person might see this as a final straw, they snap, they break and they run for the hills. They cannot cope with things the same as you, instead they run, they face what most people refer to as the fight or flight instinct. We all have it, and in each given event in our lives, every hard battle we face these instincts and we end up doing one of them…….Do we fight or take flight? Most people are not strong enough depending on the previous life experiences, mental state or issues, and when things start feeling like too much, they feel trapped, pressured and like they can’t breathe, even thinking about it gives you an urge to just run. Most people fight when this happens, but for others the flight instinct is much greater than the need or want to fight and so they give in. They don’t take stock of how their rash course of action is, they don’t realise how this has affected others involved, all they see is for them, they are out of the situation, they are away from the scariness that is life, and for a short time they don’t need to think about anything. They feel the freedom, they can finally breathe. The only problem with this is while most of us would have fought this by now, the flight people, the things they ran from slowly become to catch up with them. It starts with reminders which feed into their dreams, they realise they aren’t eating or sleeping, they become tense without really noticing why, they become irritable, clumsy, scattered and unable to fully process what they think or feel.  So they start to shut down even more, they do things to help blank everything out, they drink, they cut the reminders out of their lives, they isolate themselves, they avoid certain things and eventually they become void as they mentally shut down, and they do this just to get some peace of mind. But those problems they are hiding from get stronger until they are staring at them straight in the face giving them no other option but to stand up and deal with them. All those emotions they have kept buried inside resurface, all that fear raises its ugly head and they are back to where they started, only this time they are so far from reality and they have hurt so many people in the process of running that they are now alone to fight their own demons, and they finally realise their mistake, but is it really too late to make amends? I am a fighter, I always have been, occasionally I have run from things that get too much and I want to hide from what’s inside my head, I isolate myself completely and for a moment be just me, and not have to deal with anyone or anything, to not have to deal with other peoples issues and problems, and just be completely alone. I know the feeling of that freedom, but I also know what it’s like when everything finally catches up to you. So another question I ask myself, if I was them, the runners of the world, if I was truly them with all the same issues, traits and emotions and serious problems, and went through the same things they did, would I of done it differently? Could I honestly blame that person for dealing with their situation the way they have done? Or could I understand that for them, this was all they knew how to do. They are not me, so how can I judge? Would I want someone to judge me for doing something that no one could possibly understand?  Or would I expect people to understand my sudden rash decision, to understand why I reacted the way I did, to support me in my decisions regardless of whether they are wrong and can be hurtful to others? I think I would want to be able to have the choice to make that mistake, to handle a situation in the wrong way but what felt right at the time, to be scared of everything and for just a moment to be truly free of feeling or worrying about the realities and responsibilities of my life, to be truly selfish in my approach and to just think about myself, to shut off from the world and just not have to think until I am ready, and I hope that when all is said and done that the people around me who love me the most, that they would know me well enough that when I finally come back and realise what I did, that they will still be there and could be forgiving. They may not understand, but they know that I did what I had too for me and if they were me in that situation that they would probably do the same.  So I will ask you the same question again…… what would you do if you were me?