#at the risk of sounding painfully cynical if IF there were any I Know What You Are (/neg) allegations (and there are so far none that i can

[meirimerens]

As someone that played through Fear & Hunger I'm very glad you aren't going to try it. it's really Disgusting at times in a "I know what you are, developer" sort of way and it takes so much energy to ignore the BAD that its just best to appreciate it from far far away and go "Oooooh cool art style". I do wish people brought that aspect up more at times. HOWEVER the art style & designs really do kick ass

haven't heard of any I Know What You Are allegations or rumors about the developer of f&h but frankly since i'm not touching the games i mostly didn't go look + not sure if i'm interested in knowing [but also i play + deeply enjoy + create fanart of pathologic & lead developer and writer of that has Freak allegations up to his neck, which i knew well before i got into the game(s) and i'm still playin & enjoying, and my critiques/criticisms of the female characters and their treatment is Explicitly informed by my knowledge of his Freak allegations] but i know from talking to like 5 different people at this point that the sexual/sexualized violence is not approached in a way I would find/those people I trust already find meaningful/well-handled. anyone and everyone is welcome to have their own opinions on it and think that this violence informs/fits within the content and the context of the brutal nature of the narrative, but from what i've heard and been able to discuss, even within the context of absolutely brutal ruthless narratives, it's just Not Handled In A Way That Is Well-/Meaningfully Written/offered the care it needs (yes even in a tragic cruel disgusting yucky evil narrative), whether objectively or subjectively, so i'm not touching that (also frankly i don't really care about turn-based rpgs. is just not my jam. i enjoyed whichever FF it was i had on DS but like. yawn a lil)

[this is no dig at people who play & enjoy any of the fungers btw many of my friends do play & like it + we're all able to enjoy like. horror. games. and movies and whatnot with yucky disgusting themes (that's what horror is. that's what the point of horror is) in the narrative & i greatly enjoy the art that comes of it but like. there's a reason even people who have played it tons + enjoy it thoroughly focus drawing the dynamics and interpersonal relationships between the characters and the found family aspect with The Girl and the web of bonds and not the ~allegedly~ Very Poorly Handled Graphic Omnipresent Sexual Violence]

[red-talisman]

An unbetaed snippet of post-CQL canon Yunmeng reconciliation, which is mostly extremely morbid and blunt conversation after beating each other hard enough that they’re too tired for their usual conflicting modes of emotional avoidance.

EDIT: now edited and posted on AO3. :D

CW for past suicidal ideation. Part of my “let WWX express some of his cynical humor and creepiness more often” and “let WWX find out about JC’s own sacrifice goddamnit” agendas.

___________________

Jiang Cheng stares blankly into the trees, their trunks slowly disappearing in the deepening darkness of twilight. Wei Wuxian’s back is warm against his and heaving for breath just as heavily. He thinks his ankle might be broken, but Wei Wuxian is probably worse off.

“You’re an asshole,” Wei Wuxian says thickly.

“Hypocrite,” Jiang Cheng mutters without heat, and Wei Wuxian manages a snort between his gasps.

“Yeah.” After a moment, he adds, with an echo of the old Yiling Laozu in his voice, “You know that if you ever do something like that again, I’ll probably find a way to do something worse than I did before.”

“If I do what, save your life by pulling the same fucking sacrificial shit that you do?”

“I swear to every god out there that I will bring you back as a fierce corpse and kill you myself,” Wei Wuxian says in a pleasant, albeit still somewhat breathless, tone. “I will dismember your carcass and make Jin Guangyao look like a fucking amateur.”

“Good thing Mo Xuanyu’s core isn’t worth shit, then,” Jiang Cheng replies. All of his attention is focused on the feeling of his brother’s bones and muscles moving against his own spine.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause. Somewhere distant Jiang Cheng hears the panicked yells of what’s probably the juniors they left behind a few li back. Then Wei Wuxian sighs. “We’re really fucked up.”

Jiang Cheng takes his time considering and discarding several possible responses. His ankle hurts like a bitch; Mo Xuanyu’s core may not be worth shit, but damn if his asshole genius brother hasn’t figured out how to make the most of it anyway. He finally settles on a tired, “Yeah.”

The silence stretches on long enough that Wei Wuxian goes on, more quietly, “You and Shijie are the only reason I didn’t die in the Burial Mounds. The Wens grabbed me before I knew whether or not you’d even survived the core transfer.”

Jiang Cheng tilts his head just enough to glance briefly over his shoulder. “How did you survive the Burial Mounds?”

“Nope, no, I’m not putting that on you. Not even Lan Zhan knows. I can’t...I can’t do that.”

“Fine. Then tell me, is any of it going to come back and bite us in the ass at the worst possible moment?” he asks dryly.

Wei Wuxian snorts, humorless. “Nah. It’s all mine.”

“Would you tell me if it wasn’t?”

When Wei Wuxian hesitates for a few telling seconds, Jiang Cheng mutters, “You fucking asshole.”

“Yeah.” Wei Wuxian sighs again.

“You left me.”

“You didn’t need me.”

“Who the fuck said that?”

The knobs of Wei Wuxian’s spine are starting to press painfully into Jiang Cheng’s. Wei Wuxian snorts. “I was practically a fierce corpse myself when I dragged myself out of the Burial Mounds. Your position as sect leader was too precarious,” he says bluntly. “You were seventeen years old with no real family, a sister who was getting married off anyway, and an adopted brother who’d been controversial years before the war even happened and who was clearly half-mad and getting worse. And I...my mind never really left the Mounds, honestly.” He coughs, makes a wet sound, and spits. “If I stayed much longer I was going to end up dragging you back into Hell with me. I was a risk you couldn’t afford and I wasn’t going to destroy Yunmeng Jiang a second time.”

"Don’t pull that bullshit, Wei Wuxian.” Jiang Cheng is so, so tired. “Mother was wrong. You know Wen Chao was looking for any excuse. You’re as responsible for that as our shidi was for using a round kite.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t respond. Jiang Cheng makes a mental note to beat that nonsense out of him in the future, when he can lift his arms again and his ankle isn’t most likely broken.

But Jiang Cheng remembers what it was like to try turning weapons, human and sword alike, into tools of peace. There are still whole weeks of the Sunshot Campaign that are just smears of sense-memory: the cacophony of screams and curses; the reek of mass funeral pyres and the soft ash drifting through the air like black, silent snow; the startling warmth of being suddenly drenched in blood after Sandu sliced open another living human. Half the time he’d come back to himself laughing hysterically, unable to see anything through the tears on his face, and as the war dragged on, the tears eventually dried up. It had taken months afterwards to settle into the mindset of rebuilding for Lotus Pier. (If he’s honest with himself, he never really did settle there. There's always a part of him still dragging itself through mud made by blood spilled on battlefields and churned up by soldiers' boots.)

“Jin Ling’s the only reason I never actually killed myself after you died,” Jiang Cheng says. “...Don’t you ever tell him that.”

“Wait, what?” Wei Wuxian snaps.

“You saying I would’ve died without a core - it was never about not having a core, you idiot, not really.” Not to say that hadn’t hurt, and Jiang Cheng really doesn’t know how he would’ve managed life as a commoner. But there were still worse things to lose than a core, which had also just lost and was about to lose yet again. “I had a few ideas on how to do it, depending on where I was and what was available when I decided I might as well get it over with.” He huffs a brief laugh and idly rubs his thumb over Sandu’s hilt. “I thought poison might be a good option, if a little heavy-handed on the metaphor.”

“I’d be laughing,” Wei Wuxian says flatly, “if you weren’t talking about killing my little brother.”

“Am I?”

“You never stopped.”

The silhouettes of the trees start to blur in Jiang Cheng’s eyes. “You left. You left, and everyone died, and somehow I was responsible for keeping our sister’s baby alive while the wolves tried to eat what remained of our sect from every direction. You left.”

“I never wanted to.”

“But you did.”

“Because I didn’t see any other way to keep you safe.”

“Because you chose strangers over family.”

“Because I didn’t see any other way to keep you safe,” Wei Wuxian hisses. Apparently they’re not so exhausted that they can’t get pissed after all. “I was hardly human anymore, Jiang Cheng. If I was going to die, then at least I’d die actually managing to save innocent people this time around and you would be safe from me.”

“I never wanted you to do that for me!”

“And I never wanted you to do that for me!”

The tension that had them both struggling to sit up straight suddenly breaks, and their backs collide again. Jiang Cheng grits his teeth against the urge to groan over the pain that ricochets through his chest and down his limbs. He hears a muffled yelp from behind him.

“You’re a damned fucking asshole and you’re my fucking brother and I hate you and don’t you ever assume you know what I need again, do you understand me,” snarls Jiang Cheng.

“You’re the damned fucking asshole and if you ever do that again then I will brand a reminder into your flesh right over the scar from the discipline whip,” Wei Wuxian snaps back, because he's never held back from fighting dirty if he thought it necessary.

“Fine!”

“Fine.”

They both stare into the dark forest, in opposite directions. It sounds like the juniors have finally picked up their tracks. Useless, the whole lot - Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian hadn't exactly been subtle in stepping aside for a private conversation that inevitably escalated, how could it take the kids this long?

"Those dumbasses had better not forget that we're on a night-hunt," he says.

"Like we did?" Wei Wuxian replies.

"You started it."

"Did not."

"No, I'm not doing this with you."

"Hey, you started this one."

"Shut the fuck up."

They fall silent again. A cold breeze picks up and Jiang Cheng feels Wei Wuxian shiver, pressing back just a little more firmly against Jiang Cheng for warmth, and he...leans back too. Just a little.

"I'm still fucking pissed at you," says Wei Wuxian.

"And I've got years' worth to pay you back for," says Jiang Cheng.

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Sect Leader Jiang!" they hear. "Senior Wei!"

"If you don't show up for the mid-autumn festival," Jiang Cheng suddenly says, "I'll come drag you out of the Cloud Recesses by the heels."

"But the dogs - "

"Don't be an idiot. Jin Ling's dog is the only one allowed in Lotus Pier, you know that."

Well, come to think of it, Wei Wuxian probably doesn't know that, but whatever, now he does. Wei Wuxian is terrifyingly silent, but before Jiang Cheng can say something that will inevitably bring them back to throwing fists, he hears a quiet, "Yeah, okay."

"Do you think they killed each other?" they hear Lan Jingyi asking loudly. "I mean, Sandu Shengshou versus the Yiling Patriarch - who would win?"

"Don't be an idiot," retorts Jin Ling, and Wei Wuxian's body briefly shakes with a laugh. "My uncle, obviously."

"They're both your uncle, idiot!"

Jiang Cheng just sighs and lets his head fall back against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

I Pity the Grave That Tries to Keep Me From You

Bull Randleman x Reader One-shot

Summary: it’s just fluffy angst about Bull coming back from Market Garden bc I’m a soft squishy sad little tall person who is dealing with some major feels

Warnings: shitty writing (mostly cuz I don’t feel like editing WHOOPSIE), angst, fluff, rushed ending, bleh, idk man it is what it is....

Ya’ll know I listened to Hozier’s Work Song for part of this, I didn’t even try to be subtle about it.

~

~

~

You don’t react when Hoobler tells you about Bull.  

Martin can’t look at you, but you hug him just the same.

I’m sorry he’d blurted after he returned your embrace, voice breaking painfully. I’m so fucking sorry.

But you’d just shook your head from side to side and given him the closest thing to a reassuring smile you could muster.

Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I’m glad you’re here.

You weren’t sure how many times you’d said those three sentences since D-Day, but it was the only thing you could think of to say to your broken friends telling you through tearful apologies the names of the soldiers you all had loved and lost. As if it was their fault... as if they’d failed in keeping them safe for you.

Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I’m glad you’re here.

Martin had let out one quiet sob against your neck before stepping back and turning and leaving. Everyone let him go. 

You understood- everyone grieved differently. Your grief had to wait a bit longer- you still had things to do.

No one made to stop you when you excused yourself, Webster having the presence of mind to give you a nod when you mumbled something about checking in with Nixon.

You and Bull had always known the risk of one or both of you dying- hell, you’d even discussed the likelihood of one of you dying in front of the other. You’d mentally prepared yourself as much as you could for that inevitability.

Missing, though? Missing wasn’t sitting well with you.

Becoming an intelligence officer hadn’t been a career path you’d stumbled across by mistake- you liked information, found comfort in details and strategy. 

You hated being blindsided, and since you’d been small you’d gone to great lengths to ensure you never entered a situation without being fully aware of any and all potential outcomes that could occur. 

Surprises aren’t always good, my darling. Remember that. 

Your mother’s words had echoed in your head the first time you’d met Bull, when he’d caught you off guard by introducing himself to you in the same manner he had introduced himself to all of the other men in Easy- with solid eye contact, a firm handshake, and a gentle drawl of “Randleman, nice to meet you.” 

The idea that you wouldn’t hear his voice again, in either friendly introduction or intimate devotion, made you feel achingly hollow.

“If you think something as silly as a grave can keep me from coming home to you, you got another thing coming, Little Lady”. 

“That sounds like you’re saying you’re going to haunt me, Den—”

“You should be so lucky….plus, I’d make it fun, so don’t even worry about it.”

You start to walk in earnest towards the officer’s area now, biting the insides of your cheeks in an effort not to cry. 

You had to keep going. 

You’d promised him you would, just as you’d made him promise in kind.

When you finally found Nixon, you instantly frowned at the bruise blossoming on his forehead.

“What happened to you?” you ask, ignoring the man’s glare and walking over to get a closer look. “Looks like you tangoed with Joe Toye’s brass knuckles and lost.”

“Got shot in the helmet.” Nix grumbles at the same time Richard perks up and squints at you while asking “Toye’s got brass knuckles?”.

You wince, both in response to Nix’s injury and your accidental snitching on Joe. “Whoops.”

Lewis’s eyes catch yours and his brow softens. 

You instantly know what he’s about to bring up, and shake your head preemptively.

“Lew,” you begin with a heavy sigh, only to be shushed like a child before he spoke over you.

“They don’t know anything for sure yet.” he insisted, and you knew that he knew you saw through his bullshit. 

He sometimes tried to be less pessimistic when he knew you were already way ahead of him in that department, but the two of you knew each other well enough by now for you to see it for what it was- him trying to make you feel better, coddling you to make you feel better.

Lying to make you feel better.

Information is truth, everything else is probably a lie.

Your mother was a bitter cynic, but you’d also never once known her to have her heart broken.

Maybe she’d been on to something.

“Yeah,” you’d offered, quickly brushing past him to look at the map on the table. “Maybe. Anyway, when exactly did Market Garden start going to shit? Do you think we were undermanned? Were our maps wrong? Did they have unexpected weaponry….?”

Distract the sad voice in your head offered as you threw yourself into work, using the churning pain in your belly to fuel your motivation to reclaim the town. 

No one gets to hurt you and get away with it. No one gets to take Bull from you and remain unpunished.

You decided then and there that you were going to make the SS bleed for what they’d done, and you knew that if Bull were there he’d tell you to rein it in.

Got murder in your eyes, darling. What’s got you so cross?

But Bull wasn’t here. And you? You had to get over it.

It’s what he would want.

~

~

You had barely slept that night, throwing yourself into rereading all of the intelligence reports until Dick finally ordered you out of the CP tent.

At first you’d fought him on it, still too afraid of being let alone with your own thoughts. But he’d been firm, literally snatching the paperwork from your trembling hands and hovering over you until you relented.

“I don’t want to see you until morning, is that understood?”

With more patience than you deserved he’d held your coat up and helped you slip into it, making a point to pull your knit hat down over your ears before turning you in the direction of where all the soldiers were sleeping.

Even though Bull had promised to be the one to haunt you, it was you who felt like the ghost.

But, like the obedient soldier you were, you walked to the spot where you and Bull had set up camp with Perconte and Luz. Neither man happened to be there at that moment, which was a small blessing because when you saw Bull’s unattended duffel bag in the same spot he’d left it that morning you’d been unable to stop the sob that slipped past your lips.

Like a child, you’d curled around his rucksack and held it close, your fingers tracing over the airborne patches that denoted it as his. 

Had it truly been this morning that you’d woken up in his embrace, groaning in sleepy protest when he refused to let you out of his arms?

“Jus’ a bit longer,” he’d mumbled, bringing a leg up and over your hip to pin you beside him. “Let the boys start fightin’ without us, we’ll catch up later…”

You wish that had been possible. You wished it could have been that simple.

 ~

~

Tears had leaked out of your eyes as you squeezed them shut and the next time you opened them it was morning. At some point in the night either George or Frank had tossed a wool blanket over you.

For a few glorious moments, you had thought Bull’s furnace-like chest had been what was keeping you warm. The blanket was a kindness, but an unintentionally cruel one.

After rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you’d gotten yourself ready and packed up to head out.

Bull’s duffle bag seemed to be filled with bricks as you hefted it over your shoulder with your own, and with each stride you took it only became heavier. You knew the protocol- take the deceased’s belongings to CP for redistribution and personal effects collection. 

It felt like defeat, as if you were giving up on him.

Defeat and reality were seeming to become one and the same, these days.

Your throat was so tight by the time you made it to CP you were barely able to explain what you were doing to Lewis, your arm trembling as you held out the pack to him.

The moment Nix had taken it from your hands, tears began to spill from your eyes and for once you did nothing to stop them.

Nixon had been about to say something to you when Perconte rushed in breathlessly with a call of your name, almost forgetting to salute Lewis when he saw him.

“Oh! Sir. Uh, Y/N- there’s, um,  something you should see—”

You glared at him, trying and failing to hide the fact that you’d been crying from your friend.

“I’m in the middle of something, Perco. Can it wait?”

In the distance you could hear the sound of truck engines, and a new anxiety began to blossom in your chest at the idea of leaving Bull behind.

“But, Y/N…” he protested, clearly tongue-tied and overexcited.

“Oh my God, what?!”

“It’s Bull!”

Your blood froze in your veins, sucking in a breath that felt too big for your body.

You could feel your heartbeat behind your eyes as your lungs screamed for more air, but your body was refusing to blink or breathe or move…..

“That’s….no. W-what’re you—?”

The sight of a truck driving toward a group of Easy and Dog soldiers came to a halt, and you swore you say a familiar glimmer of sandy curls standing at least a foot above the group.

 No. There’s no fucking way….

With wide eyes you turn back to Lewis, seeing an equally confused look on his face. 

You barely wait for his nod of dismissal before looking to Frank again.

“C’mon, I’ll—”

You don’t wait for him to finish, sprinting away from them with a single-minded focus on reaching the horribly familiar silhouette of the man you[d begun to mourn.

Bull Bull Bull BULL DENVER BULL!?!?

With no care for decorum or professionalism, you shove people aside and rush through the throng until you violently skid to a halt before Johnny and Hoob.

And Dever fucking Randleman.

A silent sob twists your face, vision doubling as more tears well in your eyes.

It was him. It was him.

When your eyes find his, you force yourself to take a breath.

He’s dirty and scraped and a little bloody but he’s alive and he’s here and—

You throw yourself at him, arms latching around his neck and legs locking around his hips as he catches you easily in his arms.

“Oh my God,” you whisper shakily, shaking like a leaf and clutching at him as if he were the last lifeboat in a storming sea. “Oh my GOD, Den—!”

Bull’s got one arm across your backside and the other is pressing your torso to his as if he means to fuse the two of you together, his heartbeat loud and strong and powerful against your chest as he twists his cold face into your neck and just breathes you in.

You know that Martin is trying to talk to you, that someone else is telling you to take it easy but you can barely hear them through the roaring sound of life returning to your body.

When he sighs your name you swear that you’ve never heard a sound so sweet.

As you turn your head to press a kiss to his temple, you open your eyes and blink your tears away.

Of course, once you clear your eyes, you see the mess of blood staining his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ!” you gasp, untangling yourself from him in an instant and trying to get out of his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt, you idiot?!”

Bull allows you to unwrap your legs from his waist but refuses to let you go, the arm that had been under your bottom coming up to hold the back of your head lovingly.

A pained yet playful grin breaks across his lips as he eyes you. “Oh, am I?”

You smile stupidly, sniffling at his ridiculous attempt at nonchalance. 

Using his hold on the back of your neck he ducks down and presses a long, meaningful kiss to your lips. You sigh into it, and just as you cup his face in your hands someone clears their throat and you’re reminded that the two of you have an audience.

When you break apart he makes sure to wrap his good arm around your shoulders, and you wince when you catch the looks of surprise being sent your way by the replacements.

Whoops, that was certainly unprofessional….

Bill Guarnere barks a laugh as you shift uncomfortably, slinging his own bag back over his shoulder.

“Shit, if that’s the hello you give to someone who’s been MIA- I’m definitely getting lost more often!”

Martin rolls his eyes, and enough people laugh that some of the tension is broken. 

You turn back to Bull and try to get him to let him show you his shoulder. But Bull has never been an easy man to physically move, especially when moving is something he doesn’t want to do.

This time is no exception.

“Let me see it,” you huff, only to have him smirk and shake his head. “Denver, I could’ve made it worse, I need to make sure—”

“Nah,” he says with a shrug he immediately regrets doing. “How about you kiss it better after Roe gets a look at it, hmm?”

As you open your mouth to reply there is a cry from above that it’s time to get moving, the reminder that there are more pressing matters to attend to shaking you from your anxious worrying.

Because it’s Bull, he hollers for his men to get on the truck as if he had been with them the whole time. 

“I need to go get your stuff, our stuff from CP….”

Bull shakes his head before you’ve finished talking.

“Perco’s got it,” he says with a nod in the man’s direction. “Don’tcha buddy.”

Without waiting for a reply, Bull pulls you along with him towards the trucks, refusing to let you leave his side despite your insistence that Roe needed to take care of him.

Getting into the truck, you help unbutton his shirt so Doc can start cleaning the ragged wound on his shoulder.

Bull brings your knuckles to his lips as the truck begins to move, eyes never leaving your face as he answers Gene’s rapid-fire questions about what had happened in the time Bull had been separated from the group.

“...you lost some blood, how’d you manage not to pass out?”

With a wink in your direction Bull chuckles.

“Considered it, Doc. But then I remembered my missus here was waitn’ and thought better of it.”

You shake your head admonishingly at his explanation.

“You’re really something else, you know that Bull?”

In a move that surprised both you and the Doc, Bull used his grip on your hand to pull you so you were straddling his lap.

“Course I do, Little Lady. I’m yours.”

Well, goddamn.

“Damn right, now shut up and stop flirting.”

The smile he gave you only widened at the command.

“We’ll see, darlin’. We’ll see.”

~ ~ ~ (is it trash? Yes. But is it garbage? Also yes. Love you all and thanks for reading the feels)

taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​

[sodalitefully]

Santa Slash is coming to town...

This fic is the Christmas-themed spiritual successor to my Easter Bunny AU.  Special thanks to @slashscowboyboots for supporting all my holiday nonsense! 

Four snapshots from Slash’s Christmas prep marathon through the years:

🎄🎄🎄🎄

Jingle bells.  

Fucking jingle bells.

There were FIFTEEN of them on the stupid-fucking-candy-colored costume he had to wear at this godforsaken excuse for a seasonal job.  “Earn some extra cash,” they said.  “It’s easy, you barely have to do anything,” they said.  "You'll be perfect, you already look the part!" they said.  

"They are about to find a size-ten jingle-toed bootie up their ass,” Axl said – to himself, as he rushed into the storage room turned "dressing room" and buttoned up his itchy red and green vest with one hand while sipping an Orange Julius from the food court with the other.  

“Hey, Axl! You’re barely late today, awesome!”

And then there was this weirdo.

Axl could not for the life of him explain why a shopping mall in Indiana elected to hire a skinny dude in his 20s with a dark complexion and a nose ring to portray Saint Nick himself, but whatever the reason, Axl was stuck working with this fruitcake until Christmas Day.  Sure Slash was nice enough (oh yeah, and his name was Slash, or at least that's how he introduced himself without offering any explanation or even a last name), but he was way too enthusiastic about getting paid minimum wage to let strange kids sit in his lap at a grimy old shopping mall.

Uh, not in a weird way, Slash was good with the kids, really.  But sometimes... it seemed like he was taking his role a little too seriously.  

"How come you don't have a beard?" the first customer of Axl's shift, a little girl in a Tweety bird sweater and blonde pigtails, asked suspiciously.

"That's a good question,” Slash said, scratching at his bare chin. The neck of his Motörhead Beyond the Threshold of Pain Tour T-shirt was visible over the faux fur collar of the Santa costume, and his shiny black boots clearly came from a military surplus store. “I get asked that a lot but the truth is, it just isn't a flattering look, trust me.  I tried it once, and the elves could barely look at me in the eye." To Axl’s incredulity, the girl actually accepted that answer.  "Now tell me, what would you like for Christmas this year, sweetheart?"

As usual, Axl tuned out at this point.  Fake a smile for the overprotective parents, take the painfully awkward commemorative photograph, try not to look like he would rather die than hear Slash try to gently explain that Santa will probably not be delivering a pony this year one more damn time, rinse and repeat – until about an hour later, when the unthinkable happened.

The less said about about the incident, the better.  Suffice to say, one of the darling angels tossed his Christmas cookies, and some of the resulting mess wound up soaking into the front of Axl’s elf costume.  As if he needed another reason to hate his job; this was just adding insult on top of injury (that is, the injury to Axl’s pride as a result of being forced to wear the most ridiculous-looking costume he’s ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on). 

“That’s it. I quit.”  He grabbed the elf cap off his head and slammed it on the ground, then stormed through the exit gate past the sign wishing customers a "Holly Jolly Holiday Season," the bells on his costume ringing merrily as he stomped his feet.

“Hey, wait!”

“No,” Axl growled, but he did turn around to look back at Slash, still sitting in the plastic candy-cane throne unbothered by the mess or the sniffling child now mostly placated by a peppermint candy.  "What."  

Slash offered him a bright, beguiling smile.

"What do you want for Christmas, Axl?" 

-----

Nothing said "holiday cheer" like wandering the tinsel-adorned labyrinth that was a Walmart superstore a week before Christmas, with Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmastime" echoing through the tinny PA system and surrounded by other last-minute vultures hopelessly scavenging the picked-over aisles.  

In Izzy's defense, he actually finished all his shopping early this year, for once.  But then his two little brothers begged him to drive them around town to find the perfect gift for a girl at school that they apparently both had a crush on, and like a fool he agreed. 

He was regretting it now.  Anything would be better than subjecting himself to nearly an hour of top-40 Christmas music.  The jingle bells were jingling, the carolers were caroling, the B-list pop stars were spitting out god-awful covers of Christmas classics, and don’t even get him started on the commercials. 

He wasn't about to walk around in public with his fingers shoved in his ears (at least, he wasn't that desperate yet), but he did squeeze his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to force himself to relax.  Just take deep breaths and think of The Rolling Stones... 

"Hey, uh, you doing okay?"

Izzy opened his eyes reluctantly.  In front of him was a young man wearing a concerned expression and a Santa hat, stuffed onto a massive pile of dark curls.  

"I'm fine.  Just finding out if it's possible to die from overexposure to Christmas music."

"Ahhh."  The man nodded in understanding.  "It's not, unfortunately.  I've tested it, trust me."

"Do you work here or something?" Izzy asked.  A leather jacket and ripped jeans didn't look like an employee uniform, but his hat matched the store decor and he didn't have a cart or shopping basket.  

"No, I'm actually a seasonal distributor.  Just checking in to make sure everything's in place before that last holiday rush, you know? Shit always gets crazy at the last minute."

"Tell me about it," Izzy responded, as if he knew a thing about marketing as a cynical 16-year-old.  But he had first-hand experience with last-minute crises, and as if to prove it, his brothers came running up to him at that moment.

"Jeff!  We can't find anything good, what should we do?"

"What's the problem?" the stranger in a Santa hat asked, looking genuinely concerned.  

"We don't know what present to get for a girl at school," the boys explained.

"Hmm..." He tapped at his chin.  "Why don't you just – oh wait, you're underage.  Well, how about you bake her some cookies or something?  That's what everyone does for me and I have no complaints."

Desperate to remove himself from this musical hell, Izzy jumped on the idea.  "Yeah, you could do sugar cookies!  And decorate them like horses, she likes horses right?” The boys had only mentioned that a dozen times; Izzy was starting to wonder if this girl even had any other personality traits.  

To his relief, a spark lit up in his brothers' eyes.  Cookies were a perfect idea, and suddenly they were dragging him away to look at cookie cutters and sprinkles.

Izzy turned around to shoot the helpful stranger a grateful look, but when he looked back, the man had disappeared with no trace, leaving not even a furry white pompom behind.

-----

Slash glanced out the window and grimaced – it was cold as a witch’s big bouncy tit outside, nothing but snow and ice as far as the eye could see. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and took another swig of hot Irish coffee.   Damn the North Pole, there was a reason he took his summer vacations in Malibu.

But despite the miserable work conditions, Slash was nothing if not dedicated to his job.  In front of him was a sack overflowing not with toys but with the most recent letters to Santa, straight from the North Pole's post office.  With Christmas only a few days away, his daunting task was to go through the whole mountain of letters as quickly as possibly in order to take their special requests into consideration before it was time to start loading up the sleigh.  

Well, there was no time like the present to get started.  Slash stretched his back and got comfortable in his coziest armchair (by throwing his legs over one armrest and slouching until his head rested on the other), absentmindedly tapping the end of his peppermint stick on the edge of an ashtray.  He grimaced when he brought the stick back to his lips and realized his mistake. 

With a sigh, he dropped the peppermint stick back in the ashtray already full of cigarette butts and ruined candies, and unfolded the first letter.  In barely legible green marker, the message read: 

Dear Santa Claus,

My name is Steven and I'm 5 years old.  Please give me a skateboard for Christmas.  My brother has one and he won't let me borrow it to learn tricks.

Hmmm.  Five years old was a little young for a skateboard.  Knowing Steven, he'd probably knock his teeth out by New Year's...

...Slash shrugged.  Why not?  All things considered, he would have killed for a skateboard when he was five, so who was he to say no?

-----

Duff was seven years old when his older brothers cornered him in the backyard and gleefully informed him that Santa Claus was a fraud.  It was all a lie made up by parents to convince their children to behave during the year, they explained, and the toys were made on factory lines not by magical elves.  Their mother gave them a hell of a scolding afterwards but it was too late, the deed could not be undone. 

He tried to play it cool, but the truth was, Duff was very distraught as Christmas Eve inched closer.  Could his siblings be right?  He didn't want to believe it, but if he was being honest with himself, he'd suspected as much for some time.  He braced himself to accept the hard truth come Christmas Eve – but only if he was presented with definitive proof.

When the fateful night finally came, Duff and two of his brothers laid out their sleeping bags behind the couch, where they'd be hidden from view if anyone tried to approach the Christmas tree.  They all swore not to fall asleep, not even for a second until Christmas morning... And it wasn't until his brother started snoring that Duff realized he was the only one still awake and silently anticipating the moment of truth.  

It was imperative, of course, that he stayed hidden and didn't make a sound, or else risk giving their plot away.  But... it was past midnight, dinner was hours ago and Duff's empty stomach was starting to distract him from the task at hand.  He couldn't stop thinking about all the food he would get to eat with his family on Christmas Day: the glazed ham, mashed potatoes, apple pie and Christmas cookies... 

In the dim light, Duff could just barely make out the plate of cookies for Santa, waiting in front of the tree.  The cookies were still there untouched, all six of them... Surely no one would notice if Duff ate just one?  

He tiptoed over his sleeping siblings, as silent as the snow falling outside, making his way around the sofa to the plate on the coffee table.  But just as he reached out to pluck a gingerbread man from the assortment, he saw a shadow of movement out of the corner of his eye.  There, beside the Christmas tree in the flickering glow of multicolored string lights, was a mysterious figure in a fur-lined coat and a red cap.

Duff stared at the intruder, slack-jawed.  The cookie clattered back onto the dish, and at the noise the stranger whirled around to face him. 

"Duff!  What are you doing still awake?" he demanded.  Duff took a breath to answer – or more likely to ask how the man knew his name – but before he could, the man peered over the couch, narrowed his eyes and frowned.  "Oh I see what this is. You thought you would catch your parents pretending to be me!" he accused.  "Well, here's the real truth: adults are always wrong and you should never do what they say!" 

The man – could he really be Santa Claus? – he planted his leather-gloved hands on his hips as he scolded Duff.  "And don't even get me started on teenagers..." he griped, casting a stare over Duff's shoulder where his older brother's leg was sticking out from behind the couch, tangled in a blanket.  

Tears started to well up in Duff's eyes.

"Please still give them Christmas presents!  I know they said they don't believe in you, but they've been good, I promise!" he begged.  Santa's expression softened.

"Aw, I know, kid.  I promise they'll still get their presents, alright?  Let me just finish up here and then maybe you can help me out with those cookies, sound good?"

Placated, Duff sniffled and nodded, scrubbing his eyes with his sleeve. He hopped onto the sofa, swinging his feet and watching with awe as Santa pulled beautifully wrapped gifts out of seemingly nowhere and stacked them around the tree, one after another until all eight of the McKagan children were represented. He took a step back to take in his handiwork, made a few minor adjustments, then turned back to Duff: “Voila! That’s the magic of Christmas. Now pass me that plate, would you?”

Santa sat down next to Duff and propped his boots up on the coffee table. When Duff held out the plate of cookies, he selected one decorated to look like Santa Claus, white beard and all, and promptly bit its head off. 

“I love my job, but delivering presents is exhausting,” he sighed, accepting a glass of milk from Duff’s outstretched hand. “I’ve already covered Asia, Africa, Europe, and most of the Americas, so I’d say I’m due for a break.  Cheers, Duff.” He held up his glass and Duff tapped it with his half-eaten cookie. 

“To a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!”

🎄🎄🎄🎄

[bonnynhoe]

Sempiternal - Jeong Yunho Imagine

HAPPY BIRTHDAY YUNHO!!

*TRIGGER WARNING - MENTION OF DEATH, BLOOD AND SLIGHT GORE*

"Hello?" You picked the call, waiting for the person from the other end to reply.

"Miss Y/N, there seems to be a case you might be interested in. We found a few bodies recently," the person paused, you could hear him taking a deep breath as you quickly grabbed a pen and paper to note down the details. "All missing organs." He said.

"Missing organs from bodies, well I think that helps us narrow down the options here, officer." You said, your hands fidgeting with the pen.

"But the number is quite high, Miss Y/N. We don't wanna be taking chances, do we? I think it'd be better if you back up, you know what I mean." The officer said.

Chuckling, you replied, "that shouldn't be a problem, officer. It isn't the first time Yunho and I are coming across werewolves who killed in great numbers."

The officer gave you the details of the case before he hung up, wishing you luck with solving it.

Not wanting to delay solving the case, you packed all your necessary weapons and left the town along with Yunho.

The plan sounded very simple but the both of you knew it took more than just a silver bullet to make it work.

Things could go wrong any moment and you weren't ready to take any risk.

"So long since we last hunted a werewolf," Yunho said as he parked the truck at the destination. "Surprised those things are still walking around eating organs." He chuckled as he got down and began filling a bag with the necessary weapons.

"We gotta be careful nonetheless, honey." You kissed him on the cheeks as you tucked in a pistol loaded with silver bullets.

Holding another pistol in your hands, you slowly walked towards the door of the garage. The smell of blood was all around the place. If it weren’t for being around these supernatural beings, you’d have probably fainted because of the strong metallic smell.

Signalling Yunho to be ready at his position, you kicked the door open, your pistol searching for its target. Stopping for a split second, you quickly glanced at the environment.

Dead bodies and half eaten organs all over the floor, bloody claw marks on the wall. You had never seen something like this before.

But something seemed off. There was not a werewolf nearby, or none that you could spot. But the blood, the bodies, everything seemed fresh. You just couldn’t lay your finger on what you were missing.

“Well well well, aren’t you that hot hunting chick?” You immediately turned around to point your pistol at a man. A werewolf.

But how did he know you were coming?

“Sucks, doesn’t it? Having all your plans ruined?” He moved towards you, his smirk disgusting every cell in you as your grip on the pistol tightened, your finger ready to pull the trigger. “I happened to be peacefully passing by the sheriff’s office when I overheard him calling you. I was supposed to throw a bloody gourmet party today but looks like there’s something else in store for me.” He said, his eyes slowly moving towards where Yunho was.

You bit your lip as you silently hoped things wouldn’t go wrong. There was just one werewolf and you could easily take him down. But for some reason you were scared, scared that things would easily slip off your hands.

“Ah!” The werewolf exclaimed, his voice sounding awfully surprised yet painful. “You are that dude who killed my wife, aren’t you? I’ve been waiting for us to meet for a long time now.” He looked towards Yunho with a smirk as he snapped his fingers.

A few werewolves immediately ran towards Yunho and you, pinning the both of you down. Your cheeks were already wet as you saw the werewolf walk towards Yunho.

You didn’t know where they tossed your pistols and it was practically impossible to loosen their grip and fight with them. They were way too powerful for a human.

“Now, Miss Hunter Chick, I have some plans here for your husband,” the werewolf looked at you as his hands held Yunho’s neck, “I thought I’d kill you and make him go through the pain I’ve been living through, but you see, having him kill you himself would be worth the revenge for my wife.” He looked at Yunho as his fingers exposed your husband’s bare neck and shoulder.

Yunho looked at you assuringly as he mouthed words of love. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t push the men pinning you down. All you could do was painfully watch Yunho being tortured by the werewolf. But Yunho never showed pain, all he did was look at you and smile.

“NO!!!” You screamed as the werewolf bit Yunho, his body immediately collapsing to this floor and blood oozing out of his shoulder.

“30 minutes is all that is left until he turns into one of us and his first instinct would be to kill and we all know who is the nearest human, don’t we.” The werewolf smirked as he walked towards you, his cynical laughter echoing all around.

You couldn’t look at him, the only person you could see was Yunho as he slowly tried to get up, his hands secretly reaching for the nearby revolver.

And soon gunshots echoed around as the other werewolves around him fell to the ground lifeless.

“Bold of you to assume I’d kill my wife, you monster!” Yunho groaned as you immediately picked up your pistols, killing the other werewolves before they could get to Yunho. The only one left was Yunho, you and that werewolf.

“I might die here today but I’m happy I’ll be taking one of you along with―” BANG! You shot him before he could say anything. You couldn’t bring yourself to think about what will be happening.

“Y/N, honey, quick, shoot me.” Yunho looked at you as he held his revolver up for you to take.

But how could you? It was obvious either of you would end up killing the other one, but you were ready to be killed than kill him.

“Y/N, please, I beg you, I don’t want to hurt you,” he walked near you and held your hand, “And even if I run away, I don’t want you to know me as a monster who eats humans. So please…” He begged, his fingers caressing your hands.

“Yunho, how can I?” You cried as you hugged him. There was no way you were gonna do that. How could you be so cold blooded to kill your husband?

Even if he were to turn into one of those monsters you dedicated your life to eradicate, you just couldn’t do it.

“Y/N, I want you to know that I have and will always love you. No matter what.” Yunho said as he passed his revolver to you, putting your finger on the trigger.

Kissing you one last time, he pulled you closer into his embrace as he made you pull the trigger.

As soon as he fell to the ground, you kneeled down next to him and pulled out the dagger from your belt and pierced right through your chest. “I love you too, Jeong Yunho.” You said holding his hand as both your worlds became dark together.

[bellakitse]

a conversation between insignificant others

“Hey…have you noticed that our boyfriends are madly in love with each other?"

“You noticed that too, huh,” she answers dryly, letting out a huff of reluctant amusement.

Forest and Maria share a drink and a conversation and start a friendship.

For @saadiestuff who came up with this idea of Maria and Forest talking about Malex and it just didn’t leave my head all day. Hope it’s what you wanted!

Forest thinks about turning around and heading back to his car a total of four times from the parking lot of The Wild Pony and the door.

Four.

He thinks of the absolutely awkward foursome dinner at the Crashdown two nights ago and stops.

He thinks of Alex, sexy and kind and a little nerdy Alex Manes, who he could have seen himself falling in love with, who he does love already despite only having known him for two months and pushes forward.

For Alex.

He walks into the bar around 8 pm on a Wednesday, and it’s blessedly a slow night. Less chance of being overheard. He spots Maria behind the bar wiping down the corner she’s at, while the other bartender tends to a customer at the other end.

He doesn’t know her that well, having only met her a handful of times. All he knows is that Alex calls her his best friend with a complicated look on his face and that her boyfriend is in love with his boyfriend, and that his boyfriend is in love with her boyfriend.

He also knows there’s a very good chance she’ll tell him to go to hell after he talks to her, but he hopes not. Their respective significant others are in love with each other, and he thinks that has a way of bonding people, even strangers.

He sits across from her and flashes her a smile that he’s sure comes off as uncomfortable when she raises an eyebrow at him. There is something knowing about the look on her face, and Forest remembers that Alex has said more than once that Maria is psychic.

“Is Guerin around?” he asks after a hello. He doesn’t think he can have this conversation with her if he’s there, the look of death the angry cowboy gave him the other night as the four of them shared a meal was enough to last him a lifetime.

Maria's expression becomes even more aware if possible, and Forest wonders if she really is psychic, and it’s not just some touristy gag she plays up.

“Guerin won’t be coming around here anytime soon,” Maria answers after a moment and offers no further explanation as to why her boyfriend won’t be visiting her establishment when it’s a known fact around town that the Wild Pony is like Michael’s second home. He thinks about the last time he was in the presence of both of them and thinks he doesn’t need an explanation.

“So,” he starts, dragging the word out, and Maria looks at him, waiting. “Dinner at the Crashdown the other night was awkward as fuck.”

Maria lets out a sound that is too sarcastic to call a laugh; she pours him a shot of whiskey and one for herself. He’s more of a vodka man but doesn’t say anything. “I think the words shit show would be a more accurate descriptor.”

Forest makes a face, not sure if it’s the truthfulness of her words or the sting of the whiskey and nods, remembering the encounter.

He and Alex had shown up at the diner for a casual dinner around the same time as Maria and Guerin, and somehow between stilted hellos and a tension that you could cut through with a knife they had found themselves agreeing to share a booth. He and Alex, on one side, Maria and Guerin on the other, with Alex and Michael across each other.

The evening had gone two ways, painfully awkward conversation, where Guerin asked him pointed questions that left Alex and Maria glaring at him. Or even worse, moments where Alex and Guerin seemed to get lost in their own little world all but forgetting that they had company.

One particular moment had been when Alex’s milkshake had arrived, and the man had proceeded to dip his fries in the shake as Forest watched him. Alex, feeling his gaze on him, had shrugged and answered they tasted better that way, at the same time as Guerin.

The smile Alex flashed Guerin, was brighter than the sun as he asked him if he finally conceded to the truth. Guerin answered with a smile of his own as he shook his head. A teasing look entered Alex’s eyes, and he promised that he would get him to change his mind eventually. The soft loving look on Guerin’s face as he asked if ten years of trying wasn’t enough, and Alex’s just as soft ‘no’ had struck a chord with Forest and given the sadness in Maria’s eyes at the time it has struck a chord with her too. Obviously the question was more than just about fries and milkshakes.

“Yeah,” he agrees, snapping out of his thoughts, he takes a breath before he speaks, knowing that once he gives voice to it, he can’t take it back. “Hey…have you noticed that our boyfriends are madly in love with each other?"

Maria freezes, her hand jerks on the bar counter, and he watches as she clenches it to stop the shake. He waits silently, waiting for her to process what he’s said. He knows she knows, but knowing doesn’t make it hurt less, he knows that too. It hurts him, and he’s not as heavily involved the way she is, he feels bad for being the one to force this to the surface for her, but he has no one else that can understand the situation he’s currently in.

She tips the drink back and takes it down in one swallow. He gives her an impressed look, and if he was even remotely into women, he thinks, as she looks at him with a no-bullshit expression on her face, she’d be his type. Beautiful, strong-

“You noticed that too, huh,” she answers dryly, letting out a huff of reluctant amusement. Sarcastic, yeah, she’d be his type if he liked women. As is, he can see why she’s friends with Alex, they’re a lot alike.

She sighs as she pours him another shot and then herself one.

“Michael and I broke up after we left you guys that night,” she confesses, looking down at her hands and then back at him when he doesn’t say anything, a cynical smile on her face that makes him want to reach out and take her hand. “Not going to ask me why?”

Forest raises an eyebrow at her. “I came here to talk to you about how our boyfriends are in love with each other, and after I leave here, I’m going to go and break up with Alex. I don’t need to ask you why when I already know. Are you okay?”

Maria shrugs. “I thought I would be more heartbroken about it,” she admits. “I mean, I risked my friendship with Alex for him, it feels like it should mean more now that it’s done, but mostly I feel stupid for even starting something with him. It’s so obvious now how they aren’t over, no matter how much they both say they are, they’re-“

“-never going to be over,” Forest finishes for her, his own heart aching, he knows it’s true, and he’s already accepted it, but it doesn’t make it any less painful.

Maria’s expression softens, and she reaches out, placing a hand over his. “Are you okay?”

Forest startles at the question and the warmth behind it, letting out a breath. “I could have loved him,” he says quietly, running a hand through his blue hair. “I think I already do,” he says with a smile. “He’s really easy to love.”

Maria nods, and as someone who has loved Alex since they were kids, he figures she would know.

“He smart and funny, sarcastic and quick in the best way, he’s stupid hot and has no idea. He does that eyebrow thing of his that is so sexy; he’s nerdy in the cutest way and in the sack,” he whistles. “He does this thing with his tongue that I swear makes me sees stars.”

“I didn’t need to know that,” Maria snorts, shaking her head at him.

“Sorry,” Forest says quickly, giving her an apologetic look. “I overshare when things are awkward.”

“It’s fine,” Maria shrugs.

Forest gives her a grateful look, and it goes quiet between them, he guesses there isn’t much left to talk about when they aren’t with the people that link them anymore. “I’m sorry about you and Guerin.”

Maria looks away from him, and he worries for a second that it’s to hide tears, he’s never done well with people crying in front of him, but when she looks back at him, all he sees is a calmness and peace he didn’t see in her at dinner, almost like a weight has been lifted off her.

“You can’t fight fate,” Maria answers after a moment. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you too.”

Forest lifts his shoulders. “It was good while it lasted,” he answers and finds that he means it. He doesn’t regret a moment he’s shared with Alex, even now knowing that it was never meant to last.

Maria smiles, and it’s more real than any smile she has given all night. “You’re a good guy, Forest,” she says to him, smirking after a moment. “Even with the unfortunate blue hair.”

“Hey!” he protests with a laugh, relieved when she joins in.

She pushes his glass toward him. “A drink for the road?”

“Sure, I could use some liquid courage for my next stop,” Forest answers picking up his glass. “To us.”

Maria clinks her glass with his. “To us, the insignificant others,” she says dryly. “We could form a club.”

And well, he can’t argue the title and figures as shitty as it is to be in this particular club right now, being in it with someone like Maria makes it easier.

 ***

Two Months Later

 “You run a bar,” he starts, giving his friend a side look as he pays for their coffees from one of the local vendors of the Sunday Farmers Market in the middle of town, a Bearclaw in his other hand. “Why are you up for this? Why am I up for this?”

“I’m up, because, they have the best limes and oranges for the bar here,” Maria says around a mouthful of donut. “And you’re here because you wanted to hang out, and this is the only free time we both had. Stop complaining. It’s 8 am, and I closed the bar at 3, you were in bed all night.”

“Yeah, but not alone,” he says with a smirk, thinking of the hot doctor he’s been hooking up with for the last two weeks. “I’m tired. He did this thing-

“Do not overshare,” Maria warns him quickly, with a small glare on her pretty face. “I don’t want to know.”

“Mean,” Forest pouts. “We need to get you laid.”

Maria shoots him a smug look. “Who says I’m not?”

“Ooooh, dish,” Forest demands with a wide grin, pouting when Maria shakes her head.

“We’re keeping it quiet for now,” Maria answers when he gives her a pair of puppy dog eyes. “It’s someone that will send ripples when people find out, so we’re enjoying it privately.”

“Scandalous,” Forest teases. “Can you give me anything?”

Maria looks at him, teasingly. “Blonde, leggy.”

“Hot,” Forest says with a smirk.

“She thinks so,” Maria answers with a smirk of her own.

Forest lights up, ready to grill her some more when he spots something out of the corner of his eye. He turns and sees Alex a few yards away, his faithful beagle Buffy by his feet and an angry cowboy all but plastered against his back as Alex looks at a table of handcrafted jewelry. He feels Maria shift and knows she’s watching too.

They stand there silently and watch as their ex-boyfriends interact. Guerin presses his face against Alex’s neck, and even from here, Forest can see that the man is half asleep. He grumbles something that has Alex laughing, turning around to face him. Whatever Alex says to Guerin, has the man smiling softly at him, before leaning in to kiss him tenderly. They stay like that for a moment, and Forest can’t look away, he feels an ache in his chest, still, but as he watches the brilliant smile on Alex’s face when Guerin breaks the kiss just to lift their interlock hands and kiss his knuckles, Forest finds himself smiling too.

“They’re shopping for my birthday,” Maria comments as Alex turns back to the jewelry and shows Guerin a turquoise earring and necklace set. She nods at his hand. “Turquoise is my favorite.”

Forest looks down at Maria and finds that she has a smile on her own face, a little sad, like his, but a smile nonetheless, and he feels a wave of fondness for her, grateful that out of all this, he gained a friendship with her.

He turns them around and away from the happy couple lost in their own little world like always.

Linking their arms, he leads them towards the limes she wants. “So tell me more about this mystery woman.”

[the-end-of-art]

No wonder our communities seem organized to keep suffering at a distance

“The Interruptions are my work” by Henri Nouwen

 (Henri Nouwen—Turn My Mourning into Dancing, p. 5-11)

    When I came to Daybreak, the community of ministry to disable people where I have been pastor, I was experiencing a great deal of personal pain. My many years in the world of academics, my travels among the poor in Central America, and later, my speaking around the world about what I had seen, left me deflated. My schedule kept me running hard and fast. Rather than providing an escape from my own inner conflicts, my scurrying from speaking engagement to speaking engagement only intensified my inner turmoil. And because of my schedule, I could not fully face my pain. I carried on with the illusion that I was in control, that I could avoid what I did not want to face within myself and in the world around me.

    But when I arrived, I witnessed the enormous suffering of the mentally and physically handicapped persons living here. I came gradually to see my painful problems in a new light. I realised they formed part of a much larger suffering. And I found through that insight new energy to live amid my own hardship and pain.

    I realised that healing begins with our taking our pain out of its diabolic isolation and seeing that whatever we suffer, we suffer it in communion with all of humanity, and yes, all of creation. In so doing, we become participants in the great battle against the powers of darkness. Our little lives participate in something larger.

    I also found something else here: people asking not so much “How can I get rid of my suffering?” but “How can I make it an occasion for growth and insight?” Among these people, most of whom cannot read, many of whom cannot care for themselves, among men and women rejected by a world that values only the whole and bright and healthy, I saw people learning how to make the connection between human suffering and God’s suffering. They helped me to see how the way through suffering is not to deny it, but to live fully in the midst of it. They were asking how they could turn pain from a long interruption into an opportunity.

    How do we make such connection ourselves? How do we make this shift from evading our pain to asking God to redeem and make good use of it?

    An early step in the dance sounds very simple, though often will not come easily: We are called to grieve our losses. It seems paradoxical, but healing and dancing begin with looking squarely at what causes us pain. We face the secret losses that have paralysed us and kept us imprisoned in denial or shame or guilt. We do not nurse the illusion that we can hopscotch our way through difficulties. For by trying to hide parts of our story from God’s eye and our own consciousness, we become judges of our own past. We limit divine mercy to our human fears. Our efforts to disconnect ourselves from our own suffering, end up disconnecting our suffering from God’s suffering for us. The way out of our loss and hurt is in and through. When Jesus said, “For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners” (Matthew 9:13), He affirmed that only those who can face their wounded condition can be available for healing and enter a new way of living.

    Sometimes we need to ask ourselves just what our losses are. Doing so reminds us how real the experience of loss is. Perhaps you know what it is to have a parent die. How well I remember the grief I felt after my mother’s illness and death. We may experience the death of a child or of friends. And we lose people, sometimes just as painfully, through misunderstanding, conflict, or anger. I may expect a friend to visit, but he does not come. I speak to a group and expect a warm reception but no one really seems to respond. Someone may take from us a job, a career, a good name.

    We may watch hopes flicker through growing infirmity, or dreams vanish through the betrayal of someone we trusted for along time. A family member may walk out in anger and we wonder if we have failed. Sometimes our sense of loss feels large indeed: I read the newspaper and find things only worse than the day before. Our souls grow sad because of poverty or the destruction of so much natural beauty in our world. And we may lose meaning in our lives, not only because our hearts become tired, but also because someone ridicules long-cherished ways of thinking and praying. Our convictions suddenly seem old-fashioned, unnecessary. Even our faith seems shaky. Such are the potential disappointments of any life.

    Typically we see such hardship as an obstacle to what we think we should be—healthy, good-looking, free of discomfort. We consider suffering as annoying at best, meaningless at worst. We strive to get rid of our pains in whatever way we can. A part of us prefers the illusion that our losses are not real, that they come only as temporary interruptions. We thereby expend much energy in denial. “They should not prevent us from holding on to the real thing,” we say to ourselves.

    Several temptations feed this denial. Our incessant busyness, for example, becomes a way to escape what must some days be confronted. The world in which we live lies in the power of the Evil One, and the Evil One would prefer to distract us and fill every little space with things to do, people to meet, business to accomplish, products to be made. He does not allow any space for genuine grief and mourning. Our busyness becomes a curse, even while we think it provides us with relief from the pain inside. Our over packed lives serve only to keep us from facing the inevitable difficulty that we all, at some time or another, must face.

    The voice of evil also tries to tempt us to put on an invincible front. Words such as vulnerability, letting go, surrendering, crying, mourning, and grief are not to be found in the devil’s dictionary. Someone once said to me, “Never show your weakness, for you will be used; never be vulnerable, for you will get hurt; never depend on others, for you will lose your freedom.” This might sound very wise, but it does not echo the voice of wisdom. It mimics a world that wants us to respect without question the social boundaries and compulsions that our society has defined for us.

    Facing our losses also means avoiding a temptation to see life as an exercise in having needs met. We are needy people, of course: We want attention, affection, influence, power. And our needs seem never to be satisfied. Even altruistic actions can get tangled with these needs. Then, when people or circumstances do not fulfil all of our needs, we withdraw or lash out. We nurse our wounded spirits. And we become even needier. We crave easy assurances, ignoring anything that would suggest another way.

    We also like easy victories: growth without crisis, healing without pains, the resurrection without the cross. No wonder we enjoy watching parades and shouting out to returning heroes, miracle workers, and record breakers. No wonder our communities seem organised to keep suffering at a distance: People are buried in ways that shroud death with euphemism and ornate furnishings. Institutions hide away the mentally ill and criminal offenders in a continuing denial that they belong to the human family. Even our daily customs lead us to cloak our feelings and speak politely through clenched teeth and prevent honest, healing confrontation. Friendships become superficial and temporary.

    The way of Jesus looks very different. While Jesus brought great comfort and came with kind words and a healing touch, He did not come to take all our pains away. Jesus entered into Jerusalem in His last days on a donkey, like a clown at a parade. This was His way of reminding us that we fool ourselves when we insist on easy victories. When we think we can succeed in cloaking what ails us and our times in pleasantness. Much that is worthwhile comes only through confrontation.

    The way from Palm Sunday to is the patient way, the suffering way. Indeed, our word patience comes from the ancient root patior, “to suffer.” To learn patience is not to rebel against every hardship. For if we insist on continuing to cover our pains with easy “Hosannas,” we run the risk of losing our patience. We are likely to become bitter and cynical or violent and aggressive when the shallowness of the easy way wears through.

    Instead, Christ invites us to remain in touch with the many suffering of every day and to taste the beginning of hope and new life right there, where we live amid our hurts and pains and brokenness. By observing His life, His followers discover that when all of the crowd’s “Hosannas” had fallen silent, when disciples and friends had left Him, and after Jesus cried out, “My God, my God why have you forsaken Me?” then it was the Son of Man rose from death. Then He broke through the chains of death and became Saviour. That is the patient way, slowly leading me from easy triumph to the hard victory.

    I am less likely to deny my suffering when I learn how God uses it to mould me and draw me closer to Him. I will be less likely to see my pains as interruptions to my plans and more able to see them as the means for God to make me ready to receive Him. I let Christ live near my hurts and distractions.

    I remember an old priest who one day said to me, “I have always been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted; then I realised that the interruptions were my work.” The unpleasant things, the hard moments, the unexpected setbacks carry more potential than we usually realise. For the movement from Palm Sunday to Easter takes us from the easy victory built on small dreams and illusions to the hard victory offered by God who wants to purify us by His patient, caring hand.

    As I learned from my friends at Daybreak, at the center of our Christian faith we perceive a God who took on Himself the burden of the entire world. Suffering invites us to place our hurts in larger hands. In Christ we see God suffering—for us. And calling us to share in God’s suffering love for a hurting world. The small and even overpowering pains of our lives are intimately connected with the greater pains of Christ. Our daily sorrows are anchored in a greater sorrow and therefore a larger hope. Absolutely nothing in our lives lies outside the realm of God’s judgement and mercy.

[desiringparadise]

Hi, I know this gonna sound weird but I'm here thanks to A03, I read "It's A Terrible Love And I'm Walking With Spiders" again (idk why), Let me tell you something: It's fantastic. But I realized that you haven't update for four or five years, well I'm not gonna ask you to do it, that's in you, but I'd like to ask something, could you tell me what was the plan with tha fic, and how will it end, just a summary because I'm dying in my curiosity, well only few words left, so thanks and be careful

Omgggg thank you!!! It isn’t weird at all, I sometimes re-read old unfinished fics too because they stuck with me for some odd reason. I was at a bad mental space when I wrote this story and I feel like my issues manifested in the atmosphere of the story. Maybe readers can relate to some of it?

As to how the story was supposed to end. I didn’t remember and I actually had to look through my old notebook lol. I actually found the unfinished fifth chapter in my folders, so I’ll post it here.

Keep in mind that I wrote this in November 2016 and I never finished editing it. I didn’t post it because I was unsatisfied with the result. I’d rate it T/M.

Chapter 5

Miserable, Stiles focused on the silhouette of naked feet, his eyes never straying any higher. Luckily, the shower glass was milky, so even if he couldn’t have resisted satisfying his own curiosity, he wouldn’t actually have seen much.

After the Sheriff had left, Theo had asked to take a shower. Stiles had let him under the condition that the door would remain open and Theo under Stiles’ scrutiny. Under no circumstances would he have let the other boy roam around in his house without checking what he was up to. There were meds in the cupboard, something he wouldn’t risk leaving him alone with.

Unsurprisingly, Theo hadn’t objected. “Be my guest,” he’d said instead, an extra smarmy grin on his face.

That’s why Stiles was sitting against the wall, knees drawn to his chest while trying not to fall asleep. The sound of water spraying had become lulling white noise, making it hard to keep his eyes open. Maybe he should take some Adderall to shake off the drowsiness. It wasn’t like he would get any sleep tonight anyway. Not while knowing that Theo Raeken was under the same roof as him.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when the spray of water stopped, the shower door opened, and Theo stepped out without an ounce of hesitation. You’d think he’d at least pretend to be a little embarrassed about showing his naked body.

Not that Theo should be ashamed, Stiles realized. He had known before that the other boy was built, but the naked view of him - well, he couldn’t lie, it was a sight to behold. Perfect, unreal. The shoulders, the arms, the chest – everything about him was broad without being too bulky. His flawless skin only added to the look of a retouched Men’s Health cover shoot. Stiles felt entranced to follow his abs, down to the wonderfully defined V of his hips, before stopping himself. Yeah, he had just seen Theo’s dick, it had been kinda inevitable, but there was no reason to scrutinize it any further. None.

Quickly, he moved his gaze up to look at Theo’s face instead, the usual smirk somehow looking even more smarmy than usual.

“Like what you see?”

The question was so cliché, just like this whole goddamn scenario, that Stiles felt the desperate need to break the spell.

“I prefer chest hair.”

For the first time since Theo had arrived in Beacon Hills, he was dumbfounded. It left Stiles feeling satisfied, before his face froze, his heartbeat quickening. Did he just seriously tell Theo that he was interested in men? He resisted the urge to smack his palm against his face.

Theo did the unexpected and actually came up with an answer.

“I could let it grow, if you wanted me to.”

Stiles squinted. “What the hell would you do that for?”

Theo shrugged his broad shoulder, still unperturbed by his own nudity. “Just trying to win you over, that’s all.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, finally rising up and to look at Theo’s face and ignore everything that was going on below. “Well, your lack of chest hair wasn’t the deciding factor that kept me on the other side. Why don’t you put on a towel?”

“Don’t have one,” Theo answered with an innocent smile.

Stiles sighed and motioned for the other boy to follow as he walked to his room. When he opened the door, he felt uncomfortable letting a naked Theo into his personal space. Hurriedly, he drew the curtains and searched for a large towel in the cupboard. When he found one, he threw it over to Theo without sparing him another look.

“Can you borrow me some clothes?”

Stiles was inclined to say no, let Theo sleep in his uncomfortable jeans instead. There was something strange about giving Theo his clothes to wear. But he wasn’t sure when his father would return from the station. When the man arrived, he would go through the living room and see Theo who’d be sleeping on the coach.

He sighed and searched his closet for something that’d fit. Theo wasn’t taller, but much broader than him. (Un)fortunately, Stiles usually wore clothes that were a few sizes too big anyway. He found some sweats. He was painfully reminded that Theo wouldn’t be wearing underwear underneath. No way he’d be wearing those pants before washing them at least five times.

“Long or short sleeves?”

“Don’t need a shirt.”

Stiles frowned, pulling his too long sleeves even further down. “It’s freezing.”

Theo grinned. “I’m running hot. Want to see it for yourself?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and walked past him. “Whatever, I’ll be fixing you the coach.”

Theo followed him in an easy stride. He didn’t even seem a little uncomfortable to casually stroll through a stranger’s home without a shirt on. Completely relaxed, he sunk into the coach and watched Stiles as he spread clean sheets over the sofa.

“Do your parents know you’re staying over?” Stiles couldn’t even remember the Raekens’ faces anymore.

“Sent them a text.”

Stiles nodded, too tired to investigate any further.

.

Except he was unable to fall asleep. For about roughly an hour he had been tossing and turning, his anxiety back at it again although he had forewent his Adderall. Then, for a couple of minutes, he stayed still, not moving a muscle while waiting to hear any sounds come from downstairs.

But there was only silence.

About half an hour ago, his eyes started tearing up from exhaustion. It was annoying. He wasn’t really crying, but the stream of tears didn’t stop. Now his eyes were swollen and aching.

He was unable to come to rest. He took a deep breath. Maybe if he’d open the door and take a proper listen, he’d finally relax. Feeling ridiculous, left the warmth of his bed and softly padded towards his door. But he was only met with frustratingly familiar silence.

He sighed and returned to bed when- Wait, was that a sound? He froze and listened, eyes wide open as if waiting for an assault. Looking down, he noticed that he had stepped on a creaking floor board. The noise could have come from him. But what if it hadn’t?

He shook his head. He was being paranoid, utterly ridiculous… Yet, what if there had been something? He took a deep breath and held it, wanting his heart beat to slow. Okay, he’d go outside again, just this once, and take a look around house, and most importantly, check whether Theo was doing something sketchy.

He left his room, slowly descending the stairs. From here, Theo’s form was still, he seemed to be sleeping. Just to be sure, he told himself as he gradually closed the distance between them. He stopped just before the sofa and leaned down to inspect his face. His eyes were closed and his breathing was calm. Everything about him indicated to be asleep.

But the ugly voice of his paranoia ordered him to look more closely, check whether Theo wasn’t faking it.

Suddenly Theo’s eyes were wide open, an unnatural light shining in them. Stiles startled. He stumbled backwards, his feet hit agianst the coffee table, and he fell on his ass.

“Stiles?” Theo blinked, the strange light in his eyes gone. Had he imagined it? He must have, there was no other explanation for it. He was going crazy. “Why are you up? Did something happen?” His voice was groggy from asleep, but otherwise he seemed alert.

Stiles felt ridiculous. His thought process hadn’t made any sense to begin with, spoken out loud, they’d sound like he’d lost his mind. This paranoia, it wasn’t normal. He liked to tell himself that it was the Adderall, the ADHD, but when he was honest with himself, he knew it was him. He was fucking crazy. No wonder he didn’t have any friends, no wonder Erica had ditched him the first chance she got. He wouldn’t be his own friend either. There was nothing to gain from this cynical, insecure, anxious mess that he was.

His uneven breath catch in his throat, the last drop for his straying nerves. His mind collapsed in itself and he pathetically started to cry.

If Theo hadn’t been awake then, he probably was now. He stumbled out of the sheets and approached Stiles, putting both hands on his shoulders. His eyes were wide with concern. “Hey- hey, Stiles, come on. What happened? Did you hurt yourself?”

Stiles shook his head, his chest heaving with sobs. He was such a goddamn mess. The more he wanted to force himself to calm down, the more he worked himself up. The rational part of his mind told him that this wouldn’t pass until he calmed down. But he was too upset and Theo’s presence made everything worse. He wanted to crawl into a hole and wait till the panic was over.

But he knew that wasn’t possible. “I can’t sleep,” he managed to ground out between the ugly sniffing and sobbing.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

Stiles snorted, as if Theo’s suggestion had been completely ridiculous. Actually, it wasn’t that far off the truth though. He had nightmares, more often so recently. To some of them he woke up silently, heavily breathing, the panic constrained in his chest, but without a sound. Sometimes he screamed. But only his father knew that.

“No. I just – I can’t sleep with you here, not knowing what you’re doing.”

He expected Theo to be confused, demand an explanation, maybe even laugh. Instead he said, “I could go.”

“What?” He shook his head. “No.” How would he explain that to his father? He wouldn’t be able to stand another discussion with him about seeing a professional about his problems. Yes, he had problems, he knew that – but none some shrink could help him with. The only thing he had going for him was that he wasn’t labeled crazy by the public yet. “You’re staying,” he said with finality.

For a while, there was silence. Theo must be put off by Stiles acting like a freaking lunatic. Any normal person would’ve left by now. Hell, he would’ve ran out the house if the roles were reversed. Instead Theo asked, “Do you have any handcuffs?”

For a few seconds, Stiles didn’t say a word. But when he had finally gathered himself- “What the fuck?”

“Real ones,” the other boy recuperated nonchalantly.

“Why in the hell would you-“

“Because, obviously, I’m kinky, if you haven’t guessed it by now,” Theo answered rolling his eyes. Stiles wasn’t sure whether that had been a joke. “”You wanna sleep or what? Go get me some handcuffs.”

Normally, he wouldn’t have obeyed simply on principle, but he was curious where this would go. And as he rummaged through the drawer, where he knew his father kept a spare pair of handcuffs, he realized that the suffocating panic in his chest was gone.

“Now I’ll go outside and you hide the keys somewhere,” Theo ordered. Stiles wanted to question him, but before he could, Theo had already left the house, still shirtless in the cold night. Not knowing what else to do, Stiles went up to his room and hid the little key in his pill bottle.

When he opened the door for Theo to enter, he didn’t seem affected by the freezing weather. There weren’t even any goosebumps on his skin.

“All done?” Theo asked, the blue-green eyes open and honest. Stiles nodded.

Unceremoniously, Theo cuffed his own wrists together.

Stiles stared. “Okay… What is this about?”

The boy shook his wrist, the metal of the cuffs making clinking sounds. “See? I won’t be able to do much without you hearing. No need to worry about what I’m doing. So are we taking the bed or the couch?”

Stiles should be horrified, but frankly, the plan made sense. It could actually work. And really? It was some crazy shit that he would’ve come up with. The sort of solution that people would raise their brows at but that would actually work. “How do I know you won’t do anything to me while I sleep?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Stiles, no offense, but if I wanted to harm you, I wouldn’t have to wait until you’re asleep. You’re not exactly what I’d call a physical challenge.”

Fair enough...

“There is no way we’d fit on the couch.”

.

Stiles had ordered Theo to lay on the side of the bed that faced the wall so that there would be no chance of leaving the bed without alerting Stiles. Theo was happy to lie on his side and watch the other boy’s peaceful face. For once, his breathing was even, but he was still twitching and moving in his sleep, restless, even in his most relaxed moments.

When they had first lain down, Theo had feigned sleep. He knew that Stiles wouldn’t have been able to calm down if Theo had openly watched him. Now though, he stare at him to his heart’s content. He’d watched Stiles without his knowledge before. There were some perfect angles from the outside from which you could see Stiles rummaging in the kitchen. Sometimes he forgot to draw the curtains and Theo could catch glimpses of his sleeping form.

But in never had been like this. Stiles, only an arm’s length away, the ever-present scent of anxiousness enveloping him.

He mumbled something in his sleep, tossed and turned and eventually scooted closer to Theo. It probably was due to Stiles’ weird sleeping positions and the unconscious urge to scoot towards warmth, but nonetheless, Thep was elated when the boy’s head almost touched his chest. He could feel his breath on his naked skin.

Theo wondered whether he could get away with stroking his hair, just running his fingers through the dark hair for once, but he refrained. He still was desperately trying to get Stiles to trust him.

At first glance, Stiles seemed like easy prey. He was isolated and defenseless. He should’ve soaked up all of Theo’s affections and begged for more. But Theo had underestimated him vastly. Stiles wasn’t playing hard to get, he simply was too smart to fall for something as simple as charm.

It only made Theo want him even more. Stiles would be the perfect person to stand by his side. Clever, loyal, and absolutely ruthless.

But he had to get Stiles to trust him first. The boy couldn’t see it yet, but once all circumstances molded to Theo’s wishes, Stiles would find himself in a much happier place. Theo just had to give him a nudge into the right direction and make him realize how much of a glorious team they could be under Theo’s rule.

His father was the only important person in Stile’s life. Eventually, Theo would insert himself as a part of his life. Stiles was his centre already, now he had to make himself Stiles’ centre.

.

This is were this document ended. I think I planned to end this chapter at this point. I hadn’t planned the future chapters in every detail, but here’s how I planned for the story to roughly go:

Stiles and Theo were supposed to get closer, Theo eventually gaining Stiles’ trust and helping him over his issues with anxiety. They’d slowly become friends, but their relationship would always have a sexual undertone because it’d always been clear that Theo wanted to be more than friends. The sexual tension would escalate and they’d hook up and become an official item.

They would share a toxic dynamic. While Theo is devoted to Stiles, he’s also extremely controlling and possessive. He would watch Stiles, trying to keep constant tabs on what he was doing, going through his phone, getting pissed when Stiles was acting friendly with anyone. They would have big fights over this in which Theo would tell Stiles that he cares too much for him to just let him be.

While Stiles would know that this is an extremely unhealthy relationship that can’t end well, some part of him (the part that had been ignored by the people around him for all his life and was starving for a semblance of affection) loved that he was this important to Theo. And while his relationship was anything but normal, he liked that he got to experience something as normal as having a boyfriend, something he’d never envisioned before.

So they’d have fights, Theo would apologize with some grand gesture, and Stiles wouldn’t be able to stay mad (because some part of him wasn’t actually mad at all). This pattern would repeat itself.

Meanwhile, Scott and his friends would try to make Stiles see reason. By now, they would’ve noticed Theo’s and Stiles’ dynamic because of how explosive Theo can get in public once his jealousy is triggered. Stiles, however, can’t stand Scott and his friends to begin with. He thinks that nobody but his father and Theo, in his own twisted way, cares about him and that they’re only trying to provoke Theo through Stiles.

I don’t think the whole Dread-Doctors thing had been all the way revealed when I was plotting this, so they wouldn’t have been included in this story. But eventually, some danger would befall Beacon Hills again. Amidst everything, everyone’s supernatural identity would be revealed to Stiles. He’d feel vindicated to have his suspicions finally confirmed. He and Theo would work together on overcoming whatever enemy they’d be facing off against. 

At some point during all of this, Theo’s behaviour would escalate and would cause something disastrous to happen. Someone would be killed. Stiles can finally no longer ignore Theo’s issues as he fights his desire to stay with Theo against his morals. He’d tell Theo that they needed a break.

Theo would beg him not to break it off, promise to change, and confess his love. Though Stiles would know that Theo wouldn’t really change because of the numerous times he’s promised before, he’d be too moved by Theo’s confession to resist. Eventually, he’d decide be selfish and put his own wants before the needs of others. He’d decide that he’d rather have his toxic, obsessive, passionate relationship with Theo, than to return to the bleak void that he was in before Theo entered his life.

Eventually, they’d graduate and move away to live in some big city like L.A. or NYC. 

The End.

[havenoffandoms]

The Archangel’s Protégé

Pairing: Sam x archangel!Gabriel

Summary: 

“So, assuming my archangel is still alive… he will definitely, 100% show up if I was in immediate danger, right?”, Kevin asked, his tone careful and contemplative. Sam knew that he could not promise this to the prophet. For this reason, he merely shook his head with a defeated sigh.

“I can’t guarantee that anyone will show up. Especially if it turns out that Gabe… Gabriel is dead, then there’s no saying what will happen to you”

Mention: @swellsabriel (who inspired me to write this beautiful piece) and @warlockwriter (who requested a link) 

“So, let me get this straight… I am attached to an archangel?”, Kevin asked with a puzzled frown on his face. Sam merely nodded, offering an apologetic smile as if he were personally responsible for the prophet’s plight.

“Well, more like an archangel is attached to you, really”, Dean corrected, earning himself an eye-roll from Kevin.

“Same thing” Kevin let out a heavy sigh and absent-mindedly rubbed his temple, “So, uh… do we know who my archangel is?”

“Well, here’s the thing. Lucifer and Michael are in the cage, so we can rule them out. And Raphael is dead. The only archangel we believe could still be alive somewhere is Gabriel. That’s why we wanted to test our theory…”, Sam explained, trying really hard to sound calm and reassuring so Kevin would not freak out. He needed the prophet to keep an open mind about this. It was the only way this plan was going to work out.

“Okay, so…” Kevin briefly hesitated before meeting Sam’s hazel eyes, the faintest hint of worry discernible on his features, “This Gabriel dude… what’s he like? Is he one of the bad guys you want to get rid of, or…?”

“No! No, don’t worry Kevin, Gabriel is not a bad guy”, Sam immediately came to the defence of the archangel, glaring at his brother when Dean failed to hold back a derisive snort of laughter. “Dean, shut up!”

“Oh, come on, Sammy! Sure, Gabriel is not a bad guy, but he sure as hell ain’t a good one either…”

“He’s got his flaws, like we all do”, Sam added as he addressed Kevin once again, “but he’s on our side. We just want to know if he’s still around or if he faked his death again”

“Again?” Kevin’s eyebrows both shot upwards at Sam’s words. However, before the younger Winchester had a chance to explain what was meant, the prophet shook his head and exhaled loudly. “D’you know what, doesn’t matter! My life has been all kinds of crazy recently, and I’ve had it. I’ll do whatever you guys want, just please try not to get me killed!”

“Thank you, Kevin” Sam said, the genuine smile on his face reaching his eyes that shone brightly with gratitude. Kevin looked slightly surprised by the sudden display of emotion from the younger Winchester, but eventually returned the gesture somewhat nervously. Meanwhile Dean muttered something under his breath which neither Kevin nor Sam quite understood, but the taller hunter was convinced that not even his brother’s cynic remark could spoil his mood. The warm feeling that spread in his stomach at the prospect of potentially seeing Gabriel again was making him feel dizzy. He knew that he should not be getting his hopes up yet, but Sam simply could not help himself.

“So, how do we summon my archangel?”, Kevin asked innocently, causing Dean to shoot Sam a knowing look while the younger Winchester cleared his throat uneasily. The prophet picked up on both actions, instantly tensing up when he realised that the two brothers were up to something. “What is it?”

“Well, you see Kevin uh… this is where things get a bit, how should I put it… complicated and potentially… dangerous”, Sam started explaining, avoiding Kevin’s eyes as he tried to find the right words. Dean looked like he was enjoying himself far too much judging by the wide grin on his face. Sam shot his brother a pleading look, which was only met with a disinterested shrug.

“You’re on your own, kiddo”, Dean declared, the smug grin never leaving his face. Sam merely sighed as he realised that he would have no support from the older Winchester.

“A prophet’s archangel will only appear when said prophet is at very high risk of… well, dying”

Sam flinched when he saw the expression of sheer terror on Kevin’s face. The younger Winchester fully expected the prophet to backtrack and run far away from these crazy people who wanted him to put his own life at risk to potentially attract an archangel who, as far as Sam and Dean could tell, had died several years ago at the hand of his own brother. Sam understood, and he knew that he would not be allowed to blame Kevin if it turned out that the prophet wanted to put an end to their arrangement. The taller hunter felt his heart break in his chest at the thought of losing his only chance of finding out whether Gabriel was still alive.

“So, assuming my archangel is still alive… he will definitely, 100% show up if I was in immediate danger, right?”, Kevin asked, his tone careful and contemplative. Sam knew that he could not promise this to the prophet. For this reason, he merely shook his head with a defeated sigh.

“I can’t guarantee that anyone will show up. Especially if it turns out that Gabe… Gabriel is dead, then there’s no saying what will happen to you”

Sam mentally chastised himself for using Gabriel’s nickname. It brought up too many painful memories of their time spent together in the intimacy of Gabriel’s conjured up fantasies. No one could ever reach them there, no cell phones allowed for Sam either. Gabriel’s mind had been the only safe-haven from the cruel world outside. Gabriel had tried countless times to convince Sam to not go back to the real world, where only death and misery awaited him. Sam had always kept an optimistic outlook on his situation, knowing full well that if he started to despair he would take Gabriel up on his offer. And that would mean leaving Dean behind. The younger Winchester would never have forgiven himself for abandoning his older brother.

“Can you promise that you’ll save me if you notice that no one is coming to the rescue?”, Kevin enquired, his eyes shifting back and forth between the two brothers.

“Absolutely”, Dean spoke up before Sam had time to process what was happening, “Kevin, you’re one of us. Family don’t get left behind”

Sam only nodded his approval, too shocked to speak. Kevin was still considering this, despite the risks the plan involved. Sam felt his heart swell with fondness as he rose from his chair and went to pull Kevin up into a tight hug. To hell with the emotionless front the younger Winchester had tried to hide behind. Kevin had just given him the most valuable present Sam could ever dream of.

“Wow… I didn’t know you felt that strongly about it”, the prophet admitted, sounding slightly taken aback. Sam merely grinned toothily, pulling Kevin even closer if that was possible and patting his back amiably.

“You have no idea, kiddo”

OoO

“I’m feeling less confident about this”

Kevin stood awkwardly at the curb of the sidewalk, watching as Sam and Dean kept an eye out for any oncoming cars. The plan was to push the prophet onto the road early enough so he would not immediately get hit by a car, while keeping an element of immediate danger to incite his archangel to show up and save the day. Worst case scenario if nobody showed up, Dean and Sam had brought Cas along to save Kevin from being flattened by an SUV.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine”, Dean reassured him, tapping Cas on the shoulder, “you’ve got a back-up angel with you”

“Just when I thought that you two could not upset the rules of heaven and hell even more, you include me in the voluntary endangering of a prophet of the Lord” Cas’ disapproving frown did nothing to appease Kevin’s uneasiness.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll burn in hell for your sins Cas, we know. To be fair, it’s not like you won’t know anybody there”, Dean commented optimistically, earning himself an eye roll from the seraph.

“This is no joking matter, Dean”

“Ok, Kevin you ready?”, Sam asked, interrupting the hunter and angel’s bickering. The prophet looked like a deer in the headlights, however before he could pronounce himself on the matter, Sam grabbed him by the wrist and pushed him onto the road. Kevin watched with horror as a massive Ford Expedition headed his way, undoubtedly driving much faster than the legally acceptable speed limit. Despite his limited knowledge of physics, Sam knew that the car would not have enough time to break before it hit the prophet. The deafening sound of the driver honking at Kevin to move out of the way only seemed to intensify the prophet’s panic, which kept him rooted to the spot. All Kevin could do was close his eyes and hope for the best. Sam felt his stomach knot painfully as he felt Cas brace himself next to him.

“Son of a bitch”, Dean cried out as a bright light blinded all of them. Sam’s first instinct was to check if Cas was still next to him, but the flash of light made everything around him imperceptible. Sam felt the warmth of the glow burn his retina, which convinced him to bring his arm before his eyes to shield them from it. The several seconds it took for the light to die down felt like ages to Sam, Dean and Kevin. Sam was the first one to open his eyes, frantically looking around to ensure that everyone was fine.

“That’s impossible”, Sam heard Cas whisper next to him.

“It appears that you’re wrong there, Cassie”, a very familiar voice replied, causing Sam’s heart to somersault in his chest. The younger Winchester’s hazel eyes met Gabriel’s golden once, and it took every ounce of Sam’s willpower not to burst into tears of joy at the sight of his lover standing before him. Gabriel, on the other hand, looked beyond annoyed.

“Well Samshine? What have you got to say for yourself?”

Gabriel was holding a very faint-looking Kevin by the armpit, which was without doubt the only reason why the prophet was still standing on his two feet. Kevin’s face had turned whiter than a ghost’s, and his eyes stared blankly at the sidewalk as he recovered from his shock. Sam had the decency to look apologetic when he met Gabriel’s eyes again.

“I… wanted to test a theory”

“By pushing a kid in front of a car?”, Gabriel asked rhetorically, shaking Kevin slightly for emphasis. The harsh movement, however brief it had been, caused Kevin to moan in discomfort as he brought a hand to his mouth to kill his urge to retch everywhere. Noticing the prophet’s discomfort, Gabriel let go of him before focusing his attention on Sam again.

“Well?”

“I uh… it was a stupid idea, granted, but… it was the only way I could think of that would potentially force you to come here…”, Sam admitted, his tone laced with sadness when Gabriel did not greet him the way the younger Winchester had expected him to.

“It was careless of you! And I can’t believe that you agreed to this”, Gabriel exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Kevin, who merely flinched back when the archangel’s anger was directed at him. “Honestly, it’s almost like dad is purposefully assigning the most important jobs to those humans that lack the most common sense!”

“Gabe, babe…”

“Don’t you dare ‘babe’ me, Samuel Winchester” Despite the difference in height, Sam could not help but take several steps back as Gabriel took several threatening steps towards him, “I was in hiding, I went in hiding to save my ass and to protect yours! You’ve compromised the whole operation by calling me here”

“I needed to see you. I’ve missed you so much, Gabe. Can you blame me for wanting to make sure that you were actually dead?”, Sam asked, putting on his best puppy eyes. It was true that Gabriel had never been one to fall easily for them, but the younger Winchester had managed to get his own way using his beaten puppy face before.

“Blame you? Of course not, I mean who wouldn’t miss this hot stuff right here?”, the archangel said, pointing at himself. “I blame you for the way you went about it!”

“You didn’t leave me another choice. I prayed to you, Gabe, every night” Sam was beginning to lose patience with the archangel before him, and the way he raised his voice at Gabriel was a tell-tale indication that he had had enough, “You never came, no matter how desperately I prayed to you. So no, I didn’t see another way. I needed to know, I needed closure. Quit acting like I’m the bad guy here!”

Sam’s words seemed to have the desired effect on Gabriel. The archangel went quiet, merely sighing heavily as he met Sam’s pleading gaze. A quick look at the crowd that had gathered around them told Gabriel that he had attracted far too much attention to himself as it was. He clicked his fingers loudly, and before Sam knew it, everyone went back to minding their own business and ignoring the five strange men arguing in the street. The younger Winchester realised that Gabriel must have either wiped their memories, or meddled with time again. Regardless, Sam let out a relieved sigh.

“Don’t get into any more trouble, boys” Gabriel asked, his voice emotionless and his gaze cold, “I’ll see you around”

Before Sam could react, his lover disappeared before his eyes again, leaving the four of them staring at the spot where Gabriel had stood mere seconds earlier. Dean and Cas shared a worried look, while Kevin finally managed to throw up his breakfast in a nearby bin. Sam, on the other hand, felt like hitting something.

“Sammy?”

“Let’s just go home” Sam told his brother as he headed to the Impala.

OoO

“Are you sure you want to do this again?”, Sam asked Kevin when he came to him with his plan the same morning, “I mean, the last time was a disaster for all of us”

“Maybe so”, Kevin agreed before taking a sip of his diet coke, “but I saw the way you guys looked at each other. And I saw how devastated you were the next couple of days. This Gabriel guy seems to mean a lot to you. And if there’s any way I can help you guys work it out, then I want to help”

Sam could not believe his ears. He had not expected Kevin to speak to him at all since the incident, yet alone suggest a second attempt. The younger Winchester wondered if he should truly venture down that road again. Gabriel had been pissed. Justifiably so, of course, but Sam was not used to seeing the more authoritarian side of the archangel’s personality. It had been slightly scary, and incredibly arousing at the same time.

“Okay, but if we try this again, we need to go about it more subtly. I think if I tried to push you off a cliff, Gabriel would literally shove me off it with you”, Sam joked. Kevin nodded solemnly as he imagined the scene.

“Yep. Maybe something a bit less extreme will do the trick. How about I stand on a ladder and pretend to fall? I mean, not high enough to really hurt me, but high enough to make it potentially lethal…” Sam smirked at the infallibility of the plan.

“Let’s test that theory”

OoO

Cas had refused to help them out on this one, which meant that Kevin and Sam were on their own at the back of the bunker with the prophet perched on a ladder at the back of the bunker. Kevin was trying to explain the physics of falling to Sam, who was only half tuned into the conversation. All the younger Winchester could think about was Gabriel. True, the archangel was pissed at him, but despite that Sam would take the risk of facing his anger again. Anything to see his lover again after so many years of absence. He had missed Gabriel so much, and any opportunity to see him was one he was willing to take.

“So that means that it's not the fall that gets you, it's the sudden stop at the end. It depends a lot on where and which way up you land. For a hard surface, assuming you don't land on your head, you are almost certain to survive a fall from a height of 7m. Though "survive" is likely to involve life-changing injuries at the top of this range. Between 7 and 12m, you may or may not survive. Over 12 m, you are almost certain not to survive.” Kevin told Sam, not realising that the younger Winchester was not really listening to his explanations, “so really, considering the height I’m at, it could prove lethal for me. Ipso facto, Gabriel should appear to save me”

“Mhm… right, you ready?”, Sam asked, hoping Kevin would not ask him to repeat what he had just said.

“As ready as I’m ever gonna be”, the prophet retorted before taking a deep composing breath. Sam saw how Kevin shut his eyes and murmured something under his breath, possibly a prayer, before leaping off the ladder. Sam watched as Kevin’s body plummeted to the ground, hoping that Gabriel would show up once again. The last thing the younger Winchester wanted was to explain to Cas why Kevin had several broken bones in his body resulting of purposefully leaping off a ladder. Sam’s worries dissipated when he heard the ruffle of wings and caught sight of Gabriel catching Kevin bride-style at the bottom of the ladder.

“Oh, silly me”, Kevin uttered, nervousness evident in his tone as he was once again faced with the powerful archangel Gabriel, “What a clumsy klutz I am. Man, it wouldn’t surprise me if I’m the reason you develop a drinking problem in the future” Sam had to hold back a snort of laughter at Kevin’s exaggerated apology. Gabriel shot the younger Winchester a warning glare, which instantly shut Sam up.

“Believe me, if I could change the cosmic laws ruling this prophet-archangel relationship clause, you would be dead by now!”, Gabriel assured Kevin, who merely gulped audibly at his words. The archangel dropped the prophet, who merely grunted in pain as his body made impact with the wet muddy ground.

“Hey”, Sam greeted Gabriel, a small smile gracing his features. The archangel raised an exasperated eyebrow at his lover’s actions, no doubts refraining from zapping him back into TV land as punishment. The younger Winchester noticed the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of Gabriel’s lips.

“Hiya Samsquatch”, the archangel replied, his voice having grown considerably softer since the last time they spoke. Sam took this as a positive development, however he did not dare take the next step yet. For now, the tenderness he saw reflected in Gabriel’s eyes would do just fine.

OoO

The next couple of weeks were filled with Sam and Kevin coming up with more ridiculous scenarios where the prophet would put his life at risk. Even though the situations were becoming less and less life-threatening, Gabriel never failed to show up. Additionally, he also started to spend more time with Sam whenever he was around to ‘save’ Kevin from a particularly harsh cold, or when he randomly appeared to confiscate a butter knife from the prophet to eliminate the risk of ‘stabbing himself to death’.

Sam figured that enough was enough. He wanted the angel to stay for good. He had prepared a whole speech, dinner, flowers… the whole romantic crap Gabriel was into (and yes, he 100% owned up to it, too). The archangel was bound to stick around after that, right? So, Sam had asked Kevin for one last favour. Kevin would come very close to cutting himself badly with his razor, a scenario the two of them had already used on Gabriel before, and which had worked. Then, Sam would take Gabriel away to the dining area and treat him to a lovely meal, and surprise him with a home-made dessert. Sam knew the archangel would not be able to resist this gesture, and the younger Winchester was especially proud of his little plan.

Imagine Sam’s disappointment when Gabriel appeared earlier than planned.

“Samshine, we need to talk”, the archangel announced.

“NO! No, this was not supposed to happen that way! I had everything planned to the very last detail, and you think you can just show up and ruin everything?”

Gabriel’s puzzled expression at Sam’s reaction only intensified when his lover fisted his own hair in frustration, letting out guttural groan to emphasises just how upset he was that his surprise for Gabriel had failed.

“Sam, I…”

“I’ve been planning this for days, I have a speech”, Sam exclaimed, pulling out a folded piece of paper, “see? You can’t be here yet, I haven’t set anything up and besides, dinner is not even cooked yet, and the lemon-meringue pie is still cooking in the oven…”

“So that’s what smells so heavenly, huh? I simply thought you’d changed your shower gel”, Gabriel joked as he looked at Sam with all the love and adoration in the world. The archangel took several tentative steps towards his lover and tenderly intertwined his fingers with Sam’s. The gesture seemed to relax the younger Winchester instantly judging by the way his shoulders slumped at Gabriel’s touch.

“Gabe, this is not funny…”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong kiddo. It’s hilarious! You wanna know why?”, the archangel asked while wiggling his eyebrows. Sam looked utterly confused by the display.

“Why?”

“Because, my beautiful moose… you and I had the exact same idea. Fair enough, my dinner was gonna take place in Paris and dessert would have been a chocolate religieuse from the best pastry chef of the capital, but…” Gabriel smiled earnestly at Sam before placing a soft kiss on the back of the taller hunter’s hand without breaking eye contact, “I think I like your idea better. I can’t wait to taste that home-made lemon meringue pie”

Sam could not hold back the happy, albeit teary smile that graced his lips. Leaning down, the younger Winchester locked his lips with Gabriel’s, feeling the familiar warmth spread through his chest as his lover kissed him back just as lovingly.

All was good. And Sam was not about to let Gabriel leave him ever again.

[adventuresloane]

102 hurloane or danbrey?

“So you come here often?”

“Aubrey, I live here.”

She heard a small, strangled sound behind her. When she turned around, she found the new girl with a painfully wide grin and a pair of eyes that darted in every direction but hers. Her full lips, colored a neon orange that clashed with the lodge’s deep reds and dark woods, scrunched up into an “o” shape as she sucked in a breath and started to fan herself. “Old thermostats here?” she asked too loudly to be convincing. She was supposed to be a stage performer? Honestly.

“Your room’s down the hall up here,” she said once they had both reached the top of the stairs. “313, if that’s alright with you.”

“You’re not one of those hotels that skips 13, huh?”

She turned back enough to see the puff of tight, candy-red curls bobbing behind her as Aubrey followed her. “I guess after what you just saw, it won’t surprise you to know we’re not afraid of superstitions around here.”

“Heh, guess not.”

“Seems like you’re not either.” She unlocked the door before dropping the keys in Aubrey’s hand, then stepped through the threshold. Inside was the bed with the spread of earth-toned patchwork, the oil painting of a stag in autumn woods, the television that looked entirely too sleek and modern for its rustic surroundings. “Here you go. The rooms are a little small, but I think they’re comfy enough. I’m not sure what you’re used to, but–”

“Oh, much worse than this!” she answered brightly. She tried to throw her duffel onto the bed, missed, and didn’t pick it up when it banged against the nightstand. The bag had nearly as many patches as her denim vest, many of them from the places she had been, so that the pieced-together fragments could be read like a map. “Usually the places I go to are the ones where you have to shake the sheets to get the bedbugs off.”

“Ah.” Dani glanced dubiously at the luggage. “When was the last time you slept somewhere with bedbugs?”

“I haven’t been itchy lately, so not for awhile. Damn, this is a nice bed.”

Dani felt a tickle against her ankle and looked down to find the white rabbit brushing past her as he hopped into the room, having followed behind his owner. “I guess I’ll leave, uh, both of you to it.”

“Oh, um…” Having flopped, spread-eagled, onto the bed, she suddenly sat up, alert. “You don’t have to. I mean, you’re not bothering us. She’s not bothering us, is she, Dr. Harris Bonkers?” The bunny looked at her and calmly twitched his nose twice. 

Dani almost wasn’t quick enough to bite back the laugh she felt worming its way out of her suddenly. Dr. Bonkers still sat within arms reach of her, and before she could resist, she bent down to rub his forehead with two fingers. He let her. “I do actually have to go. I promised Mama I’d do some stuff around here." 

By now, Aubrey had gotten up from the bed and padded softly over to her, at least as much as one could softly pad while wearing spiked boots with inch-thick soles. She remained a poor actress–her smile wasn’t enough to belie the traces of what looked like regret in her eyes. "Alright, well, you’ll stop by later, right? Any time is good, probably. Promise me you’ll come back?”

“I don’t really do promises,” she mumbled. They set people up for disappointment, she didn’t add. 

“Oh, me neither,” Aubrey said with a quick flip of her hair. “Commitments are for plebs. No gods, no masters." 

This time, Dani couldn’t help but snort. Somehow, Aubrey’s smile looked a touch more genuine afterwards.

"But, uh, Dr. Bonkers doesn’t think so,” she continued after a moment. Carefully, she scooped up her rabbit and took hold of one of his feet, flipping the paw up and down in what looked like a wave. “Come see us again soon?”

Dani felt the bottom of her eye twitch upwards as the side of her mouth lifted into a grin. “I’ll see you around one way or another.”

“You’ve really got to stop trying to train at night,” she said, teeth gritted to keep her lips from quivering. Everything about her felt shaky, actually, as she watched the dribbling blood glint in the fluorescent light of her bathroom. It took every bit of concentration her 12:34 AM mind could muster to keep the needle steady as she stitched together Aubrey’s skin. 

“Don’t tell Mama,” Aubrey said quickly, a little pleading. “She’ll want me to go to the hospital.” She watched as the silver point stick her over and over and did not wince once. Dani wondered how much her pain tolerance had increased since she had started going on Pine Guard missions. This night would leave her with a pale scar cutting across her heart and head and life lines, one she could conceal at the center of her fist. Dani wondered what other scars she had collected that were hidden from view. 

“How did you even get a cut this deep?”

“Practicing with Sniaytch. I was trying to see if I could make it fly back to me handle-first. You know, we’re, uh, still working on it.”

Dani breathed out a small laugh, not because that was particularly funny, but because laughing was the only thing she could do. She threw another red-drenched wad of toilet paper into the wastebasket and dabbed at the wound with a fresh one. Her fingers were sticky with it now, too, clinging to the needle. This was the amount of bleeding she got just from a training accident. Maybe this was nothing compared to what could happen on hunts out in the woods. “Out of pure curiosity, are you this reckless on missions too?”

“I’m kind of this reckless at all times. Reckless is my baseline state. But hey, don’t take me for a slouch!” She took a moment to flex with her free arm. 

Dani just shook her head. Sometimes, when the abominations came through the gate, she would be too busy to spend any real amount of time at the lodge. Days would go by without her seeing the bright flash of the spikes on Aubrey’s jackets or the colorful shock of her loud makeup. She noticed it, now, when those bright sparks were not there to signal Aubrey’s presence. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if they left her life entirely.

“Hey, hey…” Aubrey put an uninjured hand on her shoulder. Leave it to her to try to be the comforting one even when her flesh was torn up. “I’m gonna be fine, alright? I promise I’ll always come back from these hunts, no matter what.”

There had been many people, in the past, who had promised never to leave her. All of them were currently on a different planet. “You can’t guarantee that. Not when the risks are as high as they are.” She sighed. “Nothing personal, Aubrey, but I still don’t really believe in promises.”

The rings in her eyebrow shifted as she furrowed her brow in concern. Then, after a moment, her face loosened into a smile. “Well, I’ll believe for both of us, okay?”

“It wasn’t you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It wasn’t.” Aubrey’s voice was strained, almost angry. “You didn’t kill anyone. I know you didn’t.”

Dani shuddered. Sweat pasted the cover of the book to her hands, making it cling to her. Its many eyes seemed to fix on her, scrutinizing. It might have been the lack of sleep making her vision lose focus, but she swore she saw the slit pupils move around. She felt heavy with exhaustion. Even her breath seemed like a weight in her lungs. She did not bother asking how Aubrey could possibly be so sure. 

Aubrey’s arms wrapped around her, and for half a second she wanted to shove her off, to warn her off. She might change into that beast at any time. But the warmth of the embrace began to seep into her and she couldn’t help but sink, relax the muscles that had been tense for days. She wasn’t sure if the comforting heat came from the magic or from the girl herself. There might not have been a meaningful difference between the two anyway. 

“I know you.” Aubrey’s lips moved against her shoulder, her voice muffled. “And I promise you’re better than that. I’ll believe it even if you won’t.”

When she turned towards Aubrey, the bright red curls brushed her nose. She grounded herself in the sensation. “Aubrey?” She hated the way her own voice cracked. “Do you promise you’ll come back with answers?”

“I promise I’ll do better than that. I’ll put a stop to all this.” And even in the dark of the bedroom, her orange eye seemed to glow like an ember. It might have been from the magic or it might have been from something that radiated out of her like points of light from a star, something that could only be called faith. She placed her hand over Dani’s. “You just promise you’ll come back to me too when it’s all over, okay? Promise you won’t let this ruin your life and you’ll be the person I knew before. Can you do that?”

“I can.” She wasn’t sure if she could at all. But just feeling Aubrey’s breath against her gave her hope, and that was almost like belief.

((Sdvksbvk sorry this took forever and came out kinda wack I think. But you opened my third eye to cynical!Dani and I had to try writing her.))

[deejadabbles]

Peachshipping Week Day 5: Magicians!

Okay, went a little overboard with this one, but I actually really like how this turned out~

This was by far the weirdest dream Anzu had ever had.

Well, she didn’t know exactly if this was a dream or not- but it just had to be! One doesn’t just find themselves behind the stage of a high-class show, in front of the one and only Dark Magician Girl, with Happy Lover to boot by any other means, do they? Even with all the magic clad adventures she and her friends had been on, a dream was still the most logical reasoning she could think of.

The last thing she remembered was sitting in Yugi’s room, Duel Monster cards scattered about as her best friend helped her strengthen her deck. It was late, past dinner even, so it was little surprise when she looked over and found Yugi curled up, dozing peacefully at the foot of his bed. He looked so peaceful and cute, she had found herself staring before snapping herself out of the daze the sight put her in. 

She must have nodded off soon after, and, considering she had been trying to figure a good way of special summoning her most favorite Duel Monster, that explained the magician’s presence.

What Anzu couldn’t figure out, was why Dark Magician Girl was sitting at a makeup vanity with the air of a teenage girl at her best friend's sleepover about her. Happy Lover made cute purring noises from her spot on the vanity, stagehands bustled about in the extravagant backstage of the theater and Dark Magician Girl was powdering her nose, looking back at Anzu through the mirror with a bight, excited grin.

“Alright, how many of these late nights at Yugi’s house is it going to take for you to just kiss that poor boy!”

Anzu practically stumbled back at the question, “Wha- what? Why would you ask me something like that?! No one’s kissing anyone!”

The magician let out a halfhearted sigh of exasperation, set her makeup down and spun her stool around to face Anzu fully. “Master, you can’t fool me. I know how much you adore him, you just have to take that leap and tell him!” Happy Lover made a noise of agreement to the woman’s words.

Apparently not interested in any other points of denial Anzu was willing to make, the blonde got up from her seat and started walking, the fairy monster floating right beside her and purring at Anzu as if to say ‘come on, you too!’. Anzu did follow, taking in the strange, hazy quality of the dream world around them.

“Master Yugi is much too unsure of your feelings to take things in his own hands. Besides, you're a take-charge kind of woman, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be the first to confess.” Dark Magician Girl nodded matter-of-factly, Happy Lover mirroring the movement.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I can’t just risk everything between Yugi and I like that,” Anzu mumbled, her eyes cast to the ground as the mere idea of things becoming awkward between them made something hard and sharp twist painfully in her chest.

The fairy and the spellcaster shared a long look as they continued to walk. “The two of you can work through anything, especially since he feels the same way, you know he does. Maha, back me up!”

Anzu looked up and indeed saw Maha Vailo walking about, examining a clipboard in hand as if he was some sort of stage manager. The robed man looked up at them, casting the women a smirk as he nodded silently in answer.

“See, all of us can see it!”

Biting her lip as they came to a stop at some luscious stage curtains, Anzu weighted just how crazy it would be to argue her point to trading card characters. Then again, they always had seemed more like real people than just that, and this was her dream after all.

“It’s not that,” Anzu whispered, just loud enough for them to hear, as if saying it any louder might expose her to anyone who might be listening in the waking world. “It took me a long time to sort out my feelings about Yugi, especially with my feelings about the Pharaoh mixed in. I...I don’t want to hurt Yugi. What if things don’t work out? What if I’m too late?” 

That hard, sharp thing in her chest reared its head again, as it did every time she thought about telling Yugi, saying the same thing as if it were a more cynical version of herself: ‘Too little too late, Anzu. You missed your chance to be with him, nice going’. 

Again Dark Magician Girl and Happy Lover shared a look, this one soft and understanding. Then the blonde turned to her with a small, calm smile. “It’s okay to be uncertain, Anzu. You’ve always been the girl who follows her heart, and deep down you know it’s saying that you and Yugi are meant to be. Take that leap of faith, Anzu, and everything will work out like it should.”

With that, the magician and fairy took hold of the curtains and pulled them open, revealing a warm light that enveloped Anzu, the Duel Monsters, and the fabulous stage in its glowing rays.

Well, this wasn't the weirdest dream Yugi had ever had.

Of course, finding himself in a police-style interrogation room, with Kuriboh in his lap and Dark Magician himself sitting on the other side of the table, did make it crack the top five. This had to be a dream, right?

The last thing he remembered was helping Anzu strengthen her deck. He was laying on his bed, watching her pick through spell cards, biting her lip while she thought in that cute way she always did. Had he drifted off in the comfortable silence then? He had to of, given his current situation. Even the Pharaoh's Puzzle couldn’t conjure up something like this.

Dark Magician set the paper he was looking through down with a snap, then steepled his fingers as he peered over at Yugi across the table.

“Master, may I ask why you haven’t told Anzu how you feel yet?”

If it wasn’t for Kuriboh being in his lap, Yugi might have bolted up from his seat, instead, he settled for a gasp and, “What? Why are you asking something like that?!”

The purple-clad man sighed. “You know how you feel about her, you’ve been in love with her since grade school. Why haven’t you, as they say, ‘made a move’ yet?”

Yugi wanted to will away the heat in his cheeks, even as the brown fuzzball in his lap made a little ‘kuri kuri’ sound to comfort him. “L-look, it’s not that simple. Just like I told the Pharaoh, I can’t just come out and tell her.”

“Why not, especially now?” the magician picked up the papers again, consulting them as he said, “You’ve made great progress in regards to your confidence and maturity in recent years, is that not true?”

“Well yeah, of course I have, but-”

“And one of the main reasons you never told her before was that you were concerned that you still needed to grow as a person before entering a relationship, correct?”

Yugi’s disquiet made him shift in his seat. “Yeah, that’s right. I know I’ve grown up a lot over these past couple years, but Anzu...”

“Another reason is your uncertainty regarding her own feelings towards you?”

A silence settled for a moment, in which Yugi sighed, barely even noticing that he was petting Kuriboh’s soft fur as he thought, eyes averted to the ground.

“Anzu will be leaving for New York soon. She’s following her dream and I... If I tell her how I feel and she feels the same way, she might think she has to stay here to make it work. I can’t stand in the way of the thing she’s worked so hard for. I just want her to be happy...”

The silence rose again after Yugi’s heartfelt proclamation. Kuriboh made a disheartened noise, his eyes drooping at the master’s sudden melancholy. After a moment Dark Magician sighed, then gave a soft, understanding, patient smile.

“Anzu knows you well. She knows you would never be so selfish as to keep her from her dream.”

There must have been a door in the room- or more likely, the dream was acting in that disjointed manner dreams usually do, because Celtic Guardian was walking up to the table now. He passed the spellcaster more papers, a badge pinned on his cloak, further enhancing the police-style atmosphere.

“If I may,” the blonde elf started, “if she leaves without knowing the depth of your feelings, she may decide to move on while in New York. Your chance to be with her will be gone.”

Apparently having said his piece, Celtic Guardian took his leave as Dark Magician nodded in agreement, and Kuriboh made a noise of approval at the statement.

Then the magician set his hands on the table, that small smile still aimed at Yugi as he said, “If anyone could make a long distance love work, it would be a couple who have a deep connection such as you and Anzu do. I think anyone who knows you two well would agree.”

The brown ball of fluff in Yugi’s lap bounced up and down, again making purring ‘kuri’ noises to show his agreement.

Honestly, Yugi had been optimistic about the idea of a long distance relationship working between them. Video calls would make the time apart between visits easier and she had already said that she would come back every summer. Still, even with such thoughts, he wanted to tread carefully. Was he really considering confessing to her even more now?

Then, Dark Magician got up from his seat, skirted the table and plucked Kuriboh from his lap. “I hope you take our words into consideration, master. Now, you should be getting back to her.”

He beckoned Yugi to stand, then indicated a door Yugi hadn’t noticed with his arm. The door opened, revealing a glowing light. Kuriboh waved his little green hands goodbye while the robed magician still trained that smile on Yugi.

“Good luck. Follow your heart, just as you taught the Pharaoh to.” 

The warm, inviting light from the doorway enveloped them like a favorite blanket, leaving Yugi to wonder just how much of this was an actual dream.

Both teens woke slowly, Anzu feeling an ache in her neck from the lolling it had done in her sleep and Yugi having to lift his head from a pile of cards with one sticking to his cheek. 

“Sorry, I think I dozed off for a minute,” Yugi said as he scratched his fingers through his hair.

Anzu gave him a weak smile, “It’s okay, I did too.”

Both took a moment to clear the haze of their nap and stretch. Of course, while they did the peculiar dreams regarding their deckmasters came floating back. They were just dreams, nothing more, right? Right. They had just dreamt about the magicians because they were messing with Duel Monster cards! It’s not as if their favorite spellcasters and company were actually coming to them in their dreams to give love advice, right? Right?

Still...

Anzu picked up the Sage’s Stone spell card from the card tray, remembering the duel where she used it. Yugi’s Dark Magician came to her aid and helped Dark Magician Girl win Anzu’s duel, and thus, saved her life. Yugi was always there for her, always.

Yugi looked at Anzu from his spot on the bed as she looked deep in thought. She would be gone soon. He knew their friendship could endure the distance, but, what if he was making a mistake by keeping his deeper feelings quiet? Anzu could become ‘the one that got away’ so easily.

“Yugi, would you like-”

“Hey, Anzu, I was-”

Both of them spoke up at the same time and broke down into giggles after realizing what they’d done.

“You can go first, Anzu,” Yugi smiled.

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to go out on Saturday. We could get lunch together, maybe visit some shops downtown, go for a walk, that kind of stuff.”

“Hey, that’s what I was gonna ask you! Maybe not exactly that, but if you wanted to hang out this weekend.”

Again they both chuckled at how in-sync their minds seemed to be. And, unbeknownst to the other, they both thought the same thing in the next moment. 

“I’ll finally confess how I feel then. Whatever happens after, I know we can get through it.”

[emilightniing]

You Can Fix This (Part 3)

(Finally! This is a long one, but I’m pretty happy with it considering I had some trouble getting started! Thank you, everybody who’s left feedback so far. I appreciate it so much.)

( @fleecal @cryptidjourney​ @schuyleryette; if anyone else wants to be tagged just let me know!)

————————————————————

You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in the dim light of the cellar. The feeling of dread is tangible in the air. Nothing good happened down here before; why would this time be any different? 

But it will be different, of course it will… right? He just brought you down here to talk. You won’t do anything stupid, and everything will be fine. Telling yourself that slows your heart rate down only a fraction.

He seems to tower over you, his dark eyes shining more than they have all night. “So, Y/N,” he begins. “Would you care to tell me why you’ve been acting so on edge tonight?”

No point in denying it. “I’m worried about you,” you blurt out. “Not just because of… of what happened with Celine, but because— well, I’ll be honest with you; I think something terrible is going to happen tonight. I know how silly that might sound, but please believe me. Please don’t put yourself in any situation where you might get hurt. Just… just stay with the group, okay?” 

You watch his face carefully as your warning sinks in, but what you don’t expect to see is a smile. But smile he does, though it’s not friendly in the least. He laughs, but the amusement, you can tell, comes from a deep-rooted place of cynicism and perhaps even contempt. It frightens you.

But not nearly as much as his next words.

“Y/N. What do you know?”

It takes a second for you to process his question and the implications behind it. “What, uh- what do you mean?”

He just looks at you with a bemused expression. “You heard me. I’m not surprised really, but I would like to know exactly how much you know. It’ll make things a lot easier for the both of us. And for everyone else here too.”

You don’t even want to think about what that could mean; you can’t risk it. “I just- Mark, listen, I know what you’re planning to… to have happen tonight, and I can tell you— nobody here wants that. At all. It’ll only make everything worse.”

“Worse? Maybe.” Mark leans back agains the brick wall, folding his arms. “But what if they’re going to get worse no matter what? Have you considered that? What if this—” he sweeps his hand in a gesture that indicates this whole night as ‘this’ “—is the best possible outcome now? What if everyone here is fucked regardless?” There’s a note of something darker in his tone now, almost anger.

What are you supposed to say to that? “I don’t know,” you answer quietly, choosing to be honest. “But listen, I’ve seen it already. Tonight and just… everything that comes after it, it doesn’t end well for anyone. And maybe you think you don’t care, but Mark, you don’t really want that, do you?” 

You don’t know if he does or not; in fact, evidence would indicate that he does indeed want that. But you have to try.

Instead, though, he catches on to another thing you said. “You’ve seen it.” He doesn’t seem surprised.

“Yes,” you confirm, closing your eyes for a second as the memories hit you. “I was there. Here.”

“Interesting… I can believe that.” He looks you straight in the eyes, holding your stare for a long time. When you finally look away, he exhales in a way that’s almost a sigh but not quite. “I don’t know the extent of what this house can do, but from the minute you approached me tonight, I could tell you were influenced by it. In some way.”

You don’t even know how to respond to that. To your surprise, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it. “I didn’t know you smoked,” is all you can say.

He laughs, the smoke clouding around him. “I didn’t until recently. But why the hell not, right?” 

He takes another drag before turning to look at you again. This time, he seems to be looking for something that’s not visible, but he can’t seem to find it. “All right, I’ll ask you, then. What did it do to you? You’ve never been here before tonight, so I can guess you’re probably from another… outcome, I suppose. You lived through that, and now somehow you’ve wound up here.” He slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the cold floor, looking up at you expectedly. “Want to tell me the rest?”

You briefly consider joining him. It might help just to be honest, to tell him everything that you know. It might give you a better chance of convincing him to give this up.

But that feeling hits you again suddenly, that biting feeling that no matter how much you’d like to trust him, something is wrong. You shouldn’t. Too risky.

You remain standing, deciding not to take the bait. 

“I don’t understand it even a little bit,” you tell him. (Now there’s the most certain truth you’ve told all night.) “All you need to know is that I died and somehow, instead of coming back like you, I ended up back here. Back before any of it even happened.” 

You pause for a moment, waiting to see how he’ll react to this. When he doesn’t say anything, you end your explanation with what your heart tells you to be true. “And now… now I need to stop it from happening. But I can’t do that without your help.”

Even with the bad lighting, you can see the pain and consideration on Mark’s face as your words sink in. He sighs. “Listen, Y/N—”

Whatever he’s about to say is cut off by a flood of light as the cellar door opens. He scrambles to his feet, stomping the cigarette out and grabbing the first bottle of wine he touches from the shelves. 

“Aha, this is the one!” His tone has changed completely, though by now it’s painfully obvious to you that he’s been putting on this lighthearted facade for the sake of the unsuspecting guests.

Footsteps approach down the stairs, and you see that it’s Benjamin who interrupted you, looking surprised and somehow confused. 

“Oh, excuse me, sir,” he addresses Mark apologetically. “I’m not sure why I came down here… it seems to have slipped my mind.”

Mark waves him off with a grin that impresses you— you suppose he is an actor, after all, so it probably shouldn’t be so surprising that he’s able to act fine so convincingly.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he tells Benjamin, handing over the wine bottle. “Do me a favor, will you, and go open that. We’ll be back up shortly.” He doesn’t drop his smile until the door is closed once again, leaving you two alone. “Fuck,” he groans quietly, knotting his hand through his hair.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“You don’t understand, do you,” he sighs heavily. “He didn’t mean to come down here. He wasn’t planning to come down here. But the house, it lead him here anyway. It listens, Y/N. It can make us all do whatever it wants to do.You think you just ended up back here at random, by coincidence? It’s the house. It brought you here, and you might think that this is your miracle second chance to make everything right, but the fact is that it’s going to make you play by its rules. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

He pulls out another cigarette, clenches it between his teeth without bothering to light it, and turns to go back upstairs. Halfway up, he turns back around to see you still standing at the foot of the staircase, stunned and trying to process it all. “Believe me. I’ve tried.”

—————————————

Nothing. Nothing. There’s nothing you can do.

His words echo through your head as you stand in the darkness for several minutes, not even bothering to find a light. They play over and over as you blindly grab a bottle of wine, wrestle it open, and take several long sips. Why should you care? Like Mark himself said, you’re fucked regardless. 

Foolishly (you know it’s foolish, but controlling your impulses when you’re under stress has never been your strong suit), you keep drinking until the edge wears off and you feel a little calmer.  

And then you decide to finish the bottle. You consider it compensation for all the bullshit you’ve gone through. 

Deep down you know that this isn’t going to help things, but for the moment you don’t care. What was it that William told you before, in the other reality? Something about life needing madness. Maybe he has the right idea, you think as you numbly let the empty bottle roll away from your feet.

You stand up and, suddenly full of rage, you turn and face the wall. “Fuck you,” you say directly to the house. Just to make it clear that you’re addressing it, you add for good measure, “Fuck you, house!” You pick up the bottle off the ground and smash it against the bricks. “That’s for hurting my friends… and letting Mark take Damien’s body… and for sending me back here to do it all over again!” 

You’re almost shouting by the time you finish, and in a fit of stupidity, you punch the wall as hard as you can.

Pain instantly shoots through your hand, and you have to stifle a yell, biting down on your other hand as you clutch the injured one to your chest. Fuck. That was… well, in retrospect, you don’t know what you expected to happen. Now, feeling like an idiot and nursing a bruised hand, you sink back down onto the floor in defeat.

“Why…” you mumble to yourself. “Why’d you have to bring me here?” You don’t know if you’re talking to Mark for inviting you in the first place or the house for sticking you in some sort of sick time loop. Something wet rolls down your cheek, and for a second you think you might have spilled wine all over your face. Oh. No, you’re crying. 

You aren’t much of a crier, but suddenly everything seems to hit you at once and you can’t stop the tears once they start. You don’t even bother trying to wipe them away. Everything’s a mess; it fits.

You’ve been sitting in here too long. They’ll be looking for you… or maybe they won’t. You know that as soon as you leave this room you’ll have to face reality, or this version of it, again. The idea isn’t exactly appealing.

But maybe… maybe it’s not too late, you find yourself thinking through all the fuzzy half-thoughts. One-thirty. Wasn’t that when Mark got killed? There must still be time to change things. 

You might not be able to stop the house from doing what it wants, but you’ll be damned if you just sit passively and take it. Cursing yourself for sitting in here drowning your sorrows when you could have been at least trying to fix things, you clumsily get to your feet, feeling your way through the darkness, down the wall and back to the staircase. 

You’re not sure why you still don’t bother to look for the light; it just doesn’t really occur to you. This proves to be a mistake, you realize, as about halfway up the stairs you lose your footing and fall. The pain doesn’t really register until you’re lying half on the bottom stair and half on the floor beneath, too stunned to really do anything about it.

And then you realize you can see everything around you. There’s a light on somewhere. Whatever stairs you tripped on, you’ve somehow landed at the bottom of a completely different set.

Why the fuck does this house have so many staircases anyway? you ask yourself before slipping under into darkness.

————————————————————

It isn’t too long that you’re left there, you don’t think. After all, the stairs are at the front of the house, near the party. Thankfully it’s Damien who happens to walk by and notice you. Just like before. 

Some things are inevitable, you suppose.

“Y/N?” he says, confused at first in his own drunken state. When you don’t respond, he’s over you in a split second, frantically checking to make sure you’re still in one piece. “Y/N, can you hear me?”

It takes a few seconds, but finally it registers in your brain and you mumble a hoarse “Yes…” and bring your hand up to your throbbing head, blinking a couple times until things clear up slightly. 

Sure enough, Damien looks just as concerned as he did last time. And a lot more frightened, you notice. You feel a little bad about that, but you suppose it can’t be helped now.

“What happened?” he asks you, looking unsure of whether to keep you there or let you move. He eventually resolves to just help you sit up. Sort of. You can’t really keep yourself in any sort of vertical position for too long. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Even if you were coherent enough, you feel like right now isn’t the best time to tell him that the house is evidently trying to kill you, or at least paralyze you. 

“I… guess I just fell down the stairs,” you say. That seems to take a significant effort out of you, and you realize you’re slumping forward only when Damien gently lifts you back up by the shoulders. “Sorry…”

He doesn’t let go. “No, don’t be… don’t be sorry. I was just afraid you’d gotten hurt.” He looks around, behind him and down the hallway, and sees that nobody’s around. “Everyone was enjoying themselves, and I saw you talking with Mark earlier, so I asked him where you’d gone but he said he didn’t know, so I…”

“He said that?” you question, wincing as your (probably very bruised) body starts to demand more attention from your brain. “I was downstairs, that’s all. He should’ve…” 

You trail off as you realize it might be complicated to explain how you ended up at the foot of the front hall stairs, and why Mark left you alone in the wine cellar. You decide to just drop it and just say as casually as you can manage, “Never mind. Where’d he go off to, anyway?”

According to your watch, it’s just after midnight. Things still seem to be fine, but it seems you’ll be forced to go lie down earlier than you did last time.

Damien shakes his head. “I’m not sure. They were all just settling down a bit.” He pauses and adds, “Mark and the Colonel seem to be getting along much better than I thought they would, under the circumstances.” Realizing what he just said, he quickly tries to cover it up. “I mean, after not seeing one another for awhile, they…”

“It’s all right,” you tell him. “I already know about… everything.” The look on his face, a mix of dismay and concern and tiredness, makes you feel awful for some reason, so you immediately reassure him. “It’s going to be okay, Damien. Everybody’s here tonight and… and it’s all going to work out, you know?” 

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice that you’re lying through your teeth. You just don’t want to cause him any more pain.

“Here.” He cautiously helps you to your feet, ensuring you haven’t damaged yourself too badly. And then you’re caught entirely off guard as he lifts you bridal-style and begins to carry you up the stairs.

“Wha- you don’t have to do that,” is your first reaction for some reason. Even though you don’t mind in the slightest. And you know for a fact you won’t be able to climb these stairs alone.

He shakes his head and smiles a little. “What kind of friend would I be if I took the risk of you falling down the stairs again?”

Returning the smile, you answer, “A smart one, probably. It was my fault anyway. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson this time around... ” You cut yourself off before you can let your drunken brain ramble any further. 

Fortunately, he seems not to notice. Or maybe he just thought you were referring to all the times you made a fool of yourself like this at university. 

He never held any of those instances against you, either. 

You can’t help but wonder what you’ve done to deserve a friend like him, and it sends a stabbing pain through your head as you angrily think, once again, about how he didn’t deserve to be dragged into all this.

As you reach the top of the stairs, you’re surprised as he continues to carry you all the way to the guest bedroom. You assume he did this last time too— who else would have, after all— but it’s different now that you’re more conscious and aware of what’s going on. You feel your face reddening for the hundredth time as you’re set down onto the bed as gently as if you were made of glass.

He stands there, hesitating for a moment, unsure of what to do next. And in that moment of hesitation, the leftover alcohol and slight adrenaline in your head kicks in.

“Stay with me. Please.”

A look of surprise crosses his face, but you can tell it’s a pleasant surprise. “All right. I mean, yes, of course. I will.”

He sits down on the bed, leaving a respectable amount of distance between the two of you, but you don’t feel like pretending to be respectable anymore. “Hey, Dames?”

Glancing at you with a fond smile at the nickname you rarely use anymore, he says, “Yes, Y/N?”

As much as you’re dying to, as much as you trust him, you know you can’t tell him everything. Not yet. So without letting yourself think, you rush to tell him the secondary thing that’s been on your mind all night. 

“About earlier tonight. After that game. I… wanted to apologize, if it was uncomfortable for you. I was put on the spot like that, and I didn’t have any time to think about it. And it might not have been very… good.” 

Your lack of eloquence makes you wince, but somehow Damien seems to pick up on exactly what you’re saying.

“Ah. I see,” he says, his smile growing a little wider. “Forgive me if I’m mistaken, Y/N, but if you were wishing for a chance to redeem yourself…” 

Your breath catches in your throat as he moves closer to you, close enough to touch, but he waits to see what you’ll say.

What you say is simply, “I was. If you’ll let me.”

Everything falls into place perfectly. Despite the pain in your body, despite the knowledge in your mind, despite all the fear and confusion each of you hold inside, there’s a moment when it feels… Right.

You kiss him, and this time it’s met with a longing that matches your own. It fuels everything you’ve held in your heart, and you let yourself be consumed by it for the first time in a very long time. 

As much as you wish it could last forever, eventually he reluctantly breaks away as it begins to get more heated. “I… I hope this is all right,” he says quietly— partly to himself, you think. “I mean, I know I’m drunk, and I know you’re probably even more drunk…”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him; your voice is a little strained from the excitement. “I don’t care.”

It seems for a moment as if he wants to move back in, but slowly he shakes his head. “No… I care, though. I want it to be right.” He sees the look of disappointment on your face and carefully brushes a lock of hair away from your forehead. “Don’t worry. I won’t forget,” he murmurs in your ear as he begins to stand up to leave.

“As if I would let you,” you retort, tiredness beginning to overtake you. As your eyes grow too heavy to keep open, you see him smile at you again.

“Please, come find me in the morning,” he requests. “If… if you want, I mean.”

“Of course,” you tell him just before he closes the door. “Of course I will.”

————————————————————

You fall asleep with no trouble, not thinking about all the ways the house has planned to make tomorrow even worse than before.

[michelles-musings]

Microwaves, Disconnection, and “No, you may not have a sexy pic of me.”

Because I am only 44, I can only trace back the re-wiring of human being’s brains as far back as the microwave.

Oh, the excitement in our house when we finally got a microwave. Gone would be the days of cooking, the arduous preparations of mealtime. Tasting, stirring, adjusting, adding something here, changing the temperature... mealtime virtually transformed to an event with minimal directions or effort... and took away all anticipation of the tasty meal to come.

Not at all unlike dating in 2018. I’m going to pause right here to feel a little bit sorry for myself and my fellow souls born in the classic 1970’s decade, because unlike the current teens and twenty somethings who know nothing else, we have endured the sorrow of having at one time experienced genuine connection, romance, old fashioned courting (okay so maybe that was a bit before my time), but dating and all the terrifying awesomeness that came with it....and watching it slowly drift away, seemingly never to be accessed again.

Note writing and passing... and wondering if they would write back. Suffering anxiety attacks while repeatedly hanging up on someone’s answering machine. Having no other God-forsaken way of reaching out and connecting with someone we cared about except to CALL them on the phone. You had to straight up use your words, or pull up your big-girl/boy pants and go to their house. That was it. No other options. Oh the courage we had to muster up, and oh how great the reward that was possible when we did!

The scenarios I describe above, have of course gone the way of Disney’s “timeless classics”, something to appreciate for what it represented in times past, but no way were you gonna haul it out when your friends came over. Not when there’s a new, improved, faster, easier way!!

Today, we are unwilling to even spend two minutes in actual thought to conclude the answer to anything that cannot immediately be answered by Google. If we have something to say to someone, we don’t give a second thought to shooting them a text and disrupting or distracting them in whatever space they are in, because after all, what could be more important than this monumental thing I just have to say to you RIGHT NOW. Don’t even get me started on the stories we then get to make up and live out as the truth if the person doesn’t drop what they are doing and instantly respond.

WE..WILL..WAIT..FOR...NOTHING.

Sadly, for those of us who remember the bittersweet rewards that came forth from the waiting, and the taking risks, we are now also acutely aware of what everyone in this world under the age of 30 is missing out on in this incessant demand for immediate gratification in all areas of our lives.

And to take it one step further, no one but the single forty-something (speaking for myself) is more painfully aware of this transition, as we find ourselves desperately wanting to get back on the dating scene after not expecting to be on it ever again, and floundering like fish on a boat deck while trying to do so.

No one wants to get to know us anymore. “Will you send me a sexy pic?” has now taken the place of “Hello there, beautiful, how are you today? Read any good books lately?”

(And by the way, NO, asshat, the answer to your self-entitled question is NO.)

Not that this is their fault per se. Women along the way, probably while I was in the throes of marital bliss once upon a time, were teaching this group of up and coming thirty and forty-something single men that this was an acceptable request, one at which they repeatedly obliged. So why wouldn’t they ask ME?

Of course, my internal reaction to this request when a man has never even heard the sound of my voice yet, makes me want to reply, “Why sure! Thank you for saving me the time of showering and shaving and getting all prettied up for you, and instead giving me the microwave option to just send you a naked pic of myself right out the gate, so you can sit home and pleasure yourself with it... and we can just skip all that pesky dating anxiety. After all, now that you have a library of my sexy pics, stands to reason that the first night we actually DO meet (if that even happens) that you will be eagerly expecting the obligatory sex that in your mind, my string of sexy pics have promised you. Hell, we could just save some money, skip the dinner and just come on over to my apartment. Or I’ll come to yours. After all, that’s the end game anyway right?

WHAT THE HELL HAS HAPPENED?!?

Men don’t even know how to make intelligent conversation anymore, and they miss the blatant subtelties of flirtatious texts... they can’t seem to even enjoy them for what they are as part of a pursuit process... because GUESS WHAT? I forgot to tell you that the women before me seem to have demasculated most of them with their “independent woman who doesn’t need herself no man” attitudes, that they no longer even WANT to pursue, much less know how to do it, or find any enjoyment in it!

Now if the flirtatious texts carry on longer than a couple of days, we get called a “tease”, or the recipient of your attempted playfulness grows bored and moves on.

Don’t bother playing by any “rules of dating” sister, or you’re just going to get plain old shot on sight.

Sitting back and taking things “slow”, with the intent of not appearing overly-eager is no longer interpreted as the holy grail “self-confident woman” that men USED to say they found as an attractive quality. Now these actions are misconstrued as the single woman playing coy or being a tease...promising something with no intent to deliver. (I must’ve missed what it was that I promised in my mere existence of being single and speaking to you, so feel free to fill me in.)

WHY DO YOU THINK “GHOSTING” IS A THING??

Its such a commonplace thing that it even has its own terminology, because people everywhere aren’t getting what THEY want in a timely enough fashion, and aren’t willing to put more effort into trying to get it than the energy it takes to open an app and type a few keystrokes. Because that’s when your stopwatch begins ticking, my beautiful single forty-something. Unbeknownst to us, we are now under the pressure of an approximate six day waiting period where we are expected to assess the other person’s needs and meet all their demands, physical or technological, or risk having them disappear into thin air after a week of tirelessly texting them and answering questions and trying our best to convey ourselves as grounded, intelligent, emotionally stable women. All is for naught.

These theories of course are drawn from my own experiences and the conclusions my own limited mind has been able to muster up in the space where I stand today. I have to have them because to just sit back and accept all these reckless, impersonal, disconnected, self-entitled actions and ways of being in the singles world today... is nothing short of MADNESS! My mind refuses to simply accept these behaviors as the new status quo, whether they are or not.

And I’ve tried. By no means do I wish to be a casualty in the “no forty-something left behind” movement, so I have timidly tried to accommodate and acclimate in some of these scenarios. And by that, I do admit to having sent the occasional harmless “sexy pic”. However, each time I expend this energy, it inevitably only leads to more requests and demands...more, more, more. This pic never serves as a simple provocative tool to invite the recipient on to a bit more of a personal level or intrigue to know you better. It only serves to get you more requests for more pics, and more naked, if you don’t mind. Meanwhile, I, in all my efforts to acclimate, continue to get nowhere near getting what I want... a meaningful, committed relationship and partner to travel the second half of my life with. What I do get, however, are more and more opportunities to fight off feeling like a piece of shit, and the feeling that once again I have taken one step forward and two steps back, feeling more and more discouraged and disheartened after each attempt to try to acclimate a little differently.

The only alternative as I can see right now, without fully taking on the mantra of “if you can’t beat them, join them”, is continuing to flounder up here on the deck with my fellow single forty-somethings, desperately trying to cling to every last shred of our self-esteems that we have diligently worked to restore, and continue to cautiously proceed. Being open to each man being a different experience, but being mindful to not be attached to him or the situation.

Is that cynical? Wise? I don’t know.

What I do know, is that I may never find a man like my father or a gentleman who savors the anticipation even more than the meal itself... and while that thought brings its own pang of misery, it’s still a more manageable emotion than the pain I feel when giving away my worthiness on the clearance rack to every available man who looks my way.

Each day I move forward, doing my best to fill my life with things that bring me peace and contentment, while fighting off my own raging battle with instant gratification and loneliness. Because you see, the struggle now lies within the fact that I know who I am and what I am worth, and that I deserve to be treated with respect. I know what I have to offer and I know I’m worth turning off the stopwatch.

Once you KNOW these things, it’s impossible to un-know them.

[ulrichfoester]

Depression and Anxiety Can Be Intertwined

Many are undulating through waves of worry and sadness as we experience the effects of COVID-19.  Our lives look very different from how they did 6 months ago.  Dr. Richard Nicastro, PhD looks at the connection between depression and anxiety and the importance of addressing them.  

If you’ve ever experienced depression, you may be one of the many individuals who have also experienced anxiety at the same time. The reverse is also true: many people who have experienced anxiety have also simultaneously suffered from depression. Indeed, research shows that anxiety and depression often occur together.

When depression and anxiety coexist, each can feed the other, which is why for treatment to be effective, it must address both. However, sometimes it’s hard to identify that there are two conditions present.

In my capacity as psychologist/therapist for over twenty years, I’ve worked with many individuals suffering from concurrent depression and anxiety. Although each of their stories is unique, general similarities within the struggles often exist.

While it’s true that no one person can speak for everyone who has experienced depression or anxiety (or any emotional pain, for that matter), it can be helpful for those in pain to know that others understand and that they’re not alone in their pain.

What follows is a type of amalgam of those many voices: it’s an article borne of my knowledge of the research behind coexisting depression and anxiety, and borne of my experience working with people simultaneously struggling with depression and anxiety.

Giving voice to depression and anxiety 

“Some of my friends and family that haven’t been depressed equate it with being in a bad mood or being disappointed in not getting a raise or something. Not true for me: I’ve wrestled with some form of depression since my adolescence.

“When depression starts to take hold of me, self-care is usually the first thing to fall away; I start to skip workouts and then exercising stops altogether. The activities I usually look forward to turn to chores I start to avoid. Depression suffocates other feelings, especially contentment, excitement, and joy. I start to feel cynical instead of optimistic.

“At my lowest, I start to struggle with caring . . . about anything. My family has called me out for seeming indifferent or callous. Traits that I normally hate in others, impatience and criticalness, start to fit like a glove on me. I flip between despair and agitation. Nothing feels right.

“I know the people who love me only want me to feel better, but they say things that miss the mark for me, things like: ‘It would be good to get out of the house, do you want to go to dinner somewhere?’; ‘Maybe working out will give you a boost?’; ‘Maybe you should talk to a professional?’

“When my depression is relatively mild, I’m able to hear their concern. And I do try to remain open to this caring and push myself into action that may be beneficial.”

Depressive cynicism: pushing others away

“But when I’m really low, I can’t make room for my family’s concern. When I’m really low, I end up doubting everything, even the opinions I’d respect otherwise.

“At some point others, rightly so, tire of me. They start to pull away. I know, in retrospect, that they are protecting themselves; I know that my cynicism is emotionally taxing on them; but in real time, I can’t take perspective. Instead, I tell myself that I’m not worthy of their love or attention, and that’s why they’re pulling away.

“The good news is that depression hasn’t been a constant in my life. Over the years I’ve learned to identify the early signs that depression is approaching, and this has helped me get the help and support I need.

“But it turns out that depression is only part of the picture.”

Can you be anxious and not know it?

“I’ve had a handful of therapists over the years. All focused on my depression since it was my depression that presented most clearly.

“Two years ago I decided to restart therapy. I was beginning to feel lethargic and unmotivated, and I knew that if I ignored these signs, things could snowball out of control.

“After a few sessions, I was surprised when my new therapist said, ‘It sounds like fear has been ruling your life for a long time.’

Fear? I was in his office to get treatment for depression, not fear. He must have misspoken. But his comment stayed with me throughout the week.

“When I envisioned an anxious person, I pictured a nail-biter, someone prone to panic attacks. The heart pounding, I-can’t-catch-my-breath, I-must-be-having-a-heart-attack kind of fear. Someone afraid to take risks. But as a litigator, I took risks all the time. Peers had even called me ‘fearless.’

“While I never had a panic attack, it turns out I did struggle with anxiety, sometimes subtly, sometimes more overtly. The more we explored this in therapy, the more I discovered just how much fear had shrunk my life.”

Depression and anxiety 

“The few people I told about my anxiety were just as surprised as I was to find this out. One friend said, ‘But you’re so successful. What do you have to be anxious about?’

“I do have pockets of confidence, but if I’m honest, I worry about making a fool of myself at times or of doing something that people will criticize. Appearances, I guess you could say. Over the years my self-confidence has decreased and my anxiety has increased. And I think my anxiety has made me more vulnerable to becoming depressed.”

Contorting yourself to manage anxiety

“Interpersonally, I’ve never felt comfortable in my own skin. Despite the fact that my colleagues might be shocked to hear this, I can be painfully self-conscious and harshly evaluate my social performance.

“I’ve learned to hide my true self behind the roles of business owner, litigator, community member, etc. But when I’m not in a clearly-defined role, I feel lost. I struggle to relate and connect.

“I’ve always been somewhat of an introvert, but I now see that social anxiety drives my increased isolation. Relationships have always been hard work for me.

“I now know that fear is designed to hold you back. It keeps you on the sidelines where it’s safe. But I don’t want to be held back from my own life anymore.”

Anxiety and depression: why therapy should address both  

“I have learned that those who struggle with anxiety often experience being sociable differently from others.

“For me, it was the mental recounting of interactions that was emotionally excruciating:

“‘I can’t believe you said that, you sounded like such an idiot’; ‘You hardly said anything all night, people think you’re weird’; ‘You were the least interesting person at the party.’

“This inner bully fed my depression. So I learned to quiet him by shrinking my life, by going out of my way to avoid certain situations and people whenever I could.

“But here’s the rub: avoidance comes at a cost. The isolation that brought me comfort turned mind-numbing at some point. A part of me wanted to hide while another part of me felt painfully alone. The invitations to spend time with friends or colleagues felt like pressure, but when the invites dried up, my loneliness got worse and fueled my self-loathing.

“Now I can see how my untreated anxiety left me predisposed to cyclical bouts of depression.”

—

(Note: We all get anxious from time-to-time: i.e., the common unease of meeting someone new; the apprehension before giving a presentation at work; the worry about whether an offhanded comment hurt your friend’s feelings. The anxiety described above is a different sort of struggle, an anxiousness that significantly detracts from your life. This anxiety may reach the level of being a diagnosable disorder, such as Generalized Anxiety Disorder or Social Anxiety Disorder.)

There are effective treatments for both depression and anxiety. If you believe you suffer from depression, I encourage you to explore whether an unaddressed anxiety disorder may be part of the picture.

This information can help you set therapy goals that target both depression and anxiety, thereby giving you a more comprehensive treatment plan.

Depression and Anxiety Can Be Intertwined published first on https://familycookwareshop.tumblr.com/