#be nice to me my fingers gurt

[mlp-natural]

Jack Kline Pony hours!! love playing with designs so much I am really pleased with how this one turned out with more python patterning and also I gave him fangs

wouldnt it be crazy if this was my definitive design for him!! we will see lmao

the others.. of course i will evolve over time..

[heartfullofleeches]

*sigh* may i request a blurb where the reader and CC are doing the deed ( CC was is close too ) and baron just bursts into their room cause C.c ate all his strawberry yogurt??

[mdni. This is mostly crack, but there is still a crumb of smut so shoo. Small mention of w33d too.]

His hand fit so beautifully around your neck.

It's little discoveries like this that make indulging in those carnal desires all the better.

Seated in the nest of his heart shaped bed, C.C rolls his hips into you in sync with the breath that binds you together and the music buzzing around you. Cherry flavored smoke swells in your lungs and lingers on your tongue, the lip smeared over your lips and the wrap in his free hand ripe with that artificial flavor. C.C leans back against the frame, running the fingers latched you neck down to your stomach and spreading them right where it bulged with the press of his length.

He pulls you down with him, attacking your neck with love bites and hickeys for which your body was a canvas for. His momentum slips off the course of the music as his thrusts turn sloppy. In a moment of remembering the blunt in his hand and deeming the ash tray too far away, C.C shoves the lit bud into his tongue and uses your mouth to extinguish the following burn. The pain snuffed by the sweetness of your flesh was the tipping point for his desire. Ever the music junkie, C.C still clings onto the heat of the drowned out music as both of his hands perch onto your waist and draw you in. It's so difficult to focus when he's this close and the sounds of your love-making are more high inducing that the weed and music combined. He closes his eyes to really feel the flow, but the only thing he's able to hear by closing everything off is the sound of his neighbors breaking shit in their kitchen.

Wait - but his floor only has one apartment.

Shit.

"I'm going to fucking slaughter you!"

C.C has just enough time to throw you off him and under the covers as the door of his room crumbles like anyone's hope for privacy in this place.

"You dirty little whore... And Y/n. Hi, Y/n. Nice figure, but this isn't about you right now."

C.C covers his lap with a pillow. "Baron, what the fuck is your problem? When the sign is on red you know not to come in here!"

"The sign can suck my dicks, you ate my last go-gurt! I was saving that."

"It expired the day before and you don't even live here so stop putting your shit in my fridge!"

"I lift in there so I could have it while we watched a movie tomorrow. As in all three of us. Fuck, I'm the only one who gives a shit about others in this place."

You hold the blanket over your chest. "Um... should I go?"

C.C turns at lighting speed and grabs your arms - eyes full of desperation and plea. "Baby, you're the only thing stopping me from tearing his head off and shoving it up his ass if you leave I will be down one of literal hundreds of siblings."

[translightyagami]

#14 with Near and Mello for the horror fic pls :)

horror fic prompt meme

14.  Crossroads Deals

Did you know that Wammy House was built on a graveyard?

“What?” Mello dropped his stick to the dirt; he had drawn four tally marks with an aborted fifth line across them. “No. That’s just some stupid story they spread after we watched Poltergeist on Halloween. Wammy’s is built on some land that was in the old man’s family a long time, duh.”

Okay, but who told you that story? And what if the land was always graveyard land, even when the old man’s family stole it?

“That’s stupid.” His leather jacket wasn’t much of a savior against the cold English dawn. Mello folded his arms over his chest, pacing the width of the dirt path. He stood at the center of four different dirt paths - the crossroads, someone told him, where you could make special deals with spirits. “You’re talking out of your butt.”

It is not stupid. You’re stupid. 

“I’m a genius, duh.” Mello rolled his eyes. “You’re the stupid one. When is the dang spirit gonna come anyway? 

Soon, probably. You want to hear about the graveyard, though? The one you’re, like, standing on right now?

“Fine.” Shuffling his jacket and sweater until they were tight and warm, Mello found a stump and sat down. He yawned, kicked his legs out, and settled. “I wish I’d gotten something from the kitchen before I left. So hungry.”

Anyway. The old man grew up in this big house built a little ways from this crossroads - in fact, that’s why his family had the house at all. What he always told people was that his dad made a deal with a spirit that in exchange for his soul, he’d get all the wealth he ever wanted. Well, after the old man’s dad died, so did the money.

“You have to give up your soul?” Mello grimaced. “Uh-oh.”

I think it just has to be something you’d really miss. Anyway, the old man used to have this weird obsession with making a super genius kid who could solve crimes and make a lot of money. But first he needed kids who seemed like good candidates.

“Pft,” Mello snorted. “Okay, now I know you’re lying. So the old man was making super soldier kids? Like Ender’s Game?” 

No! 

“Sorry.” Casting his eyes around in embarrassment, Mello studied the horizon line of trees. The tall green canopy cut an uneven line across the slowly lightening sky - turning from black to purple like a healing bruise. “Don’t like that book?” 

Uh, I haven’t read it. But this is important, so don’t interrupt me, okay?

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll stay quiet.”

Thanks. So, the old man has this need to make a uber-intelligent kid who he could loan out for big bucks and that kid can solve crimes. He starts to go around to different orphanages to find smart kids, ones who seem sort of lonely and won’t ask a lot of questions. He brings them back to his family’s old house and starts to put them through an intense study program, one that he designed to weed out kids who weren’t dedicated. There were, uh, four kids to start with, called A, B, L, and N.

“Wait.” Mello tapped his lip. “Wait, sorry, there should be another one.” 

What? No. There’s only four.

“No, no.” He stood up from the stump, and stumbles over the tree branch he dropped. “There were five. You’re forgetting a kid.”

In this story, there’s only four: A, B, L, and N, who all made it through the program. But at the end they were hollow, like when you suck all the yogurt out of a Go-Gurt, you know? The old man was glad at first, because hollow kids means you can pour a lot into their empty heads. But the kids were so sad. They were trapped now and only had each other.

“When is the spirit going to come?” Mello squeezed his eyes closed; his head hurt a lot. “I don’t feel very good. I want to go home now.”

All the kids got together and decided they weren’t going to do anything for the old man. They were going to get away and be happy somewhere else with families. So they decided to go to the crossroads and get their freedom. They planned in secret, except it wasn’t as secret as they thought. The old man found their plans and knew if they got out, everyone would know about his special school and he’d have to answer questions. So he, uh, he, um... 

“I don’t want to hear the end.” Tears peaked from Mello’s eyes and he rubbed them away furiously. His heart was a small, sunken raisin and it trembled as he cried. “I want to go home. I don’t want the spirit to come.”

The old man buried them really deep, where no one would find the four kids, but he forgot about one of them. One kid, remember, the fifth one you said, he wriggled out and ran away to the crossroads.

“It’s not fair.” Mello peered at the air in front of him, at the crossroad’s center, where a boy in white pajamas stood. “I haven’t even made a deal yet. I haven’t said anything.”

You made the deal. But you didn’t give up your soul.

“Why does my head hurt so much?” Fingers dug into his scalp, Mello shook himself and sniffled. “Why does my heart hurt so much?”

Because you can’t remember but you want to. Five kids, right? That’s the right story. Five kids and four in the graveyard under Wammy House. One got away. Is it nice out there, Mello? Did you find a family?

“I’m sorry you died,” Mello hiccuped. “I’m sorry. It’s not fair.”

No. It’s not fair.

An alarm went off and Mello shot awake. He slapped his hand down on the clock, his tear-stained sheets twisting around his torso. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. His head hurt something fierce. “I’m late.”

Later, at the bar with a date, he would tell them he’d dreamed about his childhood. They would ask him what the dream was and Mello wouldn’t be able to place a single detail, except being hungry in it. But right then, he touched a finger to the drying tears on his cheeks and thought about a house, on top of graveyard, and four tally marks.

[deprough]

Snowballs and Saviors

11/30/2020 Dincember Prompt: Snow

My Dincember prompts are part of a serial story I’m telling. This is the first part of the story.

“What do you think, Sheriff?” 

Corrie glanced up at the tall man and pursed her lips. “I think,” she said slowly, “that we don’t have much choice.”

Kado picked up the reins of his gurt and clicked once. The wooly herbivore started forward, and Corrie’s gray gurt, Cursehead, followed before she could give the command. Through the gunship’s front windows, she saw the armored man notice them, then disappear into his ship. A second later, the ramp lowered into the snow.

As they drew closer, Corrie asked herself once again if she was really lucky enough to have a bounty hunter drop into her backyard at this exact moment. If he was who Old Relston claimed, he could be exactly the person they needed. Corrie distrusted luck like that, though, even when the man stepped into view and she admitted it was probably that guy.

“Welcome to Zalzus,” Corrie called as they came to a stop in front of the ship. “You’ve landed outside the town of Libu. I’m Sheriff Corde Melne, and this is my deputy, Kado Soummu. May I ask your business, sir?”

That black visor bounced between Kado and her a couple of times. She wondered if their knitted garments, handmade from dyed gurt wool, looked cheap and primitive to him. “Do you always greet arrivals so directly?”

“No,” Corrie said honestly, her breath frosting the air. His didn’t, which meant his helmet contained it. Bet it has environmentals in there. “But I’m hoping you’re the Mandalorian who travels with a kid.” Just saying it made her uneasy.

The man looked to the side, telegraphing irritation. What’s the point in covering your face if you don’t control your body language? she wondered. “For your sake, you’d better be offering me a job.”

“What else would we want?” Kado asked curiously; Corrie swallowed her annoyance with her underling. Kado would someday be a great cop, but he was still naive. Someday, he’d get that jaded shell he needed to be a peace officer in the Outer Rim; sadly, it might be during their current crisis.

“People want lots of things from me,” the Mandalorian stated.

“I’m sure you have your charms,” Corrie said wryly, “but I need your skills, not your vagueness. A Hutt prison ship has crashed not far from our village. The Hutt in question won’t round them up, and we’ve already had one death. You up for taking in twenty men?” 

“Can you pay me for twenty bounties?” he asked bluntly.

“No,” Corrie said. “We’ll give you what we can, about half the Guild rate per head, the full resources and support of the sheriff's office, and room and board as long as you’re working for us.”

“Who died?” the Mandalorian asked.

Corrie blinked, thrown by the sudden topic change. “Pardon?”

“You said you had a death. Who died, and how?” he asked.

Drawing a deep breath and trying to not remember the scene, she said, “My uncle, the last sheriff. Vinor Cyone. He tried to track one down. We only found his bones, but we think his spine was snapped.”

The man stilled or stiffened; Corrie couldn’t quite tell what changed about his stance, but he’d definitely had a reaction to that news. “My condolences,” he said after a moment. “How did his body decompose so quickly?”

“One of the prisoners is a Wookie. I can’t say his name right, but his nickname is Maneater.” Corrie didn’t have to say more; they all heard his sharp inhale. 

“Where am I staying?” the Mandalorian asked.

“My mother’s house,” Corrie replied, feeling relief and hope flood her. She kept her voice neutral; there’d be time for relief once he’d proven he was as good as his reputation. “She’s got space. Do you have a bike or somethin’ up on that ship?”

He didn’t, of course, and so that was how Corrie ended up with a Mandalorian sitting behind her on Curse’s fuzzy back. They weren’t quite touching, but every so often, the gurt’s sway bumped their bodies together. He did have a child with him, not that Corrie had seen much of it with the bassinet sealed against the cold. Amusingly, he had the same model she’d used, though his seemed to have some modifications.

He remained silent on the ride into town, which was fine with Corrie. She pulled her yellow scarf back up over her nose, grateful for the warmth. The kids were out, playing in the snow, and they stopped to stare as the group rode into town. “Your kids really seem to like snow,” the man said suddenly.

Corrie frowned a second before she caught his misunderstanding. “It just snowed last night. Zalzus isn’t an ice world. We have seasons. For the kids, snow means two things: fun and Lifeday is coming.”

He grunted. “Your town celebrates Lifeday,” he said flatly.

“Yep,” she said, wondering what he had against the holiday. He didn’t elaborate or ask further, and it wasn’t her business.

She stopped in front of Mom’s house, turning and offering her arm for him to dismount. He slid down as Mom stepped out, beaming. Like Corrie, she was stout and short, with gray curls instead of brown. “Welcome, sir! I’m Brama Cyone, and my home is your home. What is your name?”

“People call me Mando,” he said simply, removing his gear from Koda’s gurt. 

Wondering if he actually ever answered questions, Corrie pointed at the next building over. “That’s my house. Mom and I share the stable behind the house. One of our folks is loaning you a gurt, if you can ride.”

“I ride.” He turned to Brama. “Can I see my room now?”

“Of course!” Brama led him into the wooden two-story house. The bassinet followed him like a loyal pet.

Koda turned to her. “Wow, he’s… I don’t know. Weird.”

“He’s a man who travels the edges of civilized life making a living off people who break the law,” Corrie said, pulling her gray wool coat tighter around her. “I’d be more worried if he were normal. I’ll see him settled and meet you at the jail.” 

~  *  ~  *  ~

“-- and this is Terian Novex,” Corrie said wearily, glad they were almost through the files. Her five other deputies, even Talee, the nightwatch, had met their hunter and stayed for the briefing. Corrie pulled up the next file, scraping her fingers through her brown hair as she waited for it to load. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched their guest; he’d sat down in the wooden chair at their table. His shiny, high-tech armor looked out of place in the simple whitewashed room. It probably also kept him warmer than the rest of them; the Jail’s single pane windows leaked the heat from the stove.

The click of knitting needles and carding wool filled the room’s silence as they waited for the ancient holo projector to render the image. Corrie had considered asking her deputies to not work on their side projects, but dismissed the idea. If Mando was uncomfortable, he could speak up and ask them to stop. A grainy image of the Zabrax woman appeared on the holo and Corrie started again. “She’s a hitman for a rival Hutt--”

“Half of these bounties are,” Mando sighed. He sounded tired, which was somewhat gratifying. 

“Hey, does your kid want to go outside and play?” Koda asked, drawing attention back to the bassinet. The alien child inside stared hopefully out the window, watching the other children at play behind the jail. As if sensing their attention, he turned and looked at them. All ears and eyes, Corrie thought again. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mando said, sounding nervous.

“It’s safe,” Corrie said.

“Where I go, he goes.” 

“Poor guy,” she said, without thinking, and sure enough, their guest visibly bristled. “Calm down, I mean he wants to play, and we have a bit more work. Hold on.” She went to the backdoor and opened it. “Nuia!” she bellowed, and the girl turned and trotted through the snow toward them.

The sturdy teen stomped off her boots and came in. “Yes, sheriff?” she asked, but her eyes had already fallen on the baby and a besotted smile crossed her face. She waved at the baby, who stared at her, then waved back.

“Can you take the little one outside? Keep an eye on him but let him play with the tots?” she asked.

“I’d love to--”

“Where I go, he goes,” Mando interrupted. 

Corrie turned to him. “Then go play.” 

His head pulled back. “What?” Her deputies, used to her way of doing things, grinned and rose to stretch and get hot drinks.

“He’s a kid. He’s bored stupid here with us. So if the only way he gets to play is if you play with him, then go play.” Corrie waved her hand toward the door. “I need a break, and maybe you’ll realize by the end of it that we need you more than you need us, and we’ll protect you little one like our own.”

“You have children?” he asked. 

“We all do. I personally have two. Raina’s playing with the tots and Lonneric's probably in a snow fort ambusing the other warriors-in-the-making.” Corrie waved again. “Just go.” 

She feigned indifference until he was outside; then all seven of them crept to the window to watch. Mando stood outside stiffly, watching his little green child helping the baker’s daughter build a lopsided snow tower. “He’s hopeless,” Koda finally said. “Stiff as rock.”

“Yep.” Corrie pulled on her coat, gloves, and boots again. 

“Whatcha doin’?” Kend asked, his playful grin telling her he already knew.

“Just checking on things,” she said innocently as she slipped out the front door, pulling on her woolen hat. She eased around the side of the building, scooping up two handfuls of snow and pressing them into a ball. 

It was perfect -- heavy and wet without being drippy, compacting into a nice ball in her gloves. She peered around the corner, pleased to see his back toward her. She glanced at the window to see Koda shaking his head in bemusement. 

More than a few of the kids had seen her; Lonneric had already followed her lead, starting to make snowballs as fast as he could instead of throwing them as soon as they were complete. 

The kids staring at her gave him warning, and he half-turned toward her. Recognizing her window of opportunity closing, she threw the ball at his helmet. It wasn’t the best example for the children, but if you wore a helmet to a snowball fight, you were asking for headshots, in her book. 

She hit her mark, smearing white powder over the side of his head. He jumped and spun, hand on his blaster and for a second, she thought she’d made a terrible mistake. Lonneric had already followed her lead, and this blow hit his chest. Mando let go of his blaster, and Corrie relaxed, even as she scooped up more snow. “No,” he told her firmly, “don--”

One of the Kelshin twins nailed him in the face, and then Mando was at the heart of a flurry of snowballs. He put his hands up and crouched, but didn’t seem to know how to react to the kids pelting him. 

A snowball nailed her, and Corrie shrieked playfully. “Traitors!” she shouted as she also became a target. Her own son hit her next with a loose ball that exploded across her shoulder.

“Down with the adults!” Lonneric shouted, and the battle cry echoed across the field. 

Laughing, Corrie fought her way to Mando’s side. “C’mon!” she cried, pulling on his arm. “Run!”

After a moment of hesitation, he followed, stumbling after her to the back door of the jail. They staggered inside in a rain of balls, then pushed the door shut sharply. A few more snowballs hammered the door; then they could hear the children cheering. 

Corrie straightened up and pulled off her wet gloves. She looked at Mando and laughed. “You look like a snowman decided to become a Mandalorian.”

He looked down at himself; the snow had stuck to his clothing but not his silver armor. “You look like an insane woman who just got into a snowball fight with kids,” he said sharply.

Corrie held her smile with effort as she shed her hat and scarf. “Yeah, but I bet you’re ready to work again.”

He didn’t answer her, and as she hung up her outwear, she continued, “We were talking about Terian Novex--”

This was going to be a long partnership, but she didn’t regret dragging him into the snowball fight. They’d both needed it.

[gii-heylittleangel]

Why Did You Do It?

Summary: Dean doesn't know how to feel after being cured. If he's being really honest, he would say that he misses being a demon.

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester (Gen)

Word Count: 2751 words

Warnings/Rating: No Warnings; right after 10x03; mild hurt/comfort

Square Filled: Demon

A/N: Hey peeps, how are you? I'm back with another square filled for @spngenrebingo and this one was "Demon". I've been wanting to write something like this for a while because I'm obsessed for demon!Dean (I wish we could've gotten more of him) and I hope you like it. It's not beta'ed so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. 

Read it on AO3 or keep reading here!

Dean is sitting on his bed, going through the pictures he found when he went to his room—probaly left by on Sam earlier. He stares at one of him and Sam, one that he doesn’t even rememeber being taken for a few seconds until there’s a knock on the door. Dean looks around him for a place to hide them, deciding to put the pictures under the bible on his nightstand, and adjusts his position. He turns his gaze to the door, keeping a deadpan expression. “Yeah?”

Cas opens the door, his mouth open to say something, but he frowns when he sees Dean. “You look terrible.”

Dean scoffs lightly, avoiding Cas’s gaze. “Y’know, it wouldn’t kill you to lie every now and again.”

“No, it wouldn’t kill me. I just, you—,” Cas stammers.

“Forget it,” Dean cuts him, closing his eyes and shaking his head lightly. “Well, you, on the other hand, you,” he hesitates and clears his throat, standing up. “Lookin’ good. So, are you back?” Dean walks closer to Cas, stoping in front of him.

Cas nods slightly, staring at himself. “At least temporary. Yeah, it’s a long story. Crowley, stolen Grace. There’s a female outside in the car.” He pauses for a few seconds, Dean tilting his head in confusion—why would there be a woman in Cas’s car? “Another time.” 

“Well, thank you for, um… stepping in when you did.” Cas nods, and Dean starts to walk to the other side of the room not wanting to lok at Cas’s eyes. “What does Sam say? Does he want a divorce?” 

“I’m sure Sam knows that whatever you said or whatever you did, that wasn’t really you. Well,” Cas tilts his head, “it certainly wasn’t all you.” 

Dean stops arranging the books on his bed and looks at Cas. “I tried to kill him, Cas.” 

Cas shakes his head, putting his hands in his pockets. “Dean, you two have been through so much, you— Look, you’re brothers. It’d take a lot more than trying to kill Sam with a hammer to make him want to walk away. and you know that” 

“You realize how screwed up our lives are that that even makes sense?” Cas chuckles softly. “I’m glad you’re here, man,” Dean says in a lower tone, moving his eyes to the floor.

Cas gives a small tip with his head and starts to leave, but he turns with his hand on the doorknob. “Hey, maybe you should, um, take some time before you get back to work; allow yourself to heal. It’s, uh, I don’t know. Timing might be right. Heaven and Hell, they seem reasonably back in order. It’s quiet out there. It would be a good time to step away for a while.” 

Cas gives him a small smile, turning to leave, but Dean calls him, “Cas?” He turns to face Dean, his hand still on the doorknob. “Are you, are you leaving already?”

“No. Sam asked me to check on you while he was out getting food. So I’ll stay here until he gets back.” 

“Oh. Uh, can you—will you st—” Dean takes a deep breath, lowering his eyes to stare at his hands, fumbling them in front of him. “Could you—”

Cas chuckles softly, understanding without Dean having to say it. “Of course, Dean. I can stay here with you until Sam gets back.”

Dean gives a sigh of relief and sinks onto his bed, holding the book on his hands until his knuckles start to go white. He doesn’t even know why he has the book or which book it is. Cas stretches his hand to Dean until Dean looks up, frowning. Cas flexes his fingers until Dean hands Cas the book. Cas gives him a reassuring smile and turns to put the book on its place. Dean stands up, getting another book and putting it along with the other. The two of them work in silence, their arms touching a few times as they take the books and files from the bed and put them on top of the cabinet—how Dean even let it get messed as it is in the first place, he doesn’t know.

Dean avoids Cas’s eyes at all costs, always looking down at his feet or whatever book he has on his hands whenever Cas turns to him. Cas lets him have his moments, and Dean knows it’s because Cas knows Dean well enough to be sure that Dean wants company but not to share his thoughts with someone else for now, still working up the courage to do it. 

After a few minutes putting the books away, Dean reads the title of the one he has on his hands, freezing as he stares at it. Demoniality: Incubi and Succubi. Millions of thoughts start to pass through Dean’s mind, thoughts Dean doesn’t want to think about; thoughts that he shouldn’t be thinking about.

Cas stops by his side, his voice calm, “What is it, Dean?” Dean sighs, gripping the book tighter, still avoiding Cas’s eyes. His fingers gurt from holding the book too tightly. Cas puts his hand on Dean’s arm, making Dean relax his hold on the book. “You can tell me, Dean. It’s not good to keep those things inside of you.”

Dean takes a deep breath, letting his hold relax completely, the book almost falling to the floor. Cas takes it from his hands, putting it with the others. Dean sinks onto the bed, burying his face on his hands. “Why did you do it, Cas?”

“Did what, Dean?”

“Turned me back. Why not let me keep being a demon or just kill me? It would’ve been easier.”

The bed sinks slightly by Dean’s side, Cas’s warm reaching Dean. “What do you mean? What is the matter?”

Dean takes his hands from his face, placing them between his legs and staring at them. “If I’m honest to you, do you promise you won’t tell Sam?”

Cas nods, hands resting on his thighs.“Of course, Dean. You can tell me anything, you know that.”

Dean takes a deep breath, starting to bounce his leg up and down. He keeps his gaze on his hands as he talks, his voice low and soft, “I know this is gonna sound bad, believe me, I know, but, jus-just don’t judge me, okay?” Cas agrees, staring at the side of Dean’s face. Dean takes another deep breath. “Okay, when I was a demon, I was still me, at least deep inside of my own twisted brain, it was still me. It’s just, the demon part of me stopped me from caring about anything, worrying only about what would be my primal instincts, I think. Or maybe just with whatever the Mark wanted, which normally was booze, kills, and sex, nothing more. Probably that’s one of the reasons Crowley didn’t want me as a demon anymore because, according to him, he wanted someone to rule Hell with him and that wasn’t what demon-me wanted. And I was uncontrollable because of the Mark so it didn’t work for him to have me as a demon.”

Dean pauses, taking steady breaths to calm himself. Cas doesn’t say anything, letting Dean take his time to talk again. “I think Crowley’s the only reason Sam found me, ‘cause I was trying my damn best not to get caught ‘cause I knew he was going to cure me and I didn’t want it. I mean, I know being a demon sucks but,” Dean pauses, running a hand through his hair. “Y’know, I’ve been livin’ with this weight on my shoulders since I was four years old, man. I didn’t get the chance to truly be a kid ‘cause after Mom died, practically all of the responsibility to take care of Sam fell on me, and I couldn’t be a kid while I was watching over him.” Dean bites his lower lips, exhaling hard through his nose. “I had to grow up so fast and that weight never stopped being on my shoulders, ‘cause Sam never stopped being my responsibility. I mean, he would get older and learn to take care of himself, but I was always there, still taking care of him when I knew damn well he could take care of himself. And don’t get me wrong, I love Sam, I’ve died for him and I would again if I had to, but it wasn’t fair what Dad did to me, putting a life on my hands when I didn’t even know how to handle my own. And he never stopped doing that, being always ‘take care of your brother’, no matter what happens to me.” Dean pulls his legs up, putting his arms around them. 

Cas nods slightly and he puts his hand on Dean’s arm carefully. Dean doesn’t react but he can’t say it’s not nice. Once he feels calm enough, Dean starts talking again, “Being a demon, I finally didn’t have that weight on me, y’know? For the first time in my whole life, I didn’t have to worry about Sam, if he was safe or if he was okay. I could just worry about me and what I wanted for a change.” Dean raises his head to stare at Cas, scoffing. “That makes me sound so selfish, doesn’t it?”

Cas shakes his head, eyes serious as he stares in to Dean’s. “Of course not, Dean. You’ve been in charge of Sam’s safety for so long, it’s only natural for you to want to worry about you a little. But you’ve never let yourself worry about you, exactly because you think it’s a selfish thing to do. But, as a demon, you only worried about you, because demons are selfish. But you can try to use it as a lesson—you can worry about Sam but you can also worry about you. Sam is not your full responsibility anymore. He knows how to take care of himself.”

Dean gives him a half-smile, turning his head back and staring at the wall. “Yeah, maybe I could. It was a lot easier too ‘cause I didn’t have all those feelings inside of me, all that guilt I usually carry for the people I’ve killed or the people I failed to save, and that hunt me until today. Finally not having to feel like I’m the worst person ever for not being able to save all of them was so good, ‘cause I could finally not give a crap about it and not feel bad. I know that was mostly ‘cause my demon part didn’t give a crap, but I could finally not feel that guilt too, y’know? And that felt so good too.

“I really thought I was happy as a demon ‘cause everything was easier. If I wanted something, I could just take it, no feelings or concerns involved. I didn’t have to worry about what could cost me to take what I wanted, who could get hurt or anything like that, ‘cause there was nothing inside of me that gave a crap. And I really wanted to keep it like that, y’know? Even as you and Sam turned me back, even when I was more human than demon, I didn’t wanna be turned back ‘cause everything was worse, all those feelings I’ve been hiding since pretty much forever coming, the guilt, the pain, and I didn’t want it back. I didn’t want any of that back. Everything was so much easier like that and I just wanted to keep it that way.”

Cas turns to stare at Dean, brows raised. "I know it was easier, Dean. When I was human, every emotion felt stronger than whatever I have ever felt as an angel. The good and the bad feelings were stronger, and when I took the grace from the other angel, I thought it was going to be easier because those feelings weren't going to be amplified anymore. And I will be totally honest with you because you are being honest with me: I miss being human."

Dean raises his head to stare into Cas's eyes, frowning. "You do?"

Cas nods softly. "Yes. Because even if my anger and my guilt were amplified, my love and my care for others was too. And I think it's worth having those bad feelingsif you’re also able to have the good ones."

Dean sighs, rubbing a hand on his forehead. “I don’t know, Cas. When I first realized I was human again, I wasn’t happy about it. I was angry at you and Sam for bringing me back, for making me this… weak thing again. I know it wasn’t fair to any of you but for those first minutes, I just wanted to go back to being a demon. I think I still want to. Things were easier that way.”

“I know it was, Dean. And I understand why you want to be that thing again but that’s not who you are. You care too much because it’s in your nature, it’s who you are, from before I met you. But you can try to use that experience to make things easier for you now. You know you can’t save everyone and you don’t have to feel guilty about it, because it’s not you who’s killing them. You’re one of the few that are actually trying to save them. And as for Sam, you can try to worry a little less. You know he’ll be fine without you watching over him every second of his life, you can relax and worry about you for a change.”

Dean scoffs lightly. “You really think I can do that, Cas?”

Cas smiles at Dean. “Well, when I was human, PB&J taught me that angels can change. Maybe Winchesters can too. I believe in you, Dean”

Dean gives him half a smile. Cas taps Dean’s shoulder lightly as Dean moves himself to the top of the bed, laying on his back. Cas stands up, grabbing a blanket and throwing on top of Dean. 

He starts to walk to the door when Dean speaks again, “Cas? Can I ask you another question?”

Cas turns to him with a brow arched. “Of course, Dean. What is it?”

“When you we-when you were human, how did you deal with all of the emotions? How did you not drown in them?”

Cas takes a deep breath, walking back to the bed and sitting beside Dean. “It was hard at first because I wasn’t sure how to feel them. It was something strange for me because, even though I started to feel things since I’ve met you and Sam, it was nothing like that. Those feeling were oppressive for me, as they were trying to crush me down. But I learned that they would only crush me down if I let them, and having those feelings meant I was human and alive, and I tried to see it as a good thing, even if it didn’t seem that way.”

“I-I don’t want to deal with all those feelings again, Cas. Every time I close my eyes, I-I see all I did when I was a demon and it’s-it’s horrible. I don’t wanna have it anymore. I don’t think I know how to feel them again.”

“I know you don’t want to, Dean. And I can’t take them away from you because you’ll either be a demon or a soulless human, and I don’t think you want to be any of that. And you’ll learn to feel them again; Sam and I will be here to help you. But I can promise you won’t have any memories of that tonight. I’ll watch over you and keep all of them away from your dreams. If that is not too creepy for you.” Cas gives him a smirk.

Dean laughs softly, nodding. “Today, it won’t. And thank you, Cas. It really means a lot to me.”

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean closes his eyes as Cas puts his hand on his forehead. Dean starts to feel Cas’s grace warming him up and lulling him to sleep peacefully. Dean feels his mouth moving to say something to Cas, but he’s too far gone to know what it was.

Castiel stays on Dean’s room until Sam comes back with a bag of greasy food in his hands. Castiel stops him from entering Dean’s room with a hand on his shoulder. “Let him rest, Sam. He needs it and he’ll be better tomorrow.”

[lunch-is-banging]

Suicide part two

trigger warnings: mentions of suicide, self harm, depression, mental breakdowns, hospitals

 The doctors didn’t have to preform surgery to save michael. They had to stitch up his arms and stomach, and pump his stomach. Charlotte Mell wasn’t able to eat, drink, sleep or think. She just sat there in the waiting room with a blank expression on her face.

Jeremy tried talking to her, he knew how terrible she was feeling. What he didn’t know is that she felt as if she failed as mother. Her son was in such a bad place that he tried to kill himself. She felt as if her job as mother was to show Michael that he was loved, to make his life worth living.  

“Michael Mell’s family?” A doctor called out.

“Yes? I’m his mother,” Charlotte said standing up.

“We were able to save Michael,” he began, “he may have a slight case amnesia. He swallowed a lot of prescription pills, and it looks like he hit his head collapsing. Very minor damage there.”

“Will he remember me?” She asked.

“There’s a good chance of it, but we can’t say for certain,” he replied, “only family may go and see him now.”

 Rich stood up to lie and say they were all related somehow, but Jeremy and Jake pulled him back down. They thought it was best if his mom was alone with him right now. 

Charlotte ran to her sons side, sobbing into him. Her heart was shattered at the sight of Michael hooked up to all kinds of machines. She ran her fingers across his cheeks, pressing a small kiss to them. 

“i love you baby, “she whispered, “please wake up.”

After countless hours of praying that he’d wake up, he did. He was groggy and confused. He looked around the white room and his eyes fell on his mom. Her face was swollen from crying so much, and she was asleep. He squeezed her hand to wake her up. She jolted awake and starting crying again.

“What happened?” He asked.

“Oh Mikey,” She said, “Michael you tried to kill yourself.” 

“Oh,” he replied in a quiet voice. 

“Why baby? Why’d you do it?” She asked.

“I just felt like nobody cared about me,” He answered, “like I served no purpose in anybody’s life.” 

 Charlotte's heart broke at what her son said, “Michael, I know that you have people who care about you. You have people in the waiting room, anxiously waiting to see you.”

“I do?” he asked.

“Yes sweetheart, your friends saved your life,” She smiled.

“I’m sorry Mama,” he cried, “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“Oh baby, all that matters to me is that you’re alive,” Charlotte said, “Michael I love you so much and I don’t want to see you like this ever.”

“Can I see my friends?” he asked.

“Of course sweetie,” She smiled,”I’ll see you soon.”

 Charlotte left the room and went to go see the five kids anxiously waiting to see if their friend was going to be okay. Charlotte walked into the waiting room and the teenagers surrounded her wanting to know Michaels condition.

“He’s awake, and he’s doing fine. He wants to see you guys,” She said.

Jeremy gave Charlotte a hug and walked with the others to go see his friend. They walked into his room and surrounded him, each friend giving him a hug.

“Oh Michael, we were all so worried about you!” Brooke said.

“Yea man, you really had us worried,” Rich added.

“Why’d you do it?” Jeremy asked.

“I guess I just wanted things to end,” Michael replied, “I just felt like nobody wanted me here.”

  If you knew Michael you knew that he didn’t like to talk about his feelings. He was a very private person when it came to that. He would rather plaster a fake smile on his face, than talk about his feelings with his friends. It made him feel weak.

“Michael, we all love and care about you, we don’t want to see you suffer like this,” Chloe said.

“Yeah bro, you are one heck of a guy,” Jake smiled, “if Rich and I get married one day we’d ask you to be our best man.” 

 The nice talk from the friends was interrupted by Michaels vitals failing. The small beeps from the heart monitor became one big beep. Doctors rushed in ushering the kids out of the room so they could see what was wrong.

 Charlotte stood up when she saw them come around the corner with tears in their eyes. 

“What happened?” She asked.

“We were all talking when the heart monitor made a beeeeeeeeep sound,” Christine said acting out what happened.

“Oh my god,” She said, “my baby. he’s, he’s dead.”

 The teenagers walked over to her and engulfed her in a giant group hug. 

“Mrs. Mell?” the doctor called.

“Yes?” She asked.

“We have Michael on life support, if theres anything you’d like to say to him, go in there. There’s been a complacation with the medication he overdosed on. He doesn’t have much longer.”

Each person walked in his room, walking out with tear stained cheeks and red eyes.

Jeremy walked in,

“Michael, I just want you to know that our friendship meant the world to me. You were my favourite person and I just dont know how I’m going to bounce back from this. I need you. I need you here, with me. I love you Michael. More than a friend, more than a boyfriend. I’ll miss you.”

Charlotte walked in and held Michaels hand, sobbing, “Oh Mikey, what happened to my happy little boy? What happened to you always laughing at the jokes on the go gurt tubes? Michael, please don’t go, please stay with me. Please come back to me Michael. I can’t lose you, I can’t. I need you here. Please don’t go.”

She wiped some tears away as the doctors came in, “its time to say your final goodbye.”

“Goodbye Michael, I’ll miss you, I love you so much. I’m sorry you have to go this way. I’m sorry that I failed as a mother,” she cried, “I’ll take care of Jeremy for you. I won’t let him go. I love you baby.”

  The doctors unplugged the machine and Michaels heart rate dropped for the last time. Everyone stood together watching the doctor cover him with a blanket. That was the last time they saw Michael. From that moment on they pledged to always go to each other if they felt like that. They never wanted to feel this way again.

[chestnutpost]

5 Ways We’re Powerless Against Junk Food Marketers And What To Do About It

This post was originally published on this site

When is addiction a good idea for an advertising slogan? When it’s shilling potato chips, apparently.

In the ’60s, Lay’s potato chips’ ”betcha can’t eat just one″ campaign linked the irresistibility of junk food with the reality of mindless overeating. In the ’90s, Pringles told us that “once you pop, you can’t stop.” Were these promises, or were they threats?

For many of us, they were predictions of a future in which junk food would rule over us all and we would just be its bidding-doing serfs. Here’s an example: According to the Dietary Guidelines Advisory Committee, the “food” that’s our No. 1 source of calories is “grain-based dessert,” which includes the empty calories found in, among other things, cakes, cookies, doughnuts and granola bars. (Also in the top 10: bread, pizza, soda, energy drinks and sports drinks.)

If you’re watching yourself reach for that sleeve of Oreos or that bag of “fun size” treats and feeling more and more out of control, you’re not alone. Research indicates that cravings for ultra-processed snacks like these are unrelated to hunger.

People speak jokingly about being “addicted” to junk food, but that comparison might be more accurate than previously thought. Sugar has been shown to activate our brains in much the same way cocaine does. And a study published last year indicates that people who reduce intake of highly processed foods can experience some of the same physical and psychological symptoms as people who are withdrawing from tobacco or marijuana use, including irritability and headaches.

Yes, we’re often powerless against the delights of impulse buys at the checkout counter, the charms of the office vending machine or the temptations of the birthday party treat table. But we’re all perfectly rational people, right? Why is this happening to us?

Reason 1: You’re a human being

“It’s innate that people like junk food,” said Zata Vickers, a professor in the department of food science and nutrition at the University of Minnesota. [Her favorite junk food: “Before I gave up salty things, Cheetos were my most irresistible.”]

“We’re born with a liking for sweetness and umami, and by about age 6 months, we acquire a liking for salt,” she said. Junk foods have picked up on that manufacturer-original-equipment we’ve been issued and figured out how to give us more and more of exactly the tastes we’re born wanting.

In addition to these innate preferences, Vickers said, humans quickly learn to seek out foods with high caloric density. “We can’t detect vitamins or minerals, but we’re really good at learning to spot density. We figure out pretty quickly that we can eat a salad that’s a mountain of just lettuce, onions and shredded carrots and feel one way, or eat 1/10 the volume of Häagen-Dazs and feel nicely satisfied.”

Reason 2: You have taste buds

In fact, you have as many as 10,000 of them, visible as small bumps on your tongue, the roof of your mouth and throat. Each of these bumps, called papillae, holds up to 700 taste buds, and each one of those has as many as 80 specialized taste-receptor cells. “More DNA is dedicated to flavor-sensing than to any other bodily system, including the brain and eyes,” said Mark Schatzker, author of The Dorito Effect: The Surprising New Truth About Food and Flavor. (His favorite junk food: No surprise, Doritos.)

So here you are, with all this taste-sensing equipment and with a brain that’s designed to encourage you to eat the foods you need to thrive. And while many folks point to individual ingredients as culprits, “Salt, sugar and fat were in easy supply for decades before the obesity crisis, and they didn’t lead to our undoing,” Schatzker said. What hasn’t been around before now, he said, are industrially produced flavorings that send our taste buds into overdrive.

He calls it “flavor dose creep,” and he said it’s exemplified by riot-of-flavor products like Doritos Jacked Ranch Dipped Hot Wings tortilla chips. “It’s a tortilla chip that taste like chicken wings dipped in hot sauce and then dipped in salad dressing,” he explained. “A tortilla chip on its own has salt, fat and carbs. But it’s the flavorings on these Doritos that make you want to keep eating them.”

Armed with a scientific roadmap of the human palate, the mission of food manufacturers has been to load foods up with so much flavor that they leave the realm of “mmm, tastes good” and enter into a zone that former Food and Drug Administration Commissioner David A. Kessler, author of The End of Overeating: Taking Control of the Insatiable American Appetite, described as “hyperpalatability.” We love to eat things that taste good. So it stands to reason we’ll really love foods that taste supergoodfingerlickinlicious. And, it turns out we do ― we really, really do.

Reason 3: You are, literally, an “eating machine”

Your ancestors probably had lost at least a few of their teeth by the time they reached adulthood, but odds are you’ve got pretty close to the full set of 32 flossed, brushed and gleaming choppers. Not only are you probably more efficient at eating than they were, but food manufacturers are smoothing the way down your gullet with foods that have what’s called “vanishing caloric density.”

The Platonic ideals of this concept are humble, orange-dusted Cheetos, described by their manufacturer as cheese-flavored puffed cornmeal snacks but known to many people as “Satan’s doodles.” In Michael Moss’ Salt Sugar Fat: How the Food Giants Hooked Us, food scientist Steven Witherly described how easy it is to binge on the cheesy-salty puffs: “If something melts down quickly, your brain thinks that there’s no calories in it … you can just keep eating it forever.”

Other examples of this concept abound in foods that are marketed to children. Even a toddler can inhale a squeeze pouch of applesauce in a matter of moments. Or try handing a 5-year-old a Go-Gurt and time how quickly it takes to reach the bottom (and ingest 10 grams of sugar in the process). Bottom line: Cavemen had to work to masticate their food. Our super-packaged food has done the hard work for us before we even start.

Reason 4: You have happy childhood memories

Blame your mom and that gorgeous layer cake she baked every year on your birthday. Blame those junior high sleepovers when everyone bonded over pizza. Junk foods tend to be associated with some of the most relaxed and celebratory times of our lives, Vickers said.

“If you go to a birthday party when you’re a child and you have fun, you’ll associate the foods that were served at the party with positive social interactions,” she said. “I swear that a big reason people like pizza is because of its associations with things like Friday nights watching TV with the family or going out for casual meals with friends.

“Think about it. You don’t serve chips at formal, stuffy dinners. You serve them at times and places where people are having fun. When we associate a food with something positive, we’re more likely to want to eat it.” And junk food, it turns out, always seems to turn up when the party is getting started.

Reason 5: You are too busy for this nonsense

Here’s the thing about fresh food: It spoils. Here’s the thing about packaged food: It lasts for a long, long time. How do they do that? One example is Vickers’ explanation of why chip bags are so puffy ― they’re pumped full of nitrogen gas. “The nitrogen keeps the oxygen out, which might otherwise cause the fats on the chips to grow rancid,” she said. (And now you know what all that puffiness is about ― at least as far as those bags are concerned.)

If you take a bowl of potato salad or a fresh veggie platter to a picnic, and you leave it out in the hot sun all day, ick. But bring along a package of Oreo cookies or a bag of chips, and they’ll be fresh as ever when the sun goes down. (Should this worry you? Yes.)

It’s easier to pick up a convenient, always “fresh”(ish) package of junk food instead of a fussy bunch of produce that demands, “Wash me! Dry me! Cook me! Keep me at the perfect temperature!” Even worse, that fresh stuff comes in one size and one variety, and expects you to do all of the work to make it taste the way you want. Doritos, on the other hand, come in 19 delicious flavors, including Dinamita Chile Limon, Blaze & Ultimate Cheddar Collisions and Tapatío. Carrots, however regrettably, do not.

If you find yourself thinking, “Yes, I am too busy to bother with fresh food and all its many needs and lack of industrially produced flavor fun,” you may be putting your finger on the racing pulse of your junk food addiction.

What to do now

Her first suggestion is to understand that deprivation doesn’t work. “We’ve done studies where we told people that a certain food was forbidden for them to eat, and it only made them want it more,” she said. “Don’t deny yourself an entire category of food, because it’s been known to backfire.”

Schatzker’s new book, The End of Craving, will be published next year. In the meantime, he had some simple words of advice: Seek out real deliciousness. We’ve become accustomed to thinking of food as the enemy, he says, but in other countries, the food culture is festive and people take joy in eating.

“The two countries with arguably the highest standard of food are Italy and Japan,” he said. “They treasure high-quality ingredients, and they also are among the thinnest people in the world.”

Mann had this mind-blowing advice: “You should be able to have what you like, but try to keep it in a reasonable quantity. Look at what an actual serving size is on a package of junk food. Eat that. Enjoy it. Then stop.”

The post 5 Ways We’re Powerless Against Junk Food Marketers And What To Do About It appeared first on The Chestnut Post.

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