#figured it was time to bust out the christmas content

[saint-miroir]

[callsign-daydream]

How the Hangman Stole Christmas! - TGM

Summary: It's Secret Santa time for the Dagger Squad! Every year, Hangman manages to figure out everyone's SS and spoil the fun, but the rest of the squad is determined to keep him in the dark this year. Will they succeed, or will Jake Seresin once again be the Dagger Squad's personal Grinch?

Warnings/Content: Plain ol' silliness, alcohol mentioned, starred out swearing, OC included, little to no editing happened here

Word Count: ~1024

A/N: Merry Christmas Eve, everyone! My gift to you is this silly little blurb. Wishing you smiles, joy, and peace from Above in the coming days! <3

How the Hangman Stole Christmas!

“Go away, Bagman.”

“No.”

“**** off.”

“Forget it.”

“Seriously, Jake?”

“Didn’t you ruin Christmas enough last year?”

Jake Seresin worked with a bunch of losers. It wasn’t his fault that he’d managed to figure out everyone’s Secret Santa last year. Or that they’d decided to try it again this year. He was just that smart, and his squad was just that bad at keeping secrets. 

Of course, he probably didn’t have to announce everyone’s Secret Santa the day before the exchange, but that was besides the point.

Unfortunately, everyone was being a stick in the mud and complaining that he “ruined Christmas.” Even Fanboy was uncharacteristically tight-lipped on the topic. The other Daggers had evidently told Maverick about the incident as well, as Jake was met with an instant “I don’t know�� when he approached the Captain.

Of course, the opposition was just extra incentive for Jake to get creative.

He knew he had Coyote, and he was pretty sure he could confirm a few key Daggers…

—

The bakery was crowded on a Saturday, but Jake needed to snag a few things for Daydream. Both for a Christmas present and for bribing her to tell him who she’d pulled for Secret Santa. He was debating whether she'd be more willing to tattle over a cannoli or some tiramisu when he heard a familiar voice.

“Yeah, two dozen. Thanks.”

Rooster, as Jake lived and breathed, buying a box of pistachio pizzelles that only one person they knew ate.

Hangman smirked to himself.

Busted.

—

“How’s my favorite pilot?”

Daydream looked up as Jake waltzed into her apartment. Her face was anything but impressed as she placed Pillsbury gingerbread cookies on a baking sheet.

“I’m not telling you who I have for Secret Santa.”

“Fine. I’ll keep this early Christmas present for myself.” He opened the box to display the dessert

“Tiramisu!”

He chuckled and held it high over his head. “What’s the magic word?”

She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Still not telling.”

“Nope. I think it rhymes with peas.”

Another eye roll that made him crack a smile.

“Please.”

“With pleasure, Dreamgirl.”

She eyed him suspiciously as she accepted the gift before marching to the fridge. Jake was just debating what else could possibly get her to talk when a paper on the counter caught his eye. It was a familiar green color, with a singular name scrawled across it.

Gotcha.

—

Jake slid into the booth at the Hard Deck. He almost had all his answers, except one. And he knew exactly who to confront.

“Hey Floyd,” he greeted Bob. “You breaking hearts out here on your own?”

The man blinked behind his glasses. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy, Bagman.”

Jake held up his hands. “I didn’t ask.”

“Well, good.”

Jake nodded and knocked back his drink. He scanned the bar and was satisfied to see no sign of Phoenix. No need to have her literally swoop in and snatch Bob away just yet.

“Hope your shopping went well. Fitch must be hard to shop for.”

Bob chuckled. “I don’t have Payback.”

Jake nodded. “Right. Good thing too. I’m sure Fanboy would be easier to buy for anyway.”

There it was. Bob opened his mouth and shut it. It was fast enough to nearly miss, but Jake had spoken to his fellow aviator enough to know what it meant.

“I don’t have either of them. Keep trying, Jake.”

Jake chuckled and waved a hand. “Nah. I’m done guessing this year.”

I don’t need to.

—

Gifts and beers littered the table that the Daggers huddled around. Penny had replaced the usual jukebox tracks with Christmas music, leaving them with “Blue Christmas” in the background. The squad had elected to dress in civilians, a move Jake was glad for considering the red dress Daydream had broken out for the occasion.

“Alright!” Phoenix yelled to shut the squadron up. “Are we ready for Secret Santa?”

The table cheered, including Jake.

Rooster spoke up and lifted his bottle. “And I want to raise a toas to all of us besting Bagman this year!”

Cheering and clinking followed, until Jake stretched and smirked. This was the best part of the game, to his mind.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Rooster. Who wants me to tell them who their Santa is?”

"Not again." Phoenix's face dropped.

“But we didn’t tell you anything,” Payback said.

Jake shrugged, soaking in the incredulity of his squad. “Didn’t have to.”

“You’re bluffing,” Daydream said beside him.

With a quick swig of his beer, Jake cracked his knuckles and leaned forward.

“I have Coyote. Easy.” He passed over the box he’d wrapped to perfection, which was accepted with a lifted eyebrow.

“Coyote tells me every year, and this time around he got good ol’ Rooster.”

Everyone booed as Coyote sheepishly handed over a box full of vinyls with a bow on the front.

“Oh, come on!” Coyote snatched up his drink. “It’s one name. How could he have figured anyone else out?”

“Was last year not bad enough for you?” Fanboy asked.

“I still don’t believe you know everyone,” Daydream said.

“Fine. Rooster has you. Saw him shopping at an Italian bakery when the most cultural he gets is Del Taco every Tuesday.”

“They make good tacos!”

“Dreamgirl left her paper on the counter when I came over and has Bob. Bob does the mouth thing when he’s lying, making it easy to guess that he has Fanboy.”

Bob sputtered and did the mouth thing.

“Garcia can’t hide cards to save his life, or in this case, a Secret Santa slip. I knew you had Payback from day one.”

“This is why you always lose at poker, man.” Payback shook his head as he accepted a bag overflowing with tissue paper.

“I knew Payback didn’t have me because Phoenix made that special face she keeps just for me when she saw her paper, leaving Fitch to have Phoenix by process of elimination.”

He stuck his toothpick in his mouth and leaned back in his chair as everyone stared at him. Maybe he could be an ace detective in his post-naval career. He was a bit of a genius when it came to deduction, apparently.

Phoenix turned back to the group. “So we leave out Bagman next time?”

“Hey!"

[nowandajenn]

Blue Christmas- chapter 12

Summary: After almost three years of marriage, everyone would tell you that Chris and his wife Kelly are the most stable, solid couple they know. But behind closed doors, things are tense as they keep trying for a baby, to no avail. When a secret threatens to shake their solid marriage to it’s core, will they be able to pick up the pieces?

Series warnings: angst (like a lot), mentions of infidelity, language, family drama, pregnancy, sexual situations.

Author’s Note: I do not consent to have my content, whether it be this story or anything else of my creation, posted by a third party on any other platform other than right here without my permission. This blog is 18+ and is not intended for minors. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Heed the warnings

February 16

Some surprises aren’t all bad. Like getting a day in the middle of February that’s almost 60 degrees. Even at almost 10pm, it’s still in the upper 40s, so I’m taking advantage and sitting on our front porch in the swing desperately trying to battle my nausea, which sprang up out of nowhere like a wrecking ball, determined to take me down. 

I hear the door open and quickly stub out the joint and hide the rest of it on the bottom shelf of the little table next to me. Fuck, a lot of good that’s going to do since it reeks of pot out here, dumbass I think to myself. 

“Kelly?” 

I sigh in relief as I realize that it’s just Lisa. She closes the front door and walks over to where I’m sitting in her pajamas and slippers. 

“Take a load off.” I say softly. I pull the blanket back so she can sit down and offer it back to her once she’s settled. 

“Were you smoking weed out here?” she asks. 

“What? No. Absolutely not.” I tell her, trying not to grin. 

“Please. I raised four kids. I know what weed smells like. You’re busted.”

“Trying to combat the nausea. I don’t even get the relief of throwing up. I’m just stuck in that shitty state of feeling constantly nauseous where I’m like ‘God, either let me just throw up so I can feel better’. It’s awful.”

“I don’t miss that. The first four months I was pregnant with Chris, my head was in the toilet bowl.” 

We sit for a few minutes, just enjoying the slight breeze and sway gently in the swing. It’s one of the few moments of absolute peace I feel like I’ve had in months. Plus, there’s something about Lisa that is just so damn comforting and warm that it’s impossible not to feel good in her presence. 

“Have you told anyone else?” she asks softly, looking over at me. 

I shake my head. “I just…..I don’t want anyone to know until I figure out….”

“This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. All that time we tried and we tried and nothing was happening…..I prayed so hard for it. It just seems like having it happen now….it’s like the universe is laughing at me.” I turn my body a bit to face her. “On one hand, I AM happy. I want to be excited and tell people and get my hopes up. I want Chris to be happy and know that he’s finally gonna get his wish and be a dad. But on the other….I’m terrified. Even if everything goes right and we have a healthy baby….what if Chris and I can’t make this work? Am I going to be a divorced mom shuttling my kid back and forth every weekend and splitting holidays?”

“Kel, I wish I could see the future so I could have all the answers for you and tell you that everything was going to work out. But I know this; even if, God forbid, you and Chris can’t work this out, I know for a fact that you both would do everything in your power to make sure that this baby would be so incredibly loved and protected. You will always be a part of each other’s lives. You two are so deeply intertwined with each other. I think you’re trying too hard to focus on the future and you’re imagining all these scenarios that may not even happen. And I know it’s hard not to do that. You’re a planner; it’s what you do. Don’t make this decision based on what might happen or what you’re scared of having happen. Make this decision based on what YOU feel is best for you. I know how scared you are of all the unknown, but you’re not alone in this. I’m here for you, honey.”

Lisa opens her arms and I snuggle into her, letting the tears flow down my cheeks and into the woven fabric of the blanket. It’s a perfect mom hug. 

A week later, Chris and I are in his Audi, navigating the morning rush as we make our way to our first marriage counseling appointment. My stomach has been in upheaval all morning long, and I can’t even totally blame it on morning sickness. I feel like this is the thing that’s going to make or break us, and the thought makes me break out into a cold sweat. I reach over and grab my cup of tea out of the cupholder and take a sip, making a face. I really wanted coffee, but I didn’t think that was going to help my stomach any. 

Chris looks over at me and rubs my leg. “You okay?”

“I feel like I’m gonna puke.” 

I almost want to laugh at the look of alarm he gives me. “Hold on, I’ll pull over.”

“No, I- I’m just nervous and anxious and…..it’s not doing my stomach any favors.” 

Thirty minutes later, Chris pulls into a parking spot outside the nondescript brick building that our therapist’s office is housed in. He puts the car in park and exhales. It’s God Doesn’t Love You cold outside, and neither one of us are looking forward to getting out of the car. 

“Should we wait? 

It takes my brain a second to catch up with what he’s saying. 

“I’d rather just go in there and get this started. If we wait, I’m just going to get more and more anxious and build it up to be this big monster of a thing and freak the fuck out. I just….I wanna get to work.”

“I know…I just don’t want you to stress out more than you already are. I know this is going to be decidedly not awesome in any way.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m nervous.” he says in a shaky voice. 

“I know. But I honestly think…..as much as it’s going to fucking suck at first….I think it will be good in the long run. I think it will help. I’m just not really excited to rehash everything.”

Chris rubs his hand over his beard, mentally flogging himself for being such a fucking idiot. He reaches over and grabs my right hand and squeezes it. “I love you. I love you so damn much. Thank you for doing this with me. I don’t…..I don’t deserve you.”

I take a deep breath. “I love you too.”

I decide that I’m a little bit in love with our counselor about ten minutes into us sitting down with her. She’s younger than I thought she would be, and not at all what you would picture a marriage counselor to be like. Shelley Gray is a force of nature with smoky lavender hair, a blunt tell it like it is attitude, and an insanely cool office filled with interesting art and kick knacks. When we had set up the appointment, her office had emailed over a worksheet of sorts for Chris and I to fill out with basics about us, why we decided to start marriage counseling, and what we hope to achieve in the future. So, she pretty much has the broad strokes when we come in for our first session. She greets us both with a firm handshake and a friendly smile and invites us to take a seat on the insanely comfortable, squishy couch in her office. 

“I’m in love with your office.” I blurt out, not able to help myself. “I’ve been in a lot of offices, and this is the most comfortable, cool, relaxed atmosphere I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you. My line of work can be really….harsh, for lack of a better term. It’s often really emotional and intimidating for the people that come to see me, so I wanted to kind of create a space that was relaxing and inviting. Why come into a space that’s cold and impersonal and then have to talk about hard things?” 

She sits in the overstuffed blue armchair across from us and settles in, grabbing her notepad and folder off the table between us. “Let me start off by saying this. Everything you say in the space of this room is completely and strictly confidential and falls under doctor/patient confidentiality unless one of you tells me something that makes me think you might have intentions of hurting yourself or someone else. Secondly, as I said before, couples counseling can be harsh. Most people that come in here are talking about things that are uncomfortable and ugly and not great. What I ask is that you both allow yourselves to be completely honest and open when you’re here. Couples often times try and censor themselves in the company of their spouse or partner because they don’t want to upset or offend, and they feel like they don’t want to make things worse. Which is all completely understandable. But censoring yourself and not being honest isn’t going to help anything. You’re just shoving metaphorical crap into the closet and not dealing with it. My job is to help you guys the best I can to deal with all the bad stuff and work through it without killing each other.” 

Chris and I both blow out a harsh breath at the same time, and it makes Dr. Gray smile. We start the session by dipping a toe in and the both of us giving her a little bit of insight into us as individuals and our relationship. 

“Okay, so now that I have a bit of background on you guys, let’s jump into why you decided to come see me. I know you guys filled out your pre appointment worksheet, but those aren’t going to give me the full picture of what’s going on.” She looks between both of us and notices that we’ve both stiffened up and look uncomfortable and I look like I’m about to cry. 

“Okay, let’s start a little smaller.” she says, turning towards me. “Kelly, you look like you got a bit banged up. What happened?” 

I look down at my left arm that’s still in the hinged brace and the walking boot on my foot. “I was in a  pretty bad car accident right after the first of the year. I’m still kind of….getting back to normal. Whatever that means.” I shrug. 

“How did it happen?” 

“I was coming back from the airport. It was really early in the morning, and I was really tired and just wanted to get home. In hindsight, I should have just called an Uber or something, but who the hell knows if that would have made a difference. The guy that hit me was coming off of working 3rd shift and fell asleep at the wheel. I survived, but he didn’t. And that…..I’m still trying to figure out how to process that.” 

Chris turns to me. “I saw the car.” 

My eyes go round. “What? When?”

“When you were still in the hospital. I went for a drive with Dodger to calm down and try and decompress, and I ended up at the junkyard they towed it to. Seeing how hurt you were….and then seeing what the car looked like…..I don’t know how the hell you survived that.” I see his eyes get glassy with tears, and he looks up quickly to try and keep them from falling. 

“I went to Chicago. That’s….that’s why I was coming back from the airport. That’s why I was on the road at that ungodly hour.” I say quickly. It’s the first time I’ve openly admitted that. We both know that’s where I went, but neither of us said anything about it out loud. 

“What was in Chicago?” Dr. Gray asks. 

I close my eyes and try my best to steel myself for this. This is it. It’s like a wound. It’s ugly and bloody and painful and you think that it’s going to start healing after a while, but then you find out there’s an infection festering in there. So then you have to cut it open and get all the rot out so you can finally, maybe get back to some semblance of normal. 

“The woman that I slept  with.” Chris says, almost choking on the words. Yeah, no matter how many times I hear that, it still feels like a sledgehammer right to the gut. Somehow, when it’s in my brain, I can compartmentalize a little bit. But when it’s said out loud? All bets are off. I grab the pink shag throw pillow next to me and squeeze the life out of it. My eyes start burning and I can feel my chest start to tighten up.

“Kelly? Are you okay?”

I squeeze my eyes shut against the burn and shake my head. I know if I try and open my mouth, something embarrassing is going to come out. Vomit or a loud wail. “You’re okay. Take all the time you need.” 

Fucking hell. How did we get here? How? How? How? 

“I can’t remember the last time I was okay.” I sob out, desperately trying to get the words out between tears and snot and hiccups. I’ve spent so much time trying to just HANDLE all of the shit that’s been piled on one right after another and deal with it and not break down, and it’s just all of the sudden TOO FUCKING MUCH. 

“I’m so fucking mad. I’m mad about everything. I’m mad that my husband cheated on me. I’m mad that he didn’t tell me right away even though I KNEW something was wrong.” I swing my gaze to Chris. “I KNOW YOU. I know your tells. I knew something was wrong, and I asked you about it over and over and you said everything was fine, when I knew that was a load of shit. I’m mad that I’m in pain every single day and I don’t know if it’s going to get better. I’m mad that I’m pregnant and I can’t go more than two hours without feeling like I’m going to puke up my stomach lining.” 

At this point, I’m red in the face and breathing heavily, and Chris is looking at me like I’m about to shed my skin and turn into a man eating dragon at any second. Dr. Gray pushes a box of tissues towards me and I grab a handful to wipe off the tears and snot. Suddenly, my stomach lets out a tremendously loud growl, and that just adds to my embarrassment. “Fucks sake.” I mumble. I skipped breakfast because I was too nauseous. 

The good doctor gets up and walks over to her desk, pulling open a drawer. I’m expecting that she’s going to fire us because one half of us is obviously insane and snotting all over her throw pillow, and I bury my face in my hands. 

“Here.” I look up and see her handing me a snack size package of chewy Chips Ahoy cookies. I look up at her with teary eyes. “I don’t always remember to take breaks for actual meals so I keep snacks in the office so I can just graze all day. And for moments like this.” I take the cookies gratefully and rip open the package, immediately shoving one in my mouth. 

I take a deep breath as I chew, trying to calm myself down. Great, session one and I’m already a basket case. This is going swimmingly. I sigh heavily and look up at the good doctor, who I’m already planning on putting in the will for just the cookies alone. “I swear I’m not crazy.” I say softly, rolling my eyes at myself because isn’t that what all crazy people always say anyway?

She chuckles out loud. “No, I don’t think you are. I think you’ve had a hell of a lot of crazy stuff happen to you in a really short amount of time. And if anyone could deal with all of that piled on them and not have a breakdown every now and then because of it, I’d really be concerned.” 

I turn to Chris. “I left for Chicago after we had that god awful conversation at the house. You know….for some reason, I had it in my head that if I could go and I could just see her and put a face to this mystery woman who kind of came in and bulldozed everything, it would help me start taking the first steps towards….I don’t know….working on dealing with it and….coming to terms with it? I don’t know, I feel like I’m not saying it right. So, I went back through my texts where you mentioned where you were staying in Chicago and I flew there and I checked in, and I almost chickened out of the whole thing. I mean, I flew all the way to fucking Chicago to confront the woman that my husband slept with. Is that a sane, rational thing to do? But I got dressed up, had dinner, and then went to the bar for a drink. And there she was. Jo. And she had no idea who I was until I showed her the picture on my phone of you and I. And I’ve never seen someone turn so white they were almost transparent. I would have laughed, but I was so sick to my stomach…..I said what I had to say, then I went back to my room and I threw up for two hours.” 

“Did seeing her and confronting her help, do you think?” Dr. Gray asks. 

“I don’t know. I mean, it didn’t change anything, really. I could just put a face to her. And in hindsight, if I had known what was going to happen to me on the way home, I would have just stayed here and been happy wondering forever I think.” 

She closes her notebook and looks at both of us appraisingly. “Well, we certainly have a lot of work ahead of us in the coming sessions, but you guys are both tough, and I think we’re all up for the challenge. I’m going to give you guys a workbook that you’re going to work on together. Some of it is for you each separately, and some of it is for you to answer together. Pick a time every week where you can sit down, uninterrupted and work on it. It can be a fun bonding exercise. Every week when you come see me, I’m going to give you a homework assignment to complete before you come see me again. If it doesn’t work out for whatever reason, don’t worry. There’s no pass or fail. All that matters is that you try. The first assignment is that I want you guys to have a date night. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. It can just be cooking dinner together at home and wearing something nice. Whatever you decide to do. You don’t have to talk about any of the hard stuff, just have a nice time, together for a few hours. Try and put all of the baggage out of your minds for that period of time and just focus on being together, and how you feel when you’re with each other. Deal?”

Chris and I nod. “We can do that.” 

When we leave, I make Chris stop at McDonalds because the cookies only sated my hunger for about half an hour before my stomach was protesting again. When we pull up to the house, I’m still shoving fries in my mouth when I notice a rental car parked outside. 

“We weren’t expecting anyone to come by right? I don’t recognize the car.” I mumble through my food. 

“Not that I know of. Nobody texted me.” Chris says. 

We get out of the car and head inside and I almost drop the bag of food when I hear a voice I haven’t heard in person for about eight months talking and laughing with Lisa. 

“Holy shit. You’re here! How? When?” I squeal as my best friend Katie comes over and squeezes me as hard as she dares without hurting me. “I know you told me over and over not to fly all the way out here and just wait until I was due to come home anyway, but I couldn’t just sit on the other side of the world while you were here, going through all this stuff. FaceTiming just wasn’t cutting it.” 

“She showed up about 45 minutes ago. I didn’t even know she was coming.” Lisa told us. 

“You hid the knives right? All the sharp objects? Rat poison? Anything she could use to murder me?” Chris asks his mom, who rolls her eyes. 

“You and I are going to have a conversation later that you’re not going to enjoy. So I’m going to let you sit here and squirm while you imagine how THAT’S going to go, while I take my best friend and catch up with her.” Katie says, pointing at Chris. He’ll never openly admit it, but he’s lowkey terrified of her and I find it hilarious. 

She and I head upstairs to the guest bedroom to get her settled and Chris turns to Lisa. “Did she say how long she’s here for?” he asks. Lisa shrugs. “Undetermined. But I would do my best to stay on her good side, because even I can’t save you from her.”

[mmmmalo]

If I ever finish my book, its subtitle will be "A Paranoid Reading of Homestuck" I think. Describes both form and content

Mobster Kingpin (whose bust is depicted by a mosaic of urban murals, who lords over the dollhouse world the heros inhabit) is located, like many of Hussie's villains, along the 4th wall, and his career of moonshinery seems related to a characterization of perception as the distillation of the perceived objects' essence -- Roxy's orange pumpkins give way to Dirk's orange soda, as one of the little ways their early relationship s premised upon a division between simplicity and abstraction. In Homestuck abstraction kills the simple (RIP Jaspers), and Dirk becomes a Daunting Text when he "sucks the fun out of shit. like a turd hungry dracula" -- a phraseology that returns us to the liquid conception of essence and points us to Kanaya, "rainbow drinker" being among other things a euphemism for the eyeball, which takes in color -- and insofar as troll reproduction is vaguely judicial in tone, the drones holding their buckets like scales, the Mother Grub seems posed in part as yet another threatening paradigm of viewership, demanding of you your essence. The earliest instance of this is in act 1: John's allusion to being allergic to the scorn of the peanut gallery is followed by a commercial for Hi-C Ectocooler -- a weirdly obtuse seeding of Her Imperious Condescension, whose character is downstream of a more general racialization of the 4th wall. Act 1 drags the sylladex into the fear of abstraction, first by having the narration express apprehension toward alien lingo like "captchalogue", and again when John drops the cat-killer, causing his arms (both fake and real) to be locked away in a box. Right? Right.

Dave shouts/throws his NINJA SWORD at a sticky fingered crow (crows would later, in a dream, act as Dave's personal 4th walls) and implicitly hurls an N WORD at a black figure, contributing to the comic's general air of racialized paranoia. A stupid pun, yes. Prior to this incident, there was a collision in Dave's hash map between NINJA SWORD and JUICE which, given the pejorative status of the former, suggested the latter might be an implicit JEWS. A stupid pun, yes. But as point 1 indicate, we actually have a pretty broad pattern of paranoia surrounding "juice"

The first time I became aware of possible antisemitism in Homestuck was a scene where Jack Noir commands all the Felt to get in the oven -- a couple readers wondered if it were a coincidence that the page had been published on Holocaust Remembrance Day, like a sort of hostile spin on the Christmas alchemy binges, or the New Years ball-drops at Jade and Jane's towers. With point 1 in mind in strikes me as curious that the (tentative) archetypally antisemitic archetype of the story would be the locking away of "juice" in a container, here invoked by the genocidal antisemitism of the Nazis. Likewise the way Lord English's manic glare often resolves into an 88 -- a number twice invoking the 8th letter of the alphabet H and thereby Heil Hitler -- would be consistent with the eye's general depiction as that which distills "juice". I had some anons wondering if the hints that the Mother Grub collects the blood of Alternia's children amounted to a blood libel smear, and I still don't know tbh, but we've apparently problematized rainbow drinking from another angle, so cheers to that

That the hostility towards abstraction might be among Homestuck's ciphers for antisemitism casts a different light on John's sharp rejection of psychoanalytic paradigms and "psycho-babblery"...? Like Freud is being invoked partly for his Jewishness... and that Freud's widely considered indefensible is utilized to let the antisemitic antiintellectualism pass through smoothly, I guess...

[jules-has-notes]

Mission: Jingle Bells — VoicePlay music video

After the events of "Panic! in 4 Minutes" (and its prequel "Trapped" that they hadn't filmed yet), you might think the VoicePlay guys would be more vigilant against being abducted. But no, they've gotten kidnapped and tied to a circle of chairs again. At least this time their captor isn't actively trying to kill them. He just wants a private performance… or else.

Details:

title: Mission: Jingle Bells

original songs / performers: theme from Mission: Impossible; traditional American carol "Jingle Bells"; rap verse inspired by "Dopeness" by the Black Eyed Peas

written by: Mission: Impossible theme by Lalo Schifrin; "Jingle Bells" by James Lord Pierpont

arranged by: Layne Stein

release date: 21 December 2018

My favorite bits:

the group being awakened by Earl, Eli, and J.None singing in three part harmony

Geoff busting out that iconic bass line

the extra bindings securing Earl's beefy legs (and the gift bow on the end of his beard)

J.None singing those happy lyrics to the M:I minor key melody

the lovely bell chord for ♫ "laughing all the wa-a-ay" ♫

the increasing concern on Geoff's face as their captor puts him through his bassy paces

J figuring out a loophole by speaking to the beat

Layne's percussion under the rap switching from resonant wood block sounds to quick high hats to ramp up the tension

the cautious ♫ "Time… to… get… out" ♫ from Eli inspiring everyone to pull against their bonds

Earl hitting that sky-high ♫ "jingle BEEELLS" ♫

the syncopated harmonies from Eli and J

that crisp diction in the final chorus

"Someone's coming to untie us, right?" 😟

Trivia:

○ Like most of the spoken dialogue in VoicePlay's music videos, the kidnapper is voiced by Eli. The mystery person at the computer equipment is Kathy.

○ The guys have never released a conventional version of "Jingle Bells", but they have done serveral creative things with it:

They performed a fun remix as a commercial bumper during the Sing-Off season 4 finale.

They did a Bollywood-inspired version on their 2012 holiday album, "Peppermint Winter".

And, of course, they included an excerpt in their "Most of the Songs" holiday medley that they performed at seasonal shows, including their three annual residencies at Disney World for Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party.

○ VoicePlay later included the Mission: Impossible theme in their "Aca Top 10 – Movie Themes" countdown with guest Rob Lundquist from Home Free.

○ The fellas made some festive hostage-note-style promo posters that they posted to their individual social media accounts. (Though I can't find J.None's anywhere.)

○ This video was commissioned by Paramount Studios as part of the advertising campaign for the home media release of Mission: Impossible – Fallout, the sixth movie in the series.

○ Instead of a note in the YouTube description, they posted a comment reading: "MERRY CHRISTMAS! This video was sponsored by Mission: Impossible – Fallout — If you're looking for something INCREDIBLE to watch this holiday season with all of your fav secret agents, 😎 👉 http://paramnt.us/Get.Fallout. Today (This comment will self destruct in 5 seconds)."

○ The video won a 2019 Clio award, the industry awards for advertising. The coordinating agency, Think Jam Inc., took home a bronze in the Home Entertainment: Original Content category.

○ Earl got a little lost in the sauce when he picked up breakfast for the guys and their crew on the way to the filming location.

[rocknrollsalad]

Steddieholidaydrabbles: Day One - Open Mic Night

🎙️ Steve and Eddie (years down the road) go to the local open mic night because they're both mean girls out living their best lives...together.

🎶 content/trigger warnings: drinking, smoking

🍺 word count: 1330

Across the street and down blocks was the dive bar of Eddie’s dreams. It was everything he wanted his regular spot to be. Active but never packed, great music blasting out of the speakers constantly, occasional live music, and cheap drinks were among the top selling points. 

Rising up the list, though, was open mic night. Something Eddie really thought was going to ruin this place where he and Steve were just about at regular status. They’d worked so hard to be someone worth folding into this weird little area of Chicago they’d moved into a couple of years ago, Eddie wasn’t ready to give that up. 

Instead, it was the perfect mix of talented to absolute trainwrecks. Steve would grab them a couple pitchers of beer and they’d settle into their favorite booth and judge the absolute shit out of the acts. 

Not professionally, of course. Though their thoughts and opinions were brilliant, any act would be lucky to hear them. No, they kept the comments to their booth, giggling into their beer, chain smoking, and laying against each other. The belles of the ball if only in their own heads.

Ages ago, when they couldn’t afford Christmas because Eddie had crashed his uncle’s bachelor pad for good, he told them traditions aren’t what’s on TV or in books. They’re little things you make yourself, the special touches that Hollywood can’t figure out. Wayne had plenty, he was good at working in little things, but now it was time for Eddie to make those moments himself. Or with Steve, technically. 

Maybe the weekly open mic night wasn’t a long-standing tradition but Eddie was already conditioned. He woke up that morning craving cheap beer, even going as far as wanting that last flat cup they always fight over who has to drink so it doesn't go to waste. And that, to him, was tradition enough. 

Steve came home from work still ready to go out but it was mostly for the alcohol tonight. Work had done a number on him and he was ready to forget that he had to show up again tomorrow (and for the foreseeable future) if they wanted to keep a roof over their head or afford nights like this. 

It took a lot for Eddie to work the comments out of Steve. He sat cross-legged in the “corner” of the round booth that everyone else hated sitting at. With its perfect view of the stage, Eddie didn't understand why the place was avoided but thrilled to claim it. Steve was propped up under Eddie’s arm, barely watching the stage, legs stretched out across the seat, and sulking into his glass. Eddie played his part with jokes and running commentary, struggling to get even a groan of agreement. 

Not a part of him cared. Steve still came out and if Eddie took it personally every time Steve was moody and sulking over something Eddie had no hand in they’d have broken up years ago. All Eddie had to worry about now was knowing the line, just how hard to press and needle to bring Steve out of the funk he should have let go of at work. A craft he'd practiced for too long now. He was confident he could fix this

Though tonight seemed particularly rough, Eddie was going to have to get him to talk about it later but back home. In private. He almost had to bust out the ace up his sleeve and order nachos but then the gods smiled on them. 

A biker walked in and right up to the mic. Eddie would have paid so much to see this guy stiff-arm the usual geeks that fill the second hour but he didn’t have to. This time slot was his and apparently everyone knew it. 

With a bald head, beard down to his belt, and the physique of Santa Claus in the off-season, this man in head-to-toe black stood at the microphone and asked “You got my tape?” 

Someone from somewhere said “yes” and left them in silence for probably an eternity. The scene was interesting enough Steve was sitting up now, and they both watched with matching tilted head looks of curiosity. 

This was either going to be the best thing they’d ever heard or absolutely tragic. No in between. Before the track started, they looked at each other and took their bets. Eddie knew, in his bones, this was going to be amazing and Steve naturally took the side of it being terrible. 

Wagers settled, they propped their elbows on the tables and leaned into their hands. Seconds later drums filled the room, and Eddie instantly felt at home. Washed with the peace of familiarity. They went at a speed only known to metal, involuntarily, his head started bobbing along. Ready and willing to take whatever was to follow. 

None of those drums or the piercing guitar riff could prepare them for suddenly recognizing the song. It was Steve who figured it out first, already looking at Eddie with that wide-eyed stare of his by the time Eddie was willing to admit he also knew the song. 

The man on stage, who has now shed his leather vest, sucks in a breath that takes all the air from the room and bends over to hover over the microphone he’s holding with both hands. Looking almost nervous or, at the very least, uncertain. Something that left in a blink as the man called sounds from the depths of hell he starts. 

“Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me. I think they’re okay.” 

Eddie let out a scream, unlike anything he'd ever heard fall from his lips. A reaction so pure he can’t control it or name it. There’s a piece of the sound for being right, they did recognize the song. There’s a much bigger piece for this interpretation of the song. The man took a sugary pop song and made it the most metal thing Eddie’s ever heard. All without changing the pronouns. Had Eddie not met Steve already, he might have fallen in love. 

By the time the second chorus rolled around, Steve was singing every word. He’s figured out the changes enough to keep pace and it was Eddie’s new favorite sight. That mouth moving along to that sound? Yeah, Eddie was willing to forget every bit of math he’d retained just to keep that mental picture safe. 

Eddie, on the other hand, was standing on the seat. One foot on the table, rock fingers in the air, head banging along. Because it’s true, we’re living in a material world and we are all just material girls. The message had never been delivered so beautifully or rang so true. 

As the song faded away with that notorious line, repeating like a new mantra, the biker pointed at Eddie and they saluted each other. Giving a single nog as Eddie recognized the genius this man brought, with that the biker grabbed his vest and walked back out. 

A ghost that would forever haunt open mic night, breezing out the same way he came in and leaving everyone speechless. There was no way anyone could possibly perform after that. Eddie couldn’t even sit to listen if they tried. He was now rocking from heel to heel in front of the table silently begging Steve to acknowledge what just happened. 

He, however, was too awestruck to come up with words. Again, something Eddie loved to see. Filling the void, Eddie pressed his hands to the table and hoisted himself to his tiptoes. “That is now our song. One day, we’re gonna get married and our first dance will be to that but that specific version. I declare it now, you have no choice.” 

Steve nodded. 

“Chug your beer, let's go. I can’t listen to any more music for, like, three hours. We’re taking some sort of vow of silence or something. We're nuns now. I don't even know, man.” 

[wispisstillverybored67]

Marilyn O' Mairest Wouldn't Hurt A Fly

"Fine! How about THIS?!" Her phone lit up as she showed me the content.

"A... Christmas show?" Weird offer...

"Yes! Now, normally, I would never show these things to someone like *you*. I would, however, make a promise with you... In exchange for KEEPING TIGHT LIPS ON THIS, you're allowed to see this. Do I make myself clear?!" She put the phone down. I got up, finally.

"Fine by me, honestly. But I could easily watch this without the condition. Now how about this... I don't speak of this, and you don't pull anything funny if Benji showed up. Got it?" I proposed instead.

"Alright, alright! It's a deal then!"

"Yes. See you next week, Calliope~" I didn't think she'd be so... bedlam-ish. But, conditions are conditions. I'll go tell Gracie about this in private the next time I see her...

>Mod B.A.B, can you go investigate my friend? He's been acting weird since our uh... spat-out, so to speak. I hope I didn't tick him off to bad, but I want to confirm something. Just what goes on with him? He's never been this shy before...

God... How am I supposed to answer this? *sigh* I promised Marilyn (or Calliope) that I wouldn't speak of this to anyone, and anyone exactly. My code dictates that I have to keep this between us, so I'll just have to tell the poster, someone by the name of Grace Fairest, that I'll have to decline this. But I can't go more then that. And the price tag was so high too... I do hate to leave a client high and dry, but a code is a code.

If either party adds a condition separate to the original commission, then it must be followed exactly. Failure to do so will result in the betraying party be punished by however the opposing party see fit.

This is taken word for word at the Rumor Mille Terms of Service, word for word.

And here I am, standing in a shopping mall, trying to locate the aforementioned show. Actually, it must be it over there...

I headed over there, only to be met by... Wild? Stalking me so I don't act out wasn't enough, apparently?

"You... How?" I questioned as we met up.

"Me? I was just... curious." She claimed. I know she's lying. See? Her ears go red when she's lying, and she's now covering her ears.

"About what? A fanfiction scene? My question is, how did you get here? I'm the one with the portals, not you." Heh. Busted.

"Let's go figure that out later-" She hurriedly shooshed me. I'd ask what for, but I quickly saw why. Two of her "idols" appeared. The nun and the thief. What were their names again? S... Savant? Satanael? Salvation? Uh...

"Are you two hear to watch the show, too? I haven't seen you two before." The nun spoke to us quickly, ignoring the flustered octo in front.

"I can say the same to you, any-" "Uhhhhh... Hehehehe... Th-that's just Silver, and m' Wild, please don't get mad..." She interrupted me! She spoke the last part really quickly, too.

"Uh... Anyways... You can call me Sarv, and this is Ruv!" Ah. Ruv and Sarv. That's their names. Phew.

"Ah. I know you. Wild's been gushin' about you since ya-"

"SILVER." She quickly pushes me to the other side of the mall. Well, the other side of the rim overlooking the stage show, at any rate.

Oh, stop looking at me like that. The show is gonna start soon. 

______________________________________________________________

"NEVER DO THAT AGAIN." She complained.

"Oh do what? I didn't do anything wrong~" I took a sip of my slushie. While she was bemoaning her new problems with the ice cream duo, I took out the flash drive. *sigh* This flash drive is what I had taped/saved my interview with Calliope with. I would've presented it to Gracie and hoped for a long overdue epiphany, but then she swore to me to not tell anyone about this. I had only added that I'd do this on the grounds of not acting up if what's-his-face showed up. I only have a vague recollection of how this world ends, based on whatever Wild told me, I don't remember, but I doremember the little guy showing up. I do hate to see a happy ending changed, but I'll keep quiet about this.  

"Hello?" A ladies' voice called from over there. Out stepped a tiny, red ponytailed human sporting a cat's mouth. She looked as if she was expecting someone, eyes a little unsure, but never lost that :3.

Speak of the devil...! It's Gracie! Dammit.

"I recognize the voice... You're Mod Back-Alley Blitz, right?" Gracie said.

Wild stopped from her bemoaning to look to me. In a very concerned fashion. I assured her I got this, so I took to her on our own.

"Yeah... Listen, about your commission you posted." I began. Only reason I know her despite having went on anon is because she signed off on her own name for some reason. Maybe she didn't know she could've just left it blank? Oh, and I had to meet her in person anyways, so there's that. I was dressed like normal, my hair was my usual red armpit length, compared to this world, where I'm instead sporting long blonde. I'm still rocking this look, of course, but she probably doesn't recognize me because of that.

"Oh, do you have any updates on it?" She gave an expectant look.

"...Listen, I found- Uh... Let's get back to this later..." Fuck this shit, abort! Abort! Abort! I can't lie to my clients!

I headed back to Wild, now I was the one bemoaning my problems with this world.

"Is... she okay?" Asked a mildly concerned Sarv.

"Probably not..." Wild responded.

*tsnk* *tsnk tsnk tsnk ttttd* Huh? Shit-

The flash drive is dropped. Where is it?!

"What happened?" she questioned.

"Just a lil' search out-Can you help me find the flash drive?"

"I don't know, the show's starting!" NOW?! *sigh* Fine. Wonder what this'll be?

Oh look it's Benji. He looks super nervous. I don't blame him at all, honestly. He was face to face, and caroling with, his tyrannous and draconian parents. There seems to be no sort of malice between them now, though. And by between them, I mean from the Fairests to him, not the other way around. Behind the three singing it out, sat that green and orange rat-looking guy. Yeah, that's Pico alright. Calliope had a picture of him to use as a dart target. Said he was a "pest" or something. I just know him from that Red Riot Massacre rumor that I haven't found out. Wild won't let me go there. But oh well. The song now is fast, and quite catchy. The only beat was the snowflake sounds, and was punctuated by the Fairests surprisingly nice synchronization in singing, and their son's slightly raspy voice. I can tell that Pico is glaring a hole in someone's head, but who's? How will this play out, I wonder? It's very catchy though, I'll tell you that much again. Makes me wanna sing, too. ♫Cut you in a thousand slices, bake you 'til golden brown♫

"Oi. You missin' this?" An incredibly bitcrushed voice called to me when the song stopped.

"That's... Yes, that's mine, thank you." I looked up to reveal the stranger. Woah! How bestial! How alien! This guy's head is all black, and his limbs are all orange! He was over there, playing with the flash drive like you'd do with a knife. I plainly took it from him, think he was laughing a little at that. What ARE THOSE teeth?! I want that.

"YOU LITTLE SHIT!!" Screamed a very flustered and furious Marilyn. What did he even do?! Forget what I said about no malice from the Fairests to their son, there is very much some malice in the air. Oh wait, just some?

"Woah." I said, quietly. I glanced at Wild, who was looking like she was expecting something big to happen, and was already ticked off. She was making that angry face with the puffy cheeks thing.

The father, Frank I believe, then spoke up about how he (Benji) just needed to do what he was told. He was still smiling, yeah, but he got that shadow under his eyes, and now his eyes were glowing red instead of the families' usual yellow. His tone was just flooding with poorly hidden contempt and malice, malice at his runaway slave prince of a son, malice at the boy who took him away from him, malice at the world, perhaps, for having his cover blown. Now, I don't see movies, but I expect more screaming after this. And he caps this speech off with the "If you were a real man..." shutdown... I should be surprised at this, but I'm not. Ultimately, I have every piece of information I need right here. I glanced over to Sarv, the beastly one, and Gracie. The former were pissed off (Ruv was as well, I guess, but that's just his normal expression, and the beasty one is embering a bit), while the latter was more... shocked? But... what for?

"Now be a good son, and listen to your parents this instant!" Calliope demanded. Benji, as suspected, was having NONE of that any longer.

"DON'T CALL ME YOUR SON!!!" He screamed out in a fit of deep-seated (assumed) rage.

"Huh...?" I could vaguely make this out from Gracie. She's definitely stunned, but about what? Didn't she see this coming, and was kowtowed into keeping silence? No? Hmm...

The little one began to rant off loudly about how they stole everything from him, and now did he realize that that's not love. He added that he realizes now that abuse is not love, so something about it sounds like he's been a doormat to more then just his parents. Even as they objected, he stood firm. Now here's something you don't here anyday, he denounces his parents, and not the other way around like how it always plays out. Where did such backbone come from? I took a good look in the crowd. Yeah, now everyone was 5 minutes away from being able to tear those two apart. Gracie has gotten blue in the face. The next song was on, contempt filled the air, and Gracie then headed to me.

"Is that it...?!" She said, highly concerned. "Is that why BF was acting so weird?!"

It's 'cause he's gay and abused. "..." I didn't listen. I'm not angered that Benji had such shitty parents, I'm angered because Marilyn lied to me. Okay, yes, the great and gracious Silver has a type of person she hates. What about it?! She will aptly try as she may to justify lying to me, and Gracie and I will have to come up with a suitable punishment for this. No one was, at this rate, enjoying the song. Not with what truth has been leaked out. I'll go wait and see what happens with Calliope before delivering judgement. How high? Put your hands up to the sky and watch me.

"Is THAT why you didn't want me dealing with the Fairests?" I whispered to Wild. 

"Apart from the fact that you may fuck up this timeline? Yeah..." She said back.

I checked our acquaintances. Sarv was ticked, how could I tell? She's doing that smile only a serial killer makes, and her eyes got shadowing. The bestial one though, he was another story. See, there's a railing on our part of the mall. This guy was lunging and jumping around it like, let's see... You guys ever went to a zoo, and there's these animal displays of sorts through glass, and whenever you tried to get a good look at it, it would dash to the glass and act all crazy? Picture that, if you will. And Ruv... I, honestly don't know what's up with him. I don't really care either. I can tell no one even cares on the song playing. But still... Something about this makes me... smile? I guess? Pretending to have another personality in this world is hard, but getting off on the turn of events is easy. Oh... the song is over now? Time to make my move now!

"Excuse me, Gracie! I believe this is yours." I spoke up quickly. Walk over to her, give her the flash drive.

"Is this the..."

"Yes. This is the item I compiled the information in of our interview. I told you this commission will be done." I responded.

"What the-?! SILVER YOU TRAITOR!!" Marilyn saw me give it out... Hehe, now it's my turn to say what is needed. She quickly ran up to me, ignoring her currently (why though?) unconscious son, as expected of her...

"Listen, Norma Bates, we're done here. Leave, please." I had no time for this. I didn't even face her.

"We're done?! We're done with business YOU promised to keep under wraps! As far as I care, YOU'RE the problem here!"

"Hmph. My condition is final. I told you not to pull any funny shit with Benji if he showed up. You betrayed my orders even knowing this, and you still expect to have a shred of satisfaction?"

"Why you-"

"You ought to be glad I am not choosing a more... harsh punishment. But for now, our stories have wrapped up, and now?" I looked around to the crowd. They looked as if they were encouraging me to do something. Hah! Glad no one's under her spell! Then, we'd soak up just HOW she fell!

I finally looked at Calliope. I could finally smile for this turnabout. I held up the accursed flash drive.

"SUCK ON THIS MARILYN O' FAIREST!" I yelled. Finally, I threw the flash to the ground. Haha... Good riddance to bad trash! Gracie scrambled to pick it up.

With Wild by my side, I walked to the exit. Our business is donzo. Ohohohohohohohoho!

______________________________________________________________

>Thank you so much for helping me out, Mod B.A.B! I'll go check out the video when I'm ready... For now, though, I'll count this as done! That's okay with you right? Again, thanks so much!!

And with this... another commission is done. Easy as... SHII-SAH-YACKEE!

[anthonybialy]

Buffalo Bills Overcome Obstacles They Placed

Peacock was Saturday’s big winner, as football fans feel compelled to sign up for games that don’t seem like they should be competitive.  A surprisingly close outing causes a chain reaction leading to finally seeing that John Wick miniseries even if I don’t think John Wick is in it.  A must-win and a should-win was just not an easy win.  The Buffalo Bills complicate everything, including the simplest playoff scenario.

With dreams relegated to possibly finishing the season, the Chargers fielded a replacement team.  Meanwhile, the side that hasn’t been eliminated from postseason contention looked like it was on strike.  Why doesn’t life unfold like it’s supposed to in our plans?  Griping about disappointment is partially justified when the Bills show up for their gig later than Madonna.

They’re not the only team to teach about dreams not coming true: the Sabres were supposed to start thriving when they got a multibillionaire fan who claimed he wanted to spend at will.  I wonder if there’s a connection.  Buffalo fans switching from football to hockey only sounds like a joke in 2023.

Show up late like your football heroes.  Mortifying first quarters stubbornly remain Buffalo’s way.  Ken Dorsey’s ghost has still not been busted.  The real spirits still haunt the Bills sideline.  Terry Pegula refused to pay Bill Murray.

The one thing better than resiliency is not having to constantly demonstrate it.  The Bills begin by flaunting a lack of resolve to prove it doesn’t define them.  Playing to the level of competition is Sean McDermott’s signature.

Considering how many times he’s led ostensibly superior squads to losses, I guess we should be grateful for a stressful win against the team notorious for results like they acted blasphemously in the Old Testament.  Even the Chargers forget they’re in Los Angeles.  McDermott keeping his team in the playoff picture despite frequently looking unprepared and underwhelming is not as impressive as it first appears.

Alleged playoff contenders sure didn’t look like it.  There are better ways to fight stereotypes.  They could have lived up to the roster’s potential and scored early instead of back-to-back-to-back punts in a deranged warping of Tom Emanski's accomplishments.  The defense joined in by conceding ground like they were trying to help Easton Stick produce a movie about his story.

A measly one-play drive really hurt the time of possession battle.  I guess parts of it turned out more valuable on balance, like when Gabe Davis scored.  Long drives tend to spur wins, which makes the exceptions worth cherishing.

Opposing fans with end zone seats wear Bills stuff hoping Josh will give them the ball from an inevitable rushing touchdown.  Buffalo’s best back is of both the quarter and running variety.  

Compared to Allen, my Christmas mood swings seem level.  Even his most diehard fans can’t defend an interception per outing.  I know, as I am one.  It’d be one thing if he could’ve thrown into tight coverage way downfield off his front foot.  There are degrees of insane risk.

A little more protection would keep the quarterback from throwing while dashing to avoid being throttled.  The offensive line didn’t hold up when they needed to hold it down.  Congratulations to Mitch Morse for getting noticed.  Conversely, avoiding the spotlight by not getting penalized has its limits. Dion Dawkins stopped on the play where Josh evaded pressure and stayed stopped through the sack at their own goal line’s verge.  Such efforts aren’t quite as charming as his introduction.

It’d have been better to unveil how awesome Stefon Diggs is earlier.  Focusing on the most obvious truth might have kept the game from being close.  But figuring out he’s really good late into the final quarter was the second-best option.  

The Bills played a home away game during the same week the Sabres played an away home game.  Having the crowd on their side in a stadium even farther from Buffalo than Orchard Park should’ve provided a thorough boost.  But the Bills frustrated their fans in a foreign venue even as they kept divisional crown-wearing dreams alive.

Differentiating between the two types of results should be easier.  Frustrating wins are as common this season as fulfilling ones.  This year’s edition has gotten to the point where tense aggravation becomes the identity.

Technical victories are treated just like any other ones by the league.  But wondering if wins containing an unnerving quantity of small losses wear out even the most annoying optimists.

Completing the task is admirable no matter the struggles faced while doing so and perhaps even because of them.  The Bills found a way to achieve their goal during a wholly necessary triumph.  Yet scoring more despite playing below their potential feels like getting away with something.  Reaching the postseason would be both an admirable achievement and pointless if they continue waiting to arrive until halftime.

[princessmisery666]

Broken Promises - Part 4 - All Or Nothing Mini Series

Summary: The broken promises have a devastating effect, causing painful decisions.

Warnings: angst, not everyone gets a happy ending, end of a friendship, self loathing. 

W/C: 2.8k

Rating: E (explicit - 18+)

Characters: Jake “Hangman” Seresin, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw. 

Pairing: Rooster x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

A/N: I’m sorry. That’s all I have, an apology. That being said, I love this chapter.

Graphics: dividers @writercole // title card made by me.

Catch Up Here: All Or Nothing

Master Lists: Top Gun Maverick // All The Fandoms

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes are my own.

Broken Promises

It feels like emotional suicide. Jake knows no good will come of him scrolling your Instagram feed. Seeing your content smile next to Bradley’s beaming love-filled grin makes his heart sick. Yet his thumb continues, the pictures get older, and he replaces Bradley at your side.

Photos of your life together assault the tenuous state of his sanity — a holiday to Mexico, crystal clear water up to your knees, fruity, bright cocktails in hand, Jake’s arm around your waist. The Christmas you went with his family to Lapland, you sitting on Santa’s lap while Jake pointed an accusing finger as if Santa had been naughty. A picture of Jake sleeping, head in your lap with the caption - “He’s cute when he’s sleeping.” Another on his graduation day, your beyond proud smile grinning back at him. It seems like a lifetime ago, a time when the world made sense. 

It’s been four days… four days of radio silence.

Jake’s sent you messages and left voicemails, but it’s like screaming into the void. Or maybe it’s because he only ever finds the words at the bottom of a hundred proof at stupid o’clock when he’s missing you and grieving. 

I’m sorry. Please can we talk about this? I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you, and I’m sorry for not figuring it out sooner.

Bradley has been absent from Top Gun. Phoenix reluctantly told Jake that Rooster was taking some personal time. No one asked about his busted-up face, so he assumes they’ve all been given a rundown of the events.

He steers clear of the Hard Deck, does his work, eats his meals alone, and returns to his apartment as soon as the work day ends. 

He resents the apartment. He only bought it because you convinced him to. You moved to San Diego when he knew he was to be stationed there. There were two apartments available, one across the hall from the other. — “Come on, Jake, it’ll be like our very own version of Friends.” He's never been able to resist your elated smile, and even though he didn’t particularly like the studio layout, he brought it to be close to you. 

But now, knowing you're not across the hall, his apartment feels cold and too big. 

The soft knock on the door makes him nauseous. He knows it's you. He contemplates not answering. You don’t know that he’s home. There’s no tv or radio playing, so there’s no sound to give him up.

He quietly walks to the door and rests his hand against the wood. You're on the other side; he can feel you. If he closes his eyes, he knows he’ll be able to feel the embrace you won’t give him.

He hasn’t let himself contemplate that the outcome could be positive. He expects the worst; it’s a fantasy to believe anything else.

You knock again, softer than the first. He imagines you are struggling with what's to come, should he let you in, as much as he is. He holds his breath, lungs beginning to burn by the time you knock a third time, gingerly calling out his name.

He unlatches the lock and walks further into the apartment. You take the unlocked door as an invitation to let yourself in.

He crosses the open plan space to the kitchen. Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, he pops the cap off as he spins to face you. You stand so far back you may as well be on another planet.

He hates himself so much he can barely stomach the feel of his tongue as he licks away the drop of froth from his lips.

There’s no greeting or other pleasantries as you face each other. Your eyes scan the bruises that stain his face before finally dropping your gaze and shuffling your feet as if you feel guilty for the blemishes on his skin. 

“How’s your face?”

“Fine,” he says, shrugging, “Bradshaw hits like a girl.”

You shake your head, and he can see how done you are with his shit in the way you don’t even crack a hint of a smile. He strides to the other side of the breakfast bar, closer to you but still an ocean of distance. “Shall we get this over with?” he asks. 

You nod and use the motion to find the courage to look at him. “I need you to stay away from me.”

“You came over here to tell me to stay away from you?” 

“Jake, please,” your voice quivers, but you contain the emotion. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“So it is hard for you too?”

“Yes!” you snap. “This is hard for me, Jake. It’s fucking devastating. It’s crushing me to do this, and there’s no way to make it easier on either of us. I want to hug you and tell you it’s all going to be okay, but I don’t know that it is. And that physically hurts,” you cry, balled fists digging into your breast bone as if to try dislodging the pain you claim.

“I’m sorry,” he says, walking around the island between you. He’s approaching but nowhere close when you back up a step, anticipating his actions. “Are you afraid of me?” 

“No, I’m not afraid of you, Jake,” you sigh. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, and I never thought for a second that you did. I just…If you touch me, it means something more to you than it does to me.”

“I’m sorry that I did hurt you,” he explains, and his stomach knots with nausea at the reminder he marred your skin.

There’s a heavy silence, weighted with anxiety and unease as you stifle your tears as best you can. Jake hates that he’s the cause of the wet tracks on your cheeks, and he’s dangerously close to shedding some tears of his own.

“I'm gonna need to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

He cautiously moves closer to you as if you're a skittish animal that he’s afraid of scaring away. You don’t bolt, but he respects your need for space by stopping a few feet away. 

He holds your eyes with a firm plea. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.” Your chest inflates to reply, but Jake quickly corrects himself to ensure there are no misunderstandings. “Tell me you’re not in love with me.”

You swipe at the tears on your cheeks and snatch the beer from his hand, downing half the contents, gasping for breath when you hand it back. 

The smile tugs on his lips; he can’t fight the glimmer of hope at your lack of denial. “You can’t, can you? I know you feel the same. You’ve just been ignoring it like I was. I was afraid to love you and leave you behind. You deserved better than that. You deserve better than that. You should be kissed and held and cherished every goddamn day, not every couple of months or when deployments allow it. But seeing you with Bradshaw made me see that it would have made it all the sweeter when we were together.”

His name comes out as a choked whisper, and he doesn’t know how to interrupt it. A warning to stop, an affirmation that he’s right? Regardless, he’s not done. 

“You said it, you said it to my parents, you said you thought about being Y/N Seresin, and I know that hasn’t just disappeared. You moved to San Diego for me; you came here for me. You still feel it.”

You shake your head, and he’s not sure if you’re trying to convince yourself or him. You speak to your feet when you beg, “Please just leave me alone.”

“Is that Bradshaw talking or you?”

“It’s me.” 

“I don’t believe you. You promised me,” he says, tone rife with injustice. “You promised me you and Bradshaw wouldn’t come between us.” 

“Don’t put this on Bradley!” you yell, and the fire behind your eyes burns bright. “You promised me, at your sister’s wedding, hell, way back in high school, that you’d never let me drown. Well, here I am, Jake. I’m drowning in the broken promises we both made to each other, and I don’t know which way is up anymore.”

“So we’ll figure it out,” Jake beseeches, reaching for your hands. 

“No,” you say firmly, snatching your hands out of his reach. “I'm asking you to leave me alone, stop calling, don’t text, and if you see me in the street, act like you don’t know me.”

“For how long?”

“Jake!” you yell frustratingly. He can see the agony it’s causing you, but he needs to know.

“We live in the same building. How am I supposed to stay away from you?”

Finally, you meet his eyes again, and he wonders if it’s to drive the point home or hurt him the same way he’s hurt you because it feels like a gut punch when you tell him. “I’m moving in with Bradley.”

He tips the bottle to his lips, gulping the remaining liquid to stop himself from breaking down. He did this. He pushed you into Bradley’s arms. He introduced you, gave you his blessing, and his latest actions have sent you scurrying deeper into Bradley’s safety net.

“We’ll stay away from the Hard Deck,” you explain while he’s unable to talk. “Let you have your hunting grounds.”

“So this is it?” he asks, breath catching in his throat. “We’re done? We can’t even be friends. The last twenty years have just been forgotten, gone, just like that?” he snaps his fingers.

“Yes,” you say with a tune of finality, squaring your shoulders. 

“Y/N, please,” he begs. “I’m so fucking sorry. I fucked up. I know how bad I screwed up. I should have told you everything when I was close to you. I shouldn’t have been so pacified being your friend. I should have said it all when I had the chance. I shouldn’t have waited.”

“It doesn’t matter!” you yell, silencing him. “You said it yourself, Jake. It’s all or nothing with me. We had it all. We were friends, and it worked. We can’t go back to that. So please, I’m asking you to stay away from me and out of Bradley’s face. If you care about me the way you say, you’ll do that for me. It’s the least you owe me.”

“If?” he questions, raising his voice as you head toward the door. “If I care about you? Are you questioning that? Is that the problem? You don’t believe me?”

You stop, half out of the door, looking at him over your shoulder. “I believe you. It just doesn’t change anything,” you admit. 

It breaks him. He drops to his knees, chin resting on his chest, heaving deep breaths to stop from roaring like a feral animal.

You let yourself into Bradley’s apartment with the key he gave you. Standing in the hallway, you feel the metal grow warm in your palm, and it’s symbolic poetry that the key represents everything Bradley makes you feel; strong, warm, safe, loved, home.

You just hope your absence and lack of communication haven’t caused a rift between you. 

You stroll to the kitchen, and Bradley’s sitting at the breakfast bar, hugging a mug of coffee that looks as if it went cold a while ago. “Hey,” he whispers, a catch of emotion in his voice. 

“Hey,” you reply, pressing your shoulder into the door frame, uncertainty causing you to hesitate in approaching him.

“You’ve been gone a while,” he notes.

“Needed to clear my head,” you explain, “I’ve been staying with Natasha.”

“She said,” he nods, shrugging lightly. “I wanted to come see you, but I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.” 

You can’t bear the desolation in his eyes, so you look down at the floor. He sounds a little heartbroken, and you know it’s all for you. He was most likely confused, worried, and hurt by your temporary abandonment, but he looks crushed, and you know him well enough to know it’s because he couldn’t comfort you when you needed it most.

“I wouldn't have turned you away if you had.”

“Does that mean I can come over there?” he asks with such hopeful despair it makes you want to cry.

The toe of your sneakers squeaks on the linoleum floor with the speed at which you stand straighter and rush toward him. He twists on the barstool, and you plant yourself between his legs, crushing yourself against his chest hard enough that a whoosh of air escapes him. But he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tightly, arms encasing your hips. 

“I missed you,” he says, and you can feel how much he means it when his fingers squeeze your frame.

“I missed you too,” you confess, breathing him in, placing a featherlight kiss against his skin. 

He hums low in his chest, and it vibrates through you, spreading warm gratification. This is where you belong. You’re sure of it, but it doesn’t lessen the pain of losing Jake. It somehow makes it worse. When you know your best friend is hurting, the conflict of being happy and content with Rooster makes you nauseous with guilt. 

You sigh heavily, and it’s as if you pressed a button inside Bradley. He tightens his grip and whispers, “I love you.” 

The pain ebbs, if only momentarily, and you know in time, he will banish it to the deep depths of your mind, and you’ll rarely think of it, maybe someday, even forget.

“I love you too, and I’m sorry for disappearing.” 

“Don’t be,” Bradley begins, leaning back to look you in the eyes. “I know this can’t be easy for you. Hell, I’d be concerned if it was. Hey, no,” he coaxes your head back up to meet his eyes with a gentle hold of your chin when you try to shy away. “Don’t do that,” he admonishes with a slight aching frown. “You never have to hide with me.”

You still feel guilty, as if Jake’s actions resulted from yours. Had you led him on somehow, making him think you were more than friends? The thoughts swirl around your mind, a tornado ripping up the foundations of your beliefs, and you worry Bradley thinks the same.

“I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, not for what Jake did and not for taking some time to figure stuff out. I’m just glad you’re home.” A flare of doubt widens his eyes. “You are home, right?”

“Yes, I’m home,” you say and peck his lips quickly. Your kiss seems to have stolen his doubts, and you take on the anxiety as your own, worrying, “if that’s what you want still?”

“Yes, oh god, yes!” he assures. You feel the tension leave his body as he kisses you breathless, excitement replacing the moment’s anxiety. Bradley breaks the kiss but reestablishes the connection, resting his forehead against yours, and you both linger in the moment. “I want you to know I’d understand if you chose to forgive him. I can’t. But I won’t stop you if that’s what you want.” He shrugs and dazzles you with a slight jesting smile. “I mean, I'd like you to make him suffer a little before you forgive him.”

“It’s not what I want,” you say and feel the tears prick your eyes. “I can’t forgive him. I went to see him, to clarify that, and asked him to stay away from us.”

His eyes dart back and forth between yours, and apprehension shimmers in his. Your tears fall, and he interrupts their path with the pad of his thumb swiping over your cheeks. “If that’s what you want, then I respect it, but please,” he implores, “please, don’t do it on my behalf. You’ve been friends forever, and I’d never want to come between you. Even if you change your mind, in a week, a month, a year, whatever, I won’t stand between you two. This isn’t ‘a him or me’ type situation.”

“I know. Kinda wish it was,” you admit, “it might have made it easier.”

“Okay,” Bradley says and looks dead serious as he stares into your eyes, “It’s him or me.” He can't hold the sedate expression for long, and his kind smile breaks the mask. “But only if you choose me.”

“Always,” you confess. 

“I can’t tell you how much I needed to hear that. I was damn near terrified this conversation wouldn’t end well for me.” He smiles, so endearing it makes your heart skip a beat, and again you know you’ve made the right choice. “When I’m with you, it feels like the future, and I’m not ready to give that up.”

“You never have to.”

You seal the promise with a kiss. It’s firm but sweet and tender, and it feels as if he’s breathing in your troubles, taking them away with every sweep of his tongue. It lasts so long you feel a little lightheaded, but you don’t want to come up for air. He makes you feel like you're flying, and you’ll continue to soar as long as you have him.

End.

Master Lists: Top Gun Maverick // All The Fandoms

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (vi)

word count: 4.2k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of particular christian holidays (christmas), allusions to explicit content (minors just be aware!)

series masterpost: here

a/n: after a significant delay we're back!! the words just weren't coming and for that i apologize. hopefully this makes up for it :))

Magdalene doesn’t want to leave Ryan’s apartment.

She’s created a home in the space over the past two months, and she doesn’t know how she’ll be able to live without another person again. After being alone for so many years Magdalene thought she’d be anxious to return to normal, but life with Ryan has become her new normal. Caligula loves the place and she doesn’t know how the small cat will adjust to another change. He’s become rather attached to Ryan, barely leaving his side while he’s home, and Magdalene is worried what the separation will do to both of them.

“You could just stay here you know,” Ryan shrugs over breakfast. It’s a rare weekday morning where he has nowhere to be, and he made a meal for both of them before Magdalene heads to work.

“How did you know what I was thinking about?” she asks with a grumpy edge to her voice. Magdalene can’t help it – she’s still not used to Ryan being able to read her so well and had hoped she could stew in her discontent for a while longer.

He laughs, loud and beautiful, before standing from the table and moving to dump his dishes in the sink. On his way to the door Ryan stops to press a kiss to Magdalene’s lips. It’s sticky from the maple syrup he had on his french toast but Magdalene chases him anyways, not wanting the moment to end.

“Just tell Paul you want to buy out the rest of your lease and that you won’t be moving back. It’s a simple fix. Maybe now you’ll sleep at night.”

Magdalene notices the dark circles under Ryan’s eyes and feels guilty. She didn’t know that her tossing and turning at night was keeping him awake. The two of them have been sharing a bed for weeks but she hasn’t been sleeping much since Paul called to let her know her apartment will be ready at the end of the month.

Sighing, she pushes up from her chair and follows Ryan into the kitchen. “I can’t just pay out the final four months on my lease, Ry. Not all of us make millions. Besides, you probably don’t want me around much longer anyways.” Magdalene couldn’t help but let her insecurities boil over, so worried that Ryan is only keeping her around out of pity and convenience.

“Fuck.”

The curse flies from Ryan’s mouth so quickly that Magdalene is surprised. He softens immediately when she recoils in shock, and explains himself. “Is that what you think? That I don’t want you around? Mags, I think I’d lose my damn mind if you went back to your place. It feels a lot more like a home with you here, and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as you’ll let me.”

“Even with my collection of Roman emperor busts?”

“Especially with your collection of busts,” Ryan smiles, “We’re never getting rid of them.”

Magdalene likes the feeling of the two of them being a unit, much more than she thought she would. She doesn’t accept the offer immediately, though as soon as she’s out the door with a kiss from Ryan the phone number for her soon-to-be old building manager is dialed and she explains the situation. He offers to give her two days to figure out what she’s doing, and Magdalene promises to bring some lemon drop cookies in thanks the next time she’s in the neighbourhood.

The day passes by slowly but Magdalene isn’t sure if it’s because all she can think about is staying with Ryan or because June is on vacation for the month and she’s lonely. Other people work in the archives department, but none in the same area as Magdalene, and the silence is starting to bother her. In the afternoon she bites the bullet and plays music through the ancient looking sound system attached to one of the computers. The comforting voice of Maggie Rogers dulls her mind enough so work actually gets done. Time goes by much faster with the added distraction, and Magdalene texts Ryan to let him know she’ll pick up some stuff for dinner so they can eat when he gets home. The Avalanche have a home game, but due to the increased workload she’s taken on with June’s absence Magdalene is unable to attend. Puck drop is about to happen when she gets in her car, and the radio is quickly switched to the local sports station so she can listen to the play-by-play while she drives.

Standing in the grocery store, in the middle of the produce section, Magdalene realizes why she’s hesitant to commit to moving in with Ryan. She’s unsure of what their relationship is and the ambiguity makes it hard to predict the future. What if she stays and they stop whatever they’re currently doing? Though it isn’t anything more than kissing and sleeping beside each other, Magdalene has a lot of feelings invested in Ryan and she’ll be damned if she gets hurt because of poor communication. She’ll have to talk to him after the game about the direction they’re headed in.

The night passes by quietly, with Magdalene splitting her attention between filtering emails and the television screen. More often than not the hockey game holds her attention, and she watches with baited breath every time Ryan goes in for a hit. One day it will end poorly – Magdalene frets over it quite frequently, and everyone around her is tasked with calming her down. Ryan finds it endearing, but everyone else can also see it bothers the man to cause Magdalene discomfort. Eventually it’s time to begin making dinner, so Magdalene turns up the volume on the television and heads to the kitchen.

When Ryan walks through the door she’s plating the food. It’s nothing fancy, just chicken and vegetables, but Ryan reacts like he’s being fed a meal from a five-star restaurant.

“Thank you,” he says, punctuating each word with a peck to Magdalene’s forehead. “You’re the best.”

“I don’t know about that,” she chuckles while passing him his plate before grabbing her own and heading to the table.

While they eat, Ryan recounts the game in the way that Magdalene loves. It’s raw and unabashed, with enough curse words to make a sailor blush, but it’s so Ryan that she hangs off every word. Laughter bubbles out of her on multiple occasions, and Magdalene’s stomach hurts by the time he asks how her day was.

“It was fine,” she shrugs while cutting a stalk of asparagus and popping a few pieces into her mouth. “I realized something though, and I think we need to have an adult conversation about it.”

If Ryan is alarmed he doesn’t show it. Instead he laughs at how formal Magdalene sounds. “Guess it’s a good thing we’re both adults currently engaged in a conversation.”

“Fuck off.”

He apologizes, and it’s sincere enough for her to continue. “I enjoy what we have going on,” she says, “And I think you should stop yourself from making a smart comment.” The blush that flushes across Ryan’s cheeks lets Magdalene know he was in fact planning on saying something stupid. “But even though I’m having fun, I need to know what’s going on. You’re good at going with the flow, Ry, but I’m not. I need structure and stability. If you don’t want anything more let me know and we can end it right now and just be friends.”

Ryan looks at Magdalene like she’s grown several heads. “What makes you think I don’t want more?”

She’s sheepish now, worried she read too much into signs that might not even have been there. “I just thought that because you hadn’t made a move you didn’t want anything else,” Magdalene sighs.

A hand reaches for hers over top of the table, and Magdalene squeezes it tightly. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Ryan begins, “Because I know the unknown can be scary. I was just moving at what I thought was your pace.”

Magdalene relaxes, and tears prick at the corners of her eyes. The man in front of her is so kind, so loving, and she wants to stay close to him forever.

“So you’ll be my boyfriend?”

A smile finds its way onto Ryan’s features. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

☼☼☼☼

Paul is eventually informed that Magdalene won’t be returning to the building, and a few tears are shed when she goes to drop off her keys. It’s emotional – that apartment was where she first made a home for herself, and where she spent thousands of hours completing her degrees. A new chapter in her life is starting, one that Magdalene is incredibly excited for, but leaving the old one behind is bittersweet.

Ryan holds her when she gets home, letting her cry out all the lingering emotions and listening to her share stories of memories past. Magdalene’s tears change to laughter when she recounts the time Bette almost set her kitchen on fire trying to replicate a meal she saw on the food network and at the mention of her name Ryan remembers that Bette and Tyson are coming over for dinner to celebrate their engagement. A glance at the clock tells him there’s still two hours until their arrival – plenty of time to clean the disastrous apartment and make the food.

“Mags, we’ve got to get our asses in gear. Bette and Tyson will be here in like two hours.”

Magdalene’s eyes go wide in realization. “Fuck,” she groans. “There’s so much to do.”

The two of them rise from the couch and work on dividing the tasks between them. Before she can suggest anything Ryan speaks, resting his forehead against hers. “Go clean the bathroom. I’ve got out here.”

She smiles at the acknowledgment of her preference to clean a specific area, and leans in the extra millimetre to close the gap between their lips. The kiss is quick and doesn’t go anywhere due to time restraints, but it still sends Magdalene reeling. Every time she kisses Ryan a sense of tranquility washes over her and she never wants it to go away. Ryan pats her hip as she heads in the opposite direction, and their laughter bounces off the walls as they get to work. The two of them work in tandem cleaning the house, singing along to the music Ryan queued up and zigzagging around Caligula because he wants to play. It takes a little longer than anticipated, but the apartment eventually is tidy and the chicken is placed in the oven.

Magdalene wipes a small bead of sweat from her brow before exiting the kitchen and heading towards the guest room. Though she doesn’t spend much time there anymore due to Ryan’s insistence at cuddling at night when he’s home, her clothes are still in its closet. Bette informed her to dress nicely because she plans on taking photos, so Magdalene stands in the near empty room pondering what she owns that fits the dress code.

“You should wear the blue jumpsuit,” Ryan says as he comes up from behind and wraps his arms around her waist, holding Magdalene close. He bends down enough that his chin rests on her shoulder, nimble fingers reaching up to play with the clasp of her necklace, effectively sending shivers down her spine.

“It’s so light it barely counts as blue,” she teases, shifting in Ryan’s grip to peck him on the cheek, “And I don’t think it’s formal enough for what Bette wants.”

“Who cares? You’ll be comfortable.”

Ryan leaves then, no doubt to finish getting himself ready, and Magdalene considers her other options before tugging the article of clothing off the hanger. It takes a second to shrug on and is more complicated than she remembers, but the fabric eventually settles onto her skin. The jumpsuit looks more like the attire Bette requested once she changes her jewelry and Magdalene stares at herself in the mirror before going to find Ryan. He’s in the bedroom, like she suspected, and struggling with the buttons of the new dress shirt Magdalene just bought him to replace the ratty one he was wearing before.

“Need some help?” she asks, pausing in the doorway to get a good look at him. Ryan looks effortlessly put together, and the jeans he’s sporting do wonders for his muscular legs. Magdalene must have let her eyes linger too long because when she raises them Ryan is laughing.

“Please, baby.”

She wavers slightly at the unexpected pet name, but Magdalene loves the way it rolled off his tongue so casually that she doesn’t even make a comment about how it’s the first time he’s called her anything remotely romantic. Once in front of him she works from the bottom up, finishing with a delicate kiss to Ryan’s lips. He takes a step further, winding a hand into her hair, and they lose themselves in each other until there’s a knock on the door and Caligula begins to meow for attention.

Dinner is a lowkey affair, despite Bette’s earlier promises to turn it into a rager, and Magdalene is thankful. Life has been moving incredibly fast the past few weeks and the opportunity to slow down and relax hasn’t presented itself before now. She fawns over her best friend’s ring while the boys talk about basketball and their upcoming game schedule. Drinks are had and Magdalene is sufficiently tipsy by the time the blonde is corralling everyone into the living room to take pictures.

“Mags, you stand right there,” Bette orders while pointing at a spot in front of the dark window. Magdalene does as she’s told, and Bette nods in approval. “Now Ryan, stand on her left side.”

“Can do boss,” he mock salutes, and Bette flips him off while her fiancée tilts his head back in laughter.

Instantly Magdalene is clutching him like her life depends on it. She feels more than unsteady on her feet and Ryan is something strong and solid that can support her. The two of them share a quiet moment full of smiles, unaware that their friends are looking on with smirks rightfully placed on their faces.

It takes a few minutes to coordinate a photo that Bette is happy with, but eventually the group returns to the kitchen and champagne flows freely as they celebrate the new chapter in the one couple’s life. It’s approaching midnight when Magdalene drags her best friend into the bathroom, placing her in a bone crushing hug and letting more than a few happy tears slip out.

“You’re getting married,” she sobs. “I’m so happy for you Bee. Tyson loves you so much and one day I hope to find someone who loves me like that.”

Bette lets Magdalene cry on her shoulder, chuckling at her dramatics, before reassuring her that she will find a love like her and Tyson share and leading her back into Ryan’s arms where she stays for the rest of the night.

☼☼☼☼

December in Denver is milder than Aspen, but Magdalene still isn’t used to it. She chills easily, always has, and during the winter months her car’s heating system works overtime. The night is frositer than normal, causing Magdalene to shiver the entire drive to Bette’s house. The Avalanche are away on their final roadtrip of the year, a long one out east where the snow is even more brutal, and to combat the loneliness both girls are feeling, Bette invited Magdalene to stay the night. Caligula was also welcome so that cat sits patiently in the passenger seat of her car, ready to get cuddles from the blonde who used to be around much more frequently.

The front door is wide open before Magdalene kills the engine – Bette is clearly excited about the carefully planned sleepover. “Hurry up and get inside!” She yells to her friend. “I have a surprise for you!”

Magdalene shakes her head, chuckling at Bette’s inability to be patient. “Give me a second! I have to get Caligula’s stuff from the trunk.”

The mention of the small cat has Bette slipping on a pair of shoes. “Come here little boots! Auntie Bette missed you.” She scoops him out of the car and heads back inside, leaving Magdalene a giggling mess in the driveway.

Intrigued by the so-called surprise Bette has in store, she hurries up the steps and into the warm building. Her phone lights up with a message from Ryan telling her to have fun, and Magdalene snaps a sneaky picture of Caligula and Bette to joke that he’s been replaced as the cat’s favourite. The device is shoved into the pocket of her hoodie while she wanders down the hall to the guest bedroom. Once settled she returns to the main area of the house to see Bette curled on the couch with the television set up to watch some ridiculous reality show. A small box is beside her, and Magdalene picks it up so she doesn’t sit on it.

“What’s this?”

Bette rolls her eyes like the answer isn’t the most obvious thing in the world. “Your surprise! God Mags, so can be so oblivious sometimes.”

“How was I supposed to know this unmarked box was my surprise?” Magdalene defends, but she opens it without another comment. Inside is a picture of the two of them from the first night they met – at the university’s welcome mixer – beside a picture of the two of them at Ryan’s squealing about her ring, and a note that reads ‘From one chapter of my life to another. Will you be my maid of honour?’

Tears slip from Magdalene’s eyes as she looks at her best friend. Bette is also crying, and Caligula is looking between both of them with confusion. “Well,” Bette says, voice watery, “Will you?”

Magdalene pounces on her instantly, a chorus of agreenances spilling from her lips. More tears fall as they stay wrapped in each other's arms, so happy to experience such a momentous experience together. Bette tells her that Tyson is asking Ryan to be a groomsman at dinner tomorrow, and the prospect of her boyfriend helping her organize the wedding of her two closest friends makes Magdalene giddy. She knows he’ll say yes, knowing how much he adores Tyson, and she can’t wait to experience the day with him.

The television holds the girls’ attention for the rest of the night. Food is ordered and delivered, but neither of them leave the comfort of the living room for more than the five minutes it takes to go to the bathroom. The outlandishness the housewives of Beverly Hills experience on a daily basis is enough to keep them both in stitches and forget about the pressures of the outside world. Magdalene has been extra stressed at work with writing grant proposals, and Bette is struggling to piece together enough resources to make the annual Avalanche charity gala happen. It’s nice to enjoy some down time together, and with Caligula snuggled between the two of them it’s a perfect evening.

It’s pitch black outside when Magdalene opens her eyes. Netflix is no longer playing, pausing itself due to inactivity, and she can tell it’s early in the morning. Bette is sleeping soundly beside her on the large sectional with Caligula tucked into her side. Wanting to know exactly what time it is before deciding on whether to move to a real bed, she reaches for her phone that’s perched on the edge of the coffee table. The screen lights up, and while Magdalene notices the witching hour is rapidly approaching, she’s more intrigued by the unknown number that left her a text message.

Opening the notification, it takes her a couple of seconds to comprehend the message. Staring at her is something she never thought she’d see. The text reads Linny, it’s JayJay. Dad is really sick, and we think you should come home to spend some time with him. Hope you’re well. She can’t believe her eyes – after years of no contact her brother somehow found her phone number. Chills run down Magdalene’s spine, and unsure of what to do or how to process the information, she turns her phone off before rolling over and trying her hardest to fall back asleep.

☼☼☼☼

It takes Magdalene four days to decide she won’t respond to her brother’s message. She thinks about it constantly, wondering if she’s making the right call – on one hand her father doesn’t sound healthy, but on the other hand Magdalene risks rehashing closed wounds if she visits. After crying to Bette on the phone almost every night Magdalene knows she has to choose herself. She’s worked too hard to heal from her childhood and even though he’s her father, she doesn’t know him anymore – just like he doesn’t know her.

She knows Ryan is suspicious that something happened while he was on the road. There’s no way he didn’t pick up on how she stayed in the car instead of waiting for him at the arrival gate or how she doesn’t hold onto him as tightly when he hugs her. He hasn’t said anything yet, which Magdalene is thankful for, but she also knows her luck will run out eventually. Ryan isn’t one to let things bubble beneath the surface, and while the clear communication makes the relatively fresh relationship easy to navigate, Magdalene occasionally enjoys wallowing before shoving things deep into her brain in order to not think about them.

“Did something happen while I was away?” Ryan mumbles into her hair as they lay in bed. Concern coats every inch of his voice, and Magdalene realizes hundreds of scenarios are running through his brain with most of them centred on someone approaching her on the street.

“Nothing happened, Ry,” she says with as much sincerity as she can muster, shaking her head for added effect. “I’m just a little burnt out and looking forward to slowing down during the holidays.”

He seems to buy the excuse, which isn’t a complete lie – with June still not back Magdalene has been pulling a lot of extra hours to keep things running smoothly. Ryan shares his excitement for the quiet break they have planned before rolling over and allowing Magdalene to wrap her arms around him. It’s quickly become their favourite way to sleep, and exhaustion overpowers them both soon after the conversation stops. Magdalene has her best sleep since receiving the text message, and come the morning she’s once again wrapped up in Ryan and the bubble of happiness they’ve created inside the apartment.

The one-sided conversation from her brother is forgotten over the holidays. Ryan stays in Denver, not bothering to fly home due to poor weather predictions, and the two of them spend the short break holed up in the apartment reading and exchanging gifts. They’re nothing extravagant, a watch and novel for Ryan and a new emperor bust for Magdalene, but so much thought and care went into each gift that neither cares about the price tags that were attached. The Avalanche play a home game between Christmas and New Year’s that Magdalene and Bette attend, cheering loudly with the audience for their boys. Ryan and Magdalene ring in the new year alone, tangled in bedsheets and exploring each other well into the early hours. It’s over all too soon though, and before Magdalene heads back to work she drops Ryan off at the practice facility to catch a ride with Tyson to the airport after practice.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” she sighs as Ryan intertwines their fingers before resting the mess of limbs back on the gearshift.

“I know, bug, but I have to do my job.”

Magdalene knows he’s right and is so proud of him, but after having Ryan all to herself for a week she’s reluctant to let him go. Instead of responding she raises their conjoined hands to her lips and kisses the back of his, right where the knuckle extends to his middle finger. The action relaxes Ryan, who’s been tense since saying goodbye to Caligula and locking the door, and he returns the gesture before letting the car return to a comfortable silence. Only the radio hums at a indiscernible volume as they exit the highway and pull into the parking lot.

Neither of them move for a minute, not wanting to officially start the next year of work, but eventually Ryan opens his door and moves to the trunk. Magdalene follows, bracing the cold to spend a few extra seconds with the boy who is well on his way to running off with her heart. She watches silently as he unloads his gear, and wraps her arms around his middle as soon as he’s not busy. Ryan holds her tightly against his body and kisses her fiercely when she chokes out a goodbye.

“I’ll see you in a few days,” he whispers, forehead pressed against Magdalene’s.

“Stay out of trouble,” she manages to say through her tears, trying her hardest but miserably failing to keep them in.

Ryan wipes them away with the pad of his thumb and kisses her one more time before heading for the warmth of the building. Magdalene waits in the snow until he reaches the door, shuffling around the vehicle to once again slide into the passenger seat. Her phone is lit up in the center console, and without thinking she grabs it to check the notification.

Three missed calls and one voicemail.

Magdalene’s blood runs cold when she realizes who they’re from.

☼☼☼☼

additional notes: see the jumpsuit mags wears to dinner here!

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @graveshischier @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @brandtsclarke @lovethepreds @cutiesara23 @hockeyallthetime @stlbluesbrat21 @denis-scorianov @danglesnipecelly @c-tangerine @stormingroses @spine-buster @rapidfever @bb-nhlqueen7 @laurenairay (add yourself to the taglist!)

[itsnothingofinterest]

I think this fandom needs more villainous Christmas content, and also we really need some light Villain content right now; so since the PLF were formed and Shigaraki was still with them for last Christmas, here’s what I headcanon Shigaraki & the lieutenants got each other during their tense first few days after the merger.

Shigaraki

He get everyone video games. And also personal consoles for each and every one of them. Now Hero Aca is 200 years in the future, but I’m gonna list specific games & series anyway and just say if it still exists, it’s the latest game from that series, if not, it’s something similar to that series. With that said, here’s what he got everyone.

Dabi: Doom

Toga: Assassins’ Creed

Spinner: Grand Theft Auto

Twice: Animal Crossing

Mr. Compress: Mario

Geten: Dark Souls

Skeptic: Professor Layton

Trumpet: Command & Conquer

Redestro: X-COM

Attitude after merger review: Good marks; no noticeable signs of favoring old friends over enemies turned allies. Good job hiding that animosity Tomura!

Dabi

He went to a book store and got everyone books; because they’re good gifts that still allow him the opportunity to knock everyone’s literacy skills by saying they should read more. It’s an important balance for him to strike, getting good gifts without appearing friendly in the slightest. Anyway, here’s the genres he got everyone

Shigaraki Edge action adventure

Toga: Romance

Spinner: Action adventure YA novel

Twice: Slice-of-life comedy

Mr. Compress: murder mystery

Geten: University-level math textbook

Skeptic: Sci-fi navel gazing

Trumpet: Political theory

Redestro: Suspenceful Thriller

Attitude after merger review: Would’ve been fine if not for that dig at Geten’s uneducated status. Try harder next year, please.

Toga

Reminiscent of her pre-quirk Christmases, she decided to make homemade gifts for everyone using whatever she had available. Which was a lot, actually, since she was not afraid to spend Redestro’s money on supplies. In fact she went out of her way to get the most expensive supplies available at every opportunity.

Shigaraki: A grim miniature carnival ground where action figures of All Might & other pros are tortured and mutilated.

Dabi: a miniature statue of him made out of platinum and then crudely painted.

Spinner: An origami model of Stain with a vast arsenal of origami swords.

Twice: a Hand-knitted toque just a bit to big for his head.

Mr. Compress: A collection of new masks in fancy paints.

Geten: A mountaineering pick-ax with a handle in his color scheme.

Skeptic: Just a piece of paper saying “I know about the neck snapping. I look forward to working with you.”

Trumpet: A Trumpet.

Redestro: A bust of his head made of solid gold and smiling his to-wide fake-y smile.

Attitude after merger review: Also docking points for a dig at a former adversary, and what’s worse is it wasn’t even in the form of a proper present. Also losing points for going out or your way to spend Redestro’s money, which granted, everyone else was doing too, but you were a bit upfront with it. Employ more subtlety next time!

Spinner

Spinner also got everyone video games like Shigaraki did; however he looked into indie games. Gotta support the little guys, y’know? That said, indie games 200 years in the future are nearly equivalent to AAA games now in all the ways that matter, so there’s not too much of a difference except it’s all spiritual successors, no franchises. Huge selection though, and there’s successors to everything so Spinner’s set.

Shigaraki: Metroid

Dabi: Mario Kart

Toga: Danganronpa

Twice: Rayman

Mr. Compress: Clunhouse Games: 51 Classics

Geten: Celeste

Skeptic: Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes.

Trumpet: Call of Duty

Redestro: Roller Coater Tycoon

Attitude after merger review: Full marks just like Tomura, as expected of his closest lieutenant. Excellent gifting Spinner!

Twice

Now that he has money, he just went on some Amazon-esque website and got the first thing he saw the reminded him of everyone. As such, his gifts are the most sporadic & random.

Shigaraki: A bottle of Kurogiri’s favorite wine.

Dabi: A quality pack of cigarettes.

Toga: Hairclips with characters from an anime she liked growing up.

Spinner: One of the spinning whetstone things for sharpening blades.

Mr. Compress: A new hat.

Geten: a pair of mittens.

Skeptic: Several Spools or wire + a pair of wire cutters.

Trumpet: A maintenance kit for trumpets.

Redestro: A $1000 donation to a quirkless rights movement in his name. (Can you tell he’s still mad about Giran?)

Attitude after merger review: Once more, major marks docked for taking a dig at an enemy-turned-ally that you can hardly even pretend is a proper gift. Once again; if you can’t do anything nice, be more sublet when acting mean.

Mr. Compress

He frankly wanted to see if he could get anyone into his hobbies, or at least get them something to remind them of him, so he robbed a magic store for magic trick-based toys & performance tools.

Shigaraki: One of those things where you saw your assistant in half (complete with saw).

Dabi: Those weird orb things that slid around your hand.

Toga: One of those boxes you have your assistant stand in and then stab them (complete with knives).

Spinner: Fancy deck of cards

Twice: Yo-yo collection.

Geten: Hula hoop

Skeptic: Semi-transparent Mirror

Trumpet: Bracelet things where you put one inside the other.

Redestro: Fog Machine

Attitude after merger review: Nearly full marks, but it is rather noticeable how League members got, on average, much larger presents than the MLA alumni. Still, the plausible deniability is worth something here. 

Geten

He just went to a store to get whatever he could find. He did not try very hard for the League. Or Skeptic & Trumpet for that matter.

Shigaraki: Santa hat

Dabi: Snow globe

Toga: Chocolate Bar

Spinner: Elf hat.

Twice: Bag of candy

Mr. Compress: a $20 gift card.

Skeptic: New tie.

Trumpet: A wallet.

Redestro: A Blue-Ray collection of a movie series he’d been meaning to see.

Attitude after merger review: Absolute lowest marks; the fact that he got bad gifts for fellow MLA members does not hide this fact as well as he may think it does.

Skeptic

Not really knowing enough about any of these guys enough to really think about what they want, but still wanting to show off; he hacked into the personal bank accounts of several heroes & famous figures and, using each one, got a ¥ 1 million gift card from this store franchise that doesn’t allow any kind of refunds.  Here are the corresponding accounts used to make each person’s gift (he did at least put thought into who each recipient might like to rob).

Shigaraki: All Might

Dabi: Endeavor

Toga: Best Jeanist

Spinner: Wash

Twice: Yoroi Musha

Mr. Compress: Edgeshot

Geten: Mirko

Trumpet: Some political opponent

Redestro: The HPSC president

Attitude after merger review: Both thoughtful and balanced between old & new partners, full marks for one of the last people you might’ve expected. Way to use that pride, Skeptic!

Trumpet

A rather materialistic fellow, he got everyone some new tech or item of convenience.

Shigaraki: An expensive watch.

Dabi: A temperature-controlled water bottle

Toga: A big make-up kit

Spinner: A nice suit

Twice: An Ipod.

Mr. Compress: A nice suitcase.

Geten: A mini-fridge.

Skeptic: A new laptop.

Redestro: A new phone.

Attitude after merger review: Full marks, I suppose, if only because he equally half-arsed it for everyone. Not even out of malice either, he just didn’t try all that hard for anyone.

Redestro

The richest of the lot: he also just got everyone some piece of technology/luxury rich person thing, with the difference that his presents were really big & expensive. He was rather invested in endearing himself to the new team.

Shigaraki: A kind of really big yacht, one with windows around the deck to keep people from seeing him. Imagine a cross between a yacht & a limo, actually.

Dabi: A stupidly big TV with like 10 different streaming services pre-paid on it. 

Toga: A self-driving car.

Spinner: One of those 4-wheeled dirt bikes

Twice: His very own mountain lodge.

Mr. Compress: His very own hot tub.

Geten: His own private jet, complete with a walk-in freezer installed in the back.

Skeptic: A warehouse & collection of those big data storage units; enough to back-up all the data his company had ever collected.

Trumpet: A new van

Attitude after merger review: Full marks and well earned; because even if they weren’t always the most personalized, they were too high quality for it to matter. And for once the expense wasn’t a mark against him because he was spending his own money!

Final review: Toga got everyone the best gifts, with Twice taking 2nd place, because theirs were both thoughtful and unique. Even the non-gift to Skeptic & Redestro couldn't bring them below anyone else’s score. Everyone else sucks at this. 3rd place goes to Redestro though, because “money can’t by happiness” is a phrase that doesn’t apply to poor people.

[sibsteria]

seasons of love [jonathan crane]

Life in the Gotham crime world was content, no motives for murder aside from that being an overall activity. Grudges were dealt with, there was no reason to terrorise people, except for enjoyment. Jim Gordon was still participating in his ball-ache of a saint boy act but what was new about that. It was snowing. Gotham, for the first time, was viewed as beautiful. If anyone wanted to leave, now would be the time.

Smooth Christmas music came from the shopping centre's intercom, shoppers adorned in green and red hues. And to top it all off, Jonathan Crane and his girlfriend sat joyously in a café...

"I admire the way you handled that." I hummed to the brunette boy. "Normally I would've witnessed your awkward self but I gotta say, your anxiety is getting better every day." I finished off. "That's all on you, Angel, without you there is no me." I couldn't help but soften my face at him, how could someone be so cute? "Have I ever told you how much I love you?" I took a sip of my coffee, gingerbread infused goodness. "I don't know, maybe every day I've known you." He smiles, I love it when he smiles, it suits him greatly. "So, what's up after this?" I question him. "You'll have to wait and see." I squinted at him, awaiting his real answer. "Okay, we're going to the park, it's practically abandoned due to the snow, perfect right?" He breaks, showing his real plan. "Absolutely."

°°°

"Right up here on this bandstand was were we watched idkHow, about a month ago?" He pitched up his voice in question during the final words. "Aye, that's right, what showmen they were. Incredible." I dazed of dreamily, accounting the night. "And-" He grabbed onto my shoulders and moved me a few feet left. "About here is were we stood afterwards, the stars looking down on us." I never knew he remembered that, so sweet. By now it was sunset in Gotham, hypnotic peaches and pinks graced the above, spilling a masterpiece on the sky and reflecting on the snow. "We've been through so much over the years, haven't we?" I spoke. "Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I met you before everything." He said, unfinished. "We've been together for three years now, doesn't seem like enough." He added. "We could've been married by now-" My heart leaped thinking about the far gone opportunity. "Things in Gotham are too dangerous now, for starting a family." I couldn't lie, he was speaking truth, I never will stop wondering that if we got out in time we could've had that. "Which is why-" I turned my head to face him and not the illuminate sky. "I'm asking you if you will move away with me- and before you ask, I've got connections. It's all figured out, that is, if you want to." He stumbled over the last part, I could feel my vital organs embedded in my throat. "Jon- that would be wonderful, I won't ask you how because I don't know if I want to know but...this is a real opportunity for us." I could feel my tear ducts expanding and water roll down my red cheeks, the cold had added a natural blush. He began again "But as well as that, I need to ask you-" He started to descend onto the bandstand floor. He pulls out a square box receiving an astonishing princess cut ring, with an iridescent gemstone laying in the centre. "Will you marry me? I figured, no point preparing a speech because we've been through so much and I just want to be with you and-" I cut him off by kneeling down and pressing my cold lips against his, even in the harshest of weather, he still managed to attain warmth. "So a yes?" He begs, whispering in hope. "It's a yes, when are we getting out of here?" I laugh, smiling promptly. He slips the band over my finger and fumbles for a second before pulling out his phone. "Now if you're up for it, I can get our stuff sent over by next week and I know it's a long wait but I thought sooner rather than later would be ideal-" I cut him off with another brain busting, lip bruising kiss. "Stop rambling, let's go, I couldn't give a shit about my two suit cases of crap. I still have my uncles birthday gift money in my bank, let's go." I urge him to stand, he presses some digits before taking my hand and whisking me to the far end of the park. Here we go, leaving Gotham for good...

[glenncoco4]

You Can Count On Me

A/N: Chapter 8

••••

Marty Deeks has been patient his entire life, whether that be waiting until Christmas morning to open presents or until a new Donnie & Marie album was released, but when it comes to one Kensi Marie Blye becoming his fiancé, he’s anything but. So he’s not at all deterred when he steps into the small antique shop in search of a ring. Her ring, without getting a yes first.

No, she hasn’t said yes to his proposal yet, but she did confess that she wanted everything with him. So even if it’s not a yes right now, it will be eventually and he wants to be ready. 

Now here he is at the fourth store today, considering how large Los Angeles is and the amount of people, he thought it’d be easier than this. As he examines the display of unique and elegant jewelry, he begins to lose hope once again, nothing catching his eye. 

The shaggy blonde’s attention is suddenly pulled away from his perusal when he looks over to the man behind the counter and the older lady that’s holding out something to him. He’s only a few feet away but the delicate features of the solitaire diamond ring scream out to him. 

The older black woman feels the shaggy blonde’s stare, she turns, studying his face as his focus continues to stay on the ring in her hand. There’s one thing she’s learned in her 70 years of life and that’s the look of a man in love, but not just any love, a love that’s all consuming. 

He’s pulled out of his trance, realizing that the two have stopped their conversation completely and the woman’s gaze is now on him. “I don’t mean to stare its just...”

“No need to apologize, I recognize that look on your face. Reminds me of my Henry.”

He flashes her sad smile, knowing just by the reverence in her voice that she’s talking about him in the past tense. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He was my first love...my only love. Some people don’t get that in life, we were lucky.”

“I know what you mean.”

Something in the way he drifts off for a minute with a dreamy gaze makes her consider her ring and the love she hopes it will be a part of again. “Tell me your story.”

Never missing the chance to talk about his girl, Deeks feels his lips pull into an automatic smile. “I met Kensi when I was 11 years old. My mom and I were in a bad situation at home and her family took us in. That first night we were there I had a flashback of sorts, as I was sitting there paralyzed in fear, she wrapped her arms around me and some part of me knew that I was finally home.” Shaking his head, he thinks about how easy it is for him to tell this woman with deep brown eyes full of understanding how much his best friend means to him. “I know its crazy, she was 8 years old, I was 11, but it made sense in my mind. Growing up we were inseparable, still are. We experienced so many life changing moments together and apart, but no matter what we were there for the other. She’s my person...the person I go to for everything, no matter how big or small it may be. I’ve always felt like I’m my most true and authentic self around her and she around me. We’re just synced. A few weeks ago we finally realized what everyone else around us saw from the start, we’re in love. It’s been 20 years and she still makes me feel like that safe little 11 year old boy. I didn’t see any point in waiting any longer, so I proposed to her a few days ago.”

The older woman takes a look around the store, expecting to see the young woman since he’s already proposed, she’d imagine they’d want to pick out the ring together. “Where is she?”

He feels the heat rise to his cheeks, a little embarrassed. “Well, she hasn’t said yes yet. My Kensi’s a thinker, she likes to look at a situation from all views.”

“But you’re still looking for a ring?”

“Yeah, because I know that she’ll be ready one day and when that day comes I want to give her something special with meaning behind it. I’ve been looking everywhere for the perfect ring and I was losing all hope until-“

“You saw mine.”

He smiles hopefully as she finishes his sentence. “Yes, ma’am.”

Without hesitation, she extends the delicate piece of jewelry towards him.

He hesitantly reaches for it, looking to her for confirmation. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. This ring deserves to continue being a representation of our kind of love. It represented mine and Henry’s for 50 years and now its for you and Kensi.”

“It’s so beautiful, I’m sure you could get so much more for it than what I have.”

“How much do you have, son?”

“Four thousand.”

It’s not about the money for her really and that’s when the idea strikes her. “I think we can make that work, but on one condition.”

It takes everything in him not to wrap the woman up in a bear hug. “Anything.”

“You let me meet this woman of yours.”

Nodding his head, he can’t agree fast enough. He thinks about his love and how sentimental she is, especially when it comes to their relationship. She’ll definitely want to meet that’s given them something so special. “I’d like that...we both would.”

••••

The next day at work its as if the universe is helping him out when the death of a marine who had suddenly come into a lot of money lands on their front door step. Of course its tragic but the shaggy blonde can’t help smile at the opportunity this case is bringing him. 

Once the two pair of partners return from their respective assignments they gather in the bullpen, trying to figure out the different angels that could’ve resulted in the marine’s untimely demise. 

“Maybe he was here to spend it.” Kensi speaks up, snowballing off of Callen’s statement about leaving behind a paper trail. 

Sam’s eyebrows raise, nodding his head at the strong possibility that she may be right. “Corporal Peterson said he was thinking about getting married.”

“An engagement ring from Tiffany’s?” Deeks questions, knowing Corporal Porter had a serious girlfriend and it would be logical he’d be hunting for a spectacular ring now that money wasn’t really an issue. 

The brunette locks eyes with her partner, flashing him a small grin. “You have no idea what that little blue box means to a girl.”

He smirks, thinking about the small delicate ring that’s in the black satin bag tucked in his wallet between a photo of them and Marg’s information. One of the main reasons he went in search at an antique shop is because he remembers the gaudy diamond ring Jack had proposed to her with and how it screamed the opposite of what his best friend was. That should’ve set off warning bells from the get go, because if there’s one thing Kensi Blye is not, its flashy. His girl isn’t one for bling and he knows the story behind the ring he bought will mean more to her than any content of a little blue box could. “Oh, but I do.”

••••

She’s been feeling him stare at her on and off all day...well more than usual. It’s when they’re walking towards the home goods store to question Porter’s girlfriend that she’s finally it. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

His brow furrows at her accusatory tone, shrugging his shoulders. “What, a guy can’t look at his fiancée?”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“Didn’t you?” He smirks, knowing good and well that they’re as good as engaged. 

She shakes her head. He’s right, but there’s no reason for her to voice that, not that there’s really time to before they’re already at the front of the store.

As her partner goes off to distract Diane’s manager, Kensi’s able to question the blonde without interruption. It’s when the young woman talks about she and Porter picking out rings that she suddenly feels a strange kinship with her. 

When Jack had proposed to her all those years ago she hadn’t really thought about how gaudy and so unlike her that the ring truly was. It wasn’t until he was off in Afghanistan that she would catch herself staring at the large diamond thinking that it didn’t belong there. Everything was different with him, she realizes that now that her rose colored glasses are off. 

She’s been having these moments ever since Marty proposed, finding herself imagining what kind of ring he’d give her. He loves her like no other, he knows she’s not into blingy things. It makes her smile when she remembers all the times he’s seen women with large diamond rings and spouting off something about someone overcompensating. She’d laugh and that would make him laugh, and in turn they’d get stares from strangers making them laugh even harder. Never in her life has someone made her laugh the way Marty Deeks has. 

Kensi’s focus goes back to the woman standing in front of her, against her own will the image of their roles reversed comes to the forefront of her mind. What if it was Marty that had been killed? The answer brings a gut wrenching ache over her. 

••••

The jewelry store op had been a bust. As soon as the man behind the counter got a glimpse of Kensi’s bracelet the air shifted and they were immediately asked to leave. It may have not turned out like they planned but Deeks can’t help but love the fact he and his partner got to deceive their coworkers once again by “posing” as a couple. Kensi didn’t seem too keen on showing affection however, especially when Sam and Callen were just outside. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when the sharp point of her heel lands directly into the top of his foot.

So now here they sit in the bullpen, in silence, trying to figure out the team’s next move. He took over Callen’s chair so they could work more closely but neither have come up with any links to their victim in the myriad of old case files piled on each desk. 

The shaggy blonde takes a look next to him, smiling at the pout that’s displayed on his girlfriend’s face. She hasn’t spoken a word in the past 30 minutes which is kind of worrisome. Afraid that he pushed to far by calling her his fiancée, he speaks up in hopes that she’ll respond. “Are you mad at me?”

“Dogs go mad. People...people get angry.”

The spark in her mismatched orbs makes him want to forget this nonsense and kiss her right then and there, but he quickly remembers the terms of their bet and knowing Callen isn’t anywhere around, he continues this little charade...for now. “Is this about the jewelry store? Listen, I was just trying to sell the fact that we were a couple.”

“Yeah, whatever. Like anybody would believe that we’re a couple.”

He has to hold back a laugh at her words because ever since middle school that’s all people thought they were. “You’re right. You are so not my type.”

••••

It takes longer than any of them anticipated but eventually Porter’s killer is caught. As Hetty congratulates them on a job well done, she hands Kensi a small ring box. The contents of said box are a delicate simple ring much like Diane had described. 

She thinks back to the woman and her heart aches for the loss that she’ll never get over. The life that she’ll never get to experience with the man who she loved. She’s drawn out of her thoughts at the distinct laughter of her love filling the room. Looking across to Hetty’s office she watches as he exchanges some verbiage with Sam making Callen laugh and she could swear there’s a hint of a smile on the Operation Manager’s face. It’s then she realizes that she wants to accept Marty’s proposal. Who the hell cares that they’ve only been dating for a few weeks. They’ve known each other their whole lives and she doesn’t ever want to live without him. There’s just one thing she has to do first.

Taking out her phone, she presses call on the newly added number “Diane, hey, Special Agent Kensi Blye, NCIS. I was wondering if I could drop by. I have something that Tom left for you.”

••••

Deeks watched from the passenger seat of the SRX as his partner handed over the small box to Diane. As she pried it open, tears immediately sprang to the woman’s eyes and before either knew it her arms were wrapped around the junior agent in a giant bear hug. It suddenly made him think about what if he were the one that died, leaving Kensi all alone. The thought alone breaks his heart in two.

A few minutes later the pair bid their farewells and part ways. He’s surprised a little at the look in her eyes, its not one of sadness but there’s something else, something he’s not sure how to describe. 

The shaggy blonde is so focused on his girlfriend that he doesn’t realize she misses the turn towards his apartment, instead she keeps going for a few minutes until she hits the Santa Monica exit. A few minutes later they’re back in the same spot at the overlook where they were just a week ago. 

“What are we doing here?”

She turns towards him, that unrecognizable look still swirling in her mismatched eyes. “Well, I’ve been thinking.”

[everybodyscupoftea]

keeping a secret

pike jj x reader (ft. cody and tyler)

family secret santa in which the boys can’t keep a secret

this made my heart soft btw so y’all are going to melt

(warnings: cursing, light editing)

Secret Santa never worked the way it was supposed to. The four of you drew names the weekend after Thanksgiving, and when you got together to exchange gifts, you had pretty much figured out who had who.

“There’s a forfeit this year,” you interrupted their excited chatter, clutching Cody’s name in your hand, “if I find out who everyone has before we open gifts because of y’all’s dumbasses, you all have to buy me a gift.”

Tyler scoffed, “How is it our fault, maybe you’re just nosy.”

You raised your eyebrows, “So last year you didn’t borrow my chapstick and accidentally slide your slip of paper back into my pocket with the chapstick? And then JJ didn’t literally try and buy my gift while I was in the same room?”

Cody snorted, “She may have a point.”

“Yeah, I have a point. Y’all are sucking the fun out of it, so please, keep it a secret for fuck’s sake.”

“Mhmm, sure. Um, J, what were you wanting for Christmas this year?” Cody asked, grinning at you.

“I’m going to kill you,” you threatened, flipping him off, before pulling your phone out, “everyone send what they want in the group chat.”

You watched Cody’s message roll in and had to hold back a scoff at a date please.

“Cody, you’re being difficult,” Tyler complained.

“Fine,” he huffed and sent something else.

Idk kitchen shit i guess

Now that you could work with.

-

“You know,” JJ mused from where he was lying on your bed, “I think that you have me.”

“Pardon?” you asked.

“What’d you get me for Christmas, I know you have me for Secret Santa.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “I’m not going to ask how you came to that conclusion, but I want to make it absolutely clear that if you try and ruin Secret Santa again, I will kill you.”

“You won’t,” he answered, confidently, “but I know because Tyler obviously has Cody after the text thing. And I have-” you lunged across the bed to clap your hand over his mouth.

“Maybank, I thought I was clear.”

He smirked and licked your palm until you jerked your hand back, JJ answered, innocent tone of voice, “I was just going to say that I have someone other than myself.”

“Sure you were.”

As you moved to stand, he frowned, grabbing your wrist, “I promise I’ll drop it. Can we study?”

“That’s what you’re here for.”

-

Wanna go to the mall this afternoon

Came onto your phone in the middle of your class, and you sighed, reminding yourself to respond to Tyler once the lesson was finished. Your professor let the class out early, and you responded, walking toward your apartment.

Yeah sure. What time?

Now. I’ll pick you up at your apartment

Okay I’m not quite there yet

I know. I’m sitting outside

You snorted, not even remotely surprised. He was parked right outside your building, looking down at his phone, and you ducked, sneaking around the front of his truck before popping up and tapping on the driver’s window.

He jumped high enough that his head slammed into the roof and screamed so loud and high pitched that even you flinched. Tyler grabbed his chest and glared at you, flipping you off.

Laughing, you ran around the truck and climbed into the passenger seat and asked, “What’s up, creep?”

“Nothing much, asshole.”

“To the mall?” you said, buckling up.

“Yeah, gotta get my Secret Santa gift.” You gave him a look, and he glanced over at you at a red light, “What?”

“Ty, baby, please tell me you’re not bringing me to spoil Secret Santa.”

“I’m,” he paused, “not?”

“Uh huh. Well, I hope you’re buying one for me too, that’s the deal.”

“How do you know I’m not getting one for you in the first place.”

“Tyler,” you warned, “I swear to god.”

“Darling,” he answered, “I’m not religious.”

You groaned, “I’m going to kill you before your driving does.”

-

“I need help,” Cody told you, sitting down with a dramatic frown.

“With what?” you tossed your notebook aside to give him your full attention.

He smiled sheepishly, “Can you wrap my gift for me?”

“What?”

“I know you’re joking. Did the three of you plan this? You’ve all done this.”

“Done what?”

“Tried to ruin it for me.”

“Nope, it’s honestly coincidental and absolutely hilarious.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not helping you.”

“Fine,” he pouted, “I guess that my person will be very disappointed, don’t want to upset-” and before he could answer, you kicked out and hit his thigh hard.

“Cody, you’re going to make me do something drastic.”

He smirked, “Oh yeah, like what?”

“I’m going to spoil it for you. I know how much you love Christmas.”

Cody looked conflicted, “Damn, you’ve kinda got me there.”

“Wrap your own damn gifts.”

-

You showed up to the frat house in your pajamas, ready to exchange gifts. Cody was in the kitchen, finishing up some snacks for the group, and you leaned against the counter, “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”

“Excited for today?”

He beamed, “Of course.”

Tyler stumbled into the kitchen rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and you gaped at him, “Bro, it’s 2 p.m.”

He yawned, scratching his stomach, “I’m catching up on sleep.”

“From what?”

“Life, bro. It’s exhausting being alive.”

Which, fucking true. You held your fist out for him to bump, “Feel that.”

“Nap later,” he suggested and you nodded.

JJ came down the stairs next and tilted your chin up to kiss you hello, tapping his fingers on your jaw a few times before pulling back.

Tyler made a gagging noise and reached for a mug of coffee Cody poured. JJ rolled his eyes, “Don’t be bitter.”

“Can we just open gifts?” Tyler whined.

You laughed and nodded, “Yes, let’s take a seat, shall we?”

Cody looked at you warily, “Why the tone?”

“Tone?” you asked, faking innocence.

JJ side eyed you, “You know?”

“I know.”

Tyler groaned, “Literally how? Who blabbed?”

“Cody did. He drunk texted me asking what JJ wanted.”

He smiled sheepishly, “I have zero recollection.”

“Okay but how did you figure out the rest?” Tyler interrupted.

“You have me, we didn’t buy anything at the mall that time we went, but you followed me around all afternoon, trying to figure out what I was interested in.” Tyler narrowed his eyes, “That obvious, huh?”

“It was. Which means JJ has you because I have Cody.”

Pushing himself back, JJ laughed, “Got it in one.”

You crossed your arms, “So I will be accepting gifts from JJ and Cody in the near future, thanks.”

Cody sighed, “We figured you’d find out, so we actually already ordered them, just not in yet.”

“Oh my god,” Tyler muttered, “y’all are awful.”

“Hey,” Cody pointed at him accusatory, “just because you weren’t at fault doesn’t mean you get to take a moral high ground, you’re the one who ruined it last year.”

“Yeah,” JJ added on, “I’m the only one who gets to take it.”

“You ruined it the first year,” you reminded him, “well, Brooke did I guess. She texted me asking why the fuck you were spending more money on my gift than hers.”

Tyler choked on his coffee, “What?!”

JJ’s jaw dropped, and you suddenly realized you’d never told any of them about it. They all stared at you, waiting for a response, “Yeah, she was mad I guess.”

“Jesus Christ,” JJ muttered.

Cody laughed, “God she was the fucking worst. That’s why your gift was cheap sweetheart.”

After a few more seconds of laughter, JJ finally interrupted, “Okay, we should actually exchange gifts.”

“Right, so, I had Cody,” you started, passing over your gift.

He tore into it and pulled out the apron that said plant mom in a script font with plants scattered randomly all over the front. He snorted, “This is fucking fantastic.

“Thank you,” you beamed, “but there’s actually more, so don’t get stuck on the apron.”

Cody pulled out a set of hockey tickets, two for the upcoming Hurricanes Leafs matchup and gasped, “Dude, oh my god, I’m going to kiss you right now.”

Laughing, you puckered your lips, “Any time, baby.”

JJ chuckled, “Mr. Steal My Girl, huh?”

“Maybank, she’d leave you in a fucking heartbeat for a Leafs player, we both know that. I’m not quite as great, but I’m close,” Cody fired back, softening it by sliding his gift for JJ across the table. 

Picking it up, JJ shook it a few times before digging through the bag. He made a weird face and pulled out a pair of boxers. His jaw dropped and Cody was very clearly holding in laughter.

“What is it?” Tyler asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Wordlessly, he held them up and flipped them around so everyone could see daddy issues written across the ass in pink writing.

You and Tyler busted out laughing as Cody sat, arms crossed looking smug. JJ was clearly unsure how to feel, close to laughing, until Cody took pity, “Don’t worry, bro, there’s more in the bag.”

Sure enough, JJ pulled out a new wallet, one he’d been eyeing for months but hadn’t pulled the trigger on because it was a bit out of budget. Smiling softly at Cody, he told him, “Thanks bro, love you.”

“Love you too, J.”

“No sappy hours early,” Tyler interrupted, “give me my gift.”

“It’s 2 p.m.,” JJ muttered but passed the box over to Tyler anyway.

He tore into it and JJ jolted forward, “Dude, it’s breakable, chill.”

Inside was a nice tea set and a box of fancy teas. Tyler blinked a few times, in awe of the contents, “Woah.”

“I know you like tea more than coffee, and we never have any here, so I figured I’d set you up.”

“I-” Tyler cut himself off, “wow, this is really thoughtful. Thanks buddy.”

“Anytime. I’ll tell you where I ordered them too so if you like one you can order more. I kinda just got a starter pack.”

“Yeah, that would be sick.”

JJ squeezed his shoulder and Tyler cleared his throat, passing a small bag across the table. You picked it up, curious, and pulled the tissue paper out. After looking, you let out a loud laugh, “Great minds, huh?”

“Great minds,” Tyler nodded, folding his hands.

“What is it?” JJ asked, leaning over.

“Leafs tickets. Two of them.”

“Well,” Cody said, “guess we can all go now. Sitting in different places, but we can make a trip of it.”

Tyler lit up, “I didn’t even think about that!”

“Boys night,” Cody cheered.

“Fuck yes,” you agreed, clutching the tickets to your chest.

“Oh,” Tyler leaned forward, “there’s something else, but it’s in my room, be right back.”

He disappeared up the stairs, and JJ stood to grab his wallet to start switching everything over. Cody looked pleased, and Tyler came running back down a few seconds later with a box in his hand.

“This too,” he huffed out, collapsing back into the chair.

“You’re going to break that one day,” you warned him, tearing into the wrapping paper. Inside was the pair of running shoes you’d talked about the day you went to the mall with him and you smiled, “Thanks, bud.”

“Mall trip successful,” he responded, taking the last sip of his coffee before standing again, “who wants tea?”

“Me,” you answered, standing with him while Cody started pulling out plates for the snacks he’d made. 

In the loudness of everyone talking over each other, you just had to smile. Sure it was chaotic, but it was your family, and you loved them all dearly.

“Oh,” you remembered, “Cody and JJ I expect my gifts on Christmas Eve, thanks.”

Cody groaned and JJ squeezed his shoulder, “You have no one to blame but yourself.”

~

for day nine of @obxmermaid​‘s holiday challenge: secret santa

[wyofabdoms]

Undercover I Do - Chapter 5

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, hospitalization, blood and injury, swearing, awkward Javi, unrequited feels, mentions of sex toys, feelings, pining, 

Word Count: 3132

Notes: You're released from the hospital, and Javi sets up house. While doing so, he stumbles across a couple of things that make him feel all kinds of ways!

Read on Ao3

You were released from the hospital two days later under the stipulation that you were to rest and were not to return to any kind of active field duty until fully cleared by the doctor and his medical team.  Over the course of those two days, some of your memories had seeped back in, like figures appearing through thick fog and slowly taking form and shape.  But, it seemed to you, not any of the really important ones were returning.  You remembered now some specific events from the last two years of your time as an agent: big busts you had made, critical incidents that had ended badly for your agency, colleagues that had been lost in the line of duty.  You had been able to recall many details of your work against the worst of the drug cartels in Colombia from the last two years and even further back...but most memories of things from the past three or four weeks were still a grey void with nothing in them, not even shadows to hint at memories waiting there in the fog.

You were rarely alone at the hospital: if Dixon was not sitting at your bedside, then Javi was there in her place. Between the two of them, you had managed to scrape together some large pieces that were missing about your relationships: you had worked with Dixon earlier in your career in San Diego and when she had risen in ranks and earned a seat down here in the thick of things, she had brought you along with her.  You had the feeling that she viewed you as a bit of a protege and you felt confident that the memories you had of her support and backing of you were true.  Memories about your relationship with Javi proved to be a bit more difficult to get confirmation on.  While both Dixon and Javi were very willing to discuss and confirm anything you asked about your mentor, when you inquired or asked for clarification on your history with your husband, both agents seemed to hesitate for a moment before answering you.  Dixon was more guarded than Javi and the older woman would often change the subject as quickly as she could when you asked her about your husband.  You got a distinct sense that she did not approve of your marriage to the man you had been partnered with during your time here.

You remembered that was how you had met Javi; you had been assigned as his partner.  You remembered the earliest days of working with him: how he had flirted with you and you had rebuffed him, how there had been moments when your partnership had skated the line of something more.  But it was only the older memories that seemed to come clearly to you...the closer to present day you came, the emptier your memories became.  You had tried to remember when exactly your relationship with Javi had made the jump from work partner to life partner.  When and how had the two of you told each other how you felt?  And you had zero memories of a proposal, a wedding....no memories at all of how it felt to touch and be touched by the handsome man who spent hours sitting in comfortable silence next to your bed. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask him questions about those things...not yet.

Surprisingly, Dixon was the one who escorted you when you were released.  After the older woman saw you carefully buckled into the passenger seat of the car, you inquired as to why Javi wasn’t the one driving you home.  Dixon’s eye flickered behind her dark sunglasses, and she mumbled something about him getting your apartment ready for you. She assured you that he would be waiting at your home when you got there.

Your home.  For a moment, your stomach sank, thinking about how you would be going back to a place that was foreign to you but was supposed to be a safe haven, a refuge, the home you shared with a husband you were supposed to be in love with.  Would you remember any of it?  Would anything that you found there help jog anything loose in your memory?

You could only hope.

***

“Fuck!”

Javi growled as he struggled to keep a box from teetering off the pile of other boxes that it was precariously stacked on.  His hands were full of his clothes on hangers, halfway between the box he had just removed them from and the clothing pole in the closet.  He had been struggling most of the morning with lugging half of his possessions down the two flights of stairs of their shared apartment building and trying to make it appear as though he had lived in this apartment for longer than a few hours.  Both he and Dixon had agreed it would be best for her to return to familiar surroundings...but they still needed to keep up the premise that the two of you shared a life together.

Javi had never given much thought to domesticity.  The closest he had ever come was Lorraine...and the brief moment of introspection he had had when he had seen her those several years ago at that wedding.  Thoughts had crossed his mind then: what would it be like to have a wife, to wear a ring on his finger, to have promised himself to someone forever?  To have a future that was shared with another person?  To make important decisions with another person and not just on your own?  To have 2.5 kids and a house?  But he hadn’t spent too much time dwelling on it simply because none of that was really who Javi was, was completely unimaginable to him.  He had never once really thought that sort of life would ever be one he would want, much less be able to live.  And, quite honestly, he wasn’t all that sure that that kind of life was one that he deserved.

Now, it seemed, life was playing a little gag on him: turns out maybe there WAS a way for him to see if married life was for him...although he did hate the fact that his partner had had to be injured in the process.  

One thing he was certain of at the moment, though: if getting married and divvying up and combining possessions was as big a pain in the ass for real as it was for this farce?...Well, that was a strike against matrimony in his opinion.

At first he had merely grabbed a small duffle bag full of items; things he thought he might leave at a woman’s house if he was spending the night or a weekend: a change of clothes, toiletries, firearm.  But when he had let himself into her apartment two floors below his in their building, it had struck him that that wasn’t going to be good enough. 

Her apartment was lived in.  Unlike his own, which he realized now seemed a little sterile and cold, her’s was warm and (though not a word he often used in his vocabulary) cozy.  She had artwork on the walls, shelves full of books from all different genres...even a few board games and some well-worn records on the record player stand. He spotted a rolled up yoga mat under a bench beneath the window and a couple of handwritten recipes and smiling photos tucked under bright magnets on the refrigerator. Her bedroom smelled of lavender and soft vanilla; the bed was neatly made (again, unlike his own) and dirty clothes resided in a hamper rather than tossed carelessly into a corner. The spare room that served as an office housed neatly organized work related content and photo albums of people from home, holiday decorations stashed under the guest bed; her closet had her clothes neatly organized (by color, who knew!?). He had quickly come to the conclusion that he might need to put a bit more effort into this charade.

So he had proceeded to spend the next several hours being swept into a whirlwind of imagining what a shared space would look like if the two of them were actually married.  He had started with the few books he had in his own apartment; a few biographies, some car magazines and a ratty copy of “The Art of War” and “The Hobbit”.  He had jammed them onto the neat bookshelves in her living room before returning quickly with some of his own records: some Cumbia records and an Eagles album, which he shuffled in with her own Steely Dan, Creedence Clearwater and Three Dog Night. 

He didn’t have much to contribute to the kitchen besides a few bottles of whiskey and a bottle of tequila next to her own bottles of red wine.  He had pulled a photo taken when he graduated from high school from his wallet and placed it on the fridge next to one of her with her huge family.  He paused a moment to assess the contrast in the two pictures: her in the midst of her five older brothers and parents, all wearing matching Christmas sweaters...him standing bashfully and stiffly next to his dad, who grinned proudly at the camera, one arm awkwardly slung over a teenage Javi’s shoulder.  The bathroom didn’t take long, either.  He added his razor, a bottle of Old Spice, and his toothbrush and comb; he glanced into the medicine cabinet as he placed his deodorant there and eyed what looked suspiciously like a package of prescription birth control...his mind started to wander and he slammed the cabinet door shut, heading back upstairs to his apartment for another load.  

He had strong-armed his clothes still on the hangers into some file boxes to make them easier to carry down the stairs, then had hauled shoes, underthings, suits, jeans, and (what he had not really realized until this moment) a ridiculous amount of the same style shirt in different colors downstairs and was now trying to wedge them into one half of her closet, trying to make it look like they had been there for a while and doing his best to not become buried by the haphazardly stacked boxes.  Once the last set of shoes was stuffed into the closet next to a pair of sky high red heels he had never seen her wear before, (he was CERTAIN he would have remembered those) he opened the dresser to shove his socks and underwear into a drawer and gulped. Staring back at him was a drawer full of his partner’s bras and panties.  

For a moment he felt like a creep pawing through her underwear drawer, but he steeled himself and carefully nudged the sensible pieces of cotton material to one side of the drawer.  As the material shifted, he spotted a brief flash of red lace and something that could be black and leather, but he refused to investigate any further; he could feel his face flushing and his heart pounding harder.  He dumped his own underwear into the drawer and shoved it closed, sighing with relief and opening the next one; socks wouldn’t cause his mind to wander into dangerous territory nearly as badly!  He carefully shoved the rolls of clothing to the side to make room for his own once again and felt his hand hit something.  His breath hitched as he uncovered what was very obviously a vibrator.  Next to it was a tube of lube and a small box about the size of a deck of cards.  Try as he might, he could not stop himself from carefully tilting open the lid of the box...Javi was quite educated when it came to knowing his way around a woman, but he was clueless as to the purpose or use of the two small colored balls nestled into the velvet inside of the box...although he was pretty sure he at least knew where they were supposed to go.  

His mind clouded with images of his partner stretched out on the bed behind him, bringing herself to orgasm using these items and he felt himself harden in his jeans.  He let out a puff of air and carefully nudged the items to the other side of the drawer, reburying them beneath the socks as they had been before.  He piled in his own footwear, then shakily closed the drawer, still trying to blink away the images playing out in his mind.  He wondered what her face would look like as she came apart.  What did she sound like?  Did she cry out when she reached her peak?  What would his name sound like tumbling from her lips in the middle of her climax, what would she taste like…?

He stormed out of the bedroom, furious at himself for going down that path.  He felt like a pervert, getting so turned on after snooping through her personal effects.  He was angry at Dixon for insisting that they do this; but he was frustrated at himself, more.  He shouldn’t be going through her things like this.  He splashed some cold water on his face from the kitchen sink and trudged back up to his own apartment, pacing for a while once he got there, trying to both ease his erection as well as determine what else he should bring with him back to her apartment.  His eyes settled on the shoulder case that had been retrieved from the house that had been used in the undercover operation.  He pulled out the two framed photographs that had been next to “their” bed; the photos that she had referenced when she had first woken up.  He stared at them, thinking that if he hadn’t been present at the time they had been taken, he would have believed they were real, too...that they were actual photographs of two people madly in love with each other.  

Maybe…

No.  He stuck both pictures under his arms, grabbed another box filled with work files, tossed his favorite ashtray and lighter in the box along with one or two small tchotkes, a couple of coasters and a small plastic plant from the window sill, and made one more trip down the stairs.  He dispersed the items randomly throughout her apartment, thinking to himself that it at least gave a more unified image of two different people existing within the same space.  

He hauled the box of paperwork into her second bedroom converted into an office space and plopped it down on the desk, taking one or two folders and strewing them about the top of the desk, again in stark contrast to her own organized, neat piles.  It started to reflect their separate desks at work now, which he found convincing.  He sat in the desk chair for a minute and quickly shuffled through the small desk drawers, double checking for anything glaring that might be difficult to explain.  As he opened the bottom drawer, his eye caught a blue leather bound notebook.  Flipping through it, he saw pages and pages of writing in his partner’s familiar handwriting.  As he thumbed through, he was startled to spot his name on one page.  He carefully flipped back, scanning the writing and was surprised to find that it actually appeared quite often.  He turned a page and began reading from the beginning:

“Everything sometimes feels so incredibly heavy here.  The job, the humidity, the pressure of being a woman in this man’s arena.  I hate it!  I hate that I have to be strong all the damn time.  I hate that it feels like I can’t seek the same comforts as other women...even if I have insisted that it be this way.  I’m so grateful and proud of myself...most of the time...like 95.5% of the time.  The other times, I just wish I could let myself cry when something heartbreaking happens.  When someone says something scathing that hurts my feelings at work.  When I watch Javi go off to sleep with yet another woman.

Javi.  That feels so heavy all of the time, too.  I can’t seem to ever level myself out when it comes to him.  Some days he drives me absolutely insane and I want nothing more than to bash his face in with a paperweight.  Other days, I just want him to put his arms around me and hold me.  Not do anything or say anything, just hold me tight…because he is, truthfully, the only single person that I trust.  

And yet, am I fooling myself in saying that...in saying that I trust him?  Because do I really?  If I really trusted him, why don’t I just go to him?  He only lives two floors up.  Why can’t I knock on his door and fling myself into his arms and kiss him and feel what it’s like to press my body against his?  Why can’t I bring myself to do that?  Well...probably because I don’t really ACTUALLY trust him...not with that part of myself.  Javi is the man I want having my back in a shootout...but is he the man I want to be next to me every night when I fall asleep and every morning when I wake up?  I dream about him sometimes...about him being in my bed with me, but we’re usually not sleeping...we’re doing everything but.  I dream about it and then I wake up feeling empty because he’s not there, because it wasn’t real.  The emptiness is heavy, too...”

Javi clapped the journal shut, feeling his stomach churn.  He shouldn’t have read that and guilt thrummed through him.  These were her private thoughts; never meant for anyone else but her to read.  Once again he felt like an intruder and he loathed himself...Dixon...that asshole Ortiz...for putting both of them in this situation.  He dragged a hand over his face, growling low in his throat.  He looked down at the box at his feet, still open with a few files and the two photographs staring back up at him.  He reached in and took out one framed picture, sitting it upright on the desk: the “engagement” photo.  He took the “wedding” picture out and then tossed the journal into the box, carrying both items from the home office.  He carefully set up the photo on a bookshelf in the living room, then put the lid back on the box and headed back up the stairs to drop the box off in his apartment and lock up.  Before he left, though, he made sure to slip the freshly cleaned gold band onto his left ring finger.

His wife would be coming home any minute now.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8,  Chapter 9, Chapter 10,  Chapter 11,  Chapter 12,  Chapter 13

[british-bombs]

( TO BEAT THE DEVIL ) An introduction.

FORMAT: teleplay / novel

GENRE: horror, coming of age

LOGLINE: An interning demon drives a pair of twins cursed with obedience and honesty to kill their cult leader.

THEMES: Trauma, sexual abuse, domestic violence, victim blaming (particularly self blame), peer pressure, redemption, internalized homophobia, and religion.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Sexual abuse, violence, domestic and otherwise, manipulation, and death

EXTENDED SUMMARY, CHARACTERS, EXCERPT AND NOTES:

Carmine can taste it. They're hiding something. Humans have such a silly smell about them, turns an overwhelming shade of sweet when they've made a demonic deal. All four of these children have. He just can't figure out what, and more importantly: why.

It keeps him on the surface longer than he should be. Long enough that Lilith sees it fit to send him a fucking trainee? And if that wasn't insult enough, the trainees one of the eternal teenage know-it-alls.

He's already got four annoying toddlers to trail, and now there's one tugging his hand in the new generation's approach to soul-catching like Carmine isn't one of the best employees they've had since the turn of the century.

And somehow, to make it all worse, the trainee is good at it. And if Carmine wants to keep his spot at the top of the food chain, he's going to have to get the soul of that dumb bitch who's running the joint.

But, of course, the kid gets him murdered??? And then has the nerve to figure out how what those toddlers managed to stick their syrupy, grubby little hands in. What gives?

But two can play at that game. If he can't get the dead guy's, then he can have the next best thing.

Jesse has lived just under seventeen years, but he's ready to check out. Or he was. But of course, some selfish bastard had to come along and say you can't ever act on those thoughts again! Don't think like that!

And then the hole kept getting deeper.

Six feet deep, to be exact. He's got blood on his hands and no matter how fucking good it felt to cut off the air supply to the God who stole his innocence, it's probably not going to feel very good to watch his mom suffer through a highly publicized trial with headlines like CHILD MURDERS HIGH PROFILE BENEFACTOR!!!

Oh. Well. Billy did say if he really got in that deep, he could always strike up a deal. His soul, everything wrapped up in a nice little bow, sweet as Easter Sunday. But until then? Yeah, he's content to live in a stupid fucking Sherlock Holmes novel.

CHARACTERS:

JESSE NIX: A soon-to-be seventeen-year-old saddled with the curse of obedience. Unlike miss-lucky-Ella-Enchanted, he wasn't told to give away his mommy's locket. No-siree. He was told to give away his virginity. In his opinion, the only appropriate payback is a life. Maybe, one day, if he really snaps, he'll dig up Pastor Dallin's corpse and chop his dick off. Really stick it to the man. If he doesn't go to prison first, anyway. (spotify playlist)

NANCY NIX: Also a soon-to-be-seventeen-year-old, though saddled with the curse of honesty. It's really not so bad. That is, until she stumbles across the sight of her dearest little brother covered in blood for no reason he can push through his metal braces. She refuses to believe he did it on purpose. If only she could convince the cops without sounding like a nutjob. (spotify playlist)

BEVERLY PINES: A seventeen-year-old cursed to feel the pain of those around her. It makes for some fun family dinners with a sadistic mom and a missing dad. Distance nulls pain, but she can't ever seem to make it past state lines before her mom gets wise and breaks one of her ribs. Oh, well. She's got a bone to pick with psychos like her mom. Apparently, Pastor Dallin was one of them. She doesn't think she could stomach the pain of killing someone, so next best thing, right? (spotify playlist)

CLARICE ANDERMANN: Also a seventeen-year-old cursed to be constantly in motion. It's honestly not that bad. She's Yale bound! Perks of having endless energy for everything to cheerleading to debate contests, though she can't imagine her heart's going to keep up like this. It's already hanging on by a thread. That thread is named Beverly Pines and like hell she's letting it go to prison for nothing. (spotify playlist)

BILLY: An annoying fuck trapped in a seventeen-year-old's body. No curses. The opposite, in fact - blessed with a silver tongue and a keen sense of deduction. It takes him all of two hours to put together (almost) everything about Jesse Nix. He just didn't think he could push the repressed little fuck to murder that quick. (All the more power to him, though. Prison always makes people desperate and paranoid, AKA: an easy mark.) (spotify playlist)

MAVIS EVANGELISTA: Former housewife turned grieving widow turned revered prophet. If she got a little help from someone downstairs, then who's to know? They love her all the same. Now, she really, really wants to see how far she can push them all. (spotify playlist)

CARMINE: Just a helpful guy, passing through. Really doesn't need anything, just a little pledge, is all! And then? Then, you can have everything you want, fame, money, power, love. The sky is your limit. The water's fine! (Ignore the piranhas, they'll wait till you're dead to eat your face, just a little bit.) (spotify playlist)

NOTES:

- all of these characters have equal importance within the story.

- personal tag system for story stuff is '#tbtd' and character tags are just first name (ex: '#jesse')

- this is kind of really fucked up. the only reason i wrote it was cause i was thinking damn ella enchanted really is NOT fucked up enough. like i don't think the author of ella enchanted went dark enough. a locket? that's it? a bitch move. i'm taking it to straight murder and sexual abuse

- jesse transgender, no character straight except evil people

- i'm not entirely sure how tag lists work but i think i get the gist of them?? idk if you want rb or ask or something </3

EXCERPT:

There were moments, where she was reminded just how different this voice was, how violent.

She had found Lynette, making off with her makeup that she’d spent her own allowance on. Mavis doted on her and, from what she’d seen of other families, everyone else looked upon their little siblings with contempt, despising the burden they dragged along with their existence.

But Mavis adored Lyn. When she'd been born, her mother had come home with a tiny thing bundled in pink fleece. Mavis had taken to Lyn on sight, thinking Lynette’s headband adorned with a baby blue bow was the universe’s way of telling her happy birthday! as reparations for the ones her mother had missed while she was enduring her week long stay at the hospital.

But that mindset was a disease, one that had finally caught up with her. Had Lynette not become her burden? She was nineteen, busting her back day and night so Lynette wouldn’t have to, that she might avoid the life that Mavis had lived in those blissful six years where it was her and her alone.

Had her mother not tampered down her birthday celebrations since Lynette’s was so very close and they couldn’t afford double anyway? Had Lynette not deprived her of the teenage experiences she heard her classmates speak of, going out and tasting alcohol for the first time while Mavis followed a ten year old Lynette house to house so she could complain of a stomach ache after she’d devoured all the candy on the walk back home?

And now this! Stealing her few precious items, the few things she bothered to save up for, few things she bothered to keep hidden. For what? It wasn’t as though she was ever going to have the courage to ask a peer of her’s out. She was a thief.

One Mavis had made the mistake of taking care of. She should’ve embraced those stirrings of resentment, should’ve left Lynette to her own devices since Lynette didn’t appreciate anything, or even half of what Mavis afforded her. She should’ve left her out in the cold that Christmas. How could anyone have known? It wasn’t as though corpses could talk--

She had let Lyn take off with the whole case, as if to remind herself when she woke up the next morning what she had considered, how vile the thought was.

Lyn had never done anything unforgivable to Mavis. Mavis didn’t suppose she ever could. It was no fault of Lyn’s she didn’t understand what it was like to live with their father. How could she? It was a topic off limits to Lyn by both Mavis and their mother. After all, a child born blind doesn’t know until it’s pointed out to them.

And yet, she found guilt hard to summon. She did, but the speed at which it came, the strength, made her uneasy. What had happened to the girl she was? Lyn had been her world. What had changed?

Then, dully, that other voice, entirely of its own volition, said You did.