a nonsensical mess

chry | 20+ | read my stories | buy me a coffee?

[hunxi-guilai]

Hello! What are your thoughts on lxc accepting alcohol from wwx and jin zixun?

oh those scenes! I loved both scenes, but especially when Wei Wuxian snatches away Lan Wangji’s cup and downs it?

m e g a 《琅琊榜》/ Nirvana in Fire vibes, but like, in reverse. presented without context because if y’know... you know...

okay sorry, you were asking about Lan Xichen. Honestly, I feel like these moments are excellent character moments for Lan Xichen, especially in contrast with Lan Wangji. Almost across the board, our interactions with the Lan Sect in CQL give us this stereotype of a sect that is aloof, cultured, emotionally repressed, holier-than-thou, rule-following rule-abiding rule-conforming to a fault. And through these small moments, Lan Xichen shows us that the sons and daughters of Gusu Lan are more than that -- he can be playful, he can bend the rules, he is capable of compromise.

(I firmly believe that the reason why Lan Jingyi can have as much of a personality as he does is because both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji carved out the space in Cloud Recesses for him -- Lan Xichen with his indulgence, Lan Wangji for seeing the echoes of another spunky, sassy loudmouth who didn’t know when to shut up)

When Wei Wuxian suggests they drink together, Lan Xichen laughs quietly and looks down and away, clearly shaking his head fondly at the fact that the incorrigible youth who sneaked alcohol into Cloud Recesses still lives on in this post-Sunshot Wei Wuxian. He accepts, and we get this incredibly iconic sequence (but like, iconic in a subtle way, y’know, like Lan Xichen himself):

you see that face? that is the face of a man who is about to prank his future brother-in-law and knows it

They toast each other, down the wine, and before Wei Wuxian has even set his cup down on the table, Lan Xichen is already reaching for the jar and pouring himself a second cup. Wei Wuxian is completely floored by this, torn equally between surprise and joyful delight that Lan Xichen, Zewu-jun, First Jade of Lan and Lan Wangji’s big bro, can be such a rebel

you’re right, Lan Xichen; this little stunt is worth it just to see the LOOK on Wei Wuxian’s FACE

But Lan Xichen is still a son of Gusu Lan, and immediately comes clean with the reveal -- that he can use his golden core to burn away the effects of the alcohol, so it doesn’t count

(side note: doesn’t count as drinking, or doesn’t count as breaking the rules? because I’m pretty sure that the rule forbidding alcohol is one focused on keeping alcohol out of Cloud Recesses, and not one forbidding the action of drinking, if you catch my drift. Either way, Wei Wuxian is impressed by Lan Xichen’s careful finagling of the rules)

But what this does establish is that the Lan brothers can drink alcohol without 1) breaking (a certain interpretation of) the Gusu Lan precepts, or 2) becoming immediately drop-dead drunk, which is what makes the drink Jin Zixun offers that much weightier in significance:

side note: I find it hilarious that the reason Jin Guangyao offers to deflect the drink is “he has to fly his sword home,” like some ancient ahistorical fantasy China version of drunk driving

When Jin Zixun very rudely offers the Twin Jades a drink and frames it in the context of “we’re all family here, don’t try to refuse me like an outsider,” this action very much situates this in a context of respect and political alliance. Jin Zixun forces a level of political symbolism on the exchange, essentially demanding are you with the Lanling Jin Sect, or against it? 

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji trade half a conversation in a glance in this moment, but crucially, it’s only half of one, because Lan Xichen breaks eye contact and rises (a decision that I can’t help but is partially spurred by his concern for Jin Guangyao, who’s running interference for him/risking his own influence in the Jin court to defend Lan Xichen. Just watch this scene and track Jin Guangshan’s cooly assessing gaze in the chaos. Jin Guangyao realizes this, too; after Lan Xichen takes the drink, Jin Guangyao looks absolutely devastated that his sworn brother had to breach his principles on Jin Guangyao’s watch). 

Lan Xichen drinks -- a compromise. A quick drink -- he’ll burn it away immediately with his golden core, it won’t have any lasting effects. A small compromise of his values for the sake of social harmony -- this is worth it, right? 

(this prefigures the conflict that unfolds in the Jin court not much later -- a compromise, not standing up for the Wen refugees or for Wei Wuxian, for the sake of social harmony. This is worth it, right?)

Lan Wangji, cut off in the middle of his silent conversation with his brother, quietly judges Lan Xichen.

I remember seeing another fascinating post about what might have happened if Lan Xichen had refused the drink, if the Twin Jades of Lan had offered a united front against Jin Zixun, because by folding, Lan Xichen then passes the pressure onto his younger brother, but you know me, chronically unable to find posts.

I wrote about 问心无愧 wenxinwukui yesterday -- this is, to me, the biggest difference between the Twin Jades. Lan Wangji is driven by this central tenet, the ability to ask his heart and know he has no regrets. Would he regret this drink? Absolutely -- it would be a display of submission to this loud-mouthed, arrogant lordling of Lanling Jin, and Lan Wangji has no interest in that. Lan Wangji doesn’t care what the consequences are -- he will not compromise his values.

Lan Xichen, in contrast, will compromise and sacrifice whenever he feels it necessary (unfortunately, he feels it’s necessary pretty often, and I can’t help but think that part of this is because he’s the first son, the sect leader, the one bound by responsibility and position in a way Lan Wangji isn’t).

I just wanted an excuse to share this screenshot of Lan Xichen, because look at that expression -- textbook-perfect dead eyes smile lips. Of course, I’ll drink with you, says the smile. You are dead to me, say his eyes.

Bonus Nie Mingjue! Throughout this exchange; he hesitates to intervene on Lan Xichen’s behalf, but to me this makes a lot of sense because they’re supposed to be equals in station; it wouldn’t do for Qinghe Nie to intervene. Gusu Lan can fight its own battles. And so Nie Mingjue decides against defending Lan Xichen, because 1) he trusts Lan Xichen to take care of himself, 2) he doesn’t want to make this even more of a kerfuffle than it already is, and 3) he doesn’t want to make Lan Xichen (and by extension, the Gusu Lan Sect) look weak in front of the Jin Sect. 

What is fascinating here is that this particular screenshot is taken from when Jin Zixun pressures Lan Wangji to drink -- Nie Mingjue almost intervenes, because hey, a younger brother of his sworn brother is also his baby brother, and he could defend Lan Wangji without making the same political statements that he’d make in defending Lan Xichen. Here, he seems to be looking at Lan Xichen -- should I intervene for Wangji, or you? he asks. I could. I would. Just give me the sign.

At which point Wei Wuxian swoops in, takes the drink, and downs it. In doing so, Wei Wuxian takes the weighty political significance of the moment, the subtle power struggle between Lanling Jin and Gusu Lan, and smashes it to pieces. So this demonstration of alliance with Lanling Jin? his actions say. Sure, I’ll demonstrate my respect for you -- in the rudest and most subversive manner possible. He crashes sideways into Jin Zixun’s power play, grinds the pieces into powder, tips an empty cup over in the air and dares Jin Zixun challenge him.

I’m so intrigued by Lan Xichen’s line here; Lan Wangji is speechless at Wei Wuxian’s extremely sexy act, but Lan Xichen speaks up. What would he have said, if Jin Guangyao hadn’t swooped in to try and diffuse the situation? Lan Xichen looks nothing but concerned here, and I’m dying to know what about. How much of his worries about Wei Wuxian’s health has Lan Wangji shared with his brother? Is Lan Xichen also invested in Wei Wuxian’s increasingly fraying emotional control? Is Lan Xichen attempting to extricate Wei Wuxian from the moment, before Wei Wuxian drags Yunmeng Jiang into this mess?

Jin Guangyao tries to salvage the moment by showing Wei Wuxian to his seat, re-settling the combatants in this power struggle safely on opposite sides of the room, but Wei Wuxian will have none of it. The ensuing confrontation unfolds directly in front of the Gusu Lan table. Not in front of the Yunmeng Jiang table. The Gusu Lan table. The sect that Jin Guangshan considers the greatest threat to its complete hegemony.

After Wei Wuxian leaves, Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen speak, briefly. This Wei-gongzi is much too impulsive, Jin Guangyao says. Agree with me, he hints, and Jin Guangshan will see you as an ally against the greater threat of Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji will have none of that. He emerges from behind Lan Xichen, moving forward to more directly confront Jin Guangyao.

What he said, Lan Wangji says. Was it not correct?

Jin Guangyao deflects with slippery words, and Lan Xichen does what he does best -- he compromises. 

He doesn’t look at Jin Guangyao or Lan Wangji, merely says the Wei-gongzi of today truly has greatly changed in temperament. He mollifies Jin Guangyao -- in a way, agreeing with Jin Guangyao’s assessment of Wei Wuxian as too impulsive, too rash. Simultaneously, he reminds Lan Wangji -- Wei Wuxian is not himself. Crucially, Lan Xichen uses the word 心性 xinxing / temperament, which you may recall from the confrontation in episode 20; Lan Wangji, in that Yiling Supervisory Office, warns Wei Wuxian 此道损身，更损心性 / this path damages the body, and damages the temperament even more.

Lan Wangji picks up on the hint immediately; he bows to Lan Xichen, who says go, do all you can within your power. At that moment, no one knows what Lan Xichen is talking about, what mission or responsibility he’s given his younger brother, but Lan Wangji knows -- the Twin Jades of Lan are back on the same wavelength. 

Go to him, Lan Xichen says, with his permission, with his blessing. Save him. Before it’s too late.

[prokopetz]

When modern media wants a group of baddies to look badass, it’ll often borrow design elements from Nazi uniforms. It’s not hard to understand why; the Nazis famously had their uniforms designed by professional fashion designers, including runway mogul Hugo Boss, and it worked wonderfully in terms of giving Nazi troops a stylish and intimidating public image.

What’s less well known, however, is how ridiculously terrible those uniforms were for any purpose other than looking smart.

Let me give you an example: suspenders. Back in the 1930s, the modern tactical harness hadn’t yet been developed. Instead, soldiers would wear a sturdy pair of leather suspenders in order to help distribute the weight of their ammo belts (which could be substantial - bullets aren’t light!). Hitler didn’t care for that - he thought it would make his troops look like farmers. Instead, he commissioned his uniform designers to come up with a complicated system of internal suspenders that could be worn under the uniform jacket, with metal hooks projecting from special holes near the jacket’s waistline. The idea was that the ammo belt would rest on the hooks, thus allowing it to be supported without disrupting the jacket’s clean lines.

The problem? The system’s designers, being accustomed to crafting for the runway, had completely overlooked that soldiers sometimes need to move quickly. At any pace quicker than a brisk walk, the ammo belt would bounce off of the hooks and slide down the wearer’s torso, often tripping him in the process. Worse, news of the issue didn’t filter back to the high command until the uniforms had already been widely distributed, so it was impossible to fix in an economical fashion. The Nazi troops eventually resorted to wearing external suspenders over the internal suspenders in order to keep their ammo belts in place, thus entirely defeating the purpose.

Then there are the cold-weather jackets, made infamous by the Nazis’ disastrous Winter Campaign against Russia in 1941-1942. At the time, the standard cold-weather jacket in use by most armies consisted of heavy quilted fabric stuffed with torn-up cotton. Hitler didn’t like that at all; in his opinion, it made it look like his troops were wearing blankets. So he had each soldier issued an individually tailored winter jacket made of suit-grade fabric and lined with fur (sourced from civilian clothing seized from death camp inmates, because of course it was).

You can probably guess where this is going. Predictably to anyone who’s not a Nazi fashion designer, the fine fabric of the jackets wasn’t tightly woven enough to stop the wind. The fur, meanwhile, harboured lice and fleas, stank abominably when wet, and was impossible to launder in the field. They’d managed to issue their troops dry clean only winter apparel, in a campaign that would send them far from their supply lines. That the weather ended up killing more Nazis than the Russian army should thus come as no surprise.

And these aren’t outliers. Virtually every element of the Nazi uniform made up for its smart styling by being ridiculously impractical. The officers often had it worst of all; their uniforms were expertly tailored to make their builds look trim and powerful, at the cost of being stuffy, uncomfortable, and difficult to move around it. Indeed, some officers’ uniforms were so smartly tailored that they couldn’t sit down without taking their pants off. Yeah, let that image roll around in your head for a moment or two.

The upshot is that whenever I see baddies in a movie or a TV show with clearly Nazi-inspired uniforms, my first thought is less “whoa, badass!” and more “these men are about to be murdered by their own trousers”.

[jewish-privilege]

There is some deeply undignified part of my soul that is taking deep and abiding comfort in this.

[miss-cigarettes]

YOI ログ⑤ || pon [pixiv] || Twitter ※Permission to upload this was given by the artist (©). **Please, rate and/or bookmark her works on Pixiv too** [Please do not repost, edit or remove credits]

[lazulisong]

look I can believe that Yuri wore an open backed blouse but not that it survived more than three minutes

[tell-themstories]

Me, when I saw you planned on including a scene of wwx waking up back in the Cloud Recesses: 😱😱. I was curious about that! Of course it's okay to leave it to our imaginations but if you decide to write it and share, it would be amazing! Anyway, loved the latest update, as always ❤ I'm so intrigued by this verse, you have no idea :D

Ask and ye shall receive!

Wei Wuxian wakes up in a bed that is not his own. 

This is, in itself, not that strange an occurrence. (He was a famous underground streetracer for most of his late teens/early twenties. He’s really not unfamiliar with other people’s beds, sofas, the backseats of their cars.)

What is surprising is how fucking comfortable he is, like he’s lying on a bed made of pure clouds. The white covers drawn up to his chin are soft and light and feels like fucking heaven.  

Wei Wuxian takes a few moments to just luxuriate in the comfort of the bed, stretching his arms out from his sides (and not even reaching the edges of the bed!) and wriggling his toes. He arches his back, feeling how loose his muscles are, then flops down again and finally opens his eyes. 

He’s in a room he doesn’t recognise. White walls, white carpet, sandalwood furniture. Everything looks clean, fresh and expensive. Slowly, Wei Wuxian pushes himself up on one elbow to get a better look, emerging from underneath the feather-soft covers. The room is easily three times the size of his entire apartment, with a door leading to a tiled room he assumes is an en-suite bathroom and an archway leading to a huge walk-in closet. At the far end of the room are sliding doors, pushed open to reveal a balcony overlooking very familiar grounds. 

Ah.

Slowly, Wei Wuxian pushes himself up into a sitting position, the covers pooling around his waist, and lifts a hand to brush his hand back through his hair. As he does, he realises he is naked from the waist up.

What the fuck. 

He shoves the cover down to reveal -- oh, thank fuck. He’s still wearing his black boxers, at least. He glances over his body, looking for any signs that he’d had an, uh, interesting night, but the angle’s difficult and so he finally rolls out of the bed and stands up. His feet immediately sink into the most gloriously-soft, thick carpet he has ever stood on. Christ. He shakes his head and pads over to the huge fuck-off walk-in closet. 

Everything is meticulously categorised and arranged by style and cut. He thinks vaguely that it’s also arranged by colour but it’s hard to tell when most things are a variation of white, pale blue and soft grey. Wei Wuxian arches an eyebrow at how organised it all is and his fingers itch to mess it all up. 

He reaches instead to run his hand along the nearest rail, fingertips dragging across the expensive fabrics as he walks further into the closet. 

When he catches sight of himself in the huge mirror in one corner, he freezes. 

It’s been a while since he last looked at himself in the mirror and he’s not prepared for the sight of the scars criss-crossed over his abdomen, chest, shoulders, legs. They’ve healed well - he knows this, objectively - but they’re still ugly, raised silver-white imperfections across his skin, reminders of what happened. He traces the edge of his thumb over the worst, a scar that cuts across his left rib cage and ends somewhere just to the right of his heart. Another three inches and you’d have been dead. 

He turns his head. 

His eyes catch on a sweater, cream as opposed to white. Intrigued, Wei Wuxian walks over and pulls it down from the rail. It’s impossibly soft like the bed covers had been but made of some sort of wool. Cashmere? Maybe? Wei Wuxian has no fucking clue. There’s a little silver tag at the bottom edge which reads Dior. 

With a shrug, he pulls it off the hanger and over his head. It’s a bigger size than he usually wears, made for someone broader in the shoulders and taller. It falls just below his waist to the edge of his boxers, slipping low on one shoulder, and the cuffs of the sleeves come down to his knuckles. 

It smells like sandalwood. Wei Wuxian flops the sleeves over his hands and holds them up to his face, taking in a deep inhale. It’s oddly… comforting. He shakes the feeling off and turns to head back out of the closet when he spots his jeans neatly folded over the back of a chair, along with his t-shirt, his sunglasses placed carefully on the seat. His jacket is nowhere in sight. 

Frowning, he forgoes the t-shirt and shimmies back into his black jeans. The sweater is too big and so he tucks it into his jeans, checking himself out in the mirror before grabbing his sunglasses and sliding them on top of his head. 

His phone is on the chair next to his shirt, battery at 30%. The screen says he has a message from Nie Huaisang and a missed call from an unknown number, along with a voicemail. He ignores the missed call and voicemail and opens the message, which has the location and time of the next race. 

He sends off a quick reply to say he’ll be there and then tries to recall everything he can about the grounds of Cloud Recesses and how the fuck to get out of there before anyone sees him. He exits the walk-in closet into the bedroom and nearly trips over his own feet when he realises he is not alone. 

Lan Zhan has his back to him, is looking down at the bed that Wei Wuxian left unmade. When he hears Wei Wuxian’s intake of breath, he turns sharply to look at him, at which point Wei Wuxian’s mind just sort of blanks out. 

He’s used to Lan Zhan in streetwear, Lan Zhan in tight jeans that cling to his thighs, ripped in strategic places to show skin, and loose t-shirts that scoop low over his collarbones. Branded jackets with hoods pulled up to give him an edge, shadowing his cheekbones, razor-sharp. Loose sweatpants that ride low on his hips to reveal the tempting curve of his hip bones. 

The Lan Zhan in front of him - his shoulders broader, his jaw line sharper, more decisively adult - is wearing jeans and a meticulously-pressed white shirt, the top two buttons open and baring the long line of his throat. It’s literally the most basic, boring outfit Wei Wuxian could have ever imagined, and Lan Zhan looks like a fucking supermodel in it.

Christ.

Lan Zhan looks him up and down. His eyes catch on the sweater - his sweater - and the sharp line of his jaw clenches. 

Wei Wuxian holds his hands up quickly in a peaceful gesture, “Ah -- it was all I could find,” this is a lie, “Sorry -- I promise I’ll wash it and get it back to you as good as new,” this is also a lie, “Anyway, hi. Good morning.”

The fancy glass-and-metal abstract clock on the wall just behind Lan Zhan proclaims it to be 4 in the afternoon. 8 hours until his next race. 18 until he has to report back to the local police chief. Wei Wuxian lowers his hands, the cuffs of the sweater falling down over his knuckles, and offers his most charming smile. 

For a few moments Lan Zhan just stares at him, expression unreadable, long enough that Wei Wuxian starts to feel restless, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. He becomes aware of his heart beating, can hear it in his ears. Was it always so loud?

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

Lan Zhan swallows.

Wei Wuxian breathes.

Then Lan Zhan wrenches his gaze away from the sweater Wei Wuxian’s wearing and meets his eyes. It’s a jolt to the system, bringing Wei Wuxian back to reality, to the fact he’s in a place he’d sworn he’d never return to and with someone he has no idea if he can trust. Fuck, how did he let himself get into this position?

“Thanks for, like, letting me stay and everything,” he says, subtly trying to edge his way towards the bedroom door. “Really appreciate it. But I actually have my own apartment,” an exaggeration, if ever there was one, a box might be a better description, “you know, but your thread count is great. Amazing. Like sleeping on air. I get why it’s called Cloud Recesses now--”

“Wei Ying.”

Lan Zhan holds his hand out to him, fist closed around something. 

To get it, Wei Wuxian’s going to have to close the distance between them. He’s nearly at the bedroom door now. His legs are nowhere near as long as Lan Zhan’s but he’s got a head start, he reckons he could make it out and into the hall before Lan Zhan realises what he’s doing. 

He hesitates, and then he catches the glint of metal in Lan Zhan’s hand. He tries not to hope, but he already knows what’s in Lan Zhan’s hand, even though his fingers are closed over them. Car keys.

Wei Wuxian does not follow his first instinct, which is to jump and grab them. He has decorum, he has class. He is not a whore for expensive cars and even more expensive men. 

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” he says, “It’s fine. Nie Huaisang has promised me all of the cars I could ever need.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lan Zhan’s grip on the keys tighten. “Obviously, yours are the best,” he adds hastily, “but they’re white, you know? It doesn’t really suit my aesthetic.”

He remembers then that he is wearing a cream sweater, as Lan Zhan raises a skeptical eyebrow, glancing down at it then back up at him.

Wei Wuxian steps back, putting some distance between them, again closing his distance between the door. Still, he can’t keep his eyes away from Lan Zhan’s hand, the keys inside it, something inside him stirring, something he buried very, very deep, the ghost of a car he poured his heart and soul into. The acrid smell of burning rubber, petrol, an open flame.

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan, finally opening his hand.

Wei Wuxian’s heart stutters. It can’t be. It can’t.

Sitting on Lan Zhan’s palm are Lan Zhan’s own car keys. The thin flickering flame of hope in Wei Wuxian’s chest stutters and dies out. Of course. He was deluded to think otherwise.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” he says, feigning nonchalance, “If you want to get me into your bed, all you have to do is ask, you don’t have to give me your car--” Lan Zhan chooses that moment to move, closing the distance between them in three quick strides and pressing his free hand over Wei Wuxian’s mouth, muffling his next words. 

The move brings him too close to Wei Wuxian, putting a ridiculously small distance between them. This should, objectively, be a threatening move, something to get Wei Wuxian to shut up and think twice. Instead, it has the opposite reaction of making him want to get closer, get under Lan Zhan’s skin -- his teenage desires rising back to the surface after so long. 

Wei Wuxian takes a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between them so they’re as close as they were last night, when Lan Zhan slammed him against the side of his car. 

Wei Wuxian smiles behind his hand. Lan Zhan’s eyes darken. 

“Wei Ying,” he says, voice low and firm. It sends a shiver down Wei Wuxian’s spine. “Where do you want to go?”

[aimthrice]

praise (21pgs) - ft. doting uncles, a flustered nephew, & hanguang-jun ignoring a cry for help

Keep reading

[missberrycake-deactivated202201]

Meet Me Tomorrow by missberrycake

Pairing: Kim Taehyung | V/Min Yoongi | Suga

“So,” Taehyung started. “What kind of things have you done, then? With your limitless days? It’s amazing, really.”

Yoongi barked out a laugh. “You’d think. So did I, at first, but,” he wrinkled his nose. “It gets kinda lonely.”

“I suppose,” Taehyung agreed, cocking his head to one side. “But I’ll be with you from now on.”

Min Yoongi is having a bad day. With the rest of the members of BTS miserable, anxious, or angry at each other for God knows what reason, Yoongi finds himself stuck in pre-comeback hell. Just when he thinks things could only get better, they get much, much worse; Yoongi wakes up to find out he’s living the same day all over again … and again … and again.

[forest-yuye]

陈情令

[cliopadra]

The Birth of the Bibliophile (a repaint of The Birth of Venus by Sandro Botticelli)

(I got lost in this one so have it unfinished)

[crimson-chains]

Victor and Yuri in animal crossing style! :D These will be the stickers for patrons this month ^^

[pridesobright]

TREAT PEOPLE WITH KINDNESS

please, do not repost · you can retweet on twitter © photo credit ·

[mossy-rat-moved]

do not stand at my grave and cry

(redraw of this) / (click for better quality)

[fols-eli]

colored sketch raffle prize from twitter! they wanted wangxian sharing scarf~

[ibijau]

I couldn’t stop thinking about this post by @inaccuratemdzs

[fols-eli]

sometimes, you appear

[scenograph]

Concept art for The Untamed (2019)

[bergkonia]

[chrysanthmilk]

a guide to being death: chapter 7

by staccato

“Death is very, very tired of its Master’s strange wants and whims. This is the last time it does something he wants.”

aka: a apocalypse fix-it, featuring a master of death who has been reincarnated into a winchester. things can only go up from here.

chapter 6: the witnesses rise, and harry encounters two people he have never met.

read it below, or on ao3

*

Dean didn’t believe.

Even after he saw Castiel walk straight through a demon trap, survive Ruby’s knife, spread his literal wings like a whore, and knock out people with a touch of his hand—even after that, he still didn’t believe.

Hell, Sam had more faith than him, and he was the one jacked up on demon blood.

“Dean, this is good news,” he insisted. “for once, this isn't just another round of demon crap. I mean, maybe you were saved by one of the good guys, you know?”

“Okay, say that’s true,” Dean said . "Say there are angels. Then what? There’s a God?”

Well, yes.

The debate devolved from there, with Dean stubbornly refuting every single one of their argument like the stubborn ass he was. Harry was honestly about to give up, when—

“ —If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?”

Oh.  

Harry was an idiot.

It wasn’t about faith. It wasn’t about proof. It was about Dean’s damn self-esteem.  

Once upon a time, a flawed man called John Winchester taught Dean that his life was worthless. Because was the  good  son, that lesson branded itself onto his very soul, never to be forgotten.

And so, even after everything he did, he still doesn’t believe he is worthy of being saved. Never mind that he only ended up in hell because he was trying to save Sam’s life; never mind that he was chosen by Chuck to be a Righteous Man; never mind that a few dozen angels died in trying to retrieve his soul; never mind that Castiel would now be forever honored as the one who raised him from perdition.

But before Harry could point these out, this conversation had already moved on. Dean was now sitting with Bobby, scanning the books for more mentions of angels. Sam, on the other hand, was going out to ‘get pie.’

Yeah right. Harry could sense the guilt in his soul from a mile away. When has he ever remembered the pie?

Never, and Dean complained about it loudly all the way to Olivia Lowry’s house.

*

Harry didn’t get it when he saw Olivia dead.

He didn’t get it when Jed didn’t pick up.

He didn’t get it when he saw Henriksen.

He didn’t get it when he shot Meg’s ghost.

And then Sam drew the mark and—fuck, how could he have forgotten?

“I may have seen that before,” Bobby said. “We got to move!”

“No, no,” Harry interrupted, eying the fireplace. “I know how to banish them, so we got stay here.”

“What?”  

Harry ignored Sam, focusing on Bobby. “hex box, hemlock, opium, wormwood—do you have them?”

“Who do you think I am? Of course I do.” He turned to Sam. “There’s a red hex box in the linen closet upstairs. It'll be real heavy.” And then to Dean. “Everything else in the kitchen. There's a false bottom to the cutlery drawer.”

“Don’t try to talk, just shoot!” Harry called after them as they rushed to retrieve the items.  

“You sure you know what you’re doing, kid?” Bobby asked.

Harry grinned. “Who do you think I am? Of course I know,” he continued before Bobby could smack him for his sass. “Come on, you’re gonna make a salt circle around the fireplace. And I’ll be drawing some sigils, so try to keep those ghosts off my back, hmm?”

They got to work. It wasn’t long before two girls appeared in front of them.  

“Bobby,” one of them said. “You walked right by us while that monster ate us all up.”

The other said, “you could have saved us.”

Bobby shot them. They vanished, but new witnesses took their place. One was a man—a boy, really—with messy black hair and round hazel eyes. Beside him was a woman of around the same age, fiery red hair and burning green eyes. They were both dressed in pajamas, and, strangely, did not bear any physical wounds. Furthermore, Harry did not know them.  

But they knew him.

“My little Prongslet,” he whispered. “Look at how many deaths you have caused.”

“It was not worthy it, to have died for you,” she continued.

What?  

Before Harry could react, two shots rang out, and the witnesses disappeared. Sam and Dean came into view, shotguns cocked and smoking.  

“Are we ready?” Dean asked as both of them stepped into the salt circle.  

Harry shook himself out of his funk, and assessed the ingredients. They looked to be in good shape, so he indicated for Dean to drop them into a bowl.

“Let’s start.”

He recited the spell, Latin rolling off his tongue as if he was still living in Pompeii. Wind blew through the window, disturbing the salt circle and forcing the others to fight off the witnesses. Harry picked up the speed of his words, until the spell was completed, and he threw the ingredients into the fire. The flames burned blue. The witnesses vanished.

There was a thud. Harry turned around to find Bobby on the ground, and Sam trapped against the wall by a desk. Dean was breathing heavily, still holding onto an iron rod.

“Everyone’s good?” he asked, running his eyes along their forms. He sighed in relief as all three men nodded.

“Now, what the hell was that?” Dean demanded.

*

No one takes the revelation (heh, get it? Because it’s from the book of Revelations) that those ghosts were a sign of the impending apocalypse well. The tension was so thick that Harry just decided to leave the house. He transported himself to a bar, and was just about to order a drink when someone slid into the seat next to him.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Harry blinked, then glanced around.  

Ohhh, this was a  gay bar. No wonder he dared to be so straightforward.

Harry looked back at the man. He was pretty cute, all things considered. And Harry needed something to take his mind off of the day’s events, anyways.

“Sure, why not?”

*

Harry didn’t get back until the early mornings, and apparently, he missed a lot. 

*