there are a lot of posts out there that are positive and healthy coping mechanisms for handling the holidays. this is not one of them :)
i think there's like. going to be times in your life you will be stuck in a social situation that you cannot escape from gracefully. i do not know why the internet doesn't believe these times exist. it's not always just that your physical safety is at risk - sometimes it's legit like "i just don't currently have the energy or time to put in the effort of responding to this." sometimes it's a coworker you hate so much. sometimes it's just like, fine, you know? like you know you can handle your aunt when she's cheerily horrible, but if you actually set a boundary around her, it's going to be weeks of fallout with your father.
i don't know why people think the answer is always just "cut them out!" or "don't let them get away with that!" because ... the real world is tricky and complicated. i think kind of a lot of us have an internal "radiation poisoning" meter for certain people. like - i'm talking about the ones who are absolutely giving you gradual ick damage. like, you can handle them, but you'll be exhausted.
and yes. you absolutely should listen to your therapist and the good posts about handling others and set good boundaries and take care of yourself. prioritize peace.
HOWEVER :) ...... since im often in a situation with a Gradual Sense of Ick person i cannot just "cut out" of my life (without losing someone else precious to me) - i have sort of developed the most. maladaptive form of mischief possible. because like, if i'm going to have to listen to this shit again, i like to have a little bit of private fun with it.
now! again, i am physically safe, just mentally drained by this man. you should only do this with people you are not in danger with. which leads me to my suggestions for when your Unfortunate Acquaintance shows up and says oh everyone pay attention to me.
my favorite word is "maybe!" said as brightly and happily as possible. whenever the Horrible Person starts in on a topic you do not want to go further with, particularly if they make a claim that you know to be inaccurate, do not respond to it. you and i have both tried to actually argue with this person, and it hasn't gone well, because this person just wants the drama of an argument. however, "maybe!" gives them literally nothing to go on. it is incredibly disarming. they are used to people having some response. they know they can't prove what they're saying, and maybe! treats them like the child they are. it dismisses them in the politest way possible.
i like to say maybe! and then, in their stunned silence, immediately change the subject. this is because i have adhd and i will have something unrelated to talk about, but if you can't think of topics fast enough, i recommend just pointing to something and saying, "isn't that lovely?" because fuck you let's bring in some positivity.
by the way. that second trick - of pointing to something and stating an opinion about it? - that just works on its own, like, 70% of the time. i picked it up from teaching preschoolers. it's an intentional "redirect". it stops children crying and it also stops grown adults from finishing their explanation on why women belong in kitchens. dual wielding!
keep it silly for yourself. i absolutely do not care if people think i'm fucking stupid (it's more fun if they do) and as a result i will purposefully misunderstand things just to see how long it takes them to realize i've completely removed them from the subject at hand. when they say "women aren't funny" i get to be like. "which women." "all women." "all women in america?" "no in the world." "like the mole people? the people in the world?" "what? no. like, alive." "oh are we not counting the mole people?" "what the fuck are you talking about." "you don't believe in the mole people?"
similarly, i play a personal game called "one up me." my Evil Acquaintance literally knows this game exists (my family & friends caught onto it and now also play it) and it always fucking gets him. i don't know why. you have to be willing to be a little free-spirited on this one, though. the trick is that when they make one of those horrible little bigoted or annoying comments they are always making, you need to go one unit weirder. not more intense, mind you - just more weird. "you don't look good in that dress." "yeah, actually, my other dress was covered in squid ink due to a mishap at the soup store." "you shouldn't wear such revealing clothes." "wait, what? oh shit. sorry, your son tears off strips when no one is looking and eats them. i swear it was longer before we left the building."
the point of "one up me" is to completely upend this person's narrative. we both know this person likes setting up situations where you cannot "win" and then they really like telling other people how badly you handled it. in a usual situation, if you respond "please don't say something that rude", you're a bitch. but if you let it happen, you're letting yourself be debased. they are not usually expecting door number three: unflappably odd. because what are they going to say when they're telling everyone how badly you behaved? "she said my son eats her dresses" ".... okay?"
if you can, form an allyship with someone whomst you can tagteam with. where they can pick up on your weird "soup store" story and run with it.
the following phrase is amazing and can be deployed for any situation: "oh, be nice :) it's the holidays!" i do not know why this works as often as it does. i'll say it for the most random shit. i think this is bc most of the time these people know they're being impolite, they just like to fight.
godbless. when in doubt, remember that you could always start stealing their pens.
the whole point of this is - if you can't escape. maybe see how long you can just be. like. a horrible little menace.
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22 Mattdrai please
Thank you anon! I hope you enjoy :)
22. things you said after it was over
Last year, it was Matthew's precious Flames that got punted out of the playoffs. To add insult to injury, it was at the hands of the Oilers. Which is why, that same night, he sent Leon a slew of drunken texts from some dingy downtown bar because he was not in the mood to even look at Leon, let alone go home with him.
Those texts included one declaring they were breaking up, which Leon didn't take to heart because not even five minutes later he got another message assuring him that no they were not actually breaking up Matthew was just going to hate him for the next 48 hours. That, Leon could handle.
Hell, he'd probably have gone for 72 hours. Minimum. And he had to rest his ankle anyways, if he wanted any chance of seeing ice-time the next game. He'd be there when Matthew was ready.
This year, it's the Oilers who go out first.
Leon just barely keeps it together through the post-game media frenzy. He doesn't want to look at the cameras, barely keeps the shudder from his voice, which is little more than a whimper because he just can’t breathe. Hunkered down with his hood up because it feels safe, the only barrier between him and a world that just crushed his dream. Again.
It's not like he can be mad at Matthew, because he fucked off to Florida, a whole other division, so Leon has no excuse for not answering any of his texts, or the six separate times Matthew tried to call after Vegas knocked Edmonton on it's ass.
Only once Leon's back home for the night, drained and exhausted and dazed, refusing to go out with Connor and the guys because he really, really doesn't want to exist right now, does he look at his phone.
Cuddling Bowie in his arms, he sits on the couch and scrolls through the avalanche of texts from Matthew. The last one catches him off guard, and he stares at it, reading it over and over.
come down and see me. please.
And... yeah. Through the doom and gloom of another lost season, he misses Matthew. Matthew, who's season isn't done. Matthew, who doesn't need Leon, but wants him. Wants him to be there.
So Leon books a flight to Florida, and starts packing.
The next day he goes in early for clear-out, says his goodbyes, and drives right to the airport. After an almost nine hour flight--including a layover in Denver that's great for his legs but not his morale--he lands in Fort Lauderdale just as the sun hits the horizon.
Matthew's waiting for him at Arrivals, dressed in board shorts and sandals and button-down shirt, sunglasses and that damn bucket hat. He smiles when he sees Leon, waves, and the simplicity of it chips away at the heavy stone sitting on Leon's chest. He always breathes better when he's with Matthew.
"What, not even a sign?" Leon calls out once he's in earshot. "I thought you were excited to see me?"
Matthew slaps the brim of Leon's hat down over his eyes. "Next time I'll bring confetti canons and air horns."
And fuck, just hearing Matthew's voice again without a phone between them lifts a weight off Leon's shoulders. It almost makes the defeat worth it.
His hands are too empty suddenly. He wants to hold Matthew's, wrap him up in his arms, touch him anywhere and everywhere, inside and out. Replenish old memories, make new ones. Never let go again.
Matthew gets the jump on him once they're in his car, dragging Leon over the center console by his shirt and into a sloppy kiss. It's all tongue and teeth, scratchy beard and plush lips, and as always, it's perfect. This too, aches like a phantom pain when they're on opposite ends of the continent. Phone sex and a bit of imagination with his own hand can't totally replace the sex, but it definitely can't replace the sweetness of a kiss.
When he pulls back, Matthew looks like he's going to immediately drop the one thing Leon really doesn't want to hear--the dreaded I'm sorry about what happened--so he jumps first.
"I missed you."
If Matthew knows he's purposely being cut off, he doesn't show it. He bumps their foreheads together and closes his eyes, like he's just soaking Leon in.
"Missed you too."
As the dusk fades to night, they drive, and drive, and drive. Not to Matthew's house, that's immediately obvious, but Leon doesn't ask where they're going. He slumps in the passenger's seat, leg tucked up against the dashboard, and goes between watching palm trees and glistening waterfront, to watching Matthew.
He tries not to think about hockey, but it was a long and restless flight, and Matthew's got a stupid little air freshener shaped like skates, and the playoffs aren't actually over, so of course the first thing Leon says to break the silence is, "When's your next game?"
Matthew taps his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music playing on the radio. "Thursday. Against Carolina. We're flying out the day after tomorrow."
"Hmm. So what are we doing with all that time?"
"Fucking, hopefully." Matthew glances sidelong at him, tongue poking between his teeth. "At least for part of it. I still have practice, and you need to relax."
"What am I doing while you're gone?"
"Waiting for me to come back? You can stay at my place. Come to the games when we're at home. My family's going to drop in too, so, you know, be prepared for that."
Won't be Leon's first tangle with the Tkachuks. Pretty sure he's an honorary member of the family at this point, even if he still struggles to keep up with the energy they bring to a room. Not that he minds.
The rest of the drive is quiet enough that Leon dozes off. When he wakes up, groggy with jet lag, it's dark aside from the street lights, and Matthew is pulling into a parking lot up from a small, deserted beach. Leon doesn't know which one; there's so many here. He follows Matthew out of the car and down the promenade, down the stone steps to the sand, where grains slip between his toes and the sound of the waves soothes the storm in his own head.
Which is exactly why Matthew brought him here; somewhere secluded, somewhere that can't hurt him. Because Leon loves the ocean, and Matthew loves him.
He follows Matthew along the beach, going nowhere in particular. Matthew walks purposefully nonetheless, head high and shoulders back, warm breeze tugging at his clothes and ruffling his curls. Something Leon loves to do too, and can't wait to do again.
This place looks good on Matthew. If only it weren't so far away.
"I'm glad you came," Matthew says over his shoulder, slowing until Leon catches up. "I wasn't sure you would."
Why not? The year-round heat and the beaches and the seemingly endless bars are a nice change of pace. But more importantly, this is where Matthew is. Of course he was going to come.
"Beats sitting around re-watching the second round wondering what we could have done differently," Leon says instead, because it's true, and because he doesn't need to tell Matthew what he already knows.
"Hey, that's not a bad thing. But it's not what you need right now." Matthew swallows, takes an uneven breath like he's the one getting choked up. "I saw your interview yesterday. After the game. Leon, you know I didn't call you down here for me, right? Don't get me wrong, I'd fucking love for you to be here watching us play, but the way you sounded... I was worried you'd end up sitting around your house all alone and depressed."
"I'm not depressed. And I wasn't going to. I was planning on going back home."
"Great, so you can mope around in Germany instead."
"I wouldn't have been alone."
"Much as I love Bowie, he doesn't count, babe."
Leon stops walking, staring at the sand until Matthew stops too, turning back and right into Leon's space to block the wind, which has taken on a chill.
"Leon--"
"Our season's over, Matthew," he mutters. "I really thought we could... I didn't want it to end here."
Matthew sighs, but his eyes are sympathetic. "Yeah. I know. But you're not done. There's always next year. And a bunch more after that."
The same platitudes, every time. It's empty words. Leon knows it. Matthew knows it. But what else is there to say? You fall, you get back up, you try again. Rinse and repeat. That's what this league is.
In any other circumstance, Matthew would probably make some crack about the Oilers and how assuming you guys can actually get your shit together, you may have a chance, but it's, you know, fucking Edmonton, so...
But he's being kind for Leon's sake. Because Matthew's forked tongue turns to silk when he's off the ice. He's so gentle at times like this, handling Leon with kid gloves like he thinks he'll shatter if he so much as breathes too hard.
"I'm just getting tired of it always being 'next year'," Leon admits easily, because it is easy with Matthew. "Every time we come close, we get knocked down. It feels like shit. I'm fucking tired of it."
Every time he climbs the ladder, he tastes victory. The higher the wrung, the sweeter it is. And every time he falls, there's a tiny part of him that worries he'll never get his feet off the ground again.
"Hey." Matthew cups his cheek, forcing Leon to look him in the eye, into pale blues that dance and shine even in the dark. "You're not giving up on me, are you?"
The question catches him so off guard Leon jerks like he's been struck.
"What? No. Fuck no. The hell kind of question is that?"
Quitting has never even crossed his mind. He didn't come into this league thinking it would be easy. He's worked his ass off to get where he is, and sure he's got his own liabilities to work through, but he'll keep going until something gives out.
"Good. Just making sure." Matthew looks so damn smug, but Leon's learned to find that endearing too. "Only place left to go is up, right?"
Right. Leon said something like that to Matthew, once. You win or you lose. Only two options. If you lose, then all you can do next time is win. If you win, you keep winning until you make it to the top. Anger into action, failure into fortune.
Matthew's hand slips down Leon's forearm, searching for his hand, but stops when Leon flinches, and brushes a callused thumb back and forth over the bruise there.
"This from Pietrangelo?"
Leon huffs. "Maniac, yeah. It's fine. It wasn't as bad as it looked."
"Want me to rough him up a little if I see him down the line? My treat. Actually, it'd be my pleasure."
There's that blinding confidence. The Matthew that's going to ensure they blow right past Carolina, through Dallas or Vegas, and raise the Cup. Who's dumb enough to argue with him?
"If you want." Leon's almost too tired to smile, but he tries anyways.
And Matthew softens too, cheeks pinked and teeth showing between his parted lips. It's hard to think back to a time when he would never look at Leon like this; like he's so fucking in love with him it's physically impossible to hide it. Leon can only imagine how he looks to Matthew.
"I'll make you another deal while we're at it," Matthew says.
"A deal or a promise?" Leon knows what's coming, because he knows Matthew. His heart still jumps up into his throat.
"I'll win the Cup for you."
They've learned to say I love you in a million different ways. Somehow, they keep finding new ones.
It's so stupid. Matthew's not arrogant. But then again, he seems to be playing a game no one else is, in a way no one else can. He oozes confidence and bleeds charisma, possesses the kind of karma that can change destinies.
If anyone could actually say it, and do it, it's Matthew. Damn if Leon doesn't believe it, too.
So all he has to do is smile, nod, and say, "Okay."
"Just to be clear," Matthew says, "I'm not doing it for the Oilers. I'm doing it for you. And for me and the Cats, obviously. Maybe... maybe a little more for me and the Cats. No offence, babe."
Leon snorts. "It's fine. It's yours. You earned it."
"So have you." Damn right he has. "Shit just sucks sometimes."
Leon scoffs and rolls his eyes to whatever unseeing deity keeps fucking him over. But he's done wallowing. He's got something so much better standing right in front of him.
"You said this was a deal." Leon tugs him closer, one hand cupping the back of Matthew's head, pressing the words against his mouth. "So what do you want from me?"
Matthew smiles under his lips. "I just want you to be there to see it."
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