#you either die at season 1 or live long enough to see yourself become mid

[adastrabbit]

anyone have this happen to them

[urlocalnctstan]

The Beauty And The Beast

Epoch 1

Autumn was here. The surroundings that were once green were now adorned in hues of orange and brown. Jaehyun flipped through the book he was currently reading, who's title went by 'Summerhill', subconsciously reminding himself to read it again as he finished it again for the hundredth time, to be precise, 113th. He sipped on his black tea as his eyes drifted towards the wooden window, observing the new change in nature. Neither seasons nor weather mattered to him, at the end of the day it would only be him all alone after all. His eyes lingered for a moment on the orange leaves until he felt the need to get up, debating silently on what library he should visit next, preferably somewhere desolate.

He despised human interaction; the hunger at times just kicks in when he can hardly control himself to stay composed. Things were not supposed to be this way, his whole family, his brothers would have been here if it were not for that dreadful malicious night. He passed through his library, the vintage touch of the best designers very prominent. The walls were transformed into wooden shelves, stained and burnished in textures of a brown oak tree. It was no surprise the whole library was filled with books, the shelves divided into 10 for all the brothers. Jaehyun did not reside on a specific genre, he loved to surf around all the categories, whilst the interests of others ranged from fantasies to science fiction. He liked the smell of the library, the odd scent of paper and wood subtly brought him comfort, for it would stage an illusion for him, making him feel that he was not the only one here. Living all alone for over 50 years has indeed made him more anti-social, his demeanor a big contrast to the one he had before all the tragedy occurred.

You on the other hand stayed still, cursing yourself for not arranging the books, and it was only seconds before the lady would recognize your negligence. You prayed, desperately clutched your hands, and silently kept praying, it was your only job and you cannot afford to lose it. As if in a response to your prayers, a man, probably in his mid-twenties entered the worn-out shabby premises, catching you off guard because literally, no one visits this rotten library. However, as he came closer, you felt your breath hitch as you took a nervous gulp; that man was breathtaking. His brown coat accentuated his broad build, the black hat perfectly resting on his black hair.

"I came to return this book," he scrunched his nose, it was enough for you to understand his distaste, slightly feeling embarrassed since you were the one who suggested it. Your manager lady similarly caught on the young man's comprehensible expression, shooting me a warning look that it could be my last chance to save my job. For a shitty library, it surprisingly paid you well.

"I am extremely sorry for my negligence sir, how about this, I'll bring you the newest and most popular books every week?" You anxiously fidgeted as you brought out the library logbook, scribbling down the return.

"I-uh...that would be very courteous of you. Thank you..." he eyes trailed on your tag, "Ms.Y/N."

"Thank you thank you thank you so much, young man, you're a lifesaver." You grabbed his hands, shaking them furiously in gratitude. His hands were oddly cold, too cold actually.

Jaehyun felt weird, it had been years since he had faced any human interaction. He quickly withdrew his hands, his now pink ears hidden by his black. Nonetheless, he was kind of grateful he would not have to face 2 hours long entourage to the library.

"I was about to lose my only regular customer, all because of your stupid choice," the lady scoffed, scrutinizing your every movement whilst you were cleaning the shelves. He was a regular but I never met him. "I shouldn't have fired the other one listening to you." She flashed you one last alarming look before storming out of the place. You let out all breathe that you had been holding while she was here, thanking heavens for not screwing up your life. While you held the book that read 'Summerhill', you could not help but let your mind wander to the only encounter you had today, apart from your manager lady's wrath. Why is it that I had failed to meet this Greek God in the past three months I’ve been working? You thought to yourself, organizing the suggestion shelf, the culprit which caused the book to land upon the hands of the Greek God, namely Jaehyun. With a loud audible huff, you decided it would be better to just organize the whole suggestion shelf, quietly reminding yourself to not be so biased on the books you chose just because the author was your favorite.

It was almost evenfall when Jaehyun reached back abode, the dilapidated exterior did no justice to its actual architectural essence, and the touches of the Victorian designs camouflaged by the overgrown bushes, the oak trees stood menacingly in the rear. At a glance, anyone would have thought it was a creepily haunted house, home to all the demonic supernatural things that could come to one’s mind. Jaehyun internally cringed for a brief moment, even after all these years, his laziness in keeping his home neat was still something he had to work on. Jaehyun felt shivers running down his spine as he thought how badly Taeyong would have reacted if he were to sight this view.

He felt his still heart tug, the probable scenarios of his brothers painting themselves in the back of his mind, how ecstatic and chaotically pleasant it would have been with them by his side, one and united again. For the first time that year, he went to the forbidden chamber in the mansion.

The room resided in the right west wing on the second floor of the villa. The long corridor that leads to the room barely had any light, the large velvet curtains were draped against the huge windows. With heavy steps he climbed up the wooden stairs, only the sounds of the woods creaking and his heavy breathing being audible. He wanted to retreat as he stood in front of the door, the wood had become too worn-out, the insects starting to make it their forever habitat. Jaehyun was unsure of the overwhelming emotions he was facing; he was hurt, scared but most importantly guilty. The fact that his brothers were in this state, all because of him, this guilt eats him up every day. He pulled the handle, the bronze material felt cold against his already cold pale skin. As he stepped inside, he was welcomed by all his brothers, standing still and lifeless. Jaehyun was cursed with loneliness for 51 years, all because he was too prideful and selfish to think of anyone else but himself. His brothers might have been the only exception; he treasured all of them with all of his heart. But he remained cold to the others, as he would call them 'outsiders'. At times when he would go out with his brothers, he would cross people suffering in cold or starvation, but never once did he have the heart to aid them with their trivial surviving necessities. Clouded in his superiority, he never claimed any of the girls he had been with, treated them as either one-night-stands or a way of passing his boring time.

One winter night, the heavens decided to test his limits of such obnoxious egoistic nature. A highly respected priestess roaming around the jungle seemed to have lost her way back, and thus decided she might just rest the night. She was always in her house, training to be more and more powerful until she became one. Completely inexperienced of human nature, her curiosity lead her to explore what it was like to live normally for a day, eventually leading to an aristocratic family's residence, the NEO Residence. They were the most powerful families of the 1800s, their fame and wealth being no new news to anyone. But she still decided to see if their wealth and fame were equivalent to their kindness. The priestess disguised herself in the clothing of a pregnant woman, her dress completely soiled and ragged; making her seem pitiful and powerless. She chanted something eerily magical, instantly transforming the calm snowfall into a vicious snowstorm.

Back at the NEO residents, the young men seemed to get baffled at the sudden change of demeanor of the weather. Johnny was the first to notice, keeping aside the book he was previously reading as he went over to the large windows of their house, the wood felt cold and beads of ice were already starting to form on the contrary side of the window glass.

“Taeil, Taeyong, what just happened?” He motioned the other two towards the window he stood in front, both failing to grasp the situation.

“Maybe it’s just an unprecedented snowstorm; don’t worry brother it’ll die soon.” He said despite feeling a bit uneasy for some reason. Neither Taeil nor Johnny could avoid their anxiousness; they felt something but could not quite comprehend the reason behind it. Similarly, the others started to take notice of the situation as well; Doyoung sprinting off to get Mark and Haechan from their rooms whilst Yuta stayed beside Jungwoo in case if he had a panic attack. But one seems to remain just as unbothered and lofty prideful as usual, Jaehyun. Winwin ushered Taeyong where Jaehyun was sitting, annoyed by his way too relaxed composure. Taeyong just nodded, as if he was telling Winwin that he would talk to Jaehyun for being like this yet again; at that point, it had become something very common for him.

“I don’t feel good about this,” Yuta sighed, rubbing the temples of his forehead.

“Neither do we brother,” Taeil said as he looked at Johnny, their worried glances meeting each other before the latter went over towards the window again.

“It is showing no signs of stopping anytime soon.” Johnny inspected before pulling over the curtains; an attempt to calm themselves down by concealing the ruckus occurring outside.

“Aren’t you all tiring out yourselves a bit too much?” Jaehyun got up from his seat, swirling the red wine gracefully in the expensive sherry glass he was holding. “Come on, brothers, it is just a snowstorm. Nothing can ever happen to us.”

“Jaehyun, can you for once stop being so obnoxious and think rationally? Do you really think it’s just a normal storm going on out there?” Winwin exclaimed, his face filled with rage.

“Not my problem, ya’ll go ahead tire yourselves out.” Jaehyun pursed his lips before returning to his seat, filling up his empty glass yet again.

Just then, they heard soft knocks coming from the main door of their house, followed by pleas for help. Taeyong rushed to the door, quickly opening as he was welcomed by the whirl of the snowstorm and a young poor pregnant lady. He quickly brought her inside before calling over Johnny and Yuta to shut the door, the force of the storm was a bit too much.

“I can’t find my way back to my house, please, let me stay for just one night.” the lady pleaded, barely holding herself up.

“Sure, no problem. We’ll ma-”

“No.” Jaehyun abruptly cut off Taeyong, staring at his intently at the lady. “You don’t have the right to, look at yourself,” Jaehyun scoffed as he stood up. “Do you really think you’re worth enough to stay here? Really?”

“Jaehyun stop it! Enough already!” Taeyong shouted, his loud voice echoing throughout the whole house. “For fuck’s sake, she’s pregnant, stop it.”

“Don’t try voicing out your opinions on me Taeyong.” Jaehyun now shifted his gaze towards his older brother, who was clearly outraged by his imprudence “Pregnant? It makes me not let her stay, even more, at least she’ll give birth to a normal human, unlike us.” He scoffed. “Or she is just gonna leave her child alone, just like our mother did.

“Stop it Jaehyun, you’re crossing it,” Taeil said calmly, contrasting his fuming self.

“Why big brother? Finally, feeling sorry for your girlfriend? Should have thought before he fed on her.”

“ENOUGH!” the lady yelled, her voice changing to her original. “My, my. My instincts were indeed right about you.” She chuckled as she looked directly towards Jaehyun, her green eyes glowing menacingly. The storm outside seemed to have shifted inside now, a tornado of green wind and sparkling dust surrounding the lady, the middle glowing with such tremendous light that the men had to cover their eyes in fear that they will go blind. As the tornado stopped, their faces went pale, they knew who she was.

“High Priestess Valery..” Haechan’s eyes widened in realization. The priestess smiled, clearly knowing the effect of authority she had on them

“Jaehyun it is huh?” She walked further towards him, whilst he still stood high despite the unsettling feeling he was then starting to feel in his half functioning heart. “You really think of yourself this high? No wonder even the headquarters nicknamed you imbecile.”

“We apologize for his gaffe, high priestess.” Taeyong knelt, the others following him.

Jaehyun felt his throat form a lump, he could not voice out an apology as he knelt for forgiveness. Disrespecting, that too the high priestess of the clan was a great omission; an act equivalent to committing high treason. Jaehyun knew he was doomed, he felt sicker and sicker as he thought about what could possibly happen next.

“I was actually looking forward to you know, rectify your spoiled little brother, but it seems to me that it is quite a handful of work.” She remarked, her bracelet with various initials glowing.

“We promise, we’ll discipline him more, high priestess.” Taeil pleaded. But Valery seemed to ignore all of their pleas.

“He needs to learn it by himself,” She said. “But you all are not quite the innocents as well.” Valery did something with her hands, fumes of lilac, and blue clouding around her fingers. A loud sound erupted as the gaseous colors spread throughout the hall, flashes of various images appearing. “Look carefully you foolish beings, look what you have been doing because of your monstrous selves.” “It wasn’t our fault, we were completely clueless as to what we were doing, and we knew nothing about our kinds,” Haechan exclaimed sorrowfully. “You kill innocents to satiate your beastly taste buds and still dare to say you’re not at fault?” Valery bellowed. “A death caused by accident or impulse is still nonetheless death to me, a murder.”

“As for you,” Valery said while pointing her forefinger towards Jaehyun. “You have shown me that not only you’re a beast outside, but also inside. I condemn you to eternal loneliness; your only family turning into lifeless statues, they can’t converse, eat, and sleep, a curse that shall remain for a lifetime if not broken within a span of 51 years, a curse that shall be broken only if a maiden chooses to fall for you despite your beastly nature.” And in a blink of an eye, she disappeared.

Jaehyun felt numb, his limbs paralyzing as he propped to the ground, seeing his brothers’ bodies turning into stones. Taeyong’s eyes glistened with tears, as it rolled down his cheeks, Jaehyun wondered if he would ever be able to free them from the wrath that befell them only because of him.   

[skammovistarplus]

Culture and Translation - S01 E07 and SKAM+ Clip 3

I hope I get these done before season 2 starts dropping, that’s all I’ll say. 😂

CLIP 1: Foreshadowing

Es un poco rancio, ¿no? (“It’s not hip, no?”): Fucking Jorge and his untranslatable slang. Okay, so “rancio” literally means “rancid” — and a bunch of other things besides, but this is the meaning closest to the way Jorge uses it. Jorge means that the power of invisibility is overused, boring, the kind of thing someone totally out of touch would pick. Simply put, it’s not cool, and may not have ever been cool.

Es como el superpoder de los cotillas (“It’s like the gossips’ superpower”): “Cotilla” is both a busybody and someone who gossips a lot. Either way, they like being all up on your business.

I think it’s notable that this is all that remains from the og storyline where Jonas wants to meet Eva’s mom, but ultimately bails because he’s smoking weed at Ingrid’s. Eva simply puts Jorge’s request off and it’s never spoken of again.

Personally, I have to say that Eva sharing basically none of her life with her mom rang true to me. I spoke with one of the people who attended the research groups, who told me they were asked about how much or how little they share with their parents. She said most people agreed that teens spend time with their families, but they don’t talk to their parents about their lives all that much. As a teen, my parents were on a need-to-know basis when it came to who my friends were or who I was dating, much less at what point sex, booze and other drugs came into my life.

CLIP 2:  Diseased Pomeranian

Ay, que me mato (“Ah, I’m gonna die”): There’s a bit of a nuance to what Eva says. To die, in Spanish, is “morir”. “Matar” means to kill. Eva means she’s going to hurt herself getting off Jorge’s back and then die, so not quite the same as passing peacefully, lol.

Que me pica un huevo la nariz (“My nose is itching something terrible”): Indeed, Viri says that her nose is itching, but she uses “un huevo” as an intensifier. “Un huevo” would usually mean an egg, but in this register it means a testicle, heh. So her nose is itching in a testicley way.

Viri says in episode 8 that the girl that runs into Eva is a second year. At any rate, Alicia and Inés hung out over the summer with her.

We get a medium close-up of Alicia as the nameless second year passes by her. Alicia has noticed that the second year has herpes, as well. It’s a brief moment, but we can tell that Alicia puts two and two together, as well.

CLIP 3: In which ALEJANDRO tries to get a passing grade in Maths

This is an underrated moment, but I find it hilarious that Eva invokes the “not all men” defense. Especially since Inés preys  on Eva’s insecurity at the end of the clip.

No me jodas (“don´t fuck me over”): This is just one of those Spanish things that we’ll say over and over. I tried different translations through the course of the season, but I still haven’t settled on one that I think really hits the spot. “Don’t fuck me over” works, but it might come across as Eva’s feelings being hurt, rather than something we say… over and over, heh.

Please don’t miss Alejandro adjusting his junk. Lol he’s so douchey.

There’s a school desk in the bathroom. This is not an uncommon sight in Spanish high schools, but I don’t really have a good explanation for it. Like, it’s just a thing. I guess people will drag a desk over at recess, so they can more comfortably hang out in the bathrooms, and then nobody ever bothers dragging them back?

And, of course, this has been noted, but the graffiti on the wall is a pun. If you read it without the R in parenthesis, it says, “Woman, love yourself.” If you read it adding the R, it says, “Woman, arm yourself.”

Pues a la de mates le está saliendo uno (“the Maths hardass is developing a cold sore too”): What Cris actually says is, “So, the Maths [female pronoun] is developing one,” but for the sake of clarity, I rephrased it to remind the people watching that the girls see the Maths teacher as a toughie, and also, so what Cris is implying about Alejandro and the Maths teacher is more obvious.

I really love that Inés actually smells Jorge’s sweatshirt/hoodie (it’s not clear from dialogue which is it). That’s a power move in any culture.

CLIP 4: Corviches are so hot right now

Encaja todo, claro (“It makes sense, of course”): The closer translation is, “It all fits, of course.” I just wasn’t sure the meaning would be clear, especially when they’re all talking so fast.

Tío, ¿y si nos acoplamos a tus hermanos? (“Dude, and if we crash your brothers’ plans?”): First off, Amira is addressing Cris, but she uses “tío” and not “tía.” This is common and there’s nothing noteworthy about it, but I wanted to mention it in case people had noticed characters of any gender addressing female characters as “tío.” Second, Amira is using slang that would be literally translated to, “what if we dock up with your brothers?” The visual is adorable (to me anyway), but I went with a less literal phrasing that makes more sense in English. I also love that this is apparently something Cris and Amira have done enough that it’s what comes to Amira’s mind first as an alternate weekend idea.

Lol easy there with the age foreshadowing, show. Looking at Cris, Jorge and Lucas specifically.

Jorge says he wants to spin tecno (or techno, in English ). In Spain, tecno has become something of a catch-all term for all EDM genres, rather than the specific mid-80s genre. In hindsight, I’d use EDM instead of electronica.

In case you hadn’t looked corviches up yet, here is a recipe + pic in English.  They’re similar to hot pockets, but the dough is made with peanuts and plantains. Also, apparently, very successful with girls! I have not had them (yet!)

Cris notes that daylight savings time ends that weekend. She and the script writers are correct! She remembers because that gives them an extra hour of partying, but the social media updates stopped before 2 am. Who knows when Cris got back home, though!

At some point in this clip, Jorge and Lucas talk to each other among the general chatter. For once, Lucas’ voice doesn’t carry over the others like a powerful siren, so I was never able to make out what they said. Missed opportunities.

CLIP 5: As if millions of voices suddenly cried out in joy and were suddenly silenced

Debuti (“G shit”): This is one of the translations that I’m happiest about. Debuti sounds very Madrid-specific to me, and so I wanted something really specific and that would stick out. “Debuti” comes up a few times over the season, but it is always said by Eva. It’s Eva’s catchphrase.

I hope it came through in the subs, but while Eva is reading Jorge’s texts, the gang is having a ridiculously hard time trying to pronounce corviches, in the background. To be fair I’m biased because I’ve studied linguistics, but it doesn’t seem like a word a native Spanish speaker would have trouble with.

We first hear Alejandro’s voice as he comes in Nora’s house! Unless you watched the Aitana extra clip, of course. On that note, there’s no animosity whatsoever between the boy squad and Alejandro’s crew. They give each other friendly high fives, it’s all chill.

This party only came to be the day before. Imagine what Cris would’ve done with a few days heads up.

I wonder if Cris was looking to hook up with Lucas at this party, and, since he didn’t feel like being social, she hooked up with Hugo, instead. Seeing how hard a time she’s had shaking Hugo off, I think it would’ve gone better for her if Lucas had agreed to a dance.

And speaking of Lucas, you can kind of see the order in which some scenes were shot, by tracking Lucas’ actor’s cold sore. And yes, it is an actual cold sore and not make up for the show, lol. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that. What amazing timing on the cold sore’s part to be at the scab stage during ALEJANDRO FERNANDO ROBERTO’s herpes week.

Pues muy bien (“Good for her”):  It’s not exactly what Alejandro says. What he says would be closer to, “Okay, very good.” But I think “Good for her” really gets across how little Alejandro cares about what Nora is saying, at this point of the confrontation.

¿Es que no te salían pelos en los huevos? (“You didn’t grow hair in your balls?”): Omg. It’s ON. ON. I am cringing so hard at this mistake in the subs.

CLIP 6: 🙃🙃🙃

I saw someone asking on twitter, so yes, those giant plastic cups are a thing here. They have different names depending on what part of Spain you’re from. In Madrid, they’re called “mini,” and they have a volume of 750 ml (or a little over three cups). They’re most often used for street drinking.

Eva drinks KNEBEP Vodka, which is sold at (you guessed it) Mercadona, for 4 euro per bottle. My liver is crying just thinking about it.

The first song that plays over this clip is Aitana’s Teléfono (Telephone). We remember Aitana from Cristian’s party!

CLIP 7: 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

Te he oído que estabas con Inés (“I could hear you were with Inés”): Literally, “I have heard you, that you were with Inés.”

Por eso he coincidido con Inés (“That’s why Inés was around”): Collins dictionary says that “coincidir” in the sense Jorge is using it would be translated as, “to happen to meet.” I.e. “That’s why I’ve happened to meet Inés.” But I didn’t like it, because Jorge was at Inés’ house. Of course Inés was around. He didn’t just happen to run into her somewhere random. Hope the translation worked!

Tranquila (“It’s okay”): We had something of a debate over the way to translate this. Jorge says “tranquila,” which is the female form of the adjective “calm.” TAJTA wanted to translate it as “calm down.” I didn’t agree, because in Spanish, that would be “tranquilízate.” Jorge is simply repeating “tranquila” to Eva as a means to soothe her, like you do with a crying person. So, rather than “calm down,” I suggested that Jorge repeat “It’s okay.”

Jorge does say “tranquilízate” over the credits, and in that instance we did translate it as “calm down.”

EXTRA CLIP 3: Hugo psyches himself out

This clip takes place between clip 4 and 5! It happens on Friday evening.

At the 00:21 mark, the camera focuses on a graffiti of a blue-skinned woman, with yellow text next to her. It says, “We are the witches you couldn’t kill.”

Pero si estoy más sudado que el rabo de Nadal (“I’m sweatier than Nadal’s wang though”): This is the exact translation, word for word. I just wanted to make clear I did not make anything up in that sentence. By the way, it took a bit to settle on wang among all the many words for a penis.

Nos alegramos porque un colega nuestro está a punto de mojar (“We’re happy because a buddy is gonna get his dick wet”): Dilan is not quite so explicit, he just says Hugo is going to “mojar,” literally, “to wet.” But, it just made me realize that “get his dick wet” is pretty much what “mojar” has meant all this time, and I just hadn’t really thought about it until I had to translate it for a teen show.

Concha de tu madre (“hurry up”): This is Latin American slang. I actually had to read up on usage, because it is most often used as an insult having to do with someone’s mother’s vagina. But I’m pretty sure that, in this context, Dilan only intends to hurry Hugo up. 😂

Social media:

I just want to have a minor breakdown about Eva actually referring to Lucas as her and Jorge’s son, lol.

Jorge has the Théophile Steinlen’s Le Chat Noir poster up in his room. As I mentioned in a previous post, Tomás Aguilera seems to be both a fan of cats and of French. The three videos of Jorge messing with his DJ system are among my very favorite Skam España social media content, because for once, they’re not a selfie.

It looks as though the shipname for Hugo/Cris is Crugo, to answer a question I posed when I posted the social media updates.

“Olé” finally makes an appearance on Skam España. I’ve decided to keep it as is, because some things would be a crime to translate. In case you’re not aware, “olé” is used to express approval and it’s commonly associated with flamenco music and bullfighting. However, it’s not just used in those two contexts. It can be used in any context. I often use it sarcastically, when someone has fucked up. 😋

[hornyliverpudlianputz]

Long-haired weirdos on American TV

Buckle up kiddos; here we fucking go. Alright. In The Monkee fandom this is something we hear a lot about. “The Monkees” was so groundbreaking! It brought rock-n-roll music into America’s living room! It made the counter-culture acceptable! They were the first show to not have an authority figure! They were the first show to present long-haired young musicians as the good guys! And so on and so forth, ad nauseum. We hear this so much, I think it starts to lose its impact, not to mention the fact that for those of us who are not first gen fans (increasingly the majority of us) we lack the cultural context to understand just how significant this show actually was. So without further ado, here are some points to consider.

First, the hair. Looking back now, it seems laughable that in season 1 these guys: x

were considered to have “long hair”. But you have to understand. In the 40s, the US went to war. WWII was a “popular” war, which meant that if you were male you either were a soldier or you idolized soldiers. No homo. But as a result of this trend, military haircuts became popular. That meant short, practical hairstyles with clean-shaven faces. x

In the 50s, the US went back to war in Korea, and again in Vietnam which bled into the 60s. By that time, even though the US was not technically “at war” with anyone, the “young generation” was getting more and more fed up with being sent to fight and die for a cause they didn’t fully understand and were less and less sure they believed in. But in the early and mid 60s, soldiers and veterans were still heroes to the general public. So the growing opposition in the youth became a counter-culture movement, beginning as the beat generation and growing into the hippies.

These people rebelled against everything “mainstream”; they had sex before marriage, they had interracial sex, they had gay sex, they experimented with drugs, they bent gender lines, they wrote about all of the above and published it, they grew beards, and, wonder of wonders, they didn’t crop their hair. 

So in the mid-60s, as a man, if you didn’t keep your hair short, it was public declaration that you rejected the values that America considered to be basic decency. If you let your hair grow, you were labeling yourself a deviant. That line that’s used a few times in the show? About men with long hair not being allowed into Disneyland? That wasn’t a joke, that actually happened.

And more than that, wearing your hair “long” as a man blurred the strict gender divide at the time. We see this a number of times in the show both scripted and not. In one of the post show interviews Davy tells a story about how he was mistaken for a woman on a trip to see his family, both by a fellow passenger and his sister. In another interview Davy is asked about being harassed for his hair. In “Monkees on Tour” Peter compare’s the length of his horse’s mane to his own hair and sarcastically asks if the horse is a “boy or girl”. In “Monkees Mind Their Manor” the man who comes to bring Davy to England mistakes Micky for a girl, and is nearly stabbed with a drumstick for his trouble. The butler in “The Christmas Show” tells the band they were expecting “four gentlemen” when they arrive. (Mike asks if they will accept four ladies who shave. They do.) And the only difference Mr. Babbitt seems to see between Mrs. Arcadian and Micky in “The Chaperone” is hair color.

Now we come to the music, if the hair wasn’t bad enough. Rock-n-roll became a hit the 50s with artists like Elvis and Buddy Holly. (I should point out, among white audiences. Classic rock, like many other popular music genres such as ragtime, jazz, and hip hop, began among black communities first before spreading elsewhere.) 

Rock in the late 50s scandalized older generations. The rhythms were more staccato and less “refined” than the crooners they were used to. Classical instruments like brass or strings were set aside in favor of drums, guitars/basses, and small percussion instruments instead. Performers danced in jerky, abrupt movements on stage while singing, and Elvis in particular made headlines by thrusting his hips which brought sex to the forefront. The name itself, rock-n-roll, derived from a slang term for “the deed” which, disappointingly, makes “sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll” redundant. Adults railed against this new type of music, calling it deviant and unclean. Young people, on the other hand, loved it. 

And this was a bit of a gray area. As I’ll get into later, the idea of “young adults” or teenagers was only just beginning to become a concept. There were two kinds of people in the world, children and adults. And adults wielded absolute authority over children. So no one really knew what to do with the people old enough to chafe against authority but young enough to not be respected as one. 

But the adults couldn’t deny that fact that rock music was extremely popular with young people. Chubby Checker, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly, Elvis, The Beatles, and the list was only growing. As a result, this “rock fad” became an in-joke, something for those in power to mock. Look at any popular sitcom in the 60s and I guarantee it has a “rock band” episode that depicts a Beatles-esque band with their bangs in their eyes playing a sham parody of “music” while wildly and completely un-rhythmically “dancing”. 

In “F-Troop” it’s “That’s Show Biz”. In “Gilligan’s Island” it’s “Don’t Bug the Mosquitoes”. In “The Dick Van Dyke Show” it’s “The Redcoats are Coming”. Such groups were always met with confusion and derision, and usually shrugged off in the end as “well whatever, but it’s not ‘Real Music’”. These bands were put in as commentary on current, real-life counterparts (mostly The Beatles) and they were meant to be laughed at. x

In the show the boys are often met with derision or outright animosity in regards to their music. The pilot, “Here Come The Monkees”, has a father reluctant to let them play at a country club, and even breaks down crying that he’s “sold out” (to rock culture) when the boys go on at the end. In “Monkees at the Circus” the circus performers are angry in general at what they see as no talent entertainers taking away their lively hoods. And we see how well-received the boys are by the “style gurus” in “Monkees a la Mode”.

Now let’s see, so far we have hairstyles that label you as “deviant” and a music genre that does the same thing. What else could we possibly throw in? Ah yes. Let’s take away all adult authority figures! As I mentioned before, young people in the 60s were just starting to have a voice of their own. The world was divided into adults and children, and adults ruled with an iron fist. Children needed to be guided, taught, and above all else controlled lest they stray into poor decisions. And adults were the only ones who could possibly tell “right” from “wrong”.

But on “The Monkees” there was no authority. The boys were their own moral compass, though Mike came pretty close to acting as the “dad” most of the time. In fact most of the adults on the show are either villains or someone who need the boys’ help. And make no mistake, despite all of them being in their early 20s Peter, Mike, Micky, and Davy were playing boys. They are almost universally referred to as such by every adult figure in the show, and make several comments themselves about being “too young to get married” or the like. Their characters were most likely not meant to be older than 17 or 18. (I think one of them has a line somewhere about being 16 but I can’t pin it down.) x

And all of this is not even mentioning the fact that, besides being “musicians”, the guys are unemployed! Between gigs and odd jobs, they’re “bums” who can’t “get a real job” which was, and still is, Not A Good Thing. But ultimately their career choice is treated as a serious one in the show. Their music is never a joke, and a number of times they use it to help people.

So. Long story short. “The Monkees” took a staunchly counter-culture style, a “deviant” music genre, thumbed their noses at authority, combined it all together and mixed well with a type of sharp, witty comedy that would have gotten nasty looks at the country club. Then they took aim at teens and tweens across the country and struck gold.  Turns out the young generation did have something of substance to say after all.

[whispersandwhiskerburn]

Live to Fight Another Day

Summary: Part 1 of a 2 part suspense/angst fic: a hunt goes terribly wrong for the reader and the Winchesters while Dean battles with his guilt. Canon style. Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 2,430 Warnings: This is going to be an angsty one, folks. SFW. Also, cliffhanger. Author’s Note: This was a combination fic: the title came from Rebekah (@impala-dreamer)’s “Titles are Hard”Challenge, but the gif below and the bolded line came from Jess (@wi-deangirl77)’s “Fave SPN Episode Challenge” where she gave me a gif and a line from my favorite episode “Lazarus Rising”. When my bestie @waywardjoy picked the same episode for this challenge, we decided to combine our efforts and write a two part fic set in season 3 right after the “Jus in Bello” episode. When the Queen of Angst posts the second part, I will link it HERE as well as at the end of the fic. FEEDBACK IS LIFE, PEOPLE. Without further ado, the Queen of Canon presents part one of this fic:

Dean woke up from a new nightmare, the sheet sticking to the sweat on his chest as tried not to wake Y/N in the bed next to him.

He could still hear the voices of Henriksen, the cop he’d gotten killed, and Nancy, the virgin from the police station. Also dead because of him.

New ghosts to haunt him. Just what Dean needed.

“Babe, you okay?” Y/N mumbled, barely awake and reaching for him to comfort.

Dean didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her, but he pulled her close anyway and let her warmth and nearness chase away the ghosts.

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Just a nightmare. Go back to sleep.”

She snuggled into him, and Dean spooned around her, steadying his breath and heartbeat to match hers as she drifted back off to sleep. He shot a glance over at Sam and found his brother passed out, then tried to copy the two of them.

He’d learn to close his eyes again without seeing the faces of those people. It might take some violence, some alcohol, and some time, but he’d find a way. He always did.

When Dean finished his shower the next morning, he walked out into a tense room.

“Just because she’s a--”

“Demon, Sam. She’s a demon. And I don’t trust her. Knife, no knife; advice, no advice. She’s working an angle, and I’m not going to let you fall into her trap.”

Sam threw up his hands, apparently recognizing the tone in Y/N’s voice. Dean knew that when she was that adamant about something, there was no way either Winchester would be getting his way, despite their legendary stubbornness.

Dean raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend, but didn’t ask anything when she shook her head no. He could stay out of it. For now.

“So, what’s the plan? We got a case?”

Sam shot a glance at Y/N, then turned to pour himself a coffee in the crappy kitchenette of the cheap hotel.

Y/N spoke up, “maybe. I picked up a police report on the scanner of some missing backpackers in the national forest about 50 miles from here. I talked to Bobby, and he said there’s some demon signs in the area, so it might be our kind of thing.”

Dean made a face which Y/N interpreted correctly. “I know, I know, a devil’s gate was opened recently and there’s demon signs everywhere these days. It’s a thin lead, but....”

Sam muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “which is exactly what I said,” which Y/N pointedly ignored.

The two of them looked to Dean, evidently waiting for him to make the call.

He thought about his nightmares, how all he wanted to do was take a damn break and be happy to have his brother alive, and his girlfriend in his arms. He wanted to get the Colt back, and he wanted to find a way out of this deal that had his soul bound for Hell. He wanted to forget about ghosts and guilt and the blood on his hands and just be a normal man, for once in his life.

But people don’t always get what they want. So Dean did what he always did: forced a smile and a quip, put on a brave face, and got on with the job.

“Hey, I just got outta jail. Bring it.”

Y/N’s look to Sam screamed I told you so! As she grabbed her bag and started repacking it for the road.

“I’ll see you two male models in the car in five then, ‘kay?”

The Winchesters both grunted their agreement and moved to get ready themselves as she headed to the motel office to check out.

Even with his life on a timer, the job never ended.

Before they rolled out of Nowheresville, or whatever this tiny town was, Dean pulled into a gas station to fill up Baby’s tank, and sending Sam inside to get some road-food before they started hunting.

Dean was surprised when Y/N got out of the car too, and even more so when she didn’t follow Sam in to visit the bathroom. Instead, she leaned against Baby’s door next to him with her arms crossed over her chest, her tee-shirt already sticking to her skin in the mid-morning heat.

“Okay, Dean. Spill.”

He raised his eyebrows at her in what he hoped was an innocent expression. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Recently.

“What?”

“Whatever it is that’s crawled inside that thick skull of yours and is making you so grim.”

Dean went to protest, but she held a hand up, cutting him off. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve kept a smile on. You know I can see through that shit. So can Sam, but he’s less willing to call you on it, especially now.” Dean’s face tightened.

“Is that what’s bothering you? Your deal?”

He looked at the pump, hoping it was almost done so he could get back in the car and avoid this conversation. The numbers seemed to be dragging.

“If it’s your deal, you shouldn’t let it bother you that much. We all know why you did it--and we’re not going to stop until we find a way to get you out of it. No matter what you say.”

Dean had made his thoughts clear on that subject in the past. Bobby, Sam, Y/N, Jo, and Ellen continued to ignore his warnings and there wasn’t much he could do about it.

But Y/N was staring at him, expectant. Dean sighed, knowing she wouldn’t let it go till he said something.

“It’s not my deal, or the fact that all of you have signed up for a lost cause trying to save me. Well, maybe that’s part of it. But mostly it’s the lost cause that seems to be my entire life--trying to save people and losing them anyway. Over and over and over again. Mom. Dad. I couldn’t save Jess for Sam. Everywhere I go, bodies drop, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Not really.”

Y/N’s eyes had become soft and understanding. He didn’t know why he’d said all that. He always said to much when he talked to her.

Her voice was gentle, and a teasing smile was on her face when Y/N spoke again, “so, you’re not worried about yourself, like a sane person would be. Your time’s ticking down, your life and soul on the line, and you’re sunk in survivor’s guilt, of all things.

“Dean Winchester, I want you to hear me. This job we do--it’s dark and depressing as hell 99% of the time. For every monster we face, there will always be another one, no one ever thanks us, and we all know we’ll probably die bloody somewhere along the way. We do what we can, but we can never save everyone. That’s just not how the world works.”

“Gee, thanks. I feel loads better now.” Dean finally heard the clunk as the old gas pump finished filling up the tank and  busied his hands with the gas cap and the nozzle while Y/N waited for him to look at her again.

“Dean, guilt is as much a part of this life as booze and bullets. But letting it eat at you because you survived when someone else didn’t? That’s stupid. Saving people is part of the job description--and you’re a person. Sometimes, saving yourself is the win, especially when it’s all you can do. At least then you live to fight another day, to save someone else and yourself again another time. That’s important too.”

Her voice was serious, and Dean could tell this was something she had put a lot of thought into. Y/N had been raised a hunter like Sam and him. He knew she’d probably gone through this before, and he wanted to listen to her.

But he couldn’t. Not right now. Not with the faces of Nancy and Henriksen and the other people they were probably going to get killed because of that damn demon gate.

So he smiled and nodded, and she frowned, clearly seeing through him. He could tell she wanted to keep talking, but thankfully, when she saw Sam coming out of the gas station, she held her tongue and moved to get back into the car. Dean knew he hadn’t heard the last of this, but he was glad for the reprieve.

Sam reached the car and opened the passenger door, tossing in two bags of snacks before leaning on top of the cab. “I called the local cops while I was shopping, got directions to the campsite where the hikers went missing. We should be able to get there in about an hour, hour and a half.”

“Sounds good.” Dean ducked into the Impala and started her engine, pausing long enough for Sam to get settled and to pull out a bag of potato chips before pulling out onto the highway and on to their next hunt.

“It looks like we have to hike the rest of the way from here.” Sam was looking at a walking trail map that he’d picked up at the entrance to the state park, his fingers tracing the route to where the report said the missing hikers had been camping at.

“Awesome.” Dean smiled at Y/N’s sarcasm and the three of you piled out of the Impala, grabbing the necessary gear and following Sam’s lead into the woods.

The day was heating up, the temperature already in the mid 80s and Dean was sweating after just a few minutes of hiking. He stripped off his outer layer, tying it around his waist as he navigated the trail. To make the climb a little more enjoyable, he focused on watching Y/N’s ass instead of dwelling on the heat as he followed her into the woods, the last in their small line of three.

The plan was to find the campsite and look for sulfur or EMF readings. If they didn’t see either, it probably wasn’t their kind of case, and they’d leave it to the regular cops to find these people. Dean felt a little more guilt piled on at the thought of abandoning lost people, but there were just too many supernatural threats out in the world that they could be protecting people from. The natural ones had to be left to those out of the hunting life to take care of.

His thoughts and hike were interrupted as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

“Hang on a second, guys,” Dean pulled his cell out and saw one of Bobby’s numbers before accepting the call. “Yeah, Bobby, what’s up?”

“Dean? I need--there’s--you and--” There was static and Bobby’s voice was hard to understand.

“Bobby? Can you hear me?”

More static. When Dean glanced at the phone, he saw that the call had been disconnected.

He glanced at Y/N and Sam, “I must be out of range. I’m going to cut through to the maintenance road on the map,” he pointed off in the woods to the west,  “ and walk back towards the entrance until I can get a signal again, see what Bobby wants, then I’ll catch up with you two, okay?”

Sam nodded and Y/N finished taking a drink of water before speaking, “sounds good. Watch your back and we’ll see you in a few.”

Dean handed off his bag so he could move faster and struck off into the woods. The trees weren’t so close together, and after barely a minute of walking he could see the maintenance road. Walking on it was a lot quicker and easier than the rough hiking trail, and he kept a good pace, checking his phone signal every 30 yards or so.

Finally, he got enough bars to place the call.

“Bobby? Can you hear me?”

“Dean! You three need to be careful. I did some digging on the area that Y/N told me about. There’s demon signs in the region, but the disappearances date back way before the demon’s gate. Every ten to twenty years, people go missing. I know you’re in Colorado, not Michigan, but it looks to me like--”

Dean had already done the math. “Wendigo. It’s a damn wendigo.”

“Probably. You’re packing flares, right?” Bobby sounded concerned, and the connection was faulty, but Dean could still tell what he said.

“Yeah, I think there’s some in my bag or Y/N’s, probably Sam’s too. I’ve got to go, Bobby, I split off to get you back on the phone.”

“Be careful.”

Dean had already hung up and was jogging back towards where he had got on the service road when he heard the scream.

Y/N.

“Y/N! Sam!” He picked up the pace, sprinting now.

Part of his mind was telling him to be careful, that that a wendigo could mimic voices, that it might be a trap. But when he heard another scream from Y/N, his body responded without his mind, and he took off through the woods toward the sound, calling out her name, and Sam’s, desperate to find them.

He had to save them. Dean couldn’t stand to lose either of them.

He found the trail and raced down it, tripping once on a root and falling, skinning his hands and landing hard on a knee. Dean pushed himself up again, cursing under his breath, his heart pounding as he raced through the woods.

Everything was quiet now, which scared him almost as much as the screams.

He almost tripped over his bag when he rounded a curve in the trail, but he caught himself this time. Sam was laid out under a tree a yard away and Dean rushed over to his brother. There was no blood, no wounds, but Sam wasn’t moving.

He felt for a pulse and let out a shaky sigh of relief when he found it strong in Sam’s neck. He looked around, but other than some claw marks on the tree above Sam and in the dirt a few feet away, there was no sign of the monster.

Y/N wasn’t there either.

It was late afternoon now, the sun was already starting to set, and Y/N had been taken by a wendigo. Dean felt like his stomach was sinking in his abdomen as he shook his unresponsive brother, and tried to think of a way to save her.

He would save her. Dean would not have Y/N haunt him too.

Part 2 HERE by @waywardjoy!

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[allyinthekeyofx]

SMALL CONSIDERATIONS BETWEEN PARTNERS - ‘Imperfect fish’

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

Season one - Chocolate drops do not constitute medicine

Season two -  You never gave up on me

Season three - Chasing his demons

Season four - Material things

Season five -  There’s no place like home

Fight The future - To the ends of the earth

Season six - Swaying isn’t dancing

Season seven - Playing with fire

‘Imperfect fish’

Season eight.

 1/1

I very nearly lose my nerve as I stand before the dark hardwood of Mulder's apartment door, fingers curled loosely into a fist that pauses around an inch or so from the wooden surface as I try to convince myself to either alert him to my presence or to just turn around and walk away; propelled along the narrow corridor by the sure knowledge of his continued indifference toward me.  

The number 4 of the ‘42’ has shifted slightly again and I realise it was one of those things I meant to fix when he was gone, a stupid bargain with myself that if I fixed it, he would come back to me; that he would come back and we would just pick up where we left off – with one obvious addition to our dynamic of course.  And I suppose I partly got what I had wished for during those months he was missing, because by some divine miracle he was returned to me.  This man I buried in the cold, hard earth of the unforgiving mid-winter as the tiny spark of new life fluttered inside me; a life resilient in the face of such heartbreak that left me not knowing how I would ever carry on.  But for him, for the child I carried inside of me, my one remaining link to a man who had become my everything, I somehow managed to weave the tattered threads of my life around me and found the strength to open my eyes every morning against the darkness that threatened to envelop me with every single second that passed without Mulder by my side.

And then the myriad of emotion when the call came from the hospital.

Disbelief, hope, desperation, joy and finally, finally when he opened his eyes, such an overwhelming feeling of love for him that I feared I might never breathe again without him.

But it wasn’t the same, he wasn’t the same.

He isn’t the same.

The man who left me so many months ago is an almost forgotten memory in the face of the man who has returned; and if I hadn’t actually read his medical records, I would doubt my own certainty that it is really him.

And even though I have tried to give the space he so obviously needs, if anything as the days turn into weeks he is withdrawing further and further away from me, holding me at arm’s length even as I see the confusion and uncertainty in his eyes on the rare occasions he allows his guard to drop even a little.  But I rejoice in those rare moments because at least he is giving me something, some way of attempting to reach out to him even when his expression becomes clouded once more as his barriers slam back in place, a defence against everything he perceives he has lost as he falls back on the tried and tested banter that sustained us during the early months of our partnership before trust took over and the mutual wariness of each other began to fade.

But this time is different.

Because this time all I sense within him is a deep bitterness that spills forth, dripping off his every word, his every look and his every gesture and there are times when I am alone at night, craving his touch, clutching onto my phone and willing it with every scalding tear that sears my skin, to ring, just once.  To hear his voice the way I wished for so long that I might hear it again; but my prayers are never answered because I think maybe I’ve far exceeded my quota of miracles for this lifetime and really I have no right to add extra concessions onto the bargains I made with God.

Mulder came back to me.

The fact that I am haunted by the knowledge that, truthfully, he wishes he hadn’t is neither here nor there and certainly no apparent concern of his.

He has lost everything.

His work, his sense of self, his purpose and I know without him having to open his mouth that he believes he has lost me too; that in some way I blame him for leaving me to begin with and right now, it seems as though there is no getting through to him; this stranger who has withdrawn from the world that has done nothing but cause him pain from almost the moment he came to be.

But I refuse to allow him to keep hiding from me and not for the first time in my life I am thankful for the Irish genes of my forefathers that bestowed upon me a stubbornness that will not yet allow me to give up on him and whether he thinks he needs it or not, I will find a way to give him back some of the beauty he thinks he has lost.

Although admittedly this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.

I hadn’t intended on replacing Mulders dead fish; a Molly who I had helpfully informed him hadn’t been as lucky as he had in the fact that she had actually died where he hadn’t; not realising at that moment that in actuality, he didn’t feel very lucky at all and would probably have gladly swopped places with her.  So no, replacing his deceased fish hasn’t exactly been at the forefront of my mind lately.  But today, after realising that Mulder was probably almost out of fish food and hoping to prevent the rest of his aquatic companions from going the way of the unfortunate Molly, I stopped off at the pet store to pick him some up.

I had been less than impressed to find I had to wait to be served, the heat of the late spring day only equal to the heat that was beginning to spread across my lower back as the baby settled in comfortably for his afternoon nap right atop my aching bladder; even less impressed when I discovered the reason for the store owners preoccupation.

A Molly.

Caught in the small catch- net he held in his hand that he  dumped unceremoniously on top of the counter before he scrubbed his damp palms against his jeans , leaving faint water smears against the fabric; reaching out with a muttered apology for me having to wait, his hand hovering in the air as I made no move to relinquish the small cardboard tub of fish flakes to his waiting grasp.

Because I couldn’t take my eyes off the Molly as she flipped feebly against the netted confines, small body expanding and contracting as she sought to find a way to draw breath in this alien environment she now found herself in.  The store owner must have followed my gaze, maybe seen the unspoken question in my expression.

“Damaged fin.”  He supplied helpfully as though that explained everything.

And it was then I knew. Knew that she was considered damaged goods and therefore nobody would want her.

Damaged goods.

Like Mulder.

“I’ll buy her.  Sell her to me.”

He just gave me a look that was somewhere between amused and condescending and I can honestly say there have been few moments in my long and chequered career where I have felt such an urge to pull my gun on a civilian; maybe even fire off a round or two. Instead though, I pulled out my badge, babbling some ridiculous nonsense about animal cruelty being a federal offense that extended to aquatics.

Five minutes later I exited the store with the aforementioned Molly swimming small circles in the rigid plastic round tub she was to be transported in and enough complimentary fish flakes to last Mulders small  fishy family at least a year, maybe a couple of years if he was frugal.

A further fifteen minutes later and here I am.  Standing outside Mulders apartment and lacking the courage needed to actually knock on his door for fear of the reception I might garner from him and I am tired, so damn tired of trying to keep it together in the face of so much snarling indifference.

But the baby is kicking, the sweat is pouring off me and the fucking Molly is going to knock herself unconscious if she head butts the plastic container one more time.  So finally, I rap my knuckles against the wood, closing my eyes for a second as I hear the sound of Mulder’s footsteps come closer until the pause coincides exactly with the chain being released and the lock turning.

The first thing I notice is how pale he is, the pallor of his skin exaggerating the still healing scars that mar his handsome face and by his red-rimmed eyes it is obvious that he hasn’t been sleeping.

“Scully? It’s.....um....it’s not really a good time right now....”

“I bought you a fish.”

My statement knocks him mentally off balance slightly, just as I knew it would and without waiting to be invited, I push past him, my burgeoning belly making contact with his hip and I swear I see a shiver briefly overtake him before he rapidly steps back away from me, closing the door behind us he makes no attempt to follow.

“Um....thanks I guess.....”

And suddenly I am angry, finally I am angry at him.  

The ungrateful fucking bastard.

I bought him a fish.

“Thanks you guess?”

I resist the urge to throw the container, damaged Molly and all, right across the space that separates us and instead I place the container next to the fish tank so she can begin to get acquainted with her new home.

“You want to know why I bought the fish?”

He nods on cue. Pavlov’s dog would have been proud.

“Because I went to the store to buy fish food and she was flapping on the counter waiting to die. Waiting to die just because she was deemed to be damaged.  To be unworthy of life, of living and you know what?  For a second she reminded me of you Mulder...”

I can hear my voice starting to rise, my breath quickening in my breast as I look at him from across the room, locking my eyes with his and daring him to look away, to deny me once again my desire to care about him even if he’s stopped caring about himself.

“But she isn’t like you at all...because she was fighting, she was fighting for life with everything she had and you.....you don’t have that ability to fight anymore and I can’t...I can’t keep fighting for the both of us...while you just lock yourself away being angry at the world..”

And just like that I’m crying, blinded suddenly by tears I have held in check for far too long and which now demand release while Mulder just stands there, unmoving and unresponsive, face slack and emotionless; and I realise that something inside me has finally broken, that I just can’t do this anymore.

“I need to go.”

I begin to walk, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, knowing somehow that if I leave now there will be no going back; drawing a line to protect myself, to protect him and to protect the baby growing inside of me.

“Please Scully, don’t go.”

His voice is barely a whisper, ragged and vulnerable and so full of yearning I want to just wrap him in my embrace and hold him until we both stop hurting each other like this, and before I have taken even a couple of steps, he is there before me, reaching out for me, tears streaming down his face, fingers trembling as he gently touches my cheek, the first touch we have shared since that morning before he left me to go back to Oregon.

One touch.

Just one touch.

And suddenly he is everywhere; pulling me roughly into his arms as he peppers tiny kisses along my forehead, my jaw, cupping my face in his palms as finally, finally, he allows his guard to fall away, revealing the man who has been my constant for so many years and one I feared, even after he returned, I would never see again.

“I’m sorry...I’m sorry...I’m sorry...”

Over and over he whispers against my skin; each atonement punctuated with a kiss that sends a jolt of pure electricity through me as though each touch of his lips are awakening nerve endings that have lain dormant for so long; and all the time he is crying, trembling against me as he finally begins to let go.

“It’s ok sssshhhhhhh it’s all going to be ok.”

I tighten my arms around him as he trembles against me and from the corner of my eye I catch sight of the Molly in her small plastic container, swimming strongly despite her damaged fin and for the first time I allow myself to believe that just like our imperfect fish who fought so hard for life, somehow, we will make it too.

End

[captainschmoe]

I was tagged by @darling-bucky to answer 11 questions and come up with 11 of my own for the next people. Let’s get to it. I swear I don’t mean to write novels for answers but I guess I just looooove talking about myself too much just kill me Wilford

1. How do you feel about the concept of living forever?

         See, on the one hand, I’m scared of death and would love to live a much longer time than I’m currently forecasting I’d live. But the problem is that I don’t know how much my feelings on the topic would change after 30-50 years or so. And I definitely don’t think I’d want to live forever, though perhaps a longer time than normal for humans? I just want to see how the world progresses. That’s something that makes me down. That no one is able to see what the world looks like after they die.

         As far as the whole “but you’ll have to see everyone around you die!” Well... yeah. That is another huge problem. Such a problem could potentially be mitigated by the fact that I could potentially leave a big impact on the world at large, but... would I? Would I be significant enough of a figure to make this whole “living super long” thing worth it? Would I want to be a significant figure in society? Is that pressure I can handle?

         I’ll have to decline.

2. What’s your main fandom and how did you get into it?

         Obviously, my main fandom is the Youtuber communities, primarily Jacksepticeye, Markiplier, and Crankgameplays. They dominate my blog. I discovered Mark in September last year when I was visiting and old friend and she said “you HAVE to watch this guy, he’s hilarious.” And she showed me the Nota-Pe-Nis videos. (She was right.) And I kind of left him alone after that, but months later I saw other people here on Tumblr who would put Youtubers they liked to watch in their about pages, and he and Jacksepticeye, among others, cropped up a lot. For whatever reason (most likely randomly), I chose to watch Jack first, and I got extremely addicted to his energy and binge-watched all 99 episodes of Happy Wheels in a week or so. After that, I still wasn’t satisfied, so I started binge-watching Reading Your Comments.

         I don’t really remember what happened after that, like how I re-discovered Mark, or how I came across Ethan (I do know that I discovered Ethan through Mark, but even then, I don’t remember which video). At the time, my primary fandom was still Hetalia. It wasn’t until mid-April when I fully discovered Antisepticeye that my focus shifted entirely towards Youtubers, where it remains to this day.

         My other big fandom now is Pokemon, which I didn’t into until I was 14 or so. By that time, Diamond and Pearl were almost out. My first game was Colosseum for the Gamecube, because that was the system I played the most. I was inspired to get a Pokemon game after reading the Pokemon trophies in Super Smash Bros. Melee. Which I was inspired to get after watching a skit performed by a group of people for the middle school talent show (I liked them a lot and their skit was really funny).

3. What’s your ideal home? When you picture your future home, what do you see?

         Right here. I’m really attached to this place I grew up and spent my entire life in. I can’t really imagine myself living anywhere outside “the corridor” (what we call the area around Interstate 380). All of my relatives are here. All of my memories are here. I feel like this is just the place I belong?

         I love the countryside, I love the kind of place my grandparents have. Nice and peaceful, where I can run around with no one else to bother me. But that’s not very practical considering winter driving and all that. So I want to live in a more suburban area (which I currently do). I can’t decide whether I like old-timey or a modern aesthetic more, though I’m leaning more old-timey.

4. Storms or sunshine?

         Storms are really pretty and relaxing. I just like the grays and the mist.

5. What’s your earliest memory?

         See #9 below. My entire childhood is a blur. I’m honestly kind of envious of people who can clearly remember events from when they were little kids.

6. What’s your favorite movie, and movie genre?

         I never watch movies. If I had to pick a genre, it’d be either animated movies or nature documentaries. So many weird and wonderful things live in this world!

7. What are you passionate about?

         I have become so passionate about health and wellness since taking a job at the hospital. Disease, diet, lifestyle, mental stuff, you name it, I like it.

8. Night owl or morning person? Or both?

         I sleep from roughly 3:30 – 11:30 am. I’ve always been that person who stays up until the crack of dawn and sleeps until mid-afternoon, if left to my own devices. Plus I currently work second shift at work, which I chose specifically to play into my natural tendencies.

9. Have you ever broken a bone?

         Broke my right pinkie finger in second grade. It was during the winter, and we’d come in from recess, and I’m one of those lazy people who takes off shoes and boots by stepping on the heel instead of sitting down and pulling it off. To balance myself, I put my hand up on the wall. My coat hook – and thus the place I was standing – was the closest to the door, and I’d accidently put my finger in the space between the hinges. It slammed shut, and ta-da! Busted.

         I also broke a tooth in high school. During marching band season, while the rest of the band was outside practicing their formations, I and the other pit crew and the color guard were inside doing our stuff. I got slammed in the face with a flag that one of the other pit people decided to pick up and wave around while I walked behind her to get to the xylophone.

10. Do you have any pets?

         None living with me right now, sadly. I want a cat. Although, my folks have a dog that I still call my dog because I’m so attached to her. She’s a yorkie/chihuahua mix and she’s my favorite dog and I’m her favorite human. She’s the reason I love chihuahuas so much. They’re so cute and funny!

11. Free space. Tell me what’s on your mind!

         Endigo’s Youtuber songs are stuck in my head. The only way I can get one out is to put another one in.

         Also, fuck gnats.

And now I ask of you:

1. Any little quirks of yours?

2. What type of scenery appeals to you the most?

3. We all have them. Any cringey things you did as a tween?

4. Would you consider yourself philosophical?

5. I had to bring it up. Pineapple on pizza Y/N?

6. If you had to move to another country, which one?

7. What is your favorite name?

8. When was the last time you cried or got choked up for positive reasons?

9. Are there any bugs you think are actually kind of cute?

10. What is your dream job?

11. Are you a bad enough dude to rescue the President?

I ask these of @thatonebubblebitch, @crazilyawesomeme, @fear-is-nameless, @hufflepufftrax, @fsocietydotdat, @katielovesyoutubers35, @jacksinsanity, @huggiebird, @lisasepticsuperplier, and @melviiiis