#i have a few more on my hard drive maybe ill toss em in here.. tho ive already reposted a few of them before

[mekatrio]

anyways since wamenome disappeared off the internet and took all their art w them, here are some of their works that i have saved on my phone...

[madfantasy]

I haven't seen you post in a while, I hope you've been doing okay? How is everything? Hope it's been a good year so far for you 💕💕

You're too kind, u & everyone who made inquiries, bless ur hearts.. im sorry for disappearing, but yeah, I don't have net— using my phone credit and hope this posts..

I tried to record my voice answering this, like I sometimes did on tik, suddenly ended up trying to muffle the floods of my burning tears, so now I have an awkward vid of me talking then weeping out of nowhere, which a good reason for me to keep up the no cry habit, heh.. but seriously, I suppose I'm fine till I be conscious of it.. its much easier for not to talk .. even tho I'm aching to be back in thy company, lonely in my foresight to catch on to the present that joins us, hand held out to reach like minded souls but shying from the fear of forgetfulness occurring..

I'm fine tho, did few new stuff, merely drowning in too muchness and nothingness as usual, this month I guess you could say I took an act of mad fury in search of any happy source because the echoing silence and the swarm of sadness nipping on my brain cells thickened, and the reasoning merged with the obscene. So instead of giving my guardians the usual of 3/4 of my earnings last month for net and groceries, I spent it all. Ya know, as it was told to me it mine to do as I please? As being prevented any chance of work if it was possible, 't was supposed to be spent on art supplies & measly delights craved for years ?

Before hand, I've been begging them to take me for months to get any clothing or whatever, be it the first time I ever see a shop, then just to drive around, then just me peaking to the outside when the front door is open, merely seeking change I suppose. They kept vaguely promising me until they refused point blank— getting tired of my nagging, then their car just stopped working till this day. Its in the workshop rn..

Anyway, befouled by despair, needing the mere basics of life and not granted, I was delighted when i found a site to buy from cheap & pretty, I pressed buy without any further considerations, or taking their permission and thrilled to be able get gifts for my siblings too. I say gifts but really they are deprived necessities too and not even much just one each cuz well, they are 5 of my babies and to start with the top of priorities; we all draw

I could already see it, they can't help themselves; heck seeped through the clenched gates of their mouths, trying desperately to poison me with undirect attempts this time, cuz I bought for my sibs they're out of the option of calling me selfish. I was upping the same trance like state of vague existence dealing with them, absorbing their insults and degrading just to make sure my shi arrives safe.

Unfortunate for me, the site chose the worst carrier in this country

I did everything in my power to make it into their convenience, by embarrassingly messaging the carrier daily, they took a week of promising to deliver and flanking so my guardians reached a heated level of threatening, waving their hands nd almost tossing shi at mE saying that they don't care if they came and if i dared to order something again they'll do this and that. Not allowing me to open the door for the delivery guy when he comes, blaming me for missing vaccination dates (they kept missing them even before)& missing going to important places(again, they just didn't go to for ages), made them loose sleep, etc etc— in turn, I seen red and regretfully blew up.

I screamed at them its literally the only time I ever did this, it BECAUSE it easier on them & I'll do what I want whatever anyway, & to stop interrupting me while I try to explain things , then they suddnly back done and be like I'm not mad at u I'm mad at the delivery ppl, that they are proud of me for being able to do all this, and such sort. I left them to cool in my room, Idk how I did it but must have slam-gripped something so hard it chipped most of my short nails & cracked one, was glad I didn't hurt my drawing hand but yeah, goofy mani

They robbed me of the joy of anticipation & the dissipation of apathy, I started to lose sleep again and my liberating dreams left me and I don't think I remember leaving bed.

But still, If not force myself to do things.. there'll be nothing for me if I don't.. at least I know im able of that

I got my guardians happy tho after another tiresome refusal, by trying out one of those Uber-eat like local apps here, since they have no car and being disabled & ill, I ordered McDonald's for the first time. Slythry behind their backs per habit, told them someone coming and they had that look again, but thankfully the guy came through and didn't steal my money, heh. For a big 1800 calories meal I suppose it was passable, the happy fam faces I got was the real treat..

Oh with that thing with the credit card stating I owe them money, waited weeks & nobody got back to us? They started taking from my guardian's account directly to pay it, saying oh we did send you warnings--- TO THE SHADOWY LINES OF THEIR POSTERIOR A.K.A NOWHERE. Thankfully the account is mostly empty nd just for random transactions, i alerted my guardians not to use it. And again, my god, another round of endless calls and promises started, and we wait again so they just don't act as if we owe them a frking 17k dollars that we don't have.. was panicking cuz I have nothing and but my guardians were weirdly comforting about it and told me not to worry

One thing good bout no net is it made me stop thinking about life in general, and stop the tiny unnoticeable prick of misery when I have no input to share, trying not to helplessly compare people just living, in inflated style or not, in media, to my isolated-most-of-my-life style and missing much of that organic "life experiences and chances", heh. At least, my situation would be favorable to me if it was ever possible for it to let me have peace, or have the simple knowledge I'm not virtually imprisoned and have never familiarised with nothing of this world but the surrounding walls.. its nice to have more time to be consumed by muse and day dreaming that flutters life through my dull being and sing chorus of inspiring means for art to flow and finds its way delicately onto my realised canvas.. but no, I continued drawing whilst sight blurred with salty droplets contradicting that happy tintin dance on tiktok I worked so long on just cuz I couldn't stop, not the tears or the mad scribbles of determined intention to visualise the mourned excitement I need, hating everything I make

Somehow the lilac dream still intrudes, visualising me friends, living, in a quaint home, maybe we roommate, arm in arm we go to make every fracture of fate's encounters a disgusting adventurous thrill, like building a maze of cardboard or chasing each other in the dark.. maybe getting that half bleached head and endless ear pericings ... then it dies and I totally forget it..

But what those awesome headphones helped me do, literally blocks all their voices listening to Sev losing it and I can Waltz around not feeling gutted to go and interfere or play the referee each time. But I can't wear them forever, gives me a bad headache, and honestly; I can't be too neglectful.. my sibs hates me for it already hehe

At least these clothing came true to their measurements, felt the new sensations on how everything I wore hugs me & learnt the baffling ways on how "gender" and region plays different tunes on the same measurements. Getting fitting things felt like suddenly there's hope to be, for myself to be me, and ease this severe disassociation between who I am, and what my body is .. from how little I see myself nd consider it worthy of anything because of how long it been living like a phantom among people.. to numb this dysphoria until it be gone one day

Saddened that the only site I can't order from again if they keep using that awful carrier

...

I missed our country's 91 national day, too. They made sales everything 91 riyal so.. but knowing the sellers here, I don't think most of em went true with their offers.. Horrible news tho on the celebrations, sigh

I turned this into a dear diary, guess bothered you enough today, sorry

So thankful to yous, Idk if I can be back, but I'll remain creating, and will keep the thought alive of being tickled when sharing my creations with your viewing pleasure somehow

'till then my precious dears, take care 💛🙏

26.9.2021, 8 pm, sleeping

[ahgaseda]

aura | one

driving me crazy, look in my eyes, follow me, come here, dance with me now, I’m gonna make you feel like that...

summary : back again at a camp for kids that can’t behave, you are still brokenhearted over your ill-fated romance with Jaebeom, until your friend Jackson offers to help make your ex jealous in exchange for helping him land the most unattainable girl at camp.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, recurring alcohol or recreational drug use, graphic sexual content, brief mentions of illegal activities, potentially triggering elements involving toxic relationships and emotional manipulation, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

The sun was too bright. Rays pierced the gossamer curtains and shone into your eyes. You vaguely recollected your mother bursting in and throwing the windows open, ordering you to get up. Now, the sun had risen and you were cutting it close.

With a grumble, you threw the blanket over your head and rolled over, eager to sleep the day away. And maybe tomorrow, too.

Being in a constant state of denial and dread was exhausting.

Slowly, you drifted back into a dream. Well, maybe less a dream and more a memory. Perhaps it was all a fantasy at this point, the way you recounted it, lingering on only the good parts.

You remembered every insignificant detail of that night - the night you reached your greatest high and deepest low in the span of an hour. The moon had been full and the crickets were singing. The air had cooled from its typical summer heat, but the dirt was warm beneath your bare toes.

Sneaking off in the middle of the night with a boy. You would have never in your wildest dreams done something so reckless.

But he said he wanted to watch the stars and kiss you beneath the moonlight. Endlessly. You escaped with him down the beaten path, his hand wrapped tightly around yours. Then, he backed you against a tree and kissed you like he had completely run out of patience.

You remembered smiling against his mouth, giggling when his tongue teased your bottom lip. Your hands were on his shoulders while he cradled your face. At some point, you broke away and he stared at the sparkles in your eyes.

“I love you,” was all he said. The first of many lies.

You followed him. It didn’t matter where he went, you were ready to follow him off the edge of the earth if he asked. Jaebeom held you so tenderly, yet tight and secure. You had no hesitations and certainly no regrets when he laid you on your back, kissing you restlessly.

But it was a lie.

You moaned his name when Jaebeom pressed his lips to your neck. You could still remember how your heart thundered uncontrollably whilst he tongued his way between your breasts. You had never wanted someone as badly as you wanted Jaebeom. The boy who made you fall in love with him.

But it was all a lie.

Even the way you whimpered when he took you was a persistent echo in your mind. The noises he had drawn from you were carnal, to say the least. His skin was hot beneath your fingertips, his hair damp when you tangled your hand through his strands, and his naked body heavy on top of yours. He kissed you with such gentle affection when he buried himself inside you.

But it was still a lie.

You truly believed he was making love to you, every last inch of you. He was all you knew in that moment. With Jaebeom, you lived like there was no tomorrow. And you would never forget the way his face tensed with ecstasy, how he groaned your name when he filled you. All you cared about in that moment was his pleasure - his love. It was all you ever wanted.

But it was his biggest lie.

You opened your eyes, tears escaping down your cheeks, and forced away the bitter memories. Every beautiful moment spent with Jaebeom kept coming back and you wanted to set them all aflame until you forgot every single fucking detail.

You remembered how he smelled, how he felt. How his arms flexed around you when he hugged you close. How he smiled when he made you laugh. How he kissed your hand at the most random of times. How he whispered his love into the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

Your heart couldn’t take it anymore. What was once sugar on your tongue turned to ash and dust in your mouth. You didn’t think you were capable of this much pain.

Jaebeom had taught you a very hard lesson. And yet, though you would never admit it to anyone, you still loved him.

Suddenly, the door to your bedroom burst open and a familiar voice announced, “Rise and shine, dear!”

It belonged to your best friend, your childhood rival, and most inconveniently, your next door neighbor.

“Jackson,” you groaned, muffled against your pillow. “Not now. Go away.”

“Baby, you know we on a schedule,” he chirped with the speed of a man who had already ingested too much coffee, grabbing your comforter and ripping it off the bed without mercy.

You cried out at the unexpected cold on your bare legs, curling into the fetal position to try and trap some warmth to your body. You then bounced lightly on the mattress as Jackson leapt into the air and landed on your bed in the most spectacular fashion.

His face moved predictably before yours, inches away, and he was sporting a grin that could be filed under Jackson’s trademarked twisted delight. “It’s camp day,” he said excitedly.

You blinked. “I know.”

Jackson sat up and reached over to smack your butt. “Get up,” he yelled, sidling off your bed. “Breakfast will get cold.”

You huffed profanities under your breath and clambered after him.

Downstairs, your mother and stepfather sat at the kitchen table. Maids attended to them, waiting on their every move. Such was commonplace in the penthouses of preternaturally wealthy people.

“Ah, I knew you could handle it, Jackson,” your mother crooned.

Jackson plopped down at one end of the table, opposite your stepfather with his nose buried in a newspaper. You finished tying the knot of your fluffy bathrobe and took the empty seat across from your mother.

“Everything is packed and loaded in the car,” she informed, her tone a little harsher where you were concerned.

“I promise, Mom,” you began, eyes cast downward. “I won’t go back there again.”

It was true. You were so caught up in negative ways of coping that by the time you realized you were going to get yourself sent back to the one place you would be forced to see Jaebeom again, it was too late.

“Well, if only you had found that resolve last year,” she chided, stabbing a piece of melon with her fork.

You clocked a glance at your friend. Jackson happily stuffed his face, eating everything in sight. Despite living in the penthouse next to yours, with his equally wealthy parents, Jackson opted to eat at your table more often than not.

Preferably so he wouldn’t have to listen to his parents fighting.

“Can we expect the same promise from you, Jackson?” your mother asked, as if she were speaking to her favorite puppy.

She always did love Jackson. He was like the son she never had. Although, in her defense, it wasn’t hard to love Jackson. He was the golden child that every mother’s wet dream was made of.

“Absolutely not,” he retorted politely, grinning from ear to ear. “Some of my closest friends are at that camp.”

Your mother chuckled, having expected as much.

Your stepfather finally lowered the corner of his paper and called your name sternly, as if oblivious - or uncaring - to the conversation taking place.

You glanced up.

“Eat your food. It’s a long drive and I’ll hear nothing of you getting faint on your first day.”

Jackson and your mother both looked to you expectantly.

You flashed him a soft smile and said, “Yes, sir.”

Stepfather number three, despite having more money than God, was surprisingly kind and considered you one of his own. There was a time you overheard him say you were the daughter he always wanted. His three sons had far surpassed mischief and landed in deviance, always on the hunt for his money.

The maid offered sweetly to make you some breakfast, whatever you would like, and you accepted. Jackson swiftly reached over and pinched your cheek in approval.

Most respectable parents would never be so lenient toward a friendship between a girl and a boy, but you knew your mother was hoping you and Jackson would get together. It would be a fine match in high society, given the status of your fathers.

Matter of fact, when she walked in on the two of you eating chocolate and watching movies while cuddled in bed, she was thoroughly disappointed you weren’t having sex.

When you finished eating, you dragged your feet upstairs to your room to get dressed for the trip. Jackson took a few extra minutes to clear his plate and then joined you.

Standing in front of three full panel mirrors in your bra and underwear, you alternated holding skirts up to yourself in the reflection. Jackson folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

“What does one wear for total humiliation?” you asked dryly, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Plaid probably,” he quipped, uncrossing his arms and slipping into your closet.

You turned, brow furrowed, and waited for him to come back.

When Jackson finally emerged, he tossed you a t-shirt and jeans. Casual at its finest.

You caught the clothes and surveyed them in surprise. “Really?”

“Put ‘em on,” he said, clapping his hands. “Let’s blow this town.”

You pulled the extra tight jeans on, fastening them with a huff, and pestered, “Do you have to be this excited?”

Jackson came close, taking your face between his hands and pushing your cheeks together. “The sooner we get there, the faster we can get drunk.”

You snickered, rolling your eyes.

The two of you came thundering down the stairs, reminiscent of times you and Jackson slid down the banisters as noisy kids. Your mother waited stiffly at the door, almost cracking a smile when you galloped into the kitchen and pressed a kiss in farewell to your stepfather’s cheek.

She may have been after his money like a cat on a mouse, but she inadvertently found a decent father for her only daughter.

Jackson said his hurried, loud goodbyes and slipped through the open door. You slowed down long enough to take your jacket from your mother’s waiting hand and endure one last scrutinizing gaze.

“Is he seeing someone?” she asked softly.

“Nope,” you chuckled, having expected some backhanded remark about your outfit.

Your mother spoke like she read a whimsical poem, “The two of you would make the most perfect couple this side of the Hudson.”

“Love you, too, Mom,” you teased, pecking a kiss on her cheek and trotting out the door.

The limousine rolled out onto the busy streets of New York City and you peered through the tinted windows. You watched as the looming skyscrapers turned to towering green trees.

As the drive went on, your nerves only grew.

With misplaced optimism, you turned to Jackson and said, “Maybe he won’t be there this year.”

Jackson didn’t even look up from his magazine and droned, “He’s been there every year since he was seven.”

You slumped in your seat, defeated. Clapping a hand on your forehead in self-chastisement, you groaned, “I should have been better, not worse.”

Jackson shifted, leaning back against you and resting his head on your chest. “I’ve never seen you so out of control,” he exclaimed, turning a page in the magazine. “And that says a lot.”

It said plenty. Jackson had warned you about Jaebeom many, many times. Though you held his opinion in high regard, you didn’t listen. You were blinded by love and had no one to blame but yourself.

You grabbed a handful of his brown hair and tugged playfully, earning a tiny whine. “Yeah, well,” you murmured, acerbic. “He stole all of the goodness out of me.”

Jackson scoffed and his tone became stern, “Don’t give him so much credit. And don’t put all of your goodness on your virginity, for fuck’s sake.”

You sighed loudly, thinking about Jaebeom and how he made your pulse race, how he sent fire racing down your spine. The thought of him made you want to cry and you quickly clenched your jaws.

“It’s true though, isn’t it? I’m a bad girl now,” you countered, draping your arm over his chest. “I surrendered my virtuous flower to a boy who added another notch to his bed post.”

Of your memories with Jaebeom, and they were countless, among the stolen kisses and soft touches and sweet words, one stood out above all the rest. The last time you saw him - when he told you it was all a lie, just a game.

That he never loved you.

Jackson sat up, setting down his magazine and facing you. He could feel where your thoughts had wandered, screaming at him to ease the pain despite no words leaving your mouth. Meeting your eyes, Jackson wanted you to hear him even though the two of you had been over it many times already.

“You loved him,” he said, sympathetic but firm. “And he made it a good experience for you. Take that away from it.”

“You’re right,” you replied with a nod, holding back the tears and the quivering of your lip. “I need to let it go.”

Jackson cocked his head and pressed, “But?”

He knew you too well.

“But I can’t,” you whispered, lowering your head to hide your face in shame. “I can’t get over being in love with someone who never - not even for a moment - loved me back.”

Jackson balled his hands into fists. It had taken every inch of his goddamn restraint not to hop a plane, show up at Lim Jaebeom’s house, and beat the living shit out of him. You and his mother were the only people he was willing to go to jail for.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you wiped away the one tear that had escaped. You hated Jackson having to see you like this, staring at you like his precious wounded puppy. With a shrug, you gave a scoff and said, “I wonder who he will have his eyes on this year.”

Jackson frowned and settled back into his seat, shaking his head where the likes of Jaebeom was concerned. He knew three months of unadulterated fun for him were going to be total misery for you. For days he racked his brain over what he could do to help you get over Jaebeom.

Then, the metaphorical light bulb clicked over his head. Who would Jaebeom be pursuing this year? With you crossed off his list, there were simply no more challenges to be had.

Jackson smirked. The solution to this problem was clear as day. He would have to make Jaebeom chase you again.

“I have an idea,” Jackson muttered under his breath, eyes gleaming with devilish intent.

“Oh, boy,” you laughed, recognizing his telltale mischief.

Jackson faced you, propping himself on hands positioned at either side of your legs. “You help me bag Yeona and I will help you make Jaebeom jealous,” he said, letting his tongue linger at the corner of his mouth.

Your expression registered nothing but surprise. Yeona was the bane of Jackson’s romantic skills and the eye of his conquests for years. She was the only girl at camp not the least bit impressed with him and that drove him crazy.

At that thought you realized the similar dynamic. “Do you think that would work?” you asked curiously, piqued.

Relieved to see your approval, Jackson nodded. “He’s like me. He wants what he can’t have.”

To some degree, Jackson added in his head. He and Jaebeom had totally different motivations for stealing hearts.

You questioned in disbelief, “So… what? We just walk around making out all the time?”

Jackson snorted. “Within moderation, obviously. Don’t want to completely turn off either of our targets.”

One of the main reasons you never hooked up with Jackson (on more than one occasion you had been tempted) was to spite your insufferable mother after what she had put you through. That being said, you had kissed him more than once. Usually when dared to do so at parties or during sleepovers when you bared your deepest, darkest secrets to each other. It was always innocent, but this felt forbidden and impure.

You loved the idea.

“Hm, okay,” you said, noncommittal. “At this point, I’ll do anything to make him as miserable as I am.”

Jackson grinned and chuckled. “Take my word for it. There is nothing more miserable than blue balls.”

You pursed your lips, mulling, “He’s already had me. He won’t want me again.”

“I’ll convince him you’re worth having,” Jackson replied, his voice a deep rumble in his throat. “And you’ll do the same to Yeona about me.”

“What makes you think Yeona will be that hard to get? You’ve never really pursued her before.”

Jackson slid to the edge of the seat and reached for a bottle of alcohol currently sitting on ice. “She doesn’t believe in sex before marriage.”

That explained why he threw in the towel so quickly. You cocked a brow and chuckled, “Really?”

Jackson nodded, popping open the bottle of champagne and grabbing two glasses. “Yeah, even wears a promise ring.”

“Wow, that’s commitment,” you smarted, taking the flute of bubbly he extended to you.

Jackson glanced up briefly before pouring his own glass, hair falling in his eyes, and said, “Don’t wallow in self-pity again.”

You rolled your eyes and quickly defended, “No, I’m not. It’s just… I wasn’t saving myself for marriage, but I was saving myself for someone that loved me.”

Jackson exhaled loudly.

You hated hearing his disappointment and ranted irritably, “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. It wasn’t even good. There was no leg shaking orgasm. It was messy and uncomfortable and whatever.”

“That’s because it was your first time,” Jackson said, putting the glass to his lips.

You took a sip. “Yeah, I guess.”

Jackson leaned on his side, sizing you up. His eyes drifted up and down your body. He hated seeing you bent out of shape over a boy, least of all hot garbage like Lim Jaebeom.

After a pause, the following words dripped like honey off his tongue, “We could fool around, you know.”

You almost choked on your champagne, wondering if you heard him clearly or if it was a figment of your imagination. You exclaimed, “What?”

“You and me,” Jackson continued, sidling closer. “I could show you what all the fuss is about.”

He sounded so smug when he said that, his voice even deeper. You swallowed at the offer and asked, “Would that be awkward?”

“No, it would just be sex. No strings attached.”

The knife in your heart twisted and you peered at him. “Could you make me forget about Jaebeom?”

Jackson leaned in. “Baby, I could make you see stars.”

Heat flushed behind your cheeks and you glanced away, faltering under the sudden tension in the limousine. “I’ll think about it,” you finally told him.

Satisfied, Jackson grinned and made himself comfortable, opening the magazine again and proceeding to read.

You surveyed Jackson out of the corner of your eye, lingering on his thick thighs. Years of fencing had built him strong, sturdy. When Jackson said he could make you see stars, you were inclined to believe him.

Especially since the vast majority of his exes tended to brag about how good he was in bed.

You thought about Jaebeom. You wanted him to go crazy at the sight of you in Jackson’s arms. You craved revenge, to serve him a taste of his own medicine, no matter what it cost.

The car eventually came to a stop on the gravel road. Attendants were ready to unload your luggage and transport it to your respective rooms. It may have been a camp for unruly brats, but said brats came from very affluent parents.

An older woman stood by the gate, black hair glistening a little too fiercely in the sunlight. Clearly she had sprayed dye on her graying roots.

“Ah, you two again,” she grimaced at yours and Jackson’s approach.

You took the keys from her outstretched hand and continued on your way without a word. Jackson on the other hand, leaned in with puckered lips and jeered, “Always a pleasure, Miss Hamm.”

“Hmph.”

You continued on the path with your best friend in tow. Your cabin was in sight, on the bluff beside the lake. Jackson’s was adjacent, slightly lower down. Your parents made sure you had the same spots each year, always furnished and equipped with everything you needed.

Some of the campers lived in bunkhouses with other roommates, but not you. Your first year, you swore to your mother if you were forced to bunk with other girls you would not stop until you got yourself sent home. It was an easy compromise to make. She loved traveling during the summer with stepfather number two.

You stopped and pivoted to Jackson, saying, “I’m gonna go freshen up.”

“Alright,” he replied. “Meet at the mess hall?”

Naturally his mind was on food, you mused. “Of course.”

Jackson looped an arm around your waist and pulled you in for a hug, whispering in your ear, “Don’t hide in there from him. Remember - I got your back.”

You nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek in gratitude.

The two of you broke away at the fork in the road, taking opposite paths to your cabins.

Dropping your purse, you plopped down on the brand new mattress, gripping the sides and looking down at your shoes. The air conditioning had been turned on, the cabin had already cooled off. You would never know how hot it was outside whilst inside your pink-themed prison.

The camp was meant to reform. It didn’t matter that you were a legal adult, you still belonged to a rich and influential family in high society. It was like the parents knew their spoiled, entitled children would indulge in bad behaviors, therefore it was best they did so in controlled environments.

You already imagined the endless nights of booze and debauchery awaiting you for the next three months. Maybe it was time you embraced the darker side of life like you used to, rather than wasting away and pining over a boy.

Rising from the bed, you approached the nearby bathroom and braced your hands on the sink. Studying your reflection, you wanted to curse. You looked like a shadow of your former self.

The girl you knew was confident, vivacious, and a rebel to the core. You were quieter now, tempered. An experience like last summer had opened your eyes to how cruel the world really was.

Still, you were ready to buck up. Jackson had a plan and you were willing to execute if it meant you would have some kind of absolution. Splashing water on your face, you dabbed your cheeks with a cloth and headed outside.

The largest of the buildings, the mess hall was loud and chaotic. The majority of kids went straight to the line for food, hungry after a long trip. The place was alive with a hundred different conversations, varying levels of chatter. Friends reunited dramatically in the aisleways.

You searched for a friendly face, desperate to avoid Jaebeom for now, and spotted a head of platinum hair. Approaching the scrawny boy, you grabbed a handful of blond locks and teased, “Bam, I thought you were gonna let your poor scalp breathe?”

Bambam didn’t flinch at the brief tug on his head and turned to meet your grin with one of his own. “Hey, beautiful,” he exclaimed, leaping up to envelope you in a warm hug. “Thought you were gonna try and avoid this place for once?”

“Yeah, well,” you said coolly with a shrug. “Bad behaviors are hard to break.”

“You’re telling me,” huffed Bambam as he lowered back onto the row with you at his side. “I landed myself back here in the first week of the semester.”

You laughed, smoothing down where you had disrupted his hair. “I expect nothing less.” Looking across the table, you met eyes with Bambam’s best friend and partner in crime, Yugyeom, and greeted, “Hey, Yugy.”

“Hi. I’m glad you came back! Well, not glad, obviously, but…,” Yugyeom rambled, cheeks reddening. “Happy you’re here. You know, it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Thanks,” you replied shyly.

“Any sign of Jackson?” Bambam asked, glancing around. “Don’t you always come together?”

Yugyeom kindly pushed his plate of fruit in your direction and you thanked him. “Yeah, we did. He was supposed to meet me here,” you answered, popping a grape in your mouth.

“Probably sneaking a smoke with Mark,” Bambam grumbled quietly under his breath.

Yugyeom cleared his throat loudly, looking at something behind you.

Just as you turned around, brows stitched, someone sat at your side.

It was Jaebeom.

He didn’t face the table like the rest of you, he straddled the seat, squarely in your direction.

“Hi, baby girl. Imagine my surprise when I heard about all the trouble you got yourself into,” Jaebeom taunted, clicking his tongue in feigned reproach. His fingertips came to your temple, slipping through your loose hair and tucking it behind your ear.

You couldn’t breathe and you certainly couldn’t think. Your heart was pounding in your chest. He smelled so good. The mere touch of his fingers made you freeze in place. You wanted nothing more than to throw your arms around him and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“I…,” you trailed, hesitating, lost for words. What the hell were you supposed to say?

I love you, but I hate you.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Jaebeom cooed, stroking a finger over your cheek. “Cat got your tongue?”

You could feel the tears gathering in your eyes. Even Yugyeom seethed at how Jaebeom was toying with you.

This was the humiliation you had been anticipating and dreading. You knew Jaebeom wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to remind you that he stole your heart and your virginity and left you with nothing.

The whole camp knew that you had given it up. That you had been such a fool to believe for a second that Jaebeom loved you.

Blind. Blind. Blind, you chanted in your head.

Jackson appeared out of thin air, grabbing Jaebeom’s wrist and pulling him from you. “Can I help you find something?” your best friend snapped.

Jaebeom rose, agitated at being challenged. “The fuck are you doing, Wang?”

Jackson drifted closer to Jaebeom, aggressive. “Keep your hands off my girl.”

Jaebeom’s eyes widened. “Your girl?”

“You heard me,” Jackson hissed, turning to you.

You remembered the game. Jackson’s eyes were expectant.

Finding your voice, you took a breath. “I’m so sorry to break the news to you, Jaebeom,” you began softly, rising from your seat and backing into Jackson, who didn’t miss a beat in wrapping his arms possessively around you. “I’ve moved onto bigger and better things. And I mean much, much bigger.”

Bambam beat his fist on the table, cackling wildly.

Jaebeom scowled, but there was skepticism bold in his eyes. Jackson promptly wiggled his brows and stroked his hands on your waist, intentionally making your shirt ride up.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” you sang, interlacing your fingers with Jackson’s underneath the hem of your shirt. “We’re gonna go make out in the hallway. Seeing Daddy get territorial really does it for me.”

Jackson wagged his tongue at Jaebeom, gladly laughing at his expense, as you squeezed his hand and proceeded to drag your best friend behind you into the hallway.

Jaebeom watched you go, eyes narrowed. Something didn’t sit right with him. He had known you for years, Jackson too. He couldn’t imagine driving you into Jackson’s arms. Not with how fierce and loyal your friendship was.

He didn’t believe it for a second.

Once in the clear, you backed against the wall and giggled. “Oh my god, did you see his face?” you exclaimed, covering your mouth as you chuckled.

Jackson tickled your sides and joked, “Look at your little sick and twisted self. I’m so proud.”

The door next to you opened and like clockwork, Jaebeom stepped out.

The grin vanished from your face in an instant and you quickly grabbed Jackson by the collar, yanking him forward. Jackson collided into you none too gently and grunted, silenced only by your lips suddenly on his.

Jaebeom could hardly believe his eyes. There you were, swept up in Jackson’s arms with your tongue down his throat. He was green with fucking envy. It had taken him a whole summer to open you up and now you were throwing yourself at Jackson of all people.

Jackson slipped his hands beneath your shirt and roamed his hands up your sides, giving Jaebeom a glimpse of your soft skin. You overlapped your arms around his head, making little noises in the heat of his kisses.

Jaebeom felt a twitch in his pants at the sounds you made. That was supposed to be him. You were supposed to be in his arms, kissing him like he was all you had thought about every day since he ripped your heart out and crushed it in his hand for all to see.

“Pfft,” Jaebeom snorted, hiding his jealousy. “Glad I could break her in for you, Jacks.”

Neither of you heard him, which was lucky for Jaebeom because Jackson would not have hesitated to beat him to a bloody pulp.

Jaebeom cleared out. He couldn’t stand to watch anymore. Not when he had spent every day wondering if you would forgive him. Jaebeom shook his head as he continued down the hall, reminded what a stupid fucking mistake he had made.

Kissing Jackson made you forget what you were doing, where you were, and basically any and all information you were meant to be processing at the moment. Finally a sense of clarity hit you, though you had no earthly clue where it had come from.

Breaking away, you panted, “Okay, if we’re gonna do this, we have to lay down some ground rules.”

Jackson kneaded your waist and nipped at your lips, ever flirtatious. His voice came out a rasp when he said, “Give ‘em to me.”

“No sleeping around,” you told him sternly. “I’ve never had a sexually transmitted disease and I’m not starting now.”

Jackson bobbed his head, eager to kiss you again. “Deal.”

“When you get Yeona or I get Jaebeom, what’s between us is done.”

“Agreed.”

You softened, pulling him close for a brief, innocent peck on the lips. It wasn’t the first time you had kissed Jackson and it wouldn’t be the last.

But you realized when you were kissing Jackson, you forgot about Jaebeom and your feelings.

And that was dangerous.

“You’re my best friend,” you whispered delicately, tracing hair from his brow lightly with your fingers. “If either of us starts getting feelings, we shut this down.”

Jackson studied you a moment. He knew he loved you. He had loved you a long time. But it was an innocent love, not a complicated one. You were the only person he trusted with his heart. The only person he knew would never hurt him.

He wouldn’t catch feelings for you, would he? It wasn’t in his nature. He didn’t allow himself to get attached romantically. He hated the idea of commitment or monogamy, after seeing what his parents’ marriage had devolved into.

“Got it,” Jackson finally said, offering a gentle smile.

You swallowed, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him back. Jaebeom was gone. There was no one to convince anymore.

Jackson let his hands slip from your body. “We should go back.”

You nodded. “Yeah, just give me a second.”

Jackson noted the heat on your face, the glistening of your lips and the twinkles in your eyes. Forget making you see stars, Jackson knew in that moment he could absolutely ruin you.

He gathered you back in his arms, pulling you flush against him, and as you peered up at him confusedly, Jackson growled, “Let’s go to my cabin.”

A long, heavy silence wrapped around you and him. The weight of what you were doing landed squarely on your shoulders. And despite that, you found yourself not giving a damn.

Lips tugging in a smile, you purred, “Show me what I’ve been missing.”

But even as Jackson led you by the hand out of the mess hall, you glanced over your shoulder, looking for Jaebeom.

Wanting him to see. Wanting it to hurt him. Wanting to make him crazy.

But mostly, just wanting him to love you.

next chapter →

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[makeyourdeanabi]

Finale Reaction- 2 months later

In the wee hours after the Supernatural Finale, after tossing and turning in my bed, I got up and wrote this... this was before I was actually active on Tumblr and I never thought I would share this because I was too self conscious.  I deleted it shortly after I wrote it because it brought me so much pain to relive it.  I have since watched the Finale again and have come to terms with it and I felt it was a good time to share my thoughts. I hope that my words may bring other people comfort who feel the same way.  Thanks for reading :)

Alisha

P.S. Sorry so long, I was feeling things and the words just kept coming and coming  ___________________________________________

I don’t blog.  Never in my life have I sat down to tell the world about my feelings in such a manner.  I may contribute on message boards and social media comments, but I never thought anything was worth my time to spill my guts into the ether when I am near certain that not a soul will read them.  But here I am.  I have to write because if I don’t get these thoughts out of my head, I am going to go full on insane.

That ending was bad. It was a disservice to the 15 years of an incredible show that was not only genre bending it was cultural norms bending.

I could mention the various tropes that this ending (and the previous episodes) invoked, but I am not well versed in them and would never want to do anyone a disservice with a comparison that wasn’t apt.

The buildup up of each character arc and then the glaring lack of conclusion for said character arc was laughable.

To say I am disappointed is an understatement.

To say I am heartbroken is an understatement.

I am destroyed.  

I am destroyed that the two men who have been with this franchise since day 1 wrote and directed an episode that they thought was the perfect ending. They thought this is what their devoted fandom wanted.  

I am destroyed that the lead actors signed off on this script and went so far as to call it their favorite.  I realize Jared was the only one calling it his favorite episode. Jensen admitted he had reservations about the episode and needed the wise words of creator Erik Kripke to accept it. I do have to say that taking the word of a man who left the show 10 seasons ago and hasn’t been involved in all the plot lines and inner workings since season 5 is probably not the best idea. I could be mistaken about the extent of Kripke’s involvement, but I am fairly certain that I am right in my assumptions.  

Dean spent 15 years (probably more) of his life feeling unloved, unworthy, self-conscious and convinced that his life had but one purpose and that purpose would ultimately be the death of him, and he had made peace with that.

He is given a best friend, potential love interest, who helps him to see that he is more than that, so much more than that.  He is selfless, he is caring, he is a lover, not a killer. His friend’s soulmate’s sacrifice is the catalyst for him believing that all these things are true. He even takes the step of admitting out loud that he knows he has changed.  He knows that his life is worth living to the fullest and appreciating what he has every day and honoring those they have “lost along the way.”  

To then kill him during a routine hunting trip in which the boys are up against a vampire nest they could take down in their sleep.  What could possibly have been the purpose for that?  To show that once they were no longer God’s little play toys their lives were expendable?  WHY?

Dean, arguably the greatest hunter in the SPN universe, was taken out by a fucking rusty piece of rebar, and instead of trying to call for help and get the man to a hospital (not sure it would have helped) he has his final monologue, the one he has been due for the latter half all of Season 15.  He died scared, in pain, and sad.

Dean goes to heaven, and its not the heaven we have been told of in the past where you are living in your memories.  Its truly life after death and its wonderful. He meets Bobby again and told that various people in Dean’s and Bobby’s life are close by.  His parents live down the road.  His father, who was never confirmed to be but was most likely an abusive bastard, lives just down the road with his mother.  Wonderful. (WTF?) He gets confirmation that Cas is out of the empty and he smiles, nothing more.  He sees baby and goes for a drive, not to find Cas and thank him for his ultimate sacrifice, but to just drive.  I like this part because we see a happy, content Dean, and we finally get to hear Kansas’s “Carry on Wayward Son” (DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE LACK OF THE ROAD SO FAR AT THE BEGINNING OF THE EPISODE). I just wish Dean’s path to heaven had been a little easier on him.

Dean deserved better.

Castiel, the selfless angel who just wanted to find purpose in his life and ultimately found it in death. He dies never being told that he is loved, after countless times of professing his love to his found family. The angel who sacrificed himself to the Empty, a horrible place of unspeakable torture, to protect the man he loves.  A man who, mere days later (in my mind anyway), arrives in heaven after being killed in a gruesome accident, rather than fulfilling his destiny that Cas fought so hard to protect.  Some sacrifice. It turns out that Cas is saved by the Empty from Jack, but we don’t get to see his joyful reunion with Dean, the man he loves.  

Cas deserved better.

Sam is left to live this life without his brother, and potentially the love of his life because the writers couldn’t be bothered to confirm Eileen’s re-existence after Chuck’s rapture.  He has a family, and he grows old (mind you with REALLY bad makeup in a show that is known for their incredible makeup/special effects departments).

He seems to be happy, but you can tell something is missing.  We come to see that he raised his son to be a hunter.  He raised his son in a life that, at the outset of this show, he was desperate to get out of and live a normal life.  Perhaps he no longer believes that anyone can live a normal life knowing what is out there. *EDIT* Looking back I don’t believe he raised his son to be a hunter, just gave him the tattoo in case.

He names his son Dean, because of course he does. He has a wife who we see from a distance and is never given the clarity if it is Eileen or not.  He finally dies after what looks like a slow and painful illness and is sent to heaven.

In heaven he meets up with Dean.  This was lovely.  The two of them meeting again after so long, for Sam, that is. Dean only had to seemingly wait for a few hours.

Sam deserved better.

For a show that had the potential to go out on a historically significant high, this is disappointing, to say the least.  The story had the potential to end with 2 brothers who have sacrificed so much and saved so many people, find a happy ending.  Not only that but find a happy ending with a deaf partner and a gay angel. If that isn’t breaking barriers and bending norms, I don’t know what is.  I really would like to know what prevented this from happening.  Be it the CW from restricting them or maybe the absolute lack of originality from the writers, I am curious as to their reasoning. Maybe it was COVID.  Maybe because they couldn’t have those two actors physically on set due to protocols, they didn’t want to shortchange them by having them appear otherwise: disembodied voice, phone call (DONT TOUCH ME) or even a flashback… hell STOCK FOOTAGE! I don’t know and I clearly can’t imagine the reason.

I realize that there is nothing that can be done about this episode now and that accepting it and moving on is really the only way forward.  But the legacy this show has left, and its lasting impact on me and my life, cannot be ignored.  I was looking forward to indulging in past episodes of this show for the rest of my life. It is going to be a long time before I can watch an episode without anger and resentment towards what I know to be their eventual end.  That, to me, is unforgiveable.  

I don’t expect anyone to actually read this because I do not have any followers. I have never blogged in my entire life and was only recently introduced to the online fandom, but I needed to write this.  I needed to share the impact that this episode had on me.  I do hope that it does reach those in the fandom that may have similar feelings and are able to use my words to help express how they are feeling.  We can move on, and we will move on, but we need to do it together.

I know that there are people who, if they read this, would shake their head in disbelief that I became so emotionally invested in this show that watching a bad ending would take such a toll on my mental health.  

To them I say, imagine this… The Pittsburgh Steelers (my favorite team, they can imagine their own) have an incredible season.  A season where they saw a myriad of highs and lows. Veteran players making incredible comebacks, rookie players coming in to their own.  Season ending injuries that lead to the next man stepping up and contributing in ways they weren’t sure possible.  Now imagine they make it to the Superbowl and after 3 tough quarters, in which they played their best, getting better with each quarter, they lose it in the final minutes.  All that blood, sweat, and tears for nothing.  Now imagine that was their last season and the Pittsburgh Steelers are no longer an NFL team.  They are done.  No “we’ll get ‘em next season.”  No “it’s just a game and there is always another one”.  Just done.  Their entire franchise, for a brief moment in time, reduced to those final minutes where they failed to win.  Devastating. Of course, in the long run that is not what they will be remembered for.  I mean, after all, they have won 6 Lombardi trophies, and no one is taking that away from them.  But the sting will remain for a while. *EDIT* This was as close to prophecy as I will ever get, the Steelers did all of the above until the playoffs, but THANK GOD, there will be another season.

If I can’t make you understand with a sports metaphor than I will never make you understand.  

I love this show and this loss is devastating.  I do hope that it is remembered for more than their last-minute loss.  I hope it is remembered for the joy and acceptance that their fandom felt with each episode, for the laugher on set and the gag reels. I hope it is remembered for the individual players who gave it their all. I know it will be, but for me personally, this sting is going to last for a while.  

[edierone]

26 and 77 for the mash up list

Five Miles Is a Long Way to Walk In Florsheims

She really did it. 

She — she just pulled over, told me to get out, and — kept on driving. 

I know I was pissing her off this entire case (but especially today), I know I probably (definitely) pushed it too far when I did the vehicular version of Dutch-ovening her just now, a little juvenile humor to lighten the mood … ok, honestly, with the heat on, it was really kind of nauseating, even for me. 

She’s threatened to dump me out before, like a dad yelling at the kids to pipe down or he’ll make ‘em walk home. 

But — this time, she really did it. And here I am, by the side of a two-lane road in the far yonder of cow country, in a cold drizzling rain, in my suit (minus the jacket, which is … still in the car) and cheap dumb dress shoes from JC Penney — thank god I left my Nunn Bush oxfords at home, I guess? — watching the rented Ford’s taillights recede in the far distance.  

I’ll wait a few minutes. She’ll come back. 

Nope. It’s been fifteen already. New plan: Walk till I’m just over that next rise — probably she’s sitting there, waiting for me to catch up, parked on the narrow shoulder with the radio on one of her channels (theory: might’ve been the fourth airing of “Livin’ Lovin’ Maid” that pushed her over the edge; note to self, that’s enough classic rock for today). I’ll show up, she’ll forgive me, and we’ll get back to finding the Phantom Murderin’ Cowboy of BFE. 

*************

Nope. Fox and his tired old dogs are walkin back to Cowburg. 

*************

Five miles is a long way to walk in Florsheims, especially when the seams start to give and your socks are soaked and your hair is in your face and even your belt is ruined. It’s enough time to get titanically self-righteously angry, then run out of steam on that and rethink your position, then feel like utter dogshit for the way you’ve treated the most important person in your life, then script and rehearse your most abject apology speech dozens of times, refining it to remove all traces of self-pity and accusation and adding a few jokey lines so she knows it’s you and not some shapeshifting asshole wearing you as a skin suit or something. 

I’m — I’m properly chastened, is what I’m saying, and all I want is to get back in her good graces. And maybe get some dry clothes on; my balls are rubbed pretty raw at this point. 

Room 27, adjoining room 28, the last two on the end farthest from the road. I start to feel just how bad off I am as I cross the parking lot: I’m freezing, my left knee hurts like a bastard, my ankles feel swollen to the point of sloshiness, my back is killing me, and my feet — oh god, my feet … I limp to good old 27, then realize with a wave of despair that my key is in the pocket of my suit jacket, which I can see crumpled on the floor of the Taurus’s backseat. 

Shit. 

Rather than add “broken rental car window” to my list of crimes and expense items, I gather what’s left of my dignity — there ain’t much — and shuffle over to 28. 

“Knock knock, it’s the bog monster of Black Rock Creek, I’m here to —”

The door swings open so fast I almost fall through it. 

There she is, keys in hand and coat on — that determined/worried little furrow between her eyes quickly smoothing out and hiking skyward as she takes in my bedraggled state. I don’t get a chance to give my apology speech, because she’s already launched into hers: “Jesus, Mulder, you look like a drowned rat! I’m so sorry — I thought it was only a mile or so, but it took you so long, I got worried — you — I was so angry, I guess I just didn’t realize how far it was — oh, look at your shoes! I was coming to get you — god you must be so cold —”

The whole time, she’s dragging me inside, running to the bathroom to grab towels which she tosses at me, bending to help me shuck the worthless bits of leather that used to be size 11 Fed footwear, checking through my sopping-wet hair for head trauma — at least I think that’s what she’s doing, but I don’t really care cause it feels pretty good. 

But I can’t let her do all the apologizing, so all the while, I’m trying to interject with my own mea culpa — about how it’s OK, I’m OK, I was being a dumbass and I deserved it and I’m sorry for questioning her take on the third vic’s cause of death (she was right, I was reaching, and being a dick about it besides), if she wants to Dutch-oven me as revenge, I’ll take it like a man … 

That one finally makes her stop fussing and laugh, her big surprising Scully-laugh that makes me feel like a god for bringing it forth. 

“Mulder …” she finally says, looking me up and down with a mixture of pity and amusement that kinda makes me tingle. “I’ll save that idea for another time. Why don’t you go get a hot shower and I’ll — try to find something to eat. I’m already dressed to go out anyway.” 

I agree to this plan, and in less than an hour, we’re side by side in comfy warm sweatpants on the surprisingly decent couch, eating some of the best tortilla soup I’ve ever tasted. She brought icy cold glass bottles of Coke, too — “Hecho in Mexico, oh man, Scully, that’s the stuff!”

She puts hers down and hops up, going to dig something out of her trench pocket. “I almost forgot! I found something else to warm you up.” She holds it out to me — a pint bottle of Jameson’s. 

“Heyyyyyy!” I reach for it, cracking it open and smelling it. “Where’d you get this? I thought this was a dry county.” 

“It is,” she smiles, with an arch aren’t-I-clever look. “I bought it off the front desk clerk — smelled something on her breath and took the big investigative leap. She charged me a pretty big markup, but I thought it was worth it, under the circumstances.” 

I agree, and ask if we have glasses — but this isn’t the kind of place that furnishes barware, so I guess we’ll have to swig it like a couple of winos under a bridge. 

“I don’t mind swapping spit with you, Scully, if you’re ok with mine,” I say, landing a pretty ill-timed glance at her lips that I hope she doesn’t notice. 

She does. It makes her blush a little, which she brazens through with a big manly belt of the Jameson’s. She hands the bottle to me and dares me with her eyes to do better. 

I can’t, of course, but I try, and as the first gulp slides down my throat, warming me from the inside, I have one of those hot pulses of the deepest kind of affection for her — the kind that just shouts in my head, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou, so loud that I almost give it voice for real. 

But, of course, I don’t; we finish our dinner, taking occasional nips of whiskey, calling out increasingly sloppy answers at Jeopardy! and then Wheel of Fortune on the crummy motel TV. 

The news is next and neither of us is in the mood, so I click through the five working channels and get lucky: North By Northwest is just starting. I scooch around to get comfortable, but I must’ve stiffened up — both of my hip joints and something up high in my back crack audibly, and the girly scream whistling out of me at the way my calf just seized would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much. 

Well, I guess it’s funny to Scully — she laughs, but apologizes. Then laughs again. She’s ruthless, not to mention mean. I tell her so. She laughs harder. I pout dramatically, and eventually she relents.

“All right, all right — you’ll be useless in the morning if I don’t get you fixed up, and I don’t plan on carrying your bag through DFW airport. Get up on that bed, I’ll massage the kinks out.” 

I swear I do not even have time to open my mouth before she warns, deadly serious: “And if you say one word about this is how some of your favorite movies start —”

Ahh, she knows me, doesn’t she? 

I make like a totally innocent man — pure of heart, mind, and deed — and lie down on my stomach with my feet toward the headboard, propping my chin up on a pillow so I can keep watching the movie. Scully gets to work. 

And she’s good. Got those doctor hands. Whoever’s in 26 must think we’re making the world’s weirdest sex tape in here, or else that we’ve kidnapped a moose that sometimes converses with Cary Grant. 

By the time she gets to my feet, I feel like a melted marshmallow.  

Scully says dreamily, “I remember watching this once somewhere when I was about twelve, and thinking Eve Kendall was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.” I make an inquiring noise. “You know — this scene —”

They’re on the train. Eva Marie Saint’s lookin ol’ Archibald in the eye, telling him she’s twenty-six and unmarried and likes his face, how it’s gonna be a long night, and

“And I don't particularly like the book I've started,” Scully murmurs along. I crane my neck to look back at her; her lips curve upward in the most delicious-looking arc, her eyes twinkling with that sort of mischievous/impressed look she gets toward me sometimes. 

I love it, but it makes me a little jealous, so I tell her so. She just giggles and says, “Oh, don’t be jealous of old crushes!” I want to ask her who’s the crush, Eva Marie or Cary, but she grabs the other pillow and flops down on her stomach beside me and suddenly I can’t talk — I just lie there, grinning like a fool. 

She passes me the one-third-full Jameson’s — one more sip each before she caps it for the night. We watch for awhile longer. During the next commercial break, she turns to me, studying me with a gentle smile.  

“You look a little dopey,” she says fondly, and I laugh. 

“I’m also happy, sleepy, and tipsy — wonder where the other three dwarfs are?”

Her eyes are on the TV again. “Doc … Bashful … Horny …” 

Suddenly my heart is thumping way too hard. When I talk, it comes out softer than I meant it to. “I don’t think ‘Horny’ is one of the original septet, Doc …”

She shifts a little. She’s smiling but she won’t look at me. “Neither is ‘Tipsy,’ but I spotted you that one — fair’s fair, Mulder.”

“Oh, we’re being honest?” Where did this voice come from, the one that makes her shiver? There — just then — she did, she did shiver. I saw it. “Well, maybe there was a Horny. And a Woody, and a — Smitten, and a —”

“I think you better stop there, Prince Charming,” she interrupts, finally half-turning her face toward me. She still won’t make eye contact; maybe she knows, like I do, that if she does that, we don’t stand a chance of keeping this from happening. 

The thing is, I want it to. I have for a long, long time, and I think — so does she, so has she. 

That’s the source of so much of the tension between us; that’s really why we fought earlier, why there’ve been so many of these little flareups lately, embers dropped into dry grass and then stomped out with such vigor. We’ve been careful not to get into situations like this one, where the space separating us is so small that we can feel the other’s exhales on our own skin. 

I drop down from my elbows to lie flat, facing her. I can see her eyelashes silhouetted against the washed-out lights of 1959 onscreen. “Scully,” I say, barely above a whisper. 

It’s a long moment before she finally whispers back, “Not here.”

I know what she means, of course I do. Not on a case, not in a janky motel, not even a little bit under the influence. 

“Then where?” 

She shakes her head, a tiny movement that makes her hair fall forward, obscuring any part of her I could read. 

She doesn’t know? Or she doesn’t want to say? I can’t tell, so I try another question.

“Soon, do you think?”

She tenses, and for a second I think she’s going to get up, or order me out of here. But then she drops her head to the pillow, facing me. Her eyes are huge, serious, full of something unnameable that I nonetheless understand. 

“Soon,” she agrees. 

I nod, nearly overwhelmed by my love for her, the tremendous weight of this moment, the desire that’s been there for so long I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t. 

She reaches to touch my face, skimming lightly along one side, barely barely barely there on my eyelid, so softly; I close my eyes as she traces where she likes. 

Her hand falls eventually, coming to rest in the little valley between us. I take hold of it, gently, risking a glimpse at her. Her eyes are shut now, but I’m not sure she’s asleep. 

“I love you,” I say, but silently, the coward’s way. “So much.” 

If she hears me, it’s only subliminally; that’s all the daring I have tonight. Sweet dreams, Scully, I think as I drift off. Sweet dreams. 

--------------------------

[Thanks for the long-ago prompt, anon -- from the Fic Trope Mashup list, Massage Fic and In Vino Veritas]

[izzy-b-hands]

Play Ball

A bit of Sledgefu that I’ve had brewing in the back of my head since I made this post: https://aboutthatmelancholystorm.tumblr.com/post/186689955621/okay-but-sledgefu-with-a-baseball-related-plot

Please note that if there are any baseball inaccuracies in here, it’s because I’m not a huge Sports Person, and despite trying to double check rules and how the game goes, it is very possible I fucked something up. Forgive me if you find any lol.

He was unhinged, a wild beast of a man, his blood boiling. 

And they hadn’t even started playing yet. 

“You always this...passionate, about baseball?” Snafu asked, watching Eugene pace and sulk, glaring down the other team. 

“They have the nerve to show up this late, we could have left by now, and they’re talkin’ shit,” Eugene spat. 

As if on cue, a player from the other team called over abuse to their bench, something Snafu could only half hear, about how they couldn’t hit a ball if their lives depended on it, and Eugene exploded. 

“Come over here and say that! I fuckin’ dare you!” 

Sid, the reluctant team captain/amateur coach sighed. “This is why his dad made him stop playin’ when we were kids. He gets a half mile within a baseball field, and...well.” 

“I mean, I don’t hate the passion,” Snafu replied as he watched Eugene nearly climb the fencing that separated them from the team and their bench from the field. “Just...haven’t seen him like this since Okinawa. And that was war, this is...” 

“Not war?” Sid snorted. “I know. But I already told him, he keeps himself together or he’s out for at least a game or two. Ain’t healthy, him gettin’ that upset.” 

“You know, you wanna talk about us not hittin’, but what about you showin’ up on time? Get a watch, motherfucker!” Eugene was almost spitting with each word, his muscles tense to the touch as Snafu gently pulled him back to the bench. 

“C’mon, wait to beat ‘em out there,” Snafu soothed, wondering if he wouldn’t have to actually sit on Eugene to get him to stay on the bench for the next few minutes until they could run to the field. 

“Oh I will; I’ll beat ‘em off the damn field,” Eugene hissed, then paused. “Wait, no-” 

But it was too late, and Sid’s laughter along with the rest of their teammates interrupted him. 

Snafu watched a smile break out on Eugene’s face. “Shit. I didn’t mean...” 

“We all know Snafu’s the only one you do that to, Eugene. Maybe reword that next time though, huh?” one of the older team members, a veteran who’d fought in the European theater laughed. 

The break in Eugene’s anger was a nice one, and Snafu felt a bit better as they ran out onto the field. This might be okay after all, and might even be a fun thing to add onto their summer schedules from here on out. 

The other team’s batter strode onto the field like he couldn’t be bothered to be excited to play. He barely swung at the first two pitches, and Snafu could feel everyone else’s confusion joining his. The fuck was this guy’s issue?

The third pitch, he gave an electric grin, and hit the ball sky high, giving Snafu a chance to watch Eugene, who was far enough out in the outfield to go for it. 

It was intense, and impressive. Eugene had a hell of an arm on him as he tossed the ball back towards their team members nearer the bases, screaming for someone to tag him out. 

He screamed even louder when they failed to do so, and absolutely howled as the next batter walked up, chuckling. 

“Look at him, he can’t hit shit! We got no goddamn excuse now!” 

“Eugene!” Sid’s voice rang out across the field. 

“Yeah?!” Eugene shouted back. 

“Shut the fuck up and get ready to catch somethin’!” Sid was half-laughing as he shouted, but Snafu noticed that didn’t seem to catch Eugene’s attention. He was petulant after the reprimand, red in the face and clearly irritated. 

Their pitcher seemed immune to all of it going on, as if he was somewhere else, pitching well without a care in the world, well enough to strike the batter out, and strike the smarmy grin off the player’s face. 

“Told you he couldn’t hit shit!” Eugene was bouncing on the balls of his feet in the field, glaring down the next batter before he was even fully in the batter’s box. 

Sid caught Snafu’s eye, and gestured to Eugene as he called for a time-out. 

Snafu trotted out to him and sighed. “You gonna be good for the rest of this?” 

“I’m fine,” Eugene said. 

“Bullshit. The hell about this goddamn game has you so riled up?” 

Eugene shrugged. “Just...don’t like losin’ at it, for some reason. I know it doesn’t mean shit whether we win or lose, I just get out here and...” 

“Okay, well you gotta relax, or Sid’s gonna pull you. You know he will. Won’t wanna, but he will. You good?” 

Eugene nodded. 

The next batter seemed half afraid as he looked out to them, but he hit the ball. 

At least, that was as much as Snafu could remember before waking up on the side of the field, a circle of concerned faces from both teams looking over him. 

“I will rip you to fucking shreds! So small they won’t have shit to bury!” Eugene’s voice was the loudest and clearest thing as he came back to himself, sitting up despite the protests of the other players. 

Sid was sitting on him in the dirt, motioning for the batter that had just been up to leave. “He’s gonna be fine, we’ll have a doctor look at him, you aren’t in trouble.” 

Snafu clambered to his feet, ignoring the ungodly ache of his head, and wondered how big the bruise on his head would be from where the ball must have hit him. “Hey, you the kid that hit me?” 

He looked to be all of nineteen, and took a step back as Snafu approached him.

“Relax, you’re fine. Shit happens. I made through Guaducanal and Peleliu, gonna take more than a rogue baseball to take me out,” Snafu smiled, and held his hand out for the kid to shake. 

Eugene, Sid, and everyone else had gone completely silent, watching them. 

The kid smiled, and shook his hand enthusiastically. “Thank you for yo-” 

“Ah, ah, I only brought that up so you know you didn’t kill me. I’ll be fine, and as long as you don’t make a habit of beanin’ other players in the head, you’ll be fine too.” 

Sid climbed off of Eugene, and sighed. “Everyone fine with us just reschedulin’ this one? I got a player to take to a doctor, and a goddamn headache.” 

The other team’s coach sighed as well, in relief. “Next Sunday?” 

“Sounds good,” Sid said and the crowd began to disperse. 

“Thought he fuckin’ killed you,” Eugene was beside him suddenly, and Snafu jumped. 

“Nah. You should know better by now; I got a skull so damn hard even common sense can’t break into it,” Snafu grinned, but Eugene didn’t smile. 

“I scared the shit outta that kid, actin’ like I did. This is my fault,” he said softly, and wrapped Snafu in a hug. 

“You need to do better at the next game,” Sid agreed, walking over to them. “But this isn’t your fault. Could have hit anyone, we coulda been up to bat and hit one of their guys. Just an accident.” 

“We’ll call my dad over, have him check you. I’ll tell him to come for the next week; we’ll just have him over for dinner each night and that way if anything happens-” Eugene had gone from sad and remorseful to frantic. “Let me look at your eyes, he told me what to look for once.” 

Eugene’s hands were on his face, pulling his eyelids up before he could bat him off, and he couldn’t help but laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” Eugene asked, moving his hands from Snafu’s face to his waist. 

“Look in my eyes, Sledgehammer,” Snafu quoted himself, remembering the day he’d spent begging Eugene to try and diagnose him with an illness he hadn’t had. “Think a head injury is worse than the heebie jeebies?” 

Eugene smiled. “Even with a head injury, you’re somethin’ else, you know that?” 

“You can tell me how much of somethin’ else I am while you drive me home,” Snafu teased, though his head really was killing. 

“Both of you are gonna get in the backseat and shut up,” Sid sighed irritably. “Or did y’all really forget I drove us here?” 

“...thank you for drivin’ us home, Sid darlin’,” Snafu grinned. “And for bein’ the best coach we could ask for.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sid shook his head. “Just bring your best next weekend, and please, Eugene-” 

“I know,” Eugene interrupted. “Sorry, Sid. I’ll rein myself in next weekend. Promise.”

The drive home was still a bit awkward, if only because Sid had meant his command to stay quiet. If they so much as giggled, he shushed them like a frustrated father and reminded them of his headache. By the time he’d dropped them off, they were shaking from suppressing their laughter. 

Mentally, as he rested on the couch with Eugene’s father checking him over, he made a note to have them try some other sport in addition to baseball. Something calmer, that might not raise Eugene’s blood pressure to dangerous levels. He didn’t know what that might be, but he figured he’d have plenty of time to ask Eugene what he’d want to try, while he insisted on waiting on him hand and foot, refusing to let him move from the couch and then their bed later that evening, treating him like a potentially-concussed prince.

[calamity-writes]

In Glory & Gore - 01

Following Ships to wreck

Fenlin's head ached and throbbed. Even though she wasn't unconscious for long, the hit had been hard enough to leave her dazed, and unable to focus on what was happening. Something strange was snapped into place around her neck, and it was heavy, holding her head down and rubbing her neck raw. There was shouting.

Hanin threatening that his mother would seek retribution, Rahlen trying to calmly talk to whoever had taken them.

Nothing had worked, because the next thing Fenlin knew was that she was dumped into a longboat, landing in water that had settled along the bottom. Her head throbbed, and Rahlen climbed in after, forced to kneel next to her. She tried to push herself up, but her hands had been shackled behind her, hampering any attempt to straighten.

She blinked, things still too fuzzy to focus on. They were moving, the boat bobbing on the waves. How easy would it be to roll over the edge of the boat and shift into a fish? Fen eyed the gunwale, and realised it was too high to reach in her current state, not without one of the slavers grabbing her.

...fuck.

She closed her eyes, trying to steady her thoughts, and stop the throb of her head. When she opened them again, it was because one of the larger slavers had picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. She watched, feeling ill, as he climbed up the rope ladder to the ship, watching Rahlen and Hanin sitting in the longboat below. Hanin had a split lip now, and Rahlen was just watching everything, seemingly unbothered.

"This is the one that was injured?" a calm, cultured voice asked as the slaver reached the main deck. He slung her over, setting her down surprisingly gently. Fen blinked, looking up through bleary eyes as a new man crouched by her, examining her face. Then he moved her arm to get a look at the slash down her side.

"Yessir, the only one to try to fight back too," the slaver said, scratching at his beard. "Well, at first. You'll see the other two, one won't talk much and the other doesn't shut up."

"Bring her to the surgery, I'll treat her there. The other two can go to th cargo hold with the rest. This gash needs to be seen to or we'll lose her before we get very far." Fen shifted, trying to squirm out of the slaver's reach, but he was quick and strong. Soon she was back over his shoulder and being carried below decks.

The cultured-voice man, wore Tevinter style robes and his hair was greying at the temples. Fenlin got a good look at him as he followed, and despite one of her eyes so swollen it was nearly shut, Fenlin glared at the robed man as hard as she could. She wasn't sure if he was one of the dreaded Magisters but she was prepared to think of him as one. She was in a dangerous situation, until she knew more about these slavers she'd have to assume they were as dangerous as possible.  

Because you're so small, because you're an elf, everyone will think you are less dangerous than you are. Her mother's voice echoed in Fenlin's head. Don't make their mistake.

"I can already see the fight in this one," the magister said with a slow smile. "I look forward to seeing what she can do when she is fully healed. You said she reached for a blade?"

"Aye, the first to react. Didn't get a chance to see if she was any good with it though," the slaver said. He set Fenlin down on a wooden table that had a few...concerning bloodstains on it. Waiting patiently, Fenlin watched as the large man unshackled her wrists.

Seeing an opening, Fen sat up and swung at the slaver's jaw as hard as she could. It connected, but the man's jaw felt like she was punching rock. He grinned, catching her small wrist in his massive palm and pressed it down to the table, buckling a leather strap around it. He did the same to her ankles and other wrist, before clipping the collar around her neck to something that was out of her line of sight. Spread out on the table, Fen tried to move, to see how sturdy the restraints were.

"She's awfully...quiet," the magister remarked, rolling his sleeves up. "Does she not talk?"

The slaver shrugged. Fenlin felt him pinch her side. She arched, a silent cry of pain on her lips as the scab burst, weeping blood. Though her body tried to shout, to scream, nothing came out. Falling back with short sharp gasps, Fen spat at the slaver. It landed short, somewhere beyond the table. Retribution for the punch? Her knuckles still hurt. The small gratification of watching him rub the rest imprint on his face helped soothe her ego, at least.

"Looks like you've got a Mute, Master Polonius. If you don't want her, I'll take her." The slaver grinned. "I like 'em with fight." 

The magister known as Polonius looked back at Fen again, and she could see thoughts and gears starting to turn. Not something she particularly was interested in seeing the result of.

"How interesting. I'll consider it Favus, but I believe she'll suit my needs just fine. Go get the rest of the cargo settled and tell the captain to set sail. I must attend to the wound you so thoughtfully opened up."

The slaver nodded. With a grin and wink at Fenlin, he disappeared through the surgery's doorway.

"This is a mess," Polonius muttered. He leaned over, examining her side. He clucked his tongue, and Fen felt him start to cut away the bandages. "But we'll have time to sort it out. I have plans for you my dear, a wild elf, and a mute? I am a lucky man."

Fenlin grit her teeth, unsure what that meant. Why would a tiny, mute elf be more important than a prince? Or the heir to the inquisition?

**

"You'll regret this," Hanin shouted hoarsely, spittle flying from his lips. Rahlen watched as the large slaver who had carried away Fenlin, held Hanin in place as two others chained the elf's wrists to the chain that ran along the side of the ship's hold. Rahlen waited patiently behind, watching the proceedings with a half smirk.

"Hey," he said over his shoulder to the guard who stood behind him, sword drawn. Rahlen at least had no intention of starting a fuss, not when he'd seen the large man shrug off a spell like it was nothing. Templar slavers, who knew? "The little female elf, she's not down here..."

The man narrowed his eyes, and Rahlen shrugged.

"I just want to make sure she's okay."

"Why do you care about an elf?" The guard asked. "She your pet pocket or something?"

Rahlen wasn't familiar with the term, but he got the meaning of it. Wasn't this man... delightful. The Prince shook his head.

"No, she just got hurt trying to help us. I want to know if she's alright. I don't plan on causing trouble, but..." he trailed off, arching his eyebrows. He was taller than this guard by at least half a foot. Staff or no staff, Rahlen knew he'd be able to knock out at least one of the guards, maybe take on one of the others before the large slaver got involved. 

"My mother will-" Hanin's shouting was cut off, replaced with muffled and wheezy gasps. The templar must have hit him quite hard. Rahlen made a note to stay out of the large man's reach in future confrontations.

"The Master's stitching her up," the templar said. "Polonius doesn't let his cargo spoil. Now." He rubbed his knuckles. "Are you going to get into place politely or will I have to force you, like your friend?"

Rahlen smiled, relieved. At least Fen wasn't tossed over the side. She was their best hope for escape at that point. The slavers didn't know she was a mage. If she could shift into a bear and take on the templar... Rahlen and Hanin could easily handle the rest of the slavers.

"No need, just point me to where you want me to go," Rahlen said with an easy shrug.

Before long, Rahlen was sitting on the bench next to Hanin, hands chained in place. While comfortable for now, Rahlen imagined that by the end of the day his arms and back would start to ache. He waited, watching the templar and extra guards leave, then looked around the cargo hold. There were others, scruffier looking and Rahlen wasn't sure how long they'd been there. Some a few days maybe, others, weeks?

"Bastards," Hanin croaked. "They'll pay."

"Buddy," Rahlen said under his breath. "Just relax for a bit. Shouting won't make much difference. And if you're who you say you are, your mom'll be on the path to find you before long." His would when she heard what happened. And Maker help anyone who stood in her way. It was a comforting thought, but almost immediately replaced with one that was less comforting.

Everyone around them, they had families too. Fenlin probably did, though as far as he knew Dalish never travelled alone. Could they expect a rescue too? Troubled by the realisation that the answer was a 'no', Rahlen frowned. He'd find a way to help them too, his Mother would have.

"It's... insulting. This collar," Hanin said, getting his breath back slowly. The red and purple bruise forming on the elf's bare chest told Rahlen the Templar had hit his solarplexus. Hard enough to drive the air from Hanin, but not hard enough to damage the man. "Like some sort  of slave."

"Maybe we're going to be sex slaves," Rahlen said, wiggling an eyebrow. "I mean, not likely but a man can dream." He wasn't particularly sold on that idea either. His reputation in Orlais was inflated, not that he'd minded much. Still, Rahlen had little interest in being someone's plaything.

"No talking in the hold," the guard snapped.

Rahlen closed his eyes, settling back to rest. Wherever they were going, it was going to take a while. He might as well rest when he was able to. Sleep didn't come quickly, but eventually it did over take his tired body, leaving him standing in the fade. Here, on the ocean, the fade took on the shape of an impossible ship, winding staircases and boardwalks over open water. A small green spirit flitted around him, darting towards his leg and then away.

"It still hurts," the thing said softly. "Pain, sharp. so red. Red. Too much red. She tried but not done. Not done."

Before Rahlen could ask what the spirit meant, the healing sprite flitted away, disappearing behind a door that Rahlen knew he wouldn't be able to open. He tried anyways, but something strong refused to let the Prince bend that part of the fade to his will.

Another dreamer, which meant that there was a very strong mage on the ship.

That wasn't good.

**

Polonius was skilled at healing, though he didn't bother to ease the discomfort of cleaning out the slash along Fenlin's side, scraping out grit and pus. By the time that was done, Fenlin could scarely breathe, eyes screwed shut against the pain. And then.... she felt a cool magic spread over her side, knitting angry and red flesh back together. The pain was gone, leaving only an itch  that she was unable to scratch due to the restraints.

Eyes watering, Fenlin let out a long breath, releasing the knotted air in her lungs as the pain subsided. Polonius cupped her jaw with one hand, holding her in place, and pressed a waterskin to her lips. Wary, but thirsty and too tired to resist, Fenlin drank.

"There," Polonius said, wiping his hands clean. "There'll be a scar, but it's rather impressive on your skin. It suits you." With that, he called for Favus. The world was getting soft, and Fenlin realised that the water had something in it. Mild... mild something. Her mother would have known. Something to make her lips prickle and her body unresponsive.

Daw...n flower? lotus. The pretty one that grew in the swamp that she used to make flower crowns with. She used to make pretty things, flowers like red and black for friends... Blinking Fen realised the large Slaver had returned and was in the middle of undoing her restraints. Funny, she'd barely felt it. Scooping her up in his arms, Favus carried her out of the surgery and down the narrow wooden hall to a cabin. She tried to bite him, but the drug in her system was strong enough that she just sort of, awkwardly bumped her head into the man's shoulder.

He laughed, saying something about being time for that later if she was still interested.

Opening a door with his shoulder, the large man carried Fen into a cabin that had a cot on one side, lashed trunks, a table and in the corner, a small bedroll spread on the floor. It was the bedroll that Favus set her down on, and Fen was only barely aware that he was tying something to the heavy collar around her neck. 

As the drug wore off slowly, Fen discovered the rope was long enough to stretch to the chamber pot in the corner, and not much further. Bastards. She stayed on the bedroll, dozing until the door to the cabin opened and the maybe-magister walked in.

 "Do you know why you're here and not below decks?" Polonius asked, walking in and pulling off the heavier overcoat of his robes. Underneath he wore a tunic and leggings. He was more fit than Fenlin had expected, but that didn't make her hate him any less.

She stared at him as Polonius readied for bed, jaw clenched. Then, minutely, shook her head by way of answer. 

"Because I see something in you that i don't in the others," Polonius said, watching her, or at least the way her eyes shone back in the dim lamplight. "A killing instinct. Sure, the two you were taken with, maybe they'll survive. Some of the others. The Avaar if they make the voyage. But you..." he sat on his cot, fingers brushing over his beard. "They'll love you out there. I can tell."

Fenlin frowned. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to be flattered or not at this point. Who would love her? Future masters? She rather thought not. At least not once she turned into a bear and bit off their faces.

"Even now, if you were given the choice between killing me and freedom, I don't believe you would hesitate," Polonius said. He was right, but Fenlin didn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that. "Hold onto that little elf, you'll need that in the ring." He smiled, not unkindly.

"You will see, soon."

She did.

They arrived in a port a week later, Polonius leading Fenlin off the ship before the rest of the 'cargo' had been offloaded. The air was hot and the sun strong over head. Fenlin squinted, barely able to see after so long spent in the dim cabin. Hands shackled behind her, she stumbled after Polonius, down the ramp to the dock where vendors were shouting prices for fish, supplies, taxes? She frowned, hearing Tevene spoken as often as common.

Surely they weren't-

"Come girl, you have lost strength on the voyage. We need to recoop that and prepare you for the ring."

What...ring?

Fenlin glanced over her shoulder as the rest of the 'cargo' began to surface on the ship's deck, but she only saw a glimpse of them before the magister tugged on her leash and she was forced to follow deeper into the docks quarter of wherever they were.