#I guess I lied when I said I was halfway through at 1000 words

[hephaestuscrew]

The role of Pryce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedure Protocol Manual in the characterisation, symbolism, and themes of Wolf 359

TL;DR: The DSSPPM is used as a tool to help establish and develop Minkowski and Eiffel as characters: Minkowski as a strict Commander who clings to the certainty provided by a rigid source of authority like the DSSPPM, and Eiffel as the anti-authority slacker who strongly objects to the idea that he ought to read the manual. The way their contrasting attitudes towards the DSSPPM manifest through the show reflect their character development and changing dynamic. The DSSPPM can be directly used against the protagonists by those with power over them, and the reveal of its authorship gives a particularly sinister edge to its regular presence in the show. But it can be also be repurposed and seen through an individual interpersonal lens.

Note: There’s plenty that you could say about the DSSPPM through the lens of what it says about Goddard Futuristics as an organisation, or about Pryce and Cutter as people. Or you could talk about Lambert quoting the DSSPPM an absurd number of times in Change of Mind, and Lovelace’s reactions to this. But in this essay, I’ll be analysing on mentions of the DSSPPM with a focus on Minkowski, Eiffel, and their dynamic.

“One of those mandatory mission training things”: the DSSPPM as a tool to establish characterisation

The first mention of Pryce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedure Protocol Manual (the DSSPPM) in Wolf 359 is also the very first interaction we hear Eiffel and Minkowski have. In fact, the first time we hear Minkowski's voice at all is her telling Eiffel off for not having read the manual:

[Ep1 Succulent Rat-Killing Tar] MINKOWSKI Eiffel, did you read your copy of Pryce and Carter?  EIFFEL My copy of what?  MINKOWSKI Pryce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedure Protocol Manual.  EIFFEL Was that one of those mandatory mission training things?  MINKOWSKI Yes.  EIFFEL In that case, yes, I definitely did.  MINKOWSKI Did you now? Because I happened to find your copy of the D.S.S.P.P.M. floating in the observation deck.  EIFFEL Oh?  MINKOWSKI Still in its plastic wrapping.

This is an effective way to establish their conflicting personalities right out of the gate. Minkowski's determination to "do things by the book - this book in fact" contrasts clearly with Eiffel's professed ignorance about and clear disregard for "this... Jimmy Carter thing”. Purely through their attitudes to this one book, they slot easily into clear archetypes which inevitably clash. Everything about Eiffel in that opening episode sets him up as a slacker who doesn't care about authority, but the image of his mandatory mission training manual floating in the observation deck "still in its plastic wrapping" provides a particularly striking illustration.

By contrast, we immediately encounter Minkowski as a strict leader who cares deeply about making sure everything is done according to protocol; the intense importance she places on the DSSPPM is one of the very first things we know about her. Her insistence on the importance of the survival manual might seem somewhat understandable at first, if perhaps unhelpfully aggressive, but it starts to feel less sensible as soon as we start to hear some of the tips from this manual:

Deep Space Survival Tip Number Five: Remain positive at all times. Maintain a cheerful attitude even in the face of adversity. Remember: when you are smiling the whole world smiles with you, but when you're crying you're in violation of fleet-wide morale codes and should report to your superior officer for disciplinary action.

The strange, controlling, vaguely sinister tone of some of the tips we hear in the first episode is largely played for laughs, emphasised by the exaggeratedly upbeat manner in which Hera reads them. But even these first few tips give us some initial suggestions that the powers behind this mission might not care all that much about the wellbeing of their crew members.

It says something about Minkowski that she places such faith and importance in a book which says things like "Failing to remain calm, could result in your grisly, gruesome death" and "when you're crying you're in violation of fleet-wide morale codes and should report to your superior officer for disciplinary action." (Foreshadowing the Hephaestus Station as the home of immense emotional repression and compartmentalising...) Having those kind of pressures and demands placed on her (and those around her) by people above her in the military hierarchy doesn’t unsettle Minkowski.

Eiffel groans and sighs as he listens to the tips, but Minkowski seems to see this manual as an essential source of wisdom. The main role the manual plays in this episode is to establish Minkowski and Eiffel as contrasting characters with very different approaches to authority and therefore a potential to clash.

When Minkowski demands that Eiffel reads the DSSPPM, he decides to get Hera to read it to him, asking her to keep this as “a 'just the two of us, totally secret, never tell Commander Minkowski' thing”. Eiffel seems convinced that Minkowski won't be happy with him listening to Hera read the DSSPPM rather than reading it himself. This suggests that (at least in Eiffel's interpretation) Minkowski’s orders are not just about her wanting him to know the contents of the manual, since this could theoretically be accomplished just as well by him listening to it. But she wants him to do things in what she’s deemed to be the correct way, to put in the right amount of effort, and not to take what she might see as a shortcut. It’s not just about the contents of the manual; it’s about the commitment to protocol that reading it represents.

“When in doubt: whip it out”: Hilbert’s use of the DSSPPM

In Season 1, the DSSPPM isn't purely associated with Minkowski. Hilbert actually quotes it more than she does in the first few episodes. In Ep2 Little Revolución, Hilbert's response to Eiffel's toothpaste protest is inspired by "Pryce and Carter six fourteen: “When in doubt, whip it out - ‘it’ being hydrochloric acid.”" This tip is absurd in a more direct obvious way than those we heard in Ep1. While this absurdity is partly for humour, it also casts further doubt on the usefulness of this supposedly authoritative survival manual, and therefore on the wisdom of trusting Command.

In Ep4 Cataracts and Hurricanoes, Hilbert starts to quote Tip #4 at Eiffel, who protests "I'm not gonna have one of the last things I hear be some crap from the survival manual". These moments again place Eiffel in clear opposition to the DSSPPM, but also suggest that Hilbert's attitude towards the DSSPPM - and therefore towards Command - is closer to Minkowski's than to Eiffel's.

When Hilbert turns on the Hephaestus crew in his Christmas mutiny, his allegiance to Command is revealed as dangerous. And here the DSSPPM comes up again. As Minkowski dissolves the door between her and Hilbert, she triumphantly echoes his own words back to him: "Pryce and Carter six fourteen: “When in doubt, whip it out - ‘it’ being hydrochloric acid.” Never. Fails." This provides a callback to a previous, more comedic conflict on the Hephaestus, and reminds the listener of a time when Minkowski and Hilbert were working together against Eiffel, in contrast to the current situation of Minkowski and Eiffel versus Hilbert. But it also shows that Minkowski, like Hilbert, is capable of using some of the more absurd DSSPPM tips to defeat an adversary. And it shows Minkowski leaning on those tips in a real moment of crisis.

Once Hilbert has betrayed the crew in order to follow orders from Command, we might look back on his quoting of the DSSPPM as casting the manual in a more sinister light, and again calling into question the wisdom of Minkowski placing such trust in it.

“It's not that I don't believe it, I'm just disgusted by it”: the DSSPPM as an indicator of a changing dynamic

The next mention of the DSSPPM is in Ep17 Bach to the Future:

MINKOWSKI Eiffel's been spot-testing me, Hera. He doesn't believe that I've memorized all of the survival tips in Pryce and Carter. EIFFEL It's not that I don't believe it, I'm just disgusted by it. I keep hoping to discover it's not true. MINKOWSKI Well, believe as little as you want, doesn't change the fact that I do know them. And so should you!

I think this provides an interesting illustration of the way in which Minkowski and Eiffel’s dynamic has developed since Ep1. They still have deeply contrasting attitudes to the DSSPPM, but this contrast is now a source of entertainment between them, rather than merely of conflict.

Given that Hera wasn’t aware of Eiffel testing Minkowski on the tips, we can guess that it’s a game they came up with while Hera was offline. In the midst of all the exhaustion and uncertainty and fear they were dealing with after Hilbert’s mutiny, this was a way they found to pass the time. It must have been Eiffel who suggested it; Minkowski cites his disbelief as the reason for the spot-testing. And yet she plays along, responding each time, even though this activity has no real productive value.

Minkowski is keen to demonstrate that she does know the tips and she emphasises that Eiffel ought to know them too, but their interactions about the DSSPPM in this episode have none of the genuine irritation and frustration that they displayed in Ep1. It feels almost playful and teasing. Eiffel still thinks Minkowski is "completely insane" for learning all the tips and is "disgusted" by her commitment to memorising them, but these comments feel much closer to joking about a friend's weird traits than to insulting a hated coworker's personality. It feels like something has shifted since Eiffel responded to Minkowski’s passion for the DSSPPM by saying “I'm so glad that your shrivelled husk of a dictator's heart is as warm as a decompression chamber”.

Another thing to note here is that Minkowski's respect for the DSSPPM has clearly survived Hilbert's Christmas mutiny and Minkowski's resulting distrust of Command. From Hilbert's behaviour at Christmas, it's clear that the crew's survival is not at the top of Command's priority list. But Minkowski still trusts the book that Command told her to read. She still thinks Eiffel should read it too. The main figures of authority above her are dangerous and untrustworthy, but she still clings to the source of guidance they provided her with.

It's also worth noting that Minkowski has not just learnt the advice in each of the 1001 tips, but she has memorised (nearly) all of them by number. If it was just about the information that the manual provides to inform responses to potentially life-or-death situations, then knowing the numbers wouldn't be necessary. Nor would it be particularly useful to know them all exactly word-for-word. Minkowski's reliance on the DSSPPM is again suggested to be about more than the potential practical use of its content. It's about showing that she is committed and disciplined and up to the task of leading. She does have some awareness of the strangeness of many of the tips, but this doesn't diminish the value of her adherence to the manual for her:

EIFFEL You're insane.  MINKOWSKI I'm disciplined. Although I will admit they do get more... esoteric as you go higher up the list.

There's only one tip Minkowski doesn't seem to remember, and that's revealing too:

EIFFEL 555? Minkowski DRAWS BREATH - and STOPS SHORT. [...] MINKOWSKI Hold on a second, I know this. (beat) Dammit. EIFFEL Hey, look at that! Looks like there may be hope for you yet. MINKOWSKI Quiet, Eiffel. Hera, what's D.S.S.P.P.M. 555? HERA "Good communication habits are key to continued subsistence. Be in touch with other crew members about shipboard activities. Interfacing about possible problems or dangers is the best way to anticipate and prevent them." This hangs in the air for a second. Then – EIFFEL So you forget the one tip in the entire manual that's actually helpful? MINKOWSKI Shut up.

Communication is a key theme of this show, so it’s interesting that this is the one tip Minkowski can’t remember, perhaps indicating an aspect of leadership and teamwork that she doesn’t always prioritise or find easy.

Eiffel saying “Looks like there may be hope for you yet” seems like just a throwaway teasing line, but it’s got a profound edge to it. A lot of Minkowski’s arc is about learning how to provide her own direction and support her crew outside of the systems of authority and hierarchy that she’s grown so attached to. So perhaps Eiffel is right to see a kind of hope in her failure to remember every single DSSPPM tip – she has the potential to break free of her reliance on external authority.

“Which one was 897, what was the exact phrasing of that Deep Space Survival Tip?”: the DSSPPM in interactions with Cutter

The Wolf 359 liveshow, Deep Space Survival Procedure and Protocol, is literally named after the manual. This suggests, before we’ve even heard/watched the episode, that the DSSPPM will be a key symbol here. Which is interesting because I'd say the liveshow has two main plot points: (a) Eiffel's failure to read the DSSPPM or follow orders in general, the resulting disruption to the mission, and his crewmates' frustration with this; and (b) the looming threat of Cutter, the necessity of keeping information from Command, and the risk of fatal mission termination.

Even without the knowledge that Cutter is one of the co-authors of the DSSPPM (which neither the Hephaestus crew nor a first-time listener knows at this point), there's a kind of irony in the contrast between these two plotlines. On the one hand, Minkowski repeatedly berates Eiffel for not having read Pryce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedure and Protocol Manual, which was made mandatory by Command. On the other hand, she is aware that Command in general - and Cutter specifically - represents the biggest threat to the safety and survival of her crew.

Cutter uses the DSSPPM against each of the Hephaestus crew in their one-on-one conversations with him. For Minkowski, he uses it as a way of emphasising the expectations and responsibility placed on her:

MINKOWSKI There are always gaps between expectation and reality, but-- CUTTER But it's our job as leaders to close that gap, isn't it? Pryce and Carter...? MINKOWSKI 414, yes. Yes, sir, I know.

Cutter knows that Minkowski will know those tips and he knows abiding by them is important to her. She's quick to demonstrate her knowledge of the DSSPPM and agree with the tip. There's something deeply sinister to me about Cutter's use of the word 'our' here. His phrasing includes them both as leaders who should be ensuring that things are exactly as expected. It’s almost a kind of flattery at her authority, but it comes with impossibly high expectations. This way of emphasising the importance and responsibilities of her role as Commander is a targeted strategy by Cutter at manipulating Minkowski, designed to appeal to her values.

In Hera's one-on-one, Cutter uses a DSSPPM tip to interpret her behaviour and claim that he can read her motives:

CUTTER This thing you're doing. Asking questions while you get your bearings. HERA Sir, I'm just curious about-- CUTTER Pryce and Carter 588: Shows of courtesy and polite queries are an efficient way to gain time necessary to strategize.

Unlike with Minkowski (or Eiffel), Cutter doesn't prompt Hera to demonstrate her knowledge of the manual. That wouldn't work as a power play against Hera, who would be able to recall the manual (or, rather, retrieve the file, however that distinction works within her memory) but who doesn't care about the DSSPPM like Minkowski does. Instead, Cutter implies that Hera’s behaviour can be predicted - or at the very least seen through - by the DSSPPM, which seems like a cruel attempt by Cutter at belittling her.

For Eiffel, Cutter uses the manual as a weapon in a different way again. He asks Eiffel, "which one was 897, what was the exact phrasing of that Deep Space Survival Tip?", something which Eiffel clearly doesn't know, but Cutter of course does. This puts Eiffel on the back foot, trying to defend and justify himself, allowing Cutter to emphasise his position of power yet again.

The DSSPPM plays a double role in the liveshow. On the one hand, as Minkowski reminds Eiffel, proper knowledge of the manual "would've saved [the crew] from these problems with the nav computer" – some of the tips can potentially save the crew a great deal of hassle, stress, and risk. On the other hand, the same manual is used by Cutter to manipulate, unsettle, and intimidate the crew. There are these two sides to the information given to the crew by Command - two sides to the manual which Minkowski still values.

In another duality for the DSSPM, the manual is sometimes used as a symbol of the relationship between the crew members and Command, and sometimes used to indicate the dynamics between the individual crew members, usually Minkowski and Eiffel. Before Cutter’s appearance in the liveshow, Minkowski and Eiffel’s discussions of the DSSPPM reflect interpersonal disagreements between two people with fundamentally different attitudes:

MINKOWSKI Oh come on, why do you think I keep trying to get you to go over these things? Do you think I enjoy going through them? EIFFEL Yes. MINKOWSKI Well, alright, I do. But this knowledge could save your life.

Minkowski enjoys rules, regulations, and certainty, for their own sake as much as for any practical usefulness. Eiffel very much does not. This is a simple clash of individuals, in which the link between the DSSPPM and Command is implicit. Minkowski doesn't seem to question the idea that the information in the DSSPPM is potentially life-saving, even though she knows Command don't care about their lives. But Cutter’s repeated references to the DSSPPM remind us who made that book a mandatory part of mission training – it certainly wasn’t Minkowski, even if she’s often the one attempting to enforce this rule.

At the end of the liveshow, in a desperate attempt to prevent mission termination, Eiffel promises Cutter that he will read the DSSPPM (the liveshow transcript notes that him saying this is "like pulling teeth"), an instance of the manual being used in negotiations between the Hephaestus crew and Command. All Minkowski’s orders weren’t enough to get Eiffel to read that book, but a genuine life-or-death threat might just about be enough. Perhaps it's ironic that Eiffel reads the survival manual out of a desire for survival, not because he thinks the contents of the book will help him survive, but because he’s grasping anything he can offer to buy the crew’s survival from those who created that same book.

In the final scene of the liveshow, Minkowski catches Eiffel reading the DSSPPM, and he fumbles to hide that he's been reading it, a humorous reversal of all the times that he's lied to her that he has read it. Perhaps admitting that he's reading it would be like letting Minkowski win. Minkowski seems to find both surprise and amusement in seeing Eiffel finally reading the manual, but she doesn't push him to admit it. There's some slightly smug but still friendly teasing in the way Minkowski says "were you now?" when Eiffel says that he was just reading something useful. In that final scene, the manual is viewed again through the lens of Minkowski and Eiffel’s dynamic – Command’s relation to the DSSPPM becomes secondary.

“The first thing I'd make damn sure was hard wired into anything that might end up in a situation like this one”: the DSSPPM as a tool of survival

In Ep30 Mayday, when Eiffel is stranded alone on Lovelace’s shuttle, he hallucinates Minkowski to bring him out of his helpless panic and force him into action. And this hallucination also brings with it one of Minkowski’s interests:

MINKOWSKI Eiffel... I worked on this shuttle. Reprogramming that console. EIFFEL So? How does that help – MINKOWSKI Think about it. BEAT. And then he gets it. EIFFEL Oh goddammit. MINKOWSKI What's the first thing that I would do when programming a flight computer? The first thing I'd make damn sure was hard wired into anything that might end up in a situation like this one? EIFFEL Pyrce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedure and Protocol Manual.

Again, a conversation about the DSSPPM gives us an indication of the development of Minkowski and Eiffel’s relationship. Not only does Eiffel imagine Minkowski as a figure of (fairly aggressive) support when he’s stranded and alone, he thinks about what advice she’d give him and he follows it. Rather than dismissing the manual entirely, he looks for tips that are relevant to his situation. He’s not pleased about his hallucinated-Minkowski trying to get him to read the DSSPPM, but that was what his mind gave him in an almost hopeless situation. Some part of him now empathises with Minkowski’s priorities in a way that he definitely wasn’t doing in Ep1. He thinks that the DSSPPM might be on the shuttle because he knows the manual is important to Minkowski. It’s by imagining Minkowski that he gets himself to read the manual in order to see if it can help him survive – he certainly doesn’t think about what Cutter or anyone else from Command would tell him to do.

In the end, the tips Eiffel picks out aren’t all that helpful or informative: “Confront reality head-on”; “In an emergency, take stock of the tools at your disposal. Then take stock again. Restock. Repurpose. Reuse. Recycle."; and “"In times of trouble, an idle mind is your worst enemy”. But Eiffel does use these tips to structure his initial thinking about how to survive on Lovelace’s shuttle. In an almost entirely hopeless situation, Eiffel finds some value in the DSSPPM. But since the tips he picks out are mostly platitudes, the actual wisdom that allows him to survive all comes from his own mind; the tips, like his hallucinations, are just a tool he uses to externalise his process of figuring out what to do.

“Wasn't there something about this in the survival manual?”: Minkowski potentially moving away from the DSSPPM

Given the significance of the DSSPPM in Season 1 and 2 to Minkowski in particular, it feels notable when the manual isn’t referenced. Unless I've missed something (and please let me know if I have), Minkowski – the real one, not Eiffel’s hallucination - doesn't bring up the manual of her own accord at all in Seasons 3 or 4. This might make us wonder if she’s moved away from her trust in and reliance on that book provided by Command.

Perhaps the arrival of the SI-5, which highlights to Minkowski that the chain of command is not a good indicator of trustworthy authority, was the final straw. Or perhaps the apparent loss of Eiffel - and any subsequent questioning of her leadership approach, or realisations about the valuable perspective Eiffel provided - were what finally broke down her faith in that book.

Alternatively, perhaps Minkowski still trusts the DSSPPM as much as ever, but trying to get Eiffel or any of the other crew members to listen to it is a losing battle that she no longer sees as a priority. Either way, Minkowski’s apparent reluctance to bring up the DSSPPM feels like a shift in her approach. 

The associations between Minkowski and the DSSPPM are still there in Season 3, but they are raised by other characters, not by Minkowski herself. The manual is used to emphasise Eiffel’s difficulties when he’s put in charge of trying to get Maxwell and Hera to fill out a survey in Ep32 Controlled Demolition. Trying to force other people to be productive pushes Eiffel into some very uncharacteristic behaviour:

EIFFEL Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you? It's like you've never even read Pryce and Carter! Tip #490 very clearly states that – He trails off. After a BEAT – HERA Officer Eiffel? MAXWELL You, uh, all right there? EIFFEL (the horror) What have I become? [...] Eiffel, now wrapped up in a blanket, is next to Lovelace. He is still very clearly shaken. EIFFEL ... and... it was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. I was slowly transforming into Commander Minkowski. [...] It was a nightmare! A terrifying, bureaucratic nightmare!

This is a funny role reversal, but it shows us the strength of Eiffel’s association between Minkowski and the DSSPPM, as well his extreme aversion to finding himself in a strict bureaucratic leadership position. It also suggests that becoming extremely frustrated when trying to get other people to do what you want might make anyone resort to relying on an external source of authority, such as the manual. I don’t know whether this experience helps Eiffel empathise with Minkowski, but perhaps it might give us some insight into how her need for authority and control in the leadership role she occupied might have reinforced her deference to the DSSPPM.

In Ep34, we get a suggestion of another character having a strong association between the DSSPPM and Minkowski. After the discovery of Funzo, Hera asks Minkowski what the manual says about it:

HERA Umm... I don't know if this is a good idea. Lieutenant, wasn't there something about this in the survival manual? MINKOWSKI Pryce and Carter 792: Of all the dangers that you will face in the void of space, nothing compares to the existential terror that is Funzo.

It’s interesting to me that Hera asks Minkowski here. We know from Ep1 that “Pryce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedure Protocol Manual is among the files [Hera has] access to”. Two possible reasons occur to me for why Hera might ask Minkowski about the DSSPPM tip here. One possibility is that Hera thinks that retrieving the manual from her databanks and finding the correct tip would take her more time than it would take for Minkowski to just remember the tip. Which suggests interesting things about the nature of Hera’s memory, but also implies that - at least in Hera's view -Minkowski’s knowledge of the DSSPPM is more reliable than that of a supercomputer.

The other possibility is that Hera could have recalled the relevant DSSPPM tip incredibly quickly but she doesn’t want to, maybe because she resents having that manual in her head in the first place, or maybe because she wants to show respect for Minkowski’s knowledge as a Commander. Either way, we can see that Hera – like Eiffel – strongly associates Minkowski with the DSSPPM.

And Minkowski, even if she wasn’t the one to bring up the manual here, recalls the relevant tip immediately. Perhaps she is moving away from her trust in that manual, but everything that she learned as part of her old deference to the authority of Command is still there in her head. She might want to forget it by the end of the mission, but that’s not easily achieved. The way Minkowski’s friends/crewmates associate the manual with her emphasises the difficulty she’ll face if she tries to move away from it.

“One thousand and one pains in my ass”: The authorship of the DSSPPM

In Ep55 A Place for Everything, Eiffel effectively expresses his long-held dislike of the DSSPPM when he comes face-to-face with both of its authors:

EIFFEL What? What the hell are - wait a minute - Pryce? As in one thousand and one pains in my ass, Pryce? (sudden realization) Which... makes you...? MR. CUTTER (holding out his hand) W.S. Carter, pleased to meet you. 

It’s significant that the two ‘big bads’ of the whole series are the authors of the manual which Minkowski and Eiffel were bickering about all the way back in Ep1. It’s not the only way in which the message of this show positions itself firmly against just accepting externally imposed authority and hierarchy without question or evidence, but it does reinforce this ethos.

By being the authors of the manual, Cutter and Pryce have had a sinister hidden presence throughout the show. Long before we know who Pryce is and even before we hear Cutter’s name, their manual is there, occupying a prominent place in Minkowski’s motivations and priorities, and in her arguments with Eiffel. It’s not at all comparable to what Pryce put in Hera’s mind, but it is another way in which these antagonists have wormed their way into the heads of our protagonists.

Minkowski will have to come to terms with the fact that the 1001 tips she spent hours memorising and reciting were written by two people who would have killed her, her crew, and even the whole human race without hesitation if it served their purposes. We never get to hear Minkowski’s reaction to learning the identities of Pryce and Carter, but I think processing the role of their manual in her life will be a long and difficult road that’ll tie into a lot of other emotional processing she needs to do. Her assertion to Cutter that, without him, she is “Renée Minkowski... and that is more than enough to kick your ass!” feels like part of that journey. She doesn’t mention the DSSPPM at all in Season 4. She’s growing beyond it.

"Doug Eiffel's Deep Space Survival Guide": The DSSPPM as a weapon against those who wrote it

Last but not least, I couldn’t write about Eiffel and the DSSPPM without mentioning this scene from  Ep58 Quiet, Please:

EIFFEL As someone once told me: "Pryce and Carter 754: In an emergency, take stock of the tools at your disposal, then take stock again. Repurpose, reuse, recycle." And right now? You know what I got? I got this lighter from when Cutter was using me as his personal cabana boy. [...] and I've got myself this big, fat copy of the Deep Space Survival Manual, and you know what I'm gonna do with it? [...] Eiffel STRIKES THE LIGHTER. And LIGHTS THE BOOK ON FIRE, revealing Pryce just a few feet away from him! EIFFEL I am going to repurpose it... and reuse it... and recycle it into a GIANT FIREBALL OF DEATH! And he swings the flaming book forward, HITTING PRYCE ON THE SIDE OF THE HEAD. [...] EIFFEL That's right! Doug Eiffel's Deep Space Survival Guide, B-

No one other than Doug Eiffel could pull off the chaotic energy of this moment. It doesn’t get much more anti-authority than lighting the mandatory mission manual on fire and using it as a weapon against one of its malevolent authors. It might not be the wisest move safety-wise, and it certainly doesn’t improve the situation when the node gets jettisoned into space. But there is still a powerful symbolism in taking a symbol of the hierarchical forces that have tried to constrain you for years and setting it alight to fight back against those forces. Eiffel takes his own approach to survival and puts his own name into the title, an assertion of his agency and rejection of Command's authority.

The DSSPPM tip that he uses here is one of those he considers when stranded on Lovelace’s shuttle. It’s understandable that after that experience it might have stuck in his memory.

I can’t help feeling that the line “as someone once told me” has a double meaning here. The immediate implication is to interpret “someone” as being Pryce and Cutter – it’s their manual after all – which makes this line a fairly effective ‘fuck you’ gesture, emphasising how Eiffel is using Pryce’s manual against her in both an abstract and a physical sense.

But I think “someone” could also mean Minkowski. Eiffel uses a singular rather than plural term, there’s already an association established between Minkowski and the DSSPPM, and, in Mayday, it’s his hallucination of Minkowski that gets him to read this tip. She's probably also recited this tip to him at other points as well. Under this interpretation, this line is as much a gesture of solidarity with Minkowski as it is a taunt to Pryce. I like the idea that these two interpretations can run alongside each other, reflecting the duality of the use of the DSSPPM that I talked about in relation to the liveshow.

Conclusion

The DSSPPM is a symbol of external rules imposed on people by those with power over them. These rules can be strange, arbitrary, and even sinister, but for those with a desire for certainty and control, like Minkowski, they can be tempting. And they can have their uses, as well as the potential to be repurposed. Attitudes towards these rules provide an effective shorthand as part of Minkowski and Eiffel’s characterisation. And the clash between these attitudes, and how that clash manifests, can tell us something about how the dynamic between those characters develops and changes.

[cmiray]

*crickets*

would it even be me if I wasn't very late to the party

when did you join ? what made you join ? what do you remember from the plotlines that were current at the time ? where were you in life when you joined and where are you now ?

I believe it was the end of 2016, but I havent been able to find Lis original blog in a bit to double check. At the time I joined I hadn't roleplayed in forever, and was just getting over my first break up and needed a distraction. I had found chambord around before but never joined it. I believe I first saw chambord when I went back to an old rp blog and someone from that group had been using their blog for chambord. Even in Hshq i was not known for my consistency in activity but honestly this rp was the longest period I ever wrote anything. From highschool through university to now being almost done with my masters in a whole fucking continent is trully insane. This rp saw me through most of my 20's and the last of my teens. That's crazy.

which characters have you written over the years ?

Oh god, so fucking many. I know I will forget some. Lis will forever have a specially place in my heart. She went through so many changes but she was always a fucking mess and I love her for it. I'm not sure how long it would have taken all 3 of her iterations to be happy but she would be fighting tooth and nail the whole time against it I'm sure. You can not say she was not determined (to be fucking miserable).

I loved all of Lis's versions, and I tried to keep her core the same but I'm not sure if that sucessed. She came from very different backgrounds and was in so many different situations. I will never forget that original Arnauld murdered their parents in cold blood just for that crown.

Lisvent was so so fun and I was so happy when Hailee came up with him. As many have said in the past my like for Levente showed up to much in Lis by the end. I don't know if they would have found civility at any point, but maybe Lis would have grown cold and mean and meet him halfway. This Lis was much harder to write as sad and misserable because the spanish were such a - not functional maybe but loving family. It's hard to be the saddest gay when your sister loves you i guess?

The last Lis was probably the most deranged. I do not regret her though, but I think she had straid to much away from what Lis was at her core. She was older, and much more manipulative and I think i never quite got her right. but her and Stela were very fun while they lasted <3

Miray <3 my sweet. I do regreat I never finished her bad bitch transformation. But at least her and Hafiz made up and were happy by the end of their days together. Who would have through. I like to believe by now her and Layla would have made up too because anything else would be to painful. Daisuke is still on thin ice however. She will forever be Aslan's first born, and I think this fight at the end just shows that. She was finally rebeling against her real father.

A surprising third on this list perhaphs will be Arthur Sr. I know I never did much with him ( and I loved seeing C's take on him, she brought him to life in a way I never could.) but the english siblings plot, even if it has been over for a while specially for me, was one of my favorite things.

That brings us to Reha, who is 1000% living with Bruce's in his country house, she has sheep and has a long term lumberjane girlfriend. I will not take questions. I don't think she's talked with any of the siblings for a while, but maybe one day she will grow a spine and appolagise for all she did to all of them. Face her errors and all that.

Petro was a wild mess but I enjoyed my time with him. I will never forget the one word to one gif sibbling thread. I've said this in the fam chat already but Petro is a girlfather now, he co-parents with the mother but they're not together. I don't think he will ever grow up enough to be a good husband but I like to think he will be a good father at least. He may still be after claude or whatever name Inna has for him this week.

I would also like to talk about nic tho i don't know if anyone remembers him. He was very fun to play and I'm sad I never did more with him. The protest t-shirts are a fun memory.

There are a few others I never had much time to do much with, valentina, seonhye, Genoa, Ariel, a bodyguard from galicia, Rhea sister of Gaia not to be confused with Reha, probably more

I can't forget andrés in all this mess. Him and Lis are probably my most recognizable characters of hshq, Bandrés was so fun and I can't believe we started this with Dani being 5 years old and he's almost a teenager now. That's insane. There are a lot of inside jokes coming from Bandrés and ASS and I don't think I'll ever forget this ragtag team of MeanGirls wannabees (MeanCatalans). Thanks Evy for making Andrés so fun to play with both Barbie and Sergi, and thanks Dee for entertaining our crazy with Simó after so long of these two being unsupervised <3.

what is your favourite plotline that you've been part of ?

Probably Catalonia. It became such a big part of hshq and I enjoyed it very much. But I'll be honest - I was always a fan of making up the wildest craziest shit up possible but I rarely could make it to the end. So Catalonia was only my favorite cause Evy took it on and made something real of it. I was a very bad political player.

I really enjoyed the "Everyone hates Andrés" gag too. This man has had 2 friends his whole life and no one else can stand him.

All of the other plots mentioned above were so fun too however. I'm truly so grateful to everyone on this rp for putting up with my bullshit.

what about other people's plotlines ?

I loved all of Arnauld's shit tremendolessly and I'm forever in awe of Martha and her caraterization of him.

who is your favourite character from the ones you've played ? why ? what made you love them ? what made them so fun to write ?

I love all of them very differently. I think it would likely be a tie between Lis, Miray and Andrés. This will likely not surprise anyone as they are the i've played the longest. They were very fun to write because I could dip my foot in politics without having to be too involved. I think that was always my downfall in this rp - I was not good at the political plays.

if you could relive a plotline, which would it be ?

Early Bandrés fighting was so fun to write. They became so very friendly by the end (good for them of course but still). We tried to shake them up a little but never will quite be like those early Bandrés threads where they couldn't keep their hands off eachother, nor stop arguing.

is there a plotline that you'd edit now if you could ?

I don't think so. I would like to finish some things I never did but fully change something? I would have maybe made Lis 3.0 her own character so I could have explored her more mean spirited, manipulative vibes more.

what's a plotline you wish you would have been able to finish before closing or just write more of ?

I would have loved to give Miray a more finished storyline. Have her figure out her place in the family and the world in general. She was to immature by the end and too lost, I wish some of that had been fixed before I lost all my time with my masters.

what is your favourite ooc memory ?

I have so many. I enjoyed the group discord very much over the years. I also love the verb naomi'ed until the end of my days.

My favorite might be the day everyone posted voice posts of the characters names in the correct language- it was so fun to hear these characters names correctly!

There is so much of my growing up that is tied to this group. My mom knows about some of you guys. "I'm talking to my brasilian friend" "Oh I know someone who lives in Northern Europe"

where can others find you if they want to get in touch ?

Discord is probably the easiest. I have a tumblr I use for little but if you'd like it @glitradora and if anyone would like it please feel free to ask for my whatsapp number either here by message or on discord <3

what else would you like to say ?

I will miss this rp so much - and surely I will lose track of some of you guys because of it closing. If so I hope to find you at some point in the future. I've know some of you for 8 years - that's longer than some of my irl friends. It's going to be wild to not have an hshq to come back too. but I will be bothering you all in the discord as long as it stays open. <3

ps. speciall for serre: 🍅🍅🍅

[crashdevlin]

New Romantics-6: Longing and Loss

New Romantics Masterlist

Author’s Note: This is a multi-chapter sequel to Wildest Dreams

Summary: Y/n is using her powers for good... isn’t she?

Pairing(s): Dean x Reader, Crowley x Reader, Sam x Reader

Word Count: 4383

Story Warnings: Smut, 18+ HERE BE SEX, DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!, anal sex, oral sex (fem and male receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, bloodplay, canon-appropriate character deaths, manipulation, BoyKing!Sam and Intended Queen!Reader!

Chapter Warnings: Blood Drinking, unprotected vaginal sex, possessive!Sam

The phone ringing wakes me. It's a persistent buzz against the hard wood of the hotel bedside table. “Don't answer it,” my bed mate says, low voice a deeper rumble from sleep. I didn't know demons could sleep before I started sharing a bed with one.

I raise the phone enough to see the name on the screen. “Gotta. S'Dean” I mumble, as the phone zooms to my hand and the call connects before I've even touched it. I've been expecting this call. It's April. His year's almost up. One last hurrah. “Hey.”

“I wake you?”

I sit up and run my hand across my face. “Don't know what timezone you're in, Winchester, but it's 4:30 in the morning here in Cheyenne.” Shit. Shouldn't have called. comes through to my mind, clear as a bell. “I don't mind, though. I got a few good hours. What's up?”

“I…” Wanna see you before I go to Hell. Just one more time. “Thought we could have that last hurrah. Haven't seen you since Elizabethville. Even went by your place a couple times, but you were never in.”

“I've been keeping busy. Stop too long and it all hits hard. Uh… where are you? Wanna meet somewhere? And… where's Sam?”

“We actually just finished a thing in Pueblo. Sam's looking into last-ditch efforts. Told him I needed a few days, so he's gonna hole up with his laptop and try to find an out that he somehow missed for the last year. Wanna meet halfway? Denver?”

I shoot Crowley a look but he just turns over and grabs a glass of scotch from his side table. “Yeah. I can do that. Biggersons off the interstate?”

“Sounds good. Meet'cha there, Boots.”

I hang up and pull the blanket back, moving for my clothes. “He's doing the rounds, sayin’ ‘Goodbye’?” Crowley asks. I nod. “And, knowing yer not the only one on the tour, you still wanna go?”

“Where's my leg to stand on, Crowley?” I gesture at him. “I have literally been sleeping with the enemy. I should be upset that he's got another bendy bitch he thinks of fondly? Please.”

“And the thief? He wanted her, too. And a hundred other-”

“I have no claim to him. None of it matters. He's dead in two weeks. I can't save him any more than Sam can. But I can make him feel good before the lights go out.”

I dress quickly and check my hair in the ornate mirror by the door before I leave. Crowley likes five star hotels and ancient scotch. He likes Armani suits and shoes made of Italian leather. He's started taking care of every little thing for me and while a big part of me resents it because I'm a grown ass woman and a hunter who doesn't need a demon to take care of me… the other part enjoys sleeping on Egyptian cotton sheets with 1000 thread count, and never worrying about going hungry just because I haven't had any luck hustling lately.

The doorman glares at me on my way out of the hotel and the valet seems to really hate my car, but what can I say? Still a hunter. Demon-fucker, blood-drinker, telepathic and telekinetic, but still a fucking hunter.

I make it to the restaurant in a little over an hour. Dean’s already waiting for me and I notice him before he notices me. He’s tired and scared. He’s clinging to the thought that there’s no way out if he wants to keep Sam alive. I approach with a smile and slide into the booth across from him. He plasters a fake smile on his lips. “Kinky Boots! Lookin’ damn fine for not even sunrise!”

“Wish I could say the same, Winchester, but you look like crap. When’s the last time you slept?” He shrugs. “Nightmares?”

“Well, I got a major league demon holdin’ my contract, one with a big chip on her shoulder about my brother, so she ain’t backin’ down on it. Unless we can figure out a way to put down Lilith in the next two weeks, I’m done, so… sleep doesn’t come easy.”

“Lilith.” I blink at him and lick my lips. “Your contract is held by… Lilith?”

“Yeah. This chick I know went down the same way as me said that, uh, Lilith holds all the contracts.”

“But that would mean she runs the crossroads.” Crowley runs the crossroads.

“I guess so.”

A pit hits my stomach. Of course Crowley’s been lying to me. He’s a fucking demon. Why does it hurt? I force a smile to hide the betrayal I’m feeling. “So… what can I do for you, Dean? Last hurrah, how do you want it?”

I get a flash of a candlelit motel room, soft rhythm and blues playing in the background as he takes his time with me, savoring every inch of my body. There's champagne on the side table for just a second before his mind changes it to a bottle of cheap fruity white zinfandel. Even in his fantasy, he can't go that Nicholas Sparks.

“I'm a simple man with simple tastes. I'm thinkin’ motel room, shades drawn, classic rock on the radio, bottle of whiskey, only leaving the bed for food and water for a few days.” It’s kinda sad that he won’t let himself be soft.

“Well, then we better get some food in us… and some to take with us,” I say with a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No more. I can’t…. Need a break,” I breathe out. We've been going for hours, at this point. I've cum three times to his once, but it's just overstimulation by now.

He climbs up my body and smirks down at me. “See, this is what happens when you stop doin’ your yoga. You lose your stamina.”

I don't argue that my stamina is fine, that I'm overworked from the way Crowley took me last night, that if I can keep up with a demon then I can definitely keep up with him… I simply pull his head down and lick into his mouth.

“Ah, I should probably call Sammy, anyway, let him know the Hounds haven't gotten me yet.” Twelve missed calls, at least. He's gotta be losing his mind. “I’m, uh… not gonna tell him who I’m with. Just… I mean, I don’t wanna…”

“I get it. I’ll be quiet. Actually, I’ll take this as an opportunity to hit the bathroom.” I kiss him again and roll off the bed. Dean slaps my ass as I walk away.

“Hey, Sam.”

Through the filter of Dean's mind, I hear Sam's words. “Where the hell are you, Dean? I take a fucking nap and wake up to a note and you don't answer the fucking phone for four hours?”

“Man, I told you. I just needed to have a little fun! It's not even the final countdown. I wanted to have a night without you giving me sad puppy eyes, okay? I think I have earned that.”

“Dean, we have two weeks to figure out how to find Lilith and get her to drop your contract.”

“She's not gonna do that, Sam! We have absolutely no way to find her, let alone force her to give up my freaking soul. Let me have this one thing and then I'll come back and we can go back on soul patrol, all right?”

There was a long moment of silence, then a sigh. “Yeah, okay. Don’t be gone too long, man. I’m gonna call Bobby, see if he’s got anything.”

“Yeah, all right. I’ll call ya when I get out of here.” I walk back out of the bathroom and jump on the bed, wrapping my arms around Dean. He looks into my eyes and smiles. For a moment, there’s no fear in him. It doesn’t last, of course. The man’s going to Hell, and he’s terrified, but for a moment he’s lost in my eyes and it’s amazing.

His hand buries in my hair and he pulls me into a kiss. His tongue doesn't taste like whiskey anymore, just his unique Dean flavor. He's not drunk. He's just vulnerable. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine. “When I go, I need you to take care of Sam. You and Bobby, he's gonna need you or he's gonna lose it.”

“I-”

“Lilith is gonna be after him. She's probably after you, too, since you were on Azazel's short list, too. I just need you to watch his back. If you gotta do that from his bed, more power to the power couple.”

I scoff and pull away, bringing my knees up to my chest. “Did you call me here for this? To fuck me, then chase me off to be with Sam?”

Confusion fills him as he debates whether or not that’s what he’s trying to do. “That’s not what I meant. Sometimes, I wish you still had your powers, ‘cause you could hear what I-”

I shake my head. “I don’t think you know what you meant, Winchester.” He agrees. He doesn’t know what he wants. He doesn’t want me with Sam, wants me to have something real, but he doesn’t want either of us to be alone once he goes to Hell. “Maybe I should leave.”

“No, don’t go. I’m sorry. Don’t leave.” He sighs. His eyebrows come together as he pushes his hand into my hair. “Whatever happened with your salesman?”

“I told you it wasn’t anything real, Dean.”

He licks his lips. “Sorry. You should definitely have something real.”

“Like I could have with Sam?” I guess. He nods. I shake my head. “No. Much as I enjoy your brother...Things with my salesman are more real than what I have with Sam. At least he doesn’t think I belong with him because the Yellow-eyed Demon said so.” I scoff. “Azazel would probably hate my salesman.” I don’t know why I like calling him ‘my salesman’ so much, but it feels right. He definitely sold me on a bunch of things I never would’ve considered a year ago.

“Look, promise me that you will, at least, keep tabs on Sam. Try to keep him from going too far off the rails?” Please. If Sam gets himself killed then this was all fucking pointless. “I just… the whole point of this is to keep Sam alive.”

Dean Winchester tends to say what's on his mind when it comes to me and I like that. I like that he doesn't know that I'm still in his head so he doesn't try to keep shit inside. Dean is one of the most uniquely honest liars I've ever met. He lies to himself a lot, but he tries not to lie to me.

I nod. “Yeah, okay. I'll try.”

“Thank you.” He pulls me into another kiss and I melt into it, letting him lay me down and cover my body with his own. I let him take comfort in me one last time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I take a hunt in California, then I head home. By the time I make it back to Keystone, it’s the morning of May 4. Crowley’s waiting for me, leaning against my porch with his hands in his pockets. My nonchalant demon salesman. I get out of my car and lean against the hood, ignoring the heat from the engine. “He make it downstairs?”

“‘Bout thirty hours ago… been months already for ‘im.”

“I forgot. Time’s wonky down there, isn’t it?”

“Hell’s designed to fuck with your head… and body, and soul. I wasn’t there for more than a year before I was a demon, pet. That’s quite a lot longer down there, but…” He shrugs and starts toward me. “Have you broken that trap, yet?”

I shake my head. “I like having a place where you won’t go.” He grabs my hips and pulls me away from my car. This is where he snaps my jeans off and fucks me… usually. I slap his hands away. “We need to talk about Lilith.”

Crowley rolls his eyes at me. “Are you sure you want to talk about Lilith? It’s been weeks since you’ve seen me. I thought you might need a top-up.”

“I’ve been rationing. I’ve still got a fourth of a bottle left,” I say, smugly. “Lilith. Spill.”

“What? What do you want to know?”

“Lilith holds all crossroad contracts. I thought you were King of the Crossroads.”

“I am… but everyone has a boss.”

“And Lilith’s your boss.”

“Yes, and no. Tol’ you she took over after Azazel went. She sits on the throne, so it’s her name on the scrolls. That’s it. I’m in charge of the Crossroads,” he insists.

I lick my lips, search his eyes, finally sigh. Even if he’s lying, I can’t tell. Even if he’s lying, what could I do about it? I need his blood. That quarter of a vial of blood isn’t gonna last very long. He can see my resistance fade. I can see it in his smile as he steps closer and grabs my hips. I’ve gotten used to the sulfur taste in his mouth, I like to chase it around with my tongue.

He pushes me back against my hood. It’s still burning hot, but all I can focus on is his hands pushing my shirt up over my breasts, his hard cock rutting against my thigh. He quickly pulls my bra down and starts licking and biting my nipple. I lean back to give him better access, using my powers to pop the button of his suit pants and pull the zipper down. He pulls back, pops the button on my jeans and pulls them and my underwear down my legs.

I turn quickly and set my hands on the hot metal hood. Crowley slips a hand down my ass and slips two fingers inside of me. “Oh, fuck.”

“Are you always this wet? Because every time I touch you, you are.”

I drop my head to the backs of my hands and moan in response as he fucks those fingers in and out of me. He pulls them away and immediately replaces them with the head of his cock. That beautiful, huge fucking cock. Honestly, if I didn’t know that the man he wears used to be a literary agent, I’d swear he must’ve been a porn star because that cock… That cock is amazing. “Foot on the bumper,” he instructs and I obey. Dear God, I don’t even consider not doing what he says.

He slides in, one hand on my hip, the other grabbing my shoulder to hold me in place. It’s moments like this, when he’s fucking me over the hood of my car and my moans are echoing through the trees surrounding my house, that I consider breaking the Devil’s Trap under my house. I want him to take me in my bed, where I’m comfortable, but I can’t let him.

I have to have that space. That space untainted by demons and blood. Hell, I don’t even drink his blood in the house. I leave it in the car. That house, it’s got memories of Sam, of Dean and John. It’s got memories of the years I was normal. I can’t let Crowley corrupt that when he’s already corrupted me.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I moan as he picks up his speed.

“Louder!”

My pussy clenches hard at his demand, and I start moaning louder. It’s fucking early in the day to be screaming, but it’s not like I have neighbors to worry about. “Please, Crowley! Please, fuck, please! Please, harder. God, I need it.” His grip on me tightens and he hammers into me harder, his cock hitting my cervix over and over. I scream, slapping the hood and shuddering as my muscles tighten and flutter around him. He fucks me through it, pulsing as he hits his own orgasm and fills me up.

He pulls away from me and snaps his fingers and we’re both dressed. I turn to him and lick my lips. “So, uh… I still have some left, but-”

“Of course, darling.” He produces another small glass bottle full of his blood and presents it to me. I take it and immediately shove it in my pocket. “Til next time.”

“Yeah.” I nod and head toward my place. He’s gone by the time I get to the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hear the engine rumbling down the dirt road to my house at a little before 5pm. That loud 502 big block is unmistakable. It used to be that sound would denote Dean’s arrival, but I know it’s Sam behind the wheel tonight. I open the front door as Sam slams the driver’s door and stumbles toward the porch. He’s drunk, I can smell the whiskey. I rush to his side, trying to help him stay upright. I can’t believe he was driving like this.

“Sam!”

“He’s dead. Dean’s dead. I couldn’t save him.”

“So, that's reason to drink yourself to death?” I snap, trying to wrap him around me and get him into my place. He stumbles on the stairs, dropping away from me, his large body hurtling toward the wood of the porch, face-first. I put my hands out on instinct to stop him, but not with my muscles because I know I can lift that two-forty body without help. I use my powers without a thought and he’s left floating two inches over the porch.

He slowly sets his palms against the wood, drops his knees and turns his head to look at me. His eyes are wide and I can see that adrenaline has burned some of the liquor out of his blood. For the moment, he’s lucid, and he knows. I drop him and he turns his whole body, sits on the steps and looks up at me. “You still have your powers?”

I shake my head. “I got them back,” I whisper.

“You got… you got them back? When? How?”

I swallow and lick my lips. “Uh… the day I disappeared in Lincoln.”

“This whole year? You… why didn’t you say anything?”

I take a deep breath. “Because I’ve been… This is really a conversation for us to have when you’re sober.”

“I’m sober enough,” he growls, standing and using his height to try to intimidate me. “Fuckin’ tell me. Tell me how you got the powers back.”

I look up into his eyes and steel myself. “How’d we get ‘em the first time?” He blinks a few times, then his eyebrows pull down tightly. I reach into my pocket and pull out the little glass bottle.

He snatches the bottle from my hand and raises it to his eyes. “Is this-?”

“Yeah. It’s… it isn’t Azazel’s so it doesn’t work quite the way it should… I have to keep drinking it or the powers fade. I’ve been trying to cut back. I… I don’t like relying on… him. I mean, it, the demon.”

“You… you’ve been drinking demon blood?”

I grab the bottle back and shove it into my pocket. “Yes.”

“For a year? Who’s been giving it to you?”

“Just this crossroads demon I know. He… wants to help.”

“Yeah. Ruby says that, too. But she couldn't help me save Dean.”

“Dean was going down, Sam. There was no stopping it. We all tried.”

“Did you? Because while me and Bobby were trying to keep him from being taken, you weren’t around much!”

I turn a glare on him. “Yeah, what did you expect me to do, Sam? Stick around and be the rope in your little game of Tug-of-War? I heard your thoughts in Lincoln, Sam, and in Elizabethville. You think I’m yours, but Dean’s the one that actually wanted me for something more than my body. He wanted me to have something real. I heard his thoughts, too.” I roll my eyes. “I tried. If I could have kept him from going to Hell, I would have.”

“You think I only want you for your-”

“I’ve heard your thoughts, Sam!” I exclaim. “It’s all ‘Mine’ this and ‘Don’t touch her’ that. You haven’t had those complimentary thoughts since before that night in Lincoln. It’s all possessiveness and-”

“You’re supposed to be mine.”

“Just because Azazel wanted me to be your queen and right-hand woman doesn’t mean-”

“Yes, it does!” His hand shoots out and grabs my hair, pulling me closer. He’s breathing hard, his breath smells like whiskey, and his mind has that swimmy feeling of drunkness coming back, and maybe I’m getting a contact high from his mind, because the way he’s looking at me makes me feel swimmy, too. “You are mine. Not Dean’s. Not your traveling salesman and not that fucking demon’s. Understand?”

I open my mouth to respond but he crashes our faces together, biting my lips and licking into my mouth. His free hand grabs at my waist, pulls my shirt up. I whine and pull away. “Not out here, Sam. Inside,” I whisper. I entwine my fingers with his and pull him toward the front door. He stumbles but he doesn’t fall this time. I push him to sit on the couch and he pulls me to straddle his lap.

Mine. There’s no yielding in the thought. No question. He’s resolute.

I nod. Yours. I push the word into his head. It’s been a while since I’ve done it and I don’t know if it works, but he seems to get it.

He grabs my head with both of his large hands and pulls me into another harsh kiss. He moves to bite my neck and shoulder and the pain zings through my body, settling into a throbbing between my legs. Tell me about the blood. Tell me what you can do.

I moan as he keeps attacking my skin with his mouth and teeth. “It started w-with the te-telepathy and… fuck, Sam.” He growls into my neck and I whimper. “Um, the-the telekinesis came back quick, too. And then… then the demon started to show me h-how to perform exorcisms with my mind.” He pulls back and looks into my eyes, questioning. “Yeah. It’s… kinda like what Ava was doing with the Acheri in Cold Oak. It’s like controlling them. I can force them out of their vessels and direct them back down to Hell.”

“And the vessel?”

“As long as the demon hasn’t ridden ‘em too hard, they live.”

“So, this crossroads demon has been helping you save people?”

I nod. “He’s… he’s a demon, so he doesn’t do it for free,” I whisper, avoiding his eyes.

Sam’s jaw tightens. Knew you were fucking him. “Not anymore. If it’s really worth it-” he starts, grabbing my jaw and forcing me to look at him. “-we’ll find another demon to get the blood from.”

“We?”

He slips his hand in my pocket and pulls out the bottle. “Show me,” he says twisting the top off and offering the bottle to me.

I swallow, nervously, and take it from his hand. “I started with one drop.” I dab a drop on my finger and show it to him. “That’s all it took at the beginning. I need a lot more now, but… that first drop, I could hear everything again.” I lick my lips as his eyes focus on my bloodied finger.

“How fast does it work?”

“Few minutes… but the powers, they take work. Just like when Azazel was still around, it takes effort. It takes time,” I answer.

“Do you think we could use this, the powers, to get Lilith?” His mind flashes to Lilith, in Ruby’s vessel, letting in the hound that tore Dean to pieces.

“Yeah. The demon said that eventually they’ll be strong enough to kill demons, but the amount of blood I’d need to drink to get there would be-” He cuts me off by licking my finger into his mouth. He sucks hard on my finger before pulling it from his mouth and grabbing my hips.

I set the bottle on the coffee table and turn back to Sam. It doesn’t take long for his pupils to shrink and his breathing to go hard. I remember this feeling, this very first high. Everything is enhanced, everything is lovely and scary. His fingers tighten around my hips. “This… is…” he starts.

I nod. I know, Sammy.

“We’re gonna need more,” he growls.

“Yeah.” The word is just a breath as he starts to pull at my clothing.

“You’re gonna help me avenge Dean.” He pulls my shirt over my head and drops it to the ground next to the couch. It takes just a few minutes for him to have me folded in half on his lap, my feet on his shoulders and his cock buried in me, thumb rubbing my clit. “You’re gonna teach me how to use those powers… and we’re going to kill Lilith.”

“Yes. Yes.” I’m shaking. He’s barely moving inside of me, just rocking me on his lap, but it feels so good just to be so fucking full of Sam. “We’re gonna kill Lilith.”

“Good girl, y/n.”

He starts bouncing me on his cock and I feel so fucking small with how he’s manhalding me and my eyes roll back in my head. I start rambling out ‘fuck’ and ‘yes’ and ‘oh, god’, but Sam doesn’t say a word. His mind is full of those possessive thoughts. He’s thinking about killing Lilith, yes, but he’s thinking about how I take him so perfectly, how I’m made for him, how we were supposed to be together. He thinks about how he wishes he had met me without Dean and John, how he wishes he didn’t have the memories of watching them fuck me, but eventually comes to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter. John and Dean are dead. I’m his.

I’m yours. I think at him through my moans.

“No more demon dick,” he growls and I nod. “Mine.” He twists and lays me down on the couch, hammering into me like he's gonna win a prize. He cums quickly, the enhanced sensation from the demon blood high overwhelming him. He pulls out and kisses me before looking in my eyes. “When can we start?”

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme @lonely-skys @allykat2108 @mogaruke @flamencodiva @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @pisces-cutie @paintballkid711 @natura1phenomenon @rainbowkisses31 @atc74 @alagalaska @coffee-obsessed-writer @bamby0304 @ilovefanfic86 @sculptorofbeginnings @rainflowermoon @bunnybaby121115 @imperiusimpala

HUNTER TAGS @letsby @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnskinnyballs @deansenwackles @gayspacenerd @thewhiterabbit42 @dolphincliffs @sandlee44 @covered-byroses

GAGA FOR GREEN EYES TAGS @akshi8278 @adoptdontshoppets

[bestestbird]

Type O - Part 19

2000 words in celebration of reaching 1000 followers :D Thank you everyone!

Part 1, Part 18  

-

It took a few minutes of no pain for him to feel brave enough to pull out. As removed his teeth more blood gushed out, running rivets down his arm to drop onto the tiled floor, luckily not hitting the shower mat. Keith hurried for the toilet roll, ripping a handful off and pressing it onto his arm. The wound didn't heal like Shiro's had, and blood quickly soaked into the tissue, forcing him to pressed harder.

 "Shit," he cursed as the paper became soaked through. Frantically, he grabbed more, and then more as that didn't work. He pressed hard enough to bruise, but still blood splattered into a mess on the floor. His body shook with nerves that masked the pain of his grip and arm. Eventually, when only a single unsullied square of toilet roll was left on the cardboard, the blood flow slowed, and stopped. 

 Heartbeat slowing, Keith finally relaxed, posture slumping, but hand still firmly gripped on his arm. He surveyed the bathroom in its bloody mess, and decided he could salvage it alone, but before that he needed something more permanent on his arm.

 Carefully, he peeled back the tissue. It didn't bleed again, but it looked like any jolt could get it started. Trying to avoid the blood, Keith worked his way out of the bathroom, leaving bloody hand prints on the door.

 In the next room he went for his bag. Rooting around was hard with only one hand, but he managed to find some plasters, which whilst clearly not enough, were better than nothing. He'd accidentally bought a plaster roll instead of the individual ones, which for once seemed like good luck.

 Forgoing scissors, he ripped open the packet, pulled off as much of the white non-sticky paper as he could and began to wrap the whole roll around his arm.  It got easier around halfway through, and once he was done he thought it didn't look that bad.

 Now no longer panicking, he went back to the bathroom. The shower head was detachable, so he could use that to wash the blood off. Luckily the drain was the same height as the floor, so he didn't need anything to soak up the bloody water.

 First, he washed his hands, then pulled on his clean underwear that was sitting next to the towel, flushed away the bloody toilet roll and set about drowning the bathroom. It seemed to take forever. Every time he thought he was done there was always another little patch he'd missed.

 When he was fairly sure there wasn’t anything left, soaked, and too fed up to keep looking, he grabbed the towel, dried off his legs, and went back out to get some clothes.

 On the night stand his phone had lit up. Keith paused, contemplating ignoring it, it was on silent for a reason. A few steps closer told him that his notifications had changed, he now had six missed calls from Lance. With a groan he turned it off and ignored it in favour of getting dressed.

 He needed something long sleeved to hide his arm. There was a black t-shirt, a red t-shirt, and white t-shirt, all short sleeves. It was winter. How could he have not packed anything warm?

 On his second look through, he pulled on a piece of dark purple, nearly black fabric, and a jumper came out. Finally.

 Shoving it on along with a pair of jeans he went back to look at his phone. Still six missed calls, and now ten missed text. It was also 20:30, which meant he was late for breakfast. Pulling it off the charger, he hoped that there was still plenty left to eat, and shoved it in his pocket, then paused.

 The door key. Where had he put it? With a groan that was almost a sob he turned back around and searched. First, his coat, not there, then his bag, not there, then yesterday’s clothes, not there. Another check of his phone told him 20:40.

 He was starving. How long did blood food last?

 With a noise of pure frustration, he went back into the backroom. Not there. 20:47.

 Forget it. He wouldn't lock the door, he could come back and look for the key later.

 Hand reaching for the door he looked down, and there sitting in the lock was the key. He almost screamed. Jaw clenched he pulled the key out and slammed the door behind him loud enough that any of his neighbours would hear, and he marched off to get something to eat.

 By the time he'd reached the top of the stairs he'd calmed down, and the smell of food that hit him when the door opened made him forget all about his morning fiasco. 

 Keith remembered the way from last night, down the corridor to the bar. Hunk was there again, a couple of empty plates in his hands.

 "Evening," the man said cheerily, "late start?"

 "Yeah," Keith mumbled, looking for a free table, and finding he had plenty of choice, "had some trouble with the shower."

 Hunk chuckled, and put one plate down, "I guessed," he said, and raised a finger to his head, "your hair's still wet."

 Absently, Keith pressed a hand against his neck, feeling the a few loose strands. It was damp.

 "So, what can I get you?" Hunk continued as Keith chose a chair near the fire. It had a good crackle going, warming his toes and fingers.

 "What do you have?" Keith asked stretching out, feeling his bones click.

 "Plenty left. You missed some of the regulars, and our other guest isn't much of a blood drinker.”

 "Oh." Keith wasn’t sure what that meant.

 "Human.” Hunk elaborated without prompting, “Cute tho'. Pretty blue eye, and he loved my cooking." There was some clattering that sounded like plates, but Keith couldn’t see what Hunk was doing.

 "That's great,” he said, lacking anything else to add.

 "And a flirt, he said-."

 "Hunk," a deep chiding voice said.  They both turned, and saw Shiro was walking towards them, a knowing smile on his face. He had a long grey coat on, which meant it must have been cold outside, and Keith’s long jumper didn’t look out of place.

 "Evening," Hunk replied, "I didn't hear you come in."

 "Too busy gossiping?" Shiro teased, eyes wrinkling with a smile as Hunk rolled his eyes.

 "Do you want breakfast?" It was part question part threat.

 Shiro held up his hands in defence, saying, "sorry, sorry," as he walked closer.

 Hunk snorted at him, and called out, “I’ll get you two a little of everything.”

 Shiro called back, “thanks,” as he reached the chair across from Keith, who was trying very hard to concentrate on anything other than him as every look bought back memories of blood and bathrooms.

 "Can I sit?" Shiro asked, already sitting, his coat folded over the back of the chair. Keith fiddled nervously with the sleeve of his injured arm.

 He didn’t seem put off by Keith’s lack of response as he continued, "I know I'm early. My apologies, I thought you'd be finished."

 "Shower," Keith muttered, looking into the fire, and Shiro nodded, sniffed, and shifted in his heat, looking suddenly perturbed.

 There was a moment of silence before he asked, "everything okay?"

 "Yes," Keith said far too quickly, then slower, "why do you ask?"

 The fire popped in a short silence, then Shiro said, "a lot of reason," he paused again, watching the fire. It danced in his eyes, a darker red due to the grey. It was surprisingly pretty. He caught Keith’s eye as he finished, "but mainly because you smell like blood. Your blood."

 Shit, right, Vampire, but how could he even tell it was Keith's? Never mind.

 "It's just a scratch." Keith lied, quickly turning his head away.

 "Okay...," Shiro said softly, leaving a longer pause, "can I have a look at it?"

 Keith sank into his chair, ready to say no, but he made the mistake of looking back at Shiro. He looked so... so worried, that Keith couldn't say no.

 "Fine." He wasn’t pouting.

 Pulling back his sleeve, he stuck his arm out, and Shiro's eyebrows rose to his hairline, as he gave him a clear 'that doesn't look like a scratch’ look. Keith ignored it and began to unravel his copious plastering. 

 When he finally got to the wound Shiro let out a small sad sounding sigh, and Keith stopped.

 "What?" He asked.

 "No, I'm sorry," Shiro said, waving his hand like he was trying to get rid of something.

 Keith was about to ask what for when he continued, "you were teething this morning, weren't you?" Keith nodded and Shiro used the same hand to scrub at his face, "I thought you'd be okay for one night. It-it gets worse the more you drink. Mine only ever came every few days."

 "It's fine," Keith said, meaning it, but Shiro didn’t look convinced. 

 Keith started to cover his arm back up when Shiro said, "wait." His fingers lightly brushed Keith's wrist as he spoke, "I can heal that for you."

 Keith looked at him suspiciously but didn’t pull away. It wasn't that he didn't believe Shiro could do it, it was that he didn't trust how it could be done.

 "How?" He asked word coming out slowly.

 Shiro gave him a bashful half smile, like he’d read his mind, "a bit of my blood, a bit of saliva, and it'll be gone."

 Keith didn't move, a sudden flush appearing on his cheeks at the thought of his last meal.

 Clearing his throat, a little awkwardly, Shiro added, "you could drink from my arm this time."

 He glanced down to Shiro's arm, then back up to his wide worried eyes.

 "Fine," he said again, unable to win.

 Shiro's smile lit up his face, and Keith was starting to hate it.

 He shifted forwards in his seat to bring his mouth to Shiro's arm, but Shiro quickly stopped him, one hand against his shoulder.

 "Wait," he looked around Keith's chair, towards where Hunk had disappeared to, "does Hunk know?"

 Keith glance back, and said, "no," unsure if that was good or bad.

 "Okay,” Shiro seemed pleased with that, “this is going to sound weird, and I'll explain, but you probably don't want him seeing that,” Keith was fine with that, he didn’t want Hunk seeing anyway, “so we should take this to the toilet." He hadn’t been expecting that.

 "Seriously?" He asked, mouth slightly open.

 "Yeah,” Shiro jerked in to the right, “it's just around the corner."

 Part of Keith felt like changing his mind, but another louder part said he'd already committed. So, when Shiro stood he stood too. They went around the corner, and Shiro pushed Keith into the tiny one-person toilet first. He had to squeeze back against the bowl to fit and Shiro came in after.

 The door clicked behind them, and Keith was suddenly aware of how very tall and broad Shiro was. Until he knelt down and began to roll up his sleeve.

 Feeling awkward standing there with Shiro suggestively in front of him, Keith flopped down onto the seat, and as he watched Shiro slowly reveal his white skin with a prominent blue vein that was begging to be bitten...what was he going to do again?

 This time was less embarrassing as Shiro moved to Keith's side, letting him keep his legs squeezed closed. He lifted his arm to Keith's mouth, and not needing any guidance Keith bit down. Sweet, warm copper filled his mouth, and he gulped it down. Just like last time, it filled him, warm and tingling, pooling in him and sating something, but unlike last time Shiro gently pulled his arms away after only a few gulps, and that sick feeling didn't hit him. Instead he was left wanting more.

-

"Now your arm," Shiro said, and dejectedly Keith raised his arm as he licked every last drop he could from his lips.  

I left it at the good bit because I am very cruel ;)

I also thought I’d get a lot more into 2000 words. I was hoping to at least start the dynamic explanation, but oh well, for another time.

Also, figured out it was actually the read more that was causing the problems. I’ve left it out, so sorry to everyone who has to scroll past this!

Part 20

[stardustinyoureyes]

Defying Sanity

Bakura and Marik are all ready to travel to Egypt to get their revenge against the Pharaoh, but a minor hiccup in their plans forces them to make some money. Luckily for them, a new reality show is looking for people to audition, and the prize is $250,000. Based off of their personalities in YGOTAS. Thiefshipping. The song I used is ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’, and as you can probably infer, it’s a comedy. Sorta fluffy, though, because I can never write stories with sad endings.

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10430289 

           “IT’S TIME TO TRYYYY DEFYING GRAVITY! I THINK I’LL TRYYYY DEFYING GRAVITY!” Marik’s off-key warbling filters through the door of the hotel bathroom, along with the ‘pitter-patter’ of a shower running.

           “Marik, for the love of Ra, shut up!” Bakura shouts, exasperated.

           “I’M THROUGH ACCEPTING LIMITS, CAUSE SOMEONE SAYS THEY’RE SO!” Marik’s singing continues.

           Bakura groans and covers his head with a thin hotel pillow. For the past 12 hours, he had been subjected to this torture. Ever since they had left Domino for Egypt to kill the Pharaoh, Marik had been screaming in Bakura’s ear. Not even stopping at a hotel for a night could silence him.

           “’Kura, do you like my new top?!” Bakura removes the pillow from his face, realizing the ‘pitter-patter’ of the shower has stopped. Marik stands before him, gesturing towards his purple top. Bakura can’t help but notice it’s the exact same shade as his eyes.

           “Yes, it’s very nice.” Bakura responds in a tone usually reserved for talking to 5-year-olds.

           “Did you hear that, Rodrick?” Marik says to the Millennium Rod in his hand. “’Kura said I look pretty!”

           “I didn’t say that!” Bakura snaps.

           “You implied it!” Marik snaps back, then flounces off to comb his sopping wet hair in front of the smudged mirror in the bathroom.

           Bakura sighs, partly at Marik’s childishness, but mainly at himself for putting up with it. For some reason, no matter what foolish thing Marik did, Bakura always stuck with him. He couldn’t count the number of times he had been injured or almost killed or driven to insanity by irritation, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Maybe because he knew that, if he left, Marik couldn’t possibly survive. It’d be like abandoning a week-old puppy.

           Marik comes back into the room. “Did you brush your teeth?”

           “Yes.”

           “No you didn’t, Bakura! Don’t lie to me!”

           “Marik, shut up and go to bed.”

           “Mouth health is a very serious matter!”

           “I don’t care.”

           “That’s what you say to everything!”

           “I don’t care.”

           “You’re always so mean to me!”

           “Guess what?

           “You don’t care?”

           “Good job, now you’re starting to get it.” Bakura lies down and pulls the covers over himself, turning away. Marik stomps his foot in frustration and whines. Seeing that Bakura isn’t going to give him any more attention, he walks across the room, turns off the lights, and gets into the other twin bed. Bakura can hear the covers rustling as Marik gets comfortable. After a few minutes, the rustling is replaced by snoring.

           Bakura rolls onto his back and looks up at the stained ceiling. He’d never admit it, but he felt some comfort knowing Marik was only a few feet away. Bakura wasn’t scared of the dark- he was a thief, after all- but sometimes he got lonely.

           No. Not lonely. Bakura thinks sharply. ‘Lonely’ is for losers like that midget Yugi Moto, or Bakura’s wimpy host whose name he couldn’t remember. No, Bakura didn’t get lonely. Bored, that’s the word. Not lonely. Sometimes it was nice to have someone to keep you from getting bored. And whatever word you used to describe Marik, (and Bakura could think of a few choice ones) he certainly wasn’t boring.

*          *          *

           The next morning, Bakura awakes to a note from Marik on the counter of the room’s kitchenette:

“Kitty-

Gone to get breakfast

-Supreme ruler and overlord of the world, Marik Sebastian Ishtar”

           Bakura scowls at his hated nickname, crumpling up the note. He throws it away and walks over to his suitcase. Today they were flying out to Egypt from the airport in Tokyo, and Bakura wanted to doublecheck what time the flight left. After all, villains always have to be punctual.

           Bakura sifts through his clothes (5 pairs of the exact same outfit) and chip bags Marik snuck into his suitcase. Where are the tickets? He picks up the suitcase and dumps its contents onto the ground. No tickets. Maybe they’re in Marik’s suitcase. He opens up the pink Hello Kitty suitcase laying on Marik’s bed. Purple tops, Millennium Rod polish (available at a store near you), pictures of the Pharaoh with drawn-on devil horns, and 5 cans of hairspray. No tickets.

           “Where the devil are they?” Bakura mutters to himself. He starts opening the nightstand drawers, hoping that he put them in there and just forgot about it.

           “OH. EM. GEE. YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE THE LINE AT MICKY D’S!” Marik loudly declares, walking into the room with a grease-covered McDonald’s bag. “THERE WERE LIKE 6 PEOPLE AHEAD OF ME AND THIS LITTLE OLD LADY INSISTED ON PAYING IN EXACT CHANGE AND THIS OTHER GUY-”

           “Marik, where are our plane tickets?” Bakura interrupts.

           “-TOOK LIKE 25 FRIGGIN YEARS TO MAKE UP HIS MIND, AND- what was that?”

           “Where. Are. Our. Tickets?” Bakura says slowly, his patience wearing thin.

           “What tickets?” Marik asks unconcernedly, pulling a hash brown out of the bag.

           “The tickets we need to get on the plane for Egypt!”

           “Oh, you mean the rectangles with a bunch of numbers on them made from the fancy paper?”

           Bakura rolls his eyes. “Yes, the fancy paper rectangles. Where are they?”

           “I ate them.” Marik answers casually.

           Bakura is stunned into silence for a moment. “You…ate…them?”

           “Yeah.”

           “Marik, why the bloody hell would you do that?!”

           “I was hungry!” Marik says defensively.

           “So let me get this straight,” Bakura says slowly. “You went into my suitcase, got out the tickets we need in order to fly to Egypt, and ate them.”

           “That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

           “Completely disregarding,” Bakura continues. “The 15 different chips bags that you insisted on putting into my suitcase so you could eat them in case you got hungry.”

           “Aren’t you British? Why did you say ‘chips’ instead of ‘crisps’?”

           “MARIK, DO YOU REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS?”

           “Yeah, it means that any sort of consistent characterization has already gone out the window.”

           “WE ARE STUCK HERE. IN THIS MANGY HOTEL. WE CAN’T GO TO EGYPT. OUR PLAN IS GOING TO FAIL. ALL BECAUSE YOU DECIDED TO ACT LIKE A BLOODY MORON AND EAT OUR TICKETS.”

           “Well, it wasn’t really a conscious decision,” Marik clarifies. “After all, you’re not you when you’re hungry.”

           “THIS IS NOT A BLOODY SNICKERS COMMERCIAL! THIS IS REAL LIFE!”

           “Oh, you worry too much,” Marik waves a hand, disregarding Bakura’s totally justified concern. “Here, have an Egg McMuffin.”

           Bakura grabs Marik’s proffered McMuffin and flings it across the room. “Those tickets were over $1000 each! We don’t have the money to buy more!”

           “Don’t worry, I’ll just use Rodrick to brainwash a Steve into giving us money.” Marik waves his Rod.

           “And how many Steves have you seen around here?”

           Marik thinks for a minute. “Ten?”

           “No.”

           “Twenty?”

           “You’re getting colder.”

           “Fifty?”

           “None, Marik. We haven’t seen a single Steve since we left Domino.”

           “Well, there are other ways of getting money. We could sell our blood.”

           “4Kids can’t show blood! They would just censor it!”

           “Oh, yeah.” Marik strokes his chin, thinking. “What if we start a GoFundMe? I’m sure there are plenty of people who would donate their hard-earned money to help 2 psychopathic strangers murder someone who already died thousands of years ago.”

           “Marik, you are an absolute fool.”

           “But am I a pretty fool?” Marik asks, batting his eyelashes. Bakura responds by yanking open the door to the room, stomping out, and slamming it shut. “Jeez, jealous much?” Marik picks up the TV remote laying on the stand.

           He’s never coming back, a dark voice whispers in the back of Marik’s mind. It’s a voice he’s very familiar with. He tries to shut it out the way he always does, by distracting himself with some superficial diversion. “Ooh! Golden Girls! I love me some Betty White!”

           Halfway through his third episode, an ad comes on the TV that catches his eye.

           “Are you the most interesting person you know?”

           “I so totally am!” Marik shouts at the screen.

           “Do you want everyone to see how great you are?”

           “You know it!”

           “Do you want to win $250,000 dollars?”

           “Holy shit, that’s a lot of purple tops!”

           “Then come audition for Applause, the newest reality show that’s sweeping the nation! Every team gets 5 minutes to do whatever they want, and whoever gets the least amount of applause is eliminated. Whoever’s left after 8 weeks wins $250,000, bragging rights, and the adoration of millions!”

           “I WANT THAT!” Marik jumps up in excitement.

           “If all that sounds good to you, come to 124 Conch Street this Friday to see if you’ve got what it takes!”

           “AAAAHHHHH!” Marik starts hopping around the room, screeching like a banshee.

           The door to the room opens and Bakura comes back in. “Marik, I-” he pauses as he sees Marik jumping up and down on the bed. “Um, what is happening?”

           Marik stops jumping and lands on his butt, bouncing slightly from the impact. “’Kura! I’ve found a solution to our problem!”

           Bakura looks at him warily. “What is it?”

           “There’s this gameshow that’s having auditions, and the winners get $250,000! That would cover the cost of tickets.”

           “But I…” Bakura hesitates. He looks at Marik, who’s almost wiggling, eyes shining with eagerness. He sighs. I’m going to regret this. “All right, Marik. Let’s win some money.”

*          *          *

           A couple days later, Bakura sits on an uncomfortable plastic seat in a darkened auditorium. 3 judges are sitting at a table in front of him, watching Marik, who is singing on the stage.

           “Don’t worry, you don’t even have to come on stage! My singing is so amazing it’ll be good enough to get both of us on the show!” Marik had said the day before.

           Singing? Is that what they’re calling it nowadays? Bakura had thought snidely, but he didn’t argue. He had no desire to perform in front of anyone, now or ever, and if he could get out of this audition, he wasn’t going to say anything.

           So now he was sitting in this pathetic excuse for a seat, drumming his fingers impatiently on the armrest and suffering through what he had already endured for hours.

           “HELLO, MY NAME IS MARIK ISHTAR, AND I WOULD LIKE TO SHARE WITH YOU THE MOST AMAZING BOOK!” Marik flings his arms out passionately, accidentally letting go of the Rod. It flies up and hits a spotlight, shattering its glass and causing shards to cascade onto the stage.

           Marik doesn’t notice.

           “YOU SIMPLY WON’T BELIEVE HOW MUCH THIS-”

           One of the judges waves his hand, cutting Marik off. “Um, you can stop now. We’ve heard enough.”

           “That’s for damn sure.” The judge next to him mutters.

           “Goody!” Marik claps. “So when does filming start?”

           The judges exchange a look. “Oh, uh, we still have some people who have to audition. We’ll be giving information to the people we chose tomorrow. So you can go.”

           “See you all on set!” Marik walks off the stage, oblivious to the judges giving each other another look. “Come on, Kitty, let’s go get lunch.”

           “Oh, I’ll be out in a moment. I dropped one of my contacts.” Bakura lies smoothly.

           “Hmm, I didn’t know you wore contacts.” Marik pauses. “Or is Ryou the one who wears contacts? For that matter, are you in Ryou’s body, or do you have your own? Because if this story takes place after the show’s canon, you should be dead. But if-”

           “Marik, stop breaking the fourth wall and go find someplace to eat.” Bakura cuts in. He waits for Marik to leave the auditorium, then walks over and stands in front of the judges.

           The judge on the left looks up. “Can we help you?”

           “Actually, you can.” Bakura pulls out the Millennium Ring from under his shirt. “Now, first I’m going to ask you a question, on the off-chance that you all are completely deaf: Are you going to let Marik and me on the show?”

           “Fuck, no!” The judge on the right exclaims vehemently.

           Bakura aims the Ring at the judge’s face. “Wrong answer.”

           “What do you-” Flames erupt from the prongs of the Ring and start scorching the judge’s face. “AAHHHH! OH MY GOD, IT BURNS! IT BURNS! THIS HURTS EVEN MORE THAN WHEN THEY KILLED OFF DOBY IN HARRY POTTER!”

           Bakura lowers the Ring and the flames vanish, leaving the judge sobbing with a scarlet-red face. “I’ll ask again. Are you going to let us on the show?”

           The other 2 judges look at each other in horror. “Yes, yes, of course. Whatever you want.”

           “Excellent.” Bakura walks out of the auditorium, pausing at the door. “Oh, and if you think listening to Marik for 2 minutes is bad, try doing it for 12. Bloody. Hours.” With that, he walks out, the door clanging shut behind him.

           “Well, I was going to say that his burning you face off wasn’t justified, but now I can see it totally was.” The judge on the left remarks.

           The judge in the middle nods. “Yeah, I think that British guy is the real victim here.”

*          *          *

           The next morning, Bakura is awoken by the sound of Marik shrieking loudly.

           “EEEEEEEE! Kura, look, we got in!” Bakura opens his eyes and sees Marik standing in front of him, already dressed, waving a stapled packet in his face. “They sent this to the hotel an hour ago!”

           Bakura can’t help but smile a little at Marik’s ecstasy. “How unexpected.”

           “What are you talking about, my singing was awesome!” Marik responds. “I totally expected to be chosen!” He flounces off to the kitchenette and starts making a ‘Marik special’ (yogurt slathered onto a piece of toast with French fries on top) “Oh, and we need to practice for next week, Bakura. I picked a great song for us to do!”

           Bakura groans and pulls his pillow over his face.

*          *          *

           The next week, Bakura trails behind Marik, who is marching around the set of Applause like he owns the place. Groups of people are scattered about, practicing for their time on-screen.

           “This is going to be so friggin’ great!” Marik exclaims.

           “Except for the fact that we don’t even know what we’re going to do yet, and we’re on in half an hour.”

           “Kura, we’re doing that gymnastics routine, remember?”

           “We most certainly are not-”

           “But the routine is so good!”

           “I don’t bloody care, I am not going to-”

           Their bickering is stopped as they both come to a halt in front of an interviewer who is talking to another contestant- one who looks very familiar…

           “So, Mr. Necrophades, would you like to give us a hint about what you’ll be doing with your 5 minutes?” the interviewer asks.

           “Gladly! I’ll be DESTROYING THE WORLD!” the contestant replies.

           “ZORC?!” Bakura blurts out.

           Zorc turns and sees Bakura staring at him in shock. “Hi, Bakura!” Zorc replies, giving him a cheerful wave. Then he sees Marik and his face clouds over. “Oh, is this the villain you replaced me with?”

           Bakura tries to reassure him by saying “Zorc, no one could replace you!” but he’s cut off by Marik.

           “DAMN STRAIGHT I’m the villain he replaced you with! And now we’re going to beat your lame-ass ‘destroying the world’ thing with our friggin’ AWESOME gymnastics routine!”

           “We’ll just see about that!” Zorc says, but his attempt at being macho falls apart when his voice cracks.

           “Zorc, are…are you okay?” Bakura asks.

           “I’m fine!” Zorc answers. He wipes his eyes discreetly. “Um, my allergies are acting up. I must go!” He runs away, sniffling.

           “Wow, and you think I’m ridiculous!” Marik remarks.

           Bakura sighs. “Marik, I used to be very close to Zorc. I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to antagonize him.”

           Marik doesn’t hear him. “Ooh! Look! There’s a giant starfish!” He runs over to the starfish, only to find that it’s Yugi Moto. “Wait, this isn’t a giant starfish, it’s a midget anime protagonist!”

           “Wait, is that Marik Ishtar?” Yugi asks a blond guy with a vacant expression standing next to him.

           “Marik? Bakura? Wha are youse doin heah?” Joey Wheeler asks with an excessively Brooklyn accent.

           “We’re competing, duh! What are you two doing for your routine?” Marik answers.

           “We’re going to play a children’s card game!” Yugi says.

           Bakura raises his eyebrows. “You do realize you only have five minutes, right?”

           “Shit! I thought we had five hours!”

           “Yuge, wha are we gonna do?” Joey asks.

           “Lose to us, that’s what you’re going to do!” Marik says gleefully.

           Just then, a crew member appears. “Yugi Moto and Joey Wheeler? It’s your turn.”

           “Aw man!” Joey and Yugi follow the cast member onto the stage.

           “Well, that’s one less group to worry about.” Bakura remarks. “Everyone knows children’s card games are the least interesting thing in the world.”

           “Ain’t that the truth!” Marik agrees. “Who would ever want to watch a TV show about card games?”

*          *          *

           Bakura leans against the wall impatiently, arms crossed, as yet another group goes on stage. “Marik, are we seriously going to do the routine?”

           “Uh, heck yeah!” Marik says, clicking his heels together in excitement. Bakura silently admires the side view of Marik’s profile. He’s quite attractive when he isn’t spouting his regular gibberish, Bakura thinks to himself. Then he realizes what he just thought and shakes his head to drive the thought away.

           The crew member from before walks into the room. “Marik Ishtar and…Kitty?” she calls out.

           Any affection Bakura had felt a moment ago completely vanishes. “Marik! I cannot believe you told them my name is-”

           “EEEEEEEE!” Marik shrieks drown out Bakura’s protests. “Let’s go, Kura!”

           The two of them follow the crew member onto the stage. The curtains are drawn and it is so dark Bakura can barely make out Marik’s outline. “Good luck!” the crew member whispers to them before disappearing into the wings. Marik and Bakura stand side-by-side, waiting for the curtains to open.

           The first notes of “Never Gonna Give You Up” ring out through the loudspeakers. Bakura takes a deep breath and mentally prepares himself. To his surprise, Marik reaches over and gives his hand a short squeeze right as the curtains fly open. Bakura looks down in shock and opens his mouth to say something, but Marik has already started moonwalking to the funky 80’s beat. Bakura clumsily follows suit.

           “IIIIIIIII, just wanna tell you how I’m feeling!” What AM I feeling? Bakura wonders. What even ARE feelings? Why am I thinking about this? “NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP! NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN!” Bakura and Marik do side-by-side somersaults. Even after he’s right-side up again, Bakura’s head still feels like it’s spinning.

           “NEVER GONNA RUN AROUND AND, DESERT YOU!” Marik and Bakura start leapfrogging across the stage. Bakura knows that they must look like total idiots, but he’s too distracted to care about that.

           “Your heart’s been aching, but, you’re too shyyyy to say it!” When they came up with the routine, this was the part where Marik lifted Bakura up to do a spin with him. But Bakura’s mind was still reeling from the hand squeeze, so when Marik grabbed him around the waist, Bakura automatically jumps back and ends up falling off the stage.

           “Damn it!” Bakura yells as he bangs his head on the thin carpeting that provides no cushion against the cement floor beneath.

           “No!” Marik looks around frantically, trying to figure out what to do. “Erm, this is part of the routine!” he says to the audience. He thinks for a second, then strikes a pose like an Olympic diver.

           Bakura sits up, his head throbbing. “What are you-” his question is answered when Marik dives off the stage and lands on top of Bakura, knocking the air out of both of them. “GET OFF!” Bakura shoves Marik off, and Marik rolls over. “What the bloody hell was that for?!”

           “I didn’t mean to land on you!” Marik says defensively as Rick Astley continues pledging his undying love in an iconic 80’s anthem. “I panicked and couldn’t aim right!”

           “Why did you dive off the stage to begin with?”

           “I don’t know! It seemed like a good idea at the time!”

           “How could that possibly seem like a good idea?!” Bakura hisses as he rubs the back of his aching head.

           “I wanted to make it look like it all was part of the routine!”

           “Yes, because me falling off the stage definitely looked like part of the routine!”

           “Well, I needed to do something!”

           “And you thought jumping off the stage and landing on top of me was the best course of action?”

           “I’m sorry, okay! It’s hard for me to think straight around you!”

           Bakura pauses, taken aback. “…What?”

           Just then, the buzzer goes off, signaling that their time has ended. They both look up in surprise, having almost forgotten that they were in a competition.  The audience erupts into laughter and cheers, surprising them even more.

           “Are they…cheering for us?” Bakura asks as the two of them awkwardly get up off the floor.

           The announcer walks on stage, clapping his hands. “That was Marik Ishtar and Kitty with their amazing comedy routine! Let’s see what the next group has planned for us!” The audience cheers some more as a pair of crew members guide Bakura and Marik out into the hall.

           “Wow, the audience really liked you two!” One of the crew members remark as they push open a set of double doors.

           “We’ll see who’s eliminated in about half an hour, but I have a feeling you guys won’t have to worry about that for this week.” The other crew member says. They lead Marik and Bakura to the exit, then walk back to the set.

           Bakura turns to Marik, speechless. I don’t know whether to laugh my ass off or punch him in the face. “That was…the absolute worst…shit show…I have ever seen.”

           Marik grins, completely oblivious to what Bakura just said. “See, I told you it would be friggin’ awesome!”

*          *          *

           A couple hours later, Marik sits on the edge of his bed, reading a copy of the National Enquirer, except this story is in Japan so it’s whatever trashy tabloid they have there. Bakura is sleeping in the other bed. As soon as they got back to their hotel room, Bakura had claimed that he needed a nap to recover from the day’s events.

           Marik felt a pang of guilt as he remembered that he had probably hurt Bakura when he dived off the stage. He hadn’t planned on doing that, he just…. well, actually, he never really planned on doing anything. He was the exact opposite of Bakura, who insisted on always having a plan. He was even willing to wait thousands of years to get his revenge on the Pharaoh in order to ensure his plan was perfect. Unlike Marik, who was 16 and couldn’t imagine another month without bringing justice to the Pharaoh.

           Marik throws his tabloid to the side and sighs. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Bakura chose to stay with him. Granted, he didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it, but that was because he was sure that there was no reason. In the deep, dark recesses of his mind he was certain that Bakura was only putting up with him for entertainment purposes, and as soon as he started getting bored he would hit the highway.

           Bakura rolls over in his sleep and nestles his head into his pillow. Marik watches him for a few minutes. Without his usual scowl, Bakura looks a lot nicer, even peaceful. He really does look like a kitten now, Marik can’t help but think. He feels an urge to reach out and tousle Bakura’s hair, but he restrains himself. If only he had restrained himself earlier today. Why did I squeeze his hand? Marik thinks, mentally kicking himself. I shouldn’t have done it. I don’t want to make things weird. I can’t ruin this relationship.

           Tapping Rodrick against his thigh, Marik decides to get his act together. Maybe if I start acting serious, Bakura won’t get sick of me, and he won’t leave. Picking his tabloid back up, he makes a resolution: No more impulsivity. No more singing. And no more eating plane tickets.

*          *          *

           Over the next few weeks, Bakura can’t help but notice a difference in Marik. Instead of being his usual excitable, bubbly, annoying self, he seems more reserved. Almost…sad.

           Did I hurt his feelings? Bakura wonders as they wait for their turn on the week’s episode of Applause. But I didn’t do anything! He glances at Marik out of the corner of his eye. Maybe that’s the problem, a voice in his head says.

           Bakura shakes his head and exhales sharply. You know what, who cares? Not me. I have better things to do than worry about Marik’s delicate little feelings getting hurt.

           “Are you ready?” Marik asks, interrupting Bakura’s thought.

           “Yes.” He replies.

           “Good.” An awkward silence ensues. Bakura almost misses Marik’s endless chatter. Ask him what’s wrong, the voice in the back of his head says.

           Shut up, Bakura responds, then realizes that he’s telling himself to shut up. I’m going mad, that’s it. That’s why I’m actually caring about Marik. That’s the only reason.

*          *          *          

           Their magic show goes off without a hitch, Marik using Rodrick and Bakura using the Ring to hypnotize people. Just like their past few acts, it lacks the personality of their gymnastics routine, but still gets them enough applause to make it to the next week.

           Once again, two crew members escort them outside. “Congrats! You guys have almost made it to the finals!” one of them says.

           “Thanks.” Marik replies simply.

           “Can’t wait to see the acts next week,” the other one says. “I think you guys have a real shot.”

           Bakura and Marik wait in the hallway to hear the results. Bakura simultaneously feels like he needs to say something and like saying anything would just make it more awkward. So instead, he compromises by opening his mouth every few minutes, hesitating, and shutting it again.

           Marik seems unbothered by the silence, not noticing Bakura’s extreme discomfort. Finally, the TV screen on the wall flickers to life and the announce appears on stage.

           “You’re watching Applause, and it’s down to the wire! Three groups remain. $250,000 up for grabs. And one question-”

           The audience chants along with him. “WHO! WILL! WIN!”

           “The results are in, and the groups going on to the finals are…” he pauses from drama, then shouts “THE KAIBA BROTHERS AND MARIK ISHTAR AND KITTY!” the audience goes wild as Bakura sighs with relief, not even caring about being called Kitty. “This means that Zorc Necrophades, you are going home!”

           “NOOOO!” A shout is heard from down the hall. Bakura looks over and sees Zorc running out of the building, sobbing.

           “Well, we made it to the finals.” Marik remarks emotionlessly.

           “Yeah,” Bakura says, feeling a pang for Zorc. He seems really upset, he thinks, then scolds himself for being such a sap. First Marik, now Zorc. Next thing you know, you’re going to start caring about Ryou! (jk no one cares about Ryou)

           Marik turns toward the door. “I guess we should head back to the hotel.”

           “Okay.” Bakura follows dutifully behind Marik as he opens the door and steps outside. Zorc sits on the ground next to a trashcan, sniffling. Marik walks towards their obligatory anime motorcycles, completely ignoring Zorc, but Bakura pauses. “Um, Marik? I think maybe I should talk to Zorc. You know, to try and cheer him up a little.”

           Marik stops walking but doesn’t turn around. “Sure, whatever.” Bakura starts heading towards Zorc, but before he’s out of earshot he hears Marik mutter “Might as well just go and stay with Zorc.”

           Bakura turns back around and glares at Marik’s back. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

           “Nothing.”

           Bakura glowers, finally feeling fed-up with Marik’s recent passive-aggressiveness. “Well, it must mean something, that’s why you said it.”

           Marik spins around, a scowl on his face. “Fine! It’s just that obviously, you care more about Zorc than you do about me, so you might as well stay with him!”

           That’s not true! Bakura thinks, but the words get jumbled up on their way from his brain to his mouth so he ends up saying “Marik, you’re a bloody idiot.”

           “Yeah, you’ve made that clear.” With his face contorted in anger, Marik looks older, more mature. Just a few weeks ago, Bakura would’ve given anything for Marik to stop being so immature, but now he just wants to go back to how things were before.

           But it’s too late for that.

           “Well, we wouldn’t even be here right now if you hadn’t eaten our tickets!” Bakura snarls.

           “At least I care enough to try and fix things when I mess up! At least I give half a shit about other people!”

           “Do you want a bloody medal?” Bakura asks sarcastically.

           The old Marik would’ve probably thought he was being serious and said yes, but this new Marik just clenches his hand into a fist and explodes. “No, I don’t! What I want is for you to admit that you don’t care about anyone but yourself. That you use people and throw them aside when you’re done. I would’ve followed you to the ends of the Earth, but you wouldn’t even follow me down the street if you thought there was half a chance of a better option.”

           Bakura stands there, mouth hanging open, too shocked at this show of emotion to respond. Marik doesn’t wait for his answer. He jabs his thumb in the direction of Zorc. “Go ahead, prove me right. Go with Zorc.” He says, almost daring Bakura.

           “I-” Bakura starts to say, but Marik has his jaw set the way he always does when he makes up his mind.

           “I said go,” he insists. “You’re going to leave sooner or later, so you might as well do it now.”

           Bakura stands there for a moment, wanting to say something but also bristling at what Marik said. Marik stares at him, his chest rising and sinking rapidly from his barely-controlled anger. Bakura’s mind races, trying to decide what he do. He wants to say something to make things go back to how they were before, but he also wants to never see Marik again, but he also doesn’t want to prove Marik right.

           In the end, his pride wins out. Bakura grits his teeth and walks over to Zorc.

           “Bakura?” Zorc says in confusion, lifting his head.

           “Hey, Zorc,” Bakura resists the urge to turn around and see Marik’s reaction. “Sorry you got kicked off the show.”

           “I can’t believe I lost!” Zorc starts crying again. Bakura sighs mentally.

           “Listen, I was thinking. How would you like to help me destroy the Pharaoh? It could be just like old times.” Bakura offers.

           Zorc’s face scrunches up in confusion. “I thought you found a new villain!”

           Bakura’s face is stone-like, showing no emotion. “It didn’t work out. So is your answer a yes or a no?”

           Zorc wipes his eyes. “Yes!”

           “Great.” Bakura thinks a moment, realizing something. “Wait, you’re a dragon, right?”

           “Actually, I’m an evil demon with horns and bat wings and-”

           “Okay, yeah, so you’re another one of the Godforsaken, nightmarish creatures from a children’s card game,” Bakura interrupts. “But you have wings, so you can fly, right?” Zorc nods. “Could you fly me to Egypt so we can destroy the Pharaoh?”

           “Yay!” Zorc jumps up and claps his hands in excitement. “I love destroying things!”

           “I know you do,” Bakura mutters. Zorc kneels as Bakura climbs onto his back. With a mighty roar, Zorc takes off. Bakura looks down as the distance between him and the ground grows. He catches a glimpse of Marik looking up at him without any emotion before he can no longer make out anything on the ground. Bakura squares his shoulder and looks forward, determined to not waste any more time thinking about Marik.

           As the wind rushes by his ears, blowing his hair back, one last memory of Marik comes back. It’s of him singing a line from that song in the shower, way back before everything went to shit.

And if I’m flying solo,

At least I’m flying free.

*          *          *

           Zorc crash lands a few hours later in the middle of Egypt, causing Bakura to roll off his back and faceplant into a pile of sand. He lifts his head up, coughing up silt, and takes in his surroundings. Thanks to the heart of the cards and extremely lazy plot writing, they had managed to go back in time to either 3,000 years ago or 5,000 years ago, depending on whether you believe 4Kids’ lies or not.          

           Bakura stands up, brushing the sand off his knees. He looks straight ahead and sees a giant palace. “There it is, Zorc.”

           “Denny’s? Are we getting pancakes?” Zorc asks.

           “No! The Pharaoh’s palace.” Bakura feels a pang as he thinks about how Marik probably would’ve asked a stupid question like that. He grits his teeth and sets off toward the palace. Zorc follows him, making little idiotic comments about their surroundings.

           “Look, there are some oranges for sale! I love oranges! Ooh, a cat! Hey, that person’s lying on the ground. Aww, they’re giving him a blanket! Wait, why are they covering his face with it?”

           “Because he’s dead,” Bakura answers, trying not to think about how Zorc’s childlike ignorance is exactly like someone else’s.

           You really have a type, he thinks to himself. People who are stupid and act half their age. He sees Zorc’s strange character design and corrects himself. Okay, maybe ‘people’ is the wrong word. Things that are stupid and act half their age.

           They tramp through the sand for a while, walking past all the poverty and disease. Finally, they reach the entrance to the palace.

           “Halt!” a guard standing to the left of the entrance declares. “Who goes th-”

           “Zorc!” Bakura calls. Zorc opens his mouth and lets loose a jet of fire that burns the guard into a pile of ashes. The guard on the right stares in horror. “This is bloody convenient,” Bakura remarks.

           They walk into through the palace, Zorc blasting anyone who even looks at them. Reaching the throne room, Bakura flings the door open. Everyone in the room turns and stares at them.

           Atem lets out a heavy sigh. “Greaaaaat, this guy again!”

           Bakura steps forward. “I have come to bring you to justice, Pharaoh!”

           “You say that, like, every day, but you never do.” Atem points out.

           “Well, this time is different!” Bakura shoots back.

           “Yeah, sure, whatever. Are you at least going to tell me what the hell I did?” Atem asks. “I mean, besides being ten times more handsome than you. That I will take full blame for.”

           “You are most certainly not-” Bakura shakes his head. Stay focused, you’re so close! “You know what you did!

           “No, I don’t.

           “Yes, you do!”

           “No, I really don’t.”

           “Yes, you do!”

           “Dude, it took me thousands of years to remember my damn name, I don’t remember what I did to some random guy who somehow has a British accent despite being born in Ancient Egypt.”

           “You destroyed my village to make the Millennium Items!”

           Atem blinks. “No, that was my father.”

           “Yeah, right!”

           “It really was.” Mahad chimes in.

           “Yeah, he’s telling the truth.” Shada confirms.

           “Oh.” Bakura sucks his teeth. “Well, this is awkward.”

           “Yeah, it is.” Atem agrees.

           Bakura thinks for a second. “Well, you’re his son, so I might as well kill you. I mean, I came all the way to Ancient Egypt, I deserve to kill someone.”

           “Uh, Seto’s right here, he’ll be glad to sacrifice himself for his pharaoh.”

           “No, I won’t.”

           “Seto, don’t be a little bitch. I’m too beautiful to die.”

           “You already died!”

           Bakura cuts in. “It wasn’t his father who massacred everyone I love!”

           “It actually was.” Atem says. The court nods and murmur in assent.

           “Okay, fine, I’ll just kill everyone here!” Bakura raises the Ring, preparing to finally, finally get his revenge.

           “WAIT!” Atem raises his hand dramatically. “Sure, he destroyed your town. BUT! He didn’t destroy everyone you love.”

           “Whatchu talking ‘bout, Pharoah?” Bakura asks, still holding the Ring aloft.

           “I’m talking about Marik.”

           Bakura looks like Atem just slapped him. “What? You- No- I don’t love Marik!”

           “Don’t you?” Atem asks knowingly.

           “Urgh…This has nothing to do with you or your father!” Bakura yells.

           “Oh, I think it does. You see, if he had never made the Millennium Items, your soul would’ve never been put in the Ring. You never would’ve lived 5,000 years from now-”

           “3,000, your majesty.” Shimon corrects.

           “Yeah, whatever. Anyway, you never would’ve met Marik. And you never would’ve fallen in love.”

           Bakura stands there, stunned. It almost like he’s flying again, as he can practically hear the air whooshing by his ears as his world turns upside down. He stares at Atem, an easy target, but…he doesn’t want to kill him. For the first time in forever, he doesn’t want revenge. And if something as crazy as him forgiving the Pharaoh can happen, then is it really that much of a stretch to believe that he could fall in love with Marik?

           “I…” Bakura starts. He takes a deep breath and says something he never thought he would ever say. “Thank you, Atem. For helping me realize the truth.”

           Atem smiles and nods. “Go to him, Bakura.”

           Bakura’s heart starts pounding as he realizes what he must do. “Zorc! We need to go back!” He turns and runs out of the palace, Zorc following him, confused.

           “Ha! Can you believe that loser fell for that bullshit?” Atem snorts. “He’s probably going to start using Kuriboh and giving speeches about friendship.”

*          *          *

           Due to complications from traveling through time and for the sake of drama, Bakura and Zorc make it back to modern times the same day as the Applause finals.

           “Zorc, I’m sorry, but I have to go to Marik.” Bakura says, sliding off of Zorc’s back.

           “Are we still going to destroy the world later?” Zorc asks hopefully.

           “I don’t-” Bakura pauses and decides to throw Zorc a bone. “Sure, Zorc.”

           “Goody!” Zorc claps as Bakura sprints into the building. He can hear the announcer as he races through the hall.

           “Today’s the day everyone’s been waiting for: the Applause finals! It all comes down to this- The Kaiba brothers versus Marik Ishtar and Kit-” the announcer pauses as a crew member whispers something in his ear. “Er, just Marik Ishtar.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, without further ado, let’s get started!”

           The audience roars as Bakura bursts into the room. He spots a serious-looking Marik walking onstage, holding a microphone. Bakura looks around as the opening notes of a song starts. Seeing some steps leading to backstage, Bakura heads towards them. Marik starts singing.

           “Don’t breathe too deep, don’t think all day…”

           Backstage, Bakura impatiently waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Looking around frantically, he finally spots a microphone. He grabs it just as he hears Marik launch into the chorus. Marik has sung this song so often that Bakura unintentionally memorized it. He waits right behind the curtain for a moment, heart pounding, as he waits for the second verse to start.

           “…You’re what you own!”

           Bakura flings open the curtain and raises the microphone to his mouth. “The filmmaker cannot see!”

           Marik looks over, eyes widening in shock, but he manages to continue with the next line. “And the songwriter cannot hear…”

           Bakura walks towards him, singing the next part. Marik turns and faces him as they perform a clichéd romantic duet. “For once, the shadows gave way to liiiight…for once, I didn’t disengaaaage!”

           Marik faces the audience during the last chorus, arms flung open wide as he sings with his old passion. Bakura smiles and turns toward the audience too. “You’re not aloooone… I’m not alooooone!”

           The song finishes, but there still is a little bit of time before their five minutes are up. Bakura takes a deep breath and lifts the microphone back up to his mouth. His palms are so sweaty that he has to grip the microphone with both hands, lest he drop it. “Marik…there’s something I need to tell you.”

           Marik turns and looks at him, wary. The audience all lean forward in their chairs, eager to hear whatever it is. Bakura closes his eyes for a second, gathers his courage, then opens them. “Marik…I love you.”

           A collective gasp is heard just as the buzzer goes off. The crowd reaches a frenzy, people shouting and hugging each other and dabbing at their eyes from the beauty of it all. Marik stares at Bakura in shock for a moment, and then a smile slowly spreads its way across his face. He engulfs Bakura in a great bear hug. Bakura, heart still racing, lifts his arms and hugs Marik back. Even though he had never hugged Marik before, it felt…right. It felt like home. And not home like the village that had been destroyed. It felt like a home that would last forever.

*          *          *

           An hour later, Bakura and Marik are at a club for the show’s afterparty.

           “I can’t believe we fucking lost,” Marik says, taking a swig from his drink.

           “Yeah, apparently Seto Kaiba flinging fistfuls of cash to the audience is a bigger crowd-pleaser than a heartfelt confession of love.” Bakura remarks.

           Marik looks down. “Bakura…did you say what you said just because you thought it would make us win?”

           Bakura touches his arm. “No, I meant it. I didn’t care about winning.”

           Marik looks up again. “But what about the money? What about getting our revenge?”

           Bakura swirls his drink around. “Yeah, about that…maybe we should hold off on our whole revenge plan. Besides, the money isn’t an issue. Remember when you first told me you ate our tickets, and I left for a couple of hours?”

           “Yeah.” Marik nods.

           “Well, I went and mugged a couple people and got a few thousand then. They call me the Thief King for a reason.”

           “Wait, why didn’t you tell me then? Why did you agree to go on the show?”

           Now Bakura looks down, embarrassed. “You seemed so excited about it. I couldn’t tell you no.”

           Marik grins widely. “Bakura! You’re such a softy!”

           Bakura’s head snaps up. “I am not!” he protests, offended. He opens his mouth to tell Marik how he is the exact opposite of a softy, thankyouverymuch, when he hears the start of yet another song that’s on regular rotation in Marik’s repertoire. “Marik. Did you go to a club and request a bloody Broadway song?”

           “Yep!” Marik smiles.

           “You are…”

           “A bloody idiot?”

           “Yes. But at least you’re my bloody idiot.”

           Marik laughs. “Bakura, I love you.” He says simply, catching Bakura off-guard.

           “Oh, uh, well, thanks…”

           “This is the part where you’re supposed to say it back.”

           “I already said it!”

           “You can say it again.”

           “Why don’t you say it again?”

           “I just said it!”

           “Well, so did I.”

           “Well, at least I’m not British!”

           “Well, at least I didn’t eat our tickets!”

           “Well, at least I’m not a softy!

           “Hey!” Bakura opens his mouth to argue, but Marik holds out his hand.

           “Come on, let’s dance!”

           Bakura smiles, takes his hand, and they start dancing to Marik’s song.

           And a strange thing, your life could end up changing,

           While you’re dancing through!