#i’ve had the clip saved in my phone forever but i have no record of where i found it 🤦🏻‍♀️

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

oh you know. just blokey hair caresses.

[enjoythesilentworld]

Wille's Month - Movie

day 20 @youngroyals-events wow! thank you for everything thus far <3

Simon makes Wille a home movie. Or, Wilmon Girl Dads return.

read below or on ao3. (G, 1.1k)

Cautious of the small, sleeping baby in his arms, Wille slowly lowers himself down onto the couch, then lets out a long, suffering sigh. After an hour of screaming and crying from their, despite her claims, very tired three-year-old, he’s finally managed to get her down for her afternoon nap. The fight at nap time was an everyday occurrence, but today it feels like an absolute miracle because their second born has chosen to take her nap at the same time. Eager to take advantage of the peace and quiet, he places the little bundle of warmth on his chest and settles back for a nap of his own. Unfortunately, his husband has other plans.  

Simon appears from the office where he’d been working and begins fiddling with the television. Wille watches through a half-cracked eye, curious about this spontaneous electrical project. After a few minutes, Simon turns around, clears his throat quietly, and folds his hands behind his back. 

Wille raises an eyebrow. “Yes, darling?”

“I’ve been recording you without your consent,” Simon says calmly, as if informing Wille that he’s just bought milk from the grocery store. 

A few things arise in Wille at that. First being a loud thought of ‘what the fuck’, because hadn’t they had enough of that between the two of them? The second, however, is a little stir in his core that he quickly pushes away, because of the previous reason. Third, he feels some fear creep up in him because what if the cloud, or whatever, gets hacked and they have video scandal 2.0? 

“You’ve been what?” Wille asks, and his voice must sound a little strained because Simon’s eyes widen in shock, then he breaks into giggles. 

“Oh my,” he says between muffled laughter, “Not like that. I think we’ve had quite enough of that.”

Simon comes to sit next to Wille on the couch and places a gentle hand on their daughter’s back. His hands are not very big, at least not compared to Wille’s, but Simon’s hand makes her look so tiny. 

“I just—” he pauses, dropping his voice to a whisper and suddenly looking sheepish. “I wanted us to have these memories saved forever. I mean, we’ve both been taking videos over the past few years and so I stole some from your phone, too, and they’re— Well, I’ve made a little home movie.”

Wille’s heart melts at how shy Simon is being about this. “That sounds so lovely, baby. Do I get to see it?” He reaches up to thread a hand into the short curls at the back of Simon’s neck. Simon nods, then turns slightly and clicks a button on the remote. 

The TV flickers to life, and a long shot of a green meadow fills the screen. He thinks he recognizes it from a Midsummer party a few years back. In the clip, a light breeze causes the grass to shift and sway and a few small insects buzz around.  From the speakers, a light, twinkling guitar melody begins. Wille rubs a gentle thumb over Simon’s skin where it still rests on his neck. Somehow, he doesn’t know how, but he can tell it’s Simon playing the guitar, and that makes Wille smile. 

All at once, Simon’s beautiful voice joins the instrumental and the video shifts into one of them at the hospital, holding their first born between them.

They didn't have you where I come from Never knew the best was yet to come Life began when I saw your face And I hear your laugh like a serenade

Tears immediately form in Wille’s eyes as he watches them, three years ago, crying over their new baby. The video continues to shift, to Wille sitting in a rocking chair holding that same tiny little bundle, to Simon fast asleep on their bed half curled around their daughter, to both of them walking down the street with a stroller. 

How long do you wanna be loved? Is forever enough, is forever enough How long do you wanna to be loved? Is forever enough 'Cause I'm never, never giving you up

He gasps out a watery laugh as the videos continue to change, showing little clips of their lives over the past three years, and a few older ones, too; their engagement party, their wedding, the first night in this house. Then, even older. Their first summer together, their final year of school, and the little moments in between intertwine with bits of their new lives as adults, as a family.

As you wander through this troubled world In search of all things beautiful You can close your eyes when you're miles away And hear my voice like a serenade

Right before his eyes, he watches their oldest daughter grow up and it’s the most beautiful and most terrifying thing he’s ever seen. How had she gotten so big so fast? It seemed like just yesterday she was the size of the tiny baby on his chest now. He watches their first time at the big neighborhood pool, the first trip far out of the city. Then, more recent clips. Their first night with their second born, the first time their daughters met, all of them crammed into the car with ice cream and big smiles. Wille feels like his heart is about to explode in his chest; he’s bursting with so much love for this tiny, perfect family of his.  

How long do you wanna be loved? Is forever enough, is forever enough How long do you wanna be loved? Is forever enough 'Cause I'm never, never giving you up

The final clip fades to black and Wille has to consciously steady his breathing so as to not wake the sleeping child still lying right over his heart. Hot, wet tears pour down his face, mouth agape in disbelief as he turns to his husband. 

“Oh, Simon,” he whispers through the tears. Simon, he sees, is crying, too, and leans forward to press his forehead into Wille’s. 

“Did you like it?” His voice is quiet, despite being so close.

“Are you crazy? I loved it.” He tilts up to press a wet kiss to Simon’s lips, hoping to send every ounce of love and amazement through the tiny contact. “Thank you. Thank you for making that. I love you so much. I love our family so much. You are so incredible.” Wille punctuates each phrase with a kiss until Simon is giggling into his lips. 

“I love you, too. All three of you. So much.”

“We did an OK job so far, didn’t we?” 

Simon nods and presses a kiss to the back of their child’s head. 

“Yeah, I think we did.”

.

“We’ve got to show her when she wakes up.” 

“You think she’ll be able to sit still long enough?”

“Of course she will, darling. She loves it when you sing.”

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Make Shift Weights

@notinthesameguey thought she could try me.

This is the little sister to this blurb

The alarm goes off and you groan, pulling the comforter over your head. It doesn’t block out the noise of the alarm. Almost instantly you’re regretting spending the weekend with Calum. You usually worked Fridays but took the day to have more time with him. Calum rolls over, pulling the sheets from your face. “Mornin’,” his voice is thick and gruff with sleep. 

“Hmmph,” you huff, puffy eyes barely cracking opening. “Morning,” you return turning to look at him. 

His eyes are closed too but his fingers are brushing up and down your cheek. “Last one out bed is a rotten egg.”

Your laughter is mostly an exhale. Neither of you move for another ten minutes and when the bed does dip, Calum’s the first one up. “Ha!” he cheers, arms lazily thrown over his head. “Not a rotten egg this time.”

“Well throw me out and call me stinky.”

Eventually the both of you are dressed and on your respective mats outside. The morning is cool, seeing as the sun hasn’t fully risen. The blue hour is just about ascend, the skies lingering to the edge of the moon’s darkness. 

Calum picked the circuit, HIIT and it’s mostly core according to him but there’s a bit of focus on legs and upper body training. The two of you follow along to the YouTube video. Immediately you know you’re going to regret this. You abs are quaking already and your thighs are going to give out on you, it feels.  

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this,” you grit out between pants. Calum laughs next to you but his abs are tight too. 

During the breaks you're guzzling down water, watching Calum wipe sweat from his brows and back. He opted for a tank but it quickly got soaked and was ditched. “Breathe,” he reminds, his own breath puffing out in rhythmic pants. 

You exhale and take another breath in. “Fuck this.”

“Last circuit,” he returns. “Not so bad.” The plank feels like it’s lasting forever and even Calum glances up to the video, thinking it has to be over by now. “C’mon,” he starts as just a plea but turns into a growled exclamation. 

The blue hour has come and gone by now. The skies are not dipped in violet and are stepping into the brightness of the morning sun. Finally the timer sounds, the recorded instructor huffs out their encouragement before they finish the rest of the circuit. 

You collapse onto the mat when the last mountain climber is finished, huffing and puffing. Calum does a burpee, falls back into the pushup position and stays there before huffing out as he does a set of 15. At first, you can only watch, amazed that he’s still got anything left in him to get going. 

You let him go about whatever torture he wants to put himself through and stretch out her arms and quads. Duke finally trots over, noticing the commotion as stopped for at least one of you. Giggling, you scoop him up and wait for Calum to pause again. 

 "What are you doing?" There’s more weight on his back and he has a feeling he knows what you’ve done. 

"Giving you extra weight to pump up those muscles." You stay close by but manage to get your phone up and rolling as Calum continues on with another set of pushup. 

Calum manages to get through 4 out of the 15 before Duke's had enough and starts walking on his neck. You get Calum to stop and Duke hops down. The warmth of the day is starting to cut in. There’s still sweat running down your chest and back, but it’s not nearly as much as it was when you were working out.  Your dog finally joins in, sniffing around your feet and legs, before trailing over to Calum. 

Calum turns to his back on his bat. His arms are up and bent. "Spot me, Coach," he laughs, his breathing is heavy and he's panting. 

The sweat's reflecting off his golden skin even more. God, you want to hate him for being so goddamn attractive this sweaty and stinky. But you can’t and in the end, you direct your pup over to Calum. They get some scratches before resting their head on Calum's chest. 

"That's not where the weight goes for a benchpress," he huff and coaxes your dog up from their lounge. Once Calum gets a hold you can tell it's straining as his muscle tense and bulge. You hurriedly scramble over to keep the dog stable. Calum does one rep and the wiggles start. The both of you decide it's not worth the risk before setting them back onto the ground. They settle down between you, head on their paws. 

Calum's still panting. "I bet I could bench press you." 

"I wouldn't even let you try." 

He pouts up at you. "I won't drop you." 

"Baby, no," you laugh shaking your head. 

"Oh, c'mon, I'm strong." 

You roll your eyes at the adorable pout on his feature, the lower lip rolling over and under to reveal the pink to the underside of his lip. "I can see that." You point to his biceps and then poke it with your index finger. 

He laughs, blowing out harshly, mocking the sound of a deflating ballon. Your laughters mix into the more bustling morning and you bend down to kiss him. This is mistake as he grabs onto your arm, trying to pull you over his chest so he can attempt a bench press. 

You squeal, sneakers scoffing over the concrete. "Calum!"

 He can't get a good grip, the sweat on your arms and his hands not giving him any friction and if he's at all honest his shoulders are a little sore, so he gives up for the time being. But he does hold you to his wet chest. A breeze blows and the two of you just lay there. "

You ought to stretch to cool down," you say after a moment. He grumbles but agrees, stretching out. The rest of the day is kind of lazy, watching movies or showing each other memes on your phone. The dogs get some time outside but you save most of it for the evening. 

Your normal path takes you mostly around the block but you venture outside of it and end up near the more commercial stuff, some gas stations, a few banks, random mom and pop store and restaurants. "Remember the first time we met?" you tease, remembering the way you collided when trying to untangle leashes. Over time your dog’s calmed down but they still get stubborn about bushes and love when strangers give them pets as they pass by. 

Calum can only laugh. "I think I've proven myself not a hazard anymore. No more rogue headbutts." 

"Trust me, I'm glad." A couple fans spot you on the loop back and picture surface of you and Calum side by side. Calum's got Duke's leash and you have your dogs. People are losing their shit because you have the bigger dog and Duke's draped over Calum's neck with a small bag of snacks from the gas station in his hands too. 

You decide to post part of the video from early. It’s cute as Duke wags his tail, content to be on his pops back. You include a include a small clip of your dog giggling in Calum’s arms. Calum’s laugh is the last thing heard before the video loops. As you can tell, the old man’s spoiled. Also poor bubbas doesn’t quite cut it as a double for a bench weight. Not pictured: My failed attempt as a bench weight as well. 

[3hobbitsinatrenchcoat]

Soosly - Week 4 - Family

This monster took forever but I finally got the @soosly week 4 prompt done. Uh... this one needs a content warning so CW Death Mention (its not a major character though don’t worry)

-----

“Anyone seen Soos? I gotta discuss a new display with him.” Stan pushed his way into the giftshop, balancing a box of half-finished taxidermy parts on one arm and trying to hold open the door with the other.

Melody looked up from the register with a frown, hands paused on her end of day count. “I thought maybe you'd pass him on the way in. He went to check the mail a little while ago but hasn't come back yet.”

“Huh.” Stan set down his box on the counter and cracked his back with a grimace. “I didn't see him by the mailbox but we might'a passed each other.”

Melody's frown deepened. “Seems unlikely. Try the back porch if you don't see him near the mailbox. He likes to grab a Pitt and sit on the couch sometimes.”

“Ain't that familiar,” laughed Stan. He nodded thanks to Melody before tucking his hands in his pockets and wandering back outside.

Soos certainly wasn't at the mailbox, or anywhere visible from the gift shop steps either. Stan frowned and thumped down the steps and around to the back of the house. He relaxed for a brief moment as Soos's familiar form came into view, sitting not on the couch but on the steps, shoulders shaking... Stan's blood ran cold and he swore as he saw Soos lift a hand to scrub at his face.

It took every ounce of self-control he had not to sprint across the backyard. Instead he opted for a more casual yet still purposeful stride, scuffing his feet when he got within earshot so he didn't startle the poor kid when he eased down onto the steps next to him. Soos barely looked over, which was a bad sign, and stared sightlessly across the scrubby late summer grass towards the woods with eyes red-rimmed from crying, which was an even worse sign.

“Hey, gumdrop,” said Stan gently after a long moment of silence punctuated only by a quiet sniffle. He hadn't used the nickname in a while but it was all he could think of in the moment. He didn't expect Soos to full-body flinch at being addressed and cut off the are you okay? that Stan had been about to follow up with by holding out what looked like a letter.

“What is this?” Stan asked, and took the paper from Soos when he merely shook the paper. It may have been just his hand shaking, the way his shoulders trembled. “You want me to read it?” Soos nodded, and Stan saw his eyes welling with more tears before he looked away again.

“Jesus,” read Stan, and he had to suppress a snort because honestly, when was the last time anyone had called Soos by his legal first name?

“I've started this letter a hundred times and every formal introduction seems callous, given the circumstances. I wish that we were being introduced in more pleasant times, but you deserve to know the truth. You have two half-sisters in New Orleans.

“Until last week, when your wedding invitation arrived, my sister and I were unaware we had a brother. We suspect that any mail from you was intercepted by our father to prevent us from finding out he had other family. Unfortunately, that brings me to the heart of the matter.

“Dad passed away a month ago. I've included a copy of the obituary if you wanted the information for family records. I wish... I wish we had known sooner, so that we could have told you. [several lines here were covered in a thick line of whiteout and written over again] I did some digging in Dad's office and, if it is any consolation, he kept every letter you sent. They were in the locked drawer of his filing cabinet, but he did keep them.

“I understand if you want nothing to do with us, but if you ever want to reach out I included my email and phone number. Even though I don't know you yet, it is nice knowing that somewhere in Oregon I have an older brother.

“I am truly sorry you had to find out like this.

“Sincerely, Sandy Oaks”

Wordlessly, Stan picked up the crumpled envelope from where it had fluttered to the ground and pulled out a newspaper clipping. The image of a bland white-bread man stared back at him and Stan folded the picture over so he wouldn't have to stare him in the face as he read.

“Harold Greene, aged 58, passed away peacefully surrounded by family last week. He is survived by his two daughters and 2 grandchildren. All who knew Mr. Oak remember him fondly as a hard-working family man...” Stan stopped reading, rage flickering red at the edges of his vision. Family Man? The man who walked out and never visited his son? The man who Sophie Ramirez would threaten to hunt down and maim if you got more than one drink in her? That man, a family man?

Stan sat seething, unable to put into words exactly what he was feeling. He mechanically folded the letter and newspaper clipping, sliding them back into the envelope with a stony expression. Another miserable sniff came from the stoop beside him and he carefully wrapped an arm around Soos's shoulders.

“I'm sorry, Soos.” Stan said quietly and that was really all it took. With a choked off exhale Soos turned and wrapped his arms around Stan, face buried against his shoulder, great wracking sobs shuddering through his body. Stan froze for all of a second before he pulled Soos tight into a hug, one large hand rubbing soothing circles across his back.

“I... I never even met him,” Soos managed to say between wet gasps for air. “I didn't have the chance, and... and now he's gone. I knew his address, I... I could've gone down to see him but it... I waited too long. I waited too long and now I'll never get to... to...” he trailed off in a hicupping swallow, shoulders tense and shaking.

There were a lot of things Stan wanted to say in the moment. He'd harbored a deep, intense anger at the man for many years. He resented how one man could have such a negative impact on such a cheerful, well-meaning soul. He'd never thought he could dislike a man just as much as his own father, but apparently some deadbeat asshole named Harold fucking Greene was neck in neck for that contest. Stan couldn't say any of that in that moment, with Soos' fingers white-knuckling fistfuls of his t-shirt and tears soaking through to his shoulder. Instead he sighed and tightened his arms around the young man, letting long moments pass as he gathered his thoughts.

“I'd like to say the grief will pass, son,” said Stan after a while, not quite aware of his own words as he thought back to his own lonely mourning when Filbrick passed away. The man had been horrible, sure, but he'd still been his father. “It might be a while before you really come to terms with it and...” he stopped, concerned as Soos suddenly froze against his shoulder and then let out a single wheezing laugh. “Uh, you ok there?”

“I...” Soos sat back, cheeks blotchy with tears but a shaky smile breaking across his face. “Here I am crying about a guy I never even met when...” he swallowed and looked down at his own hands as he clenched and unclenched them in his lap. His next words were a whisper Stan had to strain to hear. “When you were really all the father figure I really needed.”

Aw hell.

Stan felt his own eyes start burning and as he blinked a single hot trail wound its way from his eye and settled in the crease of his nose. “For fuck's sake, Soos. Warn a man before you attempt to murder him.” The words came out strangled, and Soos's gaze snapped over to meet his. They held eye contact for mere seconds before they both broke out in somewhat hysterical laughter, arms slung over each others shoulders more for support than anything else.

“I was saving it for a wedding present but I might as well tell you now,” said Stan once they both calmed down enough for words to make sense. “First of all, kid... you really have to read what people hand you to sign. Even if it's me. Actually, especially if it's me.”

“What?”

“Remember those papers I had you sign a few weeks ago that I said were some legal bullshit for the shack since Ford and I had to sort out the 'not being dead' thing? They had nothing to do with the shack.” It was Stan's turn to look sightlessly into the treeline as his heartbeat seemed loud enough to shake the stoop. “They were adoption papers. Turns out all you need to adopt an adult in Oregon is the adult's consent.”

There was complete silence from Stan's left side and he swallowed hard. “I haven't filed them yet, it was a pretty major invasion of privacy and...” His apology cut off abruptly as Soos nearly bowled him over in another hug.

“DO YOU MEAN IT, MR PINES??” The yelling was right in his ear but Stan couldn't bring himself to care.

“Of course I mean it, gumdrop. Why the fuck wouldn't I mean it? I had to go talk to a lawyer and everything!” He made a token struggle against Soos' very tight grip before chuckling and hugging him back. “And if you call me, your father, 'Mr. Pines' one more time, I'm going to have some words for you, young man.” The threat was empty and they both laughed a little damply.

“Thanks, Dad.” Soos leaned heavily on Stan's shoulder and Stan pressed a whiskery kiss to the top of his head.

“You're welcome, Son.”

[huntingbounties]

Pour Mon Amour

On the kitchen counter sat one of those old cassette players / recorders, along with a framed picture of them together, taken with the help of a mirror - Roman’s head rested on her lap, with him smiling as she kissed his forehead. The tape sitting on top of the player was labelled “Pour Mon Amour”, clearly in Arrie’s handwriting.

As soon as Roman gets it to play, the room was filled with the crackling of film. It was a few seconds before a familiar deep sigh sounded through retro audio.

“Baby, if you’re listening to this, that means I made a painful decision - I went through with a plan that’s going to break our promise.”

Arrie stopped to sniffle and sigh again. A surefire sign that she was starting to cry.

“I… I know you’ll be upset. Maybe even mad, or hurt. And I’m sorry, baby, I am, but… I had to do this. Not because I don’t trust you with my plans, but because I trust you to always protect me, no matter what I tell you to do.”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I got mad at you for the whole situation with Sterling. I know now why you did it, but I just… I never thought in a million years that my life would be worth that much to someone, you know? I’d never want someone hurt because of me, and I… I just found it hard to accept that someone would do things they normally wouldn’t, just for me.”

Another moment of silence. How did Roman imagine her, whilst sitting and recording this confession? Did he see her head drop, her hands move? What about that little tapping tick she had, whenever she got nervous or scared?

“I’ve had this planned for months, Roman. Ever since I came back from Louisiana. I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t think I’d ever do it. There’s too many ‘what if’s’. Too many risks and no guarantees, but… We can’t keep doing this forever. Everyone’s burning the ends of their wicks. It has to stop now, before our blackmailer wipes us all out in one swoop.”

“I’m gambling with my life here, and I know you’d never want that for me. For us. And I promise you, I wouldn’t be doing this if I knew another way, but we both knew this was coming, sooner or later.”

“If my hunch is right though, they’re not going to kill me - they’re going to kidnap me and torture me, and depending on what they know, I might not have much time before they break me. Which is why I need you to find Frank’s friend, Micro, as soon as you hear this.”

“He’ll have a USB ready for you, with video footage of who took me, and hopefully the coordinates of where, if they don’t find the tracker that’s on me. He should’ve sent the stuff to S.H.I.E.L.D. too, but I highly doubt they won’t get corrupted on the way there, which is why I need you to take that USB to Sterling, just to be sure.”

“Roman, baby, no matter what happens to me, I want you to know that I plan on coming out of this alive. I’ll hold on for as long as I have to, and fight for every breath, just so I can see you again.”

“Je t'aime, mon amour. Avec tout mon cœur.”

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

     7:36 AM

      Where was she? That was the question he’d wondered when he was checking the bathroom and kitchen for her. That was what he was thinking before he came across the picture and a recorder. As soon as his eye caught it, he heart sank and his stomach twisted. 

     “No, no-”

      After getting it to play, he wished he hadn’t. The first sentence from her made him horrified. His jaw fell and hung itself low. His breathing started to go heavy. He heard how broken she sounded as she admitted to hiding from him, and all he could do was grab onto a chair as his legs felt like jelly. 

      “Arrie, you stupid--no, please, god, no!”

      His world was on fire. Everything he’d always feared his entire life was coming to reality. All he ever did was cut people away because he was scared of either what they would do to him or what his life would do to them. Now, it was both of these things happening to the one person he cared the most about. 

      I’m gambling my life here

      Not for his. Not for his. She couldn’t gamble it for his. He was worthless, a stain on this world that wouldn’t be missed when he was finally gone. Her life was far more valuable to everyone around than his was. There was no reason for her to exchange theirs. 

       His chest was tight, his breathing was panicked, and he felt like he was going to throw up. 

      They’re not going to kill me -they are going to kidnap me and torture me

      That was it. That was the worst thing she could’ve said. Roman felt his stomach give and he rushed to the sink. Panic was setting in as he drained his body. His arms were locking up, sweat was coating him, and his balance was off. 

        I’ll hold on for as long as I have to, and fight for every breath, just so I can see you again

       As the tape ended, Roman grabbed one of the cabinet doors and broke it from its hinges before throwing it straight into the far wall of his apartment. His legs shook but he managed to get himself to his phone and dialed the woman’s number.

      “Arrie, you fuckin’ idiot, pick up, please pick up. Please, please, please.”

      Hi, you’ve reached Arrelette Gâtecœur, leave a message after the beep.

      “Arrie, please answer me. Please, you don’t have to do this. We’ll find another way, I swear on my life. Please, please just come home! I’m...I’m begging you.”

       Fuck, he couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe? Why were his fingers going numb?

       No time. No time. What if they’re torturing her already? What if they did plan on killing her? What if she’s already g--

       Find Frank’s friend Micro.

       Move, move. Save her. At any cost. 

       But how to find them. How to find the--

        Roman rushed to the big folder that had been given to him, slopping it open as he shoved through all the papers and names listed. He found a newspaper clipping, flipping it over to see a court photo. 

        Karen Page. She was with Frank. 

        That was his in.

[kpop-uni]

Through the Lens // Five

Christian YuxYoutuber!Reader Words: 4.5K A/N: WOW did this take forever :( I’m sorry for the long wait but as you guys probably know I’m not in the best mental place right now and my main priority was getting help for me. Though, thanks for sticking with me! Love ya lots! But we’re looking at maybe? Two chapters until the end? Like usual I might post a poll on what fic to post but if anything I’ll just post summaries and Ill update as I go along~ If anything, a poll will be up with weekend to see what fics I’ll be posting next!

Chapter Four // Chapter Six

To everyone, except for Gyungmo of course, nothing was out of the ordinary with you. You smiled and joked around the same, always enthusiastic about going out to eat or shoving your mouth with snacks. But, the moment that Christian joined, or if Chaeyoung was present, everything with you went quiet. You stayed in your place with the same excuses. 

"I'm editing." "No, I'm just making sure the battery is okay." "I gotta make notes on what to delete."

Scott, on the other hand, began to notice, furrowing his eyebrows and thinking that maybe Chaeyoung had said something to you. But even when he knew no one was noticing the two of you, Chaeyoung offered you her snacks, always asking if you needed something from the store or if she could watch while you went over the edited videos. You tensed a bit when she was near you, giving her one-worded answers or sometimes answering with a shake of your head. 

"Did I do something to her?" Chaeyoung looked over at Christian. 

You had left the room rather quickly after Chaeyoung gave Christian a kiss on the cheek. Chaeyoung turned to you as you slammed your laptop shut, quickly walking out of the studio with Scott right behind you. 

"Hm?" Christian finally gave his attention to Chaeyoung, eyes moving away from the reflection of the studio glass. He saw how Scott was whispering to you, your shoulders slumping, getting up and leaving with him right behind you. Christian's blood boiled, hands clenching into fists. 

"If I did or say something to her," Chaeyoung repeated, elbow resting on the table and fist on her temple. "I feel like she doesn't like me much,"

Before Christian could answer, Gyungmo came in with Cline right behind him, the two showing Christian the finished song. 

"Gyungmo, I can't do this anymore..." You sighed, your thumb pad between your teeth as you nibbled on it, a habit you had when nervous or stressed.

"I told you, just stop overthinking these things-"

"But it's like he's rubbing it in my face," You turned to Gyungmo, hands now on your knees before you sighed, going back to staring at your laptop screen. "This video is almost half an hour long and I still haven't added any footage of him. And to top it, this whole part was about his process!"

Gyungmo sighed, biting his inner cheek, silent until you let your head fall. "So? Are you gonna cut this part out of the series?"

It was quiet, Gyungmo waiting for your response before you shook your head, giving out a sigh. You'll admit, you wanted to skip this part of the series but you knew you would get questions about why and the last thing you wanted was for fans to twist around your intensions. "No, I have to film him and see if he needs anything edited out."

With a nod, Gyungmo left you to continue his work. You hesitantly reached for your camera and laptop, holding on to the charger with your finger as you made your way to Christian's workspace. You stood outside the door, calming your nervous as you lifted your fist, about to knock when the door was pulled open, Christian looking down at you.

He was a bit startled, blinking and taking the tiniest of steps back before you immediately looked down. He watched as you fidgeted, almost dropping your laptop in the process of trying to find your words.

"I need to edit my video with you, just to see if it's okay with you and if you want-"

"I'm going on a date with Chaeyoung, can it wait?"

You gulped at the interruption, your voice already shaking with the nervous. The last thing you wanted was to make an even bigger fool out of yourself so you nodded. You simply stepped back, Christian moving past you and ignoring the way you bit your lip, heading in the opposite direction.

You locked yourself in Cline's space, taking deep breaths and calming yourself down. You slumped down on the arm of the couch, closing your eyes and breathing in and out. With a sigh and soft bite to the corner of your lip, you gulped down the rest of the feelings you had, fixing your laptop and charger in your hand before standing.

Scott looked down the halls, trying to find any sign of you before spotting you checking your phone, calling your name. You were a bit startled, Scott laughing as he walked over. "You hungry?"

You spent the afternoon in with Scott at a small restaurant, the two of you laughing and talking about anything Scott was working on. Eventually, the conversation turning into a game that Scott was interested in playing.

"I think my next series is going to be just playing that game, I've heard good things about it,"

"Are you seriously going to go back to gameplays?" Scott asked, excitement in his eyes as you laughed. The two of you eventually felt like you overstayed your lunch break, Scott letting you pay for the food after losing to a quick round of rock, paper, scissors.

When the two of you walked out, you looked up to find Christian and Chaeyoung walking across the street, hands tightly grasped. Chaeyoung giggling about whatever Christian whispered about, a smirk on his face. You ignored them, focusing on Scott who kept telling his story, your hand in the crook of his arm as the two of you decided to go on a stroll. You laughed a little at what Scott said, distracting you from Christian.

But Chaeyoung noticed you right away, smiling a bit and leaning her head on Christian's bicep. "Aren't they so cute? I feel like they were meant for each other,"

Christian looked over, quickly spotting how much you were laughing at Scott's hands tickling your sides. He clenched his teeth, Scott leaning all his weight on you as you attempted to hold him up, whining his name as he laughed, the two of you stumbling slightly.

You let Scott drag you back to him, continuing the walk. Christian hummed, turning back ahead and trying to ignore what he saw, letting out a breath. "She seems so nice... I kind of feel bad because I think she just doesn't like me," Chaeyoung let the conversation end there, focusing on Christian and their date. But Christian's jaw tensed, looking down at Chaeyoung.

"I'm sure you did nothing, she's just a little hard to get along with at first,"

Gyungmo and Scott had invited the guys on your last night to end your vacation with a celebration, hosting a house party in Scott's place. You knew it wasn't nice, but you couldn't help but feel happy that Christian and Chaeyoung didn't go. You wanted to enjoy yourself once more before heading home, and you knew you weren't going to be able to if you only saw them together.

You let yourself relax, enjoying the company of Hyuk who wouldn't let you go, making you shy whenever you were teased about it. Woo taught you how to spin a few records, teaching you the basics of how to DJ. You stayed with your camera glued to your hand, taking pictures and videos of everyone and everything.

The next morning, you sat on the hotel bed, showered and with everything packed save for your laptop case. You tried looking for the courage to send the text, looking down at your phone. You let out a breath, squeezing your eyes closed and pressing the send button.

Christian's attention was given to his phone at the ding it made, seeing a text from you and sighing a bit.

Y/N 12:54 PM: Can we edit the video now?

Christian knew he couldn't avoid you forever, so he replied back that he was in his studio and to go over. He sat back in his chair, hands rubbing his face as he knew he needed to face you sooner or later. But still, he couldn’t help the anger that bubbled up whenever he saw you, knowing you belonged to Scott.

Christian waited for half an hour, closing his laptop and just about to give up on you when you knocked, heading inside the studio.

"Hey,"

Christian looked up from his laptop, seeing you walk in with your own laptop on hand. You closed the door behind you, Christian, without a word, moved his things aside and giving you room to set your laptop down.

The tension was thick and you began to think that you took forever in setting your editing programs up, taking a seat and clearing your throat. "So, I'm going to combine the videos and play them, I'll tell you my plans and you tell me what you want me to get rid of."

With only a nod and a hum that Christian gave you, you opened the file only for Christian's part of the series, clicking into each video in the order you set it. You waited as he watched the first clip, biting your tongue gently.

Christian was clicking away in the video, eyes focused on his screen as you zoomed in a bit, giggling. He turned to you, giving you a confused look before breaking out into a smile.

"You don't need this one," Christian sat back into his chair, making you hum.

"This one is the intro, kind of to kick it off." You hesitated on looking at him, Christian rolling his eyes and shrugging, sighing out a quiet whatever. You looked back at the video, clicking out of it and moving it to a new file, continuing the second video.

"Delete that, I want my programs to be kept to myself," You nodded, adding in an edit, making sure to type it into the notes on your phone, continuing the video.

Your leg shook with nerves, eyes glued to the screen, going from video to video and doing everything that Christian told you to do with it. It was only a couple more videos when a knock on the door made you both turn, Chaeyoung poking her head before giving a shy smile. “Sorry, I’ll let you guys continue-“

“No, it’s fine.” Christian waved her in, pulling a chair right next to him. You squirmed in your seat, eyes going back to your screen and clicking through the video. You ignored the tiny giggle that escaped Chaeyoung and the soft kiss that Christian gave her until Christian gave you his attention again.

By the end, what could've been a 24-minute long video turned into only 5 minutes. You combined all the videos together, seeing the time limit and frowning, going through other files to look for any other videos you could add.

"That's it, right? We finished?" You could hear the impatience in Christian's voice, pulling his laptop closer. Chaeyoung helped him pull his items closer, going back to resting her arm on the table.

"No, the video needs to be longer than just five minutes," You ignored the way Christian grumbled, closing your eyes and continuing to look for more videos.

"Why don't you like Chaeyoung? What did she do to you?"

You were caught off guard with the question, fingers freezing as you looked at Christian. He glared at you, almost as if he wanted to bury you alive, hand gripping the mouse. Chaeyoung, who was once on her phone, turned to Christian so quick, you thought she was going to snap her neck.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, letting your hands fall from your keyboard to your lap, shaking your head as you scoffed. “What?” 

With a sarcastic chuckle, Christian shook his head. “Everyone can tell that you don’t like Chaeyoung. So why? She’s been nothing but nice to you-“

“Who said that I didn’t like her? I never said that!” You argued back, turning fully toward him. 

“You make it so fucking obvious!” Christian raised his voice, hand waving as if he were showing you how obvious it was. “All that’s left is for you to openly tell her to fuck off-“ 

“Why the hell are you saying such shit?” You yelled back, glaring at Christian. “I’m sorry that I don’t want to talk to your girlfriend like she's my best friend! Is that what’s bugging you?” 

“Ian, stop...” Chaeyoung tried to stop Christian, looking at you with worried eyes. “I’m so sorry, please just ignore him.”

“Come on,” Christian laughed, shaking his head. “Y/N, you literally act like a bitch with her. You’re all fun and games with everyone and when she comes in the hate just oozes out of you!”

Your eyes widened, slamming your laptop closed and grabbing your things. Chaeyoung flinched at the slam, a quiet yelp leaving her and Christian only flinched a bit. “Have you ever thought that maybe it’s not her I hate, Christian?” You turned to the door, grabbing the doorknob. “Maybe, just maybe, it’s you that I hate?” 

Before you could even take a step out, the door was slammed closed, catching you off guard. You were spun around, backing yourself to the door as Christian's jaw clenched, eyes filled with anger as your hands pressed into his chest, attempting to prevent him from getting closer.

"You have no fucking reason to hate me," Christian's words came out quietly, each one oozing venom. Your eyes that were once wide in surprise turned into a hard glare, adding force to your push that only resulted in Christian moving only slightly back. "I never did anything to you.“

"Ian..." Chaeyoung hissed, worry evident on her face as she desperately tried to pull him away from you. "That's enough, okay? You don't need to do this-"

"Never did anything to me?" You scoffed, staring up at Christian in disbelief. "You treated me so nice the whole beginning, but one little drunken night that we kissed and you suddenly changed on me! And you got yourself a girlfriend making me think that I'm the problem!"

Chaeyoung finally stopped trying to pull Christian -who was frozen in shock- back, as Chaeyoung looked at you as if you had grown another head, shaking her head a bit. "Christian wouldn't do that..."

You looked at Christian, an eyebrow raised as you waited for him to talk. “You didn’t tell her? That I pulled you out to dance and you made me think there might have been something between us, only for you to make me feel like a cheap hookup?” 

Christian was at a loss for words, only staring at you as he finally stepped back enough, letting you rush out of the room. You stopped before closing the door, looking at Christian one more time. “I regret ever getting close to you,” The slam of the door echoed in the room, Chaeyoung letting out a breath and moving away. 

“I really thought you started to like me,” Chaeyoung’s voice was soft, pulling away from Christian to grab her phone. 

“I do-“ 

“No, you don’t,” Chaeyoung looked up at Christian. He faced her, worry on his face as Chaeyoung sighed. “Why did you even do this to her? To me?”

Christian tried to say something, anything to not hurt Chaeyoung. His mouth opened and closed as if he was choking on air, trying to find the right words before closing his eyes, letting out a breath. 

“She doesn’t like me, she was drunk and I thought maybe, just maybe, she liked me but she only liked Scott. She probably only kissed me to get back at him since he was with some other girl.” Christian moved to sit on his chair, burying his face in his hands. “I didn’t want to hurt you, and you’re so cool and I thought maybe I can forget her but-“

“You’re still into her,” Chaeyoung finished his sentence, Christian quiet. He clasped his hands in front of his face, only nodding. Chaeyoung looked down, silently walking out the studio. 

Christian stayed in silence, head spinning with thoughts of everything that has happened. He groaned, burying his face in his arms, wrapping his hands around his head, wanting to curl into a ball and hide for a while. 

You tried to calm down, huffing out in anger as you set your things down on a desk, your eyes closed as you finally let yourself breathe. "Everything okay?"

Scott smiled when he found you, walking over as you sat up on the desk, swinging your legs lightly. He stood next to your legs, watching your lips curve up into a small smile. "It's flight nerves, nothing too big,"

Scott stayed quiet, knowing you were lying but only responding with a smile, patting your thigh gently. You were quiet, your fingernails gently scratching Scott's head as his eyes closed a bit, enjoying the attention. You smiled a little, tilting your head a bit. "Sometimes when you spend time with me, I wish you were the one I fell for,"

Scott scoffed, laughing a bit as his eyes stayed closed, leaning more into you before resting his head on your arm. "We would be that famous couple that people would call us mom and dad,"

"Bold you to think they already don't," You giggled as Scott laughed quietly.

You both stayed silent a bit longer, Scott eventually pulling back and grabbing your things, silently giving you the hint that it was time to leave. "I'm sorry things didn't work with the guy you liked," Scott grabbed your hand, fingers intertwining as the two of you headed to your hotel.

"It's whatever, I'm just glad I never told him or else I would've died from embarrassment." You shook your head, letting out a sigh. "Guess I just thought he liked me too,"

"Well he's an idiot if he doesn't like you, you would've been an amazing girlfriend." Scott smiled at your laugh, staying quiet during the short walk. He held the door of the hotel open for you, following you to the elevators. 

“You know, lowkey you can give Gyungmo a chance.” 

The suggestion caught you off guard, making you look at Scott as the two of you stood in your spots, ignoring the elevator door as it opened. Scott only laughed a bit, pressing the button to keep the door open as he stepped inside. “I was just saying,” 

“Scott, what does that even mean?” 

You knew exactly what it meant, anyone hearing Scott would know what it meant. But still, you were caught off guard and now with this sudden news, you weren’t sure you were hearing things correctly. 

“I mean, Gyungmo has a thing for you. Or had... I’m not sure anymore.” Scott pressed the button again as the doors closed, reaching for your wrist to pull you inside. 

“He had a thing for me?” You ask, letting yourself get dragged into the elevator. 

“Okay don’t make this weird for him, I wasn’t supposed to tell you,” Scott watched as you simply nodded, blinking a bit but still processing everything he said, only looking up when the doors opened on your floor. 

“Is he still coming to drive me?” You asked, Scott now on his phone. 

“Yeah, he said to just give him a heads up.” 

You asked him to send Gyungmo the text, stepping inside your room and putting away the last bit of your things. Scott sat at the end of the bed, phone in hand as he scrolled through it, occasionally looking up to see if you needed any help. 

With a groaned sigh, you plopped on the bed next to Scott, resting your head on his shoulder. You two stayed quiet, looking at everything ready to be taken to the car, Scott occasionally chuckling a bit at something he would see on his phone. At the sound of a knock, you let Scott open the door and let in Gyungmo and Cline. You held on to Gyungmo's sleeve, letting him stay back as Cline and Scott left with a suitcase, the two talking. 

"Scott said something to me," You kept your eyes on Gyungmo as he furrowed his eyebrows, thinking on what Scott could've possibly said to you. "He said you have a thing for me?"

With a sigh and smile, Gyungmo shook his head, intertwining your fingers with his. "I had a thing for you, I mean, you're so cute in your videos and you're kind and a sweetheart in person. But I like you like this, being with me and gossiping about stupid shit," 

You couldn't help the smile on your face, getting shy and looking down a little. Gyungmo watched as you collected yourself, lightly slapping your cheeks to get rid of the blush that you knew was present before swinging your bag over your shoulder. Gyungmo stayed by your side, the two of you in comforting silence. "Thanks for being there for me all this time, I hope you know I'm going to be there for you if you ever need me,"

Everything was quiet until you made it outside, Scott and John laughing loudly as Cline was dancing weirdly. Gyungmo stood next to you, a smile on his face as he watched Cline before elbowing you lightly, motioning to your phone. You giggled as Cline exaggerated his dancing more, moving closer to you and the laughter got louder from all of them. Before Cline could exaggerate anymore, John gasped about the time and everyone scattered to put the luggage in Gyungmo's car, rushing you inside. 

The airport buzzed with people traveling in and out, the place almost a blur with everyone. You checked in with Scott by your side, making sure you had all your documents before you made your way to security. A soft sigh later, you let Scott pull you into a hug, wrapping your arms around him tightly. 

"Thank you for letting me do this, I promise you guys are going to love it," You pulled back to offer Scott a hug grin, getting one in return. 

"We better, or you're coming back to film everything all over again," Scott joked, making you giggle. 

You gave Cline and John a hug, looking over at Gyungmo and wrapping your arms around his neck. "Thanks for everything," You whispered, kissing his cheek softly as you pulled back. Gyungmo smiled, trying to hide his blushing. With one final wave, you fixed your bag, using your phone to record the guys once more before heading to your terminal. 

Christian tried not to make it obvious as he walked up and down the halls of the building, looking for any sign of you. It had been two days and after you blocked him on Instagram, Christian had no idea what you were up to. He hadn't seen you in so long, and he didn't want to ask Scott seeing that as every time he tried to get some info, Scott just told him to text you.

Christian didn't bother to knock, just swinging the door open of Scott's studio to find him too close for comfort with a girl that wasn't you. She had a smile on her face, eyebrow raised as Scott leaned closer, only a breath away from kissing her. But the sudden door opened caused the two to look at Christian, his eyes wide in shock. 

"Hey, what's up?" Scott turned to Christian who collected his thoughts before his blood boiled, teeth-gritting in anger. 

"Are you fucking serious?" Christian erupted, Scott and the girl both startled from the sudden outburst. "Just because y/n isn't here you get to cheat on her?"

"What?" The girl glared at Scott, starting to push him away. "Who the hell is y/n?"

"Wait! What? No, hold up!" Christian moved aside as the girl furiously left, Scott trying to call her back before giving up, glaring at Christian. "Dude, what the fuck! You know how long I've been trying to get her to agree to go on a date-"

"What about y/n?" Christian yelled back, pushing Scott back. 

"What about her? She's not even here!" Scott stumbled into the soundboard table, muttering a curse as his wrist got hit by the edge.

The outburst caught the attention of Gyungmo who rushed over, getting between both men. "What the hell is going on?"

"This asshole is practically fucking some girl in here just because y/n isn't here!" Christian tried to push Gyungmo away, trying to reach Scott but he moved farther away.

"What does she have anything to do with it?" Scott yelled back, gesturing around the room. "She's not here!"

"How the hell are you going to cheat on her like that!" 

Scott stopped himself, blinking a bit before thinking about what Christian had just said. "Cheat on y/n? I'm not dating her, man."

Christian stopped trying to get past Gyungmo, furrowing his eyebrows. "Did you break up with her?" 

"I wasn't dating her in the first place?" Scott grew even more confused, Gyungmo stepping away from Christian as he sat on a chair, sighing heavily. 

"You really never noticed that it was Rome that she liked?" Cline's voice made the three turn to him, being caught off guard. Gyungmo was just as surprised at Cline's comment, the three staring at him. "Wait-"

"Did you think I didn't know?" Cline interrupted Gyungmo, head tilted in curiosity. "It was pretty obvious, I mean, I thought he liked her too but I guess not since Chaeyoung is in the picture." With a shrug, Cline dropped the subject, making everyone look at each other. 

"Well, here I was thinking it was Hyuk..." Scott rubbed his cheek, pensive about everything that was said. "No wonder it didn't make sense." 

"Wait... What?" Christian still couldn't get the whole picture, shaking his head. "She likes me?" 

"She fucking fell in love with you, idiot." Gyungmo sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Only you would think she and Scott are dating."

"Man, Hyuk was a better suspicion than me. He was practically all over her, especially during her goodbye party. " Scott sat on the edge of his soundboard, shaking his head.

"Goodbye party?" Christian repeated, looking at Scott. 

"We texted you about it, we just thought you were being an asshole and didn't want to go," Cline spoke up, still standing right outside the room. "She went back home like two days ago," 

Christian groaned, rubbing his face and gripping his hair. "I fucked up..."

"You think?" Scott scoffed, rolling his eyes. But still, Scott watched as Christian beat himself over what happened. With a sigh, Scott stood up straight. "I can help you find her. So you can properly apologize for being such a fucking dick." Christian looked up at his friend, slightly nodding his head. With a glare and roll of his eyes, Scott pulled out his phone, going to an old video on your channel and showing it to Christian. "She always hangs around here. It's her favorite place."

Tag list: @derya-t​ // @mara-twins​ // @thefangirlsoul​

[huntertales]

Part Two: How Did It Make You Feel? (Clip Show S08E22)

Episode Summary: Sam, Dean and the reader share a bitter reunion with Castiel after finding the angel beaten and bloody in the middle of the road. While digging through the Men of Letters’ files, they stumble upon an undiscovered film which could be the key to completing the third trial. Meanwhile, Crowley digs into the reader and boys’ past, putting people they saved in mortal danger. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 3,490.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

The drive to St. Louis took about eight hours, something you thought you could handle considering there wasn't much to do on your part but sit there and let Dean drive there. You and the boys made your one and only stop to the church Father Simon had been at since he first got ordained as a priest. He possibly was the only one who could explain the things that you saw on that film. If your suspicions were correct, you had a feeling you stumbled upon the very thing you had been looking for when it came to finishing the final trial. And other things you had been thinking about for years. The only way to be certain was talking to the last remaining person alive from that night to tell you what happened after the camera stopped rolling. 

During the drive here you sent a text to Cas for him to look over the file and send you over the exorcism they used. You translated it best as you could from the Latin that you knew, along with a little help from a translating website you pulled up on your phone. Mostly it sounded like what you’d expect from an exorcism to get a demon out of a human host. What threw you off was the last word you heard the priest shout—lustra. Cas said it translated into “wash” or “cleanse.” That was what threw you through a loop. Why include that word and put human blood into a demon? You were hoping Father Simon has some answers to your questions that were quickly piling up. 

Father Simon was taken off guard by the sight of three faces asking about a night he tried desperately to wipe away from his mind Here you were, forcing him to relive the memory he repressed over five decades ago. You sat in one of the pews with Sam, listening to what else he could provide you with from what the file couldn’t. While you were becoming intrigued with the thought of possibly saving a demon’s soul, Father Simon found it all still disturbing from the way he described it to you. People of faith always wanted to save damned souls from facing the eternal fires of hell. It seemed Father Thompson was determined to go even farther than anyone had ever before. 

“Father Thompson had some unorthodox ideas, which is why the Men of Letters were interested.” Father Simon told all of you what he could remember. You furrowed your brow slightly from what he meant by unorthodox, Sam asked what the other priest meant by saving. “A demon is a human soul, twisted and corrupted by its time in Hell. Father Thompson believed that you could wash that taint away and restore their humanity.”

“Make them human again?” You asked him if that’s what he meant, Father Simon merely shrugged his shoulders. He presumed that’s what the priest tried to do. You felt a light bulb go off in your head if what he was saying was true. All of it made sense. “So, what, they just stay in whatever body they’re possessing and get a ticket upstairs?”

“I wish I knew.” Father Simon bleakley answered your questions. 

Okay, but this ritual...” You pressed him more for any kind of information he could provide you with. “Can cure a demon?”

“I suppose, if it worked, but that night, something went terribly wrong. The demon escaped into the world, and that poor old woman...It was horrible.” Father Simon’s recollection of the memory and what you saw on film was enough to emotionally scar someone for life. And make the priest realize there was some souls not worth saving. “I know father Thompson kept trying. One of the Men of Letters did as well—Andrew Y/L/N. Both of them worked on other possessions, experiments, but I couldn't face that—not again. And then, a few months later...Father Thompson was dead. As for Andrew, it was like he vanished. I’ve never heard from him again.”

“What happened to Father Thompson?” Dean asked the priest.

“Something tore him apart.” The response was enough for you to connect the dots on your own. All of this was starting to make sense. From the experiments you saw on film. What Abbadon said to you when she got you alone. Why it was your father who was turned into a demon. 

“Did he keep any, uh,” You asking the priest something, but you were caught off guard from a tickle in your throat. You coughed a few times into your palm before attempting to speak again. “Did he keep records or—“ All you managed to get out was a few words before you continue on your coughing fit you hadn’t dealt with in a while. You tried not to think much of it until you caught sight of a dark crimson red in the palm of your hand. It was blood. “Uh, do you have a bathroom, maybe?”

Father Simon pointed to the back of the church, you smiled and mumbled a thank you before sliding out of the chair, Sam following behind you to make sure you were all right. Even though you hadn’t been okay in a long time, since you started the trials. You knew damn well the boys saw the blood, and even Father Simon was starting to grow concerned at how you looked. It wasn’t the way a woman in your condition should be. He expressed his concerns to Dean when you vanished from sight. 

“Is she all right?” He asked the older Winchester in a worried tone of voice. 

“Uh, no, padre. She’s...pretty damn far from all right. That's why we're here.” Dean gave the priest the truth to the situation. He stood up from his feet and placed both of his hands on the back of the pew. Father Simon stared at the man with a confused expression, not sure how any of this tied in together. “Father, over the past couple of months, I've seen her do crap that I didn't even think was possible. I mean, sure, she’s miserable and she’s hurting, not to mention she’s carrying extra cargo...but you know what? There's not a doubt in my mind that she’s gonna cross that finish line—not one. So, will you help us?”

Father Simon was a man of faith, someone who devoted his life of preaching the word of God to His followers. Offer a place of worship and salvation for those who needed it. He was taught to turn anyone anyway. But there were things he never wanted to witness ever again. One of them was the night of the ritual that took that woman’s life. And demons most of all. The priest nodded his head in agreement before walking back to storage to gather Father Thompson’s belongings for you and the boys.

+ + +

When you got back from your sporadic trip the next morning, the boys wasted no time in digging through Father Thompson's belongings while you searched around the bunker for someone you still expected to be here Sure, you left Cas not on the best terms with one another, but you expected him to stick around. You searched every room you could think of that he might be in to waste time while you were gone. The angel wasn't in the room you provided him with last night. He wasn't in the many archive rooms. He wasn't checking out the dungeon. And you couldn't find a trace of where he could have gone. Not even a note to let you know where that damn angel wandered off to this time. You headed back to the library to inform the boys. 

"I can't find Cas." You said. "You think he blew town?"

"Sounds like him." Dean's remark wasn't what you wanted to hear right now. He shut a journal that appeared to have belonged to the priest, you guessed it was filled with all of his notes and past tests that ended like the fateful night Father Simon had to witness. "So it turns out that Father Thompson recorded all of his demon-cure tests. And he had a partner in every single one of them. Taking notes and observations.”

"Let me guess," You grabbed the journal from Dean's hands, cracking it open to the middle and skimmed the pages to read one test from March of '57. You recognized the handwriting from old photographs with names and dates written when they were taken, not to mention the days when people used to write things down. You saved everything that was your father’s even the tiniest things. Here you discovered so much more than you ever bargained for "Someone by the name of Andrew Y/L/N?"

"Bingo. This one here," Dean picked up a tape from a pile of dozen and lifted it up for you to see. What he had in his hand might be the last remaining trace of your father before hell got their hands on him. And your ticket to locking the doors on those bastards forever. "This was the last one—two days before Father Thompson died."

You threw the journal to the table in favor of the recording when you noticed there was a small piece of masking tape that someone had messily scribbled down the date. The final test was completed in the beginning of August, Father Thompson died on the fifth. one week later almost all the remaining Men of Letters were slaughtered by a demon named Abbadon. Somewhere in the week she penciled in some time to turn your father into what he was trying to fix. For years you wondered how and why. It never made any sense how a demon turned into a human. Now all of the pieces were coming together for you.

You and the boys moved everything to the war room for more space after lugging out the tape player from storage. You still weren't exactly sure what you were about to listen to. You prayed that this was the key that you had been searching high and low for. Every part of you wanted to lock away the very place that ruined your life. What you were born half into and taunted by them. What your father was forced into. You did the honors of turning on the recording and sat down in your seat, nervously anticipating what you were about to listen to.

"The date is August 3, 1958. This is trial nineteen, hour one. Our subject is Peter Kent. Mr. Kent is the father of two young sons, and three weeks ago he was possessed by a demon." You listened to the grainy voice of Father Thomposn as he discussed his last test subject. "I'm going to ask you a question now. When you crawled into Mr. Kent and ate his children, how did it feel?"

You’d seen a lot of gut wrenching things in your days, you even did some unthinkable acts you wanted to forget all about. But the question Father Thompson asked the demon made your skin crawl at the mere image. You subconsciously rested a hand on top of your pregnant stomach when the demon responded with a throaty laugh and replied with one word, “Orgasmic.”

One of the downfalls of listening to a recording of the test and not seeing it filmed like before was that you were left unsure of what was happening when they weren't speaking. You heard the demon let out a sudden scream of pain from something, followed by the voice of your father speaking up on the recording for the first time. "The first dose has been administered." 

“Do we know what padre was dosing number-one dad up with?” Dean asked his little brother.

Sam had been skimming through the journal reading over the notes and summary of each test done over the year. He turned to the very last one and read. “Uh, yeah, Andrew’s own purified blood.” 

“Wait, what?” You were a bit taken aback at the detail you weren’t expecting. “Purified how?”

“Before the both of them started, Andrew went to confession with Father Thompson.” Sam explained to you. 

“This is trial nineteen, hour two.” You crossed your arms over your chest when you heard your father's voice com back onto the recording, bringing your attention back to the test. He asked the same question Father Thompson had just an hour ago. "When you ate his children, how did it feel?"

“Stringy!” The demon replied with another disturbing response. 

Every hour for eight hours either Father Thompson or your father pumped up the demon blood with purified blood after asking the monster a simple question and hoping for a different response. Six out of the eight times every response was the same; grotesque, vile. However as the tape continued on playing, you began to notice changes in the demon’s response around the sixth hour. You heard him start to slowly stop with the snarky responses and attempts to fight what was being done to him. He sounded more broken down, almost...human. 

You found yourself leaning forward in your seat as the seventh hour rolled around. All of a sudden, the sound of a pleading man could be heard—Peter screamed on the top of his lungs for whatever was happening for him to stop. You could hear the guilt in his voice, the fear. Things only a human would be able to feel. 

“Hour eight, the subject is prepped.” The final shot of human blood. 

You listened to the sound of your father's voice as he got ready to finalize the last step of the test he'd been working on for so long. You furrowed your brow slightly, trying to picture what happened all those years ago, what he was feeling at that very moment. How it must’ve felt when he splashed the demon with holy water and saw Peter's skin burn, but no agonizing scream following after. It was the progress he had been praying for. He dropped to his knees and completed the final step he needed to do. What separated him from changing things for the better and sealing his fate was a few simple words of Latin. 

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra, lustra!”  

Andrew cut his palm with a knife and chanted the words he had spoken over a dozen times with subjects that wouldn't be lucky as Peter. Countless bodies he had to lay to rest to get him where him and Father Thompson had worked so hard for. He placed his bloody palm against the demon's mouth and shouted lustra one more time, and just like on the film, the demon's eyes and mouth filled with a bright white light. You nervously clenched your fists together, wondering what happened next, if what you just heard didn’t end the same. 

Your father grabbed Peter's body up from the ground and asked the soul in his body a question. One last time. "When you ate his children, how did it feel?" 

“They were screaming...And I laughed. Why did I laugh? I’m sorry.” Demons don’t apologize for the things they did.  They don't sound remorseful for the actions they chose. The terrible destruction they caused by their own hands. Demons enjoyed the chaos, murder. Watching people suffer. The person you heard was none of those things. He was horrified with himself. Guilt-ridden at the actions he willingly chose to do. "I'm so sorry. God, I was a monster."

“But now you are a man again.” Father Thompson told the soul. “And you have been saved.” 

You weren't exactly sure how you felt right now after hearing the recording. You turned off the player when you got to the end. A part of you was confused as to exactly what just happened, another wanted clarity that what you heard was real. Everything you knew about demons was forever changed. You looked up at the boys, "Did he just...cure a demon?"

“Maybe.” Dean said. He was still slightly skeptical about this ritual, and rightfully so. He wanted to see this done with his own eyes. “Sammy, could we take this hoodoo on a test drive?”

“I mean, I have the exorcism right here.” Sam said. He turned a page into the journal with a complete set of instructions someone might need in order to cure a black eyed monster. “All we need is the blood, consecrated ground, and a demon. So, what? We summon a demon, trap it—” 

“Or we use one that we’ve already tagged.” Dean cut off his brother, suggesting an easier plan for trapping bait. Why go through all the trouble when you had a demon trapped six feet underground not to far from here. “Do we still have Dad’s old army field surgeon’s kit?”

“It’s in the trunk. Why?” You asked the man. 

“I think it’s time to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.” Dean said. 

You looked over at Sam in hope that he had any clue what his brother was hinting around. The younger man was clueless as you to what demon you had lying around that would be a willing guinea pig for you. But then you remember that pesky little red head with a bullet in her noggin with a devil’s trap marked on the tip, thanks to Henry Winchester. It seemed fitting that Abbadon was going to be the one who was going to be up on the chopping block to get her soul cleansed. She turned your father into a demon against his will. And you were going to watch as she was turned back into the very thing Lucifer hated the most—a human being.

+ + +

The drive to where you buried Abbadon all those months ago was only a few hours of a drive from the bunker. With everything that you needed to conduct this exorcism, all you were missing was a demon and her spare parts you had lying around here somewhere. Since the demon knife didn't work on her, the best plan of action you had at the time was Dean cutting off her head and burying them separately. You’d never done something like this, but it was sort of like leaving a demon in a devil’s trap. She couldn’t smoke out and run away to another host. And she couldn’t even move her body. The bitch was trapped in her own head. But that was the problem. In order for this to work, you figured you needed a body with its head attached. 

Dean’s brilliant idea was to sew Abbadon’s head back onto her body, in doing so, she would be brought back to life. Sort of like Humpty Dumpty. You still weren’t sure if it would work. But you didn’t understand why it wouldn’t. Her body was still in perfect condition as you left it almost three months ago. Sam carried the box with the demon’s head in it over to the abandoned desk you were standing next to her headless body. 

“So you really think this will work?” Sam asked. 

“Dude, we got needles. We got thread. We’ve seen ‘Young Frankenstein’ about a thousand times.” Dean said, sounding optimistic about his plan. “Yeah, we’re golden.”

You did the honors of opening the box of your detached head. You grimaced at the sight of Abbadon's face and bloody stub of a neck with dried blood around the skin. "This is gonna be disgusting." You muttered. You slowly pushed the box over to Sam, giving him a smile for what he was about to do. "Have fun, Sasquatch." 

You knew there was no way in hell were you touching a disembodied head and sewing it back on to a body. You left the task up to the boys after they fought for the task before it was given to Sam against his will. You had to look away a few times while you watched Dean hold the demon’s head with his hand as Sam sewn through the skin nice and tight. It took a little while, but after Sam completed the final stitch, you managed to finally stare at Abbadon without resisting the urge to gag when you heard the scissors get tossed into John’s old first aid kit after he cut the string. 

You weren’t sure how long it was going to take for things to kick start running again, it turned out to be mere seconds until you were staring into a familiar shade of inky malevolent eyes. Abbadon had awoken from her three month long slumber. She stretched her awfully tense feeling neck and let out a sigh of relief, feeling more complete after what you just did. She blinked, letting her eyes go back to the pretty shade of blue that once belonged to Josie. The demon gave the three of you a charming smile and greeted you. "Morning, sunshines." 

[Next Part]

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[brownskinsugarplum76]

Eye of the Storm, Ch 5

So, Maggie and Robert have made it home! There are lots of tender moments and a little smut. The full smut experience will come in another chapter or two.

Catch up on the story here. This is probably also a good time to reiterate that this is an AU story - - Robert is single, but I'm trying to hold on to as much of the rest of the LZ story that I can.

Thanks to @firethatgrewsolow for doing her excellent beta thing! ❤️❤️❤️

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“This really is paradise...” Maggie exited the car and marveled at the vividly colored flora before her and the rhythmic crash of the ocean that could be heard from behind the house.

She admired the sprawling, modern ranch with white walls and ceiling-to-floor windows that Robert had been calling home for quite some time. She decided she could get used to the stark, sunny house that sat in the middle of so much natural beauty.

Robert grabbed Maggie's bags. “Indeed. Coming here was the best possible decision we could've made for our tax exile hideaway. Abundant sun, the ceaseless roar of the ocean, and a short drive away from my favorite American playground… Paradise, that.”

They walked to the door. “Hold a tick, would you, love?” Robert walked the bags into the house.

“Thank you for agreeing to live with me for a fortnight… Or longer?" He asked when he returned, his voice full of hope. "I want to do this properly.” Before Maggie could ask him to explain what he wanted to do, or his mischievous grin, he lifted her into his arms and carried her over the threshold. He kicked the door shut behind them.

Maggie was all smiles and feeling like a queen. She settled on that description, quickly dispatching all of the bride and groom thoughts that tried to form in her head. Robert had yet to marry, and she expected that he wasn't the marrying kind. She didn't exactly mind, though, because she questioned whether it was the path for her. She wondered if living with Robert would change her mind, or if he would set her against marriage forever.

He lowered her to standing. With her back to the door, he caged her in his arms. Then he littered her with kisses, both delicate and rough.

She wound her hands into his hair and was thankful for the feel of his fluffy curls to ground her in reality, despite how hard Robert was trying to make her spin away into romantic dreams.

He caressed her face and backed up a few steps. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

“I must say, I do like the door to door service. Is that the custom here?” She was still too intoxicated from Robert's kisses to focus on the surroundings. A private chance to take a good, close look at him after so many months apart kept her mind occupied, and she didn't mind one bit.

“What's in it for me?” Robert stepped toward her again. He placed his hands on her shoulders and then let his fingers trail slowly down her arms.

“I think you remember, don't you?” She gazed into his heavy-lidded eyes and willed him to kiss her again.

This time their lips connected in a slow, rambling dance that made Maggie tingle from head to toe and purr contentedly. It wasn't the excited reunion kiss at the park, or even one of the lazy, familiar kisses they shared in the car. This intimate exchange was filled with warmth and romantic serenity and seemed capable of going on forever.

It was, however, over far too soon, when the phone on the coffee table started ringing. Robert sighed at the breaking of their spell. He ultimately chose to ignore the interruption in favor of Maggie, but in the jarring cacophony that separated them, she turned her attention toward the living room while the phone continued to ring.

She brushed her lips against Robert's one more time and walked out of the foyer. "So, what do we have here?" As much as she enjoyed his embrace, a chance to take stock of his current domestic habits was too good to pass up.

She expected there to be disorder that would reflect Robert's vagabond approach to life and the jumble of diverse thoughts that he always seemed to bandy about in his mind, but there was order and simplicity. She admired a glass coffee table and end tables, a navy set of sofas and love seats, and a wood-panel, floor-model television with a stereo perched on top. Albums making up a respectable record collection rested against the wall. A bookcase to one side of the room contained books on everything from early blues artists to Welsh mythology and a Fodor's guide to Morocco. A Persian area rug brought a little exoticism to an otherwise visually nondescript room.

“I see the look on your face, Mags." He closed the space between them and caressed her shoulders while lightly kissing her on the neck. "There's a housekeeper who comes by once a week. You have her to thank for the orderly Architectural Digest vibes that you see before you.”

“It looks fantastic.” She walked past the dining room, which had the same color scheme and was just as neat, save the bottles of a few different kinds of spirits at varying levels of use that greeted her on the table.

“How about meals?” She opened the refrigerator. “Have you gotten beyond boiling water?” She noticed takeout and some Tupperware containers that were half full.

“I have the best help that money can buy for that, too,” he responded, sitting on the couch and groaning as he extended his legs for a much needed stretch. “There's a lovely cook who comes by twice a week, bless her. She reminds me of my mum, which means no mayhem until she leaves.”

“The high priest of debauchery has adopted some decorum?” Maggie asked, returning to the living room and flopping down next to Robert.

“It appears that I've slowed down a bit. Blame the morphine for that…” He chuckled. “No, a little time away from the scene has given me much-needed perspective on life… Oh, speaking of Miss Betsy, the cook, I should mention that she and Miss Ellen, the housekeeper, have their own keys to get in. Cole and Benji, too.”

“Last but not least,” he said, “remind me and I'll give you a key of your own. I have a duplicate or two in the bedroom. It was easier to give people keys when I was resigned to wheelchair transport, you know? And I'll also get you the spare key for the Rover.”

“Thanks, Robert.” She was still having trouble believing that she would be living with Robert, but she had to admit that it was beginning to feel like home.

“Right. Let me put your jacket away, and then we'll get on with things, yeah?" He helped her shrug out of her coat and hung their outerwear in a foyer closet.

"Next on the grand tour are the beds and baths. We'll walk by Benji's bedroom, too. He doesn't live here, strictly speaking, but he's been around enough over the past several months that it made sense to give him an official place to crash.”

They kept walking. “Then there are a few other empty bedrooms for guests, and bathrooms for them to share.”

He paused at one room. “And this,” he said, opening the door, “is where the magic happens. Most of the time, you understand. For songwriting, uh, and more…”

Maggie entered the room and walked around while Robert opened the windows.

Much to her surprise, there were no piles of clothes or shoes on the floor. An ironing board rested against the wall next to the closet. He had more respect for the sanctity of his own bedroom than he did for the rooms he slept in on the road. She'd always guessed that there were two sides to Robert's life, and the peaceful, orderly nest that he'd shared with her was the clearest indication yet. She wondered what other surprises she'd encounter as she got to witness his life off of the road.

Though the room was tidy on the whole, she smiled as she began to recognize telltale signs of Robert's presence. There was the unmade bed, with his latest song notebook and a pen still in place from morning writing. A teacup sat on the nightstand. Just outside, on the patio, an overflowing ashtray sat on a small wrought-iron table. A  cluster of earrings, necklaces, and rings sat on the dresser, along with a feather roach clip. She'd seen him wear one in his hair before; she didn't know if the clip was for function or fashion, but either way, she knew his prized bundle of Acapulco Gold and its necessary accouterments would not be too far out of reach.

Also on the dresser were a wooden brush and a few different bottles of cologne. She imagined Robert standing at the dresser looking in the large mirror and toying with his locks. She had helped him with the task many times when his hair was too tangled, and she wondered who had done that for him most recently.

She noticed that the mirror faced the bed and was thankful for a reason to stop the line of thinking about his most recent conquests. She chuckled, knowing the mirror placement wasn't coincidence.

"What's so funny?" She turned around and saw Robert staring intently at her while he sprawled across the bed, on his side.

"I'm laughing at how you arranged things so that you can watch yourself in the mirror when you--"

"--Now, now, Maggie, I remember that you enjoyed it once or twice yourself, at some of America's finest lodging establishments. I'll be expecting a rousing 'you're welcome' from you, for said mirror placement, before we leave for the tours."

Her laughter turned to silence and blushing. "You're right," she admitted, approaching the bed. "It is hard to keep my eyes off of you."

"I feel the same about you, darlin'..." He stared up at her, beaming an affectionate smile. He crooked his finger and wiggled it at her. "I'm feeling a little lonely over here on this bed. Come join me, will you?"

Maggie climbed on and lay down, facing him.

"Ah, that's much better… A view that is only in competition with the splendor of the beach. But you get my vote for my favorite wild, beautiful territory to explore…" he murmured as he tenderly brushed a lock of her hair out of her face.

"It's a place I know well and love… Every mountainous curve, every flat plain, and especially that hot spring in the center of your world…" He trailed a couple of his elegant fingers down her neck, before letting his hand alight on her hip. "God, I've missed you, Maggie." He sighed as he leaned in closer. "I was a bloody fool to have kept myself away from you."

He nestled his other hand in her hair and drank in her essence by melding his lips to hers and letting his tongue  meander in her mouth. She gracefully yielded to his familiar, easygoing passion.

They both purred as the kiss continued. Maggie's fingers traipsed gently in Robert's hair, and one of his hands crept under her shirt and made its way north, traveling the distance with a slow, feather-light touch.

Maggie's breathing hitched and she shuddered as a tidal wave of carnal memories were triggered by Robert's kisses and caresses. Each private second of their time together, on and off over the past four years, came to life in her mind and her body once more. Without a visit from his irrepressible manhood she was still lost in the wake of the euphoric feelings that he stoked in her body with ease.

Her back arched as Robert made it to a nipple and brushed and tugged at it until it sprang to life. She moaned as heat and wetness began to pool inside of her.

"My sweet, sweet Maggie…" He rasped his proclamation and searched her eyes, still toying with her nipple, still not in a rush to do more.

"I've missed you so much," she sighed as her hand trailed down his back.

"I can't wait to be yours, Robert..." Her voice trailed off as he started to work on the button on her jeans.

"You already are. Mine. Only our tours will separate us now, darlin'. You have my word." He rose above her on all fours, kissing her and sending her zipper down its track.

She lifted her hips and he peeled the denim off her shapely brown legs. He palmed her between her legs and growled softly when he realized she was soaked through her panties. She felt his manhood begin to stir, even behind the sturdy fabric of his Landlubbers.

Robert rose to his knees and was about to take his pants down when a cacophony of animal noises started on the beach.

"Dammit, Strider," he muttered, instantly knowing what had happened as the chorus of excited dog barks and seagull cries continued.

Maggie shared Robert's love of animals, but in that moment, the chaos on the beach hit her like the cruelty of an alarm jolting someone out of a beautiful, lucid dream. She gazed in Robert's eyes, trying to make sense of what was going on. "Is everything OK?"

Robert sighed and then laughed. "Mags, I hate to interrupt, but I must subdue my precious canine, who enjoys the company of seagulls a little too much."

He stood, located her pants, and handed them to her. "Makes me wonder if this is his payback for no introduction between you two yet…"

"Sounds like he's used to special treatment, after you went and wrote a song about him," she said as she got dressed again. "That means his behavior is all your fault," she teased.

Robert grabbed Maggie for another deep kiss. "You'll soon find my blue-eyed boy has a mind of his own… But I never hold that against anyone who truly cares for me." He winked at Maggie, explaining how he felt about Strider and her in one simple quip. It made Maggie wonder if any of his songs were about her, or if any might be in the future.

"OK, ready to meet the furriest member of our family?" He linked his arm with hers as they headed for the sand.

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The rest of my stories are here, or search for the hashtag #brownskinsugarplumlibrary

[milkshake-at-pops]

Tour of the Heart:Chapter Four

chapter 3/masterpost/chapter 5

let us know if you want to be tagged! and enjoy the fic

Television appearances were part of the big life Archie had always wanted, but it didn’t mean he had to enjoy them. Fortunately, this was a short interview, just a youtube video to go with an article. He’d barely be on stage for an hour. Still, the cameras and lights were a lot for Arch. He was a former jock, after all, and the spotlight was never his strong suit.

Veronica gave him a smile from her chair, keeping her head perfectly still so that the makeup team could do their job. Archie was trapped in a similar situation, trying not to sneeze at the powders. Well, if he could sing and play guitar onstage, talking in front of a camera shouldn’t be too difficult.

A woman with a high blond ponytail pulled up a chair from an empty makeup stand to sit in front of them. “Hi, I’m Betty Cooper and I’ll be interviewing you both today.”

“Betty Cooper? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I might know you from somewhere,” Archie said, trying to puzzle what it was about her that was familiar. She didn’t look like anyone from Chicago, but maybe Littleton? Definitely a small-town vibe, and he hadn’t talked to people from his childhood home in years.

Betty looked surprised by the fact, her mouth dropping into a small o. “I think our mothers might have known each other… you’re Mary’s son, right?, I’m Alice Cooper’s daughter.” Something in her tone made Archie think that she was planning on this, but Veronica cut off his response.

“Sorry to interrupt your reunion, but aren’t you supposed to be going over the questions we’ll be asked and how much we can promote the tour? I really want to know what the planned length for this segment is,” Veronica said, and Archie realized they were on in ten minutes. Thank goodness for Veronica and her ability to keep things on track.

“Oh, right!” Betty didn’t look too happy with being asked to do her job. “It will be a three to five minute segment, and we want to discuss the tour as well as what goes on behind the scenes. Our readers are very interested in your…friendship.”

“Sounds great,” Archie said, giving her the smile that earned him more than one eggplant emoji comment. “I haven’t seen you in forever, since middle school, I think?”

“It’s been a while, yeah. A lot has happened since you left for the Windy City,” Betty said, smiling. “I can’t believe our paths are crossing again, after so long! Are you excited about the tour?”

“Yeah, but um… shouldn’t we save those questions for the interview?” Archie said, noticing the look Veronica was shooting him. She was all business during things like this, and this was a big interview. Him socializing was probably getting on her nerves.

“You’re right,” Betty said, thinking for a second. “How is your mother? I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to ask that during the interview.” She smiled, and Archie returned it. Veronica half-listened, playing on her phone to distract herself.

“She’s doing well, just got a promotion at the firm,” Archie said, “She’s really busy lately, but she says she’ll still find time to see me on tour.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, I loved your mother.” Betty’s eyes were wide, and she looked from Archie to Veronica as if thinking about something very different from Archie’s mother. In an undertone, she asked, “Friend to friend, are you and Veronica-?”

“-We’re on in five,” Veronica interrupted, shooting both Betty and Archie a glare. “And for the record, I’d prefer we keep questions about our personal lives to a minimum. This is a promotion for the tour, after all.”

“Thank you, Veronica. Anyways, Archie, how was high school?” Betty managed to keep up the small talk with Archie until they were on, much to Veronica’s displeasure.

Veronica and Archie got their own microphones and took their seats on the small white couch. Betty sat next to them, fumbling with her microphone as she sat down.

“Hey, you guys should um, sit closer together,” she said to Archie. “Headset says it’s not clear who’s the celebrity.” Veronica didn’t think Betty had said anything into her small earpiece in all the time she had been talking to Archie.

They shuffled around in their seats, and the cameraman counted down to them going live. The Enquirer wanted to shoot a live version first, then edit into small clips for the article. It was streaming on Youtube as well, which didn’t help Archie’s nerves, his palms were already sweaty.

“Hello there, I’m Elizabeth Cooper, reporter for the Enquirer, here today with Veronica Lodge and Arch Andrews. We’re here today to talk about Veronica’s upcoming tour and her album by the same name, ‘Pretty Game.’ So, Veronica, what are you most looking forward to for touring with Archie here?” Her eyes went from the teleprompter to the cards in her hand, and she faced Veronica completely, still holding that wide smile.

“I’m looking forward to seeing an audience react to my songs,” Veronica said, giving the camera a small smile before turning back to Betty. “I love my fans, and I’ve gotten to perform a song here and there at clubs, but I’ve never had that concert atmosphere. I’m so excited to have thousands of people singing my songs along with me. I’ve never had that before.”

“Wow, and Arch here is just tagging along?” Betty asked, attempting a sort of canned humor. She wasn’t looking at the cards, and Archie caught two producers whispering angrily at one another.

“No, I get to perform my own songs, and of course help support Veronica on and off the stage. I’m really looking forward to it, I’ll get to meet some of my own fans as well,” Archie answered, silently grateful that his voice hadn’t faltered. Was it normal to be this nervous? Veronica wasn’t, and Betty was the opposite of nervous right now-Archie’s memories of her were foggy, but he recalled that she tended to bite her lip when she was scared.

“Speaking of that support,” Betty said, looking at a card in her hand, “apparently there’s a small but very dedicated group of fans who claim to support ‘varchie.’ What do you guys have to say for that?”

Archie felt the knots tighten in his stomach, he wasn’t ready to discuss this. Veronica saw his shocked face and stepped in. “Well, we’re great friends, of course, but there’s really nothing happening here. Archie’s like a brother to me, he’s been helping me with songs since my Youtube days.”

“Really? Tell me more about how you two met,” Betty said, her eyes a little too wide for Veronica’s liking. “Archie, what do you remember?”

Sitting in the metaphorical, but somewhat literal hot seat, Archie answered, “I saw one of her covers online, and I thought, ‘Wow, she can sing!’ So I messaged her-on Instagram, right?” He looked at Veronica for support. She gave him a nod.

“Sliding into the DMs, Arch Andrews? I didn’t know you were such a stud,” Betty teased, but Archie barely heard a word she said.

“I mean, I believe the first thing he sent me was ‘you have a really nice voice, how do you do it?’ I started out giving him voice tips, and he helped me figure out how to write my own songs and move beyond covers,” Veronica answered curtly. She tapped her watch and made eye contact with the cameraman, mouthing “Time?” He answered with three fingers.

Three minutes. “Is there anyone else in the picture for either of you?” Betty asked, looking directly at Archie.

“No, not at the moment. I don’t think I could keep a, um, girlfriend during tour.” Archie almost said “girlfriend or boyfriend” before remembering that he did not want to come out to his childhood friend on live television when he had no idea how receptive she was to queer people (Littleton was a small town) and she had just spent the last couple minutes implying that he and Veronica were dating.

“What about a girlfriend who stayed on the tour bus with you?” Betty asked, giving Veronica a not-so-subtle look.

“Well, I mean, my friend Cheryl Blossom is tagging along, but I’m pretty sure she’s a lesbian,” Veronica said, smiling at Betty.

Betty was speechless for a good five seconds. Veronica was more than a little pleased with her reaction. She fumbled for her cards, looking for something neutral to move on to. “Veronica, I love your…hair. What’s your secret? It’s so, uh, fluffy.”

“Um, it’s nothing, just a little dry shampoo, thanks to your awesome hair and makeup team here,” Veronica said, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

The topic stayed far away from romance for the rest of the interview, and the Enquirer got all the clips that it needed. The producers gave Betty a thumbs-up from behind the camera, and they all waved goodbye before the camera turned off.

Archie slumped over in his seat. “Let’s never do another interview again, Ronnie.”

“Good plan,” Veronica said in an undertone, shooting a glance at Betty as she got up from the couch and walked away. “She hasn’t changed much since high school, that’s for sure.”

“You went to highschool with Betty?” Archie asked. “That’s so weird.”

“It’s a small world. You knew her when you guys were like, kids, right?” Veronica stood up from the couch. “We should get going.”

“Our parents were friends, yeah. I don’t remember her very much, I left for Chicago after middle school. We were never super close. What was she like in high school?” Archie asked, following Veronica out of the studio.

“Really studious, always writing. She was my friend for a bit, we were ‘B and V’ but it didn’t really last. Betty tended to get on my nerves sometimes, and I wasn’t a fan of a lot of the stuff she did,” Veronica said, mostly apathetic about the topic.

“That makes sense, I don’t think I want to get back in touch with her,” Archie said, shrugging.

“Hey, she’s the one interviewing us, not the other way around,” Veronica said, opening the door to the studio.

Archie breathed in the fresh air. “I can’t wait for the tour.”

“Me neither.”

[thorne93]

Curious Conundrum (Part 35)

Prompt: You’re John Watson’s sister. One day you decide to visit your brother for lunch, only to meet the infamous Mr. Holmes…

Word Count: 1304

Warnings: language, flirtation, sexual innuendos (maybe? idfk), murder/crime/case related stuff, angst, jealousy…

Notes: Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong Not only did she beta, but I literally couldn’t have written half these scenes without her help. She contributed majorly, even wrote some parts of scenes. I am forever in her debt.

Also, this starts AFTER Season 2, episode 1. I don’t follow all the episodes, but it does follow the timeline and hit some major events : )

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |  Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 |

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

After a very complex plan, including being a pirate, the four of you were in the compound. Sherlock insisted on going down to see his sister. You begged him not to go. At least, to not go alone. He said that it was hard enough to get just him down there, let alone the two of you.

He got in, and you were in a conference room with Mycroft and John, while Mycroft lit up the governor of the prison. You all sat and watched surveillance tapes of Eurus. Eventually, John realized that the man who was sitting with Eurus in one of her tapes was the governor himself, which meant he was compromised. The governor called security, and as John was being hauled off, he got away, but then they knocked him out again.

Then, you were escorted at gunpoint to a room, Eurus room, with the three men you came with, and the governor. Sherlock was seemingly shaken as glass was reinstalled into the room.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked when you were finally trapped inside.

“No, I am not alright. I am far from alright,” you said in a low voice, anger soaking every word.

After a moment, the phone seemed to ring and a little girl was on the line asking for help. Suddenly, the room went red, and Moriarty’s voice was on the speakers, making you shiver.

“Hello, my name is Moriarity. Welcome to the final problem.”

“He’s supposed to be dead,” you said, your eyes flashing to your fiance.

“He is dead,” he insisted.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” John agreed.

The recording came back on and then the little girl spoke again, Sherlock tried to talk to her to calm her down so he could help her, but the line cut off. On a TV, suddenly Eurus face filled the screen.

The instant you saw her, live, in front of you, your heart began hammering in your chest as you clenched your fists. You’d give anything to remove the screen between you two, be right in front of her and squeeze the life from her. Sherlock's’ sister or not, she posed as John’s therapist, nearly killed him, and nearly broke up their marriage.

She spoke of Moriarty and talked to Mycroft and Sherlock for a bit before Sherlock got back to the problem at hand.

“The girl – where is she? Can I talk to her again?” Sherlock asked.

“Poor little thing. Alone in the sky in a great big plane with nowhere to land. But where in the world is she? It’s a clever little puzzle. If you want to apply yourself to it, I can reconnect you; but first …”

She sat back in her chair and turned, so that all of you could see a woman tied to a chair, and bound.

The governor looked up. “That’s my wife,” he said before getting to his feet. “Oh God, that’s my wife.”

“I’m going to shoot the governor’s wife,” she stated.

“Please, no, please, help her!” he begged, looking to Sherlock.

“Oh you can save her,” Eurus offered.

“How?” Sherlock demanded.

“There’s a gun in the hatch. Take it.”

“You want to save the governor’s wife? Choose either Doctor Watson, Y/N, or Mycroft to kill the governor.”

“Oh… oh god,” the governor said, shaking his head.

You gasped, looking to Sherlock.

“You can’t do it, Sherlock. If you do it, it won’t count. I’ll kill her anyway. It has to be your brother, your fiance, or your friend.”

The governor turned to Mycroft. “You have to do this.” He then turned his attention to Sherlock. “Eurus will kill her.”

“Doesn’t appear we have a choice,” Sherlock said handing the gun to Mycroft.

“Right then. Countdown starting,” she said.

“How long?” Mycroft asked. He had yet to take the gun.

“No, no, no. The countdown is for me,” she informed. “Withholding the precise deadline will apply the emotional pressure more evenly. Where possible, please give me an explicit verbal indication of your anxiety levels.”

Your eyes flashed to the screen, your gaze narrowing severely on her. You had a million words you wanted to say to her, but your anxiety levels weren’t one of them. If you ever got out of here, they would have to redefine the word psychotic for what you would do to her.

“I can’t always read them from your behavior.”

You continued to clench your jaw and your fist, trying to bite your tongue from lashing out.

Eurus continued to talk in the background while Mycroft refused the gun.

“Fine. John,” Sherlock said, turning to him.

The governor begged John to do it and you wanted to stop this madness. You weren’t sure how, but you couldn’t bear the thought of John having to do this.

“No, John, wait,” you said. “Let me.”

“Are you mad? I’m not letting you do this. You don’t need that on your conscience.”

“I don't need you doing it either. You have enough problems with PTSD from the war as it is,” you countered.

“No,” he insisted. ‘I know what you’re trying to do, but I’m fine. I’ve killed in the war before, I can cope.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you stressed.

“We really must be moving along,” Eurus pressed, the red light coming on along with Moriarty's voice of “tick tock” replaying over and over.

“Please! Someone just do it to save my wife!” the governor pleaded. John looked at you, sort of talking with his eyes and you knew he would feel an iota better if he did it, rather than you. You stepped aside, your heart heavy.

Time seemed to drag on for eternity as you watched John aim the gun at the governor, then he tried to get him to kneel, which he did. John kept aiming, re-aiming, then pulling the gun back. He was hesitating.

Eventually, he just pulled the gun away and stepped back.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t do it,” John said an you breathed a sigh of relief and hugged him. As he was hugging you back though, David ran up and grabbed the gun, aiming it at all of you, making you back up.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Remember me,” he said before he put the gun to his chin. All of you ran at him, calling out no, but it was too late. He fired the gun and with a flash of red, his life ended.

Mycroft couldn’t stomach the sight and started to retch in the corner. You felt nothing but white hot rage though and your eyes flashed to the screen. John, Sherlock, and Eurus exchanged some words before she suddenly shot the governor's wife anyway, stating this was an experiment.

“This is an experiment. There will be rigour. Sherlock, pick up the gun. It’s your turn next,” she commanded. “When I tell you to use it – and I will – remember what happened this time.”

“What if I don’t want a gun?” he asked.

“Oh, the gun is intended as a mercy.”

“For whom?”

“You.”

“How so?”

“If someone else had to die, would you really want to do it with your bare hands? It would waste valuable time.”

You and Sherlock exchanged a weary look.

“Perhaps it’s best to just take it,” John said.

Sherlock picked up the gun and pulled out the clip. “There’s only one bullet left.”

“You will only need one. But you will need it,” she promised.

Her face on that screen made you want to scream, to claw your way out to get to her and strangle her. What she was putting all of you through was inhumane. With a burning feeling in your chest, rage in your eyes, and lead in your feet, you trudged forward to the next room.

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

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[askmicrowaveayem]

MAYEM: Just Like Me - Pt. 11

[Previous]

[Archive] [Cast]

Gaster hoped that was okay. He really, really did. Trying to ignore his worries he flicked open the window in front of his double’s soul. It would either work, showing the inner workings of his twin’s soul, what it was, it’s state of health and being and who it belonged to, or… well he half expected it to be made up of so much information his whole window would just be a mess of this and that with no discernible stopping or starting point.

--

It was really, mostly, a mess of 0’s and 1’s. But there was some semblance of order to it. There were definitely categories marked, ready to display the composition, ownership, and health status, but only about half of them made much sense. The ownership was clear enough, and the composition flicked into the soul colors that they used to identify traits in humans, but information on the actual substance holding the soul in the shape of a soul, its health, and many of the other stats were simply messes. Any diagrams looked like someone had shifted and overlaid various patterns over it multiple times until it was a scratchy mess.

Still, some of the information was usable enough they might be able to compare it to another subject, and the rest? Maybe it could one day be decoded.

--

It was about as much of a mess as Gaster had been expecting. He sighed through his toothless mouth and pulled out his phone to take a picture before closing the window in front of him. “About what I thought. It’s a mess of too much information. It would need to be decoded.” He turned his phone around for his double to see the picture of the window and the mess of code and diagrams plastered all over it.

--

Gaster nodded, looking it over and sighing. “All right. That’s another project for later, then. Right now we should probably just focus on the ones in front of us, I guess.”

He turned to look at the mess of the lab in front of them again.

“At least this one we can fix, right?”

--

“Right.” Gaster sighed and turned to look back at the lab. After staring at the mess that remained for a moment he looked to his twin once more. “... Now I need to know what mine says.” Curiosity was a bitch.

--

He looked up at his double. “...can you point it at yourself, or does that not work at all?”

..he kind of wanted to know, too, now. Maybe there were similarities?

What would it look like now that the second soul was added to the original?

It would be really, really cool if they could somehow get a look.

--

“I think so.” He said, flicking open another window. His hand hovered on the corner for but a moment before he spun it around to face himself. It twitched before going blank, then being filled with scrolling ones and zeros flying across the screen at such a fast rate it was almost impossible to keep up with. --

“Ah!” He said, startled at the sudden speed the information was taking. “Can you see from your angle, or?!” He said, not sure if the window was always visible to his double or not. Either way, he quickly pulled out the phone he’d been given, but instead of taking a photo, set it to record. There was no way a single photo, or even a series of them, could manage to catch all of this.

--

“Ah what!?” He said in a panic. “No I can’t see shit. What’s it doing!?”

The binary continued on and on and one, never seeming to stop. --

“It’s, uh,” he said. “You’re really going to hate me for saying this. But it’s fucking infinite.”

He kept holding his hand steady, trying to record as much as he possibly could while also keeping his eyes trained on the window, looking to see if maybe he could find a pattern at a glance. But the information was going so fast, that was unlikely.

--

“Oh motherfucker.” Gaster threw up his hands. “I was expecting the opposite. I wonder if your soul has anything to do with that.” --

“That might make sense, but my soul was doing nothing like what yours is doing right now.”

--

He groaned. Could nothing ever be fucking simple? “How much more do you think you should record?” Gaster asked, having no idea what his double was looking at. --

“....I’m honestly not sure. I kind of want to see if it does ever end. But that’s probably really impractical. ...gimme a few more seconds.”

He did finally end the recording and hand the phone over to his double to see what had been happening in the window.

--

Gaster closed it and then took the phone to watch the recording. His expression didn’t change from mild annoyance. “... Fucking really.” He said flatly. --

“Fucking really,” Gaster confirmed. “Now you know why I was freaking out a bit.”

He moved over to watch his double watch the clip. “...yeah, I’m really not sure what to make of it at all, unless maybe your window just. Flipped the fuck out at being turned on itself, kind of?”

--

“Maybe? I mean it’s possible.” Gaster shrugged, “I’ve never flipped it around on myself before.” After the video finished he sighed and handed his twin’s phone back. “Whatever. Like you said, a problem for another time.” --

Gaster nodded and pocketed his phone. “Well. We won’t be bored for a while. I’ll work on your soul, you work on my, and we’ll be each other’s pet projects?”

--

He laughed at that, “Sure, sounds fun.” Gaster rubbed his eyes and turned to look back at the machine again. “But… first things first.” He stood, “I should get back to work. Sooner we get this fixed, sooner you can get home.” --

Gaster nodded. “Yeah... “

He was ready to go now. But at the same time. He was grateful that it was being delayed. And that was awful.

He shook his head. “Still. Take a break and sleep if you need it. You’ve got more energy than me, clearly, but at least I’m taking breaks occasionally.”

--

“Don’t worry, I’ll take a break if I feel I need it.” He smiled, “Or if I don’t feel I need it, but I do, I’ll suddenly pass out somewhere. That’s happened before.” --

Gaster gave him a flat look. “If you fall asleep working with a torch or drill, I’m not saving you.”

--

He threw his hands up to say ‘oh well guess i’m dead again’ and then strolled back towards the machine, leaving his double to either continue working on the wires or take a nap.

--

Gaster shook his head and went back to the wiring system.

He’d get home.

--

Gaster went right back to work. He would work and work and work, the boys eventually coming in the following morning after breakfast and helping once more. They would work throughout the day just like before, then go home. Their father worked another full day and half the night before he started to slow down a little. At one point he sat down to look over his work and his body started to slump, head rolling a bit before he eventually finally drifted off while still sitting up. --

Gaster noticed after about fifteen minutes of wondering why his twin had suddenly paused.

It was about time, though.

He stopped the stopwatch on his phone, decided to tally it up to an approximation, and then got up to haul his twin’s sleeping butt over to the makeshift sleeping area he’d created for himself over the last day.

He set his twin in it without waking him and went back to work.

What a loser.

--

Gaster was out for a solid few hours before waking up with a start. He kicked off the blankets and sat up abruptly, eyes wide as he looked around. Once they found his double he had to ask, “Was I asleep?” He didn’t sound too certain. --

“Out cold,” he nodded, and glanced down at the clock. “For… a full few hours! Go the fuck back to sleep.”

--

Gaster made a few mumbling noises and sunk down a little again. “I really don’t like sleep anymore.” It frightened him. --

That caught his attention. He turned and looked at his twin questioningly. “...because of the void, or?”

--

He shook his head, “Because of losing consciousness. It doesn’t feel the same as it did when I was slipping, but… I don’t like ‘shutting off’. It feels similar enough that I don’t like it.” --

“Ah…” he said, not sure how to respond. “That… makes sense. ..is this the first time you’ve slept since then?”

--

“Yeah.” Gaster folded his arms and leaned against the wall the bed was set up by. He was definitely tired, but… ugh. He rubbed his eyes.

--

“...do you want me to… try and use my magic on your soul while you sleep? It might make you feel better held together?”

It was a pretty silly idea, but… well. If it worked, it’d probably be worth it, right?

His double looked exhausted. After seeing all his boundless enthusiasm before, he didn’t want to see him this tired.

--

It was a pretty silly idea. “I… sure. Why not.” He shrugged, apparently too tired to really argue about it.

--

Gaster nodded, and activated his magic, taking ahold of his twin’s soul as he had many times over the last few weeks. It was much, much easier this time, now that he no longer had to worry about accidentally shattering his soul, but still, he kept the hold tenuous and light.

--

It was… very comforting. After that he found himself slumping down a little more and falling back to sleep. With that ‘hold’ over him he didn’t feel like if he relaxed he would fall to pieces and go unconscious for the last and final time. He would sleep until sunrise.

--

He had to stop working.

After a while of keeping the hold on his twin’s soul, he just didn’t have the concentration to do both. So he stopped, climbed out of his chair, and rested beside him, just focusing on the hum of magic and trying to rest without sleeping for a while.

If this was what it took, it would be worth it. But they’d have to figure out what to do for when he finally left. Because this couldn’t go on forever, even if his double could apparently go almost an entire week without sleeping.

--

Eventually Gaster opened his eyes again. He didn’t wake up startled this time, blinking and looking around to spot his double beside him and feeling the magic still around his soul before sighing. That was nice. But he wondered the same thing, how scary was falling asleep going to be when his twin was gone? “How long was I out?” --

Once his double was fully awake and talking, Gaster blinked blearily and released his magic, sighing as he did. “Uh… most of the night, actually, it looks like,” he said, checking the time again.

“How are you feeling?”

--

“Good. Better. Thanks.” He offered his double a smile. “Sorry if that tired you out.” --

He shook his head. “It’s fine. I recharge easier than you do, apparently.”

Still he yawned.

“Move over. My turn for the bed.”

--

Gaster stood up and moved out of the bed, sure to dramatically cover him up with the blanket and cooing, “Sweet dreams.”

--

“Uuuuuugh,” he said. “How did your sons survive you?”

--

Gaster just laughed and turned away to go right back to work.

The following days would be much the same. Work, work, work more, occasionally pass out for all of five minutes. The boys would come at daybreak and go during the night. Very, very slowly, things were looking better. The lab became cleaner. The parts were replaced. After over a week of solid work by all of them, it was finished. The next few days would be nothing but checks, double checks, and more checks. --

There wasn’t anything he could do during the checking period. He was mostly useful for small repairs, individual parts that didn’t affect the actual time-travel component, and getting his double to sleep consistently.

The next few days would be nothing but waiting.

He spent most of his time on the mountain side, taking in as much of the surface as he could while he was still there.

He had yet to bring up the subject of how his double would sleep once he was gone. He thought maybe they were both a little nervous of the idea of leaving at all.Of him getting home.

Soon, even the checks were finished, and he headed back down into the lab, to wait for a final time.

--

With the final checks done they would be leaving the following morning, first thing. The boys still needed to sleep. This would be Gaster’s last night in his ‘own’ world with his double. Only after the boys were gone did he turn to his counterpart and ask, “So… gameplan is I find your Sans first?”

--

Gaster nodded. “Right. We’ll probably know more once we actually arrive and see the state things are in, but… yeah. Basically.”

--

He nodded and took a deep breath he didn’t need. “Is there anything in particular you want me to say to him?”

--

He looked down and shuffled a bit, thinking. “...that I’m sorry, and I understand if he doesn’t want to see me. Or doesn’t want Papyrus to see me. It’s all his decision. He’s in charge.”

--

Gaster frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. It might just make his twin feel worse and he truely didn’t want that.

“... Okay.” As alien as the idea felt, he wondered if his Sans would tell him to go away and not come back. But… there was no way. Surely. How could he say that? It sounded impossible.

--

Gaster nodded. “...They’ve figured out a life without me. And he’s been through a lot I always promised I’d never let happen. I…” he huffed, reading at least some of the look on his twin’s face. “...If he’s upset, it’s understandable. They’ve already been through too much.”

He looked over at the machine again. They’d be going in just a few more hours. That was… a lot more imminent than it’d felt all week.

--

“You always have a home here.” Gaster said it before he even thought about the words coming out of his mouth. Even so, he looked very resolved with what he said.

--

He was startled, but smiled a moment later.

“Am I spending the rest of my life eating pineapple for you to record, or am I helping hunt down the anomaly?”

--

He smiled back, “That’s up to you. Hunting is dangerous, but… I won’t make you be the housewife.”

--

“As if I’d let you run out and do stupid things without me,” he said, shaking his head, still smiling.

He wasn’t really sure how to explain to his double how much the promise of a home meant.

So he’d just have to hope his other had an idea. Somehow.

--

He had a little bit of an idea.

“Your boys too. If anything ever happens and you need to bail, just yell. We’ll come get you.” Gaster reached into himself to pull out two communicators, then handed one over to his double. It was small with only a few switches. One flicked on a green light, one a red light, and another was for Morse Code. On the back in wingdings was ‘IDIOT #2’ in marker.

--

He took the communicator, raising his eyebrows, and holding out his hand for the other.

“I just want to check.”

--

Gaster handed his over. “Go ahead.” --

He flipped it on the back to see if there was wingdings on it as well.

--

It read ‘IDIOT #1’ and, in smaller wingdings underneath ‘LEGS’.

--

It was the ‘LEGS’ that did him in.

He snorted, handing the communicator back before doubling over a bit and trying to hold in his laughter. “Did you need to reassure yourself about your legs or something??”

--

“Not all of us can be a prettyboy you know.” Gaster said, trying to sound offended through his stupid grin. He took his communicator back and put it inside himself.

--

“I turned into goo and I’m still wearing an oversized sweater,” he said, still laughing. “I think you need different standards.”

Still, he also stored his own communicator and looked back up at the machine. “...so. Almost there, I guess.

--

“Yep.” Gaster said, turning to the machine. He pulled out his tablet only halfway from his chest just to check the time. “The boys will be here any minute.” Now was his turn to worry. Would his Sans accept him back? What if he didn’t? Would they even be alive? What if they were dead? What if Chara had found them? He closed his eyes tight for a moment and tried not to think about all of those possibilities. His twin would get a happy ending. He deserved to get a happy ending.

--

He nodded. “What should we do until then? ...Want to get a bit more sleep?”

Now would’ve been the time to bring up what was going to happen once he was gone, but… he didn’t.

--

“Nah. They’ll be here in a few minutes I think.” Gaster said. He didn’t want to think what it was going to be like when his double left. His double needed to leave and be with his kids. If he had to suffer a bit for that then it was fine. It would only be 15 minutes or so later that the door opened and Sans and Papyrus stepped into the room.

“TODAY IS THE BIG DAY!” Papyrus grinned, not knowing of any of the fears either of them had. In his mind there was no way a version of himself or Sans would turn him away, even if the younger Papyrus didn’t even know who he was.

--

He turned and smiled at the kids when they arrived, nodding. “Yeah, it is. You both ready?”

He resisted the urge to glance back at his double or grab his hand, because, haha, his heart was absolutely freaking out at that moment. This was it.

--

“OF COURSE!” Papyrus grinned, “EVEN IF WE DON’T GET TO SEE OUR OWN DOUBLES AGAIN I WILL BE HAPPY THAT YOU’RE REUNITED.” Even Sans looked a little happy, or happier than his usual smile implied.

The two climbed into the machine and strapped in. Gaster must have noticed the small amount of body language his double gave off or, perhaps, could feel it somehow in the piece of his soul holding him together, but no matter what the cause was he reached out and took his hand to lead him into the machine as well.

“You can take my seat. I can stand. The harness does fucking nothing for me anyway.”

Or perhaps now maybe it would have. He was more solid than before.

--

“If it does fucking nothing for you, what’ll it do for me?” He said, but still ended up taking the seat. “...we’re both going to end up squished on the wall, aren’t we?”

Somehow, thinking about that calmed his nerves some, maybe because it was really stupid and didn’t involve meeting his kids all over again.

--

Gaster chuckled, “Maybe? Who knows.” He started to punch in the sequence, watching the monitor above the control panel before his hand hovered over the lever. Before he pulled it he looked down at his twin and put a hand on his shoulder. He smiled, “Ready?”

--

“As I’ll ever be,” he said, giving a shaky smile back and holding on to the edges of his seat.

….huh. He hoped he didn’t suddenly burst back into light and sound when they passed through the void. That would be uncomfortable.

Too late now.

--

Gaster squeezed his double’s shoulder before turning and thrusting the lever forward.

They and the machine all jumped, passing through the void before softly landing in the forest outside Snowdin.

[megacircuit9universe]

Alien Tip Off

WED SEP 16 2020

Woodward’s tapes of Trump, extensively admitting how well he understood the dangers of SarsCoV2, way back in the spring... that it was airborne, that it was far more deadly than the flu, etc... have stayed in the news all week, with longer and longer clips being released that utterly destroy any possible, devil’s advocate, arguments in Trump’s favor on this... the single most important issue facing the nation.

It’s safe to say we’re all stunned!

He was simultaneously smart enough to grasp the true danger of the virus... yet stupid enough to... agree to go off about this on tape with Woodward and... still do what he did in his response to the threat.

The tapes don’t JUST justify his impeachment, and expose every Senator who voted to acquit, as dastardly cowards... but they gut any possible, devil’s advocate, arguments for Trump, by anybody with any grip on sanity.

This puts the current GOP Senate in great peril... even as it reduces the base of loyal Trumpist voters they were banking on... to only the criminally insane.

No more fluffy padding of evangelicals, and other right wing conservatives who, held their nose, so does speak, and went along for the sake of the party. They’ve now formed a very visible, and powerful movement to deny Trump, and any of his hardcore Senate loyalists... another term. 

And they’re doing it for the same reason they originally held their noses and went along... to save their party from the brink of irrelevance in a world where the blast doors of history are closing on old school conservatism.*

Which brings us to TikTok...

The deadline for the TikTok ban, as outlined by a sketchy executive order by Trump a while back, draws near.  

And while American companies like Microsoft and WalMart scrambled to get a deal done in time, China also chimed in last week and said... Yeah, no... if ByteDance sells it’s American operations... the new owners can’t have the algorithm without our say so... and... we’d rather see TikTok die in America than bow to Trump’s silly demands so... haha, just saying! :D

Meanwhile, TikTok has been challenging the original executive order in court, and everybody is now saying even if the deadline passes, Trump can’t just shut down an app like that... and he’d have to get both Android and Apple to agree to disable it in their app stores... which would lead to more litigation and... well, it could take many more months than Trump has left in power, to sort out.

Unless he gets reelected... or successfully remains in power despite being voted out.

Which brings us to the aliens!..

Monday night (September 14th) TikTok was suddenly flooded with videos of UFO sightings over the United States... concentrated in, but not limited to New Jersey, Colorado, and Nevada.  

The earliest and most viral of these was being debunked immediately as the GoodYear Blimp, but... the people at Goodyear Blimp have since said, no... that was not our blimp.

The videos depict a lot of different types of UFOs... they don’t all look the same.  Some were singular glowing orbs, or true flying saucer looking crafts, while other videos showed groups of strange lights acting in concert.

The common denominator for all of them, however, was... all are pretty lengthy and clear... corroborated by multiple TikTokers in any given area... and all have so far defied any rational explanation.

Blimps, drones, skydivers with flares, swamp gas, you name it... none of the off the cuff discredits have yet proven out... much less any explanation for why so many sightings happened simultaneously across the continent.

Of course, lots of alien lovers have been quick to tell us this is some message of peace or whatever... but when something like this happens, I can only go to my own model, as established here in this blog.

And I can draw no other conclusion than this... the Aliens were behind it, and they were deliberately using TikTok to spook Trump... and the other powerful men in his Junta (Barr, McConnell, etc).

Recall that earlier this year I speculated that Kim Jong Un was not only dead, but that it was likely the Aliens who killed him, because he was too likely to start a nuclear war.

North Korea has yet to admit that Jong Un is dead... but the rest of the world assumes, these many months later, that he must be.  He’s not re-emerged, and the few video reels of him released this year... barely even try to be convincing.

The media hasn’t talked much about this, because so much other shit’s been going on this year... but no... I’m not backing off my conclusion that he’s dead, because nothing’s come along to even slightly prove me wrong on that, much less embarrass me about that conclusion.

He’s dead.  

The aliens killed him.

And now those same aliens are using TikTok to spook Trump.

This implies that Aliens are a lot more familiar with the intimate details of our daily life than we normally think... knowing not only that we all have smart phones with cameras, but that we also have a hugely popular app that would ensure any sightings would go viral immediately... and that this is the same app Trump is trying to shut down.

What’s the message for Trump?

Well, first... a bit more context...

This past week, the other huge story in the news has been the west coast wild fires.  We’ve seen out of control wildfires on the Pacific coast in late summer for the past four years, as we did in Australia in their late summer, this past January... but this year’s fires in America have been record breaking in terms of their devastation.

The aliens... who’ve been monitoring this planet periodically since humans first learned of fire... paying closer attention after we developed electricity... and who have been permanently stationed in the solar system since we figured out fission bombs at the end of WW2... have had, as their main objective, to stand down, and observe us... unless the planet is in danger of a cascading failure due to either a nuclear or climate catastrophe... or both.  

In such cases, they are willing to intervene... for the sake of preserving the level of intelligence, and diversity of life that’s evolved here... because it takes so goddam long for this kind of intelligence, and this kind of diversity to evolve in the first place.  

Still, they’d always rather just hang back and observe.  

So... since World War Two... they’ve tolerated all kinds of nuclear bomb testing, and everything else, without feeling the need to do much more than hint, to world leaders, that humanity may not be alone in the universe.

Until very recently, when they pinpointed two individuals who were a direct threat to the planet... Kim Jong Un, and Donald Trump.  

Jong Un had no real impact on the climate, but he did pose a nuclear threat, dangerous enough, they had to intervene and just off him.

Trump poses both a nuclear threat, and a climate threat, so... Jong Un’s death was a first warning sign, and this latest stunt on TikTok, at the peak of the wildfires, is yet another.

Don’t think you’re commanding the most powerful military force in the universe, because you’re not.  We’re real, and you can’t touch us.  We know what you’re doing.  We know what you fear (TikTok), and we WILL take you out, Space Force or no Space Force... buddy!

Assuming I’m right about this... which I think you at least have to grant is possible this late in the game, given all that’s happened... it’s an unprecidented show of force, from an intergalactic army so shy of confrontation, we barely have any evidence they exist.

That tells you what a dire juncture we are at, right now, on this timeline**.

But the fact that the aliens would use TikTok to make this statement... does seem to suggest that they do have AI bot agents, on our internet, who are in communication with our own advanced AI bots from the future, left behind by our time travelers... and that they are all in cahoots to save the timeline.

Recall that while Alien propulsion tech is likely based in the manupulation of microsingularities, or mini-black holes, to frame-drag spacetime around the ship... for Aliens it’s more about space travel, than time travel.

Time travel doesn’t really mean anything on intergalactic scales.  It only has meaning for primitive humans hanging very close to Earth, moving back and forth through the span of a few decades locally, to grab objects, get footage, and leave bot agents behind to promote human rights.

The aliens hanging out in our solar system are more or less just as pinned to our timeline as we are... or the bots those time travelers leave behind.

And if you don’t get that by now, I would suggest reading back in earlier entries, but maybe I’ll do another one as a refresher soon.

It was encouraging to see a TikToker on my For You Page this past week actually mention John Titor, and go into a little depth about him, but as usual, nobody could follow it.***

But more encouraging was this display by the aliens, that gave the first confirmation I’ve seen, that they do know and care what’s going on down here, in times as dire as we’re currently living through.

And with that roundup of a week’s news... it is time for bed.

*With GenX turning 50, Millenials turning 30, and GenZ turning 20, the tide is turning forever away from old school conservatism, with all of it’s racism, sexism, and classism. November 2020 could be the first time, all three of these generations turn out to the polls in force (millenials were too apathetic before this, and Z was too young to vote) to drown out the fading influence of the Boomers and Silents, once and for all.

My guess, as I’ve said, is that the current anti-Trump conservatives will all move to the Democratic Party, leaving the Republican Party to die as a haven for neo nazis and KKK sympathizers... while the progressive left will form a new party to counter the comparatively conservative new democrats, who at least acknowledge climate change, and don’t pin everything else on the single issue of abortion.

**Worth noting that this passed week news also broke that scientists had detected a marker for microbial life in the atmosphere of Venus.  It appears to be the strongest evidence yet that life is not exclusive to Earth.

***Not to suggest I’m so much more clever than ordinary people.  It took me upwards of fifteen years of studying physics through videos, lectures, and audio books to get the full picture of how Titor’s distortion unit worked, and how the many worlds theory resolves the kinds of paradoxes most people imagine would happen. 

[princess-havok]

So I’m going to talk about my favourite bit of AFI history – the Toronto AFI Riot of ‘96!

By that I mean I’m posting the above clip from Damian Abraham’s podcast where he and Davey recount what exactly happened that night. The full episode can be heard here and is very long but is actually an interesting conversation about the East Bay scene, punk in general, that weird time in the mid-90s when Green Day got huge, and of course the Toronto Riot story.

I also included in the clip the little part before when Damian recalls a Toronto crowd heckling Adam for looking like Screech from Saved By The Bell, because it’s delightful.

I’m going to attempt to transcribe the audio as well because I get it, sometimes you don’t wanna listen to a 7 and a half minute audio clip when you’re scrolling through Tumblr, but this is just so good. I’ve gone ahead and bolded some of my personal favourite quotes.

Damian: I’m glad you didn’t hold it against Toronto that kids at the show were heckling Adam with “Screech.”

Davey: (laughing) No, I actually thank them, daily for that. That was genius.

Damian: Do you remember that though at the show?

Davey: Oh yeah. 

Damian: Okay good, I thought–

Davey: None of us have forgotten that.

Damian: I was like, is that just a weird memory in my head?

Davey: It was great.

Damian: So, I guess we gotta get into it because this will probably take a minute, but we gotta – are you okay to talk about the infamous AFI Riot as it’s infamously called?

Davey: Yeah, sure, sure… sure. Do you want me to just run it down, or do you wanna ask questions? You were there!

Damian: Well, no no, let’s– we should just go for — well you guys kinda, I guess, you go back and Very Proud of Ya comes out and you come back out  or how does it come – or what happens? You signed to Nitro, right?

Davey: Yeah so we’re on Nitro Records, Very Proud Of Ya’s out, and we’re touring Canada–

Damian: You’ve left Wingnut

Davey: We’ve left Wingnut, and we were stuck at the border

Damian: Well, no, oh it’s a [I can’t hear this word], because the Lifetime/Weston tour coincided with the Good Riddance/Ignite tour but Ignite dropped off the tour the day before.

Davey: Oh and we got added (laughs)

Damian: You guys got added and Trigger Happy, but originally it was supposed to be – which, you know, with all respect to Trigger Happy, we were all shocked but originally it was supposed to be Trigger Happy direct support to Good Riddance and you guys before Trigger Happy, but because you guys got stuck at the border, they switched it up.

Davey: Shit got– shit got crazy.

Damian: It got crazy.

Davey: Do you want me to fill in the listeners on what happened? Well, what I remember happening is this.

Damian: How do you remember it happening?

Davey: It’s crazy, it’s late, we load on stage, you know, thank you to all you bands who everyone wants to see for letting us play in this slot and not nixing us from the bill when half the people don’t know we are, probably 80% of the people don’t know who we are–

Damian: Oh, you’re underselling it, but go on. This is your memory.

Davey: So we get on stage and we start playing, and the crowd’s just great. I mean, the crowd is out of control. Well, they’re having a good time. Who’s actually out of control are the bouncers. So we start playing and I start recognizing the bouncers abusing the fans – abusing the crowd. So, okay, bouncers beating up these kids, like roughing them up. We stop a song. “Hey you guys, these kids are just trying to have fun, no one’s trying to hurt anybody, you guys, don’t hurt anybody, kids, fans, crowd, music people, don’t hurt each other, bouncers, could you please stop abusing the fans – the people.” Start playing again, bouncers are beating up kids, stop again, “Hey, one more time here, could you please stop beating up the kids.” Start playing again. And there’s this bouncer right in the front of the stage and I’m looking down, and I’m watching him just shake this tiny little kid. Like he’s this giant man. And he’s like, just shaking this little like 15 year old punk kid like a rag doll. And I pull the mic away from my mouth and the band’s still playing and I’m yelling at this guy and he’s hearing me, I’m like “Let him go, let him go, let him go,” and he’s ignoring me, he’s ignoring me, and as I’m shouting “let him go” and he’s ignoring me, he then rather than letting him go, he just… hits the kid in the face. 

Damian: Yeah

Davey: And I watch the kid just like crumple. And I flip. So I grab the mic, incensed that he did this, and I say “this guy just hit one of you, get him.” And thus ensues what is known as the Toronto Riot.

Damian: (laughing) The Toronto Riot.

Davey: The Toronto Riot. The crowd attacks all the bouncers, the bouncers flee the building, the crowd gets locked in, everyone gets locked in, the lights come on, the promoter’s on stage screaming at me, Adam comes out behind the drums – and I’m screaming, I’m flipping – and Adam comes out from behind the drums and grabs me and says, “Dave, you don’t want to be responsible for people’s deaths.” And I said, “Oh, yeah, that’s probably true.” So I get on the mic, the lights are up, everyone’s flipping out, I calm everyone down, I apologize for what I said, I said it was wrong – which it was – and the sound guy has our back. ‘Cause the promoter’s like, shutting down the show and the lights are on, but he’s like, “I’ll do your sound.” So I say “okay the sound guy has our back, we’re gonna keep playing, you guys are on your own. Don’t blow it. Be cool to each other cause you’re policing yourselves. Um, don’t kill anybody, that was wrong of me, you know, shouldn’t have said that, violence is not cool either way, shouldn’t have gotten him, let’s play.” We go, we finish the set, it’s off the hook. The dressing room to the Opera House is only accessible from the front of the building. There’s one door next to the entry way to the Opera House. When I foolishly go up there to get a water, I pass by one of the bouncers who’s standing next to the door. When I enter the door he then locks the door at the bottom of the staircase. When I get up the staircase, in the dressing room is one of the Trigger Happy guys, one of the Lifetime guys, and a kid who got electrocuted during the riot with his hand in the ice bucket, and all the bouncers. And the promoter. This is when one of the bouncers throws me onto the couch – onto the couch, mind you, so that was alright – and begins to threaten my life. The promoter’s chiding me, berating me, telling me how unprofessional I am and how he’s never seen anything like this before in his life. Telling the bouncers they can’t kill me, um, I am calm, because death is near. I’m just very calmly explaining “look, I apologize, I shouldn’t have said that, however you shouldn’t have been beating up kids.” At which point I believe the man who had hit the kid picked up a beer bottle and was like, “How about I smash this in your fucking face right now?” And I said, “Please don’t do that.” And the promoter’s preventing them from hurting me. Suddenly my band storms in, takes me downstairs, we’re loading up. A young man, who at the time was shorter than me, comes up to me and says “Hey, first I wanna thank you for what you did, those guys have been beating up kids here forever, beating on us forever, no one’s ever stood up for us before, thank you.” I’m like, “Cool man, thank you.” Um, “Also, I heard the guy on the phone with his friends calling them to come down and kill you.” I said, “Aw, that’s a drag. We don’t want that.” Then he said, “You can come hide in my mom’s basement. So I went to your basement, and we had no cell phones, and like you gave my bandmates your home phone number, they loaded up the gear, I hid in your basement, we became friends.

Damian: Oh yeah. That was a big night.

Davey: How was that? Was that close?

Anyway listen to the full podcast at the link above because it also includes such gems as Damian explaining how that night changed punk shows in Toronto for a long time, how that particular bouncer was known to tell anyone he met from the East Bay for years to come that he wanted to kill Davey, how Davey remembered that show a few years later when someone sprayed a fire extinguisher just as they were coming on stage and instead of inciting another riot he just said “I hope bad things happen to that person” and because of AFI’s wonderful fans they did, and Damian pointing out that his mom’s house was actually a 45 minute walk from the Opera House and Davey was like, “I mean, how far is too far to escape murder?” which is a good point.

Anyway yeah I love that story because it legitimately sounds like a fanfic. 

[shercockadoodledoo]

ballet shoes and ice skates (9)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

also on ao3

On the day before Shion’s birthday, Nezumi signed a contract releasing him from the major motion feature film, Hearts of Ice. He did not owe the production company any money as compensation and was not liable to be sued, largely thanks to Kiyoko, who argued that the money spent hiring Shion to garner publicity had not been wasted – Shion had indeed accumulated a vast amount of publicity and press for the film, largely anticipated in not only the figure skating community, but the LGBT community and supporters throughout the country.

           Nezumi had not shot enough scenes for them to be included in the film, but he signed over the few videos that Shion had taken of Nezumi during his own lessons. They’d been meant as tools for Nezumi to look back on and see where his forms and positions needed improvement, but the director said they might be useful in the film as flashbacks to the lead’s past.

           Auditions were being held for Nezumi’s replacement. While there were not many actors who looked like Nezumi, a few had similar features that with hair-dye and colored contacts could be cast and still allow Nezumi’s actual footage from his lessons to be used.

           “Why do they even want that footage?” Nezumi asked, while Kiyoko pointed to places on different documents for him to sign and date.

           “Because you’re a beautiful skater. It’s good footage. Any actor they get isn’t going to skate like that. Using those recordings as flashbacks in the film is a genius move.”

           “Was it your idea?” Nezumi asked dryly, signing the bottom of another page, letting Kiyoko flip it over and point to another blank line.

           “Of course it was. They ate it up, loved the idea. Helps publicity too – this is actual footage from your lessons under the world’s greatest figure skater. Shion’s voice might even be in some of the clips, the director will be ecstatic. Figure skating fans will go nuts to hear Shion tell you your camel pose is sexy. The videos might be more valuable than you are, kid, and that’s why you’re not being sued. You should be on your hands and knees thanking me for saving your ass.”

           “It’s called a camel position spin,” Nezumi said.

           “That’s what I said. Initial this one, and last signature here – Good, done. Happy now?”

           Nezumi peered up at his agent. They were in his apartment, Nezumi sitting at his kitchen counter with Kiyoko hovering energetically over him. “What happens to you?”

           “I get paid a mighty sum for my hard work dealing with your difficult ass.”

           “So you should be thanking me,” Nezumi proposed, and Kiyoko smiled, picked up the documents and tapped them lightly on Nezumi’s counter to straighten them into a neat pile.

           “That sense of humor of yours never does get old,” she said cheerfully, opening her briefcase that sat on the stool beside Nezumi.

           “Have you got a new client?”

           “No, but you shouldn’t worry about me. The drama with you is quite famous in the film agency world. I’m a celebrity of my own now.”

           Nezumi pushed his bangs from his forehead. “Actors quit all the time, I’m hardly the only one.”

           “Actors quit with grace, unlike you. You skipped rehearsals and line readings, made no attempt to understand the plight of your director and cast mates, and I turned your selfish quitting into a glorious win for the film. That’s big news, not that you would know a thing about it.”

           “Yeah, yeah,” Nezumi said, standing up and stretching his arms over his head, then dropping them and extending a hand to his ex-agent. “Guess this is our tearful goodbye?”

           Kiyoko smiled and took Nezumi’s hand. “I don’t think I’ll miss you.”

           “Shouldn’t you lie and pretend to like me now that we’re parting ways?” Nezumi asked dryly, shaking the woman’s hand. Her grip was firm, tighter than his.

           “To you? I didn’t peg you as someone to want fake flattery. Will you be going back to the New National Theatre?”

           Nezumi shrugged, slipping his hand into his pocket when Kiyoko released it. “I’m too late for the current production, and The Nutcracker is already in rehearsal stage, but I’m heading there this afternoon to see if they’ve got room for an understudy. They’ve got auditions for Don Quixote in a few weeks.”

           “So everything will go back to normal for you.”

           “Looks like it.”

           “Doesn’t that seem like a step back?” Kiyoko asked.

           Nezumi offered her a wry smile. “Are you done commenting on my life choices? I thought by signing those things I didn’t have to put up with you anymore.”

           Kiyoko waved her hand dismissively, picked up her briefcase, and turned from Nezumi, walking to his front door. “All right, I can take a hint. Maybe I’ll go to one of your shows.”

           “Maybe I’ll sign your playbook backstage if you ask nicely enough,” Nezumi said, while Kiyoko opened the door.

           She laughed, waved her briefcase. “I’ve got enough of your autographs. Goodbye, Nezumi. Good luck with your life.”

           She was gone before Nezumi could tell her he’d never believed in luck a day of his life.

*

For Shion’s birthday, he was sent a total of fourteen succulents.        

           He, his mother, and Safu opened the packages in Karan’s bakery, which had been closed early for the afternoon. A half-eaten cake still sat on the counter beside the register.

           “This one’s so cute,” Safu gushed, holding up a green plant whose leaves were thick with pink tips.

           “You can have it,” Shion offered, and Safu quickly placed it on the table beside her plate of crumbs.

           “I told you I don’t want your plants, Shion. I’ve watered enough of them in my lifetime.”  

           “There’s more this year than usual, isn’t there?” Karan asked, holding a plant with a tiny rainbow flag sticking out of the soil beside the long spiky leaves.

           Safu plucked out the flag and examined it. “Who knew you’d be a gay icon,” she commented, while Shion blushed.

           “I’m not,” he replied, stealing the flag from her and hiding it under one of the packages that another succulent had been shipped in.

           “Sure you are. They talk about you at the clinic all the time,” Safu said, a smile tugging at her lips that Shion worked hard to ignore, painfully aware of his mother sitting beside him.

           He pushed back his chair, stood up, grabbing the plates off the table as an excuse to escape and hide his embarrassment. He didn’t even know why he was embarrassed. He was twenty-six today – shouldn’t he have outgrown embarrassment by now?

           “I’ll just wash these up. Should I put on more tea?”

           “I can get it, hon,” Karan said, looking up at him, but Shion squeezed her shoulder.

           “I got it,” he said, and walked away before she could object, listening to Safu discuss where they could give away the new succulents as he headed back to the kitchen.

           In the kitchen, Shion washed the dishes slowly, reveling in the feeling of the warm water over his hands. He dried the dishes, put on the kettle, and stood looking down at it, not thinking too much about what he was doing when he pulled his phone out from his pocket and typed out a quick text.

           Guess how many succulents I got for my birthday.

           He reread the text, hovered his finger over the arrow to backspace it all, then sent it instead.

           A flash of heat fell through him in a wash, and Shion quickly pocketed his phone, not wanting to stare at the screen as he waited for a reply. He wished the water was already boiled so he could return to his mother and Safu, let them distract him from the regret that hit him all at once, strong and unsteadying.

*

Guess how many succulents I got for my birthday.

           Nezumi drummed his fingers on the counter beside the stovetop, waiting for the water in his kettle to boil. The shock of the text was wearing off, and he found himself trying to guess.

           Five, he thought. Ten was far too many. Seven at most.

           He glanced away from the text to his own cactus, sitting on the windowsill in his living room. He had spent the entirety of his train ride back to Tokyo on that last day in June setting alarms every ten days to remind him to water this plant. He’d gotten up to seven months in the future by the time the train pulled into Tokyo’s station. In seven months, he assumed, it would probably be instinct to water the thing. He didn’t really know how long they lived, but when he thought about it, he figured it could be forever. Plants didn’t really die of old age, at least, not that Nezumi knew of.

           It was later, while Nezumi sat on his couch reading the script for The Nutcracker that he’d gotten from the show’s producer at The New National Theatre – he’d been hired the day before as an understudy after his impromptu audition, much in part because he’d done several productions under the same producer previously – that his phone screen lit up again.

           He glanced at the notification. Another text from Shion.

           Nezumi sat up. Tucked his thumb inside his script and picked up his phone with his other hand, sliding his fingertip over Shion’s name on the screen.

           If Nezumi left it unopened, it could say anything.

           Maybe it was the answer to Shion’s challenge – Guess how many succulents I got for my birthday. The text had been sent over four hours previously. It was past midnight now. Maybe Shion didn’t want to wait for Nezumi to guess. He just wanted to tell him.

           It could have been something else entirely. Nezumi imagined Shion was in bed, but it was his birthday, after all. He might have been out. Getting drinks with Safu.

           That wouldn’t be right. He was in-season, it was unlikely he’d be getting drunk. Still, his next competition wasn’t for another month and a half. He could sacrifice a night.

           It could be a drunk text, then. Some senseless rambling. Might not even have been meant for Nezumi at all – Shion certainly hadn’t contacted him since Nezumi left at the end of June, over two months before. Why now? Very likely he was drunk.

           But maybe it was meant for him. People did things they regretted when they were drunk. Shion would wake the next morning, hungover, maybe on Safu’s couch. He would look at his phone and remember he’d texted Nezumi something nonsensical, or worse, something sane. Something that couldn’t be passed off as nonsense, something Nezumi would read and know it was true because he felt it too, he had those words too, he just knew better than to get drunk and text them.

           Shion might not have been drunk. Might have texted Nezumi sober, but it was middle-of-the-night sober, which was a different kind of sober. Not really sober at all.

           Nezumi set his script down beside his leg. Turned his phone over in his hands. Considered what the text might say, what it probably didn’t say, what he’d hate if it said and what he wanted it to say.

           He didn’t know what he wanted it to say. The number of succulents, he thought. That would be the best scenario. The safest information, the easiest truth he could take – how many plants Shion had now.

           Nezumi put his phone down without opening the text. He picked up his script again, read half a page before he was just looking at the words, not understanding any of it. He kept at it, pretending to read until a little after two in the morning, and then he took his phone and went to his bed, plugging it into his charger. He brushed his teeth, peed, returned to bed, laid down, closed his eyes, and turned over twice before flipping over, grabbing his phone, and opening the text.

           Sorry. I know I shouldn’t have texted you. Hope you’re doing all right.

           Nezumi rolled over onto his back. Held the phone still, and with his other hand he covered his eyes. He wished he hadn’t opened the text and that in his head, he could have imagined that Shion had said anything to him, anything Nezumi might have wanted.

*

Shion had gotten to the point where he could land his quad axel about fifty percent of the time within his free skate as the final jump.

           He was always left completely out of breath afterward, but it was progress. He increased his work-out regime, hitting the local gym so often he was offered his own pass to use it even after it closed. Shion knew his town supported his figure skating. He was honored to receive the support that they gave him.

           By October nineteenth, Shion was on a plane to Moscow with Karan. Safu, who usually came with Shion to his competitions, couldn’t get off work. Shion would be skating his short program in the Rostelecom Cup in two days and his free skate the day after that. He slept for the entire plane ride.

           After every competitor at the event had skated their short program, Shion’s scores put him in first. He sat with his mother at the hotel breakfast bar on the morning he was to do his free skate, poking at his blueberry pancake and not thinking of anything until his mother spoke to him.

           “Shion.”

           Shion glanced up at her.

           “Are you going to do the quad axel this afternoon?” she asked.

           Shion stared back at his pancake. He’d eaten only half of one. He wasn’t nervous so much as tired. He hadn’t slept much the night before, but then, he hadn’t been sleeping much for months.

           “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.

           “I don’t want you to.”

           “I know.”

           “Shion.”

           Shion looked up again. His mother’s eyebrows were creased in concern.

           “Maybe you should take a nap before the competition,” she offered, and Shion chose not to argue.

           He’d been planning to practice his quad axel at the rink until his free skate, but maybe it’d be better not to tax his body before his program. He stood up, left the table, and returned to his hotel room, where he laid on his bed and stared up at the off-white ceiling.        

           After a minute or so, he closed his eyes and let himself daydream about Nezumi, the way he sometimes allowed himself – not often, but occasionally. He pretended in his head that they were at the rink, and he was showing Nezumi a scratch spin, the first spin Shion had taught him.

           The tighter you keep your arms to your body, the more speed you’ll give yourself.

           When Nezumi spun, his bangs, free from their clips, had covered his eyes. Shion had watched him, a blur of pale skin in sweats. Nezumi fell out of it after several seconds of rotations, laughing on the ice, and Shion had stared at him, unsure why Nezumi was laughing but not minding one bit, not telling him to get up and try it again, not wanting him to ever get up at all.

           Shion still didn’t know why Nezumi had laughed when he’d fallen. He’d never asked, and in his daydream, he didn’t ask either.

           He just listened to Nezumi laugh, a mess of long limbs on the ice, of scattered bangs and the rest of his hair half out of his messy bun.

           Sometimes, Shion hated that he had so many memories of Nezumi. It would take him so much longer to get tired of them, of running them through his head, of reliving them. It would take him too long to get over his man, and Shion hated that but loved it too, was so grateful for it too.

           When his alarm went off, his cue to get dressed and head to the competition rink, Shion felt as though no time had passed at all. In his head, Nezumi had only just fallen out of his scratch spin and was still laughing, and Shion still felt amazed at the sound.

*

Nezumi had rehearsal during the free skate portion of the Rostelecom Cup. The competition in Moscow was in the afternoon, but in Tokyo it was still morning, and Nezumi had only been at rehearsal for an hour.

           They’d only just begun rehearsals for Don Quixote a few days before after a week of auditions. Nezumi had been cast as the title character himself. The alarm he’d previously set on his phone went off mid-pirouette.

           “Whose phone was that?” the producer demanded, while Nezumi stopped his spin and glanced at his wrist before remembering he didn’t wear a watch and never had.

           “Sorry, mine,” he said, jumping off the stage and grabbing his phone from the pocket of his jacket, slung over an audience chair.

           “Nezumi, I know I don’t have to remind you of our phone policy.”

           “It’s the Moscow skating thing, isn’t it?”

           Nezumi glanced up at his cast member. Akihiko, a guy Nezumi had been in several productions with.

           “What skating thing?” the producer asked.

           “Shion’s in it. The world’s greatest figure skater, you know, from here. Japan. He just taught Nezumi to figure skate for that film. You’ve never heard of Shion? He’s like, the country’s pride and joy,” Akihiko continued.

           Nezumi silenced his phone.

           “Oh, yeah, white hair. You kissed that guy,” the producer said, looking at Nezumi in a sharp way Nezumi didn’t care to read.

           “We can pick up at the top of the act,” Nezumi said, pulling himself back onto the stage.

           “What, he’s got a skating thing right now?”

           “In Moscow,” Akihiko confirmed.

           “It doesn’t matter,” Nezumi said.

           “You follow this stuff?” the producer asked Akihiko, who shrugged.

           “Sure, my wife’s in love with the guy. Shion. She’s all excited that he might do some impossible quad something.”

           “Axel,” Nezumi said quietly, unintentionally.

           “That’s it. Quad axel. That’s the one.”

           “We can take a break,” another dancer in the cast said, while Nezumi strung his fingers through his bangs. “They only skate for like, five minutes, right? Isn’t that your boyfriend?”

           “He’s not,” Nezumi said, looking away from the other dancers and his producer. His hand was still in his hair, and he tightened his fingers.

           “Let’s take five,” the producer said, while Nezumi exhaled through his teeth.

           “I don’t need to – ”

           “Take five, I don’t need everyone distracted during rehearsal. Go on, get off my stage.”

           The rest of the dancers left the stage, so Nezumi had no choice but to follow. He grabbed his phone from his jacket and made to leave the auditorium, but his cast mates were surrounding him.

           “Well? You gotta get to the live feed, right?” Akihiko asked.

           “Are you serious?” Nezumi demanded.

           Akihiko smiled. “Come on, let us watch too. We all like the guy, he’s a good skater.”            Nezumi shook his head, but Shion would be on soon, and arguing would just take up time. He had the website bookmarked, went straight to the live feed and caught the announcer’s last commentary on the previous skater before Shion was skating onto the rink.

           Nezumi was acutely aware of the rest of his cast mates huddled around his back, and then Akihiko was grabbing his phone from his hand, holding it out further.

           “So everyone can see,” he said, and Nezumi couldn’t glare at Akihiko because Shion’s music had started, and Shion was starting his routine, and Nezumi couldn’t look away from him.

           Shion’s short program has him in first amongst the other skaters at the Rostelecom Cup, but the Grand Prix is just getting underway. He’ll have to retain the same excellent performance throughout his free skate, and then he’ll be moving on to Skate America in November where we’ll get to see him impress us again in New York. Moscow seems to have its own set of fans just for Shion – his popularity hardly seems any less here than it was in Manila during the Asian Open just a few months ago. And there’s his second quad of the program, the quad Salchow, gorgeously done, no surprise there, moving into a perfect crossfoot spin.

           “This guy taught you to do stuff like that?” the producer asked Nezumi from somewhere to Nezumi’s left, but Nezumi paid him no attention.

           Shion continued to skate gracefully, but Nezumi thought his breathing looked more labored than usual, and it was only the start of the second half of his program. He landed another quad, then a back-to-back jump, and Nezumi found himself wishing Shion would stop jumping altogether.

           He had too many jumps in his program. He didn’t need them. He could just skate over the ice, no spins or jumps at all, and he’d get the gold. He didn’t need to do anything, and he’d be the most incredible skater to watch.

           There was a double Lutz, and then a step sequence, and then Shion was slowing, skating in a long curve around the edge of the rink, and the last quad was next but Nezumi hoped he wouldn’t do it.

           A triple instead, like at the Asian Open. Even a double. Just a spin to end the program.

           Here comes his last jump. We saw a breathtaking triple Lutz at the end of his Asian Open performance, but we’re all still hoping for that quad axel. There he goes, a forward lift into an axel, and that’s – four rotations! Was that four rotations? I swear, that looked like four rotations to me! The crowd seems to think so too, they’re screaming so loud, and Shion landed it perfectly, is coming to the end now – A quad axel? Did we just witness the very first quad axel of figure skating competition history? But hold on, Shion doesn’t look so – Oh my goodness.

           When Shion fell to the ice, Nezumi shouted his name. He reached out, grabbed his phone. Held it closer to his face, stared at Shion’s limp body on the ice and waited for the man to get up, couldn’t hear a thing but his pulse, watched the video pan closer to Shion’s body, and then there were medical personnel skating into the camera’s view, bending over Shion, blocking the camera’s view of him.

           “Guys, shut up, we need to hear what they’re saying!” Akihiko snapped, and Nezumi realized everyone around him was talking, but then they weren’t, and Nezumi could finally make out what the announcer was saying.

           – just crumbled right in front of our eyes, still no update from the medics, but he doesn’t seem to be stirring, though of course it’s hard to see. There’s his coach and mother Karan skating onto the ice now, the medics are paying her no mind. A stretcher being brought in – Oh dear, this is not looking good, they’re skating off the ice with him – Folks, I wish I had more information to offer, but for now we’re going to ask you to standby and switch over to –

           “Nezumi.”

           Nezumi wanted to throw his phone when the feed switched to a set of commentators outside the rink. “Fuck, fuck.”

           “Nezumi.”

           “Don’t fucking touch me,” Nezumi snapped, ripping his arm away from the cast mate whose hand was on his shoulder.

           “You can leave,” the producer said, and Nezumi stared at him, tried to focus.

           “Hey, come on now,” Akihiko started, but the producer cut him off.

           “Go on, do what you have to do. We’ll resume rehearsal tomorrow. If you can’t make it, you call and let us know, and that’ll be fine.”

           Nezumi continued to stare. He was aware he was breathing hard. He didn’t know what he had to do. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He looked back at his phone and couldn’t see anything. His hand was in his hair and he was aware that he was cursing, made himself stop.

           He shook his head. “I’m not – I’m not even – I don’t – ”

           Nezumi’s producer’s hand was on Nezumi’s arm, and Nezumi couldn’t jerk away. “I don’t care if the guy’s not your boyfriend, I don’t care if he is. I’ve known you a long time, Nezumi, and I’ve never seen you so scared shitless. So you go do what you have to do, and you’ll have your place here whenever you get back. You’ve done good for this theater, and for me, personally, in all the productions we’ve done together. I’m thanking you now by telling you to get out of here. Understand?”

           The producer let go of Nezumi’s arm to push him gently, and Nezumi stepped back, then kept stepping back, then was leaving the theater, feeling numb, unsure what to do when he was outside the building, but there was Akihiko beside him, and Nezumi didn’t realized he’d been following him.

           Akihiko was on the phone, and Nezumi stared at him, unable to make out what his cast mate was saying.

           He gave up. Looked back down at his phone. Watched the commentator’s lips move. Waited for the cameras to return to Shion.

           He was still waiting when a car pulled up, and then Akihiko was pushing him gently. “It’s taking you to the airport, I’ve got one of my buddies heading to your place to grab your passport, he’ll meet you there,” Akihiko said, and Nezumi had no idea what he was talking about, didn’t think, couldn’t think, got in the car and Akihiko closed the door on him and the driver of the car pulled away from the theater.

           Nezumi closed his eyes. He felt nauseous, and the darkness didn’t help, but he was certain to open his eyes wouldn’t help either.

           Nothing would help, and Nezumi knew that more than anything.

*

When Shion opened his eyes, Nezumi was staring intently at him, so Shion figured he was dreaming.

           An odd dream, because he realized quickly that he was in a hospital room.

           “You’re up,” Nezumi said, which was wrong.

           “I’m dreaming,” Shion corrected, and Nezumi squinted at him.

           “Does your head hurt?”

           “I don’t think people can feel pain in dreams. Although there is research disputing that idea, I’ve read about it,” Shion said.

           Nezumi continued to stare.

           “It’s nice to see you,” Shion offered. “Even if I’ll wake up. I don’t usually dream about you, which is strange, seeing as you take up so much of my conscious thoughts. I daydream about you, though.”

           “I think you hit your head,” Nezumi finally said, speaking slowly.

           He was holding Shion’s hand, Shion realized. He looked down at it. There was an IV protruding from the back of it. Nezumi’s fingers were long and loosely curled around his own.

           “It doesn’t hurt,” Shion said gently, because Nezumi seemed concerned for him, and Shion didn’t want him to worry.

           Nezumi’s hand that wasn’t holding Shion’s reached up, touched Shion’s face only briefly before sliding around to the back of Shion’s head. Shion leant into the touch, felt Nezumi’s long fingers drifting through his hair, probing softly as if searching.

           “What are you doing?” Shion whispered. Nezumi’s touch felt incredibly real, the way it did when he was awake.

           It was occurring to Shion that he was awake after all, but he couldn’t piece together how this could be possible. He was meant to be at the Rostelecom Cup. Nezumi was meant to be gone from his life – or at the very least, in Japan.

           “You don’t feel any pain?” Nezumi asked, not answering Shion’s question, but Shion had already forgotten he’d asked one.

           “Where are we?” he asked, and Nezumi dropped his hand.

           “The hospital,” Nezumi said carefully, and Shion thought the word sounded clumsy on Nezumi’s lips, as if he wasn’t sure how to speak it.

           Shion tried to look more closely at the man. Noted that his eyes were a little wider than usual. His skin paler. He looked, to Shion, a little scared, and Shion’s heart beat faster.

           He wondered if he were not in a dream at all, but a nightmare. He had a strong suspicion that Nezumi’s nightmares often took place in hospitals.

           “Are we awake?” Shion asked, and he watched Nezumi breathe through his open lips, a quick breath, audible.

           “Yeah,” he finally said, his voice a little shaky.

           “Nezumi.”

           “Yeah.”

           “Are you okay?”

           “Yeah.” Nezumi’s hand was in his dark hair, pushing his bangs back.

           Shion decided he was awake. They were both awake. Nezumi was scared of hospitals, or maybe scared for Shion, who was in the hospital, or maybe it was both.

           He tried to work out how he could be awake. The last thing he remembered was the Rostelecom Cup. His free skate. Exhaustion. Gasping through his skate. Not thinking he’d make it to the end, just wanting it to end, his body searing for it to end. He’d landed his quad axel, he’d finished his free skate, he’d stood still to face the crowd and smile and bow, and then everything was black.

           He’d fainted, he supposed. This made sense. The only other option was that he’d been attacked, shot maybe, but that was such a bizarre option that Shion eliminated it.

           There was still Nezumi’s presence to figure out.

           “Are we in Moscow?” Shion asked. He spoke gently. He wanted to distract Nezumi from whatever Nezumi was scared of.

           Nezumi nodded. His fingers moved over Shion’s hand, and Shion looked down at it, watched Nezumi’s thumb rub over the back of his hand, then lift up, touch the tape that held down the IV.

           Shion followed the line of his IV. It was connected to a bag on an IV stand filled with clear liquid. Shion pointed at it with his IV-free hand.

           “Do you know what’s in there?” he asked. He liked asking Nezumi questions. He loved talking to this man. If he kept asking, then Nezumi would have to answer, and he could never leave.

           Nezumi didn’t even look at the bag. His eyes were drifting over Shion’s body and face and never left him. “No,” Nezumi said, while he seemed to be looking at Shion’s neck, then his hair, then his lips. “They told me. I couldn’t understand them.”

           “Were they speaking Russian?” Shion asked, tilting his head.

           “No. They spoke English and your mother translated for me,” Nezumi said.

           Shion looked around the room for his mother, but it was a small room, easy to see that he and Nezumi were alone.

           “Why couldn’t you understand my mom?”

           Nezumi just shook his head. Exhaled hard. “It sounded like she was talking from a long way away,” he finally managed, his voice a little shaky, and Shion sat up, was glad to find that it was painless to do so, easy to do so.

           He reached out, thinking to touch Nezumi’s face, but then he settled on Nezumi’s wrist instead, wrapped his fingers loosely around the pale skin there. He could see Nezumi’s veins beneath his skin, rivers of light green, a map he’d traced before to see where it might lead him.

           “I’m okay,” Shion insisted, even though he didn’t know why he was at the hospital in the first place. He didn’t need to know. He felt okay. Even if he wasn’t okay, he wanted Nezumi to believe he was. He wanted Nezumi to feel better. “Everything is going to be okay.”

           Nezumi didn’t say anything. His eyes were flickering between Shion’s now, fast and wide.

           “Tell me what you’re thinking,” Shion pressed. He didn’t understand how Nezumi was in Moscow. A plane, he rationalized. That was the way to get to Moscow from Tokyo. Nezumi must have gotten on a plane. Found the hospital where Shion was. Probably used the stairs to get to whatever floor Shion was, Shion knew he preferred stairs to elevators, preferred moving to standing still.

           There was still the matter of how Nezumi knew Shion was in the hospital. He must have been watching the Rostelecom Cup. He must have seen Shion black out.

           Shion felt better having pieced it together. He did not have to be dreaming. This could be real. There was a way it could all be real, and Nezumi could be sitting beside him, holding his hand with incredibly loose fingers.

           “I don’t like hospitals,” Nezumi whispered, only once Shion forgot he’d even asked Nezumi a question.

           “Why did you come?” Shion asked, even though he didn’t want to ask it.

           He wanted it to be obvious. He wanted it to be expected, that Nezumi would come, but it wasn’t, it didn’t make sense even though Shion wanted it to.

           It had been nearly four months since Shion had seen Nezumi. He couldn’t pretend it was normal to see this man no matter how much he wished it was.

           “I didn’t want you to wake up alone,” Nezumi said.

           Shion didn’t remind Nezumi that he had his mother, that there were other figure skaters at the competition Shion knew and liked who would have accompanied him to the hospital if his mother couldn’t, that Safu might even have flown from Tokyo as well if no one else could be beside him.

           Shion did not remind Nezumi that he had so many people who could have been by his side because Shion felt selfish having so many people, and besides, he didn’t want any of them.

           He wanted Nezumi.

           “I haven’t stopped missing you yet,” Shion admitted, because Nezumi had admitted that he didn’t like hospitals, and even though Shion had already guessed that, he felt it was only fair that he admitted a secret of his own.

           He thought Nezumi probably already knew his secret too, anyway.

           Nezumi didn’t say anything, but his loose fingers tightened just a little around Shion’s hand.

           Shion felt, from where they fell against his palm and the back of his hand, that Nezumi’s fingers were shaking just the smallest bit.

*

[are-scared-of-revolution]

A Performance Overwhelms the Audience with Racism in an Attempt to Heal

A show at 3-Legged Dog relies on the premise that the patient — the nation — is so ill, the most barbaric form of intervention is necessary: bloodletting.

By Seph Rodney - hyperallergic.com

Khiry Walker in 3/Fifths at 3-Legged Dog Art & Technology Center (all photos by Skye Morse-Hodgson)

I don’t think I’ve ever attended a performance in which the word “nigger” was said so often or so lustily. The “interactive carnival and cabaret” — as writer and producer James Scruggs describes it — that is 3/Fifths is an evening-length performance that makes the corrosive effects of racism relentlessly felt through a variety of storytelling vehicles, the most painful being humor.

The performance began with a relatively innocent query. A woman sitting in a chair, wearing dark glasses and holding a walking stick, essentially posing as blind (later I would see her easily negotiate her way around a semicircular stage, so I know it was a ruse), asked everyone in front of me as they entered the theater whether they were black or white. We had to choose one or the other — I saw someone try to identify as “other,” and she wasn’t allowed. After we answered, everyone was marked with either a single black line or two parallel white lines on our foreheads, and we were each given a number of “supremacy” dollars. Some people clearly identified as they chose, not as they are; I saw some black lines on very light-toned skin. Something about this felt like the insertion of a knife between the ribs: I identified myself and was thus encouraged to see the degradation that was to follow (much of which was aimed at black people, though there were some insults only self-identified whites were allowed to experience, such as the “fragility nurses” who walked around offering who knows what)as somewhat of an extension of my own decision. However, the rest of the three-hour performance didn’t leave much room for personal choice.

Matthew Brown managing the “Scene of the Crime”

The immersion in the indignity that ratcheted up throughout most of the performance began in a long hallway filled with videos projections, including embarrassingly racist cartoons and white men demonstrating how to use a wooden baton in self-defense. Then the host, a woman in a fairly obvious long blonde wig and a red gown with a Confederate flag stitched onto the back, welcomed us to “Supremacy Land” where, among other attractions, “we can see the nigger in his natural habitat: jail.” The “nigger”s flow fast and hard after that. I was so uncomfortable I started planning to leave. I had only been there for 20 minutes.

Lauren White playing the host

After the introduction, we were led into a fairground space, the “Atrocity Carnival,” where we could play various games, like “Lynching Wheel of Fortune,” “Ask a Black Man,” and “Rough Ride,” which played off the Freddie Gray story, allowing guests to shake up a toy police transport van while a corresponding electronic onscreen avatar tumbled all over and a meter recorded how much damage was being done to the character. I played “Scene of the Crime,” in which I was told by a grinning white actor that a man of color had been spotted in the neighborhood and that I could do my civic duty by reporting him as either a gang member, a drug dealer, or a sexual predator. Then, with eyes closed, I was spun around and asked to throw beanbag weights shaped like handguns onto a chalked outline of a body on the ground. My accuracy was rewarded with more “supremacy” dollars. I also played “Lynching Wheel of Fortune,” in which the operator spun a wheel partitioned into categories corresponding to decades in the 20th century or sums of money. When a decade was landed on, participants were quizzed about what would have gotten a black man lynched at that time (the right answer, no matter how ridiculous the reasons sounded, was always “D: All of the above”).

David Roberts and William Delaney as prison workers in “Supremacy Land”

Later on, the cabaret portion took place in another section of the theater, to which we were led by a black woman in bright stage makeup walking on stilts beneath a wash of colorful fabric. She sang and chanted songs that seemed African and tribal. This interlude started out well, but quickly went south. There was a “welcome” home, pitting the white actors, who were singing a patriotic song, against the black actors, who sang their own songs and engaged in a kind of rhythmic, flowing dance that was likely West African–inspired. It all became cacophony.

Then there was a section that seemed to go on forever, in which two black men wearing blackface (blacker face?) the color of shoe polish acted out stereotypes of black people in a movie theater: loudly declaiming their business while varied clips played on the back of the proscenium. They received phone calls, conducted loud arguments, yelled their critiques of the movies — it came close to being unbearable. Finally the section closed with a kind of dystopian drama in which all the black actors played prisoners/employees in a scheme combining the spectacles of West World, Black Mirror, and Oz. This section did end on an upbeat note: Following a crisis, the characters asserted their recognition of their humanity and decided to fight back.

L-R: Ken Straus and William Delaney as the General and a prison worker in “Supremacy Land”

However, for me, the crux of the show occurred earlier, during the carnival section. At one point, a black man in a motley outfit of striped trousers, beige tailcoat, and black top hat, who, like the other actors, had a ruthless grin plastered on his face, walked into the center ring, climbed onto a dais, and began to tell terrible racist jokes — most of which featured the word “nigger” as the punchline. What do you call a black man with an education? Nigger. What’s a black man once he leaves the room? Nigger. Then a seemingly nervous white man posing as an audience member requested and was given the barker’s microphone, and he proceeded to start telling his own racist jokes. How do you keep niggers from going out? Add more gasoline. What do you do if you find a nigger sunk in cement up to his neck? Get more cement. Eventually the barker took back the microphone, and the black man finally switched tracks to tell a joke in which a white man is the butt of it. On hearing yet another “nigger” joke in reply, the barker began to get angry and moved toward the white man, who had by then fully embraced his racism and was exulting in being able to display it publicly. Another actor stepped in to defuse things.

Natalie Chapman as the attendant of the “Lynching Wheel of Fortune”

This scene was the most crucial for me because it got directly at what 3/Fifths (a reference to the Three-Fifths Compromise that effectively enshrined the dehumanization of black people in the Constitution) is doing. Those jokes felt like a bloodletting, like a bevy of long knives inserted into every audience member. It’s as if the body politic today is so sick from collective disease that remains hidden under the patina of polite conversation, unethical legal compromises, historical amnesia, and obscurantist rhetoric, that the word “nigger” is the only thing strong and sharp enough to pierce the swollen skin and let the pus flow out. The patient (the nation) is so ill that the show’s creators believe they must resort to the most barbaric form of intervention: bleeding the patient. In a way, it worked: I felt cut every time the word “nigger” was deployed with strategic glee.

But I wonder — to bring the metaphor to its conclusion — whether the patient is too far gone to save.

Perhaps because I have been watching American Crime Story: The People v. O.J. Simpson, the moment when the barker approached the white man to do him harm felt like the lead-up to a riot. It seems like uprisings and riots are another way to bleed the patient. To be violent, verbally or physically, is to take a slash-and-burn approach to waking up our collective consciousness, which makes for a difficult performance to participate in. The ambitions of 3/Fifths are worthwhile, but leaving the theater, I didn’t feel cured. Would anyone be? After we’ve been cut to pieces by all that vileness served with a smile, what are the chances of recovery?

3/Fifths continues at 3-Legged Dog Art and Technology Center (80 Greenwich Street, Financial District) through May 28.

MeasureMeasure