#me once again wearing my clown wig

[fallenseptemberleaves]

Think of how good and heartfelt and honest a confession from Eddie would be this season.

In 2x01, Eddie is calm and collected. Despite nearly dying, he plays down the traumatic experience him and Buck just shared with a handshake and “You can have my back anyway,” a casual line we don’t understand the importance of until we learn more about Shannon.

In 3x03, Eddie has to make jokes and insult Buck before he can drop “There’s nobody in this world I trust more with my son than you.” He then turns, walking away before he stops to say his final line, “Thank you. For not giving up.” Cut to 3x09, where Eddie argues with Buck over his apology, claiming that everything’s fine. He’s still not being totally honest with Buck about his feelings, even when Buck outright asks him. (“If you’re not gonna be honest with Frank, at least be honest with me.”) 

In 4x14, Eddie once again opens with humor but doesn’t rely on it, quickly becoming serious. He’s honest with Buck; however, throughout “I know you wouldn’t” and “But no one will ever fight for my son as hard as you” and “You act like you’re expendable, but you’re wrong,” he’s looking away or down. He’s still unable to be totally vulnerable with Buck about his feelings while making eye contact.

In 5x13, Eddie is in therapy and is finally honest about his fears with Buck: “I’m afraid . . . that I’m never gonna feel normal again,” he says, looking Buck right in the eye.

If Eddie confesses his love to Buck in 6b, he won’t have to hide his feelings through teasing. He won’t have to lie about them or tuck them away in a box. He won’t even have to look away or wait until he’s walking out through the doorway to say his truth. He could just tell Buck he loves him.

[magnificent-winged-beast]

Thanks for this on—point summary. Still… I anchored so much bitter stuff inside since the ugly finale. Those two last episodes really messed me up, physically and emotionally. I swear I felt a future aneurysm born that day, from a vein that protruded from my neck to my forehead while watching the last episode.

It's not just the way they treated Cas and Misha, and blaming all to Covid. Not even the final results Destiel a One side infatuation, plus kill your gays/love interest to give to the hero of the story a tragic “heroic” arch. For me, It's always the way the killed Dean.

I'm glad Jackles could make this step to try to do something “good” from the stupid result of Dean's death. Making a P.S. about who Dean really was and remain being in heaven. I think it's so in character for him to DO SOMETHING even if he is putting his comfort or “deserved rest” in peril to fight for the good of others. I'm truly delighted.

Still, I'm uncertain if I want to watch the Scooby-Doo gang in the 70s hunting monsters. I'll probably watch only that last episode to see Dean again. I hope for the best for those who started to love this show, and pray for a second season.

Definitely, if that happens it will be because Dean was there, with a promise to see him again. I'm vert unsure if I want to engage with all of this, again. Or watch from that season. As always, these are my thoughts, and personal dramas/preferences. But I would rather not be played again. Even if the Event Horizon of Clowning could happen in this show. I know it will not happen, and for ever be a promise to keep the hook and raitings. That's the CW way. But I know I'll be there watching LIVE promptly applying the clown makeup once more. If Castiel it's confirmed on that series.

Side personal bitter Cas/Misha stan note. I have many, many reasons to dislike the gigantor, mostly because of the finale and other “moves” this dude made since the ending of SPN. How cool is that if, according to my theory, much of the finale was a Jpad making, will and final demand. Because he thought that if HE WAS THE ONLY ONE ALIVE, there could be many chances of Sam having his comeback and AT LAST, his own show, where he is not out staged by “secondary characters”. LMAO…🤣

Now, by the new logic, Jackles reset the SPN show, and it's stupid ending canon. ONLY THE ONES Dead, or not part of the reality of the Canon universe (Aka Not the moose). Could make sense, or be a part of this multiverse of Dean helping from heaven.

My final Clowning, thoughs.

I just realize that by this new canon/logic Dean created an at infinitum of possibilities for Destiel? Twice the amount of fics of AUs ever created. For me, it's like ok, the Canon Supernatural show ended with Dean's gay panic, no thank you Cas I love you like a brother... Bruh.

But by HIM INTERVENING in parallel or mirror universes. It's like he is twisting the Canon faiths of his upbringing and all the forced "I don't swing that way" bullshit the show has been playing since the beginning. Bringing to the front all the subtext MIRRORING in plain sight. So, this makes a World, or Worlds, where Destiel is perfectly Canon, a part of the hero journey for Dean.

It's simply exquisite. 🙌🏼

Honk honk 🤡

i know we've already made a hundred jokes about it but oh my god. dean winchester escaping heaven with his car to save the multiverse is a real thing that happened. like that was airing on live tv in the year 2023. he drove. the car. and it took him to an alternate dimension where his parents were better people. you cant make this shit up

[bloodykora]

Hair Aches

Summary: After performing for the circus, your scalp hurts from all the pins and ties that lie in it. A familiar blue haired clown comes to 'help' (tease you).

No use of y/n and it's pretty much gender neutral. Buggy does call yall doll once but that is it. And I tried to write this in mind that not everyone has wavy hair like I do. Hopefully, it comes across that way. Also mature warning, there is very much sexual undertones/jokes so minors. Scurry away. (he also kinda ooc sorry)

Buggy Masterlist

You groan as you take your hair out, pins and ties holding it into the perfect place for the show. Coloured bows and ribbons, fake gems and clips adding the picturesque look that I had designed for Buggy’s circus. Beautiful and precise, until it came time to take it all off.

The knots being hurriedly ripped out, knots being ignored as your fingers searched your scalp for any extra bobby pins.

“I could hear the moans from my quarters, what are you up to in here doll?” The familiar voice of the captain rings out as the door to your room hits the wall, opening to show his body in the frame. You turn to see him, one hand of yours currently pulling out a tie and the other rubbing at your sore head.

“I hate you, I hate your aesthetic, I hate that your hat is also a wig and you don’t feel the headache of having your hair up all night.” You say rather grumpily, ripping a hand down as the pig tail falls from the top of your head.

A huff escapes you as both arms fall to your lap, shaking your head slightly to help the hair fall back into place. “Aww but you look so good with your hair like that, all glittered up.” He coos gently at you, approaching where you sat in front of the vanity. Your station as usual after every performance, messy but not chaotic. You fake angrily throw a pearl pin down, pouting as your head hung down.

“I just can't do it, this repeated pattern. The coughing of the clown base, the pulls of the earrings, the head aches from the hair.” You dramatically claim, sniffling and dabbing at the invisible tears with one finger. You raise your hand to head, the palm facing out as you sigh heavily for him to hear.

Buggy smirks, deciding to play along with your facade.

“Oh goodness, whatever shall we do? These working conditions are a true hell for an angel like you.”

“I have an idea of how you can pay me back.” His brows raise as he leans over you in your seat, looking down to your face. His face tells you to ‘carry on’.

“Pay me more berry.” You smile widely as you say it, his jaw drops and he huffs as the sentence finishes.

“Well, sorry to break it to ya. I also get massive head pain from that thing squeezing my brain all day.” He leans down further, face getting mere inches away from yours. You could see the foundation that had been sweated out cracking along the sides of his face. The blue now slightly smudged and his lip stain coming off.

“You are truly some pirate, you know if you were anyone else. You’d have been booted off my ship long ago, you’re lucky I like ya kid.”

“There needs to be someone on the ship to entertain you. So I’m pretty confident in my work environment.” You snicker back to him as he takes his bandana off his head and sets it on the desk in front of you.

“Maybe you should let me wear the hat next time and I’ll put the beads in your hair.” He chuckles lowly, amused by your quick witted responses. Your hand reaches up into his hair, the bright colour always fascinating you as you twist and rub his scalp. He closes his eyes in serenity, enjoying the much needed head massage.

“You better be careful there or you will have to carry me to bed.” He jokes with you, smiling before his face falls again due to the stimuli.

“Oh I will gladly take you to bed, captain. Don’t you worry about it.” Your voice low now to match his, not wanting to disturb his peace. Your hand comes snaking back out of his locks, settling on his hands. Without a word, you gently begin sliding his stained white gloves off. Helping him out of the costume he had built up for so long.

“How about I do pay you back, help you out with your hair problem.” He offers, picking up his hands that had laid still for so long. You understand what he means, accepting the help but warning him before hand.

“Be gentle, okay. No pulling or being weird with it, my hair is delicate and prepared and very important to me.” You warn, basically threaten him, he nods rolling his eyes dramatically.

“If I knew you were going to be so bossy about it, I would not have offered.” You chuckle at his sass as you take his hands, and lead them into your hair where he wouldn’t mess with it too much.

“I think I’d have to jump your bones.”

He takes your caution greatly though, tenderly rubbing your scalp where it had ached from the weight of the hair being up all night.

“I didn’t think you’d actually be okay at this.” You half compliment him, leaning back to enjoy his touch.

“I’ve always wanted long hair, I think I’d rock it. Probably be even prettier than yours.” He teases yet you linger on the thought, imagining what he would look like.

[stormyoceans]

offgun confirmed today on gmmtv live house that cooking crush will air on sunday the 26th of November, which means that the friday/saturday slots will be free after dr and ofts...... you know what the means, right? NO MORE CLOWNING, WE ARE GETTING THAT TRAILER AND THE LT ERA IS ON THE HORIZON. My bet is that it's gonna air on saturday, which begs the question: will we get the trailer this week or on saturday after ofts ends? And will there be a special episode so that means the first episode will air on the 11th of November or will the show start immediately since gmmtv seems to have abandoned the idea of a special episode? I lowkey want one because i just want to dive inside the mind of each and every cast member lmao

WHAT DO YOU THINK?

[PUTS A DETECTIVE HAT ON TOP OF HER CLOWN WIG] OKAY HEAR ME OUT

with cooking crush taking the sunday slot, im even more convinced that last twilight is gonna air on saturday. only friends is ending this week and GMMTV needs a trailer to play after the last episode is over (it’s usually what happens, unless there’s a rerun). cherry magic is still in the middle of the filming process, and while that doesn’t mean they can’t release a trailer for it, we know that the last twilight one is fully wrapped up and ready to go because people inside the company have already seen it, so it only makes sense for last twilight to replace only friends on saturday

we also know that GMMTV always does an official trailer release announcement, which means they only have three days left to do it before saturday. im not taking friday into consideration because they have to promote the new dangerous romance episode and it would be a conflict of interest to release anything on the same date, so that leaves tomorrow and thursday. right now im personally leaning more towards thursday, if only because sea is a guest on live house tomorrow, and just like offgun confirmed cooking crush airing date on it, i expect sea to give us some news about last twilight too

as for the ‘inside’ episode, it’s true that GMMTV hasn’t done one in a while, but i think we actually might get one for last twilight. i don’t have strong proofs to back this up, but

the first picture was shared at the beginning of october and we still don’t know what it is for. the second one is from a short video p’aof shared yesterday and we all thought it was an old one, from the same day of the first pic since jimmy and sea are wearing the same clothes, but apparently it actually is from yesterday. the three of them filming a special episode could explain this, and even if that would mean waiting one more week for the show to air I REALLY REALLY WANT ONE BECAUSE I JUST WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SHOW

ANYWAY. tl;dr/monica you’re not making any sense/please for the love of god shut up already: LAST TWILIGHT IN THE SATURDAY SLOT. TRAILER ON THURSDAY. SPECIAL EP ON NOV 4 AND FIRST EP ON NOV 11. IF IM WRONG ONCE AGAIN IM GONNA EAT MY CLOWN WIG

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Life size mannequin.

Erik’s girl uses him as a mannequin but Erik takes it too far and it back fires.

If you were to ask Y/N how she gets everything done she wouldn’t be able to give you a straight forward answer. Juggling school, a full time job, and a side hussle isn’t for the delicate and inadequate. Staying up until 2 AM with flash cards sprawled out on the living room table and a ratty mannequin head between her legs every night, Y/N fights much needed rest to recharge for the next days events. That’s not the only thing her teeming life has to offer. Y/N’s new boyfriend, Erik would be seen as a distraction to some but she can hold her own without slacking on her studies, missing a days work, or forgetting to do a clients hair. He’s handsome, fun, intriguing, smart, and that dick...it needs its own SSN and certificate. It’s own area code even. If she had to admit it, whenever her mind drifted to their bodies tangled in her sheets, moaning and groaning, she lost focus just a little bit.

Y/N is off on a Friday for once and instead of catching up on rest, Y/N decided to use her entire day making a closure wig for a friend and client. It’s a 24 inch body wave natural black lace frontal. No shedding, very soft, bouncy, with overall great quality. If only her lousy mannequin head would keep still!!! Y/N gave up after the mannequin head slipped from her grip. She usually has a wig stand with a mannequin head attached to the end but all of them are covered with other wigs that didn’t need to be ruined. The old fashioned way brought her back to how frustrating it was to practice. And to make things worse, Erik is strolling back and forth in front of her naked after his shower and completely ignoring her closet stocked with plenty of towels. When he stopped in front of her, his strapping thighs and that lethal weapon dangling she felt her face grow warm and her belly grow butterflies.

“You’re not helping, jerk,” Y/N said as she continued sewing. She was almost finished.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days and the one time I have a chance to spend time with you, this is what you do.”

“This wig is past due, Erik. I was supposed to get this to her two days ago. Thank God she had some shit going on herself otherwise I would be losing a client.”

Erik gave up trying to seduce Y/N and grabbed a pair of briefs from his travel bag.

“Whatever, you owe me some after this,” Erik sat down on the bed, leaning on one elbow, “You really into this.”

“And?” Y/N sassed.

“I’m just saying. Why not be a full time hair stylist?”

“Because I don’t want to do this for a living. Why else would I be in school for something that has nothing to do with hair? It’s just money to make on the side.”

The mannequin slipped again and Erik burst out laughing.

“I wanna see you try it since you find my struggle funny.”

“Oh, you don’t want me to do it I’ll fuck that whole wig up.”

Y/N ignored his smart remark.

“I’ll come over there and mess that shit right up and make you start over.”

“Erik, I’m not in the mood right now leave me alone,” Y/N cut her eyes at him, “Try me if you want I will take the end of this needle and dig it in one of them keloids. Make it pop like bubble wrap, think I’m playing.”

“You forget you’re talking to someone with a pain kink. Why you think my pain receptors fucked up?”

“So, you mean to tell me, if I boil some hot water right now and pour it on your leg...you wouldn’t feel pain?”

Erik frowned his face into a mug at Y/N as he cocked his head back. The widening of his eyes is what made her giggle.

“You don’t know how to love me all you wanna do is hurt a nigga. What is wrong with you?”

“I’m only messing with you—”

“No you’re not. If I say some shit you don’t like I get slapped upside my head. If I want to be in a playing mood you threaten me with that little fist of yours. Just admit it, you enjoy tormenting me.”

“You’re so Goddamn dramatic,” Y/N tilted her mannequin head forward, “Can you do me a huge favor?”

“If it involves getting up off this bed the answer is fuck no,” Erik said while lying on his back now with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed.

“I already know you’re about to say no but...I want you to let me use you as my mannequin.”

“Huh?”

The way his voice rose an octave has Y/N laughing.

“Can you let me put this wig on you so I can finish this?”

Erik’s brows shot up as his eyes landed on her, “Why? So you can sneak and take a picture? I’m not falling for that.”

“Erik c’mon now. I just need your head for a second and that’s it.”

“I can think of other ways you can use my head but instead you wanna put some weave on me.”

Erik sat up and swung his legs around to face Y/N. Erik leans forward on his knees, staring at the wig with a steady blink.

“What size is that shit anyway? You know I have locs so...how the hell is that supposed to fit on my head?”

“I’ll just...fit it over that pineapple on top of your head.”

“Jokes,” Erik reached up and took out the elastic band that held his tapered locs. Shaking his head, his locs fell over his eyes, “I’m not putting that on my head.”

“Not even for me?” Y/N pouts, “Not your favorite girl?”

“I know you, Y/N. You’re gonna put that shit on my head, take a picture, and post it. I’m not falling for the shit. I told you that.”

“Whatever. You got a big ass dome anyway and this wig is average size.”

“Now you’re tryna clown me?” Erik said with a half smirk on his full lips flashing a bit of his gold canines.

“It’s like...mad wide from front to back...no wonder you keep your hair long—”

“I know you ain’t talking shit with that ginormous ass forehead, girl.”

“I thought you said all the fine girls got big foreheads?” Y/N bat her lashes at Erik.

“That’s what’s helping you out. First time I saw you I was thinking damn, this bitch got a big ass forehead. And don’t think I forgot about how you played me when you sent that cropped picture.”

“Boy, fuck you!!” Y/N shouted over Erik’s laughter.

“I was—I was looking at the picture like where the rest of her face go?!”

Y/N glared at Erik as he dissolved into laughter.

“It’s really not that funny. Now are you gonna help me or not?!”

“Aight, I’ll do it this one time.” Erik sat up with one hand resting against his abdomen while the other wiped away tears, “Where do you want me?”

“On the floor between my legs, DUH where the fuck else would you be?”

He began dying laughing again from Y/N’s obvious annoyance. Erik took his place on the floor while Y/N climbed behind him onto the bed with each leg dangling on either side of him. Y/N takes the wig from the mannequin and before she placed it on Erik she tilted his head back more for easier access. Grabbing the half-done wig, Y/N fluffed out the ends before arranging it over Erik’s locs. Even at their short length it was a challenge to fit the wig the way she needed it.

“Can you PLEASE keep still?” Y/N prompted.

“I’m not even moving. This wig just don’t fit.”

Y/N applied force and wiggled it over his locs causing Erik’s head to rock back and forth aggressively. He growled before reaching behind him to grab her hands. The wig looked much shorter on him in the back from how prominent his back and shoulders are. Erik turned to face her with his lips tight and face frowned, the wig making him look ridiculous and silly. Y/N folded her lips into her mouth but the urge to laugh caused her cheeks to puff out.

“If only you knew how tight my fucking head feels right now. I can’t even smile without this shit feeling like my scalp is being pulled. This better come off when we’re done or that’s your ass.”

“Erik, turn around. I only have one section to do and then you’re free. Next time, don’t ask me to help you with shit if you’re gonna act like this.”

Erik sucked his teeth and faced forward so Y/N could continue. He lowered his head so she could work on the back area.

“Can I ask you something, babe?” Y/N said.

“What?” Erik replied.

“Do you mind modeling this for me—”

“See, I knew this shit—”

Erik stood up before Y/N could wrap her arms around him. He walked over to the full body mirror in her room to look at himself and that’s when he couldn’t hold back his own laughter.

“Yo, what the fuck do you have on my head!” Erik played with the strands while turning his head from side to side, “I look like James Brown, AYE!!!!”

Y/N was in stitches when he mimicked James Brown in the mirror. She fell back against her bed hollering from the way he looked.

“Nah, I’m not drunk right now I need to be drunk to enjoy this,” Erik leaned into the mirror, “I look better than half the bitches that come in here to get their hair done. Let me find out.”

“You are so STUPID!!!!” Y/N yelled between giggles.

“I’ll be back,” Erik left the room with the wig swaying from side to side since it wasn’t fully secure.

“Where are you going?!” Y/N shouted from the bed.

Erik didn’t respond to her loud voice. When he returned two minutes later he had a cup in one hand and his bottle of Hennessy in the other. Erik sat both the cup and the bottle on Y/N’s cluttered dresser to make himself a drink.

“This was supposed to be a quick thing now you’re drinking.”

Y/N watched Erik from her relaxed spot on the bed. Erik took two sips of his drink before standing in front of her mirror again.

“What are you doing?!”

Y/N couldn’t even finish her words when Erik started shimmying his shoulders and snapping his fingers to a soundless beat. Hooting with laughter Y/N could feel wetness on her cheeks.

“IM DONE!!!”

“This shit give bad bitches super powers.” Erik said

“Let me find out you wanna wear a weave now.” Y/N jokes.

Erik brought his cup to his lips and drank more Hennessy while moving his hips. This was too good not to get a video. With Erik being his usual silly self, Y/N snatched up her phone from the floor before pulling up her Instagram to record him. On her story, Y/N focused the camera on her boyfriend when he started singing the lyrics to Lady Marmalade.

“Gitchi gitchi, ya ya, da da. Gitchi gitchi, ya ya, here!!”

“Oh my God!!” Y/N cried out with a chuckle before ending the video. She uploaded it to her story before quickly tossing her phone towards the end of the bed.

“Creole Lady Marmalade!!!!!!!!”

“You hardly had anything to drink and you’re acting like this? Lord.”

“Aight, I’m done for now,” Erik made his way back over to Y/N with his cup, “put on a movie or something.”

“Ohhhhhh!!! So you’re asking me to pick this time?! I get to make a decision, Erik?! Wowwwwwwwww!!!”

“Girl, shut up.”

Y/N chose a random movie for background noise while she finished. She was surprised at how content he was and it made her consider asking him to help more in the future. It was fun and it made her laugh. That’s one thing about Erik that she adores. He matches her sense of humor. Y/N heard a vibration and when she glanced over to look at her phone the screen is still black. Between her legs she could see Erik staring at a text message from his Lock Screen

“What the fuck is this nigga talking ‘bout.”

“Erik keep still—”

“Nigga who is Miss Man?!”

Y/N paused to peer over Erik’s shoulder.

“This nigga just called me Miss Man from Scary Movie.”

Erik tapped on the microphone on his keyboard to speak.

“Who the fuck randomly texts somebody that at 11 PM? Fucking weirdo ass nigga. Let me find out you want Miss Man for yourself.”

“Who is Miss Man— OH! The PE teacher that was sniffing the underwear?!!! hahahahahahahahahahaha!!!”

“This nigga...he said all you need is the underwear, skirt, nails, and makeup—wait.”

“And some long ass balls!!” Y/N snickered.

Erik whipped his head around and when Y/N met his fiery eyes she swallowed her laugh and it left an uncomfortable lump in her throat.

“Did you post me online wearing this wig, Y/N?”

“No.”

“I’m gonna ask you again. Did you post me online in this wig?

“Mm—mm. I did no such thing.”

“Then let me see your phone.”

Erik reached out for Y/N’s phone but she snatched it away. Erik moved his head to the side to flip some of the wig hair form his face but it fell forward again disobeying him.

“Did I? Uhhhh—OKAY OKAY!!”

It happened so fast. Erik has Y/N by the waist and up in the air.

“Yes, I did!! I’ll delete it.”

“You don’t listen to shit I tell you to do—”

“It was cute! You looked cute with it on—”

“You know what’s about to happen right?! I told you not to do that shit!”

“Erik, it’s all in fun. I’ll get rid of it—”

“That shit is embarrassing! What if I posted you online at your worse?”

“I don’t have a bad moment I always look good.” Y/N sasses.

“Says the girl that always complains about me taking off guard pics.”

“Erik, you’re not even at your worse. You act like I posted you looking bummy!”

Y/N kept her word and went to Instagram to delete. When she got there, she was met with at least ten DMs replying to her story.

Corythemua_: gurllll who is that? 👀 ooooh he is fione!!! Is he into guys?

Jermaine_87: Wtf is he doing?! 🤣🤣🤣🤣 let me text this nigga

Katriceee: how did you convince him to do this?! LOL

Amethyst1993: when he find out about this you are in trouble girl!!!

“did you delete the video yet?! Don’t let me find out it’s still there!”

“It’s gone! Happy?! What happened to being in a playing mood?!!”

“Now all my friends texting me and clowning me! You play too many games. Hurry up and help me take this shit off!”

Erik brushed some strands from his lips with his fingertips and Y/N squealed. Nothing he could say or do would make her listen. He looked absolutely hilarious with the wavy tresses of the wig moving in tandem with his brawny physique.

“Erik, I can’t take you seriously with that wig on.”

“Then take this off!!”

Erik attempts to pull it off but suddenly stops when he realizes he needs help.

“I want this shit off now, Y/N.”

“FINE! Come here.”

Y/N tapped the floor with her foot for Erik to take a seat. When he does, Y/N does the opposite of what he asks and begins to place his hair into two buns. She silently laughed behind him, praying that he wouldn’t hear her falling apart. When she was finished, Erik assumed she was done because he didn’t feel the hair tickling his skin. When he stood up to look in the mirror, Erik groaned loudly at his appearance before flexing his jaw at her threateningly to make her listen. It didn’t work at all for him. She couldn’t stop laughing.

“You look so crazy!!!!!” Y/N hugged her sides and rolled on the bed with laughter, “And that evil look is making it even funnier!!”

“I’m about to beat your ass if you don’t take this shit off!!! It wouldn’t be funny if this shit stuck now would it?!!! I gotta go to work and all that nah take this off—

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

“Aight, are you finished?!” Erik said impatiently.

“Baby...you don’t understand...oh my God.”

“Y/N, for real, take this dumb ass wig off before I cut it off!”

“Okay okay!! Before I do...you gotta do one last thing for me...pretty please? With caramel sauce and a cherry on top? I’ll do whatever you want if you do this last thing for me.”

“.....”

“PLEASE BABY?!!”

“.....”

“Erik, look, it’ll be funny! I just want you to cat walk for me and then I’m done—”

“Ahhhhh HELL no—”

“Please—”

“For what?! So you can keep laughing?!”

“I’ll suck your dick, lick your balls—”

“Girl, that won’t work on me—”

“You sure about that?”

Y/N poked her tongue out and started doing tricks with it to show off her tongue ring. Erik’s eyes squinted at her but she could tell from his breathing that he wouldn’t be able to fight it much longer. He even said so himself that her head game makes him weak and no woman before her has ever made him weak.

“...from here to the bed and that’s it.”

Y/N smiled victoriously.

Erik placed his hands on his tapered waistline before lowering his head. Y/N could hear him silently laughing to himself before he lifted his head displaying an adorable dimpled smile. He started strutting towards Y/N with stiff hips and two left feet. All this from her flicking her tongue. Y/N stared at him with her mouth hanging open and eyes wide. He had a focused look on his face and the wig with its two buns flopped up and down messily like bunny ears. He struck a pose with his hip jutted out before he started to vogue. At that point, Y/N couldn’t take it any longer. She had to grab onto Erik so she could catch her breath. Soon, Erik’s deep laugh could be heard.

“You get on my nerves,” Erik sat beside Y/N, “now, can you take this off of me?!”

“Turn around,” Y/N took down the buns before carefully sliding the wig off from front to back, “You’re off the hook after that I’m gonna go back to using this mannequin head.”

“Yeah, finish up so I can spank that ass for posting me on social media.”

Y/N did a double take, “I’m still in trouble?!”

“Yeah, you’re not off the hook.”

The remaining time Y/N finished her clients wig, she thought up all possible ways he could punish her this time.

“Can I have a kiss?” Y/N asked with a sweet sounding voice.

“Yes,” Erik poked his thick, moist lips out and Y/N pressed her soft lips against them.

“Mmm...still in trouble, ma,” Erik whispered.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A large box materialized in the corner of the room, decorated gaudily with purple wrapping paper, a bright red bow, and raw macaroni glued over practically every visible inch of the box. If you listened closely, you could make out the occasional giddy giggle coming from the inside of the box whenever it wiggled, demanding the attention of the beautiful birthday boy.

“Vil’s gonna love this!” Mac gushed to themself from the inside of the box, dressed up in thick clown makeup and an equally excessive clown outfit. “He’ll open the box up, and I’ll pop out to greet him and tell him that I’ll be his birthday present and his personal footstool, if he wants…”

Within the darkness of the box, they flushed a bright red, fanning their face like the lovestruck fool they were. Whenever they could make out the sound of his heels clacking on the attic floor, Mac shivered excitedly at the thought of his feet slamming down on their back and keeping their face shoved against the floor for them to drool onto.

The beautiful Queen needs a loyal court, and was there anyone better than to play the role of the court fool than the head empty pasta fanatic? Mac thought not.

*pokes Mac with a stick*

Come get your dinner.

At long last, evening had set in, and the last of Vil’s fan club had been sated and sent off for the day. The once brilliant blue sky had darkened to a deep violet--nearly black--and the stars, one by one, awoke from their daytime slumber to play amid the moonlight. Night Raven College, touched in silver, was a new world entirely.

Vil ran a hand along the nape of his neck and sighed.

“Excellent work, Roi du Poison!” Rook sang, patting his dorm leader on the back. “You’ve survived the onslaught--though you appear to be a little worse for wear from it.”

“I am not in need of your insightful commentary at this time, Rook,” Vil warned, his tone pointed.

The huntsman did not flinch--not a single beat missed. He removed his hat and held it close to his chest as he dipped into a bow. “Oui.”

A moment elapsed before Rook lifted his head, eyes creased teasingly. “... Though I would still advise you, mon roi, to retire early for the evening. All this stress may lead to a breako--”

“I am in need of some fresh air,” Vil declared sharply. “If you have need of me, I will be outside.”

“... Bien sûr.”

The birthday boy turned and swept out of the stuffy attic. Down the staircase he descended, and out into the bitter night air--or rather, he would have, were it not for ramming his foot into an oddly placed box, covered in bright purple and red, and raw macaroni pieces.

Vil hissed and drew his foot back--but to his alarm, the box began... wiggling intensely and... giggling?

“What in the name of the Great Seven is this doing here?” he wondered out loud, but no response came.

Out of curiosity, Vil cautiously prodded the box with his foot again. The touch immediately elicited another loud giggle.

Something... No, someone is in there. Vil brought a hand to his forehead, heaving another sigh (what number was it now?).

His manager had warned him about accepting suspicious packages--particularly crazed or rowdy fans would sometimes send nasty pranks or parcels with dangerous goods inside. He wasn’t about to risk his health and safety for a shady package. Vil would go fetch Rook to open it for him--

Bu then it happened.

The box flew open, and out erupted...

A clown.

Quintessential--face painted a stark white, garishly colorful lips, eyes, and cheeks, a bulbous and round nose, a fluffy rainbow wig... Even the outfit was clownish, the fabric baggy but bright, with a frilly collar, gloves, and massive shoes that squeaked with even the slightest movement.

The clown let out a whoop of excitement, leapt out of the box, and eagerly honked their nose. It squeaked loudly, like a dog’s chew toy or a kazoo.

Vil stumbled back a few steps in complete and utter astonishment. He squinted through the thick clown makeup and gaudy clothing, his mind slowly piecing together the familiar facial features.

The cheesy potato.

“Mac... Is that you?”

“Heehoo,” Mac honked their nose again. They wore the widest, goofiest grin Vil had ever witnessed, even by the standards of his most lovestruck of followers. “Happy, happy birthday, Vil!!”

He ignored the greeting and cut to a question. “... Dare I ask why it is that you are dressed in such an outlandish getup?”

“Hehehe... Actually! It’s cuz... I’m your birthday present!!” Mac declared, splaying their arms out.

“You... what?”

“I’m your birthday present!!” They repeated, practically vibrating with zeal. “Cuz every queen needs a loyal court jester...!!”

“I am in no need of such--”

“Please please please please PLEASE let me serve you!!” Mac wailed desperately, flinging themselves at Vil’s feet. “I’ll tell the dumbest jokes, and I can be your personal human footstool--you can step on me whenever you want!! I’ll make you the tastiest, cheesiest pasta, and maybe we can get closer and then move in someplace together and live a nice domestic life, and have lots of kids--I’ve already got their names picked out--and and and...”

“Stop. You’re drooling,” Vil said coldly. His cruel, frigid tone sent a shiver down Mac’s spine, filling them with a sense of ecstasy that only he could deliver.

“Heheheh...” They wiped saliva from the corner of their mouth with the back of their hand. “Sorry, I just get so excited when I talk about you.”

“I know,” Vil groaned, cradling his forehead in a hand. “... I know.”

“Are you... angry with me? I-If you are, please take out your rage by stomping all over my back and snapping me like a glowstick!! PLEASE USE ME, SCHOENHEIT!!”

“You never seem to stop spouting nonsensical logic.”

“I don’t need logic...!! Because I have something way better than logic: LOVE!!”

Vil glanced away.

A deathly silence fell over the foyer.

For one horrible, dreadful moment, Mac thought they had done something wrong. It wasn’t like Vil--confident, beautiful Vil--to be at such a loss for words. Was he so terribly cross that he couldn’t even bring himself to spit out any insults at them? Did he hate them so much that he didn’t even deem them worthy to receive his vitriol?  

“H-Hey, Vil... Did I.. Did I go too far?”

“... Pfft.”

“Huh?”

Laughing.

Vil was laughing.

Well, not a full-on deep, rumbling belly laugh. It was more like a faint chuckle, soft and delicate, like wind chimes blowing in the spring breeze.

“You never cease to amuse,” Vil remarked, his perfectly groomed brows pinching together, and his lips forming a mocking smile. “Lifting my mood after a long and arduous day certainly takes talent. Perhaps you are more suited to playing the role of court clown after all.”

“Ah, I... I am?” Mac perked up. “I am!! See, see? I can make myself ultra useful to you, Vil--so please accept me as your birthday present!!”

“Hmm. We shall see about that. For now, though...” Vil bent down to meet you at eye level and, extending a hand, he pulled you up from your miserable heap back onto two feet. “We should return to the party.”

“W-We?!” Mac’s heart fluttered.

“... Do your ears work? Yes, I said we. I won’t have you sitting here cold and alone, like some sad, limp noodle that was never properly cleaned up. You will join the birthday festivities, the same as any of my other guests. Is that clear?”

“Yessir!! Whatever you want, Vil!!”

“Good. Now let us away.”

And so, hand in hand, the queen and his clown headed off to their gala.

[shift-shaping]

Absolutely crippling news besties, and no, it's not that my building once again has bed bugs (though that is also true!)

After wearing them most of last summer and most of this one so far, I have come to the horrible, crushing conclusion that my favorite pair of sandals hurt my feet because they are simply too big. No amount of adjustment will fix them. They hit my arch in a bad spot that causes rather terrible pain in my foot, ankle, and shin. I am devastated. They are extremely cute. But alas, upon trying on the next size down, I realized my miserable folly.

No pics because I know better than to supply the masses with images of feet, but rest assured: seeing the very obvious difference in fit between my current shoes and the ones I tried on would certainly lower your opinion of my intelligence. I am truly, on this day, boo boo the fool

[image ID: a female clown (to the extent that clowns can be said to have a gender, of course) draped across some sort of blue dinosaur seesaw toy. She is wearing a fluffy blue wig, a long orange cape, checkered shirt, baggy pants with elephants on them, pale gold slippers, and, naturally, John Wayne Gacy-style clown makeup with a big red nose. She looks fantastic, but there is a sadness to her, a far-away look in her eyes that says 'i am not here, I am not anywhere. I am only forever where I am perceived to be.' like a Marie Antoinette, bathed in finery yet lacking some fundamental aspect that connects one to their place of being, floating eternally in the fog of space, time, and memory. She is at once a mirror and a great gaping void. Also she is wearing a purple scarf. ]

An artistic rendition of me right now, except I am wearing chacos that are too big for my stupid ass feet.

Anyway if anyone wears a US W size 9 in chacos lmk. They're super cute.

[goldie90]

The Sawyers having dinner with a clown🤡

A little note: The dog named Bono who will be mentioned here, is from another post I made a while ago (I guess, you could call him my oc dog, lol) I just wanted to include him again.🐕 

🌹Also, his name was picked by @ellatheneonlight​🌹

If I were Nubbins´ wife, I would really like to accompany him from time to time when he goes hitchhiking. I think it would be fun, also sometimes you can meet really interesting people (okay, most likely they will end up as dinner, but that´s not the point).😄

Of course, my dear husband met many interesting people, so most things doesn´t suprise him anymore, until one day him and I get picked up by a very special guy. Someone we definitely weren´t expecting. 

Originally, we hadn´t even planned to hitchhike that day. No, all we wanted to do was going on a little walk with our dog Bono, a golden retriever we adopted almost accidentaly some months ago. 

Actually, he´s much more Chop´s and Bubba´s dog, due to the fact that these two have formed the closest friendship with him right from the start and therefore Chop is the one, Bono obeys the best, but he´s also the one who almost never walks the dog, because he prefers to stay at home and listen to music the whole day.📻🎵 

And so most of the time, it´s Nubbins who walks the dog. He don´t mind it, because he spends a great amount of time outside anyways, so he simply takes Bono with him, when he visits the graveyard or just walks around with him for a while. Sometimes I accompany them, like on this day, but there´s a little problem: Neither me nor Nubbins having Bono as well under control as Chop does and when we make the mistake to let him off the leash, our furry friend just decides to run away.😦 

He completely ignores our calls for him and soon we can´t even see him anymore and so we´ve got no other choice than simply follow the direction he took, hoping that we will find him after some time and luckily we do, but by the time two hours have already passed and while we were searching, we moved further and further away from home, so when Bono is finally back on his leash, neither me nor my dear husband are in the mood to walk the whole way back again. And so we decide to hitchhike, which turns out to be a bit difficult, cause it seems like most people are not willing to pick up a couple that have a large dog with them. But just when we almost gave our hopes up, a car finally pulls over and of course, we´re pretty relieved about it, but when we see the driver, me and Nubbins both can´t help but stare at him in disbelief.

It´s simply because neither of us was expecting that we would get picked up by a clown🤡, but so it is. The man who´s sitting behind the wheel is wearing a clowns costume, yes completely with clowns make up, a colourful wig and shoes that are too large for his feet. 

So I think it´s understandable that I´m pretty surprised when I see him, but I´m not the only one. Nubbins feels the exact same way, because even though he already met some weird people while hitchhiking, he was never picked up by a clown before and so after processing the first shock, he gets really excited, because Nubbins actually likes clowns. Back when him, Chop and Bubba were children, Drayton once took them to the circus (even though he absolutely hated it😄) and while little Bubba was pretty scared by the clowns back then, the twins absolutely loved them and this never changed. 

So of course my darling gets really enthusiastic and while I get in the back seat with Bono, he gets into the passenger seat and immediately starts to take pictures of the clown📸, even though the clown doesn´t really want this, because it´s a bit distracting to have your picture taken while you´re driving, but of course, Nubbins doesn´t care about what the clown want or doesn´t want. No, he takes as many pictures of him as it pleases him and he also asks the clown to tell him some jokes, what the clown actuallly does, because he likes to entertain people (otherwise he wouldn´t be a clown). Also, he agree to drive us home, which is great because it´s getting late and me and Nubbins are really not in the mood to take any more walks today, after we had to search for Bono for such a long time. Also, this way we are able to bring some food home, cause even though Nubbins likes clowns, he´s not going to spare this man´s life. Why should he? The clown is neither a friend, nor a family member. No, he´s just a clown. 

So when we arrive at the Sawyer house, the situation is the same as with any other victim. Nubbins will pull his knife out🔪, press it to the clown´s throat and drag him out of the car. Then when we bring him inside, my darling immediately calls for his brothers, because they need to see what we brought home. And now the reactions will highly differ. While Chop will be just as excited as his twin as soon as he sees the clown (yes, he actually asks the poor guy to tell a joke while him and Nubbins are tying him to a chair in the dining room😮), Bubba will be completely shocked, because he never lost his fear of clowns, so when he sees our “guest” he will immediately turn around and almost run back into the kitchen and then we can hear him nervous babbling to Drayton. A few seconds later, Drayton walks into the dining room, with the broom🧹 in his hand and an angry expression on his face. He immediately starts to lecture me and Nubbins, because we´re coming home so late. ”Dinner is almost ready, also where have you been the whole time? You´re better not messed around in the graveyard again, or else I...” He stops apruptly in his speech as soon as he sees the clown, who is now tied to a chair and is currently begging us to let him go. Okay, now Drayton knows why Bubba was so upset. He´s also a bit surprised, cause well, it´s not everyday that you have a clown sitting at your dining table and he will ask me and Nubbins where we found this guy. When we tell him the story (but of course, we would let out the part about Bono running away😅), Drayton just shrugs and went back into the kitchen. He doesn´t really care about the fact that our “dinner guest” is a clown. Meat is meat🥩, right? But at this point, he don´t know how chaotic having dinner with a clown can be, but then again, the clown is not the reason for the chaos. No, the twins are. 

It seems like my beloved husband and my favorite brother in law are not able to simply have dinner with a clown without expecting him to entertain them the whole time.🙄 Right from the second we all settle at the table (after me and Drayton finally managed to convince Bubba, that he don´t have to be afraid of sitting at the same table with a clown) the twins will ask the clown for jokes the whole time, but unfortunately, the clown is currently not in the mood to telling jokes (or doing anything funny for that matter). No, it seems like being kidnapped and tied to a chair in a house full of bone decorations, can inhibit a clowns´ creativity, because the only thing “our” clown is doing right now is pleading with us to let him go, which is of course pretty boring for the twins. You need to understand, they´re hearing this from really every victim, but they weren´t expecting to hearing it from a clown. No, until this moment Chop and Nubbins were both absolutely convinced, that clowns are always happy, so realizing that this is not the case, is very disappointing for them. Obviously, there must be something wrong with this clown. At this point, Chop would even start to complain to me and Nubbins, because we brought such a boring clown home (surely, we could have found a better one, if we only tried to🙄) I won´t say anything to this, but Nubbins would get pretty angry about his twin´s criticism. He would tell Chop that back in the car, the clown was indeed funny and then he tells him that maybe it´s his fault, that the clown isn´t funny now. “I - It´s be - because he don´t like you.” Needless to say that Chop feels really offended hearing something like this and so he does the only thing he can think of right at this moment: he grabs some food from his plate and throws it in Nubbins´ face. Of course, Nubbins reacts with immediately throwing some food back at him and then this will go on for a while, until Drayton smacks both of them with the broom.🧹Then he yells at them for a while, cause how dare they to do such a thing with the food he made for them? Of course, this will lead to a full speech about how ungrateful everyone of us stupid half-wits is.😩 Meanwhile, the clown continues to beg and Bono happily eats the food that landed on the floor during the twin´s fight. By the time Drayton finally finishes his lecture, Chop will come up with a new idea. He thinks that, if the clown don´t want to tell jokes, then he could at least make some balloon animals for us.

And from there on, things will get really chaotic, cause when Nubbins hears about Chop´s idea, he´s all for it. Yes, my darling definitely wants a balloon animal, too (mostly because he wants to burst it🙄). And so they ask the clown if he´s got some balloons with him and when the clown nods slowly, too scared to say anything, the twins both getting really excited and the next second, Chop will untie his hands, while Nubbins is pressing a knife🔪 against his throat (yes, they´re actually expecting the clown to work like this😲) 

Of course, it doesn´t go well, because even though the clown tries his best, he´s so nervous that he can´t even inflate the balloons, but even if he could, it would be impossible for him to actually create a balloon animal, due to the fact that his hands are shaking so bad. Of course, his unsuccessful attemps will make the twins impatient, also at some point Drayton will yell at them to stop this nonsense and finally finish the job. 

And so it ends as it had to end. Nubbins kills the clown by slitting his throat and while I do the dishes, he and Bubba will cut up the meat (which again needs a great amount of convincement for Bubba, cause even though the clown is dead now, he´s still a little bit afraid of him). 

Also, after this day Drayton sets a no-clowns-rule for the family, because he don´t wanna have to deal with such a situation ever again. 

Meanwhile, Chop is really happy because he´s got a new wig. It´s the pretty colourful wig that belonged to the clown (he even wanted to keep the costume, but in the end he´d decided against it, because of all the blood on it, which wouldn´t go away during washing). 

[primatechnosynthpop]

Wow! Against all odds, I finally got around to actually writing the follow-up to I'm Gonna Be The Anti-Hero that's existed exclusively in my head for months! Well uh here it is :3

---

The secret underground room beneath Plymouth rock was dark and silent as always, save for the faint dripping of water through a crack in the ceiling. It figured that, after living there for countless centuries, the structural integrity would finally begin to erode. That dripping sound, although highly irritating when it first started a month or so ago, had now settled into background noise which John Smith paid no attention to. He was a pilgrim, not a witch; it wasn't like the water could hurt him.

Then again, he realized a few moments too late one rainy spring day, perhaps he should have reevaluated that statement. He was minding his own business sitting in his chair and reminiscing about the very old days (that was the only thing he could really do anymore, slowly decaying as his body was) when the soft and steady dripping suddenly escalated at an exponential rate into what sounded like a small waterfall. He turned his head to see a semi-transparent humanoid figure taking shape out of the water pooling in the corner--strangely tinted red, as though the water were mixed with blood. As the old pilgrim watched, jaw agape, the figure strode purposefully toward him, taking on a more solid form as it did so.

"What are you doing here, intruder?" John Smith demanded, one hand tightening around the hilt of his sword while his other hand reached behind his back to fumble for his musket.

"This secret underground room isn't government sanctioned," the stranger hissed. (Although... was he a stranger? John Smith somehow felt that he'd seen this youngster once before, but he couldn't quite place where or when.) "And you have no official identification registering you as a legal citizen. Not to mention, you haven't been paying taxes... disgraceful."

Before John Smith had the chance to concoct a retort or draw either of his weapons, the masked man's hands were around his throat and crushing his windpipe with a force that could only be driven by an inhuman amount of bloodlust. And within seconds, the life of a pilgrim that had been extended for centuries past its expiration date was finally put to an end.

*

"I can't believe they want us to make a clown movie at a time like this."

"I can believe it," Neil replied without looking up from the shopping list in his hand. "The studio wants a lot from us, remember? They're not going to care how sad we are. Anyway, it's been four months--" The emotions bubbling up within him refused to let his voice stay level, so he gritted his teeth and hissed out the rest of his sentence rather than let himself start crying in the middle of the dollar store. "We should be over it by now."

"Neil..." Kevin began in the way he'd often addressed Neil over the past few months--brow furrowed, voice edged with an obvious and vaguely patronizing concern--only to trail off and shake his head with a sigh. Apparently he'd finally given up on trying to make Neil feel better, which was just fine by him, because things are never gonna go back to the way they were before and it's my fault and I don't deserve to feel good about it.

"Anyway, we've got what we came for," Neil muttered, waving his hand in the general direction of Kevin's shopping basket without looking him in the eyes. "Let's go."

At the checkout counter, the cashier frowned and shook her head when Neil offered her a five-dollar bill. "Sorry," she told them, "But all this is going to cost $29.99."

"What? But we don't have that kind of money!" Neil lamented. "And we got this stuff from the clearance section... plus this is the dollar store, so shouldn't everything just cost a dollar?"

For a visual aid as he spoke, he grabbed one of the items they were ringing up--a bargain pack of multicoloured clown wigs--and shook it in the cashier's face. Apparently unmoved by his bargaining, she pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

"Maybe you should have checked the price tags first, sir."

"Huh? But, but..." Neil trailed off when he looked down at the price tag on the item in his hands. The bright orange tag had the original price, $7.50, crossed out and replaced with $2.35... but then below that, scribbled in tiny and barely legible font, it read "just kidding, it's actually eleven dollars now." "Aw, man," he groaned, tossing the pack down on the conveyor belt and sticking his hands in his pockets. "Just our luck."

Kevin had a thoughtful look in his eyes while he drove them home empty-handed. When he pulled up outside the clubhouse a few minutes later and they climbed out of the truck, he suddenly laid a hand on Neil's shoulder.

"Say, Neil, let's not get discouraged," he said. "I've got another idea for how we could get our hands on some props."

"Really?" Neil asked, perking up despite himself. "How?"

"Well, I think--" Kevin broke off as unexpectedly as he'd started, encouraging smile briefly dipping into a grimace. "...You know what, I'll take care of it myself. You can hold down the fort here, okay? I won't be long."

Neil's brow furrowed. "Okay, but what are you...?"

Without explaining himself any further, Kevin clapped him firmly on the back, hopped back into his truck, and drove off. Neil watched him recede down the road with bewilderment. Being all secretive like that wasn't like Kevin... Unless he's trying to protect me from something, he realized with a twinge of bitterness. That would be just like him, the way things had been recently. Ever since the past winter, and what had happened with Ryan, Kevin's latent big-brother-ish tendencies had escalated; now he watched over Neil like a hawk and freaked out every time he so much as stubbed his toe. Under different circumstances Neil would have relished being fussed over, but now it was more annoying than anything else. The thing was, he didn't deserve it. If anything... his fingers strayed up to absentmindedly fidget with the four-leaf clover pinned to his shirt. I deserve to have bad luck. I deserve to suffer, after what I did to Ryan.

Still, there wasn't much he could do about it now, and he wasn't going to say no to having the clubhouse to himself for a while. With a sigh, he disentangled his fingers from the clover's leaves, ran a hand through his overgrown bangs, and turned to head inside. Maybe he could play cards or something to pass the time.

*

A thick layer of dust had settled over everything in Ryan's house. That made sense, of course. It had been four months--no, five, since Ryan hadn't come home once while he was being a vigilante--since anyone had set foot there. Even so, Kevin was unprepared for the full-scale assault on his lungs when he opened the door, and promptly broke into a coughing fit.

"Man, good thing Neil stayed home," he thought aloud as he batted thick, swirling clouds of dust and spiderwebs out of his face. "The way things have been going for him lately..."

He'd probably choke to death on all this dust, he thought but didn't say aloud, and then felt bad for thinking it in the first place. Kevin didn't understand what had happened to Neil in the course of the past few days, but ever since picking up that clover, he seemed to be having a run of uncharacteristically bad luck. Whether it was random chance or something more suspicious was afoot, it sure wasn't doing much for his already thoroughly frayed nerves.

"Alright, calm down, James," he muttered to himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts and ideally dispel the rest of the dust. "Focus. Concentrate. What are you here for? Props for your webisode. Right."

Keeping that objective in mind, he made his way past the front entrance and into the living room. There, a few objects were strewn around that caught his eye: a mannequin bust wearing a colourful wig; an eccentrically patterned jacket draped over a chair; a brush dipped into a rusted metal container filled with what he hoped was red paint. After looking around a little more he found a large cardboard box filled with mutilated stuffed animals, which he mostly emptied out and started filling with the useful items he came across.

All the while, a persistent feeling of unease stirred in his gut, becoming increasingly hard to ignore with each belonging of Ryan's he packed away. This is wrong. I shouldn't steal from him. Kevin paused and looked down at the box in his arms with a frown. One of the items sticking out the top, a blank-faced doll head, seemed to stare accusingly back at him. For a moment he saw it not as a plastic figure, but as a human form encased in ice and then broken apart. He blinked and the illusion quickly vanished, but an unsettling feeling remained in its wake. Neil was right; it had been months already. So why did going through Ryan's things make him feel so dirty? Ryan didn't need any of this stuff anymore. He was gone. Wasn't he?

With a weary sigh that, had anyone been around to ask, he would have accredited to the physical exertion of carrying heavy stuff around, Kevin set the box down and stepped back to survey the room he was in now. If he remembered right, this kind of room was called a study--there was an armchair with a few suspicious stains lurking beneath the dust, a desk strewn with papers all scrawled full of nonsense like the ravings of a mad scientist, and an ornate bookshelf. He wandered over to the latter furniture piece and ran his hands along the spines of the books, letting their leathery texture ground him in the present. He noticed several unusual bibles and other ancient texts, and a stash of calendars, some of which he was pretty sure had originally belonged to him or Neil; the up-to-date calendars and one of the more normal-looking bibles went into the box, while he decided everything else was better left where it was.

There was one other set of books he recognized: a teen fantasy series that Neil had often gushed about. Thinking back to the previous fall and all the events he normally tried not to think about, he experimentally lifted one of the fantasy books off the shelf. At once, just as he remembered from when Neil showed him, the bookshelf rumbled to the side and revealed a narrow staircase descending into the basement.

If anyone asked him, Kevin couldn't really say what compelled him to go down those stairs. The secret chamber was as empty as he remembered, with nothing down there that could possibly be of use for the webisode. And without a lantern, he could barely even see the only things that were there to speak of: the paintings of Ryan's ancestors.

"Ryan..." The name manifested on Kevin's lips unexpectedly as he stared, squinting through the dust and darkness, at the row of portraits grinning lopsidedly back at him. He knew the paintings couldn't hear him--hell, they weren't even paintings of Ryan himself, just his relatives. But their faces were practically identical to him, that face he hadn't seen in person for nearly half a year, and that alone was enough to clog up his throat with unbearable emotions.

The thought of It's a good thing Neil isn't here for this surfaced again, and this time Kevin had to agree with himself. Losing a close friend was... well, there was no way not to take it hard. But Neil seemed to have taken it particularly hard, even blaming himself, to the point where any mention of Ryan would immediately send him straight back into a depressive spiral no matter how happy he'd been a moment earlier. That was why Kevin had kept this idea a secret from his friend in the first place--that, and he wasn't sure if it was going to pan out and didn't want to get Neil's hopes up. He figured that if Neil asked where he got all the stuff he'd found, he'd just say it was from a garage sale.

Now, looking into the achingly familiar manic blue eyes of those portraits mounted on the wall, Kevin thought of those news reports about the mysterious killings that had been going on around town. If that really was Ryan, and he was somehow still alive...

"Why?" he whispered. Without really thinking, he reached out and pressed his hand against the painting as if to cup its cheek. "Why haven't you come home, Ryan? Where are you?"

*

The target was at home, alone in her bedroom playing video games. Casual, unbothered by any harm her actions may have caused. Shameful. In an icy swirl of perhaps not-so-righteous fury, the vigilante took form in the corner of her room and crept up behind her. With an average build and no weapons at the ready, she would be no trouble to dispose of.

"Playing dead in order to toy with an innocent man's feelings," he growled. "Some people would call it ghosting. I call it a crime punishable by death."

"Jesus christ, what the fuck?!" Wendy yelped as she spun to face the vigilante. "How'd you get in here?"

"You shouldn't worry about that," he told her, gloved hands already flexing in anticipation of tightening around her neck. Or perhaps this time he'd thrust his hand straight through her chest and rip out her heart--an appropriate punishment for her crimes. "You'll have plenty of time to figure it out once I send you to hell."

"Okay, seriously? What is happening here?" Eyes narrowed, Wendy put her game on pause and got to her feet to stare the vigilante down. "You said something about me playing dead..." Her eyes suddenly widened with recognition, and the vigilante waited for the fear to set in along with it, but instead she shook her head and laughed. A pitying laugh. "Wait, you're not friends with that, uh, that filmmaker guy, are you? Geez, I seriously must have dodged a bullet there."

"Filmmaker..." the vigilante murmured as the word echoed in his mind. Yes, that's right. The man she stood up was a filmmaker... of a sort. (How did he know that? How did he even know who this woman was? Those questions weren't worth dwelling on, he decided.) "You may have thought you dodged a bullet back then, but I'm here to see that the bullet circles back around and destroys you like you deserve."

Wendy crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow, any trace of fear on her face outmatched by her sad, pitying smile. "Sure, keep the edgy sayings coming, Mr. Hot Topic. And what's with the getup, anyway?" she added with a nod to the vigilante's predominantly dark outfit. "Must be kinda warm."

Warm? The vigilante snorted derisively. No, of course he wasn't too warm. His blood, as it always had for as far back as he could clearly remember, ran cold like that of a snake. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been warm. And he certainly couldn't remember a time when he'd worn anything other than his current ensemble. Rather than waste time telling this insufferable woman as much, though, he simply took a few purposeful strides to close the distance between them, hands extended and more than ready to kill.

"Ugh, get away from me, creep!"

In a startlingly swift motion, Wendy's leg shot out and connected with the vigilante's ankles, sending him toppling to the floor. He hissed in irration, though not in pain--when his sensations were already perpetually numb, it would take a lot more than that to hurt him--and got to his feet, dusting himself off with a scowl. In the few seconds this took, Wendy grabbed a baseball bat from the corner of the room. Now she stood brandishing it in perfect athletic form with a battle-ready glint in her eye.

"Not another step, you hear me?" When the vigilante didn't dignify her with a response, she gritted her teeth and gave the bat a twirl--attempting to show off, it seemed, but her hands shook slightly and she nearly dropped the bat, only barely managing to regain her grip on it. "My mom is in the other room right now, and... well, she hasn't done anything wrong, so you don't want to punish her, right? And if anything happens to me..."

He stiffened at Wendy's mention of her mother. An innocent citizen? That was the type of person a vigilante was meant to protect at all costs; otherwise vigilante justice was no better than the police. But no one is innocent in this city. Even so, he understood the implicit threat--not that Wendy's mother would bring him down herself, but that either woman could very well call the police. And the last thing he wanted was to get law enforcement involved.

"...Fine," he snarled at last, turning on his heel with a twirl of his vigilante cape. "You can live a while longer. But I'll be back, and then you'll regret your sins."

He heard her gasp but didn't bother sparing her another glance as he let his form dissolve into a splash of red-tinted ice, sinking through her floorboards and off to thwart another criminal.

*

Slowly and carefully as a technician deactivating a bomb, Neil set the three of spades down across the top of the three other cards he'd lined up on the table. The humble beginnings of a tower stood for a moment, and he held his breath eagerly as he reached for another card to place on top, only for it to suddenly shudder and collapse like an anime girl who'd stood in the rain for too long.

"Dang it!" Neil threw his hands in the air in exasperation. When he did, a droplet of his own blood landed on his glasses, and he realized with a start that his hand was bleeding--just a paper cut, but still, he'd better wash up.

As he ran his hand under cold water, transfixed by the sight of the blood swirling down the drain, a sudden cracking noise rang out just above him. His head snapped up to stare at the spontaneously cracked bathroom mirror. His reflection stared back, stricken and gaunt, as shards of shattered glass rained down into the sink, where they mixed with the water and the blood. Neil shivered, his breath quickening.

Icy water... ice, blood, broken mirrors. All mixed together. Shattered. Blood, guts, ice, mixed together, down the drain. My fault my fault my fault my fault--

"No," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails into his scalp as hard as he could. "No! I didn't do it, I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

Deep breaths, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. It sounded like Kevin's voice, worried to the point of being slightly patronizing. Neil grimaced, annoyed at his own brain for manifesting its self-preservation in such a way, but he complied nonetheless. Keeping his eyes wrenched shut, he took several deep breaths in and out until his heartbeat slowed to normal--he hadn't even noticed it speeding up--and his hands didn't shake when he lowered them away from his head.

"Hey, you know what'd really make me feel better?" he said aloud to nobody in particular, putting on a broad smile and wiping his hands off on a towel. "A nice hot bath! Yep, that'll counteract my blood running cold, alright..."

He ran his hands up and down his arms as he spoke, although he didn't know who he was trying to fool; the chill that had settled into his bones had nothing to do with the temperature. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure who this whole performance of forced cheerfulness was meant for... the studio, maybe. He wouldn't put it past them to hide cameras everywhere. Either way, even if it wouldn't fix his psychological issues, a bath really would be pretty nice. He put the plug in and started running the tub, with the water temperature set just hot enough that it would scald him a little at first.

He wasn't sure exactly what happened when he sat down on the edge of the tub to take his socks off, whether he slipped on something or leaned too far back or what, but suddenly he lost balance. And by the time he realized he was falling backward, he only had a split-second to curse his rotten luck before his head connected with the wall and he blacked out.

*

In the end, Kevin managed to get a pretty good haul from Ryan's house. In addition to the stuff he and Neil could use for their webisode, he'd retrieved the calendars and a couple other things it looked like Ryan had stolen from them, as well as their old communicator wristwatches. (He wasn't sure if the watches fell into the camp of things Ryan had stolen, or if they'd just brought them over to his place for a sleepover once and forgotten them there. Either way, Kevin figured it could come in handy to start using them again.)

"Hey, Neil," he called as he stepped into the clubhouse with the box in his arms and kicked the door shut behind him. "I'm back."

There was no reply. Frowning, Kevin set the box down with a slight grunt of effort and wandered through the living room and down the hall. There were a few playing cards scattered on the table, suggesting that Neil had been trying to make a house of cards but given up halfway. Kevin couldn't really blame him for that; assembling cards in such a way that they'd actually stay upright was yet another thing that had been more in Ryan's ballpark than in either of theirs. Still, that didn't explain where Neil was now...

"Neil? You there, bud?" Still being met with no answer, Kevin came to a stop outside the bathroom door, which was ajar with water pooling out from inside. "Oh, man, that's not a good sign..."

He gave a tentative knock, and when there was still no response, grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. The sight that met his eyes when he did so immediately made his breath hitch and his blood run cold. The broken mirror over the vanity reflected his slack-jawed expression as he stared at the overflowing bathtub, the pair of still-clothed legs dangling over the rim, and the smudge of blood on the wall leading down to the head of the man those legs belonged to, slumped inside the tub with his head submerged in the water.

"Neil!!"

Kevin sprinted across the room to lift Neil out of the tub. It then took him a few seconds longer to turn off the faucet and pull the plug, as by that point the shock had turned to dread and his hands were shaking. Once the water was slowly starting to drain, he fell to his knees and pulled Neil tight to his chest, one hand clutching at the back of his soaked-through t-shirt while the other fumbled across the back of his head searching for the source of the blood. It didn't take long for him to find the slightly matted patch of damp hair indicating where Neil had banged his head against the wall. Kevin swallowed hard as dread leapt up to claw at his throat. The only question is... how long was he submerged?

"Neil," he whispered, and was almost embarrassed to hear how hoarsely his own voice came out. "Wake up. Please."

No response. Kevin reluctantly pulled back to hold Neil at an arm's length, and shuddered at how limply his friend's body flopped forward. He noticed, with a white-hot jolt of irrational anger, that the four-leaf clover was still in place. Fat lot of good that thing's done for him. He grabbed the clover and crumpled it in his fist, all the while tears pressed against the back of his eyes; he struggled not to let them fall. Damn it... first Ryan, now Neil... What kind of protector was he? What kind of friend?

He slammed his fist, the useless clover still clenched within, against the drenched floor tiles. At that moment, the lightbulb above his head exploded and sent sparking wires raining down around him. As soon as electricity met water, it sent a nasty shock through Kevin's veins; he screamed out of equal parts surprise and pain and scrambled up onto the countertop, which was barely wide enough to support him.

On the floor below, Neil's body convulsed. Then his eyes snapped open and he drew in a gasp that turned into a scream halfway through. Although touching his friend's hand sent the current through his own body for a moment, Kevin was quick to grab him anyway, and he managed to pull Neil safely out of the electrified water and into a fierce embrace. Neil kept shrieking, and he squirmed frantically around, not seeming to recognize his surroundings at first.

"It's alright, Neil," Kevin assured him despite how hard his own heart was pounding. "I've got you."

"Oh..." Neil's body slackened, and he pulled back to blink slowly at Kevin, realization dawning in his eyes. His cheeks coloured with embarrassment and he ducked his head. "Uh, thanks."

Neither of them said anything else, for lack of ability or perhaps willingness to put it into words. After a moment, Kevin realized he was still holding the clover, and he handed it back to Neil, who took it with a dip of his head and a murmur of acknowledgement, and pinned it to his soaking wet t-shirt.

Somehow out of everything in the room, themselves included, that little scrap of plant matter was still intact. And although he wasn't superstitious, that simple fact was what would stick in Kevin's mind for the rest of the day, turning it over until he could only conclude: Yep, there's definitely something weird going on with that thing.

*

Despite the many months he'd prowled the city, this was the vigilante's first time in the hideout of a proper gang. It looked about the way he expected: dimly lit, no windows, weapons hung up on the wall and cigarette butts littering the floor. The gang members, dressed primarily in leather jackets with a few in denim, lounged in chairs leaning too far back, or on top of tables, or on their motorcycles parked right in the middle of the room. Most of them didn't even notice the vigilante as he approached. They were too caught up chattering and cackling amongst themselves like a nest of overgrown crows. The one gang member who did seem to notice the vigilante from the get-go simply looked up at him with raised eyebrows and addressed him once he got close enough to strike.

"Hey, haven't seen you around before. Looking to join the club?"

"Hardly," he snarled. "This whole place is crawling with criminals."

The whole room broke into laughter at that. The vigilante gritted his teeth, fists clenching at his sides. These people were different from the criminals he'd taken down before; between their numbers and all the weapons they had easy access to, they might just pose a serious threat if he wasn't careful.

"You're the ones, aren't you?" he went on once the laughter had died down and the gang members were all watching him with a mix of bemusement and curiosity. No trace of fear amongst them yet, but that would change... "Throwing bricks at innocent people, even seeking to damage their property. Absolutely detestable."

"Woah, hang on," another of the gang members cut in sharply, reaching for a weapon as they stood. "First off, the whole brick throwing thing was months ago. Second of all, we never did that to innocent people, you know!"

"Yeah!" yet another gang member cut in, pumping her fist in the air. "Only to those losers who blew up our boss!"

...Boss?

The vigilante slowly turned, a deeper chill than normal running down his spine, as a strangely familiar smug cackle echoed from behind him. He came face-to-face with a man in a tank top and baseball cap, sneering at him with his arms crossed. Max. Gulping, the vigilante took a step backward. He's their boss?

(How did he know that name? How had he known Wendy's name either, for that matter? Why, out of all the criminals in the city, did a select few ignite disproportionate resentment within him? He'd dealt with some of these people before, he knew, but when he tried to remember when and how it all just turned to slush in his brain.)

"Yep, those losers got what was coming to 'em," Max said. "Except not really, 'cause they didn't suffer enough. But it's okay, we'll get 'em extra hard next time."

"No..." For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the vigilante's voice shook with equal parts fury and sudden fear. "Don't you dare hurt them."

"Huh?" Max tilted his head, already slightly squinted eyes narrowing further. "Heyyy, wait a minute, aren't you one of--?"

Before he could finish that thought, the vigilante was upon him with a karate chop to the windpipe. It was a more reckless attack than he'd planned, and even as Max stumbled backward coughing, he could hear the rest of the gang grabbing their weapons and running up behind him. But it was fine; the vigilante could take them all on and then some. He could kill any number of people if it was for the sake of defending his friends.

(Friends? Did he have friends? Somehow it felt that he must have, once. But that was strange, because the only thing he could clearly remember himself ever being was a cold-blooded vigilante.)

*

"Don't you see? Society's the one to blame! It's society's fault that he had no choice but to become this way!"

As Kevin delivered this speech, waving his arms dramatically toward the focus of the scene, Neil spun the video camera around to point it toward himself. Hopefully the studio would think of the disorienting cinematography for this webisode as a bold artistic choice rather than thinking of it as amateurish and embarrassing. He then leapt back, breaking into maniacal laughter with his prop gun raised in the air. Under ideal circumstances, this role might have been better suited to Ryan, but... well, they couldn't stay hung up on him forever; they had a job to do.

"Eh-heh-heh! Thanks to society, I have the urge to kill!" Neil twirled around to show off his clown costume, while just out of frame, Kevin hastily put on a wig and fake mustache. "And now... I'll kill this innocent man, who's different than the guy who was talking a minute ago!"

(It was fascinating--fascinating and dumb--how a broken mirror and a bit of blood could set him off, but something as heavy as a gun in his hand only brought him the faintest twinge of discomfort, easily ignored for the sake of making a webisode. After all, as Kevin had assured him many times over the past few months, it was the gun and its villainous weilder who were to blame for what had happened to Ryan. On an intellectual level Neil knew that was true--and besides, if he hadn't deflected that bullet, all three of them would have died. But knowing that did nothing to redirect when and why the darkness in his brain manifested.)

Now, much to Neil's surprise as he took aim with his prop gun, Kevin shouted "Cut!" and walked across the abandoned lot they were filming in to turn the camera off.

Neil lowered the gun, confused, as his costar removed his costume with that now all-too-familiar look of concern etched across his face. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know... somehow I've just got a bad feeling about this," Kevin muttered. "Maybe try firing into the air a couple times first."

Neil complied, and was met with the expected result from the prop: a couple of clicks indicating an empty chamber. "You worry too much these days, Kev," he said as he fired one more blank into the sky and then lowered the prop again. "It's not a real gun; it can't--"

As he spoke, his finger accidentally pressed the trigger again, and he broke off with a yelp at the sudden burst of pain in his right foot. He dropped the apparently very real gun with a clatter and clutched at his injured appendage, losing his balance in the process. Kevin swore under his breath and rushed forward to catch him. Before his friend could reach him, Neil's other foot came down on a wide crack in the pavement. A chill ran through him, momentarily distracting him from the throbbing pain, but it passed as quickly as it arose without seeming to trigger any effects.

"By god, what's happening to you?" Kevin exclaimed as he grabbed Neil by the shoulders and held him upright. "You've been so unlucky lately, it... it almost seems like a curse."

"A curse?" Neil stiffened, but quickly forced himself to shrug and morphed his grimace into a dismissive eye-roll. "Pfft, what are you talking about? There's no curse! I've just been, y'know, having an off-day..."

"Neil." There was that concerned look again, that almost parental tone of voice, as Kevin stared him down and tightened his grip on Neil's shoulders. "A couple hours ago you almost died, and now... you can tell something weird is going on, right? And, look--" He sighed, gaze darkening. "I don't exactly know how to fix it, but whatever's happening, I can't just sit back and watch you succumb to it. I can't lose you, too, Neil... not after..."

He trailed off with a faint warble in his voice, lowering his head. Neil gulped, a heavy weight surfacing in his chest. It was true; though he hated to admit it, at this point it was hard to deny that he was cursed. And yet, even as his foot throbbed around the spot where the bullet was lodged and his shoe was slowly stained from within by his own blood, it was hard to convince himself that he should accept help. On some level, didn't he deserve this? Wasn't this a fitting comeuppance for getting one of his friends killed?

Yet here was his other friend, clutching at him ever tighter to the point where his grip on Neil's shoulders was nearly as painful as hitting his head or getting mildly electrocuted or shooting himself in the foot. I'm not the only one who lost Ryan, he reminded himself--another thing he knew perfectly well on an intellectual level, but easy to forget in practice. Kevin is hurting too. I shouldn't make him hurt any more.

"Fine, I admit it," he sighed, letting his tensed-up shoulders slump. "I'm unlucky, okay? And if you think it's possible--" He tore the clover off his shirt and glared down at it-- "then we're going to beat this thing."

*

For as tough as the gang presented themselves, it must have been most of these people's first time in an actual fight. The vigilante swerved to avoid weak punches, clumsy kicks, poor attempts at stabbing. It all blended together after a while, and he stopped thinking of the gang members as individuals; they were just an indistinguishable swarm of insects whose attacks were easily dodged. Unimportant, save for their leader.

The vigilante had Max pinned to the floor now, holding his thrashing form in place with one arm while he brought his other fist down on the ruffian's face, over and over, as hard as he could. Not every blow connected cleanly, and Max had managed to bite him several times already, but that was irrelevant. Criminals must be brought to justice. That was why the vigilante hated these people, wasn't it? Because they were criminals. Yes, what other reason could he have, when this was all he'd ever been?

And then, just as he managed to land a blow to Max's jaw that left him defiantly spitting out blood and a couple of teeth, the vigilante's spine snapped.

It took a moment for him to register what had happened. He just heard a loud crack, and a sharp pain shot through him, and suddenly he couldn't hold his legs in place and collapsed. Max wasted no time taking advantage; he delivered a kick to the vigilante's gut that sent him flying back across the room, where he hit a wall and slumped to the ground, gasping in breathless agony. At once the other gang members closed in on him. Grimacing, the vigilante drew himself up onto his hands and knees, then braced himself against the wall and, with a far greater strain of effort than expected, dragged himself upright. By the time he'd managed to get to his feet, dozens of knives were inches away from him.

Then, to his surprise, Max pushed through to the front of the crowd and held his arms out to hold back his underlings. "Nuh-uh, this one's mine," he told them, sneering as though oblivious to the blood dribbling from between his lips. "I said I'd get him twice tomorrow, and I meant it."

The vigilante flinched as Max took a swipe at him. But rather than a fist connecting with his face, he was met only with the shock of exposure as the bully grabbed his mask and triumphantly yanked it off his face. He was left dumbfounded, blinking, as his vision readjusted to the light.

Wait a minute, I remember--

And then came the punch, square in the nose. Ryan yelped, pressing his gloved hand over his nose to stop the bleeding. When he dodged another punch, his body failed to cooperate and he crashed to the ground again, back aching furiously and heart pounding against his ribcage.

How and why his back had broken, he couldn't say, but one thing was clear: he was horrendously outmatched. Max was saying something now, gloating as he advanced on Ryan with a dagger in his hands, but Ryan couldn't make out the words over the blood rushing in his head. Why on earth had he gotten into a fight like this in the first place? What was he doing? He had to get out of there!

With that thought, yet another thing happened that Ryan didn't entirely understand. (Ryan didn't understand, but the vigilante did. It was one of the few things the vigilante knew: dissolve, reform, enact ruthless vengeance, dissolve again.) His body shuddered, and suddenly he found his solid flesh and bone giving way to a slurry of blood and ice that slipped through the cracks in the floor and disappeared. Then he was formless, freefalling through the dark, or at least that was what it felt like. When he took shape again it felt like dragging himself out of quicksand. Yet when he raised his slowly resolidifying head and looked around, he found himself in the basement of his own home, staring up at the portraits of his ancestors that had started it all.

No. Not started it all. "I had a life before this," he whispered, voice raw with the shock of memory and too many months spent speaking in an inhuman growl. "My name is Ryan, I have a life and a job and friends, I..."

Yes, that's right. Friends. Where were they? He closed his eyes and tried to remember. Each recent memory that took form in his mind was accompanied by a crashing wave of guilt and regret, and soon his body shook and tears pricked at his wrenched-shut eyes. That's right... I became a vigilante, and I teamed up with such a horrible person, let him manipulate me, all because I was too afraid to go back and apologize. And then...

The last thing he remembered, just after the flash of light and shock of paralyzing cold, was the sound of a gunshot, something shattering, and Neil screaming.

"Oh, dear god," Ryan whispered. He raised his head, opening his eyes and lowering his hands from his newly tear-stained face, and sat back on his heels as though worshipping the paintings before him. "What have I become?"

*

The ropes were just slightly too tight around Neil's limbs to be comfortable; he couldn't resist squirming a little as Kevin laid out the open bible on the end table next to his proton pack and began reading from it.

"Okay, um, let's see... ex-or-ciz-amus te, omnis immunde spiritus..." He squinted at the yellowed, faded pages, biting his lip. "Omni satanica pot-es-tas, omnis incurs--incursio infernalis adversarii... uh..."

"You're doing great," Neil called from his position tied to the bed frame; Kevin gave him a weary smile and thumbs up.

As Kevin continued reciting the verse, occasionally stumbling over a particularly tricky Latin word, the room's temperature eventually dropped a few degrees. Neil shivered, but his heartbeat picked up in excitement. He could feel something stirring in his blood like ripples on a lake, and when the furniture in the room began to quiver, so too did his body in eager anticipation.

"...Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux..." A chill wind swept through the room; Kevin gritted his teeth, one hand pressing down on the bible to hold its pages in place while he grabbed his proton pack with the other. "Vade retro Satana! Nun-quam-suade mihi vana!"

The furniture rumbled louder. Neil's eyes widened as an entire bookcase lifted off the ground. "Kevin, watch out!"

"Hang on, Neil, I'm almost done. Uh, where was I... sunt mala quae libas..."

"No, Kevin, the--"

"Just one more line, okay? Ipse ven--"

"KEVIN!"

That last terrified yell was what it took for Kevin to finally turn, just in time to see the six-foot block of polished oak fly directly into him. Neil shrieked and thrashed against his bindings with all his might, but even if he weren't tied up, there was nothing he could have done. The bookcase came crashing down, its contents spilling out onto the floor around it in a flurry of paper. And when the dust settled, Kevin was pinned beneath it, unmoving.

"N... no..." Neil whimpered. Dread tightened like a noose around his throat as the horrible thought seeped into his mind: This is because of me. Now I've gotten them both killed.

"Oh, yes, what a tragedy... just your luck, isn't it?"

Neil's blood ran cold. He raised his head to see the translucent, smoke-shrouded figure of a giant clover looming over him. Its four leaves, dark green tipped with crimson and speckled with barnacles, opened down the middle to reveal a row of needle-sharp fangs. For a second, "Where did you come from?" was on the tip of Neil's tongue. But it was just as well that he was too terrified to speak, because no sooner than the question appeared in his mind, he realized the obvious answer. Oh, right. This is the demon that cursed me.

"Don't worry, your friend is alive... for now," the demon jeered. "But that could change. It's so easy for accidents to happen, you know?"

As if to demonstrate, the demon's leaves fluttered and suddenly a fire sprang up dangerously close to the scattered pile of books on the floor. When Neil screamed in protest, the demon laughed, and part of the ceiling gave in, sending down a controlled shower of debris to put out the fire before anything flammable could catch.

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Neil exclaimed with a shake of his head; he'd be almost exasperated if he weren't so terrified. "You're really powerful and want to hurt people, geez, not exactly a challenging concept. So, what do I have to do?"

That question seemed to give the demon pause. "...Do?"

"You know, to appease you or whatever. If you're threatening me with Kevin's life, then there must be something you want from me, right?" An idea occurred to Neil just then, and his already hammering heart beat even harder, to the point where he hoped the demon couldn't hear it and tell how freaked out he was. "Hey, it must suck having to be a clover. What if a lawnmower or forest fire had gotten to you before I did? And if you like hurting people so much..." He paused, smirking as the demon leaned toward him with obvious interest. "Wouldn't it be easier just to possess my whole body instead of wasting time messing with my luck?"

"That's..." The demon hesitated, its leaves curling up in what looked like excitement. "Ah. Ah-ha-ha! You're a clever little mortal, aren't you?"

"But don't get it twisted," he put in, glaring defiantly up at the demon despite hardly being in a position to threaten anyone. "You have to promise not to hurt anyone else. Especially not Kevin."

"It's a deal!"

Before Neil could stop and reconsider whether this was really a good idea, the demon dove toward him, row of fangs wide open as though it were going to bite his head off. He flinched a split-second before something cold and stinging like nettles clamped around him.

When he opened his eyes again, the world was tinted dark green as if viewed through a dingy screen, his head felt hazy... and he couldn't move, at least not of his own volition. Even opening his eyes just then wasn't his decision. He heard himself cackle, felt his arms and legs flex far harder than he'd known he was physically capable of flexing, breaking the ropes that bound him to the bed frame and setting his body free to do whatever the demon wanted.

"Hah..." the demon muttered in his voice as it made him walk over to where Kevin lay, still trapped and unconscious. The demon knelt down and poked experimentally at Kevin's shoulder and forearm. "This one has more muscle. It might have been a better choice for possession, if it wasn't so damaged already..."

For one petrifying moment, the demon grabbed Kevin's head and stared intently at him, stretching Neil's face into a grin so wide it made his whole face ache, and Neil's mind raced with horrible thoughts of things the demon might make his own hands inflict upon his poor helpless friend. But the demon simply laughed and dropped Kevin, who let out a low groan as his head lolled to the side--an indication that at least he really was still alive. But all of a sudden Neil had trouble believing that small mercy was really worth it.

"Ah, well, this body will do," the demon decided. "Let's take it out on the town and see how long it lasts!"

*

This time when the vigilante materialized in Wendy's room, she did little more than roll her eyes and move to grab her baseball bat. However, rather than try to attack her or even growl out any threats, the vigilante took two shaky steps and then collapsed, catching himself against her dresser. Wendy's eyes widened as she took a closer look at his face. His mask was off now, revealing a pair of striking blue eyes glistening with obvious distress, cheeks flushed with exertion, and a streak of half-dried blood running from his bruised nose. And when he spoke, it wasn't in the gravelly tone she'd heard from him before, but in a quiet higher-pitched voice--almost a whimper.

"Please... tell me..."

Wendy hung back, caught between a sharp tug of sympathy in her heart and a very rational wariness based on their previous encounter. The vigilante tried to walk again, and again nearly fell; his face wrenched up and he let out a pained hiss. At that, sympathy won out over rationality. Wendy edged toward him with her baseball bat in hand, and when she was close enough, held it out to him.

"Hey, uh... here. It's not exactly medically sanctioned, but maybe you could use this like a cane?"

"Oh... good idea, thank you!" He broke into a grin, and Wendy shivered; somehow he was far scarier when his eyes were bright and cheerful. "Terribly sorry for how I treated you last time, by the way. I really wasn't myself."

"Uh-huh?" While the vigilante tested out the makeshift cane, Wendy sat down on her bed, arms crossed. "And who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Ryan... or at least I think I still am." His smile faltered, and he looked away, anxiously running a hand through his hair. It was starting to come unpinned, and his hat was askew; evidently he'd been through a lot in the few hours it had been since their first encounter. "It's been... strange, lately. I don't think I'm entirely human anymore, if I ever was. But I came back here because there's something I want to understand."

"You want to know why I ghosted your friend?" It was just a guess, but Ryan nodded; Wendy smiled privately to herself for having figured it out. "Alright, I can tell you..."

She uncrossed her arms and leaned back on her bed, thinking back to the disastrous date she'd gone on several months prior. It was a story she'd recited many times to friends, relatives, other first dates as sort of a half-joking warning ("So, as long as you don't blow it as much as that guy did, we should be good...") and the more she told it, the more warped and exaggerated it became within her memory. But when she really thought back on it now, it hadn't been so disastrous at all--pretty damn awkward, sure, but not even close to the worst date she'd been on.

"Kevin actually seemed really sweet," she recalled, smiling despite herself at the memory of his big dorky grin. "I would have gone on a second date with him. But then, first thing the next morning, I read in the news that some guy got arrested right outside the restaurant while we were on our date. And the criminal's name? Neil. Same name as the 'friend' Kevin had said was helping him out." She shrugged, lips twisting into a frown. "I just got kinda freaked out, you know? Like, 'oh geez, did I go on a date with a drug dealer or serial killer or something?' Of course it probably wasn't anything that serious, and pretending to be dead was probably an overreaction, but... well, what's done is done."

Wendy was so caught up in her own memories as she explained all this that she wasn't really observing Ryan's reactions. Once she concluded her story, she glanced over to find him sitting on the floor with his legs tucked up awkwardly beneath him, the baseball bat in his lap; he was staring at the floor, expression unreadable. He stayed like that for a long moment, not seeming to notice that Wendy had stopped talking, until she cleared her throat. Then he jumped to attention, eyes flashing like those of a woodland cryptid in headlights.

"Ah! Yes, of course... well, I still don't entirely understand, but I think I resent you less now." Ryan tilted his head and shot her another shiver-inducing grin. (Whether it was supposed to be threatening or not, she had no idea.) "And you're right; I almost forgot--we're all criminals too, Neil and probably even Kevin and especially myself! So how can I be a vigilante?" He answered his own rhetorical question with a shake of his head, manic grin softening into a melancholy smile. "It's ridiculous. I've been so foolish."

With that, his body began to ripple, losing a little of its solidity. But before he could break apart and dissolve through the floorboards like last time, a chirpy little beep-beep-beedle-beep noise rang out. Ryan's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced down at an accessory around his wrist... Wait, is that one of those communicator watches like the one Kevin had?

If it was, Ryan wasn't quick to answer it. He simply stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at the beeping device in silence. Although she knew even less about Ryan than she knew about his apparently only slightly more normal friends, and she didn't normally care to get too involved in the personal affairs of strangers, he was still in the middle of Wendy's bedroom. And the longer that little jingle repeated, the more annoying it got. So she cleared her throat again and asked, in as polite a tone as she could manage given the circumstances,

"So, are you gonna answer that, or what?"

*

It was a stupid, pointless idea. Not an idea at all, really. Just the last scraps of... not even hope, that was pretty much deplenished at the moment, but effort. The effort not to let everything fall apart even further than it already had.

Kevin had woken with a throbbing pain throughout pretty much his whole body. Judging by the crushing weight pressing down on his torso, he was lucky to have woken up at all. The only parts of him not pinned down were his head and right arm, and even those hurt to move, though at least the spinning in his head put some degree of separation between himself and his broken body. Forget about trying to wriggle free when it hurt just to breathe.

So there he was, stuck, the shelf slowly crushing the air out of him, and Neil was gone. Where to, he didn't know. When he craned his neck he could see the empty bed frame, and the ropes broken and discarded at the foot of it. The bible he'd gotten from Ryan's house was facedown beside the tipped-over end table, next to a crushed and twisted lump of metal and plastic that he was horrified to recognize as his beloved proton pack. So wherever Neil was now, he must have still been cursed... or worse. And there was nothing Kevin could do about it.

Unless. Grimacing at the way his joints twinged, he raised his unpinned arm above his head. There on his wrist, perfectly intact despite everything he'd been through, was his communicator wristwatch. In all the hubbub of that day, he'd never gotten around to mentioning them to Neil, so his friend wouldn't be wearing his. But what if...?

It was stupid. It was pointless. There was no way in hell. But it was the only thing he could do. In a display so lacking in dignity that he was grateful nobody was around to see it, Kevin used his teeth and tongue for lack of a free hand to dial in the frequency and send off a signal. The watch's screen flashed in affirmation; he let his head flop against the floor with a weary sigh. Now all he could do was wait.

When he was at Ryan's house going through his things, and he found those communicator wristwatches, he'd only found two of them. And although that could have meant a dozen different things, there was just one wild, far-fetched possibility that any last semblance of hope now rested upon: that the third watch was missing because Ryan was alive, and he was still wearing his.

He didn't expect to get a response. By the time he did, he was struggling to stay awake--funny thing, trying to breathe with fifty pounds of wood pressed directly on your chest really takes it out of you. But he snapped to attention, or the closest he could get when his head was swimming and his body was beginning to go numb from lack of circulation, the moment he heard that voice crackling through the speaker.

"H-hello? Kevin?"

The relief that coursed through his veins was so overwhelming, especially on top of everything else, that he could only laugh--only for it to quickly turn into hacking as his ribs offered a sharp jab of protest. He raised his sleeve to wipe away a streak of blood that dribbled from his lips before speaking into the watch.

"Ryan. Where are you?" He regretted wasting time with that question the moment he asked it; he could tell from the way his organs felt like they were curling in on themselves as he spoke that he didn't have the energy for a full conversation. So before Ryan could stammer out a proper response, Kevin continued: "Neil is in trouble. You've gotta help him."

"What?" The shrill uptick of anxiety in Ryan's voice was palpable, and even just hearing that voice in and of itself stirred up a whole miasma of feelings that there was no time to properly react to. "What's going on? Are you okay? You sound--"

"I'm fine," Kevin lied through gritted teeth. "And... I don't know exactly where Neil is, but I know he's in trouble." A choking mix of emotions and his own blood swelled in his throat as his slowly blurring gaze wandered to the facedown bible. "I've tried to do some stuff today that I couldn't do without you. I-- we need you, Ryan. So, please... help."

With that final plea, something broke within him like a dam that he hadn't even realized was cracking. His arm flopped to the ground, wrist landing near his ear, where the communicator watch kept emitting Ryan's voice as it slowly rose in pitch until he was almost shouting. But even as his friend called frantically out to him, Kevin found it harder to make out the words. He groaned, letting his head loll to the side and his eyes fall shut. The last sensation he was aware of as darkness closed around him was that there was something wet on his face.

*

"Kevin, are you still there? Hello? Kevin!"

He wasn't responding. Why wouldn't he be responding, if the situation was so urgent? Maybe because he couldn't respond. Because he was--

"What are you going to do?" Wendy's voice cut into the swirl of panic Ryan was rapidly descending into. She hovered over his shoulder, peering down at the watch with wide, anxious eyes. The watch's screen had gone dark. No signal. Yes, indeed, what to do?

"What else? I have to save Neil."

If Kevin didn't know where Neil was, then there was no way that Ryan should have been able to instantly find him. But when he closed his eyes and let his vigilante instincts take over, he found that he didn't have to know where someone was. Whatever dark magic was infused in him now, letting him exist in this not-quite-human state even after what should by all accounts have been his death, it was hardwired for vengeance. And saving Neil meant exacting vigilante justice on whoever or whatever was harming him. With that in mind, the vigilante dissolved in a flurry of blood-tinted ice and reformed seconds later in the place it somehow knew it needed to be.

The first thing Ryan noticed when he appeared on the rooftop was the storm brewing overhead. He raised his eyebrows at that; earlier that day there hadn't been a cloud in the sky--and for that matter, when he looked around, it appeared that most of the sky was still perfectly clear, with the storm clouds being localized around this building. The second thing he noticed, upon peering over the edge of the roof, was that he wasn't on just any rooftop, but a skyscraper that towered above every other building in the vicinity. Lastly, he noticed a flagpole at the far corner of the rooftop, several feet away from him. And that was when his gaze fell upon Neil.

Neil was laughing as he swayed back and forth, clad in a brightly patterned jacket that wasn't his usual style at all, his arms and legs wrapped tight around the tall metal pole. Above him, the dark clouds lit up in a flash, followed almost instantly by a rumble of thunder. Although these particular stormclouds didn't come with rain, Ryan shivered. An incredulous exclamation was on the tip of his tongue (What on earth are you doing, stop it, you'll be killed!) when Neil locked eyes with Ryan, and he realized with a jolt of horror that this wasn't Neil at all--his body, yes, but someone or something else was controlling it. His mouth was stretched into a grin far wider than what a human face could normally achieve, and rather than their usual brown, his eyes glowed a sickly shade of green.

"Why, if it isn't my dear friend Ryan!" Neil--or whatever was piloting him--called, raising one arm off the pole in an exaggerated wave. "Oh boy, the guy I got this body from is sure surprised to see you alive! And as much as I'd love to send you plummeting off the edge of this building, I did promise not to hurt anyone else, so..." He waved his hand in a circle, unnaturally glowing eyes crinkling with amusement. "How about instead I pull you in a little closer so you can get a nice good look when your friend's body fries?"

With that, a sudden gust of wind blew into Ryan from behind, sending him stumbling forward. When he attempted to regain his footing, his broken spine betrayed him once again and he flopped to the ground with an undignified oof just a few feet away from the base of the flagpole. Grimacing, he pushed himself up and crawled the remaining short distance to grab Neil's ankle. As he did so, he noticed there was a bloodstained hole in his friend's shoe, and that his pant leg was slightly damp and already bore a few singe marks. Between that and whatever had happened to Kevin... he shuddered at the thought of what his friends had gone through in his absence.

"Nice try, vigilante," the thing in Neil's body jeered. "But I've gotta say, you don't pose much of a threat since I broke your spine."

He stomped his other foot down on Ryan's hand; Ryan yelped and instinctively released his grip. And at the very instant he let go, in such perfectly unlucky timing that only a supernatural entity could orchestrate, the stormclouds above them opened up with a searing, crackling, blindingly bright lighting strike.

Neil tilted his head back and laughed at the top of his lungs as countless volts of electricity tore through him. That horrendous laughter drowned out Ryan's screams of protest, not that there was anything he could do anyway in his current state, when he couldn't so much as get to his feet. All he could do was lay there and gape in horror as Neil's body shuddered and his flesh began to sizzle and burn.

Though it felt like an eternity of torture, the lightning strike couldn't have lasted for more than a few seconds. When it ended, Neil dropped like a ragdoll into Ryan's arms. Ryan, too stricken to even check for a pulse, simply stared blankly into his friend's glazed-over eyes. Then Neil blinked, and his eyes were glowing green again, and he laughed, the sound rougher now that it was being produced by a charred set of lungs.

"Ah-ha-ha-ha! I wasn't expecting this body to survive that! Can you believe Neil is still kicking in here?" He tapped a finger against his head, then sat up with a playful kick of his legs. "...Or is he? It would be just like a demon to lie, wouldn't it?" He grabbed Ryan's chin with his burnt and blackened fingernails and forcefully tilted his head up so their gazes met. "You can't tell, can you, vigilante? So, how hard are you willing to throw your broken body around to try and save someone who might already be toast? Maybe you should just give up and go on with your day, hmm?"

While the demon taunted him, Ryan's mind raced to concoct a plan. Some miraculous last-minute solution that would fix everything... Neil would be able to think of one. Perhaps he already had. But that wouldn't do them any good when Neil was trapped and helpless within his own mind. If this really was a demon, and a powerful one at that, the only thing that might work was an impromptu exorcism.

"Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux! Vade retro Satana!" Reciting the passage from memory as rapidly as he could without tripping over his tongue, Ryan grabbed Neil by the wrists and held him tight while he hissed and tried to jerk away. "Nunquamsuade mihi vana! Sunt mala quae libas. Ipse venena bibas!"

An ungodly noise somewhere between a shriek and a roar erupted from Neil as he tossed his head back and convulsed. It was far too visually similar for comfort to his electrocution less than a minute prior, and Ryan wondered if the demon was doing it that way on purpose in an attempt to scare him into stopping. If so, it wouldn't work. Even if this process was as painful for Neil as it was for the demon possessing him, it had to be done.

Sure enough, as the final line of the chant echoed across the rooftop, Neil shuddered and slumped to the ground next to Ryan. When their gazes met this time, the demonic glow was gone, but Neil was breathing fast and shallow and his eyes were wide with lingering terror.

"Ryan," he whispered. "You're... alive."

"I think so," he replied with a tentative smile. "It's all a little confusing. But we're going to be okay now, Neil."

However, no sooner had those words left his mouth than Neil stiffened up again, eyes momentarily flashing green. "No," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as if to dispel the demon's grasp. "Not yet. Still gotta... get rid of it..." He grabbed Ryan's hands and held them desperately tight, like a scared child clinging to their parent or older sibling. His eyes flashed once more, and this time when the glow faded, his face bore a strained smile. "I've got an idea. Ryan, don't freak out."

And with that, before Ryan could process what was happening and reach out to stop him, Neil sprung to his feet and took a running leap off the edge of the building.

*

For a while now, Neil had been having unusually vivid dreams. They weren't always nightmares, but they often were. Dreams about different worlds, different realities, different lives. Ones where him and Kevin and Ryan weren't all friends. Or worse, ones where they still were, but that wasn't enough to save them. One of those recent dreams, which began as an exciting fantasy only to devolve into a nightmare, was about some kind of flying vehicle. Ever since having that dream, Neil had made two vows to himself. Firstly, that as soon as he gathered the funds to afford it, he'd go back to school and complete his aeronautical engineering degree. Secondly, to always carry a parachute, just in case.

But the demon possessing him had no way of knowing that, now did it? And it wouldn't want to still be trapped inside a host body that was splattered all over the pavement. That was what Neil was banking on, at least. Otherwise he might really be in trouble.

As he fell, a stinging sensation rippled through his body. He shuddered, yet there was a smile on his face--no longer a grin stretched unnaturally wide, but an expression of his own volition--and his heart pounded not with terror but with exhilaration and boundless relief. Sure enough, the demon leapt forth from him and departed in a swirl of green smoke. And with it gone, he wasted no time in engaging the parachute--just in time to slow his acceleration enough that the fall wouldn't kill him.

Admittedly, he didn't exactly come down gracefully. He landed in a tangle of limbs and fabric that he had to shrug off the borrowed jacket, parachute and all, in order to escape, and the landing was just rough enough to deliver a painful reminder of the electrical burns covering the better part of his body. Still, Neil couldn't stop grinning as he gingerly picked himself up and dusted himself off. He was alive and no longer possessed; that was a win in his book.

When he craned his neck to look up at the roof, he thought he saw Ryan still sitting there. Neil grimaced as he recalled what the demon had said about breaking Ryan's back; hopefully that injury was undone with the demon being vanquished, but since Neil's injuries were still there, maybe that wasn't so. Either way, he couldn't just leave his friend up there alone.

As quickly as he could run with a bullet wound in his foot, he entered the building and took the closest elevator to the rooftop. But by the time the elevator chimed and its doors slid open, the rooftop was abandoned, with no sign of Ryan save for an abandoned hat, cape, and gloves, and a slowly fading dark red stain.

*

If Kevin hadn't already been surprised to wake up alive the first time, he sure as hell was now. The only reason he knew he was alive at all was the deep, persistent ache that wracked practically his entire body. That, and the warmth of the hand laid atop his own.

Forcing his eyes open with a pained groan, he turned his head to see the man sitting at his bedside. Ryan squeezed his hand and flashed him a sad smile when their eyes met. His vigilante costume was gone, traded for a simple dress shirt and tie, and his hair fell unpinned around his visibly tired face; the chair he sat in, upon closer inspection, was an old-fashioned wheelchair.

With some effort, Kevin pushed himself into a sitting position. Looking around, he found that he was laying on the couch in the living room with his chest bandaged. How Ryan had managed to pull him out from beneath the bookcase, he had no idea, but he sure wasn't going to complain about it.

"Ryan, you... you're hurt?" It was a stupid question--why else would he be in a wheelchair? "Did the demon...?"

"It's gone now," Ryan responded. "But..." His gaze lowered, and he dropped his hands into his lap to fidget with the blanket draped over his legs. "It was a costly victory, I'm afraid. In order to defeat the demon, Neil--"

His tearful speech was interrupted by the distant bang of the front door being thrown open.

"Geez, you could've told me you were going straight home!" Neil's indignant voice rang out down the hall. "I wandered all over town looking for you."

Ryan's head snapped up, and he and Kevin turned in unison to see their friend running toward them with a slightly crooked gait. With a cry of joyous disbelief, Ryan opened his arms, and Neil tackled him in an embrace that nearly sent him toppling over; Kevin had to lean forward to grab the back of Ryan's chair to keep him upright as he and Neil clung to each other.

"Neil, you're alive! I-I thought..."

"It's okay, Ryan," said Neil. Then, pulling back and glancing at Kevin with a melancholy smile: "I think we're all going to be okay."

*

"So, what do you think?"

As the ending credits rolled on their latest webisode, Neil and Kevin turned to face Ryan with matching expectant grins.

"Well..." Ryan drummed his fingers against the keys of the laptop and tried to think of something positive to say. "The costumes you used were a lot more fashionable than usual--wait, hold on. Weren't those my clothes?"

They were in Kevin's truck parked outside the studio's headquarters, with Neil in the passenger seat and Ryan in the back. It had taken a little over a week for them to recover to the point where they could comfortably climb inside a vehicle, let alone Kevin being able to actually drive, and the studio had already sent them several notes warning them that their pay would be docked for submitting their webisode behind schedule.

"Ah, yeah, sorry about that," Kevin muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"To be fair, if he hadn't broken into your house and stolen a bunch of stuff from you, he couldn't have called you on your communicator watch," Neil interjected cheerfully. "Or tried to do an exorcism... but I guess that didn't really work out for him anyway."

"Hey, c'mon, it wasn't stealing!" Kevin gave Neil a gentle shove, prompting him to briefly wince but laugh anyway. "If we'd known you were still alive, we wouldn't have taken your stuff, Ryan, honest."

"Ah, I'll have to remember that for next time," Ryan quipped. He closed the laptop and handed it back to Neil, who tucked it away inside an oversized shoulder bag. "Well, that may not have been the best webisode we've made, but I can tell you two did your best."

"Yeah, it'll be way better once we get back to making them as a trio," Neil said.

It was still amazing to Ryan that his friends were so quick to accept him back after all he'd done. If anything, it made him feel worse about his prolonged absence, because he knew now that he could have come back at any point and they would have been glad to have him. It was easy to fall into regret when thinking of all that had gone wrong, and all that could easily have gone even worse. But the fact was, they were together again now--altered by what they'd gone through, and not entirely for the better, but still themselves.

And despite it all, the preceding events and the possibility that another horrible thing could happen to them in the future, he found himself agreeing with Neil's hopeful statement.

"Indeed..." Ryan reached out and took Neil and Kevin's hands in his own. They smiled back at him with the same residual traces of relief in their eyes that Ryan had felt every so often over the past week--relief that they were still there to smile at each other. "Gentlemen, I look forward to working with you again."

¤--END--¤

[hogarthwrites]

the misadventures of nathan and samuel morgan

pairing: none

genre(?): flashback, siblings, coming of age

warnings: none that i can think of

words: 6,244

summary:

"If this whole treasure-hunting thing doesn't work out, maybe we should join the circus." "Not when they have clowns." "Wow. Still not over that?" "No one is."

note:

this is a short story of the drake brothers' time in the orphanage because i think about it a lot. nate was 10, sam was 15.

“It'll be fun,” Sam had said. “I promise there'll be magicians too.”

Nathan Morgan clutched his magician’s hat that Father Duffy gave him in his little hands. He'd just turned ten and he was obsessed with all things magic. The other kids were outside for recess but he'd asked his older brother, Sam, to spectate the new magic tricks he'd learned from a book – another one of Father Duffy’s birthday-slash-Christmas-slash-New Years gifts to him.

Sam was supposed to be in detention, but had snuck out when the elderly nun watching over him had fallen asleep. For once he thanked God for the chance to escape because his hand was starting to cramp from writing “I will not smoke in the chapel” (which was false, he had tried to reason with Sister Catherine--he was smoking behind the chapel) on the blackboard over and over again. At fifteen, he was tall and lanky, a trait he'd inherited from his father. He hated the orphanage and did everything he could to get kicked out somehow.

A week before Nathan’s birthday, Sam found a flyer for a circus coming into town that month. The last time he went to one was before their mother died, but he remembered how fun it was and he knew he just had to take Nathan.

“I don't know,” the younger Morgan brother stared down at the hole in his sock, where his big toe peeked out. He didn't have a magician's cape so he wore his blanket around his shoulders, making him look smaller than he actually was. “Won't you get in trouble for sneaking out again?”

“Who says I'll get in trouble?” Sam shrugged. “They won't know.”

Nathan was still hesitant until Sam sighed and pulled out the tickets from his pocket. The little boy’s eyes lit up at the bright red and blue tickets, wiping his pudgy hands on his pajamas before taking the tickets from Sam. He read the print on it:

Come one! Come all!

Barns and Barney Circus

Wednesday

January 7, 1986

4:00 p.m.

Boston

“I told them you were nine so the other ticket could be free,” Sam grinned.

That was how young Nathan found himself clinging onto Sam’s denim jacket as they stood in line to get into the large blue and white tent, lights illuminating the field it was on. He had told one of the nuns he was feeling sick and faked a fever and a coughing fit so they'd feel sorry for him. They let him stay in bed all day so as soon as he was alone and all the other kids were downstairs saying grace before supper, he stuffed his pillows under his blanket to give the impression he was still in bed, grabbed his magician’s hat and snuck out the window. Sam on the other hand gave no excuses.

“Wow, that's a cool hat you've got there, sport,” the man collecting tickets winked at Nathan. He wore a velveteen suit and had a swirly mustache that reminded Nathan of the villains in the comics he'd read. He shyly hid behind Sam.

“It's his first circus,” Sam handed the man their tickets and took Nathan’s hand to lead them to their seats. “Relax, Nathan. Circuses are so fun.”

Nathan sat next to Sam, looking around as people began to fill up the tent. The lights suddenly dimmed and a spotlight illuminated the middle of the ring. With a poof and lots of smoke, the man in the velveteen suit from earlier appeared. Nathan leaned forward in his seat in awe.

“Is he a magician?” He whispered to Sam.

“Of sorts,” Sam whispered back. “He's the ringleader.”

“Oh,” Nathan turned his attention back to the man.

“Good evening, ladies and gents!” The man’s voice boomed throughout the tent. “Welcome to the Barns and Barney circus here in wonderful Boston to start the new year with a bang!”

Entry of the Gladiators started playing on the speakers as performers came out onto the ring one by one; acrobats, tightrope walkers, dancers, jugglers on unicycles, magicians, a man with a chimpanzee on his shoulder, and many, many clowns.

Nathan was suddenly nervous as he watched the clowns in their colourful wigs and various mismatched outfits entertained the guests. He couldn't understand why, but they unsettled him. He glanced up at Sam, who looked excited at all the acts, but otherwise unphased by the clowns.

The trapeze acts started the show, with spectators ooh-ing and ah-ing at acrobats flying across the room. Then came the jugglers performing comedic acts that made everyone laugh, especially Sam. The show kept going on, and Nathan began to let himself enjoy it, eyes bright at all the acts.

Then came the clowns.

“What was that?” The ringleader leaned towards one of the clowns dressed in a bright blue costume and a large red wig sporting his head. “You want a volunteer?”

Nathan shrunk in his seat as other people raised their hands, yelling “Me! Choose me!” No way did he want to be near any of the clowns.

“You there!” The ringleader pointed in their direction.

Sam pointed at himself in confusion and the ringleader shook his head.

“The little magician sitting in the third row!”

Nathan’s heart began to pound quickly, his hands shaking.

“Go! Go!” Sam egged him on.

His legs felt like jelly as he stood up and hesitantly walked towards the ring, one of the pretty acrobats leading him there. He began to sweat as he was suddenly surrounded by clowns laughing and fooling around.

“And what is your name, young magician?” One of the clowns asked.

“N-Nate,” he stuttered a little too quietly. “N-Nate the Great.”

“Nate the Great!” The clown bellowed, receiving a few giggles from the audience. Nathan wanted to disappear at the very moment.

Suddenly he was surrounded by clowns laughing and dancing, their bright clothes, wigs, and makeup making him uneasy with every passing moment. He looked around for Sam in the audience and saw him giving a reassuring thumbs up, but it didn't help. The world felt like it was spinning around Nathan and the next thing he knew, he felt his jeans get wet.

There were gasps in the crowd, then laughter. Nathan looked down and to his horror, he had wet himself right there. In front of maybe a hundred people. He closed his eyes tightly.

Wake up, wake up, Nate! He wished and prayed it was just a bad nightmare, even muttering the prayers Sister Catherine made him memorise.

Hail Mary, full of grace...

But when Nathan opened his eyes, he was still surrounded by clowns, but they curiously looked at him, no longer laughing.

He closed his eyes again. Reciting the prayer over and over.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

“Nathan! Nathan!” He felt someone tug at his arm and before he knew it, Sam was dragging him out of the tent.

Nathan felt like he couldn't breathe as he sat on the grass, tears streaming down his face. Sam quietly sat next to him on the grass with a grunt.

“You okay?” Sam nudged him.

“No,” Nathan sniffled. “I don't wanna go to another circus ever again.”

“Okay,” Sam shrugged off his jacket and handed it to Nathan. “Here, wrap this around your waist.”

They quietly sat together as Nathan tried to calm himself down. It felt like no matter how much he tried, he couldn't breathe at all. Sam worriedly watched his little brother, a little guilty for letting him go through whatever happened with the clowns. He made a mental note to watch for cues of whenever Nathan felt uneasy about something.

“Uh, excuse me?” A man approached him. He wore the same blue clown costume from earlier, except he didn't have a wig on and no makeup.

“What?” Sam snapped.

“I just wanted to apologise for what happened… In there.”

Nathan kept his head between his knees, too afraid to look up.

“Here,” the man handed Sam a pair of sweatpants. “It might be a little baggy, but it's better than a wet pair of pants.”

“Thanks.”

Sam hesitantly took the pants from the man before he bid them farewell.

“Is he gone?” Nathan mumbled.

“Yeah, he's gone.”

Nathan looked up and was relieved to see just Sam, holding a pair of sweatpants.

“I can't wear that! That's clown clothes!” He protested.

“You'd rather walk around covered in piss?”

Nathan frowned, looking down at his soiled jeans. It did feel very uncomfortable and it wasn't helping that the wetness made him feel colder.

“Fine,” he grumbled, taking the sweatpants from Sam and stomped behind a tree. “Don't look.”

“Ew, no way in hell,” Sam rolled his eyes, turning away to watch the pretty acrobat who stood outside the tent, smoking a cigarette. He considered going up to her to ask for a cigarette, and if he was lucky, her number.

“It's baggy,” Nathan emerged from behind the tree, holding the sweatpants up.

“Just roll the top until it kinda fits.”

Nathan sighed, quietly mocking Sam. “Roll the top until it fits.”

“I look stupid.”

Sam turned back to look at Nathan awkwardly standing by the tree, the sweatpants were baggy and rolled up at his waist and ankles. He suppressed a laugh, instead he awkwardly stood and bit at his nails.

“No, you look fine,” he nodded. “Come on, let's get some ice cream then head back.”

They walked to an old fashioned drug store and ordered two ice cream sodas. The only other people there were the elderly man at the cashier reading a newspaper and a guy probably in his early 20’s who served the ice cream and sodas.

Nathan was still bummed out as he picked at a maraschino cherry. His magician’s hat was on the counter next to him and he pushed it away.

“My career is ruined.”

Sam chuckled. “Come on, no one in there is going to remember that.”

“I'll remember it,” Nathan sighed. “No more Nate the Great.”

“Don't be so dramatic,” Sam picked up the hat. “No one else in the orphanage can pull Mr. Wiggles out of a hat, right?”

Nathan nodded. Mr. Wiggles was a stuffed bunny that one of the younger boys, Ralph, owned. A lot of the younger ones always enjoyed Nathan’s tricks before bed.

“Can't let Ralph down, can we?” Sam nudged him before stuffing a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. He immediately regretted the instant brain freeze.

“No.”

Nathan took the hat from Sam who was still recovering from the brain freeze and he took a deep breath before hesitantly placing it on his head. The laughter, the wetness, and especially the clowns all came back to him and he tossed the hat on the ground with a yelp.

“Seriously, Nathan?” Sam sighed as he picked up the hat.

“I can't, Sam.”

Sam simply gave him a pat on the back. “No more circuses.”

“No more clowns.”

“No more clowns.”

Nathan crawled into his bed in a fresh pair of pajamas but he couldn't drift off to sleep. He knew he was a lot safer inside the orphanage, surrounded by the other boys who he shared the room with, yet the image of the clowns and the audience laughing was stuck in his mind. He tossed and turned in his bed, wishing Sam wasn't assigned to a different room so he'd have someone to talk to.

Over the next few days, Sam tried to avoid bringing up the circus around Nathan, but he still felt a bit bad about it. Nathan stopped wearing his magician’s hat and cape, opting to sit alone in the library reading comic books instead of performing tricks in front of the other kids. Of course, Father Duffy noticed.

“Samuel, I need to talk to you,” Father Duffy approached Sam as he sat on the bleachers.

Sam instantly put his cigarette out, crushing it under his sneaker and sheepishly turning back to the Father.

“Heyy, Father Duffy, I was just trying out that cigarette that Edward gave me, by the way,” Sam sheepishly said. “It was disgusting. People should never smoke. Did I mention Edward gave it to me?”

“Samuel,” Father Duffy sighed as he sat next to him on the bench. “I wanted to ask about Nate.”

“My brother? What'd he do now?”

“Well, it's what he hasn't been doing that's got me worried. He seems… Quieter than usual?”

Sam stayed silent. He shrugged, feigning innocence.

“Have you noticed it?”

“Well,” Sam stood up and paced. “He hasn't… Been playing with those magic thingies…”

“I'm just worried he might be depressed about something, Sam.” Father Duffy was always worried about either of the brothers getting too depressed after learning about how their mother passed. He reached into his pocket and gave him a ten dollar bill. “Can I trust you to go out and get him a nice magician’s coat?”

“Yeah,” Sam gingerly took the bill and stuffed it in his pocket.

“I'll get Sister Maureen to take you to the market tomorrow morning,” Father Duffy said. “And for the love of God, stop smoking. It's terrible for your lungs.”

“Thank you, Father Duffy,” Sam muttered as he walked away, lighting up another cigarette as soon as the priest was out of sight.

Sister Maureen was a stout Irish woman in her forties who always looked cross, but Sam felt like he got along just fine with her. For one thing, she had Fight For Your Right by the Beastie Boys loudly playing on the radio as she drove him to downtown Boston. This pleased Sam. He liked the Beastie Boys.

“Now don't you be taking your sweet time in there or I'll throw you in detention,” she said in a monotone voice as she parked the car. “Be back in half an hour. I'll be at the store.”

“You got it, Sister,” Sam winked before he got out of the car.

He still had the Beastie Boys song in his head and despite being in his uniform that consisted of a white button down shirt, a pair of black slacks, and a blue vest that had “St. Francis Academy” on the left chest, he felt cool. He felt the bill in his pocket as he made his way to the closest department store.

“Cool,” Sam smiled into the mirror as he tried on a pair of aviators. He looked at the price. Five dollars. If he was going to get Nathan a nice gift he could use for magic, he wouldn't have enough. He considered his choices; he could do the right thing and just buy what Father Duffy asked, or he could treat himself to a nice pair of sunglasses and still find Nathan a nice gift.

He was about to make up his mind to do the right thing when he looked out the window and saw an open-air market across the street. Maybe he could find something there. There was the usual local produce as Sam strolled around, hoping there would be the odd stall with weird antiquities. Instead, he came across an elderly woman with rabbits in a cage. This gave Sam an idea.

“Hey, lady, how much for a bunny?” He asked her.

“Just four dollars, dear,” she sweetly smiled.

“Sold!” Sam pointed at a fat white bunny munching on a carrot. “I'll take that one.”

“For feck’s sake,” Sister Maureen simply gave Sam a weird look as he climbed back into the car with a little cage in his arms and a shiny new pair of sunglasses. “Did you get what you needed?”

“Oh yeah,” Sam nodded. “Let's roll, Sister Maureen.”

He felt even cooler when No Sleep Till Brooklyn played loudly as the nun drove back.

Nathan was lying on the ground, focusing on his drawing of Indiana Jones. He'd finally got to watch Raiders of the Lost Ark when they showed it at the movie night a couple days ago, and he was intrigued. He began imagining himself as a swashbuckling explorer again.

Sam poked his head into the room, scanning the room for his little brother.

“I have something for you,” he walked over to Nathan. “A late present.”

He pushed his sunglasses up and plopped down on the floor and placed the little cage in front of Nathan.

“No way,” Nathan gasped, pushing his sketches away to hold the bunny in his hands. “Is this allowed?”

“Father Duffy paid for it,” Sam gave a nonchalant shrug.

“I'm gonna name him Doc.”

“What's up, Doc?” Sam laughed as Nathan left the bunny to him so he could grab his magician’s hat and wrapped his blanket around his shoulders. A crowd of three to four little boys ranging from ages five to nine who were loitering around the room had gathered around, curiously looking at the brothers and whispering to each other.

“And now,” Nathan addressed the crowd. “The return of Nate the Great!”

He gestured for Sam to stand up.

“I shall now introduce the bunny, Doc, who I shall pull out of my hat!”

Ooh!

Sam stood behind Nathan after secretly giving him the bunny and he put the sunglasses on again.

“Abra cadabra!” Nathan quickly popped open the top of the hat and slid Doc inside.

“You don't have a bunny!” One of the smaller boys called out as he picked his nose.

“Then what do you call…” Nathan stuffed his hand into the bottom of the hat and gently pulled Doc out by the ears. “This!”

Aah!

Laughter filled the room as Nathan went through his routine of magic tricks, now improved with an even better assistant, Doc.

“Now, I like the sound laugh–” Father Duffy stood at the doorway and froze when he saw the bunny in Nathan’s hand. “What is that?”

“A bunny!” Sam grinned. “Isn't it just the best present?”

Father Duffy slumped against the doorway and sighed. Oh, Samuel.

“That's very nice,” he muttered. “Sam–can I speak to you in the hall for a second?”

“Sure thing, Father,” Sam followed the priest out into the hall and closed the door to the room where Nathan was showing the boys some card tricks.

“A live animal, Samuel?” Father Duffy crossed his arms. “I asked you to get him a cape .”

“ Oh ,” Sam hummed. “I swear I don't remember you saying anything specific, so I chose the gift I thought would be best for him.”

“You do know you boys aren't allowed to keep pets.”

“Come on, Father Duffy. Don't sweat it. We'll keep Doc out in that old cage near the garden.”

“Samuel, I don't trust you with an animal like that.”

“That's a low blow,” Sam looked up at Father Duffy through his shades. “But fine, it's Nathan’s pet now. He’ll take care of it.”

“Is anything the matter?” Nathan peeped out the door, the bunny still in his hand. “Is Sam in trouble again?”

“I was just telling your brother how it's a lot of hard work to take care of rabbits,” Father Duffy turned his attention to the younger Morgan brother.

“I'm sure there's books on rabbit care in the library,” Nathan held up the bunny. “I named him Doc.”

“That's nice,” Father Duffy sighed. “Fine. As long as you promise to clean up after him and to feed him yourself. Okay?”

“See, that's why you're my favourite priest,” Sam gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “Was that a sin?”

“Shades, Samuel.”

Nathan loved Doc. He's never had a pet before so he made it his mission to prove to himself and to Father Duffy and Sister Catherine that he was responsible enough to take care of the bunny. Apart from Sam, Nathan didn't really have any other friends, and he wouldn't really call Ralph-- who was just six -- a friend.  Sam was in the highschool section of the orphanage so when Nathan had no one else to talk to, he'd sneak off to Doc’s cage to talk to the rabbit and to draw. He must've drawn Doc a thousand times that first month. His drawing studies of the rabbit eventually evolved into Super Doc, a series of comics about a superhero rabbit fighting off villains that all looked like clowns.

“Whatcha drawing there, dingbat?” Edward, one of the older boys approached Nathan. He was large and had his black hair slicked back, making him look like a cockroach. He was in the highschool section too and was just a year younger than Sam. Two other boys, Jay and Danny, were close behind, giving Nathan menacing grins.

“Shouldn't you be in algebra? Or did you flunk that again?” Nathan quickly shut his notebook, but Edward grabbed it from him.

“Super Doc?” Edward laughed. “More like Super Dork, am I right?”

“You're just like your brother,” Jay, who was smaller and leaner, poked Nathan’s shoulder. “A friendless loser.”

“At least we aren't stupid,” Nathan tried to reach for his notebook. “Give it back, Edward!”

Edward tossed it to Danny, who stood six-foot-two at the age of fourteen. The taller boy laughed and pushed Nathan away. “Loser.”

Blinded by rage, Nathan kicked Danny in the shin, causing him to drop the notebook as he doubled over. Nathan picked it up and stuffed it into his backpack before landing a punch on Edward’s cheek.

“Scrawny little punk,” Edward pushed him on the ground, making Nathan fall with a grunt. “You're gonna regret this.”

Jay and Danny pinned Nathan down as Edward grabbed a fistful of sand. Nathan kicked and yelled, knocking off Jay’s glasses in the process. He closed his eyes as Edward’s fist neared his face. It happened enough for him to anticipate, and he wasn't looking forward to eating a sand and knuckle sandwich.

He heard Edward grunt and the sound of someone falling on the sand.

“You get away from him, you assholes!” Sam yelled. Nathan opened his eyes and saw Sam throwing punches at Edward and Danny.

Nathan turned to Jay and punched him square on the jaw. The older boy held his jaw in pain.

“What the fuck?”

“That's right, Nathan!” Sam yelled as he dodged a blow from Danny. He almost looked like he was having fun. “Jab, jab, hook!”

Jab, jab, hook . Nathan repeated it in his mind over and over again. He mimicked Sam in his movements, anticipating Jay’s every move. Jab, jab, hook.

“Oof!” Nathan flew back as Jay hit him in the eye.

“Stupid kid,” Jay pushed him and he bumped into Sam, who frowned.

“Come on, Nathan. Fight’s not over.”

When Sam was distracted, Edward threw another punch at Sam’s cheek and threw him down on the ground. Sam groaned as he tried to get up again.

“No one wants either of you,” he kicked sand at them and the other boys followed. “One day you’re going to get kicked out, Morgan, and no one's gonna remember you and no one's gonna want you, you insignificant little freak.”

Nathan’s blood boiled. He wanted to stand up and fight Edward again, but his eye was throbbing.

“This isn't over, Gilbertson,” Sam gritted his teeth. “I'm gonna kick your ass.”

“Loser,” Edward kicked sand at them again before walking off.

Sam sighed as he laid back on the dirt floor and put his shades that were hanging on his vest on. He lit up a cigarette and puffed a few angry smokes.

“Thanks,” Nathan mumbled.

“Yeah. Don't mention it.”

“I hate it here, Sam.”

“Me too.”

Nathan buried his face between his knees and Sam worriedly looked up.

“Hey, none of what he said is true, alright?” Sam said. “That bozo doesn't know what he's talking about.”

The younger Morgan brother said nothing.

“That was badass, though. Did you see Jay?” Sam suddenly laughed. “When have you ever seen a ten year old beat up a thirteen year old?”

“Maybe if the magician thing doesn't fly, I'll try out boxing,” Nathan said.

“Yeah!” Sam grinned as he sat up. “I'll be your boxing coach.”

“I'll beat Edward and all those clowns up myself then.”

“Attaboy, Nathan!”

They laughed and watched the clouds roll by until they fell asleep from exhaustion. Nathan dreamt of Doc saving him from a pack of bully clowns.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Doc was nowhere to be found. It was late in the evening and Nathan had been practicing some tricks in the activity room when the rabbit disappeared. He immediately went to Sam (who was, for some reason, asleep on the bleachers outside still in his uniform) for help.

“Well where did you leave him?” Sam stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips while Nathan rummaged through the pillows on the sofa.

“Here!” The young boy pointed at the sofa. “At least he was here before I went to pee. I didn't think he'd leave.”

“He's a chunky rabbit. He wouldn't have gone too far,” Sam walked towards a bulletin board filled with artworks from the other fifth graders in Nathan’s class. He chuckled at a blob with green eyes. “What the hell did Bobby draw?”

“You could be helping me, you know,” Nathan threw a throw pillow at him.

“Oh no, he's your pet.”

Nathan rolled his eyes as he crawled around looking under the couches.

It was then that a loud yell came from across the hall.

“Nathan!”

Father Duffy barged into the activity room in his pajamas, holding Doc in his arms.

There were little rabbit droppings on the priest’s bedsheets, to Nathan’s horror and to Sam’s amusement. Sam tried to suppress a laugh, but he ran out guffawing.

“Oh crap,” Nathan gulped. “I'll clean it up. I promise, Father Duffy.”

“This is the last straw,” Father Duffy was exasperated. “Nate, you promised you'd keep the rabbit outside in its cage.”

“I just took him in to practice for the talent show tomorrow.”

“One more talent show, Nate,” Father Duffy sighed. “Then the rabbit has to go.”

“What?” Nathan ran after him as he left the room to get a cup of tea. “But he's my rabbit.”

“I know, but it's getting out of hand. Oh, Sister Catherine!” Father Duffy called to the nun who just came out of one of the offices.

“Yes, Father?” Her eyebrows knitted.

“Please help Nathan get new sheets. His pet left a little surprise on my bed. I need some chamomile tea.”

Sister Catherine worriedly looked at the rabbit in Nathan’s arms. “A… Pet?”

“He's nice,” Nathan said quietly.

“Then make sure Nathan and Sam are in their respective rooms after,” Father Duffy yawned and made his way to the pantry. “You’ll know where I'll be.”

The boys had the tip of their ears pinched as Sister Catherine led them to the laundry room and handed them fresh sheets. She stood by the door as she watched them clean the rabbit droppings off with a tiny hand broom.

“Father Duffy wants to get rid of Doc,” Nathan whispered as he tugged the other side of the bedsheet.

“He's just saying that,” Sam scoffed.

“No, I think he's serious.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do about it?”

“Can we hide him or maybe set him free?”

“Nathan,” Sam gave him an exasperated look. “He's a rabbit. He's prey to almost everything. He's as good as dead out there.”

“I can't just let him take Doc away.”

“Okay, fine. Let's clean this mess up then I'll think of something.”

Sister Catherine made sure Nathan had put Doc back in his cage before making them go back to their rooms. Sam had said nothing else regarding the rabbit, and it made Nathan anxious. He almost forgot about the talent show.

The next morning, Nathan threw on his uniform and stuffed his makeshift magician's costume in his backpack and ran to Doc’s cage before his first class. The rabbit was still there, munching on vegetables that Mr. O’Reilly, the gardener, probably fed him earlier.

“Big day, Doc,” Nathan took him out of the cage to clean out the droppings and the leakings. He couldn't help but give him a quick kiss on the head, ignoring the strong smell of rabbit. “This is the performance of our lives and hopefully not the last one too.”

He reached into his pocket to grab a handful of pellets and sprinkled it into Doc’s food bowl. “Eat up, big guy. I'll see you in a few.”

Sam trudged to his pre-calculus class, lazily copying down last night’s homework from one of his roommates. He barely slept and all he wanted was to crawl back into bed and sleep the day away. He kept thinking about what he was going to do with the damn rabbit. Sam wouldn't admit, but he was fond of it. He wasn't always around for his little brother and he still felt bad about the whole clown fiasco, but at least the rabbit gave Nathan some comfort.

He thought about giving the rabbit away to a pet store, but what pet store would want a large rabbit like that? He shuddered to think of Doc ending up as rabbit stew somehow. Then he remembered the old woman he bought Doc from at the Haymarket market. He prayed she'd be there after the talent show that evening. He didn't have a Plan B.

“Abra cadabra!” Nathan repeated over and over, trying to decide which one sounded better. Ralph was on stage doing some kind of yodel and he was just waiting to finally be called up on stage.

“Alright, Nathan, here's the plan,” Sam appeared from around the auditorium. “After your performance, you meet me at the roof with the door that'll lead us out the West Gate. We're gonna catch the T to Haymarket and pray to god the old lady selling the rabbits is still at the market. Understand?”

Nathan sadly nodded. He didn't want to think about how he had to part with Doc soon.

Sam put a hand on his shoulder. “This is the best thing for Doc.”

“I guess so.”

“It'll be fine,” Sam gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “See you later, little brother.”

“Sure,” Nathan sighed as Sam ran off. He kneeled in front of Doc, whose beady red eyes wandered around, his wet nose in the air as he sniffed around. For a second, a wave of sadness hit Nathan and he let himself shed a few tears for his best friend.

“Now for our next performer…” Father Duffy stood on stage, looking at the little faces in the audience. Some were bored, some looked excited to see more performances. “The very magical Nate the Great!”

Nathan took a deep breath before stepping out into the limelight, squinting at the bright, hot light. Ignoring the expecting gazes, he set his table up, making sure Doc was secure near the little trap door he could pull him out of (he spent a few weeks making that table in home improvement class).

For a second, he felt his heart race as he remembered the clowns and the audience at the circus laughing at him. He glanced down at his trousers. Not wet. Good start.

“Go Nathan!” A single voice yelled. It sounded like Sam, but as Nathan peered out into the audience, he couldn't see him.

“Welcome, my fellow schoolmates! My name is Nate the Great and I'm here to amaze you with magic!”

He began his routine: starting off with a floating card trick and bending a spoon. The audience which he now realised was mostly other boys in the grade school, ooh-ed and aah-ed with every trick. Nathan asked Ralph to come up and volunteer to have a coin vanish from his palm and reappear from his ear. The six year old laughed throughout it.

As he went on, Nathan’s confidence went up, and finally it was Doc’s turn to help him amaze the crowd.

“For my last trick I'm going to pull out a very special friend of mine,” Nathan took his hat off and showed the inside of it to the audience. “As you can see, there is nothing in my hat.”

Wow!

Nathan gave a cheeky grin as he strategically placed the hat on the table, opening the secret door quickly. “Abra cadabra!”

He gently pulled the now rather large Doc out of the hat and held him up for the audience to see. The little boys laughed and cheered at the appearance of a live animal. They were reminded of a trip to the petting zoo just a month ago, where they plenty of bunnies like Doc.

“Thank you!” Nathan grinned as he held Doc to his chest, bowing down a few times until Father Duffy ushered him off the stage.

He was still thrilled as he left the auditorium, smiling at himself and the recent memory.

“We did it, Doc,” he whispered at the rabbit, giving it a kiss between its fuzzy ears. He took out a few baby carrots and gave them to him. As much as he tried not to, tears still dripped down his cheeks.

Sam leaned by the door on top of the roof of their rendezvous point. He was getting antsy and Nathan was taking too long to get there. It wasn't Nathan’s intention to get there too slow, though; it was hard to climb the usual route with a fragile creature in his backpack.

“What took you so long?” Sam rolled his eyes as Nathan climbed over the railing.

“Why are you in such a hurry? They're busy with the dumb talent show.”

“Whatever,” Sam opened the door. “Let's go.”

It was quarter past 6 PM when they got to Hanover Street, briskly walking to the open-air market. Most of the vendors have already packed up and some were cleaning up, happy to be done with the day.

Sam was suddenly nervous. The T ran slower than he remembered (the last time he rode the subway was before their father left them in the orphanage), instantly hating all the station transfers and the waiting. At this point, he was praying the old woman would still be there.

Nathan tried to keep up with Sam, but he couldn't keep up. Sam had told him to keep his eyes peeled for an old woman with rabbits, but all he saw were empty stalls and boxes of fresh produce.

“A bunny!” A girl just a few years younger than Nathan ran up to him. She had blonde hair tied up in pigtails and soft brown eyes. “What's his name?”

“Doc,” Nathan smiled.

“He's so cute!” She squealed. “Will he bite?”

“Not at all.” He took out a piece of cabbage from his pocket. “Here, you can feed him.”

The girl giggled in delight as Doc ate from her hand.

“There you are!” An older woman who Nathan assumed was the little girl’s mother ran up to them. “Let's go, I got the strawberries we can snack on tonight.”

“Look, Mom, it's a cute rabbit,” the little girl said.

“That's nice sweetie, but we have to go,” the woman took her hand.

Just then, Sam walked back to Nathan with an annoyed look on her face. “She's gone. Saw her drive away.”

“He needs a home, you know,” Nathan told the woman and the girl. “He's talented and he'll keep you safe and happy.”

The little girl’s eyes went wide. “Mom, please, please, please, please !”

“We already have Peaches, honey.”

“Peaches is a fish . I can't kiss a fish.”

“Lady, this rabbit is one of a kind,” Sam stepped in. “He's magic .”

“Oh, brother,” the woman groaned.

“I swear ever since we got him, good things have just been happening,” Sam shrugged. “If we weren't stuck in an orphanage, we could've kept him.”

“You're orphans?” The lady looked at them, finally noticing their clean cut uniforms.

The brothers gave her their best puppy dog eyes, knowing how well it always worked.

“I promise I'll take care of him!” The little girl tugged at the woman’s coat.

She sighed, a sign the boys knew all too well meant she'd fallen for it.

“Okay, we'll take the rabbit,” she said wearily and the little girl squealed loudly.

Nathan held up Doc and smiled at the rabbit, blinking back tears. He thought of all the times they spent together and cherished this last moment.

“Thank you,” he whispered before gently placing him in the little girl’s arms.

“And here,” the woman handed him coupons. “You can use this at any food store at Quincy Market.”

“Thanks,” Nathan smiled. “Please take care of Doc.”

“We will,” she nodded.

He stood, watching mother and daughter leave with his best friend. He sniffled, finally letting his tears roll down his cheeks. Sam gave him a comforting pat on the back.

“He's found a great home, Nathan.”

“He had a home with me.”

“Well now he has a home where he can just be a happy little rabbit and not worry about getting kicked out at the smallest of sins.”

Nathan nodded. “He'll be okay right, Sam?”

“Sure he will.”

“What's next for us?”

Sam tapped his chin in thought, then the coupons in Nathan’s hand caught his eye.

“We can get coconut macaroons.”

[tweedfrog]

Do you have any favorite fan casts for Elia, Rhaenys, Aegon, Arianne and Ashara?

Anon I know you didnt intend this to be a callout, but it is because I spend way too much time on Instagram and half my facasts are random IG influencers I find attractive. Lets begin

Elia

1) Raine Montalvo a Timorese/Portugese model. She has the delicate beauty I envsion Elia as having. She also has STUNNING cheekbones. Pls reveal ur skincare regieme to me queen:

2) Sonam Kapoor. Once again she has the delicate beauty I feel best goes with Elia’s description. Also I love every single thing she wears and peruse her sari choices to describe Elia’s clothes.

3) Young Aishwariya Rai - this is a great “fuck you!” fancast to anyone who implies that Elia was somehow “less beautiful” than Lyanna and “not beautiful enough” for Rhaegar. To these clowns I say Elia was canonically a smokeshow. Deal with it xx

4) Freida Pinto - once again the delicate beauty and cheekbones thing.

Ashara:

1) Laura Harrier - I think my best fancast for Ashara Dayne is motivated by my crush on Laura Harrier. Laura girl wherever you are know that I would run over my own foot for you. Also the only descriptors we have about Ashara are that she was tall, had dark hair that tumbled about her shoulders, and that she laughed and smiled a lot. I remind the fandom once again that purple eyes arent real, and that fair can just be a descriptor for a beautiful person.

2) Young Aishwariya rai as seen above. I think this works mainly because Aish has grey/blue eyes

3) Bella Hadid. She’s half white/half palestinian and white passing. I think this could be a good fancast to hammer home that while the Daynes are white passing they are Dornish.

Rhaenys

I hate hate HATE it when in fics Rhaenys is somehow described as less beautiful/less important than Daenerys because of her dornish blood. So @ the hottest brown ladies I have seen you are all Rhaenys to me now.

1) Cindy Kimberley an IG model (@wolfiecindy). Im pretty sure Cindy is mixed raced too so it works. 

2) Mishti Rahamn (@mishti.rahman) a Bengali influencer who lives in Australia.

Aegon

The psychic damage I take when I see Aegon fancasted as a white guy is unreal. @ everyone pls stop using the white boy from Reign as an Aegon fancast I beg you. Imagine these dudes with that blonde wig HBO uses for every single Targaryen and it’s go time. 

1) Avan Jogia. Avan’s hair alone could carry this off. Also the smouldering stare. No wonder Tyrion talks about how handsome he is.

2) Personal favourite - Jassa Ahluwalia. He’s british/punjabi and was great in Some Girls as Rocky. He’s also white passing and has browny/blonde hair for all those ppl who can apparently suspend belief enough to believe in dragons but not dark skinned people with blonde hair and light eyes.

3) I’ve seen some fancasts of Luke Pasquilano as Aegon and while he is olive skinned I’m pretty sure he’s Italian and we run into the same issue of fancasting white guys.

Arianne

1) Emeraude Toubia. She has such pretty deep brown eyes

2) Jacqueline Fernandez. I think she’s got the sensuality Arianne is described as having and I love her curly hair.

Thanks for asking!

[holycow99]

石田お寿司 12/9/21 stream translation Part 4

This is not the full translation of the stream. I only translated the parts I could understand & interpret or parts I found interesting/important. I’m still a beginner in Japanese, so the translations may not be accurate. If you want to repost, please repost at your own risk.

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(t/n: ** means translation may not be accurate.)

I: We’re talking about the commemoration of 30,000 subscribers, right? What should we do?

C: Is this a chatting stream?

I: Well, yeah.

C: Let’s play game now.

I: I’m totally okay with it.

C: I feel bad that I pinned this person’s comment. Should I unpin it? This is what’ll happen if you guys aren’t careful with your comments. You’ll be exposed. I’ll forgive this person.

C: Please do streaming of you working on lyrics.

I: I’m totally okay with something like that.

C: Have you ever received hair?  

I: I did receive something similar. A deep red colour. Was it a wig or something? This is a true story.

C: Scary!

I: I didn’t think it was scary though. I was like “I see…”. It was unique.

C: Have you received a marriage registration form?

I: No, but I once received a purikura photo from a gal. The letter was cute. She’s seriously a gal, with the round letters and all. She’s super young and the purikara was cute. The content of the letter was hilarious. She’s like “Let’s hang out!”, “It’s fun!” “I read TG! I don’t understand it, but it’s fun!”.  She’s totally a gal. It was amazing. How did I get that? That’s a good one, though I didn’t get to hang out with her.

C: Eh, is it okay to send purikura?

I: I’ll just take a look at it if you send one. I won’t do anything about it. Nothing will happen.

C: Impressive move.

I: Right? But I think it’s the culture. I wanna experience this kind of culture as well. I want gals and Exile fans to read my works, not just people who have read TG. I wanna write something that everyone can enjoy.

C: You wanna interact with gals?

I: I wanna try. Normally, you won’t be able to, right? Have I ever talked to a gal before? A real gal. Avu-chan was super gal-like. Avu-chan is a gal. My first encounter with a gal was with Avu-chan from Queen Bee.

*He’s imitating Avu-chan’s way of talking.

I: I see. So there’s a lot of way to enjoy TG.

C: Seems like you’d be a grandpa.

I: Definitely the case if I ever meet a gal.

C: Are you extremely close with her (avu-chan)?

I: I’m the type who approach the other party. Well, I’m sure everyone is like this, but don’t you have different personas? I wasn’t pretending or anything, but I wore a gal persona for the first time when I was with Avu-chan. Avu-chan has a gal-like personality, so I thought I also needed a new persona.  By the way, have you played the game Persona? Just like how the main character attained new personas, the gal persona came out aggressively from behind me and possessed me.

I: Akechi is cool, right? (t/n: Akechi is a character from Persona 5.)

C: Please impersonate Avu-chan.

I: Avu-chan’s impersonation? “But then~”. How is it again? “Sui Sensei is~”. But she talks about deep stuffs, even though she’s a gal. Although she’s a gal, she’s someone with a lot of knowledge.

C: can you read gal’s alphabet?

I: I can if I try hard enough.

I: I wanna include a gal character in choujin x.

C: Sensei seems to have high communication skill.

I: I don’t think so. There’s a term called ‘communication monster’. My friend, Takahashi Kunimitsu form Osterreich is a communication monster. He knows how to hype people up, since he doesn’t say offensive things.** He can join in conversations with anyone, anywhere like a clown. Then, he’ll be very tired after that. It’s wearing him out on top of having a high communication skill. That is a communication monster. I can join in a conversation as well, but unless it’s with someone I’m fond with, I won’t. It’s tiring.

C: People who are good at getting along with others do exist.

I: Yes. He’s good at that.

I: Kunimitsu’s seriously amazing. He got along with a granny he just met in a bar. I just listened to their conversation the entire time.

C: Isn’t that considered as a communication disability if you get tired by it?

I: I do think it’s a sign of communication disability**, But again, that’s just another side of it. It’s the same as shy people who can speak well.

C: Was it the one you posted on twitter?

I: Yup. The one at the bar in Nogata. Was it in Nogata? Probably there. But I think band men have great communication skill, since they meet various types of people.

Y****: I don’t like gals.

I: That’s not good. You’re in the theatre club, after all. Someone involves in theatres can’t be bias. It’s okay if you don’t like them, but it’s better to come across them.

C: Is it important to talk and meet with various people?

I: Hm, I wonder. I think it’s important, especially when you’re still shaping your identity. I speak like this because I didn’t manage to meet and get along with people. I was super serious whenever I was invited to a live show, like the time I met Mr. TK. I was super serious every time I met people when I was in my 20s.

C: You did meet Gegegay, right? (t/n: Tokyo Gegegay is a Japanese dance & music group.)

I: I did. I might not be able to converse with him if I didn’t come prepared. They’re super nice though. Mr. Mikey’s punch was strong. I was like “so we’re gonna have this kind of conversation on our first meeting.”. But it was really entertaining. He’s actually being considerate of me. Somehow, I’ve had a conversation with Mr. Mikey and Ms. Reol, just the three of us remotely. Mr. Mikey was really considerate during the conversation to make it very enjoyable. I was amazed by it.

(t/n: Mikey is the leader of Tokyo Gegegay. Reol is a Japanese singer.)

C: Have you ever met Hirose Alice? (t/n: Hirose Alice is an actress. She’s a big fan of TG.)

I: Nope. I think it’s better not to meet her. There’s no chance to meet her.

C: Who’s the person you’re most nervous with when you met them?

I: It’s hard to tell, but I felt nervous every time I met someone for the first time. Then, the feeling gradually disappeared after I got to know them. That’s not good, isn’t it? But, when I met Togashi sensei, it’s more like a dream. It’s an indescribable feeling when I met him. I was like “This kind of feeling exists.” I was nervous when I met Avu-chan as well. But rather than feeling nervous, since she was very nice, I was able to talk a lot. It was fun.

*Someone asked if he had meet Masataka Kubota.

I: I’ve met him.

C: Do you have a mentor?

I: Probably Hara sensei. The word ‘mentor’ is hard to describe. But, he’s somewhat a mentor-like presence to me. I don’t know.  

C: Do you like Yonezu Kenshi?

I: That’s needless to say. Everyone likes him.

*Someone asked if he’s met Horikoshi Kohei sensei (BNHA’s author).

I: Nope. We have the same age.

C: He drew the draft while lying down, right? (t/n: OP probably talking about Togashi sensei.)

I: He showed me how he did the draft.

*Someone asked if he’s met Inoue Takehiko sensei (Slam dunk’s author.)

I: Nope. If Hara sensei is considered as my mentor, though I can just call him that, Inoue Takehiko sensei would be my mentor uncle.

C: Was Masataka Kubota good-looking?

I: He’s super good-looking.

*Someone asked if he’s met Kotoyama sensei (Dagashikashi’s author).

I: I’ve never met her.

*Someone asked if he’s met Araki Hirohiko sensei (Jojo’s author).

I: Nope. Wait, I did. It was when I was still an assistant. My senior, Matsubara Toshimitsu sensei, who’s writing a manga called Kurogane no Valhallian in Young jump, was like “Araki Hirohiko is here! Let’s meet him for a bit!”, and I agreed to him. Araki sensei is on another level, as expected. He’s super-duper famous, after all. All the assistants were surrounding him, asking him for pictures. When it was our turn, my smile was so stiff when I took a picture with him. I was too nervous. It was a distorted smile. Then, Mr. Matsubara accidentally stepped on Araki sensei’s foot. He’s like “I’m sorry! I accidentally stepped on your foot!” By the way, I went to the new year’s party in my pajama, which had curry on the sleeve and took a picture with Araki sensei. The clothes were shabby. Since Araki sensei was a nice person, He complimented me saying the it was fashionable. I was so thankful. He complimented my pilled and curry stained clothes. I was happy for that. I went there wearing pajama because I didn’t have any other clothes. The clothes were in a white colour. I went there wearing a parker with dull pants. He was really cool. Very young-looking and a wonderful person.

C: Have you gotten a chance to meet Miura Kentaro sensei (Berserk’s author)?

I: No, I’d never met him. I liked him a lot. I still like him. I can’t continue talking about him. It’s too sad. I can’t express how I feel other than I’m sad. Death. Regarding this, I wish people wouldn’t pray to the dead souls so casually. I don’t like praying to the dead souls nor do I like people doing that as well.

C: Have you met Mengo sensei (Scum’s wish’s author) and Aka sensei (Kaguya sama’s author)?

I: I’ve met Ms. Mengo a long time ago. She’s always present at parties. She’s quite stand out as well. She’s wearing cat ears the first time I met her. It was cute. I think I have met Akasaka sensei.  Probably just introduced myself.  

C: You’re a mangaka, but have you been surprised by other mangakas’ personalities?

I: Pretty much. Like their images or...Well, aren’t you like that with everyone? Isn’t it normal to be surprised by their images, physiques, and voices? Since you never imagine about those things.

C: I want you to meet Isayama sensei.

I: Isayama sensei’s also the same age as me.

C: I have met Itagaki Keisuke sensei (Baki’s author)!

I: So you’ve met him. I see.

C: Have you met Inagawa Junji (actor & director)?

I: I want to.

*Ishida was about to read a comment but stopped.

I: People will keep asking who I’ve met if I answer this, so I’ll skip it.

*He still answered the question.

I: I’ve never met Ryuuichi (illustrator & character designer). He’s gotten married. He looks happy, so it’s all well. Ever since before, I didn’t think he had to be that self-asserting. He didn’t need to tell who he was. It’s already written in his account. I was like “Don’t worry, everyone knows. Everyone sees it.” Well, he looks happy, above all.

C: I was excited seeing Hara sensei at the Kingdom exhibition.

I: Oh, he was there.

Part 5

[arthurflecksgirl]

Hello, darling ^-^ a kind of embarrassing thing to request, could you write a short fic about Arthur having a really hard day at work and his s/o helps him release some tension through sex? I could see him having a praise kink or loving bad talk. Either love making or erotica, it's however you wanna write it, it's your fic. Poor Artie really needs physical touch and to let off some steam T-T

My sweet friend,thank you for your lovely request. I came up with this. It`s short but somehow it felt right. I really hope you like it :)

I don`t even need to get the keys. She already knows I`m home.  It`s ike she has this radar implated  in her heart, which tells her when I`m near. It beeps with every step I`m coming closer. Beep beep, beep. Step, step, step. Thats`s how seen I am. How felt. Which is even better. Being felt. If someone else sees you, you could still be nothing but an hallucination. Who knows if hallucinations think they are real themselves? Maybe they are not aware of tha fact that someone elses mind made them up. Maybe that`s all I am. An hallucination of someone elses twisted mind. A mind even more fucked up than my own. Maybe that`s why I always wondered if I even exist in this world. Maybe it´s all a big joke. But I felt something is changing lately. Everything became more...clear to me. Like the fog is finally lifting and I  actually am for once. That`s because she does not only see me but feel me and that makes me feel myself. More than ever. All the thoughts I`m having. Good or bad. They`re all mine now and mine alone. Maybe hers. But we are one so it`s the same. Right? Isn`t it?

Being felt. God how much I wanted to be felt all my life. I wanted someone to feel my body as something beautiful underneath their hands. Something precious that must being touched. I want someone to take their hand and let it travel all over my skin and bones and being in love with it. Being in love with the parts that has been bruised and ruined. Being in love with the matter lingering between my ribs. They`re sticking out, wanting to see teh sunlight. Like a flower cracking through the ground. Rising up. Towards the light.  I am light when she is touching me.

"Welcome home, Arthur!" he warm voice does things to me. You can tell by the way my name sounds escaping her lips how much she loves me. My name never sounded like that before. My name was never melody.

I can smell she made me dinner. But I`m not hungry. I never am. More ribs sticking out, wating to see the light.

There is a different kind of hunger growing inside. The hunger to own her body. Or being owned. Sometimes I am not sure. If one owns another you become equal and I really wanna become eqal because it means being one and I want that kind of intimacy. No boundaries between the two of us. I want her to let me in as if I am part of her body. I want her to let me slip inside so naturally its like breathing. In and out and in and out. Like her life is depending on it.

"I made you dinner, darling. I hope you`re...."

I am sweetheart, but only for you.

I don`t even let her finish her sentence. I slam the door behind me. So loud the neighbors complain, even though they are used to slamming doors. My hands grab her face and I kiss her with all thats within me. And it`s a lot. There is so much inside. Too much to handle. So I share it with her and let it flow right into her mouth. I don`t have to bear it all on my own anymore. She can take it and she will. And she is begging for more. Swallowing the taste of my mouth. I´m her favourite flavour.  Cigarettes, sorrow and light.

Her tongue dances with mine and I can acually hear the music ofher rythm. In my head, always in my head and its getting louder as her fingers travel down to open the botton of my pants. I am still in my clown costume. Half of my make up is gone  from sweating so much. It`s a hot summers day  and it was getting pretty hot under my green wig.

She grabs the wig with her free hand and throws it on the floor. My greasy hair sticking to my forehead. I should have taken a shower first. But I can`t wait.

"How....how was your day?" she`s breathing into my opened mouth. Breathless from me kisssing her so hard. I stop for a second, looking down at her hands pulling the pants down my bony knees. "Was having a hard day. I couldnt wait to....be with you again. I was thinking about fucking you all day".

I finally get rid of my pants. Her hand reaches inside my underwear. "Poor Arthur, le me help you. Soon you`ll be feeling better."

"You thought about me too?"

She starts stroking up and down between my legs "All the time"

She`s looking right at me and I wonder what she sees. My painted on smirk is still visible. The drak circles around my eyes show through the smeared grease paint. My hair is a mess. Am I beautiful to her?

"Do you think i´m beautiful?" I aske her, while I rip down my underwear all by myself. She looks surprised about how unpatient I am today.

"You are the most beautiful man my eyes have ever seen, Arthur. "

Her hand lead my fingers to her waistband. Letting me know she wants me to undress her. I don`t hesitate to do so. "You must be so exhausted" she whispers in my ear.

"Yeah...." I mumble "Not only that...my workmates gave me a hard time again today."

I grab her  and push her against the wall. Not because I want to be rude but because I need to feel . Feel that there is someone who wants me.

For a short moment she gaspes for air.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No, Arthur. I`m fine. You`re here with me now. They cannot hurt you anymore. Okay? I´m here and I´m all yours. Take me. Just....please just take me. You`ve got too much supressed emotions inside of you. I can see it in your eyes. I know you though and through remember? Just let it all out and love me"

I do. I do remember.

I remember as I gently bury myself into her, all the way inside. She moans my name and it´s an even prettier song now.  I feel her body vibrating like an instrument. I`m her song, her song her song. Her favourite song.

And the music plays while my body is leaving hers for a moment, just to lead her to the couch and pin her down to get back inside and let the record in my head play. "Can you hear the music?" I`m asking her, shaking from lust and she nodds. Asuring me she feels it through my bones. "It`s as beautiful as you, Arthur".

She touches me. All the rboken parts and the parts that shine for her.

The orchestra is getting so loud I can`t hear anything else anymore. Not the voices in my head or the memories of the past, not my workmastes picking on me. It´s all just....passion and my flesh on her flesh. My mind blurring into hers. And I can let it blurr into hers because she doesn`t think I´m crazy. She knows. She understands. And I`m getting deeper and deeper. As deep as human possible and she tells me what a wonderful man I am and how much she yearns for me to fuck her and that´s the magic of it all.

I`m wearing that smile but it´s not a mask anymore.

[artificialqueens]

Maybe You're My Enemy (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

a/n: hey, hi, hello! welcome to the first canon compliant thing i have written since 2017, i am *~ petrified! ~* . i had to write something to fix these two though after the events of episode 8 because i just love them dearly (and the fact in the subsequent episode Lawrence just dropped in the fact they’d shared a bed didn’t help this at all). thank you so much to @purecamp for reading it over and reassuring me it’s not a heap of shit (so if it turns out that it is then just blame her xo). also the song it’s set to is enemy by Charli XCX in case u want to get the immersive vibes!

fic summary: On one side of Scotland, Lawrence disappears from social media. On the other, Ellie reflects.

***

They say, “Keep your friends close”

But you’re closer, I love when you’re here

I’m so far away sometimes, I’m distant, yeah

The sky is grey. The clouds are grey. The stagnant water of the quay is grey, and so’s the metal rail that Ellie’s holding on to as he narrows his eyes, tries to stop the wind from hitting them and making him tear up.

As if the wind would be the only reason.

He brings his gaze into focus on the HMS Unicorn, sat in the water in front of him like some massive whale that’s been planted in a bathtub. It’s a fucking ugly ship; a glorified tugboat on steroids with a big bowsprit sticking out at the front all out of place, but he likes the little bust of the once-white unicorn that sticks out from under it. Ellie remembers getting brought here for a school trip in Primary 3, pointing to the unicorn all excited and getting laughed at by the boys in his class that he knew were going to grow up to be the ones that gave the teachers lip and got suspended in high school.

He remembers that Bryce made up the fact that one of the boys had “said the f word” in the gift shop later that day, just so Ellie could have the satisfaction of watching them get screamed at by their teacher. Ellie still fucking loves him for that.

Ellie thinks the unicorn is out of place in all this grey. He remembers the time he did his unicorn mix when he opened for Willam, how nervous he’d been and messaging Lawrence about it and getting a “this you coming out to me as a furry?” in return which made him laugh and forget why he’d even been nervous in the first place. He can’t help the smile the memory brings to his face even if he wants to.

And he wants to.

Lawrence always could make him smile, get a laugh from him even when he didn’t feel like it. He remembers with a blow to his heart what Lawrence had said on the show- “you’re not terribly funny? Like you don’t have…zinger-y punchlines?” - and how Tia had laughed and Ellie had wanted so much to bite back but didn’t.

Because he always could draw a laugh out of Lawrence. Granted he was usually laughing at him rather than with him, but Ellie could still put a smile on his face by acting dumb, saying things that Lawrence would subsequently repeat in a screech of disbelief that would always make Ellie laugh harder anyway. He’d always self-impose ridiculous dares on himself in front of him: in Hive, “here, what if I did the entire shot rainbow?”, in Nandos, “d’you think I could do the wing roulette by myself?”, in Glasgow on the Subway on the way to a gig, “dare me to get off at Ibrox and I’ll go to the Louden Tavern dressed like this?”. Ellie had been used to being the class clown for Lawrence, the jester for the queen.

Or maybe just a fool.

Ellie’s always hated the colour grey.

You might help me, intimacy

I’ll admit, I’m scared

Maybe, maybe you can reach me, yeah

His surroundings turn to silver as he shoves his hands in his pockets, heads towards the V&A museum that’s still glinting despite the lack of sunlight. He’s stopped by two teenage girls that are polite and shy and squeaky-voiced as they ask for a photo- he supposes that’s what he gets when he goes out wearing the pink and purple fur coat with the hearts on it. Ellie forces a smile and thanks them for supporting him and they tell him he’s their favourite in return.

After they walk away he thinks they must have been lying, but then he feels the frown etch itself onto his face as he shakes his head. The self-doubt is a hangover from filming that he needs to shake off.

He squints at the museum as he walks past, fleetingly thinks about going in and looking at some of the old fashion to cheer him up. A’whora’s promised to go with him when he’s eventually allowed to come up to visit, and Ellie snorts at the idea of the fashion queen of the London scene in Dundee. The thought of A’whora’s reaction to the Wellgate shopping centre- the Credit Union, the B&M, the Jobcentre Plus- puts the first smile on his face he’s had in days.

Lawrence had gone round the museum with him too, when Ellie had dropped him off at the train station the day after a gig and they’d been killing time. It had been weird to just dick about like that together the first few times. Weird the fact there was no makeup, glue and wigs, no alcohol or gay anthems to yell over. Just two boys walking around a museum together. Like a date.

Ellie makes a face before he even realises. Not this.

The first time they did all of it together was weird. Just like everything Lawrence had written. Nandos, cinema, staying at his. That last one especially. Ellie can still remember the way he’d stared up at the bumpy ceiling from his position on Lawrence’s couch in the pitch dark, street lamps from outside casting shadows through the blinds. The room was too cold and the blanket was too small and he hadn’t slept a wink but he’d still do it all over again.

The first time they’d both lain on Lawrence’s bed the morning after the night before, cracking up at Scottish You Laugh You Lose compilations on Youtube and Ellie being unable to help the tears that streamed down his face at Lawrence imitating “big shoe, big shoeeee!”. The way they’d been close and the way their arms had touched and the way Ellie had felt ridiculous for the way his heart was hammering. Just a friend.

The first time they’d found each other under the dark lights of CCs when they’d both been through in Edinburgh to support Alice by chance. The way Ellie’s heart had lit up like a firework when he saw him. The way they’d laced their fingers together without even having to ask permission first, the way everything just seemed to be as simple as tequila rose shots and pink lights and leaning against the wall as they smoked outside.

The way everything else had just happened so easily.

Ellie squeezes his eyes shut before he can realise what he’s doing. The memories have forced their way in, kicked down a door in his head that he’d been sure he’d bolted shut.

He needs to change the locks.

Maybe you’re my enemy

Now I’ve finally let you come a little close to me,

Maybe you’re my enemy

You’re the only one who knows the way I’m really feelin’

Ellie is in the same Stitch onesie he’s been shrugging on since the last episode aired. It stinks. He’s joked to A'whora that he can probably smell him through the phone, and A'whora’s asked if he just sweats out Mango Loco Monster. Ellie makes some joke about wringing out his clothes into a pint glass if he did, which makes A'whora retch on camera.

He’s glad they made up at least. They didn’t have too much of a choice, to be fair. Apart from the way they get on so well, their bond and their friendship, A'whora’s the only other one who knows what it’s like to be in Ellie’s situation.

Except A'whora never stabbed Tayce in the back.

“You should talk to him,” A'whora insists, bringing the whole sorry situation up in a pause where Ellie must have looked as if he was about to make a vodka bleach mixer.

Ellie looks pointedly back at him through the screen. “I’ve been telling you to talk to Tayce for months.”

He watches A'whora pull an awkward face and he’s satisfied he’s hit a nerve. “That’s different though. You and Lawrence don’t live together.”

“Yeah. Least I wasn’t stupid enough to move in with someone I fancied, how’s that going for you?”

A'whora splutters a laugh that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Ellie feels guilty all over again. He feels like that’s his default these days. “Sorry, chick, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, I mean. It’s fine. Just have to act as if I’m not in love with the bitch every time I’m around her, it’s not hard,” A'whora deadpans.

Ellie frowns. “You know Tayce feels the same. Everyone knows it.”

“No I don’t,” A'whora says instantly back to him, shaking his head and dissolving momentarily into pixels. “Besides, even if she did, like…it’s easier if she didn’t, y'know? All this…publicity, every move getting analysed. It’s easier to just…not.”

Ellie narrows his eyes. “You’re doing a smashing job making the case for me and Lawrence.”

“You know what I mean! You don’t get people asking where Lawrence is in every live you do. You don’t get people going through the show fucking…frame by frame and then editing every time you breathe around each other together and setting it to a bloody Little Mix song.”

Ellie bursts out laughing and starts singing Black Magic down the phone to him, which makes A'whora look pointedly at him before clearly being unable to hold it for long and instead laughing with him.

Both their laughter dies down and Ellie watches as A'whora smiles sadly, sincerely. “He’s worth the risk, Els.”

“Oh my God, prison. Who the fuck are you, Nicholas Sparks?”

The reference flies over A'whora's head and Ellie starts explaining the plot of the A Walk to Remember, steering the conversation out of the waters it had become marooned in, the captain of his very own HMS Unicorn.

He feels more like he’s aboard the Titanic with every message that goes unread.

Now it’s really clear to me

You could do a little damage, you could cut me deeper

“It didn’t get you a badge though, was it worth it?”

Ellie’s asked himself that every day since the episode aired. Since he made the decision, pretty much. Financially? Yes it was. It’s pretty well-known at this point in the grand scheme of Drag Race that with each week you’re on the likelihood of securing more bookings is increased, and now with his slot at Drag Fest he feels as if he’s hit the jackpot.

Everything else? Not so much.

Ellie still feels his stomach drop if he thinks enough about that untucked, which he does all the time. Too much, in fact. The aggression in Lawrence’s voice which Ellie knew all too well was a manifestation of hurt on so many levels. The way Lawrence chose the conflict that Ellie wished he could have avoided. The way Lawrence left his feelings bare while Ellie couldn’t trust himself to do the same in case he said something he might regret.

The fact Lawrence had thought Ellie had set him up to fail was maybe what hurt the most, though. Ellie had wanted to ask him how he thought he’d be able to do that after everything they’d been through together. He’d tried to tell him he didn’t think it was possible for him to fail at something he shines at. He’d wanted to grab Lawrence’s pink fucking headpiece and bash him over the head with it until he realised that he’s Lawrence fucking Chaney, he is the Scottish drag queen. Lawrence is the one who will say something at a gig one week and it’ll be common drag parlance across the country by the next. Lawrence is the one getting booked by the BBC Social to make educational videos. Lawrence is the one on posters across Glasgow, for fuck’s sake.

Ellie might not have been thinking about the worst case scenario in that moment, but only because he genuinely didn’t think there could be one.

After all, he’d had his opportunity to sabotage Lawrence. Ellie remembers the first day when the producers had wanted to set up the Scottish queen rivalry, asked for something shady they could use as a soundbite. The way he’d sought out Lawrence on a smoke break and told him about the situation and reassured him that he hadn’t given them anything, and the way Lawrence had just smiled back at him, softly and genuinely, and told Ellie he’d done the same. The way they’d minutely linked pinkies together before breaking them and walking back inside as if they’d barely shared so much as a glance, neither of them wanting to draw any suspicion their way.

And he could’ve been harsher in that untucked if he’d wanted. Could’ve said how for someone that was meant to care so much about friendship and sisterhood, Lawrence had been doing a great job shitting on him from a great height about his lack of challenge wins and his run on the show.  

But he didn’t, because…well. He knows why.

Because the knowledge that he’d hurt Lawrence and lost his trust had done more damage than any joke Lawrence made at his expense could ever do.

Ellie goes live on the Tuesday afternoon. A comment on the chat reads, “are u A’whora and Lawrence still friends???”

“Yeah, me and A’whora are still friends!” Ellie bats the comment away with a fake smile.

He’ll blame his lack of comprehension skills if he’s asked about it.

I feel guilty, I feel nervous, I feel certain now

Maybe, maybe you can reach me

He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it.

Maybe it’s when he wakes up on Friday and Lawrence’s Twitter isn’t loading. Maybe it’s when he reads the other Scottish girls condemning the fans, the word fatphobia leaping out, grabbing Ellie’s heart and wrenching it tight.

Surely not this?

Ellie searches Twitter and what he finds makes him feel ill. He doesn’t know what he had expected- he’d known the frantic tweet urging the fans to be kind that he’d typed out before he went to sleep hadn’t exactly been going to create world peace overnight- but he hadn’t expected any of this. Everyone loves Lawrence, surely.

Although perhaps he’s just talking from experience.

Maybe it’s when he shoots Lawrence a message that goes unopened. In all honesty Ellie doesn’t blame him. A flimsy sentiment about hoping he’s okay that clocks in at under 250 characters isn’t going to cut it, and he’s grateful when Bimini, with all their empathy and ability to read a situation as clear as day, texts him and tells him that Lawrence has replied to them and he’s…well, he’s managing.

Maybe it’s when Ellie goes live with A’whora and he manages to mention Lawrence entirely too many times. A cry for attention or an old habit that’s dying hard? He can’t tell. Perhaps it’s both.

It’s definitely got something to do with the Facebook post.

Whatever it is, Ellie finds himself stuffing any old random items of clothing in a backpack and hoping it makes an outfit, shoving the spare key into the soil of the plant pot outside his front door and texting Anne to tell her where it is in case…fuck knows, the flat goes on fire while he’s away or something. He looks up the train times as he’s on his way to the station; a terrible decision, really, as when he’s still fifteen minutes away he discovers there’s one in ten. Somehow he manages to make it to the station with just a minute to spare and his heart lifts to find that the ticket barriers are open, so he dashes through them and hurtles onto the train that’s waiting at the platform. He catches his breath as he slumps into a table seat, having to take his mask off for a couple of seconds just so he can breathe properly. The way his heart is going at the rate the train’s about to isn’t helping.

The chimes of the train announcement cut through his attempts at slowing his heart down, and the little robotic woman’s voice confirms that his ridiculous, spur-of-the-moment decision is actually happening.

“This is Dundee. This train is for Glasgow Queen Street.”

Because this is all so last minute, but he needs to see Lawrence. He’s apologised probably ten times by now but he knows he needs to make it eleven. He knows (he hopes) that Lawrence needs that eleventh time too. He knows that Lawrence needs Ellie’s persistence, knows that it’s all just an attempt at self-preservation. Lawrence’s attempts at shutting Ellie out are just inviting him to bring a battering ram. At least, he hopes. But like A’whora had said…he’s worth the risk.

The train starts moving, and even if he wanted to back out now he couldn’t.

So cold at the surface, I’m scared of nothin’

Underneath, I’m nervous

Can you reach me?  

Ellie waits for the subway at Buchanan Street and his glazed-over eyes focus on a massive poster of Lawrence on the platform opposite. He briefly considers throwing himself under the next train.

The journey down had passed somehow in the blink of an eye and also agonisingly slowly. Too much time to sit and stare out of the window but not enough time to figure out what he’s going to say. He still doesn’t know. He’d said it all those months ago, he’s said it through texts and DMs. This time feels different, though. This time is different. This time there’s no cameras or runners or pink tables, or distance between them or tension at the fact nothing had aired yet.

It’s going to be the pair of them and Lawrence’s flat. Just like it’s been so many times before.

Ellie thinks he’ll probably just open his mouth, say whatever gets there first and hope it hits the right notes; a terrible decision arrived upon as a result of the lack of any other option. His mind is a messed up ball of television static, a knotted yarn of white noise that he can’t find the end of. He feels as if it’s made of the noise the train makes as it screams into the station, metal on metal and the low whoosh of the wind through the tunnel and the rickety shaking of the doors as they slide open and people stream off.

He picks up his bag and sinks down into the horrifically patterned upholstery of the seats, settling himself in for the journey. The little metal tin can of a train doesn’t take long to fire through the seven stops before Govan and with each one that passes Ellie can feel his nerves spiking and his mouth growing dry.

What if Lawrence isn’t even in? What if it’s all got too much and he’s gone back to Helensburgh for the foreseeable? Ellie could get a train up there, he supposes; he’s already on this side of the country, although he doesn’t know if Lawrence would appreciate the gesture or call the police on him.

Ellie concludes it would be worth it anyway.

He emerges from the Subway and the grey seems to hit him all over again, seeping into his clothes and forcing him to fight through the sadness that hits him like a wave. There’s a little beam of sunshine fighting to escape the clouds though, and Ellie hopes it’s some form of pathetic fallacy. Or whatever that one about the weather matching your feelings was. Fucked if he ever paid attention in Nat 5 English.

The streets of red brick tenements feel like pens of hostility as he passes windows that serve as frames for Union Jacks and Red Hand of Ulster flags. Even being raised in a Christian household doesn’t equip him to identify with this form of religion; where the disciples are football players and the gods are flags and the hymns are about killing Catholics. Ellie has always worried about Lawrence living here, told him as much, but he’s always been met with a bark of a laugh back and some comment about how he’s only saying that because he’s lived such a sheltered little life in Dundee and wouldn’t last five minutes trying to inhabit Glasgow and all its cheerful sectarianism. Lawrence has always had a very blythe attitude to the whole thing, and Ellie remembers when he’d held his hand on the way back from the Subway in full drag after a gig like it was nothing, the way some dick in an orange and blue scarf had shouted at them from across the street and Lawrence had just yelled back with an “awrite, babes?” as if he had a death wish.

Which is what makes this whole thing so grim. The Lawrence who drunkenly and sarcastically greets bigots at three in the morning from across the street doesn’t marry up with the Lawrence that’s holed up in his flat in the face of negativity. Ellie supposes that one homophobic Rangers fan is one homophobic Rangers fan, but Twitter can seem like the whole world’s population, and if Lawrence thinks the world hates him just because he’s reacted to something that was Ellie’s fault…

He feels his gut wrench.

Ellie turns into Lawrence’s street and feels ill. He could always go home. Turn and walk back to the Subway, train back to Queen Street, back to Dundee, back to the flat. Like nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn’t even consciously made the decision, like it was all a dream.

He sleepwalks to Lawrence’s close door anyway, just like he knew he would.

His hand shakes as he presses the buzzer too hard, and the panic rises in his throat as the seconds pass agonisingly slowly. When there’s a crackle from the intercom, he freezes in fear.

“Hello?”

It’s Kiko’s voice. Of course his flatmate had to be the one to answer, drag out the humiliation of the whole thing. Ellie can hear the shake to his voice as he replies.

“Hey, it’s Ellie.”

“…Ellie?”

He chooses to ignore the disbelief, acts as if it’s normal for him to have travelled across the country to turn up on Lawrence’s doorstep in the middle of a pandemic when there’s a travel ban in place. He’s considering this essential travel anyway.

“Is Lawrence in at all?”

Kiko, for her part, seems to pick up on the way the whole visit is masquerading as routine. In the split second before she replies, Ellie finds himself holding his breath. He steels himself, prepares for a “no, he’s actually…”, to send him back to Dundee like a crumpled sheet of paper tossed into a bin.

So Ellie feels like his throat’s going to close up when Kiko replies down the intercom. “Yeah, two secs. I’ll buzz you up.”

The dread settles in his gut like a weight as the buzzer rings out into the street, harsh and loud and doing nothing for Ellie’s derailed train of thought. He pushes on the door, takes his first step into the close and the echo seems to hit him deep in his chest. He finds himself wishing Lawrence lives four up but he’s only on the first floor, and as Ellie puts his foot on the first step of the staircase he keeps his eyes trained on the stairs because he knows the moment he looks up he’s going to see somebody standing there holding the door open and even though he’s had hours to prepare himself, weeks even, he’s not ready for that in the slightest.

And when he finally brings his gaze onto the front door with four steps to go, he’s not ready for the way the sight of Lawrence almost knocks him straight back down again. He’s slumped against the doorframe and has very clearly not slept- since when, Ellie couldn’t guess. A black hoodie is swamping him and a pair of navy sweatpants are doing the same, making him seem smaller than he already is. The sight of his hair up in that tiny bun hurts Ellie’s heart because it makes him want to smile, reminds him of the Lawrence he’d dick about in the workroom and the smoking area and the hotel corridors with before it all went so wrong. His arms are folded and he’s looking at the tiles on the landing floor until Ellie reaches the doorway, shifts awkwardly.

“Hi.”

Lawrence doesn’t quite meet his eyes. It’s a minute detail that hurts Ellie more than he would have expected. He doesn’t reply for a second, then seems to relent. “Hey.”

Another pause. The atmosphere makes Ellie wish he’d worn a thicker jacket.

“You’re not meant to be here, you know. Wee Nicky’s probably had snipers trained on you since you got off the train,” Lawrence says, delivering the quip with a bitter, barbed edge that makes Ellie think it’s less of a joke and more wishful thinking.

“Wouldn’t be any less than I deserve, I’m sure,” Ellie smiles sadly, unable to make it meet his eyes. Lawrence’s expression remains unimpressed.

“So why are you here, then,” he not so much as demands an answer but disinterestedly inquires. Ellie bites his bottom lip before he replies, as if he’s forcing himself to make sure his words are perfect.

“I just came down because…well, I wanted to see how you were. I know the past week must have been shit for you.”

Lawrence raises his eyebrows, his eyes growing wide as if to really drive home to Ellie how much of an understatement he already knows he’s made. “Yeah.”

Ellie sighs, wanting desperately to get the next part right. “And I felt like I needed to say I’m sorry. Y’know, in front of you.”

“You said sorry back when we filmed. We’re over it, it’s fine,” Lawrence says flatly, conveying that everything is not fine.

“It’s not fine, though. I wouldn’t have come down if it was fine. Things haven’t been fine since that day, and like…I miss you, Lawrence, I don’t want to lose you as a friend, or as a sister, or as…” Ellie stumbles, looking to the floor as he tries to articulate the other facet of their relationship. “…whatever else we are. Whatever else we were. I’m sorry for fucking everything up.”

There’s a silence in which the pair of them freeze and hold their breath. Time could very well be standing still for all Ellie knows. He immediately regrets bringing up all of…that. He should’ve kept it to friendship, shouldn’t have added anything on. Before he can overthink any more or begin to backtrack, a small sigh from Lawrence makes him look up.

“I thought you hated me,” he says. His voice is small and the words are unexpected. There’s so much Ellie could say in response. He settles on a joke.

“No, I think you’re a cunt. There’s a difference,” Ellie smiles tightly, the joke tentative. The snort it gets from Lawrence makes his smile grow without him being able to help it. “Was that a good one? Thought I was the unfunniest person on the planet?”

“We weren’t talking about your Bake Off improv,” Lawrence raises his eyebrows as he smirks, and Ellie fakes a wounded laugh.

“Shady cow.”

“I’m sorry,” Lawrence says out of nowhere, his smile gone all of a sudden.

Ellie tries to drag the joke out a little longer, hold onto the sparks they’ve just created. “Nah, it was shit, you’re right.”

“No, Ellie…” Lawrence shakes his head, worrying his lip between his teeth a little. “I am sorry.”

Ellie feels the panic wash over him when he clocks the glisten in his eyes. “It’s fine, girl.”

“It’s not fine. I was a dick to you so many times, no fuckin’ wonder I thought you’d set me up. I would too if I had somebody talking down to me like I did to you,” Lawrence says gravely. His gaze is fixed on his floor and just as Ellie is about to speak he catches sight of two tears that fall onto the red carpet, the darkness akin to blood. His horror grows as Lawrence finally snaps his head up, tears shining in his eyes as he sighs helplessly in a shaky voice. “You’re amazing, Ellie, you’re such a talent, and…fuck, I missed you.”

His words mean more to him that Ellie had expected them to. He doesn’t want to let that show, though, because that’s too much, that means too much for the situation just now and he can deal with that realisation at a later date. For now, Ellie points at him in mock-accusation. “Hey listen, I’m the one that got the train down to come and make a big speech to you and say sorry. Buy your own damn train ticket for that.”

Lawrence’s voice is thick with tears as he lets out a short laugh. “Sorry.”

“Wee bitch. Always have to make everything about you,” Ellie rolls his eyes, getting another teary laugh out of Lawrence and raising his hopes that maybe they’ll be okay.

And then the banks break and Lawrence makes a little choked-up noise, a sob that’s not fully a sob. His eyes meet Ellie’s and they’re full of so much sadness and regret that just looking at them creates a crack in Ellie’s heart, one that matches the crack in Lawrence’s voice as he speaks again.

“This has all been shit to do without you.”

Ellie doesn’t think before opening his arms out, shaking his head affectionately. “Don’t be silly. C’mere.”

When Lawrence immediately opens out his own and they meet each other in the middle and hug tightly, Ellie feels like a balloon that’s been let go and is floating up to the sky.

The clouds aren’t grey.

The way they’re holding each other brings back too many memories. Seeing each other at gigs and feeling butterflies take hold of his stomach. Coming off stage after a number and conveying his pride in him without even having to say a word. Saying goodbye at train stations with disappointment lodging itself in his heart. All the nostalgia makes Ellie want to cry, but he can’t start now. Instead, he breaths a shaky sigh, shakes his head before he speaks.

“You’ve always had me, okay? You’ve always got me. We’ve said sorry now, that’s the end of it. Periodt,” Ellie murmurs against his shoulder, adding on his trademark at the end. The laugh he gets muffled against his chest in return makes him feel lighter.

“I’ve not showered. I definitely stink. You don’t have to keep hugging me, you know.”

“You don’t. I want to,” Ellie says back. He means it.

It’s Lawrence that slides out of the hug first but he’s still standing close as he quickly wipes away his tears, looks Ellie up and down with a smirk on his face. “So where’s your Travelodge, hen?”

Ellie’s sheepish when he makes eye contact with him again, shrugs one strap of the rucksack off before replying. “You know damn well I’ve not booked anywhere.”

“Fuckin’ hell. Right, come on,” Lawrence shakes his head affectionately, stepping back into his hallway and letting Ellie finally cross the threshold to drop his bag like an anchor in the flat. It’s the physical manifestation of the burden finally being lifted off of him, the guilt and the regret melting away in favour of the flutter of his heart and a few small sparks that he wants to put in resin. “I get to choose the film later as reparations. Don’t trust you since you made us watch Cat In The Hat.”

Ellie gives a shocked gasp, genuinely offended. “It’s good!”

“Is it fuck. In fact, just for that I’m going to make you sit through something sci-fi and geeky and you’re gonna hate it,” Lawrence smiles with genuine glee, and Ellie can’t even bring himself to be mad about it. As the pair of them walk through to the living room, Lawrence jumps onto the sofa and fixes Ellie with a look that is clearly meant to be serious but that simultaneously Lawrence can’t commit to and Ellie can’t believe. “You’re sleeping here tonight, by the way.”

Ellie raises his eyebrows as he fakes his agreement, going along with the charade Lawrence is beginning. They both know they’ll end up curled up together on the sofa with neither of them having an explanation for how it’s happened, but at the same time knowing they don’t have to explain themselves. They know that Ellie will end up falling asleep slumped against Lawrence and that he’ll have to gently shake him awake, that he’ll wordlessly offer Ellie a hand to drag him off the couch with and that they’ll go through to Lawrence’s room like always. They know that they’ll wake up tangled together like the sheets and that Ellie will be there for him, that he’ll help Lawrence piece himself back together and they’ll go back to the start. Well, maybe not the start. Perhaps somewhere better.

Ellie keeps his friends close, but Lawrence is something a little bit more. Something a little bit closer.

Baby, you’re my enemy.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Gotham Comic Con”

The Joker and his girlfriend decided to attend “Gotham Comic Con” this year dressed as The Batman and Cat Woman. It took Y/N some time to convince her boyfriend but here they are about to have fun and nothing could spoil the event. Right?...

“Oh my God, this is awesome!” you giggle entering the venue designated for the yearly special event “Gotham Comic-Con” dressed as Cat Woman.

The Joker is right behind you sporting The Batman outfit and he flexes his knees a few times, growling.

“What’s wrong?” you ask although you have a clue because J’s been complaining about since he got off the van parked on Lot B5.

“I hate these stretchy pants! I don’t know how that asshole does it!”

“You’re the one that insisted to come as Batsy,” you reveal point out the truth. “You could have been anyone else.”

“Like who?”

“Cinderella,” you elbow him and your boyfriend is not a huge fan of the concept.

“Why??!!”

“The drama, obviously,” you keep walking alongside him and he’s definitely ready to blow at your insinuation when you gasp. ”Baby, I think that’s Bane!” you gesture towards a massive individual flaunting a Sub-Zero costume.

“How can you tell?” The Joker squints his eyes and the bubbly Y/N has to say it:

“I would recognize his physique anywhere! Plus, he still has the scar between his eyes,” you pucker your lips and The King mumbles a bunch of PG 13 rated things regarding his business partner.

Why?

Last week they got into a brawling and almost killed each other.

The reason?

Y/N.

The Joker believes that Bane always flirts with you (which he does since he likes to refer to you as “a breath of fresh air”); stuff escalated until you had to break it up: J ended up with a busted lip, Bane with a cut between his eyes due to The Clown trying to stab him in the head and you ended up with an inflated ego.

“Hello Mister B.,” you tap the pile of muscles and he turns around to see who’s bothering him.

“Y/N!” he excitedly exclaims, immediately unhappy at the sight of his business partner. “Joker…” the low tone greets.

“Bane…” J sneers.

“What are you two doing here?” Bane inquires.

“Having fun; I finally convinced him we should do this and mingle for once. No better way to spend the day,” the bubbly comment pleases your conversation partner. “So we dressed up and here we are.”

“I must say you’re like a breath of fresh air,” Bane admires your skin tight costume and stilettos which prompts The Joker’s disapproval:

“If you want fresh air, go outside!”

“Make me!”

Oh no! Not again!

“Are you here alone?” you change the subject and distract them from getting into a fight. Not that you wouldn’t enjoy it, but… too many witnesses at the packed Comic Con, it could end up in a total disaster.

“With my niece and nephew. I lost them for a second and I’m searching the premises; they can’t be far,” Bane reports. “Which reminds me: I should get going and find them otherwise my sister will go ballistic. I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he acknowledges you and ignores your man.

“Bye Mister B.,” The Queen snickers at the evident teasing.

“Just her, huh?” The Joker grumbles. “What about me? Did you forget we have a meeting next week???”

“Too bad and super sad: I’m not talking to you!” Bane’s attitude emerges.

“I certainly could care less because I’m not talking to you either!” The King strikes back.

“Then what are we going to do?” Sub-Zero’s better judgement brings up a good argument.

“Y/N will translate!” J proudly states.

Oh no! Not again!

That means they will snarl and make weird noises and you’ll have to guess what it means; an absolutely excruciating task that even a breath of fresh air can’t accomplish without losing it.

Maybe you should let them kill each other. 

“Fine!” Bane decides and distances himself from the couple while the Joker shouts since he has to have the last word:

“Fine!”

“Mister Batman?” the 5 years old dressed as a hobbit shily tugs on J’s cape.

“Hm?” the fake vigilante looks down. The little boy suddenly sneezes and wipes his nose with the fabric as the mad man is less than lenient at someone ruining the outfit replica he paid a fortune to have.

“Goddamn…” and he can’t finish his sentence because a large group of screaming children surround him in a heartbeat.

“Batman! Batman!” they jump up and down hyped up to see their hero.

“Go away!” J attempts to reason with the sea of kids he has no patience for. Of course nobody can hear him over the deafening sounds that attract more offsprings and parents.

“That’s so cute!” one of the moms gushes and takes a picture. “It’s delightful seeing a guy dressed as The Batman performing such a public service for our town!”

“He loves people, especially babies, “ you lie without blinking and immortalize the moment yourself.

“Awww,” a few people sigh touched by your praises.

“He must be a nice dude,” a kid’s dad concludes and you sweetly smile from under your mask:

“You have no idea.”

Somebody from the crowd places an infant girl in The Joker’s arms and the mob goes ballistic!! Rosie cheeks keeps sucking from her binky, glaring at the interesting person.

Clapping, cheering and whistling intensify whilst J feels compelled by his increasing popularity to lift the 6 months old above his head for everyone to see how cool he is.

This is not bad, The King enjoys an endless string of applause and the sudden explosion occurring in the diaper followed by quite a foul smell puts an end to his exuberance.

“Jesus!” he crinkles his nose, appalled. “Whose kid is this?” he yells and the thrilled parent waves at him, taking back the stinky, adorable bundle of joy. “Uncle Batsy needs to run!!” J makes up a random plan although nobody can hear him: the noise is overwhelming after he hyped them all up.  “Let’s bail before they trap me again! Pretty soon I won’t be able to walk, Princess. Everything is crammed in there, a total mess! I hate stretchy pants!!” he addresses his woman and quickens the pace until an atrocious abomination stops him in his tracks.

A specimen mocking The Joker wearing a purple suit is getting quite the attention: over exaggerated red lips smudged over the lip line, tattoo on the forehead that spells “Cabbaged”, a bunch of cheap golden chains from the Dollar Store around his neck and a sloppy green wig complete the assemble in a cringy manner.

You are equally speechless and The Joker manages to utter:

“What… THE HELL… is that????!!!!”

“Ummm… a Clown?” your sassy remark doesn’t score high marks as expected; you feel his eyes burning holes through you.

“You’re hilarious! Would you like to share your standup comedy talents on the stage??!” his index finger points at the platform meant to host a guest appearance from Bruce Wayne in the next hour.

Courtesy of “Wayne Enterprise” sponsoring the event: free food and refreshments for everyone under 18 years old.

You don’t answer and pout, upset J’s pissed attitude is already ruining your mood.

“I’m going to kill that buffoon posing as me!” he inhales full of spite and reaches for the knife hidden in his left boot.

“You can’t…” you hesitantly halt his movement. “Dozens of people, that’s just asking for trouble!”

“I’m not going to let a prick disrespect me!”

“You won’t, we’ll figure something afterwards. We can wait for him outside in the parking lot and take care of it without drawing attention! Please?” you beg hoping he’ll listen to you. “Pleeeaaaase!!!!“ you insist, perfectly aware he’s about to commit murder regardless. “I have a bunch of VIP passes to take pictures with celebrities. You promised J!” you stomp your high heels, exasperated. “You promised we’ll have a fun date!!”

“Why do I have to take pics with celebrities?! I don’t like anybody!”

The look on Y/N’s face: sheer disappointment; most of her features are covered with the mask yet he can tell.

“But I like you so the most I’ll do is take a selfie with you!” The Joker makes amendments on his own terms.

The Queen sniffles, trying to bottle up her emotions and she can’t help it: she bursts up in tears at her boyfriend’s candor.

Oh no! Not again!

Why?

The King of Gotham says nice things maybe twice a year and each time you struggle not to cry but it’s impossible: how can one resist such charm?!

Your complete meltdown makes him roll his eyes while your shaky hand takes a picture of the royal duo.

“Ugghhh…” J’s grimace turns your attention towards him.

“What is it baby?” you wipe your tears with his cape.

He would probably criticize such affront still there’s a pressing issue taking precedent.

“Princess, these tights are making my legs numb. I can’t feel my crown jewelry anymore.”

“Huh?” you forget to weep, startled.

“Cursed stretchy pants! I think I won’t be able to have sex for a month!” The Joker stretches his feet, uncomfortable.

“What??!!!” you raise your voice, panicked. “A month???!!”

Hell no!

Y/N grabs The Joker’s right hand and starts dragging him after her, yelling:

“Out of the way! Out of the way, it’s an emergency!!” whilst everyone is wondering how can someone wearing those 7-inch stilettos can march so fast.

“Where are we going, Pumpkin?!” J is inquiring and you yank at his arm, alarmed.

“To the car!”

“Why?”

Y/N doesn’t have time for explanations: she basically flies across the parking lot to get to section B5, opens the van’s back door and shoves J inside. He lands on his abs as you relentlessly pull on his boots, accomplishing to take them off in record time. Then you heave at his tights, huffing a storm at the stiff garment:

“I’ll be damn if I’ll wait a month for a ride in Funky Town!”

A mother and her 11 years old son pass by and she covers his eyes, horrified at the indecency as she guides him throughout the maze of vehicles.

“There are children here!” the woman protests. “Get a room!”

Luckily, she wasn’t heard by The Clown and his girl because… victory! The stretchy pants are off, J only in his boxers now.

“How are you feeling?” you roll him and he exhales, assessing the damage succeeding Y/N swift actions.

“Not sure, same?... Sit on my lap,” J offers and you don’t need a second invitation.

“Well?” you hold in the anxiety reaching high levels under these dire circumstances.

“Dunno, kiss me and we’ll see.”

You kiss him and he purrs.

“Well?” you interrogate again.

“Kiss me again!” he orders and you put more passion into it since your future happiness depends on it. “Hmm…” J groans. “I believe things are improving.”

“Yeah?” Y/N is about to have another breakdown although J didn’t say sweet rubbish; it’s just that kind of occasion.

“U-hum!”

“Then… what do you say we go home and celebrate your recovery?” you whisper in his ear.

“What about Comic Con?”

“Screw it!” you hop off his knees. “I’ll drive, you focus on your convalescence, ok baby?”

“Ok,” The Joker agrees and begins to stride around the van as Bruce Wayne’s limousine happens to drive by, the billionaire preparing to attend the event he sponsored.

“Stop the car!” Bruce commands at the weird view in the distance: a man wearing a replica of his Batman suit-- helmet, mask, gloves, cape… but no pants or boots, the bottom part of his attire consisting solely of underwear. “Right when you think you saw it all…” he shakes his head in denial, oblivious about who the person is.

Mister Wayne should at least have some empathy for the man enduring those tights for as long as he could; it might not be a record, but who could ever beat the real Batman at wearing stretchy pants anyway?!

Also read: MASTERLIST   

https://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[romansrace]

Season 13 Sassy Reviews - E1: The Pork Chop

Salutations! Here we are with a quick run of episode 1 - which we can all charitably say was a hot mess, right?

The queens gathered, split into pairs - and one three (would it be Drag Race without one ill-thought-out extra large or extra small team?) to lipsync for their lives in Episode 1 with... no eliminations, because the fandom loves a no-win no-elim premiere, amirite? ...

And of course with this format where they could go all out with gaggery, the producers of course chose... to protect their favorite queens at all costs and clearly signpost to the audience from the first minute exactly who they want us to care about and root for.

Is this the moment the show jumped the shark? Full lipsync review after the jump.

First lipsync is between obvious Vanjie/Shangie-esque life and soul of the party Kandy Muse who blasts into the werkroom with energy at 11, and self-described ‘filler queen’ Joey Jay who boasted in her Meet the Queens of never wearing a wig yet showed up looking like 2001 Christina Aguilera in her entrance look and a notably more subdued 2021 Pink in her confessional.

They lipsync to Carly Rae Jepsen’s Call Me Maybe. Joey gives us all the right showgirl tricks and follows the song hitting every beat and word, while Kandy plays up a schtick and comedy with a few dance moves thrown in for good measure. All in all, it was a pretty equal start in my view from two queens neither of whom are likely lipsync assassins. However, the producers had a different idea, and Kandy is given the first shantay while Joey sashays away.

The second lipsync features ice skater (did you know she skates? It was only hammered home about 8 times in the 3 minutes of screentime she got) Denali vs dancer and seeded-not-the-best-look-queen LaLa Ri, who is very high energy in the confessionals compared to Denali’s slightly more subdued and cautious remarks. Want to guess who wins without even watching it?

Yes, once again, despite Denali pulling an amazing performance out of the bag to the PussyCat Dolls’ When I Grow Up in full-on ice skates on a normal floor including  a Naomi-Smalls-esque full body back bend and a cartwheel, you’ve guessed it, the louder confessional queen wins the second lipsync too, and Denali is sent out back to the loser queens’ holding room.

The third lipsync is between young look queen Symone wearing a dress made of photographs of herself (choices) and cancer-surviving well-established queen mother Tamisha Iman. They’ll perform to Janet Jackson’s The Pleasure Principle. To reiterate, a young, confident, beautiful looks queen - who is friends with Gigi Goode, from the last season - versus an older queen who has been doing drag for 30 years and has tried to get on many years previously. Gosh, wonder who the producers will favor.

If you guessed Symone... you’d be right. Despite Tamisha giving us a near-perfect rendition of Janet-esque choreography with handography the house down boots in a Janet-esque colored suit with shoulderpads, the shantay goes to Symone for...I guess waving her hands in the air a bit and strutting. In truth, Symone did not do badly in the lipsync, but did she win it? Not in my book.

Our resident two kooky queens are up next; Gottmik who is inspired by clowns, and Utica Queen who is inspired by colors and patterns mixed up and blended together. Gottmik is also the franchise’s first trans man competitor.

The two queens give it all they’ve got to Rumors - by Lindsay Lohan. This one’s pretty even, but of course, there was no way they were going to let RuPaul eliminate a trans contestant on the first episode after her past controversies - although, given the number of contestants, a double shantay would be perfectly doable AND would probably build early rapport between the pair - so it’s instead a shantay for Gottmik only and a sashay for Utica.

Fifth lipsync with only one to go gives the floor to Rosé, the drag sister of Jan, from season 12, and Olivia Lux, a young queen who admires and has always looked up to Rosé. Does anyone smell a storyline here?

Rosé is asked by the judges before the lipsync - to Elle King’s Ex’s & Oh’s - starts if she expects to do better than Jan did. Ru has a nasty twinkle in her eye that suggests that no matter how Rosé answers, she’ll make sure it doesn’t come true. Once again, Olivia and Rosé perform quite evenly matched. Olivia arguably gets a bit more into the song, but equally, she breaks into some non-drag-esque air guitar moments that previously saw contestants like Yuhua Hamasaki eliminated. In any case, once again, the typical happens, and it’s bye bye to Rosé while Olivia is given the win.

And finally, we have a three-way lipsync, and the first time I was personally even a little gooped because this resulted in only one queen winning rather than only one sashaying away, meaning that as of the end of episode 1, Season 13 has eliminated over half of its cast. Choices. (Although as if they won’t be back in some way...)

The final three queens into the werkroom are the slightly wallflower-esque yet shady Kahmora Hall, confident-but-perhaps-deluded Elliott with Two T’s, and the big girl winner stereotype the show has clearly been trying to capture for four seasons now, hostess, actress, and comedy queen Tina Burner, a mainstay of the New York drag scene.

Lady Marmalade is the lipsync song this time. Kahmora is a little outclassed by the other two, Elliott especially, who pulls out a number of tricks, flips, and a full side split - even in not the best outfit for the showgirl classic in her half-tank and cargo pants. Tina Burner holds her own with a comedy lipsync playing on her height and age, but it’s quite obvious that she would have been given this win almost no matter how she did. And she does - shantay you stay Tina Burner, and you other two, get off my stage! - was the vibe.

And so we go into episode 2 with six of the 13 queens clearly marked out as The Winners. Do we need any clearer demarcation of who the producers’ favorites will be this season? Is that guaranteed the top 6 - or maybe, at least, most of the places within the top 7 or 8?

I’d love to be gagged by changes as the season goes along, but this premiere had an almost-but-not-quite self-aware vibe to it that left me feeling uneasy in a way I haven’t since season 11. The eliminated queens looked - perhaps unsurprisingly, given the stressful nature of 2020, when this was filmed - genuinely devastated to be put into the losers group on their first episode, only to be told that they can only save themselves by Survivor-esque voting off themselves one of their number - a trick that works better on All Stars because we know by then all the queens competing are wealthy and already well-established, and have just come back for the game, rather than to make or break their livelihood.

I’m very cautious as to how this season will go now, and, to be honest, it’s not quite a death knell, but this did feel like the first steps into a new - and not necessarily better - era for the franchise.

But on the plus side, after this episode, I have a new and unexpected fan favorite queen - Justice for Tamisha Iman!