#fellas is it normal to want to spend the rest of your life with someone witout any physical intimacy and both be allo?

[vroomvroomwee]

As an aroace wanting to be in a QPR, is it too much to ask for someone to tell me, "You're just a long streak of nothing" and "You're not mating with me sunshine." and "I'm not having any of that nonsense." but also, "I was gonna stay with you forever, " completely unironically?

[piplup335]

Subspace & a reader who is a toxic player!

HEYA, FELLAS!!!

sry I didn’t have time to write, I was quite busy these few days ;-; but hey, now I have time to write! I’m just cramming out whatever time I have to finally rest and finish up reqs :D

honestly I like writing for you all, so I’m not a fan of going inactive LMAO

anyway, enjoy!

requested by…yeah, you already know who you are, you just don’t wanna admit it. I know who you are :)

-

"At last."

Subspace could feel the smugness radiating off of Medkit as he fired a crystal, instantly healing his teammates. Subspace had tried to chase after and take down the other team's Shuriken for one and a half minutes, only to get shot and taken down by Medkit himself, his sworn enemy.

Or rather, Subspace himself didn't try to take down Shuriken.

It was the player. The one controlling him.

More specifically, someone named (Y/N). He overheard the name when someone yelled at them to keep quiet…and judging by the tone, it seemed like this wasn’t the first time.

Deep down, Subspace never wanted to fight anyone. He just wanted to stay in his lab in Blackrock, tinkering on his newest experiments and inventions, improving the Biografts he held so dear to him...after all, the Biografts were the "people" he truly felt close to, the beings he saw as children.

But no, the creators of the endless game he was trapped in pulled him out of Blackrock for ungodly amounts of time, only being able to leave when the server was shut down for maintenance or when the game was closed for updates.

He rarely even got to see his creations as often, only being able to catch sight of them in what the players called a "lobby" or during one of the matches. Regardless of whether Biograft or Hyperlaser was on the same team as him or not, a familiar sight was always appreciated.

To the players, it was just an average video game where you use random characters and fight each other with swords and stuff.

To Subspace, it was hell.

He wanted to be left alone to work on his creations in the eternal winter of Blackrock.

But no, he had to be pulled out of the comfort of his lab just to fight people, most of whom he had never met before.

He didn't even have control of his actions either- everything was decided by the player.

The player. Subspace shuddered at the thought.

He always hated losing control of his body, watching helplessly as the player controlled his every movement. Controlled where he walked, who he attacked, how he attacked...Subspace couldn't even run to save his life if he wanted to.

Sometimes, whoever the player was would be nice to him. On those days, the player would make smart decisions to avoid death, allowing him to effortlessly eliminate multiple opponents by utilising his poisonous tripmines to shred the opposing team's defences.

In other scenarios such as this one, however, the player controlling him was terrible.

They would make the worst possible choices, immediately charging into battle even though he was meant to attack from a distance. They never used his crystals effectively, missing the opportunity to immobilise and slow down his opponents...they made so many bad decisions it was almost impressive.

Today, however, seemed a lot worse.

Not only did this one player, (Y/N), suck at utilising his abilities, but he would also curse him out for being "bad" and "useless".

And now, here he was. He was faced with a death screen with his limp body on the ground as Medkit ran past him to heal the rest of his team.

The player had spent almost two minutes trying to take down a SINGLE PLAYER. The amount of misfires on other people was impressive at that point...

And now it was all for nought.

"Damn it! You suck at this! I spend so much time trying to kill someone and I can't because you do less than 5 hitpoints for your normal attack!"

Subspace internally groaned at this. He was not allowed to cry out loud or make a sound outside his usual voice lines- that would alert the player that he and the others were self-aware about these phights being nothing more than a game.

He forced himself to keep his mouth shut.

Subspace was irritated- he wanted to yell out loud, retort at the player and get some common sense into his head. He wanted to instruct the player as to how to properly play him so that maybe, just maybe, the player could shut up for thirty seconds.

He was tired of seeing the death screen so many times in one match. By then, he had seen it seven or eight times in four minutes and was slowly getting tired of it.

He just wanted to break free from the puppeteer's grasp.

He just wanted to get out of the lobby. He wanted to head to Crossroads, down the familiar concrete path back to Blackrock. He just wanted to put on a warm coat amidst the everlasting blizzard in his faction.

The blizzard gave him a warmth in his chest...a warm feeling that reminded him of home.

"One last minute..." Subspace thought. One more minute, and he could rest for another thirty seconds...until being pulled straight back into another nightmarish round, another round where he'd experience the constant and tedious cycle of spawning, being controlled, getting killed, spawning again...

He wished he could go home, back to Blackrock. He did not like it here.

As the round ended, Subspace got a glimpse of the results screen.

He was last. Again. With thirteen deaths, zero kills, and only two assists.

“Darn it! Why’d I even pick you? Your damage output is trash!”

Subspace could hear (Y/N) let out a string of profanities upon seeing another loss. Just as Subspave thought all was lost and he’d die from madness after all this, he heard Zuka announce something- something he had yearned to hear for the past thirty minutes.

“Phighters- I got a message from the developers. Server’s gonna shut down, maintenance is happening soon.”

Five seconds later, Subspace felt energy return to his joints as he stumbled onto the floor.

Subspace tried moving his arm, then went on to flexing his fingers. It worked.

He let out a sigh of relief. It was finally over.

One by one, other phighters around the lobby stumbled and toppled over as they regained energy in their joints as the players got kicked.

The puppeteers were gone.

Zuka gestured into his van.

“We’re going back to Crossroads. Hop in.”

As the familiar tower in Crossroads emerged in the distance, Subspace finally let his shoulders relax. He was closer to Crossroads, closer to his laboratory, closer to his home…

Subspace wouldn’t need to fight his beloved Biografts like he was forced to in phights. It always tore him apart to attack his creations, the very things he had worked so hard to perfect…the closest thing he had to a true companion.

But now, he could rest.

Other phighters lounged around in Crossroads. Rocket could be seen making small talk with Sword

Hyperlaser and Katana could be seen heading to the nearest bar.

All the phighters seemed to want to have a chat with someone else before heading back to their respective factions.

Instead, Subspace trudged down the path to Blackrock without saying a word, exhausted and irritated from everything that happened.

Biograft spotted this and immediately sprinted towards his creator.

“I just don’t get it!! Why me?? Why do I always seem to get the most talentless players?? I can see their stats and half the people who play me are newbies!!”

Biograft listened. That was his task, anyway- to identify the needs of his creator and adapt to them. And right now, Subspace needed a listening ear- someone who would listen to all his woes about the day.

“Why am I even doing this?? It’s been a week without seeing a player that knew their stuff!! Dear Illumina, WHY?!”

Biograft may have been a robot, but he was programmed to understand what his creator needed and how to respond.

If he needed food, Biograft could cook up a meal.

If he needed a certain tool, Biograft could bring Subspace his trusty toolbox.

But right now, all Subspace needed was some comfort.

The duo trod back to the familiar snowy landscape of Blackrock in silence. Biograft knew that his creator just wanted to go home. He didn’t have the energy for this.

Back in the lab, Biograft listened to Subspace.

The lab was Subspace’s haven, the only place where he felt comfortable enough to let loose.

Subspace spent so much time in the lab, more time than in his own house so much so that Biograft would often worry for its creator. Subspace would then reassure it, saying that he’s just doing what he enjoys. Never once would Biograft ever see Subspace at his workstation without his concentrated expression, only changing when Subspace chuckled softly every time a component worked as intended.

But today was different.

Subspace was resentful of the player, and back in his lab was where he finally let out all his pent-up rage.

Upon entering the lab, Subspace collapsed onto a nearby chair, groaning in annoyance.

“That little sh-!! I did what I could to accommodate his stupidity, but what did he do?? Curse me out, that’s what!!”

Subspace got up, pacing around and stomping on the ground to emphasise his point.

Biograft watched his creator. It could hear everything the player said, and despite being on the opposite team, it could almost feel a sense of empathy towards his creator, deep down in his processors.

“And do I have a damn choice as to whether or not I get controlled?? No!! This crap is all part of a VIDEO GAME, and I don’t have a say as to whether or not I participate!! Can’t I like, call in sick??”

Subspace picked up a screwdriver and was about to hurl it at the wall…but he paused, looked at the tool, and set it back down on his workbench.

He collapsed back into the seat, groaning in annoyance.

“…apologies, Biograft. It’s been a rough day…and I finally get to let loose.”

Understanding his situation, Biograft’s processors whirred to life, processing the new information. The soft hum of the processor was the only sound in the lab as Subspace lay on the chair.

As Biograft’s processors grew silent, it walked over and put an arm around its creator.

For once in a long time, Subspace felt some warmth.

And it wasn’t from his usual coat.

-

thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

if you do have feedback, please drop it in the comments so I can improve my writing for you guys! :D

[bonefall]

can we have some random trivia for HeatherHareBreeze? Im weirdly attached to that ship now tbh

Behold. The thems. A summary of the Hare/Heather/Breeze polycule.

Something overlooked about canon is that Breezepaw begged Crowfeather to let him say goodbye "to his friends" and was shot down

So I have interpreted this to mean that Breeze is actually a total ride or die little fella for his buddies

That was the reason why so many WindClan cats were in the Dark Forest. He was the RINGLEADER

By the way-- I am writing Breezepelt with BPD in mind. Him, Cinderheart, and Squirrelflight. He often sorts people into broad, unhealthy categories-- BAD or GOOD

But anyway I could talk about BB!Breezy-P all day

Bottom line is, these three were TIGHT. They're the three warrior apprentices of Lake WindClan in Po3 and were always getting in trouble together

Heatherpaw got them into digging holes. Normal stupid teenager shit "let's make the deepest hole ever"

Harepaw got buried OOPS. Get tunnel'd idiot

Brushblaze was nearby enough to hear someone scream and helped pull Hare out

After three sets of teary eyes BEGGED him to not tell Onestar, he made them promise to come get him when they were digging deep enough that they couldn't dig back up.

He's an ex-solver from BloodClan and can help them make sure they don't make an unstable hole

Bottom line is, the three of them go back a very long time, but I don't imagine it was even romantic back then. It was Heather And The Boys.

The Dark Forest drove a wedge between Heather and the boys, as she quickly realized that they may not have started with bad intentions, but cats like Mudclaw, Tigerstar, and Hawkfrost were BAD news and they were going to drag them all down too.

It wasn't worth it. Training with a REAL tunneler was the bait to lure her in like Tunnelbun crumbs for a hunted bird.

The wedge between Heather and the Boys became a wedge between the Boys when they all got their Dishonor Titles. Harespring --Darkseeker-- was working to atone. This meant disavowing his training, focusing on how he could help people, and seeking the things he could learn in his own Clan.

Breezepelt --Dodderheart--, took that badly. How dare Darkseeker start pretending like there was something to disavow! Onestar sucks! Crowfeather sucks! StarClan sucks! He'll do whatever it takes to get power and change things around here, get the respect he wants, but Breezepelt didn't learn his lesson at all

Darkseeker lost his Dishonor Title first, back to Harespring. Rottenheart decided he wasn't his friend anymore, just like Heathertail.

Dodderheart: "Everyone hates me except Furzepelt and Sunstrike! I'll bet they're all sitting around plotting against me right now!!"

Harespring: "aw this tunnelbun has a grumpy face like breezepelt lol"

Heather: "lol"

And so, as soon as he learned The Kin was looking for any cats who felt like the Clans had wronged them, misfits and rejects, he brought himself and his two supporters there. BIG mistake.

Mistake he spends the rest of his life regretting

Heather rightfully calls him on this when she ends up joining the Kin to learn more about her brother Darktail. "This is all garbage you put in your head! Crowfeather is a dick, and so is my dad, but you shoved me, and Hare, and even your stupid half siblings or whatever into some ridiculous narrative about how evil and hated you are! We LOVE you, can't you see that?!"

"YOU'RE the one who's blind! I killed Firestar, I tried to kill them, and only now with Darktail am I finally-"

"Being used AGAIN. He's using you. Just like Tigerstar when he wanted to get rid of Firestar."

"...thats not true you're l-lying"

"You're always being used, Breezepelt."

"No I'm not! Darktail's my friend and my leader! He sees the value in me, he says I'm going to do a lot for him, and without me the Kin wouldn't..."

Heather stares, unimpressed, before shrugging, "I'll still be here when you realize it. Will he?"

In the big breakout, Harespring is there to secure a tunnel for them all to escape with

I think it makes a good idea that it was a backup plan Heather had all along, and Hare was entrusted with making sure it was done by this day. Just in case Darktail turned out to be the lunatic they expected him to be

Brushblaze is going to go out here, too, collapsing the tunnel so they can't be followed. It's a really good end for him.

When Breezepelt comes back to WindClan, it is on their grace. Hare and Heather are both vouching on their honor that they will he responsible for his actions.

I imagine Harespring looked Onestar in the eyes when he did this. FULLY expecting to have to defend himself for working on a secret tunnel, losing Brushblaze, possibly losing his deputyship for LITERALLY undermining

But... Heathertail was saved. Breezepelt looks bedraggled and humbled, unlike what happened just about a year ago. Brushblaze made the ultimate sacrifice. Now is not the time to discuss this.

AVOS is just about to hit its climax; where Onestar steals Breezepelt's plan to drown killing Darktail.

But anyway, enough of the plot of Better Bones AVOS. Fluffy trivia time

Harestar eats his tunnelbuns like a beast. He bites clean through them, Heather and Breeze are always screaming about this

Harespring's personality is very mild, level headed, and thoughtful. He moves slowly when he's not in a hurry.

He can be pushed around under stress though. He doesn't like being under pressure for that reason, and tries to minimize situations where he's put on the spot.

In Clanmew his name is "Hare Will-Jump Up", it's a hare that thinks before it leaps.

Breezepelt appreciates how Harespring will reword things for him, when they work on communication together.

If Hare worded something in a way that set Breeze off, Breeze can just ask what he meant and Hare will say it a different way

When Harespring becomes Harestar, I like to think there are cats in the Clan who feel like Breeze is only here because of his wife and husband. And maybe he is, what're you gonna do about it? Cry?

Heather has an honest, curious personality. She likes to be respected for her intelligence and insight, being a smart person is something she values about herself.

She is not easily tricked and can be cutting if she smells bullshit. She will be rude if she thinks you're lying to her.

"Did you eat, Breep?" "Ye-" "no you fucking didn't go get food"

I don't see her as "nurturing" like others think, she's a militant carer and outgoing about what she believes to be the right thing

She's definitely the head of one of the patrols, probably Construction.

When kits come through in TBC, Breeze is the primary parent. Villain to mom pipeline

He doesn't hold a high rank in WindClan because he spent the majority of his life Being Breezepelt, and is accepting that he probably never will

And that's okay because he's currently the loyal Kitchen Head of MeadowClan and the kits have just gotten back from the harrowing death of Honeysucklestar but it's lunchtime

"Honeysucklestar too, being a corpse doesn't make you stop being hungry. Come on, up up up" Woodkit jumps up from her deathbed

Turns out he's better at caring for others than he is at caring for himself

He doesn't feel like he deserves this. Like love and happiness isn't something he should have, after everything he did and the people who are not here because of him

Yet, he persists. He's still here and, somehow, people think he's worth saving.

And maybe that's what matters. Making life better from this point forward, for everyone. In the ways he can.

[xfriki26]

Sal fic!!!

It's been a while since I last wrote something and I'm embarrassed that the first thing I've been able to write its an extremly self indulgent ficlet of an OC but I'm happy with how it turned out. And I had so much fun making it so im posting it anyways

Sidenote: Sal refers to the cult as "their family"

Rags to riches

Sal loved making dolls.

They already had a liking for designing and sewing, so nothing felt better than creating their own little friends.

Especially when it helped fix people up.

Normally they wouldn't spend so much time creating a single doll, they were content using their own Happy Fellas as vessels, but this one was special.

After all, the little girl had been through a lot.

Sal didn't know exactly what had happened, but they heard that their family had sent that brute of Ignacio to… teach a lesson to an overly curious policeman.

They had heard that killing the girl had been embarrassingly easy.

The worst thing was that the stupid cop was still continuing with his absurd investigation, as if it hadn't cost his own daughter’s life.

Some people didn't deserve to be parents.

Sal pushed all those negative thoughts out of their head and focused on their project, comparing it to the photo they had gotten. They wanted a different look (after all, they were going to give her a new life) but familiar enough so that she wouldn't be scared (most of the time people reacted with unwanted panic attacks to the fabric bodies.)

Cutting the last thread, Sal stopped to look at the result. It was a little angel-like rag doll, with a pair of blue buttons for eyes and an adorable golden braid. Sal smiled, it was perfect.

- - -

A few minutes later, Sal was at the cemetery.

It was completely empty, which made sense, it was past twelve and no guards would be checking in for a few hours. Sal was alone.

Sal looked carefully at each grave as they walked through the cemetery. It didn't take long for them to find what they were looking for. A small, remarkably recent grave with the name "Hope" carved into the stone.

Sal sat quietly and opened the box they had brought the doll in and then carefully placed it on the grave.

For a few seconds nothing happened, Sal just stared at the doll, watching for any movement.

Then something changed, a small glow appeared in the little doll's button eyes, no one would notice something so small, but Sal smiled at the subtle change.

The rest of the doll started to move too. It started as a slight tremor that soon made the doll raise its small arms to touch its head. Its previously smiling face turned into a scared one.

She immediately noticed Sal. “Who…” she asked in a small, frightened voice. “Who are you?”

Sal smiled fondly. “I’m your new friend.”

Their answer didn’t seem to calm down the little girl. “Where are Mom and Dad?”

Sal sighed, expecting her to ask about them. ““They’re gone.”

“W-What?”

“They have abandoned you, they have forgotten you,” Sal said softly.

“N-No!” she cried. “Mom and Dad would never abandon me! They would never leave me alone! You’re lying! They would never… never…”

She started to shake again, if she could, she would also have started crying.

“Poor girl.” Sal opened their arms. “Come here.”

Very slowly, the girl moved closer to Sal until she was wrapped in their arms, resting her head on their shoulder. 

“I know how you feel,” Sal said, holding her carefully. “They left too when I was like you.” Sal still remembered it like it was yesterday. They told them they would come back for them, and Sal believed them. They spent the next years waiting in front of the door, waiting for them to come back. The feeling of the kid tightening her hold on them brought them out of the dark memory. “But I met someone wonderful, someone who opened my eyes and allowed me to join his family. That’s why I’m here.”

“I can take you with me.” Sal said with a smile. “And give you a family that will never let you down.”

A hopeful look appeared on her soft face. “Can you take me with you?”

“Of course, darling! I'm not cruel enough to abandon anyone in a place like this.”

A smile crossed her sewn lips. “Thank you, uh…”

“Call me Sal, sweetheart.” Sal said with a giggle. “And what’s your name?”

The girl hesitated for a moment before answering, “Hope.”

So she remembered her name? What a shame, Sal had hoped they could give her a new name, but well, she had surely forgotten other things that Sal could help with.

“Well, Hope, let’s not waste any more time then.” Sal stood up with Hope in their arms and walked towards the exit of the cemetery.

“Let’s go home.”

[stayspookymockingbirdlane]

RP Starters from "The Munsters" (2022)

Geez, conceited, much?

Simply dropping ice-cold facts.

Zombie problem solved.

You know, a man is more than the sum of his parts.

What do I look like, a moron?

Well, I suppose you have a better idea.

You'll kill us both!

I could have altered mankind's place in the universe.

I have pictures of my fuzzy little nuggets!

Cute little fella.

I'm gonna go...

I want a man who makes my blood run cold.

Let me guess... he's broke again.

That's not something you see everyday!

Don't you dare touch that dial!

Beauty goes skin-deep, but ugly goes down to the bone.

I'm looking for a vision... a queen.

Which dress says I'm very, very interested, but not miserable and depressed?

HEY, NUMBSKULL!

When they made me, they broke the mold!

We're dealing with some serious brain power here!

Dazzle me with your side-splitting wit.

I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that you were special.

I'm just a regular gal living a boring, normal life.

If there's one thing I know, it's that the rest of the world melted away as soon as you appeared in my life.

Perfect husband coming up!

Everybody's in a dancing mood tonight.

You know I never drink wine.

You're the hemlock in my veins.

My sweet pussycat.

All I ask is that we spend the rest of my lives growing disgracefully old together.

What a cream puff!

Can someone please call 911?

He's your bloody problem now, mate!

You know how wolves get after a few too many.

I would hate to think I just threw my life away marrying a blockhead!

I hate to say it, but old Paris is overrated.

You look so continental and suave!

And she swore she would get revenge on me.

Bottom's up!

Who's side are you on?

So manly!

Over my dead body.

You gotta get ahead of the curve if you wanna swerve.

Scram.

Have you fellas heard about the new glass coffins?

Don't argue with me.

Well... now what?

[ash-writies]

Nothing But Tongues and Teeth

A/n: This took a lot longer to write than I thought, about 2k words of angst, I hate writing serious moments but here I am :/ also happy father's day

Bolin X GN!Reader

There you were, seated across the table from a man whose name you didn’t even know. Your parents sat beside you and talked with him. Their words didn’t form into sentences as they hit your ears. Suddenly there was a hand on your shoulder.

“Have fun you two,” your mother called, her voice as sweet as honey to the untrained ear. Although you heard her truly, her venomous voice chiming like bells. What she meant was, “don’t mess this up.”

“So, y/n-” the man started. Before he could even finish his thought he caught your glare.

“There is nothing you can give me,” you began, keeping a porcelain smile on your face, “I’ve grown a mouth so sharp and cruel it’s all that I can give to you, my dear~” Venom hung in those last two words. He froze like a man caught in the path of a cobra, the snake ready to strike at any minute. You knew the severity of your words, if he left and never saw you again your parents would be unhappy. Anything was better than this though. Better than wasting your life serving a man who’d never truly care about you

“Excuse me?” the nameless man asked, mostly in confusion. His green eyes were fixed on your face, looking for something.

“I didn’t stutter,” you said, sipping from the drink placed in front of you. His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips for a moment.

“I’m Bolin,” he introduced himself, “I reckon you didn’t know that before?” An amused smile spread across his face. His smile was way different from the other smiles you saw. His smile stretched across his lips and infected his cheeks, it caused the lights in his eyes to dance, it even introduced its happiness to his eyebrows.

“Whatever,” you began, “I’m not marrying you and that’s it!” Your voice was stern and true. You caught a flicker of doubt taint his face, and for a moment you felt bad. Then the moment was gone.

“I don’t think that’s up to you,” he said coolly and leaned back in his chair.

“I’m not going to be the perfect housewife that you want,” you tried to counter, “and when you come in quick to steal a kiss my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear~” You leaned in after those words left your mouth.

He frowned, “I don’t need a housewife first of all. Secondly, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” You paused and took in what he said. If he didn’t want to control you then what was the point of this? Was this just some manipulation thing?

“I know that you mean so well, but I am not a vessel for your ‘good intents’”

“You’re right, but I still want to marry you,” He said, smiling at you. Everything was a blur after that. As soon as he finished his sentence, your parents returned to you both. They heard his last sentence and were more than happy to start discussing wedding plans.

As your wedding day came closer and closer, it felt that more and more was out of your hands. Most of your belongings were taken and packed up so it would be easy to move them right after your wedding. Your mother was quite the control freak throughout the whole process. Not that you cared, you didn’t want anything to do with this whole wedding ordeal anyway.

Finally the day of the wedding came, you looked stunning, and if this Bolin fella was there you bet he’d tell you.

“You look amazing,” a voice that sounded like his rang through the air. You sighed, thinking that it was bad luck to see your fiancé before the wedding or something.

“It’s not too late to call off the wedding you know, you said standing up. Time was dragging by at such a slow pace before he spoke,

“I don’t know why I would do such a thing.” He laughed, crossing his arms.

“You don’t know much about me, I will only break your pretty things, and I will only wring you dry of everything.” You walked towards him until your faces were only inches apart.

“But if you’re fine with that, you can be mine like that,” you looked at his lips and back at his eyes. There was something off in his eyes, you didn’t know if it was a good thing but that didn’t matter. You walked past him and continued down the hall to where your mother was waiting.

“Honey, let me fix your hair,” She sang, rushing to you. You sighed and let her pull the strand away from your face. “ I can’t believe my baby’s getting married!”

“You were the one who set this whole thing up,” you muttered, hoping she didn’t hear you.

“Good thing too!” she cheered, “if you’d have done this it would’ve definitely been a disaster. You sigh, not even bothering with a response.

The wedding goes on with blurs of tears and hollers. Colors void of saturation, voices void of emotions, and embraces void of warmth were all that flooded your memory of that joyous day. After that, days of moving your stuff to his place, days of your childhood being up-rooted and discarded, days of memories saying goodbye and being laid to rest. Once the movers left you and Bolin sat on the couch, you were a noticeable distance away from him.

He was the first to speak, “what do you want to eat y/n?” His voice was small and fragile.

“Anything really,” you shrugged, you didn’t do most of the moving so it didn’t really matter.

“How about some pizza then?” He exclaimed, jumping up and grabbed his phone and ordered some. You both ate in awkward silence.

“Let's unpack together,” he said once you were both done eating, trying to lift the mood.

“Sure,” you muttered. You both started on the living room which, for now, only consisted of a couch and a tv that sat on the floor. The first thing you both agreed on doing was building the ikea furniture. Whenever he saw you were getting frustrated he’d add in a joke or do something silly. At first you didn’t notice but after you’d accidentally skipped a step and he said, “this screw stupid won’t in go” that gave away his whole plan. The attempts after that were still kinda funny though.

Before bed he made moves trying to get closer to you. Moves that you tried to ignore at first but you couldn’t stop your outburst, “Abandon all your stupid dreams about the person I could’ve been,” you hesitated before adding in, “my dear~” in the same cynical voice you always say it in. The only good thing that came out of that was that he left you alone for the night.

For a while after that you tried your best to avoid him even though he kept trying to get to know you.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” he whine-asked.

“Because in the night I know you burn with feelings I cannot return,” you answered, momentarily forgetting you were supposed to be ignoring him.

“Why can’t you return them?” he asked normally this time.

You pressed your lips together, “my parents had an arranged marriage and never fell in love, why should I have to?” he shrugged with a dumbfounded look on his face and you left before he could say something that’d make you want to completely confide in him. You ignored him and the way your face heated up for a bit longer. A month has passed since the wedding, and Bolin was desperate to get to know you, bothering you every hour of the day.

“What did you do today?” He asked

“Nothing really,” you lied, your daily life was rather eventful to make sure you never spent a moment resting unless it was planned.

“We should spend some time together sometime,” he suggested.

“You gotta know that this won’t last! Desperation will erase the fact: I’m keeping all of the answers in my cigarette box!” you said, for some reason. You didn’t even know why and you wanted to take it back as soon as you said it. Especially because of the look on his face. Which looked like a kicked puppy.

“If you need space I’ll give you some,” he started standing up, “but I won’t let you speak to me like that.” He was upset, rightfully. He went to your shared room and shut the door. You sat there for a minute. You put your head in your hands for a minute and thought about what you said. You didn’t want to take it back because then he’d want to stay with you. But would it really be bad to have him by your side? Just when you thought you couldn’t feel more conflicted he stepped out of the room with his duffel bag for gym full. Your heart sank but somehow you were comforted with the thought that you knew this was going to happen.

“I’m not leaving forever,” he said, reading your face, “just for a while so you can sort yourself out.

You rolled your eyes, “ You might as well never come back.”

“Why do you feel that way?” he stepped towards you.

“Why do you feel so entitled to me?”

He paused, The answer’s in the second before the other shoe drops,” y/n, I’m not- this was never about that- remember how you said, ‘if you’re blind to that’ well, I’m fine with that,”

You were so torn you were crying, “I will ruin you! I will poison all your happy thoughts, I will love you like the ashes in her cigarette box!” While tears streamed down your cheeks he just looked at you.

“‘Her’?” he asked. You felt your face heat up as he kept walking towards you. Once he reached you he dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around you. “What is going through your head?” he asked.

You let out a choked sob, “why did you marry me?”

“Mostly for the money, but because I thought you’d be a fun person”

You chuckled, “the money?”

“Me and my brother weren’t well off,” he started, “I just wanted to make it so I could support him. Though it’s awful to use someone-”

You cut him off, “here I was thinking you had bad intentions,”

“You never answered my questions,” he swiftly changed the subject and your smile faded.

“I had a really nice dad who loved my mother,” you began, “she loved him too. One day he left, died, all without word or warning. Then my grandparents set my mother up and the next time we weren’t so lucky. There, that was the first question. My mother was distant after her first husband’s death. So yeah”

You really wanted it to end there and Bolin must’ve caught on somehow because he changed the topic again. “So since I’m fine with your many flaws, we can be together?” he said, your head still pressed against his chest.

You laughed, “yeah,”

Fin

[pregnant-piggy]

Nothing changed, nothing’s the same

George Weasley x reader

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: step into the angst rollercoaster, angels

This one is written for @weasleydream​​‘s writing challenge

A/N: not gonna lie, i cried. but writing was like catharsis and I hope it will be too for whoever reads it

‘So maybe we should let it go. Go our own way, alone. We are too attached, George. Maybe we need some time apart to find out who we are as our own person. I am not saying I don’t love you, but all my life I have spent with you and I don’t know any different. I want to see the world, meet new people and make new memories. And I feel like I have to do it alone.’

The pub was crowded. The music was too loud to have a normal conversation and the whole place smelled like sweat. The lights were dimmed so that everyone’s imperfections were obscured. Behind the bar stood a young woman, gaped at by at least five men twice her age, but she ignored their looks and quickly served out drinks.

In the back of the room there was a little stage that tonight was occupied by a band. One man playing the bass in the back and two woman up front playing the guitar and singing. Their shrill voices blasted through the speakers that hung in every corner of the place.

It was not really a bar you’d imagine spending your Friday night in, but alas, here George was, sitting in a booth with Fred, Ron and Harry. He hadn’t even wanted to go out in the first place, but Fred had practically dragged him out of his apartment, stating that he couldn’t handle a drunk Ron and Harry on his own.

‘What can I get ya?’ a young man said as he appeared at the table. He was holding a little notebook in one hand and a small pencil in the other. The boy couldn’t be older than nineteen, though George would have believed it if he had said that he was fifteen.

While Fred gave the man their order, George wondered what a nineteen year old was doing in a pub like this. There were plenty of other, better bars around that would gladly take a young fella like him. But here the man was, nineteen and serving out drinks to sixty years old women in skirts too short and shirts too low.

George turned to his friends and wrote off the boy in his mind. Ron was trying to convince Harry to go up to the two women on stage and ask for a song. Harry, however, denied any offer he made until Ron gave up.

Time passed quickly. At one point George was still regretting his decision to join Fred, the next moment he was laughing loudly to a joke Ron made, while he sipped from his umpteenth pint of beer. The band had been exchanged for something less loud on the radio and there was a good atmosphere in the bar that had seemed so dull at the beginning of the evening.

‘George, brother, it’s your turn,’ Fred said and he pushed some money in George’s hand. Though George knew that they should better stop drinking, he went over to the bar and ordered another four beers. The bartender shot him a friendly smile and turned to pour the beers.

George looked at the men at the bar. They were all past forty five, all were wearing faded coloured shirts and their cheeks were red and their forehead glistening with sweat. George quickly looked at his own reflection in the mirror over the bar and much to his relieve saw that he did not in any way look like the men. He fixed his hair with one hand, while the other was holding the money Fred had given him.

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ a voice cut through the chatter of the bar.

In shock George dropped his hand. He could recognise that voice in any situation. Clear and soft, always ending sentences like there was more to come. It was the voice that he had heard for years every day.

And the voice that he hadn’t heard in a year.

You were resting with your side against the bar, your elbow leaning on the surface. There was a smile on your face. A relaxed smile, one that made anyone want to smile back.

‘Hey,’ George said. ‘What has it been, a year, longer?’

One year, two months and three days. George knew exactly how long ago he had last seen you. It was the day you had left. The day George’s life had taken a downfall, that he still wasn’t sure he had recovered from.

‘Something like that,’ you smiled. ‘How are you?’

George opened his mouth to say something, but the bartender came back with the beers and placed them on the bar. George quickly gave her the money and she turned to you.

While you ordered, George looked at you. You looked good. Better than you had when he had last seen you. Your hair was shorter and darker, not your natural colour. There was a sparkle in your eyes and kindness radiated from your smile. You looked healthier; your cheeks not as hollow and your shoulders fierce and not hanging down.

‘We should meet up some time,’ you said after the bartender had turned around again. ‘I want to know what you’ve been up to.’

‘Oh, it’s not that much,’ George said. ‘But I heard you have had a busy year.’

‘Yeah, I travelled through Europe, how’d you know?’

‘I’ve got my sources,’ George grinned and you laughed, touching his arm lightly. Butterflies erupted in George’s stomach, fluttering around in the empty space.

‘Are you busy tomorrow?’ you asked, while taking the drinks the bartender gave you. George shook his head. ‘Do you want to meet up in the afternoon? I’ve got to help my friend with something in the morning, but I’m free the rest of the day.’

‘Yeah, sure. That sounds great,’ George said with a hoarse voice.

‘Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, George,’ you smiled and walked back to your friends, leaving George with a stone in his stomach that had killed the butterflies.

When he sat back at the table, Fred was the first one to notice George was off. The twin followed his gaze and when Fred saw you his eyes widened. ‘Is that y/n?’

Ron and Harry quickly turned around to and stared in the direction Fred was looking. Ron let out a small gasp and Harry squeezed his eyes to look better at you.

‘She looks good,’ Ron said turning back to George. ‘Did you talk to her?’

‘Shortly, we’re meeting up tomorrow.’

‘You’re meeting up?’ Fred asked. ‘With y/n? The one who broke your heart? You’re meeting up with the person you have taken a year to get over?’

~

The wind blew through the curtains in front of the open windows. They floated into the room, playing tag with each other and the furniture close. A beam of bright light fell on the floor and the back of the couch, making all the little dust particles that were twirling through the air visible. There was a calm sense in the living room, but George was anything but calm.

Last night under the influence of all the drinks, it had seemed like a good idea meet with you. He had even defended his choice to his friends when they had told him he was a madman. But now his arguments seemed weak and meaningless.

Suddenly his apartment had seemed too small and too messy, while it was not much different from when you had lived there too. In fact, there were still things in the space that George couldn’t bear to change. Like the candles in the bookcase that had turned decorative over the years or the books they stood next to, all untouched and unread, dust covering the titles. There were magazines at the bottom of the closet in the bedroom that had belonged to you. George knew that you would never want them back, but he just couldn’t get rid of them.

Nothing had changed, the walls were still the same colour, the floors hadn’t even lost their tone. The bathroom door still squeaked and the window in the kitchen still would open further than ten centimetres. It was all like you were still living here, which you weren’t.  

George was anxiously pacing in the living room, the movement of his legs twirling the dust particles even more. He didn’t want this. It had taken him a year to get over you, if where he was now was ‘over you’. And now he was meeting up with the person that had been haunting his dreams for a year. A person, whose name made him weak in the knees. A person he had failed to forget.

The footsteps outside the door told George you were there before you had even knocked. It was weird to have to open the door for you when once you had had a key yourself.

‘Hi,’ you said with a happy voice, when George opened. He let you in and couldn’t help but look at you when you stepped into what had once been your apartment too. You looked even better than you had looked last night. Now it was light, George could see that your natural hair colour was already coming back at the roots of your hair. Your cheeks glowed with a very thin layer of sweat, like you had been hurrying, and there was a casual smile on your face.

You looked around in the hall and your eyes showed the memories that George had tried, and failed, to forget. He brought you to the living room, where you sat on the couch while George got you something to drink.

‘Love what you have done to the place. It’s all exactly… my taste,’ you smiled at George and shot him a wink. His stomach twisted as he sat down next to you, handing you a glass.

‘Why change something perfectly fine?’ George said, looking around his own living room like he was there for the first time.

A silence fell over the two of you as you sipped from your drink. George wanted to ask you how you were and what you had been up to the past year, but he was afraid of the answer. Afraid that you would say he meant nothing to you anymore. Or that you had met someone else.

‘So what have you been up to?’ you asked George, before he could ask you anything.

‘Basic things. Busy with the store, mostly.’

‘Oh, how’s that going?’

‘Great. Fred and I have expanded with another line of more serious products. It took us a while to figure everything out, but now the ministry has asked for a full load, so there is plenty to do,’ George said, swirling his drink in his glass.

‘That sounds wonderful, George. I’ve always known you could do it,’ you said with a slight grin. George huffed and shook his head. You hadn’t changed as much as George had expected and he felt himself getting more comfortable with the minute. You still had that air of ease around you, that made everyone who was close to you feel comfortable.

‘And you? How have you been?’

A wide smile spread on your smile and you started to tell George about your year of travelling. You had visited so many places, familiar ones and ones that George had never heard of. He tried to focus on what you were saying, but the truth was that he could only focus on you instead of your words. He looked at your eyes, your cheeks, your nose and the way your lips moved when you talked. He got distracted by your hands, that moved around in the air as you described the buildings and monuments you had seen. He remembered those hands. They had been the greatest comfort George had known for so many years.

‘…and they had this wonderful dish, called salade landaise! A friend recommended it to me and you should have tried it, George. It was delicious!’ you exclaimed and you bit your lip as you seemed to drift of for a moment.

‘It sounds like you had fun,’ George said, pulling you back into the conversation.

‘Oh, more than fun. It was the best year of my life,’ you said, your eyes glistening with happiness.

George couldn’t help the sting in his chest as he heard those words. It seemed to him you had had more fun on your own than you had had while you were with him. And that while he had had the worst year of his life.

‘I did miss you,’ you said, your voice suddenly softer and more vulnerable.

George looked at you and nodded. ‘I missed you too.’

‘But I think it was good for us,’ you said, letting your hand rest on George’s leg. ‘It brought insight, didn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ George said with a raspy voice. ‘It did.’

Another silence took over the room. Outside the sun was setting behind the high buildings that surrounded George’s apartment building. A golden light broke through the windows, tracing the sweet curves of your face. An angel’s hand slid over your face and you were more beautiful as ever, the experiences you had gone through evident in your eyes. The stories you had told stood in the irises of your eyes, darker specks in the faded colours. The lines in your face weren’t lines of age but the lines of memories.

George wished you gone and wanted you to stay forever. He couldn’t say goodbye yet, although he knew it would be better if he did. His mind screamed to let you go, but his heart longed for your presence.

‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ he blurted out, regretting the bluntness of his voice immediately.

You, however, shot him a smile and nodded. ‘Yeah, I’d love to.’

~

The longer George spent with you, the more he was convinced that he still loved you. Talking to you was just as easy as it had ever been, despite the little voice in the back of his head telling him to break it off now if he didn’t want to get his heart broken again. He found himself opening more about his life, telling you about his family and friends, and you listened with great care. The jokes slipped from his tongue without doubt or hesitation and your laugh was sweeter than ever. It was music to his ears, a melody that lingered in his head long after you had stopped laughing.

A little takeaway shop on the corner of the park nearby George’s apartment was the place for dinner. Since it was getting later, George had offered to get dinner somewhere and when you walked by the place that had such a prominent place in the history of your relationship, it was decided without a second thought that you’d eat there.

Sitting on a bench in the park, you pricked your plastic fork in the cardboard box with pasta, while you looked around. When your eyes rested on George, you smiled at him. ‘Do you remember the first time we got food there?’

‘Yeah, moving day,’ George said and he smiled at the memory.

It had been the day that he and you had moved into the apartment. The whole day you had been moving boxes from your parents’ home and his childhood home and when the final box had been placed, it was long past ten at night. You both had not eaten anything yet and hungry and lightly grumpy you had gone outside hoping that there was at least something open. Then you had stumbled upon the little takeaway store. Ever since then he and you had been a regular costumer of the café.

But George hadn’t visited the place since you had left him. He could barely even walk past it without feeling the pain of those happy memories.

‘When I was in France and missed home, this was the food I would get,’ you said. ‘It reminded me of home.’

George kept quiet and stared at his food. Beside him you were looking around the park, playing with the fork against your lips. A soft melody was hummed from your lips and George felt a wave of relaxation wash over him.

It was like nothing had ever changed. Like the past year hadn’t happened. George was back with you and it felt normal.

After dinner you and George strolled through the park. It was getting darker and the lanterns aside the paths were enlightened. The yellowish light fell on the pavement and the little pink flowers in the grass next to the paths. The trees painted dark shadows on the ground and silhouettes played around the edges.

Every time your hands brushed along each other, a spark of electricity was sent up George’s spine. He was reminded of the butterflies that you had always sent to his stomach. In his mind he was reliving the first moments of your relationship. The first touches, the first kiss, the first confessions. You had only been so young, but George had known then that you would be the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. And for a long time it had seemed like he would spend the rest of his life with you. You were there with him through everything. His early teens to his early twenties.

But that one day you had ripped his heart out and left it cold bleeding on the floor. You had left without looking back and George had fallen off a cliff. And up until this day he had never known if he had reached the bottom or not, but it seemed now that he had fallen deeper than he had thought.

Were you here to help him up or would he be pulled down in the darkness even more?

You kept still at a big tree and grabbed George’s hand so he would stop too. He was confused why you had stopped him but when he followed your gaze he understood why.

The big tree wasn’t just any tree, it was the tree where you had first ever told George that you wanted to be with him for the rest of your life. It had been a cold November night and George could still remember the exact words that you had said to him and the sweet kiss that you had given him after. Your cold lips were imprinted on his skin, like a scar that would never fade. That had been a year before you had left.

A sigh left your lips as you stared at the tree. You kept holding George’s hand and he squeezed it lightly as if asking you to walk on. You nodded and turned away from the tree, walking on while holding George’s hand in yours.

Soon you reached the end of the park and so much faster than George wanted you were back at his apartment. He closed the door behind you two and a tensed silence fell in the hall. George looked at you as you stood on the other side of the space, your hands playing with the buttons of your coat.

‘Do you want to come in for a drink or do you have somewhere to go?’ George asked, slightly surprised by the ease of his voice.

‘No, I’d like a drink,’ you said with a small voice, taking off your coat.

George went into the kitchen and you followed after him, taking place at the dining table. George made tea with shaking hands. The easy air between the two of you had changed into a more tensed, serious one. This wouldn’t be the time for jokes and laughs.

Sitting opposite of you, George sighed and then looked at you. You took his hand over the table and looked back at him. George thought he already could read the message in your eyes, but he couldn’t just let you walk away without it being said.

‘I remember what you said to me at that tree,’ he started, his voice quivering a bit. ‘You said that you wanted to be with me for the rest of your life. That I had formed for you a home and a place that you could always come back to. You told me you loved me more than you would ever love anyone else.’

A sad smile made its way to your lips. ‘We were too young, too dumb, to know love.’

Your voice was warm and yet it made George’s inside turn into ice. His blood stopped flowing and his heart stung in his chest. He sighed and dropped his eyes off you. His hand moved away from your touch and his other clenched together under the table. He was fighting the tears, but feared he couldn’t keep them in long.

‘Oh, George,’ you said with a  soothing voice. ‘I’m sorry.’

A tear passed the façade and slid down George’s cheek. He shook his head and swallowed harshly. He wasn’t mad at you, nor was he blaming you. But he wished it would all go away. He wished there was a way to reminisce you without the pain.

‘I wished we never met, ‘cause you’re too hard to forget,’ George whispered, yet his voice echoed through the silent room.

He only looked up when he heard the sobs from you. You had your face in your hands and your body was shocking from the crying. George got up and walked around the table, holding out his arms to you. You leaped into his arms, wrapping your own tightly around his torso. The dull pain was soothed a little at your touch.

For minutes, maybe an hour or more or less, you stood in each other’s embrace, just letting it soften the inevitable pain that came from heartbreak. You rested your cheek against George’s shoulder and he was resting his cheek on your head. You could hear this heart beating in your ear and the way it slowed down over time. The tears had dried, leaving aching traces on both your cheeks.

‘You’ll be alright,’ you whispered in George’s ear, your breath tickling his skin.

You would go away, like you had before. But this time you wouldn’t leave him unprepared for what was to come. He knew how he would feel when you stepped out of the door, when you left the place that would now never be yours again.

And where the last time you had left George in the dark, this time there was a little spark of light in his chest. Hope and determination that he would get out of the dark again. It was dark now, but it would get light again. After all, every dark shade hid a place of light, it was only his job to move the curtain.

‘We’ll be okay.’

--------

taglists:

general HP:  @kitkatkl​ @girllety​ @yuptha-tsme​ @sleep-i-ness​ @iamak20​ @thefuturelawyer​ @weasleydream​ @missmulti​ @deafgirltingz​ @moonstarrnghtsky​ @bloodblossom73 @mytreec​ @lilulo-12fanfiction​ @emmaloo21​ @kashishwrites​ @ananad1​ @figlia--della--luna​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @mrs-malfoy-always​ @thefandomplace​ @magicwithaknife​ @mt2413​ @aesthetically-hailey​ @superbturtlemakerathlete​ @the-natureofme​

Weasley twins: @susceptible-but-siriusexual​

MASTERLIST

[tae-cup]

Give Me Love | KNJ Oneshot

Inspired by: Ed Sheeran’s “Give Me Love”

Pairing: non idol!Kim Namjoon x Cupid!Reader

Summary: You spent your life, destined to be alone, putting two pieces together. Suddenly, you meet someone that just refuses to be struck by your arrow.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 3.3k Words

A/N: I’m sorry, I wrote this at like 1 am so it’s a little rushed. My brain just threw up onto the page and I couldn’t stop myself. Ahhhhhhh school is back and I’m dying. Pardon me for slow updates! 

Other: Masterlist

Give me love like never before 'Cause lately I've been craving more And it's been a while but I still feel the same Maybe I should let you go

      The string bends with ease despite the thousands of years you have used it. No one saw the golden light shimmering around you. In fact, most people passed you by without a second thought. No one paid a second of their time to watch the odd girl pulling back her arms like she were drawing an arrow back. You just felt it would be better if people thought you crazy instead of seeing your bow and think they were about to die. Die of love, maybe. You shot the arrow into the unsuspecting woman and then wrapped the red string from the previous arrow around the end of a new one. Once both were securely tied together, you pulled the string back and hit the front of a man walking in the other direction. 

         They met, fell in love, blah blah blah, the rest is history. You shouldered your arrows and continued on the way to work. You had to check in for a new assignment today. The goddess had proclaimed it was of the utmost importance. 

       You weren’t exactly the warmest person, but you weren’t cold. After all, your job was to make people fall in love with each other. You obviously had to love love. There were many cupids who could be content with this, you were one of them. Watching others fall in love should be a replacement for your own hole. That’s what the mentors had always said. 

       Well, you excelled at that. Despite the loneliness, at least you were immortal and at least you could live a somewhat normal life. The goddess of love herself gifted all her cupids expensive apartments and, despite being immortal, gave them unlimited spending money. What for? Who knew. However, she always looked kindly upon those who were frugal and modest. You somehow managed to convince her that you were one of those cupids. So, you could get away with quite a bit of rule breaking. 

        Such as procrastinating on assignments and sweeping them under the rug if you felt like it. As long as you got it done before the deadline, you were in the clear. You owned exactly half of Seoul. The other half was run by Jimin, an excitable cupid with high hopes. 

       Together, you two oversaw all love affairs in Seoul, Korea. Jimin dealt with the more northern side while you handled the more southern side. Which was why it was a shock to have the packet of a Mr. Kim Namjoon thrown in front of you. Not only was this a task better fitted for an experienced cupid, not that you didn’t have 45,000 years of experience, but it also took place on Jimin’s turf. 

        “Who is this and why?” You demanded.

        “Read the file and you’ll learn about him. Now, I won’t tell you why, that would spoil the fun.” The goddess’ eyes twinkled. “However, I want you to remember your contract, Y/N.” 

        “You’re just teasing me now. I can’t fall in love. You don’t need to remind me.” You frowned, glancing at the paper. The man was handsome, you’d give him that. Whoever is his soulmate is a lucky person. 

        It was tricky, the whole cupid business. Mainly because soulmates are decided by the cupids. It’s an immediate draw. You just know. If a cupid messed up...well, that’s why there was divorce. Just two people who weren’t meant to be. Those cupids were always reprimanded and depending on the severity, maybe even fired. You had a squeaky clean track record and had learned to close yourself off rather quickly. 

         All new cupids go through a period of depression, hopelessness, longing. It was simply because they were born into a contract that prohibited the thing all beings so innately desire; love. A cupid cannot love and give love at the same time. It distracted from the job and made you blind. 

         Kim Namjoon is an odd fella. You thought to yourself as you observed him. You needed to know everything you could about him in order to correctly match him. Yes, you may get the sense, but cupids that solely used their sense had often been fired. 

         Eternity can be boring too, but you wanted to see what the world looked like in a thousand years, or even a hundred. That’s what kept you going. You had been watching Namjoon from a distance for the past month. He traveled around Seoul a lot, often for work, and you had yet to feel his soulmate’s presence. When you did get close, there was a pleasant tingle in your stomach that spread to the rest of your limbs. It disgusted you. 

         You had experienced love enough to know that feeling, but it was impossible. So you pushed it down, full well knowing it would never go away. Perhaps if you just matched him with another woman who had similar compatibility, you could get away with that. And even if they divorced, surely it would be okay to have just one strike on your record? 

        In all honesty, you were terrified of love. But as you observed him day after day, each one marching towards the deadline, you couldn’t help starting to like him. You noticed the little things. 

       Like how he always ordered his coffee; black with two creams and no sugar. The way he smiled with the smallest of dimples, the way his knee moved up and down when he was nervous. How he always leaned in and gave you his undivided attention. It was the little things that made this so hard. Could you even find someone who would notice them as you had? 

        It was much to your happiness, or dismay, when he ran into a nice looking girl at the coffee shop. You watched their interaction. The girl was obviously interested, pretty looking too, while she brushed a strand of hair out of her face. Perfect. You looked at your watch. You had two weeks and this had already taken too long. You needed two weeks to show that a match worked before it was approved by superiors. Y/N, you’ve got to do this now. 

        Your hands shook but you drew the arrow back. Despite the nerves, you never missed. You tied the end of a red string to your arrow and then the other end to another. With a deep breath you aimed eyes squinting against the sunlight’s glare as it hit the big windows of the coffee shop. Just as you were about to let fly, he turned and looked at you, surprise written across his face. 

         Impossible. But that wasn’t the first time you had used that word in correlation to Namjoon. You let fly, your hands not fidgeting, as you tried to shake off his gaze. It missed. It crashed into the wall before disintegrating entirely. 

       Your mouth went dry as you watched him turn to look at the wall and back to you. He didn’t seem scared and when his eyes met yours, you felt...calm. Namjoon mouthed something to the girl and exited the coffee shop. As quickly as you could, you shouldered your bag and ran. Your heart thumped wildly against your chest as you raced away. I’ll get him another day. It must have been a trick of the light. And yet you weren’t quite sure if the quickened pace of your heart was because of the running or you chance encounter with the man that could ruin your life. 

                You tried your best to remain a silent observer, but that was proving harder as the deadline drew closer. Every morning you would wake up with a splitting headache and the strong urge to find something missing. But there’s nothing that’s missing! You thought as you gathered your bow and arrows. At first, you just thought he was clumsy or that you were nervous. But it became apparent as the days stretched on that you just couldn’t hit him. It was frustrating, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to admit the truth or to match him with someone he so obviously wouldn’t be right for. 

          Namjoon was watching out his car window. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel in his parking space. He had felt the eyes of someone watching him for a long time. It made him paranoid. Then he saw..you. He didn’t know who you were or why you were watching him, but he needed to find out. 

          Somehow, he never felt uncomfortable under your gaze. You even relaxed him sometimes, a supporting presence from far away. Namjoon himself felt like a lost cause. Most of his nights were spent at a club, trying to fill the hole in his chest or drowning in his own bile while swallowing drink after drink. With your presence, he just didn’t feel the need to and if you were being forced to watch him, he didn’t think it was fair to drag you to that noisy place every night. 

            Yet, he just needed to meet you, talk to you. Every fiber of his being was calling out for you. It had been a dull ache, but now that he saw you, he couldn’t take his mind off it. The pain had a name, the pain had a face, the pain had a voice. And he wanted to know all of it. He wanted to devour the information, to get to know every inch of you. 

           It was so silly. Namjoon was an impulsive person, but he was never this stupid with his emotions. The ache didn’t go away, as much as he pushed it down. Sitting in his car, thinking, and watching the passing cars, made his mind up. He was going to figure out who the hell you were. 

                   So here you were, quite literally an angel in the darkness. Slipping through the dense cluster of bodies on the technicolor dance floor and ignore the bass that pounded into your bones. You followed him, a man far too clumsy to be in such a place. He pushed into the crowd, and therefore you did as well. Your arrow was in hand. I surely cannot miss at such a close distance. You could feel yourself getting lost in the music.

        You tried your best to pay attention solely to the man disappearing in front of you and the breathing in your own chest. Clubs always made you dizzy, like you were about to lose your goddamn mind. Your fingers splayed, reaching out to grasp his arm. Your hand found purchase on his shirt and you tugged, pulling him back towards you. 

        “It’s about time.” He smirked. You let your hand fall. You’re not supposed to directly interact with assignments, remember? Well, you had just fucked that up big time. You had been played. 

        “So who are you? Some angel? A soulmate? What’s with the arrow?” He shouted over the music. Ah, Namjoon, ever the curious one. If you spoke now, would you be able to take it back? But your mouth was moving faster than your brain. 

        “Well, technically, I’m a cupid.” You explained lamely. “I’m supposed to find your soulmate, but you refuse to be struck and-wait you can see this?” You held up the slim arrow in your hand. 

         “Uh, yeah.” He shrugged. “You’re holding a goddamn arrow.” 

         “Most people can’t.” You murmured inaudibly. The pulsing music made your head feel fuzzy, out of control, and though you wanted to pull away from him, he held onto your waist. 

          “So you’re a cupid? Tell me more.” Namjoon grinned, unbothered by the new information. He had a feeling you were something supernatural with the arrows, the presence, and watchful eyes. 

           “I make people fall in love.” You tried to be vague, but he made you want to open up about yourself. He made you want to pour out all your heartache, the pain of watching others but never having that joy for yourself. It was a curse you were blessed with, a certain pain that had been pushed down. 

           “So why haven’t I?” 

           “You’re...difficult.” You faltered in your words. “The arrow misses you every time.” 

           “Is that possible?” 

           “My aim has never been off. It must be the fates.” 

           “Am I destined to be loveless?”

          “Join the club.” You smiled softly, your gaze long broken. 

          “Well, you’ll always have love in your life as a cupid, right?” His hand gripped your waist tightly. He leaned in, his lips dangerously close. You shouldn’t kiss him, you shouldn’t even be interacting, but here you were, unable to pull away. 

           “I’m not allowed to.” You turned away. There was only one way you could do this, and you weren’t sure if you wanted it to be that way. The goddess of love always allowed one night stands for her cupids, but nothing more. She was merciful. That’s what they always said. 

            “Then how about tonight, no strings attached?” But the look in his eyes said otherwise. You frowned. Did you want him for only one night, never to touch again? Yes. 

             “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” You murmured, pulling away abruptly and rushing to the exit. The room was heating up, the music was too loud, the place was too crowded. You felt nauseous. 

             “Wait!” He shouted, chasing you out into the street. “What’s your name?” 

             You turned your head, pausing as you thought it over. It wouldn’t be too bad, right? After all, you knew everything about him and he knew nothing about you. Your hair whipped around in the breeze of the night. 

            “Y/N.” The cars passed by and you were gone. 

            You had never failed a mission so poorly. Your superior didn’t look very happy as she watched you shift uncomfortably. 

             “You could’ve had a one night, you know? But no, you made him a liability. You told him the name of a cupid. Your name, yes, but a name nonetheless. You need to find his soulmate, not meddle in his business.” 

              “I just...” You twiddled your thumbs awkwardly. “I just get this feeling that his business is my business.” You placed a hand over your heart. “There’s a pain, right here.” 

              “Ridiculous, Cupids don’t have soulmates. That’s how the goddess makes sure we are doing our jobs.” She scoffed and stood, pulling out his file. “Unless you want to leave behind your job as a cupid, you won’t be going anywhere any time soon.” 

               As she left the room, stating the rules plainly, you couldn’t help but wonder ‘Is the unknown future more important than my present?’ Death scared you shitless. You actually admired humans for this. They had death thrown at them at every angle and yet they lived on, oblivious. How foolish, humans were. Or maybe you were foolish for having one as your soulmate. 

                 The future was bleak, but at least you could hope for a future. Your hands felt over your waist, caressed the spots he touched. His lips that were so tantalizingly close that night. You pressed two fingers over your mouth, wondering what it would feel like if he had just leaned in a little closer. But proximity was the biggest worry. You just needed to avoid him and it would all be fine. 

               Avoiding him proved harder than you thought. He was somehow always where you were. Most of the time it was easy to lose him in a crowd or walk right past him in the street, but there were certain times where that got a lot harder. 

             “Y/N? Y/N?” The barista called your name and set your drink down. Two people looked up. You. And Namjoon. With a sigh, you stood from your seat and grabbed your drink. When you turned around, he was standing right there. 

              “Did I do something wrong, cupid?” His smirk was not helping your racing heart. 

              “I can’t talk to you right now.” You said quickly, pretending like you had somewhere to be. 

              “Fine. But can I at least take you out for dinner sometime? I get it, you’re one of those girls who doesn’t do one night stands. It’s okay.” He rambled. “I’ve been getting better at that as well.” 

              “I’ve got to go.” You physically couldn’t bring yourself to say no. It was terrifying and...exhilarating. You wanted to go on that date, you wanted to get to know him better. The longing made your chest hurt. But alas, things just don’t work out sometimes. You pulled away once more, trying to ignore the ghost touches on your hands, your hips, your waist. His breath against your face, like a warm caress. You needed to distance yourself and once he was dead, it would all be over.

200 Years Later

       Things were good. The hole in your heart was back, but at least you were seeing the future, you lived another day. 

       Do You believe in reincarnation? The words rung in your head. The goddess had asked you just yesterday, but now you knew what she meant. Your heart was aching, chest pounding. It was hard to breathe. 

        You turned from your spot in the coffee shop, breath halting. Those dimples, that smile, those eyes. The hands that touched you, once again far away. He turned, he saw you, he smiled. 

         You waved and he waved back with a confused look. It was him. 

        “Namjoon?” You walked towards him, the slightest of trembles in your voice. You couldn’t do this again. Last time, you avoided him successfully, but this time, you knew you wouldn’t be so lucky. The soulmate bond was back and it was bigger than ever. It felt like your heart might carve out of your chest if you didn’t do something. 

       “Do I know you?” His expression was of pain, a confusion you wished upon no one. Would he remember you? Of course not, but you could start again. If it wasn’t meant to be in that time, maybe now? But you were a cupid and he was a human. 

        “Yes, you do.” You said firmly. And you weren’t going to let him go so easily this time. You hesitantly reached out and laced your fingers together. “But I’d like to get to know you better.” 

        He wasn’t sure why he followed you, but he knew it was right. It was like all he ever wanted was laid out in front of him and he was left trailing like a lost puppy. 

           But last time isn’t this time. You smiled across from him at dinner. The restaurant was cozy, but the atmosphere was not. 

         “Wait so you’re a cupid and you’re breaking your contract...just to be with me?” He tilted his head. “Now that makes no sense. Soulmate or not, this just doesn’t seem like the right move for you.” 

         “I told you, I already met you, 200 years ago. You were a little different, but mostly the same.” You tried to explain. You just wanted to get through with this date and kiss him, but you had to remind yourself that you had 200 years to think and pine over him while he had about six hours. 

         “Okay...” He mulled it over, the pasta growing cold. “I think I know you, I can feel it.” He murmured. “But I’m going to have to think this over.”

         “Of course, take all the time you need.” Just not too long. You watched him carefully. “Hey Namjoon?”

         “Yeah?” 

        “Wanna get out of here?” 

          One Year Later

          Mortality was...endless. Death was a finality that forced you to live until you could no longer. Mortality brought you closer to him. 

          “Namjoon, wait up!” You shouted, racing across the street as he got out of his car. 

         “Y/N!” He lit up, waving at you as he grabbed his things. It was warm like a summer’s day, despite the season being winter. When you reached him, he swung you around, an arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you in. 

         Your lips touched, an explosion of galaxies. Moving against each other like waves lapping upon the beach. he’s here. And he’s with you. That’s all you could think of as you pulled away. Your cheeks were flushed as he smiled at you. 

        “Hi.” You said breathlessly. 

       “Hi.” He responded, in a similar state. 

       Your heart let out a kick, the butterflies gathered. Impossible. You had once thought it impossible for someone like you to feel it...love. Yet, impossible was a word you often associated with Namjoon. And you wanted more. 

      You tied a red string to the end of an arrow. The last two arrows your goddess gifted you. She claimed you had to use it for something ‘worth it’ As she said. You took out the arrow and pointed it at him. 

      “You ready?” 

      “Ready as ever.” He grinned, staring at the sharp tip. You nodded and shot him a gentle smile as you stepped forward, closing your lips around his once more as you plunged the arrow into him. He didn’t make a sound, it felt like a soft touch, not an arrow plunging into his skin. You tied the string to the end of the other arrow and pulled away. You placed the tip to your chest and his heart leapt at the image. The red string hummed with energy. 

        You took a deep breath and pressed the tip into your chest. The arrows disappeared and a red string glowed vibrantly in between you two before slowly fading. You wanted his love, wanted more of him. And you didn’t have to hide it anymore. 

         He stepped forward cautiously and then swept you up in his arms. 

      “It feels like I’ve been waiting years for that.” He said huskily. 

      “You don’t even know how long I’ve waited.” 

Give a little time to me or burn this out We'll play hide and seek to turn this around All I want is the taste that your lips allow My, my, my, my, oh give me love My, my, my, my, oh give me love

[1000scrubs]

Round 2: Titus Mede II

Writer Titus Mede II ‘s entry for August 2021

ANTONIO ALBUS AURELIUS XVII sat in a chair bearing his name. He was waiting in a dark, seemingly infinite room, remembering neither why he was there nor how he got there. He concentrated hard, trying to think back to remember anything that could help him figure out what the Hell was going on. He could vaguely remember… robes? A stick? No, think harder… a beard? Nothing useful came to Antonio’s poor, empty head. Indeed, it was as empty as this void he was sitting in. But then—

“Bad morning to you,” said the dark-clad man, who had just entered the room from a doorway that had not existed a second earlier. The man was rather large, and after closing the door and turning around, Antonio got a proper look at him. He had a large mustache and an extremely fancy three-piece suit, though the fabric seemed impossibly dark. He had a large hat atop his head, and underneath the brim were his unsettling silver eyes. The look of him gave Antonio a feeling of visceral fear, though he could not tell why.

“Oi, you this pompous Aurelius sounding fella?” asked the man, who spoke in a thick Cockney accent.

“Yes, I am Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII. Where am I?” asked Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII.

“Well, ‘Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII’ — mind if I call you Tony? Nah, of course you don’t — you have been lucky enough to arrive here, in Hell, where you shall spend the rest of eternity being tortured in my district of New Los Angeles! Oh, but I suppose you won’t understand that reference.”

“What in G— in G— what? What in Go—“

“Oh, you can’t say that name here. Don’t even try. It’s a bit petty, if you ask me, but it’s not up to me! Anyway, my name is Tommy. I’m here to answer any questions you have before you are sent into New Los Angeles.”

Though Tommy’s blasé nature made him feel somewhat less uncomfortable, Antonio was rather confused. He had no idea what this “New Los Angeles” is, or how he had ended up in Hell. “Well,” he started, “for starters, I can’t remember a thing about my life on Earth. What exactly did I end up doing to get down here?”

Tommy chuckled. “Oh, where do I start? First of all, practicing the Arcane Arts is an instant no-no to the Big Man Upstairs. Massacring an entire village probably didn’t help either. But what threw you over the edge was definitely the time you—“

“No, no, this has to be some sort of mistake. I didn’t do any of this stuff, I’m a good man! There has to be some sort of trial, or appeal, or something! This isn’t fair!”

“Fair? Tony, you’re in Hell, there is no more ‘fair’. Except Jimmy’s ‘Fun Fair of Fantastical Flying Feet’, were you are mercilessly pelted by— you know, I should stop getting so sidetracked, I’ve got 12,000 other people to orient after you before my shift is over. No, Tony, there’s no appeal, there’s no trial, and I think I’ve answered all of your questions. So peace out, and make sure you follow my TikTok when you get to the Social Media Torture Tower!”

Antonio started to object. “Wait, you haven’t answered my—“ but before he could finish, Tommy was gone, instantly returning through the doorway that had been there a second ago. He was now immensely confused, perhaps even more so than before. However, before Antonio had any time to think about what just happened, or why the demon was so well dressed, he was suddenly sucked through space to another location in the most painful way imaginable.

“Ianuae Magicae!” he shouted instinctively. The pain and the sensation of movement stopped; he had broken through whatever ethereal force had been moving him, and was in what appeared to be an infinitely large library. Antonio scoffed. “Another damned infinitely large room? And full of books? What, is this some kind of nerd kingdom? I’ve just gotta find a way out of here.”

“The exit’s over there,” someone said behind him. Antonio turned around quickly, and was greeted by the sight of a normal librarian, albeit looking extremely tired.

Antonio narrowed his eyes, not knowing what to expect. “Excuse me?”

“You want to leave the library, right? So instead of wandering around and making a racket, there’s the exit. Now get out and let me get back to re-reading the end of the Eragon trilogy, it’s the least terrible thing in this library.”

Antonio didn’t want to be in the vicinity of anyone who would even think of reading something like that recreationally, so he took her advice and left through the doorway she pointed out. He then found himself in an infinite-looking corridor, which looked like something right out of a 1980s office building. Antonio started walking aimlessly, but what seemed like hours later, he was still going down the same corridor with no end in sight. Fed up with his predicament, he opened the nearest door and went in. It turned out to be an elevator, so he clicked on the top level and waited.

When Antonio’s eyes finally opened, he could not quite understand what he was looking at. It seemed he had fallen asleep during the impossibly long elevator trip, but having arrived at the top, he was now seeing a gigantic, gothic-styled room that was entirely colored in black with red accents. The wall to his right was one giant, uninterrupted window, with a red hue shining from the outside. In front of the middle of the window was an ominous looking throne and a desk, with a villainous chandelier hanging above. Running out of adjectives to describe this room, Antonio noted the oppressive and boiling hot atmosphere inside the room before stepping inside. He sat down at the throne and started going through the desk, finding many files that seemed to detail the various operations of Hell. Antonio finally realized… he was sitting in the Devil’s chair.

“That’s kinda neat-o,” he thought to himself. As anyone would, he immediately went to look for his file. “Hmm, ‘Antony A. Augustine’, ‘Anthony A. Andreas’… ah, here we go, ‘Antonio A. Aurelius'! Oh, of course there are 17 of them… there it is: ‘Antonio A. Aurelius XVII’”

Antonio opened his file and was shocked to see the photograph inside. He saw a picture of a rather horrific looking man, with a gaunt and sickly looking face, terrible hair, and unsettling eyes. Shrugging this disturbing revelation aside, he looked back into the file and started reading it. “Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII, born in 13th century Tuscany? Exemplary record… lived a nearly flawless early life? If only he hadn’t chosen to become a necromancer!?”

This deeply shook Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII. Though it turned out Tommy had been exaggerating, as Antonio had apparently lived a good life outside of necromancy. Nobody had liked him of course, being a heretic necromancer who looked like some kind of cheap horror movie character, but Antonio had still provided valuable services when people had needed them. “I shouldn’t be here,” he thought. “I should be up in Heaven. I can only imagine how many other mistakes like this have been made…”

Antonio looked around some more and found a computer in Satan’s desk. He wouldn’t have thought that they used computers in Hell, but it made more and more sense the more he thought about it. Naturally, Satan’s password was “password”, and Antonio decided he would take advantage of the situation to implement some cosmic justice. He would bring balance to the universe, being a righteous man given the power of God.

After typing in a few commands, Antonio hit the return key like it had owed him money. Satisfied, he got up and turned around to look out of the massive panoramic window. He could see a vast ocean of lava, with a coast that was blackened and rocky, looking inhabitable and yet lit up with the bright lights of many settlements, which were all doubtless places where the residents of Hell were tortured. As he watched, he saw hundreds of bright beams of light flash from the muddy red sky straight down to the ground. He smiled to himself, just as he heard a colossal crash behind him.

“What in the Hell,” bellowed the Devil, “has conspired here?” The Devil walked into the room, the ruined remains of the main door behind him. His voice sounded of pure power, with an impossibly booming level of bass that Antonio could feel in his bones. He was the size of 3 men, with a large forked tail and two large horns protruding out of his forehead, which was maroon, matching the rest of his body.  “I’m taking my first vacation in millennia, enjoying my time in San Diego, when I’m informed that some unauthorized low-life scum is in my personal office? And not just any unauthorized low-life scum, a resident?”

The Devil looked Antonio up and down, his glowing red eyes seeming to see straight into every cell in Antonio’s body. His sharp teeth became visible through his grin, then he started laughing. “Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII? You’ve just made your stay here in Hell… so much worse.”

With a motion of Satan’s hands, Antonio was restrained by some glowing red binds. Before Satan could continue, an extremely fit man dressed in white robes blasted straight through the panoramic window with contempt. He had short black hair with piercing, almost luminescent blue eyes. His clean-shaven jaw looked sharp enough to use as a weapon, and everything about him made Antonio feel inferior in every way. Even looking at the man for too long started to make his eyes hurt. Effortlessly hovering in the air, now with no discernible expression of emotion, he went over to Satan and looked him straight in the eyes. Satan, on the other hand, was seemingly unable to hold his gaze, and looked away.

“The Lord would like to express His dissatisfaction with you, Lucifer,” he said matter-of-factly in an extremely posh-sounding British accent, his voice sounding impossibly clear and extremely commanding. “There is a holy pact that has gone back to the founding of the universe. I know your kind doesn’t take kindly to any amount of reason or honor, but even I didn’t expect you to do something like this.”

Before the intimidating-looking man from Heaven could continue, Satan interjected. “I have done nothing of the sort, knave! This is the work of this dark magician, Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII.”

The man from Heaven turned around and sighed heavily. “Please, you expect me to believe that? You lot really are pathetic.”

Satan growled with irritation. He turned to Antonio. “What did you do?” he asked in a low, hushed voice.

Antonio smiled to himself and puffed up his chest, entirely overconfident and forgetting his place. “I have done what you are either too evil or too unintelligent to do,” he said, looking at both Satan and the well-dressed man from Heaven, the latter of whom immediately raised his eyebrow. “I have sent the best half of all people in Hell to Heaven. These people did not deserve to be here. They made mistakes in life, yes, but were ultimately good people.

The immaculately dressed man from Heaven scoffed. He turned to Lucifer and said, “Do you take the Lord and all of us in Heaven for fools, expecting us to believe this utter shamble? Could you have not picked a more convincing low-life to take the fall for you?”

“I know nothing of the situation!” Satan shouted angrily. He started storming over to the computer. Antonio stood by, unflinching, in total confidence that he had done the right thing.

“I mean, seriously,” continued the really very fancy looking man from Heaven. “If you’re going to come up with some pathetic excuse, don’t pick one we will so obviously know isn’t true. There has been no such influx of your heathenry to Heaven. Spending so much time down here really does reduce God’s creations to absolute worthlessness.”

Antonio was confused upon hearing this. How did none of the people he freed show up in Heaven? And why is the man from Heaven so rude? All of a sudden, he heard a bellowing roar from Satan, who promptly punched him with cosmic force. Antonio flew across the room, before hitting a television mounted on the wall. The force of the impact completely destroyed the TV, and Antonio was now lying on the ground reeling in pain.

“Do you realize what you have done!?” Satan was furious. “You will burn in the deepest circle of Hell for all eternity—I will torture you myself!”

The impeccably dressed man from Heaven scoffed again. “Are you seriously pretending to not know what happened? A man of God such as myself will not be so easily fooled by your pathetic tricks, Lucifer.”

“Don’t call me that! And you—” he turned to Antonio, who was now entirely aware that he was little more than an ant compared to everyone else in the room, then continued. “All you have done is send the WORST half of all people in Hell back to EARTH!”

The man with a perfect sense of fashion from Heaven interjected before the Devil could continue. “Finally, you admit to your wrongdoings, you traitorous wretch! I trust you realize that this surely means war, I was sent here to find out why this has happened and I have found no compelling reason whatsoever!”

The Devil sat still for a moment. “I suppose there is nothing else to be done in this situation.” He picked up a mobile phone and started typing an angry Tweet announcing his intentions. After he finished, he moved over to his desk, where he drafted and signed a document that was naturally written using someone’s blood. Probably someone who hated pens, documents, or both. He then got up and handed it to the hovering man from Heaven.

“A declaration of war? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, coming from such animals as you. I shall take this up to the Lord Himself, who shall surely destroy you once and for all. See you never,” he said, before flying straight out of the window and disappearing into the sky, sending a sonic boom echoing throughout Hell. Satan then turned to face Antonio, who was nowhere in sight.

Antonio, still in disbelief that he had manage to slip away undetected, was running as fast as he could to try and get as much distance between himself and the Devil as possible. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t looking where he was going, and ran straight into a guardrail with enough speed to flip straight over it, helplessly falling straight into some sort of magic portal that was stationed several miles below.

#

Antonio awoke again, though this time instead of being presented with the depressing sight of Satan’s office, he could feel a pleasant breeze on his face and grass beneath him. Sitting up, he looked around to see grassy rolling hills with a city in the distance. The view was short-lived, though, as soon a large aircraft dropped a gigantic bomb, destroying the entire city in one blast. Not ten seconds later, a missile shot up from the top of a faraway hill, striking the plane and destroying its wing. The plane faltered, then fell out of the sky, crashing down into a field with all of its explosives onboard, causing an even more massive explosion that wiped out a nearby town. Antonio heard gunfire behind him, and turned around to see two armies fighting each other. The two armies ran at each other and Antonio could only imagine the ridiculous amount of bloodshed going on.

Suddenly, amidst the fighting of the two armies, a giant red portal opened up out of the Earth. Soldiers started falling in, only to come flying back out impaled on the horns of giant red demons that had erupted out of the portal. The demons landed on the ground and promptly started tearing both armies to pieces. Before Antonio could even comprehend what was happening, another giant white portal appeared in the sky. Hundreds of people who looked similar to the man from Heaven he saw earlier flew out like Supermen, some riding on giant chanting chariots, all of them without any weapons at all. The demons, seeing this, roared with ferocity and left into the sky to fight them, with the humans, now fighting side by side on the ground, shooting at their backs. The angels and demons met some thousand feet off the ground, combining cosmic blows that destroyed everything on the ground for miles. It seemed as though each angel could easily destroy a hundred demons at a time, but more and more demons kept appearing. More and more fighting was happening, clearing away anything and everything else in the sky, and knocking Antonio hundreds of feet along the ground even though he was far, far away from the fight.

Stunned, Antonio sat up again, ears ringing and completely covered in dust and debris from the blasts in the distance. Through his blurred vision he looked around him. The countryside was destroyed, and the cosmic forces were nowhere to be seen, surely having moved the fight elsewhere. Antonio tried to stand, but his body was too sore from being thrown about. He blacked out.

#

Antonio awoke once more, and now was greeted with the sight of a hospital. The inside of a hospital, that is. In fact, now that he’s waking up properly, Antonio noticed that this hospital was completely overcrowded. The nurse came over and looked him up and down. “I’m not sure why you’re still here, but get up and get out. Go down the hall and to the left.”

He wasn’t particularly surprised by her rudeness, given the circumstances, so he got up and went down the hall she mentioned. Even in the hall, there were bandaged people strewn all about the ground. “This is truly apocalyptic,” Antonio thought to himself, trying not to think about how he had caused it all. Upon reaching the end of the hall, he decided that he was a maverick, and went right instead of left. After a short walk, he found himself in what appeared to be a recruitment center.

“Another recruit— oh, God, you’re an ugly one aren’t you?” noted a man with an extremely well-featured face was sitting at a desk. “Never mind that, all able-bodied discharges go through there,” he said, pointing to a door just past his desk. Antonio, deciding that being a maverick hadn’t been very beneficial for him, elected to do as the man said. In a blur, he was given armor and a strange weapon, and loaded into a large metal carriage that seemed to drive itself with a bunch of other men, many of whom were covered in bandages. Antonio judged he was somewhere in the American Midwest, though the world had devolved into complete chaos as millions of the worst people who ever lived had been brought back to life.

From talking with the other soldiers, Antonio had learned that several major nations had been taken over by some of these people, who had immediately started violent wars in as many parts of the world as they could manage. Most large cities had already been destroyed by bombs they called “nuclear”, and now that the demons and angels were fighting each other, even more of the world had been completely destroyed. One soldier even said that Mount Everest had been completely leveled. Antonio was completely wracked with guilt, knowing he had caused all of this.

Suddenly the transport stopped, and the commander shouted to Antonio and his fellow soldiers to get out. Antonio got out and ran, before looking back and seeing a demon flying straight into his transport. An angel flew up and emitted a pure white beam of light from his bare hand, which shot straight into the demon and obliterated him.

“Children of God,” he started, turning to the soldiers. “Fear not, for the Lord shall protect you. Retreat to safety, and let us handle this threat.” He then rose into the air, and flew impossibly fast into the distance, causing a massive sonic boom that startled all the soldiers.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Antonio asked his commander.

The commander sat and thought for some time. “Listen,” he began. “We are completely outgunned in this fight. I think the flying man is right, we have no hope of defeating the enemy with what we have. There’s an old nuclear bunker 20 klicks that way.” He pointed to his left side, then continued, “Carry your weapons with you, let’s march.”

About 10 miles in, the march was disrupted. Right in front of the group, a demon came crashing down after being thrown what looked like hundreds of miles. Still disoriented, he opened his eyes and tried to look around.

“Fire! Fire! Give it everything you’ve got!” bellowed the commander. Every soldier opened fire, pumping hundreds of rounds into the demon. After what felt like 5 minutes of straight shooting, they let up. The demon looked as though he had merely been shot with a super soaker, and just looked at them. Seeing the terror on their faces, he smiled, and stood up, but then stopped after hearing a loud boom behind him. He turned around and couldn’t see anything, but suddenly an angel flew down out of the sky and kicked his head clean off. The angel turned to face the soldiers, and despite all of the brutal fighting, there wasn’t a single speck of dirt anywhere on her. Her long, flowing golden hair didn’t even look the slightest bit disturbed.

“You should all get to safety,” she said in what sounded like a Greek accent. “We are pushing the enemy back, but it’s still not safe to be out here. We will let you know when the demons have all been taken care of, and remember that you are all under the Lord’s eternal protection.” She then flew far up into the sky, until Antonio couldn’t see her anymore.

“Let’s keep marching,” said the commander. “The sooner we get to that bunker, the better.” They resumed the march, and only saw fighting happening in the distance for the rest of the trip. Upon arriving at the bunker, they turned on the radios and waited for their all-clear signal. And they waited. And waited some more. Until Antonio couldn’t bear waiting, and faded into darkness.

#

Antonio opened his eyes, as he had done many times after being stuck in that bunker. They waited 2 years for the all-clear signal, emerging from the bunker to see practically nothing left on the surface. The angels remained on Earth for some time to regenerate the natural resources that had been destroyed, then most left. The few who stayed provided support for some time, but then they left as well. Antonio traveled around for several years afterwards, trying to find somewhere proper to stay, but the world had largely been thrown back into the pre-industrial era. Nevertheless he persisted, traveling across the North American continent to help whom he could. Instead of necromancy, he learned healing magic to try and aid the people he came across along the way.

One day, Antonio found an old map of the United States. He instantly recognized most of the regions he had visited, but one area stuck out to him as strange. “Wyoming?” He’d never heard of this place, nor had he ever been there. He decided that this is where he would visit next, and after a few months of being on the road, he finally arrived and was shocked to see that it seemed entirely untouched.

After traveling into the city outskirts, Antonio looked around. Many people walked about freely with not a care in the world, all of them looking pristine in luxurious looking clothing. They reminded Antonio of the angels he had seen, though that must’ve just been how people looked right before the apocalypse. There were so many cars on the road that they actually had to stop and line up in turns to wait for each other, and all were driven by regular people rather than military personnel. Antonio looked back at the sidewalk and saw a man walking towards him. He held a small black slab in his hand that shone on his face, and was wearing very high quality clothing. Antonio walked up to him and grabbed his shoulder .

“What happened here?” Antonio asked, stunned at what he had just seen.

“Hey, what the hell? Watch yourself buddy, or I’ll call the police! Now I don’t know if you want any money or anything, but why don’t you go beg somewhere else instead of bothering me, ok?” He turned around and started walking away. Antonio grabbed his shoulder again, this time not letting go.

“What happened here? This place looks like it wasn’t destroyed in the war, that’s impossible!”

“War? What are you talking about? Are you pretending to be a time traveler or something? Or are you one of those people who like to play dress-up? And God, you reek, get away from me!”

Antonio grabbed him with both hands. “The war, the angels and the demons, it was years ago! Back in 2021!”

“Look, dude, I’m calling the cops. There was no ‘war’ in 2021, all that happened was the electrical grid crash and all the movies got canceled.” He started fiddling with his device, but then got frustrated and gave up. “And the damn cell service went to shit. But I’m pretty sure we would’ve noticed if there was a war.”

Antonio was in disbelief. “The rest of your country is destroyed! The entire world is destroyed! This state of ‘Wyoming’ is the only place left, and you don’t even know what happened?”
 The man from Wyoming shrugged. “To be honest… we don’t really pay attention to the rest of the world. And they don’t pay any attention to us. What you’re saying… it would sort of make sense why all those movies never came out… do you have any photos of it on your phone?”
 Antonio collapsed to the ground. “So what you’re telling me is,” he started, out of breath. “This place was left untouched… because everyone forgot about it?”

“Yeah, probably. I dunno, dude.  I think I should probably call someone to come get you.”  He started looking around, before pulling his glowing slab back out again.

“No, no… I don’t understand… just give me a moment.” Antonio lay down on the ground and covered his face. He could hear the murmurs of other pedestrians watching in confusion. Soon he sat back up and looked around, only to see a seemingly endless sea of faces in front of him. “Wait, no… please…” He turned to look at the man he had been speaking with, but he was no longer there.

The crowd parted, and two mustached men dressed in blue uniforms donning gleaming silver badges came through. Antonio couldn’t comprehend what was happening. They restrained him and put him in the back of a car. Antonio watched the surreal sight of the city pass him by; everything looked exactly as it must have been before the apocalypse. Antonio had not been in a car for many years, and the sensation of moving so fast was starting to make him sick.

Thankfully, the car stopped outside of a large, intimidating building. The uniformed men dragged him in and up to a woman standing by a desk.

“What is your name?” the woman asked him.

“I am Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII. I am from Tuscany of the 13th Century. I died and went to Hell, but accidentally caused the apocalypse when I tried to send half of the people in Hell to Heaven.”

“Oh, really? Here, walk with me, and you can tell me all about it.” Antonio started following the woman down the hallway.

“Yes. I’m a necromancer, you see. Or, I was. But that’s  why I was in Hell. I somehow managed to get into the Devil’s offices, and on his computer I tried to send the best half of people to Heaven. It was a sort of cosmic justice, you know?”

“Oh, for sure,” the woman responded. Antonio could sense that she wasn’t particularly interested in the conversation, but he continued nonetheless.

“Yeah, so it turns out I got it backwards, I suppose. I sent the worst half of people to Earth, instead of the best half to Heaven. So this angel came down and Satan ended up declaring war, I suppose.”

“Angels and demons, eh? I’m all ears,” the woman said, completely uninterested.

“I managed to escape, and then I somehow ended up back on Earth. This was way back in 2021, of course, before the apocalypse. Which happened immediately after I returned. There were already nuclear wars and whatnot, but the war of the angels and demons really devastated the world, you know?”

The woman nodded. “Of course, we all saw it, right?”

“Yeah, finally, someone who knows what happened! So I ended up in a bunker during the war, for several years while the angels finished off the demons. Then I traveled around the country, I learned proper healing magic so that I could help people. Then I heard of this place, ‘Wyoming’, and came over here to check it out. You guys seem to be the only part of the world that was left untouched. It seems as though everybody forgot you existed.”

“Yes, we are used to that; that was a fascinating story, but we’ve arrived at your room. You can stay here as long as you like, you’ll be perfectly safe and taken care of.”

Antonio was startled, but very excited at this news. “Oh, thank you so much!” He eagerly rushed into the room, which was largely empty. “Hey, wait, this room doesn’t even have a—” He was cut off by the door closing and locking. The room was padded, and there was nothing but a light in the roof and a bed in the corner. Antonio knocked on the doors for hours, trying to get someone to talk to him, but nobody answered. Eventually, some food slipped through a hatch in the wall, and some time after that he was restrained and escorted to a restroom. He tried to talk to the guards, but they didn’t respond, and he was locked back in the room.

Eventually, Antonio lost track of the days, the months, then the years. One day, he fell asleep on his bed as he had done thousands of times before, but when he woke, he sat in a familiar black void. An invisible door opened, and he saw a familiar face come through.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII.” He laughed fiendishly. “We’ve been waiting for you down here. Let’s see…” He pulled out Antonio’s file, then continued, “Necromancy. Nasty business, that. But let’s just skip this part and get to the real juicy bit.” He licked his finger, then flipped the page. “Insurrection against the natural order. Impersonating the Devil. Unauthorized actions compromising the realm of Hell. Actions causing the release of people from Hell. Returning to Earth without permission. Actions directly causing the death of millions on Earth. And perhaps the worst of all: directly causing the Intergalactic Wyoming Empire to become the dominant human civilization—for the foreseeable future, at least. Seriously?” He leaned in closely, then continued, “they would never have known if you never went there!”

He slammed the file shut with a satisfied grin on his face. “There’s a special place down here for you. I don’t think any human has ever been there, so congratulations on becoming the first! You should take it as a compliment, really,” Tommy said, leaning back in his chair. He began fiddling with his mustache. “And I suppose I can use it as bragging rights. ‘Tommy, the torturer who was once assigned to the infamous Tony Aurelius!’ I like the sound of that!” He laughed again. “Oi, mind if I take a quick video of the two of us for my socials? I could use this cred’. And you’ll probably look disfigured forevermore once the Boss starts his work on you, so I should get in early y’know?”

Antonio, having not listened to Tommy for some time, did not respond, but only hung his head in shame. He didn’t know what was in store for him, but he did feel that he deserved it. He had officially become the worst person to have ever lived.

——-

Who: A necromancer with a heart of gold What: Causes the apocalypse When: The year 2021 Where: In Hell Why: To bring balance to the universe

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 270: Harry Potter Rules

Previously on BnHA: Present Mic punched Ujiko in the face! It was awesome. I’m thinking about getting a tattoo of it. Meanwhile Endeavor saved Mirko’s life by setting her on fire (reason #15 why I will never become a superhero), and Aizawa did some sexy Spider-Man poses for our viewing pleasure while fighting the rest of these Noumus which are still annoyingly refusing to die. Anyway but back to Present Mic, the undisputed MVP of this chapter. Because you see, in addition to the punching, he also used his Loud Voice attack (literally the actual attack name; Horikoshi will steal all of my jokes and leave me with nothing) to smash open Tomura’s Noumutank! Which I really thought was going to immediately lead to Everyone Dying, but apparently I was wrong! Anyways so yeah, right now Tomura’s just lying down all heart-stopped and not-breathing. Which seems very anticlimactic, BUT I JUST HAVE THE CRAZIEST FEELING that maybe, just maybe, the super powerful villain lad who just spent the last three arcs slowly upgrading his bad self just in time to wage war on the world as the story reaches its climax, might not actually be dead though.

Today on BnHA: DON’T MIND THAT OMINOUS ORGAN MUSIC PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND, IT’S NOTHING, IGNORE IT. Ahem. So first of all, as some of the bolder among us dared to speculate, Tomura is not, in fact, dead. He’s still very much kicking it with his nipple-less pecs and truffula tree hair, putzing around in his mental landscape filled with crumbled buildings and disembodied Theatrical Gesture Hands. For some reason he doesn’t have shoes or a shirt in his mental landscape, which was a very interesting choice on Horikoshi’s part, but we will speak no more of it. Anyway so to sum things up, Tomura’s family is all “TENKO WE LOVE YOU” and he’s all “oh hey” and then AFO fucking appears and he’s all “COME HERE MY BOY” which is exactly as creepy as you would expect, and for some fucking reason TOMURA ACTUALLY DOES COME HERE. And lol it turns out Ujiko gave him AFO. Like the quirk. Yes, that quirk. So long story short, Tomura is about to be possessed by AFO’s evil soul or some shit, and to put the cherry on top, fucking Deku out of fucking nowhere, MILES AWAY, is all “HE’S COMING.” Because of course he can sense it, because AFOFA IS REAL, AND FUCK ME THIS IS ALL HAPPENING TOO FAST, FUCK.

I know this chapter has been out since like 1pm, but I’m not getting to read it until 5 hours later because for once in my life I was trying to be responsible and actually get some work done on a Friday. I thought this might lead to less oh-god-I-still-have-to-get-that-done anxiety hovering over my weekend, but instead it just led to oh-god-I-have-to-get-the-chapter-recap-done anxiety hovering over my now! anyways so this might be a bit rushed lol

(ETA: yeah turns out this wasn’t exactly the kind of chapter you could just read quickly and get on with your life lmao. so, then!)

what a nice panel of Present Mic taking out the trash

you heard ‘em fellas. the doctor is secured. good job everyone we did it, manga over, congratulations. now to cut away to a two-page spread of Dark Shadow comically smothering Dabi’s flames with a giant stock pot lid, and that’ll be that! what a wonderful, extremely short and strangely underwhelming arc in which we haven’t even seen the actual main characters do anything yet. but I guess we don’t need them since the main bad guy is lying dead on the floor! everything is just so fucking dead and secured!! do you think if I keep repeating it enough Horikoshi will finally be like “okay geez I get it” and reveal his hand already

Mic is now ordering Ujiko to power down the Noumu, which again, I’m sure he will definitely do without a fuss since after all the good guys have clearly won the day

OH SHIT OH FUCK

rip X-Less. gonna just take a moment here to imprint your beautiful face onto my memory before it turns into a pile of ash. your face, I mean. not my memory. well my memory more or less already is a pile of ash but that’s neither here nor there ANYWAYS

:’)

what are these little sound effects. I think that’s supposed to be a buzzing noise?? anyways whatever it is PLEASE STOP IT, I AM NOT HAVING A NICE TIME SO STOP

ffff Horikoshi sure has done an excellent job of setting the mood in such a way that all of these panels of X-Less doing incredibly mild things are sending my stress levels through the roof. like is anyone else reading his lines more or less like “WELP, TIME FOR ME TO DIE, ANY SECOND NOW, WE’RE REALLY DOING THIS, THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING, HERE IT COMES”

(ETA: when is this poor sweet innocent man going to fucking die already.)

LET’S CUT BACK TO MIC ESCAPING THE IMMEDIATE VICINITY

I have the clearest mental image of Horikoshi standing by with a walkie talkie in one hand and one of those remote bomb detonation clicky switch thingies in the other, patiently waiting to receive the go-ahead once all of the important characters have gotten to safety

anyway so now Ujiko is talking again

no fear everyone this is just the beginning of his verbal noumu deactivation sequence. nothing to worry about. everything is fine

yes for some reason his code phrase to put all the noumus back to sleep involves going into rambling detail about his work researching quirk singularities and shit. it’s fine. it’s not a big deal. code phrases are just like that sometimes all right

just ignore the increasingly panicked look in Mic’s eye as he slowly realizes he was way too fucking keen to just leave the “dead” Tomura back there with his laser-eyed hero buddy. anyway so let’s continue learning all about the Quirk Illuminati or whatever the fuck

okay so... he faked his own death? 70 years ago, at age 50 or thereabouts? I mean, that’s interesting and all I guess. not saying I wouldn’t be thrilled to spend the rest of this chapter learning all about Ujiko’s boring evil life. I don’t need to say it because it’s implied on account of Ujiko sucks and is the worst. so yeah can we get a move on though

oh shit?!?

WHOSE NARRATION IS THAT IN THE BOXES TOMURA IS THAT YOU OH GOD OH GOD

also, comparing AFO’s smile to a buddha’s really sent an actual shudder of disgust down my spine for some reason lmao. I personally would have steered that comparison in a different area, maybe less to buddhas and more to Norman Bates from Psycho, but to each their own

oh shit wait up

okay but this is actually a pretty big revelation though, isn’t it? because it’s been hinted for a while now that AFO and Ujiko had some method of duplicating quirks (the fact that all the Noumu share the same regeneration quirk was the biggest clue, but there was also John-chan’s quirk, as well as Hood’s Muscular-esque quirk), but as far as I can recall, this is the first time we’ve had it confirmed. though to be fair I wasn’t joking when I said my memory really has been shit lately sob

anyway so for real though, can you really call it a BnHA chapter if you’re not spending a good chunk of it being hopelessly confused over the ownership of some ambiguous thought bubbles. WHO IS THIS. I do seriously feel like it’s Tomura, because he’s the wrathful one, but another hallmark of a typical BnHA chapter is me constantly questioning everything I know as I muddle my way through

(ETA: yeah I’m pretty sure it was him. still impressive how vague it is though! it could also potentially be Ujiko, Mic, or even Deku. hopefully Caleb’s translation on Sunday can shed some more light on this. though he wasn’t really helpful last time this happened lol.)

SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

didn’t... you just... say that “preservation” was your quirk?? what do you mean that you wanted it?? CAN YOU JUST FINISH YOUR SENTENCES LIKE A NORMAL PERSON

anyway so here’s a summary of this chapter thus far

present mic: okay goodbye forever x-less

x-less: what a strange thing to say! :) also is it just me or is this machine fucking staring at me

present mic: turn the noumu off please

ujiko: seventy years ago... society... singularity... he’d be 120 years old now...

??: [REPULSIVE FEELING EW WHO’S TOUCHING ME]

ujiko: all for one has the smile of an angel...

??: [SON OF A BITCH I’M SO FUCKING WRATHFUL]

ujiko: my quirk... preservation... the truth is... my quirk... preservation... the truth is... my quirk...

all caught up?? grand. also btw is anyone else super disturbed by the fact that Ujiko recognizes Mic as being “Kurogiri’s friend”, like holy shit though? how would he know that. I can’t think of any implications of this that aren’t super disturbing tbh

anyways back to -- LOL WHAT THE

Horikoshi Kouhei: [furiously scribbling notes to himself at 3am] BUT WHAT IF THE FOLDING CITY FROM “INCEPTION” HAD MORE GIANT HANDS

jesus christ. is this like some mental representation of what shit is currently like in Tomura’s mind? lots of crumbly destruction and traffic lights and the house his father built (isn’t it? I feel like it looks familiar), and SO MANY HANDS, HE JUST LOVES HIS HANDS

anyway so at this point it’s a coin toss whether or not anything in this fucking chapter is ever going to make any kind of fucking sense! but here I am voluntarily along for the ride while Gene Wilder sings that creepy boat song right in my ear!

DSFKLDSJ

ACCURATE REPRESENTATION OF SOMEONE WHO HAS BEEN FLOATING IN A JAR FOR THREE MONTHS TBH. that is some luscious quarantine hair

SDFLKJSDLFKJSLKFDHLKSDJFLKJLKSDJL:FKJSDL:KJ

(ETA: that Tomura in the top left may be my new favorite panel. look at him. all he is is a nose and chin and ~*~HAIR~*~.)

HANAAAAAA AHHHHHH OH MY LORD OH MY LORD! OKAY I’M FINALLY PAYING ATTENTION NOW FOR REAL! NO MORE JOKES! EVERYBODY SHHHH!!!

FFFFFFFFFF

“LOOK AT ME I’M A MAIN CHARACTER I CAN HAVE STRANGE VISIONS AND TALK TO DEAD PEOPLE IN MY DREAMS, SOUND LIKE ANYBODY ELSE YOU KNOW?” TOMURA SHUT UP I DON’T HAVE TIME TO ANALYZE THIS SCENE THEMATICALLY RIGHT NOW I’M TOO BUSY BEING SAD ABOUT YOUR DEAD SISTER WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY CALCULATING THE ODDS OF THIS SOMEHOW BEING FORESHADOWING FOR HER NOT REALLY BEING DEAD. OH GOD, OH FUCK YOU GUYS, I’M FREAKING OUT

WHAT KIND OF YOUNGER BROTHER DOESN’T CALL HIS OLDER SISTER “NEECHAN” TOMURA WHAT KIND OF ANIME CHARACTER ARE YOU

AT THIS POINT HIS HAIR IS ITS OWN INDIVIDUAL CHARACTER WITH THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS WOW

HORIKOSHI PLEASE STOP SHAKING THIS CHAMPAGNE BOTTLE OF SIBLING FEELS SO VIGOROUSLY I AM SO TERRIBLY AFRAID OH GOD

“BY THE WAY TENKO I JUST HAVE TO SAY, YOUR MAN BOOBS ARE SERIOUSLY IMPRESSIVE AND YOU SHOULD BE VERY PROUD.” YES HANA I WAS JUST GOING TO SAY. HOW ASTUTE OF YOU TO POINT THAT OUT. BOY HAS BEEN HITTING THAT BOWFLEX

WTAF IS HIS HAIR THOUGH SERIOUSLY??!

IS IT JUST ME OR IS THIS DIALOGUE BUBBLE ACTUALLY COMING FROM THE HAIR ITSELF. TOMURA. TOMURA BLINK TWICE IF YOU ARE IN DANGER

SJJKJSKJSW

TENKO IT’S ME YOUR GIANT MOM I’M BEHIND YOU HONEY TURN AROUND AND LOOK HELLO HI I LOVE YOU DO YOU STILL WANT TO BE A HERO

ffff why is he so pretty all the time lately

you are very handsome with your billowy hair and ken doll abs, you. sure are having a lot of trippy visions for a dead guy too there

HEY!!!!

WHO SAID YOU WERE ALLOWED -- DO YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST -- ffffffffff I need to be alone with my thoughts for a few minutes fuck

okay well. but since it is getting late I guess we’ll just pack these feelings up real quick and put them inside a box and neatly label it “feelings I have about Tomura having a vision of his mom and immediately turning back into his innocent little boy self in said vision as soon as he sees her.” not too sure about the contents of this box yet but I will have to explore them thoroughly at a later date

oh hey it’s this asshole

“THAT WAS TWENTY YEARS AGO, DAD.” jesus Kotaro. get over it

and also guess what, if you go and get Tomura all riled up so he wakes up grumpy and disintegrates the first hapless guy he sees, I will hold you solely responsible for that poor man’s death. I’m just warning you now

oh my

I remember this conversation going a bit differently the last time, but hey

LOOOOOOL

HIGH FIVE. PUT ‘ER THERE

WHY WOULD YOU LOOK SO SURPRISED LOL DID YOU NOT JUST TURN TOWARDS HIM WITH A SINISTER MURDER FACE LIKE TWO SECONDS AGO. LIKE WTF DID YOU THINK WAS GONNA HAPPEN

OH NO OH SHIT

FUCK ME, GUESS IT WOULDN’T BE A DRAMATIC BNHA DREAM SEQUENCE IF THIS ASSHOLE DIDN’T MAKE AN APPEARANCE AT SOME POINT OR OTHER NOW WOULD IT

-- HOLY SHIT?!

RECORD SCRATCH, FREEZE FRAME??

holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit

holy shit. fuck

...okay so

is this implying that AFO has been Noumufied? but that doesn’t make any sense, does it? he already had multiple quirks. what other advantages could there be to him becoming a Noumu. well whatever I’m just typing out all of my thoughts real fast for the time being and I’ll try to make sense of them later

or is it because he sees Kurogiri as a father figure? and AFO also?

or is he using Kurogiri’s quirk????? IS HE SOMEHOW WARPING INTO TOMURA’S DREAMS

because that third one, to me, is what this panel most looks like? Tomura says he looks like Kuro, but he doesn’t though. Kuro has a very distinctive face which this is very much lacking. instead it looks to me much more like one of Kurogiri’s portals, with AFO’s buddhaesque smile sticking out. so yeah. I got nothin’. except, again, fuck

(ETA: yeah I obviously have more thoughts about this now, but we’ll get to those in a bit.)

...

.......

-- !!!!!!!!!!LKJLK!JLKJ

oh shit oh shit oh shit 

OH SHIT

NO BABY NO DON’T DO IT

GASP

THEY’RE TRYING TO SAVE HIM AHHHH

I HAVE LIKE TEN THOUSAND THOUGHTS IN MY BRAIN RIGHT NOW YET SOMEHOW MY MIND IS ALSO STRANGELY BLANK?? I DON’T EVEN KNOW?? I’LL JUST KEEP READING

KOTARO ARE YOU TRYING TO HELP HIM OR ARE YOU PULLING HIM TOWARD AFO??

OH HE’S PUSHING HIM BACK!! OH SHIT IT’S A WHOLE FAMILY EFFORT

THEY’RE TRYING TO SAVE HIM AFO IS GOING TO TAKE HIM OVER AND THEY’RE TRYING TO PROTECT HIM OH GOD OH JESUS

BABY TENKO EYES OH MY GOD HE LOOKS SO MUCH LIKE DEKU THAT I THOUGHT IT WAS DEKU FOR A MOMENT

NO TENKO!!!

FUCK -- DOES HE NOT CARE? HE ACTUALLY UNDERSTANDS WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN BUT HE DOESN’T CARE?? IS HE TRULY SO PROFOUNDLY MISERABLE THAT HE’D GO AHEAD AND ACCEPT THIS FATE WILLINGLY

NO SOUNDS. NO WORDS. YOU COULD HEAR A PIN DROP IN MY ROOM RIGHT NOW

except that I have the most incredible, chilling, disturbing, electrifying feeling that my mental soundtrack is about to start blaring AFO’s theme from the anime on full blast...!

LOOOOOL SOB OH FUCKK

THE MOST TERRIFYING, DRAMATIC KIP UP YOU’VE EVER SEEN IN YOUR LIFE!! THIS IS IT, IT’S BEEN REAL FRIENDS, THIS IS WHERE WE DIE

-- ARE YOU REALLY, TRULY, GENUINELY SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW

NOW OF ALL TIMES IS WHEN WE FINALLY CUT TO THE TRIO, I’M CAN’T, I’M FUCK

AND THAT’S THE END AHHHHH

holy shit holy shit holy shit. wow

okay so. I don’t really have any sort of neat and tidy way to wrap up this hot mess of a recap lol. so, just... have a whole mess of all of my stupid whirling thoughts

those first four pages really did nothing to brace me at all lol

okay, so. here’s my understanding of all this, I guess. basically we’re going full Harry Potter rules here. AFO horcruxed his quirk, and from the looks of it, a piece of his soul (perhaps even the main piece) along with it. he then passed it on to Ujiko to implant into Tomura

horcrux!AFO then wakes up, and takes over Tomura. so then my understanding is that he’s going to be possessed by him. and I also got the impression that he’s fully aware of that, but just doesn’t care at this point. he knew his family was trying to warn him, but he didn’t care. and that look in his eyes when he disintegrated them just seemed so fucking resigned to me, though. jesus

but now the more interesting thing! so we can liken Tomura to the resurrected Voldemort from book 5 and onward, reborn after transferring his power into a new vessel. which would go a long way toward explaining how AFO was able to sense what was happening from all the way in Tartarus; because if we liken it to Voldemort and his horcruxes, it would mean that he still has a connection to them (similar to the connection between Voldemort’s mind and Harry’s)

but so now comes the really interesting thing -- what does this then imply about the connection between AFO and Deku? because you’ll recall that AFO alluded to a similar mental connection back when Deku first activated SIXQUIRKS. and now we have Deku somehow being magically aware of AFO’s sudden resurgent presence in this chapter. but why?? if the reason AFO and Tomura share a psychic link is because of a shared quirk, why would Deku also be experiencing the same link? the answer is, he wouldn’t -- unless he, too, had the same shared quirk

in other words, I think All for One for All is fucking confirmed you guys. I can’t think of any explanation for this other than that OFA is also a horcrux quirk. a little piece of AFO broken off and embedded in his brother, and then passed along through the generations. and now residing within Deku

anyway. so that’s a hell of a lot to ponder lol. I guess we can at least be grateful for the fact that we’re not waiting two weeks for chapter 271 like Hori originally planned. can you fucking imagine. what a fucking asshole lol

[maruzzewrites]

“I’ll kiss away the pain, doll.” - Risotto 👀

42. “I’ll kiss away the pain, doll.”

Content warnings: yandere content, obsessive behavior, implied stalking, creepy behavior, gore, violence, mouth trauma, throat trauma, you know what’s up fellas.

Vacations were very rare for you. You were soused to work or study, so used to the routine of buzzing sounds of a city, themurmur of people all running and fleeing around you, that you never reallythought about the possibility of taking some time off. You had certain goalsyou wanted to meet in set dates, set timeframes, just to prove yourselfsomething and because of the need of building self-discipline. Otherwise, youwere afraid you’d fall into a pit of inactivity, forever stalling in the stillwater of the present and never thinking of what was to come.

However, it was obvious that the rhythm youimposed to yourself could be sustained for only so long, until your mind gaveout and worried the people around you. You had the fortune of having caring family,caring peers and caring colleagues, who first encouraged, then demanded youtook time off your busy schedule even if you would use the time to lie down anddo nothing in the privacy of your room. But, ever the busybody, you couldn’tstand the thought of listening to the tick of the clock as it displayed thetime separating you from your return to your normal life. So, you packed yourbags and decided to take a little trip, not far away from your home. With a fewcalls, you found a hotel with vacancy ready to welcome you on the warm beaches ofa city near Naples, and you said goodbye to your loved ones with the promisesof photos.

The drive, on the bus, was rather quiet, but thetrepidation inside your chest made you understand how much your body craved therest you denied to yourself. Your arrival wasn’t spectacular, of course, butthe staff of the hotel was cordial, affable, more than willing to bring yoursuitcase to your room and let you know everything you needed about breakfast,lunch and dinner. With the keys in your pocket, you didn’t spend much time inyour own room, preferring to get familiar with the place before heading out toenjoy an evening walking around the little city you picked for your vacation.

The hall, the common rooms, the restaurant, allwere delightful and tidy, the perfect package for someone who wanted to simplyrelax for a few days without having a worry in mind. With light steps, the onlyburden the strain still present on your mind, you walked towards the garden inthe back of the hotel. Bright, warm sun rays washed over the little green space,with a short stone rail separating the building behind you from the privatebeach reserved to the patrons of the hotel. You rested your hands on the rail,looking at the sea, gently moved by the breeze that carried salt and aromas toyou with delicacy. It had been so long since you enjoyed the seaside, despiteliving so close to it, and your mind was filled not only with pleasant plansfor these coming days, but with memories of childhood and adolescence full ofcareless moments.

So engrossed in your own musings, that you didn’tnotice the presence of someone else right there. It’s only a small creak,almost inaudible, that woke you up from your reverie, and you whipped your headin the direction of the faint sound. With a breath, you took in a black, dullelement in the colorful scenario you were in; a man, dark and tall, seated on abench right on edge of the visible garden, against a bush. He had a computer onhis lap, and gloomy staring at you with deep red irises. For a moment, yourcuriosity about the weird appearance of the man didn’t allow you to feel anyfear at his presence, your head simply tilted into an inquisitive look as youscrutinized the person that entered your field of vision. It was only when heslammed the computer shut and moved towards you that you seemed to understandhe was an actual person, someone alive and breathing you were staring at. Inthe panic of such an imposing man stalking in your direction with calmconfidence, you didn’t think about escaping or running back to your room.

“Who are you?” His question was direct, easy toanswer, and it made you seal your lips with violence. You looked up at him, athis face, casted in shadow despite the sun shining high and bright over yourheads. You didn’t think about throwing quick glances around you, to check forany exit, and you just watched his steely face, as if he was unable to betrayany sort of emotion he didn’t want to display by his own volition. After a fewseconds in complete silence, you parted your lips to breath, and an answerspilled from your lips before you could stop yourself. You told him who youwere, throwing a mechanic greeting and the usual pleasantries, as if your brainjust decided to follow a script you prepared time ago.

His eyes searched you, the steel and coldnessbehind them draining slowly as you stood there paralyzed by his gaze, until hesighed in the most imperceptible way – you caught it simply because you werehyper-aware of his movements, of his reactions. He didn’t turn around, he didn’tcontinue to talk, you were stuck in an uncanny limbo where he was staring atyou and you had to fight the fear raising and gripping your throat. You wantedto walk away from that strange enchantment you were under, so you broke the eyecontact and glanced at the hotel. You raised a hand, waved goodbye, and smiledat him in a way you hoped was reassuring enough, speaking only to say you hopedto see him around. Before you fully turned away, you saw his face change,colored with surprise at your statement.

After that, you managed to actually meet himagain. More than once, too, as if he was especially seeking you out every timeyou were out your room and staying in the common rooms, on the private beach orjust standing outside your door for a little while. You wanted to assume he wason your same floor, but you couldn’t fully trust your wishful thinking when youwere getting more and more paranoid with how insistent and nosy that man was.He would ask to sit at the same table as you at lunch, pick the spot rightbesides you on the beach, make awkward small talk and awful conversation thathe started, but didn’t seem to be able to carry on without your help. It wasodd, uncomfortable even, and you couldn’t believe the few days of vacation yougot were ruined by such a creep.

Luckily, the last day rolled around, and you werepacking the few things you scattered around your room. Enjoying the remaining momentsof relax, you opted to stay inside all day and avoid all encounters withpotential neighbors or unrelenting suitors, no matter how flattering theythought they would be. You didn’t even get out to have lunch, simply appreciatingroom service for the possibility of dodging the necessity of getting out. Oncedinner arrived, however, you were too bored to stay in your room and headed tothe restaurant without too much thought about meeting that man, sure you��dleave him behind you once you were back at home.

“You weren’t here today.” Predictably, heapproached your table as soon as you were distracted, and you winced at hisvoice, at his tone filled with admonishment. You had no idea how he managed tosneak up on you so easily every time, but you didn’t appreciate the feeling of beingcornered each single time you saw him. Yet, you decided to keep peace for now,so close to escaping his attention, so you entertained a conversation with himwith more enthusiasm than usual. He seemed to notice, if the flash of a grin onhis face was any indication of his own thoughts.

The evening was going smoothly, despite theuncomfortable feeling gripping your stomach, and you considered how slippingaway without resistance just to leave him behind and have a peaceful last nightof sleep before returning to your routine. In your distraction, you let out theinformation about your imminent departure, about how you were about to returnhome and other idle comments about your time in that city, and you didn’tnotice how the man fell silent all of the sudden. His eyes bore into you,searching, analyzing, and you squirmed as soon as you noticed the weight of thatgaze. You excused yourself quickly, jogging towards your room.

Just as you were about to reach the right floor,you felt something under your skin. A vicious, slick sensation snaking all overyour body, flowing like a dull pain in the same point in your throat. Youcoughed, trying to get rid of the tightness you felt, but the pain was growingto the point of making you weep. You stopped in your tracks, looking around tofind some help, but the staircase was empty. Suddenly, you felt your throatbust open, yet the ache came only after; with your hands holding your newinjury, warm blood wetting your fingers, you let out a choked scream, but yourvoice didn’t spill from your lips for long as a hand pressed against your mouthto stop you from making any sound.

Your gaze was unfocused because of the shock, thepain and the blood loss, but you turned your head anyway, whatever was in yourthroat tearing agonizingly at the skin and the muscle with the movement of yourneck. With the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of familiar white hairand black clothes, the warm palm forced on your face big enough to belong tothe man you knew was hurting you. When you started to complain, to struggleagainst his hold, he dragged you closer to his body and the painful sensationfrom before resurfaced, clawing up on your tongue, in your gums, a scream dyingin your throat.

“Don’t fight it.” His voice was too composed andtoo calm for this situation, his hands keeping you glued against him as hestood up fully from his hunched-over position. Your feet weren’t on the groundanymore, and the sudden realization made you kick and struggle with renewed animosity.His fingers gripped your jaw with more strength, preventing it to move and ensuringyou won’t scream as you felt something seep through the gaps between yourteeth, excruciating pain occupying your mind until you couldn’t even move.

“I told you,” his tone was still that of anauthority figure, reprimanding you for a minor inconvenience, as you went limpin his arms, a metallic taste wetting your tongue. Your felt like you couldn’tbreathe, as if you were about to choke and black out, slip out from this world –and maybe that would have been the best option for you. With the littlestrength you still had, you realized the man was now moving down the stairs,stopping at the floor below the one you were in, walking down the empty hall withunnerving calm. You tried to resist again, but it was such a weak attempt that hedidn’t even bother to stop you; from behind his hand, you whimpered, and soonhis gloom voice reached your ears in an attempt to soothe you, “I’ll kiss awaythe pain, doll. Just be good.”

You sobbed and thrashed in his hold, your bodytoo frail to really do much and accomplish anything worthwhile. Yet, youassumed he wanted you to really behave, and he wouldn’t tolerate any type of defiancefrom you. The hand around your jaw moved quickly, slamming your mouth shut andsomething that felt like needles pierced your gums, renewing the previous painand making you let out a faint wheeze. After a moment of tension in your entirebody, your body and mind decided to give into the agony and the abrupt sensationof fainting. You heard the distant words of the man as your hands went to holdthe arm around your body in order to support yourself better, “Good, be good.”

You passed out as soon as you saw him open adoor, releasing your jaw.

[violetwolfraven]

Trust (Broken?)

((I saw a post about how Blink and Sniper scabbed and why isn’t anyone writing angst about this and I figured I’d give it a shot. Did I make up backstories for Smalls and Sniper? Possibly!))

...

“Smalls. Smalls, stop! Please! I’m sorry! Can we just—“

Smalls did stop, only to whirl around so fast Sniper almost banged into her.

“You’re sorry?” Smalls snarled, “You scabbed on us, Sniper!”

“Smalls, I—“

“Crutchie got taken!” Smalls shouted, “Jack’s missin’, and he might be dead, for all we know! And we all knew this could happen when we’s signed on to this, Snipes, we all knew how dangerous it was from the beginnin’! What? You, Blink, and Tommy just couldn’t take it?”

It still hurt, just thinking about it.

She’d heard Mush make a sound like he got punched in the stomach when he saw Blink.

Finch, being Tommy Boy’s closest friend, had taken a couple steps back out of shock.

Smalls had been frozen when she saw Sniper’s face among the scabs. Crutchie had put a hand on her shoulder, but she’d barely felt it.

She’d thought Sniper was one of the brave ones. She’d thought she’d stick with them to the end.

She’d thought Sniper would stick with her to the end.

The adrenaline high from ripping up papes, beating up on the Delanceys for once instead of being the ones getting beat up on right after the scabs all switched back to the right side was gone. Smalls hadn’t thought about this too hard in the moment, hadn’t had time to, but now all she could do was think about it.

Everything was wrong. This was just the part occupying her mind at the moment.

She had a black eye, now, and yeah, Sniper was a bit roughed-up, but she wasn’t too worse for wear, and that just made Smalls angrier.

“Smalls...” Sniper made a frustrated noise, “I didn’t wanna scab, okay? I didn’t! It’s just that if I don’t bring in money, my dad gets mad.”

Smalls scoffed, “What, and ya think the rest of us don’t have reasons to keep sellin’?”

“I didn’t say—“

“This job,” Smalls growled, grabbing the front of the other girl’s shirt with one hand, “This Lodging House, this is all I have. It’s all a lot of the fellas have. Still, ya don’t see me or most of the others abandonin’ anybody!”

“I didn’t abandon anyone!” Sniper argued, “It had nothin’ to do with you! And I know this is all ya have! That’s what you don’t get, here! You ain’t got nothin’ to lose ‘cept your own life and that’s your choice! But I can’t leave my mom in that house alone! It ain’t my fault your family went and left you!”

Smalls let go of Sniper’s shirt, stumbling back a few steps.

Sniper’s hand flew over her mouth like she couldn’t believe what she’d just said.

The only other people who knew Smalls’s backstory were Jack, Crutchie, and Race, and that was because they were there.

Jack, Crutchie, and Race were there when Smalls was 4 and her three older brothers dropped her off at the Lodging House after their mom died, saying they needed a place for her to sleep for a little while but they’d be back in a couple weeks after they found stable work.

Jack, Crutchie, and Race were there when Smalls started selling the next morning, learning the best spots and techniques right along side these boys, older than her by a few years at 8, 7, and 6, respectively.

Jack, Crutchie, and Race were there a few weeks later, when the leader of Manhattan back then sat Smalls down and told her that he didn’t think her brothers were coming back.

They were there a few months after that when she finally accepted that they weren’t.

Smalls had been a Newsie longer than just about anyone. She was 13, had started when she was 4, and that meant... well, a building full of teenage boys had never been the best schoolhouse, but it was how she’d grown up. Someone had taught her to read and write at some point, but Smalls had never been good at math.

But she did know that not even Jack started as young as she did.

Smalls had been the only girl in the Lodging House until she was 8. Kloppman had made an exception for her, not wanting a kid that young on the streets, and he’d made another for Sniper on account of her only planning on staying half the time. And he still sometimes talked about how it wasn’t appropriate that two girls slept in the same room as a couple dozen boys, but he never kicked them out.

Smalls had, of course, been sleeping in the same room as boys since she was born. She still thought about her brothers sometimes, wondering where they might be, contemplating when they decided to leave her, usually cursing names that she barely remembered. They could be out west, for all she knew. She did remember that they were all significantly older than her.

The only person she’d ever told about them or any of it was Sniper.

Because she trusted Sniper enough to speak of memories she sometimes wanted to forget.

Evidently, she’d been wrong to.

“Fuck you, Sniper,” she said shakily, turning to leave the alley they were in.

“Smalls, wait—“

Smalls raised a fist as she turned when Sniper grabbed her wrist to stop her.

The other girl didn’t look scared. Her brown eyes were calm, if full of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m so sorry. That was a line I never should have crossed. I know nothin’ I say’ll make it better, but... I’m just sorry. For everythin’ I’s said and done.”

Smalls wanted to hit her. She knew if it was any of the boys, he’d already be on the ground with a broken nose.

But it was Sniper. And no matter what she’d said or done, Smalls couldn’t hit her.

She let her hand drop, “I shouldn’t’ve acted like you shouldn’t be scared of your dad. I’s seen those bruises ya hide. And you’re right. I don’t have a family to lose.”

“That’s not true.”

“What, the Newsies?” Smalls scoffed, “Yeah, they’s my family. Or maybe not, cause they don’t raise a hand to me or keep me runnin’ back to someone what hurts me. If your parents are what you call a family, the Newsies are somethin’ else.”

Sniper opened her mouth, then closed it. It looked like she didn’t have an argument, which was rare.

“Your dad ain’t any less of a bastard than my brothers just ‘cause he stuck around,” Smalls said firmly, “On the nights ya go home, he hurts ya more nights than he doesn’t. You call that a family? Huh?”

“No,” Sniper admitted, looking at the ground.

“No. And yet ya keep goin’ back.”

“I can’t not,” Sniper muttered, “I don’t know what he’d do to Mom if I didn’t.”

Smalls shook her head, “Sniper... your mom ain’t even tried to protect you. She ain’t bad, but she ain’t good either.”

“Maybe not,” she admitted, “But she’s all I got.”

“No, she ain’t.”

Sniper looked a little surprised, like she hadn’t expected Smalls to still care, after everything in the last few hours.

Smalls was definitely still angry, but she was willing to try to work through it.

After all, Sniper was still her best friend, and...

Well, Smalls wasn’t completely sure yet.

But the way Mush talked about Blink, the way Race talked about Spot, and so many other pairs she knew had romantic things going on, it was... familiar. She recognized those feelings they were trying to describe when she sat in on their gossip, though she’d definitely never felt them for a boy.

The rest of the world was different, but among the Manhattan Newsies, it was okay for a boy to like another boy. It was okay for a boy to like a girl, too. Given that there were few other girls around unless she was someone one of the boys was courting, Smalls didn’t know if girls liking other girls was even a thing, (she’d have to ask Race or somebody about it later) but...

Sniper had short hair like a boy, anyway, so maybe she was close enough.

They were young enough, at 13, that Smalls didn’t think she should make a move just yet. It would probably be better to wait until they were a little bigger, if Smalls even still wanted to make a move when they got bigger. They had a lot to talk about before that would ever be an option, anyway. Smalls had seen enough failed courtships in years living with various teenagers to know how important communication was.

That didn’t mean she felt like talking about it right now.

“I should go make sure there’s nothin’ I can help with.”

Sniper let go of her wrist, “Right. Yeah. Ya probably should.”

She was hesitating.

“I’m sure Race and Davey could use anyone they can get helpin’ out,” Smalls offered, “Ya know. If you wanted to spend the night.”

“Okay.”

They didn’t link elbows the way they normally would walking back inside, but Smalls felt a little better just knowing they were going to figure out how to be okay.

[cowpokecorner]

Dead Dawg Anon here: Either is fine. Or both.

"N-now c'mon Mister. Ain't no need t'be shootin' nobody." Arthur attempted to calm the man. FO: Alrighty~! I decided to go the fic route cause I figured it'd be easier than trying to come up with a whole list of HCs. It's just a brief interaction, but I hope it's to your liking~ :3

Welcome To the New Realm Cowpokes (pt 1) || Arthur Morgan meets Caleb Quinn (an RDR2 / DBD crossover fic)

As the outlaw made his way down the dark, dank trail of the Entity's realm, he pondered just how in the hell he got to this place. The last thing he remembered he was jumping from a burning ship into the ocean during an escape from Saint Denis after a failed bank robbery. Next he knew, he was waking up in a strange place near a camp fire of some kind and several people he'd never seen before in his life. Only a couple of them introduced themselves to him, but he didn't stick around too long either. He wanted to try and figure out where he was and see if there was any way to get back to Dutch and the others. He needed to know if they had made it to safety. In the meantime, he was going to learn as much as he could about the place he was in right now. Arthur was so lost in thought he hadn't realized just how far he had strayed from the safety of the camp fire. He only looked up when the sound of a vulture caught his attention. He looked up to see a dusty road leading into what appeared to be an old Western town. It reminded of where he came from, drawing him in. He started down the road, admiring the scenery and the sky. Even though this place looked like a fight of some kind had broken out, it still brought him a bit of comfort in this strange world. It was when he laid his eyes upon the Dead Dawg Saloon that his interest was truly peeked. He cautiously stepped into the run down building, looking around and cringing a bit at the sound of the utterly out of tune piano, that appeared to be playing by itself. The place looked really beat up, a few dead bodies strewn about. He approached the bar, running his hand through the thick layer of dust on the counter. He was quite curious about this place, but his curiosity would quickly turn to apprehension when he picked up on the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the second floor.

Arthur immediately turned his attention toward the stairs, the piano suddenly going silent as he backed away and tried to find a place to hide. The bar was his only option, so he quickly ducked behind it and waited. He peeked out, keeping an eye on the stairs as he watched a shadow appear on the wall. If that shadow was accurate, the person making it was rather large in height. The inhabitant of this particular realm had heard the intruder enter and was on his way down to have a look around.

 The figure didn't take kindly to the Survivors encroaching on his territory, and even less so when it was another unwelcome Killer. As he reached the bottom of the stairs he brought his invention up to aim, scanning the room with a scowl on his face. "Frank. F’you 'r any a yer miscreant friends're in here again...You'll not be leavin' without a hole in ya." His tone was low and gravely as he spoke. Arthur's eyes widened a bit when he caught sight of the modified rifle the other man was holding. It looked as though it was fixed up to launch a barbed harpoon from the barrel, and...was that a...railroad spike for a bayonet? He did his best to quiet his breathing so as not to be heard, but this guy was definitely less than human looking. Arthur wasn't normally one to be scared easily, but the sight of the other cowboy with his quite intimidating weapon really did have him on edge.

The Deathslinger started to make his way around the room, keeping his gun at the ready as he looked for whoever had come into his saloon. The lack of any sort of clue was beginning to boil his blood. He knew he heard footsteps a moment ago. "Whoever's in here best be comin' out. Now!" Arthur thought to himself a moment before taking a deep breath in. This guy was like him it seemed. An outlaw or something of the like from a similar time as him. Maybe he could talk to him? Strike up some kind of deal? Surely he wouldn't kill him so long as he didn't break or take anything, right? He carefully moved to stand up from behind the bar, his hands raised defensively as he spoke. "I-I'm sorry Mister. I didn' mean no harm t'nothin'. I was just lookin' round for a way outta this place. That's all." At the sound of Arthur's voice, Caleb quickly turned on his heels and aimed his gun at the other. He gave a low chuckle before he spoke. "A way out? There ain't no way out boy. Death ain't even an escape here. Now I suggest y'leave m'property ‘fore y'get yerself hurt. Y'got about five seconds.”

 "N-now c'mon Mister. Ain't no need t'be shootin' nobody." Arthur attempted to calm the man. 

"Five." He cocked his gun and raised it to his eye, closing the other to get a better aim.

Arthur quickly realized there would be no negotiating. He moved a hand to reach for his pistol, but to no avail. Not only had he lost it when jumping from the boat, but this world's 'Entity' had not allowed him to have anything. "Shit..." He muttered to himself. "Four." Caleb smirked as he slipped his finger over the trigger. "Y'better get t'runnin' boy." Arthur took the opportunity while the other man's vision was impaired from aiming. He acted fast, jumping the bar and swinging to try and punch him. That would prove to be a major mistake on his part. Caleb quickly countered by swinging his rifle and slashing Arthur's arm with the spike on the end. "Don't test me boy! I ain't gonna tell ya again! Get out, 'r get shot!" 

Arthur cried out in pain at the slash, quickly bringing a hand up to cover the fresh wound. "C'mon fella..." He spoke with a pained tone. "I ain't here t'cause no trouble. Really. Maybe we could...talk things out...over a drink 'r somethin'...?" Caleb raised a brow in slight confusion. "Talk? Over a drink?" Was this guy serious? He sure was a strange one for a Survivor. Most of them stayed away, and the ones that did stray in occasionally normally got chased out before too long. None of them ever tried to negotiate or drink with him. Although, something about Arthur struck him as familiar. He reminded him a lot of home. He lowered his gun, putting it to his side for now. "Where you from anyway? Time-wise I mean." Arthur raised a brow in confusion. "Where...in time...?" 

"Yes. Time don't exist here, n' everyone's from a different point in time." Caleb leaned against the bar with a huff. "So. Where you from?”  

"Uh...eighteen ninety-nine... You..?" Arthur questioned back. 

"Not long b'fore." Caleb smirked. "Y'know, maybe a drink 'r two ain't such a bad idea. Maybe we can talk bout the ol' days, but..." He stepped closer to Arthur, narrowing his eyes, "Try anythin' n' I won't hesitate ta shoot'cha." 

Arthur made note of the other's threat as he straightened up. "Promise. I don't mean no harm. Just...want someone I can relate to...n' maybe try n' find a way outta here..."

"Already told’ja boy. Ain't no way out. All of us're stuck here doin' th'Entity's biddin'." Caleb brought his rifle up to rest on his shoulder as he walked by Arthur toward the back of the saloon. "Better see ta that wound. Ain't gonna heal much till ya die n' come back." Arthur turned to give the other cowboy a confused look. "Die...n'...come back...?" What was this place? Would he truly be stuck here forever? Would he never see his friends and family ever again? There were so many questions swirling around in his mind in this moment. He decided he'd likely be spending a lot of time here, getting to know this man and understanding this world. 

[somefantasticplace]

THEY DIDN'T LET IT LIE

After four years of writing in secret, Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer are about to bring their surreal masterpiece Catterick to television screen. Glimpse here an interview that treads the outer regions of sanity…

A long time ago Vic Reeves (real name Jim Moir) and Bob Mortimer were television revolutionaries, their work genuinely baffled as it made you laugh. But in recent years they have lurched perilously close to becoming light entertainment stalwarts. Their new six-part series for the BBC, Catterick, named after the North Yorkshire garrison town, might be the TV show that puts Vic & Bob back in a deeply disturbing and equally funny place. Or it could be a creative disaster. Either way, as this exclusive on-set interview shows, it will certainly be strange.

Catterick, what is it then?

Vic: It’s just a great long story about people who have lost things and then try to find them. We’ve been working on it for four years as a movie but then the BBC offered us a sketch show so we’ve put it into that space.

Bob: It’s different, a real treat. But it’s bonkers. It’s not Phoenix Nights or Early Doors but in a funny way we hope it will be as easy to watch as they are. There are mysterious crows influencing events.

Vic: It’s got very sinister undertones.

Bob: If we do get away with it, it will be a much bigger thing than we’ve done before. But they’ll only trust us to a certain extent.

The BBC don’t trust you?

Bob: I don’t think the BBC is sure about anyone for much longer than about a year, or two years. They might not even be sure about Ricky Gervais in three years time. I do get that feeling that they don’t fucking know either way of it’s good or bad.

Vic: The BBC just usually let us get on with it. Because it’s a drama they got us involved, or tried to get us involved because at the end of the day we are the ones who say yea or nay.

Bob: Just little things. Like they didn’t want it to be called Catterick. Should it be called Catterick? Should it be this long? Should it have more plots? The sort of things that come out of corporations.

Were you disappointed by Randall & Hopkirk not getting a third series?

Bob: I was surprised we got the second series really. To be honest, I didn’t think the stories were good enough. Charlie Higson wrote it… well, it was a fuck of a lot to take on, six one-hours on the BBC. We knew it when we were doing it. You know when you’re doing something and saying, “This isn’t the sort of thing that we do but we’ll try it.”

Do you suffer from people thinking you are dark geniuses rather than just comics?

Vic: If people do feel that, they don’t ring us up, they’ve thought about it in darkened corners.

Do you think you are dark geniuses?

Vic: Well, Emile Zola didn’t have people ringing him up and saying, “Are you a dark genius?” you do what you do. And we never hear of anything from fans.

Are they kept away from you?

Bob: No

Vic: It’s not that we’re not interested but we never hear of them.

Bob: I mean we don’t set up web lines and we don’t get aggressive not see fans, it’s just not…

Not what you do?

Vic: (looks over at Bob who is wearing a tracksuit top beneath a formal jacket): That’s quite unique is that look. That approach.

Bob: I’ve got a Gentle Giant t-shirt on (with a patriotic US design featuring a stars ‘n’ stripes-coloured horse).

Vic: A sports top.

Bob: And quite a formal shirt these days.

Vic: But a sports top and a suit.

Bob: What’s your verdict?

Vic: Well, it’s the new thing. The younger set will be wearing that next week. Is Jack in the younger set?

Not really, no. Is your show similar to what Paul Whitehouse did with Happiness?

Vic: No, it’s nothing like it at all.

I don’t mean the end product, but whether it’s written with similarly downbeat inclinations.

Vic: I think if you wanted to really analyse it the essence of comedy is about sadness. And there’s a lot of sadness. It’s very similar to Voltaire’s Candide, in that a bloke meets a woman who he falls madly in love with, she gets kidnapped and he spends the rest of his life looking for her and when he finds her, he finds out he doesn’t fancy her anymore. But that’s his entire life gone, for nothing. Also in Candide, people get killed and then come back to life.

And in Catterick?

Bob: Well a few die.

Vic: But if someone gets killed they are not necessarily dead. Although they’re not far off. I think it’s the best thing we’ve ever done, one of the best things ever on television but whether people like it or not is a different thing. I think people are now numbed; they’re dumbed down to the state where they’re going “We just want to watch someone decorating someone’s house.”

If everyone’s stupid, what hope is there for clever humour? Or clever anything?

Vic: I think it’s got to the state of just before punk rock emerged. Someone’s going to have to say, “Look, this is getting too much. It’s too shit, it’s too boring.” Fortunately we grew up at the right time. People of our age, from our era, are the only creative people around. There’s fuck all going on.  I get so agitated watching television – there’s nothing on.

Bob: If we get away with Catterick it will make people more ambitious, take more chances. This isn’t Early Doors or the Alan Partridge thing, it has no element of – and this is something I’m not particularly keen on – “Oh he’s just like the bloke in our office” or “I know people like that”. All that stuff, there’s none of that, there’s no-one you recognise.

Vic: The characters in Catterick, they don’t look and act like normal people but they are normal. You can take somebody who’s outlandish in their look or the way that the speak and put them in a real life proper situation. It’s confusing and then it becomes funny.

Do you think that’s a Northern thing?

Vic: What do you mean?

A warmth towards outlandishness.

Vic: There’s some of that in our area.

Bob: You used to follow oddballs, didn’t you? Around the streets.

Vic: Yeah, but I think there’s something particular about where we grew up, the northeast of Yorkshire. It seems to breed a particular viewpoint, which is, I think, funny. And we’ve got Mark Benton who is a superb character and he’s from Middlesbrough, and it’s so easy to work with him because he’s got that particular… he knows what the humour is. But it’s from darkness and from sensibilities and straightforward people. And you just take a twist off to the right or left. That’s where humour is.

What do you thing to Ant and Dec, who’ve, arguably, done a childish version of your act?

Vic: Well, all the best to them. They do stuff that’s so popular and I’m sure they enjoy magnificent flats.

Bob: When they started doing Saturday morning telly, they did it well. Just because we’re from the same neck of the woods and there’s two of them…

Vic: I hope they don’t go too far and people start to despising them. Like what’s his name… not Michael Jackson… the ginger-haired fella…

Bob: Terry Evans?

Vic: Chris Evans.

Did you work with Evans?

Vic: We must have met him… he had a snotty nose.

Bob: We thought he was a sneezer.

Vic: So am I. It’s all the cocaine I abuse.

Bob: You do?

Vic: I have cocaine constantly. I love it.

Bob: (returning to the subject of Ant and Dec): Yeah, their early stuff has probably got a half-life but at the moment they are the top presenters. If there’s a big event they’ll probably be the number one choice for it at the moment.

Was your first television break on Jonathan Ross’s ‘The Last Resort’?

Vic: I wouldn’t say it was a break, as we weren’t looking for a break at the time. I think Jonathan got in a lucky position hosting a programme – he’d get all his mates on.

Bob: The other thing you realise is how indebted you are once you’ve got a show. We used to do a live show down in Deptford, but people heard about it and they wanted to put us on. By the end of it we had this fucking theatre in Deptford. As soon as we did a run of five weeks in it, it was sold out in hours.

Vic: There were people coming from all over to see it and then we had TV bosses sniffing around but they didn’t know what to do with us.

Bob: What would we have done, would we have just carried on doing that?

Vic: Well I remember sitting in a cab and you said, “Shall we be famous then? Do you fancy it, do you want to be famous for a bit?” And we really didn’t think – and it didn’t matter…

Bob: I think I took 10 weeks off work. We were doing a shitty little tour.

Vic: We didn’t think it would carry on from there. I think it was a case of… (we stop as a waitress arrives).

Bob: Cup of tea, please. (Bob points at my chip bowl, which he has gradually filled with fag ends.) Sorry about that, pet.

Vic: Can I have a large gin and tonic. I need a hair-of-the-dog and I don’t usually do that, but…

It works.

Vic: I bet it does – because you were here late for the interview I bet you got up out of bed late, didn’t you? What were you doing last night? I was singing with me father-in-law. Were you living it up?

Drinking, talking rubbish.

Bob: That’s your job though, isn’t it?

Vic: That’s alright!

Bob: I watched Harry Hill’s TV Burp. You know, it was one of those nights.

Vic: Quiet night, then.

Bob: Quiet night, yeah.

How close do you live to each other?

Bob: About 16 minutes.

Vic: No, longer, I reckon 40 minutes.

Bob: I’d say 28, if it’s important to you then we have to get it right.

Vic: More 29. Depends on the wind.

Bob: Mmm.

Isn’t that like giving up on life, moving to Kent?

Bob: Why do you say that? Where do you live?

Me? Camberwell.

Vic: Do you like it there?

I’ve not been there for that long, I was in Greenwich before.

Vic: You’re obsessive, that’s where we lived. The next thing you’ll be in Kent – you’re living the same places that we lived. You would have been here (central London) quicker if you lived in Kent, and you have the luxury of having a nice quiet life with beautiful countryside and fresh air. What happens with you now? You wake up and open your windows and you’ve got…

A gherkin.

Vic: Or a Nigerian taxi going, Waaaah! Waaaah!

Bob: You’re got a Gurkha?

A gherkin. It’s a building. And apart from me everyone else in the block is Nigerian.

Bob: Ah, yes. Do you drink in The Grove?

No, that’s turned into a big-box-little-box place. I drink at the Hermit’s cave.

Bob: That was the police pub. It was a no-go.

Vic: Do you go in at lunchtime? What do you have, pie or fish?

Just a drink.

Vic: Really, and then do you go home and have your tea? And then have some pints. What do you have for your tea?

My flatmate’s doing a cooking course so…

Vic: So she comes back with some good recipes. I left a recipe for Nancy when I was coming up here. I said “Get those chickens’ breasts out, put them in lemon juice and soy sauce then a bit pf paprika and let them marinate for some time and we’ll have those with a nice bit of cabbage and some mushrooms.”

Bob: I loved Camberwell. But I’d been in Peckham and Camberwell for 15 years and one weekend my girlfriend got attacked, my motorcycle got nicked and the police, with their helicopters, cornered a criminal in me back garden. And then the spell of it were gone. I couldn’t live there. I’d lived there happily but as soon as something happened I walked out.

Vic: I remember when we first did Big Night Out. I’d secured myself a really nice flat in Blackheath. One bedroom, but nice. It was posh. And he was living on the worst estate in Peckham and it used to make me think that other people were thinking that I was getting all the money and he wasn’t getting anything and he wouldn’t fucking get out of this shit hole. Even when we had quite a good deal of money he wouldn’t get out of that shithole in Peckham and it used to make me highly embarrassed.

Bob: I was in a homeless hostel, it’s true, and then I got this council flat just off the North Peckham council estate.

Vic: It was going to be on Through The Keyhole.

Bob: I wish I’d done it, like.

Vic: It was fucking frightening, like. When we were on tour I’d get picked up, it wasn’t a luxury flat but it had a nice front piece and it looking like a nice big hour and then I’d go and pick that fucker up and it was a disgusting hole.

Bob: It was fucking noisy at night.

Vic: And he made it worse because he was a lazy fucker. He couldn’t be bothered getting out of his bed and walking round to go to the toilet so he kicked a hole in the wall to the toilet. I said “What are you doing about getting this rubbish out of the house?” and he said, “Oh, I’ll put it out the window.” There was a triangle of shit, milk bottles and crap out the back window. Piss everywhere, piss in milk bottles…

Bob: They were the days thought, you can’t do that in Kent. And you know what, it’s embarrassing. I’m not being nasty to Nigerians in any way, I’m just making the clear point that they are noisy. Eight or nine of them in a very tiny space and they never shut up. Either that or it’s the tinkle of chicken bones falling on the pavement all fucking night.

Could that be construed as racist?

Vic: I don’t think it’s racist. When you go into an Indian shop they are always on the phone. Always. And it’s not racist but you get accused of being racist if you say that all Nigerians are…

Bob: They are fucking noisy.

Why isn’t that racist?

Bob: Because it has been my experience.

Vic: With our type of humour – a lot of people from the North East have our sense of humour – it’s a positive thing. We can say it because it’s the way we sound.

Well you’d have to ask a Nigerian whether he minds it in a North Yorkshire accent or not.

Bob: You noisy bastard.

Vic: One of the characters in Catterick is white, Jewish, ginger haired who’s got an Asian accent.

Bob: See that could be a stumbling block… it’s quite idiotic.

Vic: When we did The Club on Bang Bang, Bob played a character who had a Chinese accent and that was covered by the fact that…

Bob: But we seemed to get away with that but Asia’s different, isn’t it? As for what people are going to say? Fuck, I don’t know. Vic: If you were raised in Hong Kong and you were white Anglo-Saxon and you came back you’re going to talk with a Chinese accent. Which might be intriguing.

Bob: See the other thing is that I reckon probably in fucking South Yorkshire it’s incredibly cool to be Asian.

Like it used to be cool amongst some whites to pretend to be black?

Vic: That’s still cool now. White children in Southeast London have got a basically West Indian accent, haven’t they? It’s cool but will it ever be cool to come from the Isle of White.

Bob: I don’t think the BBC have cottoned on to that yet. That Matt Lucas is going to be Asian.

You said your humour is a product of where you come from, but Roy “Chubby” Brown is from the same area, isn’t he?

Vic: Do you know, when I was talking to my friend Eugene at the weekend, Nancy said “He says ‘cunt’".  And Nancy says, “You say ‘cunt’ a lot.” She says she doesn’t like it. Being from the South she finds if, well not offensive, but she says she “notices” it, it’s a serious word. But Eugene said it’s a particular thing to our particular area. People will say cunt in the Northeast without thinking about it and I think it’s because of the accent. It’s not forced out. If it were in the South it would be “CAANT!” so it sounds like it’s being shot out. In the Northeast it’s nice, and it’s rounded. I mean I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that word. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with any language. It’s just a natural thing.

Isn’t it violent towards women?

Vic: No, not really. The word cunt is the same as “Kent” and “quaint” if you take it right back to language. Where it first came from (all this is palpably untrue); from the English language when we had fewer words in our vocabulary Kent, quaint and cunt were all the same thing. So what do you do? Do you start saying you can’t say these words?

Bob: That’s terrible.

Northerners say “bastard” better.

Bob: I think they are the best words. Whatever you think to “Chubby”, he’s a fucking great swearer.

Vic: With Roy “Cubby” Brown those words can come out and they’re got the same amount of force but they’re used in a certain way so you can accept them a little bit easier. This Jethro character – I’ve never heard him but he’s quite oo-arhh, isn’t he? And I can imagine he says (speaking in an almost Long John Silver pirate accent to denote the West Country), “You farking Carnt.” It’s a lot smoother, but if it’s cockney it sounds like a battering ram of a machine gun.

Bob: There’s not that much kudos up North in being sharp, it’s not the thing to be the aggressive comic.

(Looking at photographs that Vic has brought) Is this the stuff you’ve been taking?

Vic: Yeah. I liked the way you said that. Are you the boss of Jack?

I am actually, yes.

Vic: Are you enjoying it?

Bob: Have you got a good office?

Yes. I’ve got a chair on a castor and a floor with no carpet so when I put up the phone I move…

Bob: Are you going to stick to the castors, though?

Well, we’re moving office… today, in fact.

Vic: To a place with carpets?

Yes, afraid so.

Vic: You might find that more tricky.

Bob: You’ll miss the movement you know. Have you booked your office and said, “That’s my fucking office.”

The new place is open plan…

Vic: Oh eh!

Bob: Oh fucking cordon it off man and put “The Boss” up.

Vic: (Handing me some photographs) I want them all back. I want to do a portrait book so you have to promise me that you’ll give them all back.

Bob: Well, what will you do if he doesn’t?

Vic: I know where he lives.

What, you’ll send the boys round?

Vic: Yes, to go in your pub. I know coppers.

They shut the police station.

Vic: It doesn’t matter, not coppers from Peckham.

Hull coppers are direct and to the point.

Bob: Hull? They’d be great coppers.

Vic: Leicester’s the worst city, though.

Bob: I tell you what I think is worse, when you go down the Thames to those towns…

Vic: Marlow!

Bob: Marlow’s the worst.

Vic: Complete fights… and gang warfare. We should have a street fight.

Bob: It’s been a while hasn’t it?

Vic: Yeah. Do you want to join in or are you not a street fighter?

No. I’ll leave that.

Bob: You arrange a street fight for soft lads where no-one really gets hurt. It looks fucking amazing.

Vic: Bob used to be a big street fighter.

Bob: There's a lock-in pub (Bob here gives extended directions to a particular pub in South London). I used to live next door to it, Fucking hell. Every day of the year.

Vic: Where was that other place you used to do a lock-in?

Bob: Oh the Mexican place. That was a long one, an all-nighter.

Vic: I never did all that, you used to do three days of drinking…. You were a real drinker.

Bob: I used to be.

Have you stopped.

Bob: To be honest, more or less. We had some dos recently because we’d finished filming and I don’t seem to be able to get past five fucking pints.

Do you fall over or just go to sleep.

Bob: I’m just fucked.

Vic: Twice a week I’ll have a really good piss up.

Do you turn into a violent drunk or a lachrymose “I love you” drunk?

Vic: You know what I like? I really fucking love getting nicely pissed in me house and do fuck all. I’ll mess about. I’ll do a drawing or fiddle about with a candle, or poke the fire. Poking the fire when you’re pissed… I fucking love it. I’ll do that twice a week, get heavily pissed poking a fire. The other times I’ll drink camomile tea. Me and my lass drink camomile tea and eat sweets. I tell you what, and I don’t know how the fuck she does it, she’ll get a big box of chicken legs and stuff and she goes through all the chicken legs and she doesn’t put on an ounce. She’ll have eight chicken legs in a night and… nothing. And we have a big jug of squash, chicken legs, sweets and cheese comes out every night – like a bastard! Cheese is going to kill me.

Which is your favourite cheese?

Vic: I love all Bries and the Camemberts. I love that and pickles. Pickled eggs. Every night the tray will come out with all the shit on it and she’ll eat and eat. And she’ll not put a thing on.

Why do you think the tabloids always chase Vic’s personal life, not Bob’s?

Bob: I think it’s because he’s “Vic Reeves”. That’s the story there, that’s the way they see it.

Vic: Bob and me are both equally dull as each other. We don’t do fuck all but they seem to want to think that I have an exciting life because I married an underwear model. They seem to think that we have rampant sex all the time. She makes the dinner and puts her pyjamas on.

Bob: And you poke the fire.

Vic: I poke the fire. And then I occasionally poke her. Nothing happens, we do fuck all. But the tabloids want us to have an exciting life. They expect more of me and I don’t know why.

As a double act you’re quite unique, there’s not a straight man and a funny man – it seems an equal opportunities arrangement…

Bob: In the old days there was a straight man and a funny man but if you look at Ant and Dec they're equal as well.

Vic: Maybe it’s just a copy of us. Maybe we were the first…

Bob: It seems a bit of a waste, up a blind alley ultimately if one’s straight and one's funny. I was quite straight in Shooting Stars.

Vic: But you were never the straight one. You can have the straight one or you can have two straight men. You can have someone who is the dozy one but then if you switch the tables… in Catterick I’m clearly, if you look at it straightforwardly, the dozy one and my brother Carl is the one who has got it together. But then if you look more deeply maybe I’m cleverer… and he’s a liar. But it’s got that underlying thing all the way through that you don’t really know.

How scripted is your stuff?

Vic: Quite heavily. If we’re going to do a routine then we’ll know about it.

Bob: The nice thing about Shooting Stars is there are surprises. It’s not like Buzzcocks where they give them the questions beforehand. They are quite brave some people, they don’t get any chance to think of something funny.

Vic: When we are writing we have an office and we go in at 9:30 and leave at 3:30. Deathly silence, we never speak.

Bob: You’ve just got to sit down and do it. It’s no good going to Denmark and thinking you’ll be inspired. It’s, “here’s an office and a table”. Sometimes you do three pages and sometimes you do three lines but we try and stick to it.

Has anybody ever turned you down to appear on Shooting Stars?

Vic: I tell you who we never get – boxers, because they all want five grand and they think they’re fucking it.

Bob: We send off massive lists.

Vic: We nearly had Art Garfunkel once.

Bob: He’s got an airport problem.

Vic: I don’t think we are au fait with the younger set so you get someone like Destiny’s Child on to the show, or someone else and you think, “Who the fuck’s that?”

Bob: There's a lot of that.

Vic: My daughter's like, “Wooooooooh, yeah, you’ve got Mis-Teeq on!” and I say “Mystique – is that a juggling act?”

Bob: We don’t know their names.

Vic: And Mis-Teeq is a big deal, isn’t she? I thought she might have been a trapeze act but no, she’s a singer.

How do you cope with someone as patently Southern and middle class as Will Self being in love with you?

Vic: He finds us fascinating.

But slightly patronising?

Bob: He really cares for what he’s doing.

Vic: He’s bombastic and we’re vicarious.

Do you worry about Johnny Vegas?

Vic: Yeah. We have to edit out a couple of hours. We once did a take of Shooting Stars in 36 minutes, but when we get Johnny Vegas in we were lucky to get three hours and I just felt sorry for the people who were sitting in the audience. I mean he’s fucking bright, he’s hilarious but he’ll go on for an hour-and-a-half with his answer and you’re thinking, “Fuck, can we just get him to the green room?”

Do you drink and work?

Bob: A live show, I like to have three pints before I go on. A television show, I like to have three cans. I’ve never recorded a show where I haven’t had a drink. I don’t think so.

Vic: It wasn’t religious but we’d have lagers, cans. I do remember once when I had one too many at Sheffield.

Bob: You know how lager’s powerful, at some venues we’d phone up and say, “Please, don’t fuck us up with this Skol and Stella and stuff,” Just three and that would fuck us. You don’t realise at the time but you can see afterwards.

Vic: It’s acting, that’s what it is, and you can’t act if you’ve had anything, you just can’t do it. I don’t understand how people smoke pot. I don’t know anyone who can have any drug or drink loads and go on stage.

Bob: That’s a fucker.

Vic: Here’s something interesting. Two comedians in Denmark are re-creating Shooting Stars ad they’re going to film it.

Bob: Who wants to do that?

Vic: The BBC, with us.

Bob: Denmark? That’s butter.

Well, bacon really.

Vic: And very soft shoes.

NO, YOU LYING GET…

A brief history of Reeves & Mortimer.

1986: The Vic Reeves Variety Palladium begins at Winston’s Wine Bar, Deptford. Sketches include “Tappy Lappy” – Moir dancing to “Fly Me To The Moon” with planks on his feet, wearing a Bryan Ferry mask. The show is re-named Vic Reeves Big Night Out and moves to Goldsmith’s Tavern, New Cross Road. Moir is joined by pal, Bob Mortimer.

1988-1989: Big Night Out  shifts to the Albany Empire, Deptford. Spotted by Jonathan Ross and invited onto Ross’s The Last Resort, giving Reeves his big break.

1990-1991: Vic Reeves Big Night Out on Channel 4. Classic end sequence as Reeves belts out “Mr  Songwriter”, turning side-on to accentuate the flare in his trousers.

1991:  I Will Cure You album released. “Dizzy”, performed with the Wonderstuff, reaches Number One.

1992: The Weekenders is on Channel 4, where Vic and Bob visit a meat festival and buy sausages for aliens.

1993-1995: The Smell of Reeves & Mortimer on BBC2, giving us Mulligan And O’Hare, Stars in Their Eyes and TV chefs eating the flesh from a giraffe’s antler.

1995-2003: Shooting Stars, a quiz format featuring regulars Ulrika-ka-ka-ka, Mark Lamarr, Donald Cox The Sweaty Fox, Will Self, Johnny Vegas, The Dove From Above and multi-talented drummer, Matt Lucas.

1997: “Comedy” show It’s Ulrika! hits the screens with the duo credited as writers. It’s bloody painful viewing.

1998-1999: Families At War includes a Vic & Bob five minute bit with Bob as a spider on a crane. Bang Bang It’s Reeves & Mortimer gives the duo more space. “The Club” shines.

2000-2001: Randall & Hopkirk (Deceased) on BBC1, but it doesn’t quite work.

2004: Catterick begins, which charts the first hours of a brotherly reunion. They become involved with a murderer and a hotelier who has lost his penis.

[itsafanficthing]

My Sassenach - Chapter Four - A Movie

I was trying to post once a month for My Sassenach, but then I did’t have a whole lot to post.... so here you go friends.

The long await, much hated, date with Frank Randall.

A03 Link

Damn it, Jamie could kiss. As soon as his lips had touched her own, Claire was lost in him. He pulled her closer and her breath left her in a huff as their chests collided. Gathered into his arms as she was, she felt safe, secure, protected and oh so very turned on.

Large hands running up and down her back before landing on her arse.

“Christ,” Jamie breathed before he continued to kiss down her neck and back to her mouth.

“Christ was right,” Claire thought as his mouth found hers again. He had no right being this much of a good kisser.

Claire had briefly worried at dinner that they may be venturing too far into “friend” territory rather than dating territory. They got along famously, but there had been limited physical contact. Their flirting over the board game had cleared up some of that concern, but it was the way that Jamie was kissing her that definitely confirmed that they were no longer friends. This was something more. Something deeper. And Claire was about to go on a date with someone else.

Claire eventually left Jamie’s. Clothes in tact, hair thoroughly messed and panting with swollen lips. Her Uber driver has given her a smug knowing look which Claire promptly ignored before giving the directions to her apartment.

Jamie was right when he said that he would give her a kiss as something to remember him and now she couldn’t wait for the next date. She just had to get through her date with Frank Randall first.

—

“Ye dinna have to go on this date, ye ken,” Jamie stated as he leaned against his door frame.

“It’s just one date,” Claire reasoned.

“Aye, but what if ye really hit it off?” Jamie looked down at the floor, his voice somewhat gravelly.

“Are you worried?” Claire asked in surprise, taking a step closer to Jamie again trying to make him look up at her.

Jamie grunted in annoyance before answering, “Wouldn’t ye, if it were me?”

“I was,” Claire answered truthfully, “before I knew it was sister, of course. But yes I was worried. I was worried that…”

“What?” Jamie asked hopefully looking up at her.

“At the risk of laying all my cards on the table,” Claire said with a huff, “I was worried that I was reading more into… us,” she continued, indicating between them, “then what was there.”

“And do ye still feel like that?” Jamie’s voice lowered as his hands rested on her hips.

“Not so much now, no.”

“Good,” Jamie nodded confidently. “Because ye aren’t. It’s there.”

“Good.” Claire repeated the word before pausing for a moment. “I am still going on this date though.”

“Why?” Jamie groaned, “I can already tell ye how it’s going to go.”

“Oh? And how’s that?” Claire asked with a smirk.

“Ye’re seeing a film?” Jamie clarified as Claire nodded at him. “Well first he’ll compliment ye, because ye look bonnie. Ye always look bonnie.” Claire blushed at the compliment as Jamie continued, brushing an errant curl behind her ear.

“Then ye’ll get some snacks, popcorn maybe. He’ll ask ye about yer work-“

“He already knows what I do. It’s in my bio,” Claire tried to interrupt as Jamie continued.

“And ye’ll reply, probably downplayin’ what ye actually do. Ye’ll ask him about his work. Ye’ll wait in line together for yer film, what are ye seein’ by the way? It does’na matter. Ye’ll wait in line, awkwardly standing next to each other. Then ye’ll sit in yer seats and ye willna be able to hold a conversation so all ye ken about this fella is his job and maybe what he does on the weekend. Ye’ll both spend the movie not really payin’ attention. He’ll be thinking about taking yer hand in his and ye…”

“What will I be thinking about?” Claire asked, cocking her eyebrow at his explanation.

“Well Sassenach, ye’ll be wondering why ye went on this date when ye ken that I’ll be waiting to hear from ye. Ye’ll be thinking about how I dinna like ye going out with some other lad. Ye’ll be thinking about how much better yer night would have been if it were me with ye.” Jamie brushed her cheek softly with the pad of his thumb and she fought the urge to shudder at the contact.

“Confident are you?” Claire tried to ask in jest but it came out much airyer than she’d anticipated. There was something about the way that Jamie was standing with her. The way that he touched her so gently. The way that he looked at her- It turned her legs to jelly.

“Nah,” Jamie chuckled shaking his head. “I’m no’. But I ken what I’ll be thinkin’ about.”

“Oh?”

“You,” Jamie said clearly. “I’ll be counting down the hours till our next date.”

Claire felt her cheeks heat up and she shook her head.

“You know you’re well within your rights to also go on a date with someone else,” she pointed out.

“I dinna want to date anyone else, Claire,” Jamie said with a somewhat exasperated sigh. “So when ye’ve had yer date, let me know so that we can start dating, just the two of us.”

It was then that he had kissed her goodbye and Claire had rethought her plan to leave and her plan to go on a date with another man.

“Goodnight Jamie.”

“Goodnight Claire.”

It was with Jamie’s kiss lingering on her lips that 18 hours later she was getting ready for her date with Frank Randall.

Claire was at a crossroads. She didn’t particularly want to be going on this date, but she also didn’t want to stand him up. She’d lost a lot of sleep after leaving Jamie’s apartment wondering if she should cancel the date after all. It wasn’t like she was expecting it to go anywhere. It didn’t make sense for her to go on a date with another man when she had Jamie waiting (not so) patiently for her.

She didn’t like cancelling plans. She felt like she would be letting him down somehow. She’d never even met the man and she already felt like she was failing him. Not a great start.

Claire’s job meant that she ended up cancelling plans far more often than she liked. She was a perfectionist in all areas of her life and while logically Claire knew that cancelling a date wouldn’t be the end of the world and Mr Frank Randall would more than likely find another woman on the dating app, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had to follow through on her agreement to meet him.

So, there she was: standing in her underwear looking at her closet- trying to decide how to dress.

She didn’t want to go over the top and give him hope that there might be a second date or that she had put in a lot of effort trying to impress him. But she didn’t exactly want to go in house clothes and look like she’d put in no effort at all.

Claire huffed a sound of frustration as she picked up her phone and sent a text to Geillis. She always knew what to wear on these types of things, not to mention, Claire hadn’t even told her about this other date.

“Going on a movie date. What do I wear?”

Claire threw her phone back on the bed and looked helplessly back to her closet.

Jeans were casual… maybe she could wear black ones- they seemed to be more dressy over her normal blue ones. Claire pulled a pair from the hangar and threw them onto the bed just as her phone buzzed.

“With the red headed lad? Didn’t you see him last night?”

Claire read Geillis’ reply chewing on her thumbnail.

Rolling her eyes at her own hesitation to tell her best friend about the other date Claire replied, trying not to overthink it.

“Yes, but this is a different guy. We’re going to a movie.”

It felt like Claire had only just pressed the send button when the phone was vibrating in her hands, Geillis’ face smiling back at her.

“Another lad?” Her friend asked immediately, not waiting for Claire to greet her. “What happened to red-heid?”

“I told you, I saw Jamie last night,” Claire replied weerily.

“But ye did’na tell me that ye were goin’ on a date with another lad. What happened?” Geillis demanded.

“Nothing happened,” Claire sighed, “I’d just planned another date and it’s tonight, and I don’t know what to wear.”

“Somethin’ must have happened,” Geillis mumbled more to herself than to Claire. “Who’s this other lad yer goin’ out with then?”

“Does it matter? I just need to know what to wear.”

“Aye, it matters. I thought ye liked Jamie,” Geillis argued.

“I do like him.”

“Then why are ye seeing this other lad?”

“I just told you.” Claire’s eyes were running over her closet trying to find something to go with her black jeans.

“Ye planned another date,” Geillis repeated Claire’s words skeptically.

“That’s right,” Claire answered sternly, “now help me decide what to wear.”

“Is this because ye dinna like cancelling plans?” Geillis asked, ignoring Claire’s request to move on.

“Are you going to help me or just microanalyse my life choices?”

“Both,” Geillis replied confidently, earning a snort of laughter from Claire. “What have ye got picked out?”

“So far? Black jeans,” Claire answered in relief that Geillis was finally moving on.

“Good choice. What top?”

“Well that’s where I’m stuck,” Claire said with a sigh as she ran her fingers over her clothes, hoping that something would jump out at her.

“What about that green top. Ye ken, the one we bought when we were in London at Christmas?” Geillis suggested and Claire pulled it from the hangar.

“Maybe,” Claire hummed as she looked at it paired with the jeans.

“What kind of message are ye trying to send?” Geillis interrupted Claire’s assessment of the clothing.

“Uhhh.”

“Jesus,” Geillis breathed in exasperation as Claire’s non-answer. “What message were ye trying to send yer wee fox on yer first date?”

“I… I don’t know. I was trying to be more like myself and less like “Date Claire”, as you put it.”

“And who are ye trying to be tonight?”

“Myself I suppose. More casual than the date with Jamie. This is just a movie.”

“Just a movie, aye?”

“What?” Claire asked hearing the skepticism in Geillis’s voice.

“Ye dinna sound keen about the date. What does it matter what ye wear?”

“Because I want to look nice.”

“But ye dinna want to be putting in too much effort,” Geillis continued Claire’s thought. “I see. Go with the green top. It’s casual enough for a movie but ye are’na over doin’ it.”

“Shoes?”

“Does’na matter. Ye can wear heels if ye want, maybe yer white tennis shoes. Ye’ll be more comfortable,” Geillis suggested and although Claire couldn’t see her, she was sure that she had shrugged.

“Alright.” Claire nodded looking at the clothes laid out on her bed.

“Do not straighten yer hair,” Geillis said suddenly. “Ye always straighten it on dates. Let it go free.”

“Date Claire?”

“Aye, Date Claire straightens her hair. Don’t straighten it.”

“Noted,” Claire laughed. “I should get ready. Thanks for your help.”

“Nay bother. Send me a pic when yer ready and let me know when your done. I want to hear how it goes.”

“I will.”

“I also want to ken what’s happening with yer wee fox, mind.” Geillis reminded her.

“I know. I’m working tomorrow, evening shift.”

“Aye, same. Remember. Pictures and debrief,” Geillis said again.

“Yes, yes I know. Bye Geillis.”

“If ye get lucky, text me immediately.”

“Goodbye Geillis,” Claire said firmly while laughing and hanging up the phone.

—-

Claire was late. Claire was never late. Never in her life. She left early for most appointments to arrive with time to spare. She arrived to work half an hour early to each shift, just in case. But right now- she was late. She had excuses; the Uber hadn’t arrived and then the roadworks on the way to the theatre had held her up longer than she had been expecting, the Uber driver had passed the theatre twice while looking for somewhere to pull over. Then she dropped her bag while exiting the car and had to stop to pick everything up.

Claire’s heart was beating heavily in her chest with anxiety as she tried to control her breathing. She could feel herself sweating and was praying that her cheeks weren’t flushed with embarrassment.

Claire took a deep breath as her phone buzzed in her pocket. She was already late- stopping and reading a message wasn’t going to make a difference.

“Good luck on your date. Can’t wait to hear all about it.” A message from Jamie. Claire rolled her eyes at the message and was about to reply when a voice nervously called her name.

“Claire?”

Claire looked up to see her date standing shyly in front of her.

“Frank,” she greeted pocketing her phone and mentally reminding herself to reply to Jamie later. “Sorry I’m late. I was just about to message you.” She was lying but he didn’t need to know that.

“Not at all. You look lovely by the way.” Frank smiled kindly at her.

“Thank you.”

This was arguably the most awkward part of any date; how to properly greet each other. Shake hands, kiss on the cheek, awkwardly do nothing. Frank took the lead and quickly swooped forward placing a chaste kiss on her cheek, his hand briefly clasping her upper arm. Claire had to force herself to stand still and accept the greeting, rather than jump backwards away from him.

It was a normal greeting, one that she should have expected- it was a date after all, but it still surprised her.

He was clean shaven, unlike Jamie who had a small rasp of stubble on his strong jaw. Christ. She shouldn’t be comparing Frank to Jamie. They were two completely different men… Frank was older than Jamie, by a good few years. Light brown hair, very styled, gel or hairspray perhaps- brushed out of his eyes, unlike Jamie, whose hair was longer and hung messily in his eyes. Franks had soft brown eyes with laugh lines- a good sign that he was willing to live a little.

“Well, should we err, get to it?” It took Claire a moment to realise that it was Frank talking to her, and she wondered if that’s how she sounded to everyone else in Scotland.

Frank was English. Very English.

While Claire’s accent had morphed over the years (spending time in different countries had a tendency to do that to a person), Frank’s accent was clean and crisp. It was almost laughable to Claire. He sounded… well pompous. Claire could just imagine what Jamie or Geillis would say about him should they ever meet. Which they never would. Claire shut that thought down quickly.

“Claire?” Frank asked again, clearly concerned that she had some kind of handicap as she stood assessing him on the street.

“Sorry, yes of course. My mind was on other things.”

Frank held out the crook of his arm in a very old fashioned gentlemanly way, which Claire promptly ignored and strode on ahead of him into the theatre.

—

“Did you have an idea of what you wanted to see?” Claire asked looking up at the board of flashing lights advertising the available movies and times.

When Frank didn’t answer she turned to find him unabashedly staring at her. God, did she have something on her face, or in her hair? She knew she should have straightened it.

“Frank,” she called his name to get his attention, feeling stupid. Geillis was right. Frank was such an old man's name.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologised taking a step forward to be next to her and look at the movie times. “This is going to sound very cheesy but you do look very nice. I suppose I was distracted.”

Claire smiled tightly at him. She was sure that it was meant as a compliment, Jamie had done and said things to the same effect after all, but she didn’t feel as warm inside when it came from Frank. It felt a bit… what was the word… predatory. Claire shook her head. She was casting some very wide judgements on a man that she knew nothing about.

“So, the movie? Any idea?” She asked, directing the conversation to something neutral and ignoring his “compliment”.

“Oh, whatever you like, dear,” Frank replied as he squinted to read the illuminated words.

Dear. He called her Dear. On the first date. Oh no. No, that was not going to work at all.

Though, Jamie did call her Sassenach. So it wasn’t that pet names were necessarily a bad thing. It was that Frank called her a name that was specifically reserved for grandparents and people that had been married for forty years. Not people you had just met for a first date.

Though, if Jamie’s pet name was anything to go by, the English version… well Frank may as well have called her “bitch”. Claire snorted a laugh at the thought of Frank greeting her like that, as prim and proper as he was.

“Something I’m missing?” Frank asked with a grin on his face waiting to be let in on the joke.

“Oh no, it’s nothing,” Claire answered feeling her cheeks flush.

Frank arched an eyebrow at her and she almost felt like she was getting in trouble for not telling him.

“It’s just… a friend of mine… is Scottish, he calls me “Sass-en-ack”, (damn it, it sounded horrible when she didn’t have Jamie’s liquid accent) “and I was just thinking that the equivalent of that in English might as well be “bitch” and the thought of you calling me bitch… well, it just made me laugh.”

The amused smile was fixed on Franks face. Definitely fake. He nodded once as if he understood the joke (though clearly he didn’t at all) before turning back to the movie board.

“Yes well, I wouldn’t imagine that would be the best way to greet you. A friend of yours, you said? That’s not particularly respectful. I would never do such a thing.”

“Oh no-” Claire tried to explain, “no he doesn’t mean it like that. It’s just. I’m English and the Scottish don’t particularly love the English and it’s in jest, it’s not a rude thing.”

“Yes I’ve noticed,” Frank hummed as a few teenagers passed them cackling loudly at something their friend was saying.

“No it’s not that… it’s… never mind. It was a brief funny thought that I’d had,” Claire shook her head. She shouldn’t have tried to explain it. Jamie would have laughed. Claire made a mental note to tell him about it. “So, the film?”

“Perhaps “Mary Queen of Scots?” Frank suggested looking away from the board to the ticketing line.

“Why not, when in Rome… or Scotland I suppose.”

Frank did laugh at that and Claire fought the urge to roll her eyes. It wasn’t even that funny.

—

Waiting in line was almost exactly as Jamie had described.

Frank asked Claire about her work and she told him about nursing. She asked him about his job and he launched into a detailed description that Claire boiled down to one word. “Historian”.

“So then you’ll be able to judge the inaccuracies of the film.”

“Oh I believe so. Not exactly the year of my personal expertise, but I have done some reading on it of course.”

“Of course, as did I,” Claire replied (somewhat sarcastically pompously).

“Really?” Frank sounded thrilled.

“Yes, I believe it was grade ten history… or perhaps eleventh year.”

“Oh, so not recently then?” Frank sounded immediately crestfallen.

“Oh no, that was only… two years ago?” Claire answered pretending to be thoughtful. “I failed that class a lot.”

There was a brief pause between them as Frank studied her and Claire stared straight ahead waiting for her joke to land.

“Your joking,” he finally said, somewhat amused.

“I am absolutely joking,” Claire answered in relief as Frank began to laugh. “Though I have to say I am offended at how long it took you to figure that out.”

“You said it so seriously,” Fank defended still chuckling.

“That’s called sarcasm, Frank.” At least he did know how it laugh… eventually.

“Lowest form of humour, people say,” he said nudging her playfully.

“And yet the most popular.” Claire grinned as the pre-pubescent usher scanned their tickets.

—-

The movie was good. Worthy of an Oscar, Claire thought.

“Loaded with factual inaccuracies, if you ask me,” Frank said as they exited the theatre.

Claire hadn’t.

“I quite liked it. There needs to be some licence for creativity.”

“Oh of course, of course,” Frank immediately conceded. “I was merely pointing out, well Mary and Elizabeth never actually met in real life. And the scene of John Knox arguing about Mary taking another husband. The timeline is off, it would have been treason to say such a thing.”

“I don’t think that anyone watching the film would have known that,” Claire reasoned.

“I knew that,” Frank said proudly.

“Yes but you’re a historian, aren’t you? I didn’t know that, even with my very impressive and relevant eleventh year history knowledge.”

Frank chuckled lightly at Claire comment and shook his head. “No, I suppose not.”

They continued their way out of the theatre, moving slowly with the other patrons until they were standing awkwardly on the footpath where they had first met.

“Well, shall we go get a coffee or something?” Frank suggested as he smiled at Claire.

She hesitated. Before meeting Jamie Claire would have said yes in an instant. Frank was respectful, understood some of her jokes, he complimented her and he was clearly very intelligent. But there was no… spark, there was no zing. Unlike with Jamie whom she had hit it off immediately, even if she had been a bumbling embarrassing idiot.

“It’s just a cup of coffee,” Frank said reading her hesitation. “We’ve hardly spoken. I would like to get to know you.”

Claire smiled at him before nodding. It was one cup of coffee. How bad could it be?

He held his arm out to her and she ignored it once again. They weren’t there yet “dear”.

—

Despite how the earlier date had gone and the judgements that Claire had made about Frank, she actually had a good time with him. Once he had relaxed and stopped trying to impress her, he was actually quite funny. He was clearly very intelligent, an academic, but she didn’t feel like he was talking down to her. He was very passionate about his job and very obviously loved what he did.

He was currently completing research into the highland clans of the 1640’s and was travelling around Scotland on a research expedition.

He actually reminded Claire a lot of her uncle and she felt the unwelcome sting of grief pick her ribcage as she thought of him.

Lamb was- eccentric was putting it lightly, he was passionate about life, passionate about history, passionate about Claire. When he had the heart attack and was gone not even four hours later, enough time for Claire to get to the hospital and hug him once more before he slipped away, Claire was numb from the shock of it.

Lamb who had always been so full of life, now gray and lifeless on a hospital bed. It was a shock to Claire’s system and it took her a long time to be able to move on with her life. Much faster than her parents deaths, but then she was much, much younger then.

“Claire?” Frank’s voice brought her back to the present. “I’m sorry. I’m talking about this too much. My brother always tells me that I talk about my work too much.”

“You have a brother?” Claire latched back onto the conversation and pushed the memories of her uncle and her parents firmly to the back of her mind.

“Yes, two actually. I’m the middle child.”

“What’s the age difference?” Claire asked. She was always fascinated by sibling dynamics, perhaps it was the result of growing up as an only child of a single parent.

“John is four years older and Alex is six years younger,” Frank answered, smiling at her. Obviously glad that he had her full attention again.

“That’s quite a large gap between you all.”

“Well it certainly made growing up interesting. A house full of boys for my mother. I think she always wanted a girl so she is very soft with Alex.”

“I'm sure she’s soft with all of you,” Claire said with a laugh. “You just don’t see it because it’s you.”

Frank wrinkled his nose as he shook his head, “No, Alex has always been a soft spot for my mother.”

Claire smiled at him. She actually did quite like Frank Randall. Not as much as Jamie of course, but she didn’t actually regret coming out on a date with him as much as she thought that she would.

“What about your father?” Claire asked before she finished the last of her coffee.

“What about him?” Frank’s voice grew sharper, and less warm then when he spoke about his mother.

“Does he dote on your brother as well?”

“I shouldn’t think so, we haven’t seen him since just after Alex was born.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Claire reached out and touched Frank’s hand in sympathy.

Frank shrugged casually. “From what I can remember of him, it doesn’t seem worth having the memory.” Frank turned his hand so now they were… well they weren’t exactly holding hands, but they were touching.

“What about you? Parents? Siblings?” Frank asked as he looked up at Claire. She wanted to move, but it felt awkward to so anything so her hand sat limply in his.

“Orphaned and an only child, I’m afraid. Not much to tell.”

“Oh, Claire. I’m so sorry.” Frank sounded genuinely upset for her and Claire shrugged off his concern.

“My uncle raised me, essentially. So I wasn’t exactly lonely. But I would have loved a sibling.”

“You’re uncle never…?”

“No,” Claire shook her head as memories of her Uncle Lamb washed through her mind.

—

“Uncle Lamb, that lady was staring at your bottom,” a young and hardly innocent seven year old Claire had announced loudly to the entire cafe.

Lamb had shook his head, grinning at his young niece. “Perhaps I sat in something.”

“I don’t think so,” Claire continued, unaware of the peals of suppressed laughter coming from the patrons around them. “Stand up and let me see.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Claire,” Lamb said kindly as his coffee arrived.

“But if you did sit in something, then we need to wash it in soda to get it out. That’s what Mary’s mum used when she got chocolate on her skirt. That’s what Mary said. She said that her mum used soda. And I said that it would make it all sticky. That it was probably something else. But it wasn’t Uncle Lamb. It WAS soda.”

“Well, I hardly think I am going to take of my pants in this cafe to dunk them in some soda, sweetheart.”

“No, I guess not. But you can borrow my sweater when we leave, and wrap it around your waist if you like. Then more ladies won’t look at your bottom.”

“Thank goodness I have you, little Lamb. Always protecting me.”

Claire smiled sweetly at him before she dug into the muffin and hot chocolate in front of her.

—

“No, he was never really interested in relationships,” Claire said, snapping herself back to the present. “I don’t think he was particularly keen on a family until he was landed with me.”

“How old were you?” Frank asked carefully. He was trying to entwine their fingers together but Claire moved her hands to her empty coffee cup, pretending to warm her hands on the mug. The mug was cold, but Frank didn’t need to know that.

“Six. I don’t have many memories of them. I have photos and videos of course, but it’s not quite the same. Although-” Claire paused as she wondered why she was being so open with Frank about her family history. She hadn’t told Jamie about any of this yet.

“Yes?” Frank encouraged, his hand was still lying on the table between them, waiting to trap her own again. She was sure if she even so much as reached for a napkin, he would seize the opportunity to hold her hand again.

“I don’t have many memories of us together. A few that I think my mind has just created from various hallmark movies, you know every memory that a child wants, Christmas, birthdays, those kinds of things.”

Frank nodded in understanding and Claire continued.

“But I do have these moments, like a certain smell or a sound and I’ll be transported back to when I was a child and it will be my mother’s perfume, or my father's laugh. And then it’s gone, a second later. But for a moment it’s like I can remember everything about them and they haven’t really died and I’m just waiting for them to come and pick me up from school.” Claire’s voice clogged with emotion and she had to clear her throat to continue.

“Anyway, it doesn’t happen all that often. But it’s strange, isn’t it, the things you remember.”

“Yes, yes it is.” Frank’s forehead wrinkled in thought and he was playing with his bottom lip.

“What?” Claire asked with a small smile as he looked back up at her quickly.

“Well, it’s just, you were so young, and I don’t mean to be rude, but it's truly fascinating. How can you be sure that the smell of the perfume is your mothers? Or your father's laugh? How can that be?”

“Oh,” Claire felt herself flush a little under Frank’s gaze and she wasn’t entirely sure why for a moment. She hadn’t really shared those kinds of memories with anyone before. Geillis, perhaps, but that would have been years ago. Her Uncle when he was still alive, she would have told Lamb about it. He might have confirmed it- the perfume perhaps.

Claire couldn’t quite meet Frank’s eyes. She’d shared something deeply personal with him and he was trying to pick apart the only memory she had of her parents. What did it matter that it wasn’t actually her father’s laugh or her mother’s perfume. It was the feeling that was associated with it. The feeling of family- of belonging to something.

And Frank was, what, trying to tell her that those things weren’t real?

“I suppose I don’t know. Maybe it’s buried deep in my subconscious,” Claire answer slowly, calm and measured- trying not to be emotional in front of a man she barely knew. “Maybe it’s the echo of them on earth trying to tell me that the love me? Maybe it’s just me clutching at straws to feel like I still have some connection to my parents. Who knows. Does it matter?”

Claire met his eyes as she spoke and she saw the skepticism pass over him as she spoke.

“They are good memories, why shouldn’t I try to gather what I can, while I can, when I was cheated from having the life with them that I was supposed to?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Claire. I completely agree,” Frank said quickly trying to back-track. “I simply meant that it is fascinating what your mind will retain as a memory and the feeling that you will associated with it, with no idea of its origin.”

Claire ground her back teeth together and nodded quickly. “Yes. Quite.”

It was awkward then. Claire wanted to end the date and Frank clearly wanted to continue. She thought about messaging Geillis with a code to call her and pretend there was some emergency that Claire needed to attend to. But she was an adult wasn’t she? She didn’t think that this date was going to go anywhere and now she had confirmed in in the last four minutes. Jamie would be thrilled.

Claire looked at her watch. They had been chatting in the coffee shop for well over an hour and a half. That was long enough, wasn't it? Counting in the movie, she’d been with the man for over four hours. Christ. How had it taken her four hours to realise he was an idiot?

To be fair, about three of those hours were in a silent movie theatre. Jamie was right. A movie was a terrible first date idea. You couldn’t get to know someone in a movie. And in the last four to five minutes Claire had discovered that there would be no second date or quick coffee catch up (a fact she should have realised the moment she found out that Jamie was having coffee with his sister and not another date).

“I’d like to see you again-” Frank began as Claire opened her mouth to say “I think I’d best be off.”

Claire abruptly closed her mouth and held her tongue.

“It’s not often that you meet such a… a beautiful and intelligent woman on these dating apps. It’s been very refreshing,” Frank continued unaware of Claire’s discomfort. “I’ve met a lot of very attractive women, of course, but none that are so quick, as you are.”

“Are you saying that women can only either be attractive or smart?” Claire asked as her eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh that’s just my experience,” Frank waved away her comment. “But not you, you are both.”

“How kind,” Claire answered flatly. She didn’t take kindly to a compliment that came at the expense of another woman, even a hypothetical woman she didn’t know.

“Yes.” Frank nodded enthusiastically, glad that Claire seemed to be following along with him.

“I should go,” Claire said abruptly, before standing up and tucking in her chair.

“Oh so soon?” Frank rushed to join her and bumped into the table making the mugs and saucers rattle.

“Yes I-” Claire hesitated. She has been about to make some excuse about needing to work early in the morning. In truth she had the next two days off work. She had no real obligations and no real reason to leave except that Frank Randall turned out to be a bit of a jerk.

She couldn’t say that to him, could she?

“Yes,” she repeated. Claire didn’t owe him anything, false explanation or the truth. She could just leave.

“Well, should we schedule our next date?” Frank asked eagerly as he followed her out of the cafe.

Claire called up her Uber app and quickly scheduled a ride. She could pretend she hadn’t heard him and that she was concentrating on her phone. But he would just ask again.

“Erm.” As much as she wanted to be the type of person that told the truth all the time, and was painfully blunt with people, she just wasn’t. She could be at work, but that was work. This was different.

“I am working this week, so much schedule is a little bit hectic. I haven’t received my full roster yet and I may be on call,” She hedged.

“Oh well, shall I just text you then?” Frank asked. He was disappointed. Claire could tell. But she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

“Sure.” Claire felt her phone vibrate in her hand as her Uber approached.

“Well I had a lovely time,” Frank said taking a step towards her. She nearly took a step back if it meant she wouldn’t then be standing in the pathway of oncoming traffic.

“Yes,” Claire answered lamely. She’d had… well it hadn’t been terrible, until the end there.

“May I kiss you goodbye?” He asked softly, looking at her carefully.

God no. Please no.

“This is me,” Claire breathed in relief as a black Mazda pulled up in front of her.

Frank looked even more disappointed as she opened the door. She thought that he might have tried to kiss her, regardless of her giving her permission or not and all she wanted to do was get out of there as quickly as possible.

“It was nice to meet you, Frank,” she said kindly, turning back to him once more. He was much closer than she thought and she was surprised when his lips met hers.

So much for asking.

Claire pulled back suddenly and Frank was smiling at her mischievously.

“I’ve been thinking about that all night,” he said quietly.

Claire was stunned into silence. He’d just gone from being a bit of a jerk to down right creepy.

“Goodbye Frank,” she said harshly before climbing into the car and slamming the door shut.

She fought back a shudder as she unlocked her phone and opened a new message to Jamie.

“You were right. Feel free to rub it in whenever you like.”

And then a moment later.

“Are you free tomorrow? I would like to make good on part of our bet.”

[mrs-captain-evans]

For the Love of Dogs - Chris Evans x You

Summary:  You’re spending time at your local dog park with your rescue dog when you run into a certain Captain

Pairing:  Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count:  1946

Warnings:  None, fluffy, slight language

A/N:  Beta by @whiskey-cokenfanfic, thank you! 😘

@mycapt-ohcapt sent me a prompt of my doggy meeting Dodger a little while ago when I was hitting the wall with ideas. Inspiration hit me, so I changed it up slightly, and wrote this for you to celebrate your day today. Happy birthday darling! ❤️😘

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

It was yours and Frankie’s first trip to your local dog park. It had always been a dream of yours to have a dog of you own, so when you visited a pet event show and clapped your eyes on the beautiful brindle Greyhound, your dream came true. You had spent a lot of time over the last few months researching the breed and speaking with experts, so you knew a Greyhound would fit perfectly into your busy life. As soon as you looked into Frankie’s chocolate brown eyes, you instantly fell in love and quickly signed the adoption papers before he was snapped up by someone else. That was 4 days ago.

Walking through the gate on a beautiful Spring morning, you made sure it was securely closed before removing Frankie’s leash. You had the park to yourselves, so you enjoyed a leisurely game of fetch with the tennis ball you brought with you. After a while, Frankie decided he was more interested in sniffing out all the plants and bushes which lined the paths around the large park. Taking this opportunity, you sat down on a bench nearby, pulled out your phone, and caught up with the world.

Preoccupied by the group chat with your girls, you didn’t hear the gate open as another eager hound entered the park with his owner. Just as you started to type out a response to one of your friends dating disasters, a brown and white dog jumped up into your lap, placing his paws on your thighs as he excitedly pushed his wet nose into your face, licking you with a wagging tail.

“DODGER!!”

The loud voice, of what you assumed was your new furry friends owner, echoed through the park. Looking up, you could see a dark haired, bearded, tall man, stride quickly towards you scolding at his dog, “Dodger! C’mon boy, get down!”

Giggling at the affection, you awkwardly secured your cell in your pocket and moved a hand towards his nose so he could give you a good sniff.

“Hello mister, well aren’t you an adorable boy.”

Now that both your hands were free, you ran your fingers through the soft, long fur of Dodgers neck, tickling him behind his ears.

“Awww yes you are! Who's a good boy, huh? Who’s a good boy?!” Your usually soft, quiet voice increased in pitch as you cooed over the pooch, showering him with love.

The man soon approached you and interrupted your petting with a deep chuckle. His arms were crossed, a broad smile on his face, “Shall I leave you guys to it, or..?” The amused, teasing tone in his voice didn’t go amiss.

Feeling embarrassed, you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and apologised to the man with a small smile.

Dodger was still in your lap, so his owner grabbed his collar and pulled him off you. That’s when you realised your light wash denim jeans now sported mud shaped paw prints, and your pale pink cami was covered in dark patches, thanks to the slobber caused by the ginger hound.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” The attractive man turned towards his dog, giving him the side eye, ”he’s normally got much better manners than this!”

Shrugging your shoulders, you waved off his apology. “It’s fine, honestly.”

Not quite forgiving Dodger just yet, he glanced back at your ruined clothes, and proceeded to tell the poor mutt off.

While the handsome man was giving his dog a lecture on how to be polite, you looked him over. His dark hair was soft and fluffy, easily styled with a natural look. His eyes were covered by a dark pair of sunglasses, and a neatly trimmed beard covered the bottom half of his face, while his pink, plump lips looked juicy enough to bite. He was wearing a dark pair of jeans, coupled with an unzipped navy blue bomber jacket, meaning you had a perfect view of the white cotton tee he was wearing underneath, which did little to cover his impressive chest. You could see a dark shadow over his clavicle area, and wondered if he was hiding some ink. Before you could ogle some more, Frankie wandered over to see what all the commotion was.

“And who is this curious fella?”

Looking down at your brindle beauty, you replied, “This is Frankie. He’s only been with me for a few days, but he just fitted right in, haven’t ya bud?”

“Well it’s lovely to meet you both, I’m Chris, and as you probably figured with my not so manly screaming, this dumbo is Dodger,” he showed Frankie his right fist in greeting, while petting his head with his left hand.

Chuckling at his humour, you also introduced yourself, as your two fur babies sniffed at each others butts, getting themselves acquainted with one another. Suddenly, Dodger gave a quick bark before he threw his front legs down flat against the ground with his butt up high in the air. His tail was wagging rapidly in excitement and he pounced towards Frankie wanting to play. You and Chris laughed as you watched them run off across the park.

Taking a seat on the bench, Chris turned towards you, “So you recently adopted Frankie?”

“Yes, he’s my gentle giant. I’ve always wanted my own Greyhound, especially an ex racer. They’re such laid back dogs, and a professional couch potatoes!” Sharing a laugh, you continued. “Growing up, we always had a dog in the family home but when I flew the nest, and rented my own apartment, pets weren’t allowed in the building. For the last few years I’ve been saving up for a deposit and eventually, with a little help from my grandpa, I managed to afford my own house.”

You glanced Chris’s way, “It’s been a long wait, but I could finally have the Greyhound I’d always wished for. He fits into my lifestyle perfectly.”

Chris sent you a genuine smile, “Well I’m glad he found you. Too many dogs are left waiting for homes, and I’m happy he found a perfect one with you.”

Heat filled your cheeks with a rosy pink blush, instantly feeling shy, “Thank you.” Turning in your seat towards him slightly, you asked, “What about Dodger? Was he a rescue?”

“Yeah, he’s been with me a few years now. I met him while I was working in an animal shelter. As soon as I saw him, I knew he didn’t belong there . I mean look at him, he’s just so full of life.” He gazed out across the dog park, a tender look on his face.

A comfortable silence filled the air, you followed his eyes and beamed as your fur babies made friends, sniffing at all the blossoming flowers. All of a sudden, Frankie leaped forward into a full gallop, sprinting off around the park. Not wanting to miss out on the fun, Dodger quickly gave chase trying to outrun him, but failed. Frankie’s long legs, flexible spine and muscular build was no match for the energetic pup, but it was certainly amusing watching the two of them.

Chris thought so too. His hysterical laughter filled your ears as he got very animated, leaning back and slapping a hand across his chest. Tears brimmed his eyes, so he pulled off his sunglasses to wipe his eyes. Your breath hitched in your throat when you realised who he was.

It was only yesterday you watched Marvel's latest blockbuster, Endgame, and now you were sat on a bench, in a random dog park in Massachusetts, with one of the biggest and most talked about stars of the moment. Your girls would not believe this.

Trying to keep your composure, you asked if he was okay while you tried to not freak out.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just so good to see Dodge happy and making friends.” Chris watched on with a fond smile, like a proud father, a tinge of regret in his voice.

Finding the courage to speak up, you sassed, “Does he not have many friends then?”

“Oh haha, very funny. He has plenty of friends thank you very much!”, he playfully pointed a finger towards you, while shaking his head.

Wrinkling your nose, you sarcastically said, “Sure..”

Chris jokingly rolled his eyes as he ran his left hand through his hair. “We’ve been across the Country for most of the year so he hasn’t really had chance to get to know the locals, ya know?” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he continued, “Sometimes my work is pretty full on and I don’t spend long enough in one place for him to enjoy the doggy life with a playmate. It’s gotta be hard on him, makes me feel guilty, y’know?”

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to explain yourself to me...Captain.”

Chris quickly looked up at you with wide eyes, a shocked expression etched across his face. You snickered at him, overjoyed at your quip.

“So, I guess the cats outta the bag then?” he silently chuckled.

Nodding your head, you confirmed his suspicions with a wink, “Uh huh. Nice disguise though.”

He snorted a small thanks before the dogs made their way back over towards you both on the bench. They were both exhausted from their run with their tongues hanging out of the side of their mouths, panting excessively.

“Well it looks like he’s found a fellow sidekick now.” You noted while giggling at the sight of the two of them.

Chris joined in with your laughter, before he made a suggestion, “I’ve got the rest of the summer off, so we’ll be spending a lot more time in this park. Maybe you and Frankie would like to join us sometime? Y’know, so they can bond.”

Stunned at his proposition you were speechless, staring at him with your mouth open, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“So, what do you say?”

Still in a daze, you tried to utter out a confident response, “Oh, um, ye-yeah.”

Chris looked delighted, happy you agreed to his proposal. He turned towards you with a sheepish smile, “Look, I am really sorry about ruining your clothes. Please let me cover the dry cleaning costs, it’s the least I can do.”

Waving a dismissive hand his way, you replied, “Please, it’s not a problem. These things happen. It’s nothing a quick wash at home won’t fix.”

Not accepting your forgiveness that easily, Chris pressed on, “At least let me buy you a coffee?”

You looked down at your watch noticing the time, “Oh thank you for the offer, but I’m not sure. It’s getting late and I haven’t had lunch yet.”

Seeing the hesitation in your eyes, he persevered, “Go on, you know you want to, I’ll even buy you a cookie.” He nudged your side with his elbow playfully, “Plus these dogs need a drink, just look at them!”

Not playing fair, he jested, “Surely you don’t want to upset Frankie by leaving when he and Dodge have just become best friends!”

“Best friends? Really?!” You stifled a laugh and looked between the two dogs. They sure did look happy. “Wow, you’re persistent aren’t you?!” His smug smile answered your question.

Just as you were mulling over his coffee invitation, that bastard had to pull out the big guns didn’t he? He raised his right eyebrow, giving you the puppy dog eyes.

Feeling defeated, you sighed waving a hand towards him, “God, how can I say no to that face!”

Chris’s boisterous howl echoed through the park, as he stood up, holding a hand out towards you, “C’mon, let's go grab that coffee.”

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