#masterpiece i am so sorry you are suffering by my stupidity

[mollyrolls]

i genuinely have done something to royally piss off the universe i am so sorrry i want to repent for my sins please

[physalian]

#Writer Problems

Meet the 15th character in this series with a name that starts with A! No one will notice hahaha

Going back and deleting the sighs to shake things up a bit because there’s 120 in the manuscript

*checks notes* whoops you died already, Side Character, my bad

*one paragraph* Perfect. Amazing. Poetic. Profound. *the next paragraph* what is words do?

Knocking out a 6k word chapter in an hour/Spending a week on a single transition

*slaps down a shiny new character with zero plan* You don’t know anything about them and neither do I, let’s discover them together

Realistically, there’s gotta be at least one casualty from this fantasy battle so…. *rolls dice* no not you. *rolls dice again* yep. That’ll do. Sorry, pal.

Is this badass or stupid?

Is this hot or cringey?

*checks notes* damn it, plot hole.

Upon this most recent round of edits, you, Cool Side Character, no longer made the cut. Mayhaps you’ll be recycled later.

*checks notes* damn it, I fixed that plot hole by opening another plot hole.

Jesus christ I wrote ‘just’ 308 times across 120k words?

That is definitely not how you spell that

*dreams about my characters in full HD technicolor* awwww yeah, where’s the popcorn? *cannot replicate how cool it was in actual words*

Unes- Unnecs- Unessis- Unnessessarily- Unnecessarily fuck

Do I go with the British grey or the American gray?

*cries* this epic was supposed to be a novella

Well these two were supposed to be having an argument here. But making out is fine. I’d like to see where this goes.

Oops I forgot the straights, here that nameless dude over there isn't confirmed gay, so you can headcanon that he's straight if you want

Oops I forgot that marriage exists uhhh yeah their other parents are all dead or deadbeats

Fuck love triangles here’s a double-helix dodecahedron.

One day my fandom will write so much smut about this guy and I am here for it cause I sure ain’t doing it myself

Oops I forgot people with green eyes exist but brown eyes? I got 20

*describing the writing process* It was the best of times, it was the worst of times it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

I. Hate. Chapter. Titles.

Is this profound or pretentious?

*crafts an absolutely banger metaphor* I hope someone notices this. I put a lot of work into it

I didn’t spend 6 months perfecting this masterpiece for you to sass that the curtains are just blue. I’ll write the goddamn essay myself about all the depth behind my color choices, sir.

Picture that Spongebob dehydrated in Sandy’s treehouse meme ‘cause that’s me on round 12 of edits

I gotta be up for work in 4 hours but this monologue is more important

*distills 30 pages of worldbuilding notes into 2 paragraphs of a fluff scene* somebody will appreciate this, won’t they?

*listening to my book playlist* one day when this is adapted I hope this artist is still alive to compose the main theme cause this shit fucks

*cries* this trilogy was supposed to be just one book

If I turn this plot hole into a character flaw, they become the problem while I remain god

*looting themes, monologues, character names, and archetypes off the corpses of my dead WIPs* You won’t miss them anyway.

While it also immortalizes this person’s dickish behavior, yes, I will, in fact, write a whole character’s backstory as a middle-finger to this one bitch from 10 years ago.

*steps back to gaze at all the suffering done unto my deuteragonist* but it was worth it, wasn’t it?

*staring down yet another loathsome action set piece* whyyyyy do I do this to myself?

Nobody’ll notice my author insert if I dice them up and divvy them out in bits to my entire cast, right? Right? It’s like a shell game of what’s author and what’s fiction

These two are going to be a problematic ship one day and I will burn that bridge when I get there

*2am and I am scouring the internet for that one piece of a fort’s defenses because not remembering is the current root of my insomnia*

*Nudging my favorite character who isn’t the protagonist out onto stage* golly I hope the readers like him

Waiting. For. Editors. Takes. So. Long.

Holy butts accidental motif and deep symbolism fucks. I am so pretending I did that on purpose.

To subtext or not to subtext? Nah, to subtext. *laughs maniacally*

Trying to ride that line between so obvious it’s painful but also juuust enough foreshadowing so you slap yourself for not seeing it sooner

TIL that I have been using that word completely wrong for years. How quaint.

No you’re derivative schlock. I’m crowd surfing the books that came before and loving every second of it.

Damn I wasted a really good name on this throwaway character

*checks notes* wait, who's taller? Where does your hair part? Are you left or right-handed?

*musing over a character slated for death* damn, I really like you. Since I am in fact god, you shall live another day. *rewerites the entire finale*

God I hope people like this story

[agentnico]

Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire (2024) review

Someone should call child services, as Kong uses a baby monkey as a weapon and flails him around like a whip, using the poor little fella to bash against incoming enemies. Granted the little chap is durable, but like….. I’m sorry, this movie is ridiculous. Like I can’t even!

Plot: Godzilla and the almighty Kong face a colossal threat hidden deep within the planet, challenging their very existence and the survival of the human race.

2021’s Godzilla vs. Kong holds a special place in my heart in that during COVID-19 it was one of the first and only films to come out during lockdown. I recall sitting in my living room suffering from high depression (I mean, who wasn’t at that time, am I right??) and I stuck on the Godzilla vs Kong film with low expectations……and I had the greatest time ever. By no means was it a masterpiece. It’s even far away from being a good film, but at that time when I was cinema-deprived and life was in a constant state of limbo, a big trashy Hollywood blockbuster with two massive CGI monsters beating the living crap of each other was exactly the entertainment I needed.

In cometh Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire. Naturally we’re no longer in a pandemic so the WOW factor is gone, and also Godzilla Minus One only recently came out reminding us that Godzilla can be sophisticated when need be. That being said, am I opposed to seeing some ridiculously over-the-top kaiju brawls for absolutely no other reason other than Hollywood wanting to throw money against the wall and seeing what happens? Yes. Look, from the set-up the whole thing doesn’t make sense in the first place. I get it is fantasy and suspension of disbelief is required, but it’s a giant walking nuclear power plant that holds the title of king of the monsters against a bloody monkeh. I don’t care how cool or likeable Kong is, if we’re being realistic he’d get smushed just by touching Godzilla. Like, ain’t that lizard boi radioactive?? Last time I checked radioactivity is pretty fatal. Kong should have developed multiple forms of cancer since the 2021 film, I’m just saying. But again, that’s if we’re thinking logically, however as we’ve learned from these MonsterVerse movies, logic isn’t a word that exists. So let’s enjoy the lizard and monkeh for what they are - bring it on!!

Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire is exactly what you expect it to be… in the last 30 minutes. The first hour and a half is actually a casual sequel to Kong: Skull Island, with Godzilla a fleeting cameo just getting up to random shenanigans, with every appearance lasting no longer than 5 seconds. I’m serious, Godzilla to this movie is like Scrat is to the Ice Age movies. If you recall the little saber-toothed squirrel hardly ever connects to the main plot-line of those films, and instead is only obsessed with getting his stupid acorn. Same with Godzilla, he fights random kaijus just cause. He takes naps in the Colosseum just cause. He eats nuclear plants for breakfast just cause. He turns Barbie-level pink just cause. His entire role in this movie is just cause. Otherwise this is through and through a King Kong movie. Not that I’m complaining, if you want to make a somewhat engaging and emotionally resonant narrative (as if this movie has a plot!), it’s easier to focus on Kong as he has the baggage of being lonely and wanting to find a home and more of his kind, so there’s something there to work with. So we spend most of the movie wit Kong as he explores Hollow Earth that’s discovered from the previous film, and I quite enjoyed all that. Does the movie need to be 2 hours long? Nope, as the whole Hollow Earth story-line is dragged out so much when in fact all that happens could have easily been told in the size of a short film. Essentially nothing much happens is what I’m saying. Like the whole thing is a set-up for the inevitable and highly anticipated final showdown that we’ve all paid for.

About the final showdown - it’s so dumb. I mean the whole movie is dumb, but the final battle breaks any last remaining realm of reason and turns into this crazy bonkers monsters v monsters smashy-bashy bonkers beat ‘em up, and it was absolutely fantastic! Again, I fully admit the stupidity of it all, but watching this movie’s finale in a crowded theatre with everyone cheering, laughing, clapping and howling alongside all the CGI madness that is thrown at our faces - it was awesome! I’d give the final 30 minutes a 10/10 score easily, as it is exactly what we want from a Godzilla and Kong movie. Godzilla spears Kong through a pyramid and then immediately follows that up with a suplex. That right there is cinematic genius!! The rest of the movie is fine and has its moments, but is just a meandering set-up for that ending.

This being a MonsterVerse movie naturally there are also some human characters that we are forced to care about. Like I give a f***, gimme me more lizard and monkeh!!! I want them here, and I want them now! To be fair the producers must have listened to the audience feedback as there is much less human stuff in this movie. There’s a useless sub-plot with Rebecca Hall and her adopted daughter that was so boring and generic and was the dullest part of the movie. Brian Tyree Henry and Dan Stevens are a delight though, providing some enjoyable comedic tongue in cheek, with Stevens especially excelling at the one-liner quips. Nice also to see Stevens teaming back up with director Adam Wingard, the two having previously worked on the wonderful indie thriller The Guest. Honestly if you have not seen The Guest you’re missing out big time - a delightful slice of action horror with a fantastic atmosphere that sucks you in with a dash of dry black comedy edge.

Speaking of Adam Wingard, he’s evidently a good match with these goofy Fast & Furious-level silly monster flicks. He directs the movie using a fun colourful visual palette, with some fantastic sci-fi set pieces, and Hollow Earth is reminiscent very much of a Jules Verne-type adventure locale, very much in the vain of a Journey to the Centre of the Earth, or a Mysterious Island. There’s also a strong 80’s retro vibe to the movie with the techno-synth music score from Junkie XL that had strong Thor: Ragnarok feels to it. I must say through all its stupidity, visually the film is really cinematic and looks awesome on the big screen.

I had a solid time with Godzilla x Kong, especially with those last 30 minutes. Satisfyingly entertaining blockbuster fast-food. It does get a while to get there, and also the movie is fit with so many plot holes and inconsistencies, and also it really did feel like the writers were making things up as they were going along, but I don’t care. This was never intended to be high calibre award worthy filmmaking. It’s only a monkeh, standing in front of a radioactive lizard, asking him to fight together. Really entertaining and super fun. Best part was when it was revealed that Kong could talk and screamed “it’s KONGIN TIME!!’

Overall score: 6/10

[colgatebluemintygel]

TOOTHPASTE!!!! that chapter killed me!! I am SUFFERING (affectionate)!!! these stupid stupid pining fools oh my god I am throwing my phone across the room and diving back to get it so I can inhale more of this gorgeously written deliciously spicy PAIN 😭😭😭 (help)

… anyway thank you so much for that masterpiece of a chapter I’m feeling so so normal right now!! 💚

LYNX !!!! beloved xx i am so sorry it has taken me so long to get to this but XDDD thank you so much <3333 i am so sorry for making you suffer but i prommy it's for the greater good 💋💋💋

[yuiyuuji]

My (i guess not) final thoughts on... Foundation

(i know no one will give a fuck about my opinion or will read this but i need to get this out of my system) Boy oh boy. Where do I even start? Never have I watched a show where one half is a masterpiece and the other half is ugly, boring, so predictable and made me furious. I have a history with our dear David S. Goyer. He often has great ideas, great visions but sometimes, more often than not, he is simply not capable in bringing those ideas into being. That is the opinion I have; you don’t have to think the same as I do. Don’t attack me for that. Thank you. The building of the Foundation / Terminus / Revenge and all that boring stuff. Anyways. One of the greatest flaws lies in the most important part. The whole building of the foundation. I am so thankful they had Jared Harris in this story. My heart broke every time when he came back, and they took him away from me again. The problem is that none of the other characters are able to carry the story, to make it interesting. They are dull, boring, predictable, and badly written. Very badly written. And with this, the actors are also bad. A good actor can only work with what he gets but, in my opinion, none of the actors who play a big part in the Foundation / Terminus / revenge arc are any good. Except Dr. Seldon / Jared Harris and they take him away from us. There is not one single character I could built a connection with. Their motives are stereotypical. All the characters are stereotypes. They were seen hundreds of times before. Apart from the bad acting, the story was predictable and boring. The visuals were ugly and more than once I just wanted to skip ahead and not waste my time on this crap anymore. Also. The end with Gaal and Sal? I am so sorry, but this was the most obvious part for me? I am surprised they even made a secret out of it. It made me so furious. Okay, enough of my rambling. Can I say anything good about any of this? No. I can’t. And I am sorry, but it needs to be said: ALL OF THE WOMEN ARE SO UNLIKABLE. Gaal, Sal, Phara, all the others we come across in the parts mentioned above make sick and I despise them. The whole thing with Brother Dawn. Here we start with my conflicted feelings. Although I understand the relevance of what happened with Dawn, I couldn’t care less. I didn’t like him and Azura war terrible. The whole story also suffered from bad writing and poor acting. They made a better job than the ones in the arcs mentioned above but it was just not good enough. Azura and Dawn as characters were unlikable in my eyes. Apart from that, fact is that the story was way too long to get us to the big twist and the plot point in all of this, their story was just like a stupid young adult romance book / story, and I despised it. It was cheasy, cheap and terribly executed. I didn’t feel sorry for Dawn or for Azura. I just hope we will never see that character ever again.

The Cleon arc and Empire. Now give me that good stuff. I don’t think I need to establish why I think that the whole drama with the genetic dynasty, the clones and my dear Brother Day is the best thing the show has to offer. Apart from the acting, the story, and the conflict within it is perfect. Lee Pace is the perfect actor to play Day, I instantly fell in love with him. He is the only character which went through the process of character development. Real development. The only one who was confronted with existential questions and fears. And it is brilliantly executed. All the actors within the Cleon arc are fantastic. Believable. There were moments where they would take away my breath because of how wonderful the acting was. Apart from the fact that the story is interesting, it’s the wonderful acting from all the people who are involved that make this are shine. It feels like all the love from the creators went into the whole Cleon / Empire stuff. I have nothing bad to say about any of it. Only praise. I wouldn’t mind a whole show only about Cleon / the Brothers. Would me more interesting than the other things going on in Foundation.

Other Stuff and a few personal things. So to get this straight out of the way. I like Demerzel but I am certain she is the one who messed up the DNA for the other clones and I guess Day should get rid of her and maybe that is what will happen (: I also think the reason why she killed Dawn was in part because Day made her kill Zephyr Halima. So what made me love Day so much? Apart from the fact that I adore Lee Pace with all my heart … it’s the questions and fears he is confronted with and how he deals with it. Or is unable to deal with it. He fears the change. He discovered that he is nothing more than a soulless vessel. Less than a robot. What is he of not human? Only the echo of a man long gone. Only ideas. Only his will unable to be different, to make his own choices. Or is he in the end able to chance the Empire? I think the fact that they are all corrupted could be a massive chance. To make things better. So built a legacy for himself. To be the first out of so many. Somehow it feels deeply personal form me. Aren’t we all questioning ourselves what footprint we will leave when we are gone? How will people think and talk about us? What legacy we will leave behind? What does it matter? Do we matter or are we only an echo ourselves, unable to chance anything? Destined to wither away, to be forgotten? Day didn’t have any vision in the mother’s womb. Does it affect him? Certainly. But how will it chance him? Will he accept the possibility of chance and overcome his fear, or will he fight against it and go down with the Empire? I could go on and on for hours. All of this is great stuff for discussion so if you wanna talk about it, I am all here for you. For now, I will bring this to an end. I hope they will chance a few things for season two. I hope they will listen to the fans. And I hope they will make it better. Because, as I said in the post before, I want them to make it better.

And let’s be honest, we need more Lee in it. Way. More. Lee. I won’t bother you any further. Have an amazing day. Take care of yourself. Stay safe. Thank you for reading.

  Yours truly

[fairytalelover33]

Omg of your request are open can I please get a match up for MCU, hp and twilight? Thank you! 🥰❤🖤

This is what I look like, the left side of my hair is shaved also I don't mind of you show the photo

Age: 19

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: bisexual (leans more towards males)

Personality: I don't talk to people I don't know usually and can seem shy but once I get to know them a can be talkative and a little bit loud. I don't really hate people unless they give me a reason too. I don't get annoyed or mad easily. I make dark jokes sometimes there directed to myself. I try to be supportive of my friends but if I know what they're doing is stupid than one will call them out on it. I'm really into the emo style. I do suffer from anxiety and depression, I also am touch starved.

Hobbies: reading, drawing, watching anime/tv shows, writing, painting, going on late night drives, and going on walks.

Likes: anime, art, music, nightmare before Christmas, harry potter, the colors black and purple, scented things, candles, Halloween, fall weather, animals, and fuzzy blankets.

(Btw for Harry Potter my Hogwarts house is Hufflepuff) Thank you again! 🖤❤

For the MCU, I ship you with: Wanda Maximoff!

•The first time she saw you was during an Avengers team meeting. Here were these superheroes, arguing like children, and then she noticed you standing off to the side. She could read in your mind that you had a better solution to the bickering than any of these heroes did, but yet you kept quiet, thinking. She admired that about you

•That being said, she always wants you to speak up for yourself. She will also never read into your mind, your deeper thoughts, without permission

•She loves going on walks with you. She also struggles with anxiety and depression, and she finds that your company helps her. The cool breeze outside, your presence, and the quiet are things that calm her down

•I can totally see you guys going on dates to painting studios. You’ll both paint your own little masterpiece, and then go out to get food. When you return home, you’ll hang the paintings somewhere in your house, and smile when you you pass them, remembering good times <3

For Harry Potter, I ship you with: Draco Malfoy!

•This boy will spoil you rotten. He is skilled at remembering things you like, so he spends a lot of time searching for the perfect gifts

•He LOVES physical affection, so consider yourself cured of being touch starved. Whether it’s holding your hand, giving you a hug, or simply sitting where your shoulders touch, he loves being close to you

•It takes a patient person to handle this man, and you fit that perfectly. He is endlessly grateful that you don’t leave his sorry self every time he gets too sarcastic, or panics and says something mean. You are slow to anger and that is a quality he adores

•He notices the gift you have with animals. He notices how excited you get on Halloween. He thinks of you when he sees something black and purple. You are his first thought in the morning and his last thought before he goes to sleep. He may struggle to show his love for you, but he would die for you in a heartbeat <3

For twilight, I ship you with: Jasper Hale!

•Jasper is quiet. Quiet people notice things. Especially things that are loud. He noticed you because you have this magic to you. Some spark that most humans don’t possess. He can’t explain it, and he won’t take the time to try. Your very soul is like music to him. Loud, glorious music.

•He wishes he could buy you all the animals you could ever want, but given his “condition”, it wouldn’t be wise. If he ever lost control around one of your pets, he couldn’t bear to hurt you. He already worries enough about killing you by accident, that stress is far more that he needs

•He loves taking you on late night drives. He lets you pick a car from the Cullens garage, and you can drive if you wish, or he can use his superhuman senses to go 130 mph SAFELY.

•It makes him smile when your human aspects kick in around him, like laughing til your stomach hurts, the fire you get in your stomach and the redness in your face when you protect a friend. Anything human about you is beautiful to him. Precious, and breakable, and beautiful. He will do everything in his power to protect you <3

I hope you liked this, so sorry it took so long, and have an amazing day!! ❤️

-J

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Answers Found in Silence

Vincent licked his lips.

The blood tasted like iron, but the vision of the masterful painting before him absorbed his entire attention.

He loved paintings. He loved living vicariously through them. The rush it filled him with whenever his eyes followed every stroke of the brush, paint layered as passionate memories upon canvas, the sheer essence that the artist channeled into creating such masterpieces.

Seeing what they saw. Breathing what they breathed. Imagining what they must have heard at the time. Tasting what they sampled upon their tongues.

Absentmindedly, he licked his lips again, only now realizing how much blood must have sprayed his face upon bludgeoning a man to death. It took him out of his revelry. That taste of iron prevented him from embarking on another journey through the lens of the painting.

Vincent dabbed his lower lip, then inspected his fingertips, ensuring with a glance that it was indeed another man's blood.

He turned to the corpse splayed out on the marble floor behind him, in the middle of a pool of his own bodily fluids. Vincent scanned the dead body with silent contempt. His lip curled into a sneer. He shook his head in disbelief.

"Philistine," he muttered.

The knife that Sir Dorsey Dwyer had held now lay on the shiny floor beside him, underneath a reflective surface comprised of his own spilled lifeblood, pumped out to completion by his heart's merciless beating, throbbing until he had exhaled his last breath.

Dwyer had threatened to do harm with that knife. Not harm to Vincent—but to the painting. An act of aggression he could not tolerate. An act of spite which he would not suffer.

That they would not suffer.

"Yes," whispered his favorite voice. That sweetest voice. "You did well, my love. Revenge for a loved one he had lost, I can always fathom, but what he would have done to the painting never would have—"

"Brought him back," said Vincent, Lord of the Bailyview, seemingly to himself.

Nobody but him could hear the phantasmal companion whose sentence he had finished. He stood alone in that spacious hall, company only to his late colleague's corpse growing cold. Sparing little glance to the bent candelabra which had caved in Dwyer's skull, he turned to gaze at the painting again.

He said, "It is a bit of a bother though. I need to figure out how to get his sorry carcass out of here without getting caught red-handed, or our time together may just be spent in a cell in the Tower."

She stayed silent.

He rubbed thumb and bloodstained fingers together, marveling at the sensation of that warm slick fluid trapped between them. Though rare for him to take another person's life, he rarely felt anything even remotely related to remorse.

Like this painting.

A beautiful portrait of a quaintly handsome man. Staring off to the side through hazel eyes, head crowned by messy hair, garbed in a fancy dress likely donned just for the portrait's painter—or imagined, as it contrasted the rest of his appearance so.

The painter had clearly seen something in the motif of his masterpiece. Felt something for the man depicted on the canvas.

And the painter had been nobody less than the infamous Outer Wall Reaper. The murderer who had kept the city locked in a breathless fear, rendered masses afraid of the killer who stalked its streets by night, picking off people and making them disappear until only mangled bodies surfaced in the slums, organs missing.

And now, Vincent owned this painting, stolen from the Reaper's vandalized home by looters before an angry mob fully thrashed it. The piece of art had found its way into the private collection of this rich and handsome playboy.

"So fascinating," said she.

Orinrya.

"The painter? Or the subject?" he asked.

She rendered a whole aria, carried in the singsong of a single word as she replied, "Both."

He chuckled.

"So rare for us to glimpse what such a pure soul saw as attractive," she added.

"Pure soul?" scoffed Vincent. But he smiled.

"Yes. Just look at the way he painted every single hair on his head. What little attention he paid to the shirt's collar or the bow, while having slaved over the sheen he had seen on this man's skin. The hand that guided that brush also guided the needles and scalpels that took all those lives, in all those cold and dreary nights. The warmth of their blood, steaming in the snow—"

"You're right."

"Hm?"

"I see it," breathed Vincent.

He sighed. Shot another glance at the dead man on the floor, repeating his oath, "Philistine. To think—you almost robbed our world of this masterpiece. The single only painting the Reaper may have ever made."

Dwyer had been out of line; he had had no right to destroy it. Nobody did. The stupid fop had foolishly tried to put knife to the canvas, to slice it to ribbons in a fit of rage upon hearing who had painted the portrait. A petty act of revenge, as if it would have brought back his slain brother, the only wealthy victim whose life the Reaper claimed in his rampage through the slums. Caught with a night worker, no less, adding insult to injury.

And to imagine that a simple painting could have been the object of his impotent rage—no, they would never have suffered such petty revenge. After all, it was not the artwork that had taken his brother's life.

Snatching a gas lantern from the table, Vincent raised it in front of the painting and frowned. Though perfect for the simple sandalwood frame, this artificial light did not do the artwork itself any justice. The long, foggy night had swallowed the sun, and Vincent could not wait to behold the Reaper's artistry again in broad daylight.

In a way, the Outer Wall Reaper had just claimed another life. Even if only indirectly. Vincent smiled at that thought. That he had accidentally become the murderer's own instrument.

Almost as if on cue to disrupt his morbid amusement, someone knocked on the door.

Muffled through the entrance still closed, the butler spoke, "Milord, I heard—"

"It's fine, Perry. Brace yourself as you enter. Sir Dwyer had a," Vincent's words trailed off like these thoughts. He smiled again to himself before he finally finished the sentence. "He had an unfortunate accident."

He never turned around. The doors to the gallery opened and Perry entered. His shoes squeaked as he swiveled and froze in place, staring at the corpse.

"An accident with a candelabra, I see," said the butler with his usual measure of dripping sarcasm. "Looks like the poor chap fell backwards into it. Repeatedly."

Vincent chortled, still admiring the painting. He never understood how Perry found it in him to deliver such deadpan remarks without breaking out into laughter himself.

Their gazes met for a second, and as always, Vincent read no fear in Perry's eyes. They would never harm a hair on each other's heads, and knowing each other's dirty secrets assured mutual silence—or mutual destruction.

"What would you have me do about this mess, sir?"

Vincent clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"Pay no mind. Fetch me everything for some absinthe. I will take care of the late Sir Dwyer myself. And as you recall, he showed up here all drunk off his arse. I don't think anybody knows he even came here. And someone in the constabulary... still owes me a favor. I'll have it all sorted out soon, no worries."

"Despite the recent disaster at your party?"

"Oh, let them all talk. I love being the center of attention. Next thing you know, I'll be the headline of another lurid article," Vincent said, painting a picture in the air with a hand, fingers splayed as he envisioned the printed piece. "Painting me as the Outer Wall Reaper himself, while others rush to defend my name and trip over themselves in fabricating all the reasons why I would never harm a fly."

Vincent arched his brow as he flashed his loyal butler a twisted smile. The same involuntary expression to mark his face whenever he felt like he was winning a game. And he always won the games that people played in the rumor mill.

"I am less concerned about them, milord. And more about how difficult it will be to clean after the constabulary concludes their investigation." Perry raised his nose and stared down at it, gray cheeks reddening.

"Hm. I am terribly sorry about all that, Perry. You have my word; I'll hire someone to take care of it. Now—how about that absinthe?"

The butler emitted a grunt in recognition, bowed, and backed out of the gallery hall again, leaving Vincent alone with the corpse.

And Orinrya.

The door clicked as it shut completely.

"He's such a good friend of the family," she said. "Three generations, and now the old codger's stuck with handling your caprice."

She smiled through Vincent's own lips. He smiled to himself, as well.

"I'm sure he has his own share of amusements," he said. Focusing on the painting again, he asked, "Now, where do you think this one leads? It's just blank around the subject. Well, not entirely blank. There's some color, some suggestion of gloom. I'd wager he painted it just this same winter. But without background—no context. A blind journey. We've never done that before."

"And that's why we will, darling. You cannot resist."

He smiled even wider.

Orinrya was right. She knew his thoughts, reading them as clearly as if he had spoken them out loud, giving them air. She knew his capricious nature as well as he did, or perhaps even better. Knew he could not pass up on any opportunity to explore the unknown. He bored quickly of things familiar and always sought to visit a new horizon whenever it presented itself.

He flopped down onto the sofa with a heavy sigh, his velvety upholstered oasis in the middle of this opulent marble gallery. Surrounded by alabaster statues of ancient deities, and arrays of exquisite paintings that his family had amassed over all these years to plaster the high walls. The lights from gaslit lanterns cast pockets of eerie glow throughout the gigantic hall.

Vincent tapped his chiseled blood-splattered chin as he once more marveled at the craftsmanship that had gone into painting this portrait.

"What do think is his name? Or was?" he asked.

"Eric," she said. Giggled. "He looks like an Eric to me. And still alive, I feel."

Vincent chuckled.

"So, you're picking up on a name with an 'E'. Perhaps Egon? Egon. Hm. What a funny name," he mused.

"Edward. That must be it, for sure."

"How would you know?"

"Call it—intuition," she cooed.

"Or should I call it whispers? The things you hear from the beyond? You never answered, love. You never told me where you came from."

"And perhaps I never will," she breathed with melody, drawing out another smile from him.

The set of double doors opened into the gallery. The butler entered. Empty glasses and sugar cubes in a small metal cup tinkled and clattered until he arrived by the sofa's side. He set the contents of his tray down onto the table by the sofa, one by one, preparing everything for Vincent's ritual.

Before he could seize the bottle of green liquid to pour him a glass, Vincent raised a jewelry-clad hand to stop Perry.

"That'll be all. Thank you," he told him. "I'll take it from here."

Perry nodded, bowed again, and left the gallery, shedding not even a glance in the direction of Dwyer's corpse.

The doors clicked shut again.

"You know you don't need that, right?" asked Orinrya.

"Yes. But I just—I enjoy it too much. I like the taste. I associate it with our study of these pieces. With our journeys."

He chuckled again.

Perching a sugar cube atop the glass with the ornate spoon—and his family's crest of the eagle cut into the silver piece of specialized cutlery—he poured the sweet green spirit into his clear cup. The trickle of liquid tickled his senses.

And he lived for all manner of sensations.

"It is a lovely taste, I must concede," she said. "Particularly this bottle, this make. More than mere resemblance of licorice. Mint. Thyme? And a hint of other worlds. I do understand the appeal, don't get me wrong."

A delighted sigh escaped his throat as he cradled the glass between the fingers of one hand, swirling its contents like fine wine and sampling the drink's scent.

"Other worlds indeed," he said, the smile never fading from his face.

He sipped from the glass. Heat spread over his palate with a pleasant warmth, like a beautiful wildfire consuming the countryside, burning away every hint of iron and blood. He closed his eyes as he savored the aftertaste, and took another longing sip, kissing the glass like he would his many lovers, the men and women he consorted with behind closed doors at his many lavish parties.

"Drink, sweet prince," she said. "I long to see what lies beyond. I wish to meet this man for myself. To see what the Reaper saw."

"Taste what the Reaper tasted," breathed Vincent, licking his lips again, now only tasting the sweet sting of the green fairy, any tang of blood having been relegated into memory.

He focused on the painting. Drinking in the portrait's details. Warm tones made up the complexion of the artist's subject. Streaks and dabs of gray peppered dark hair despite the youthful and symmetrical face. A faint hint of stubble around the small and tender-looking lips and a soft chin.

And such kind eyes. So utterly kind.

What had the Reaper seen? Who was this mysterious subject?

"The killer became obsessed with him," Orinrya whispered. "Watched him from afar. But not like he watched the others."

Vincent sipped more from his cup; his sights fixed on the portrait. The spirit burned his throat on the way down and blood now rushed in his ears.

"Do you think he would have kept him for last? After torching down the entire world, would he have kept him around, do you think?"

"Not for long," she said. "Those kind eyes, he would not have been able to bear them for all eternity. Those eyes, painted thus, they knew not who watched him. What watched him. What monster—"

"Oh, my dear, let us not wield that word lightly," Vincent said.

His eyes fell shut as he drank more from the cup. The cool steel framing its glass made his silky palm tingle.

"Oh, but my dear, he is one of us," she sang.

"Was," said Vincent, breaking out into another chuckle.

Opening his eyes to continue gazing into the soft amber irises of the portrait's eyes, Vincent's vision blurred.

"Yes, was," she chimed in, joining him with melodious laughter in his mind.

"And this—Edward, you say—"

"Yes. Certainly Edward. I see a room. Orderly. Well-organized. Neatly arranged instruments. Cabinets filled with... medicine."

"A doctor?" asked Vincent with a lopsided smile, arching a brow.

"A doctor."

He drank more from the cup. Lost all sense of time as his senses dulled, losing track of how often he repeated the motion—the trickle of green spirit soaked up by the sugar cube, trailing down through the family crest into the cup, and burning in his throat as he sent it to cascade past his luscious lips and tongue.

"Here, in this very city, am I right?"

"Yes, dear. He is near. I feel it."

As his vision faded, his memory soon followed into the hazy mist.

Vincent cradled the bottle. Empty, save for a few droplets. They laughed as its glass shattered somewhere on the floor, no further mind paid to its breaking after jettisoning it away in a languid arc.

"I can almost taste it."

The lingering smell of the spirit occluded his senses further, but he began to smell another sharp substance.

Rubbing alcohol.

"We're getting closer, love," she whispered.

Every time he blinked, his eyelids grew heavier. His vision of the portrait turned into a blob of warm colors in dim light. The kind eyes of the mystery man in the painting—Edward—soon peeled away from that unseen something off to the right side of the image, and the doctor in the painting turned his head to look back at his spectators.

Then he looked out a window. His motions were slow, deliberate.

They felt that he felt watched.

"A busy street by day, just outside that window," Orinrya said.

"A foggy day," Vincent ventured. "A day not long ago."

"Only days around when the Reaper started his spree."

"Oh, how he cherished knowing how this beautiful man—this oblivious doctor—was unwittingly helping him."

"Did he provide the instruments?"

"Or drugs, perhaps?"

"No, just the thing to stab. A precise thing."

"A needle," they both said in unison, their voices blending until they matched. Orinrya spoke through his mouth. "A syringe."

Two voices. Not one.

The lantern's flame flickered but stayed alight. Turned bright blue. The world began to fade.

"Inspiration."

"He inspired him. Oh, he quaffed the nectar of this man's innocence—"

"Watched from afar, even before he started claiming lives—"

"Twisted it into something darker—"

"Something fierce—"

"Oh, the delicious transgression."

The lights throughout the gallery went out, one by one, until all but the lantern sitting on the floor between sofa and the lonesome painting remained lit. An orange-hued island in the middle of a sea of darkness. On one edge, the dapper lordling lounged, limbs drooping lazily off the sides. On the other, the painting.

The handsome man had disappeared from it.

Vincent brushed over his own lips and the numbness had set in. Unable to feel his own fingers, it felt like someone else caressed him, like she had planted there a gentle kiss.

They no longer saw a portrait, but another place. A window into that other location: a doctor's practice. Vacant of people, with shadows flitting about, hints of its owner leaping from one task to another chore, as day and night cycled rapidly, bouncing back and forth.

Meticulously washing his hands in the sink. Examining a sitting patient's eyes. Carefully bringing scalpel to an exposed arm. A laugh to defuse some fear. Blood, dabbed away with cloth in slender hands. A warm and kind smile to match the gaze from the painting, a patient calmed by his gentle disposition.

Oblivious of the darkness that watched him, reaching through past and present and now seeing that darkened room. A solid night, a roiling fog outside the windows. Like one monster once watched, spying from the outside, they now peered through painting, bridging time and space.

Vincent lurched up onto his feet and stumbled halfway on the infinitely long walk towards the painting. Glass shards crunched underneath his shoe, reminiscent of the blanket of snow outside, melting into the flurries of crystallized precipitation which he saw through the painting, falling softly to cobblestone-covered streets outside the practice's window.

Though numbed by stupor, the bumps and ridges of dried paint surfaced in a texture he traced with his fingertips, exploring the picture of the painting. No longer depicting the kind-faced doctor, but his practice, blanketed entirely by night.

"Push, my love. Let us explore."

And Vincent did. Pressed his palm against the painting, and ripples exploded outwards from it, as if he had disturbed the surface of a still pond. The image swallowed his hand and he pushed deeper, until he dove into that distorted image, neither place nor person, stepping entirely through.

As he stumbled again and blinked to orient himself, he stood inside that doctor's practice.

Rocked back and forth as the absinthe did its number on his coordination, barely able to read the handwriting on letters stacked on a desk.

Orinrya whispered through Vincent's lips, "Doctor Edward—"

"Carnaby," Vincent finished himself, slurring the surname in a drunken drawl, erupting into a stupid giggle.

He slapped the paper back down onto the desk and looked about, letting his eyes adjust.

"Do we truly travel to these places, love?"

"Or is it just a jaunt of the mind?" she countered.

"A little escape that leaves the flesh behind?"

He giggled another drunken giggle as he clumsily knocked over objects on the desk, causing them to clink and clatter and a small broken vial to gurgle out liquid. Something black, likely ink.

"Oh fairy, my green fairy," he murmured with the most melody that a positively drunken man could muster.

"This is all us, darling. No fairy needed. Just some added fun for your pleasure."

He pushed through a door, stumbling down dark corridors, and registering the softness of a carpet beneath his shoes.

"But it's so much fun, love—"

Vincent froze.

Bathed in a bright sliver of silver moonlight from a crack between the curtains, a woman lay in bed. A shapely face, heavily scarred, and peacefully resting, eyes closed.

"Oh, here we go again," mused Orinrya. "Be still, your beating heart."

Arms exposed above the sheets, wreathed in bandages, leaving just enough space for Vincent to take a seat at the sleeping woman's side. The mattress and bed creaked underneath his weight.

The scars on her cheek, as disfiguring they were, he saw past them and found a beauty he would have overlooked otherwise. But it was the scarring that captured his entire attention.

"Yet another fancy for you to entertain, love?"

He shushed Orinrya.

His fingers shook with the green fairy's tremors and an enamored fascination. He traced over the lines of those scars, an uneven drawing from a cut inflicted by a blade, that wandered over cheek to nose. Crisscrossing into another scar that ran across the nose, where ridge had broken once. Gingerly exploring the uneven surface of her warm skin where a hound's claw had raked her jaw. Her soft and shallow breath, he felt even with hands so numb.

So focused, so spellbound—

"Careful now," Orinrya whispered.

Vincent whispered back, "Sound asleep—"

"Look," she said. "Look away."

"No, I shall not."

"Look beside her, I say! Look. On the bedside table," Orinrya urged him. The singsong gone, her tone had fallen deathly serious.

That was when his blurry gaze finally came to rest upon it.

A leatherbound tome. Strange glyphs carved into its face.

Another gasp escaped Vincent's throat, all attention for the beautifully scarred woman now blown away.

An authentic tome of magick. He felt it. He felt its thrum. No ordinary book he had ever seen had ever looked like that. It had to be.

The prize he had sought for so long.

"Take me," Orinrya whispered.

No—the tome had whispered that. In his mind. Like her?

Right?

"Take it," she whispered in his mind. "Take it."

His hands trembled—hovered just above the cool leather surface of the book. How he yearned to rip it open and decipher its inscriptions. But his reverence weighed so heavily, the dread of what terrible secrets it may contain, it boggled his mind. His hesitation dragged on forever, mired in a swamp of lost time and a drunken haze.

"Take it," she hissed. Commanding.

His fingers trembled even more as they crept closer towards the edges of the book, keen on flipping the lid and perusing its mysterious pages.

He hesitated for too long.

"What are you doing in here?" a man blurted out behind them.

In the door to the room stood a dark silhouette. The squeak of metal and a clicking sound preceded a lantern going on.

The doctor. This Edward Carnaby. The kind face from the painting, kindness far from its current expression. Glaring at Vincent.

"Who in the blazes are you?" asked the doctor.

Brows furrowed; the moonlight twinkled with fear in the doctor's pupils.

Vincent rose to his feet and lurched towards him, tripping over a chair's leg. He caught himself against a dresser before he could fully plummet to the floor. Laughed, drunkenly.

"Should he see your face?" Orinrya asked. Another murmur in Vincent's thoughts. "Should he remember?"

"No. Yes!" Vincent said, followed by another clipped giggle.

Alibi, he thought. So convenient. If this was even real.

Doctor Carnaby cried, "Get out! Before I fetch a constable!"

The good doctor threatened, yet he took a timid step backwards, back into the hallway behind him. Frightened by the nightly invader in his home.

"Sorry good, sir," Vincent's words lurched as much as he did with his drunken gait. "I must have been confused. Long night—o-out drinking, you see."

"Get out!" repeated the doctor with more force. His voice trembled with terror.

Leaning against the dresser, sliding, and almost slipping as he propped himself up, Vincent eked out a theatrical gesture with his arm and bowed, nearly toppling over in the process. "I'm Lord Vincent Va—"

"I don't care who in the devil's name you are, you are bothering my patient, you drunken lout! Get! Out! " The doctor's fear audibly subsided. He cleared his throat and pointed a finger down the hallway, directing Vincent to leave that way.

He stepped aside demonstratively and waited for Vincent to follow his instructions.

"Yes, yes, yes. As I was saying, good sir, I must have taken the wrong turn—wrong door, you know, it happens," he said with a smile, growing aware of how much less charming he was whenever he was this heavily intoxicated. "Vincent Vance is the name, Lord of Bailyview. Terribly sorry if I broke anything on the way in—"

Doctor Carnaby's face fell through different stages. The dread dropped into fury, and the fury made way for confusion and mild annoyance, with a dash of pity.

"Just leave, please."

"Right," Vincent said, covering his mouth and feigning the urge to throw up, replete with a retching sound.

Carnaby waited patiently for him to step outside, and Vincent obliged. Stared over his shoulder as he turned into the hallway and stopped there—the scarred woman stirred, and more importantly, that leatherbound tome eyelessly stared back at him.

Beckoning him.

He wanted it so badly. Had to peel his gaze from the book. Had to tell himself he'd be back for it. Flashed a stupid grin at the doctor and stumbled forth.

The glow from the doctor's lantern made it easier to navigate the dark hallway, and in the blurry haze where time and space melted into one misty soup, he braced himself against a wall on the way until he pushed through a door that should have led outside. He slammed it shut behind him, more fiercely than he had intended.

But he did not find himself outside on the street, in the cold, where his breath condensed before his mouth, standing in the pale moonlight as it pierced a ring of clouds—but back in the gallery in front of the living painting of Doctor Edward Carnaby.

The doctor glared into the night outside his front door. Poked his head outside to see where his nightly intruder had staggered off to but paid it no more mind. Did not notice a lack of footprints in the thin layer of snow. He shut the door. The lock loudly fell into place.

Vincent leaned against the wall, watching through the painting.

The snowfall of flurries gently drifting down onto the cobblestone-covered streets made him sway again, made Vincent's legs buckle. Hypnotic as it was, it almost fully robbed him of his senses.

He crashed back down onto that comfortable sofa inside his opulent gallery.

"A fascinating jaunt, darling," said Orinrya.

"And a convenient alibi," he replied, shooting another glance at Sir Dwyer's body.

They laughed at the dead philistine.

The blur continued, as Vincent did not recall how he had gotten from the Reaper's painting of Doctor Carnaby in the main hall—to his private parlor.

Slumped into a different sofa, he peered up at the gigantic portrait of himself.

The renowned painter Léon Choffard had spent months completing this masterpiece. A stylized depiction of Vincent's likeness. Though already statuesque in the flesh, Choffard's artistry had lent the portrait a special something that portrayed Vincent as even more attractive than humanly possible—which Vincent regularly and smirkingly attributed to their brief and romantic tryst.

"It truly captures your pleasant face," Orinrya said.

"Thank you, dear."

Silence.

A large clock tick-tocked away from the edge of the room, with everything around him swamped in shadows, two lanterns shedding just enough light that he could study the rendition of his own portrait.

"I wonder," he suddenly said. "What would happen if we entered that picture? Where would it take us?"

Silence.

Orinrya stayed silent.

"Hm, I like that answer. It is intriguing, love. So mysterious. You say so much by saying nothing, you know that?"

She laughed inside his head. A sweet and seductive laugh. He smiled in response.

"Will you ever tell me what you are? Or is that destined to be our perpetual dance?"

She laughed more.

"In due time," she said.

"Like getting our hands on that book."

"Yes, in due time, darling."

"And the woman."

"The scarred one?"

"No. Yes. Her too," he said. He bit his lip, clamped his eyes shut and sighed. "I meant the lady from the new world, that witch-doctor. And all the others in her company. That bandaged inquisitor—oh, how I would like to peel his bandages away and hear all his stories. It's brilliant how all these fascinating people—and things—are all coming together here, all at once."

"Yes. You feel it," Orinrya said.

"Feel what?"

"The quickening."

"What do you mean?"

"Something new being born. Old dreams that are dying, and a new world being birthed before our eyes," she breathed.

Vincent shuddered with a chill running down his spine.

"And what is this new world you speak? You must know. You know so much. I know you know," Vincent whispered, erupting into a crazed cackle over how silly he found his own words.

She smiled. He felt it. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled as a soft breeze swept through his parlor like a ghostly presence. Like soft fingertips that brushed against his lips, not his own. Or perhaps his own, just numbed from the excess of strong spirits only slowly wearing off.

"The real question, darling—what will you do when you bear witness to the reckoning? Will you hold the reins? Or will you pass them off to see what spectacle others may unfold?" Orinrya asked.

The corners of his lips twitched. Both he and she, they smiled simultaneously.

Not gracing her questions with any straight answer, he only returned more questions.

"Are you angel? Or devil?"

Silence.

"Good answer."

He laughed a hollow laugh, eventually mounting into a long and wistful sigh.

Vincent drifted off into a dreamless sleep. And he never yearned for such, as he lived his dreams in every waking moment.

A lingering thought that swam atop the sea of oblivion.

Sputtering awake, the lanterns were no longer lit. Daylight flooded through open doors into the parlor. He still rested in the sofa, sprawled out across it like his own likeness in the gigantic portrait towering over him.

The air was cold and had left him with a painfully stiff neck.

As he shuffled lazily across shiny marble floors, he surveyed the damage he had wrought the night before. The glass shards scattered across the gallery, and the dead body of Sir Dwyer, still left in his own pool of blood.

Work to do. A body to be rid of. A chief to blackmail. A new slew of rumors to seed.

The rich lord took a deep breath and sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck.

He smiled.

"Oh, the woes of pleasure before business," he reckoned.

They both laughed at the thought.

"But that book—"

"Will be ours."

"Its magick—"

"We will wield it," they sang together, dulcet syllables spilling from Vincent's lips.

"Or will you be wielding it, while I soar to incredible heights on your back?" he asked.

And there was silence.

—Submitted by Wratts

[wordsablaze]

hardest of hearts

A fix-it songfic inspired by a request for something post-mountain where Geralt feels guilty for hurting his bard and Jaskier struggles with low self-esteem...

A/N: @holisticfansstuff hey, i finally wrote this for your ask !! sorry it took a while and i’m not quite sure this is what you wanted but i hope it’s alright !! the song is hardest of hearts by florence + the machine x

-

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

And with that one sentence, Jaskier shatters.

And everything changes.

there is love in your body but you can’t hold it in

Meletite knows Jaskier has had enough practice picking up the broken pieces of himself, whether it’s literally pulling his skin back together after being too troublesome or reassembling the shards of his heart after someone carelessly, unknowingly damages it.

He’s broken and been broken countless times before and really, it should be nothing new to witness himself do so once more. Because Jaskier has always loved freely and deeply, but it had been different this time.

And yes, he’s long since lost track of how many windows he’s leaped out of before the sun has risen or how many hushed promises have turned into hazy tavern memories. But this time, it was Geralt.

It was his livelihood and his muse and his very reason for making it through winter, and it was different to any other love he’d nurtured - it was the only one he’d offered slowly and steadily, the only one that had been so sharply spat back at him.

Never has he struggled so much to even breathe right as he turns away.

it pours from your eyes and spills from your skin

Geralt is so, so fiercely angry that he forgets how to be guilty.

That is, until he sees Jaskier’s expression, because Jaskier should be angry or upset or amused but he’s simply a brave face, a faux smile, a testament to Geralt’s mistakes.

An excuse is made about collecting the rest of the story but they both know there’ll never be an accurate song sung about a dragon hunt. And if Jaskier’s expression isn’t enough, the bitter sorrow and sharp pain that radiates from him even after Geralt has turned around is evidence enough.

He’s messed up and he’s messed up horribly and he’s frozen in place as he hears Jaskier’s footsteps fade until they’re too far to follow.

Part of him hopes Jaskier will stay so things can go back to normal but by the time he remembers to move, the only trace left of him is a lingering floral scent that does nothing to fill the sudden void in Geralt’s world.

tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks

Jaskier walks until his feet hurt and then he carries on walking because that’s what he always does when his heart breaks. Only this time he’s certain the blisters on his feet will heal long before his heart does, if it ever does.

He’s no stranger to this sort of pain, he’s travelled a path paved with the disdain of people he’s loved, but Geralt’s blow seems to have hit the hardest of them all despite never truly touching him.

And worst of all, he doesn’t dare sing about it lest anyone get the wrong idea about witchers, for that would unravel decades of effort and he couldn’t bear to see their kind suffer just because it turns out he has a weak heart.

“Toss a coin to your witcher…” he sings, tempted to toss and lose the coin that’s been nestled in his pockets since Posada.

He’s a fool for keeping it, he knows he is, but he can’t bear to part with it, can’t bear to admit that he’s been cast aside by yet another love.

and the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts

It’s no secret that Geralt is a quiet person by nature.

He’s never pretended otherwise, which is why it was such a shock when Jaskier slots into his life as if he were born to do so.

Because Jaskier talks enough for the both of them and he becomes an expert in knowing what Geralt is feeling, even when he himself hasn’t figured it out. And Geralt hates it at first, hates the way Jaskier knows when he needs help with bargaining or when he just wants to get away from people and shelter in the forests.

He knows he doesn’t express his gratitude enough, he knows that Jaskier deserves someone who can match his love, who can hold his hand in broad daylight instead of curling up with him in the dead of night under the pretence of necessity.

It doesn’t bother Jaskier though, and all the bard asks for in return is tales of heroics and heartbreak for his songs - Geralt hates himself for so harshly providing the latter.

there is love in your body but you can’t get it out

Sometimes, just sometimes, Jaskier regrets building up his career on Geralt’s adventures.

He’d never imagined that they’d part ways - or rather, he’d let his guard down and forgotten to remember that most people leave him eventually - so he’s wholly unprepared for how much it hurts to sing about witchers when he’s no longer travelling with one.

But he does it anyway because he’s loved Geralt from the start and he doesn’t think he’s capable of ever not loving Geralt and he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.

So he keeps going.

On and on.

He travels as far as he can so that he can stay out of Geralt’s way, taking his broken heart with him and ignoring the way he feels like its shards are tearing into his insides a little more with each passing day.

it gets stuck in your head, won’t come out of your mouth

There is more than one town in which Geralt wants to murder a bard.

His bard - for that is what everyone knows Jaskier as - has created masterpieces and they are being butchered by men with far lesser voices, by men who don’t deserve to sing them in the first place.

And Geralt yearns to hear the original versions but it seems he is fated to hear Jaskier’s pain second-hand. He asks around, of course he does, for where to find Jaskier, but nobody knows what to tell him and he has never been good at bargaining for information.

He wishes he knew how to say more than please and thank you but Jaskier was his communication and without him, he can only really achieve the minimum required from him.

Regret pools in his gut every time Jaskier’s trail fizzles out.

sticks to your tongue and it shows on your face

Performance has always been Jaskier’s area of expertise but gods is it difficult to pretend he isn’t drowning in the love he was never meant to keep for himself.

He doesn’t know what to do with his compliments and his teasing and his fond exasperation because all of it was for Geralt and if Geralt doesn’t want it, doesn’t want him, he doesn’t know what to do with it, with himself.

He wastes some of his unwanted love on drunken adventures and always regrets it when he’s asked to stay and give up his travels or asked to leave and flee before a betrothed returns - both demands are knives that sink into his chest and add to the cracks in his heart.

It seems that nobody can truly understand what pleases him but he cannot fault them for he has forgotten how to be honest, whether it’s with others or himself.

Jaskier is tired of loving and hurting as if they are one and the same.

that the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste

“I care for you,” Geralt tells Ciri.

“I want you to be safe,” he adds sincerely.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, because he is.

But all he’s doing is repeating what Jaskier had done, what Jaskier had taught him, and the words sometimes refuse to leave his lips because even they know someone else should have had the right to hear them first.

And all Geralt can do is hope Ciri understands that he means well, he really does. She does, of course, because she is far smarter than she seems and because she too has learned from Jaskier - another fact that sends wave after wave of sour guilt through his mind.

With no way to cure it, his guilt only festers.

darling heart, i have loved you from the start

Jaskier was a mere infant the first time he was abandoned, not that he truly remembers the woman who had decided she didn’t want to take care of him anymore. He only knows because his parents had held it against him, as well as every other heart he failed to win over, right from the start.

Geralt hadn’t abandoned him, Jaskier reminds himself every time he feels anger rise inside of him, he was the one who had abandoned Geralt. And he feels terrible, especially after hearing about Cintra, about Nilfgaard, about everything.

A part of him firmly believes that Geralt is safe because he refuses to think that the love of his life could die without him feeling it, but a part of him is too scared to hold onto that faith.

“I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting…” he sings, because he is.

But only ever for his white wolf.

but you’ll never know what a fool i’ve been

Geralt takes Ciri to Kaer Morhen and feels sick when his brothers tell him how soldiers have been none too gently questioning any bards they come across.

He feels stupid when he realises that all this time, he’s been endangering Jaskier by not trying hard enough to find him, to make sure he’s okay, to apologise for his cruel words on the mountain.

And he feels even worse when he thinks of what little Jaskier has told him about his past, of how he had never spoken of his parents, of how his touch had lingered as if waiting for permission that he hadn’t thought to grant.

Oh, how ungrateful he had been of the first person to teach him the true meaning of emotions.

“You have to find him,” everyone says, and he can’t bring himself to argue.

there is love in our bodies and it holds us together

Funny how one can never be prepared for the sting of a whip, Jaskier thinks.

A brief flirt with fame had inflated his ego but no matter because bleeding out in a stone cell is the perfect way to remember that he is nothing and means nothing to anyone.

He lives, of course he does, but only because he hangs onto the possibility of once more meeting a golden gaze the same way he hangs from the ceiling and ruins his wrists, which is to say he does so every day.

And he’s okay with all the superficial agony inflicted upon him because although nobody learns anything from him, he learns from them that they’re still searching, that Geralt is safe, and that he has no true reason to be upset.

He doesn’t even care that there’s not a single person he can think of who would bother trying to save him.

but pulls us apart when we’re holding each other

Witchers cannot travel in time but Geralt so dearly wishes they could.

He doesn’t find Jaskier before snow starts to fall and travel becomes impossible.

He fails and it’s his fault that Jaskier is out there somewhere - possibly hurt, possibly dead, and possibly worse - when he is given warmth and love and everything his bard deserves more than him.

A deep chill settles into his very bones and although he is offered blankets, he knows it cannot be averted except by Jaskier’s touch. Oh, how he craves the warmth of sharing a bedroll and waking up at ungodly hours so Jaskier can learn about the constellations for his newest ballad.

He wants nothing more than to take back his words and keep Jaskier in his life, in his arms.

we all want something to hold in the night

A noble lineage meant that Jaskier was taught independence before anything else.

It meant he was always “a big boy who needs to stop wasting time” and “not a child anymore, for goodness sake” and “such a pathetic excuse of a noble, you should know better than that by now” but he was never truly loved.

And he never learned that he was meant to be loved, never learned that the affection he gave was supposed to be returned in equal.

So as Jaskier wobbles and stumbles through his escape, collapsing into the forest floor when his legs refuse to support his weight any longer, he just closes his eyes and pretends that he’s not in his own arms, that he’s in the arms of someone who cares enough to look for him.

But of course, he’s not.

And he wakes up alone.

Over and over again.

we don’t care if it hurts or we’re holding too tight

Geralt leaves at the first sight of spring.

He couldn’t possibly wait a day longer when he’s made Jaskier wait so long, even though he can’t be sure if Jaskier is even still waiting for him or if he’s moved on, which he had every right to do.

He forgets how to plan and finds that his resources run out before he’s crossed even two towns, but he makes do from under the cover of shadows and night because he couldn’t bear to give up, not on Jaskier.

With the bounty on his head, he finds himself fighting monsters just to survive rather than for coin. And with the bounty on his head, he finds himself having to treat his own injuries because he can’t ask a healer and he doesn’t have his best friend to help him.

Nothing hurts as much as Jaskier’s absence.

darling heart, i have loved you from the start

The only reason Jaskier survives past winter is because he heads to the coast.

He’s lucky that despite his reputation for trading secrets, he’s never traded all of his own. He’s always kept his love of the open water to himself and that’s the only reason he makes it there at all.

It still hurts to curl up inside his secret little coastal home though, because he’d spent so long imagining what it would be like to bring his- to bring Geralt with him. But he knows that can’t happen because Geralt had grown tired of him and wants nothing to do with him.

He doesn’t have a lot of food and he knows he should be concerned about that but he can’t bring himself to care because for the first time in over two decades, he doesn’t have anything - note, anyone - to live for.

but that’s no excuse for the state i’m in

It’s harder than it had seemed to travel without being seen.

Geralt knows how to hunt. He knows when to hide and when to begin travelling but for some reason, getting to Jaskier is far more difficult than any contract he’s ever taken.

He’s never been one for Destiny but he finds himself practically praying to her for a way to reach his- for a way to reach who he so dearly wants to make his again. His bard, his friend, his Jaskier.

Roach jerks to a halt every time he almost falls asleep whilst still on the saddle but he doesn’t learn from it, he can’t afford to when he so desperately needs to make amends, so desperately needs to figure out how much damage he’s caused and then fix it before he loses the best part of his life.

Desperation has never been his colour but then again, he's never cared for being fashionable.

my heart swells like a water at work

There’s a knock at the door but Jaskier doesn’t have the energy to move.

He stays where he is, huddled by a fire that’s long since run out of fuel to burn, and hopes that if it’s another mage, they kill him quickly this time. But it’s not.

“Jaskier, please!”

He blinks.

It can’t possibly be who he thinks it is, who he wants it to be, can it?

It can.

“Jaskier?” Quieter this time, as if he’s worried.

And then a crashing thud echoes, followed by his favourite set of footsteps and a hand on his shoulder.

He flinches without meaning to, not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. Geralt offers him a small smile and he promptly decides to do both.

can’t stop myself before it’s too late

“I’m sorry, Jaskier, I’m so sorry.”

It’s an apology long overdue, Geralt knows that, but he has to try, he can’t stop himself from trying, not this time, not when it comes to Jaskier.

And he looks so awfully small wrapped in blankets that Geralt can feel his heart clench. He feels even smaller when he melts into Geralt’s touch as if he’s never been granted the luxury of being held as he cries.

“I know,” Jaskier replies between sobs.

There’s so much more that Geralt needs to say but it’s a start and it’s more than enough because Jaskier is alive.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” Geralt says, not sure if he’s asking or demanding or begging. But it doesn’t really matter which because Jaskier agrees all the same and he’s just glad he has another chance.

hold on to your heart

Jaskier doesn’t want to get comfortable again.

Well, he does. More than anything. But he doesn’t want to risk the consequences again, he doesn’t think he can live through another heartbreak because there’s so little of his heart left intact and he’s scared to lose himself entirely.

So he goes to the school of the wolves and he gets help for his injuries - and scars, but he doesn’t want to think about that any time soon - but he can’t bring himself to relax, not entirely.

He’s sure they can smell his constant worrying and he feels awful for being such a pain but he doesn’t know what he’s meant to do and his fingers itch for a lute but he doesn’t want to annoy anyone by asking for one.

“I’m okay,” he promises, knowing that it’s a broken one even as it leaves his lips.

‘cause i’m coming to take you

It’s a month before Geralt clocks on to the problem and risks leaving, returning just before dawn with a lute that he places on the table beside Jaskier’s bed.

It’s another week before music fills the building.

It's two more everyone finds themselves humming or singing along every time they hear the lute being played. And another before Geralt finds Jaskier waiting for him where he usually trains, a hesitant smile on his face. “Thank you.”

Geralt nods. “It was the least I could do.”

Jaskier frowns, slowly shaking his head and shuffling his feet. “It’s far more than that. Music, it- it’s almost everything to me, I can't explain it...”

Geralt exhales softly. “But I can understand it because, Jaskier, you’re almost everything to me.”

hold on to your heart

A childhood filled with recklessly throwing around his heart meant that Jaskier became more careful with who he truly trusted over time.

Not careful enough, but still too careful to forgive and forget.

But Geralt is patient and kind and more affectionate than Jaskier has ever seen him and he can’t help falling in love all over again, not that he’d climbed out of it in the first place.

He wants to let go of the dragon hunt, he really does, but Geralt’s words still sting and they, along with his mother’s and father’s and countless fleeting lovers’, flash in his mind every time he thinks about surrendering his heart once again.

And he’s scared, he’s oh so scared that Geralt will get bored of him, sick of him, fed up with him again.

‘cause i’m coming to break you

Geralt waits until summer is waving goodbye before telling Jaskier.

He can feel Jaskier’s doubt rising, he can feel the way he’s not sure whether he’ll be invited to stay for winter or not - he will, of course, because he has become one of their own and it would be foolish if he wasn’t.

But when a week goes by without even the faintest echo of a lute, he and Ciri gather up the prettiest flowers they can find and after their evening meal, he offers them to Jaskier.

“I love you,” he admits softly.

Jaskier is still for all of a few seconds before he starts crying.

And Geralt’s whole body is telling him to run because he hates to see tears in his favourite blue eyes but he resists that urge and slowly, carefully wraps his arms around the bard instead.

“I think I’ve loved you for a long time, Jaskier, and I don’t think I could ever not.”

Jaskier doesn’t reply, but he falls asleep in Geralt’s embrace and finally lets his guard down, and that’s answer enough for anyone.

hold on

The war rages on but Jaskier finally finds peace.

Nothing about their life is particularly easy but he has never been more at ease because as much as Geralt had hurt him, he’d also helped him to heal far more than anybody else ever has.

“You have my heart,” he confesses one morning, after waking up to Geralt’s rare but increasingly more common smiles.

“You can keep it to yourself, your love is enough for me,” Geralt murmurs.

Jaskier blinks slowly, suddenly overcome with the urge to cry. He doesn’t, but he does curse softly. “When did you become so poetic, my dear witcher?”

Geralt chuckles, pulling him impossibly close and leaning right beside his ear to reply, “When you taught me how, my dear bard.”

It takes a matter of seconds for Jaskier to decide that he wants to get married.

hold on

Geralt says very little the day they lawfully commit to spending the rest of their lives together.

He says very little as Yennefer and Ciri craft their rings and loop them into matching chains. He says very little as Eskel and Lambert place their bets on who’s going to cry first - they’re both idiots, it’s obviously Jaskier - or who’s going to remain dry-eyed. And he says very little as Vesemir gives them his blessing.

But when they return to their room, Jaskier places his hands on either side of Geralt’s face and smiles softly. “Geralt, my love, will you tell me what’s wrong? You’ve barely said a word.”

And finally, Geralt cracks. “We vowed to stay with each other until we die, right?”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Of course, but I would have done that with or without the ceremony, you know that.”

“Witchers live for a long time, Jaskier. I-”

Jaskier places a finger on Geralt’s lips, grinning. “You beautiful fool of a witcher, do I look like the kind of bard that’s going to die any time soon?”

When Geralt really looks, it’s obvious that he doesn’t.

And so, with that one sentence, everything changes again.

For the better this time.

-

it's not particularly original, i know, but i really love this song and kind of let this write itself, and i have too many WIPs to have spent any longer trying to make this better :p hope it was okay anyway <3

-

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher sideblog: @itsjaskier

[skzluvs]

Phobia; Han jisung

Genre: angst, fluff (if you squint)

Warnings: mention of nightmares

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: Hi! I’m back from my hiatus with another angst fic inspired by the drama it’s okay to not be okay combined with a little bit of phobia I hope you guys like it!

The girl who fed on nightmares

there was a girl who woke up every night by the nightmares, demons that haunted her dreams. She was twisted inside, held back by the painful memories of her past.

panting breath, irregular heartbeat, a cold sweat dripping from her forehand. she opened her eyes to meet with the darkness of her room. Terror washed over her. frightened.

"it's just another nightmare" she said trying to calm down the thoughts that were messing up her already deranged head.

a familiar setup, you might think she grew accustomed to the feeling after the third night but that's was not true the lingering feeling of numbness grew by the time she realized there was no escape from the chains that still cuffed her up.

the morning came earlier, with very few hours of sleep, she got up and got ready for work. the days turned into a monotone.

she arrived to bookstore, pure silence made her mind feel content. A moment of peace in the torrential rain.

"excuse me" a soft voice called her, almost as quiet as a whisper that's being shared between lovers.

she looked up to meet with a boy, with black hair and a mischievous smile, he looked cheerful with an undeniable strong aura that surrounded his slender figure, definitely not the type you would see in a library at 8am in the morning.

"yes" she replied politely to the boy who carried a handful on books on his arms.

"i want to check all of these out please" he placed the books on the counter.

As she took a look at the pile, she got intrigued by the peculiar selection.

children books.

but not the kind that you read to a child unless you want them to have nightmares, and she knew damn well about that.

"you like this gruesome stuff ?" she was never the kind to question other people's interests but for some strange motive she wanted to know.

" it's a children's book how can you call this masterpiece gruesome" the boy seemed rather offended by her words.

" the pictures make me want to cry my eyes out and I'm an adult, there's no way this book was targeted for such audience" she said

" it seems like you know nothing about this books not the author , therefore I won't be engaging in a discussion, you can continue to be ignorant later just let me borrow them so I can go" he said annoyed, taping with his finger on top of the dusty cover.

The girl refused to give out response and rather continued to do her job. she sure didn't get paid enough for that.

"here" she said handing him the books along with the returning slip. "you have 2 weeks to return them unless you want more time come before the deadline to extend the borrowing period"

"thank you" he left not sparing to look at her for the last time before exiting through the door.

the browned eyed boy who just happened to be named han jisung, she found out his name through his library card. Was all she could think about, not because she was interested, but because of the of his actions. Usually she evaded social situations, she found people not worth of her time, but there was something about that boy that made her wanted to crush him like a fragile butterfly with broken wings.

another meaningless night, it was tiring to get emptied out like that. Every time she closed her fears shaped into a reality. she was stuck with the phobia.

days passed by, a body that walks through the streets without a soul. There was nothing she wanted nothing she desired more but to fall asleep. So she lived her life longing for that moment.

going through the bookshelves placing them correctly by alphabetical order. A pair of eyes stuck to the back of her head.

a boy who watched her carefully from the other side of the room, and he probably thought he was being precautious, but she knew she was being observed.

Jisung. Who came everyday just to sit as far back from the main entrance as possible, hiding in a corner reading the books he so much loved. After the first encounter with the girl he could no longer sleep the same way. His thoughts circled around her small frame and the sound of her broken voice.

there was this thing about her, he called it despondency and he was drowned right into it. like the tales had taken over a human form.

by the end of the two weeks he stood there fidgeting, over the course of the last couple of days his little instigating got him nowhere. She repeated a daily routine, there was nothing to analyze in her vague movements and worn out expressions. However he knew she hides more than the human eye can perceive behind that weary facade.

The moment she clocked out he followed her outside.

"why are you following me" the girl stopped her tracks and made a spin over her ankles, just to meet with him.

"I needed to ask you something" He said rather shy. all the courage he build up over the weeks disappearing at the strong gaze that confronted him.

"I'm not obligated to respond, do me a favor and get lost" She turned around and continued to walk.

It was an expected reply exactly what made jisung decide it was better to come up with a different plan.

every day he would put a book of his collection on top of her desk hoping she would get interested enough to read it.

but instead she would just eye the cover and place it back to its shelf.

Not until one day she meet to something different, the book had a folded edge, opening the page carefully, her fingers ghosting over the words printed on the glossy paper.

"bad memories from the past that he wanted to erase from his head"

"were replayed in his dreams every night"

"and haunted him nonstop"

"the boy was terrified of falling asleep"

a creeping feeling went down her spine, and her trembling hands made the book fall. Her own monsters greeted her with a grin. Collapsing with the wooden floor.

jisung got petrified by the loud sound. He hurried his way to find the girl unconscious on the ground. it was all his fault.

a disturbing sound came from her mouth. She woke up in an oddly unfamiliar house. Her body covered by a thin blanket, the walls were closing like the screams that got caught up in her throat.

jisung who was downstairs making dinner ran through the stairs and opened the door alarmed at the high pitched noises.

"Are you okay?" He exclaimed trying to recover his breath.

"what am I doing here? where am i ?" she asked not trying to panic even more. She felt so dizzy the room kept on spinning.

"you're at my house, you passed out at the library" He said scratching the nape of his neck with guiltiness.

"I remember now, this was your deed, you and your stupid nauseating books" by the looks of it she had been gone for a while. Not to mention the longer she was in a slumber the longer the suffering.

"not my fault you got scared by a book for 5 year olds" He said shrugging, with an unprovoked expression.

"And you dared to call me an ignorant" she deadpanned.

"Do you fear anything?" He asked out of the blue.

what is the real meaning behind fear?. Fear is tangible. Is the anxiety, the desperation to run away and hide forever where they can't find you, it means to want to stab your eyes with a safety pin to blind the pain. Is the captivity of oneself.

"You're scared of yourself aren't you?" it no longer sounded like a question but more like an affirmation.

he had figured you out in no time. You couldn't let them see the vulnerable side, not to anyone and most definitely not this stranger.

"You said it yourself you know nothing so leave alone before it's too late" She threatened.

"Anyways I'm sorry for being so persistent, never intended to make you feel uncomfortable, I'll be downstairs if you need me, dinner is ready if you want to come and have something to eat before you leave" He knew it was better not to push it if he wanted answers.

But why was he so desperate to understand the world inside her head ?

Jisung felt the loneliness of her being. He came up to the conclusion that he wanted to be the person who brought the girl back to life.

After some time he grew a step closer to her, not to the point she would stop pushing him away but at least his efforts had made a very insignificant change.

She would let him read the books to her once in a while, she fed into the words, relating to every single one of them. But things were still the same at night, she would break down to the horrifying sight.

"Jisung why are you still here ?" she asked him unable to understand why the boy remained by her side even when she treated him like a piece of trash.

"Because im trapped under your spell" he confessed.

"You’re e going to end up in so much pain" she said looking into his eyes.

"You can't go to heaven before crossing the flames of hell" He responded with certainty. “ and If I have to burn I rather do it while still holding you”

"Would you still like me if you knew the kind of monster I am, not the one you read in books but the kind that hides behind a mask and transforms at night"

" I would still like you if you were the devil himself"

" The devil wont tear your soul apart like I would trust me" She knew she would drive him into despair. But she had warned him multiple times, from here she no longer take accountability, he would meet fear. She would make sure of that.

I'm stuck with the phobia although I want to stay with you I'm scared that you might disappear in between the shadows. How can I hold you when I was made to destroy you.

there was a girl whose world was a pitch black hole and her insides were dark and twisted, and a boy who fell in love with her repulsiveness swore to never leave her, but her darkness overshadowed the fugacious happiness of a spur moment and the voices in her head claimed that she was all alone. but the boy sang to her a lullaby that lulled her into a deep sleep and for the first time in forever there were no painful memories in her dreams.

She was the girl who fed on nightmares. The one he once read about and the one he was now holding on his arms.

[adultswim2021]

Space Ghost Coast to Coast #85: “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed” | December 7, 2003 - 11:30 PM | S08E04

Happy 20th anniversary, Adult Swim. And, boy, what a momentous episode of Ghost do we have here to celebrate. There are a number of episodes where the guest is an event unto itself and this is truly one of them. Frequent punchline William Shatner is an absolute cunt... and a proper legend. His cuntiness and legendary status are two things that seem to be at odds with one another, and the Space Ghost crew have managed to come up with an artfully idiosyncratic episode to match Shatner’s weird-guy-ness. It’s a classic for sure, and important. But (making a “smug dipshit” face) is it funny?

YES! It’s FUNNY! I will admit though, the first time I saw this episode I didn’t quite know what to make of it. This is partially because I’m very much a Star Trek agnostic. I’ve never been into Star Trek. In the last few years I’ve watched most of the pre-Next Gen motion pictures for inane list-making reasons, and I enjoyed them to varying degrees, but Star Trek is truly not for me. I’m more of a... well, I’m not a Star Wars guy either. What’s the other one? Uh... Spaceballs. That’s it. I’m more of a Spaceballs guy.

But I feel like I’ve absorbed a lot of Star Trek lore through cultural osmosis. I vaguely understand that William Shatner has had some deliberately-paced choreographed fight scene on those rocks from Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey. When I hear music similar to the the music that Jim Carrey hums in The Cable Guy, I’m pretty sure whatever it is I’m watching is doing a Star Trek thing. And yes, I’ve watched every single Red Letter Media “Mike and Rich talk about Star Trek for 4 hours” video. But even today, after having picked up more Star Trek knowledge on my journey to the grave, I still have this nagging feeling of “I only sort of get this”.

Still, this episode has a handful of screamingly funny lines, and the episode ends wonderfully, with Space Ghost in his death throes, suffering the ultimate indignity of dying in front of William Shatner. There’s also the part where Zorak asks why everyone in Star Trek is black, and a part where Moltar nervously reads from his fan fiction (from a book labeled TARD WARS, hahaha). Shatner, who has a reputation for being arrogant and difficult, is as good a sport as one could hope. The show makes good use of his hammier moments, and only shits on him slightly in the process. The most notable moment is when Shatner says to Zorak “didn't you and I fight to the death?” to which Zorak replies “That sounds pretty dumb, man”. I’ve actually quoted this line many times. It’s one of the best.

Also, for those of you who like to track these things: the show features callbacks to other episodes and shows; the handimen at Zorak’s apartment are clearly extras from Sealab 2020/2021, one of the Leprechauns from Aqua Teen Hunger Force shows up, and there’s a poignant callback to classic Space Ghost episode “Banjo”. 

The title motif of this season is naming the episodes after Allman Brothers songs, and I always wondered about this one. Maybe I’m reaching, and it’s probably too disrespectful to be true, but I always thought that it was somehow a veiled reference to Shatner’s wife, whom he supposedly killed or let die. It’s simply too dark to be true, but it’s the first thought that immediately jumped to my mind when I first heard the title of this episode. Am I stupid for thinking this? Am I stupid because it OBVIOUSLY is a reference to that?? I simply do not know. I would like to know.

MAIL BAG

The big anniversary is upon us. What are your 20 favorite things about adult swim for 20 years going. Don't sleep on this question!

I gotta do SOMETHING special, so I might as well do this. More thought could have gone into this, but I spent about an hour trying to come up with episodes or moments from 20 different shows and putting them in rough chronological order. I limited myself to one episode/scene/moment/joke/whatever per show so it’s not all Space Ghost jokes. So, here we go:

Sealab 2021: “I, Robot”. Adult Swim proved it could be brilliant right out of the gate with the stealth premiere of “I, Robot”, but for Sealab it’s all downhill from here. (2000)

Space Ghost Coast to Coast: Space Ghost stops in his tracks to reminisce about the time Bobcat Goldthwait said "crack a window". The entire episode “Kentucky Nightmare” is brilliant, but this moment in particular so uniquely captures my sense of humor that it’s inexplicable. The dumb look on Space Ghost’s face when he stops in his tracks. Goddamn. (2001)

Aqua Teen Hunger Force: “Mayhem of the Mooninites” I tried very hard to make this all be individual jokes or scenes or whatever, but this is another episode where the entire thing is just line after line and I can’t really pick. This, “I Robot”, and “Kentucky Nightmare” is like a perfect trio illustrating how good Adult Swim really was right out of the gate. (2001)

Home Movies: Jason casually reveals that his parents have no idea who Brendon and Melissa are and that he spends most of his free-time making movies with them. This is the episode “Storm Warning” which is overall one of the best episodes of Home Movies, but this scene is probably my favorite. Illustrates how simple and hilarious the comedy is on this show. (2002)

Tom Goes to the Mayor: the end scene in “Undercover”, where they’ve shoddily reversed Tom’s various unnecessary surgeries and called him “Taumpy Tears” to boot. Positively sublime. (2006)

Metalocalypse: Dr. Rockso’s music video. From the episode “Dethclown”. I was never in love with this show as much as the true fans were, but there were a handful of incredible episodes. This episode basically tells one joke over and over and it’s very funny. It really ends with a bang showcasing Dr. Rockso’s shitty music video that celebrates cocaine use. His singing voice is hilarious. (2006)

Assy McGee: I am the only person in the world that defends Assy McGee as being “actually pretty good” and it’s all entirely due to this one line: Assy McGee (a pair of naked buttocks with legs, whose ass functions as his head) is forced to attend a black tie event and is just milling around wearing nothing but a black bow tie. Through clenched anus he delivers the line “I can barely breathe in this penguin suit”. The whole show is worth it for that joke. I don’t even know what episode it is except that it’s from one of the first few. I might not even have the line exactly right. But, I remember laughing so hard. I may not have laughed at Assy McGee again. (2006)

Saul of the Mole Men: The opening theme song. And nothing else. (2007)

Tim & Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!: Jim and Derrick. I should pick something more user-friendly maybe, since this episode almost entirely relies on being familiar with Tim & Eric’s previous episodes. But goddamn, this episode is such a funny concept (which is basically Tim & Eric doing an alternate MTV-ified version of Awesome Show) (2008)

Moral Orel: “Numb”. When Moral Orel suddenly stopped being a quirky Adult Swim comedy and suddenly started doing episodes that resembled art films. This episode is a fucking masterpiece. I remember sobbing the first time I saw it. There are a few in season 3 that are like that, but this one is my favorite. (2008)

Check it Out! with Dr. Steve Brule: Terry Bruge-Hiplo reviews “Dumpster’s Children”. Another bit of comedy that I’d describe as “inexplicable” and “sublime”, and it all hinges on an old man’s mouth. Holy fuck. I don’t think I’ve laughed harder than this at a TV show since. (2010)

Delocated: The ending of “Mole”, an extended Face/Off riff where Jon goes undercover as the scary mobster Sergei. In the final moments of the episode he marries a woman, fathers multiple children with her, and only then is pulled out of the mission. The episode is a tour-de-force of comic acting by Steve Cirbus, who is graciously allowed to shine for most of the episode. But man, that ending is fucking wonderful. (2010)

Venture Bros.: The ending of “Operation P.R.O.M.” a flurry of emotions hit me when “Like a Friend” by Pulp starts playing. The scene is so well done and weirdly touching. Brock realizes that deep down he gives a shit about the Venture family and is genuinely terrified something might happen to them. And then he gets to slaughter a bunch of Zorak monsters, which is also weirdly sweet. It’s even touching on a meta-level knowing that Jackson and Doc tried many times and failed to include licensed music in the show. I love Venture Bros, but I think we’d all be better off if this were the series finale. Sorry. I had to say it. (2010)

The Heart She Holler: The first scene with Patton being taught the way of the world posthumously by his father on a VHS tape. The first season of this show is amazing, but that scene, especially where Patton does a little Japanese bow and says “oh, hot dog!” is just hysterical. Literally every time a hot dog comes up in conversation my wife and I quote it. Please, do not scorn her, it’s not racist when SHE does it. (2011)

Eagleheart: The All That Jazz inspired finale. “Paradise Rising” is mostly a masterpiece, and how it ends is so fucking incredible. Easily the most under-rated show on Adult Swim and I’m not just saying that because... you know (mimes dick-sucking) (2014)

Rick and Morty: I watched the first two episodes of Rick and Morty, thought it was good, but for some reason didn’t become a devotee until my wife made me watch the Mr. Poopybutthole episode. It’s still my favorite episode, I think. (2015)

Brett Gelman’s Dinner in America: The “Dinner with” specials are all really good, but goddamn, this one hits. Should be shown in schools. I am going to go to every grade school in my county with an AR-15 (to get past the guards, of course) and I won’t leave until they call an assembly and they let me fumble around trying to find it on vimeo and play it for the students. (2016)

The Eric Andre Show: Eric interviews Steve Schirripa. The bit where he has an intern dip his balls in Steve’s spaghetti sauce is hilarious, naturally, but I’m here to showcase the running gag where every time Steve complains how hot the studio is, Eric just wordlessly hands him an ice cube until Steve explodes. It’s one of the most childishly hilarious things I’ve ever seen. It’s perfect. (2016)

Million Dollar Extreme Presents: World Peace: The Pick-Up artist sketch. I’m mostly unimpressed with MDE, and all but a few Sam Hyde bits leave me cold. But this sketch is a crowning achievement. I mean, I think these guys suck politically and are more mean than funny, but their sensibilities yielded one really incredible piece of comedy. Okay, I laughed at the blackface sketch too. There. You dragged it out of me. (2016) Joe Pera Talks With You: This show is beautiful and I love every episode. But the episode “Joe Pera Reads You The Church Announcements” Wherein Joe discovers a new-to-him song and can’t stop listening to it, is one of the most joyous episodes of television I’ve ever seen. A gateway episode. I tell everyone to please watch this one first. (2018)

[kaikaikitanmp3]

Excuse me while I toss a bunch of questions at you. I am all here for the rants.

How would you end BSD?

Would you change the ending of Death Note?

Unpopular opinion about Alois Trancy?

Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?

hey bestie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

how dare you apologize for that >:( you know you’re my favourite ranter too!!

How would you end BSD?

lmao no idea. at this point it’s really hard to tell who’s gonna die and who’s not, i think the only person i know for sure will stay alive no matter what is atsushi (wack). i’d like to see fyozai ending each other though, it would be one of the most epic things ever, idk, i would not be at peace if one of them stays alive while the other has to perish. i also don’t quite see them both well and alive at the end of the whole thing. i’d like to see fukuchi destroyed, i want to see fedya laughing at his face and telling him he’s been used like any other person, it would satisfying yea. you know, it’s really hard to try and think “in-canon”, because my thoughts are clearly kind of different from asagiri’s, but yeah. imagine fyozai world domination though:):))):)))))):):)) jk jk (no)

idk i think we’ve talked about fyodor maybe not quite becoming a good man (god forbid) but perhaps landing a helping hand and getting to assist the ada buuut… i can’t say i imagine anyone or anything worse than him haha so idk what they would all fight against, unless it’s like…the apocalypse or something, with mighty gods and apostles involved, but i don’t think it would be quite in genre anyway. so yes, him and dazai destroying each other so the ada, the pm and the rest stay safe and stuff. being a martyr and being suicidal is the same thing, from one point of view, in the end. oh idk why but i really would like to see sigma finding his own purpose in life, i feel so bad for him. actually, no, i want everyone to be happy and safe and in therapy, but no, that would be quite an abominable decision. all that for a happy ending?? no, thank you. i would like to experience a lot of deaths and sacrifices. i think Q will die btw. i’m gonna cry like a baby, but that kid…and i mean it sincerely, but that kid gives off the strongest suicidal vibe, seriously. love them always forever.

oh well, what a mess of an answer. anyway, i don’t think i can answer that properly, i’m very biased bc i’ve read a shit ton of fanfics that were masterpieces, but i think youll understand me anyways. and how would you?? thoughts?? opinions??? please?????

Would you change the ending of Death Note?

no, never. i mean i hate light and i’m glad he’s dead, why would i. L’s death?? heartbreaking, but…no, let’s be real, it was good. it was excellent. it left light lost, confused and lonely, so fuck that little bitch and fuck his god complex.

i feel very sorry for misa, i don’t know if i would change the way she had to end, but that makes a lot of sense, too. no rem, no light, nothing but her shinigami eyes and most horrible memories. maybe it was for the best too, i wouldn’t want her to suffer any more than she already did.

god i WANT to say i’d change mello’s death, but it was top tier writing, too. a stupid death for a stupidly gorgeous boy, and in the end, it all went just like L had wanted: on their own, neither near nor mello couldve defeated light, but together…they could. and they did. mello knew exactly what was doing and what he signed up for, he knew he’d have to go after leaving takada like that, let’s not forget that he was one of the smartest people ever, just like L and near, and knowing this all…brings me peace, yea.

i have a lot of feelings towards ryuk too, i mean, if you look at that, he’s always been an outcast in the world of shinigamis, and the way he sat the after light’s death……he looked quite sad haha. now i’m not saying that he was attached to light, i don’t think light would be capable of awaking anything like that in someone like ryuk, he was not that kind of a person, not like misa; but i’d like to maybe see ryuk finding someone else to watch and to be amused by, he was quite lovable as a character. and to be compleeetely honest with you, i’ve alwYs been wondering about the whole shinigami situation in general, i mean yeah, they’re gods of death, but they looked quite pathetic in their realm. i wouldn’t be opposed to seeing how their story would progress, i remember thinking about it after my first death note rewatch… idk

would you??

Unpopular opinion about Alois Trancy?

alois📣did📣nothing📣wrong

my little meow meow🥺🥺

idk maybe he wasn’t one of the best written characters in the show, but he sure was one of the most interesting ones. you know how fascinated i am by him, you do. he didn’t deserve all that, fuck claude and his fake ass, hope he, uh…burns in hell?? for eternity?? idk i just hope he suffers a lot wherever he is

Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?

no, never. it would be a nice experience, but so far it’s been the other way around, there were so many ships i didn’t mind or kind of enjoyed before they got spoiled for me by, ah…unpleasant ppl

although… a few times i found myself starting to like a ship i used to be indifferent/didn’t know about after learning that ppl i didn’t like hated it. the enemy of my enemy, as they say..

[ssvgawara]

Haikyuu characters as things said in the hhcu

a/n: this is pure humor and just something fun, the hhcu is wild and says stupid shit more than once a day so i complied a ridiculously long list of quotes and put them together in this list to share with yall so please enjoy, read more because again this is so long also pt 2. some of these r pretty nsfw so uh yeah <3

Oikawa: When he gives up his torso 😍 

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Nishinoya: Fisherman daddy

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Bokuto: I trust no condiments

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Osamu: YELLOW BAD OIKAWA IS NOT ALLOWED IN MY KITCHEN

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Tendou: Give ass in shiratorizawa?

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Atsumu: Garlic air freshener

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Nishinoya talking about his sex life: ITS THE GOOD OL FASHIONED POW POW GRUNT GRUNT WINDOW WASHER ULTIMATE FRISBEE DICK CONNECTOR 

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Hinata: thank you!! also my oven melted??? and caught on fire 😰 

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Yaku probably thinking abt kuroo while saying this: not gonna front im terrified of the live action grinch and if i ever see him its on sight

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Kageyama: Except that one mustard faze I had

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Lev after yaku kicks him yet again: NO INCH ACTIVE INCH VERY ACTIVE

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Suga after Kiyoko holds his hands: premarital eye contact is already a sin

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Iwaizumi realizing Oikawa probably wouldn’t know the difference between hawaiian rolls and milk bread: when he says hit it till it breaks, he means the packaging of hawaiin rolls

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All of Seijoh to Oikawa: You know whats really sexy? Self care.

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Hoshihumi: like a three year old. still baby but also evil at times🤡 

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Oikawa right before his death: "MORNING HAJI!~" slaps tiddie

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 Anyone falling on love with haikyuu boys: hey a good reverse harem never hurt anyone

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Idk who says it but terushima would do this: places his hand to my heart but then hes like heh heh boob squishy

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Tendou: centrepical force saved my bag of chocolate!!

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Lev thinking it was a literary masterpiece: *reads about a fourth of the bee movie*

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Hinata making fun of Kageyama: milk is better than the feeling of the ball touching your fingertips during a perfect set

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Hinata and Kageyama failing tests: thats just the dumbass in me babey!!!

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Atsumu simply trying to annoy Osamu: Are y’all meaning to tell me you DON’T take your raw chicken on walks through the city?

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Yahaba: PUSSY ALWAYS LEAVES

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Mattsun just to annoy everyone: yall ever think about how in the 50s and 60s they just put raw hotdogs or shrimp into jello and ate that shit and enjoyed it???

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Suga: i am now crying and my boyfriend is concerned and i can’t tell him that I’ve lost my husband and children

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Kenma; Smh my head

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Bokuto: Sorry not all of us can have double decker extra stuffed bottoms up extra large super sized t n a like me🥰🥰💅💅

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Everyone to bokuto: titty enthusiast ✨✨

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Me to kuroo: sorry babe youre a scorpio you dont have any rights anymore

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Tendou: i accidentally lit a  baby on fire

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Atsumu: This feels real human centipede

Bokuto: theyre not ass to mouth

Atsumu: Close enough

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Bokuto when a minor inconvience happens: Why are we still here? Just to suffer? Every day, I wake up....

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Sakusa: Remove your lips from my penis

Atsumu: I use a gluestick as chapstick i cant

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Goshiki: Arson or boot in my book, set fire to something live a little

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Tsukishima: I don’t like recieving pain. It hurts

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Kenma annoyed w kuroo: Put your dick in the fucking catfish’s pussy then

Kuroo being annoying: How deep is catfish pussy

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Makki to Mattsun: Ayo babe what if we fucked on the catfish tank

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Kiyoko tiredly, to Tanaka: I’m not putting salt and pepper on my pussy lips

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Saeko: I’ve got that Deep dish, super soaker, wet, succulent dripping honey suckle like sweet marinated mooseknuckle, extra thick, slip n slide, water park, waterbender, extra ribbed, the seven seas, gorilla grip, flex tape, primordial soup Dwayne the Rock Johnson, Cardi B, Megan Thee Stallion pussy

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Atsumu not really knowing what cooch means: I got the body builder cooch

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Oikawa after not sleeping to train, extremely sleep deprived: youre got unending

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Goshiki; Commit arson

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Akaashi: I leave for 10 minutes and Bokuto is 240v (mouth edition) fuckmaster pro 4000 with semen drip collection tray, automated self-lubricating 6 speed pulsating pussy and built in Polycrystalline floatable silicon

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Oikawa; I’m coming to murk your ass xoxo

Iwa: I will literally shiv you bitch

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Kindaichi: ✨ bob duncan exterminates you asmr✨

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Makki: I’ll try to find my favorite about Jacob sartorius vampire babies with Hillary Clinton

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Kenma after playing some obscure video game: also i can’t sleep😔 too busy thinking about human sized bats

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ME fuck yall im carpetting my bathroom: you already put rugs in the bathroom might as well carpet that bitch

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

Kuroo talking abt something sciency idk: LIKE A BODY WIG

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Seijoh when iwa throws balls at oikawa: spousal abuse right in front of my salad

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Hinata making up some new stupid song: Ants on a log ants on a log

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Atsumu to piss off Osamu once more: world f amous allegra chicken

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Semi: Gay little Ushijima’s left hand

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Bokuto: Are you disagreeing with the fact that I am thicc as phuck

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Kiyoko: Guys is it uh... is it possible to sprain a titty cause.... Uh....

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Terushima: He laughed at the end of his own joke what a fuckin chad

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Bokuto: IS THAT THE DOG FROM ZOOTOOIA

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Kageyama: milk is kinda like organ paint huh

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Nishinoya: i don’t think socks taste good

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Tendou: out of your mummy, into my tummy

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Hinata; shout out to me who thought chickens had four legs until last summer

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Oikawa Hanger: I WANNA HANG MY CLOTHES ON HIM 

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Kenma: What a little pissbaby

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Yamaguchi: i am literally so curious about what it's like to kiss a boy that it's almost killing me

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Daichi about Suga: he may be cute, but istg there’s some kind of raging devil trapped in him

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Saeko: fuck society my titties are out

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Hinata after getting lecture by everyone for sneaking into the training camp: GOOD NEWS MY DAD IS NOT GOING TO PUT ME IN THE OVEN

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Just me thinking abt any first years: children. toddlers. Tikes.

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Me waiting for the fever: When is malaria?

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Uhhhhh probably tendou his vibes: Ill electrocute his cock

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Akaashi just go w it probably about bokuto: Why is he shoving cheese up the pussy

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Osamu tiredly: Ooey gooey cheesy chicken vagaina

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Nishinoya trying to catch a very large fish: Dom the Crab

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Bonus crabagraph: The crabs death reverberated and struck fear into the hearts of all crabs in existence because of this one 60+ year old mans volatile universe-crunching swing. Dude defied the laws of gravity by simply getting pinched by the crab. Man just reinvented the laws of physics and all of science due to the sheer force of will and untapped wellsprings if potential unleashed by the crab. If aliens show up it’s because the supersonic radio waves released by the banging of the crab against the cabinet are the first ever created in the universe. Man could cause a ripple in space-time with his crab launching abilities. Guy probably opened a gateway into another universe when he launched the crab. You see how the cabinet door opened and stayed open? It’s because this elder tore a hole through the fabric of reality to the Other Side simply because he experienced a minor bit of pain. The way he released a defeated roar of agony. The ancient gods awoke from their deep slumber and this old man single-handedly revived all his ancestors. New wars are about to start because of the way this man broke the barriers containing this reality into one fixed area. This universe is now expanding at such a rapid rate the the geosphere will now be reshaped. This man probably unknowingly blasted a hole in the other side of the planet because the shockwaves of the aggressive rippling effect of this poor crustacean slamming at lightning speed into a small wooden frame. The crabs insides were probably fused into the shell because this man’s angry, rage filled, pain filled battering ram of an arm throwing him through every known dimension and re-arriving in this one at the mere moment to experience the most pain a crab ever has or will in the rest of the existence of crabs. This elderly man probably has phased through and broken every human limiter known to man just because he got a minor pinch by a crab. He probably is bio-medically fused with crab DNA at this point. A legend.

[paodequeijofeliz-blog]

Let me tell you a good story

Bloodbound Fanfiction (characters and main story belongs to Pixelberry Studios).

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed and MC (Annie)

Information:  this takes place after Bloodbound 3, here I’m recreating how Kamilah and MC would meet if she had never gone to Raines Corporation right away.

Summary: Thirty years after meeting Annie for the first time, Kamilah is now a wife and a mother. During a regular family dinner, she decides to tell her daughter and their new son-in-law the story of how she fell in love with Annie after an unusual meeting through the hallways of NYU.

Warnings: none.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

Let me tell you a good story - Part 4

March 2nd, 2048.

           “Do not laugh”. – Anna pointed a finger at Drake. – “I was still confused.”

           “Not laughing, I swear. It is completely reasonable that you thought she worked for Ms. Sayeed.” He nervously took a long gulp of soda.

           Kamilah was taping her fingers on the table, a sweet melody playing in her head. Nothing could disturb her peaceful life anymore. She was sitting by a beautiful wife, someone who still held her heart. In front of them, there was the most intelligent and sweet child in the world, named after Kamilah’s brother Lysimachus. Even Drake, the goofy human, was a delight company. He was the perfect balance for Lysia’s seriousness.

           “Are you ok?” Annie’s touch woke her up.

           “I’m perfect. Why don’t you go fetch the dessert while I continue for a while? I left a surprise for you in the microwave.”

           Anna jumped into the kitchen with impressionable speed. If there was one thing she loved, that was Kamilah’s volcano chocolate cake, a masterpiece perfected over years and years of repeatedly baking it.

           “Child.” Both Lysia and Kamilah said at the same time when they saw Annie’s reaction.

           “You know, it creeps me out when you two do that.” Drake scratched his arm, having goosebumps.

           “You should see when they fight!!” Anna yelled from the kitchen. “It’s like watching a couple of clones!”

           They were interrupted by someone opening the door. The flash of a sparkle on Lysia’s face told Kamilah who the person was faster than anything else. The human girl opened the biggest smile she could, but remained sat on the chair, not even losing her posture.

           “Uncle Adrian!”

           “Hi, sweetie. I’m sorry to be late, there was an emergency to solve.” He placed a soft kiss on Lysia’s forehead before shaking Drake’s hands and smiling at Kamilah. “Am I interrupting?”

           “Not at all. We were talking about the past. Actually, little brother, you arrived at the perfect moment. Now you can help me remember this part of the story.”

           “Which story?”

           “Ti storu uf ru we fil in luv.” Anna came back carrying the cake, a big piece of it already missing. Her face had chocolate all over the mouth, nose, and chin.

           Kamilah sighed. At this point, there was no need for translation anymore. Adrian only laughed and carried on. “The story of how you two fell in love? Oh, boy. Rough times. You think Kamilah is a tense person? Should’ve seen her realizing her feelings for Annie. I thought New York wouldn’t survive it.”

           “Adrian, why don’t you continue for us? We were just getting to the part you entered the story.” The vampire queen said over the table while cleaning Annie’s face with a napkin. “And you, behave. The last time you ate so much chocolate, you cried for the entire night with a stomach-ache.”

           “Yu crid the whole niti withy stumachache, bla bla bla” she mocked her wife, taking another big bite of dessert. Kamilah solemnly ignored this part.  

           “Ok, ok. Let’s see… So, after that dinner and the job proposition, Kamilah wanted to either kill or kiss Annie, it was still unclear.”

           “Hmm, both.” Answered Kamilah, watching her wife out of the corner of the eye.

 August 29th, 2018

           The sky was already dark.

           The sky is always dark when Kamilah is looking through the window. The same old dark sky she had seen for years. But, tonight, something feels different. The sight that usually calms her down, the peaceful shade of black marked by the city lights, it was suddenly not enough. There was an irritation growing inside her chest, heavy and dangerous like a bomb ready to explode. The reason of it was worse than the feeling itself. She had felt anger many times before, with better motives. Right now, Kamilah knew deep down it was stupid to be so bothered by something that small. Finally, not being able to stand her own company anymore, her fingers called the same number it always does at moments like this.

           “Hey.” Adrian’s voice surged on the other side of the line.

           “Why hasn’t she given us an answer yet?”

           “What? Who?”

           Kamilah sighed. She was so tired. Angry. Frustrated. “Why hasn’t that mewling tiny stupid woman answered our business proposal? It has been a week, Adrian. There’s a limit for my patience. I don’t have time for this.”

           “Hm, you’re mad.” He just acknowledged it, his voice a little surprised. “I didn’t know this matter to be so urgent. In fact, I remember vividly that you were the one saying not to rush things when I suggested hiring a historian. She must have given you quite the impression to make you so eager to close the deal.”

           She snorted, and Adrian was sure her eyes rolled as well. “It’s not about her. It could be anyone. I just want to put things in motion.”

           “Right.” He didn’t buy it. “Well, my friend, then I’m going to tell you the options we have, since you clearly won’t quiet down until something is done.”

           Kamilah fixed her posture immediately, ready to jump into a plan.

           “Fist: you can call one of the historians on the list I sent to you last month. Call all the fifteen options, if it suits better. They were all graduated in high profile universities and sustain the best curriculums in the country.” Adrian gave it a second of silence, and since she didn’t make a sound, he continued. “Second: throw away the idea of working with one of them and just make a deal with one of us. I don’t know any of our group who is a historian, but most of them know a lot about the past and maybe will even understand the mission better than an outsider.”

           Silence again. And then, the distant sound of Kamilah’s high heels hitting the floor, like she was impatiently trembling her leg. Adrian knew that sign. It meant none of the options were good enough for her. “Or… Third: if you do believe she’s worth it, you can always go over there and demand an answer.”

           Her eyes widened.  

           “Can I do that?”

           “Sure.” He laughed. “As long as you don’t hurt, yell or kill the poor woman.”

           That was it. The solution. She wanted the mission to start already, and if Kamilah wanted anything, no one could stop her from getting it. Much less a professor who hadn’t done the courtesy of giving a simple answer. After a couple minutes, the Egyptian found Anna’s address on the university website and head there without thinking twice. In a blink, she was already ringing the intercom, but it seemed to not be working.

           “Kamilah?” Annie was dangerously leaning on the window. “What are you doing here?”

           “We need to talk. Open the door.”

           The grumpy and ordering tone made Anna frown, but she didn’t argue. From the street, the Egyptian could hear her mumbling things in Portuguese while getting down the stairs. Even though Kamilah couldn’t understand it, she was sure it was cursing. Without saying a word to each other, they climbed the stairs to the third floor. Annie’s place was thoroughly clean and covered with the pleasant scent of vanilla. A mess of books and papers had taken over the living room, where a dining table was set: a dish with a weird sandwich, a glass of cheap wine and an opened notebook. It looked like she was working late.

           “Take a sit. Do you want to drink something? I’ve got wine, rum, whisky, gin, coffee… Water.” The sweet tone on her voice disarmed Kamilah for just a second. The professor seemed extremely tired, but even like this, she wasn’t able to be rude.

           “No, I… I’m fine. Thank you.”

           “What happened?”

           Kamilah’s arms crossed over her breasts. That confused look on Annie’s face was genuine. How could she not know why Kamilah was there? That was the last drop. It unlocked all the irritation that had been burning on the Egyptian’s chest for days. “Did you hit your head recently? Or do you suffer from diseases such as Alzheimer?”

           “Wh…What? I… No…”

           “Why the hell do you think I am here, Ms. Mali? Do you believe I am a woman who has the time to sit around waiting for you to make a simple decision? To answer a yes or no question? Look at me. Do not stare at the floor. Raise your eyes.” Kamilah approached her with such a fast movement, Annie barely saw it happening. In a second, she was standing before her, lifting the professor’s chin to make their eyes meet. “It is not polite to just disappear once a business proposal is showed to you. I do not tolerate this kind of behaviour. If you’re too much of a child yet, then maybe we were wrong to approach you in the first place.”

           Anna didn’t stop her. Didn’t move either. Kamilah saw something growing on the professor’s face, some sort of weakness she wasn’t expecting to find. Her expression was flickering between insecurity and sadness. Finally, an answer came.

           “I can’t stay.” A whisper. The palpable shame in her tone. “I’m leaving.”

            “What do you mean by that?”

           “I mean… I got fired. I’m leaving the country. I’m sorry.” She shrunk her shoulders. Somehow, the woman was getting smaller. More fragile. “It happened on Saturday morning, right after that dinner. I know it’s no excuse and should’ve called you sooner. I’m really sorry. I just thought that now that I’m no longer related to the NYU, my name and reputation wouldn’t be of any value to you. I guess… I was embarrassed to let you know and go through the whole ‘well, then we don’t want you anymore’ conversation. Either way, I am sorry. For not answering, for making you come here, for everything.”

           Kamilah was not at all prepared for this. She went from almost tearing the professor’s throat opened to drowning inside her sorrow and beautiful features. Without much thinking, the Egyptian brushed some hair behind Annie’s ears in a soft movement.

           “Are you leaving the country because of visa issues?”

           “Yes. Not the main reason though… Even if they granted me a permanent visa, I don’t have money to stay. I was a recent teacher at NYU, my payment wasn’t that high and most of it went to cover the costs of the postdoctoral course. Now I’m trying to finish some papers quickly and I still need to buy the plane tickets.”

           “I don’t care about NYU.”

           Annie’s eyes came back to Kamilah only to find an unreadable face. “What?”

           “It’s not relevant if you’re related or not to a University. That doesn’t change my stand.”

           “But…”

           “We still want you.”

           The professor was speechless, staring in disbelief.

           “Answer me, Annie. Will you accept the proposal?”

           Kamilah’s arms uncrossed and her hands went to rest on the hips. She saw a thousand of emotions running through the professor’s eyes in a second.

          “What about my visa?”

         “Not a problem I can’t solve. As for the money part… Adrian will discuss this with you. He’s responsible for the bureaucracies. But I can guarantee, regardless of how the conversation goes, it’s going to be way more than what NYU was paying. So, there won’t remain any obstacles forcing you to leave.”

         Anna smiled. Not because of the money. She just noticed that Kamilah had come in person not to fight, but to persuade her to say yes. That made her wonder what the Egyptian’s thoughts were right now. “I did answer, you know. When I got home, after dinner.”

        “Oh?”

       She pointed at the computer on the desk. “It’s in the draft emails part. I was going to send it on Monday morning.”

       Kamilah arched one eyebrow. “And what was the answer?”

       Instead of giving her the pleasure to hear it, Annie decided to contour the table and send the draft email that was waiting there all along. Inside Kamilah’s pocket, her cell phone immediately buzzed. She gave it a quick glance before smiling and walking towards the door.

        “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Ms. Mali. Don’t be late.”

[lokisrare]

our story

A/N: Just in case you don’t know I’m a hardcore Harry Styles fan and Fine Line belongs to a museum so I thought of this (I’ll list the songs at the end) if you haven’t listened to it yet I recommend you to do it, it’s really a masterpiece. I won’t put any warnings because there aren’t any, except some angst anyway I hope you all love it, if you do, let me know! Had to repost because the links weren’t working and I didn’t know how to fix it so yeah lol

WORDS: 2071.

PLOT: George recapitulates his life with Lola as she walks down the aisle.

PAIRINGS: George Mackay x ofc.

She (she)

She lives in daydreams with me (she)

She’s the first one that I see

And I don’t know why

I don’t know who she is (she, she)

Maybe it was the pink hair that had completely grabbed his attention towards her or maybe the different flowery jumpers she used to wear almost every day; the thing is, George realized as days passed by that she owned a lot of them, with different colors and patterns, not because he stared at her all of the time like a psycho -or maybe a little-, but because she just outshined everyone wherever she was by the way she dressed and how spontaneous her personality seemed to be.

It was a Monday morning, it was really early and everyone looked like crap including him, except for her, she was doing one of the girls’ hair while looking effortlessly beautiful, now the locks of her hair were violet and a nose piercing made its first appearance; George was mesmerized by her and only realizing how much he was staring when someone hit his head in the back. Really hard.

“Careful! You idiot.” He said while massaging the back of his head.

He was about to get up to follow Andrew, who was already walking off while laughing but a little giggle stopped him in his tracks; turning around, he directed his attention to the make-up section where she was looking at him with a funny expression on her face, her cheeks blushed when she realized he heard her. George smiled at her and when she smiled back his heart stopped for a moment. Cheesy. But it was a start, he thought at the time, he still didn’t even know her name but it was a start. Definitely.

Sunflower

Sunflower

My eyes

Want you more than a melody

Let me inside

Wish I could get to know you

“Lola please, it’s just a coffee. If you hate me after it, I won’t talk to you or even look at you” he pleaded.

He had finally gotten her name, it suited her, he thought. George had reached out to her one night while she was organizing her stuff, after that, they started to talk almost every day on set; early in the mornings when no one really wanted to talk they’d be laughing at some stupid conversation topic.

But George wanted more, he wanted to know other things rather than the superficial stuff, he wanted to really get to know her.

Lola crossed her arms and huffed, George thought it was funny how intimidating she was even when he was way taller than her, it was like she was always the one in control, and he found himself already liking this side of her.

“I told you I don’t like to get involved with people from my job, I’m still working my way into this industry and I don’t want to fuck it all up” she said, very serious and looking really concerned about her place at the time and George almost instantly regretted being so insistent.

“I’m sorry, you’re completely right,” he saw Lola’s face transform into a look of surprise and relieve, maybe it was the first time a boy actually listened to her and understood her reasons; “but, please, keep doing my make-up, Rose makes me look like a Ken doll whenever she gets her hands on my face and I creep myself out when I look in the mirror.” He tried to ease the moment with a not-so joke.

Lola let out a laugh and nodded. He smiled at her and started to leave not before leaning in and kissing her on the cheek, before turning on the opposite direction he caught a glimpse of her blushing and smirked.

Before he could cross the door, he heard her let out a curse under her breath and a heavy sigh right before she called out his name, asking him to come back into the room.

“Fine, let’s grab a coffee, but I get to choose the place.” Lola said with a shy smile. It was the first time she didn’t look as her confident self, he thought.

“It’s a date, then” George smiled satisfied and she furrowed her eyebrows.

“Not a date, it’s just a coffee.”

Tastes like strawberries on a summer evenin’

And it sounds just like a song

I want your belly and that summer feelin’

I don’t know if I could ever go without

Watermelon sugar high

Every day it passed he realized how much of a free old soul she was. Lola loved exploring and finding places; like one time in England when she found an abandoned theater with a little museum inside and made him spent the night, it wasn’t creepy at all because they also found out stray dogs lived there. Maybe if he made a top three of their dates, it would’ve been number two because now, as he stared at the ocean right in front of him while he seated on the top of a rock he thought this date would be placed in number one for sure.

Not only because he loved the beach and how private and intimate this place was, but how beautiful she looked with that loose white dress she was wearing, her hair up in a messy bun, and her cheeks red because of the sun.

“I could stay here forever,” he said mostly to himself as she was eating a piece of watermelon, she nodded, her mouth full. It made him laugh at her, she looked like a little girl doing a mess.

“I wouldn’t though, this place gives me the creeps during night because those rocks there look like a skull when its dark and some friends say they heard a woman crying once.”

“Oh, we are not staying then. Definitely not.” Lola nodded agreeing with him while she cleaned her hands, once she was done she laid her head on top of his thighs.

George smiled down at her and looked straight into her eyes and then down to her lips, Lola grabbed the back of his neck leading his lips into hers.

The kiss was soft but loving, her lips tasted sweet and he thought how he could never get tired of her.

Lola was something else.

But I can feel it take a hold (I can feel it take a hold)

I can feel you take control (I can feel you take control)

Of who I am, and all I’ve ever known

Lovin’ you’s the antidote

Golden

“Lola, sweetheart, would you help me over here?”

“Of course!”

George looked at Lola as she helped his mother with some recipe for a dessert she had found on the internet.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop staring at her, maybe the fact that it was the first time in four years -five almost-, he saw her with her natural hair color and she looked absolutely stunning, her nose ring was still there but her factions were way more mature.

Or maybe it hit him how much they had grown together, how many moments they lived, great and not so great, and how much he loved the way his family adored her.

He loved her. Lola had him since the first moment he landed his eyes on her and then never let him go. She was his treasure, his gold, his everything and he was so happy knowing he was the exact same thing for her.

It was then when he looked down at his pocket and felt the little delicate ring his grandmother gave to him. He never felt more ready.

There’s things that we’ll never know

You sunshine, you temptress

My hand’s at risk, I fold

Crisp trepidation

I’ll try to shake this soon

Spreading you open

Is the only way of knowing you

We’ll be a fine line

(…)

We’ll be alright

The apartment was dark and silent. It felt as it was completely empty. Yet it wasn’t. George was sitting at the end of the hall, his back against your shared bedroom door, it was long time ago when he last heard you sob, he figured you’d be sleeping by now but still it didn’t felt right to come in.

He hurt you, he was well aware of it, yet he couldn’t do anything about it. He knew he had no control over this part of his job, the traveling.

He knew Lola liked to pretend she was doing fine, she didn’t like to be seen as fragile or dependent, she was raised that way, he could never blame her, but it was hard sometimes when George wanted nothing but to know what was hurting her, it was so hard to get Lola to open up about how she was feeling.

He would feel like she didn’t trust him, and distance fucks things up most of the time when trying to talk things through, she was stubborn and he wasn’t patient.

George got up and slowly opened the door, she was facing him and he could tell she was peacefully sleeping by her calm breathing.

He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Lola, her nose was still a little red, he noticed her eyes had gotten a little swollen too, it broke him because he hated being the reason behind her suffering.

George caressed her cheek, then her arm, slowly and lovingly; he looked at her hand, his grandmother’s ring decorating her finger. George felt his chest getting heavy and his sight getting blurry from the tears so he closed his eyes letting them fall, it hurt him too, he hated to leave her for so long, he hated not being there for her accomplishments or her difficult times and vice versa. Sometimes he felt his love wasn’t enough.

George opened his eyes startled as he felt her hand cupping his face. Lola was looking at him, her sight holding sadness and tiredness but yet he could feel the love on her delicate touch.

“Come here” was all she said.

George laid beside her and she hugged him, their faces inches from each other, he kissed her forehead as she closed her eyes.

“We’ll be alright” she said before falling back asleep, and George held to that promise.

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

It’s hard when we argue

We’re both stubborn

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

All this moments, the good and the bad, the really low times when they had nothing but each other to hold on to and the happiest of times when they also had each other to share their joy.

It all came to flashes to George’s mind as he saw her walking down the aisle to him, her white gown with little golden flowers decorating it perfectly, she had her hair up but he could still see the pink on the ends of it falling loose from her hairdo, just like the first time he saw her.

And maybe, he thought, he wouldn’t be able to promise her a perfect marriage but he could promise her his devotion and all the love and adoration he felt for her.

Because he loved Lola since the first time he saw her, when she still had a baby face with round cheeks and so many doubts about her future and he loved her now as the successful woman she had become, so confident, so smart and so beautiful.

When she finally arrived to him, he realized he was crying when she laughed and cleaned his cheeks with her fingers.

“Oh please George, you’re going to ruin the Ken doll make up” she said jokingly.

“Yeah, joke all you want. Look where just a coffee leaded us too” George said and Lola looked at him with a confused look, he smirked at her and then she gave him a look, realizing what he meant.

“God, George, can we please get married before I regret it” she said making the priest laugh.

“You had 8 years for that” he bragged, “fine, let’s get this done milady” he took Lola’s hand winking at her as the priest started speaking.

He stared at her. She was perfect. This day was perfect.

________

from Fine Line(2019): She, Sunflower, Watermelon Sugar, Golden, Fine Line. from Harry Styles(2017): Sweet Creature.

(CLICK THE ALBUM’S NAMES IF YOU WANT TO CHECK THEM OUT)

[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.

[paddala]

so i saw tros again

i decided to take notes while i watched so here ya go

*spoilers ahead*

opening sequence is great, it really sets up the film, we don't know what's in store but they give us some ideas. not sure i loved seeing palpatine or even palps being alive, would have been cooler if he was some kind of poltergeist-y sith demon, also, kylo was on mustafar? we ain't gonna talk about that? ok

skipping to rey and leia, first, i hate the leia scenes, they seem creepy and overdone and not genuine, anyway, why didn't rose go with the trio to pasana? why don't we see more of rose? why am i screaming? aaaaand more creepy leia speaking vaguely to rey

now KOR and kylo fixing his helmet *eyeroll* and now the first order finding out about a SPY!!!!! how utterly stupid and it's literally a plot line from a fANFIC!!!! WHY

the trio on pasana, rey looking at the children longingly always kills me, bc she ends up alone without ben, when the only thing she wanted was a family, this is BAD LUV!!!! "i don't have one yet (a family), i'm just rey," that's what she should have said

rey and kylo first force bond, LOVE IT

lando i guess? i mean i get it but i don't at the same time, i love lando tho so i'm not complaining

i don't really hate anything about pasana, just wish rose was there with them, feels weird and wrong, that's my only complaint

WHAT WAS THE REASON OF FINN WANTING TO TELL REY SOMETHING BEFORE THEY "DIED" WHAT WAS THE REASON!!!!!!! THEY NEVER ACTUALLY TOUCH ON IT AGAIN

ok i love poe and finn bantering, but we didn't get one ounce of real finnpoe interaction

how does 3p0 have more lines than rose? it makes my brain hurt

why didn't we get more of KOR? like? what the fuck?

rey senses kylo, she said "everyone shut the fuck up im thinking"

chewie getting captured makes so sense to me but yeah

why didnt the trio just leave? why didn't rey just tell them that kylo was coming and that they needed to gtfo? when does this film start making sense? chewie wouldn't have been captured!!!!

rey trying to pull back the ship should have been like foreshadowing to us finding out that rey actually killed her parents, but no, she ends up being related to palpatine? make it make sense pls

i love zorii but i could care less about her and poe's romantic history

rey in kylos bedroom, LOVE THAT

JODIE COMER AS REYS MOM IS KINDA PERFECT BUT REYS PARENTS ARE SUPPOSE TO BE SHITTY SO IDK HOW TO FEEL

the way they made hux the spy......the way i hate it so much, hux should have been our other main bad guy, the way hux only wanted to be a spy to destroy kylo, FUCKING PETTY AND STUPIDDDD

rey sweetie i'm so sorry

this scene could have been so powerful if kylo said "rey we aren't so different, i know you killed your parents, the darkness is already in you, just take my hand" BITCH WTF I SHOULD HAVE WROTE THIS MOVIE BUT ANYWAY!!!!

"everybody thinks that they know me, no one does" or "i killed my parents, its been haunting me ever since" SHE HAS DARKNESS JUST LIKE BEN!!!!! THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN A SERVE BUT JJ IS A FUCKING CLOWN AND COWARD

i loved jannah, would have love to see her with rose, but jj is a fucking idiot

finn not being able to let rey do things on her own is SUUUUPER annoying and why i kinda hate his character in this film, it's a year later, ITS CALLED CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT LUV!!!!!

the dark!rey with sharp teeth sends me, what the fuck is dis hunny

"the dark side is in our nature" loved this, if only she wasn't a palpatine and actually killed her parents, THE FLAVOR

ok rey and kylo fighting, i get it, leia calling out to her son bc he's "going to kill her" when that's not what he wants, he's deflecting all her strikes, wtf? rey implailing kylo mAKES NO SENSE!? SHE DOESNT WANNA KILL HIM EITHER? WHY DID SHE DO THAT!? she should have accidentally grazed his arm, then forced healed, wtf is this movie, i ask again (ok i did some digging on this scene and someone said that rey is metaphorically killing kylo ren, which yes i love this, but it still erks me)

rey, i guess metaphorically, redeemed kylo, he's ben now, she gave him life force, he should have lived after he brought back rey, AGAIN WTF (i'm so stupid you guys know this lol)

han and ben......IT MAKES ME SAD BUT HAPPY!! i loved this scene so much, he really looks like ben solo here, he's so confused but he knows that kylo is over with, he's ben now, rey gave him the light he needed, WTFFFHSJDJSKDKJS.... "dad...." "i know" HI IM CRYIBG LSKSKSKSKKS

DOMHNALL GLEESON SWEETIE IM SO SORRY THIS IS NOT WHAT YOU DESERVED YOUR CHARACTER WAS FANTASTIC THEY DID YOU SO DIRTY #justiceforhux

rey chucking the legacy saber into a fire and luke catching it saying hey wtf you can't do that that's so fucked up as if he didn't toss that mf over his shoulder in tlj, oh man jj really said fuck rian johnson, also leias lightsaber should have been bens, IMO

luke's x-wing just magically coming out of fucking nowhere? didn't he scrap the ship while on ach-to? hm...RIIIIIIIIGHT

chewie dead? nope. c3po memory wiped? nope. ben solo dead? yeah fuck that guy

at this point i've lost interest, i'm waiting for the reylo kiss

p*lps calling rey her granddaughter, i'm literally gonna barfffff

BEEEEEEEEEEEEN MY BABY BOOOOOYYYYY OHHH IM SUFFERING

i love him i love him i love him omfg he's so powerful and sexy, literally came to save rey without a lightsaber i love this MAN

The Shrug™

A DYAD IN THE FORCE, THEIR LIFE FORCE BOND, HELLO!!!???? AND BEN STILL DIES AND REY ENDS UP ALONE!? I CANT

ben being thrown like that by p*lp, i've never hated a villain more in my life

idk like i kinda hate that all the jedi from the past came to rey, when ben was RIGHT. FUCKING. THERE.

oh my fucking god i hate disney "i am all the sith" "and i am all the jedi"…"i am inevitable" "and i am iron man" CAN YOU COME UP WITH SOMETHING ELSE

finn sensing rey dying through the force, i want to die

ben.....crawling to rey....fuck it hurts to bad

he's been through hell hes so scared and sad i hate jj so much

the kiss......cinematic masterpiece, should have ended there, but here we are

again. REY SWEETIE IM SO SORRY, her lightsaber is cool tho

"im rey....rey skywalker" NOT YOU

YUP WORSE STAR WARS MOVIE EVER