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ghibli-collector · 6 months

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Another interesting article about the new Ghibli film Boy and the Heron with great insights into Miyazaki’s relationship with Joe Hisaishi and Toshio Suzuki making films over the years. Again it has a few spoilers

What’s it like to work with Hayao Miyazaki? Go behind the scenes.

News of Hayao Miyazaki’s retirement can’t ever be trusted.

The Japanese animation master’s repeated claims that he’ll give up filmmaking are a response to the strain that creating each of his largely hand-drawn universes entails. At least that’s what Toshio Suzuki, a founder of Studio Ghibli and Miyazaki’s right-hand man for the past 40 years, believes.

"Every time he finishes a film, he’s so exhausted he can’t think about the next project,” Suzuki explains. "He’s used up his energy physically and mentally. He needs some time to clear his mind. And to have a blank canvas to come up with new ideas.”

A decade after 2013’s "The Wind Rises” was heralded as Miyazaki’s final film, the 82-year-old auteur’s newest feature, "The Boy and the Heron,” is being released in the United States after major success in Japan over the summer, where it opened without any traditional publicity.

Though the director hasn’t given any interviews about "The Boy and the Heron,” Suzuki, 75, who is also a veteran producer, and Joe Hisaishi, 72, the longtime composer on Miyazaki’s movies, describe in separate video interviews the master’s working process and how their collaborations have evolved — or not — over the years.

Suzuki is casually dressed and speaking, via an interpreter, from Japan, where he sits next to a pillow emblazoned with Totoro, the bearlike troll that serves as the studio’s logo. He says the new fantasy film is Miyazaki’s most personal yet. Set in the final days of World War II, the tale follows 11-year-old Mahito, who, after losing his mother in a fire, moves to the countryside, where a magical realm beckons him.

"At the start of this project, Miyazaki came to me and asked me, ‘This is going to be about my story, is that going to be OK?’ I just nodded,” Suzuki recalls with the matter-of-factness of someone who’s learned it would be futile to stand in the way of the director.

For a long time, he says, Miyazaki worried that if he made a movie about a young male, inspiration would inevitably be drawn from his own childhood, which he felt might not make for an interesting narrative. Growing up, Miyazaki had trouble communicating with people and expressed himself instead by drawing pictures.

"I noticed that with this film, where he portrayed himself as a protagonist, he included a lot of humorous moments in order to cover up that the boy, based on himself, is very sensitive and pessimistic,” Suzuki says. "That was interesting to see.”

If Miyazaki is the boy, Suzuki adds, then he himself is the heron, a mischievous flying entity in the story that pushes the young hero to keep going. Director Isao Takahata, Studio Ghibli’s third foundational musketeer, who died in 2018, is represented onscreen by Granduncle, a wise but weathered figure who controls the fantastical world Mahito ventures into.

Suzuki first met Miyazaki in the late 1970s, when the animator was making his first feature, "Lupin III: The Castle of Cagliostro,” an amusing caper. Back then, Suzuki was a journalist hoping to interview him.

But Miyazaki, who was working on a storyboard, had no interest in talking and ignored him. "Out of kindness, I thought it was a good thing to introduce his works to my readers, and for him to be very cranky and disrespectful, I was very angry,” Suzuki remembers.

He stuck around the studio for two more days of silence. On the third, Miyazaki asked him if he knew a term for a car overtaking another during a chase. Suzuki’s reply, a specific Japanese expression for such action, finally broke the ice and kick-started their long-term relationship.

"Miyazaki still remembers that first meeting, too,” Suzuki says. "He thought that I was a person not to be trusted. And that’s why he was very cautious about talking to me.”

Over the years, Suzuki has become increasingly indispensable for Miyazaki. "He always tells me, ‘Suzuki-san, can you remember the important things for me?’ And then he feels that he can forget about all the important things not concerning his films. I have to remember them for him,” Suzuki says.

Best friends more than mere collaborators, Miyazaki and Suzuki talk every day, even if there’s nothing urgent to discuss, and make it a rule to meet in person on Mondays and Thursdays. "What we talk about is very trivial most times, I guess he feels lonely or misses me, but it’s always him who calls me. I never call him,” Suzuki says, adding with a laugh, "Sometimes he even calls me in the middle of the night, like at 3 a.m., and the first thing he says is, ‘Were you awake?’ And obviously I was not. I’m in bed!”

In contrast, Hisaishi, the composer who first worked with Miyazaki on the 1984 feature "Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind,” has a strictly professional relationship with him.

"We don’t see each other in private,” Hisaishi, wearing an elegant sweater, says through a translator. "We don’t eat together. We don’t drink together. We only meet to discuss things for work.” That emotional distance, he adds, is what has made their partnership over 11 films so creatively fruitful.

"People think that if you really know a person’s full character then you can have a good working relationship, but that doesn’t necessarily hold true,” Hisaishi says. "What is most important to me is to compose music. The most important thing in life to Miyazaki is to draw pictures. We are both focused on those most important things in our lives.”

On "The Boy and the Heron,” Miyazaki didn’t provide Hisaishi with any instruction. The musician watched the film only when it was nearly completed but still with no sound or dialogue. At that point Miyazaki simply said to Hisaishi, "I just leave it up to you.”

"I feel he was just thinking that he could rely on me and expected me to come up with something,” Hisaishi says. "I feel like I was very much trusted to do this.”

For all of their previous collaborations, Miyazaki would bring on Hisaishi to discuss once three out of the four or five parts of the storyboard for a new film were ready. That the process changed this time was possible only because of their shared history.

"It’s as if we’ve been Olympic athletes making a film once every four years for 40 years,” Hisaishi says. "It’s been a long time of training and performing. When I look back I’m amazed that I could write music for these very different films.”

In his contemporary classical work, Hisaishi had been working on minimalist compositions with repeating patterns, and he took that approach to the new film.

While he maintains they are just colleagues, every January for the past 15 years, Hisaishi has composed a small tune, recorded it on a piano and sent it to Miyazaki as a birthday present. This tradition has now become the seasoned musician’s lucky charm.

"After about three times I thought, ‘This has probably run its course,’” Hisaishi recalls. "I didn’t send one the following year. That whole year I wasn’t able to work very well. It was sort of a jinx that I had not sent him something, so I started sending him the music again for his birthday,” he adds with a laugh.

Both Hisaishi and Suzuki say their interactions with Miyazaki have not changed much over the decades. On the contrary, the men have become staunch creatures of habit.

Asked why his profound connection with Miyazaki has endured so long, Suzuki says: "I don’t necessarily agree, but he once told me, ‘I’ve never met someone so similar to me. You are the last person that I will meet like that.’”

BY CARLOS AGUILAR

THE NEW YORK TIMES

#ghibli #studio ghibli #boy and the heron #hayao miyazaki #spirited away

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breadvidence · 7 months

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AMERICAN ADAPTATION: There’s a character who’s obsessed with his opposite, but where the object of obsession can conceivably survive and exist without him, the obsessed one is meaningless without—

BRICK FAN: Enjolras and Grantaire?

A. A.: The guy we tap when Marius is too busy to run the revolution and Gran-who? No. Javert and Valjean.

JAVERT: What. Five encounters, unintentional, with that—man—was enough to kill me. I don’t want more.

GRANTAIRE: What does it matter to Orestes if his marble face is chipped away so long as his hand still reaches out from the antique morning to the last fading night towards the hem of Pylades’ chiton? But for Pylades to stand nude! Pfhah, to reach for crumbs of yourself and not even find the wine-bottle, that’s today’s entertainment. You ask the modern American for individuals and he gives you two interchangeable men carrying muskets loaded with blanks, and in the mouth of one the word ‘revolution’, but all turned to dead wood. Well! Let’s wash it away!

J: Ah, yes, the river. That’s always the same.

G: The—no; wine, brandy, absinthe?

J: no.

[ETA 11.2.23: see revision here]

#les misérables #les mis #shitpost #javert #grantaire

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beaft · 8 months

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october 13th

happy friday the thirteenth, everyone! and to celebrate, here's that poem you probably read at school that one time! today's spooky poem is "the highwayman", a delightfully melodramatic ballad by alfred noyes. there's an analysis of it here and a sung version by loreena mckennit here. and once you've listened to that you can watch this, if you're so inclined.

THE HIGHWAYMAN

Part I

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees. The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. the road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding— Riding—riding— The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin. They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh. And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard. He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred. He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord’s daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked. His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, But he loved the landlord’s daughter, The landlord’s red-lipped daughter. Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

Part II He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching Marching—marching— King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door. They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! There was death at every window; And hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride. They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say Look for me by moonlight; Watch for me by moonlight; I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way! She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest! Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again; For the road lay bare in the moonlight; Blank and bare in the moonlight; And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain. Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, The highwayman came riding, Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still! Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him - with her death. He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood! Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding Riding—riding— A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door. Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard, And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

—Alfred Noyes

#october poems

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fandom-imagines-stories · 11 months

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Trois Surprises

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 6719

Summary: Aramis and the reader are changed forever by three joyous surprises.

Notes: I write a lot of angst for him, but dammit, this man deserves to be happy. And I wanted to write him actually being able to spend time with his kids. Also, the title is ‘Three Surprises’ in French, I just didn’t know ‘surprises’ is spelled the same way. At least that’s what translate said. Please don’t come for me. This also doesn’t follow any plots from the show, so ignore the timeline haha.

More Musketeers HERE

The garrison greeted you with metal clashing and the smell of sweat. Men shouted at each other across the way with language that was far from proper. It didn’t bother you, of course. In your time frequenting the training area, you’d grown used to its oddities and eccentricities.

A few of the men cheered to greet you and asked how you were or what brought you to the garrison, though they already had an idea. You were here for Aramis. You were always here for Aramis. Or for shooting lessons, which the captain had approved since you lived alone and association with the musketeers often led to trouble.

“Y/N!” A boisterous voice called. Porthos hopped up from the table he sat at and crossed the courtyard. Not one for propriety, he pulled you into a hug without a second thought. You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “What brings you here?”

He led you back to the table and brushed off the bench for you to sit.

Athos tilted his hat. Unlike his companion, he enjoyed upholding some of the rules of society. “Mademoiselle Y/L/N.”

“How many times must I tell you to call me Y/N?” You teased.

“If I did, you wouldn’t have to tell me any more,” he smirked. “I assume you’re looking for Aramis.”

You nodded. “I have important matters to discuss with him and Captain Treville.”

The two exchanged a look.

“Sounds serious,” Porthos said. “Anything we should know about?”

“All in good time, boys,” you beamed. “I promise I won’t leave you in the dark for too long.”

D'Artagnan eyed you curiously. Perhaps your closest friend among Aramis’ companions, it was unusual for you not to share something with him. You gave him a reassuring nod and he trusted he’d find out what all this was about in due time. It didn’t stop his mind from searching the possibilities, though.

The imploring silence only lasted a moment longer.

“Y/N?”

And just like that, at the sound of his voice, your knees turned soft and your heart stopped beating. Every nerve in your body seemed to bunch and twist in your belly. You turned, Aramis’s eyes sparkling at you in the morning light as a smile crept onto his face.

“I had no idea you’d be here,” he grinned, kissing your cheek.

“I had something I wanted to share with you before you galavanted off into danger somewhere.” The tremble in your voice made his face darken with worry. His gaze flicked to his companions and they took the hint, hurrying off to the side to give the two of you some privacy. You began to fidget with your cloak. “I hope my coming on short notice isn’t a nuisance.”

“No, please.” He took your hands in his and brought them to his lips. “You are my favorite kind of surprise, darling.” His dark eyes looked deeply into yours. “Is something the matter?”

“Not exactly…” You’d rehearsed the words numerous times and it was completely in vain. You might as well have been mute, standing before him with a blank, panicked expression, which of course only made him look more concerned.

“My love, you’re starting to frighten me,” he laughed nervously and tucked a hair behind your ear. “You can tell me anything.”

You took a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Porthos whispered. The three, having been observing from afar, watched on as you stared down at the dirt and Aramis lifted your chin with his finger.

“That’s between the two of them,” Athos said. “It’s none of our business.” However, he did not, nor did the other two, turn away.

You said something none of them could hear. Aramis’s arms fell to his sides, face turned white as a sheet. His mouth floundered open and closed, unable to say anything.

“You don’t think she’s broken things off, do you?” D’Artagnan asked.

After a moment of this awkward, anxious tension that even they could feel from across the courtyard, Aramis seemed to snap to his senses. He lifted you off the ground and spun around, a smile as wide as the Seine spread across his face. Your laugh rang throughout the space and when he set you down, your arms hooked around his neck, lips locking together for longer than what was probably publicly acceptable.

Athos turned to the youngest member of their group. “I take that as a no.”

Aramis kissed you one… two… three… more times before you said something about going to the market and left, holding his hand until the last possible moment.

When the marksman returned, his friends stood with brows raised and curious smiles. Porthos patted him on the back.

“What to share what that was all about?”

Still, with a starstruck grin, Aramis gazed around in a daze. Like before, his mouth fell open and nothing came out. He was sure his heart had stopped beating. Or perhaps it wasn’t there anymore. It was with you, as it always had been. Now more than ever.

He looked up at his companions- his friends- the men he trusted with his life and the words simply fell from his lips.

“Y/N’s pregnant.”

“I don’t know if I can wait much longer,” you whined, breathing slowly and deeply as you took a seat at the table.

Constance smiled. “You only have, what, a month or so to go?”

“Yes, and I feel like I’m the size of Notre Dame.” You laid a hand on your bulbous belly and laughed. “I look the size of Notre Dame.”

“Nonsense,” she chuckled along with you, setting a plate of bread and bowl of stew in front of you. Constance peeked out the door and shook her head. “They’re late. Again.” Despite the playful annoyance in her voice, there was a sparkle in her eye. One you recognized well.

“You know… D’Artagnan has been speaking of you more and more since I became pregnant. I dare say he even sounds hopeful.”

“Don’t start,” she swallowed. She took a rag and started to wipe down the table in order to avoid your gaze. “I, in case you’ve forgotten, am married to the man who supplies your fabrics. D’Artagnan and I are merely friends.” The younger woman glanced up at you with a kind of admiration. “It isn’t like what you and Aramis have.”

You scoffed. “I’m his mistress.”

Her eyes softened with sincerity. She put a hand on your arm. “You’re a great deal more than that.”

You averted your eyes, feeling the hint of tears begin in them and focused on the meal before you. Despite his adoration and his devotion, you knew not to hope for more than what you were given. And you had no complaints, of course, Aramis was the light of your life and to have his child was more than you ever imagined. But he was a hero. You were a seamstress.

As if summoned by your brief sorrow, the door to the cottage opened and you heard two pairs of thundering steps coming down the hall. While not banished completely, your doubts were pushed to the back of your mind upon the sight of Aramis’s grinning face.

“Sorry we’re late, ladies,” he said, removing his hat with a smug flare. “Paris needed saving.”

“When doesn’t it?” You laughed. He leaned to place a kiss on your forehead, hand falling lovingly to your belly.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered against your skin. Aramis basked at the sight of you in the setting sun, golden rays streaming through the window. “Like an angel in heaven’s light.”

A lovely pink color crept onto your cheeks. “You flatter me too much.”

“My love, my words will never be enough.” Aramis brought your lips to his with passion and sweetness, despite the other two in the room. He set his weapons aside, his coat along with them, and sat next to you. Seeing the billowing sleeves of his shirt reminded you of your work earlier in the day.

“I almost forgot, I repaired the tear in your shirt. I’ll have to go fetch it.” You started to stand- with more than a little effort- and he laid a hand on your shoulder to set you back down.

“Please, don’t trouble yourself, darling.” He kissed you again. “I’ll get it.” As he sauntered into the other room, Constance gave you a knowing look you did your best to ignore.

“Any news on the Red Guard?” D’Artagnan asked. You were glad of the change in subject, though Constance rolled her eyes at his abruptness.

“Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be the favorite to stitch their uniforms ever since-” You motioned to the rather obvious reason at your middle.

“Ah,” D’Artagnan nodded. “Right.”

Having made a reputation as having the most reliable repairs of any affordable seamstress in Paris, you’d often had members of the Red Guard come to you, as they were ‘too above’ mending anything themselves. It did, however, allow you to overhear things here and there, which you took to the musketeers. But keeping your relationship with Aramis a secret was hard enough. Now, with such a drastic change in your appearance, they’d kept their distance, though whether it was because you were unmarried or if they suspected you to be somewhat of a spy for your child’s father, you couldn’t tell.

The two of you looked at each other for a moment before you couldn’t contain your laughter. D’Artagnan sat beside you and asked you questions of a lighter variety while you pleaded to hear of the day’s adventures. Aramis always worried he’d distress you, so you received all the juicy details from the youngest musketeer. Through your friendship with Constance, D’Artagnan had become one of your closest friends as well.

A lull fell upon your conversation and you couldn't help but note how his eyes drifted back to your mutual companion by the fire.

One day, you thought…

A sudden movement within you forced a gasp from your lips. Aramis returned to the room in seconds.

“Love, what is it? Did something happen?” He knelt by your side with loving, concerned eyes.

“Yes,” you beamed, placing a hand where the movement was. You looked into his beautiful gaze and felt yourself overtaken by the excitement. “I believe he just kicked.” Gently, you took his hand and guided it to where you’d felt it.

“He?” Aramis awed, raising a brow.

You shrugged. “Just a feeling.”

Another motion fluttered against Aramis’s hand, this one stronger and almost more aggressive than the last. Aramis chuckled.

“I think she may disagree with your feeling.”

“Oh, a girl then, is it?” You smirked.

He shrugged, mocking you affectionately. “Just a feeling.”

He’d come as soon as he heard. All of them had. The four musketeers stood in the lobby of your shop, none of them able to sit down. Athos leaned against the wall, he and Porthos watching the windows as if for some dastardly foe. D’Artagnan tried to distract himself by sharpening his sword. Aramis paced at the foot of the stairs leading up to your rooms.

The midwife wouldn’t allow him to be with you, despite his protests. Only Constance was permitted to accompany her in tending to you. It took all three men to hold him back when your screaming began.

Hours of this hell passed. He paced until he was sure the soles of his boots would scuff clean off.

“Can I ask you something?” Porthos asked. He hoped to distract his friend from his pain but, in truth, it was something they’d all been wondering for months. Aramis stopped his hurried steps and turned with a nod. Porthos swallowed. “Why haven’t you married her?”

“Porthos now is hardly the occasion,” Athos scolded.

“We have to talk about something, else we’ll all go mad with her up there.”

Aramis held up a hand to silence them both. The three waited with bated breath as he looked up, wishing to float through the ceiling and be by your side.

“Because she doubts me,” he said with an unexpected sadness in his voice. He looked back at them. “She doesn’t believe that my love for her is genuine. I can feel it when her smile falters or when her hand falls from mine.” He turned away. “To ask her for her hand because of the child… it would only prove what she believes.” Aramis clenched his fist at his side, then relaxed it again. This idleness would destroy him if this was not soon over. “I could not force her to marry a man that she doubts.”

The others nodded in understanding, though none of them truly understood, especially D’Artagnan.

He’d never seen two people who loved each other more than you and Aramis. He wanted to scream at both of them until his throat was sore if he thought it would help. Seeing the two of you so clouded with your own doubts hurt him more than he could say. The younger man just couldn’t fathom it. He’d give anything to have the opportunity to marry the woman he loved.

The matter of your reputation, of course, had already been discussed. You told anyone who discovered your condition that you’d married while away in Gascony and that your husband was a merchant who traveled often and you always met with him back in Gascony. Most people didn’t care enough to gossip about an orphaned woman with little prospects to begin with. It’d been your idea to lie and Aramis accepted it as you being as unsure of him as you thought he was of you.

What killed him the most, despite his charming demeanor and always knowing the right words for the right people, was that he had no idea how to convey to you how he truly felt. He reminded you of his love every moment he had with you, and yet he knew you didn’t fully believe it. What else could he do but keep trying?

Another aching shriek echoed through the chamber, followed by a silence, and then… cries. An infant’s wailing filled the house.

Aramis raced up the stairs before the others could stop him.

The door to your bedroom opened and Constance stepped out, quickly closing it behind her. She had a bundle in her arms. The auburn-haired woman beamed at him.

“Would you like to meet your son?”

Suddenly, he couldn’t move. He just stared at Constance, stunned, as the baby continued to cry. It was as if he’d forgotten how to use his limbs, everything numb with a strange mix of disbelief and utter joy.

A son.

He stepped forward and spoke with a shaking voice. “Y-yes.” He felt like a child himself, standing before her with arms outstretched.

Constance, still grinning, gently placed the wriggling bundle into his awaiting embrace.

He couldn’t believe how small he was. His son. A tiny fist reached out. Aramis gave him his pinky to grasp onto, his little fingers not even able to wrap all the way around the digit. He rocked the baby in his arms, cooing slightly. The boy stopped crying.

“I have a son,” he gasped. He turned to the stairs, where his three friends had gathered at the bottom. His tone raised to a cheer. “I have a son!”

A chorus of joyous hollers and applause filled the stairwell.

The celebration, however, was cut short as another round of your screaming cries The boy in his arms began wailing again. He held him a little closer to soothe him, but Aramis had gone white.

“What’s happening?” He asked.

Constance shook her head. “I-I don’t know. I thought everything was fine.”

A guttural grunt. Another scream.

Aramis passed his son back to Constance and started toward your door. The three men had already climbed the stairs with worried expressions.

“You aren’t supposed to-” Constance started, but she stopped as soon as she saw Aramis’s look of absolute panic.

He burst through the door.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Aramis rushed to your side, brushing a sweat-soaked strand of hair away from your cheek.

“Aramis?” You muttered, almost dreamily.

“You shouldn’t be in here monsieur,” the midwife scolded.

Your knees were pulled up before her. He tried not to look, for the bed sheets were slick with blood and it only made him panic even more. He, instead, looked into your eyes and you looked into his, the comfort of those dark brown irises grounding you through the pain.

“Something’s… happening…” You took heaving breaths in between your words. His hand found yours and you held onto it with a near-crushing grip.

“There’s another,” the midwife said.

Both of your heads snapped up to look at her and you spoke at the same time.

“What?!”

She peered up at you, cast a disapproving look at the father, but decided it was too late to force him out of the room.

“Just as we did before,” she instructed. “Ready? Three… two…”

For the first time, there was quiet.

The midwife had gone, having gathered the soiled blankets and bowls of water. Aramis sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders, your son blinking up at both of you from your embrace. With the other arm, he held your daughter.

“I doubt I’ll ever understand what I’ve done in my life,” he whispered, kissing your forehead, “to deserve all of this.”

You turned your head to kiss his lips lightly, reaching a hand to caress your daughter’s soft cheek.

“It seems impossible for two things so perfect to come into my life at once,” you mused, bringing your hand up to his face. “And you… to have you for as long as I have. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to be so blessed.”

Aramis leaned into your touch, the hair of his beard tickling your palm as he nuzzled your skin. Those near-ebony eyes looked into yours with a love more powerful than he’d ever felt before. He wanted, right there, to ask you to marry him.

A knock at the door was followed by Constance peeking her head into the room with an excited, but exasperated expression.

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold them off,” she laughed. “I haven’t told them anything, like you asked, other than that everything is alright, but I don’t think they’ll believe me until they see you.”

Aramis chuckled, the vibration rumbling against you. Your daughter stirred against his chest, stretching her tiny arms toward him. He leaned to kiss her forehead.

You beamed. “Let them in.”

Constance nodded, smile growing, and turned back to the door.

“Be quiet, all of you,” she ordered. “I don’t want you scaring them.”

D’Artagnan’s brows drew together as he stepped in first.

“Them?”

As the two others piled in behind him, all halted abruptly, their eyes darting between you and Aramis and the not one, but two infants in your arms. Confusion turned to shock and finally to unbridled excitement.

“Twins!” Athos exclaimed with one of the first real smiles you’d ever seen on his face.

Porthos was still glancing between the two. “Twins?”

It was D’Artagnan who stepped forward first and placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his joy for you clear in his dark eyes.

“It’s incredible,” he said. He glanced up at Aramis with the same warm kinship. “I can’t begin to say how happy I am. For both of you.”

The other two gathered on Aramis’s side of the bed and shared similar congratulations.

“Have you thought of names?” Porthos asked.

“Actually, we thought we’d get your thoughts,” Aramis said, glancing over at you with a smirk. He touched a finger to your daughter’s nose. “For her, we were thinking of Christine.” She swatted at his finger lightly, making her father laugh again. “She’s quite the fighter already, hm?”

“I wonder where she gets that from,” Porthos smiled and patted him on the back.

“For our son,” you took a deep breath and looked up at your friend beside you. “We thought Charles would be fitting.”

D’Artagnan’s mouth fell open and his eyes filled with even more admiration and feeling than before, which didn’t seem possible.

“C-Charles?” He asked, as if he’d heard you wrong.

Aramis nodded. “Charles.”

“But only if you’ll allow it,” you said, reaching for his hand. “You’ve just been such a good friend to me- to us- and I hoped you would be his godfather as well, but if-”

He took your hand and brought it to his lips. “I would be honored.” His voice was heavy with emotion, tears of joy welling in his eyes.

“We’ve already asked Constance to be godmother to them both,” Aramis said. He turned to his best friend. “I was hoping, Porthos, that-”

“Do you even have to ask?” Porthos chuckled. He leaned over your daughter and made a face.

She started to cry.

“Congratulations,” Aramis sighed. “You’ve already frightened off your goddaughter.”

Porthos made another face and she stopped. He raised a brow at Aramis, beaming. You snickered at their antics.

“They are beautiful children,” Athos said, leaning against the dresser. “I can’t say enough how happy I am for the two of you.”

“Oh don’t feel left out, Athos,” Porthos teased. “I’m sure you can be godfather to the next one.”

You snorted. “I think he may have to wait a while for that.” Everyone in the room laughed. D’Artagnan gazed down at your son, still trying to hold back tears.

“Would you like to hold him?”

He gulped. “Can I?”

You smiled and carefully handed your son to his namesake. Aramis did the same with your daughter, slowly putting her in Porthos’s arms. And just like that, you watched the two grown men turn to puppies, all wide eyes and cooing smiles.

A happy tear rolled down your cheek. Aramis pulled you closed and kissed it away. You knew, more than anything in the world, that your children would be safe. And they would be loved.

III

He rocked the child in his arms with the whispers of a lullaby on his lips.

“Lullay, thou little tiny child,” he sang softly, “bye, bye, lully, lullay. Thou little tiny child, bye, bye, lully, lullay…” Aramis smiled and kissed his sleeping son’s forehead before laying him gently in his crib. Charles’s nose twitched and he stretched his tiny arms but didn’t stir.

Aramis watched him in wonder. Ten months and he still couldn’t quite believe all of this was real. His heart ached from being so full.

A small clattering sound drew his attention away and he felt his heart stop in a panic. Aramis rushed across the nursery and plucked his daughter from the floor before she could pull another one of his swords off of the table where he’d placed them.

“Christine d’Herblay, how many times must I tell you to leave Papa’s things alone?” He scolded, nuzzling her cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do if you hurt yourself, darling.”

She leaned into his embrace, looking up at him with those big eyes with a perfectly innocent expression. Quite cunning, he thought, for a toddler. Of course, he melted instantly and began bouncing her up and down. Her bell-like laughter filled the room, as well as his chest.

The door to the nursery opened and you stepped in with messy hair stuck down by sweat from your exhaustive day and a harrowed expression. Your eyes fell upon the sheathed weapon on the floor.

“I tell her to leave them,” Aramis said. “But she doesn’t listen to me.” He tickled her side, earning more laughter. “Just like your mother, aren’t you?”

You didn’t laugh. Instead, you sighed and stooped to pick up his sword from the ground. From there, you began picking up everything you could find, tidying up the room in a flustered hurry. Aramis placed Christine in her crib beside Charles’s and took your hands in his to stop your anxious movements.

“What’s happened?”

You bowed your head. “Nothing.”

“Y/N…” He sighed, laying a hand on your cheek. You pulled away.

“It’s this Rocheforte.” You ran your fingers through your hair, more aware than ever of their lack of ring. “He isn’t like the cardinal- which I thought would be a good thing- but he’s somehow worse. He’s suspicious and- and cunning, and his men are asking more and more questions when I’m called there to repair uniforms.” Your rambling caught in your throat, paired with tired tears.

“What can I do?” Aramis asked. “You know it pains me to see you in distress. Just say the word, and I’ll have the heads of half of the Red Guard by sundown.”

“It isn’t just them.” You shook your head. “I’m just… so tired of lying, Aramis.”

Christine made a cooing sound. Charles yawned.

Aramis stepped toward you. “Then let us make it the truth.”

You paused, making sure you’d heard him correctly. Aramis continued.

“Marry me and none of this will matter. You can stop spying for Treville and the Red Guards will have the whole of the musketeers to face if they bother you again.”

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you wiped them hastily away. At first, he thought they were tears of joy, but the closer Aramis looked, he knew he was wrong.

“I will handle Rochefortes prying myself. He’s likely figured out you are the true father and is just trying to frighten me into admitting it.”

“Y/N, I don’t understand. The solution for this is simple-”

“I will not doom you to a life you don’t want simply because it is the simplest answer!” you said, louder than you’d meant to. Charles awoke with shrieking cries.

“A life I don’t want?” Aramis scoffed, trying to hide his hurt. “What are you talking about?”

“My answer is no, Aramis.” You moved to pick up your screaming son. “Marrying is clearly something you’ve never wanted and I’m not going to allow you to sacrifice anything for me when the children and I have done just fine in the current situation.”

Aramis reached for both of you.

Christine started to cry as well.

“Y/N-”

“I think you should leave.” You didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you focused on your children in order to hide your sorrow from their father. “I’ll watch them now.”

Aramis didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to kick himself for his insensitivity. He’d known of your doubts for so long and yet he sprung marriage on you as if it were nothing more than a way to fix a problem.

“If that is what you wish,” he sighed and left, closing the door behind him while the children’s crying followed him out.

He knew how he felt. He just needed to prove it to you.

You saw no one else for the remainder of the evening. Only your children kept you company, and even they seemed more interested in empty spools rolling around on the floor. Not that you minded. With them so distracted, you found it easier to let yourself cry.

He asked you to marry him.

How many times had you dreamt of Aramis saying those words and yet now they felt like musket shots to your heart. He saw you as a burden. A duty to fulfill. You could never live like that, even if it meant being free of the jeers of the Red Guard.

You only wished you could regret ever involving yourself with the musketeer, but your heart forbade it. Whether or not he felt the same, your love for Aramis had given you the world. The proof sat before you with their carefree laughter. Your son and daughter with their smiles just like their father’s. The time you’d gotten with them, with him, was worth all of the heartache.

It was late when you finally got them both to go to sleep. One was always waking the other, but eventually, Charles and Christine laid in their cribs and soundly drifted off.

You tried to finish up some work on a dress order at the table in the nursery,, but found your eyes unable to stay open. You must have fallen asleep as well, for the next time you opened them, the morning sun greeted you.

And the children were gone.

You were awake in an instant, tearing through your small apartment, but finding nothing. It wasn’t until you could hear Charles’ laughter that you hurried down the stairs, finding your son in the lap of his namesake and Christine grasping at a flower that Athos held over her playfully.

“Morning,” Porthos greeted.

You smacked the back of his head. “Don’t do that,” you exasperated, “I thought they’d been taken by miscreants or something.”

“We just didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” D’Artagnan smiled.

“What are you talking about?”

“It seems we are replacing you, for the day,” Athos explained, picking up Christine to give her to you. “The three of us are to deliver your finished orders.”

“While the four of us spend this beautiful day out, as a family,” Aramis said, having appeared in the doorway with a basket in hand and dressed in a casual tunic rather than his uniform.

Your heart fluttered at the thought, but your mind refused to give in so easily. After all, it was only the night before that you’d nearly cried yourself to sleep over the discussion you’d had with the man before you. But the charming smile on his face and the look in his eye made it awfully difficult to argue.

“I don’t know.” You made a point not to look at him. “I have so much still to do and-”

D’Artagnan stood, picking up your son and raising his brow at you. “Take the day, Y/N,” he said. “You deserve to rest.”

“Plus, he’s been going mad all night, which has driven all of us mad, as well,” Porthos muttered, motioning to his nervous friend in the doorway. “Go on,” he encouraged. “What trouble could we get into delivering a bunch of dresses and coats?”

“I don’t really like to think about it,” you frowned.

“I will make sure that everything gets to its proper place,” Athos assured you, making you feel a little bit better.

Aramis stepped inside, taking Charles from D’Artagnan and giving you a pleading glance.

“It’s a beautiful day, my love,” he said. “Let us spend it as a family.”

Any lingering frustration you’d felt from the night before was no match for his soft, wanting tone. And beneath his charisma, you knew that there was something else. Something far more serious. Whatever it was, you knew it was better to talk now than dance around it while the two of you buried yourselves in your work.

“I suppose I can spare one day,” you said.

Porthos and D’Artagnan cheered but were silenced by a look of annoyance from Athos. Aramis just lit up, kissing your cheek.

“You won’t regret it,” he whispered against your skin. But when he turned back to the door, son in his arms and his two girls behind him, he muttered to himself, “I hope.”

It was the first moment of peace you’d experienced in months. The only sound- other than the occasional cheer or coo from one of the children- was the slight breeze through the meadow flowers. The morning passed like dandelion seeds floating through the air.

Charles and Christine crawled around and explored the small plot of grass you’d found for them. Christine chased a butterfly and Charles plucked a light blue flower from its stem and brought it back to your lap.

“I see he’s inherited your charm,” you said, taking in the blossom’s sweet scent.

“And she your spirit,” Aramis pointed out, gesturing to the feisty toddler who was nearing the edge of the grass. He rolled onto his side and caught her in his arms before she could get too far. She whined, but only for a moment, before settling against his chest.

Despite the wonder of the morning, there was the crawling under your skin, whispers of your doubts reminding you of the hopes you’d felt had been dashed by your own fear. The fear that all of this would be gone in an instant. That he would finally tire of you and the life you’ve built and he would galavant off into the arms of another woman, into another battle, another fight he could not win.

You understood, then, looking at him under the swaying shadows of the willow tree above you, perhaps that was why you allowed your doubts to persist. Though you cared so deeply for him, you kept him at arm's length because the idea of him leaving of his own will was easier to take than a musket ball piercing his heart or a dagger across his throat.

The realization brought tears to your eyes. You bit your lip to hide the trembling, but Aramis knew in a heartbeat.

“Oh, my love,” he sighed. He set Christine beside her brother, both of whom had fallen asleep on the blanket. Aramis laid a hand on your cheek. “I fear I’ve made a grave mistake in the years we’ve spent together.”

You sucked in a breath and bowed your head, preparing for his regrets, his change of heart, and his announcement he was going to leave. He hooked a finger under your chin and lifted your face back to his.

“I have known you believe me to be with you out of a sense of duty. I have allowed you to believe that you are little more than a distraction grown into an obligation.” Taking your hands in his, his voice softened due to the overwhelming emotion in his tone. Now it was him trying to hide his tears. “I have wished my words of devotion were enough to convince you, but my actions last night have done just the opposite and for that, I deeply apologize.”

“Aramis-” You started, but he stopped you with a squeeze of your hand.

“I love you,” he said. He kissed the inside of your wrist, dark eyes watching you, so full of adoration and care that you held back a sob. Aramis held your palm to his cheek. “Every breath of every day belongs to you. Every beat of my heart is devoted to our family. Not out of any sense of duty. In fact, you’ve tangled my senses all together.” He chuckled, the lovely sound vibrating up your arm. “I can’t tell sunset from sunrise because you are my new sun. I don’t know which way is south because you are my north star.”

You found yourself leaning into him until you were but a few shallow breaths apart. Aramis turned his gaze to the sleeping children beside you.

“You have made me a father,” he beamed. “A dream I’d forgotten I had. You have made me a better man. Better than I thought I was capable of being. You are not an obligation, Y/N.” His eyes returned to yours and he drew even closer to you. “You are everything.”

His fingers laced into your hair and pulled your lips to his, silencing any of your cries. You kissed him with a passion like no other, but mostly you kissed him with belief.

When you parted, you both smiled tearfully.

Aramis continued.

“Which is why-” He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but it was no use. You left him completely breathless. “I ask you once more, to do me the honor of making me your husband.” He kissed the trail of tears on your cheek. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Aramis, I-” Your mind searched your heart for a reason to say no. It warned of loss and heartbreak. But you found that, no matter what, your guarded feelings would only be in vain. Your heart could not be protected by you alone because it did not belong to you. You pressed your lips to Aramis’s and whispered against them. “Yes. My answer is yes.”

You spent the rest of the day taking Christine and Charles around the city, proudly walking side by side. A few people whispered as you went by and several Red Guards glared, but quickly looked away with one deadly glance from your fiance.

The sun began to dip in the sky by the time you returned to the shop.

To your surprise- and much to your relief- the other men managed to get through a day without destroying anything, which was a fair accomplishment for them. Any conversation between them ceased when the four of you entered.

“Welcome back,” Athos said.

Three pairs of eyes stared expectantly.

“So…” D’Artagnan needn’t voice his question. He could tell from the light in your eyes what the answer would be.

You merely gave them all a simple nod and they practically leapt with joy.

With the children placed in their chairs, Porthos pulled Aramis into a crushing hug, D’Artagnan kissed your cheek, and Athos smiled brightly at you both, all voicing their congratulations.

“I take it the final part of the plan is still in motion?” Porthos asked with a wink.

“What final part?” You asked.

Aramis ran a hand through his hair, nerves returning.

“Well, now that everything is settled and you haven’t decided that you’ve had enough of me,” he said. “These fine gentlemen have agreed to watch Christine and Charles while you and I partake in a romantic evening together.”

“The picnic in the meadow wasn’t romantic enough for you?” You snickered. “I don’t want to take any more of their time.”

“It’s no trouble, at all,” D’Artagnan said. “Constance will be joining us as well.”

You gave him a suggestive smile. “I see.”

He rolled his eyes. “I think you’d better just find out what your last surprise is for today and let us take care of everything else.”

“We’ll take very good care of them,” Athos promised. “And I’ll make sure these two don’t get into any trouble while you’re gone.”

“As if you’re one to talk.” Porthos slapped him on the back. He quirked a brow at the couple before him. “Go enjoy your evening. We’ll drop them off in the morning.”

“But I still don’t understand.” You looked in between the four of them. “You all speak as if we have somewhere else to go. Unless you’re suggesting the garrison…”

Aramis reached for your hand with a smirk. “Just follow me.”

You kissed the children goodnight and thanked the men one more time before allowing Armis to lead you back down the street in the direction of the garrison. He stopped, however, at a building he’d made a point to admire earlier in the day.

“As much as I find the apartment above your shop charming, I thought this may be better suited to fit a family,” he said.

It was a small structure, but there was a cozy feeling to its appearance as well. The potential to become a home.

“It’s the perfect distance between the shop and the garrison, so neither of us would have to travel very far. I know it isn’t much, but Treville gave me an advance on my commission and the others chipped in as well. And I figured I could spend time fixing it up for us in between missions. I think, given some time and effort, it could be-”

You stopped him with a kiss.

“I love it,” you smiled. “And I love you.”

Aramis’s face split with a grin and he scooped you into his arms, kissing you deeply, despite the people passing you by.

“Wait,” you said, putting a hand on his chest. You raised a brow in amusement. “You bought this before you asked me to marry you. What if…”

He chuckled. “I was just really hoping you’d say yes.”

You pulled him into another kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair. With your hearts full and the first evening you’d had to yourselves since the children were born, he wasted little time carrying you inside and kicking the door shut behind you.

#aramis x reader #armis the musketeers #santiago cabrera #aramis #bbc musketeers #the musketeers #porthos #d'artagnan #athos #fluff #aramis fluff #romantic hero type

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spicy-cleanness · 8 months

Text

so there's a moment in the world's end, where gary appear in front of musketeers in the car.

"wow it's exactly like your old car"

"it IS the same car, I just changed..." and he starts to name details. but he names probably all details that car may have.

so basically he says "it's the same car, I just changed one by one every part of it, but it's the same".

this is a theseus ship paradox in a nutshell.

according to wiki: "if each individual part of the Ship of Theseus was replaced, one at a time, was it still the same ship?"

if each individual part of the Beast was replaced, one at a time?...

and my thought was "huh. they putted theseus ship in gary's words, who definitely know nothig about paradox. funny".

and then they go to the town.

and find out they don't feel any joy of it.

"the town is the same. we changed".

and then they find out blanked.

"we're the same. town changed."

but. the question is. if every citizen was replaced by blanked, one at a time, is it the same town?

#the world's end is the theseus ship paradox and it's driving me mad #I didn't check the exact quotes if someone want to correct me I will be grateful #the world's end #the cornetto trilogy #simon and edgar are you alright how did this come to your mind

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mememanufactorum · 5 months

Text

Badger’s Best of 2023 sentence starters

* FEEL FREE TO SHARE AS YOU PLEASE, NO CREDIT NEEDED. CHANGE PRONOUNS OR ANYTHING ELSE AS DESIRED

All lines are from this video created by TheRussianBadger.

"I ACTUALLY EARNED ONE, MOTHERFUCKERS!"

"Those noises that were coming out of you were inhuman."

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"You cannot land a KC-135 in a Kroger parking lot."

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"I'M SCREAMING ABOUT IT MOTHERFUCKER, STOP!"

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"Ay you ain't on your grind, son. You ain't on your bag."

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"Get the fuck out of our shower."

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"Enemy. Man. 300 meters. North. Fast. Fast. Fast."

"Fun fact: The TSA allows you to bring a live lobster through security."

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"THAT'S THE FOURTH TIME YOU'VE SHOT ME!"

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"All units, be advised: My stummy hurt."

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"You have the world's WORST EVERYTHING."

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"Somebody buy me a stat reset, PLEASE!"

"You should not be legally allowed to commit crimes if you're listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd."

"I'm on my Super Mario Sunshine shit."

"Are you barking at me?"

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"I'd trust Gengar with my kid."

"I didn't know he was chill like that."

"No. We are not putting a controller around somebody's neck and twisting it. It's a wireless controller, you can't even do that."

"And 45 is just a caliber."

"Ranch was made by California to keep the Midwest fat because they're scared of our power."

"I refuse to believe that Kranch is real."

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"I'm pretty sure that was the most sacrilegious shit I've heard in my life."

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"THEY'RE JUST POLYGONS!"

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"Take five 5-Hour Energies and enter the forbidden hour of the day."

"Those responses do not surprise me at all. I definitely expected that kind of language."

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"That was a little too much rage for a potassium transportation device. I didn't mean it. You full of electrolytes."

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"By sheer artillery alone, we should have tunneled our way to Atlantis by now."

"Yo, I don't know the Tom & Jerry lore, fuck you!"

"What if you wanted to go to heaven but God said to you, 'WE'RE GONNA TRY THIS WEEK'S CRUMBL COOKIE MENU'?"

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE TINNITUS, WHAT?"

"Is this like punching someone in the dark? Is it like a legal loophole?"

"There's only one of me in all the world. I am one in a krillion."

"If you're a chest sleeper, you're just a fuckin' psychopath, alright?"

#roleplay meme #roleplay prompt #rp meme #rp prompt #sentence starters #inbox meme #ask meme #TheRussianBadger

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sirfrogsworth · 4 months

Note

do you like going on hikes?

Honestly, no.

Even if it wouldn't cause post-exertional malaise, I am just not an outdoor person.

I never have been.

I love walking somewhere if I can get a cool photograph from it. But hiking just to hike has never really interested me. And while I think nature is beautiful and I love taking pictures of it, I very much dislike being in nature. No temperature control, bugs, predators, etc.

But mostly it is incompatible with my CFS, so it isn't really an option anyway.

My dislike of being in nature goes back a long way. In high school I signed up for a weekend Civil War reenactment to get extra credit in my history class. It was basically camping disguised as historical LARPing.

They tried to make it as authentic as possible. All of the food and cooking was period-accurate. Meaning we got mushy beans for dinner and mushy eggs for breakfast. We had to sleep in period-accurate tents with no sleeping bags. So that was cold and uncomfortable. And they didn't really plan a lot of activities, so there was a lot of downtime where 15-year-olds tried to relate to men in their 50s mostly trying to escape their families for a weekend. Some surprising and awkward oversharing ensued.

When we arrived they immediately made us change into ill-fitting, itchy uniforms including period-accurate shoes we had to borrow from the dudes running it all.

The thing is, I have always had big boy feet. Even at 15 years old I was wearing a size 12 wide. They didn't have any shoes wide enough to fit me, yet they insisted I not wear my tennis shoes.

"Ulysses S. Grant didn't have Reeboks, boy!"

So I squeezed my feet into a pair of non-wide 11s and walked around in them all weekend.

That was a mistake.

The big finale of the event was a simulated battle—which I was originally very much looking forward to. It was the entire reason I signed up. We would get to play with muskets and fire blanks at middle-aged Confederate cosplayers.

I mean, who doesn't love shooting fake racists with imaginary bullets?

But by the time of the battle my feet were on fire with pain.

I could barely stand.

Reenactments typically work on the honor system. If you see someone shoot in your general direction, you are supposed to pretend to get shot and fall to the ground. These guys took that rule very seriously. We even had to practice dying the day before during our musket training.

So we all lined up on either side of a giant field surrounded by the forest. We were instructed to prepare our weapons. Our commander shouted orders for us to get in formation. One of them even had a horse and a proper calvary sword. A trumpet sounded. Suddenly this glorified camping trip turned into something legit. Everything had been so halfassed up until this point and I wasn't expecting a scene with the production value of Glory to materialize.

Things got very silent and all you could hear were leaves rustling nearby. I'm pretty sure they were building suspense to impress all of us youngins.

And with an enthusiastic shout, our pretend commanders initiated the battle.

I heard the very first gunshot.

I grabbed my chest.

I dramatically screamed out in pain.

I fell to the ground.

I died.

All in all, I was a Union soldier for roughly 8 seconds.

Technically... I did not see anyone shoot me. I violated the most sacred reenactor code. But I think the honor system was more concerned with people pretending they *didn't* get shot, so I figured it would be okay.

So I just lied in a cold damp field, slipped off my shoes, and let out a huge sigh of relief as my feet expanded back to their normal size. All while a mixture of high school students and unhappily married 50-year-old men pretended to kill each other around me.

(Artist's rendering of me playing dead)

When I finally got home my feet were covered in giant blisters. My mom had to cut my socks off because it was too painful otherwise. I had to stay home from school for two days because I couldn't fit my feet in my shoes without screaming. Eventually those suckers all popped and that was very gross but also immensely satisfying.

And I happily avoided nature ever since.

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ace-beef · 5 months

Text

Cornetto Secret Santa Gift!!

Eeeee it is here and I have made a gift for @albaharu!! The prompt of yours that I decided to go with was "Andy/Gary full angsty or slightly angsty xmas time after the apocalypse". This was super fun to write and I really hope you like it!! :3

'Christmas in the Apocalypse'

Gary tugged at his coat as he walked, trying to pull it further around him as the wind picked up. It was definitely winter, there was a particularly sharp and frosty bite to the morning air that nipped at his cheeks, the kind that you only get in winter. Gary grabbed at his sleeves, pulled up his collar, anything to try and stop the cold wind from gnawing at his skin. He may be free to do what he wants now, but at least before the apocalypse he had an insulated building with heating to go back to.

“You guys don’t feel this do you?” Gary said, glancing round at the blanks of his teenage friends behind him. The Blank Andy shrugged.

“Don’t think so.”

“What do you mean you ‘don’t think so’?” Gary puzzled, glancing round once more to look at the Blank Andy with a scrunched up face.

“Well, we know that it is cold but we can’t feel the cold,” Blank Andy explained, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, we know what sort of weather and temperature it is I guess so we can blend in with humans, but we don’t get affected by it,” Blank Oliver added.

“Wild… lucky bastards, wish I didn’t feel weather, “ Gary said. He heard a couple of chuckles from the blanks behind him.

The group were walking through a lightly wooded area of spindly trees that reached up towards the sky with their spindly fingers, leaves long gone and instead the trees had caught a few pieces of the scraps that endlessly floated around. Their feet loudly crunched through the debris that had made its way to the ground, occasionally one of their boots would step on one of the few leaves left from autumn, the last to fall from the trees. The fog and smoke that hung lazily in the air had barely gotten any lighter since the downfall of the Network, and Gary and his group could only see as far as a couple of trees in each direction, but for those still alive that had become the daily experience for the apocalypse.

“Wait, so like, can you get bothered by… wet?” Gary continued.

“Bothered by wet?” Blank Steven questioned, bewildered by the wording Gary had used.

“Yeah! So you can sense when something is wet right?” Gary said, and all of the blanks nodded. “Okay so does that bother you? Like can you feel the wet?”

Their chatter was loud, walking and talking casually as if they were confident that they probably weren’t going to encounter anyone else out in the wilderness. It became the kind of moment that Gary enjoyed the most, where the blanks seem to relax and behave a bit more like the people they were built to imitate. They laughed and made fun of Gary’s grammar, subconsciously taking a step away from the programming that the Network had built into them.

Suddenly, a loud commotion of squawking and rustling and wings flapping startled the group out of their conversation. Just ahead of them, a group of pheasants had erupted into the sky, startled by the presence of the Blank Musketeers. A little bit further from where they saw the pheasants, they heard a voice shout “fuck’s sake!” and footsteps quickly heading their way, but they couldn’t see the owner of the sounds through the fog until he appeared in front of them.

“Good job! I spent ages trying to find those and when I finally do you-” the man was yelling angrily as he strode over to the group, stopping abruptly when he saw who he was facing.

“Gary?”

Gary went bug-eyed as he processed who he was looking at. His mouth couldn’t help but tremble a little.

“Andy?” Gary had started pacing towards him.

“Oh my god, Gary,” Andy said. He only took a single step forwards, still not quite believing what he was seeing.

Gary broke into a run for the last few paces before colliding into a hug with Andy, firmly wrapping his arms around his best friend. Andy clung on just as tight, relieved to see that Gary was okay. The two stayed like that for a moment, relishing in the comfort of it, not wanting to let any of it go.

They separated and looked at each other, still trying to believe that it was real. Gary opened his mouth to say something, but before any words came out, Andy slapped him.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?” Gary exclaimed, holding his cheek with one hand.

“That was for scaring off my Christmas dinner, and you’re lucky it wasn’t my fist,” Andy replied, pointing at him. He hesitated, before saying “and it was partially for disappearing again.”

“Oh come on now, that wasn’t really my fault and you know it,” Gary protested.

“Yeah but you didn’t really make an effort to find me again, did you?” Andy said, pointedly. Gary looked away, his expression sheepish.

“Yeah, I could have tried harder with that I guess… I’m sorry man.”

Andy sighed. Gary sounded genuine with his apology, which is not something Andy had heard very often throughout their friendship. After a pause, Andy put a hand on Gary’s shoulder.

“You’re okay Gary, at least it seems like you’re alive and well,” Andy said. Gary then perked up pretty quickly, launching straight into conversation.

“You know what? I have been alive and well! I have been quite literally free to do what I want and when I want, it’s been pretty great,” Gary said cheerfully. Andy smiled warmly.

“That’s good to hear,” he replied. He looked round Gary’s shoulder at the blanks behind him; they hadn’t moved from when they were initially startled by the pheasants. “I see you’ve made some… friends?”

“What? Oh yeah! It’s you guys! So you could say I didn’t make some friends but instead gathered the old ones,” Gary chuckled. When he only got a very weak laugh from Andy, he continued, “okay well I found them, just wandering, and I thought, you know, let’s give them an adventure! It’s the boys! Plus it was getting kinda boring walking around by myself.” Gary let out another small chuckle, looking at Andy with a somewhat hopeful look, as if he wanted Andy to approve in some way.

“Fair enough. Are you guys having as much fun as we did?” Andy said with a smile. Gary laughed a little at the question.

“I mean, kinda? It feels like they have the same personalities at their core but it still feels like they have some weird, leftover behaviours and stuff from when the Network was still here,” Gary explained.

“Hm, that’s odd,” Andy hummed. “Well, it seems like you guys are having a good time, based on how you scared my pheasants off,” he said after a pause, an irritated tone rising in his voice. Gary once again looked a little sheepish.

“Yeah sorry about that… Why were you trying to hunt pheasants anyway?”

“For Christmas! I already said that you bellend,” Andy grumbled.

“Oh huh, I wasn’t listening to that bit,” Gary chuckled.

“No, you never do,” Andy sighed.

“So… pheasants! Bit fancy for a Christmas dinner innit? Even more so considering the state of the world,” Gary said in a mildly joking tone, gesturing to his surroundings.

“Well, I was trying to take anything I could find really,” Andy replied. He seemed rather dejected, tightening his lips and kicking at a few leaves on the floor.

“Yeah, makes sense.”

The two stood there for a few seconds, the air beginning to thicken with awkwardness between them as they ran out of things to talk about. They had so much they could catch up on, but neither of them were able to land on a topic. The blanks had just stayed where they were, waiting for some kind of instruction saying that it was okay to come forward, but they were starting to get restless and were muttering things to each other.

“Uh, how’s the wife?” Gary had finally found a topic. Andy’s face suddenly seemed to grow older with tiredness.

“We split up. Thought it was going to stay better but it didn’t,” he said gloomily, avoiding eye contact. Gary couldn’t help but smile. He tried to stop himself from grinning but he failed miserably. He also wasn’t entirely sure why that was his instinctual reaction, but he decided to ride with it anyway.

“Man, that sucks,” he said way too cheerfully. He continued to grin at Andy despite being met with daggers.

“Oi! That is not a thing to grin about you bastard!” Andy’s downcast expression tightened into one of frustration.

“Right right, of course, I’m sorry to hear that,” Gary said, clearing his throat and holding his hands up in apology. He straightened his face into a more neutral expression, but there was still a playful glint in his eye that he couldn’t hide.

Once he felt like Andy wasn’t going to assault him again, Gary said, “So um, Christmas dinner by yourself?”

“Huh?”

“Well you said that you were trying to get a pheasant for your Christmas dinner, so are you having it by yourself?” Gary was trying to keep his tone neutral. He really didn’t want to once again anger his old best friend and have them part on bad terms; he’d had enough of doing that.

“Oh, yeah, well I thought I might as well still try and enjoy myself, as it’s Christmas an’ all,” Andy answered, his frustration leaving him. He was tired of just always getting angry at Gary, even if the idiot deserved it. He didn’t want Gary to run away again.

“Fair enough.”

Once again there was a slightly awkward pause between the two old friends.

“You know, as you’re here now, and it has been a long time since we saw each other and an even longer time since we, well, ‘hung out’... fancy coming round to mine for Christmas? Help me get some new dinner on the way?” Andy said, trying to be nonchalant. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he felt nervous about asking. Maybe he was afraid Gary would leave again, maybe he was afraid that asking was a mistake and that Gary would fuck things up, as he had a habit of doing so. Either way, the question didn’t come out as easily as Andy expected it to.

“You know what Andy,” Gary said. A smile was slowly creeping up on his face as he looked at Andy with bright, excited eyes that had warmth radiating out of them. “I would absolutely love that!”

For the rest of the morning, the group gradually made their way back to where Andy was shacked up, occasionally stopping when they found some kind of animal that they deemed worthy of being their Christmas dinner. Most of their hunting attempts were unsuccessful, mainly because Gary didn’t seem to understand the element of surprise and Andy came very close to actually yelling at him. Eventually though, the group got very lucky and found a chicken that had clearly escaped from someone’s farm as Gary managed to scoop it up without much trouble. He then gloated about not needing to sneak up on animals to catch them, and Andy had then punched him playfully in the arm, which made Gary almost drop the live chicken and cause all of them to panic.

Conversation during this journey was light and pretty easy going. Andy managed to get to know the blanks, and even though it took him a little while to get used to the fact he was interacting with fake teenage versions of his school friends (and one of himself), he reached his house being able to joke with them on the same level that Gary could.

Andy’s house was a decently sized, makeshift hut. It was something that looked like it had been built by hand, with care, while using any sorts of materials and bits and pieces that could be found scavenging. This sort of house was fairly common since the Network left, but Andy’s was strangely home-y and well laid out. Gary was honestly unsurprised by this, he knew that Andy always had a good eye for organising and planning things out. He noticed a small patch a little distance from the house where Andy was growing a few different kinds of vegetables. Gary let out a small, amused exhale through his nose, admiring Andy’s dedication to a relatively healthy diet.

“Well, here we are. Home, sweet home,” Andy said after opening the door and leading the group into a surprisingly spacious main room. It contained a few rough wooden chairs and a rough wooden coffee table, all of which looked like they had been hand made. On the other side of the choppy coffee table there was a rather shabby, but still comfortable-looking sofa. It was a tired and washed out green colour, and it looked like it had been scratched by a thousand cats, but the cushions on it still appeared to be somewhat squishy. The hard, wooden floorboards had been covered with a tatty, patterned rug that had half of its tassels missing.

Gary raised his eyebrows and nodded in approval.

“Look at this Knightley! You’ve got a pretty sweet home base here,” he complimented. The blanks behind him also looked around and nodded their heads. They too seemed impressed with what Andy had built.

“Thanks! You guys can get comfortable in here if you’d like,” Andy said to the blanks, waving towards the sofa and chairs. Once the blanks started finding spots to sit, Andy turned to Gary and said, “A’ight, pass me that chicken and I’ll get it started.”

Gary made a noise of confirmation and handed the now dead chicken to Andy, holding it out with both hands. Once his hands were free, Gary’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Hang on, what do you have to cook it with?” he asked, placing a hand on his jaw thoughtfully.

“Ah, follow me out to the back,” Andy said, a knowing smile on his face. Gary raised an eyebrow and gestured with a hand towards Andy, indicating for him to lead the way.

From the large room they entered, they passed through a smaller room which seemed like it was some kind of kitchen or at least a food preparation area. It contained a large table that was in the same style as the chairs and the coffee table in the previous room; clearly this had also been hand made out of the same materials. In the centre of this table there was a rich, green plant of some kind, growing happily in a chipped and scuffed flower pot. A couple of white, leaf-shaped flowers grew from the foliage. There were rickety counters with cupboards that looked like they had been taken out of an actual house and just propped up onto the walls. Only a few of the cupboards had doors.

Andy continued to lead Gary through a back door and outside, where a few paces away from the door sat a rather impressive looking stone furnace. It was a very rough circular shape, built together out of random bricks and rocks, with an opening at the front for the food to go into and a small gap near the bottom for fuel to be put into. A couple of twigs poked out of the gap.

“Andy! This is amazing!” Gary exclaimed, spinning in a circle and stretching his arms out. “Did you build all of this?”

“Yeah I did! Well, me and, I guess my ex wife now, worked on it all together,” Andy explained, becoming a little pensive.

“Ah, so she left?” Gary asked tentatively. He fidgeted with the brim of his hat. Andy let out a sigh.

“Yeah. Just walked out and never came back.”

“Real shame, I’m sorry man. But also, honestly, her loss! Look at all of this cool stuff she left behind! In my opinion, you won,” Gary advised enthusiastically, looking at Andy with a confident stare. Andy seemed unsure at first, eyebrows knitted together, ready to get frustrated with Gary, but he just couldn’t. Eventually a small smile wormed its way onto his face and he felt his body relax. When Gary saw it, he grinned broadly.

“Don’t know why she would leave a cute thing like this,” Gary said as he turned round to face the hut. “I wouldn’t mind having a place like this to come back to every now and then.”

Andy felt a warmth in his cheeks.

“She always said it looked run down and ugly,” Andy said, exhaling sharply as if he was trying to blow out the sudden warmth in his face. Gary spun round to face Andy again, eyes wide and mouth open in a shocked expression.

“Really?? This is adorable! It feels so…” Gary hesitated, turning back to the hut and shaking his arms and hands in the air, trying to find the word he wanted.

“Crass?” Andy said, huffing out a short laugh.

“No!” Gary chided, flashing Andy with a disapproving scowl before returning to facing the hut.

“Well then what’s the word you’re looking for?” Andy asked tiredly.

“I dunno, it’ll come to me eventually,” Gary said, flopping his arms down at his sides and shuffling over to Andy. He pointed at the stone furnace. “So how does this work?”

For the next few minutes Andy showed Gary the whole process of preparing the chicken and cooking it in the stone furnace, even down to him explaining exactly how the furnace worked. Unfortunately for Andy’s patience, Gary never seemed to fully understand exactly how it worked.

“Wait, but how does the heat stay in? There’s all these holes in between the stones,” he puzzled, pointing at all of the spaces.

“I’ve explained this already Gary, it’s- you know what, never mind,” Andy sighed heavily, giving up on trying to get Gary to understand.

The pair of them stood up and left the furnace, deciding to walk back inside and see how the blanks were doing. Once they were back in the main room, they found the blanks just happily chatting away, and the pair of them lingered in the doorway, watching them. Both had affectionate, little smiles on their faces as they watched the four teenages talk in such an ordinary way, reminding them of their far away youth. Blank Ollie still had those short, snappy mannerisms as he spoke, Blank Steve still had that calm and relaxed posture, Blank Pete still fidgeted with the sleeves of his jumper, and Blank Andy still had that boisterous laugh and hearty grin.

“I can never get over how good the Network were at copying people,” Andy murmured thoughtfully, continuing to watch the blank teens. Gary let out a small chuckle.

“Yeah, but since they’ve been walking around with me, it’s like they’ve gradually become less how like the Network originally built them and have become more true to the, I guess, originals. As if the true personalities are coming out,” Gary mused quietly, also not wanting to look away from the conversation in front of them. Andy let out a thoughtful, but affectionate hum.

They continued to watch the blanks natter away for another minute or so, before Andy suddenly seemed to leap with an idea.

“Oh! Stay there, I’ve got an idea of something we can do while we wait for the chicken to cook,” Andy said, startling the blanks out of their bubble. They all turned to look at him.

“What? What is it?” Gary asked as Andy started to walk away from him into a different room that he hadn’t gone into yet. Andy skidded round to face Gary.

“Gary, you will like this, it’ll take you back to those Christmases we would have together with the boys,” he replied eagerly, before quickly heading off again.

“Do you know what he’s talking about?” Blank Oliver asked, looking at Gary.

“I don’t know, there was a lot of things we would do at Christmas,” Gary said, throwing his hands up into a shrug. He decided to sit with the others while they waited, so he perched down onto a space on the floor next to the coffee table, crossing his legs as best as he could in his scruffy jeans. Gary undid the strap for his sword and took it off, placing it among the other weapons that the blanks had put in a pile next to the sofa.

“Are you guys ready?” Andy suddenly came back carrying something under his arm. They all perked up. “Look what I’ve managed to get!”

“Fuckin’ hell Andy!” Gary exclaimed, eyes wide and a grin on his face.

All eyes in the room were focused on the box of Monopoly that Andy was now holding out in front of him.

“The real deal, I found it during one of my scavenging trips. It pretty much has everything still in it! Oh, well it is missing a few of the paper notes but that doesn’t impact the game too much. It is also missing a couple of the player pieces but that’s alright because I can always find other objects to replace them. Oh also I don’t think there’s any hotel pieces in here, but that doesn’t really matter because when have we ever got to having hotels?” Andy said before angling a laugh towards Gary.

“Yeah we always got into some kind of game-ending argument before we got to hotels,” Gary said, laughing.

So they set up the board and all of the money and all of the pieces out on the coffee table in the main room. Gary yelled dibs to be banker, but Andy quickly stamped out that notion and made it so that he was the banker; he claimed that Gary cheats when he’s allowed to be in that position. There was a slight squabble between Blank Steven and Gary about who should be the race car, but after a quick game of rock, paper, scissors, Gary got to be the race car and Blank Steven then picked to be the boat. Blank Oliver decided to be the thimble, Blank Peter wanted to be the dog, Blank Andy went for the cannon, and then Andy picked up the boot.

Luckily for Gary and Andy, part of the memories that the blanks had, was knowing how to play Monopoly, so they launched straight into the game. Gary got a strong start with properties, but by the end of the game ended up either having to sell them to others or mortgaged after making poor and impulsive choices with his money. Andy played it pretty safe and ended up having a decent few properties with houses on them, making him a contender to win but not indefinitely. Blank Steven went down a similar route as Gary, buying lots of property in the beginning and made Gary especially mad because he managed to get all of the green properties. However by the end of the game he wasn’t in the worst shape, but he definitely wasn’t winning with his lack of houses. Blank Peter never really got a chance to buy anything that good, with his unlucky dice rolls he missed out on a lot of stuff. He eventually managed to get a few properties that people didn’t want, like the browns, but it meant that he wasn’t in too bad of a position by the end of the game. Blank Oliver was in his element. He was making deals left and right, even being able to swindle Gary into selling some of his good properties to him, and by the end of the game he was the ultimate tycoon.

“Gary, you have to sell me that property or you’re out of the game!” Blank Oliver said, staring hard at him.

“No wait! Wait! I can get this back! If I just- fuck!” Gary was scrabbling through his things, desperately trying to find a way to pay the rent without losing.

“Oh fuck! How long has it been since we started?” Andy suddenly interjected.

“Probably a good few hours… why?” Blank Steven said.

“SHIT! Gary the chicken!” Andy yelled, startling Gary out of his desperate state.

“Huh? OH FUCK THE CHICKEN!”

In a flurry of cards and fake money, Andy and Gary clambered to their feet and scrambled through the kitchen and out of the back door to check on the stone furnace.

“Hm… anyway Steven, can I make you a deal?” Blank Oliver asked, turning to Blank Steven.

Smoke was pouring out of the stone furnace, much more thick, black smoke than there should have been. Andy grabbed a rag from the kitchen and flapped it about as Gary grabbed the emergency bucket of water from next to the furnace. He shoved the water into the fuel gap with some force, putting out the fire that had been cheerily crackling away for hours. Andy took the rag in both hands and frantically pulled out the chicken, only to find a shrivelled and charred lump. The chicken had been thoroughly burnt.

“Fuck…” Andy said quietly. The pair stood there staring sadly at the blackened blob; it still had wisps of smoke curling off of it.

“But I’ve been a good boy this year,” Gary said mournfully.

“The fuck do you mean?”

“It’s a lump of coal, and it’s Christmas Day,” Gary clarified, trying his best to conceal a laugh and keep the sombre tone. His lips were twitching, itching to burst into laughter.

Andy looked at Gary, not being able to believe that he made a stupid joke when all that they worked for had just, quite literally, gone up in flames. However, when he caught Gary’s eyes with his own, he had to start fighting back a laugh of his own.

“Gary. This is not a joking matter,” he said, looking back down at the chicken, trying his best not to splutter. He hoped that avoiding eye contact with Gary would help, but it didn’t, the laugh was still trying to escape and now stronger than before.

Andy took one last look at Gary, and the two erupted into waves of laughter. It took them a few minutes before they were able to calm down, clinging onto each other and tears streaming from their eyes.

“WHEW! Okay, fuckin’ hell,” Andy panted, finally being able to catch his breath.

“Alright… so what are we gonna do about the chicken?” Gary asked after he was able to breathe again. They both once again looked down at the burnt chicken.

“Ah fuck the chicken,” Andy said, before throwing the entire thing over his shoulder. The pair giggled together.

Andy and Gary stood there for a moment, looking out into the wilderness, contemplating things in silence, and just enjoying each others’ company. This was the most comfortable they had felt around each other in such a long time, they probably hadn’t felt this content with each other since the 90s… and it felt nice, really nice.

“Gary?” Andy decided to break the silence, turning his head to his best friend.

“What’s up Knightley?”

“Did you mean what you said earlier?”

“About what?”

“You know, the thing you said, about how you wouldn’t mind having a place like this to come back to.” Andy had shifted his gaze back to the vast wilderness in front of him, missing the warm smile creeping up Gary’s face.

“Oh yeah!” Gary said, bouncing a little on his toes as he looked at his boots. “Yeah I meant it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

Andy felt that sudden warmth in his cheeks again, although it was more toasty than the last time. He glanced at Gary at the same time Gary glanced at him, and both of them quickly diverted their eyes to something else in their surroundings.

“Well, since it is just me here now, it gets pretty lonely out here, by myself. So I was thinking, if you wanted to pop back here every now and then, well you’re more than welcome. You can use it as a sort of, home base,” Andy said, once again struggling to get through his words a little.

“I mean, I do really like it, and I have been wandering around for a long time… it would be nice to rest and just, stick to one place for a bit,” Gary replied, sniffing sharply and fidgeting with the buttons on his coat.

“Yeah! You’re allowed to stay, you can stay for as long or as little as you want really.”

“Nice! Um, thanks Andy,” Gary said, finally looking at Andy once more. Andy looked back at him.

“It’s no problem.”

The two stood there for a few moments of silence more, but this time not wanting to look away. This was the first bit of real connection that they had felt since… well, an even longer time ago. It felt so, so, refreshing.

“QUAINT!” Gary suddenly blurted out, causing Andy to jump.

“Wh-what’s this about?” Andy stammered, bewildered.

“The word that I was trying to remember earlier! When I was describing your- well I guess now our hut. It was the word ‘quaint’!” Gary babbled.

“Oh! I see… yeah I guess that word works,” Andy said indifferently.

“You guess?? I thought it was a great word!” Gary argued.

“Meh. Also, I’m sorry, it’s ‘our hut’ now?” Andy barked playfully.

“Yeah! Isn’t that what you were just saying?”

“I guess so but you jumped on that and got comfortable with it very quickly!”

“Sooooo what you’re saying is that I’m not wrong?”

“Shut the fuck up Gary King, you prick,” Andy scoffed, a huge grin on his face.

“You shut the fuck up Andy Knightely, you twat,” Gary retorted, with a grin just as big.

#this has been In The Works for like a hot minute #I hope it's okay though!!#I honestly wanted to write the whole Monopoly scene out properly but I also didn't want to make this too long lmao #it's already at almost 5k #also tempted to post to ao3 if people are cool with that #the cornetto trilogy #cornetto trilogy #the world's end #the world's end movie #gary king #andy knightley #beef writes #beef speaks #cornettosecretsanta2023 #cornetto secret santa 2023

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