#thatcher do not listen to that angel fuck

[basgevers]

Desert Island Discs: Billy Bragg - Greetings To The New Brunette

Round about the same time I was being introduced to The Wedding Present by John Peel, one evening he played a track called “They’ve Got A Bomb” by delightful anarcho-punk band “Crass”.

He had a way of doing that you know, John Peel, taking you out of you comfort zone, hitting you with something completely unlistenable just when you were bopping along to the Undertones, or some Ukrainian folk music collective.

Now, I had been listening to a lot of punk at the time - the Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Jam, The Buzzcocks, Stiff Little Fingers etc and so on, but Crass, Jesus, they made Johnny Rotten look like Johnny Mathis.

Crass were everything I thought punk stood for: politics, action, revolution and change in a way that the sort of stuff I had been listening to just didn’t. “London’s Burning” is all very well, but no one I was listening to sang about the things that Crass did on Do They Owe Us a Living: “At school they give you shit / drop you in the pit / You try, you try, you try to get out / but you can’t because they’ve fucked you about”. And even now, thirty years later, listening to “Asylum” still gives me the shivers.

Listening to Crass in the early 80’s in Britain made me stop and think about the world around me. I was only about fourteen at the time, but seeing the striking miners on the news every night as they struggled to keep their jobs and their communities together in the face of the brutal onslaught of the monetarist economic policies unleashed by Thatcher at the height of her powers, I knew that the world was not a fair place.

Punk was supposed to be a catalyst of revolution, but somehow it had failed to materialise. In bands like Crass, and to some extent Angelic Upstarts, I realised that safety pins and fashionable boutiques along the Kings Road selling swastika t-shirts are not the answer. I mean, I still listened to Prefab Sprout, but at the same time I began to look more critically at was was going on.

Having asked my dad what segment of the political spectrum Thatcher represented, I vowed that whatever she believed in, I would believe the complete opposite. So, one evening in the Central Library in Aberdeen, I picked up a copy of the Communist Manifesto and slowly worked my way through that. It was hard going, but I understood the general thrust of what Marx was saying.

A bit later on I picked up Animal Farm, 1984 and A Brave New World to reinforce my fundamental belief that the world was basically a dysfunctional place, led by a corrupt elite that had only their own selfish interests at heart and would stop at nothing to keep the status quo.

Throughout all this period, during which I must have been insufferable, I also picked up at the library a copy of “Workers Playtime” and “Talking with the Taxman About Poetry” by Billy Bragg. I’d never heard of him, but I was initially attracted by the Workers Playtime album cover, with its flag waving communists proudly on show.  

Figuring that this sort of artwork could only mean I’d found a political musical soul mate, I took the records home and played them pretty much non-stop. I loved Workers Playtime, there’s a lot of great tracks on there, but it was “Talking..” that really enthused me with it’s mix of politics (“Ideology”, “There Is Power In A Union”) and everyday life (“The Home Front” , “The Warmest Room”).

Those last two track in particular still invoke a particular sentiment nearly 30 years later, a nostalgia for an era I never knew, an era that comedian Stewart Lee would call “the post-war socialist utopia, contract with the people, Call The Midwife etc”.

But the song that stands out for me is the opening track - “Greetings To The New Brunette”. On an album that’s got some heavy moments on it, lyrically, “Greetings To The New Brunette” is like a breath of fresh air. Think of it as a Ringo Starr number, like “Octopuses Garden” just turning up in the middle of Abbey Road, and you’re like “what the hell… ”. That kind of thing.

So “Greetings” (only real fans get to call it that) is really about politics and sex. The former was a big issue for me back in 1986 when it was released; the latter less so, but not for the lack of hoping. Put it this way, it was easier to get my hands on a copy of  the collected works of Chairman Mao than it was getting my hands on Yvonne Mintie from the 5th form who lived on the end of our street and for whom I had “a thing”, as was the parlance of the day.

Interesting trivia - being a political song, I always thought the Shirley referred to was Shirley Williams, the former Labour and Liberal Democrat grandee. Tehee.

So this song is important because it happened to me at that point in time when my burgeoning social conscience met plain old crude puberty. A tense meeting of minds, as seen in a mixtape I made at the time, where “Suspect Device” is followed by Dire Straits’ “Romeo and Juliet”.

[bbbrianjones]

i was tagged by my two honeybees @old-memoria && @bowiepop to list the 13 songs i have been listening to lately!! thank you so much girls, or commonly known as angels <3

1.  jennifer sometimes by the wildwood

this song in from a fake band which features in my latest tv show obsession, endeavour, which is set in the sixties!! for a fake band, it’s surprisingly pretty accurate and it is very reminiscent of cream and pink floyd’s music at the time!

2.  make believe you love me by ??

this song is also from endeavour [which explains the unknown singer!] it’s still very accurate, reminds me of something lulu or the female singers from that era would do!

3. i feel free by cream

morally, i am all against eric clapton and to anything to do with him but the harmonies which feature on this song are straight out of heaven!! WARNING THOUGH; once you hear this song, it’s stuck in your head forever!!

4. itchycoo park by the small faces

must be going through a late sixties phase but i have loved this song since 2017!! i remember hearing it and thinking that’s stevie’s vocals were very smooth and almost polished?? that’s probably not the correct word but still, it’s very lovely to hear!

5. crocodile rock by elton john

this song has been a certified banger ever since it was released in 1973! a special memory i have with this song is hearing it in a bowling alley when i was four and seeing my nana’s smile when i started dancing! forever has a place in my heart!

6. watching the detectives by elvis costello

i’m a sucker for a good bassline and my GOD this song pretty much hits it out of the fucking park!! 

7. underwear by pulp

this features one of my favourite lyrics ever put to music; if fashion is your trade // then when you’re naked, i guess you must be unemployed. thank u KING jarvis!! also i like to believe this song separates pulp from the ‘laddish’ culture which surround britpop music.

8. made of stone by the stone roses

sometimes when it’s three am you just need to scream someTIMES IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII FANTAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIZE and let out your emotions. this is the stone roses which has beaten my eardrums to death!

9. mellow yellow by donovan

my mama used to sing this to me when i was a child, singing ‘i’m just mad about emmanuelle, emmanuelle’s mad about me’ in the same sleazy way donovan does. i’m still amazed by the mixing, especially with the brass band instrumental. 

10. walls come tumbling down by the style council

as paul weller said ‘fuck u thatcher’

11. i’d like to walk around in your mind someday by vashti bunyan

my beautiful pixie wife!! a wonderful dear friend dedicated this song to me before breaking off all contact with me. i did love this song beforehand but now it has a whole new special meaning whenever i listen to it!

12. bike by pink floyd

this song is insane!! but like good insane!! you’re kinda like ‘what the hell is going on??’ but then just accept it once your hear the chorus!! also the verse about gerald the mouse... yes.

13. puppets by depeche mode 

just when i think i have heard every depeche mode song, this song appears and makes me fall madly in love with them again! i like to believe this is one of their songs before their ‘dark’ period, especially considering it’s a vince clark song! 

[kiruuuuu]

Smoke/Mute oneshot in which two nerds fall for each other. Also, as usual, part of it devolves into utter chaos :) (Rating T, fluff fluff fluff + humour, ~9k words) - written for my kindness war with @nutbrain 💖💖 Take that! I do hope you enjoy it and I hope you also know how much I adore you. Please never change 💗

.

Mute raises an unimpressed brow. When Sledge told him he was about to meet their ‘chemistry whiz’ who apparently matched Mute’s own penchant for anything science, he’d pictured something…

Well, not something like this. Not an aged goon too short for the t-shirt he’s wearing (yet filling out the sleeves nicely nonetheless), not someone folded onto his chair like an ape, and certainly not someone with a haircut better suited for the military than a lab. He’s an odd mix of latent energy, smug grin and laziness, and Mute immediately decides not to like this show-off.

He’s always been picky and so far it’s served him well – while other friend groups publicly fought out private issues, complained about betrayal, miscommunication, ignorance, Mute sat in his corner with his one or maybe two friends and simply watched. Focusing on his own success, he’s always fared better than if he tried to get along with those around him, and the results don’t lie: mid-20s, and he’s just been recruited into one of the world’s best special forces. He works well enough in a team and is aware his superiors can’t demand more than that, even if Aurelia expressed the wish for him to socialise more than he’s used to. Her right-hand man briefly tried to bond with Mute over their shared heritage but backed off as soon as he earned a carefully blank stare. He knows more than he lets on, Six does as well, but for now they’re leaving Mute be.

Going by his gut feeling, trusting his first impression has rarely failed him, and so he fells his judgement while the hoodie-clad thug in front of him greets him cheerfully. “How ya, nice to meet you, I’m told you can backseat engineer a tad and help me with my project. Been a right bastard recently, innit?”

Mute blinks. Self-centred, he writes on his mental list, outgoing – the horror! –, big mouth, carefree. None of the bullet points make him want to spend more time in this guy’s presence than necessary. It doesn’t help that it’s entirely unclear who or what has been a right bastard, whether it’s the project, the dude, maybe Mute himself, who knows? He sounds like one of Mute’s former classmates who dropped out to sell weed and graffiti abandoned stations at night. “Yes”, he replies hesitantly to buy time. “So… what is it you’re working on?”

In an entirely misguided attempt at getting Mute settled in at the base, Sledge has spent most of the day sending him back and forth between operators with increasingly mundane tasks which Mute identified much too late as intended conversation starters which usually resulted in two lines of awkward small talk and a task done mostly in silence. He nearly refused to step anywhere near this last SAS member but when Sledge mentioned the magical word science, Mute’s interest was piqued. Seems like this will be just another disappointment, however, because this schoolyard bully surely isn’t -

“A Lewisite derivative less prone to hydrolysis and ideally as long-lasting as Adamsite while being less identifiable. I don’t want those bloody terrorists shooting up on dimercaprol immediately to counter the effects.”

Well. Mute briefly considers whether he’s merely saying this to be funny, maybe learnt it by heart to impress a few birds in the pub, but when he spots the emblem of arsole on this guy’s jacket like the crest of a prestigious school, he realises that he’s dead serious. “You realise that’s illegal as fuck?”

This earns him a bright smile. “Yep!”

“So you want to poison a whole group of people”, Mute clarifies, just to be sure.

“Lethally poison them to death until they die”, the man confirms with an amused nod and again, it takes Mute a moment to register he’s not being facetious.

He throws a glance at the chicken scratch notes spread out on the table separating them. They look chaotic yet detailed, and most of all they look like a challenge. “What did you say your name was?”, he wants to know distractedly and almost misses the lazy grin spreading on the guy’s face.

~*~

Mute still doesn’t like him. Contrary to how often they hang out, Smoke certainly ranks nowhere near his favourite people to spend time with which might seem unfair but he’s just – annoying, really, won’t stop bragging or talking too loudly, keeps taking and using Mute’s stuff without asking and is much too handsy for his tastes. He never properly learnt personal boundaries and is forthcoming to the point of rudeness, at least in Mute’s opinion, but for some reason gets along well enough with most of the other operators. It baffles Mute how easily he navigates social situations, does so without a care in the world and, while Smoke gets yelled at often enough, he also gets what he wants a surprising amount. Mute was brought up to be reasonably polite, withdrawn, not a bother, and Smoke is… the opposite. He goes out and declares for everyone to hear, so someone is bound to listen. It’s enviable, in a way.

But no, Mute’s personal ideals resonate much more closely with Glaz’, and Twitch’s, and Rook’s, and together they form an alliance of loyalty and trust and meet up just to be themselves. It’s a relief not to worry about what comes out of his mouth and even more of a relief to realise he’s actually found friends in Rainbow. He doesn’t consider Smoke a friend, not really, more of a necessary evil which just won’t go away and so he’s developed coping mechanisms.

This, too, sounds harsh in his head. He has to admit there are moments when he genuinely enjoys Smoke’s company.

“Why are you so quiet, lad? Cat got your tongue?”

Compared to Thatcher, Smoke is an angel. As awe-inspiring and competent as the SAS legend is, he seems to take personal offence to Mute mostly keeping to himself and has set out to coax the social chameleon, the starry-eyed, hopeful young man out of Mute who’s been dreaming of being a part of the whole his entire life yet was too awkward to figure out how. Little does he know that under Mute’s taciturnity hides an even more misanthropic nerd who’d be happy surrounded by nothing but technology for the rest of his life. Not all who talk little have little to say, but not all who talk little secretly want to star in High School Musical.

“Mike, you must’ve spent the first twenty years of your life in silence”, Smoke pipes up from where he’s lounging on one of the other tables in the workshop, letting one of his legs dangle and playing a freemium game on his phone, “because with how you dither on, you sound like you’ve something to catch up on, now that you’ve one foot in the grave.”

Mute has to admit: he’s excellent nuisance repellent. He hides a grin as Thatcher’s attention shifts. “I certainly would spend twenty years in silence if it meant you’d have to shut up yourself.”

“Gladly, if it’d make you stop molesting the youngins. I saw you chase Manu around yesterday, she should really get a restriction order.”

“All I wanted was to help her calibrate her gun -”

“She’s bloody GIGN, granda, she was born with a Magnum in her tiny baby hands. And whatever you do, she’ll never calibrate your gun.”

Despite knowing Thatcher genuinely only wants to help, Mute leaves the two to their usual banter, content in not being a part of it: they both seem to enjoy their bickering and it’s best not to make himself a target. Besides, Smoke thoroughly relishes being insulted, if his and Mute’s early interactions are anything to go by. Smoke called him young, Mute replied with ‘as young as you wish you were’ and since then, he’s been a puppy following him around with a delighted expression, fawning over every harsh comment directed at him.

“Oi, babe”, Smoke addresses him and Mute wishes he’d mind the nickname, yet whenever he remembers the other ones which were in the running, he can’t. “You think Mike here hates molecules whose atoms are all in covalent bonds?”

The question comes so out of thin air that Mute needs a second to process it. “I �� what? Why?”

“Because they’re unionised.”

Mute stares at him for a bit longer before it clicks – it’s Thatcher and he means the other pronunciation of unionised and dear Lord, the joke is fucking atrocious, it’s impressive how awful it is, and before he knows it, his sides start hurting. Air eludes him as he does a silent laugh which hurts and Smoke has never looked this stupidly proud before. Not even after he made Glaz throw up by shovelling vanilla pudding out of a mayonnaise glass into his own mouth.

“What”, says Thatcher, looking completely unamused. “Are you laughing at me?”

Gasping, Mute shakes his head and waves him off, and Smoke is still grinning triumphantly. “Copper carbon potassium”, he mutters and sets Mute off once more because only he would call someone who massively outranks him a cuck and hey, that gives Mute an idea. While the two continue barking at each other, he pulls up the periodic table on his phone and starts putting things together.

Seconds before the two actually come to blows – and Smoke would have the advantage, Mute has seen him in the ring and he does not mess around –, he announces: “Fluorine argon thallium iodine carbon potassium erbium.”

Watching Smoke repeat it in his head and translate it feels like waiting for a firecracker to go off, and he’s not disappointed when it does and the other man dissolves into full-bellied laughter which nearly throws him off the table.

“What does that mean?!” Thatcher is getting more and more agitated.

“He called you a fartlicker”, Smoke chortles and Mute doesn’t even get to defend himself, explain that it wasn’t at all aimed at Thatcher, before the very same rolls his eyes and simply storms off.

“I didn’t mean him”, Mute complains and crosses his arms when Smoke saunters over to plant his arse on his table instead.

“Oh, I know, but now he’ll be pissed for a week and leave you alone.”

“I’ll apologise.”

“Are you nuts? Don’t feed into his ego. Vain bastard.”

Mute scoffs. “Says you.”

And oh, the surprised face he earns is entirely warranted. He doesn’t suppose anyone looks at Smoke closely enough to notice him glancing in the mirror a lot, or that his mismatched and ill-fitting clothes are carefully chosen and that he takes pride in his appearance. He certainly makes sure his muscles show at least. “Yes, well”, Smoke murmurs, having lost the thread of their conversation and idly running his hand through his short hair. “Oh, speaking of – I should have this cut.”

“Don’t. I like your hair.”

Smoke shoots him another astonished glance and pets his semblance of a hairstyle. Mute does like it more now that it’s grown out a bit, and he bets Smoke could look cute with it even longer. “You really should stop catering to people’s egos, they might get used to it.”

“Trust me, I’ll be the first one to mercilessly argue you into the ground, should the situation call for it.” It wouldn’t be the first time either, not after Smoke claimed drinking through a straw not only made you more drunk but also faster, that alcohol is a good way to stave off the cold and that people eat five spiders in their sleep each year. At this point, he’s half suspecting Smoke of digging up misconceptions purely so he can witness Mute tearing them apart.

“Now let me check whether you can spell ‘turdsniffer’ with the periodic table.” He takes a seat next to Mute and together, they try to come up with the best insult they can. Mute is extremely happy with CoCKBaSiN, Smoke proudly presents BUMnOsEr, and by the time they land on AmErICaN SnOBScAm, both of them are having trouble breathing.

“If everything else fails, we can always call people C4H4AsH”, Smoke concludes and points at his jacket. “A good old-fashioned arsole.”

Of course. Mute is beginning to wonder whether he ever washes this particular piece of clothing. “And no one will be the wiser.”

“Except for us. Because we have such good chemistry.”

“Alright. You can stop now.”

“If we were a laser, we’d be set on stunning.”

“James.”

“Is it getting hot in here or is this just our bond forming?”

Mute corrects himself mentally: there is no way in hell this idiot could ever be cute. “Why do I even talk to you.”

“No idea”, Smoke retorts cheerily. “But I’m glad you do.”

~*~

Unsurprisingly, he needs a little help from those who know him better than he does. They’re having lunch together, Rook in his everlasting hunger went out voluntarily to buy them fancy sandwiches and is still complaining about the place being out of baguettes whereas Twitch happily wolfs down her ciabatta without a peep, and then Glaz says mid-munch: “We’re having a spa day on Sunday. Has Julien asked you already?”

“Can’t, I’m setting skips on fire”, Mute shrugs and grins at Twitch’s horrified expression. “Not literally. But we have some hypotheses to check and usually, it ends up with us burning our notes because everything went arseways.”

“Arseways”, Rook repeats quietly to himself and Mute is relieved none of them know enough about English and Irish dialects to notice just how much slang he’s picked up from Smoke along the way. He’s made the mistake of greeting Montagne with an automatic ‘how are you’ before and ended up with intimate knowledge of the man’s health-related problems.

“You can always ask Jordan for help, just mention the setting on fire part and he’s in”, Twitch suggests reasonably and for a second, Mute actually considers it. He doesn’t mind Thermite, the man is sociable enough to fill silences before they turn awkward and perceptive enough to leave Mute alone when he needs it. Still, he was looking forward to a weekend of loud music, a few drinks and greasy takeout which he allows himself so rarely, with no space for anyone else. And while his friends’ plan of just chilling probably would drain the tension out of him just as effectively, he’s not going to ditch Smoke after he already agreed.

“You’re seeing James a lot recently”, Glaz comments in between bites.

Is he? More than he used to, Mute supposes, but it’s gotten better. The bragging has diminished or stopped bothering him so much seeing as Smoke usually includes him in it these days, and they’ve found more common ground – music was a big one, ultimately there’s not much of a leap from hardcore punk to avant-garde metal seeing as they can meet somewhere in the middle, and gaming is another. Even the fact that Smoke only ever wanted to play the games in which he’s better than Mute has subsided. They compromise more, Mute realises: Smoke tests his limits less often and Mute doesn’t judge as much anymore, the verbal pushing and shoving has turned into good-natured playfighting. It’s not about who’s right, it’s about having a good time, and on the rare occasions on which they bring up serious topics, Mute doesn’t get as worked up anymore and Smoke knows when to take a break to sort his thoughts.

“I like him”, he summarises his musings with a nod.

“And I remember the time you called him a copper nitrogen terbium argon”, Rook chimes in.

“Silver. Ag is silver, not argon.”

“I will literally never be able to remember this.”

Another reason why Mute is glad to have Smoke – there are some inside jokes they share which just don’t translate to his real friend group. “He’s much more bearable these days.”

“He’s worn you down”, Twitch corrects him with a smile and he doesn’t object. “Why don’t you ask him if he wants to join? He’s nice enough and he can’t be worse than Jules.”

“Hey!”

“Sure.” Mute shoves the rest of his brie with cranberry into his mouth and gets up to track Smoke down. The words echo in his head: he’s nice enough. There’s a few descriptions he’d deem fitting for the Brit but nice isn’t one of them – above all, he’s opportunistic. If there’s nothing in it for him, he won’t do it, but fortunately ‘entertainment’ has proven to be reliable bait for him, rendering him predictable. Mute likes this. He knows what to expect, knows when Smoke will play along, and also knows he does so willingly. Smoke doesn’t mind being tricked or manipulated into something provided it’s done overtly.

When he finally stumbles over him, he’s not alone: Fuze is talking rapidly at an irritated-looking Thatcher with Smoke at his elbow, and judging by everyone’s body language, it’s a topic which should’ve been cleared a while ago. Meaning it’s about being team captains. Since Fuze can express his displeasure best in his mother tongue, he tends to seek out colleagues who know it well enough, Thatcher unfortunately being one of them – Smoke seems to be his moral support, though he appears less supportive and rather more bored to tears.

Fuze has been a thorn in Glaz’ side for a while, ever since he dropped a comment about Rook which left his younger teammate secretly shaken and uncertain, and Mute has to fight down the urge to provoke the Uzbek whenever he sees him since. He can’t stand anyone messing with his friends, especially not on a topic like this. And with Smoke standing there, hip cocked and expression unguarded, he gets an idea.

“Hi, sweetie”, he mutters quietly enough to be convincing yet loud enough for Fuze to hear and puts an arm around Smoke’s shoulders.

He might be slow on the uptake sometimes, but right now Smoke’s spontaneity triumphs. Making it look natural, his face lights up and he wraps an arm around Mute’s waist, pulling him closer and greeting him with a soft: “Hey, babe.”

Before them, the Uzbek momentarily loses his train of thought before continuing his rant.

And oh yes, if there ever was anyone perfect for this kind of stunt, it’s Smoke. He spends half his time touching Mute already anyway, fixing his clothes, fiddling with his phone (including taking it out of his pocket), feeding him usually questionable things, leaning into him out of laziness, peering over his shoulder while steadying himself on him – the list is endless and has long stopped bothering Mute though he rarely initiates contact himself. Right now, he’s very glad for this familiarity between them.

Seemingly uninterested in the proceedings, Mute pushes a hand into Smoke’s half-long hair and starts petting it. It’s as soft as its glossiness promises but if he’s honest, he wouldn’t have minded one bit if it was coarse or greasy because the face Smoke makes all of a sudden is priceless. He didn’t expect his features to go slack like this, for him to melt into this touch completely, and he has to suppress a chuckle. It seems he’s finally found an off switch. The longer he massages his scalp, runs his fingers through black hair, the more the grip around his torso loosens and the more Smoke sways in place. He looks like he’s got trouble keeping his eyes open and it’s, well, it’s endearing in an unexpected way. And Mute already knows he’ll shamelessly exploit this knowledge in the future.

Still, he hasn’t achieved his goal of pissing off Fuze enough for him to stop hissing at Thatcher, and so he pauses his ministrations to watch in amusement as Smoke returns to this plane of existence very, very slowly. He blinks, shifts his weight and presses his compact body more against Mute’s in the process, and he’s so dazed and adorable that the one thing which most likely will achieve the intended effect doesn’t even seem like such a bad idea anymore.

So Mute leans down and kisses him.

Fuze trails off mid sentence.

It was just a brief touch of lips on lips, but despite his stupefaction, Smoke possessed the presence of mind to tilt his head into it, slide his eyes shut and capture Mute’s lower lip between his own for a second and hey, that’s much better than him shoving his tongue down Mute’s throat as a joke or maybe him slobbering all over Mute because that’s kind of what he was expecting. When it’s just nice instead, he makes no move to hide his smile and straightens back up to catch Fuze’s eye innocently.

And while Smoke’s hand drops lower and starts groping Mute’s butt, the Uzbek’s expression darkens. He spits one last sentence at Thatcher and turns around on his heel to stride away with purpose.

Wordlessly, Thatcher just looks at them.

“What just happened?”, Smoke wants to know meekly, visibly overwhelmed with the situation and Mute could really get used to this.

“Fuze was being a scandium astatine tungsten holmium rhenium”, Mute explains matter-of-factly.

Thatcher shakes his head with a grin. “Little shits”, he murmurs, but to Mute’s ears it sounds grateful. He leaves them to it, still holding on to each other for some reason.

“You wanna take a spa day with us instead of vegetating in the lab this weekend?” He’s gently massaging the base of Smoke’s skull now and notices his eyelashes flutter. Cute. It’s cuter than it has any right to be.

“What, give up gaming till morning for sitting around and talking about feelings?”

Mute snorts. Is that what he thinks they do in their spare time? “I’ll pet your hair if you say yes.”

“… when are you guys meeting up?”

And he can’t help but give Smoke a quick hug while laughing before relaying the details.

~*~

“Mark.” A hand on his shoulder, him curled around a warm body, and a pleasant dream lingering – he’s not at all ready to wake up. “Mark, get up. It’s late.”

He huffs a sigh, hears it echoed from the small creature next to him and stretches before cracking open an eye. Sledge is regarding him with a fond smile, whereas Diana, pressed against him on her side, pretends to be still asleep. The living room is empty save for a myriad of bottles and glasses and oh, that means everyone’s gone already. Sledge has already changed into sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, pads around barefoot and tidies a little while Mute sits up on the couch, strokes the corgi lady’s soft fur with one hand and checks his phone with the other. u home yet?, Smoke asks and it’s just like him to remember Mute’s schedule despite being on the other side of the world.

was sharing body heat at Seamus, gonna head back now, he replies and pictures Smoke’s slightly irritated expression. While he’s never had an issue with Glaz, Twitch and Rook, Mute’s newly-developed friendship with Sledge caused frankly amusing uncertainty which surfaces either in territorial aggression or thinly-veiled jealousy. He ignores Mute’s assurances that the Scotsman has a long distance boyfriend somewhere seeing as no one has ever heard him mention him (but Mute knows the signs), and instead tries his best to keep Mute’s attention, unaware that he’s competing with Sledge’s dog more than anything, and that no one could ever surpass the small fluffball.

“How’s James?”, Sledge asks in a tone so natural that Mute wonders when it became so self-evident that he’d know about every detail in Smoke’s life.

“Bored a lot. Now that they’ve cleared out the base they’re just staying in the hopes of catching some stragglers who didn’t get the memo. Unlikely, but Six is right in saying if there’s a chance, they should take it. He’ll probably be back some time next week, or so he hopes.” It’s past three now, so no wonder everyone’s gone already. Since he lives in walking distance, Sledge probably figured he’d let him sleep off all the alcohol he consumed much too fast earlier – without Smoke around, it’s only half as fun, thus Mute drank like he was getting paid for it and must’ve passed out while cuddling with Diana.

His phone buzzes. It’s a singular question mark and Mute can’t help but grin at its passive aggressiveness. found the perfect snuggling partner, he replies and figures there’s no need to be cruel, so he attaches a photo of the corgi now rolled up into a ball.

“Want to take some of Moni’s salad with you?”

Mute perks up at that and trails after the Scotsman into the kitchen. Normally he’d have left straightaway, but he’s got nowhere to be tomorrow since Rook and Twitch want to go clothes shopping and Glaz was prescribed some quality time with the rest of his team, and Smoke is unavailable. They’ve both wrecked their sleep schedules over the past weeks due to time zones, and still there’ll be a period tomorrow when Mute won’t be able to contact him. He’s not looking forward to it. If he asked, Sledge would let him sleep over and probably entertain him the entire day, but it’d be inevitably coupled with a few stern words Mute imagines normal dads to direct at their children, and he’d rather avoid parental guidance. He’s old enough to make his own decisions now. Like taking photos of himself naked and deleting all of them a second later, because no. Just no.

“I can’t believe there’s some left over”, he states to distract himself from what he’d even do with nudes.

“There wasn’t. She set some aside for me earlier because she knew all of you would devour it.” And though Mute knows Sledge is kind and caring, he can’t help but wonder whether he’s feeding him specifically because Twitch snitched about him accidentally skipping meals. He should ask her tomorrow.

what about me?, Smoke wants to know and Mute almost hears his pout in his head. If he’s honest, it’s not even close. Diana is affectionate to a ridiculous degree and has never accidentally elbowed him in the crotch so she’s the clear winner – but he has to admit there was an evening they spent pressed against each other on Glaz’ couch which was uncomfortable until Mute stopped fighting against Smoke and simply put an arm around him to save space, and he barely caught anything happening on screen for the rest of the film because there was also a casual hand resting on his thigh -

“Do you miss him?”

Mute realises he’s been staring at his phone for entirely too long and Sledge is already done putting some of the delicious potato salad into a container for him. His cheeks start heating up but he can’t deny it, so he nods. It’s been a few excruciatingly long weeks and though Smoke’s expressive enough in texts, it’s just not the same.

“Have you told him that?”

And here we go. He rolls his eyes, snatches the salad with a muttered thanks and goes to put on his shoes. she smells better, he types out just to be a brat.

He pauses in the door when Sledge calls his name and expects him to meddle some more, already prepares his defence: Yes he knows, yes he should tell him, but what if he doesn’t reciprocate, and it’s such a commitment, and it’s been a while, he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, and what if they don’t want the same thing -

But Sledge just says: “Get home safely. Good night.” He probably figures Mute knows all of which he’d like to say instead.

On the way back, his eyes are glued to the screen once more. They exchange good-natured banter, gossip a little over some of their colleagues’ work ethics, and then go back to complaining about the whole mission which currently separates them so inhumanely.

I sware tho when im back ill spend one day eating one day sleeping and one day gaming

Those are three different, consecutive days I assume?, Mute clarifies. If so, that sounds like a party I’d like to attend.

babe ill invite u to any party esp if its just us two

Mute is beaming. Smoke is probably expecting him to pick his message apart, make a crude joke about parties in his knickers, plan ahead for when he does come back or maybe even switch topics entirely, and on any other night Mute would indeed go for one of these options. But he’s still giddy with a slight buzz, remembering the dog’s warmth and wishing it was Smoke’s instead, that he instead makes an offer. Provides bait, in a way. Gives Smoke a chance.

Do you enjoy spending time with me that much?, he asks.

And though he firmly expects Smoke to laugh it off maybe or just take a while to reply, it’s nearly instant and so open it tugs at his heartstrings. yes, Smoke writes. Nothing else. Mute’s cheeks are starting to hurt. There’s no sarcasm, no dismissal, just a yes and he couldn’t have hoped for a lovelier answer.

That is, until he receives the next message and realises he was wrong, oh so wrong.

iodine lithium potassium uranium, it reads.

And while it’s not perfect and a little awkward, he couldn’t care less because today is the best day of his entire life. He actually tears up a little, scans the words over and over again and ignores their turning blurry, tries to come up with an appropriate reply – it needs to be just as honest, that much is clear, Smoke is taking a leap and Mute needs to make sure he catches him, and that’s when he runs into a lamp post.

It’s a miracle it hasn’t happened sooner, going by how little attention he paid to where he was going, but that doesn’t make it any better. He hits his head on metal, hard, clutches the valuable potato salad with one hand but drops his phone with a loud clatter and a curse. A quick glance establishes that yes, it’s actually broken, pieces having flown off, screen cracked, and still he doesn’t care.

Because Smoke likes him. Likes likes him. And looking back, it was glaringly obvious, wasn’t it? But somewhere among the countless hours they spent together, Mute had convinced himself that a friendship is all it was and that he should feel guilty for the surreptitious glances every time Smoke took off his shirt in his presence, that he shouldn’t mess with their dynamic and maybe Smoke only allowed him to touch his hair and no one else because… well, there was no good reason, now that he thinks about it. It’s remarkably long by now, Smoke hasn’t had it cut once and Mute vaguely remembers complimenting him on it. It suits him. Mute wants to bury both hands in it and hold him still while snogging him silly.

The phone is a goner. Doesn’t even turn on, so he puts it in his pocket, rubs the pounding spot on his forehead reminding him of his obliviousness, and only then realises the problem with this whole situation: he’s got confirmation from Smoke now.

But Smoke doesn’t know about his feelings. He doesn’t know Mute likes him back. And like this, he can’t tell him.

.

“The fuck?”, Rook slurs drowsily upon opening his door. He’s wearing pastel pyjamas with polar bears.

“I need your phone”, Mute replies, breathing hard from having run all the way. The conversation with Smoke made him go the wrong way yet once he’d oriented himself, it turned out the Frenchman’s flat was closer than anyone else’s, so he’d come here. “It’s an emergency.”

“Is anyone hurt?” He wobbles back into the apartment and emerges again carrying a potentially life-saving device.

“Only James’ pride”, Mute mutters and snatches it out of his hand. Then realises yet another problem. “This is his old number. You don’t have the new one?”

Rook looks ready to fall asleep against the door frame. “Wha? He has a new one?”

“Yeah, he dropped his phone in the sea two weeks ago. Fuck. Do you know who might have it?”

“The hell’s going on, Mark? Is he okay?”

If he wants Rook’s cooperation, he should probably tell the truth. “Yes, but he told me he liked me and I accidentally smashed my phone, so I can’t answer him. He’ll probably go to sleep soon and I don’t want him to think I’m ignoring him. I’d really like to text him. And I know it’s dumb and I probably shouldn’t have woken you up -”

“Call Timur.” Mute hesitates. “I’m serious, call him, he might have it. He won’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mark, you’ve never asked us for help in anything personal. When your jammer went arseways and you were bummed for a week, we had to forcibly drag you out of your flat. Yes, I’m sure. And I’m glad you’re here.” He still can’t bring himself to wake up more of his friends, forcing Rook to take his phone back and call Glaz himself. “Besides, you two are made for each other. Manu is gonna scream my ear off when I tell her.”

He smiles at that. “Do you want some of Moni’s potato salad as thanks?”

“No answer.” Rook hangs up, distractedly glancing at the object Mute is offering him. “Wait, did you say Moni and salad?”

.

A few minutes later, they’re in Rook’s car, listening to horrifically repetitive pop music and eating salad. “What about Seamus?”, the Frenchman suggests with his mouth full while Mute is busy calling next to everyone on Rook’s friends list.

“You know he’s gonna be the smuggest git. I’d rather avoid all the I-told-you-so.”

“Fair enough. Here we are.” Rook parks the car in the middle of the street and together, they knock on Glaz’ door until it swings inwards to reveal an extremely unhappy Kapkan.

“Oh shit”, says Mute. Apparently quality time implied a sleepover. He hopes they’ve only woken up one of the pack.

“There better be a huge fire somewhere”, the Russian growls.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that”, Rook begins to explain when one by one, the other Spetsnaz flock to the door to stare them down. Glaz, at the back, seems more worried than angry, but everyone else is visibly resentful.

“You know what, forget it, we’ll find someone else”, Mute tries to interject and avoids Fuze’s furious stare, but it’s too late.

“Mark needs to confess to James, but he destroyed his phone and I don’t have the new number. Do any of you have it?” There’s a certain impressive quality to watching Rook, still clad in baby blue bears and physically less imposing than literally every single one of the discontented men before him, calmly ask them for help with such a mundane issue.

As expected, Fuze basically explodes. “What!”, he yells and only narrowly gets stopped by Kapkan and Tachanka before he can lunge at Mute. “You two weren’t even -”

“Have you asked Manu?”, Glaz pipes up from the back, over the raging Uzbek’s shoulder.

“I will skin you! Fucking brats -”

“She’s not answering either, probably set her phone to silent. You think we should stop by?”

“Do you think this is funny? Ridiculing -”

“Worth a try. I’ll tag along.”

Mute ends up with Glaz on his lap in the front, while the three angry Russians occupy the back bench: Fuze is pissed over the Brits taking him for a fool just because they acted flirty whenever he was around, Kapkan is pissed that Fuze is pissed, and Tachanka is pissed over having to sit next to the other two. None of them are wearing any shoes – or shirts, for that matter –, except for Glaz, fortunately. It’s a complete mystery to Mute why they came along, but now he has to deal with aggravated Russian being thrown back and forth behind him.

“What about Seamus?”, Glaz inquires curiously and nearly falls into Rook’s lap at a particularly sharp turn.

“He’d be a smug shite and I don’t wanna deal with that.”

“Fair enough.”

.

Twitch is clad in pastel pyjamas with a cupcake print. She also seems understandably intimidated over being faced with six guys upon opening her door, three of which disgruntled and rearing for an actual fist fight.

“Mark needs to declare his undying love to James but blew up his phone and now none of us have his new number. Do you?”, Glaz explains the issue so badly that Mute wants to smack him.

“Why are you on their side? They were constantly provoking me!”, Fuze hisses in the background.

“Then it’s your own fucking fault for getting upset about love”, Kapkan snarls back.

Once Twitch is done literally hopping up and down with unbridled joy after having confirmed it three times, she admits: “I don’t have it, no. Didn’t he only give it to you, Mark? Have you asked Seamus?”

“We don’t wanna deal with his smartarse attitude”, Rook explains.

Twitch blinks, uncomprehending. “You can’t be serious.”

.

She sits perched on Mute’s lap for the drive whereas Fuze is forced to sit on Tachanka's, a fact over which he seems utterly infuriated. A small brawl happens halfway through, with Glaz trying to stay out of it as much as possible, and Tachanka threatening to open the door and dump Fuze’s crusty arse outside, and if Mute is honest, he hasn’t had this much fun in ages. It’s like free entertainment, and though worry nags at him, he knows they’ll eventually be successful.

Sledge is remarkably awake and even a little flustered, even more so when he eyes the crowd on his front lawn. “Is the world ending?”, he asks politely.

“Do you have James’ new number?”, Mute replies with another question and ignores Fuze kicking at his heels before getting dragged away and shoved around a bit by Kapkan.

“What, did you lose your phone after he confessed to you and now you can’t answer him?”

“How does he know everything?”, Rook whispers in Twitch’s direction, awestruck.

“That was a lucky guess”, Mute accuses him, because how.

Sledge pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mark, he told me a month ago that having you would make him both the happiest and the luckiest man on earth.”

Mute gapes at him. In the background, Kapkan snaps: “You hear that shit? That’s fucking cute, you numbskull, and you’re not going to rain on their parade!”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.” Sledge’s deadpan tone implies that he’s thoroughly done with both of them – probably hinted heavily, with either of them dismissing him. “Come on in. I don’t have his number, but I know someone who would.”

They file into the house which doesn’t look much different to how Mute left it more than an hour ago, which is odd: the same lights are still on, meaning Sledge didn’t go to sleep, yet the mess is still there. He must’ve been doing something important if it kept him up till now.

“Mike’s known him for a while, so he’s likely to have James’ number”, Sledge announces and starts rifling through drawers. “But he turns off his phone at night and I don’t know where his stupid caravan is parked right now. I wrote it down somewhere.”

Mute spots a closed but running laptop on the coffee table. “Maybe you’ve got it saved on here”, he wonders and just as Sledge chokes out a panicked Mark no, flips it open.

And is faced with a very handsome, very hairy, and most importantly very naked guy on a webcam who seems surprised to see him.

He closes the laptop again. They could’ve heard a pin drop in the following silence.

“Well”, Sledge murmurs, “that, uh, was Adriani- Adriano.”

That answers that question. Mute’s face is burning.

“Tell him we’d like to meet him properly once he’s put some clothes on”, Tachanka speaks up cheerfully.

“Guys, I found more of Moni’s salad in the fridge”, Rook announces with his mouth full just as he enters the room, though he stops dead when all faces turn to him. “What? Did I miss something?”

.

For some reason, Thatcher looks the least surprised out of all of them to receive a gathering in his abode – or rather in front of it, because his moving temporary home hardly offers enough space to house eight people. It was a relief to take two cars to get here, even if Sledge seems ready to murder someone after chauffeuring three arguing Spetsnaz around.

“This puppy here wants to propose to James but since he melted his phone in the microwave, we need you to tell us exactly where he is so we can fly over”, Tachanka explains even worse than Glaz did previously and Mute just puts his head in his hands.

Thatcher scowls at them. He’s wearing pastel pyjamas with rocket ships on it. “Is this a joke?”

“Do you know James’ new number?”, Sledge takes over with a deep sigh and yanks Fuze aside the moment he tries to elbow Kapkan. Mute is no longer surprised over the fact that the Scotsman feels more like a dad to him than a friend. “I believe it’s time sensitive.”

“I don’t have it”, the old man grumbles, much to everyone’s exasperation, “but I know someone who does. Just a phone call away, come in.”

Easier said than done – one by one, they squeeze into the limited space, with Rook and Twitch climbing up to the bed and letting their feet dangle into Glaz’ field of view, while Fuze and Sledge sit down by the tiny table. The rest stands awkwardly as Thatcher rummages around aimlessly until he finally finds what he’s looking for. Namely his phone.

“That’s where you keep it?!”, Sledge wants to know, aghast. “What if there’s an emergency?”

“Well you’re all here, aren’t you.” Thatcher takes another two minutes to turn it on and by then, Mute has lost all patience.

“Let me do it”, he offers politely and adds silently: for the love of Christ. “Who am I calling?”

“Tze Long. He’s an old friend from Hong Kong, James and I know him from years ago. He’ll know.”

He vaguely remembers hearing the name before, so he navigates to contacts, tries not to look too hard at the notes Thatcher has added to a few of them, like Brunsmeier (public nuisance) and Cowden (good lad) until he lands on Nizan (hide all food). It takes him a few seconds to regain his composure but then he’s finally spotted the name Thatcher mentioned and presses the green button. He doesn’t have to wait long, seeing as it’s currently morning in Asia, but he was not at all prepared for the booming greeting nearly shattering his eardrum.

“Morning, honey, having trouble sleeping again? Want me to read you another bedtime story, hm?”

And though Mute has never met this man in his life, the sultry tone makes it painfully clear there’s absolutely nothing innocent about his offer. Even worse: since Thatcher set his phone’s volume to eleven, literally everyone in the cramped room heard.

Mute has to correct himself: today is one of the worse days of his life.

“Give me that”, Thatcher hisses and snatches the phone out of Mute’s hand. “Listen, I have visitors.”

Since he failed to lower the volume, all present continue to hear both sides of the conversation, whether they want to or not. “Wonderful! I’ve been telling you to get out more, dearie, have more social contact or you’ll end up a bitter old fart.”

“That means you need to behave.”

“I always behave. You know me. I’m extremely obedient.”

The two Frenchies on the bed are shaking with silent laughter whereas Thatcher is getting redder by the second. “All we need is James’ number. Do you have it? We have a youngin here who wants to marry him.”

“Just confess, actually”, Mute chimes in but gets ignored.

“Oh my. Yes, I have it. Do you have something to write?” Sledge holds up his phone with the notes app open as confirmation, and what follows are the longest five minutes of Mute’s life because Thatcher insists on being dictated one digit at a time, repeats it even though everyone can hear the man on the other end of the line clear as day, and then asks Sledge to confirm it. They go through the process twice to be sure and by the end Mute is ready to strangle somebody.

Thatcher thanks his ‘friend’ and hangs up on him mid-sentence, to everyone’s relief, seeing as any sentence that begins with ‘and remember to replace the trousers that we’ can’t end well. And then it’s done. They hold a collective breath as Sledge pulls up the number he just saved and presents his phone to Mute.

He’s almost forgotten why they’re all here, but the serenity of this moment hits him out of the blue – he’s about to make a life-changing decision, yet he’s convinced it’s the right one. He really, really likes Smoke. Absence did make his heart grow fonder, he spent a few sleepless nights reminiscing over all the genuine, heartfelt, entertaining, meaningful moments they shared and realised he feels incomplete knowing he can’t just meet up with him, can’t just take a spontaneous day trip by his side or just laze around at his place. This is one of the things Smoke has learnt: leaving him alone. Not always, but sometimes Mute just needs time for himself, and of all people he didn’t expect pretentious, flashy, loud Smoke to acknowledge it.

He can’t wait to tell him that he feels the same way he does.

“Can you let me through?”, he asks, expecting the others to move out of his way for some privacy, and reads the room much too late. He’s almost furthest from the door, a door three Russians are blocking. Kapkan crosses his arms.

Okay. He gets it. He interrupted their sleep, wasted their time, irritated them to hell and back, and yet they stuck it through. They… kinda deserve to hear this.

Wordlessly, he dials the number and tries not to let his racing heartbeat affect him – anxiousness is crawling up his throat, clogging it, and the fact that he’s doing this in front of eight other people doesn’t fill him with confidence. What if Smoke’s sleeping already, went to bed confused and dejected? What if he’s changed his mind in the meantime? Every beep increases his dread and leaves him more restless than before and he’s not even aware of fidgeting until Sledge reaches out and squeezes his hand reassuringly. He could’ve smooched him for the gesture, just like he could’ve thrown something at Rook for pulling a dumb grimace simultaneously.

And then Smoke answers the call. “Yeah?”, he says, sounding tired yet curious. He hasn’t gotten any sleep all night and it must be morning for him too.

“James? It’s me.” Twitch gestures emphatically and so he switches to loudspeaker, as much as he doesn’t want to. Even Fuze looks invested at this point.

“Oh, how ya babe. What’s the craic?” Now that he knows it’s Mute, he’s much more lively and Mute wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.

“My phone died, I’m really sorry. Or rather – I walked against a street light and smashed it on the floor.”

“Shit. Are you alright? I could tell my messages weren’t coming through, so I figured something happened.”

His concern feels like a warm blanket. Mute is grinning like a lunatic but is long past caring at this point. “Yeah. Well. I’m just calling – I need to tell you something.” Tachanka stands up a little straighter, the smile on Glaz’ face grows and even Thatcher looks almost proud.

“Do you?”

Just like his question earlier, it’s a prompt. And just like Smoke earlier, he won’t leave him hanging. Mute gathers all his courage, looks around the room… and no.

He has a reputation to uphold. He can’t just blurt it out, can’t lay himself bare like they’re expecting him to.

And so he asks: “Are you a carbon sample, James?”

Visible and, on Smoke’s part, audible confusion. “Huh?”

“Because I’d really like to date you.”

Rook puts a hand over his eyes, Fuze continues to frown in ignorance and Kapkan rolls his eyes so hard it must’ve hurt. But somehow, Mute knows that he did exactly the right thing when he hears Smoke’s relieved laughter, undignified chortling conveying just how grateful he must be to hear this. “Babe”, he chuckles in disbelief, “you’re unbelievable.”

And despite the presence of so many other people, this is still only their moment, because it’s only the two of them giggling like idiots. “So”, he begins once their amusement has died down a little, “does that mean we’re -”

“Yes”, Smoke cuts him off. “Hell yes. There’s no way I’m gonna sleep now, I can’t wait to see you.”

“Fucking finally!!”, Kapkan yells and the entire caravan erupts into chaos – there’s cheering, clapping, a few complaints over their behaviour in the past, and Rook and Glaz actually exchange money. Thatcher pats him on the back, Kapkan nearly breaks one of his ribs with a meaningful nudge and Tachanka loudly proclaims his blessing. Mute just laughs, caught in the middle of it all, picturing Smoke’s flabbergasted expression over the sudden commotion and wondering how in the world he’s going to explain the whole situation to him later.

“The hell’s going on”, the phone in Mute’s hand asks and even he doesn’t know.

“I’ll talk to you later, James, love you, bye!” Smiling, he hangs up and switches to text messages, starts outlining the events of the evening while the storm continues to rage on around him.

“Admit it, you coward!”, Kapkan barks, and Twitch calls for a celebration, Sledge mentions he’s tired and would rather go home, Tachanka predictably exposes him with a crude comment about his boyfriend waiting for him, Glaz remarks favourably on Thatcher’s pyjamas, and Thatcher mentions he’s got a few pieces of cake in the fridge for an impromptu party, to which Rook replies with his mouth full that there’s only one piece left, and eventually even Fuze murmurs: “Alright, it was a little cute.”

But Mute only hears half of it because he sent Smoke a heart and received a heart back as well as the follow-up of with how much electricity there is flowing between us we must be a galvanic cell and good Lord, he wasn’t even aware of how fucking doomed he was.

~*~

Smoke is radiant.

He looks good on a bad day, but right now he’s bloody gorgeous – sleeves pulled up to reveal tanned skin, long hair combed back instead of parted according to no logic at all, and eyes gleaming. With every moment that passes, he becomes more and more ethereal, incorporeal, unapproachable, like a piece of art which can’t be touched or else it’d be ruined, like a mirage. They haven’t seen each other for a month so he might as well not be real at all, or maybe all their conversations over the past few days didn’t happen and Mute dreamt of his interest being reciprocated, and if nothing happens in the next second -

Smoke drops his duffel bag, reaches up and pulls him down for a kiss. It’s sweet and impossibly tangible, convinces him that this is really happening and so he prolongs it, relishes the contact of lips on lips. When they part, he’s left light-headed. “I’m back”, Smoke informs him unnecessarily.

“You’re early.” He nods. Both of them are beaming. “You didn’t even go home?”

“I came straight here.”

It’s a little awkward, Mute doesn’t really know how to react other than grinning like a dumbass, but it seems neither of them mind. “You wanna take a shower after the long flight?”

“Wanna join me?” He hesitates and Smoke picks up on it, carries his bag inside and closes the door behind them. “Babe, don’t worry. We’ll go slow. We can just laze around all day, do nothing. I’m just happy to be here.”

Mute is not fully convinced that it’s what he himself actually wants, but he agrees with the sentiment of finding their own pace. “Me too”, he admits quietly and runs his fingers through dark hair. It’s as soft as always, the feeling addicting, just like Smoke’s mouth, and so he kisses him again. They’re both oddly shy, conscious of themselves, and Mute recognises it as uneasy vulnerability. This is uncharted territory for both of them and in order not to overstep any boundaries, they tread carefully. “You look so fucking good”, Mute murmurs in between kisses and smiles when Smoke hums contentedly.

“See, when you say things like that, it’s really hard not to just spread my legs and tell you to go ham”, Smoke mutters, making him snort and interrupt their making out. “But I’ll be a gentleman. I promise.”

He senses there’s more to it than that. “If?”, he prompts expectantly, brows raised.

And Smoke’s smirk is unbearably smug. “If we do it on the table periodically”, he finishes.

They look at each other. He’s so fucking perfect Mute just wants to hold him and never let go.

“We’re going to be insufferable, aren’t we.”

It’s not a question, more of a fatalistic statement, and yet Smoke agrees with a joyous: “God I hope so.”

[the-lichemaster]

all the even numbers

Ok then.

2. Outgoing or ShyShy. I making hate eye contact so much I’m eligible for disability benefits.

4. Are you easy to get along with?I think so, as long as your willing to do all the heavy lifting in the conversation department

6. What kind of people are you attracted to?Aggressive brunette women. Or more generally, I like people who have nerdy and weird interests but who aren’t annoying about it and aren’t squares.

8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind?

Judge Judy

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with?

A homeless guy I met while waiting for the pharmacy to fill my order (he was waiting too). I forget his name, but we talked about waste in capitalism and what our ideal societies would be.

12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now?

Answered this one earlier

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles?

No

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

No.

18. Do you still talk to your first crush?

No. I imagine she has forgotten all about me.

20. Do you like your neighbors?

I don’t talk to them, but they seem fine.

22. Where would you like to travel?

Answered this one already

24. Favorite part of your daily routine?

Getting drunk

26. What do you do when you wake up?

Curse the day I was born, check email and news on my phone

28. Who are you most comfortable around?

I guess my mum, but really it’s a 7 billion way tie with everyone on earth making me uncomfortable

30. Do you ever want to get married? 

Maybe, although I think if I did it would just to make someone else happy.

34. Do you play sports? What sports?

No. I used to be really into basketball as a kid.

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them?

Oh yeah. Never told any of my crushes really.

38. Describe your dream girl/guy?

Funny, patient, pushes me out of my comfort zone, like horror movies and metal music (or at least is tolerant of them), dark hair, fangs, horns, bat wings

40. What do you want to do after high school? 

I graduated from high school over a decade ago. I wanted to go into Graphic Design, but that didn’t work out (turns out I hated sitting in front of computer all day).

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean? 

I have nothing to say. I am comfortable in silence.

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean?

Ocean. No critters to look at in space.

46. What are you paranoid about?

People secretly not liking me. Getting locked out of my apartment (When leaving I’ll check my pockets for my keys like six times).

48. Have you ever been drunk?

I’m drunk right now

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore?

Black

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself? 

Pretty much everything except my taste in things. Also bigger dick, obviously.

54. Favourite store?

I like used book stores, but I probably go to the liquor store the most.

56. Favourite colour?

Purple

58. Last thing you ate? 

KFC

60. Ever won a competition? For what?

Not that I can recall, no.

62. Been arrested? For what?

Nope. Too sneaky.

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss?

I was in I THINK 6th grade (maybe 7th). Our class was out camping by a lake (the school I went to would send the 5th, 6th, and 7th grades out to a camp for the last week of school). Her name was Laura, and I don’t really remember the context (it might have just been her goofing around). All I remember is it what by an archery range.

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends?

Don’t have any real friends, so you guys win by default I guess

68. Twitter or Tumblr? 

I prefer Tumblr but I do have a Twitter, which I mostly use for more political stuff (@jeremyehm if you’re curious). I find Twitter to be really toxic, everyone’s always arguing with each other and being assholes. Plus it’s just an endless cavalcade of bad news.

70. Names of your bestfriends? 

Carling Black Label Supreme and Crown Royal

72. What colour are your towels?

Dark grey. This allows spiders to hide in them easily when they are hanging.

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have?

Zero.

76. What colour is your underwear?

Blue. The pattern is of a polar bear drinking bear.

78. Favourite ice cream flavour? 

Strawberry

80. What colour pants? 

Dark blue

82. Favourite movie? 

Alien

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street? 

Haven’t seen Mean Girls, so 21 Jump Street I guess.

86. Favorite character from Finding Nemo? 

The barracuda who eats Nemo’s mom at the beginning. I don’t watch Pixar movies, I think FInding Nemo was actually the last one I saw.

88. Last person you talked to today? 

The cashier at KFC

90. Name a person you love? 

My mum and dad, I guess

92. In a fight with someone? 

No, and if I got into one I would lose (unless my opponent was like a baby or on crutches or something).

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have? 

One hoody that I never wear. Should probably give it away to a homeless shelter now that I think about it.

96. Favourite actress?

Edwige Fenech, or Meiko Kaji

98. Do you tan a lot?

I’m part Irish, Danish and English, so I tend to burst into flames when in direct sunlight rather than tan.

100. How are you feeling? 

Not too bad. A bit gassy.

102. Do you regret anything from your past? 

Mostly everything, yeah.

104. Do you miss anyone from your past?

Not really.

106. Ever broken someone’s heart? 

I don’t think so. I remember towards the end of my senior year there was a girl in my grade who, in retrospect, was hitting on me/trying to hang out with me all the time. I was totally clueless and left her hanging, but I imagine I’m easy to get over.

108. What should you be doing? 

Fuck off, it’s my birthday. I’ll do it tomorrow

110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt? 

Not really no. Crushes are always a little uncomfortable, but since it’s impossible for someone to like me back I can usually just push it to the back of my mind.

112. Who was the last person you cried in front of?

Therapist

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state?

I’ve been down to Seattle and Los Angeles before. Never been to another province of Canada though!

116. Are you listening to music right now? 

Yes (listening to the Misfits). Unless I’m watching a movie or sleeping I’m listening to music.

118. Do you like Chinese food?

Love it

120. Are you afraid of the dark? 

No.

122. Is cheating ever okay? 

No

124. Do you believe in love at first sight? 

No.

126. Are you currently bored? 

A little

128. Would you change your name? 

I think I like my current name fine. Unusual without being weird.

130. Do you like subway? 

The sandwich chain? No, it sucks ass.

132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 

Hey this is a duplicate question. Nice job, whoever originally posted this.

134. Can you count to one million? 

Yes. I won’t though.

136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed? 

Closed.

138. Curly or Straight hair? 

Straight, but I don’t really care.

140. Summer or Winter? 

They kinda suck equally, but I guess there isn’t any snow in Summer, so I’ll go with that.

142. Favourite month? 

I’m going to say April or May. Warm and breezy.

144. Dark, milk or white chocolate? 

Milk, although I don’t really like sweets.

146. Was today a good day? 

It was pretty good, went to the dispensary, bought a pipe that’s shaped like a wizard.

148. What’s your favourite quote? 

Like this statement from the IRA following a botched assassination attempt on Margaret Thatcher and her cabinet: “Today we were unlucky, but remember we only have to be lucky once. You will have to be lucky always”

I also like a quote from a Maoist responding to Kruschev’s comment that while he was the son of a peasant while the Maoist was from the aristocracy: “We have something in common: we are both traitors to our class.”

150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page? 

From “The Best Short Stories of J.G. Ballard”: “I’m beginning to realize it was a mistake to put them in there-all those lights blazing down, the huge floors, high walls.”

Whew, that took awhile. Thanks for asking.

[spencereliotwinchester]

Private Lives Chapter Twelve

Title: Private Lives Chapter Twelve

Author:  Kat

Reader Gender:  Female (Y/N Hastings)

Word Count: ~2300

Series Summary: Jensen Ackles is an incredible actor. You’re taking a break from being a doctor to figure out what to do with your life. When your worlds crash together, what secrets will be revealed?

Warnings:   This fic will have feels, okay? It’s going to be a drama.

Chapter Warnings: Talk of spousal abuse

Catch Up HERE

A/N:  This chapter took a long time to get out and I am sorry for that, but I hope you like this surprise chapter! I’ve been extremely busy between work, wedding planning, and doctors visits trying to figure out what is wrong, but I have been thinking of you ALL! Much love and please enjoy!

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Thank you to all who submitted names to me. The two names chosen were Oliver and Laurel! 

Character: Jensen Ackles

---

Tags:

@deans-princess-crybaby  @space-cats-in-purgatory  @bloodysideofhell  @thing-you-do-with-that-thing  @mrswhozeewhatsis  @mamaimpala  @timewoundsallheals1210  @the-mrs-deanwinchester  @aprofoundbondwithdean  @queenofhellisafangirl  @anastasiarosez  @ackleholic96  @mama-impala  @mamapeterson @redlittlefox  @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki  @beautiful-disaster143  @sleepywinchester  @adaisinwonderland  @theweirdymcweirderson  @mysaintsasinner  @oh-jesus-sammy  @jencharlan  @blacktithe7  @winchesterforever12  @iamflanneltrash  @blushingsamgirl  @deandoesthingstome  @mrsjohnsmith  @samtomydeanwinchester  @sis-tafics  @ackleslaugh  @fangirling-instead-of-working  @eyes-of-a-disney-princess  @for-the-love-of-dean  @lipstickandwhiskey  @skybinx-blog  @purgatoan  @shipping-people-writing-things  @spectaculacular-sammy  @superbluhoo2  @winchesterswoonathon  @iwantthedean  @crzcorgi  @ilostmyshoe-79  @torn-and-frayed  @supernatural-jackles  @impalapossible  @jotink78  @hillface89  @kittenofdoomage  @nichelle-my-belle  @percywinchester27  @whit85-blog  @rizlow1  @bringmesomepie56  @atc74  @gemini75eeyore  @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish  @kristaparadowski  @mayasmedberg  @prncss-nefelibata  @smoothdogsgirl  @beachy2014  @freaksforthewin  @jensen-gal  @theorginalvicki  @missieb76  @vougebandit  @raeganr99  @your-not-invisible-to-me  @vaisabu  @bakabozza  @fernandasvaldi  @silver-and-green  @yaya-snowflakes  @imnotalosechester  @motleymoose  @ruprecht0420  @imnotalosechester  @gecko9596  @anokhi07  @tiffanycaruso  @wayward-girl  @spnolivia  @the-jette  @boredoutofmymindstuff  @lovin-ackles  @dancingalone21  @laurenw1025  @tas898 @extreme-supernatural-lover  @jayankles  @supernatural-fan-123  @moonstonemystyk  @perpetualabsurdity  @frenchybell  @allthatsupernaturallife  @irishdoll80  @walkercauff  @nerdwholikesword  @supernatural508  @ledzeppelinrules  @rattyretro-blog-blog  @fandomsneverdie14  @anxuanpham  @mysteriouslyme81  @felly-pepper @sleep-silent-angel  @caityrice  @ezauraemmaline  @steampunkd76  @fullmetalkassie  @sandlee44  @cemmia  @wwecrazed2010  @winchesterhunters67  @symphony25  @oceanblue-and-forestgreen  @dorky-and-i-know-it  @trustnobodyshootfirst  @ria123love  @becauseyouwishedit  @dailyn32102

---

“Thanks, Mom!” I yelled, darting forward and wrapping my arms around Y/N. Suddenly I realized what I had said and my heart started pounding in my chest.

I pulled away and looked between Dad and Y/N nervously. At that moment, Gen, Jared, Tom and Shep came in.

“It smells wonderful!” Gen said happily.

Y/N turned toward them and managed a weak, “Thanks, Gen!”

I rushed behind her and ran out of the kitchen quickly, my heart still beating rapidly. Tears filled my eyes as I reached the stairs. I ran up the stairs, tripped on the landing of the second floor and stayed on my knees, trying to sort out my feelings.

Voices from the first floor drifted up. It was Y/N and Dad. I moved so I was sitting against the wall and listened, even though I knew the conversation was supposed to be private.

“A dog?!” Dad snapped in a half whisper. “Don't you think it would have been a good idea to talk about it first?”

“Talk about what, Jensen? He just wants a dog,” Y/N said, sounding annoyed.

“A dog that will eat, and need walked, and will tear up the house, and bark, and needs its shit cleaned up. That's a big fucking decision, Y/N!” The whisper had risen a few notes at the end. My eyes grew wide as I realized this was turning into a full-blown argument. I hadn't meant to cause a fight.

“Jensen. It's a dog. Thatcher needs a companion when you're gone and I'm working twelve hour days. The rest falls into place! Why is this such a big deal?” Y/N snapped back.

“Because it's MY son and it's a big decision! I think I should have some say!”

“Jensen, I think you’re overreacting just a little!”

I readied myself in case I needed to step in. Jensen was my dad, but I also wasn't going to let him hurt Y/N.

“I’m not the one making huge decisions all by myself!” His voice had risen even more. Y/N’s response was so soft I had to strain to hear her.

“I didn’t think it would matter too much since you’re gone most of the year and I’d be the one taking care of it. In case you hadn’t noticed, YOUR son could use a friend!”

I could hear Y/N stalk back down the hallway and then the slamming of the door that led to the garage. Slowly, I walked down the stairs. Jensen- Dad- was still standing near the bottom of the stairs. I didn't know what to say.

“Dad?” The word still felt strange on my tongue. The only other man I'd ever called Dad was Dominick, my mother’s boyfriend when I was about seven. Mom and Dominick had forced me to call him Dad. He was a terrible man.

Dad jumped, startled, and turned towards me.

“I'm sorry,” I pleaded, not sure what else to say.

“No, don't-don't be sorry. You just startled me,” he said, wiping a hand across his face. He looked stressed.

“No. No, I mean- I didn't mean to cause you to fight,” I whispered, finding an interesting spot on the ground to look at.

“Hey, now,” he said, I felt his hand on my shoulder. He waited a moment, “look at me, Kiddo.” I looked up. Dad looked so concerned and it made me feel even worse.

“I'm sorry,” I said lamely, feeling tears pricking my eyes again. I felt so ridiculous and I willed the tears away. That just seemed to make them worse.

“Come here, Thatch,” Dad said, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into a strong hug. “Us fighting is not your fault, okay? It's mine.”

“I just-” My throat closed and cut off my words.

“Love you very much, Thatch. Don't worry about me and Y/N, we’ll be okay.”

I broke from the hug and ran upstairs to my room. I felt overwhelmed and confused. Things here with Jensen- Dad- all love and hugs and everything is okay. I sat down on the floor, back against the side of my bed. I wrapped my arms around my middle for comfort like I used to when I was younger. The door opened a crack and Dad stuck his head in.

“You okay? You seem rattled.”

I started to nod, but then shook my head, not wanting to lie.

“I'm just not used to it,” I mumbled. He walked the rest of the way into the room and sat down on the floor next to me.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked, somewhat uncomfortably. I remained silent for a couple minutes, gathering my thoughts in my head.

“When I turned like seven, my mom was dating this guy, his name was Dominick. He was her drug dealer and they decided to get together like a few months before. They fought constantly. Everyone here is so happy and they work together.

Anyway, so I'm supposed to be having a small party, Mom’s making a cake and Dominick comes in, high as a kite, screaming that Mom’s been screwing the next door neighbor, Colin. So mom starts screaming back, they're yelling back and forth. Finally, he grabs her and just wraps his hand around her throat, choking her. Right in front of me. That's how conflict was handled back home.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dad sighed.

“They made me call him Dad.”

“Did he ever hurt you? Like-like that?”

“Not really,” I muttered, looking away. “I didn't mean to call her ‘Mom,’ it just kind of slipped out.”

“I know. I'm pretty sure Y/N knows, too. It's okay Thatcher-”

“How can you keep saying that?” I asked, anger building up suddenly. “It's not okay!”

--

I sat in the cafeteria, at the table nearer to the teachers, by myself. Usually, a few of the other misfits would join me, but I was pretty sure they were outside passing a joint around.

“Hey,” a girl’s voice broke my concentration on the plate of sloppy joes and nachos that was in front of me. I looked up and saw Brie- at least I thought that was her name- standing near me.

Brie was fairly nice, but never seemed to have a clique or group she hung out with. She just seemed to float in the background as far as I could tell. She had short brown hair, that was shaved shorter on one side and brown eyes that matched her hair.

“Can I sit?” She asked, indicating the seat across from mine.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I nodded, a little uncertain. She set down her folder and tray, then slid into the folding chair. We are in silence for a few minutes before she spoke again.

“I know your secret,” she whispered, grinning slyly at me.

“Wha-” I looked up at her in shock, taken by surprise.

She flipped open her folder to reveal a photo taken of Dad, Y/N and I getting off the plane from Alabama. There was no mistaking who Dad was. Or me for that matter. I looked absolutely miserable in the photo. I guess it would have been normal; I had just found out my real mom was dead. I swallowed hard.

“Please don't tell,” I whispered. “Put it away!”

I reached over and flipped her folder closed, looking around to see if there was anyone nearby.

“So it IS you,” she giggled. “Why isn't your last name Ackles then?”

“Because my last name is hyphenated,” I snapped, angry at this girl for asking stupid questions. “My dad dropped off his last name so no one would find out!”

“Yo!” It was Miles and his group of friends. I groaned inwardly. He spoke again when he reached the end of our table. “Better be careful around Thatch, I heard he killed a kid at his last school and they expelled him.”

I rolled my eyes, but people had turned around to pay attention. Whispers had started.

“Oh, shut your mouth Miles, you don't even know what school he came from!” Brie huffed.

I stared at her.

“Whateva. Anyway, Thatch, is it true that your mom dumped you here with your dad?”

I looked away from him and clenched my fists.

“Come on, Thatch, it's okay,” he said sarcastically. “You can share with us that your mommy didn't love you enough to stick around.”

“You gonna cry, Thatch?” One of the other kids said snidely.

“Why don't you guys shut up?!” Brie snapped.

“Something wrong here?” It was Mr. Lexington.

“No, sir,” Miles said. “We were just asking Thatch how he came to be with us.”

Suddenly, my anger and sadness boiled over and I turned and said loudly enough for everyone to hear, “My mom killed herself, okay?! Please fucking excuse me if I'm not quite over that yet!”

Then I shoved away from the table, ignoring everyone's shocked looks, and walked out. I didn't really know where I was headed, but I stormed down the hallway, fuming.

I saw the library and veered in. A young looking woman sat behind the large desk, reading a book and eating some yogurt out of a bowl. She looked up at me when I walked in.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

“Nonfiction?” My voice wavered slightly.

She pointed to my right.

“All the way at the end, take a right and go to the end.”

“Thanks,” I whispered and walked in that direction.

Once I got to the nonfiction corner, I grabbed the first book that caught my eye and threw myself into a chair. I stared down at the book unhappily, “How They Croaked: The Awful Ends of the Awfully Famous” by Georgia Bragg. I flipped open the book randomly and began to read.

The bell rang, but I didn't move. I had no desire to go to pre algebra. I heard movement, and looked up to see the librarian come around the corner with Mr. Lexington.

“I assume this is the kid you're looking for?” The librarian asked.

“Hey, Thatch,” Mr. Lexington said with a friendly tone.

“Did you know George Washington would have lived if he had antibiotics available to him?” I asked innocently. He wasn't buying it.

“Why don't you come with me?” He asked.

“I'd prefer not to, but I don't think I have much choice.”

For the second time in a week, I found myself in the office outside of Principal Fremont’s door. I waited in a blue plastic chair, head in my hands.

“Hey, dude,” a voice said. I looked up to see Miles standing a short ways away, looking slightly uncomfortable. I felt the sneer go across my face. He plopped himself down in the chair next to me.

“What do you want?!” I asked, exasperated.

“Look, man, I was just angry about being bumped back to mid-field. I didn't know about your mom, okay? I wouldn't have said anything if I'd known.”

“Well, thanks for the apology. For the second time in a week I'm sitting outside the principal’s office thanks to you. This week can't get any worse.”

“Well, if you're interested, after the game Saturday, the team and some others are coming over to my place. Probably going to be a fun party. My mom will probably be out at the casino, so we’ll all have the house to ourselves,” he got up and held his hand out.

“What about your dad?” I asked, grabbing his hand in truce. I registered Principal Fremont’s door opening in the back of my mind.

“Military. He's over in Quebec or something like that,” he shrugged.

“You mean Kuwait? Quebec is in Canada,” I corrected.

“Yeah, that's the one!” He dropped my hand and smirked at me.

“Boys, nice to see you shaking hands rather than throwing fists at each other,” Fremont said. “I'm sure Coach Kayle will be pleased to hear this.”

“I'm sure he will, too Mr. Fremont,” Miles said. “Speaking of, this situation is just a misunderstanding. I said some mean things to Thatch. He just walked away instead of getting into a fight.”

“Thanks for telling me, Mr. Miles,” he said. “Mr. Mooreland, if everything is okay, I'll just have you go back to class. Please try to stay away from my office for a couple weeks, okay?”

“Sounds good, Sir,” I said, nodding. Miles and I walked out of the office and headed down the empty hall.

“So word in the hall is that your dad’s famous, Brooke won't tell anyone who, but that's what's said. So, who's your Dad, Thatch?”

“Your last name is Miles?” I asked, changing the subject. “Then what's your first name?”

“‘S not important. So it's true, then. Daddy’s famous.”

“No, it's not. Who's Brooke, anyway?”

“Dude. Jesus. The girl you were sitting with lunch?”

“Oh,” I nodded. “Thought her name was Brie. Wait, is that why you're being nice to me?”

“What? Dude, no,” he scoffed. “What's it like, then?”

“What's what like?” I asked, confused.

“Do you guys like, live in a mansion?” I shook my head disbelievingly.

“No I don't live in a mansion. And my dad’s not THAT famous.” I cringed once the words left my mouth.

“So he is a little famous. Niiiiiice!” The bell rang. “See you at practice later!”

I shook my head as Miles ran off down the hall.

Once practice came to a close that night, some of us went back to the locker rooms to shower.

“We are gonna kick ASS at the game Saturday!” Aaron Hadley yelled.

“Fuck yeah we are!” Joel Hadley yelled.

Everyone yelled their agreement, including me. I felt great after the practice. Confident. I walked out, looking for Dad’s car. Instead, I saw Y/N’s car waiting in line with a few other parents.

I jogged over with my duffel bag and as I approached I saw both Y/N and Dad in the car. They looked stressed. I opened the back door, tossed in my bag and climbed in.

---

Let me know what you think HERE

[heinzpilsnerbloody]

Too rivyan post

Here’s just a few utterly shipper thoughts on how difficult it would actually be to be alone together in the TYO universe.

(This is not fanfiction. I refuse to write fanfiction in my sad English :’D Just my thoughts as usual spread out in the process a bit wider than I originally planned.)

(Rick and Vyv are in Rick’s bedroom, start snogging)

Rick: Oh, it’s bloody mad...

Vyv: Rick, NO!

Rick: ...ness.

Suggs (covered in blood from head to toes): That's for sure.

Rick: What?! Get out of my room, you bloo... pervert voyeurs! 

Vyv: Yeah, you've been in our show twice already anyway!

(Madness don’t cares and starts to play)

****

Vyv: Oh, God! Why did you have to say this?!

God: I said nothing. By the way, boys, do you know that sodomy is a sin?

Rick: Piss off, you homophobic fascist!

God: Incinerate you, or what?

Rick: Ahahaha, no, you must have misunderstood, Almighty God...

Vyv: Don’t you dare incinerate him!

Rick: Vyv...

Vyv: At least for now - we haven’t even had time to try sodomy! I will sin with him - then you can burn him.

Rick: Well, that’s really nice, Vyvyan! 

God: Don’t worry - I'll burn him as well, you little bastard.

Angel: Ahem, I don’t advise you to do this, if you don’t want problems with Satan, Almighty.

God: Oh. What, there's no one to burn today?

Vyv: Aaaargh, let's get out of here, Rick!

****

(in Vyv’s bedroom)

Vyv: Look, don’t stumble on the...

Rick: Ouch!!

Vyv: ...chainsaw. You wake SPG up, you clumsy bastard!

Rick: That’s ridiculous, Vyvyan! And I'm not going to snog with you to the sound of your hamster's snoring! It’s revolting!

SPG: Oi! Is this spotty wanker telling the truth? Are you going to snog?! Have you forgotten everything that happened between us?

Rick: I’m not a... Wait a minute.

Vyv: Shut up, you stupid hamster!

SPG: Does that magic night mean nothing to you, you heartless bastard?!

Rick: Vyv?!

SPG: AAAAAAA!!!

Vyv: The corridor. We're going to the corridor, shall we?

Rick: ... Very well, Vyv. To the corridor. Just put the chainsaw, alright?

****

(in the corridor)

Rick: Good, Mike and Neil haven’t returned yet. 

Vyv: Yeah. And no more annoying hamsters. Come here.

Rick: Oh! 

Roger The Banister: Oh dear, youth these days don’t know how to do anything.

Rick: What?..

Roger The Banister: I mean, guys, who snogging like this? Firstly, you’re supposed to kiss girls. 

Vyv: And what’s wrong? That's exactly what I'm doing. 

Rick: Oh yes! How bloody amusing, Vyvyan! 

Roger The Banister: Yes, I also think it was funny.

Rick: Congratulations, Vyvyan! Your sense of humor is appreciated by a banister! Oh, blimey! Shut up, you perverted piece of wood! Let's look for another place! Vyvyan!

Vyv: Aaaaargh! Alright. 

Roger The Banister: And don’t stick your tongue so deep, the poor boy chokes! 

****

(after rats in the kitchen, the filthy housmate in the drawing room and the mop in the closet. in the garden)

Rick: Vyv... I still feel someone’s watching us.

Vyv: Now listen, Rick, I'm bloody sick of all this. Now I'm going to snog with you, and let half the fucking London led by Thatcher gather here, I don’t bloody care!  Rick: Eeewww, do it in front of Thatcher? Sounds pretty anarchic, though... But nevermind, Vyv! These are some... girls. 

Vyv: Oh, you mean the girls who read this. Hi, girls! 

Rick: That’s it. Piss off, all of you! And you piss off too, stupid author!

Vyv: Yeah! First learn fuckin’ English! Because of you I'm talking like a moron! Not to mention that I have to kiss this idiot.

Author: Okay, I'm not going to describe it all anyway. Surely it would be disgusting. Have fun, boys.

Rick and Vyv: PISS OFF!

Mike: What's going on here, hmm?

Rick and Vyv: BLOODY HELL!