The proud Hufflepuff!

Unwanted suitors? Not sure if you’re on a date? To nice to turn him down? I can help! With nearly four years of experience sabotaging romantic encounters, I’m the uncomfortable silence you deserve… and now, I’m offering my services professionally. 

Bring me along as a platonic bufferzone on unwanted or ambiguous dates with suitors you’re not interested in but don’t know how to turn down. Guaranteed to kill the mood or your money back!

Basic services include: Terrible puns, poorly-timed jokes, casual physical displays of affection, bringing up unappealing facts about you (to be established or fabricated ahead of time), including myself in attempts at cuddling, domineering the conversation, irritating laughter, talking about I may have finally found an apartment for rent that’s big enough to house all of your cats, subtly making remarks about how nice it is that you’ve made a new friend.  More advanced services: Creating diversions (available at tiers 1, 2, and 3; examples include pouring water over my head, impromptu hula dancing, and  triggering alarms), intimate displays of physical affection, accidentally spilling drinks on your suitor’s clothing, laughing at everything your suitor says while drinking until I manage to time it so that water comes out of my nose and sprays onto them. 

 Package deals: 

The Gay Best Friend: What it sounds like. Because this persona runs the risk of stereotype and exploitation, I prefer to keep this subtle. Willing to engage in mild flirtation with your suitor. Please use discretion when requesting this service; the intention is to make him realize that your feelings towards him are platonic. Do not even consider this package if he is aggressively homophobic. 

The Imposing Older Brother: I scowl, smirk, and huff judgmentally. Comes in two flavors: the Violent Ex-Con and the Insufferable Elitist. Can flex my physical or intellectual muscles as needed. 

The Irritating Younger Brother: I bring a gaming device along, snicker rudely and roll my eyes whenever he speaks, complain about the time, chew with my mouth open, shrug indifferently, prop my sneakers on his chair, wipe my nose on my hand, and bluntly interrupt the conversation whenever it strays out of your comfort zone. 

The Priest: Why the heck would you bring your priest on a date?! I don’t know, and neither will your suitor! Obfuscate them into backing off. If that doesn’t work, I will recite dry Biblical passages until they are driven away by crushing boredom or fear of Hell. 

The Son from The Future: Depending on the age difference, I can also pose as your Son from the Current Era. Will dress in conspicuously unusual clothing (ex. holographic baseball cap, life preserver, roller skates, VISOR-like sunglasses), continuously ask for the date and time, and anxiously mutter about how it’s almost time for you to ditch this place and meet my father for the first time.

The Enslaved Zombie Ex-Boyfriend: I don milky, semi-opaque contact lenses and follow you around mindlessly, with jerky, unnatural movements. I am at your beck and call, controlled from beyond the grave by your occult powers - the fate of all the boyfriends who displease you.  

The Demon Prince: I wear a stylish fawn suit, soft kidskin gloves, and silver cuff-links etched with strange symbols. I have a ring or a cane decorated with the head of a ram. I say little, but smile often. Now and then, I pull out a little silver hourglass from a chain around my neck and examine it, tapping my foot, my fingers, or my cane impatiently. I adopt a curious and subtle accent and ask him to appraise his immortal soul. I carry a sleek briefcase rigged to emit a bright light if I crack it open a hair. Optional: I carry a cube of sulfur in my pocket for the smell.

The Mulder: A proven classic. I periodically derail the conversation with crackpot conspiracy theories, the nature of reality, extraterrestrial intelligence, and ESP. May accuse your suitor of being a Reptilian, or demand that they feel the scar where I had an alien implant removed. Insist that we change tables because this one is bugged and we are under surveillance by the secret shadow government.    

The Fiance You Thought Was Lost at Sea: I burst through the door, dripping wet, with barnacle-encrusted clothing and a crab dangling from my ear lobe. I’ll smell of brine and have a haunted look in my eye. This will require some acting skills from you; you’ll need to throw yourself sobbing into my arms and cry, “I thought I’d lost you!” and I’ll hold you and mutter something about Davy Jones getting ahead of himself.  

Other: I am happy to work with you to develop a persona specific to your unique needs and preferences. 

Rates: Sliding scale, determined by me on a case-by-case basis. I want to make my services available to all who need them. Factors such as the relative heinousness of suitor is considered; affluent clients can generally expect to pay more as likelihood of physical or spiritual harm increases. For swanky dates in nice locations with minimal levels of danger, I typically ask only that you cover the cost of my meal, entrance fees, transportation, and other expenses.

IMPORTANT: Although I am prepared to deal with any number of eventualities, I am not a professional: bodyguard, assassin, exorcist, crocodile hunter, or escort. If you expect that any of these services will become necessary, I am happy to put you in touch with a specialist. ADDITIONALLY: If your suitor is non-human, please be upfront with this so that we can plan accordingly. We do not want a repeat of the events of Halloween 2012.

there are people who’ve never read My Immortal

there are people who didn’t make it all the way to the part where Dumbledore flies into the MCR concert wearing a pink robe with Avril Lavigne’s face on it

Mercutio does not actually die on-stage. He is stabbed by Tybalt, makes a few puns and the odd dick joke (as one would), and then asks Benvolio to help him “into some house”. They go off-stage and Benvolio re-enters a few lines later (suspiciously few, in fact) to report Mercutio’s death.

Benvolio himself then promptly disappears from the play at the end of the scene.