#beyond enigmatic weirdo

[artbyblastweave]

i get that the birdcage leaders are various villain archetypes (black kaze is ms. Omar wa mou shinderu, teacher is the cat-petting guy, etc) but I can't wrap my head around Crane the Harmonious. Is she Slade?

Slade and some other guys. My read is that she's an attempt to model the Supernaturally Effective Martial Arts Trainer archetype in a setting that doesn't actually have secret supernaturally-effective martial arts traditions that stretch back thousands of years. Lady Shiva, Stick, O-Sensei, Taskmaster to an extent. The characters Upstream of all the badass normals and Martial Arts Capes. There are more of these guys I'm forgetting about. Also, I did notice individually the archetypes each of these guys are playing around with but I'm slapping my forehead that I never put together that the point of the Cell Block Leader thing is to act as, like, a gallery of different flavors of supervillainy, demonstrating the range of archetypes the setting can support. Acidbath as representation for the 2edgy4me late-90s-early-oughts gritty punk-flavored mass-murderers, Gavel as rep for their anti-heroic opposition, Galvanate as an analogue for Kingpin, Tombstone, Hammerhead and the rest of the Mob-villain set, Lab Rat and String Theory as two different strains of Mad Doctor in the Dinosaurs-instead-of-Cancer-Cures tradition, Marquis as the Classy Sorta-Baroque Villain who picks up a cult following and eventually gets longtime fans as writers on the character who push him into Noble Demon territory, Lustrum as the Poison-Ivy-Magneto type who increasingly gets written as Having A Point, Actually, Ingenue as.... actually I'm drawing a blank on this one. What the hell is Ingenue modelling? Manic-Pixie-Dream-Girl operationalized as a supervillain?

[gamebunny-advance]

Misc. Pikmin 4 Thoughts

Heavy spoilers for the entire game ahead.

There's kind of a lot, so I split them into categories.

Character Thoughts

While I still don't consider any individual member of the rescue corps to be particularly deep or interesting, I still hold the opinion that I like them more than the Pikmin 3 Koppaites because at least most of these guys are multi-faceted. I've said before that it's easy to imagine them all around a campfire sharing stories, and that is basically what happens at the end of every day once you've collected the majority of the corps. Most of these snippets are at the very least amusing, and it's cute seeing (er... reading) them interact with each other beyond their current mission.

That said, I did wind up liking Shepherd less than I would have hoped, since she never really escapes her role of basically being Charlie 2.0. I still like her more than Charlie, but I can't in good conscience put her into an "S-tier" on my favorite characters list. She makes the B-tier at best~

Yonny really grew on me once I found him, but he doesn't have many interactions with the other corps that don't amount to him experimenting on them without their consent. I do find him enjoying the horrors of the night to be endearing, but like the other characters, I do wish there was just a *little* more to him, so he still ranks below Shepherd.

Bernard is a funny little guy, but I don't know how seriously we're supposed to take what he says. I know that's the joke, but it makes him just a tad enigmatic, which is a hit or miss character trait for me. What's funniest about him is that there's a castaway that is just absolutely traumatized by him, and it's hilarious.

I hate Dingo. Me and my homies hate Dingo (joking). I dunno, I usually don't find these kinds of asshole types to be that endearing. You have to have a TON of charisma to counterbalance being an asshole, and Dingo just doesn't have it. I did try failing a dandori battle once on an alt save file just to see what he actually does, and it's a little amusing, but not enough to make me really like him.

While I'm on the topic, a lot of these characters are really apologetic about their asshole peers. Almost every rescue corp member asks you to forgive Dingo for being "rough around the edges." I suspect because when push comes to shove, he actually gets sh*t done, so they just put up with it otherwise. Then there's Olimar who despite everything he's witnessed still apologizes for Louie and believes that he's got a "good heart" deep down. I'll just say that most of these characters have a lot more patience than I would have for those guys.

The rest of the corps I'm kinda neutral about. I would have liked Collin more if he didn't stop to wonder about the crashed Dolphin every time I walked even remotely close to it. But besides that, he's kinda just a straight man to everyone else's antics, which is another hit or miss character trait for me. I like him more than not, and I appreciate him being a more mature character than Alph, but he's just kinda the normal guy in a cast of weirdos.

Russ also doesn't bring much to the table by himself since almost all of his dialogue is essentially tutorial text about his gadgets, but hearing about how lavish and doting his family can be is still pretty funny. There's also a castaway that apparently has a crush on him, which is kinda outta nowhere, but it's cute.

The other castaways are just kinda there. There are some funny ones, and it's surprising how many of them have relationships with one another and even to some of the rescue officers, but the most interesting ones to me are the ones that help fill out the world. The Pikmin universe is really expansive, and I wonder if this is set up for Nintento to possibly start taking the Pikmin adventures off of PNF-404 and to some of these new worlds.

Theory Crafting

I find the implications of the Shepherd family diaries to be very interesting. While I think it's pretty clear that in this new continuity, Earth isn't post-apocalyptic (or has already fully recovered from an apocalypse), I think that the diaries imply that at least that family likely originated from Earth, from how they apparently settled on a new planet and stories about Earth (referred to as "the blue planet") has been passed down through the generations. Further, supporting that theory is the fact that her home planet is named "Giya," which is likely a corruption of "Gaia," the personification of the Earth. They may not be direct descendants from humans, but they could be.

It's explicitly stated that Oatchi and Moss are descendants of the Ancient Sirehound, and that the space dog as we know it just got smaller over time. Although the Sirehound is not a "normal" dog by any means, it's still implied that PNF-404 is Earth in the far-flung future, so the evolution of its many species still could have changed significantly.

We know that Shepherd's family took their dogs with them when they migrated, so if dogs had already evolved/been bred to be like the Sirehound by that point, and the aliens started the same size as humans, then it's not a stretch to imagine that they evolved alongside each other and got smaller to adapt to their new environments. After all, large quantities of oxygen are poisonous to all the little aliens, but it's theorized that an abundance of oxygen is what lead to all the giant bugs and animals that existed on early Earth. So if the old Earthlings eventually adapted to not need so much oxygen, then they may have begun shrinking to compensate. Granted, I don't think just 7,000 years (assuming each generation of Shepherd is roughly 70 years) is enough to see changes as big as that, but this is still a science fantasy story, so we can forgive that kind of inaccuracy.

Still, I suppose that wouldn't explain why Moss is small if she was born and raised on PNF-404, unless both sizes of dog existed simultaneously before any kind of migration. The presence of the Sage Leafling implies that either the castaways are NOT the first little aliens to crash on the planet, OR that the little aliens and their dogs already lived on Earth and developed the leaves either naturally or by becoming hosts to the pikmin parasite. It's hard to say either way since the well-spokeness of the Sage Leafling can only imply that they had a strong will like Olimar, not necessarily that they were born that way like Moss.

I'm still trying to figure out what the other planets are named after. While the player's home planet is obviously supposed to be a corruption of the word "carrot" to allude to the pikmin and their resemblance to carrots, the others seem totally random. I did eventually parse that "Ohri" is likely based on "Orion," the constellation, as its people are referred to as "Ohrians," but I'm not sure about the rest. A lot of them might be named after words/places in Japan just like Hocotate and Koppai before them, but with my limited cultural knowledge, it's hard to say.

Random Thoughts

It's interesting to me that now that "wife bad" jokes are considered distasteful, a lot of Olimar's comments on certain treasures have been rewritten to be more positive towards his wife. I don't think it's a bad change, but he went from having some serious marital discourse to having the biggest hard-on I've ever seen. I guess Nintendo decided that they didn't want the main character of what is becoming a flagship franchise for them being borderline misogynistic.

Speaking of retcons, of all the things to change about his character, him going from finding a rubber duck absolutely horrifying to completely enamored with them is certainly a choice.

[denimbex1986]

'Ripley is a new limited series that’s coming to Netflix. What’s it about?

Just recently, I referenced The Talented Mr. Ripley – but really I mention it all the time as it’s absolutely brilliant...

…I caught a movie called The Talented Mr. Ripley in the theater. I had no background on the (also excellent) novel by Patricia Highsmith at the time, and so I was completely taken with the dark and stylish tale of a young, troubled con artist named Tom Ripley (Matt Damon, in one of his best ever performances) and his obsession with a spoiled, debonair young man named Dickie Greenleaf (Jude Law). Gwyneth Paltrow, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Law are also incredible in it.

The Talented Mr. Ripley takes place in late 1950s Italy – 1958, in fact, one year before the release of Mingus Ah Um – and the film just looks spectacular, like it’s been generated in a genAI/ChatGPT/Holodeck thing for “make late 1950s Italy look like absolute heaven” engineering prompt.

And then, the music! There’s a tactile feel to the vinyl records that appear in the film, as the names of jazz giants are thrown around and also appear on album covers: Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Miles Davis.

So therefore, I was all kinds of interested to learn that that there will be a new version of this story coming to Netflix, told by way of a limited series called Ripley. It stars Andrew Scott (the “hot priest” of Fleabag fame) as the titular Tom Ripley, Johnny Flynn as Dickie Greenleaf, and Dakota Fanning as Marge Sherwood.

To say the least, Ripley has a very high bar to pass to surpass the greatness of the film. Beyond what I mention above, the movie version boasts some of the best performances that Damon, Paltrow, Law, and Hoffman have ever given.

The Ripley trailer looks visually interesting, but it seems to lack the cool stylishness of the film, directed by Anthony Minghella. And while there’s no doubt that Andrew Scott is a great actor, I find the glimpses we get of him in the trailer to be somewhat concerning. He comes off more like an enigmatic serial killing weirdo and much less like the charming yet confused, vulnerable yet dangerous masterclass that Matt Damon puts on.

Now, that being said, I’m going to watch the hell out of every episode of this thing, and I’m hoping that I’ll be happily surprised on route.

A few other interesting tidbits:

* The IMDB page for Ripley says that this version of the story takes place in the 1960s, versus the ’50s-set film. Not sure why they updated the setting slightly, and then also obviously made a bold choice to film it in black-and-white (perhaps to clearly differentiate it from the breathtaking and splashy color of 1950s Italy we get from The Talented Mr. Ripley). * Johnny Flynn, who plays Dickie Greenleaf (Jude Law’s role in the film), is absolutely spectacular in a romcom TV show called Lovesick (in fact it’s #38 on Pop Thruster’s Best 100 TV Shows Ever). We barely see Flynn in the trailer, so I’m super curious and yet somewhat concerned about the casting here as well.

Ripley: when and where can I watch it?

Ripley will premiere on Netflix on Thursday, April 4th, 2024. The limited series comprises eight episodes.'

[cursepoem]

Year in Review 2022 — Part 6 — Top Ten Movies

10. Top Gun: Maverick (dir. Joseph Kosinski) I'm an easy mark here, ever-fascinated by the arc along which Tom has orchestrated his career, and whatever we call this current era. To call him a singular performer sells it short; it's hard to think of a single artist or performer in any field that has functioned in such a way, throughout all these enigmatic phases. There's a very reasonable impulse to draw him in the lineage of Jackie Chan and Buster Keaton, but neither of those guys were fucking sex symbols, they didn't have the spectre of an actual cult lurking just out of frame, they never played Frank T.J. Mackie! (No fault of their own, obviously.) Tom has just had so much baggage, both earned and not, so much meta-text informing his work and our reading of it, and through it all he continues to exude the same magnetism all the while contorting himself into this physical martyr for our entertainment. He simply cannot exist unless he is killing himself onscreen for us, physically, metaphorically, all of it. And what's more, the guy just really fucking loves movies. The near-maniacal agency he's asserted on virtually every level of production, the collaboration he's cultivated with McQuarrie, deep down the man still has this childlike wonder with what movies can do, and say what you will about the guy, but after everything that is a beautiful and rare thing that should be protected at all costs.

So on to Maverick. This is the perfect vehicle for the Tom experience; he gets to employ all the painstaking precision while pouring on the nostalgia to remind us all what going to the movies is about. Sure, I expected to enjoy this movie, but I was not prepared to feel the depth and swell of feelings that I did. It was e-mo-tion-al. For something as obvious and dumb as Hangman's third act reversal to genuinely send my lip aquiver means you're just doing something right from a moviemaking perspective.

9. Pearl (dir. Ti West) Ti West is a guy I root for, but do not exactly ride for. He's at his best when playing with pastiche, devoting himself to classic genre tropes and aesthetics often beyond even the point fetishization, and the results are varied. He's a guy that seems to have more good ideas than you can actually point to in his movies, which isn't necessarily a knock or even his fault I don't think. It's no coincidence that his best achievement by far is also the first time he's really spent exploring character, when his other films were often antagonistic to them (I'll never get over Greta Gerwig's death in House of the Devil). Pearl is such a refreshing turn, a promise that yeah, there might be more to this guy than his VHS-era horror movie dioramas lead on.

And really, it's Mia Goth who deserves all the credit in the world here. Looking at her filmography, the choices she makes, the artists she seeks out, she has proven herself to be a legit little weirdo in the best possible way. That so many people try and fail at faking this quality makes it all the more satisfying when someone like Goth genuinely goes all in. I honestly feel fortunate that these two have found one another; in Ti West, Goth has a director who will never tell her no, who will push her to go bigger, broader, past all reasonable sense. And that's precisely what his movies have always needed, something larger than the scaffolding he's so complacently proficient at building. Her performance her is manic and fascinating, animated and chaotic in a way that repulses and seduces in equal, unsettling measure. But for all the goose-stabbing, all the apocalyptic dance numbers, all the immolation, the most striking part of her performance is a shockingly tender monologue. The camera stays still for what feels like the first time all movie and the unexpected deftness of the writing shines through with what is revealed. All the while, Goth delivers it masterfully, vulnerably, and it somehow works. Between that scene and the insane closing credits alone, this was one of the best performances this year.

I also have to mention how cool it is that these two pulled a trilogy out of nowhere. Even though I didn't really care for X (it's pretty much the worst of West's tendencies all at once), shooting the two back-to-back and announcing a third feature the same week that Pearl opened shows that West in some new and totally invigorated mode. Beyond the effect of his collaborator, he's found a way of working within budget constraints that seems to energize and inspire. It's almost dare I say it Soderberghian, and you know i'm an easy mark for that. Here's hoping that MaXXXine reaches the bar these two have set with Pearl.

8. Triangle of Sadness (dir. Ruben Östlund) Östlund is a Renaissance painter of cringe, able to cull a veritable gyre of political and philosophical tension out of a single moment of everyday awkwardness. Triangle is deliberately uneven, pushing you away and winning you over in turns throughout; there is ample exposition (thankfully more thematic than plot-wise, though) leading up to the (unfortunately literal) explosive setpiece before becoming a much more raw movie in its back third. In stranding his principals on a desert island, stripping them of signifiers of wealth and the power structures they suggest, Östlund literalizes his metaphor in a pretty ingenious way. He takes on the familiar tropes and gags from any shipwreck scenario while turning a cynical eye on his characters as they establish new, lopsided power structures informed by altogether base and sometimes arbitrary human currencies.

Between this, the loathsome Glass Onion, and The White Lotus, we're seeing a whole lot of commentary on the rich, with this year's Infinity Pool signaling that we're far from through here. To me, this is a fool's errand, a surface-level pandering to what's left of Twitter, willfully turning a blind eye to anything deeper than limp satire. Dear lord the last thing I need is to be explained that Elon Musk is bad, actually, by Rian fucking Johnson by way of Edward Norton, of all people. Triangle at least has the benefit of being mostly fun.

7. Petite Maman (dir. Céline Sciamma) Sciamma's latest is as haunting as it is clever, throwing out all the usual trappings of its magical realist framework to instead delve into the rich emotional resonances that it allows. The result is heartbreaking and beautiful, a tender meditation on memory and family that, looking back now, suggests a brutal double-feature with Aftersun, both films artfully interrogating the relationship between child and parent through time. Can't think about either too hard or for too long or I'll lose my shit.

6. Three Thousand Years of Longing (dir. George Miller) This one was an unexpected gift. Not knowing how Miller would follow-up Fury Road after so long, and with the threat of a prequel ever looming, I had no clue what to expect from this very welcome diversion. Miller's fairytale hits all the beats you would want it to, its delightful frame narrative soaking up all the chemistry of the leads before giving way to lush enactments of timeless parables. It's a joy to see the use of all the memorable visual effects flexed in Fury Road to be employed here for such a different outcome. DJ Big Driis plays his djinn with such a believable world-weariness, so perfectly balancing his desperate impatience with obligatory deferral. The games he and Tilda play around one another,

5. AmbuLAnce (dir. Michael Bay) What a fucking banger. Instant classic, already firmly cemented in the Bank Heist Mount Rushmore. What is there to say, really; this is a movie that has your jaw on the floor, heartbeat racing, adrenaline pumping for the entire duration. Any movie that can elicit such an intensely visceral reaction surely can be forgiven its faults, none of which are anywhere egregious enough to puncture your awestruck suspension of disbelief or distracting enough to interrupt the breakneck pace. And pace is everything here, rushed along by the plunging drone shots that punctuate the converging plotlines, new tricks alongside the maestro of explosions' familiar touches. Whoever is asleep at the wheel of the Fast franchise better be taking notes; the past few entries have all been desperately missing just an ounce of the juice that Bay squeezes out of every shot here. They just don't make 'em like this any more, and with this one, Bay seems to put everyone else on notice to step the fuck up.

4. Tár (dir. Todd Field) Let me just get this out of the way up front so there's no confusion on where I stand here: Lydia Tár is a real person and she did nothing wrong. The third feature from the acclaimed co-inventor of Big League Chew, Tár revolves around an absolute powerhouse of a performance. It is a rigorous and commanding film, one that demands your attention and almost punishes you for being anything less than totally enraptured by it. It is rare that I would use the word "relevant" to describe a movie and even rarer that I would consider that quality to be among a movie's strengths, but I was honestly taken with how it handles some very contemporary cultural questions. The Juilliard scene is so jarring, the tension between us not yet knowing if the film is condoning the diatribe of its title character or poking fun at it. The discussion that it invites can be a fruitful one, and one that should lead to somewhere more nuanced than this aforementioned binary so long as we avoid the pitfalls of certainty that both of its principals cannot seem to stray from. I found it surprisingly satisfying to see a scene like this play out here alongside so many lesser, groan-worthy attempts to tackle "cancel-culture" (to think that that Spotlight-but-make-it-Me Too movie was out around the same time! I could barely make it through the trailer.)

Beyond the cultural conversation though, and honestly in its own way strengthening it, this is a ghost story, one that unfolds with a masterful subtlety. Mood and tone take over, warping the shared perception of both the viewer and title character as guilt deepens and takes on external forms. It's reminiscent of Personal Shopper in these ways, where we feel haunted not by what is depicted but how. Through this haunting we're able to see with a sort of dramatic irony how Tár internalizes and navigates the thorny trappings of her own life and fame and influence that she's so confident in dispelling when it comes to others. For her, it is not even a question of forgiving some genius virtuoso or other for their shortcomings or foibles; she barely acknowledges they exist at all; art and genius absolve. We watch her squirm as the heat gets turned up, making frail attempts to cover her tracks all the while deluding herself into thinking she's maintaining the haughty guard of her persona. The eye on her remains cool and almost objective, Field's deft restraint allowing us to bring our own experience into the character. I think that's a lot of what's polarizing about the movie, and what makes it so powerful; it's become so rare that we are allowed our autonomy as an audience, that we're not told precisely how to feel about characters we can easily deem either good or bad.

Also, for as seriously as Tár takes herself, the film itself has a wonderful and cutting sense of humor, from Cate Blanchett threatening a child to the hilarious knife-twist of the closing scene.

3. Decision to Leave (dir. Park Chan-Wook) One of the deepest and most wrenching love stories I've ever seen on film. Decision to Leave is in some ways more grounded than the sumptuous The Handmaiden, but twists and diverts from its detective story frame in unexpected ways to follow these two doomed and inextricably linked characters. With these last two especially, Park slyly belies the early notoriety earned with his still shocking Vengeance trilogy, revealing himself (or maybe just reminding us) that he is just simply one of the most skilled and creative technical directors out there. Decision to Leave is unforgettable, it is mean, it is precisely my kind of feel-bad flick. That chainmail glove is just about the coolest shit I've ever seen.

2. Nope (dir. Jordan Peele) The most effective proper spectacle in recent memory, assisted greatly by understated promotion, impeccable sound editing, and a sublime sense of scale. Peele has such a sense of the enigmatic, weaving all these striking, unforgettable images that resonate with one another as his films unfold. In an age where trailers tend to show every major plot point, we take for granted just how unsettling and captivating it can be to not know where a movie will go from once scene to the next. The opening of Nope is so transfixing precisely because you have zero context and Peele exploits this tension to its fullest throughout.

One of the many things that astounds me about Nope is just how many narrative and thematic levels it's operating on. This is a movie about making movies, about the new and brutal ways that American people are becoming further disenfranchised, about a reflexive type of contemporary isolation, about desensitization and stunted attention spans, about legacy ... I guess it's about aliens, too. It's a western, it's science fiction; the use of genre does so much to inform each of these readings. It's so packed full of ideas and nothing is wasted, nothing is arbitrary. As with Arms Across America Us, here Peele continues creating his own winking Mandela-effects; don't lie and tell me you didn't scour the internet to see if Gordy's Home was real or to research the identity of the "Plate 262" rider. Peele has such a way of capturing, of inventing, a collective imagination.

As with his other features, the casting here is spot-on; Peele has an incredible way of working with actors, of capturing chemistry. Keke Palmer and Daniel Kaluuya are so much fun to watch together, such perfect foils to one another. Steven Yeun's Chris Kattan monologue is an absolute all-timer.

With each effort, Peele makes me think more and more of Hitchcock, of Shyamalan. I watch his movies and just feel so fortunate that we have his singular voice right now, especially at such a nadir of moviegoing. This guy is operating within a rich tradition of the spectacular, masterfully employing genre to interrogate potent and present anxieties. His works are time-capsule pieces, perhaps the most telling of our era. I just want him to keep making whatever the hell he wants with whatever amount of money he needs to do it.

1. Aftersun (dir. Charlotte Wells) This movie just simply does things I've never seen before, operating in some of the subtler and more poetic reaches of what cinema is capable of as an art form. We're witnessing memory as it is formed and recalled simultaneously. This is slowly revealed in flash-forward, leading up to the jaw-dropping climax that is stirring to the core, a frenetic fever-dream frame narrative that punctuates the softness of the impressionistic and nostalgia-drenched camcorder brushstrokes. Paul Mescal's character is a ghost haunting the reflective surfaces of resort swimming pools and mirrors, an indefinite form captured obliquely against the screen of a turned-off television. His daughter can only ever conjure him in these fleeting and enigmatic ways; he is not his own person yet to her, only sketched in the ways she that sees and needs him. Such is the inevitable tragedy of the relationship, made all the more harrowing by the simmering turmoil he bares in private that she can only naively intuit. This film is so intimate and personal it almost feels like my own memory, my own aching and secret guilt reflecting on the selfishness of childhood, on taking something precious and formative for granted after it's too late to recover. This movie just fucking wrecks me in irreconcilable ways the more I think about it.

[y0itsbri]

gallavich week 2021 - day 3 - travel au as always inspo from @ianandmickeygallavich // @gallavichthings

Stuck with You

Words: 5.5k

Summary: A winter storm strands a desperate-to-return-to-Chicago Ian at the airport with no car. A dark-haired mysterious man in an expensive-looking leather jacket and sunglasses seems to be his only hope. Ian grows suspicious of the man's true intentions as they embark on their road trip with some funky excursions. The two men find what need they most in each other.

"Fiona, I'm literally at the gate. I'm about to board now!" Ian was lying straight out of his ass as he was running through the bustling airport, dragging his bag as fast as the bent-as-all-hell wheels on the suitcase would allow him. He had not, in fact, woken up to his first alarm... or second. Maybe he was running extremely late despite Fiona's near-constant nagging to get there early in case something happens again.

Ian mumbled a quiet "Fuck" as his suitcase's wheel locked up again. He did not have time for this. His huffed cursing was apparently heard by Fiona's supersonic hearing. A woman in white capris glared his way. Okay, maybe it wasn't that quiet.

"Ian!" Fiona's voice rang through his phone. She sounded frantic and exhausted. She had every right to be, but Ian was not in the mood for an early morning guilt trip. "What happened? And you better stop fuckin' lying to me and get your ass-"

"Fi, I gotta go, love you, talk to you later, promise," he mumbled all the formalities as genuinely as he could muster before he hung up. He had tuned his attention into his surroundings and noticed an absurd about of people hovered around the rent-a-car station while the airport gates nearly empty, except for the occasional airport employees trying to reason with irritated passengers.

Sure enough, something did happen, as Fiona would have happily predicted. There was a massive winter storm and all flights had been delayed until further notice. Ian idly walked to his gate just to make sure he wasn't going to miss his plane like he had the day before. The gate was a fuckin' ghost town besides one man in an expensive-looking studded leather jacket and shiny dark hair to match. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of purple sunglasses, despite the fact that they were currently indoors.

Ian instinctively stepped closer to the man to maybe strike up a conversation. It wasn't something he was so fond of doing, but if he was trapped at an airport, he might as well make friends. Anything to distract his anxious thoughts about not making it back to Chicago in time for his interview. He couldn't even look at his phone, knowing Fiona was probably blowing it up right now about how he has to get his shit together. He knows.

In the midst of his inner debate, Ian oh-so-gracefully tripped over a chair -- the wheels of his suitcase coming to a halt, causing the bag to loudly clang against a nearby pole.

The man jumped up with a startle, yanking off his glasses and swiftly reaching into his boot and pulling out a small knife. He slowly took in the fact that there was no threat -- just a giant blushing ginger wincing at the knife pointed his direction.

The man sighed and tucked his knife away, "Shit, I thought you were trying to rob me or something."

Ian eyed a small black backpack tucked behind the man's legs. That bag was sleek and tiny compared to Ian's nightmare of a bag.

"Ain't look like you got much to steal," Ian joked, immediately regretting his decision to be witty after literally just being held at knifepoint. Maybe the mysterious man would appreciate his charm.

The man frowned. Okay, maybe Ian's humor wasn't for everyone.

"And how did you get that knife through security?" Ian asked in attempt to ease the tension a bit.

"None of your damn business." The man retorted shortly, but his eyes lingered over Ian for a moment longer, amused.

"Right." Ian replied after a moment. That was fair. He was a stranger, after all. But there was something about this man that was so intriguing. The man stood nearly half a foot shorter than Ian and clearly had the personality to make up for it. Ian was most definitely not in the mood to almost get stabbed again so he decided to lay off the talking, making an obvious show of adverting his gaze from the gorgeous leather-clad man in front of him.

"Uh.. hey," the man spoke up again as he looked around the terminal. "Did I miss the flight or did everyone just get abducted by aliens or some shit?"

Ian was amused at the aliens bit. Who even was this guy?

"It looks like all flights are delayed. Some freak super-storm coming in, don't want any crashes or anything."

"Buncha pussies," the dark-haired man grumbled as he stood up.

"Where are you going?" Shut up, Ian, shut up shut up shut up.

"Rent-a-car? Is that okay with you?" The guy pulled his bag over his shoulder, but turned his gaze back to Ian.

"Uh, yeah, I mean -- sorry, never mind." Nice going, Ian.

"I'm just busting your balls, man. Just gotta get back to Chicago before the weekend. Can't just sit around like a little bitch and wait for a storm to pass like some people." The enigmatic man teased him.

Ian rolled his eyes, but followed him like a lost puppy. "You're not the only one. I have an interview in Chicago in two days and I really can't miss it." Ian pointed back towards the rent-a-car area when the man didn't question him any further. "Don't think you'll have much luck with that, by the way. They looked almost sold outta cars when I walked past here earlier."

"So you walked past the rent-a-car instead of actually getting one? Real smart, Stumbles."

Ian cringed at the nickname. So much for first impressions. The man pulled out his phone from the tight pocket of his pants and stopped abruptly, Ian almost losing his balance to keep from stumbling into the guy. Again. Ian was literally swept up off his feet by this dude. He had to get himself in control before he lost what remained of his dignity.

"Ey' Dimitri, I need a car." The guy said into the phone. Ian awkwardly waited around. It wasn't like they made any plans of travelling together but they were in the middle of a conversation, he couldn't just leave. It wouldn't be polite. Not that much about this guy was polite to begin with. But they had something going at least. The phone conversation got heated very quickly. Now Ian could very clearly see why he was the type of person to have a knife in arm's reach at any given notice.

"I know you have fuckin' plenty. I'll drop it off next time I see Yevgeny, you know I'm good for it. I gotta job this weekend- It is your fuckin' business when your bitch of a wife- Oh c'mon, you can admit she's a bit of a bitch. Whatever- Or do you wanna tell Svetlana that your incompetent ass is the reason why she ain't getting her payment- or do you plan on paying for that shit? Didn't think so. Black cat. Red one."

There was definitely a lot to unpack and as curious as Ian was, he was definitely not gonna ask... yet.

"Red, you comin'?" The dark-haired man called over his shoulder as he started heading towards the airport's exit.

"Me?" Way to play it cool, Ian.

"No. The other giant ginger standing behind you. Yes, you."

"My name's Ian, by the way."

"Don't care."

"Where are we going?"

"Chicago."

--

Together but not together, they waited for... Dimitri, maybe? The shorter man beside Ian was tapping around on his phone and hadn't said a word about their plans beyond the simple 'Chicago.'

Right as Ian got the nerve to ask, a sleek black jaguar came to a halt on the street in front of them. Ian only knew a bit about cars because his brother liked fixing them up -- and man, was this a sick car. Lip would be jealous. Ian fought the urge to take a photo of the car -- unsure what the boundaries were in situations like this.

Ian's mystery man sauntered over to the driver's seat, exchanging a loaded handshake before switching places with the driver, who was apparently not Dimitri.

The passenger side window rolled down, revealing a bright red interior. "Coming, princess?"

Ian placed his suitcase in the backseat before hopping in the front himself.

"Do I ever get to know your name, princess?" Ian teased back. But he was genuinely curious.

The guy smirked, "Buckle up. I ain't slowing down for anything." And true to his word, they sped out of the parking lot, earning a few well-deserved horns from cars that they had cut off. Ian cringed.

--

Ian waited until they were on the interstate to speak again, not wanting to be the cause for an accident with this guy's hectic driving and the snow lightly falling on the road in front of them. Maybe he shouldn't be getting into cars with mysterious strangers. Maybe he should have thought of that before he did, in fact, get into a car with a mysterious stranger.

Ian decided to try again, "Ya know, if you don't tell me your name, I'm just going to start calling you something real stupid, like Bob or Cookie or Raven."

"Raven is actually kinda badass." The man replied, not taking his eyes off the road, but the side of his mouth quirking upward.

This guy was impossible, "Ugh."

"Ya know, you're kind of annoying for a passenger who should be grateful that I'm saving your ass. I could dump you on the side of the road, make you hitch hike all the way to Chicago or wherever the hell you end up. Probably some real weirdos out there wanting to pick up a pretty boy like you."

"Didn't ask to be saved." Ian blushed despite his best efforts to play it cool.

"No? So you were just following me all around the airport, why?" He glanced at Ian this time.

Yeah, he had a point. "Like I said, I got an interview I can't miss. My sister set it up for me and she would actually have my ass if I fucked this up. I'm talking like this-is-the-final-straw." Ian sighed, running his hands up and down his face.

"Hmm. You'll make it. I'm a good driver." He smirked. He lifted his hand off the wheel as if he were about to touch Ian's shoulder or something, but decided against it at the last second.

"Good and fast are not equivalent." Ian's breath hitched.

"Says you." The guy drummed his fingers.

"Says most people. And probably the cops." Ian was not about to spend a night in the slammer.

"Fuck the cops." He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yeah."

The conversation died down and a rock ballad lulled over the car's exquisite sound system. Damn, this was a nice car.

"Mickey." The guy murmured, barely audible over the bass.

"What?" Like the mouse?

"My name's Mickey, by the way." He glanced over at Ian.

Oh. "Kinda badass." Ian returned with eye contact a smirk.

Mickey smiled at the road ahead of them.

--

"Mornin', Sleeping Beauty." Mickey called out from the driver's seat, patting Ian's shoulder. Ian could have sworn Mickey's hand lingered a bit longer than necessary, but maybe he was just reading into the interaction.

Ian must have fallen asleep sometime during the drive, because now they were parking in the parking lot of a diner. Red neon lights highlighted the exterior, giving the place a sultry vibe. Odd vibe for an off-the-road diner, but Ian supposed it could be weirder.

Mickey hopped out of the car and shoved his hands into the pocket in his leather jacket, searching for something.

After a moment, Ian slowly stretched his legs out as he crawled out of the car and found Mickey smoking a cigarette while leaning against the hood of the car. It was picture perfect. Mickey hadn't noticed him emerge yet, so Ian decided to give into his urges as he snapped a picture of the beautiful man in front of him -- all black shadows and glowing red.

Ian closed the car door and Mickey stubbed out his cigarette and led them inside. "Usual table," he said to the hostess, who led them to a table set for two towards the back of the establishment.

Yeah, this was weird. Who the fuck had a 'usual table' at a joint off the highway in the middle of nowhere?

Inside hung the heads of exotic animals that Ian hoped were fake. Once they were sat across from each other, Mickey ordered a short stack of pancakes and Ian ordered a hamburger and fries -- the first thing he saw on the menu.

"So, brunch and tigers? What is this place?" Ian mused, curiosity and now suspicion overtaking him.

"Cool, huh? Got connections." Mickey went back to rearranging the condiments and sugars on their table.

"Mhm." Ian was skeptical, but didn't want to pry. He seemed to be on this guy's good side for now.

Ian spent the better part of their stay just taking in everything around them. The walls were lined with playing cards, posters from bands he's never heard of, bizarre news articles, lights swung and tacked up with a casual precision, literal jewelry and crowns under display cases, and he could've sworn there was sparkles mixed into the red paint covering the walls. It was like a goblin's cave or something.

Occasionally, he would look up at Mickey, who would look away almost instantly -- like he'd been caught in the middle of something. Planning something? Ian couldn't tell if Mickey's cheeks were actually blushing red or if it was just the lighting. Probably for the best because Ian blushed like a motherfucker whenever he held Mickey's eyes for too long.

Luckily, the waitress brought over their food before Ian could say something stupid. Ian's hamburger and fries were places in a classic red boat with black and white checkered paper. The burger was massive and had a flamingo pick placed in the center of it. Mickey's pancakes were covered in bananas, blueberries, and powdered sugar. The waitress also set down a glass elephant bottle filled with, what looked like, maple syrup. The waitress just smiled at them and walked away without another word. This place was strange. And Ian couldn't shake that feeling.

About halfway through eating, Ian had enough of the odd vibes and promptly excused himself to go to the bathroom. He had to get out of here, forgo his luggage in the fancy ass car. He didn't care if he'd have to hitch hike at this point. He washed his hands in the bathroom sink, planning when to make his escape, when the door swung open.

"Ian." Mickey looked genuinely concerned. No stupid nickname. Ian. "What's wrong, man? You looked pretty sick back there. Is it food poisoning? I'll give Anakin a fuckin' piece of my mind if he didn't cook that fuckin' burger. He knows better than to fuck with me." He rattled off.

Ian felt flighty and tried to take off during Mickey's rage-induced ramble but an arm gripped his bicep, stopping him in his tracks.

"Hey, Ian, look at me." That was the problem. Ian couldn't stop looking at him. He would probably do anything he asked. And that was fucking dangerous. He was a stranger with connections. That couldn't lead to anything good.

Ian finally made eye contact and the grip on his arm loosened, gently sliding towards his wrist before falling back to Mickey's side.

"Promise me you won't kill me." Ian blurted out.

Mickey's eyebrows nearly flew off his face, "Kill you? Where the fuck is this coming from? You think I hate you or something?"

"Well, maybe, I don't know. This is weird."

"Maybe." Mickey paused, actually making an effort to see this whole strange situation from Ian's perspective. "But I like weird."

Ian stayed silent.

"I promise I'm not going to kill you. I promise that I'm going to get you back to Chicago for your interview. I promise we're all good, okay?"

The tension in Ian's shoulder's visibly relaxed and he released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. But that confession still doesn't explain this weird excursion.

"Why does everyone here know you?" Ian finally asked, swallowing his nerves.

This was not a conversation for the men's bathroom, but here they were anyways.

Mickey looked a bit embarrassed. "Used to live a few towns over with my ex-wife-"

"Ex-wife?" Ian nearly choked.

"Svetlana. Fuckin' disaster. But I used to come here with my son, Yev, on special occasions when his mom was out. He always loved it -- thought he was the king or some shit."

"Oh."

"Don't see the kid as much anymore, but this place still has the best fuckin' pancakes so we go when we can."

"So this isn't a sting operation to kidnap me?"

Mickey rolled his eyes, "You're an idiot. I actually happen to like you."

"Yeah, me too."

"So glad you like yourself, champ."

"Oh, fuck me." Ian groaned.

"Maybe later." Mickey smiled too sweetly for someone who had just insinuated what they had.

They returned to their table, finishing off what they could. Mickey had insisted he pay for both of their meals -- reparation for nearly giving Ian a heart attack and fleeing off to fucking Mexico or something. The waitress collected their tab and walked away with a wink, "Have fun tonight, boys."

"See ya 'round, Geneva." Mickey called, "Always in my fuckin' business." But Ian could tell it was meant with nothing but fondness.

Mickey held gave a two finger salute to the hostess on his way out before holding the lion-studded doors and turning to face Ian, "We're in this together, yeah?"

"Yeah."

--

Ian didn't fall asleep in the car this time. Instead, they played the license plate game and carried impersonal conversation in between stops at gas stations and fast food restaurants.

--

"Books or movies?" Ian read from his phone.

"What kind of fuckin' question is that?"

"From the online list you made me look up!"

"Yeah, because you suck at coming up with questions!"

"Whatever. Books or movies?"

"Movies, duh."

"Aw, c'mon, you don't like books? When was the last time you even read a book?"

Mickey flipped him off, "What about you, smartass? You prefer books over movies?"

"Well, no..."

"Well, exactly."

--

"Cats or dogs?" Ian asked. "I've never had either, but dogs are cool."

"Yeah, 'cause you act like one."

Ian gasped, mocking an expression of hurt. "I bet you're a dog person, though."

"Yeah, why're you so sure about that?"

"They're all tough and shit."

"I got a cat back home. She's tougher than any dog I know."

"What's her name?"

"Indy."

"Aw, softy."

"It's short for Indica, clearly we're cool."

Ian gave an even more exaggerated "Aww."

"Shut up, next question."

--

They had missed the worst of the winter storm that had threatened their flight and gotten them in this situation to begin with. It was starting to get dark and while Mickey assured Ian that he could drive through the night, Ian insisted they could stop at a hotel and still make it back before his interview. Truthfully, he didn't want to be involved in a luxury car crash with a maybe Russian mobster. He couldn't pinpoint Mickey, but that's what he had currently decided on.

They had pulled off into the lot of a pink hotel. Mickey had gotten them two rooms, side-by-side. Instead of going up to his room and passing out like Ian had expected, Mickey headed straight towards the hotel bar -- ordering a mojito and a vodka tonic and making friendly talk with the waitress in a very low cut red shirt like they were old friends. Mickey was nothing like Ian expected.

Ian headed up to his room to drop off his suitcase and call Fiona back, sure she was going to disown him right then and there for avoiding her calls all day.

--

Ian opted against going down to the bar and instead watched reruns on the hotel tv. Alcohol didn't really mix well with his meds and he didn't want a hangover if they were going to be in a car all day tomorrow -- especially a nice car like that. Yeah, he wasn't puking in that anytime soon if he could help it.

He took a long, hot shower, indulging in the hotel's eucalyptus-scented body wash before settling in for the night.

Ian was resting peacefully until he heard a blood-curdling scream next door. Mickey was next door. Mickey.

Ian leapt out of bed, grabbing nothing but his shirt before frantically knocking on Mickey's door. C'mon Mickey, don't be dead. C'mon. C'mon.

Mickey swung open the door rubbing sleep from his eyes, "Ian?"

"Uh, hi. I heard screaming. Just making sure you're not being murdered."

"Shit, yeah. I get night terrors sometimes. I meant to mention that to you, but it must have slipped my mind after a few drinks. Didn't see you down there?"

"I called it an early night," Ian replied guiltily. He felt bad if Mickey was waiting for him. But he didn't know.

"Yeah... anything else?" Mickey looked Ian up and down. Ian was suddenly hyper aware he was standing in front of Mickey in only his boxers.

"Um, no." Ian glanced around nervously.

"Great." Mickey shut the door. Whatever. Ian turned to open his door, but it wouldn't open. He searched his pants for the key card only to be reminded that he was not, in fact, wearing pants. Fucking great indeed.

Ian knocked on Mickey's door again.

"What?" He grumbled with a tooth pick between his teeth. "'m not fuckin' screamin' anymore."

"I locked myself out."

"Of course you did." Mickey rubbed a hand down his face, "You ain't goin' down to the front desk in your underwear and I'm not goin' down there either so it looks like you can either come with me or sleep in the hallway, your choice."

Some choice.

Ian followed Mickey into his room, the same layout as Ian's -- just mirrored. Mickey tossed a blanket at him and then collapsed back into the pillows himself.

Ian tried to make himself comfortable on the ground but all he was going to do was bruise his fuckin' spine and freeze his ass off because apparently Mickey likes to sleep in Antarctica.

"Fuckin' cold." Ian mumbled, cocooned in his one tiny hotel-grade blanket that hardly covered his long body.

Mickey didn't open his eyes, but he lifted the comforter on the bed, "Get in here, Frosty."

Ian hesitated. But he was really fucking cold. He made sure not to touch Mickey at all as he crawled under the covers, laying as still as he could on the edge of the mattress. Mickey sighed and scooted his back into Ian's chest, grabbed Ian's arm, and draped it around his waist. "There."

Ian was still for a moment before settling into the warmth.

"Mickey." He said softly. He wasn't even sure if Mickey had heard him.

"What?"

"Is that your real name? Mickey?"

Mickey sighed, "Mikhailo."

"Hmm. I like Mikhailo. It's like Mick-halo, like you're an angel."

"Baby, you've met me. There ain't nothing good about me. I'm more like the devil."

"Why's that?"

"Dude, I almost knifed you when we first met."

"I had that coming, though."

"Maybe so."

"Is that all?"

"Fuckin' terrorized my neighborhood as a kid."

"Me too, you ain't special. Got anything else?"

"I'm a raging homo."

Ian rolled his eyes. "Me too. Anything else?"

"Can't do enough for my own kid."

Ian was quiet so Mickey continued.

"Svet won't keep him in Chicago where my job is. I don't wanna be the asshole to choose work over my kid, but I can't just up and leave, either."

"Yeah, but it sounds like you visit him a lot. He must know you love him, though. Bet you're a better father than mine."

"Yeah, mine too. Ain't hard to beat. He's a real dick. I don't wanna be anything like that piece of shit."

Ian squeezing his grip around Mickey's waist. "You're not. I'm still betting you're all things good."

"Hmm."

"Guess we'll just have to see."

"Guess so."

A moment passed before Mickey spoke again.

"Go to sleep, stupid."

"Goodnight, Mick-halo."

Ian nestled his head into Mickey's hair, smelling the eucalyptus on his as well. The two not-strangers drifted off together.

--

Ian woke up after Mickey, who was already packing up his oddly tiny back pack again. And Ian's suitcase. He took a moment to recall last night's events.

"How the fuck did you get that?"

"Morning to you, too." Mickey tossed a prepacked muffin at Ian's half asleep body. "Went to the front desk for a spare key after continental breakfast, duh. Eat up, we're leaving in 10."

Ian groaned and pulled the covers over his head. He felt a weight on the mattress beside him. He peeked from behind the blanket to see that Mickey had sat down and was currently staring at his legs? Ass? Who knew. Turns out 'thighs' was the correct answer as he set his hand on the outer part of Ian's right thigh. Just resting it there for a moment before getting up.

"Fine, we're leaving in 15."

Satisfied, Ian closed his eyes for a few minutes, feeling the ghost of Mickey on his leg. He was so warm. It was like his heart was on fire.

--

They ended up leaving 10 minutes after Mickey's initial 15 were up. But it wasn't Ian's fault that there was a hold-up at the front desk. Something about a scheduling conflict between a drag show and a speech contest. Hell, Mickey thought they should combine the two events and call it a day.

Back in the car, Mickey had some upbeat indie music playing this morning while they circled around the old town to find a gas station.

"Ya want anything?" Mickey asked before he turned away from the pump and towards the building, patting down his ass to make sure he had his wallet.

Ian was distracted by the patting for a moment before replying. "Uh, maybe a Gatorade or something?"

Mickey tapped the hood of the car twice instead of replying verbally, but the message was received nonetheless.

Ian pulled up the picture he had taken yesterday of Mickey in front of the bizarre diner, moments before he thought he was being hunted for sport. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

After a moment, the driver's side door swung open, "Whatcha lookin' at, Smiles? Texting your girlfriend?" Mickey teased as he closed the gas tank and hopped in with a coffee balancing in one hand and three different flavors of Gatorade in the other.

"Nothing." Damn, Ian. Like that ain't an obvious lie.

"Ain't nothing, lemme see." Mickey took Ian's phone and dropped the Gatorades on his lap.

"Ouch! Well, thanks -- for these -- but give me my phone back!"

"Is that me?"

No sense in lying now. He was literally looking at it. "Uh, yeah. Thought it looked cool."

"That's dope as fuck, man. Send that shit to me, I wanna post it on my Instagram."

Ian certainly hadn't expected that response. But when had Mickey ever been what he expected?

"I don't have your number." And he wasn't asking for his number like some school girl. Mickey had literally requested he send him something. Ian had no idea why he felt so ridiculously nervous.

"Gimme." Mickey made grabby hands for the phone and began to plug in his number before Ian realized that this definitely counted as distracted driving in a very nice car. "Done."

Done.

--

The morning and afternoon went by pretty quickly. Mickey sang along to some pop songs while drumming his hands on the steering wheel. Ian took some photos of the inside of the car, earning some light teasing from Mickey. Shut up, this might be my only time in a car worth more than ten grand.

Ian watched the highway and the grass blurring past his window when he suddenly remembered the small notepad and pen he had swiped from Mickey's hotel room.

Mickey looked pretty distracted, so Ian took it out and began to sketch his profile. The man was too beautiful. He couldn't help himself. With a burst of confidence, he added a note to it before ripping the page out and sticking it in the side pocket of Mickey's back pack. If Mickey saw him, he didn't say anything -- for once -- and Ian was glad for that.

--

They were nearing Illinois state lines, so they had to get into travel specifics. Ian gave him the address to his apartment. Both being Southside, Mickey knew the area well enough that he wouldn't need directions until last minute.

Ian figured now was as good as time as any to ask, "What are you doing in Chicago?"

Mickey made a face like he was thinking about how much he wanted to explain to Ian. "Well, for one, I live there. Second, you've seen my tattoos right?" He held out his knuckles reading FUCK U-UP. Ian nodded and Mickey relaxed one hand back onto the steering wheel before continuing, "Tattoos were a family ritual. I help my brothers on runs when they need it -- those idiots can't plan for shit by themselves. Makes good money though. I also work part-time at this high-end restaurant downtown. Satisfies my sister that I have a legit job. Ain't too bad either. Lotta sketchy shit goes on, though, but they know I'm good to look the other way for a low low price." He grinned.

"Damn, you sure are something," Ian mused.

"Yup yup. What about you hot-shot? What's the whole deal with this interview?"

Ian sighed. "Never finished high school and uh, I have a mood disorder thing so a lot of places won't even consider me. Got fired from my last job for snapping at the dickhead manager --which was well-deserved by the way -- but still stupid. My sister, Fiona, got me this interview with the magazine company she works for -- she thinks I'm so sick like our mother and that if I don't have a job to keep me stable that I'll just fuck off. But the job would be really cool because I've been into photography and shit since like forever. I don't know, it's stupid. But I really just can't stand to let anyone down again, because I am better. They just don't always believe me."

Mickey frowned, and Ian worried he shared too much. But then Mickey rested his hand on Ian's thigh, "Hey, man. That sounds cool. But it's okay to not be okay. Just be honest with me, and I believe you. Promise?"

"Promise."

--

Ian's apartment was in sight before he knew it. It was starting to get dark out, but he would still be able to get a good night's sleep before his interview in the morning. Mickey's car definitely did not belong in his neighborhood. It stood out like a sore thumb. He couldn't stay for long if he wanted to leave with the car in tact.

Mickey helped Ian get his suitcase out of the backseat and then leaned against the car, watching Ian with a strange look in his eye. Before Ian could ask, Mickey stalked over to him and leaned up, and pressed his lip's against Ian's. He smelled so sweet. It wasn't the eucalyptus shampoo either -- that had long faded. This was just pure Mickey. Mikhailo.

The moment was over too soon and Ian groaned. Mickey gently patted his cheek, "Don't worry, big guy, you ain't gettin' rid of me this easy. I'll see you soon."

"Soon." Ian repeated back, still a bit dazed in the head.

Mickey smirked as he hopped back into the jaguar and sped off to wherever the fuck it is that Mickey goes.

Ian lugged his bag upstairs, unlocked his door, and plopped down on the couch.

Soon.

--

After texting Fiona one last time, Ian had turned his phone off to avoid any distractions. Giving in to the urge to text Mickey would definitely be a distraction. He needed routine. At least for tonight.

It was a relatively quiet night in terms of activities. He had microwaved a frozen dinner and watched a couple episodes of Schitt's Creek before taking his meds, brushing his teeth, and heading to bed.

No matter how chill of a night he was planning on having, his mind kept racing with thoughts of Mickey with everything he did. That man was so cool and funny and kind, even if he didn't believe it himself. Ian didn't know what exactly had caused such a reign of self-doubt over him, but they would talk about it someday. Ian wanted him to see how good he was. Mickey just brought long-vanished excitement to Ian's life again. He trusted him and cared for him. And he missed him. They had only spent two days together, but Ian couldn't imagine sleeping without him. He drifted off to sleep thinking about what Mickey would look like in his bed with him.

Ian had gotten up at his first alarm for once and arrived to the interview 15 minutes early. He was genuinely passionate about this job so it was easy to turn up his charm. He would hear a call back later that afternoon, but given that he was pretty sure Fiona was sleeping with his would-be boss's boss, he was almost certain he would get the job.

Ian finally turned his phone on when he got home. One message from Fiona -- reminding him of the interview. But more importantly, three from Mickey. He immediately clicked on Mickey's name, absolutely no use in playing it cool anymore. He couldn't get him out of his head.

Mickey (9:27pm): *image attachment*

Mickey (9:27pm): found this in my bag, i wonder how it got there🤔

Mickey (7:32am): good luck at your interview! hope it was worth literally dragging your ass across the country for

Ian smiled.

Ian (10:06am): I have absolutely no idea how that drawing got there. Maybe trolls? 😇

Ian (10:07am): And your luck helped! I think the interviewer liked me :)

Mickey (10:07am): hopefully he didnt like you too much

Ian (10:09am): SHE liked me a very healthy amount.

Mickey (10:10am): gonna keep it that way

Ian (10:12am): 🙄 Oh Mick. Can't be jealous over something you don't have.

Mickey (10:15am): i have you right where i want you dont you worry your pretty little head

Ian (10:17am): So you think I'm pretty is what I'm hearing?

Mickey (10:18am): i think your annoying go away

Ian (10:19am): I thought I couldn't get rid of you that easy?

Mickey (10:19am): changed my fucking mind

--

Their texting banter came to a halt when Mickey picked up a shift at his legitimate job. Ian unpacked his ratty old suitcase and cleaned up his apartment while he waited for his phone to ring. From the job... from Mickey.

--

Right when he was switching loads of laundry, his phone rang. It would be a lie if he said he didn't drop everything and run.

It was his new boss him on his new job. He couldn't hold back his grin as he immediately texted Mickey, then Fiona. He was proud of himself.

Fiona called and they chatted about the job -- omitting the part where he assumed she was sleeping with the boss -- and Ian's road trip -- omitting the part where he kissed his once assumed kidnapper -- and then about Fiona's kids and Carl's lately stunt. He was so invested in his little criminal brother that he almost didn't hear the knock at his door.

"Fi, I gotta call you back. I think I have a delivery or something." Ian wasn't expecting anything.

Ian nearly leapt backwards when he cautiously opened his door (there were no damn peepholes in his building) to find Mickey waiting on his doormat with a grin on his face. "Congrats on the job, man!"

"Oh my God. You're here?"

"Yeah, I told you I would see you soon. I'm a man of my word. And I brought cupcakes." Always the unexpected. "Well minus one. I didn't know which apartment was yours and I went to your neighbor's first and he wouldn't tell me where you lived without a fuckin' cupcake. Greedy asshole." He murmured, quietly smiting the old bastard.

"Mickey." Ian smiled, eyes crinkling with it. "You're good. You're so good."

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 5

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Revenge is sweet but a well-timed dick joke is sweeter. xoxo gossip girl. Please supervise one Bucky Barnes on the internet. Questionable music taste. Detention is the price we pay for justice. Bruce Banner is too precious for this world, too pure.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit​ @littlegasps​ @pilloclock​ @shereadsinquiet​ @downeyreads​ @hermione-grangers-wife​ @individualistfem​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! 🎶🎵I love you biiitch ain't ever gonna stop loving you biiitch 🎵🎶

"Initiate phase one," I added a growly undertone to my whisper, holding my phone inconspicuously, as if I was making a simple phone call. There was no answer but I didn't expect one: I was testing the voice recorder app that I had downloaded for the sole purpose of documenting and relaying the inevitable fall of one Flash Thompson. 

Making my way through the crowd of students during the busiest time of the day, I made the most intrigued and outraged facial expression I possibly could. Spying my targets, I leaned against a nearby wall, putting a hand over my mouth in fake outrage, keeping my eyes wide and trained on the opposite wall. Just as I had predicted, the two sophomore girls started giving me side-eye by minute two of my staring and finally approached me as I contemplated the wall for whole five minutes.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?" The brunette asked, her blonde friend hanging a step back.

"Yeah, totally," I mumbled. "I'm, like, shook beyond imagination, but nothing, like, bad."

The girls traded a curious look, seemingly coming to some sort of conclusion. The greedy gleam in their eyes had me internally cheering. "What happened?" The blonde one asked, coming closer.

"I'm not sure if I should tell that to anyone," I stammered, watching them bodily move forward. "Well, okay, I can't keep quiet. But you must never, ever speak of it or I'll get expelled or something," I said nervously. They both nodded so rapidly it reminded me of Funko Pop figurines. "You know the senior guy, Flash? Brown hair, kinda hot?" Again, they both nodded, conspicuously grinning. "I think I just saw him in the closed girls bathroom on the third floor with, like, some brunette from Ms. Johnson's History class," They both gasped. Predictable. "But that's not the worst! They were like, y'know," I made an obscene gesture with my hand and they instantly covered their own mouths with their palms in shock. "And the chick was like 'is it in yet?' and he was like 'yah' and I just closed the door and ran, oh my god I hope they didn't hear me," I squealed at the end, playing the part of a mortified teenager.

All three of us giggled uncomfortably for a moment. The blonde girl stared at me suspiciously. "And what were you doing there?"

I faked a nervous stammer, looking around briefly and showing them my lighter for a moment. They both gasped and nodded in recognition. "Don't tell anybody or my mom is going to have kittens," I pleaded. Both of them nodded solemnly, noticing their own group of friends approach. I used the brief moment to get lost in the river of pupils and by the time they turned around to introduce me, I was already at the opposite part of the hallway.

For the time being, everything seemed peaceful. There were a few giggles and side-eyes directed towards Flash Thompson but nothing out of the ordinary. He was disliked by most of the student population even if nobody dared to admit it outright. I took care to walk around without my earbuds for the day and pulled out my phone to record the most interesting conversations around me whenever I caught the tell tale signs of a gossip mill beginning to run its course around the school.

"Oh my god, I heard about this girl that was caught fucking Flash in the girls bathroom and she literally said 'is it in yet', can you imagine the shock, jeez!"

"Some chick literally just rejected Flash because his dick was too small."

"Rebecca from AP chemistry told me someone saw Flash's micropenis. Poor guy!"

"I wonder if his girlfriend dumped him because he can't do shit, I mean, he doesn't look like the type to eat the kitty."

Those were just the highlights of the Friday afternoon. Come the weekend and the news of Flash's unfortunate condition will make the rounds through every single group chat that the school has and by the time Monday rolls around, nobody will have a clue who started the rumour in the first place. I had to carefully select the girls who were to distribute the rumour and I was happy with the outcome: Marissa and Layla with their squad of chatty, bored rich girls were the perfect choice. I thought they would jump at any opportunity to cause drama and I was right.

It was sufficient to say I was bristling with pride as I cut and compiled the audio track from today's school day before sending it to the group chat.

Clint, Peter and Natasha appeared online as soon as the message delivered and I was delighted at their response. Romanoff's kind words, specifically, made me all warm and mushy inside. I didn't resist the feeling, basked in it even as I did a happy dance around my room. Peter's nonsensical string of emojis was another point of laughter for me. 

It wasn't exactly the smartest way to go about killing Thompson's reputation... Alas, simplicity is the way to success when it comes to large crowds of teenagers. That tiny little vindictive part of me was very much looking forward to the weekend and the results of the inevitable distortion of the rumour I had started. Who knew, maybe by Monday Flash Thompson would not only have a micropenis but horns and hooves as well.

Near bedtime, I had all the avengers send me their regards and thumbs up. I answered the flurry of texts as quickly as I could but there was no point in keeping up with ten or so people constantly streaming their questions, opinions and comments. 

I settled on a single easiest response: pulling my dad's old uni sweatshirt over my tiny lacy pajamas to preserve some modesty, I settled in front of my mirror, turning on my Bluetooth speaker to play "Boss Ass Bitch". In true gen-z fashion, I put on my best resting witch face and solemnly lip-synced to the song's eponymous chorus. My eyeliner was sharp enough to cut paper and my prismatic highlighter glittered enigmatically in the cold light of my blue lava lamp.

The response was, once again, delightful and I genuinely belly-laughed at the adults' attempts to meme after Peter. His blushy face emoji started a whole nother conversation that I didn't participate in but watched from the sidelines with glee, snorting every time his friends and mentors gently teased him about the very obvious crush he harboured on me. 

Seeing Peter starting to go absolutely nuts, I interjected with an offer (more like a dare) of a lip sync battle. He jumped on the bandwagon, immediately going offline to undoubtedly film an epic video of what I thought would be dorky-dancing to some hipster song. I was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be a pre-recorded tik tok video of him and Ned fighting with lightsabers while mouthing the words to Fergalicious that played over the Imperial March.

Weirdos. I still followed him on the app, though, it was pretty funny.

Bucky interjected with a very well executed rendition of "Bring Me to Life": he was wearing his full Winter Soldier get-up, complete with an AK-47, dramatically serenading Steve who looked seventeen shades of done with his partner's antics. Wanda's following twenty second voice message consisted of nothing but pure hysterical laughter, summing up everyone's reaction to the video. Bucky was going to go viral one of these days...

Obviously, I had good competition and nobody else seemed to want to participate so I rearranged my surroundings a little bit and stood up at my full height and swapped the old sweatshirt for a cute crop-top hoodie. My thigh-highs were on display and with my make-up, I looked like a proper internet e-girl. I leaned against the mirror as I mouthed along to the song with my best interpretation of the famous Lucifer smirk, seasoned with a tiny bit of angelic innocence: "Doctor, doctor, give me the news, I got a bad case of loving you..."

Needless to say, I won the competition. Eventually Wanda joined in, looking menacing and ominous with her dark clothes and Natasha's red hair flashing somewhere in the background; even Tony did a round (AC/DC as his soundtrack of course) with one of his Iron Man suits but nothing beat my stunt and the reaction that it caused.

I had accidentally called out Bruce with the choice of my song and his teammates gave both of us a lot of cheeky comments about it. We relented and flirted with each other a bit as the conversation flowed into more mundane discussion; I said my good nights somewhere between Tony's bitching about the hobbies of my generation and my nightly skincare routine. The little green heart that I'd become accustomed to over the past few weeks greeted me just as I was about to lock my phone.

Bruce was really too precious for this world. My crush on him was different than the one on Tony, it mellowed out in comparison. I wanted him to hold me, to stroke my hair, to call me his darling and wrap me up in one of those dorky button-ups that he insisted on wearing in spite of Tony's unwanted, however very valid, fashion advice.

For all that's worth, the scientist probably knew or at least suspected and had the good grace to play along just enough to satisfy my deep need for attention... Without crossing any actual lines. It was frustrating, it was disappointing but I had virtually nothing to complain about. Besides, I didn't want to lose the quirky friendship that we had. Banner was, probably, the least judgemental person I knew and I wasn't about to trade that for an awkwardly stolen kiss.

Monday and Tuesday passed in a flurry of giggling and snorting every time Flash walked by. His girlfriend broke up with him, very publicly, accusing him of cheating and he didn't even deny it - just insulted her and stormed off, leaving even his friends looking lost and clueless. I started dragging Peter and his two pet nerds along with me just about everywhere I went in case Thompson decided to do something stupid again. If judging only by the looks he was throwing our little company, he was on his way to figuring out who began nibbling at his reputation.

The week was coming to an end and the rumour began dying off, slowly. That just didn't sit with me, I wanted the fucker gone. Due to the obvious time constraints, I approached MJ regarding Peter - after a brief argument, we came to an agreement regarding Peter's safety should I need to leave him alone in the hallways or at lunch. 

I needed to do this alone so if I got caught, I won't drag them down with me. Granted, I would probably get something like a suspension and the school will attempt to call my mother (she never picks up) but that's about it. That's where her reputation comes in handy-people consciously avoid dealing with her, she can be that unbearable.

But first, I needed to get a teacher that's on my side. After carefully considering the candidates, I settled on my Social Studies professor - he taught the college-level classes and was overall a very chill, nice dude. And he disliked bullies with a flaming passion. So it didn't take me long to work him into a righteous fury - just a quick chat over a cup of tea in his homeroom and a few pictures of Peter's bruised face, complete with my own pleading puppy eyes. We agreed Mr Davies would "accidentally" leave the teacher's lounge unlocked during third period and I would sneak in. The plan wasn't foolproof but if it worked, not only Flash, but also his whole misogynistic, bigoted family would go down.

As I was leaving, Mr Davies looked up at me with a bright smile: "Give them Hell, alright?" And I suddenly noticed he was, in fact, very attractive. The smile brought out the fine wrinkles around his mouth, the crow's feet around his eyes - he smiled a lot. Silver strands mixed in with the wooden brown of his hair.

I let my eyes slide over him briefly before baring my teeth in return. "I owe you one," I don't know what possessed me to say that. My mouth really had a mind of its own sometimes. The room suddenly became hot.

"Sure," He replied, totally oblivious.

On Friday, I made myself a small nest in the empty classroom opposite the teacher's lounge and sat waiting for the signal from Mr Davies - he'd tap on the door once and I'd quietly go inside the teacher's lounge, retrieve Thompson's file and make my way back to the empty classroom to grab my backpack and carry the file to my locker for further examination. 

The first part went successfully and I managed to snag Thompson's file. It was heavy and hefty, all the evidence of his rowdiness compiled into one flimsy plastic folder. There were A LOT of pink slips and I rejoiced internally: at least there was a paper trail of his exploits. The principal didn't do anything about it which was... If not against the rules then at least frowned upon; the plan was to take copies and anonymously submit them to the school board prompting at least an investigation into the blatant disregard for Flash's immoral and illegal behaviour.

On my way back I stumbled upon the principal herself which got me not only a stern talking to, but a whole detention for skipping class. Whatever, I was too elated from potentially ruining the life of a dumb fuck who ruined my friend's face.

Surprise came in the face of Mr Davies, who, having heard the commotion in the hallway, stepped out of his class and saw me being lectured by the principal. 

"I'll take her for the detention," I heard the familiar voice behind me. The principal nodded solemnly and I had no choice but to sigh in resignation. "Three thirty, be here," He nodded to me, walking back, looking way too smug for his own good. So I wasn't the only one excited about the successful completion of stage two of my nefarious plan. Cue evil laughter.

[wtf-triassic]

Longisquama insignis

By Tas Dixon

Etymology: Long Scales

First Described By: Sharov, 1970

Classification: Biota, Archaea, Proteoarchaeota, Asgardarchaeota, Eukaryota, Neokaryota, Scotokaryota, Opimoda, Podiata, Amorphea, Obazoa, Opisthokonta, Holozoa, Filozoa, Choanozoa, Animalia, Eumetazoa, Parahoxozoa, Bilateria, Nephrozoa, Deuterostomia, Chordata, Olfactores, Vertebrata, Craniata, Gnathostomata, Eugnathostomata, Osteichthyes, Sarcopterygii, Rhipidistia, Tetrapodomorpha, Eotetrapodiformes, Elpistostegalia, Stegocephalia, Tetrapoda, Reptiliomorpha, Amniota, Sauropsida, Eureptilia, Romeriida, Diapsida, ???

Time and Place: 242 million years ago, in the Ladinian of the Middle Triassic

Longisquama is known from the Madygen Formation of Kyrgyzstan

Physical Description: Longisquama was a small, somewhat lizard-like reptile reaching somewhere around 8 or 9 centimeters in body length from snout to tail - though this is uncertain, as tail elements are not preserved at this time. It had very large, hockey-stick shaped scales in a single row going along its back, with some of the longest scales being as long as the body of the animal - or longer, we really don’t have its tail. They go from somewhat long towards the head, reaching a peak length right after this, and then shrink in size as they go towards the tail - probably. Again, we don’t have a lot in terms of preserved elements of this animal, and while we know they were shaped like hockey sticks, there is a chance the fronds may have varied in size or shape or extended more on the back. They were attached to the spine by knob-like attachment points, similar to follicles for other integumentary structures like hair. There was probably soft tissue surrounding this follicle to keep the scale steady. The fronds had a raised ridge down the middle, with horizontal bars going up and down the length of the scale. The head of Longisquama was small, ending in a short point with tiny teeth inside, and it had a small head. It appears to have been quadrupedal - maybe, we don’t really have hind limbs - and with its legs splayed out to the side on its body. It was also quite skinny, based on the size of its ribcage. 

Diet: Longisquama was probably an insectivore, eating the variety of different insects that were present in its environment. 

Behavior: We really have no idea what the long scaled were used for. They were probably for display, nothing like feathers at all, and would have looked pretty to other Longisquama. They may have even been iridescent, much like many lizard scales, allowing them to display to each other in their deeply green and dense forested environment. There is no evidence that they would have been suitable as flying structures, and honestly beyond that we have no idea. There doesn’t seem to be evidence that they were used like Synapsid sails for cooling, either. Display is the best idea we have at this point. As for other behaviors, it probably would spend a good chunk of time in trees, and may have been social in doing so - the display structures do seem to imply a certain amount of social behavior. As far as parental care or other complex social structures, however, we have no evidence either way. 

Ecosystem: The Madygen was a deeply forested environment, with dense coniferous trees surrounding extensive lakes set in deep mud. This very wet and very green environment meant that there weren’t a lot of large animals present - instead, most of the animals were adapted for the trees and catching each other and plantlife among the branches. This extensively muddy and sticky environment means that a wide variety of animals - especially insects - were preserved well in the formation. Other creatures include the leg-glider Sharovipteryx; the Drepanosaur Kyrgyzsaurus; a mysterious probable-salamander Triassurus; a primitive cynodont Madysaurus; the Reptiliomorph Madygenerpeton; sharks such as Fayolia, Lonchidion, and Palaeoxyris; and many ray-finned fishes like Alvinia, Megaperleidus, Sixtelia, Ferganiscus, Oshia, and Saurichthys. As for insects, there too many to list: the earliest Hymenopterans (the group including wasps, bees, and ants); the great Titanopterans like Gigatian; moths, beetles, crickets, mosquitos, flies, grigs, and even mysterious Triassic insects with no close modern relatives. Seriously, you don’t want me to list them all - there’s hundreds of species on Fossilworks alone! So there was plenty for Longisquama to chow down on. 

Other: Oh Longisquama. Such a poorly preserved animal. Locked away in Russia, far away from the prying eyes of so many in this world. Unstudied, unloved. And yet, from the few photographs we have of its fossil, so many have insisted - insisted - we know exactly what it is. The enigmatic nature of Longisquama and it's completely poor fossil record (and, again, entrapment in Russia) have left it as a sort of Schrodinger’s Triassic Weirdo. What is it? What is it related to? What are those frond things? Does it play a role in the evolution of other groups? 

Here’s the thing, though. Longisquama is so poorly preserved and all we have are pictures of the fossil unless you want to go to Russia, badger some Russians, and look at the fossil - which very few people actually want to do. So, that having been said, we can’t use it for anything, basically, and we certainly can’t say anything about the fossil. 

We do know some things:

The long ribbons on Longisquama are not leaves it fell on top of. There are enough fossils of Longisquama to reinforce that it has these fronds every time, and they weren’t really shaped like any known plant leaves anyway. I know, it’s a bummer. 

It’s not a Dinosaur. It lacks Archosaur features, as far as we can tell from the fossil photos. So, if it’s not an Archosaur, it’s not a Dinosaur. 

It is not a Bird Precursor. While Longisquama - and quite a few other reptiles of the Triassic - convergently evolved similar facial features in the superficial sense to birds, they weren’t actually that similar on the skeletal level - they aren’t archosaurs! - and none of the rest of the skeleton resembles birds. Furthermore, we have one of the best transitional sequences ever known specifically for bird evolution - we have in the fossil record every step of the process from ancestral archosaur to bird, through the dinosaur family tree. The sheer number of feathered dinosaur fossils and other features found in dinosaurs such as similar hand configuration, body shapes, skeletal structures, and behaviors have left no doubt in the minds of the vast majority of scientists that birds are dinosaurs and, therefore, not descendants of Longisquama. 

It’s not a Pterosaur precursor. Literally all studies of its classification puts it far away from pterosaurs; furthermore, there are no clear links between Longisquama and the early pterosaurs of the Triassic period. While Pterosaur evolution isn’t quite as clear as bird evolution, we also have decent reason to believe pterosaurs are Archosaurs; meaning, Longisquama isn’t their ancestor. 

The fronds aren’t feathers. Even if feathers were that deep in terms of reptile ancestry that it was retained through many stages of evolution from Longisquama to early dinosaurs and pterosaurs, there is no evidence for this trait in living non-avian reptiles like Crocodilians (no, they don’t carry a feather gene, they just have the same protein that feathers are made out of) or Lizards, and thus the odds of these being weird pre-feathers is low. Instead, they are most likely highly modified scales. 

So, what is it? We don’t know. Maybe a Drepanosaur (more on those weirdos later). Maybe just a completely separate lineage of Triassic Weirdos. Probably an Archosauromorph? Maybe something else entirely? A Diapsid. We know it was a Diapsid. And that will have to be enough for now. 

~ By Meig Dickson 

Sources Under the Cut

Alifanov, V. R., and E. N. Kurochkin. 2011. Kyrgyzsaurus bukhanchenkoi gen. et sp. nov., a new reptile from the Triassic of southwestern Kyrgyzstan. Paleontological Journal 45(6):42-50. 

Fischer, J.; Voigt, S.; Schneider, J.W.; Buchwitz, M.; Voigt, S. (2011). "A selachian freshwater fauna from the Triassic of Kyrgyzstan and its implication for Mesozoic shark nurseries". Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology. 31 (5): 937–953. 

Ivakhnenko, M. F. 1978. Tailed amphibians from the Triassic and Jurassic of Middle Asia. Paleontological Journal 1978(3):84-89. 

Sharov, A. G. 1970. An unusual reptile from the Lower Triassic of Fergana. Paleontological Journal 1970(1):112-116. 

Sharov, A. G. 1971. Novye letayushche reptilii is Mesosoya Kazachstana i Kirgizii [New Mesozoic flying reptiles from Kazakhstan and Kirgizia]. Trudy Paleontologicheskiya Instituta Akademiy Nauk SSSR 130:104-113. 

SHCHERBAKOV, Dmitry (2008). "Madygen, Triassic Lagerstätte number one, before and after Sharov". Alavesia. 2 (5): 125–131. 

Tatarinov, L. P. 2005. A new cynodont (Reptilia, Theriodontia) from the Madygen Formation (Triassic) of Fergana, Kyrgyzstan. Paleontological Journal 39:192-198. 

Unwin, D. M., V. R. Alifanov, and M. J. Benton. 2000. Enigmatic small reptiles from the Middle-Late Triassic of Kirgizstan. In M. J. Benton, M. A. Shishkin, D. M. Unwin, E. N. Kurochkin (eds.), The Age of Dinosaurs in Russia and Mongolia. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 177-186

[starkeristheendgame]

Starker Valentine

Firstly, I want to start by wishing @softstarkerstuff a wonderful Happy Valentine’s, and also every other wonderful noodle that may see this! This is my second time participating in a challenge and I am beyond excited! Softstarker requested a High School AU where childhood best friends drift apart after Tony rejects Peter’s feelings for him. Naturally, Peter has the mother of all glow-ups over summer and Tony is quickly forced to reconsider.

I didn’t wanna go absolutely crazy on the word count for this, so I haven’t actually written out the majority of the backplot. This fic takes place after said rejection and focuses on the requested act of Tony developing his character in order to deserve Peter’s affections.

(I said that and this ended up being over 4,000 words!)

@starker-valentines 

TW: Light Angst | (Not) Unrequited Love

“Tony. Get up,” Natasha hissed above him, and ordinarily the glint in her eye would have been enough for Tony to hop to, but the situation outweighed whatever horrible consequence she could bestow him, and he shook his head.

“We live here now,” Clint shrugged happily, popping another nacho into his mouth from the bowl he’d swiped before joining Tony in an act of solidarity on the floor, hiding behind a countertop in the kitchen. Natasha arched a dangerous eyebrow at the other boy, and even Tony twisted to look at Clint.

“Why are you down here?” Tony asked, risking leaning over Clint’s thighs to peek around the corner. Fuck. He couldn’t see him anymore, but that didn’t mean it was safe to move. He blew out a harsh breath and curled back up against the counter, scowling.

“Barnes has that leather jacket on again,” Clint announced simply, as though that explained anything at all. Above them, Natasha heaved a put-upon sigh, settling for kicking Tony in the shin with an unimpressed frown.

“Him I can understand,” she begun, motioning to Clint, who paused like he didn’t actually know if he ought to be offended or not. “But you. I had higher expectations of,” she sniffed, eyes scanning the room behind them before she reached down, grasping a fist of their shirts and hauling them to their feet despite their yowls of protest and clamours to hide behind her.

Heart in his throat, Tony cast a quick glance around, but couldn’t find the object of his fears. Or... The person. He relaxed a fraction, mindlessly pawing at Natasha’s iron grip with the dull awareness that his shirt would likely be crumpled.

“Idiots. The both of you. If I were less of a friend I’d complain about you ruining my night,” Natasha sniffed as she begun to drag them out of the kitchen, Clint still desperately clinging to his snacks and having no qualms about stealing a bowl. Tony kept himself alert as they walked, fugitively scanning the rooms as they made their way towards the door.

He couldn’t exactly say he lamented leaving - Contrary to every single clichè American film, high school house parties were often measly affairs, more pizza than booze and always with that one weirdo pretending they were absolutely wasted off alco-pops and mixers. 

This party was largely no different, thumping music that made it hard to talk, pizza that had long gone cold and Tony would rather starve than touch, shitty drinks with a 4% content.

Mm, but no. What made this party truly, utterly horrific, was the fact that Peter Parker had shown up. And really, that sounded meaner than it was intended. Tony didn’t hate Peter - Not even close. Wasn’t disgusted by his presence but terrified of it.

Peter was - Or rather, had been, his best friend. This is where Tony’s sort kind of did realise the typical ‘teen film’ plot.

Boy meets boy. Boys grow up as childhood best friends, joined at the hip and vowing during recess to never, never, ever break friends. Boys navigate pre-teenhood together. Boy gets crush. 

Apparently, other boy also gets crush. Boy admits crush. Other boy is too emotionally repressed and terrified to admit crush. Boy rejects boy. Summer comes. Boy gets glow up. Other boy now doubly regrets rejection and is left to wallow in pitiful regret and jealousy.

Yeah. Tony liked it about as much as he liked Marmite, which was to say, not at all. When Peter had rolled over on their bed, eyes imploring and voice soft as he admitted his feelings, something within Tony had died. 

Because Peter was this perfect, pretty thing he was destined to never have. The flower that Tony was too scared to pick because he didn’t want to see it wither and die.

“He’s gone all thinky and melancholy again,” Clint complained at his side, and Tony thumped him on the shoulder, tripping over the welcome mat as Natasha lugged them along like reluctant suitcases. 

Tony would have given a smart quip in response, something scathing about how Clint was also running away from someone, but a soft voice interrupted the quiet of the front yard just as they reached Tony’s car.

“Tony?”

Fuck. Fuck. Don’t turn around. It was easy to pretend he hadn’t heard, grabbing Clint by the scruff to stop the moron from turning and waving as they hauled into the car. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t face it. Him.

They were barely even in the car before Tony begun to pull away, Clint and his nachos rolling around in the back as the teen struggled to buckle himself in. From her seat up front, Natasha eyed him.

“Coward,” she announced, and Tony immediately agreed without shame. He was, of course. He was a coward. Had been from the start, from the moment he was old enough to let his feelings morph from the love of a friend to just...Love. He drove with a grim expression and an ache in his chest that felt like drowning.

He lay in bed for the remainder of the night, nose filled with chamomile and flora and heart aching with every memory that encompassed all that he had left of Peter. He had run away that night, recoiling from the prospect of ruining something he loved, and knowing he was ruining it by running. A vicious circle; a rat maze he was destined to run forever.

The torture of it had only increased upon their return, when cheeks round with baby-fat had slimmed and sharpened, when Peter’s unruly curls had smoothed into rolling, silky waves. He’d worked out over summer a little too, no longer just slim but lean. Summer glow-ups were nothing new, but Peter’s had hit hard.

Peter’s new looks had only succeeded in turning him from a neutral, friendly nerd to the newfound adoration of Queen’s Public High School, the boy suddenly inundated with attention and propositions. Peter seemed to have taken it in stride, not exchanging his personality for popularity, and still sat with the same two friends at lunch, still studied hard and ignored the feral social ladder.

It only made Tony love him all the more.

His sleep was restless and by Monday he was tired and grouchy, stalking through the halls towards his locker with a pair of deep shades covering his stinging eyes. Natasha cast him a glance as sympathetic as she could offer when she had made her opinion of his torment clear, and steered him towards first period. 

Peter was already there when they arrived, slouched over his desk and engaged in an enigmatic conversation with Ned. Tony allowed his gaze to linger for exactly six seconds before he slumped in his own desk, decidedly across the room from Peter and slightly in front, so he wouldn’t have to spend any of his lessons watching the other boy and lamenting the loss of his warmth.

A shadow fell over his desk and Tony slowly lifted his head from where he had been staring at the floor, willing his migraine to jump ship. The shadow belonged to one Steve Rogers, who’s summer glow up had happened over the previous year, and who had gone from your average joe with pretty eyes and a jawline to a six foot tall, broad-shouldered, lean hunk of very biteable meat. If Tony wasn’t fairly (entirely) certain one Bucky Barnes would knock all his teeth out, he’d have tried a taste.

“Can I help you?” he asked blearily, tipping his head so his glasses dipped and he could see Steve without a vignette of black. Steve merely raised an eyebrow, and Tony narrowed his eyes suspiciously in response.

“Hm.” And then Steve turned away, striding towards his own desk. Tony blinked dazedly at the now empty space, cast a sideways glance at Steve who sat down and begun to talk to Clint without a peek in return, and sighed. Ah. So Peter’s presumable warning about not going after Tony for breaking his heart must be nearing its end, then.

Wonderful.

At lunch, Tony snuck off campus and drove to the nearest Starbucks, returning to Natasha’s side with a coffee that was more espresso than water. He slouched in his seat and gave a pathetic whine, rubbing at his temples, and she slid a manicured hand through his hair, deliberately catching the tips of her nails on his scalp.

“If you weren’t such an emotionally repressed baby, you wouldn’t be like this,” she ‘soothed’ gently, and he cast her a sideways scowl.

“Yes, thank you for that. Nothing compares to your compassion and support,” Tony grumbled, scowling at her from behind his glasses. He needn’t remove them - she knew him well enough by now. Across the table Clint leaned forwards, petting idly at Tony’s forearm whilst his gaze remained steadily on Bucky from across the hall.

“Thighs like that should be illegal,” he sighed dreamily, and Tony and Natasha raised a brow in unison. Tony wasn’t the only one afflicted with love-interest related drama; Clint had gone and fallen in utter besottment with Bucky Barnes, also known as the second side of Steve Rogers’ coin. 

Unlike Steve; Bucky had always been tall and broad, with a slick haircut and a face that was already breaking hearts across the school.

Tony’s gaze drifted, away from Barnes’ denim clad thighs and instead to the sweater-clad form besides him. Peter was sprawled in his chair, sipping absently at a Cola and paying delighted attention to whatever conversation was happening. He looked... 

Soft. Soft in a way that Tony knew was huggable, touchable. His sweater was a deep blue to match the unlaced Doc Martins on his feet and his hair was askew like he’d been running his hands through it all morning.

“Stark!”

Fuck.

“What can I do for you?” he ground his teeth, voice faux sweet as he turned to eye Ms. Hill, who arched a brow at him and leaned down, plucking his coffee cup from his grasp.

“Please, correct me if I’m wrong, but last time I checked, the campus lunch hall didn’t stock Starbucks,” she announced, voice steely as she stared him down. Tony only offered her a short smile and an easy shrug.

“Correct.”

“Well then. I hope you’re sufficiently fuelled for a long day - you have detention. Immediately after last period.”

Tony simply cast her a serene, unbothered smile, taking his cup back before she could throw it in the trash. Tony’s grades more than made up for any mishaps he might incur, but Howard would still be displeased with him. Even more so at the triviality of why he was facing detention. 

Neither of his friends deigned to say anything about the instance, though Clint had given a dramatic wince at his punishment and had tossed a scowl at Hill’s retreating back - ever the supportive friend.

Natasha disappeared shortly before the end of lunch, though Tony had long since learned not to question her. He’d once found her lounging behind the bleachers, making a scalpel out of a piece of plastic card, some gum and a pencil. 

Since then he hadn’t dared to think too hard about what she might be doing whenever she wasn’t sitting in view and judging everyone.

She was back by the time last period rolled around, sitting primly in her seat with her book open, interest lost in a magazine she had apparently pulled out of nowhere. A glance at the cover showed it was a rifle magazine and Tony was not, at all, surprised.

Last period was history, and their tutor was a decidedly crabby old man who was never pleased with the efforts of his students. He was a fair grader - Never shorting them of their achievements, but he sung little praise and always had something to say about improvements.

They'd been given homework that no amount of groaning would rescind, and Tony pulled his from his bag with a sigh, rooting in his bag for a pen. In this class, he sat at the back, and it gave him a full vantage of where Peter was practically sitting in the lap of the pretty girl that had transferred here not too long ago. He had a vague notion of her name, but he knew for a fact that Peter always called her 'MJ'.

"Students! I should hope your weekend was spent wisely. Anyone not in possession of their homework will receive a detention," Mr. Ardell announced, hands clapping together. Tony breathed through his nose at the sound, pressing at his temple.

"Stark. This is not a nightclub nor a fashion show. Take the glasses off, and keep them off," he added in a snipe, and Tony forced a brittle smile, steadfastly ignoring the way that soft, honeyed eyes turned to him as he slid his glasses off And set them on his desk.

Even the typical 'bad type' student or the dumbest of them all listened to Mr. Ardell. The man had a booming voice and no hesitation about dealing punishments. 

At a glance, Tony could see that every student had their homework on their desk. Every student except Peter, who was rummaging around in his bag with a growing sense of urgency. Tony perked.

That was unusual. Peter often had his homework out before the teachers even got a chance to ask. Tony’s gaze remained fixed on the boy, who was now frantic as he dug around, mindlessly passing Mr. Ardell his homework as the man roamed the room, collecting sheets, right up until he stood opposite Peter, who floundered.

“I... I did it! I packed it this morning. It was right in my folder and now it’s gone!” Peter breathed, panic blossoming in his eyes. Mr. Ardell was quite clearly having none of it as Peter rambled and rifled through his bag, until Mr. Ardell finally held up a hand. Despite himself, Tony sucked in a breath, wincing in sympathy.

“Detention, Mr. Parker. And such a shame. You’re one of the few that don’t frequently make me wish I had the money to retire sooner,” Mr. Ardell sighed, and Peter crumpled. 

It made Tony’s heart clench in his chest, sympathy surging through his veins. He had no doubt Peter had done the homework - But perhaps he’d simply forgotten to pack it.

He was sitting there, chin on his palm as he watched MJ comfort Peter, when he sat bolt upright.

Detention.

Tony had detention.

That meant -

“Aw, fuck.”

“Mr. Stark!”

As Tony packed his bag at the end of class, Clint came sidling over, nudging him with a meek smile. “Hey, man. It’s not that bad. Just put some earbuds in. I bet he hates your guts too much to talks to you anyway!” he added cheerfully as they strode from the room, and Tony cast him a flat look.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No problem! Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow. I gotta dash if I wanna make it home to walk Lucky before food!”

And then, there was just Tony and the rapidly emptying hallway. He heaved a sigh, ground his teeth, and strode towards the detention room. It was only half an hour. 

That was nothing. He could make it. The wild notion of fleeing and dealing with a double detention tomorrow crossed his mind, but Tony could only stand being in school for as long as he had to, and with a duck of his head he strode down the hallway at a faster pace. The sooner he got there, the sooner it was over with.

He reached the door and was about to push it open when the sheet of paper caught his eye.

Detention students - Room 3A12.

Tony frowned, but turned on his heel, making his way towards the other room. Perhaps that one was being cleaned or something. He was putting his earbuds in when he pushed into 3A12, Guns’n’Roses already filling his ears when a yelp of; “don’t let the door shut!” filtered through, followed by the soft slam of the door behind him.

He blinked across at Peter, who had stopped mid-stride, arm outstretched, looking pained. “Fuck! It locks from the outside. Now neither of us can get out,” Peter whined, and Tony scoffed.

“None of the doors in this place lock only from the outside.” to prove his point he turned, grabbed the handle, and slammed shoulder-first into it when it did not move as he did. Tony frowned, lips thinning as he jiggled the knob, tried again.

It wouldn’t open.

“Who the fuck installs a door that doesn’t open from one side!” Tony exploded, panic beginning to seep like cold water through his veins as the reality of the situation hit him. He was stuck alone in a room with Peter. Opposite him, Peter groaned and sank back down onto the -

“Son of a bitch.” They weren’t even a proper classroom. There were barely ten tables in here, a tiny whiteboard and a miniscule teacher’s desk. They couldn’t have been put in a smaller room if they tried. But speaking of the teacher's desk…

“Where’s the teacher?” he asked, nose crinkling. Opposite, Peter heaved a sigh, fidgeting on the edge of his seat and tugging at the ends of his sleeves.

“I don’t know. I’ve been in here for ten minutes, nobody has come in,” Peter sounded quiet, miserable, and Tony’s heart squeezed uncomfortably within his chest as he sunk down into a chair, frowning. 

Maybe the teacher was just held up with a student. They’d arrive soon enough, and Tony could be out of here and far away from that plush mouth, those dark eyes.

The minutes ticked by, with nothing but the sound of the clock on the wall. Tony tried texting Natasha and Clint, but they were both home already. If Peter had text anyone, he’d had similar luck, because ten more minutes passed and still not a soul even passed the door. 

Tony blew out a breath and tossed his phone down, running a hand through his hair and leaning back in his chair. From the corner of his eye, he could see Peter watching.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“There’s not a lot in this room to look at.”

Tony gave a soft sound, eyes closing behind his shades as he settled. This wasn’t so bad. He could do this. They just had to wait and hope that a caretaker came around, or that someone called the reception to report that they had not come home. More minutes ticked by.

“You’re still staring.”

“I can’t help it. I haven’t...I haven’t seen you in a while,” 

Tony sucked in a breath, eyes closing and fingers beginning a tempo against the table. No. He couldn’t do this. If he did this; he’d crumble. He’d get to his knees and beg for all he’d lost, and he couldn’t do that. Not as a Stark, and not to Peter. Couldn’t lead Peter to a reckless end.

“We’re in all the same classes,” he noted roughly, and Peter made a soft, frustrated sound besides him. Tony winced but said nothing more, steeling himself. Peter deserved better than him - especially now, when it would look like Tony only cared because he’d changed. Except... Peter hadn’t changed all that much. He’d just filled out a little, gained some confidence.

“You’ve been avoiding me and ignoring me.”

“So have you,” he replied evenly, relenting to the fact that Peter wasn’t going to drop the issue. He let his head loll to the side, almost startled when he found Peter leaning forwards, arms around himself, staring at Tony with shining eyes.

“I haven’t wanted to. You pushed me away, disappeared, came back and won’t even look at me”.

Tony ground his teeth, chewing his tongue. “It’s not like I wanted to either, Peter, but I couldn’t…” Couldn’t be around you, knowing that, and not taking advantage of it. Couldn’t see you hurt. Couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t.

“What, you were so disgusted with me you couldn’t even bear to be around me?” Peter sounded defensive now, voice hardening slightly, and part of Tony was thankful. Yes. He could do barbed. He could fight. He could take Peter hating him. At least he wasn’t hurting him further, that way.

“I’m not disgusted at you,” he replied quietly, turning his gaze away. He couldn't bring himself to say anything else, throat tight and hands gripping his desk to stop them from shaking. He thought about ringing Clint, bribing him to come open the door, but Peter spoke again.

"I get it if you don't like me that way but... It's not fair. Treating me this way. Being so... Awful about it.”

"I'm not being awful. I'm…"

"Running away from your feelings? Yeah. That's kind of your MO.”

And Peter said it so bitterly that Tony flinched, teeth clipping the edge of his tongue as he sucked in a breath. Low blow. An emotionally neglectful childhood was bound to leave it's scars.

Peter seemed to regret his words immediately, because he actually stood, taking a few steps to reach for Tony. Despite himself Tony leaned away from the reaching arm, mindless of how much he longed for the contact.

"I didn't mean…"

"Words said in anger are still words with intent.”

"Tony…"

"I can't do this. I can't pretend to hate you and I can't be around you without wanting what I can't have!" he didn't explode, but it was said with some degree of passion, standing to round on Peter, who sank into a chair, looking up at him sorrowfully.

"You can have me!”

If only.

"You said it yourself. I run from my feelings. I can't have you because I'll fuck it up, and I’d rather lose you without hurting you and without attaching myself. I'm a fucki-"

The rest of Tony's emotional rant was cut off sharply as Peter reached up, grasping him by the front of his shirt and hauling him down, so he had to brace himself with one hand on Peter's chair back and the other on the table as Peter's plush mouth met his own, clumsy and a little too forceful.

A man with a stronger will would have pulled back. Would have stuck to his cause and not been selfish.

Tony was not that man.

He let his lips part, opportunistic of the way Peter gasped against him, licking into his mouth and moving his hands to cradle Peter's jaw, relishing in what he knew would be the only time he could indulge his festering love.

There was a click, and then -

"I told you it would work.”

They jerked apart, mouths red and eyes wild, Tony twisting to find none other than a prim looking Natasha and a dubious looking Steve taking up the doorway.

"What." Tony managed, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Obviously this was a set up. A good one, too. It took forever to sneak around and replace the door lock. You two were disgusting and all... Pining. It had to be stopped," she announced, like a mad plot was nothing unordinary.

But turning, looking at the flushed grin on Peter's mouth and the sparkle in his eyes... Well. It was worth getting another detention for missing the first, and it was worth the hours of agonising emotional talk with Peter, tears and sloppy kissing and the jeers from their friends when they came into school on the Wednesday, hand in hand.

"How come I wasn't in on the whole plot?" Clint whined at their table during lunch, casting a mulish glance around them. Natasha gave a sigh and pet at him with faux pity.

"Because you're an idiot with a big mouth," she informed him, twirling a lock of hair around a finger. Overnight she'd gone from fiery copper to a blue-black. It suited her well. Some black lipstick, and she'd be every boy's wanna-be-goth-girlfriend.

"Only we get to insult the idiot and his big mouth," came from above them, and none other than one Bucky Barnes ducked down, pressing a kiss to Clint's cheek, before moving on to Steve.

"That's... New," Tony managed, glancing across at Peter, who looked equally perplexed. Clint had the decency to look sheepish.

"At least I didn't need to get locked in a room to sort my shit out," he grumbled, and Peter giggled, before kissing the affronted look off Tony's face.

Tony wasn't good at feelings. And he'd never been in love before. But Peter was worth it. Peter was worth trying, learning for. 

[zorkaya-moved]

@celxstialisms​

Smart beyond her years and charismatic as a fox, the murmurs surrounding the hawk-eyed woman were quite fun to listen to. Yes, she was seen as a newbie in Arms Dealing, but no one dared to play against her. And so, she could only respond with a smile befitting a young woman: energetic, coy, but enigmatic. The same happened with the man before her today as the play of poker just finished, resulting yet in another win for her and major losses for another. Where she’d put the money for? Probably either give it away or share it with her team. 

“Interested in a game? Sorry, I was actually leaving the table.” Getting a drink was of the most importance as she glanced at the bar nearby. She didn’t care much about how men and women dressed here. Masks or not, she was used to weirdos being all around. Her business was not an easy one, she had to meet a lot of assholes along the way. 

[centrifuge-politics]

Brick Club 4.3.1, 4.3.2

Raise your hand if you’re surprised Valjean managed to find a house in Paris with a secret door and secret escape route. I can’t imagine that was listed alongside “two bedroom, two bath, attached garden!” Speaking of which, this garden is apparently an entire acre? That’s…unbelievably enormous for a single home garden in the city. We’re talking a football field (or soccer field for you pas américains).

Valjean is happy in the convent, but he’s also a dad and he begins to fret over Cosette’s future and notions of happiness and sacrifice. “He asked himself if all this happiness were really his own, if it were not made up of the happiness of another, of the happiness of this child whom he was appropriating and plundering, he, an old man; if this was not a robbery?” Even, now Valjean worries that he’s a thief at heart, if he isn’t still stealing what he doesn’t deserve. He worries about Cosette’s happiness but he’s also terrified that Cosette might come to hate him, his true deepest fear. He, of course sees this as selfish, but I could tell him that’s the most human thing imaginable.

This passage alone leads me to say: Fuck off, BBC. “To cut her off, in advance, and, in some sort, without consulting her, from all pleasure, under pretence of saving her from all trial, to take advantage of her ignorance and isolation to give her an artificial vocation, was to outrage a human creature and to lie to God.” Book Valjean could never behave towards Cosette the way we see BBC Valjean act. Yes, we see him slip in this intention, we see him struggle with letting Cosette go but of course we do! He’s a father who wants his daughter to be safe and happy, not someone who wants to keep her trapped with him and his past. Book Valjean recognizes that he needs to sacrifice some of the comfort he finds in his own paranoia for her and does so willingly, you know, like parents do.

Lastly, I can’t leave without mentioning Valjean’s secret, locked box that always smells like embalming fluid which, without context, is pretty much the creepiest thing ever. The things Cosette accepts as rote…it’s never explored how her and Marius must be just the oddest pair of personalities and I wanna see more of that.

Valjean pays his taxes and does his obligatory military duties (even though he’s technically too old to!). He spoils Cosette rotten and she basically has full power over everything that happens in the house, which is a beautiful reversal of her childhood at the Thenardier Inn. Valjean proudly says: “Me I am much better than the master, I am the father.” Cosette is smart and capable! She keeps the books! I don’t know how to keep books or run a household or anything, damn.

They have an odd yet domestic life. “Was this precaution, or humility?” You’ve just described like 85% of Valjean’s personality. “Cosette was accustomed to the enigmatic aspect of her destiny, and hardly noticed her father’s singularities.” Just a pair of happy weirdos! I just love their beautiful, funny little life together and it makes me happy beyond belief. I’m absolutely not ashamed to admit that I was basically on the verge of happy tears for both of these chapters.

[thedovahcat]

FOR FLOWER: 3, 19, 20. FOR BEN: 5, 15, 17. Annnnd... for ROVEN: 7, 10, 25.

SO SO MANY CHARA HERE WE GO

FLOWER UP TO BAT FIRST:

3. Have they ever lost a loved one? What happened to them, and are they the same as they were before they lost them?

If he has then he obviously doesn’t remember them NOW. He definitely isn’t the same as however he used to be though. He’s kinda hollowed out a little so he’s a SMIDGE CRAZY. I mean, c’mon, you don’t tend to killer trees and think that’s perfectly NORMAL. USUALLY… If anything though he’s got a lotta memory issues. UNDEATH THOUGH, WATCHA GONNA DO.

19. What is your character insecure about?

He’s really insecure about not being this big ol’ strong dude. And the fact he can’t read.

20. What was something they struggled with greatly and how did they overcome it?

He’s greatly struggling with the fact that he likes tentacles a little too much. He overcomes it by turning into a monster later on because of it, UNLUCKY FOR HIM. But I think by that point his mind’s just gone and he doesn’t really care. In fact, he rather enjoys it.

_______

BENBUGGY

5. Would they ever turn on someone they just met in order to save themselves?

NO HE NEVER WOULD. He’s too giving/nice/cowardly etc. And besides, “That would be SUPER DUPER RUDE.”

15. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

Ben’s generally mega scared of his future-visions where he sees horrible things coming to pass that he typically can do nothing about (he can tell people about them but the whole curse of that is that nobody ever believes him really.) When he gets all panicky he starts drooling a lot and talking really really fast and getting very jittery (pretty much Jasper’s schtick, but hey if you saw the end of the world all the time you’d be a nervous nancy too.)

17. Is your character afraid of death? Why/why not?

“No, but I’m afraid of GETTING there!”

_______

MR SCHRODINGER ROVEN

7. If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would it be and why?

THAT’S A VERY DIFFICULT THING TO ANSWER BECAUSE WHO WOULDN’T BE ON HIS HITLIST I SWEAR-

He’s very into the political connections of places and whatnot so he’d probably take out important people, kings, rules, politicians, leaders, generals. He’s a power hungry control-freak and likes using everybody as pawns for his own gain.

10. What were the character’s parents like? What was the affect the parents had on the character?

Going by his OC mode since I don’t really know much about his WoW-side. He was adopted by a well-off family. Strict and stuffy and all that, but he fit in well enough with them and had a decent relationship with his parents.

His actual mother was some devil-worshipping cultist so there you go.

As for how the prior affected him? Well, he grew up kind of entitled and arrogant. Not that he isn’t already like that by nature, but just, more so. 

25. Do they find that they care what others think of them? Or do they not really mind how others view them?

He doesn’t typically unless it’s maybe one or two of the people he happens to be favoring at the time. Beyond that though? He could care less. People tend to view him as some enigmatic, eccentric weirdo anyway, but it’s all a front for all the sneaking around he does.

[tpf1138]

Where to even begin with this one…

The Fountain–what was meant to be Aronofsky’s splash into mainstream, Hollywood filmmaking–was originally supposed to be a hundred-or-so million dollar epic starring Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett that spanned thousands of years, set everywhere from Mayan ruins to outer space, and with three intertwining stories depicting the eternal struggle between life and death.

A project this ambitious for a mega-budget studio film was simply not meant to be. Brad Pitt left the project to star in the safer, more generic Troy, and the film was subsequently shut down. But like all of the protagonists he’s written, Aronofsky doesn’t give up so easily, even if it means his downfall. He rewrote the script to accommodate a lower budget, got Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz to replace the original leads, and ended up getting the damn thing made.

And the result was one of the most divisive films of all time. When it premiered at Cannes for press and critics, it was met with a choir of boos. Meanwhile, when it was premiered in that very same festival for regular audiences, it received a standing ovation from the crowd. When it finally released for the public in theaters, it bombed at the box office and received none other than a 50% consensus rating on Rotten Tomatoes. And now, as more than 6 years have passed, it’s garnered something of a cult-following.

To many, it’s considered Aronofsky’s one true failure. To others, it’s a fascinatingly ambitious failure that’s more admired than enjoyed. And for weirdos like me, it’s a modern masterpiece. For today’s spoiler-filled installment of The Darren Aronofsky Retrospective, we take a gander at the director’s much-maligned, increasingly-loved, almost totally misunderstood gem, The Fountain.

“Our bodies are prisons for our souls. Our skin and blood, the iron bars of confinement. But fear not. All flesh decays. Death turns all to ash. And thus, death frees every soul.”

In case you didn’t figure it out the last two times, the main theme connecting every one of Darren Aronofsky’s films is of obsession, with each one representing different types. Pi dealt with the direct obsession of mathematics and patterns, and how they related to the construction of the universe. Requiem for a Dream was about the visceral obsessions caused by drug addiction, and how those very desires and euphorias ended up deteriorating the mind.

Meanwhile, the obsession at the center of The Fountain might be the most outlandish one Aronofsky has ever put to screen: The three protagonists of The Fountain are each on an existential quest to defeat Death. No, not the Grim Reaper, but the very concept of Death itself. No more dying, no more grief, just the comfort of existence outside of the great beyond. And you thought Ellen Burstyn was off her rocker for trying to fit into a skinny red dress.

The film is broken up into three separate stories, each one intercut and connected with the others in a style that was definitely a clear inspiration for the 2012 film Cloud Atlas, and with each segment starring Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz in the lead roles. The one set in the 1500s follows a Spanish Conquistador named Tomas (Jackman) who is searching for the fabled Tree of Life so he could save his beloved Queen (Weisz) from the Inquisition. 500 years later, in the present day, a doctor named Tommy Creo (Also Jackman) is attempting to search for a cure for his wife Izzy’s cancer before she (Also Weisz) eventually succumbs to the disease. Another 500 years later, an unnamed astronaut (Credited as Tom, played again by Jackman) is floating in the far reaches of space in a biosphere holding the Tree of Life. As he journeys to the mythical nebula of Xibalba, he’s haunted by memories of a ghostly Izzy, who continually goads him to look back at the past and “Finish it.” Whatever that means.

When the film originally released in 2006, the main criticisms leveled against it regarded its ambition. That it attempted to tell this grand, epic story spanning a thousand years that dealt with the metaphysical and the existential, using a mixture of Judeo-Christian and Mayan religious texts to give the story a grand, majestic, mythological stature… and that the movie ultimately crumbled under the weight of its myriad ideas. And here’s the thing: The critics are, in a way, kind of right. At 90 minutes, there was no way it could really expand on its concepts in a way that would satisfy those hungering for something with a surplus of philosophical depth, nor would it be able to capture the full breadth and scope of a story set within a 1000 year time-frame.

And yet, the film is a masterpiece, at least in the eyes of this overly romantic critic with a penchant to deeply respect anything of enormous ambition. Why? Because even with all the religious and philosophical mumbo-jumbo weighing on the film, they are ultimately not the main focus. What appears on the surface to be an odyssey through time, the cosmos, and the cycle of life itself, is in actuality one of the most deeply personal films of all time, next to classics like The 400 Blows and 8 1/2, as well as modern works of brilliance like The Tree of Life, Synecdoche New York, and Holy Motors. What may seem at first glance like a 2001: A Space Odyssey quickly reveals itself to be something more emotionally rich: A profoundly personal depiction of grief and its effects on the human psyche.

To understand what makes The Fountain such a personal endeavor for Aronofsky requires a small tidbit of backstory: One of the inspirations of the film was actually Aronofsky’s own experiences with dealing with mortality. In interviews, he’s stated how, in 1999, both of his parents were diagnosed with cancer when he was just thirty years old. Upon this discovery, he was forced to come to terms with his own mortality at a relatively early age, and then got the idea of a man attempting to save a loved one from an illness. He shared his idea to Ari Handel, a college friend who would later earn a PhD in neuroscience and become Aronofsky’s co-writer for the film, and the idea eventually blossomed into the story of a man attempting to cure the ultimate disease: Death.

As stated before, the initial criticisms were that of a film that didn’t know how to properly convey its numerous ambitious ideas. In reality, what these critics didn’t know was that this wasn’t a film about unlocking the secrets of life, death, and the meaning of the universe. Rather, The Fountain is a film about how we process death, and the existential crises that happen not within the vast reaches of the cosmos but within our very own subconscious.

The film has three protagonists, each one attempting to stop the process of dying from stealing away a loved one. Tomas must find the Tree to rescue his Queen, Tommy must discover a cure to save his Wife, and Tom must reach Xibalba to restore the Tree. But the authenticity of the stories is constantly toyed with as the film progresses. At first, we seem to accept that there’s some kind of Cloud Atlas thing going on where the soul of the Conquistador passed down to Tommy the neuroscientist, who may in fact be the younger version of the Tom we see in the future storyline (given the flashbacks to his wife). But then, we see that the Conquistador story is actually part of Izzy’s book. So that leaves the present-day and future storylines as the “real” canon, right? Soon, it doesn’t seem that way when Tom the astronaut starts having visions of the Queen of Spain urging him to “Finish it” as well.

When trying to figure out what this all means as someone expecting a film similar to 2001 where there’s philosophical, cosmological subtext to be found, there will inevitably be disappointment. Upon seeing it for what it actually is, however, it’s an emotionally rewarding experience. Izzy’s book (Which is titled, what else, The Fountain) depicting Tomas the Conquistador’s search for the Tree is much richer when seen from Izzy’s point of view of writing it. The casting of Jackman and Weisz as characters in the story is key to this as well. Izzy is clearly writing the book as a means of coping with her own mortality, and leaves the last chapter blank so Tommy can finish it and learn the lessons she did himself.

This leaves the future storyline, which is much more enigmatic in its nature. There are many good theories on what the space-set story represents, but the one that makes the most thematic sense is this: The story of Tom the astronaut is the final chapter of Izzy’s book, the one that Tommy is “finishing”, in which Tom ends his journey by learning to literally give up his quest and find peace in death. The result is a multi-layered depiction of grief that creates a strong emotional arc for the central character of Tommy.

Tommy must deal with the grief of his wife’s death by literally looking back into the past–both figuratively with Izzy’s book, and literally with the lesson Izzy was trying to teach him–in order to finish the pain of his grief. Meanwhile, in order to actually do so, he has to end it himself by finishing Izzy’s book and killing off Tomas, a character Izzy clearly meant to represent Tommy. But that wasn’t enough.

The creation of Tom the astronaut means many things to me. It’s ultimately the most direct visualization of the grieving process in the film: A single man, alone in the vast nothingness of space, with nothing else to keep him company but the Tree, a reminder of how he failed to save her, and a symbol of his unwillingness to let go of his lover’s memory. He traverses to Xibalba, a golden nebula where stars are born, its glow wrapping around Tom and his biosphere, teeming with a liveliness that he ultimately rejects in order to go further on his journey. As he ascends, he’s haunted by memories of Izzy & forced to confront the vastness of the cosmos and, as a result, the enigma of what lies beyond the grave. Finally, he reaches the star at the center: A dying star that, as Izzy pointed out in her research of Mayan culture, represents the Underworld in their mythology. To Tom, on the other hand, it’s the physical representation of the truth behind death that he must exploit to revive the Tree, and thus, defeat Death itself.

Instead of doing that, however, he sees the Queen of Spain, who was supposed to just be in Izzy’s book meant to teach Tommy his lesson, and in that moment he finally understands: He says, “I’m going to die,” with a sense of relief and deep satisfaction in his trembling, quivering voice. And through the lessons of the past, Tom can finally accept his destiny in the future.

However, the most fascinating thing about Tom’s journey is not how he comes to embody Tommy’s emotional arc. There’s actually more to it than just that. For example, if you were reading Izzy’s book, wouldn’t you find it odd that as you’re reading this fictionalized account of a Conquistador during the years of the Spanish Inquisition, you’re introduced to a character in the far future that’s never been referenced to before, haunted by memories of a character never seen before? But then, a realization: The memory that haunts Tom is Izzy, who is definitely not a fictional character in this movie’s universe. So imagine yourself reading this book, and in the final chapter, this character who you’ve never met before is mourning the death of the author of the very book you’re currently reading.

At that point, it becomes absolutely clear: Tom is not an embodiment of Tommy’s grief. Rather, Tommy literally wrote himself into the story. Think about it, in order to complete both the book and his emotional arc/grieving process, he had to insert himself into the narrative in order to externalize his grief and overcome it. If that’s not an apt metaphor for an artist like Darren Aronofsky making a deeply personal experience about coping with mortality, then nothing is.

The Fountain isn’t a film about unlocking the secrets of the universe. It’s a film, like his feature debut Pi, about learning to live without them. Search for order, and only chaos will infect your life. Embrace the chaos, however, and the world feels like it has more order than ever before.

So that’s ultimately what makes The Fountain something akin to Aronofsky’s 8 1/2, but how does the film employ his signature techniques?

If you’d seen just Pi and Requiem for a Dream, you’d almost be totally unaware that this was an Aronofsky film. Whereas those films were gritty and kinetic, The Fountain is vibrant, fantastical, and more gradual in its pacing. The film marks a huge evolution for Aronofsky’s style, displaying the first real proof of his incredible range as a director. He has a Danny Boyle-esque way of being able to assimilate into almost any kind of genre or style of filmmaking while retaining his own signature, distinct stamp on the project.

As different as the film feels at first, there are numerous techniques that remain the same. Matthew Libatique returns as Aronofsky’s director of photography for the third time in a row, saturating the film with a majestic, golden color palette. Meanwhile, the lighting and production design litter the film with little touches to each story that subtly connect the stories in interesting, visual ways. Some are much more noticeable, like a shot of a Mayan ruin turning out to be just a painting in the present-day storyline; while others are much more subtle, like a grouping of Christmas lights in the background that makes a present-day scene resemble the starry scenes with the biosphere in the future storyline.

This kind of attention to detail was what brought us into the mindset of Pi‘s protagonist and connected the stories of the four protagonists in Requiem for a Dream. The Fountain‘s aesthetic, on the other hand, accomplishes both. Much like the golden nebula that Tom must traverse through to confront his mortality, the colors give even the most mundane settings a kind of ethereal beauty and, in its own strange way, menace. It’s almost as if the world is being engulfed by the nebula itself, representing the protagonists’ ever-remaining fear that death is constantly encroaching towards all that he holds dear.

Aronofsky once again totally submerges us into the mindsets of his characters, while also simultaneously being aware of their flaws. As gorgeous as the visuals are, they actually represent a kind of paranoia for the protagonists. It’s almost as if Aronofsky is saying that death is not a dark presence, but a beautiful force that we as humans shun by default.

Of course, just a visual approach to the characters isn’t enough, and Aronofsky’s other staple of directing actors to their highest potential is evident here as well. This is easily the best performance(s) of Hugh Jackman’s career: Always sincere, always passionate, and effectively conveying that he’s playing the kind of men who are so single-minded in their pursuits that when one of them, in this case Tommy, finds a serum that can possibly prevent aging, he outright dismisses it because it can’t cure his wife’s brain tumor. And we totally buy into it because Jackman does not shy away from the fact that, as sincere and passionate as his three characters are, they’re almost reprehensible in their own way.

Instead of finding peace with the situation and comforting his wife during her final moments, Tommy constantly goes back to work so he could find a way to cure the incurable. On top of that, he seems outright dismissive of his own wife’s research. The scene that really brought the message home that Tommy is kind of an asshole was the one in a museum about Mayan culture, where Izzy is telling him about Mayan concepts of “Death as an act of Creation”, and he simply reflects them off, making candid, snarky asides rather than thinking on them like his wife clearly wants him to.

Further conveying this is in the scene of Izzy’s death, in which he continues to cling to his clearly-deceased wife. He performs CPR, repeats “Don’t die! Don’t Die!” as desperately as he could, and–in an almost cruel detail by Aronofsky–he performs mouth-to-mouth on her. This particular detail is not portrayed in a flattering light, as he’s almost slobbering all over her in his attempts to sustain her life. If scenes like that aren’t enough to convey that Tommy is completely imperfect, I don’t know what is.

And yet, Jackman’s Tommy isn’t totally deplorable either because of his aforementioned sincerity and passion. If he is acting purely on his own interests without regard for his wife’s own peace of mind, it’s solely because he loves and cares about her that much–almost too much–and it’s conveyed wonderfully in Jackman’s performance.

One of the best scenes in the film is the one after Izzy’s funeral, where Tommy is now alone in his home and remembers that his wedding ring is missing, a symbol of his own ignorance. Refusing to let go of Izzy, he literally tattoos a ring on his finger so that he can never lose it again. And when Jackman cries, he really goes for it. This isn’t the typical Hollywood sob where a single tear streams down the actor’s cheek. Instead, Jackman sniffles and wheezes through the scene in pure despair, his eyes turning completely bloodshot and his face whimpering like a baby that hasn’t been breast-fed in weeks. It’s a performance that comes purely from the heart, and the perfect kind for a project that’s as personal as this.

And before you ask me about the visual effects of the film, they pretty much speak for themselves. I mean, just look at these screenshots!

However, one of the few things that differentiates The Fountain from the rest of Aronofsky’s filmography is that Tommy might be the only Aronofsky character who doesn’t end with cruel punishment, instead reaching salvation and ultimately finding peace with himself. Much like Pi, The Fountainis ultimately about what we sacrifice in our search for coherence in a chaotic universe. Except whereas Pi‘s protagonist had to sacrifice every semblance of his humanity in order to gain peace of mind, Tommy undergoes a transformation and an arc that brings him to a literal embracing of death so he could regain peace of mind.

Looking back, this sort of development makes sense considering this is a story about personal introspection, and ultimately, an existential crisis doesn’t mean squat if the character doesn’t evolve from it. The same can be applied to Aronofsky himself, who clearly has a deep connection to what’s on screen. And the manner in which Tommy undergoes this realization is yet another virtuosic “montage” not unlike the one employed at the end of Requiem for a Dream.

Another staple of Aronofsky’s films is what I like to call “The Crescendo”, the final moments of an Aronofsky film in which everything continually builds and builds in intensity with the help of a Clint Mansell score and symphonic editing; bringing together numerous working elements into one cohesive whole. The final 10-15 minutes of The Fountain–set to what is perhaps the best track Mansell has ever composed, “Death is the Road to Awe”–is one of Aronofsky’s best “crescendos” alongside Requiem for aDream‘s finale.

Much like how Requiem constantly cut between numerous different stories at completely different settings in order to unify all four protagonists’ misery, The Fountain accomplishes that feat on a much grander scale. As Aronofsky cuts between the three separate time periods in segmented fashion, Mansell’s music steadily amps up in rhythm and volume as the time periods blur together. A Mayan temple guardian sees a vision of Tom the astronaut, Tomas the conquistador sees the star of Xibalba as soon as he drinks of the sap of the Tree of Life, Izzy takes a seed from the newly bloomed Tree and gives it to Tommy, etc. But what’s just as effective is that the score contains a period of absolute silence right before maybe loudest, most sudden orchestral cue in the history of cinema, right when Xibalba’s star blows into supernova. Aronofsky’s films usually end in a manner much like an explosion; The Fountain is the only one of his films that ends with a literal one.

As disorienting as it this finale is, the formalistic grandeur is enough to wash over you and allow a sense of awe at what’s transpiring on scene. It’s so deftly directed that it ultimately doesn’t matter whether you really “understand” it or not. Just letting Mansell’s lucid tones and the evocative visuals do the work is practically all that’s needed to “get” it.

Perhaps it ultimately doesn’t matter what The Fountain means, because what matters most is 1.) What it means to Aronofsky himself, and 2.) If it still works as a stand-alone experience. For my money, The Fountain is Aronofsky’s most beautiful, poignant work, and my personal favorite of his films. Normally when discussing a divisive film, I’d tend to point out that many will most likely disagree, but the fact that more and more people are discovering The Fountain‘s true meaning speaks to how exquisitely layered and resonant the film is. The Fountain is utterly brilliant, and perhaps in twenty more years or so, it will be recognized for the utterly gorgeous masterpiece that it is.

Of course, that doesn’t change the fact that it was deemed a failure back in 2006. And as such, as misunderstood as the film was at the time, Aronofsky still needed something of a “comeback” film to pick himself back up from the commercial and critical failure that The Fountain brought. His solution for a comeback film: A film about the obsession of comebacks. Typical, typical, Mr. Aronofsky.

Stay tuned next time, for a look at Darren Aronofsky’s Mickey Rourke vehicle: The Wrestler.

[taz-writes]

Since I'm biased towards Slytherins and Gryffindor-Slytherins, could you tell us more about Suenya, Talxin and Nyrene?

Ooh! Yeah I can, but be warned, I could write a whole essay on any one of these characters. This is gonna be LONG, so I’m putting it under a cut for the sake of everyone’s feeds. (Also I’m sorry I didn’t get to this sooner, I don’t know when you sent it but tungle is eating my inbox notifications I guess...) 

Nyrene is.... kooky. In the words of the immortal TVTropes, she’s a cloudcuckoolander. Ny is weird and unabashedly so, partially because she’s actually Like That and partially as a tactic to unnerve and disarm the people around her. That’s why I think she’s a Slytherin, her entire gimmick is deception. People don’t lie well when they’re faced with something (or someone) that completely contradicts their understanding of reality. Ny’s one of my oldest non-fairy OCs and her original characterization was a direct manifestation of my most infamous ADHD-fueled manic episodes, if that gives you any idea of what we’re working with here. She probably does have actual ADHD but there’s more to her weirdness than that, she’s deliberately exaggerating stuff and she’s also just a super dramatic person. Very smart, surprisingly emotionally mature, but sometimes flips out over random stuff. Her ethics are questionable. 

Underneath the kookiness, Nyrene’s incredibly clever. Her main power as purple paladin is the ability to manipulate time, typically by traveling through closed loops. This takes a ton of coordination, memory, and clever improvisation. She’s constantly keeping a record of everywhere she goes, everything she touches, everything she sees and hears, so that she doesn’t overlap herself by mistake. Paradoxes are potentially lethal, after all. As a result, she can be a bit spacey, which reinforces how weird she is... but you can’t underestimate her. She’s paying attention to everything. Like, she’ll miss being spoken to or miss random information for the sole reason that she’s too busy memorizing everything else. The proof of her intelligence is the fact that she does this successfully and hasn’t broken reality yet. No dead timelines allowed here. In theory, she could jump forward through time or even pause it, but she’s never tried--it’s not safe to mess around with that stuff, the consequences could be even more devastating than those of the closed loops she currently works in. 

Way back in the day when I first made these characters, Nyrene and Syzyga had a really close relationship--sometimes I shipped them romantically, sometimes they were just platonic BFFs, but they were always stuck together as a duo. In the current iteration of the story they’re still very close, I think Syz is the only person who really gets what Nyrene’s deal is. Anlied knows in theory that Nyrene’s smarter than she looks, but Syzyga gets it. Syz is also pretty good at making Nyrene calm down when Ny loses her temper or just freaks out about something. They play well together. 

Another big part of why Nyrene’s Like That is her origin story, she’s from Nemmonay. Nemmonay is the weirdest setting in the Nymiaverse, it’s basically just one island off the coast of Kelrie, but it’s walled up and has survived attacks by all three of the other realms on the continent. Nemmonay’s  home to a lot of pirates and criminals, anyone fleeing the law in another country or who just doesn’t buy into the “system” of normal society. There’s a whole little hierarchy and social order to it, but the Nemmonese system grows out of pure anarchy and things could tip over at any time. Nyrene grew up there as the daughter of a major Nemmonese power family. Her mom is even smarter and more ruthless than she is, Pagala Enkeli is on another level of badass. Pagala also raised Nyrene with um.... with a really questionable set of ethics. I mean, they’re anarchist pirate gangsters, some of that’s just to be expected. Nyrene got her goofball act from her mother and took it up to 11, Nyrene also got her intelligence from Pagala--Pagala’s a chessmaster type and Nyrene is chessmaster junior. Ny knows a ton of different ways to kill people, pick pockets, manipulate a fight, and just generally get what she wants. What she’s lacking in is a sense of social awareness. She reads people like a book but doesn’t understand that she shouldn’t always do that, she has strong battlefield instincts but doesn’t always realize that she can’t punch or time-loop all her problems away. that’s why Syz is good for her. Pagala tried to teach Nyrene manipulation and social savvy, but Ny’s just not that good at it. Everyone’s bad at something. 

Soenya’s different...so she comes from a pretty remote area up in northern Sapir. The Sapiran Empire is the biggest realm of Nymia by far, but most of it is very sparsely populated because of how barren and cold it is. Sapir’s got a lot of mountains, a lot of tundra, and only a small handful of places where people could reasonably expect to live the year in one place. I want to take inspiration from IRL northern cultures to start building these remote settlements, I’m still deciding if I want to lean more towards Siberian cultures or American indigenous groups in terms of reference. Either way, the point is, Soenya’s from a tiny place up on the northern Sapiran coast that’s very small and close-knit and cold. Before the Academy she had very little exposure to anything beyond her village/group, and she was one of the only magic users she knew. 

She’s uh... she’s enthusiastic about people. Soenya’s a constant flirt, wants to get in everyone’s pants, and if she’s not attracted to you then she’s peppering you with random questions about whatever’s on her mind. She’s nosy and can’t mind her own business. She and Nyrene butt heads a lot because they’re both very strange people, but in different ways--Nyrene is reclusive and likes to be enigmatic for effect, where Soenya is nearly impossible to unnerve, at least not in the way Nyrene likes to unnerve people. Ny doesn’t know what to do when she genuinely can’t freak someone out? And of course Soenya’s noticed this and uses it to mess with Nyrene right back... Soenya’s pretty clever. She’s not that book smart (for reasons explained) but she’s good with people and has strong intuition. She’s got that good good folksy knowledge. She’s also pretty competitive, and she tends to provoke Nyrene’s competitive instincts whenever she gets going, because they just cannot STAND each other. Nyrene doesn’t like that Soenya won’t react to her weirdo act, Nyrene doesn’t like that Soenya keeps flirting with her (and everyone else). Soenya doesn’t like that Nyrene won’t give her a straight answer, and Soenya thinks Nyrene’s behavior means she’s a medical oddity--who’s ever heard of a person going senile by the age of 20? 

Soenya’s the paladin of yellow and that gives her some serious trickster instincts. She can control weather (within reason), talk to animals once in a blue moon (elk/deer and rabbits are the easiest bc she grew up around them), and she gets a power boost when somebody underestimates her or doesn’t take her seriously. She’s super annoying in a fight. 

I’m still developing Soenya as a character, because her role in the story has changed a lot since her creation--originally she was an antagonist, being mind controlled by the villain from the very beginning and fucking with the heroes all the time. she was also banging the villain (which given the context and character ages is gross and creepy, @past me WTF!!!), and then I deleted her entirely from the story for a while because I didn’t want to deal with the baggage of that original character dynamic. I’ve brought her back because she’s a really fun character and I like her, I want her to be part of the good guy team now, but I’m still figuring out who she is. You know? So pretty much everything I’ve said here could change. All I’m sure about is that she’s still a flirt, just with people worth flirting with, and she really hates Nyrene. (It’s mutual.)

Of the three you asked about, Talxin’s probably the most thoroughly developed, just because he’s a little more straightforward? He’s a beaten-down guy who’s been through shit and who’s fighting to make sure nobody else has to suffer the way he did. Archetypal antihero stuff. He’s brave, and stubborn, and smarter than he looks. He’s also impulsive and reckless, leaving him vulnerable to the darker side of his powers. Talxin’s what you get when I rewatch the Star Wars prequels and get pissed about how cool and morally ambiguous Anakin deserved to be. 

Talxin’s small, and for most of these characters’ early development he stays that way in his friends’ minds. Fair warning, his backstory is HEAVY and really dark, and one of the things I’m most worried about in terms of actually executing this story well. He grew up basically enslaved--Elcrin has a really really broken system of generational punishment. Talxin’s grandfather committed a crime, what he did is irrelevant, and so the family line got stuck as “indentured servants” to pay for the crime. Talxin’s dad Temerius was supposed to earn his freedom at age 20, but the owner of the farm where they all worked framed Temerius for another offense to lengthen the sentence and trap his children with him. So Talxin grew up in a horribly broken system, being told that this was justice, while his parents raised him worshiping the colorgod Red as a champion of true justice--all things equal in death. That later became Talxin’s mantra as a paladin. When Talxin was chosen as the red paladin in early childhood, he was attacked by the lord of the farm for having heathen magic, and he panicked and caused a ton of destruction. He got arrested and taken to an actual jail (this all when he was like four years old), escaped a few years later, and he’s been in and out of prison. Being called to the Academy for formal paladin training was a respite, and in his eyes, a chance for a fresh start and the tools to free his family. And then the Academy fell apart and he got sent right back to where he came from.

So what you end up with, after all of this, is a kid with a horribly fucked up traumatic history and a massive amount of power at his disposal. Because redmages are rare and persecuted, Talxin proportionally has a LOT more magic than the other paladins, he’s the strongest one of the lot. He’s got a strong sense of justice and he’s very much willing to kill to make things right--all things are equal in death, after all, and his patron deity is a god of plague and decay as well as justice. And he’s fixated on getting vengeance for the cruel and unjust treatment of his family, who’ve been scattered on the winds during the few years he was at the Academy. 

Talxin’s... really, really brave. Brave enough that when he’s sent back to Elcrin after the Academy falls apart he goes right back to the system and starts breaking it apart, rescuing people from the law and stealing shit from the corrupt government and making a big loud mess. In a demon AU I once nicknamed him “frog Robin Hood.” He’s also smart enough to get away with it. He’s a minor antagonist for a little bit, even... he winds up losing control of his magic and going way too far. All of the colors have minds of their own to some degree, and Red is vengeful and destructive and bent towards revenge. Talxin goes on a killing spree, which is fine when he’s killing people who deserve to burn in hell, but he starts hurting innocents too in the process. He loses sight of why he’s fighting, the ideals and morals and drive for justice that led Red to choose him above anyone else. Plagues don’t just stop spreading once they’ve done away with your targets, famines hit the people he wants to protect so much harder than the people he wants to hurt. The other paladins have to step in and talk him down before he starts something he can’t stop. I feel like he’s stuck between Gryffindor and Slytherin in my head because although he’s so daring and brave, he’s also ambitious and willing to do some very unchivalrous things when pushed to the line. He’s got a difficult goal to reach but nothing’s gonna stop him. 

As you’d expect from a character with this kind of life story, he’s pretty serious. He’s quiet and keeps to himself, he’s always watching and listening... the main word I’d describe him with is intense. But at the same time, he’s got a great sense of humor when he feels safe enough to express it! He’s sweet and goofy, and he cares so so much about his family and friends and acquaintances and any random stranger on the street who looks sad enough. He also plays fantastic elaborate tricks on people who fuck with him, like, in a modern AU he’s the one who sneaks into your nasty ex’s house just to steal all their toilet paper and the batteries from the TV remotes. And then he leaves the doors open so they waste money on heating. He’s the god of April Fools’. When it comes to his primary objective, he takes himself and everything else very seriously, he’s willing to put aside minor moral issues for the greater good. But if you get him to come out of his angst shell and just be a person for a little while, he’s a genuinely good guy. He’s not quite at Batman levels, there’s still hope for him yet. He’s just lonely and angry and desperate for affection. 

Talxin’s very close with Nyrene and Syzyga, out of everyone at the Academy he probably trusts those two the most, but he gets along great with Pariya too once she shows up. He wants to like Soenya but he doesn’t trust her, something about her sets off his internal alarm bells. Anlied scares the living shit out of him. He may or may not have dated Syzyga at some point in the past, they were a couple in past versions of this story but I’m not sure their current iterations are compatible. He’s got an older sister named Elysia, Lyss for short, whom he hasn’t seen since he was very small. He’s been trying to reconnect with her ever since the Academy caved in but she’s nowhere to be found. Nyrene actually finds her first. 

So yeah! Those three! They’re a LOT, Talxin in particular is really fascinating to me. Nymia doesn’t really have a protagonist in the traditional sense, but I think Talxin’s the closest to playing that role, as his personal arc drives so much of the story so far. Whether he’s the hero or not, he exerts a major force of change on the world of Nymia, and everything he does is important. The others influence things, sure, but Talxin’s.... he’s that. He’s a big deal. He’s a symbol. 

Nyrene’s arguably the most fun to write, though, just because she’s so delightfully weird. It’s entirely in character for Nyrene to do something just because it’s funny, or just to see what happens next. She thrives on other people’s confusion. 

[kayawagner]

Bloodlines & Black Magic - Episode 2: The House of Hollows

Publisher: Storm Bunny Studios

The House of Hollows

Episodes of Bloodlines & Black Magic are designed to be played in 3-4 hour sessions, but can easily be expanded or developed as needed.

The House of Hollows lives off the essence, dreams, and soul-stuff of humans in the throes of fear, excitement, and dread - consuming them each according to their needs, supping until all that remains is the hollowed-out shell of an individual- a Hollow One. 

The House of Hollows has taken many lives and, with them, many secrets. 

Do you dare plumb its dark heart and recover those secrets?

For 5-6 1st-2nd level O7 characters.

Note: This episode of Bloodlines & Black Magic is a little longer than normal, and includes 6 playable 1st level Occult 7 heroes, as well as maps for each room, extra boons and oddities, and what promises to be a punishing night of modern horror.

The Worlds You Don’t Know

  Hamlet had the right of it when he said, “There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

  The scope of human knowledge and endeavor is woefully limited, compared to the incalculable vastness of the cosmos as it truly is. Worlds – metaphysically speaking – lay atop, beneath, beside, and even within the warp and weave of the one that people take for granted as the truest, and perhaps only, face of reality. These many worlds abut and overlap one another, and, for the most part, those within any given plane of existence only perceive and interact with their own immediate environment. The average spirit in the infernal realm knows as little about what’s taking place in an Addis Ababa apartment as the people living in that apartment know about that’s spirit’s goings-on.

  The difference, of course, is that those existing firmly beyond the borders of mundanity are generally aware of the reality of the other worlds, and capable of interacting with the denizens of those places – though whether they can do so safely is another matter, entirely. The day-to-day world is a dangerous enough place, in many cases, and these realms beyond are even more so. It’s rare for entities originating in other planes of existence to visit the mundane world for what most humans would consider being benevolent purposes.

  In truth, there are seven “worlds” that exist within reality, at least as we know it. These worlds are the mundane, the secret worlds, the invisible world, the ethereal plane, the astral plane, the celestial plane, and the infernal plane. 

Playing an O7 Game

 Occult 7 - shortened to O7 throughout this book - is a variant rules system based on the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game. Like much of the core of the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game, O7 is a game of enigmatic heroes who rise up against terrible dangers and overcome powerful, diabolical and earth-shattering foes. However, instead of using Pathfinder’s usual 20 levels of character progression, O7 uses only the first seven levels. This keeps characters in the “sweet spot” of adventuring. They are tough enough to take on the darkness but are still manageable. Adapted from the Epic 6 rules variant (add footer here), O7 is designed specifically for Bloodlines & Black Magic and is intended to work with the classes presented in both Pathfinder Occult Adventures and the Pathfinder Advanced Class Guide, both of which are suggested for this setting.

Seven Secrets of Bloodlines & Black Magic.

1. Magic is real. For most of the world, magic is one of two things: a series of well-crafted illusions designed to entertain, or the unsubstantiated believe in loosely connected, human-driven events. While most people give magic little more than lip (or card) service, the truth is quite simple; magic exists.

  2. There are global elites. Both the occult and conspiracy communities have long pointed to a nameless, global, ruling elite who they believe is holding them back. While most rational humans wave off such conjecture, the truth is stranger still – there are global elites and they have a vested interest in keeping the masses dumb, fat, and divided.

  3. Monsters walk the night. Parents, the world over, tuck their children in with the same reassurances over and over. They open closet doors, look under beds, and click on night-lights to hold back the darkness, all of them repeating the same refrain; there are no monsters, go back to sleep. Those parents, like so much of the world, are wrong.

  4. The Power is in the Blood. Beyond the glass towers and exotic retreats of the global elite, a stranger group of people – many of who occupy thrones in the Invisible – play an even more delicate game with the world; these blooded humans, collected into bloodlines families, are the secret lineages of those who truly rule. Although some have waxed in influence, many of these bloodline families still exercise considerable power in the mundane – making kings from fools, changing national borders, and even reorganizing societies to suit their own, personal agendas.

5. We are Legion. Made famous in the New Testament, the Goëtic Spirits have long been at odds with the Archons, taking on forms from a wide array of cultures and myths. Some of the spirits could easily be traditionally considered demons or devils, although they are clearly in the minority. The Goëtic Spirits comprise a much larger, more diverse group than those commonly identified by the various monotheistic faiths.

  6. The Veil is real. Occultists, conspirators, refugees, activists, veterans, protestors, magicians, gamers, and weirdos – all of them have their own ideas of what is really going on in the world. Some of them actually have a clue, too. But the truth is, while some of those wild ideas might actually hold a little water, most of them are little more than hyped-up conjecture riding shotgun with a bunch of speculation. Which is exactly what the Archons want. The truth should make you sound crazy. Why? Because that’s how the Veil works...

  7. The Archons have a mission. Most people have no idea who or what the Archons are, much less what sort of mission they might have. The truth is, whatever the Archons are trying to do, it’s a slow march toward completion and keeping humanity in the dark is a big part of that mission. The few magicians who have discovered them know little about them, although a single word does keep reoccurring in plenty of conversations – stability. What that word means to them, however, is still a mystery for most.

The Bloodlines

With over seven billion people dominating the Earth, there are countless bloodlines that cross time and space - all of them carrying specific strands of DNA - that many come to learn to hold their own secret potentials. Although those with extremely narrow understanding rely on exterior appearances and or one’s ethnicity to judge the true worth of an individual, the wise know this is the first step down the path to folly. Racism is a deplorable human trait, one that most rational people would be happy to see wiped from the planet, but those who have pierced the veil know it is an altogether dangerous trait, as well. With billions of humans all vying for power at every level of society, those with the capability to do a little more - to pierce the darkness and see reality for what it really is, are a rare lot.

 For eons, these individuals grouped together, marrying into select families that could trace their roots to ancient peoples and, it is whispered, to the very entities that command the invisible realms beyond. Of course, these could be calculated fallacies - a longstanding fabrication used to justify everything from cronyism, nepotism, and in some of the darker corners of history, incest. Only those who have walked into the invisible know the stark, sobering truth….Some families hold power.

There are seven bloodlines. They are:

The Fey Blooded - Delicate and lively, individuals who carry the blood of the fey display strange insights. Some claim to suffer from otherworldly visions of both the future and past. Prominent throughout the Old World, fey blooded individuals often display interests in nature, environmentalism, and history - especially history related to Ireland, Scotland, Gaul, and even some of the Nordic lands. Mischievous to a fault, these individuals often rally around pranks, their impish and coy demeanors betraying their better nature. Quite a few display connections to the natural world that, in the past, would have marked them as witches and saw them burnt at the stake.

Nearly eliminated during the Dark Ages, this bloodline has seen a resurgence in the modern world that some have suggested could only be the work of the Seelie court itself.  Humans with this bloodline generally begin to display its traits during puberty.

Infernal Blooded - Cunning and strong, individuals with ties to this bloodline rarely discover the power of their blood until late into their teens, although some don’t manifest their abilities until their mid-twenties. Naturally intelligent, these individuals combine their wit with their strength, outwitting or strong-arming others into following their directions, regardless of their will.

 Unlike many others, individuals with infernal blood have an almost unnatural understanding of the Infernal realm’s three most profane laws; might makes right, self-preservation trumps sacrifice, and stupidity is a sin. Born with deep, almost reddish complexions that often match their demeanor, these individuals frequently display small, physical imperfections that set them apart, be it a blemish, mismatched eyes, off-color strands of silver or golden hair, and other oddities that are clear deviations from the norm for their ethnicity.

Dragon Blooded - Born cold, calculating, and prone to dreams of conquest outsiders rarely understand the dragon-blooded are a confident line – some who whisper their heritage is as old as the serpent that encircles the cosmic egg.

 Although many people chuckle at the idea of sleeping dragons, these individuals know all too well that the blood is as cold as it is ancient. Individuals from this bloodline often spend decades dedicated to self-mastery, tempering their spirits and directing their will in ways that, in the dawn of history, built entire empires. Although some dragon blooded humans claim their blood comes directly from dragons long lost to the modern world, nearly all humans from this bloodline can trace their ancestry back to the ancient empires of the world, both in the east and the west. Whether as royal emperors, peaceful philosophers, or modern dictators, the individuals who lay claim to the blood of dragons are not to be trifled with.

 Dragon-blooded humans always manifest their natural gifts before puberty. These bright children, when others of their kind notice them, are groomed throughout their young lives, growing into adults that naturally command their lessers. For some, this means long lives sequestered away in mountaintop temples, while for others it might mean something far more public – like ruling a nation.

Jinn Blooded - As passionate and dedicated as any modern dervish, jinn blooded humans have ties that predate the modern Middle East, their heritage arising from the Assyrian, Sumerian, and Babylonian conquerors who, under a burning red sun, worked ancient magic in the earliest dawn of man. Wise and tenacious, these individuals display a resilience rarely found in the modern world, many choosing paths that are anything but easy. Naturally predisposed to conflict, these men and women often excel as diplomats, as well - luring their enemies into a false sense of security before ending them with a single swing of their sword or, worse, an uttered word of ancient, lost magic.

 Although many jinn blooded humans can trace their heritage to the Fertile Crescent, not all of them hail from there. Natural explorers with a strong understanding of trade, many jinn blooded humans have settled throughout Europe, Australia, and the Americas - making them one of the most widespread bloodlines on the globe. Most humans that carry this bloodline begin to manifest its traits during puberty, although some late bloomers may not manifest their abilities until their early twenties.

Seraphic Blooded - Nearly as famous as their infernal siblings, seraphic blooded humans are wise and comely, many displaying a natural charisma that reveals their angelic roots, attracting others who simply want to bask in the presence. Attractive to a fault, these individuals display their bloodline in a number of physical ways; they have bright eyes, angular features, and silky hair that range from the dark of ravens’ feathers to the golden hues of the Valkyries themselves. A rare bloodline that has expanded to nearly every corner of the globe, seraphic blooded humans are incredibly uncommon, making up a part of the global population that is never recorded on any census – which is just how their families like it.

 Claiming a heritage with ties to divine figures or, in some stories, the very angels themselves, this bloodline is sometimes mistakenly attributed to the prophets of the Abrahamic faiths, leading to all sorts of cults, secret societies, and conspiracies. Whether or not these hold any water, of course, is a secret these individuals are not want to discuss.

Shadow Blooded - Of all the bloodlines, those who carry shadow-touched blood are perhaps the strangest of all the bloodlines. These rare individuals openly display a love of the dark and many of them openly avoid the daylight, some of which suffer from minor medical conditions that discourage activities like sunbathing, hiking, and a host of other outdoor activities. While others are quick to write them off as weirdos with gothic sensibilities, most who carry shadow’s blood don’t mind. In fact, many shadow blooded individuals are clannish wanderers who are as distrustful of outsiders as they are of them, creating a sort of mutually-beneficial xenophobia that has left this bloodline precisely where it wants to remain – in the shadows.

Predisposed to the divinatory arts, many shadow blooded humans claim that their knowledge of the supernatural exceeds that of the most notable of the Old World’s hermetic houses; whether or not this is true is open to debate, but one thing remains true - their understanding of magic far exceeds that of many other bloodlines. Shadow blooded humans commonly manifest their abilities in their late teens.

Spirit Blooded - Attuned to a world visited almost exclusively by dreamers, spirit blooded humans claim a heritage older than that of any other bloodline, many claiming that their very bodies are the world’s ancient spirits made flesh. Others claim they are the children of the dreaming realms, readily pointing to the Astral Plane as their original home. Natural medicine men, healers, and wise women, these individuals enjoy a degree of diversity many other bloodlines cannot lay claim to, with many individuals tracing their family lines back to central North Africa, the steppes of northern Asia, Aboriginal Australia, and pre-colonial North America.

 A bloodline with a strong connection to the Astral, spirit blooded humans excels as spiritualists and shamans, applying their innate understanding of the invisible world to modern problems, offering insights uncommon to our modern world. This connection, however, often haunts them, as many spirit-blooded humans have a hard time separating the two; the world of the spirit plaguing them in ways few grasps. Still, more and more of these individuals are stepping into the modern world; using their understanding of the spirits they court, this bloodline pushes back the darkness.

Spirit blooded individuals normally manifest their abilities during childhood, their invisible friends remaining by their sides throughout their adult lives.

Price: $6.99 Bloodlines & Black Magic - Episode 2: The House of Hollows published first on https://supergalaxyrom.tumblr.com

[wtf-triassic]

Triopticus primus

By Tyler Young/ @cry-olophosaurus​

Etymology: Three eyes

First Described By: Stocker et al. 2016

Classification: Biota, Archaea, Proteoarchaeota, Asgardarchaeota, Eukaryota, Neokaryota, Scotokaryota Opimoda, Podiata, Amorphea, Obazoa, Opisthokonta, Holozoa, Filozoa, Choanozoa, Animalia, Eumetazoa, Parahoxozoa, Bilateria, Nephrozoa, Deuterostomia, Chordata, Olfactores, Vertebrata, Craniata, Gnathostomata, Eugnathostomata, Osteichthyes, Sarcopterygii, Rhipidistia, Tetrapodomorpha, Eotetrapodiformes, Elpistostegalia, Stegocephalia, Tetrapoda, Reptiliomorpha, Amniota, Sauropsida, Eureptilia, Romeriida, Diapsida, Neodiapsida, Sauria, Archosauromorpha, Crocopoda, Archosauriformes incertae sedis

Referred Species: T. primus

Status: Extinct 

Time and Place: 227 to 226 million years ago, in the Norian of the Late Triassic

Triopticus is known only from the Otis Chalk in Texas, the United States

Physical Description: Triopticus is a very puzzling and frustratingly enigmatic reptile, primarily because it is only known from the back portion of its skull and nothing else, leaving the shape of its body and even the size and shape of its snout a complete and utter mystery. We can’t even rely on phylogenetic bracketing to give us a guide of how it may have looked because its relationships cannot be pinned down beyond Archosauriformes. Even its body size is unclear, but it wasn’t a very big animal at least—the back of its skull could fit in the palm of your hand, so maybe around a metre long.

Nonetheless, the piece of skull that is known is very odd indeed. The back of its skull is remarkably similar to those of pachycephalosaurid dinosaurs, in that Triopticus was also a “bone head” with a thick bony “dome” over its head—it even flares out over the back and sides of the head like in pachycephalosaurs. Unlike pachycephalosaurs, however, the “dome” of Triopticus was not a single smooth structure, but was actually made up of five fused bosses on the bones of the skull that have clumped together to form a single bony dome-like structure. But, of course, the dome of Triopticus is even stranger than that of the pachycephalosaurs’. Right in the centre of the dome, between the bosses, there is a hole that drops right down to the roof of the skull. Like a doughnut. Why? No one knows. The hole happens to sit over right where the pineal gland could have been, and so the hole may have opened for a “third eye” on the top of its head, like many modern lizards and the tuatara have (this is where it gets its name!). And yet, the opening for the third eye was lost in the ancestor of Archosauriformes, so we shouldn’t expect Triopticus to have one in the first place. For that matter, the texture of the bone inside the hole is exactly the same as it is on the inside, implying it was covered in hard, opaque keratin like the rest of the dome. So Triopticus probably really did just have a hole in its head, you have to wonder how it kept that thing clean, or stop it from collecting rainwater.

As for the rest of the body, as frustratingly unclear as its relationships are, we can at least make an educated guess based on other archosauriforms. It was probably quadrupedal, with not very long sprawled to semi-erect legs, a long tail, and maybe some osteoderms running down its back. Of course, considering how weird just the back of its head is, and how other Triassic Weirdos have surprised us, I wouldn’t be surprised if Triopticus turned out to be weird all over. Maybe it was a biped with tiny forelimbs to really take the mickey out of the pachycephalosaur-convergance, who knows. (As it happens, the shape of its inner ear might suggest it really was bipedal, but the evidence is tenuous.)

Diet: Without any jaws and teeth, the diet of Triopticus is a mystery. All other known non-archosaur archosauriforms were carnivores, so it’s quite possible Triopticus was too. But there’s a first time for everything, and maybe the rest of its skull was just as abberant as its dome.

Behavior: Any and all speculations on the behaviour of Triopticus has to revolve around its dome. Fortunately, domes are interesting structures in animals, so there’s a decent amount to say. The obvious interpretation is that the dome convergently evolved for the same purposes suggested for pachycephalosaurs: head-butting. The utility of pachycephalosaur domes has been hotly debated, and presumably the same arguments apply here. Alternatively, the dome could have been just used for display. Either case implies Triopticus were social animals, either using the dome for visual communication or in confrontations between them. Triopticus had particularly big eyes and optic nerves for an archosauriform, so good vision must have been important for whatever it was doing. As before, any other behaviours are a mystery, although as an archosauriform we can reasonably speculate that it laid eggs and probably cared for its young to an extent.

Ecosystem: In the Otis Chalk, Triopticus co-existed with various other stem-archosaurs, including the herbivorous allokotosaur Trilophosaurus, the heavily armoured and boxy Doswellia, the phytosaurs Parasuchus and Angistorhinus, and three species of aetosaur. It also coexisted with at least four dinosaurmorphs, including the lagerpetid Dromomeron, a silesaurid, and the predatory theropods Chindesaurus and Lepidus. There was also the large predator Poposaurus, and even an ornithomimid-like shuvosaurid here too. This ecosystem in some ways was almost like a premonition of the later Cretaceous ecosystems, with phytosaur-like crocodiles, aetosaur-like ankylosaurs, poposaurid-like theropods, shuvosaurid-like ornithomimids, and even the Triopticus-like pachycephalosaurs. Whether Triopticus filled a similar ecological role to the pachycephalosaurs, and not just visual, is up for debate, and its lifestyle remains unknowable.

Other: The discovery of Triopticus and its uncanny similarity to pachycephalosaurs prompted a statistical analysis comparing the body types of various Triassic archosaurs and stem-archosaurs to those of Cretaceous dinosaurs. What they found was substantial overlap, so the eerie similarity between certain Triassic reptiles and dinosaurs wasn’t just people seeing things. The fact simply seems to be that Triassic stem- and crown-archosaurs had already evolved many of the distinctive body-types first known in—and thought to be characteristic of—dinosaurs. Triopticus now adds pachycephalosaurs into the “Triassic did it” roster, which at the time of discovery left only the giant sauropodomorphs, maniraptorans, and ceratopsians as the only ones not represented in the Triassic. Then Shringasaurus rolled around...

~ By Scott Reid

Sources under the cut

Georgi, J.A., Sipla, J.S., Forster, C.A. (2013). "Turning Semicircular Canal Function on Its Head: Dinosaurs and a Novel Vestibular Analysis". PLoS ONE. 8 (3): e58517.

Goodwin, M.B., Horner, J.R. (2004). "Cranial histology of pachycephalosaurs (Ornithischia: Marginocephalia) reveals transitory structures inconsistent with head-butting behavior". Paleobiology. 30 (2): 253–267.

Hieronymous, T.L., Witmer, L.M., Tanke, D.H., Currie, P.J. (2009). "The Facial Integument of Centrosaurine Ceratopsids: Morphological and Histological Correlates of Novel Skin Structures". Anatomical Record. 292 (9): 1370–1396.

Hullar, T.E. (2006). "Semicircular canal geometry, afferent sensitivity, and animal behavior". The Anatomical Record Part A: Discoveries in Molecular, Cellular, and Evolutionary Biology. 288A (4): 466–472.

Nesbitt, S.J. (2011). "The Early Evolution of Archosaurs: Relationships and the Origin of Major Clades". Bulletin of the American Museum of Natural History. 352: 1–292.

Stocker, M.R., Nesbitt, S.J., Criswell, K.E., Parker, W.G., Witmer, L.M., Rowe, T.B., Ridgely, R., Brown, M.A. (2016). "A Dome-Headed Stem Archosaur Exemplifies Convergence among Dinosaurs and Their Distant Relatives". Current Biology. 26 (19): 2674–2680.

Voogd, J., Wylie, D.R.W. (2004). "Functional and anatomical organization of floccular zones: A preserved feature in vertebrates". Journal of Comparative Neurology. 470 (2): 107–112.