#enigmatic fear just nerd things

[gxdsetmxnsters]

Just Nerd Things

I dabble in cross-fandom things on occasion and recently sat down to think about Homestuck Classpects in relation to Edward and Jonathan.

Edward :

Jonathan :

[planesofduality]

Full Transcript edition:

“The Story Behind Solas with Dragon Age Lead Writer Patrick Weekes” by Dialogue Wheel/Video Game Sophistry

Reblog of one of my first posts ever. I didn’t understand how tumblr worked back then really, and long story short, I split the transcript of this interview  into 3 parts :) I’d probably do things differently now. Reblogging it as a single transcript for my own convenience, as I still refer to some of the things Weekes said here from time to time!

Interview is from before Trespasser DLC; posted to YouTube 12/20/2019 

Note: pseudo-reblog

“Interview with lead writer for Dragon Age Patrick Weekes years ago about how the enigmatic character Solas was created, here is what that magic elf could have up his sleeve for us in Dragon Age 4.” Not my interview, just wrote transcript of questions and answers for reference. 

Full video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aFx1nCdZFjw&t=1s

Time: 2:54

Solas, tell us about little old Solas. Talking about your other characters you created we always start at the beginning. Pen to paper - How did the idea of Solas first start? What was that first iteration?

So actually Dave and Mike both, you know, we - everyone knew who Solas was - everyone knew what the ending was going to be with him. And, you know, Dave and Mike said, “Well Dave is writing a ton of the crit path, the main part of the game. Dave really wants to do Dorian, that’s very important to him, and are you comfortable writing this guy? Are you comfortable writing someone who is going to be, in some respects, deceiving the Inquisitor for the entirety of the game?” And, honestly, how do you turn that down?

Time: 4:02

So really it was that simple then - from there, in the way you described it, they already had some ideas and some concepts about what Solas needed to bring?

Oh, yeah. Originally, one of the most difficult parts of writing him - and, you know, I said Iron Bull was the one closest to how I originally planned him - Solas and Cole are probably tied for least like how I originally wrote them. And, really, it was getting past the secret. It was getting past Fen’Harel.

Iron Bull: badass former spy, the opposite of Sten.

Blackwall: awesome Grey Warden who is not actually a Grey Warden.

Solas: He’s Fen’Harel…

Okay, can he tell you he’s Fen’Harel? No.

Okay, well what are we going to talk about?

[Pretending to be Solas:] “Hey Inquisitor, I’m still not Fen’Harel, do you have any questions?”,  “I will not take any questions about whether I am Fen’Harel.” That was the big stumbling block of writing him.

I remember the first draft… the first draft all we talked about was elves. It was elves all the time. Every conversation went “Elves, elves… Elves were awesome back in the old days.. Everything was great with the elves.” And then you’d go, “You really like elves huh?” “No, shut up - I’m not Fen’Harel.” And we all kind of looked at that and went, that’s not really much of a character hook. You cannot have a character hook built on something that you only reveal after the play has watched the credits. That is how we got to Fade expert. That is something where, if something had gone terribly wrong, if we were six months from shipped and we decided not to do anything with elves in the future, we could have taken the Dread Wolf out of the equation entirely and a mage named Solas who loves the Fade, is an apostate but without all of the fear and anger that you think of when you think of an apostate, but is just this guy who wants to travel through dreams and find mysteries and explore… that was a good enough character to stand by itself. That is what it took us a couple of drafts to get to.

Time: 7:04

You mentioned the first two phases of Solas - share with us a little more of that journey, when you finally go to this character that could stand on its own. If you don’t mind, a little more of that journey- was it just those first two and now everything’s cool?

First draft was “ ‘Elves, elves’ but ‘I don’t like elves’”. Second draft was about how much to tell. I think in the next draft it was significantly closer. Anyone who looked at that draft - and, you know, I apologize to anyone who looked at that draft - but, anyone who looked at that draft you would find places where “Oh okay that’s the Solas I know and love. There he is. He likes the Fade.” That’s something that’s actually interesting. But, he lied a lot more. And it actually really weakened his character. We played it so close with both Blackwall and Solas - both characters are the liars who don’t actually lie. They will tell you almost truths. With Blackwall - he never actually flat-out says “I am a Grey Warden.” If you ask him what it’s like being a Grey Warden he will say "Well  a warden embodies this and a warden embodies that… I’ve been blessed in my travels.” You know, he never actually quite says “I’m a Warden.” With Solas it’s the same way with the hand wave of ‘in the Fade’. I would start putting ‘in the Fade’ at the end of a lot of sentences.  “Yeah turns out that all of the stuff you thought was true in history was wrong… because I saw it…. in the Fade.”

In revision 2, he lied a lot more. On the one hand it worked, on the other hand it made him less tragic, more of jerk when we got to the reveal. So that is how we got to what we made him into: this character who is intelligent, wise… Solas will think very carefully before he tells you anything and anything he tells you is exactly as much as he wants you to know. That actually led to one of the funny little game moments - one of the last things we do is add the places where characters will approve or disapprove. I think what I want Solas to approve us is you actually asking questions . He’s kind of unique in that regard -  What Solas approves us is people who are interested in finding out knowledge. Whether they are finding it out from him or they’re talking with other people, Solas wants people to explore, he wants people to find information, he wants people to learn. What he disapproves of, honestly, more than what you do, is in many ways how you do it. You can do the thing that he wants you to do, but if you do it in a knee-jerk way, Solas hates that. He wants to know that you are carefully considering your options and taking a measured approach.

Time: 12:16

When it comes the characterization of a character that you’ve already been give at least some sort of name to. We know that this character is some sort of trickster god - when you were trying to develop and make him some a stand-alone character, did you ever have to rely on what the mythos already established of this particular kind of eighth-seat god that maybe a lot people hadn’t heard a lot about?

Well, I think, like we talked about before, one of the great things about the Dragon Age universe is everything that you learn in a codex entry is something that someone else heard in a story and wrote it down somewhere and you’re reading half of the book. So the good news on that is anything we wanted to do with Fen’Harel, there was so little and what was in there was already so sketchy that we had all the freedom we needed to play with him.

That turned out to be a nice thing because I think if we had someone that was completely by-the-books, already established, their character already given, it would feel like more of a letdown to write that as a character or you would have to play against type, you’d have to do something completely different to show he wasn’t just what the stories wrote about him. And, you know, in some ways that is both liberating but also disappointing to people who might have liked  the original stories. This was a fun experience of getting to fill in some of the gaps.

The only thing I think we had to struggle against is that anyone who hears “trickster” or anyone who hears “oh, he’s chaotic and unpredictable” it feels like there is a natural urge to go to “He’s Loki in the Avengers. He’s the guy who’s gonna make large grand-standing plans.” Or, you know, “He’s the Riddler, who’s gonna leave clues to test you.” We had to get away from that: “Let’s tone that back a little bit, let’s not have him be the Jack Nicholson Joker version of the Dread Wolf.”

That’s quite a quote.

You got Dorian as a large, grandiose , extravagant figure and it would have been easy to have him go that way. It was fortunate that we had Dorian as the mage who had the larger-than-life persona already to make Solas be the quiet one.

Time: 15:21

Was there ever an instance where you were really pushed with giving some indicators to the player that Solas may have some connection to this going through the gameplay? Because you do see a lot statues of Fen’Harel. There’s many instances of where you’re discussing it, you’re traveling through those lands. Where do you walk that line, how do you walk that line, or do you just completely disregard it whatsoever?

The goal we had is we wanted the very careful players, the very sensitive players, who were playing attention and watching every scene with Solas to know that something was up and to want more answers and then go to “OH MAN” as soon as the stinger after the credits rolled. But we wanted most players to just go “Oh, okay, he’s like ‘Fade nerd.’ He’s like ‘hippie guy.’”

The other thing we wanted was everyone on their second playthrough, as soon as they talked to Solas to be like “Oh, man, he’s just saying it. He just flat-out said it right there and I missed it completely the first time!” I think we called it the “inevitable in retrospect”- or the “slap the forehead on the second playthrough” style of writing, where we wanted people to see that the most interesting thing about the trickster god is he’s not actually that great of a liar - He is almost telling you a lot of the time. And, you know, some of the tragedy is it that you never had the chance to actually ask, “Wait -are you Fen’harel?”

Time: 17:13

We talked about leaving breadcrumbs, what that meant. Now the big turn, the big scene at the ending:  How did this come about, were you really involved in that sort of process and are you happy with it?

Oh, I’m absolutely happy with it. It went through several iterations,. Mike was hugely involved. The writing was definitely done by Dave; it was a huge crit path moment. He had me give a look at the Solas voice, I think I looked at it, I don’t think I actually changed a single word in the final one.

We had versions where after the main plot it was actually going to be a full plot where you the player went and were actually present when Solas confronts Mythal. We had a part where we said, “Wow that’s too big, a lot of players are gonna miss that, we’ll make it a DLC.” So it was gonna be a separate DLC where that happened. At one point we said “No, this is too big, we actually - let’s cut it and address it next game.” So it was going to be this thing that we pushed off into some future content.

I am really happy with what we went with, because, I think, you know, for my money, that short, little Marvel-style, after-the-credits stinger is what we needed. We needed something so that everyone who was paying attention and everyone who was really invested could go “oh my god!” And go, “Okay, so, just in case you were wondering, we’re not done, we have more stories to tell, and we are confident enough in what we are doing that we are willing to throw that ball.” That stinger is essentially us throwing a football to future us, trusting that we are going to catch it. Because, you know, at the end, we had that level of confidence. We felt that we had that level of confidence, we felt we made a really good game. Dave led an amazing team of writers, and I’m really touched that he has the confidence to believe that I’ll be able to carry that on for him.

Time: 19:49

When we spoke to Dave, one of the big moments that he mentioned, was when he created kind of a long-term idea for what’s going to happen in the Dragon Age universe. And to hear him say it, he mentioned that what he originally wanted for Dragon Age: Inquisition couldn’t happen - it was far too big - it wouldn’t work. And you guys had talked about  taking that concept, finishing Inquisition somewhere in the middle of that concept arc, and then using at least an influence or something like that to affect the franchise going forward.  Speaking with you now, as someone who has taken up the reins, do you know what I’m talking about? Am I talking crazy? Where do you see it going?

Um…

Reasonably - of what you can say on this.

So here’s the last scene of the next game… (laughs). I think there’s an extent to which no plan really survives contact with the audience when it comes to video games. We look at how fans react, we look at what hit, what rang true with everyone. You know, it’s funny, having people react angrily actually isn’t as bad as having people ignore things sometimes. Having people react angrily  means they were definitely emotionally engaged, so you know you hit something there. Whereas having fans go, “I don’t know, fine, I guess, whatever” and move on means, “Okay, I don’t know if that’s what we want to go back to. We didn’t actually get anything from them there, they didn’t actually remember that later.” So that’s a phase that comes after every game we ship. We look at what hit, what missed, and where we want to go from there.

Now that said, Dave’s future plan is, I think, fantastic, epic, and heartbreaking. Our plan is to use that as our starting point. To look at where we want to go, what we want to do, and it will not be - and I, you know, Dave and I have talked about this - it will not be the story that Dave would tell if he were still here as lead writer. Because it could never be that. We can get into that when we talk about Cole a little bit, but if I tried to do that I would just be doing a bad impersonation of Dave Gaider and no one is ever going to be as good at that as Dave is. My goal going forward is to, as lead, put my own spin on that process, put my own spin on the plots going forward, on the thematic elements, while keeping those same thematic elements that we had. Because, I think, what Dave has set in motion in three games, countless DLCs and expansions, is something that can endure: The idea that no choice is ever really that easy and that the great events always stem from human-understandable motivations.

So, that is where I think where we are going to go, as vaguely as I can say.

Time: 23:30

Speaking of specifically to Solas: His continuation of the story. Adding that little “Marvel moment” at the end - what do you think that did for the crit path and the overall arc of the story that players experienced in Dragon Age: Inquisition. Do you think they would have been more satisfied if there was  a DLC or is that just us gamers complaining because we can’t get everything we want right away?

Well, I think you want to leave people wanting more. “Man I wish you guys had done more” is a better problem to have than “Man I wish you guys had done less.” So, I think, looking at it from inside the studio, we didn’t have the resources to do much more than we did. So it was never going to be the big moment right then anyway. From my perspective, the reason I’m really happy we have it is, like I said, I thought it was a vote of confidence. The team is still the Dragon Age team and it is still the writers and designers who did everything else, who made such wonderful characters and were responsible for such fantastic plots.

Time 25:10

Well, again, looking at that in its completion, it’s good to see that even a character that needed to give you a stinger in your estimation didn’t take away, I guess, from the overall story you were trying to tell.

Well, thank you. Yeah it was obviously the moment we were building toward, but again, the goal was even if we didn’t have that stringer, he was still an interesting enough character that people would have not felt cheated that he was in the party.

Time: 25:35

One of the most beautiful scenes I think in Dragon Age Inquisition is the scene that you get with Solas if you play as a female elf Inquisitor. Talk a little bit about that choice to have this romance option very, very specific. It’s race- and gender- specific. Why that scene - what that scene meant and a lot of the subtext, because it is a very rich sequence of scenes, not just one. And, I think it’s really one of the most interesting romances in the game.

I love that scene because that scene for me shows how far we’ve gone past - not the make myself irrelevant anymore - but how far we’ve gone with the digital acting. Jonathan Epp the cine-designer for that scene put it together and when you take everything that Gareth David Lloyd - the voice actor - everything he did on his lines. And just putting so much tragedy, and making it clear in every line that he wants to say more than he can. And with Jon Epp the cine-designer, just in the wordless scenes: showing the tragedy, showing the heartbreak, showing how much he does genuinely care against his better judgement, and how he finally forces himself to step away.,

You know how I said when we were talking about the Iron Bull - everything, every major moment we do, is there for a specific type of player fantasy fulfillment. And you know, not all types of fantasies are the happy ones. There’s a reason why The Phantom of the Opera was on Broadway for so many years and it’s not because it has a happy ending.

The Phantom of the Opera isn’t exactly the theme for the romance -  the razor was something closer to almost professor and student in some ways. He definitely comes across as a mentor in some ways. When he finally steps back it is him beating himself up, not you, saying “Wow what I have done here is actually really unfair to you, and you, player, at the time don’t know that I’m beating myself up because I’m actually  1000s of years old and not the person you think I am and it’s disrespectful to you for me to continue this relationship.” So it’s a very moral perspective for our ancient, quasi-evil, trickster god to come with.

Time: 28:41

And it’s amazing because it’s another instance of content that so few players would actually get an opportunity to see. When it comes to making it that specific, I guess, why was that choice made? Because usually a lot of your content - most of the Dragon Age content - it’s very easy to get really rich, wonderful characters right in your face and have those wonderful “eat-em-up” experiences, why for this one was it such a steep price to get in?

You know, I won’t lie, a lot of it came from some of our designers. Some of the women in the design department really, really loving his voice and saying, “You are absolutely fools if you do not make him romance-able in some capacity.” And, really, his story overall is - and, you know, I think we’ve only hinted at that but I think we have hinted at it enough that I can at least say this part of it - his story isn’t a happy one. His story is one, where, if you look at him and Mythal, there is clearly some grief, there is clearly some tragedy. And, adding in the option - even for players who don’t take it - on my end as a writer,  knowing that some players will have this as a star-crossed, forbidden romance, you know, it makes him more sympathetic. It’s important to me as a writer because when you’re writing about someone who, according to Flemeth, is at least somewhat responsible for the bad guy getting the magical item that he used to blow up half a mountain in the prologue, it’s important to have something in there that you can always have, as a writer, look at as your touchstone and go “This is a real person. This is someone who experiences sadness. This is someone who falls in love.” Even if he doesn’t do it with that Inquisitor on that playthrough, this is always someone who can be like that.

Time: 30:58

Where do you see a character like Solas ending up?

(Big sigh) Musical theater.

(laughs) Right when we reach those beautiful moments, Patrick!

I think that it is fantastic that people have emotionally engaged with Solas and I hope we get a chance to explore that in some future content.

Alright and that’s the most that we’re getting right now.

Time: 31:37

Oh, and here’s a little tie in: Here Lies the Abyss, the demon that spoke to Solas - what was all that about, what was that going on?

Oh yes - the demon who speaks perfect Elven!

Yes perfectly to him, and if you remember any of that - did you have anything to do with that?

Yes, Here Lies the Abyss was mine. It was a fun plot. It was a terrifyingly difficult plot, because - I’m not sure how clear this is to players that have one done one playthrough or with one import state - but your key characters throughout the events at Adamant Fortress and then the events of the Fade, it’s a customizable Hawke. Which means it could be a male Hawke or a female Hawke and within that, Hawke from Dragon Age 2 is characterized by one of three different attitudes: friendly, grim, or sarcastic. So, that’s three attitudes times two genders, that’s six different Hawkes and three different possible Grey Wardens: Alistair, Loghain, or Stroud.  So, the process of going through Adamant Fortress and then going through the Fade was a crazy juggling act of trying to keep track of “Okay, now one of these five people, these five Schrodinger’s cat quantum people, will say this line, and then another of these five Schrodinger’s cat quantum people will respond with this line.”

It’s important to remember that as we went through everything in Adamant Fortress and the Fade was taking place in that contest. There was a long period time when we were looking at that really going, “Okay, I just have to hope this actually makes sense when it’s nothing but Alistair and my sarcastic female Hawke.”

But, to actually answer your question. As I recall, the Nightmare, who as a friendly, chipper guy was basically - I do basically two types of villains: I do the villain who thinks he or she is the hero, and is misguided and has opposed goals, and is kind of tragic and tortured in that way. And then I do the mean-girl villain who says snotty high school insults.

That’s it - that’s the gambit.

Well, just about, yes. I’m looking forward to see who writes the villain in the future Dragon Age games - so get ready for either tragic pathos or really, really good high school mean-girl zingers.

As I recall, he was speaking Elven to Solas and if I remember right, he said, “Your pride is responsible for everything that has gone wrong” and I think he said “You will die alone.” And then Solas said something that translates to either “Nothing is known for certain” or “Not necessarily.”

And what does all that mean?

Well I think it’s fascinating that people are emotionally engaged, and I hope we have the chance -

It was a very asked question - it was a question that was asked a lot. Specific to that.

Oh, I’m not surprised, and I hope one day that we can tell you. But, obviously, that demon knows that Solas is hurting and Solas feels guilty about some stuff and really wanted to dig in there, and Solas was shouting back.

Literally just describing what happened (laughs). All right, so something that will clearly be talked about in other games.

TIme: 36:22

Dealing with this particular quest I really think that this was one opportunity to involve the Grey Wardens in a story, and a world, that kind of progressingly, after the first game had less and less of a need to exist - let alone in the world - but in the main characters arc. Talking to David I remember initially there was some idea for this particular mission they would just fall into the hole and be hanging out in the Deep Roads, and having out with the dwarves, so tell us a little bit about this creation.

A lot of the process of writing these large plots, like I talked about the razor, you figure out what the core concept is, you always start with a lot of things, and in most cases what you then end up having to do is cut. And if you’re not someone in the studio, talking about having to cut things sounds like you’re losing awesome content, you’re ruining what would have been clearly the best part of the plot. Inside the studio though, most cases what you’re cutting is the stuff that didn’t actually help tell the story you wanted to tell.

So yes in the original version, in a very early draft, actually this was before I was actually on the plot - this predates me - there was, yes, going into the Deep Roads, and when you fell in instead of ending up in the Fade you ended up down in the dark. And finding out what the Grey Wardens in this version of the story had been involved with the Architect from Dragon Age: Awakening. It was an interesting direction, and it was, I think, a very cool direction, but it did not help tell the story of the Inquisition. It was more a story of “Hey, if we wanted to do more with the Hero of Fereldan, here is an interesting place we could go” and it did not help tell the story of “What is the Inquisition doing?” “What is Corypheus doing?”, “How do these two organizations bounce off each other and who’s caught in the middle?” So trying to come to terms with the Grey Wardens in this game not being the protagonists, not being the group that is in the center of the action but being the group that is caught in the middle of this power struggle was something that led to us having to eventually do the re-jiggering that got us to the plot you saw.

[mythgirlimagines]

This week, I have a brand-new talentswap MAID especially for you! If you couldn’t tell by the pun in the first sentence, this Myth is the Former Ultimate Maid!

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BACKSTORY AND TALENT

Originally living with her sisters at an orphanage, Myth watched as both of sisters got picked up by loving families, while poor Myth was left in the dust. In order to make herself more desirable to prospective parents, Myth taught herself how to cook and clean after all of the other kids in the orphanage. Eventually though, much to her joy, she was eventually was picked up by a wealthy family that eventually ditched her, despite being great at her maid duties. Eventually, after going through many wealthy families and being tossed out/abused/ignored, without a second thought, one family managed to keep her: a warm and loving family with an artistic prodigy for a daughter. For once, Myth felt the love and affection that she was starved for, after all of those years of isolation and being tossed out like common trash. All of those skills accumulated from both helping out at the orphanage and being raised as a maid for all of these wealthy families, earned her the Hope’s Peak title of Ultimate Maid. 

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RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Artist

Born into an influential family of artistic geniuses, with their father being a master sculptor and their mother being a expert sketch artist, Wyre mainly specializes in the craft of both their parents, even though they are a master in practically every art form their parents can throw at them. When Wyre heard from their parents that someone was going to be adopted into their family, Wyre was ecstatic at the idea, and Myth quickly proved themself as a great servant and sister figure. Myth regularly serves food and cleans up after Wyre, when they gets particularly busy. Every since Wyre heard about Myth’s past with all of the other families, they claim that they are willing to fight all of them, much to the protests of Myth. 

Outfit: A brown paint-colored apron over a black sweater and matching pants and shoes, a tool belt with sculpting supplies, black fingerless gloves, glasses from original design.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Detective

Despite Scar’s eccentric behavior and constant talk of possessing an “All-Seeing Eye” under her eyepatch (which was actually lost in a battle between her and a particularly violent criminal), none of Scar’s clients can deny that she is a very competent detective, in spite of both that and her age. Her detective duties can get very stressful at times, but it seems Myth has a psychic connection to Scar’s distress, for she would always be there with whatever can calm Scar down. This has caused Scar to feel both intrigued (in regards to the possible existence of psychics) and concerned for Myth’s health and well-being (because of Myth‘s constant overexertion and overworking).

Outfit: A black and purple eyepatch on her left eye, a black jacket slung over her shoulders Yasuhiro-style, a black vest over a white dress shirt, black pants and black thigh high heels.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Astronaut

Ever since he was little and went stargazing with his grandparents, Fusion has always showed an interest in reaching the stars and traveling beyond the boundaries. Having aced both the physical and written exams at NASA, despite his age, Fusion is well on his way to becoming a full-blown astronaut. Fusion also trains younger children who are planning on becoming astronauts just like him, via lectures on astronomy and little physical exercises to build up endurance, and he brought his astronaut-training seminars to the Kibo-Con. Myth regularly assists him in his seminars, and in return, Myth gets glow-in-the-dark star-shaped stickers and freeze-dried “astronaut grub” from Fusion. 

Outfit: A blue galaxy printed jumpsuit over a red t-shirt with a yellow star on the front, black and dark grey gloves and matching boots, glasses from original design.

FU-510-N Mk. 2 (aka. Fusion Anon II), Ultimate Robot 

FU-510-N Mk. 2 (or Fusion II as she’d like to be called) was a robot created by NASA, in order to both assist Fusion in his seminars and accompany him on his future space expeditions. Created to entertain adults as well as children during the lectures and training, Fusion II was written with more of a sarcastic edge to her dialogue with Fusion, making her a bit more of a straight man to Fusion’s cheerful and pun-loving funny man, almost like Fusion’s rebellious teen daughter. Fusion II bonded with Myth quickly over their shared statuses of being “assistants“ to others. But much to Fusion II’s dismay, it doesn’t seem like Myth is able to pick up on her sarcasm at all.

Outfit: A white exoskeleton, pink and black joints,  and four small black wheels underneath her “skirt”, clothes from original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Anthropologist 

Running away from home, because of his massively rich, influential, and incredibly strict parents, with nothing but a backpack and his wits, Janon eventually found the one thing that actually interested him, while on his trek across the world: people and their cultures, which attracted him to the field of anthropology. After writing all about his travels and the philosophies he learned in a couple of journals he eventually published for the masses, Janon was revered as a genius in the field of anthropology. Despite planning on taking this secret to the grave, Janon has a secret soft spot for Myth, for she reminds her of the poor maids being crapped on by his influential family.

Outfit: A black facemask, a black overcoat over a pink t-shirt, a skull necklace, brown pants, black boots, a big brown backpack.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Entomologist

Specializing in lepidoptery and coleopterology, Sparkle intends on showing people all about the beauty of insects, in the most flamboyant and over-dramatic ways possible. Despite these idiosyncrasies, she is a respected figure by entomologists and aspiring entomologists everywhere. While Myth loves admiring the odd butterfly as much as the next person, Sparkle attracts insects like sugar water, and they are all a nightmare to remove and exterminate. The whole insect issue isn’t helped by the fact that Sparkle loudly and explicitly refuses to let Myth get rid of any of her “precious jewels”. Luckily, Sparkle shared some non-pesticide related methods to herd her insects, in case they get wild.

Outfit: A cape that resembles monarch butterfly wings with shoulder pads that look like rhino beetles, a green insect carrier,  a brown skirt with darker brown ant patterns, the glasses, jacket, undershirt, leggings, and boots from her original design.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Child Caregiver, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Aikido Master

With a childish, immature and cursed yet caring personality, Egg was a massive hit amongst the children of the orphanage that they and their twin Wet Sock were born and raised in. In order to protect the children that their twin cared for, the brooding and cynical Wet Sock decided to pick up aikido and self-defense skills, dominating bigger foes in all the tournaments they entered. Shouldering the burden of hearing the twin’s primary defense mechanism (read: cursed comments), Myth quickly bonded with Egg, thanks to their shared interest in caring for others. Myth tried to bond with Wet Sock, but because of them being tsundere, Myth only gets judo thrown in response.

Egg’s Outfit: Part of their hair tied up with a yellow scrunchie, a green hoodie with yellow sleeves, a fanny pack colored like their original shirt, black shorts, long yellow socks, green light-up-shoes, glasses from original design.

Wet Sock’s Outfit: Same outfit from the original, but with black aikido pants and matching sandals.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Supreme Leader/Assassin

With the dubious and odd title of “Jr. Ultimate Supreme Leader” and an enigmatic and stone-faced personality, almost nothing is known about this mysterious Jr. Ultimate, not even what their talent entails. What Myth and the majority of the media don’t know, is that Curious is that his title is actually the Jr. Ultimate Assassin and is current throneholder of a secret underground religious cult that is particularly known for brainwashing and teaching their children how to assassinate potential religious rivals. Luckily, Myth was fortunate enough to not cross paths frequently with Curious, for she would definitely try to adopt the preteen assassin with a messed-up upbringing, if she ever catches wind of the truth.

Outfit: A simple white robe with a green sash indicating leadership that hides their assassination weapons.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Inventor

Being a mechanical genius born in a country that was ravished by a massive war, Nerd was quickly sent to work in manufacturing and inventing brand-new weapons for his nation’s army. This past has given him a hair-trigger temper and a hatred for being interrupted, when he is in the middle of inventing. And yet no matter how many scouter-burns she suffers in the process, she never remembers that little tidbit of information about, when she comes barging into Nerd’s lab with his dinner, much to the rage of the easily-enraged inventing prodigy. But beneath the foul mouth and even-fouler temper, could Nerd have fallen for Myth’s kind and earnest attitude, despite being very annoying?

Outfit: Black armor that covers everything apart from his head, and the scouter from his original design.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Pianist

Videos of a person garbed entirely in black and playing self-composed pieces have been springing up on the internet for the past year or so, and despite the mysterious person attempting to make absolutely sure that he wasn’t found, Hope‘s Peak found the true identity of the online piano prodigy: Eldritch Anon, a former piano champion, who has since retreated to the shadows in growing anxiety and fear. Whenever Eldritch thinks about anything he wants or needs, Myth would always be right behind him with his want or need in tow. Because of that, Eldritch now wears a tinfoil hat on his head at all times, to prevent Myth’s psychic powers from reaching him, to no avail. 

Outfit: A black marching band outfit with white music note buttons, over a grey hood-up hoodie patterned with black sheet music, white gloves, tall black boots.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Magician

With infectious childlike cheer and unstoppable charisma on stage, Dream’s magical performances are truly a sight to behold, whether you’re a child or an adult. Dream has recently employed Myth as her magical assistant, and Myth regularly roped Dream out of trouble, just in case her magical performances go awry. But at the same time, Dream also took on sort of a mentor role to the maid. While Myth has entertained several guests with some minor parlor tricks, Myth would love to learn all about how Dream accomplishes all of her large-scale and stupendous, and how Myth can learn them herself. If Myth learns from the best, she would be able to entertain way more guests.

Outfit: A black and pink top hat, a black coat and white gloves over a pink vest, an orange bow tie and a white dress shirt, a pink skirt, grey stockings, and black tap shoes.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Cosplayer

Having been a regular consumer of fiction ever since she was little, she picked up sewing and fashion design from her parents and eventually began making accurate-to-the-show cosplay items, ranging from simple accessories to full-blown outfits. Despite being really clumsy when it comes to everything else, Iris is amazing at handicrafts. Myth and Iris consider each other “sewing buddies”, for their shared interests in sewing outfits and other such handicrafts. Iris regularly lets Myth model her cosplay, for they are about the same height and have the same proportions. Iris would be lying if she said she hadn’t tried sticking cat ears or dragon horns on Myth when she wasn’t looking. 

Outfit: Hair down with a heart barrette on each side of her head, a pink jacket with sewing supplies in her pockets and on her sleeves over a seira fuku with a red ribbon and a blue skirt, black stockings and red Mary Janes.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Adventurer

As the daughter of two famous and affluent ambassadors, Purple has been to practically every corner of the globe. Because of her travels, Purple regularly talks in archaic terms mixed with the insertion of gratuitous foreign vocabulary into her sentences, which means that the majority of the Anons can‘t understand a word coming out of her mouth. Purple is also stunningly timid for the daughter of two ambassadors, and often hides behind Anons that are bigger than her for when she doesn’t want to be seen by the crowds. Even if Myth can’t understand much of what comes out of Purple’s mouth, Myth still loves seeing Purple slowly but surely come out of her shell and talk about her travels.

Outfit: The beret from her original design, a dark purple overcoat and brown gloves over the sweater from her original design, lighter purple pants, brown boots, a brown carrier bag.

This AU will center around the maid getting helped for once, much to her protests.

——————————————————-

PERSONALITY

Despite her less-than-stellar past, Maid!Myth has a cheery and energetic attitude that belies (and bolsters) her sheer aptitude as a maid and her joy is described as “infectious” amongst Wyre’s family. With definite “mom energy”, Maid!Myth always comes prepared with the wants and needs for each and everyone of the Kibo-Con attendees, and seems to have an almost telepathic ability to whatever they all want, which unnerves a couple of the Anons (namely Eldritch, Scar, and Purple). Even though she overworks herself to a fault and everyone constantly tells to take a break from her work, she constantly shoulders every burden and duty placed upon her, in hopes that they won’t abandon her, just like every other family before Wyre’s family. This gave her a case of “chronic hero syndrome”.

——————————————————-

APPEARANCE

Maid!Myth’s naturally brown hair is tied in a prim and proper bun, complete with a white and light pink French-maid style headdress. As for the rest of her clothing, Myth wears a white and light pink French Maid dress with the only exception to the “white and light pink style” being a ribbon around her waist with a pink-to-purple-blue gradient, purple socks and red Mary Janes.

——————————————————-

I hope you like this AU! Let me know what you think of the AU and its roles in your reblogs!

[revchainsaw]

Nausicaa and the Valley of the Wind (1984)

Prayers and Salutations Cult Members! I am your mysterious minister Reverend Chainsaw and this is another nights revival service at the Cult Film Tent Revival. I bring you a special word tonight. Tonight's word is about a person who roamed the earth, in a time where people were backward and warlike. A leader emerged into a kingdom full of eschatological expectation. This leader came preaching peace, and was killed for the sins of the world, but was resurrected. In that resurrection a new hope was brought to the planet, and true healing through the power of love in the face of violence is made possible. I am talking of course about Princess Nausicaa from the Valley of the Wind.

The Message

Nausicaa and the Valley of the Wind is the film that put studio Ghibli and Hayoa Miyazaki on the map. No animated feature this grandiose and epic had been achieved by 1984, as much as Disney may beg to differ. The tale may be simple, and it may feel super 80s to us today, but Nausicaa is a masterpiece, and the fact that Howl's Moving Castle is brought up alongside Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away more often than Nausicaa is a farce and a tragedy.

The film takes place on a fantastic planet that seems to have suffered the ravages of an apocalyptic war. A war that involved gigantic warriors with powers so devastating they about made the entire planet inhospitable if not uninhabitable; save for a few areas. The fall out of this ancient war has left the earth in a state of repair, where the natural processes of a planet healing has creating giant toxic jungles.

Beyond these jungles lie two imperialistic factions, they seem almost to be city-states but it's not terribly clear. The Kingdom of Tolmekia, a militaristic proto-fascist society of almost Spartan sensibilities. Tolmekia is governed by the ambitious and cynical Princess Kushana, But I like to call her Furiosa. Just like Furiosa, Kushana is physically missing parts of herself, a visual metaphor for her metaphysical lacking and the parts of her humanity she has cut away. Kushana's world view is one of fear, a fear that can only be quelled by waging a genocidal campaign against her enemies.

Speaking of enemies, the Athens to Tolmekias Sparta would be the Pejite Kingdom. The Pejites might like to view themselves as simply responding to Tolmekian aggression, but the narrative of the film, and the story told quite visibly on the body of Kushana, is quite different. The Pejites are just as bloodthirsty if not more palettable in their approach, but like the Tolmekians, they believe only their own lives have any value. And thus, in this theatre of war, a Giant Warrior from the ages before is unearthed by the Pejite Kingdom, Stolen by the Tolmekians, before the forces of nature themselves, seem to conspire to drop the Giant Warriors "egg" right into the Valley of the Wind.

The Valley of the Wind is populated like the world of Avatar the Last Airbender, that is mostly of children and the elderly. The people of the Valley have been able to remain untouched by the ravages of war and the toxic jungles of the damaged world primarily due to geographic luck that's explained in minor exposition in the film. They are ruled by a King, and they are all deeply enamored by their beloved Princess Nausicaa.

Nausicaa is a gentle soul. She is kind to animals, she is empathetic, unreasonably patient, and bears pain and grief inflicted on her out of cruelty with a saintly understanding. She really is a thinly veiled Christ figure, scratch that. There is no veil. But she's also my favorite Christ figure. She does not preach a message, as much as she tries to save everyone from their own short sighted goals. She is not perfect, she does lash out and do some fantasy sword fight murder, but she regrets her actions so deeply that it seems to have played a part in motivating her to become even more compassionate and patient with the evils of the world.

Nausicaa discovers yet another plot by the Pejites, who are afraid of the possibility of the Tolmekians awakening the Giant Warrior, to use animal cruelty to enrage a group of almost invincible giant insects known as the Ohm. By luring the Ohm into the Valley of the Wind where the Tolmekians have become an occupying force, they hope to completely wipe out everything that threatens them. The Tolmekians DO awaken the Giant Warrior and pure pandemonium ensues. Nausicaa manages to save the Baby Ohm and calm the rage of the bloodthirsty Ohm swarm, and to defeat the warlike tendencies of both the Pejites and the Tolmekians. All the while fulfilling a prophecy fortold about a messianic savior figure called the Man in Blue.

Now that you have heard the Gospel of Nausicaa, please stand to receive The Benediction.

Best Character: Half a Person

Now that I've spent the better part of this review gushing about our Lord and savior Nausicaa. I have to admit, she's at times a bit too perfect, a bit too saccharin. Even her flaw, or her one weakness and her failing to be perfect, just adds to the perfection. I can't even say she never makes mistakes cuz she made one, and that's infuriating. It's even more infuriating that I still think she's a great character. Normally this kind of thing really kills a hero. Most Chosen Ones are the most boring and least likeable characters in their narratives. I don't know how Nausicaa avoids this trap, but she does. I'll have to do some meditating on that.

However, just like in your typical Chosen One fantasy narrative, the hero is a lot less fun than the villain. I'm going to say the best character in Nausicaa is Kushana. I want to be like Nausicaa, but I don't understand her. She's almost alien, even though we learn all about her. Kushana is mysterious, secretive, and enigmatic, yet I understand her. She barely has an arc, she doesn't really change. She's cold and cynical to the bone, but I don't need to see much of her situation to completely understand why she is the way she is. I usually hate totalitarian bad guys, but Kushana I like. Sue Me.

Also fun fact, did you that Nausicaa means 'Sinker of Ships'. That's kinda fun.

Best Scene: Spoiled for Choice

I'm going to be lazy and say take your pick. There is really not a bad seen in this movie. If the action isn't going, then there's intriguing dialogue. If there's no dialogue then you may be about to get hit with a forceful burst of whimsy. There's horror, there's swordfights and aerial dogfights. The only thing in Nausicaa I don't like to see, is the bloody tortured Ohm Baby. It's like a god damned Sarah Mclachlan commercial.

Best Creature: Foxy Shazam!

The Ohm are so simplistic yet so detailed. The number of eyes is alien, but the way they are used is expertly expressive. Who'd think you could get me to love what basically amounts to a silverfish with the intensity that I love a kitten. How did Miyazaki pull an Okja with a creature that should be haunting our dreams? I don't know.

And what about the Giant Warrior! If you are an Evangelion fan then you probably already know that Hideaki Anno designed and animated the melting goopy biomechanical beast. Surely a sight that would make both H.R. Giger and Clive Barker giddy with excitement. Just the image of the silhouettes marching amidst the desolation of the old world is burned into my brain.

So which of these is the best creature from Ghibli's first outing? It's fucking Teto. It was always gonna be Teto you idiot. Just look at Teto, he's adorable. He's too cute to exist. I'm so alone. I need a pet.

Best Character Design: Tolmekian Regalia

I originally included this category to talk some about Kushana, however, at that time I also thought I was going to say Nausicaa was the best character. I thought hard about deleting it, but I think it's a different category and you can't accuse me of playing favorites because my favorite character is clearly Teto. Just to keep it simple. It's the two costume shift from full military regalia in white and gold, to the one metal arm, warrior princess get up. It's a great costume and a great look. Get on this shit cosplay nerds. It's great for Cons in Canada, you have to think about layers, and you can't keep going as Mr. Plow. It's lazy.

Best Excuse to Talk About Patrick Stewart's Character: Lord Yupa

I just realized that I was about to write this whole review without talking about Lord Yupa. Lord Yupa is a sword saint and all around badass I think a lot of entertainment, especially in the west is lacking bad ass old men. Lord Yupa particularly shines in the early half of the film as a warrior and as a wise council to Nausicaa. If she's Jesus then Yupa is John the Baptist. He is also voiced by the elegant and eloquent Patrick Stewart. He also comes with 2 chocobos!

Worst Character: For Whom Asbel Tolls

This might also be the worst actor category as well. Actual Cannibal (haha meme) and actual monster (haha real life) Shia Labeouf doesn't so much act in the role as he read the lines and it was recorded. The good news it doesn't effect the film too much because Asbel is completely forgettable. He is a catalyst to some of the action, but besides that I don't really care for him.

Worst Aspect: To Be Fair ...

It would be unfair to completely ignore anything negative about Nausicaa. I have already mentioned in many places that there are some pretty corny, or pretty predictable tropes to this movie. But what I can't capture in words is exactly why it feels fresh when it's done in this movie. I suppose that's what makes it good. It's just so good that it's weak points are lifted up by it's strengths. Some people may bored of Nausicaa's unyielding goodness, or that she very rarely chooses to take action as much as she chases and pleads with her surroundings, but I mean, she does pay for that eventually. It's a fantasy story and it hits a lot of timeless themes that have been hit in stories for as long as human beings have been telling stories. Some people may feel that it doesn't do enough to stand out.

Summary

I have defined the S tier for myself as "near perfect and personal favorite" films. I like to think that Nausicaa and the Valley of the Wind is near perfect. Some may say that it looks like it might just be a personal favorite. In the case of Nausicaa, I'm having a very hard time telling the difference. I think it would be overly simple to claim that Nausicaa is just an ancient archetypal heroes journey with an 80s anime coat of paint. I think it's doing quite a few new and interesting things with that formula, those things are just playing out all around that narrative as opposed to being at it's center. For a first full length outing by the studio, you can really see Miyazaki's heart and the values he holds close to. I'll repeat myself so that we are completely clear on the matter. I think Nausicaa and the Valley of the Wind is a near perfect movie.

Overall Grade: S

[cassatine]

This rejection of imagery, symbolism, or any higher meaning that cannot be reduced to the literal, has become especially pervasive in contemporary art criticism.This is not to say that there isn’t still great art criticism; it’s just that the internet has led to a much greater volume of all criticism, and much of it is dominated by a worldview that seems to reject metaphor, symbolism, mood and tone, or at least render them secondary to “plot.” (By “plot” here I mean “the literal events that happen to the characters and no more,” ignoring the possibility that other aspects of the creation can comprise essential parts of our understanding). One of the most popular genres of movie “criticism” on the internet right now is the “ending EXPLAINED” video, where any ambiguity or multiplicity of meaning you felt at the end of the film you’ve just seen can be cleared away like spilled popcorn. How did Jack Nicholson get into that old photograph at the end of The Shining? Is Travis Bickle dead at the end of Taxi Driver? Is Deckard a replicant? Surely these are the discussions such movies are supposed to raise, and if enough nerds puzzle over screenshots for enough time, the definitive answer will be found and the movie will be solved.

[...]

To be clear, there is nothing wrong with geeking out over details, or pondering the minutiae of a fictional world. The issue is when the details are all an audience can see, at the expense of everything else that makes art meaningful. One of the most captivating art projects to come out of the past five years is a Youtube series called Petscop, which went viral in 2017 and held the attention of its fanbase until it ended in late 2019, despite frequent months-long gaps between the videos. Petscop is a creative project to which it is impossible to do justice in the written form, but I’ll try. It consists of 24 videos, each showing a clip from a fictional videogame called “Petscop,” sometimes narrated by a mysterious player named “Paul.” Petscop at first seems to be an innocent ’90s-era Playstation game about catching various creatures, but soon begins to turn strange, making enigmatic references to dark and traumatic subjects, and forcing Paul to wander the ominous landscapes of the game, puzzling out meaning from eldritch symbols, and confronting troubles that seem to relate to events in his own life, or the lives of people he knows.

If a story about an evil videogame sounds a little goofy to you, that’s unsurprising, as Petscop was clearly inspired by the oft-goofy “creepypasta” genre of internet-era horror stories, which often feature such things. However, Petscop elevates the trope of the haunted videogame into something much more complex and terrifying. Without ever having a jumpscare, it slowly builds a near-unbearable dread, not through telling you what is going to happen, but merely through tone, aesthetics, and blood-curdling implications. It also undoubtedly conveys thematic meaning, and on very difficult subjects, exploring childhood abuse, trauma, and memory through a highly complex, non-linear storyline that refuses to give any easy answers. (And how could there be any easy answers, given such a subject?) Rather than ending with a neat wrapup of the highly cryptic plot, Petscop appeared, enveloped its audience in fear and confusion, then quietly announced its conclusion, deliberately denying its viewers a simple resolution and leaving them with an unsettling experience rife with unspoken and multiplicitous meanings. I cannot describe for certain what happens in it at all, and it is one of the most phenomenal experiences I’ve had with art in some time.

As soon as the creator confirmed the series had finished, scores of fans seethed in rage and disappointment, mad that there was no “explanation” of what it all meant. They felt their time had been wasted: people had written entire documents on the windmill time-travel theory, the hypnotism theory, the rebirthing theory, whichever theory would take the enthralling, upsetting, utterly profound experience they’d had with the series and break it down into a series of coherent plot points. Many called the sudden ending a copout, declaring the creator must have just got stuck or messed up somewhere. If there were no clear answers, then as a series it was useless; if it didn’t have a sensible plot, with a character doing things and experiencing events in a literal, coherent order, it couldn’t possibly have any meaning. Many Petscop fans are young, and it is possible that this short-sightedness is just a matter of inexperience with difficult media. Nonetheless, I wish I could pin this message to their Reddit threads: the parts you can’t explain? That’s where the art is.

[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. 

[ships-n-giggles]

Paperback Prophets: Platonic Aziraphale/Reader

Summary:  Aziraphale forms a symbiotic relationship with you. Platonic Aziraphale x Reader, friendship fic. Nerds bonding over books.

Author’s Note; Thanks so much to those who liked my previous work. I like these platonic stories since I think it’s underestimated how interesting and enigmatic these characters can be when you don’t have all the facts about them. In a lot of ways, Aziraphale and Crowley are like people you can’t exactly put your finger on, but know there’s something special about them. I know a lot of reader-fiction likes the drama of the big reveal, but I think the subtlety of secrets never revealed lends its own flavor to fiction.

Just a heads up, this Reader-insert is not defined as male or female in comparison to my previous work, which was more directed towards a female character. Some of the works described do not exist, but were rather made up by me based on historical events or people whom I think would lend to the eclectic tastes of Aziraphale.

Again, if I owned Good Omens, there would be real dinosaurs and I would live in a castle by the sea. Thou shalt not sue.

____

Your family based their business on the martyrdom of your great grandfather….a victim of the Nazi Party when he refused to surrender his bookshop in Krakow, Poland. He was no stranger to the fascist movement and threw out the first attempts by the police to seize his books. He chased them out with a club, and was joined by his neighbors, and stood his ground.

There was no rude interruption in broad daylight next time. The next time, they burned him, and his books, and the entire block for his defiance.

“He was burned for protecting the language of the Jews, of Poland. Of the world.” Your grandmother told you, sitting in her lap as a small child. You knew this story by heart, but your grandparents told it so well. “His books disavowed the reign of dictators and terrorists, and they could not stand for it.”

Defiance ran in the family. And for the next three generations your family rescued more books by taking up that noblest of crimes…the theft of books.

_______

Your grandfather had founded the idea, when the ashes of his father’s shop left only a ledger of the books that were destroyed, kept in the safe along with the family tree and a Star of David that had belonged to him. The books he had kept in his shop were very old, and came from all across Europe. Some of them were even brought over from imperial Russia, before the fall of the czar. Not many copies of them were left in the world.

But your grandfather knew where the copies were.

He fled to England with his wife and opened a restoration firm to spit in the face of the war. It was only partially a cover for his real business. He did have the knowledge to restore books back to their original state, with tricks passed down from generation to generation. But with each restoration, he also meticulously copied the contents of the book, using a special trick involving wax, glue and cheesecloth to make a print of the papers and their imagery onto a fresh book. Then he would return the original book unscathed back to the owner, none the wiser. Your grandfather’s real job had been in building up the secret archives of the British National Library and making copies of the great universities works. No book was too rare or obscure for him. Even the controversial Hammer of Witches was copied, though your grandfather noted that the pictures were better than the instructions.

Your grandfather also had a long memory. When he saw a bookseller that dared have Mein Kampf, he would have to be held back by friends to avoid from brutally beating the clerk and smashing the windows of the establishment. In time, he has a son and his temper cools. He tended to conveniently not notice your father’s mischief, such as when your father writes rude words on the glass window of an offending bookshop.

He’s almost too cheeky to be real, and often was chased by your grandfather for his jokes and pranks. But it only endears him to others, making it easy to divert shipments of banned books.

A Clockwork Orange turns your grandfather’s stomach, but your father takes a shipment meant to be burned, creates a nonsense excuse of recycling the materials for book repair, and the publisher believes him right away. When your father first reads a nicked copy of Ulysses, he is so enchanted he actually dupes a government official into paying for the family to dispose of an intercepted shipment of the book. Your parent’s basement, your uncle’s basement, and your older cousin’s basement is full of copies of material banned by the government. But under the family firm is the treasure trove. The books copied from some of the rarest material on earth. Some of their original material have been destroyed since then.

But you save sacred trips to the secret basement for when life hits you hardest. It’s important those copies survive in the world to come.

_____

You receive the call on a Monday morning. You can hardly believe who it is before passing the phone to your grandfather. He is less involved with the business, but he might have been tempted into throttling you if you hadn’t let him talk to Mr. Fell.

A.Z. Fell and Co. was notorious among the antiquarian community. Not only was his collection as eclectic as they come, but it was also a gold mine of rare books, out of print bibles and religious texts, and treasures of the literary world that likely had no equal. How he stayed in business was the subject of fervent gossip, as he kept odd hours and was very passive-aggressive…and successful….in discouraging would be buyers. Your father’s joke was that he might let you read a few books if you caught him at the right time. But even those rare moments were tinged with a lot of rules.

Your grandfather enjoys the conversation immensely, and when he hangs up he calls for a family meeting over dinner.

“He asked for you. By name!” Your grandfather is just as in shock as you are. Though it is clear that he reveres Mr. Fell with the same kind of respect one would give a saint, he can’t help but sound a little jealous. “He wants to discuss the restoration of his collection this week. As soon as possible.”

You meet on a rainy Wednesday, scampering in the side door per his instructions at teatime.

The smell is just like the private archive below the firm, though lightly tinged with the scent of hot cocoa. More than just books are on the shelves. Reprints of paintings and illustrations, framed tapestries and busts sitting on the tables, even a tarnished suit of armor with chainmail, dressing up a half sculpture of a Greek youth.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

Mr. Fell looks like many other retired antiquarians, except he didn’t have the same strain of arthritis or suffer from a draft in his bookshop. He was in fact, far more rosy, lively, and brighter than most other people, even in occupations that were arguably more pleasing or easy. His coat is perfectly straight and tidy, though the velvet buttonholes in his vest have since lost their color.

The two of you shake hands, and you accept a mug of cocoa seasoned with a dollop of vanilla paste. In time he pulls out a ledger twenty pages thick, with tidy handwriting scribbled on a hand drawn spreadsheet.

“Given the state they’ve been in, I think it’s time the books got a bit of a good pick-me-up.” He giggles as if he’s told a private joke, and continues. “Most of my collection is in tip top shape, but I’ve put the ones worse for wear on the list. What do you think?”

The list of books makes your jaw drop. He has a Nostradamus original…never been copied! And a rare copy of a controversial Gnostic bible, one on the golden list of books not yet copied by the family. These were books that had been floating unknown, with a cringing fear they were decaying in an attic or hoarded in a bookshop with someone unaware of their value.

However, Mr. Fell was only too aware of their value.

“My only request is that you do your work here.” It’s a condition that leaves you a little nervous. Does he know your family’s secret business? “Not to be the suspicious type, but I have had attempts on these books, in both the legal and the far less legal.” He huffs into his drink. “I can set up a cozy little corner for you and give you as much room as you need. Fair enough?”

“I think so.” You empty your cup. “I’d have to ask Grandfather first. Our preservation techniques are also something of a trade secret.”

There’s a bit of a silent visual exchange. If Mr. Fell’s eyes said “what do you think you’re doing”, yours are replying with a certain “I don’t know, what do you think you’re doing” right back. But he did not invite you in to get a prime list of his collection, drink cocoa, and discuss business just to end rudely. The two of you shake hands and promise to get in touch later, and you urge the cabbie that picks you up to drive you as fast as physically possible back home.

You hesitate to show your grandfather the list of books to repair. You’re certain he’ll have a heart attack. Instead he only faints into his fussing wife’s arms.

“An original print of Goethe’s work!” He gasps, the rest of you scrambling to pass him an inhaler as he takes a breath and regains his composure. “The things I would do just to look!”

“I’d have to work in his shop. That’s his condition.” You remind him. “It would be easy in our workshop but under his nose-”

Your grandfather isn’t a pushover however. He knows that with great gambles often come great rewards. If you throw the dice right. All of you exchange looks of unease when he asks your grandmother to set an extra seat for dinner and goes to make a phone call. You’re hanging in anticipation when he asks you very calmly to work on the normal restorations.

Mr. Fell arrives very eagerly for dinner, like a schoolboy just released for summer break.

He is almost unusually excited. He is very complimentary to your grandmother’s special lamb stew, exchanging culinary stories from a visit to Rome. He and your grandfather get along like a house on fire, swapping admiring rhetoric on the evolution of Romantic-period literature and emptying out a bottle of wine on their own. Your grandfather gets to the point over a dessert of strawberry mess.

“Mr. Fell, I am unashamed to say it.” He leans back in his chair, and makes a boastful confession that puts you in shock. “I am, very proudly I may say, a most excellent thief.”

Even Mr. Fell is unable to recover his expression. “I beg your pardon?”

“What pardon? I am not ashamed!” He untucks his napkin, wiping his mouth. “I am an extraordinary thief in the meaning that I steal for a generation that has not yet been born. And I steal a medium that never loses its value, no matter how long the years may toll.”

“I see.” Mr. Fell is unsure of whether to be impressed or concerned, and you wonder if your grandfather has lost his mind. There is an entire collection of rare works waiting to be copied and he seems to be throwing out all pretenses of pretending not to want to take it! “Is this in regards to the private collection you mentioned?”

“Yes. Moreover, I stole all of those books without ever taking the original copy.”

“…forgive me but I don’t understand.”

Your grandfather stands up and hobbles to the workshop in the back. Awkward looks are exchanged at the table and you try to busy your face with scooping some of the strawberry mash into your mouth when your grandfather comes out with a yellowed manuscript. “Here. See for yourself.”

Mr. Fell hesitates, his fingers doing an odd wiggle as if to insure they do not smudge the paper. But as soon as he glosses over the title on the cover it’s his turn to gape with his jaw ajar. “But this is the Constitution of Freemasons! Those were stolen by the Nazis years ago!”

“Who do you think stole this copy eh?” Your grandfather boasts. “I insured a friend of mine who owned a copy kept it hidden long enough for me to copy it. When it was stolen, I already had this! And that is only one of many.” He crosses his arms. “I am trusting you with this family secret because you appreciate the kind of effort put into preserving the history of literature.”

Mr. Fell takes a moment to whip out a pair of spectacles, looking over the contents very intently. He must be convinced it is a real copy, because a few pages it he closes the manuscript, whipping his glasses back off and letting out a ‘whoosh’ of air through his teeth.

“I think I’m in the mood to negotiate.”

______

The Setup is arranged.

The number of books that needed repair were quite extensive. It would doubtless be a three year work involving many, many hours a day of repair. However you are only too happy to report to A.Z. Fell and Co from eight to three, everyday. Your workstation is a restored folding desk of fine cherry wood, with an engraving from the carpenter dating back to the 1700s. You have your case of tools, which you decide to leave there each day. No point in covering up anything to Mr. Fell anymore, now that your grandfather has whipped the curtain open on your family secret.

“Aziraphale please.” He insists. “Mr. Fell is so terribly formal.”

Your family’s fee for repairing the books is remarkably cheap, a cover of course to lure in potential owners of rare books not yet copied. But the real payment comes with the copies you make while you mend. Books to be saved for the future.

Aziraphale gets free access to your family’s private library and once he’s permitted a list of what’s actually in the vault, you have several copies brought for his enjoyment and to join the collection as manuscripts. You know it’s not the full list, according to your knowledge of the library, but Aziraphale is hiding a few of his own rarities, you’re sure.

You find that mending old books is a bit like surgery. You have to wear latex gloves (no powder), and pick away rotting fibers with a set of tweezers, painstakingly removing the dry rot and mending it with new thread and leather. The pages that are withering are given a careful coating of your family’s recipe for “magic paper maiche”, which is more of a joke than an accurate description of the goopy liquid. Patience is the key, and when some pages dry, you work on the bindings, resewing and completing the methodical process of putting books that are falling apart back together. Luckily these books were well loved and kept away from arid attics and damp cellars. Aziraphale locks them in their cabinets with care in-between visits, and though you do not see an alphabetical order that makes sense, you’re keenly aware he could pick the right book off the shelf with his eyes closed.

You’re not used to people hanging over your shoulder while you work. In fact your grandfather was tested severely when you crouched over him to learn how to do it, and his fitful temper sometimes made him very annoyed when you didn’t get it quite right. However Aziraphale has a way of making his presence very welcome. You attribute it to his boyishly eager expression, fascinated with the process. It’s quite flattering after all, to hold an audience so interested in the nitty, gritty details of book mending.

“This isn’t so bad.” You tell him over lunch. Your grandmother packed you both sandwiches, perhaps to continue earning Aziraphale’s good graces, and the cold cuts are served with chilled gazpacho while your host makes tea. “Father had a very graphic encounter with an unusual medium when he found out a book had been bound with human skin.”

Aziraphale is short of spitting into his cup at that, and you can’t help but admire his restraint. “Animals. Human skin? What on earth kind of book was that?” He is aghast, but clearly intrigued.

“A historic account describing the execution of the Yorkshire Witch, Mary Bateman. It had details of her life, trial, and the subsequent catastrophes that were left in the wake of her execution. It’s her own skin they bound the book in.” You shiver. “Father was glad to return it after copying it, but when he spritzed the leather and saw what it was made of, he jumped out of his seat and near gave up.” The book hadn’t sold at all, but had been more or less a memento from the court official who had recorded the trial.

Macabre stories aside, the bookshop was a temple to the things that mattered to you.

-----

“Your grandfather is quite the hot-blooded trickster isn’t he?” Aziraphale noted with a strange fondness. He had been invited for dinner on multiple occasions to talk the better half of the night about books, history, and debating the quality of culinary publishers based on their country. You knew exactly what he meant by having attended last night’s dinner. Your grandfather was so old, but he still went to work, banging his fist on the table when he laughed, and arguing his point to the bitter end. Only your grandmother could soothe his hot temper with a bit of dessert or by humbling him with a pinch to the ear and a playful reprimand. “He would have been an absolute hoodlum if not for books.”

“No, I think he’s a hoodlum even with the influence of books.” You joke. “He and his friends used to hold bridge parties until the chief organizer died, and those were some wild parties. Nowadays they like to visit for a drink at a bar and talk about their hobbies, but I think grandmother might have been a little more than relieved to know they got canceled.”

“Oh how bad could bridge be?”

He himself has never played it, so propping up the extra cards against a pair of busts, you teach him the ropes. You sometimes play with your family at big events, holidays, and birthdays, and with your grandfather as your teacher, you also are a rapacious cheat. You teach it fairly the first time, both you and Aziraphale sharing a pair of cards for the others, but the second time you destroy him completely.

He has a good sense of humor about it and concedes defeat, promising to get more friends over and try again.

The first book that is finished is Aziraphale’s first edition copy of a biography dictating the life of Oscar Wilde…written by a friend of the famous poet. You think you see Aziraphale’s name scribbled in the cover, but the name is faded out and could very easily spell Azekiel if you squint. The cover had been rotting (from what he claims was a freak incident with a cold cup of tea) and the pages were badly stained and threatening to crumble. It did look as though it were brought back to life by a miracle, and Aziraphale tells you so.

“Oh it’s just like when I got it!” He says with glee. Though it’s strange how he feels the need to cover for himself. “Not from the author of course! No, no, that’d be silly! From a friend. Bought it from a friend.”

It strikes you as bad manners to pry, so you don’t. Fortunately, you are the restorer in this case and follow certain etiquette. Your grandfather would have wheedled him for hours to get the full story.

___

You only miss one day of work when a family emergency happens. Something you and your family have been dreading.

It’s been over a year. Aziraphale’s books were resurrected from the brink of decay, you enjoyed the lunches and the visits for dinner, and the conversation. He had even let you (to the shock of all family) borrow his copy of Book Trails: Through the Wildwood. It is not a particularly well known or rare find, and he confesses with eagerness how it was a personal favorite found completely by accident. But you do not take advantage of his generosity. You read it in one night, and return the next day with a tin of cookies as a thank you. The saffron and orange shortbreads go over extremely well at tea time, and you promise to bring a favorite book of yours to read. In due time, you have loaned him all of your Walter Moers books to read, and he sometimes giggles in his chair at the antics of Thirteen and a Half Lives of Captain Bluebear. He probably can view himself as the intrepid hero in that case, who had an equal fondness for food.

It should not have come as a surprise. But you were hoping maybe your grandfather was too tough to actually fall sick.

He had been complaining of a wheezy cough after opening up a chest of books he’d procured from a friend, though he complained more of their condition…with pages that had to be replaced outright. He had labored hard with your father over the books, squawking about how normal people need to be educated in the care of antique belongings.

When you come home from the bookshop, he has already gone to the hospital.

You hurry over to take your grandmother with you, who has been whimpering softly into her hanky ever since your father caught him in midfall, choking on a breath. He didn’t wait for an ambulance, but bodily carried him to the car and likely broke half a dozen traffic violations hurrying him to the hospital. Soon the whole family is informed, and crowds into the hospital waiting room. Taking turns.

You miss your turn when visiting hours are over and are so tired that you send your father and grandmother home to take care of things while you made phone calls to his friends. Before you can finish however, you fall asleep in the drivers seat of your grandfather’s car, and remain there until late in the afternoon the next day. You’re awoken by a phone call from your father, but decide to wait to return later. A quick wash in the bathroom and satisfying your hunger from the vending machine, you take your turn at last.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Your grandfather grumbles. But he is not speaking in his big voice, energetic and impassioned. He sounds too soft, like a kitten and can’t even sit up straight. “Neither of us should. We should be working.”

“You worked for sixty years. More than that.” You remind him. “Life has a way of hitting the brakes on you.”

“Bah. You know what I mean. Our kind were meant to work.” He runs a hand over his face, though it is made awkward as he avoids the clip in his nose keeping him breathing. “How many hundreds of thousands of millions of books are there in the world? How many have been written and swallowed up by time?” It’s clear the hospital is getting to him very deeply. You don’t think he would be happy to die in this place, all clean, white, and too new. He wants to be with his wife, sleeping in his big old bed with the antiques on the wall, the cheap carpet he got on a bargain when he was still young, and his books. He wants to peer up from his desk at the family photos and eat what your grandmother cooks.

“You’ve got to take me home. A couple extra months in this place is no way to live.”

You’re planning his escape when Aziraphale calls, sounding worried. “You didn’t come in so I thought I’d check. Is everything alright?”

It isn’t. And you say it as it is.

Aziraphale arrives in a cab soon after, squeaking in a short visit with your grandfather alone. There is some form of healing presence you must miss, because when you dip back in, your grandfather is asleep and looking much more healthy and at ease. “You said you were planning a hospital escape?”

____

One of the rumors in the literary circle of friends your family keeps is that Aziraphale’s father was a British secret agent stealing books from the Nazis. You think this is more or less an endearment to your grandfather, but there were additional claims that he had gold hidden under his shop from recovering treasures and reclaiming wealth from the Germany treasure vaults.

You think it’s a little more than true when, miracle of miracles, the three of you are all in the car, driving home.

Aziraphale asks very little of you. Put this on, and don’t look suspicious. Please take the patient from his room to the examination area. Whoops. There’s been a mixup, he’s transferring to another hospital. Thank you, we’ll take him there right away! He shucks off a doctor’s coat and giddily climbs into the passenger seat as you all take off, your grandfather snoring in the backseat.

“Well that was very exciting. Hope you all don’t get into too much trouble.” He seems to be bouncing in his seat at the “heist” of sorts.

“Grandfather would likely curse me on his deathbed if I kept him in there.” You remark, pulling into the driveway. “Besides, the doctor can come see us, and he wants to be with his family.” There’s a lump in your throat, and you know where it’s coming from. “When…when his time comes.”

The silence that hangs is very sad, and you’re not sorry to get your grandfather into his wheelchair and take him in. Your father is a little more than shocked that you achieved, or would even do, all of this, but laughs anyway and puts his father to bed.

You drive Aziraphale home and thank him for his efforts.

“Anything for a friend.” He smiles brightly, but there’s a cloud over his face.

It is not easy waiting for a friend to die.

____

It’s clear that the clock is ticking for your grandfather. Aziraphale makes the most of his time and hosts a bridge game.

Your father passes it up to take up the bulk of restoration, catching up where the old man left off. But your grandmother does not fuss at the idea of her husband playing, with so little time left for him, and sends you with a wheelchair and a stockpot of soup, fresh bread, meringues and a couple bottles of wine.

The fourth player is a friend of Aziraphale, who looks as different from the portly, chipper bookkeeper as a house wren does from a vulture. “S’ alright. I know how to play.” Mr. Crowley promises, grinning as he opens the first bottle of wine while the table is set up. In spite of promises to your grandmother not to gamble, you don’t think the game is quite the same betting over cookies or candy like you do for family events and you bring a few wads of cash from the bank.

You knew your grandfather would cheat, but Aziraphale and Crowley are so rampant in their sleight of hand, round after round, that you’re certain all four of you have your own games you are playing. The rules of bridge aren’t just flouted, they are flipped upside down as each of you take turns calling the others out, sometimes failing. Crowley groans aloud when Aziraphale “magically” reveals a card hidden under your collar, and you snort with laughter when your grandfather states you all had seen it peeking from the cuff of his jacket for the past five minutes. The money switches hands so frequently that there is no clear winner by the time the food is eaten and the wine is drunk. Your grandfather had far more glasses than he needs, but he has regained his fire for the night and Aziraphale plays his collection of records in the background.

The Glenn Miller Orchestra is still playing in the background as everyone’s energy slows. Dirty dishes are stacked next to a set of books, and you absently hope they don’t join the list of books to restore when Aziraphale holds up his glass, with barely any wine left, tipsy and flushed with enjoyment. “Well that was a wonderful fiasco. Absolutely tickety-boo.”

“Tickety-boo?” You and your grandfather say at once. It is just so inherently British that it doesn’t occur to you that it might be a real word. Crowley rolls his eyes and finishes off the wine straight from the bottle, stumbling to stand up. “Right, that’s the end of the night for me. ‘M off.”

There is clear endearment as Aziraphale walks him to the door, and you see the drowsiness in your grandfather’s eyes as you help clean up and wheel his chair to the car. “This really was fun. Grandmother would be livid at all the cheating.” You remark, rubbing your eyes. It isn’t a long drive home, and your bed beckons. “But it isn’t really bridge without cheating.”

“No, I suppose not.” Aziraphale chuckles. “Do you…need some time off?”

You’re confused. But it’s clarified that he wants you to spend some time with the old man dozing off in the backseat.

“No.” You turn down the offer. “He’ll let me know when he needs me. But right now he needs these books to be alright.” You climb into the drivers seat, and wave goodbye as you pull from the curb.

_____

It’s all very normal until one afternoon when you get the call from home. To your surprise, he asks you to bring Aziraphale along.

“This house used to be a cooper workshop. For casks and things like that. They rented out the space to wineries to store their vintages.” Your grandfather explains as you push him along a familiar route away from the workshop to a back room saved for storage. “The levels go very deep, and on paper it’s supposed to be full of ducts for heating and conditioning and all that. Me and my friends worked years to get it sealed up and safe. Before we all had to collectively hide our books under our beds or in fake book covers.”

He fishes out a key hidden under his bed-shirt and unlocks a hidden door behind an old, old bookshelf.

The elevator is noisy, but it’s brief. When Aziraphale catches sight of the dark room, you can see him taking in what is decades of work. Everything organized and sorted, and packed in rows of shelves listed by author, print date, and title. “There must be at least half a million books in here at least. I could do that much.” Your grandfather muses. “I keep the ledgers secret to know for sure, but I’ve spent more money on this room than I have on my own wellbeing.”

There is a safe in the back he shows to Aziraphale. No one outside of the family has ever seen its contents before…not even his closest friends. It is the same one rescued from the smoldering wreckage of his father’s bookshop, still somewhat melted on one side. But the lock still works and your grandfather turns the well memorized combination and the safe clicks open.

Inside there is no rare book. Instead, it is the family tree, hand written with photographs leading up to the present. Marking the page with your birthday is the Star of David, still on its gold chain and kept safe all these years.

“No one else can have this.” Your grandfather states. “This is something that cannot be bought or sold. Our memories.” He lets out a shuddering breath. “Our legacy. Criminal as it may be, I’m not ashamed of how I lived my life.” Inside there is a picture of your great-grandfather before he died, in front of that little corner shop in Poland. A boy is sitting on the stoop by him, with a glimmer in his eye. Neither of them know their fate, and are frozen in a past vision of joy.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of.” Aziraphale says, very softly. It’s strange. He seems to recognize the figures in the photo. “Life is meant to be enjoyed.”

That is the last time your grandfather ever sets foot in the secret library. You all share books, stories, memories, times when life and limb were at risk, and books that changed you. Two nights later, your grandfather falls asleep in his chair after lunch and does not wake up.

____

The funeral is crowded. Even though most of the attendees are very old, your grandfather’s death draws a mass of friends, colleagues, and all of the family. Former officers of the British Secret Service, librarians and antiquarians, the entire staff from the Oxford Literary Club. You haven’t really started crying yet, though it seems your grandmother and father can’t stop.

Aziraphale shows up, with flowers, and catches you after the service is done, rubbing at your eyes and trying to regain your composure. As soon as he rubs your back and gives you comfort, there is an ethereal presence you can’t quite name that dries your eyes and lifts your spirits.

“I imagine my great-grandfather will have a laugh when he sees him.” You still have red-rimmed eyes and a runny nose, but your heart is on the mend. “His naughty son, stealing books for a living.”

Aziraphale is close by when the procession goes to a cemetery outside of London, and your grandfather is buried on the coast that he first stepped foot on when he escaped to England. Your grandmother may never fully mend from this, the love of her life, but you know she will remember him well.

When the rest of the guests depart with their condolences, Aziraphale waits longer until your father gives him leave to go, and even then he watches in worry on the sidewalk while waiting for his cab.

____

Life is quieter. But little changes, except now the key to the family secret hangs on your neck.

Aziraphale surprises you with another treasure, first edition of Treasure Island with fantastic illustrations. When you try to return it after reading, he shakes his head and pushes it back. It was a gift to keep. Not for the vault below the firm, but something that is well looked after on your shelf, with a scribbled note from Aziraphale inside the cover. It’s the kind of compliment that would make your grandfather blush with pride.

A story for the rebels and thieves. A.Z. Fell

In two more years the work is done. You have more copies in the vault than you started out with, and Aziraphale has more manuscripts for works he had not had before. Sometimes you break up work to play cards, with the enigmatic Crowley passing through just when Aziraphale mentions the idea of playing, and sometimes you both just sit in silence to read your new copies or something else on the shelf. You’ve tried to extend the lease of work to do, offering to put new covers on the manuscripts for Aziraphale to enjoy and to keep them alive for longer, and the two of you deeply enjoy the fine art of tartan printed covers. There are so many conversations. So many books.

But you cross the last book off your list and pack the dusty suitcase with your tools. There’s a fine ring of dust from where they have been removed, and you wait even longer to dust it off and give it a good polish.

“You don’t need an excuse to visit, I promise.” Aziraphale states. “And I expect you around for tea, as often as you can.”

“Same.” You smile brightly. You’re a little rosier now too after all. Who wouldn’t be with a place like this? “Grandmother wants you around for dinner more often. Don’t worry about calling ahead, she always makes enough.” You two are still shaking hands goodbye and do so until finally you know to break it off. He follows you outside to the side of the car before you finally ask.

“When we broke Grandfather out of the hospital-“ You finally express your curiosity. “-how did you get them to do it?”

Aziraphale wiggles his finger. “Just a miracle or two.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes.

You suppose he will always be something of a mystery.

The car starts up and you wave out the window as you drive away from Soho. Back home, where you have your family and your bed with all your books. Home where you keep your secrets close and remember them well.

And in his shop, an angel opens a chapter on a new book and begins to read.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Prince Consort

This is a Valentine’s Day present for my lovely girlfriend who is awesome and the best and I really hope you like this baby @spiky-lesbian

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3!

-------

Of course it was raining.

Alex gave Henry a smug smile as they’d sat at the loveseat helpfully provided by their hotel, right by the expansive window so they had a lovely view of the entire city, slate grey and swimming beyond a thick film of rain. One of the things they loved to argue about was whose country had the most ridiculous weather.

“Don’t,” Henry warned him, seeing the look and giving a retaliatory pinch to his already flushed cheek. Their very late breakfast had turned into something definitely other than breakfast and it had left them both dishevelled and out of breath.

“I didn’t say anything…” Alex pouted demurely, leaning up to lick a smudge of chocolate that had used to be part of a pain au chocolat from his cheek.  

“You don’t have to,” Henry went redder, pleasantly scandalised, catching his mouth and promptly wiping the smug look from his face with a deep kiss that tasted of coffee and brown sugar.

They were being excessive. They both knew it but neither could care. This visit was the first time they’d really been free of work, of law school, of responsibilities that kept them from falling into each other’s arms as often as they’d like. They felt like their younger selves again, nearly wrecking hotel rooms with the abandon of rock stars, lounging around in the afterglow with no clothes on with neray a thought of an upcoming deadline or press conference or budget report.

Except now they could kiss without fear.

“So what did you have planned for today?” Alex murmured when they eventually drew apart, only because they had to breathe and because they knew there were more kisses close in their future.

The reason they were in town was to fawn over their new niece, the week old Princess Margaret, immediately nicknamed Maggie and immediately spoiled by both her uncles. But today were the official portraits for the press and both of them were going to avoid those like the plague. Alex had been ready to construct an overflowing itinerary but Henry had told him not to make any plans. Telling a Claremont-Diaz not to make plans was like telling a shark to swim backwards but he’d somehow managed to refrain.

Having Henry sprawled on the loveseat with him wearing only a robe that was suggesting more than it was covering, that helped a lot.

His boyfriend smiled enigmatically, “I just need you dressed and ready for seven. That’s all.”

Alex frowned, studying his face eagerly for clues, “What kind of ‘dressed’? Fancy? Casual? Smart casual, the most infuriating category of clothing ever?”

Henry laughed warmly, “Whatever you feel comfortable in, dear. That’s all.”

Alex snorted and settled back against his chest, letting it drop for now. He was confident he’d wheedle the answer out of him sooner or later, there was no rush. He let his eyes close, enjoying the sounds of the city below, a city so different from the one he knew but which had become another kind of home.

Henry’s hand stayed on his back where it had settled a little while before, rubbing slow circles just below his shoulder blades. And then it began to creep lower, cupping the curve of his hip, his thumb pressing in the divot where it started to become his groin. There was something hungry in that grip.

A smile tugged at the corner of Alex’s mouth, “If we don’t need to be ready until seven, that gives us...what, four hours, right?”

“Something like that,” Henry murmured, a grin in his voice.

“What should we do with all that time then...”

Henry didn’t deign to answer, just chuckling in that unbearably sexy way of his as the hand gripped tighter, turning Alex onto his back and sinking his mouth against his love’s.

Fortunately, the rain had stopped by the time they headed down in the elevator of the impossibly expensive and indulgent hotel they’d sprung for, rather than face the awkwardness of staying in Kensington. Not that things hadn’t improved significantly since they’d come out but still, it was easier to feel like this was a romantic vacation when they chose their own bed. And when said bed wasn’t a centuries old antique.

The city was dark or, at least, as close to darkness as it ever came. The windows were still alive with light, bars and restaurants pools of it as they drove past, the streetlamps streaking it across the car’s tinted windows. Alex leaned his head against the glass, feeling Henry’s hand in his own, and smiled.

Though he was a little annoyed, down in his chest. He still hadn’t figured out Henry’s plan for their evening. He’d been watching the roads carefully, trying to map out London in his head with bars and restaurants he knew they’d been to before pinned in red. Placed they’d been to when they’d just started, places they’d had dates in since, places they’d spent one of their four anniversaries so far, though only two of them had been spent in London.

But, as he looked over at Henry’s face, illuminated by the car’s headlamps, he saw it again. The spark in his eyes, the suggestion that they weren’t here just for dinner and drinks. The look of someone who was up to something.

Alex tried to puzzle at it some more but he was quickly distracted just by looking at Henry. He always looked so content when he was driving, focused but at ease, the hand that wasn’t in Alex’s loose on the wheel. Sure their security detail flanked them from both directions in hire cars identical to their own but they were at least allowed their own privacy. It was a compromised sort of freedom, the kind they’d both grown used to. The kind that seemed to be tipping more in their favour as they grew.

“Hey,” Henry’s eyes didn’t move from the crowded London street ahead of them but his voice came soft and snagged Alex’s attention immediately, “I love you.”

Alex smiled softly, melting in the way only Henry had ever been able to get him to, “I love you too.”

Alex caught on about five seconds before they pulled up, with a sharp intake of breath and bolting upright in his seat, “The V&A!”

Henry gave him a grin, “Look at you, sounding just like a local. But yes, that’s exactly where we’re going.”

“It’ll be closed by now,” Alex was already shifting excitedly, not unlike a puppy, “Are we breaking and entering again?”

“Hardly,” Henry parked up with infuriating neatness and precision (he was easily the better driver though Alex would never admit it), “I don’t think it counts as that if someone just lets you in the back door. But yes.”

Alex bounded out, already smiling at the memories of the night he and Henry snuck out of the palace to come here, the night he’d looked at Henry and started to see a future. Even the weather was much the same, the pavements silvered by the earlier downpour, the blanket of clouds above him. He looked up at the grand, towering edifice of the museum and smiled, wishing he could go back in time and tell that confused young man that, three years from now, Henry’s hand would still be in his own and his own mind would be a place he genuinely loved to live.

He was so wrapped up in his own memories that he didn’t notice the security team pointedly staying within their cars.

Their footsteps echoed through the empty halls as they walked through the museum, dimly lit and eerie in a good kind of way. It had an excitement to it, like they were getting to see a side of it no one ever did. Like discovering a secret.

Henry was incorrigible; as soon as he came upon pieces he knew, he began to eagerly recount their stories, like an overzealous textbook given a voice box. Alex couldn’t complain, he was as much of a history nerd as the next person and he did adore seeing Henry so completely absorbed in something he genuinely loved.  He could listen to his boyfriend describe how the candlestick they were looking at was a fabulous example of the skill of medieval English goldsmiths all night.

They spiralled their way inwards, starting with the outer galleries with their Raphael cartoons and folios and moving down through costume displays and historical artefacts. Alex let Henry’s voice carry him somewhere else, to a place where everything was unique and precious and tagged with it’s own slice of history, perfectly preserved behind glass panels for anyone and everyone to come hear their story.

He was almost sad when they made their way to the main room, the last on their little journey. Though the statue in the centre was something of an old friend.

“There he is!” Alex grinned, gazing up at the twisted bodies of Giambologna’s masterpiece, looking almost haunting under the spotlights with no other light around, violence frozen into beauty, “No wonder the king passed it on to that Duke, you’d have to be gay to appreciate something this ostentatious.”

“That’s priceless artwork you’re talking about,” Henry pointed out, though he was smiling, abandoning his boyfriend’s hand completely and just sliding his arm around his shoulders.

Alex leaned closer in, enjoying the contact and the warm smell of him, “Priceless artwork with two buff dude’s asses on full display. Another point towards it’s obvious gayness.”

“You should be an art historian,” Henry snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of his head, just at the top of his jaw, “With a very specific focus.”

“Maybe I should. I could just keep going to school, doing degree after degree until I’m the most qualified person who ever lived who doesn’t actually have a job.”

Henry shook his head gently, deliberately, “No. The world needs you out there. Doing things, making things better the way you do.”

Sometimes Alex had to stop and just look at Henry, really look at him. Just so the voice that still lived somewhere inside him, the one that whispered to him and said he wasn’t good enough and he wasn’t worthy of everything he had, just so that voice could see the look of perfect sincerity on Henry’s face and know it was wrong.

“Fine. You can write the endless essays on the best asses in Renaissance art,” Alex murmured, aware that he was blushing slightly.

Henry smiled, hair looking like gold in the dimness, “Maybe...listen, I...I really, really love you. I just need you to know that.”

Alex frowned a little though his smile didn’t fade, “That’s twice now you’ve said that unprompted. What do you want?”

Henry looked a little abashed, like he really thought he’d been subtle, “Okay, fine, I do have something I want to ask you for.”

“Well spit it out,” Alex gave his usual cocky, lopsided grin, though there was now a genuine seed of worry in his chest, like something unseen was rushing at him, “You know I deal exclusively in blowjobs so we’ll see if we can come to an agreement about how many this favour of yours is worth.”

“Lord,” Henry turned his eyes upwards for a moment, looking exasperated, desperate and hopeful all at once, the expression of a man about to take a step forward into thin air, “Just…”

He pulled away suddenly and, for a moment, the seed of worry in Alex’s chest turned into a full blown panic...until Henry then sank to one knee and produced something from his pocket, something that caught what little light there was around them and glinted.

“I want you to spend the rest of your life with me,” he said, voice soft and sweet and sincere.

Alex froze in place, unable to stop his jaw dropping even though he knew he’d look ridiculous, “You...you’re proposing to me?”

Henry ran an anxious hand through his hair, sending it out of place, “Um...yes.”

“And...and the last thing I said before you did was a joke about you blowing me…” Alex said hoarsely.

Relief washed over Henry’s face and he smiled, “Rather appropriate for us, don’t you think?”

Before he could say anything more idiotic than he’d already managed, Alex threw himself down and caught that ridiculously perfect mouth in a messy kiss, one that nearly sent them both careening back onto the white tiled floor. Fortunately Henry shot one arm out behind him to catch them and managed to keep his grip on the ring.

“Is that a yes?” he murmured weakly, once their lips drew away for air.

“Yes,” Alex was crying like a baby, getting salt water on his jumper and Henry’s perfect collared shirt and he didn’t care, “It’s, like, a million yeses. I’m going to be a fucking prince!”

“Prince consort,” Henry corrected gently, laughing, his own eyes rather damp, “More importantly, my prince consort.”

“Yours,” just that simple word took Alex’s breath away and he kissed him again, unable to bear another moment without Henry’s lips on his own.

Somewhere in the middle of the crying and the kissing, the ring found its way onto Alex’s finger. Newly made and perfectly sized- just so they could have something that was theirs alone- it shone silver under the museum spotlights, as precious to Alex as any ancient statue or priceless painting.

There was so much Alex wanted to tell his younger self, standing where they knelt in a tangle, five years in the past, his heart heavy with doubts and fears and new discoveries about himself. He wanted to tell him everything would be okay. He wanted to tell him he was braver and kinder and more wonderful than he could ever know. He wanted to tell him that love was real and the future was bright.

But maybe he wouldn’t tell him that one day he’d marry a prince. Some things were better left as surprises.

[an-american-whovian]

• The Story Thus Far:

This is the one that started it all fer me! The reason I bleed all things Doctor Who -- like my anus bleeds beer shits of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

My Series 2 review of NuWho (just rolls off the tongue).

• Goodbye, My Liveeer -- Goodbye, My Friend:

In all honesty, I don't know how it happened -- one day I came across a fan made Doctor Who video to James Blunt's 'Goodbye My Lover' on YouTube. More specifically, the episodes 'Army of Ghosts'/'Doomsday'.

It had that bit in which he asks, "How long are you going to stay with me?" To which she replies, "Forever." Then to see the whole conclusion with her getting sucked into a parallel universe/the stuff on Badwolf Bay all to that terrible song.

I was sold. (Mostly 'cause I was fresh off a break up, myself.)

• But I'm Getting Ahead of Myself:

As I watched all four minutes and twenty six seconds of that corny ass shit, I recalled Classic Who and asked myself, "Wasn't Doctor Who some big nosed dude with a long scarf and really bad special effects? Who's this hot bitch -- and the blonde!?"

Well, according to the nerds at Brainstorm Comics in Wicker Park, Chicago, it was this long running sci-fi series that had finally made a comeback after a long hiatus.

Then I remembered the TV Movie on Fox. That came and went like another one of their illfated shows, 'M.A.N.T.I.S.' (NO ONE ever remembers that one.) Then I remember as kid watching a different dude play the Doctor. This guy wore beige clothing and hung out with teens.

Total pedo' vibes.

Well, luckily fer me, those nerds at Brainstorm had a rental section and I proceeded to rent series two of NuWho -- 'cause i wanted to see how we got to that conclusion. (Then I proceeded to copy it onto VHS -- as was the fashion at the time.)

It was all downhill from there.

• Controversial Statement Up Ahead:

If a US network ever had the AUDACITY to do Who -- it would pro'ly look like this series (one could kinda say the same about series five, too). Handsome lead; hot companion. Easily to digest science fiction stories and culminating in a two part epic in which the hero fights off giant metallic salt shakers with plungers as they wage war against the British equivalent to the Borg. (Yea, I know -- Cybermen came first. I said it fer comparisons sake, ya nerd.)

Also, anyone remember that episode of 'Community' in which they do an American version of 'Inspector Spacetime'? They're TOTALLY supposed to be Tennant and Piper-esque. (The show would then go ahead and predict that the first female Doctor would go onto suck -- "but not because she's a woman".)

• Onto the Good Shit:

'The Christmas Invasion' is a fun festive romp -- that has the Doctor in it fer about ten minutes. Extra points fer 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' reference. It's, also, where I learned that out there they call baby oranges "satsumas". (Y'all are funny.)

'New Earth' brings back Cassandra from the series one story 'The End of the World' -- along with that giant head with dreads that lead into testicles known as The Face of Boe (love the enigmatic shit with him). The body switching stuff is fun; but how the Doctor saves the day is just plain lame. "Lemme dump all these cures into one giant concoction and bukkake this whole hospital!" *high fives all around!*

'School Reunion' brings back Sara Jane -- and till this day I use her "Everything has its time and everything ends" speech (almost to a fault). It's got Giles from 'Buffy' in it -- so that's dope. Be that as it may, I don't like how the kid takes credit fer blowing up the school at the end. Like, dude, eveyone's gonna think yer a prepubescent psycho.

'Girl in the Fireplace', The Cybermen two parter and 'The Impossible Planet'/The Satan Pit' are all time classics in my book. (Fun Fact: TO THIS DAY I refer to my basement as "The Satan Pit".)

• Controversial Statement Part Deux:

I don't hate 'Love & Monsters'. 😳 Like, I think Elton insinuating at the end that he skull fucks a slab of cement with his girlfriend's face is pretty fucked up and the Abzobaloff looks like it was designed by a child (oh, wait, it was) -- it's still a lot of fun and a different take on a Doctor Who story. (DW is ALWAYS at its best when it takes chances!)

Like, ELO is prominently featured in the episode. How can anyone hate that!?

• All Filler and No Thriller:

'Tooth & Claw' is just too boring to even talk about. I can't even remeber a characters name or which Queen was ruling at the time.

'Fear Her' HAS TO BE one of the worst episodes -- EVER. The less said about it the better.

• Let's Cut This Short -- Like the Doctor Gets Cut Off on Rose:

Series two isn't as great as series one; but it's not too far off. Yea, jokes are gonna be dated like bad CGI werewolves. Deal with it. Have you ever seen 'Warriors of the Deep'!?

It's all worth while fer a balls to the wall finale.

"You would destroy the Cybermen with four Daleks?", asks a Cyberman.

"We would destroy the Cybermen with one Dalek! You are superior in only one respect."

"What is that?"

"YOU ARE BETTER AT DYIIIIIING.", adds the Dalek. *DROPS MIC!*

Finally, don't tell me you dont get all chocked up when Ten tells Rose, "I'm inside the TARDIS. There's one tiny little gap in the universe left, just about to close; and it takes a lot of power to send this projection. I'm in orbit around a supernova.

I'm burning up a sun just to say good bye." 😭

ALL THE STARS AND FRESHLY ROTTEN TOMATOES.

• Epilogue; i.e. Controversial Statement No. 3:

Are Timelords low key pedos!? Like, the Doctor is over 900 years old at this point and Rose is, like, 19 or 20.

Talk about a midlife crisis, bruh.

[the-golden-ghost]

Drabble ask - 83. “Heal” requested by @seagoing-nerd! 

(Placed below a cut due to length)

Nemo was right where Pierre knew he would find him - in his laboratory, paying careful attention to the holding tanks where they had gathered a small cluster of sea anemones to study their behavior and composition. 

He didn’t look up when Pierre came in, but he rarely did when he was focused on something. His scientific findings were important to him, and that included the ones that involved the life that flourished under the sea. He’d expanded the holding tanks at Pierre’s suggestion. A marine naturalist needed a good place to study, after all. But in the end, Nemo got just as much use out of them as Pierre did.

“You’re still watching them?” Pierre asked. “I prefer the ones on land - they’re more colorful, and smell nicer. Although I see why you’d like them; they have your name right in the middle of theirs.”

Nemo looked up abruptly as if he’d just noticed that he had company. “The way they move... that’s interesting. I was wondering if they attached themselves to stones the way shellfish do, or if they secrete some sort of mucus to hold fast to a rock, or if they simply stay in place by sheer force of muscle.” 

“They can walk.” Pierre pointed out.

“I know. But how do they avoid drifting with the current? They’re inert, mostly.”

“Living in places without much current, I guess. And they burrow into the sand. I don’t know that they typically make their homes on rock beds. They’re not coral.”

Nemo leaned back, staring into the holding tank for a minute more in contemplative silence. When he turned to Pierre again, his eyes were curious. “What did you come to speak to me about?”

Pierre hesitated. This next part would have to be handled delicately, he knew. “When I made the decision to return to the Nautilus, you said that I might stay for six weeks and see how I liked it. When that was up, we came to the agreement that in order to better complete my studies here, I ought to stay for a full tour - six months.”

“Yes,” Nemo said. He did not seem at all surprised that Pierre had brought this up, and when the professor searched his face and eyes for any signs of stress or resentment, he found none. 

“Well, the six months are nearly up,” Pierre went on. “Therefore, per our agreement -”

“I’ve already made plans for you to return to France, Professor,” Nemo said. His voice was casual, unbothered. “We’ll be returning to the Atlantic round the southern tip of Africa, and from there, entering European waters. There may be some delay depending on the numeracy of enemy ships, but I can have you back in Paris by the eighteenth of this month - at the outside.”

It stirred Pierre to hear Nemo speak so calmly and without having missed a detail. He knew, too, that unlike the first time Pierre had traveled with this strange crew, the Nautilus would not strike her enemies, but would evade them. He’d seen this firsthand during his second tour. It felt good to be able to explore the ocean again, this time as a free man. Getting to know the crew, continuing his life’s work, settling into the familiar rhythm of daily life aboard... to Pierre, it had begun to feel serene and peaceful, almost a second home.

In fact, it felt so much like a second home that the thought of leaving made him rather sad. But Nemo had been clear on his terms when he allowed Pierre his extended second journey; the Nautilus was not a pleasure boat, and could not simply come when asked. If Pierre wished to stay in Paris, he would not be able to return after this venture. 

But, Pierre knew, his other choice would be to leave Paris - and the rest of the world - for good, except for visits. To become a simple tourist in every known land! The thought was startling. But then... to be a citizen not of the earth, but of the sea...? That, admittedly, kept him awake sometimes. A part of him wanted that. 

“Thank you, Captain,” Pierre said quietly. He wished Nemo would give him something; some sign or gesture that would help him make his decision, but Nemo remained quite enigmatic on the subject.

Still. He’d returned to being the proud and venerable captain that Pierre had known at the best of times during his first journey; noble, brilliant, generous by nature, protective at heart. Never once during these six months had Nemo tried to resume their old accord, and never once had Pierre initiated it. But in spite of this, Nemo was no longer closed off to Pierre. He’d opened up about his past, his motives, and though he had not gone into detail, many things had become clear to Pierre when he’d done this. 

True, Nemo had not set aside his anger completely, and likely never would, but he no longer acted on it in fear and violence. If nothing else, it spurred him with a greater passion to aid those who were hurting, and to protect those he called his companions. In short, he was healing, and Pierre could not have been prouder of him.

“Captain,” Pierre said. He wished his voice seemed less hesitant, but that was the way it was. “May I ask... do you want me to leave?”

Nemo blinked. “Want you to? Well, no. You’ve been a worthy traveling companion.” 

“Then,” Pierre continued. “Do you want me to stay?”

Nemo looked into the anemone tank. “That is not up to me, sir. We had our agreement, and I have honored it. I won’t influence your decision,” he swallowed, seeming to grow slightly less at ease. “Not this time.”

“I appreciate that you’re unwilling to force me in this matter; except for one thing. I asked you,” Pierre said. “And you promised me honesty when I returned aboard. That was part of our agreement, do you remember?” 

The Captain turned to stare at him for a long moment, and Pierre’s heart squeezed tight. But at last, Nemo spoke again. “...Yes. Yes, Professor, I want you to stay.”

“Sir.”

“This in no way obligates you to do so. But remember - you asked.” 

“Yes, sir. Thank you, Captain,” Pierre said. “I was not looking for an order, or even a suggestion. I only wanted to hear you say it.” 

Nemo inclined his head slightly, his eyes softening a fraction. “In that case, you have some time to decide what you’ll do. If your decision is to leave, I won’t hinder you at all, you understand. But if you would like to stay, you’ll be accommodated for, and we can reestablish the terms of your living here as a - more permanent member of our crew.” 

Pierre smiled and bowed to him. “Thank you, sir. And thank you for answering my question. I could not have decided without knowing every variable at hand.” And this was true. Pierre still was not certain where his ultimate destiny lay, but the choice was his, and he knew where his heart was leading him.

[gxdsetmxnsters]

Back in the mood to continue on with the Batman Rogues Homestuck Classpect assignments. Going to be adjusting some of the characters Classpects, primarily Oswald and Edward’s, and listing the Inverts/Compshifts for everyone else included!

Everything that we’ve done so far is under the “enigmatic fear just nerd things” tag which I’ll also tag in this post.

Requests for this are also welcome, and not limited to just the rogues (if you want Batfam then just name it 😁)

I’d thought we’d done a master list of everything we’ve done so far with this series but I guess I either missed it or we actually didn’t, but once we’re done with the Inverts/Compshifts we’ll be making a new one anyway.

[summysparklesprocket]

Interview with Summy

(Tagged by a few people, updating cause I realized there was some things missing)

► Name ➔    “Summy Sparklesprocket.” The gnome answers rather cheerfully. ► Are you single ➔ “I’m dating someone at the moment, but it’s an open relationship. Her name is Pin Peppercog.” ► Are you happy ➔   “More than I have been. Still have a bit more work, but I’m as content as I can be with this dumb war.” ► Are you angry? ➔   “Slightly, not at you or this interview. I’m more angry at this war happening. It was entirely unnecessary at first. It’s unavoidable now because of events, but oh well.”

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “Gnomeregan.” ► Hair Color ➔ She flips her long pony tail over her face, which covers her face and goes down to her chin. “Light blue. It’s usually in a pony tail like this.” ► Eye Color ➔ She flips her pony tail back into position and looks back at the interviewer. “Also light blue. Same shade I think too.” ► Birthday ➔ “I was born upon the first day of what you know as April.” ► Mood ➔ "Uh...” She thinks on this for a moment. “Content I guess.” ► Gender ➔  "Female.” She says blankly. ► Summer or winter ➔ “I prefer winter honestly. I like the cold more, which is because of where I grew up honestly.” ► Morning or afternoon ➔ She thinks on this for a moment, before shrugging. “Afternoon I guess. Half the time for mornings in the past I was still awake. Grew to like the afternoon more. Got more done.” ► Are your parents still married ➔   Summy squints at the interviewer. “Probably. Next question.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love? ➔ “Yup.” ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ The gnome immediately shakes her head. “Nope. Love at first sight is someone lusting after someone. It’s not love. It can become love eventually, but love at first sight does not exist.” ► Who ended your last relationship? ➔ "Distance. Nothing more to really say honestly.” And with a shrug of her shoulders, she says nothing more. ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart? ➔  "Definitely have at some point in the past. I'm not going to give more information than that, but I’ll say yes.” ► Are you afraid of commitments? ➔ "I don’t think so. I dislike being tied down to someone specifically at the moment, but it’s not out of fear.” ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “Yes.” ► Have you ever had a secret admirer? ➔ "At the risk of sounding narcisstic. I think so. Always hard to tell though unless you’ve received letters.” ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ The question makes Summy tilt her head in confusion. “Uh... I don’t think so. I have the person I was in the past, but I don’t think that counts as breaking my own heart.”

SEVEN TRAITS

disorganized / organized / in between.

patient / impatient /in between.

outspoken / reserved / in between.

empathetic / unemphatic / in between.

optimistic / pessimistic / in between.

hard-working / lazy / in between.

loyal / disloyal / unknown / in between.

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “Love. Lust is more fun, but love does more.” ► Cats or Dogs ➔ With a blink of surprise, “Oh... uh... cats I guess. They’ve tried to eat me less.” ► Lemonade or iced tea? “Iced Tea.” ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “A few best friends. Although I have a lot of regular friends too. Mostly because I talk to everyone and can make friends easily. However, I prefer keeping to a few close friends if I had to choose. I can do both however.” ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ "Wild night out. However, a romantic night in is also amazing.” ► Day or night ➔ “Night. Not sleeping have gotten me to enjoy night a good bit.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ?➔ This question causes the gnome to take a deep breath as she thinks back again. ”Yes. Next question.” ► Fallen down/up the stairs? ➔ “Oh I totally have done both. I’m usually thinking about new spells, or new inventions and am not paying attention.” ► Stolen something?  “Yes.” She simply stares at the interviewer, not offering anything more. ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “Pretty sure everyone has at some point.” ► Wanted to disappear ➔ "Yup.”

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes? ➔  "Eyes actually. Smiles are great too, but I love the people who have those eyes who can stare into your soul.” She thinks for a moment. “Pin occasionally gets that look. It’s not too common, but sometimes she just gets that look where she’s staring right through you and my body tingles.” ► Shorter or Taller? ➔ "If I liked shorter people then I would have a hard time finding someone attractive. Tall one hundred percent. ► Intelligence or Attraction? ➔  “Intelligence. If you can keep up with me then you’ll have an advantage, but I’m totally okay with just being attracted to someone.” ► Hook-up or Relationship? ➔ “Hook up. I fucking hook up with people all the time. Pin is always okay with it, and if she told me she wasn’t, and wouldn’t be a hypocrite, then I’d stop. I value a long-term relationship more, but I enjoy hooking up with people.”

THREE ABOUT FRIENDS

► Do you consider all of your friends good friends? “Nope. Only a few honestly.” ► Who is your best friend?  “Theodore Bennas. I’ve known him longer and know him the most out of all my close friends.” ► Have you ever lost a good friend? "I’m in the military. Comes with the territory. People die.” She manages to keep a straight face and just stares at the interviewer, offering a slight shrug.

TWO FOR FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along? ➔ “My brother and I did. If I ever see my parents again. I will fucking murder them. I do not care about the consequences.” ► Do you see your family often?  “No. And it’ll be too soon if I ever do.”

ONE WHO KNOWS ALL ► Who knows everything about you?  “The two who would be closest are Theodore Bennas and Malien Moonray. One who does at this point, but it’s kinda cheating since she’s been working with me on therapy, is a friend named Fyarii. Easily the most patient person I know.”

ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD

► Would you say you have a messed up life? “Yes I would.” That would be the only explanation she would give, as she didn’t say anything more until the interviewer confirmed the interview was over.

Tagged by: @risrielthron

Tagging: @malien-moonray (I GOT YOU AGAIN!) @darbiebot (for pin) @theodorebennas @murkeyglglgl @news-nerd (whoever you wish) @enigmatic-elegance (whoever you wish)

Mentions: @theodorebennas @malien-moonray @darbiebot @kelzthalassunwhisper

[knives-and-lint]

27

“I'm telling you,” Margo insists, hands on her hips, and staring up at the TADA sign on the opposite wall. “There's something there.”

Julia sits on the floor in front of the couch, combing through a book on pyromancy, smirking that the subject coincides with her ears suddenly burning. Instinct telling that though she has not been mentioned by name, the subject of Margo's statement is obviously her. Though only separated by a shelf lined with cocktail glasses, neither one of them seem to notice she's there.

“Something where,” comes Eliot's noncommittal reply, bottles clinking in hand, as he experiments with new concoctions for the upcoming party this weekend.

“Quentin,” she pushes. “Julia. You know, whatever thing they have going on.”

Eliot takes a loud sip of whatever he's made, swishing it out around like mouthwash, before a disgusted groan escapes his throat.

“No, no, no,” he dismisses, shifting more bottles around. “That won't do.”

Margo huffs audibly.

“Are you even listening to me?”

More booze gets poured into the mixer, as Elliot lifts to shake not stir.

“Of course, Bambi,” he placates. “They're best friends. Like us.”

The drink is poured into another glass, which must be offered up to Margo, because she mumbles 'uh uh' just loud enough for Julia to hear.

“No El,” she assures. “It's deeper than that.”

Eliot scoffs with dramatic shock.

“Deeper than our connection? You dare?”

Julia turns the page she's been holding between her fingers for nearly a minute, having not bothered to read it, and most likely won't read the next one as well. Eliot smacks his tongue with the latest mix, exuding a tone of delight.

“Yes, this one. Mark it down.”

“Mark what down?”

“You haven't been taking notes?”

“Does it look like I've been taking notes?”

“Fine,” he sighs. “I'll just have to remember. Moving on.”

Julia doesn't dare to turn her head, having not been noticed still, wondering if the subject will be dropped after the conversation derailed. It's not, when Margo continues on.

“I'm telling you, they're inseparable.”

“That's not true,” Eliot counters. “They're currently separated as we speak.”

“You know what I mean.”

More bottles clinking. More liquid poured.

“I assure you, I don't. Besides, shouldn't you be more focused on your own love life?” he questions. “A certain bespectacled magician you would love to have loosen up both metaphoric and literal?”

Margo clucks her tongue.

“Look, all I'm saying is that if someone's panties are in such a twist, it's gotta be worth it when you get into them. And stop changing the subject.”

“Heaven forbid,” he teases, swiftly stirring his latest mix.

The door opens then, and Julia doesn't even have to look, knowing it's Quentin. Confirmed when he's greeted enthusiastically by the pair, shouting his name, and practically forcing a drink into his hand.

“Strong,” is the only comment he gives, voice sounding strained.

He must spot her through the wall, because footsteps make way toward her, and she looks up to welcome him with a smile.

“Oh shit,” curses Margo from behind. Realizing in that moment that Julia was present for her entire thought process into she and Quentin's relationship.

“Hey,” he greets, after shooting Margo a furrowed look.

“Hey,” she echoes.

Pulling the messenger bag from his shoulder, he drops it on the couch, and moves to sit next to Julia on the floor. It feels impulsive, however premeditated her action, leaning over to give him a big comical smooch. He's puzzled but amused, when she leans back, reaching up to tuck some hair behind his ear.

“I fucking knew it!” Margo exclaims.

/\

Julia slips through the door as quietly as she can, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and gets exactly two steps into the hall before running into someone despite the late hour. Jumping back, her eyes strain against the dark, but has a good feeling who it is.

“Penny?” she asks.

He lets the silence linger a beat or two longer than necessary.

“So it's not just him,” he replies enigmatically.

“I'm sorry?”

“Your boy,” he goes on, thumb jerking toward the door. “Is like a goddamn radio transmitter most of the day, and your name comes up about as often as those stupid books he likes. But I thought he was just another loser stuck in the friend zone.”

His eyes dart down to her bare legs, and Julia remembers then that the only thing she's wearing is one of Q's shirts, slipped on because it's the first item of clothing she found when rising from the bed. He's quiet again, but Julia isn't sure of her part in keeping the conversation going.

“Well he's not,” she gives.

Even though her eyes have adjusted, she can't seem to get a grasp on the look he gives her.

“What?”

“Don't you know you can do better?” he asks. “I mean, a lot better?”

Julia crosses her arms and frowns.

“Wow,” she deadpans. “We've known each other for barely over a month, and you already feel comfortable judging my love life?”

“I didn't mean-”

“Yes, you did. And fine, whatever, another man's opinion I never asked for. But I have to wonder, what makes you a winner?”

“Huh?”

“You called him a loser,” she reminds him. “Not for the first time, by the way. But what exactly are you winning, that he's losing?”

Penny looks at the door to Quentin's room a moment.

“I don't know,” he admits. “Life? Some guys are just-”

“Life,” she repeats, cutting him off. “Last I checked, he goes to the same school you do. Lives in the same house you do. Has a girl sleeping in his bed almost every night like you do.”

Penny's head tilts at her.

“Yeah, I know about Kady. Everyone knows about Kady.”

“It's not a secret. Unlike-”

“Unlike what?”

“You and some nerd obsessed with kids books,” he shoots back. “Sneaking around the house, like no one is supposed to know.”

Julia groans in frustration.

“The fact the you, and anyone else in this house, couldn't see it because the possibility never entered your minds? Sounds more like your problem than ours. And those kids books you're always making fun of? How do you think he got obsessed with them in the first place?”

Penny's lip curls into a slight smile.

“Look, I get it. You got that whole bad ass loner thing going on. Which is fine. You do you. But one day you just might care about someone enough to let them see you. The real you. Day in and out, without fear of judgment, or punishment for mistakes. To see them at their worst, and love them anyway because you'll know without a doubt in your mind, they feel the same for you.”  

Silent again, but she knows this time, it's because he just doesn't know how to respond to that.

“Okay, good talk.” Julia says, moving to pass him. “Now excuse me, it's the middle of the night, and I really have to pee.”

/\

“You know,” Julia begins, setting the book in hand atop the table, then pushing it away. “My brain might actually be full.”

Alice looks up from her own book, brow arched at the statement.

“I'm kidding,” Julia assures.

“No,” Alice replies with a shake of her head. “I know. You just... I don't think I've seen you put a book down before going through it three times.”

Julia smiles.

“Feeling strangely confident,” she states. “Like I got this. For the first time in my life, I feel I'm exactly where I should be.”

The look on Alice's face is telling in that she can't relate. Julia wonders what it would have been like, growing up her whole life with magic, knowing it was real and the possibilities endless. Though, if her childhood was anything like Alice's, the wonder of it all would have faded quickly. Watching your parents use it for a life of leisure and decadence. Losing your brother to it's power.

“I've never felt like that,” Alice offers quietly.

Julia purses her lips.

“Not even here?”

Alice shakes her head.

“There's... Expectation here. Like everyone looks at me and assumes I'll just be great. That it all comes naturally because my parents were these grand magicians, even though that's the furthest fucking thing from the truth. My brother taught me more than they ever did. When he died, I had to figure the rest out for myself.”

Julia smiles at her.

“That's why I like you.”

Alice smiles shyly in return, and they hold steady for a beat.

“So,” Julia begins wishing to lighten the mood. “Is Margo still sweating you?”

Alice flushes quickly and stares into her lap.

“Sweating me?” she questions.

“Something Q says,” Julia informs. “I mean, with all the flirting she does-”

“She's very forward,” Alice interrupts.

Julia laughs.

“She is definitely that.”

Alice sighs.

“I don't know,” she begins. “I'm not good with, I mean I've never-”

“With a girl?”

Alice sighs once more.

“That part doesn't matter,” she states. “But someone being interested in me? That's not.” She clears her throat. “I know I'm guarded most of the time, and that usually keeps people away, but...”

“But not Margo.”

Alice shakes her head again.  

“You and Quentin,” she starts. “When did you... You were friends first, weren't you?”

“Best friends,” Julia confirms.

“And one day, you just what? Crossed the line into something else?”

“Kind of,” Julia gives. “I mean, it was a little more complicated than that, but if I think about it. Yeah, there was definitely a day it changed.”

Alice leans slightly forward, very interested to know.

“When?”

Julia hesitates in telling a moment, and Alice back peddles not wanting to overstep.

“You don't have to tell-”

“The day he came back from the hospital,” Julia answers. “He was in a bad place. Really bad. And they said it was for observation, but then... Then they kept him for six months.” She takes a breath, blinking quickly, and trying to push the emotions of the memory down.  “The day he got out, I was there, and I promised I always would be.”

Alice looks on curiously.

“That's when you knew?”

Julia shrugs.

“I've always known he was like me,” she explains. “But I never thought to question why. Until we came to Brakebills. Turns out it was magic that drew us together. Real life magic. How could you not love someone for that?”

[alexanicholsauthor]

Going to a dark place…

I never intended to write about this, but… a blog is all about expelling emotion and processing as you write/type, right? So I’m going to. This will be a bit of a deep post, so if you’re expecting this to be one of my usual goofy entries, you’re going to be sorely disappointed. Mostly.

So.

Sometimes it’s easy to go to a dark place for me. Too easy. And sometimes, it seems like Life is hellbent determined to bring me there kicking and screaming, no matter how much I fight against it. This past week is a perfect example of that, as I was yanked from my happy place and slung into a deep state of depression, barely socializing online or in real life, struggling to keep myself productive even though all I wanted to do was stay in bed and waste away as I stared at the ceiling.

The reason? My mortality. I don’t know why, but out of nowhere, I became keenly aware of it, so much so that the thought of it gradually turned into an intense fear. I’m not one of those fake-ass people that say I don’t fear anything – I fear plenty – but the only thing that truly grabs me and clenches my heart is Death. I’ve lost so many loved ones, as I’m sure you all have, and the feeling of emptiness and longing for them still resides to this day. Time does lessen the pain, but the void never truly closes. And I’m not sure I want them to.

Anyway, there I was, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, and bam – I became crippled by my fear. It was something I hadn’t ever experienced before, like Death itself was hovering right over me, preparing to reap my soul or something. I definitely couldn’t sleep, so I got up, walked around, snuck into my big brother’s room, and climbed into bed with him like I used to do when I was little. He never woke up. Even as I clung to him, he absent-mindedly slung his arm over me and held me… and gradually, my feelings calmed, and I eventually fell asleep.

When I woke, the feeling clung to me, as it continued to throughout the week. At times, it was intense, and I fought to work past it to Adult, but it was hard. I felt like I was one step away from spelunking into a dark part of my mind that I probably wouldn’t be able to escape, like a sort of poisonous mental quicksand, one that I had to keep wading through I get pulled under. So I moved as best as possible, trying to reach out and be social but falling flat every time. The only real socializing I did was on my Patreon and Subscribestar.adult, and of course with my baby squirrel, but even they were mostly in the dark about why I was being so reclusive. It wasn’t that I was trying to be enigmatic – I’d much rather discuss, evaluate, and repair – but I didn’t understand why I was feeling the way I was. It led to a deep disconnect with the world, one that was alien to me and difficult to navigate.

Life Burnout? I don’t know. Whatever it was, it was a bonafide motherfucker.

And then my baby squirrel came along and casually asked if I remembered the California Raisins.

I told her of course I did. Nerd.

She then went on and mused what would happen if they were still actively promoted – would they be something edgier, like RWA (Raisin’s With Attitude), or maybe drop a diss track on the sun or something? I laughed so hard I nearly died. I don’t know how she does it, but she always knows just the right thing to say to yank me out of my shell, and for some reason (even after knowing this wench for almost 20 years!) I never see it coming. Nonsensical goofiness. I love it.

Writing-wise, I was bopping back and forth between Little Dead Girls and Erotic Urban Legends (Sisters), but I’ve discovered that I can’t focus on writing two stories at once. I begin mixing things up and focus on the wrong one while I write. So I decided to stick to finishing Sisters first since it’s a short story and Little Dead Girls is a novel. Even though Little Dead Girls was intended to be a short story originally… I’m verbose; what can I say?

That and I have an inordinate amount of fun writing.

Anyway, sorry this entry was all over the place, but it’s an accurate representation of my headspace at the moment, you know? Regardless, thanks for reading. It means a lot. 🥰

[renegaderoots]

BASIC INFORMATION

☠┋FULL NAME: Avery J. Williams ☠┋PRONUNCIATION: A-vree ☠┋NICKNAME(S): Avy, Av, AJ ☠┋TITLE: The Sleepwalker ☠┋OCCUPATION: Drug dealer ( see also: fortune teller, singer, waiter) ☠┋~AGE: 18-28. Plot dependent. ☠┋DATE OF BIRTH: 23rd October ☠┋GENDER: Cisgender ☠┋PRONOUNS: He/Him/His ☠┋ORIENTATION: Homoromantic Homosexual ☠┋NATIONALITY: English ☠┋RELIGION: Christian ☠┋SPECIES: Human ☠┋THREAT LEVEL: Moderate (not malicious, sometimes violent, defensive and aggressive)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

☠┋FACE CLAIM: Andy Biersack / Ash Stymest ☠┋EYE COLOUR: Light-blue ☠┋HAIR COLOUR: Naturally ginger but dyes it black ☠┋DOMINANT HAND: Right ☠┋HEIGHT: 5’4 or 162 centimeters ☠┋WEIGHT: 48 kg.   ☠┋TATTOOS:  He is literally a tattoo landscape, so describing his ink collection would take an entire century, but the roses on his hands are most notable along with a quote from Hermann Hesse’s Steppenwolf circling around his collarbone. ☠┋SCARS:  The most notable ones along with a constellation of burns are on his upper back, though there are other scarred areas as well. Most were souvenirs from an accident whereas others were self-inflicted. ☠┋PIERCINGS: one lip piercing, one nose ring ( usually wears studs), several ear piercings (Industrial, conch, auricle, upper lobe, helix, tragus, graduate lobe, smiley – honestly just ask me what part of his body isn’t pierced and we can all go home sooner) ☠┋GLASSES: Avery doesn’t need glasses.

PSYCHOLOGY INFORMATION

☠┋JUNG TYPE: INFJ ☠┋SUBTYPE: Intuitive Subtype ☠┋ENNEATYPE: 6w5 SX/SP ☠┋MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral   ☠┋TEMPERAMENT: Melancholic/Choleric ☠┋SCHEMA: (NP) Negativity/Pessimism, (MA) Mistrust/Abuse, (EP) Emotional Deprivation (form C)

☠ ┋INTELLIGENCE TYPE: Visual/Spatial Intelligence

☠┋~IQ: 110 ☠┋NEUROTYPE: Definitely not neurotypical. ☠┋AT RISK? Possibly, although I can’t say for sure at this conjuncture. Likely depression, insomnia and Biploar Disorder II, as there’s a genetic predisposition on the maternal side of his family (his great-grandma had it, along with his mother.)

BACKGROUND INFORMATION

☠┋HOMETOWN: Dartford, England, though he was born in Boston. ☠┋CURRENT:  Visual-Spatial Intelligence, Intrapersonal Intelligence, Bodily-Kinesthetic Intelligence ☠┋LANGUAGE(S): English ( native language), German ☠┋SOCIAL CLASS: working class ☠┋EDUCATIONAL LEVEL: GCSE ☠┋PARENT #1: John Williams ☠┋PARENT #2: Allison  (Alisa) Williams neé Little (Klein) ☠┋SIBLING(S): Samantha Williams, 24, alive, estranged

☠┋MAIN SHIP: I ship Avery with stability and getting his shit together. ☠┋RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single ☠┋CHILDREN: None

☠┋PET(S): Pet rats called Muffin, Sugar and Berry. ☠┋ADOPTED? No. ☠┋RAP SHEET? Surprisingly not, no. ☠┋PRISON TIME? No.

VICES / HABITS

☠┋SMOKES? Yes. He’s a chain smoker, in fact.   ☠┋DRINKS? Yes, excessively. Might’ve developed an addiction, though it’s unsure to know for certain as this conjuncture.   ☠┋DOES DRUGS? Only soft drugs.   ☠┋IS VIOLENT? Yes, he is. Avery’s type of violence is most often just on one level, namely the physical one. Unafraid to mess up somebody’s face twice his size, he’ll do so if and when he feels threatened – or, alternatively, when he really doesn’t like you. It’s not necessarily that he’s pone to violence, nor is he quick to hit and punch without first weighing the consequences, but it does happen. Only on rare occasions such as intimate settings is he emotionally violent if fearing abandonment.

☠┋HAS AN ADDICTION? Possibly. Alcoholism.   ☠┋IS SELF-DESTRUCTIVE? Yes. Self-harm (among which multiple suicide attempts number. Most frequently, these patterns are implemented through cutting, burning or scratching), habitual lying and high-risk reckless behavior along with excessive  promiscuity. ☠┋HABITS: swearing, smoking, cracking knuckles, a sweet tooth that’ll probably rot his teeth down to nothing one day, picking at nail polish, habitual lying, procrastination to the highest level imaginable, forgetting names of people (mostly because he doesn’t bother to remember them in the first place), purposefully argumentative, double-checks everything more often than Nolan (which is an accomplishment in and of itself bordering on obsessive), bites fingernails, snarls for no, grunts for yes and shrugs his shoulders for maybe (not the most communicative sort, obviously), drinks energy drinks and sugary stuff like water to stay away because he’s close to mortified by sleeping or the process of falling asleep (three to four hours of light sleep tops), leave him alone for a while and chances are he’ll have been playing with whatever object is in front of him for many minutes already, will use movie references to retro movies nobody knows (except maybe movie nerds themselves) when around somebody he can tolerate

☠┋HOBBIES: customizing his own clothing, drawing, sleeping in late, organizing everything to a T, cleaning, woodwork, collecting used up pencil stumps, skateboarding, street painting, collecting bibles without any attention to read through them, reading psychology books ☠┋TICS: none

☠┋OBSESSION(S): Avery is downright obsessed with establishing a thoroughly organized system and often can’t resist eliminating any and all ounce of disorder either in his flat or at the shop. He also has a great aversion towards unclean people and therefore spends a lot of time in the bathroom washing his hands. ☠┋COMPULSION(S): hoarding

MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION

☠┋HOUSE: Slytherin ☠┋VICE: Wrath ☠┋VIRTUE: Kindness ☠┋ELEMENT: Air

☠┋ANGEL: Gabriel

☠┋MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Sirens

☠┋ANIMAL: Scorpion

☠┋MUTATION: Invisibility, Air manipulation ☠┋WOULD SURVIVE POST-APOC? Yes.

STATUS INFORMATION

☠┋DEVELOPMENT: Developed ☠┋SHIPPING: Multiship ☠┋VERSE: Multiverse ☠┋VERSE TYPE: realism, magical realism, crime

☠┋CANON: His tattoo shop verse. ☠┋PLOTTING: Open ☠┋CREATION DATE: May 2014

 CHARACTER SUMMARY

 If you think you’ll encounter an angel because you’ve judged him by his looks alone, you will be deeply disappointed. In lieu of sweet tunes, you’ll get an earful of pirate-like swearing, profanity, and absolutely no filters. For better or worse, Avery is honest - sometimes brutally so - and doesn’t know the first thing about propriety. His morals are his pillars despite the dysfunctional mess that is his past; however, his own integrity is merciless and predominantly black or white. Regardless, you shouldn’t mistake him for level-headed or even cerebral; Avery is a complicated, contradictory clusterfuck of a person --- all white-knuckled protests aside, he is a very emotional lad, prone to anger issues, and an even poorer developed impulse control.

As somebody who became homeless when still a minor, Avery is no stranger to the ends to which some had to go in order to survive. He might not be gallant, buoyant or even very talkative, but he is humble, charitable and noticeably protective over those who have no means of defense. Nowadays, Avery stays afloat working odd jobs, the most notably one being his position as a drug dealer for the Morrison family. Beyond that, his ability to ascertain how full of shit people are has proved rather lucrative, too. In the end, he has been through too much, has seen too much and heard too much to be fazed by humanity’s depravity anymore, and thereby doesn’t dare reach for the stars. He still lives in an abusive home mentally sitting at disconcertingly silent dinner tables, and making tired excuses for angry welts under layers for him to have any motivation other than to simply sleepwalk through life.

 APPEARANCE DESCRIPTION

Swinging calloused fists, throwing uncouth threats left and right…at the imposing height of 5’4. Although Avery will still feed you your teeth if you reckon it’s cute to call him pipsqueak or any other derogatory remark as to his height, he has come to think of his lanky, tiny, and largely androgynous appearance as an advantage. Looks can deceive, his in particular, because if there’s anything he’s not, it’s helpless. Be that as it may, there are self-image issues along with a deeply-seated insecurity at play regarding his physique, and overall gentle aura, which he contrasts with a collection of tattoos. For attentive listeners, you will hear a mostly Bostoner accent mixed with a faint German undertone while his voice is deep, masculine, and has a raspy current to it. It is not a shock, though, that Avery’s demeanour doesn’t exactly inspire pedestrians to chat him up at a park. As for clothes: just be on the lookout for a scowling, tiny lad in black from head to toe.  

PERSONALITY DESCRIPTION

Contrary to his cantankerous tunes, Avery knows when words of thanks are in order, and he is not at all too prideful to express his gratitude. Anything you give him freely, whether time, trust, or tears is valuable to him. Generally speaking, however, he is best described as being of a melancholic-choleric temperament, a man of few words but decidedly strong convictions who won’t hesitate to play devil’s advocate in order to call you out on your own hypocrisy. What he isn’t, though is deceiving because honesty is an integral part of his belief system; the engine without which the machine would come to a complete standstill. What’s most important to note about his general disposition, additionally, is how much of a duality Avery can be. Endearing at times, and then downright base. This boils down to his anxiety frequently expressed through rage, and insecurity. Ambivalent doesn’t even begin to cover how his personality oscillates between aggressive and dependent absolutes. As enigmatic as he is towards others and himself, though, there’s nothing uncertain about the fact that he is secretly an idealist in a misanthropic realist’s clothing. He wants to believe only the best in people, but also knows when there’s nothing to be done other than to turn some away. In the same vein, Avery struggles with emotional expression – full stop. Due to trauma, genetic factors, and environmental influences, trust is nearly an impossible feat for him; that goes both ways: towards others and himself, thus, while fiercely instinctive, it requires a game guide to unlock personal dialogue, resulting in suspicion and rebellious behaviour to cover up the fear of abandonment.

SKILLS / COMPETENCES

By general standards, Avery’s academic gap in his CV doesn’t speak well for his skills or competences, as one would be quick to presume he’s got none at all, which isn’t true. Regardless of having only done the utmost necessary before dropping out of school, he’s not a monolingual. Since his mother has German roots, their household was bilingual, with English being the primary language in their earlier developmental stages, and German introduced at around six to eight years old respectively. His level of proficiency is high in both languages, making him bilingual despite no linguistic talent or inclination to broaden his horizon. There’s also something to note about his dexterity, for his hands aren’t only his most important tools in his career. Indeed, most of his hobbies revolve around crafting or creating something – woodwork being one example.  He is also, perforce, an amazing cook and is known to hand out free food to friends who are, unfortunately, still homeless. What’s more, he has been blessed with an impeccable singing voice --- hard, soft, raspy currents like ripples in a river. Up until middle school, too, Avery used to participate in competitive running marathons, along with a penchant for precarious hobbies like skateboarding and parkour, the latter of which he gave up after too many unsuccessful attempts and stays in the hospital. Lastly, and this is vital, he has a natural gift for reading others; he is not easily deceived.

INTERPERSONAL MANNER

How Avery approaches you or comes across is entirely dependent on you – because when he smells bullshit or feels in any way lied to, threatened or manipulated, you’ll encounter his belligerent, patronizing and stubbornly righteous side. If you’re straightforward with your intentions, Avery is more likely to warm and loosen up around you. All in all, he is easy to like, but hardly few really know him. Since his family is a subject best not breached and linked to survivor’s guilt, Avery, for now, is on his own, excluding Lin, Trish, and Síle. Sometimes, even, the lad refers to his own room as a coffin. Unsurprisingly, his sexual relations are strictly physical, and any romantic interest is generally suppressed. If he were actively searching, however, Avery would best respond to unabashedly frank men who are assertive or creative – physically, he likes his men tall, muscular, preferably inked, and not afraid to straight up ask him to fuck. Moreover, given his demons, Avery works very hard to keep the shreds of stability he has in his life, which is why you will not hear him argue unless it’s something he categorizes as fundamentally wrong; he absolutely detests screaming or raised voices.

 Additional notes:

His voice claim is the same, i.e. Andy. Is anyone surprised?

Frequently lewd and downright tactless towards men, which is not reminiscent of his bad flirting skills but rather an indicator to please leave him the fuck alone.

Sugary sweets as bribery? 100% effective

Drinks an unhealthy amount of energy drinks to doze rather to deeply fall asleep because the feeling of falling asleep makes him incredibly anxious - night terrors are common.

Listens to bad German punk band and dub step. Definitely don’t allow him to play his music should he ever be in your car lest you’ll suffer profusely.

Has the almost compulsive need to play with items directly in front of him.

His younger sister detests him for walking out on her and leaving her with an alcoholic, abusive dad. Years prior, their mother left one day and never returned.  She hopes he’s dead in a ditch.

His relationship with religion is...complicated, to make use of a gross understatement as his family were zealots who only accepted their truth as the way to live. Consequently, Avery also has self-image issues and low self-esteem.

He feels more comfortable and considerably safer around women as far as platonic relationships go, and has an easier time opening up to them.

Natural ginger. Heat and Avery? Not a good mix.

Smells faintly of turpentine oil and citrus-scented utensils for cleaning because he is a neat freak.

Do not allow him anywhere near paper because he will doodle on anything.

Utilizes his art as a means to express himself emotionally.

[aion-rsa]

Squid Game: Best Deadly Competition TV Shows & Movies to Watch Next

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Chances are, if you’ve started watching Squid Game, then you’ve finished watching Squid Game. Netflix’s Korean social thriller is highly suspenseful, driving viewers through its nine episodes to its chilling conclusion with an anxiety-inducing urgency. The story of 456 desperate people who play a deadly game for the chance to win a ₩45.6billion ($39 million) prize, Squid Game is a familiar premise executed masterfully, which means that if you’re looking for more stories like Squid Game, then you’re in luck; the “deadly competition” trope is a very popular one. Like other standouts in the subgenre, there is nothing quite like Squid Game, but there’s still many, many TV shows and movies worth watching if you’re looking for something that delves into some of the same themes and scenarios as the addictive Netflix drama. Here are our recommendations…

Death Race 2000 (1975)

Not technically a live-action adaptation of Hanna Barbera cartoon Wacky Races with a deadly twist – though that’s very much the vibe – this Roger Corman camp-fest is a cult favourite. The film stars Kung Fu’s David Carradine as the mysterious champion driver of the Transcontinental Road Race, an ultra-violent race across America designed as an outlet for the population’s simmering violence under a totalitarian regime – much like sports day at school, but with muscle cars instead of eggs and spoons. Health and safety guidelines are very much unobserved on the road, and the bodies soon pile up, as does a conspiracy that goes – you guessed it – all the way to the top! Brrm brrm. – LM

Das Millionenspiel (1970) & Le Prix du Danger (1983)

Two films, in two languages, from two different countries in two different decades, but both based on the same 1958 American short story. Robert Sheckley’s ‘The Prize of Peril’ is a prescient vision based on a television show where citizens volunteer to be hunted by trained assassins for the chance to win a life-changing sum of money. (Yes, there’s a chance that Stephen King, or at least his alter-ego Richard Bachman, read it before coming up with The Running Man). German film Das Millionenspiel was a TV movie that reportedly had viewers call in post-broadcast to volunteer to take part in the deadly televised contest, but perhaps that’s best taken with a pinch of salz. – LM

The Running Man (1987)

What’s more fun than a dystopian action movie based on a novel by Stephen King and starring Arnold Schwarzenegger in his 1980s prime? Nothing, that’s what. Arnie stars as a former police helicopter pilot named Ben Richards who is framed for a massacre he didn’t commit and forced to compete in a televised game show where prisoners are mercilessly hunted down by mercenaries. On top of that, the obstacle course is basically an even more fucked up version of Sasuke/Ninja Warrior. Fortunately, Arnie isn’t alone in his hatred of the totalitarian government that has doomed him to death just to entertain The People, and that’s how the revolution starts. Yes, it’s a campy movie with some very cheesy lines, but good for a few Friday night laughs. – JS

Battle Royale (2000)

Battle Royale is one of the most beloved examples of the “deadly competition” genre, especially for nerds like Den of Geek staff and readers. Based on a 1999 novel by Kōshun Takami, Battle Royale made an impression for its brutality and stark social analysis when it burst onto the international nerd cinephile scene back in 2000. The story follows a busload of school children who are knocked out and wake up on an island. Each is given a random weapon—from guns to household items, like a paper fan or pot lid—and they must fight to the death until only one remains. – KB

Series 7: The Contenders (2001)

The early 2000s were… what’s the term for a golden age of something terrible? A high-low point? The eye of the shitstorm? Either way, for the reality television genre, the early 2000s were it. The world dug its mucky snout into the honey pot of dehumanised abs, boobs and therapy bills waiting to happen, and decided it liked the taste. Some good though, did come out of it – satires like Danial Minahan’s 2001 feature debut Series 7: The Contenders. The film shows six American strangers picked by national lottery, armed with guns and forced to hunt each other down while the world watches in nightly instalments. It’s pacey, well-acted, darkly funny and carries your basic screaming ‘what have we become?’ message of many others on this list. – LM

Doctor Who, “Bad Wolf” (2005)

OK, I’m cheating a bit with this one, which isn’t a series or movie, but rather a single TV show episode, but it’s Doctor Who, so I’ll allow it. It’s hard to remember more than 15 years later, but, when Who relaunched in 2005, head writer Russell T. Davies was reinventing the wheel, resulting in some conceptually ambitious installments. This definitely includes “Bad Wolf,” which has a pretty strange premise for the first half of the season-ending two-parter. 

In the Davies-penned “Bad Wolf,” Rose, the Doctor, and Jack wake up to find themselves not only separated from one another, but in incarnations of various British TV competition shows like The Weakest Link, Big Brother, and What Not to Wear. Though these shows may seem similar to their 21st century counterparts, the stakes are not: the losers are killed. Honestly, this premise was a bit ahead of its time. Sure, this was five years after cult classic Battle Royale hit the scene, but three years before the first Hunger Games novel would hit shelves. The scenario is not only compelling and fresh, but Davies doesn’t linger too long before explaining how it is relevant to the season-ending mystery. – KB

The Hunger Games (2012)

A list of this kind would not be complete without The Hunger Games, one of the most popular and successful modern incarnations of the “deadly competition” trope. Like Battle Royale before it and Squid Game after it, The Hunger Games succeeds because it uses its violent premise to explore contemporary social anxieties. Suzanne Collins famously came up with the initial idea for The Hunger Games while flipping through the channels between competition reality shows and footage of the Iraq War. Given the massive success of both the novels and movie adaptations, it’s obvious that this story is tapping into some serious and unaddressed collective social trauma. The Hunger Games gave young people especially a chance for temporary catharsis through the guilt, fear, and pain that came with growing up post-9/11. – KB

3% (2016)

The thing about deadly competition stories is that most, if not all, of them are particularly class conscious. When one thinks of the type of person who would choose to participate in, or be forced into, a life and death game, it’s not usually rich people. Deadly competition stories are often about the exploitation of the poor. Perhaps no other entry into the genre understands that as deeply as Brazilian series 3%. This tale takes place in a dystopian near future in which the impoverished residents of the “Inland” can compete in a mysterious event known as “The Process” and potentially be granted access to the upper ranks of society. The Process is rigorous, with many of its participants eliminated and some even killed. How many actually make it? Well, check the title of the show again. – AB

Alice in the Borderland (2020)

There’s a reason why Alice in Borderland started trending as soon as Squid Game binges began: the 2020 Japanese science fiction show based on a manga of the same name, has a lot in common with its Netflix cousin—at least on the surface. Directed by Shinsuke Sato (who also helmed Gantz, another great “deadly competition” story example), Alice in the Borderland begins when three friends are abruptly and unexpectedly pulled into a parallel Tokyo where they must compete in a series of deadly games. The difficulty of each game corresponds to a playing card and, if they lose or refuse to play one of the competitions, they will be killed by lasers from the sky, naturally. 

While Alice in the Borderland’s initial premise has some things in common with Squid Game—notably, the shock of its characters upon realizing the deadly stakes of the artificial competition—the respective shows are not only grounded in different cultures (Japanese va. Korean), they also hail from different genres. While Squid Game is very much set in our own world, Alice in the Borderland is much more science fiction in tone and execution. (I mentioned the sky lasers, right?) Both are good shows, but their comparisons quickly fade once you look past the surface. – KB

High-Rise Invasion (2021)

The concept for High-Rise Invasion is as enigmatic and compelling as any anime can be. The anime (or original net animation as this is sometimes dubbed) picks up with our hero Yuri Honjō suddenly on top of a skyscraper with no memory of how she got there. Yuri soon discovers that she’s stuck in a world made up of entirely high-rise buildings and the bridges that connect them. What’s worse is that these high-rises are patrolled armed individuals wearing masks who seem hellbent on killing everyone who isn’t masked. High-Rise Invasion is slightly atypical from your usual “death competition” genre in that it’s not clear if this is even a competition. At the end of the day, however, the goals remain the same: survive at all costs. Until things get a little more complicated of course… – AB

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What are your favorite examples of the deadly competition trope? Let us know in the comments below…

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