#it's booker hating hours

[anosrepasi]

So I said i was getting back into The Old Guard but also tumblr sandman content has infected me and this idea has been stuck in my head since i realized that i adored the character of Hob Gadling and thought, oh dude what a great character foil for another immortal character who goes through uhhhh, a lot of similar experiences but does no where near as well with it.

aka. What if Hob Gadling and Sebastien Le Livre became drinking buddies. Part two is here

--

Call it his age but Hob can’t help but feel that the world sends its boys to war now, rather than its men. The nations rally their youth to glory and service, in the name of queen and country, and ship them off to win the war on distant shores. Most come back in boxes.

He can only watch so much of that before he’s stopping by the nearest recruitment office and putting his latest fake name forward for the draft.

It’s a silly notion, that his presence can change the tide in what’s already being called “the great war.” He’s not looking to change the tide per say, but if he can save a few dumb kids who haven’t gotten the chance to live yet, well, then a few years invested in being a soldier again will be well worth it.

He’s got nothing pressing going on anyway, not for 76 years at the earliest.

So Hob Gadling fits the mantle of soldier back on his shoulders again, muddles through his training to neither fall behind or exceed expectations of a normal man his age, and gets himself shipped off to France to fight the Germans.

It goes as well as expected.

—

He cycles through units, and ends up staying near Ypres more often than not. His name mysteriously never ends up on the list for the men who’ve done their time on the front line and are reassigned to support or leave. He sticks close to where the fight is and doesn’t get friendly enough with anyone to cause an uproar about his lack of leave time.

He can’t die, better him here than somewhere else.

That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t start to recognize his comrades on rotation though.

They’re young fools, the majority of them. There’s an occasional old-timer like himself, and he can see the moment of recognition across the trenches when he’s stationed with someone else who’s seen war before. There’s a slight nod and that’s that.

As the war progresses however, it gets far more difficult to tell the old guard from the new. War ages a man, this one especially.

One of the boys in his present squad, down to five until more reinforcements can be brought in, cracks a joke one quiet morning that he’ll head home and be mistaken for his uncle when his parents meet him at the station. Hob hears a quiet scoff, “Better old than dead.”

His eyes glance up to the man on guard, a man around Hob’s age or slightly older. He’s quiet, keeps to himself in the week since he’s been rotated into Hob’s unit. He’s vigilant, in a way that Hob can respect as a man who’s more aware of his surrounds than he lets on.

“Cheers to the words of Private Book, wisest man this side of the western trench complex.” Hob runs his mouth without thinking and Book’s eyes flicker down to him before returning to his watch.

“Un sot trouve toujours un plus sot qui l'admire.” Private Book says quietly, and Hob can’t help but have his interest suddenly piqued by the quiet words.

The man quotes Doyle but with an accent far more perfect than any Englishman who had a primer in French. Maybe he’ll have someone interesting to discuss literature with out here after all.

—

The Germans get lucky and manage to aim one fucking shell near perfectly into the middle of their particular stretch of trench that evening.

Hob comes to surrounded by the overarching noise of active warfare and the contrasting silence of everything around him. The nearest allied trenches are occupied at the moment so he has a moment to collect himself and come up with a plan before he’s set upon by either his allies or trench sweepers.

His stomach twists and protests as instead he forces his lungs to cough up the blood and dirt mixed in his mouth and tries feebly to call roll. “Smith. Karlson. Book. Turner. Any of you make it?”

The dead do not answer and Hob sighs, cursing and shakily getting to his feet to survey the damage. It’s not good. He’ll have to move, but he stops by each body and gently closes their eyes or position them into some sort of posture of rest, rather than a tangle of limbs.

Its when he’s saying rights over Turner, bless the kid’s hopeful soul, that body next to him jerks and shudders back into life with a gasp.

Hob has failed to die many a time, but he’s yet to see someone else come back to life in all his years. Getting caught by surprise isn’t a necessarily ridiculous response. He falls back, away from the body- man?, on instinct and offers his own short curse when the body of Private Samuel Book sits up with a groan and sighs when it catches sight of its hand knitting the flesh back together on the side that caught the blunt of the shells explosion.

Samuel Book looks up and freezes when he catches sight of Hob, the next moment both men are speaking in unison, “How the fuck did you survive that?”

[linaxart]

New set pics hit me over the head, with some encouragement from the BoN server <3 we were all thinking it, right?

[ID: a digital drawing of Nile Freeman from The Old Guard as a cartoon version of Kim Possible from the Disney show in an action stance. She’s wearing the green baggy pants, black shoes and gloves. The black top is a full long sleeved shirt that got torn. She has a few other tears in her clothes and a few blood stains. She has her hair in locs, half her head braided close to her scalp. End ID.]

[terastalungrad]

Sometimes, you’re a comedian with a touring show to promote, so you do an interview with a regional newspaper.

I think that’d be the funniest possible time to reveal a big scoop, wouldn’t it?

Stewart Lee is currently touring, and to promote his Yeovil performance, gave an interview to Blackmore Vale Magazine.  According to Wikipedia, the Blackmore Vale is an area of north Dorset, south Somerset and southwest Wiltshire.  According to the comedian Jake Baker, the magazine would cover his school sports day as he grew up in Dorset.  That’s the level of news you’d expect.

The questions are friendly and easy, from a journalist clearly familiar with Lee’s work and history.

The first question is about the show’s angle.  Lee describes the nature of the show, and here’s an excerpt:

So it looks like stand-up, and sounds like stand-up, but it’s actually a kind of character piece about a desperate person who’s frightened and trying to organise the world in a way that puts them in control. And I guess you could argue that’s what a lot of stand-ups are doing anyway. Ricky Gervais to me looks like a very frightened man. He’s frightened of transgender people coming after him, the act is a defensive wall.

Fun!  This is a Ricky Gervais hate blog, so it’s nice to see a sudden, unexpected attack in an unrelated promotional interview.

Lee mentions Gervais again in response to question four.

Sometimes I become bitter and think ‘I get all this good press, why can’t I get 10 million quid for a TV special like Ricky Gervais?’ But on the other hand, I wouldn’t want that audience, it wouldn’t allow me to be better.

And then again to question eight, where Lee explains why he spends six months running new shows in the relatively small Leicester Square Theatre (as opposed to arena comics who might do 10 warmup shows followed by 60 tour dates).

You can still run it like a club gig, you can interact with people in real time. Also, you wouldn’t get better at the show because you wouldn’t have done it as many times. You can see this with an act like Gervais. Those shows have not been run in, they’re not fluid, they’re a succession of inflexible statements that would snap like twigs if the pressure of an unforeseen event was applied to them.

The journalist finally addresses this head on.  It really is worth reading the entire article - there’s a lot more than I’m quoting, including an interesting story about Sean Lock:

But here are my favourite bits:

[Gervais] still kind of copies me though, which is the weird thing. There’s still a lot of cadences of what I do but they’re used in the service of evil. In Star Wars, he’s Darth Vader and he’s taken the force, which is me, and used it for evil purposes. He was a fanboy, he was actually the booker at University of London and used to book me and Sean Lock all the time. And when he became famous for the Office, he wrote an hour-long act that was so indebted to us it was awkward. [...] If he’d come up through the circuit that would have been rubbed off him because you find your own voice doing club gigs. It took me two years of gigging five nights a week to come through the mesh of things I liked. But he didn’t have that experience in the same way. [...] Funnily enough, in his first show there were bits I’d never recorded that he’d do almost verbatim. He’d clearly remembered them. I went to see him at the Bloomsbury – on his invitation actually – with my then girlfriend and she was very concerned for me. I’d given up at that point due to lack of interest, and she was concerned for what it felt like to see my act being done to hundreds of people, it was quite weird. On the other hand, that sort of did make me think I don’t want it to be consumed into someone else’s vocabulary. And also, I think because he had a residual sense of guilt, he would always credit me in interviews as being an influence – that helped me in 2004 to get the audience back.

This is, to my knowledge, the first time Lee’s ever claimed that Gervais stole his material.  He’s certainly talked about Gervais clearly taking influence from him (though in the past, he downplayed this compared to the account given in this interview).

It’s a pretty big thing to accuse a comic of stealing material.  That’s a big taboo.  I reckon this is partly because Lee wants to discourage fans of Gervais from coming to the show.

Anyway, let’s finish by quoting the end of the interview:

It must be strange to have that level of financial remuneration and those audience figures but not really a single good review. And I expect what that does for you is create a cognitive dissonance where you have to manufacture a worldview by which the whole world is wrong and you’re right. Which can’t necessarily be very good for your mental health, although I expect the money’s nice.

[mortalityplays]

Only tangentially related to today's ask discourse but I was thinking about this- do you have advice on pushing more out of your comfort zone ie media? I feel like its really easy to say you like or want stuff thats making you uncomfortable or is less palatable to wide audiences etc etc but I have trouble going out of my way to actually experience things like that over more popcorn you know

a good way to start if you're intimidated is to look for curated recommendations close to your cultural comfort zone (I'm focusing on US/UK lists here but you can look for recommendations from museums, libraries, and national award bodies just about anywhere in the world). e.g. the BFI Sight & Sound list or the National Film Registry (for movies), Booker Prize or National Book Award winners for literature

Don't feel like you have to watch/read everything all at once, it's fine to skim for something that sounds particularly up your street and start there. It's also fine to jump right into something intimidating and find out what all the fuss is about! the absolute worst case scenario is that you're bored or underwhelmed and can pick something else next time.

a lot of my film knowledge comes from when I was at university. I discovered that there was an A/V library and viewing room on campus that I could use for free l, so I just looked through the catalogue and started picking out things I'd never seen that sounded interesting. every day between classes I'd go, pick a title, and spend a couple of hours giving it a try. I watched Blade Runner for the first time in a darkened basement booth with headphones on, and The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, and Wild Strawberries, and Persepolis, and countless other weird and wonderful things. sometimes I picked something incredibly boring or something that annoyed me, but I always came away feeling good that I'd expanded my knowledge of what was out there.

once you do start finding new things you like, a whole other path opens up to you. you can dig deeper into the work of one writer or director or actor, look up interviews and find out who inspired them. if you loved a specific book, see if the author mentioned any direct influences, or if critics compared it to something else you might enjoy. you get to start building these maps in your head and getting a sense for where different things fit, and it becomes easier and easier to hunt for hidden treasures.

finally! if you can find a group of friends (or even just one person) who is interested in taking this journey with you, start a club. take turns to pick something you want to explore, share the journey, and discuss it as you go along. keep sight of your purpose, whether that's to broaden your horizons beyond your home culture, take on more challenging works, or just be better informed. take it a step at a time, and learn to enjoy the experience of exploration even when you don't like something. figuring out why we hated Lady Chatterley's Lover is some of the most fun I've had with our book club yet. introducing friends to The Left Hand of Darkness and getting hype about it with them was just as good. love the process and you'll change your life.

[newtonsheffield]

Kate as one of the main host for a news show in London and now every time a celebrity like Tom Dorset, comes on flirts and comments about Anthony Bridgerton’s red carpet shenanigans, Kate just sits there flushed trying to finish the interview. As Anthony watches from his flat trying to get booked on the show… 😂

Anthony sidling next to Kate on the sofa, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Am I single?” He muses, “That depends… is Kate finally going to go out with me? I’m ready for you to make an honest man of me, Kate. Whenever you’re ready. Ready to revisit our birthday kiss as well. it is my birthday.”

Kate just rolling her eyes like, “Well if it’s your birthday I’d hate to break with tradition now.”

And her cohost Sophie just sits there like 😫😫😫

Kate slamming the front door of her flat hours later like “Hey! Arsehole!”

Anthony rolls over on the carpet grinning up at her. “Yes?”

“I said you could say yes to the Booker if you kept it professional!”

And Anthony just blinks at her “In my defense, darling honey sweetheart light of my life: I think people would have been more suspicious if I suddenly didn’t flirt with you.”

“Damnit you’re right.”

[eiirisworkshop]

Snacks and Midnight Blues

An Old Guard oneshot Also available to read on Ao3 here.

~

Nile opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She had been laying here, not sleeping, for she honestly wasn't sure how long. They were in a safehouse in Europe; she wasn't clear on quite where in Europe—she'd asked on the way and Andy had answered, but Booker had shook his head and said no, not anymore. That was followed by about an hour of mostly Booker and Nicky discussing? Arguing over? Reminiscing about? A few centuries worth of warfare, political marriages, and border disputes, with occasional interjections and corrections from the others. By the time they got to the house, no one had actually gotten around to saying for sure where they were now, and Nile had forgotten to ask again. Wherever it was, the grocer in town—the only local any of them talked to all day—had spoken what Nile was mostly sure was German.

In the dark, the house was quiet. She could hear the even breathing of the rest of the Old Guard, the distant sounds of nocturnal wildlife, her own heartbeat. It had been a long day. Frankly, every day had been long since she died, the first time. She'd died a few times since then, and would die uncountable times more over the eternity that now stretched in front of her.

That's what kept her up now. The thought of dying over and over—and, maybe even worse, the thought of living.

She let out a breath, kicked off the quilt, got up, and padded out to the patio, barefoot on the smooth stone of the pavers. She dropped into a chair, inhaled the cool night air, fiddled with her necklace, and looked up at the sky—fewer stars than in the desert, but more than she grew up with in Chicago.

Just a couple moments after she'd come outside, deliberate footsteps and the faint metal-on-metal of the door latch grabbed her attention and she looked around to see Nicky leaning around the door, his hair scrunched on one side from sleep.

“Did I wake you up?” she asked softly.

He shrugged. “Apparently.”

“I'm sorry.”

He waved one hand dismissively and stepped the rest of the way outside. “You alright?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I'm,” she laughed once, “just having an existential crisis.”

“That's reasonable.” He smiled a little, a gentle, understanding, but almost teasing kind of grin. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the doorframe. “Wanna talk about it?”

With a sigh she shook her head. “I don't know. I—don't think I know how to. Yet.”

“Well, you have time to figure it out.”

“Yeah, that's part of the problem.”

He nodded.

They fell quiet. She looked down at her lap, fist closed around her cross at the hollow of her throat where there should have been a scar. He pushed off from the doorframe. “You want something to eat?”

She glanced up at him. “Are you...offering to cook?”

“Yeah.”

“What time is it?”

Smirking, he gestured at the sky. “Night.”

She leveled a “thanks, Captain Obvious” look at him.

He chuckled and shrugged. “I have no idea but there's a clock in the kitchen.”

“Okay.” She got up. He opened the door, bowed her through in front of him, clapped her shoulder as she passed.

In the kitchen, Nile reached for the light switch—it wasn't even on long enough for the florescent fixture in the ceiling to completely blink to life before Nicky smacked it back off, eyes shut against the moment of brightness. He reopened his eyes slowly, went to rummage through the end cabinet, set a bunch of candles out on the table, lit one with a match then used it to light the others.

“If you weren't very married, I might think this was romantic,” Nile noted, voice low to not disturb the others still asleep.

“I really hate florescent lights,” he admitted. “Especially at night. They're so harsh.”

“Yeah, yeah, they are,” Nile agreed. “So, what?” she asked. “Am I about to be introduced to proper Italian comfort food?”

“No.” He leaned on the table. “That would take about six hours, and can only be done correctly by a grandmother, which I am not.”

“You don't get honorary grandma status after a couple centuries?”

“Depends who you ask—but no.” He rocked his weight back, opened the fridge and squinted into it against the glare of the internal lightbulb. At least it was incandescent. “As for what I am making, that depends on what Andy bought earlier.”

“You were there.”

“I was busy.”

“You were standing around having your hair played with.”

“Like I said, I was busy.” He flashed her a playful grin over his shoulder and she couldn't help but laugh a little. He pulled out a block of cheese, nudged the fridge closed with his elbow, set the cheese on the counter along with a downright cute hen-shaped bowl of eggs, reluctantly switched on the—again, incandescent—light over the stove, went through the cabinets, and pulled out a skillet, a sack of potatoes, and a bottle of olive oil. “I'm assuming you like potatoes.”

“I have never met anyone who doesn't like potatoes, and I used to know a girl who was allergic to them.”

“She was allergic to them,” he asked as he started rinsing potatoes, “but she still ate them? You're allowed to sit, you know.”

Nile pulled out a chair and sat in it backwards, nodding as she did. “She's allergic to most food, so it's pretty much impossible for her to avoid all her allergens entirely. She'd pop a Benadryl and dig into a bag of chips. We—” she grinned, then her expression sobered and darkened. “We used to joke that she feared neither God, nor death, nor Lays. And that feels really different in hindsight now.”

“That's how hindsight works. You live through something and experience it a certain way in the moment, then later looking back with knowledge and perspective you didn't have at the time, your perception changes.” He shrugged. “The...nature of our situation means that we are blessed and cursed with a unique perspective on things like death.”

She nodded thoughtfully, watched him set the skillet on the stove, pour some oil, click the heat on, twirl a knife from the knife block between his fingers, and start slicing potatoes into it. “Have you ever lost a finger doing that?”

“Lost one, no,” he chuckled, “but I have cut myself very badly a few times. And not so badly many more. Not often.” He paused. “But I cook often. When you do something frequently enough for long enough, two things happen—you get better at it, so the likelihood of you fucking it up any given time you do it goes down, but you rack up more and more chances to fuck up, so the amount you fuck up overall still goes up over time.”

“And I figure it's only humanly possible to get so good at things, even with ridiculous amounts of time to practice.”

Nicky made a non-committal sort of sound through his nose. “Enough time starts messing with what 'humanly possible' even means.”

“Fair point.” Nile crossed her arms on the back of the chair and leaned her cheek on them. She watched him finish cutting the potatoes then go through a couple drawers until he found an appropriate utensil to stir with. A passing thought made her frown and she lifted her head to rest her chin on her arms instead. “You—you wouldn't have grown up with potatoes, would you? Or did you? I know the factoid about tomatoes being a pretty recent addition to Italian food because they're from the Americas, but I don't think I've ever thought about the history of potatoes until right now.”

He snorted and reached for the eggs. “I was several hundred years old before I ever ate a potato but now, well,” he started cracking eggs on the side of the skillet, “if by some cruel twist of fate I somehow developed an allergy like your old friend, I, too, would take a pill and just keep eating them. Potatoes are great. I would die for potatoes. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure I have.”

She blinked at him. “You know what, I'm not going ask. Hang on—allergies. Do we do allergies?”

“Good question.” He tossed the last of the eggshells into the garbage from clear across the kitchen and Nile applauded softly. He gave a cheeky little bow and went back to cooking, intermittently tending the contents of the pan while he busied himself with the cheese. “Not sure. The idea of allergies is quite new, so none of us would have known if used to have them. Booker used to be prone to summer colds, now he's not. Maybe that was allergies he stopped having, or maybe it was colds. None of us get sick like we used to. Then again, I up and stopped breathing in the middle of dinner one time. After I came back, Joe tried my food to see if it was poised, he was fine. I tried some more, didn't die again. Maybe there was one piece that was poison. I don't know.”

“Was it—what's that puffer fish called? Fugu?”

He shook his head. “Some kind of noodles I think.”

“I really don't like the idea the idea suddenly, randomly not being able to breathe.”

“Wasn't fun, but not as bad as a lot of ways I've gone, and it's only happened once.”

“So far.”

“So far,” Nicky amended. “Don't think it's ever happened to Andy, though, so it's probably not a just a matter of time sort of thing.”

“Yeah.” Nile drummed her fingers on the chairback. “That's part of what's freaking me out. The idea that anything that's only a matter of time, I'm gonna go through. Some things, I'm okay with that, 'cause they're gonna be cool, but other things….” She gestured vaguely and got up to pace a few steps to find the words. She leaned against the fridge. “Like—I don't know. I don't know what I mean.”

“I do.” He clicked off the stove, wrapped his hand in the bottom of his shirt, and quickly moved the skillet to a trivet on the counter. “The dread of eventualities, and of watching dominoes fall, knowing there's nothing you can do to stop them at that scale—or, worse, wondering if you could have stopped them if only you'd done it sooner. Get a plate.”

She guessed at which cabinet held plates, guessed right, and got two. “How do you live with that?”

“Not much choice.” He took the plates from her. “Try not to fixate on that 'if I'd done something sooner.' If you could have and knew to, you would have. If you didn't, then you didn't, and that's just how things are.”

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”

“Exactly.” He used the same spoon he'd been cooking with to serve, flicked the stove light off, found forks, and he and Nile settled with their food across the table from each other. “Wait.” He got up again, got two wine glasses down, and went hunting through cabinets that did not contain tableware.

Nile stifled an incredulous laugh. “Are you looking for wine to go with our—” she twisted to actually look at the clock “—three am fancy scrambled eggs?”

“Yes. Aha!” He'd stretched to open the smaller set of doors set up above the fridge and found a stash of bottles. “I knew there had to be some somewhere—Booker stayed here a while not that long ago.”

“When, the eighties?”

“Uh, probably.”

She rolled her eyes. “At least wine keeps.”

“Doesn't just keep, it gets better.” He snagged a bottle. “Unless it turns to vinegar.”

“Right, right.” She leaned on her elbows. “So, what's the best wine pairing for three am fancy scrambled eggs?”

“Strongest one you can find. Or, in this case, easiest one to reach.” He winked and she snorted a laugh into her hand. After another brief hunt through the kitchen for a corkscrew, he poured them each a glass of wine, handed Nile's to her over the candles, and resumed his seat.

Just before taking a bite, she stopped. “Do you wanna say grace?”

Already chewing, he held up his fork in a shrug, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the question.

“I'll take that as a 'no.'”

“I stopped particularly caring a long time ago. You're welcome to, though.”

“Nah, I—actually….” She clapped her hands together, grinning, and in one breath quickly rattled off, “God is great, God is good, let us thank him for our food, amen.”

Now Nicky laughed. “That was efficient.”

Nile nodded, laughing too as she started eating. “That—mm, this is really good—that was painted on the wall of the Sunday school classroom at the church I went to growing up, right next to a mural of Noah's arc and the rainbow and a couple gay lions. I actually left out the last line or two….”

“There were gay lions?”

“Whoever painted it gave both the lions manes! They were both boys!”

He shook his head, chuckling into his wine. “Ecelénte.”

“It got repainted when I was in high school.” She smiled wistfully between bites. “Replaced it with a bunch of different colored sheep, which was cute, but a lot less cool.”

Bleary and dragging his feet, Joe appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Good morning.”

Nicky smiled warmly and returned the greeting through a bite of potato, but Nile clapped a hand over her mouth. “Did we wake you up?”

Joe shook his head and came to drape himself across Nicky's shoulders. “Went looking for my love, found the edge of the bed first—then I heard laughter.”

Nicky murmured something Nile couldn't understand and kissed Joe on the jaw—Joe responded in kind, then stole a bit of Nicky's food.

Nile reached for her wine. “On the one hand, I really oughta learn Italian, on the other hand I'm pretty sure if I could actually understand what you say to each other on a regular basis I would get diabetes from the incessant sweetness.”

“Learning Italian won't do that,” Nicky said between bites.

“French is more useful,” Joe noted, then gladly let Nicky feed him some egg.

Nile pouted. “I don't want to learn French, it has too many vowels, and Booker can fight me.”

“He absolutely will,” Nicky said. Joe handed him his wine and he continued, shaking his head for emphasis. “But I don't speak what you call Italian. Italian isn't even a language. What you call 'Italian' is Florentine. I,” he put a hand to his chest, or he would have if Joe's arm wasn't in the way, “am and speak Genoese. It is not the same language. Most of the peninsula still speaks different languages from each other. The idea of 'learning Italian' is nonsense.” He took a long sip of wine while Joe smirked into his hair.

Nile gestured contemplatively with a slice of potato on the end of her fork. “I have seen a map of Italy divided up by regional terms for vagina.”

“I want that map,” Nicky said decisively.

“I want it framed,” Joe said, chuckling.

Nicky shook his head again, stabbed at his last bit of food with his fork, offered it to Joe who took half of it, then ate the rest himself. “I swear, every time a country unifies on paper, everyone forgets almost over night what was there before, no matter how long it was there, and no matter how much in practical terms things haven't changed.”

“To be fair,” Nile shrugged, glass in hand, “Italy's been around a long time.”

Both men looked at her flatly and said, as one, “Italy is a newer country than the United States.”

Nile almost spat her wine. “You're shitting me.”

“No.” Joe took Nicky's empty plate and fork and put them in the sink while he nursed the tail end of his drink. “You just think it's older because it preserved the history it was built on, while your country has tried very hard for its entire existence to erase the history it was built on—and a fair bit of its own history, too.”

Nile cringed. “Oof, yeah, good point.” She finished up her food, threw back the last of her wine, and put her own dishes in the sink. “Thank you, Nicky, for cooking.”

“Happy to.” He stood, stretched, set his glass to be washed, and leaned against Joe.

“Time for you to come back to bed.” He rubbed Nicky's arm then looked over at Nile. “What are you even doing up?”

“I couldn't sleep,” she admitted with a downward glance. “Went out for some air. He came to check on me.”

Joe frowned a little. “Are you alright?”

She nodded. “Yeah.” Nicky took her hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, she looked up at him and nodded more firmly. “Yeah, I'm okay. Just,” she squeezed his hand back, “needed a snack and a more ancient perspective, I guess.”

“Ancient?” Nicky echoed, sounding slightly affronted. “I don't think I'm ancient.”

“Andy's ancient,” Joe countered.

“She's going on prehistoric, but you are, like, a thousand years old.” She dropped his hand.

“How old is 'ancient' then?” Joe asked.

“It's consistently been 'before the middle ages' the last several times I've checked, and we,” Nicky gestured between himself and Joe, “are solidly medieval.”

“Okay, okay,” Nile laughed. “You're well past antique, though.”

“We're relics,” Joe said reasonably. “And you are an infant who should really get some sleep.”

“I should,” she sighed.

Nicky moved away from Joe just enough to blow out the candles on the table. Smoke curled barely visible in the faint moonlight coming through the window above the sink and the three of them headed back to bed, Nicky hand in hand with Joe on one side, arm comfortably around Nile's shoulders on the other until she turned to her own bed.

In the dark, the house was quiet. Nile could hear the faint rustle of fabric as Joe and Nicky settled, Andy's even breathing as she slept, Booker's soft intermittent snores, the distant sounds of nocturnal wildlife, her own heartbeat as she drifted off.

[ias2xoo]

☞𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐫𝐞

𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴; will schofield

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨; angst, war trauma, ptsd, arguments, smut included

..••°°°°••..

“ˢᵒᵐᵉᵈᵃʸ ᵈᵃʳˡⁱⁿᵍ, ˢᵒᵐᵉʷʰᵉʳᵉ

ⁿᵉᵃʳᵉʳ ᵒʳ ᶠᵃʳ

ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐˢ ʷⁱˡˡ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʳᵘᵉ ᵈᵉᵃʳ

ʷʰᵉʳᵉᵛᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ,”

The soft summer breeze sifted around your bare legs as you sat in your backyard. It was the beginning of April and you could already see the summer pink blossoms on the trees. Thus marking today the perfect day to have a barbecue. You & Will’s friends; Amy and Booker - whom he had met in the war - to spend the day with you.

“Oh, look at those clouds.” Booker exclaimed, hand equipped with a charred spatula flicking up towards those sky.

“Yes, they always look so beautiful this time of year.” Amy calmly noted as she sat in the lawn chair next to yours with a glass of lemonade in hand, handing you one as well.

“You tend to find yourself looking up a lot,” Booker murmured, eyes wandering a bit. A habit you often found your own William doing. A mindless habit, one you probably would never notice if you weren’t aware of what the two young men had been through. Booker never seemed to finish his sentence as Will walked out the house with a case of beers.

You stared at your fiancé’s back as he set the case on the table which also held various buns, condiments and drink for your little get together. It had been your idea at first, enlisting your neighbor and long time friend Amy who then convinced her husband for the barbecue. You had known Amy for years, originally growing up together then being there for each other as you both watched those you loved walk in to battle, some never returning.

But Will did, and you couldn’t wish for anything else. Every day spent waiting in the living room for that knock at the door, every night staying awake with the thought of his face - it eventually turning blurred and scarred behind your eyelids.

Yet even when he had came back, you felt some part you loved of him had been left and not to be returned. Forever lost on that battlefield with the remains of the war and other lost soldiers never to return to their families. And you hated to say it but you missed it. You missed when he would happily kiss your forehead, not grimace at the sight of your eye contact. You missed him yet there he stood.

Which is what he had done often since he had returned. He stood with a odd sense of uncertainty, that of a ex-soldier that was waiting to be ordered to return to the battlefield. His back - that he rarely let you caress anymore - seemed to shake with tension. You lowered your eyes as your heart ached, mind trailing back to the multiple arguments you both had had on the subject of his return. Where you would scream for him to just look at you again, with that look he once held of you. That look that held so much love and not sadness. Where he would just stare at you before leaving the house, not returning for hours. Your heart yearned for a man that had been lost amidst bullet showers and smoky fire.

As the soft jazz continued, suddenly Amy jumped up in excitement. The unexpected noise from the chair snapping shut undoubtedly causing the rigid tremor in Will’s throat. “Oh, I adore this song!” She sang, putting her finished cup on the side table.

“Yes, we know dear.”

“Mm, dance with me, Book.” She muttered as she kicked off her peach heels. You smiled at the image of your friends.

“Darling, I’ve gotta tend to the food.” He sang in the same tune. He seemed he didn’t mean his words though as Amy’s hand would later replace the spatula. They would enter a rehearsed routine to the jazz number. Their bodies seemed to melt into tune with each other as if they were made for one and other. You stood from the chair softly, smile still tight as you silently cheered on your friends.

In an effort to show your admiration to your fiancé, you turned to where he had just stood yet the yard was barren. This instantly took the smile from your face replacing it with worry. Had he gone again? Not to be seen for hours?

Leaving the jazz and laughter behind, you walked into the eerily silent house. It was empty save for your dog which you had gotten to keep you company all those years. You started with the entryway then the kitchen yet no sign of Will. Finally hearing a soft thump from the floor above you, you began your way upstairs to the bedroom where he awaited.

“William?” You whispered, slowly moving the door open with your fingers.

“Y-yes, I’m here.” He responded from within.

Your feet hesitantly trailed inside, eyes uncertain of what it may see. He sat with his back to you, crouched over attending to something on the floor.

“Are you oka-“

“I just needed a moment, is all.” He quickly shut you off.

Silence befell you both as the soft pangs from the vibrations of the music outside sounded throughout the room. Whenever he was like this you had zero idea how to comfort him. It was like he was a rose, beautiful but hurt to touch. Moments would pass before either of you would speak again.

You stood in place in front of the door as Will rose from the bed, car keys in hand. You starred at his clenched fist as he crossed the room to retrieve his jacket.

“Where are you going?” Seemingly not hearing your question, Will continued stopping in front of you, waiting for you to clear his path.

“Will,”

“I need to go.” He refused to make eye contact with you.

“William, please.”

“Move.” He muttered.

You didn’t speak. You had never seen him like this. His hands clenched tight, arms rigid and unmoving. It scared you for he was almost unrecognizable.

The next moments would go by in a flash. Will would slam the keys on the stand next to you, turning his back to you. You jumped backwards at the speed of his movements. His back seemed to rise and fall abnormally like he was out of breath. He moved across from you, resting his hands on the dresser that stood on the opposite wall.

Despite every bone in your body telling you to leave him, you stayed. You slowly began to move his timid breathing. You now stood behind him, hands hesitantly moving up his back but not touching it out of fear. “Will?” You murmured, finally trailing his muscles. “Baby?”

His back jumped at your touch before slowly relaxing. You felt it vibrate under your fingertips as he seemed to speak. “Hmm?”

It was then he would turn around, eyes slowly trailing up your form to meet with yours. They seemed to scream at you yet he stood perfectly still inches in front of you. Both your bodies pulled towards each other in a almost mindless motion.

Your hands carefully rose up to cup his face bringing towards yours. You both would envelope into a small kiss as if you both were slowly testing a invisible waters within each other. Slowly backing up towards the bed, you both helped the other undress.

Your fingers would make a symphony of his scars as you caressed his chest. He touched you as if you had blossomed into something new, marking words into your flesh to be revised later. You knew he’d come back yet he showed you he had never left. He showed you he had never truly left, that his touch had resided on you, his words traced your being.

He may have been through death itself yet you loved the man who walked out of it. And his touch assured you that you’d find him, wherever he was.

[pearljen-blog]

Renovations with Joel Miller - 01

Chapter 01 - Introductions

You meet Joel by accident and find out he’s working in constructions. Hopefully with some convincing he can assist you with some urgent house renovations... and then some.

Based on the video game version of Joel, but can be changed to the HBO version if preferred. Taking place pre outbreak in Austin Texas.

Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x afab reader

Warnings: This is my first published story, which in itself should be a warning / Reader is afab and has long hair, I will try avoid using any additional physical descriptions / Not familiar with the area of Austin, so most of it is badly googled or made up / swearing / smut eventually

Rriiiiing

‘Hello’. It was 2 in the morning. Who would be calling at this time?

‘Hey! Hun! It’s me.’

Of course.

‘I am so sorry, really sorry. I met this guy…. we were at that new place in town, Butlers.. something, in Austin. It was CRAZY.’

Who’s that chuckling in the back? Where is she? Drunk?

‘Crazy I tell ya. Anyway, we’re kind of … We’re in jail. He got in a fight. It wasn’t anything bad. Just.. he kinda hit that guy and he went down. Some idiot anyway. And he was doing it for me. That fella was just talking shit.’

‘What? Where are you?’ I love you Carla but I swear..

‘It’s nothing bad. I promise. Seriously. They took us in and we had to go to Travis County Jail. We’re there now. Just waiting.’

‘It’s 2 in the fucking morning…’

‘I know! Fuck.. I know! But we don’t want to stay here all weekend.’

‘Who is we?’

‘Tommy, he’s the guy from the fight. He didn’t start it. Fuck I’m sorry, but I don’t know who else to call. I can’t call dad. He’ll kill me’.

‘I’m an hour out of the city. What do you want me to do?’ God I’m tired.

‘PLEASE! I’ll pay you back. Just let us get out of here. I’m begging ya.’

My head hurts. My eyes are sore. ‘How much is to get you out?’

‘Fuck I don’t know. But I’ll give it back to ya. Promise.’

You turn on the lights next to the bed. Hating the idea of spending an hour in the car, driving through the fucking city and then her drunk ass home.

‘I hate you. You’re a terrible friend.’

‘Please Y/N!’

‘Yeah I’m moving. But it will take me about 90 minutes to be there.’

‘Thanks babes. Thanks thanks’

You hang up. Out of pleasantries for this time of the night. Once in the bathroom you put your hair in a ponytail and fresh water to your face. You love Carla, but she’s a mess sometimes. Like a real mess. But she’s also the first person you have been able to click with since you arrived in Austin. She doesn’t ask too many questions, mainly happy to talk about herself. And she gets you out of the house. At least some nights.

The drive to Austin is fine. Boring, especially at this time of the night. You made some coffee for the road and listen to Booker T & the MG’s. One of your dads’ favourite albums. You always doze off to some long-forgotten time, when listening to it. Time passes much faster this way. You were hitting Austin fast and prepared yourself to be lost until you found Travis County Jail. Driving in the city didn’t scare you but drained a lot more energy from you.

***

‘We can’t release anyone today. You will have to come back tomorrow.’

‘He is right there for fuck’s sake!’

‘SIR!’

‘He’s right there! Just let me pay and get him out. Do your job!’

‘SIR! That’s enough! I am asking you to leave.’

Two men around the desk standing close and arguing. What the hell did you walk into at this time of the night?

‘I just want my brother out is all. Why are you being so difficult?’

‘You can come back tomorrow to collect your brother. Please leave, get out, before I will arrest you as well for disorderly conduct.’

One guy is storming off. Head bowed to the ground, nevertheless you could see the anger on him. His posture rigid and ready to crack any second. He sprints past you and for a second you feel intimidated to walk any further to the reception. What a night this turns out to be.

‘Fun night?’

‘What can I do for you love?’

‘My friend got into a little trouble last night and called me to release her. Her name is Carla Thomas, age 34.’ What other information do they need you wonder.

‘Well, I’ll tell you what I told the last guy. You will have to come back tomorrow. We are not releasing anyone today.’

‘What??’ You are joking?

‘Come back on Monday from 9am love.’ There is an uninterested look that comes with his statement.

‘I just drove over an hour to pick her up.’

‘I’m sorry to hear. But there are no weekend releases. Please come back on Monday.’

You realize there’s no way to discuss or argue your way out of this, but you try anyway.

After some back and forth you cave and walke back outside. What a night indeed.

Carla will have to wait. She will have to understand. Maybe you can just stay in Austin and get breakfast somewhere. Or maybe you’ll be able to fall back asleep when you get home. How will you pick her up on Monday? You have work. There are about 15 thoughts currently in your head. But you are unable to focus on any one of them, so you just slowly walk back to your car.

On the way to your car, you spot the guy who was arguing to get his brother released. More out of your peripheral, but you see him. He’s standing by his truck, not far from you. On the phone, or desperately trying to ring someone. Possibly his brother you think.

‘Fuck sake!’

You look towards his direction.

‘Fun night?’ Yes, your one and only ice breaker, you think to yourself.

‘It’s fucking bullshit.’ He looks up and straight at you. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that.’

Southern gentlemen.

‘It’s ok. Same thing I said to myself... in my head.’

He turns slightly towards his truck. Frown all over his face. You smirk, hands slightly fidgeting.

‘You know they have people around. I just don’t understand why they just can’t release people on a fucking Sunday. Tommy, my brother,… he could have told me when he called.’

Tommy, well..

‘Your brother’s name is Tommy?’ You huff and smile to yourself. ‘That’s.. funny. My friend called me tonight at 2am, telling me she got arrested with a guy named Tommy. Or arrested because of him.'

You look at the ground now. Still turned towards him.

‘He’s a mess but a good guy.’

You look up. ‘Oh yeah, sorry I didn’t mean it that way.’

He’s looking right at you now. Just a grey worn out shirt and a tired look, but he looks gorgeous. God, you wish you would be able to keep eye contact.

‘Well, I guess I may see you on Monday then to get these kids home.’ Your gaze drops back to the ground, and you slowly turn towards your car.

‘Yeah, can’t wait to give up half a day of work to drive around the city just to get him out. Only getting paid for the days I’m working for fucks sake. He should know better.’

You look back at him just to acknowledge that you are listening. But you don’t say anything.

‘Sorry I don’t expect you to feel sorry for me missing a day of construction.’

‘You work in construction?’ Your eyes go wide, and you look at him expecting.

He stays silent for a second. Seems it’s not the usual reaction he gets, when mentioning constructions.

‘I’m a carpenter. But we, Tommy and I, we do whatever works needs to be done really.’

‘Are you looking for work?’ Maybe too forward. ‘Or do you know any construction friends that are looking for work?’

There’s an awkward silence. No longer angry, he’s just looking at you wondering. Possibly trying to figure out where he wants this conversation to go. You can’t keep your gaze up and turn back at the car. He’s still gorgeous. For a second you start playing with your lower lip.

‘Always looking for work.’ You turn back at him. Eyebrows raised slightly, heart beating heavier now.

‘I bought a house recently,…well a few months ago now actually. Ehm.. It’s a really great house! Spectacular! But it needs some work done. I think the walls are fine. At least my brother thinks so. He’s been looking at it for now, and I trust him. But the roof needs work, and pretty much all the windows need to be replaced. Bathroom and kitchen, all needs to be re-done, but that’s second to getting the house in actual good shape.’

Oh my god, why don’t you just tell him your whole life story? Jesus…

‘How urgent is it?’

Is he considering it?

‘I’m already living in it. But my brother is pushing me to get it done. He’s been helping me a lot, but he doesn’t live around here, so it’s been moving really slowly.’

‘Can go and take a look. Get and understanding of what we are dealing with here. How much you paying?’

‘Oh.’ Your brother warned you about this question.

‘Honestly you would have to talk this out with my brother. He said around $30 per hour. But it depends what extra charges come on top. Like fuel and that kind of stuff. So I don’t know for sure. Oh, I should mention, the house is not actually in Austin.’

Here we go, the deal breaker.

‘It’s in Luling. About an hour on a good day.’

‘Yeah, I know that place. I grew up there’ He’s smiling. Wow.

‘Wow… Please tell me you have font memories of your childhood.’

‘Some of them. Place was great though.’

You’re thinking to yourself. Just ask him.

‘I can take your number. Or give you mine. Or whichever way this usually works.’ Breath in ‘You know, in case you want to have a look at the house.’

He keeps looking at you with no mercy now.

‘Yeah lets swap numbers and give me a call. I’m not sure what time I’ll be here on Monday.’

You swap numbers and walk back to your car. Goodbyes are short but you need a second to collect your thoughts in the car anyway. You found out his name is Joel Miller. He was looking for an excuse to visit Luling again, so he told you. Maybe Carla’s drunk ass could be good for something. You’re getting breakfast for the road.

Masterlist // Next Chapter

[valiantsword]

@softersinned said, " come back to bed. "

he had been awake for hours. at first, it was to watch the rhythmic movement of astoria's breath moving the blankets up and down, as if needing the reminder that she was complete. whole. untouched by the massacre he'd experienced last time he'd been to paris. as he stood by the window, overlooking a stretch of street that was nowhere near merrick's research building where he thought he'd be locked for the rest of eternity, everything plays over and over and over again.

could he have changed anything had he not given up on booker quite so quickly? both arthur and andromache were the oldest surviving members. they should've done more than left their youngest to his own alcoholic devices. but, at the same time, how did you help someone who was so determined to stay in the past? they all had their ghosts, their demons, and their memories. the difference was the rest of the guard was determined to move past them. nicky and joe could do so because they had each other. he and andy did it out of sheer stubbornness. their coping mechanisms weren't the greatest ( not before he met astoria, at least ) but they, at least, kept their feet planted firmly in the present.

there had been so much he glossed over of those events and arthur had been the first to argue copley's sincerity. grief or not, the mortal had sold them all out once. what would prevent him from doing it again?

but, since he was no longer a king, he had to defer the final judgement to their true leader. who was he to argue with her decision considering hers was the fear that had manifested itself?

" going to be a long time before i sleep peacefully in paris again, birdie. "

sadness tinted his words, not anger and certainly not revenge. he could outlive copley and bury the man's children if need be. no, the weight on arthur's shoulders was the ghost of booker and a man who'd been intent on watching his family die.

twice.

maybe that was the biggest difference between them. when arthur thought something was wrong, he chose to walk away in order to save his family all those impossible questions. booker stayed until they hated him, resented him, and broke his spirit.

arthur pushes his shoulder against the large window he was leaning against to put some distance between he and the memories. fingers comb back through unkempt strands, and he takes the few steps to the nearby table to pick up one of the water bottles. after a few sips he crosses the rest of the distance to her side of the bed, leans down, and presses a lingering kiss to astoria's forehead. " but, that shouldn't stop you from gettin' some shut eye, yeah? "

[hause-of-pancakes]

This was my whole weekend.

Stella Delgado inherited a very scrumbled together home from her grandmother (who she was named after), but she found the idea of living in a big, old, and definitely haunted house daunting. This led her to posting an ad for “occult only” roommates. So, now she’s a landlord....but she’s not like a *regular* landlord. She’s a *cool* landlord. 

Characters under the cut!

Landlady of the house, and prone to mothering everyone around her. She’s really hoping that she can make some friends; So she can hide in their beds when the ghosts come out. 

-On her third rewatch of 2 Broke Girls

- Favorite song is “Hollaback Girls” by Gwen Stefani

- Describes herself as “whimsical” 

-Regularly sets the kitchen on fire. 

Booker recently decided to come out which lead to him divorcing his wife of 78 years. He’s finally ready to start living his best undead life. 

-Blood isn’t the only thing he sucks (hey-o)

-Refuses to text

-HIs guilty pleasure is historical romance novels.

(While making this sim I ended up doing a lot of research into the importance of names for Black people especially before and after emancipation. Here’s some links if you’re curious. here, here, and here. The first link is to a website by a woman named Robyn called Reclaiming Kin. She works to find the genealogy of Black Americans and teaches you how to do it yourself!)

One day Leilani decided she needed to explore the world. She left the island she had called home all her life and decided seeing snow was first on her bucket list.

-Accidently started a cult in college

-Her best friend is a dolphin

-Hates sushi

-Amazing singer

Left his last pack due to “irreconcilable differences”. He’s now looking for new gym buddies and a new wolf pack. 

-The full moon is the only time he doesn’t track his macros. 

-Owns one pair of pants

-His favorite movie is The Hangover. 

They came to Earth to immerse themself in nerd culture and to live the human experience. One morning everyone woke up to find that they had moved into the last available bedroom in the middle of the night. They haven’t paid rent yet and Stella isn’t sure how to confront them about it. 

-Afraid of human women

-Refuses to get a drivers license

-Naps three hours a day

Welcome to.....

[fruit-salad-ship]

Can’t stop thinking bout the point where peach finally, after years, returns to her timeline.

Details not yet set in stone, but that sprint back to the house, back to the labs, heart pounding, it’s all she can hear, slams into the building like a wrecking ball, staggers for a moment, sees the house mons, bundles them all up, she’s missed them all so much. Feint footsteps can be heard, and she gets to finally lay eyes on the annoying, irritating, infuriating, utterly gorgeous little ranger she loves to hate and hates to love. Everything gets forgotten, she’s gotta kiss that stupid dumb face of hers. It’s been literal years for her, how many nights had she sat up I wishing she could hear the feint sound of trumpet somewhere on the island while plum practiced, or to hear the smoke alarm go off again because she burnt eggs. Her snappy sarcastic tone when peach got forms wrong, or the mess her hair was in the morning. She missed every stupid thing.

Finally after managing to pull herself away from one companion, she refuses to let her go, carries her all the way to the labs, despite her laughing/pleading to be put down, she was in pyjamas this was embarrassing, but not enough to make her truly not want the attention. And there suddenly he is, she gets to the labs, and sees grey running a scan on the Nidoqueen from the very start of the whole mess. He smiles as he sees the pair, but his eyes are pulled to new scars, weird clothes, hair different, not how he left her no more than a few minutes ago. Peach didn’t think it’d hit her so hard, but she finally got to him, near enough tackled the guy, plum in her arms, her in his. She complete crumbles, missed them both so much, buries herself in the pile. Grey and plum just look at each other like this is crazy, they don’t get it, silently using gestures and looks to express what to do about this.

Peach refuses to leave them alone after this, almost alway in eyeshot for like, a good couple days, is so pleased to see Pari, excited when Theo starts to prod, compliments the outfit she’s wearing, stops in at all the facilities, pleased to see everyone she passes by, spends time with every Pokemon who wants the attention, which of course is all them.

Booker, sweet grumpy Booker, who she missed so much, and Minerva, who totally revels in the time peach has for her outfits, for a fashion show, she bundles up as many mons and loved ones as possible and humours every little thing.

Peach can’t sleep at all once she gets back, part of her thinks if she shuts her eyes, it’d be one of those dreams she kept having, back in hisui, where it felt like she was home some nights. But it’s real, and she can finally curl up in her own bed, with the people she holds most dear to her, and rest, actually relax for the first time in two solid years. Just cannot get enough of her duo, spends hours doting on them, taking in every little detail like it’s all new again, memorising things she feared she’d forgotten while gone.

[comebackali]

end-of-year book ask but i've decided to just answer all the questions

How many books did you read this year? 14 i think

Did you reread anything? What? dracula 🩸🦇

What were your top five books of the year? dracula, wild space, clone wars gambit siege, labyrinth of evil, silver under nightfall

Did you discover any new authors that you love this year? karen miller my beloved

What genre did you read the most of? star wars lol

Was there anything you meant to read, but never got to? i started both shatterpoint and the barriss clone wars book medstar battle surgeons but never finished either

What was your average Goodreads rating? Does it seem accurate? don't use goodreads, should i?

Did you meet any of your reading goals? Which ones? i didn't have anything concrete, just wanted to read more, which i did so, yay :D

Did you get into any new genres? ... star wars? vampires? neither of those are new but they're the only ones i read

What was your favorite new release of the year? jedi battle scars was the only new release i read this year so that one i guess

What was your favorite book that has been out for a while, but you just now read? wild space & the clone wars gambit series

Any books that disappointed you? the padme trilogy 🥲 i wanted to like them sm

What were your least favorite books of the year? i guess the padme books, i didn't hate them but i was just, meh

What books do you want to finish before the year is over? i waited too long to do this meme and here we are. i started the darth maul shadow hunter book (narrated by sam witwer!!) right before the end of the year so i guess that's next on my list

Did you read any books that were nominated for or won awards this year (Booker, Women’s Prize, National Book Award, Pulitzer, Hugo, etc.)? What did you think of them? i think silver under nightfall won some awards? i liked it a lot

What is the most over-hyped book you read this year? dracula? but imo it's hyped exactly right

Did any books surprise you with how good they were? genuinely karen miller's books CHANGED how i think about star wars lmfao

How many books did you buy? just one i think, silver under nightfall, the rest b bought for me. wait i just remembered i bought the jedi quest books so i could read them on kindle.

Did you use your library? no. that should be one of my goals for this year tho

What was your most anticipated release? Did it meet your expectations? well since the only new release i read was jedi battle scars i guess that one. i had mixed feelings about it tho. mostly underwhelmed tbh.

Did you participate in or watch any booklr, booktube, or book twitter drama? that's a no from me dawg

What’s the longest book you read? dracula probably, or maybe it just feels like that cuz it took most of the year to read it

What’s the fastest time it took you to read a book? the jedi quest books are quick reads, like a few hours

Did you DNF anything? Why? shatterpoint and medstar battle surgeons. idk i just wandered off. if they don't have anakin and obi wan in it i STRUGGLE, tragically

What reading goals do you have for next year? keep up the good work and read at least 12 books :D also finish shatterpoint and the barriss books

[repo-net]

back at it again with my ocposting

I don't have any fics to post right now, and I'm not exactly in the mood to start working on any of them right now since I'm busy completing my projects so I can get my school's clearance signed for this year. I also feel kind of bad not having posted any actual content as of late, so I thought I might as well share another one of my wrestlerfic OCs.

This guy doesn't exactly have much of a detailed backstory and is only a side character in the end, but I am going to just put down the start of his story and what his general arc is; as he plays a major role in putting away the first half's main antagonist - the character I talked about last, Reyna.

Anyways, here's the fella. I love this silly scrunkly, he deserves the world.

(used Koikatsu to make this model)

Name: Naguib

From / Age: Sinai, Egypt / 27

Finishers: Sarcophakick (Similar to Booker T’s Scissor Kick. Charges at the opponent (who is usually bent over) and jumps at them, driving one leg on the back of their neck while the other is on the front of their head, forcing them into pain with an attack that plants them onto the ground with the user’s leg on the way down. Named as such due to the way the move closes in on both sides and traps the opponent, like burying someone with a sarcophagus) (pin)

Story: Naguib had always been a bit of a strange and outgoing kid. While nobody really hated him, as the young Egyptian's heart was too pure and kind for people to really think he's horrible to be around, his attitude and energy was just too much for anyone to keep up with and he was a bit of an outcast among the community that he lived with. While on the run from a rabid dog, he accidentally finds himself in a small house with a fellow kid named Aban watching wrestling on his TV. Curiously, Aban (who was a very quiet and reserved kid, kinda just blank all the time) didn't bother to kick the person that just barged into his home, and just allowed Naguib to stay until he deemed it was safe.

Naguib quickly became invested and enamored by the wrestlers on TV and wanted to be just like them. With only a few hours of watching wrestling together in strange circumstances, Naguib deemed Aban a friend and decided he wanted to become wrestlers with Aban. Aban was confused, but he just nodded and went along with it. They've been extremely close friends since then, a perfect contrast of a guy with too much energy and a guy with none at all.

After working hard and getting signed into the promotion together, Naguib looked forward to conquering the wrestling world with his best friend. And while Aban slowly rose up the rankings and was becoming a star, Naguib was... not as fortunate. He was struggling to rack up wins, having only 3 while already having lost 6. Aban on the other hand was already at 7 wins and 3 losses. There was a distinct difference in the direction each of their careers were going, and most people; including Naguib was starting to think that Aban was being held down by being associated with his best friend.

Desperately needing a win to gain some credibility back, Naguib decides to mess around with the local joke and jobber of the company in Bouzou (yes, it's pronounced bozo) who has 0 wins and 8 losses to his name, challenging him to a lumberjack match (a match where various wrestlers are standing outside the ring, and are encouraged to beat the competitors in the match if they find themselves outside the ring). In a horrible twist of luck, Bouzou manages to pick up his first ever win against Naguib to a roaring and jeering crowd, to which the wrestlers happily carry the winner off to the back while Naguib just sits there in the ring in disbelief and embarrassment.

After his embarrassing loss, Naguib spends the next few weeks searching for anyone to take him and team up with him (and he does this thinking that Aban doesn't wanna be around him anymore, believing in his own head that Aban has already outgrown and outrun him). But nobody wants to be associated with the guy. Not a single person in that locker room wants him, and with his last-ditch effort standing in front of him in the form of the champion's door to her locker room, he just sighs and nervously goes in.

Naguib meets Reyna, who is in the room with her actual protege and the girl she took under her wing; Kali. After Kali suffered an incredibly hard-fought and close loss in her debut against the Number 2 ranked wrestler in the company, Reyna saw potential in her and personally offered Kali to be under the champion's arms. Though honestly, some part of Reyna was intimidated by how much Kali was able to do at such an early part of her career and realized that if the latter kept getting better and climbing, Reyna might actually get owned and dethroned. So y'know, might as well keep your potential enemies away from becoming that.

When Naguib entered the room, Reyna has a confused look on her face because she's apparently so leagues ahead of the guy that she straight up doesn't even recognize him until she finds out that this is apparently the guy that Bouzou won against, which she just laughs a lot at once she realizes that after a few rumors circled around about some guy that lost to that joke of a wrestler happened to reach her ear.

Naguib is desperate and needs to have someone that's willing to take him, his best friend Aban doesn't need him anymore and is already leagues ahead of him, the locker room and the audience think he's a joke and he needs to gain some credibility and respect again. Innocent like a puppy and asking with sincerity in his heart, he promises to be a valuable asset to Reyna and Kali if they just give him a chance to be useful to them, anything at all. Neither of them reply, but without being outright told no, this is still the best outcome for Naguib so far and he promises to prove his worth to them in the future.

A week later, as Kali got ready for her next match, she gets stopped by Naguib backstage and he once again goes on about his offer to help her and Reyna. Kali just kind of looks at him funny before walking down the curtain and into the arena. As Kali's fight goes on and continues to tire her out, she and her opponent are down and out. Seeing the opportunity of a lifetime, Naguib runs through the curtain and rushes toward ringside. As Kali gets laid down by a finisher and is about to be pinned and lose her match, Naguib pulls the referee away to prevent them from counting the pin, before dashing from the scene as fast as he could.

This gives Kali enough time to finally recover and land her own finisher, and she finally gets the win after a tough battle against a formidable opponent, thanks to the help of a Naguib run-in. After a confrontation and meetup backstage, Kali (who I should mention is a very no-nonsense, no jokes, battle ready and super stoic character) brings Naguib back to Reyna and with enthusiasm and a look of a proud 'I told you I'd be useful!' on his face, Reyna sighs and decides to give Naguib an honorary spot in their tiny group. What Reyna didn't know is that this guy who couldn't even seem to win over joke characters, would eventually spiral her mental health and magnify her distrust towards other people; which would eventually lead to her collapse and eventual reign as champion to be put in danger.

(While the above details his story and how he joined Reyna's team in the first place, Naguib's complete emotional arc with Reyna, Kali, and Aban can be found here. I will warn you though, it's a bit of a long read since it's an entire story and character arc. I promise it's really good though)

-------------------------------------------------

"Ah, why do I have Christmas shoes on? Aban gave them to me! It was the first time anyone ever gifted me something, and I've always wore them since then! Silly? I guess to some people, they'd think that, yeah. But it means a lot to me, and I'll never substitute looking better for his friendship and care. ... What's up with the markings? Oh, that's just face paint. I thought it'd make me look cool, ahahah."

"I am in the best group in the world! I'm standing side by side with two of the greatest wrestlers in the world - the silent killer; who never backs down from a fight: KAAAALIIII! And the greatest champion of our generati- no, actually. The greatest champion and wrestler in the history of any combat sport in the world, in the universe, in the multiverse! REEYYYNAAA! Was that cool? I definitely killed that, didn't I? Heheh..."

God, I love this guy. I think there's a certain challenge that comes when you're writing babyface and 'meant to be loved' characters where you need to make sure their purity and innocence doesn't become grating to the readers. You want to make sure that the actions that get them into trouble line up with their character, and they're not just causing problems for the sake of 'oops, sorry guys, I'm just naive! haha!'. I like to think I accomplished that with Naguib.

In any case, that's all from this one for now. This is a pretty lengthy post (that would've been even longer if I included Naguib's entire story arc in this post, lmfao) that I kind of just copied and pasted from my notes, but I wanted to show off just one more character from my silly wrestling world that I put a lot of effort into. Thanks for reading! Here, have a pic of the finale to Naguib and Reyna's storyline. A standoff between champion, and challenger just before a heated match.

(yes im aware the crowd looks stupid holding those light sticks i don't have a better one rn lol)

[peri-helia]

the old guard in ikea. Like buying things for the newest or most recent safehouse that they haven’t visited since like 1902 and they need new blankets and mattresses because the ones they have are motheaten, mouldy and full of holes and more mugs. 

Nicky: buys one of each thing for everybody but its all mismatched to match everyone’s favourite colour and Andy is forever losing forks to no-one knows where so he buys them surplus x5 and the comfiest duvets bc he spends about an hour going over tog counts in the bedding department. 

Joe: thinks about each area of the safehouse as its own section; kitchen, bathroom, bedroom - picks out individual bedspreads for each guard per their own colour scheme, but only buys one toothbrush holder, gets lost in decor until Andy drags him out by the back of his shirt, holding a vase for Nicky and a tricket tray for Andy’s earrings and a keyhook and scented candles even after that whole thing in 1892. 

Andy:  grabs the biggest mugs, the sturdiest plates, a doormat bc they trudge so much shit in on their boots and Nicky hates a muddy floor, a poseable mannequin or six for Joe because he gets different ideas for poses at different times, a wingback chair for Nile so she has her own chair she can fling her legs over the side to her heart’s content and a cakestand for her treats. 

Booker: buys uniform stuff, plain white plates and cups but enough for everyone, a drying rack for the plates and lots of towels and a bathmat so no-one’s cold out of the shower. A good fucking tv stand and as many throws as he can carry for when its cold at night. Fake plants bc Nicky’s good at watering them but if they have to leave for days at a time or even years they can come back to a bit of green. 

Nile: Disappears off with a trolley and is not seen for three and a half hours, meets everybody at the checkout with a full compliment of cutlery, plates, mugs etc, throw cushions, towels, that pencil light that changes colours, art for the walls, a flatpack dresser and her own chair, fairy lights, six plants, a  DJUNGELSKOG, two bags frozen meatballs and a bath tray. 

[hannibalzero]

More little mama au stuff

Comstock isn’t very stable physically, he has about a good 12 hours before he’s force back to into the void I suppose. A present from Elisabeth.

Comstock is not a good guy, he’s the worst in Booker.

Booker is actively trying to change his life for the better. No drinking or gambling. He wants to be a good daddy to Annabelle!

Booker has accepted Comstock as a version of himself. Honestly Booker hates the guy but there’s a strange love there. When ever they are together it ends up in sex.

This is the comstock before Columbia was off the ground. Aka the farmer with visions.

Comstock tells Booker what he needs to hear, mostly trying to manipulate the man but Booker let’s him say all that sweet stuff. The man is 100% full of shit.

Elisabeth broke the cycle by pushing Booker into a new time and place. So now Booker is in America 1950s, gut starting to swell with Annabelle. But he’s on a sheep farm so the nose bleeds and catching up is easier.

Booker lives in the hand house, a place where farm hands live. A two room house set up for him and Annabelle.

Booker is the only one that can ride/approach the horses.

Jack and Delta along with the little sisters scare the horses.

Every once and a while Elisabeth appears, checking up on Booker and Annabelle.

When the time comes, the Lutece’s come dressed in white both oddly excited to help with the delivery of the child. Only to find Booker laying in a hayloft holding a good sized baby girl nursing her. They were very disappointed.

The lutesce’s are not physical they are still the same all knowing, kinda here kinda not. Selves.

Annabelle is the first baby to be born on the farm :3

[alwaysalreadyangry]

still very slowly working on the archaeology fic, here is a scene in which some PLOT begins to happen

Nicky flicks through the book he’s supposed to be reading, while he watches Joe taking off his shirt from beneath his eyelashes. He’s very distracting. Joe turns around and catches him staring, so Nicky throws the book down.

“Hey,” Nicky says, very intelligently.

“Where are all my clean shirts?” Joe says, taking a step towards him.

“I think you got them... dirty?” Nicky says. “Because of all that time you’ve spent. In the basement. Which is full of dirt.”

Joe groans and rests his hands on Nicky’s shoulders. He looks down at him with a very serious expression on his face. “This house hates me,” he says. “It tricked me at first: it had all these amazing underground secrets, and it had you, and then by the time it had me trapped, it was too late. It’s a cautionary tale. Maybe I should pitch a module on it to the department. Don’t be like me!”

“You’re so dramatic,” Nicky says, and he leans slightly forward to kiss Joe’s stomach, and then he lightly presses his nose into the curls of dark hair that rise up from Joe’s waistband to above his navel. He tilts his head up, and sighs happily. “You don’t need a shirt. It’s very warm here today.”

“Yes, you’re the reasonable one here,” Joe says. He runs his hands through Nicky’s hair, shaping it into peaks and tufts, and then flattens it down again. 

“You know where my wardrobe is,” Nicky says. “Full of extremely wearable t-shirts. I’m sure I’ve shown you where the bleach and laundry powder are kept, too.”

“Fine, fine,” Joe says. “I can do laundry. Apparently I just got distracted.”

Nicky is too busy kissing and nibbling along Joe’s hipbone to reply. There’s a long moment of silence as Nicky slowly travels down, and Joe gasps and skims a hand up his neck, and Nicky slips his thumbs into Joe’s waistband, and then Joe swears because his phone is ringing, and he answers, and Nicky—

Nicky runs a thumb back up Joe’s stomach, and Joe is massaging Nicky’s head with his free hand, and Nicky presses a kiss to Joe’s lower stomach and looks up at him. He can feel Joe shivering even though the room is very warm. They’re very close. Joe looks vulnerable like this, and Nicky isn’t used to it.

Joe sounds remarkably composed on the phone. “Hi, Book,” he says, in English, as if that’s a person’s name. His hand falls away from Nicky as the man at the other end starts speaking, and he takes half a step towards the wardrobe. He starts speaking about Corsica and then he gets on to Genoa and—

Nicky flops back on the bed. He knows when he’s defeated.

Half an hour later, Joe finds Nicky in the kitchen, where he is burning off some excess energy by overboiling gnocchi. “Sorry,” he says, and wraps an arm around Nicky’s waist. “That was my friend, Booker. He was meant to be in charge of the failed dig this summer. He’s coming to Genoa for a few days next week. He wants to meet you.”

Nicky leans in and briefly rests his forehead against Joe’s. “Sure,” he says. “He’s your friend. How bad can he be?”