#I mean there are many other strange and particular plants but I have dealt with orchids a bit

[regrettablewritings]

Well I recently watched Trouble in the Heights, so let's go for Nevada Ramirez & Love, even if he perhaps has 1 bare inch of it in his whole body.

(I’m still fucking wheezing oh my gOD. Nevada Ramirez is 5′9″, and that ninth inch is composed completely out of the one inch of love he can actually express like a normal human being.) Similar to the Bruce Wayne one, though, some of these were sorta referenced in past Nevada pieces (what few there comparatively are). So, just in case, I included links to those pieces because they generally go into more detail in certain areas. Hope that’s all good!

Who said “I love you” first?: Well, you said it in that way first, so technically it was you. But if we just meant the actual soul of the phrase, of someone vocally expressing to another their love and interest in their well being, even without the exact words in place? It was Nevada. And even he didn’t necessarily notice it in the moment. Granted, even a sentence like, “Hey, don’t be stupid and just go straight home, understand me?” can slip Nevada’s notice as a sign of his own affection. He’s not nearly as in tune with his emotions as he’d like to think, really.

What are their primary love languages?: It’s really hard to place what a guy like Nevada’s love language could possibly be -- mainly because it’s hard to picture a guy like Nevada and a concept like love even inhabiting the same room. Being a gang leader and, well, just being Nevada Ramirez in total, he likes to give off the air that he doesn’t really necessarily need anybody — that everyone, from his underlings to even his past lovers are more or less side dressing he allows near him. But don’t be fooled: This little shit gets by on spoiling you and the affirmations he earns from them. The great thing about gifts is that in theory you could present them without needing to say much or even say anything at all. And given ‘Vada’s . . . less than delicate manner of speaking, this can be a good thing. And don’t get it twisted, he ain’t no sentimental pussy or nothing; he just sorta likes how your face glows when he just so happens to remember things like your favorite candy, or artist you mentioned wanting a framed piece by. He don’t need you to tell him he’s the best (he already knows he is), but it doesn’t hurt to hear you cry it as you practically fling yourself at him and smooch him silly. He also appreciates acts of service. Shady as his business is, it still demands a lot of the man. He won’t always express it completely but those nights when you show up at his place with his favorite takeout, or he comes home and finds the sheets have been cleaned or that you’ve done whatever he’d meant to have completed earlier that day? He almost wants to drag you to the edge of the bed and express his thanks to you. He appreciates it more than you would think.

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?: Frequently, actually. There is hardly a moment wherein Nevada doesn’t have some part of him touching you: His hand resting on your hip or place in the back pocket of your jeans; your rump resting comfortably on his lap; his arm around you as you lean back in the VIP section of a club; or even just your legs over his own (or vice-versa) as you rest on the couch at home. Many would assume it’s just for show; that El Trujillo is simply asserting his dominance to all who might consider approaching you with sexual intent. They wouldn’t necessarily be wrong -- Nevada does intend to wordlessly yet loudly tell people that you belong to him. However, in addition to this, ‘Vada also just likes to show you off to everyone. And what better way to show the world his beautiful girl than to have her perched on his lap like a pretty bird on a branch?

What are their favorite things to do together?: To the surprise of no one, you two don’t have too, too much in common in terms of interest: Nevada, with his silver palate, enjoys eating out at restaurants with no less than four stars, and you enjoy going out to live shows, specifically on or even off-Broadway musicals. You don’t really care much for the strange food he likes, and he’s extremely particular about what sorts of show’s he’ll even bother with, but you do it for one another. But when it comes to what very few things you do enjoy in common, it ultimately gets narrowed down to two things: Cuddling on the couch and watching TV. Typically old shows or telanovelas because they’re both enjoyable and so terrible that neither of you can help but jeer at the bad acting, awful storylines, and cheesy sets and costumes. It’s a very strange bonding activity -- and certainly not one that anyone would associate with Nevada (and he wants to keep it that way). But it’s the one that you two enjoy the most after a long week, and a surefire way to help both parties relax and cheer up.

Who’s better at comforting the other?: Well, you’re one of the only one who can make him genuinely laugh if that says anything. Nevada isn’t an easy man to comfort, mostly because in his stubbornness, he’s become convinced that his power comes from his anger. So really, it should be sign enough that he even decided to go steady with you that he finds some sort of comfort in your presence (regardless of what he might tell you).

Who’s more protective?: Being a dealer of some infamy, Nevada is aware that he’s made more enemies than friends both in The Heights and out of them. As easy as it is to assume he doesn’t care too much about you, the reality is far from the truth: He cares deeply for you in his own Nevada way. When you go to one of his clubs, he’s never far away or not without you in his line of sight. There’s always a hand resting on your hip or your thigh, or he’ll, you’re always on his lap. Call it primal, but smart enough people who value their lives can take one look at ‘Vada’s hand resting on your ass and just know not to even bother with you. Slightly less smart may need to look at the man’s cold, murderous glower just for confirmation. And those with no sense of self-preservation have essentially signed their death warrant. But that’s in an environment he can control. Outside of his bars, his clubs, his restaurants where he’s a VIP? He’s a lot more quiet about it. Originally, he made sure you always had at least two Men-turned-bodyguards nearby you at all times, but you complained about how difficult it made everything from going to work to simply going shopping. “I don’t need your boys to know what types of tampons I use, Nevada!” you bristled. After much arguing, he eventually agreed to go another way about it: There’s actually more people with their eyes on you, often in disguise or paid off, but he’s made sure to put more distance on them so that you won’t feel as skeeved (or that you’ll even know they’re there for that matter). (For extra measure, if he can get you to agree to it, he’ll also have you equipped with a “Saturday Night Special” so to speak.) But be aware: The moment anyone so much as indicates even thinking about making you a target? That calm, cold demeanor rises to a simultaneously freezing yet infernal rage: You will be put on lock down or even ushered to a safe house until the threat can be dealt with. You will be escorted about the house at every moment by an armed man. And you will be kept safe until the threat has been literally disposed of.

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?: Physical, because at least then he doesn’t have to say anything. Asshole behavior aside, Nevada knows damn well that he’s the absolute worst with words and that it honestly doesn’t take much to set you off. He figures that so long as he doesn’t have to actually say anything, he stands a better chance at not ticking you off and screwing himself over.

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?: “The Wolf” by SIAMÉS. “Silvertongue” by Young the Giant. “Love Me Dead” by Ludo, if the roles were reversed . . . Nevada is just plain symbolic of something that’s bad for you but just feels so good to have. That in spite of how poisonous he actually is, he is capable of using just the right words and moves to have you addicted to him after just one drop. And in spite of everything he might insist or do, it works both ways: You’re both tragically and constantly craving the other, and it can wear you both out. But then again, that’s just what addiction is: Craving to the point of depletion. Though if you want something more optimistic, there’s also “Body Talks” by The Struts: Nevada doesn’t understand it himself but all he knows is that the very moment he laid eyes on you, he was going to do whatever it took to make you his — and, judging by your body language, you were perfectly happy to do that, so long as he worked for it. And let’s face it: El Trujillo ain’t afraid to get his hands dirty.

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?: The problem is that Nevada does have the ability to give nicknames, but he’s mostly crap at it unless there’s an ulterior motive involved. Like when he wants to keep you from being mad at him or to stop you from pouting, he’ll teasingly run a finger along your jawline and pout back a cooing “Cariño” or “Muñequita.” If he means to seduce and tease? You’re his “Good Girl.” If it’s more like he’s for once asking you to do a favor, he’ll give out a quick “Babe” or something of that nature. But if he’s just trying to apply a nickname for the sake of using one? Don’t trust him with that. Trusting him to pick a pet name based on a characteristic of yours, or in reference to an event is just not a good idea. His bluntness almost always causes him to pick the wrong thing to focus on! For example: If you have a green thumb and have taken to keeping a small windowsill garden or a corner for your plants, he’s not going to reference a goddess of greenery or even a flower or spice — he’s going to try calling you “Dirtworm” or something! (And then get frustrated when you express distaste over the name.) You’re honestly probably going to have to guide him to what sort of names you’ll tolerate and what you won’t, which shocks every and all witnesses who know anything about Nevada. A romantic interest? Telling Nevada what to do? It’s more likely than you think! Even though he’ll go along with it to pacify you, the hot-tempered man obviously can’t help but feel as thought you’re being unreasonably picky. After all, he’s more than satisfied with the nicknames you usually give him. Granted, they’re just the same nicknames he’s been going by for years now: El Trujillo, Jefe . . . He used to be called “Daddy” in the VIP sections of his haunts, but that title has since been reserved only for you. That, and ‘Vada. And “Baby Boy”, but only very, very sparingly. Which is still more than he’d let anybody else get away with.

Thank you for your patience!

#nevada ramirez #nevada ramirez x reader #trouble in the heights #Raul Esparza #regrettablewritings #character ship meme #character ship headcanons #y'all keep requesting this absolute assholes/men who just are the absolute WORST at expressing love #you guise...blease love yourselves... #like -- love yourselves better than these guys could #says the person who still writes for 'em #raúl esparza

[falseroar]

Is This Your Card? Part 5: Silver Bullets

((The hunter discusses the possibility of Mark being a werewolf with the others before the district attorney finds a strange note and the mayor issues a challenge.

Links to Parts 1, 2, 3, and 4, and a link to the masterlist for the whole au.))

Abe swore under his breath while the chef did not feel the need to hold back as he began to rage that he wasn’t paid enough for this.

He tried not to look at the attorney as he straightened up, or at whatever expression the mayor had on his face right now, trying to focus instead on what this might mean.

“I assure you, Master Markiplier was not a werewolf,” Benjamin said, his calming hand outstretched toward the chef in particular, who just batted it away. “I am fairly sure one of the staff would have noticed that.”

“Except Mark was firing people left and right, wasn’t he?” Abe found his mouth moving on autopilot, just as it had when he first saw Mark’s body and turned on the attorney. The idea then had been the same as whenever he came across a witness—accuse anyone of murder, and they’ll start spouting off all they know if it means clearing themselves. Or that was the theory he generally went by, but instead the attorney had just seemed more closed and withdrawn than normal, their eyes so distant he wasn’t sure they even heard him then. Maybe, in retrospect, accusing someone of killing their best friend while they were still in shock might not have been the most tactful thing he had ever done.

Now he doubted he was helping much, even as he pushed forward with his current line of thought. “There’s barely anyone left on the staff now, isn’t that right?”

“Well, correct, we’re down to three at the moment, but Chef and I are still here most of the time. And even if Master Markiplier has been less…inclined to socializing lately—”

“You mean locked up in his bedroom half the day,” the chef interrupted with a scoff. “Man could be doing anything up there for all I care, so long as he paid me. Guess that’s out of the window now.”

“Mark was not a werewolf,” the mayor said, his voice straining with emotion. “We don’t even know who sent those cards or why! Why should we believe anything they say?”

An uncomfortable silence went around the room, and Abe thought of his own pair of cards tucked away deep within his jacket. The knowledge that he wasn’t the only one to receive a second card wasn’t as comforting as it could have been.

“Man, I’m just glad I didn’t get one of them death cards,” Chef muttered under his breath, only to immediately glance at the attorney when he realized what he had said aloud.

For their part, they didn’t acknowledge the remark. Instead, apparently still thinking of what Damien had said, they asked, “The box those cards were sent in, where is it?”

“It should still be in the dining room,” Benjamin said, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice as he added, “I’m afraid that I haven’t had the time to fully clean the house as I should, there have been so many…distractions this morning.”

“Yeah, I’d call finding out your boss has been murdered one hell of a distraction,” Abe muttered, unsure if anyone heard him over yet another round of thunder and lightning. “Now why don’t we have another look at that package?”

He led the way, pausing only once when he noticed the figure sitting alone in a darkened room, the shapes of plush chairs and hanging curtains suggesting a home theater of some kind, but Damien broke away from the group first with a murmur about having a word with the Colonel. Abe shrugged and continued on, glad he wasn’t the one who had to have that conversation.

In the dining room, Benjamin went to the side table and picked up the box, which he handed over to the attorney. Abe had to admit he had expected the butler to hand it to him, but he managed to hide his irritation if only because he probably would have handed it over to them in private, if for no other reason than to see what they could pick up.

Looking for it, he saw their nostrils flare as they looked over the outside of the box, pausing on the label that Mark showed the table last night, before frowning as they gave the box a slight shake.

“There’s something else in here.” They opened the box and turned one of the flaps out to reveal a piece of paper stuck to the underside, which fluttered with the movement but did not let go of the cardboard until they pulled it free. “Mark must have missed it when he opened the package last night.”

Their eyes skimmed over the short note before handing it over to Abe, allowing him to see that it was a series of lines typewritten much like the notes on the cards.

“Well, what’s it say?” Chef asked impatiently, and against Abe’s better judgment he began to read aloud.

“The cards have been dealt, the game has already begun. Whether you choose to play your hand or not, fate has already decided which chambers are loaded.” Abe turned the note over, but there was nothing else on the back to help explain. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Loaded chambers, sounds like Russian roulette to me.”

Abe spun around to see the Colonel standing at the door, the Mayor at his shoulder.

The Colonel shrugged at the expressions on the other faces in the room and said, “It was just the first thing that came to mind. What kind of game are we supposed to be playing then? I do hope it’s not Jumanji, took me ages to get out of that one.”

For someone who just found out his friend was dead, the Colonel seemed surprisingly blasé about this whole affair, Abe thought to himself. Then again, the man had seen enough death and undeath on the battlefield that maybe it took more than that to rattle him these days. Still…

“Clearly, the game of some sick and twisted individual,” Benjamin answered. “They must have planted the accusation in Master Mark’s envelope in the hopes that one or all of us might turn on him.”

“Well, whoever did it didn’t know what they were dealing with if that’s the case,” Abe said. When everyone stared at him, he felt the need to explain, “When I was examining the body, I found signs that Mark had been stabbed 37 times, poisoned, beaten, strangled, drowned, and then shot, in that order. Not exactly the way to go about it if you knew you were about to take on a werewolf.”

“Mark was a werewolf?!” the Colonel shouted. “Why, don’t be absurd! Where would you get a ridiculous idea like that?”

“Mark’s card,” Chef said, while Abe flashed the card in question. “We found it on him. But maybe the killer didn’t know, and that’s why they had to go through all that other stuff before the silver bullet finally put him down.”

“And they somehow had time to try all of that against a werewolf?” Benjamin asked. He raised his hands, gloved palms up, in a shrug. “Is it just me, or is this making less sense the more we learn about this situation?”

“Or mayhaps we are making this more complicated than it need be,” the Mayor said, his voice betraying an effort to keep his emotions in check. “Silver bullets are not exactly common.”

Suddenly, every eye in the room was on Abe, and not in the good way.

He felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he said, “Oh, sure, blame the monster hunter. Even if I had a motive, which I don’t—”

Chef cleared his throat and gestured towards the “Werewolf” card still in Abe’s hand.

“Please, like I would waste time with all of that other stuff if I wanted to kill a werewolf,” Abe scoffed. “Rule number one for dealing with werewolves: go straight for the silver.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the District Attorney wince and pinch the bridge of their nose with a sigh.

Right. Maybe that didn’t come out like he wanted it to.

“All the same, if everyone here who happens to possess a gun would be so kind to show their ammunition?” The mayor’s eyes were burning in to Abe now, but the hunter didn’t blink. He’d faced far deadlier stares than the glare of an elected official. Metaphorically and literally deadly, in the case of that one Gorgon who really didn’t handle rejection well.

“You know what? Fine. Colonel, anyone else here got a weapon?”

There were head shakes around the room, except for the chef who for some reason looked at the ladle he brought with him from the kitchen as though considering it for a moment.

“Never bothered with silver bullets myself,” the Colonel said as he pulled out his own gun, the same one he’d been waving around willy-nilly last night. “Homo necrosis, any kind of bullet will do, or a baseball bat if you’re feeling cheeky.”

“They’re expensive,” Abe agreed as he pulled his gun out of its holster. “That’s why I only use them when I have to, otherwise the ones I have on hand stay in a case I keep in my jacket.”

Both men unloaded their guns at the same time in front of everyone, revealing five bullets and one empty chamber each. In the palms of their hands, the ten silver bullets gleamed as they caught the light.

((End of Part 5. Thank you for reading!

Link to Part 6.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch ))

#markiplier #fanfiction #wkm au #werewolf au #monster hunter au #wkm detective #wkm district attorney #wkm mayor #wkm colonel #had to work that jumanji reference in somewhere #honestly though #the game is literally just the werewolf game + clue #with a missing card

[shipmistress9]

HW2020 -- 5: Buying Flowers For Each Other

Part 5 of my Hiccstrid Week Project.

t-rated; RTTE-canon-verse

This one, I had a lot of fun with! 😁 Partially because of the scenes and conversations themselves, but also because of a certain headcanon that wormed its way into this prompt/one-shot which affects how I feel about many things.

I hope you’ll enjoy it! :)

(Also, linking back to the master post for all the wonderful additions 😊)

. o O o .

“So, any ideas what you’re getting for her this year?”

Hiccup grimaced at Snotlout's question. “What do you mean?” he asked, aiming for nonchalance. He knew exactly what Snot meant, but he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of playing his game. 

“Uh, Astrid’s birthday, I guess,” Fishlegs helpfully threw in. “It’s in two weeks.”

Hiccup sighed. “Is that so?” As if he would ever forget that. 

“I wonder why I ever bothered thinking about you as competition,” Snot muttered under his breath, then said in a louder voice. “Well, I know what I’ll get her as a gift. All women love flowers. And jewellery. So that’s what I’ll get for her. The biggest bouquet of flowers you can imagine and the most special bracelet you’ve ever seen. She’ll fall in love with me right away, you’ll see.” And with a last sneer in Hiccup’s direction, he left the clubhouse. 

“‘The most special bracelet we’ve ever seen’?” Hiccup repeated, his eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “And flowers?”

Fishlegs nodded, eager to share what he knew. "Oh, yes. Snot's been talking about little else lately. Apparently, he asked Johann to get him the most ostentatious bracelet he can find. I wonder what it'll be. Can you imagine the wonders foreign cultures may produce? I can't wait to see it!"

Bemused, Hiccup blinked at his friend but then decided not to say anything. Maybe Snot should give that bracelet to Fishlegs instead, he certainly would appreciate it more than Astrid. 

Or so Hiccup hoped at least.

Because even though he'd been aware of her upcoming birthday for weeks already, he still had no idea what to give her for this occasion. He wanted it to be something special, something she'd truly appreciate, something unique. But no matter how much he thought about it, nothing would come to his mind that felt right. 

The only thing he knew was that Snot's ideas sucked. Because Astrid wasn't like all women. She was special and unique in her own ways, so strong and independent, a warrior. The only worth flowers had to her were when they had any practical healing effects or the petals could be used as a dye. And jewellery? That wasn't her thing at all. Any elaborate adornments would only get in the way during fighting. Sure, she owned a few pieces, a pretty comb for her hair and a brooch to go with it. But those were family heirlooms, pieces she valued because of their meaning and not because they were 'pretty'.

No, there really was no need to worry about how Astrid would receive Snot's gifts, not about any meaningless jewellery and certainly not about some flowers either. But that didn't change that Hiccup still had no idea what to get for her…

. o O o .

Hiccup was still scouring his mind for a suitable gift for Astrid when they all flew back to Berk a few days later. He thought about looking through Trader Johann's goods himself but directly ruled that idea out again. True, sometimes he brought interesting things… but somehow, Hiccup felt like that wouldn't do. The friendship between him and Astrid had evolved and grown since they were living on Dragon's Edge, so she deserved something more personal.

As soon as they'd landed and greetings were dealt with, he headed over to Gobber's forge – or, more precisely, toward his old workshop. 

"Okay, let's see what we have here," he muttered to himself as he pulled out a stack of papers and let them drop onto the desk. There were so many things he'd invented during the rather lonely years before he'd met Toothless, so many ideas he'd come up with but hadn't pursued further beyond making simple sketches. There just had to be something sensible, something he could refine during the next days, something more personal and useful than a big bouquet of flowers. The thought alone made Hiccup roll his eyes. 

Humming to himself, he sifted through the papers, getting out a second and eventually a third stack. It was a fun walk down memory lane that often made him smile fondly or laugh at his younger self. Some of these ideas were absurd. However, once he’d looked through all three stacks and had hunted out every other loose sheet of paper he could find, he had to admit to himself… that he still had nothing. 

Astrid had no need of a splintered twig that could hold a piece of coal. He'd designed that one for his dad once, to keep his hands from getting too messy when he took notes for his chiefing duties. But Stoick had never used it; the twig had broken between his meaty fingers almost instantly. And she also didn't need that utterly ridiculous sword-axe-mace-thing he'd designed when he was thirteen and thought all he would need to get her attention was a cool weapon.

No, none of these sometimes bizarre inventions would work as a gift for Astrid.

Sighing, he let his head drop down onto the table with a dull thump. “What am I supposed to do?” 

The knock on the door made him jump up with a surprised cry. “Wha-what? Who’s there?” he asked as he hastily pushed his old notes aside. 

To his relief, the door opened to reveal only Gobber, a strange grin on his face. “Is just me, laddy,” the blacksmith announced cheerfully. “I just wanted tae check if yer okay. Heard ye laughin' an' cursin' in here all day.”

Hiccup, who’d gotten up to join his old mentor in the main workshop, blinked at the light falling through the window in surprise. Gobber was right, the sun was already setting.

“I… well, I was just going through my old notes. I hoped to find something... Ah, never mind. I’ll just have to think of something else.” 

Gobber frowned. “Yer sure? Is there a problem ye need help with?”

For a short moment, Hiccup actually considered asking Gobber for help. But he sincerely doubted that the older man would come up with an idea for a sensible gift either. Astrid also didn’t need a hand prosthetic that could be used as a cooking spoon, after all. 

“No, I’ve got this. But thanks,” he said politely. Gobber didn’t seem convinced though, so he quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, how are you? Any news to share? How’s the forge going?”

Gobber gave him a confused look, but then shrugged. “Ah, just the same as ever. Lots of work an' too wee time. Just today, I got five old swords tae recycle intae somethin' useful.”

Out of reflex, Hiccup’s eyes shifted to the pile of metal in a corner. “Do you need my help with anything?” Maybe working with his hands would help unstick his mind. 

“Nae, nothing urgent. But yer always welcome tae work here if ye want.” 

Hiccup nodded. “Alright. I’ll stop by tomorrow as long as nothing else comes up.” Casually, he sifted through the mangled and broken weapons, feeling nostalgic when he recognised a blade or a handle he’d made himself. Then he paused, frowning as his hand lingered over one particular sword. “Is this…?” He threw Gobber a surprised look.

“Huh?” Gobber glanced over and then shrugged. “Aye, that’s Gronkle Iron. Grandpa Larson retired an' young Gustav doesnae want it. ‘Too short’, he said.” He rolled his eyes. “A shame. But aam sure I can fin' a new purpose for that metal.”

Hiccup eyed the sword again, an idea forming in his mind in rapid speed. Grinning broadly, he took the sword and turned toward Gobber again. “Would you mind if I used this metal? I already have an idea.”

. o O o .

“Here, these are for you. Happy birthday, beautiful.”

Astrid looked flabbergasted, and Hiccup really couldn’t blame her. After all, Snot had all but thrown an entire armful of flowers at her the very moment she’d appeared at the clubhouse. 

“What the–” she cursed, dumping the flowers onto the nearest table. “Snotlout, are you out of your mind? What am I supposed to do with these?”

“Ah, don’t be like that,” Snot drawled. "Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady, that's what these are for.”

Astrid’s hands balled into fists. “Are you serious?” she snarled.”Odin, when the Gods handed out intelligence, you really were hiding in a cave and screamed 'I don't want any!', didn't you?"

Hiccup chocked on his laughter, both at Astrid's comment and Snot's puzzled expression. The twins weren't as considered, bursting out laughing and wiping tears off their faces.

However, Snot wouldn't give up that quickly it seemed.  “Well, no,” he hastily backpaddled. “I mean, of course, no stupid plant will ever outshine you, Astrid. They can only ever compliments your beauty and–"

"Okay, stop right there before I'm getting sick," she interrupted him, visibly shuddering in disgust.

"But it's your birthday, baby!" Snot apparently wasn't done yet.

Hiccup was beginning to enjoy the show, and certainly not least because of how little Astrid obviously cared for Snot's attention. It helped kindle the tentative hope that lately had started blooming in his heart. Maybe, just maybe she felt the same…

"Yes, it's my birthday," Astrid snapped back. "So what? Does that mean I'm obliged to suffer even more of your stupidity?"

Snot gaped at her for a second but then seemed to pull himself together again. "Ah, I know why you're upset. You thought those flowers were your only gift and were disappointed, right? But don't worry, the Snotman is your saviour in every situation.” He snatched the box with the bracelet off the table and held it out to her. “Here, this one’s your true present. Come on, look inside. You’ll love it.”

Astrid took a moment to take a deep calming breath. She rolled her eyes but otherwise stayed clam which, given that Hiccup could see the tension in her jaw, was impressive. “All right, what is it this time, Snot? Let’s get this over with so that I can tell you to shut up and leave me in peace.” She inspected the box and the intricate bow that was bound around it, certainly not by Snow himself but rather by Johann or maybe even the one he’d bought it from. She tugged it open and–

“What, in Loki’s name...” She lifted a note and a simple braided leather cord out of the box, staring at them in disbelief. From where Hiccup stood, he couldn’t make out what exactly was tied into it, only that it was about half a dozen charms, all white and of a rather… phallic form. There was a moment of silence, then... 

“Are you kidding me?” Astrid screeched, turning furious eyes on Snotlout. 

Snot had turned an interesting shade of white, backing away with his hands raised in defence and his eyes switching from Astrid to the bracelet she’d dropped onto the ground and back again. “I… I’m sorry! I didn’t know what– It was Johann’s fault! He–” He seemed to realise that no excuse would save him, stumbling back a step or three before he turned to make a run for it – Astrid hard on his heels. 

“That really is the most special bracelet I’ve ever seen,” Ruff snickered. She’d picked it up and inspected it. “I think those are carved dragon teeth. I never would have thought of giving them this form though.” She held it up for everyone else to see which led to Tuff covering Chicken’s eyes while Fishlegs picked up the note that had fallen to the ground next to the bracelet. 

“Uh, no wonder she was so mad,” he muttered after reading the note. “According to Johann, this is a special talisman from somewhere far in the south. Traditionally, it’s meant as a betrothal or wedding gift and is meant to bless the donor and the receiver with...” he paused, blushing a little, “with fertility and never-ending passion. Johan even added a personal note, wishing Snot good luck and happiness with his bride-to-be.”

Tuff looked up, bewildered. “Wait, what? Snot’s getting married? When? And to who?”

Ruff just burst out laughing. “Oh, Snot is so dead!”

Bemused, Hiccup watched in silence from his place in the back of the room. He wasn’t quite sure what Snot had been thinking, whether he’d been thinking at all, or whether it really had just been Johann’s exaggerated enthusiasm. How could he get her something like this and think she’d like it, how could he misread her signs so thoroughly? 

Or, could it be that…? 

No, he didn’t want to think about the other option; that, maybe, it was Hiccup who was misreading her. Surely, there was something between him and Astrid, something that had developed over the past years, right? He wasn’t as stupid sn Snot for getting his hopes up… right?

He was still brooding, a little worriedly, when Astrid came back. Her body was tense with repressed anger. “Get that thing out of my sight, Ruff, or I swear I’ll shove it somewhere nobody will ever find it again,” she growled.

Still giggling, Ruff pouched the bracelet. “So, did you kill Snot?” she asked, mirth clear on her face. Apparently, she was enjoying herself greatly.  

Astrid shot her a glare, then let out a defeated sigh as she slumped down on a nearby chair. “No, I didn’t. He flew off before I could reach him, all the while yelling how sorry he was. I just wish… why can’t he leave me in peace, for Odin’s sake?”

“Same reason Legs would never leave Meatlug and my brother takes Chicken with him wherever he goes,” Ruff prompted, grinning. Both boys looked at her in clear confusion.

Astrid growled at her but then paused when her eyes fell on another box lying on the table in front of her. It was only adorned with a rather simple bow, but it was enough to identify it as another present. Hiccup wished he could rush forward and snatch it away, not wanting to annoy her further, but it was too late.

“And what’s this?” she asked, her voice saturated with annoyance. “If that moron got me even more, then...” She let the threat trail off and grabbed the box.

“No, that’s from–” Fishlegs began but got cut off by Hiccup frantically shaking his head. If she got this angry and annoyed by getting gifts, he rather didn’t want her to know he’d gotten her something, too.

However, Astrid didn’t pay them any mind, eyes fixed on the box’s content. Without a word, she reached inside and lifted one of the two objects out, inspecting it. It was a dagger, sleek and sharp, perfectly balanced, the handle wrapped in practical leather. It was elegant in its simplicity – if Hiccup was allowed to think so himself. What Astrid thought, however, he had no idea.

Mutely, she stood up and walked over to where he stood, her eyes not leaving the sharp blade until she stood right in front of him. “You made this.” It wasn’t a question. She knew his handiwork to well not to recognise it. 

Gulping, Hiccup nodded. “Both of them,” he mumbled, hoping she wasn’t about to gut him. The old sword had been big enough to turn it into two daggers, and while he’d worked away in Gobber’s forge, making them had felt like a fantastic idea. Now, he wasn’t so sure anymore. 

Astrid shook her head, gaze dropping back to the dagger in her hand and face twitching. “A Gronkle Iron dagger,” she murmured. “Two even.” 

“You… you once said you’d want one…” he mumbled, feeling more stupid with every passing moment. That had been ages ago, he should have known better.

Again, she shook her head, but when she looked up again, there was surprise in her eyes, even something like a smile on her face. “You remembered?” she asked. “I… I didn’t think…” She trailed off, her face softening into a grateful smile. “Thank you!” 

There was true gratitude in her voice, but Hiccup barely noticed anything anymore as she stretched to press a quick kiss to his cheek; Not Ruff’s snickering, not Fishlegs’ happy smile, and not even the blush on Astrid’s cheeks as she quickly turned away and left. All he knew was that he was grinning like an idiot, his hand rising to brush over where her lips had touched him. 

So, he’d been right after all. Astrid wasn’t the romantic type and getting her flowers of all things would never do.

. o O o .

Aah, I really liked this one! 😊 I hope some of you did, too.

* - . - * - . o O o . - * - . - *

If you want to support me you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊 (Ko-Fi)

#Hiccstrid Week 2020 #Hiccstrid #fanfiction #httyd #rtte #fluff #Hiccup Haddock #Astrid Hofferson #Snotlout #ruffnut #Tuffnut #Fishlegs #yes I admit the reblog of that edit wasn't by chance

[thelonely]

MAJOR ep. 28 spoilers

(find it on ao3 here)

Mama has been to more than her fair share of funerals.

Well, if you can call them all funerals. Her line of work didn’t do kindly by folks looking for a traditional burial. All too often, she’d had to scoop up ashes post-battle and spread them, collect bones and dig holes for them, lose sight of a coworker mid-fight and never catch hide nor hair of them again. There were too many anomalies to be explained, too many questions raised. Seeing those names slowly sink on the “Missing Persons” list and knowing still hurt, after all these years.

And hell, some folks in the past didn’t want to go through the ceremonial bullshit; they just wanted some dirt over their remains and a salute, before sinking off into that eternal sleep. Fair enough.

Mama’s definition of a “funeral” wasn’t always clean enough to entail the hearse, coffin, and grave plot. It was the exception, rather than the norm.

Which is why she’s surprised that Ned Chicane, of all people, wanted—and got—a traditional funeral. Let alone a crowded one.

(Maybe it was for the theatrics of it. Scratch that, it was definitely for the theatrics of it.)

Ned Chicane, once again, brought the town together—they had watched him go down the first time, and they were here to watch him go down for good. They owed him that much.

Duck and Aubrey and Mama and Barclay, Jake and Leo and Kirby and Sheriff Owens, Agent Stern and Hollis and Kevin and Eugene. People who loved him, people who dealt with him, people who hated him. People who disagreed with him, people who were inspired by him, people who thought he was a scam and disgrace. In this little ski town where everyone knows everybody, it does not go unnoticed that two particular people are missing. But, considering the circumstances, no one can blame them.

The residents of Kepler hover by the graveside as a priest says a few words; Ned didn’t strike anyone as a particularly religious man, but the sentiment is nice, regardless.

Duck gets up and chokes out a speech—it’s hard to tell if it’s due to the occasion, or just public speaking nerves. But he gets through it nonetheless, talking about the mysterious man that one day emerged as the owner of the once-dinky Cryptonomica, and how he wasn’t an open man but he was an amicable one. A brave one.

And because Ned had no one else that was willing to speak, the speeches end and the crowd breaks briefly before burial.

The Amnesty Lodge group gathers, talking idly with flowers and programs in their hands. It’s probably the first time that Mama has seen Duck not in the ranger uniform—but of course, he’s still wearing the hat. Barclay has trimmed his beard close, and Jake is in dark hues instead of neon ones.

Aubrey is also not her usual self. That much is obvious to anyone with any degree of familiarity with her.

The normally chatty magician is quiet; she stands eerily still, hands curled in her black dress as she listens to everyone chat. Her weight is subtly shifted to her good leg—she refused to use crutches at the service.

Mama is used to strange situations: to magic and monsters and violence. But nothing ever feels quite as strange, quite as wrong, as a funeral.

“I wish I had some… some, I don’t know, some cryptid keychains I could drop in, instead of these flowers.” Duck raises his bouquet accordingly: pink carnations. “I mean. Twenty-two years, and I never saw a damn flower in his place, not once. Did he even like flowers?”

“If he did, I sure doubt he would’ve told us—or if he did tell us, whether we would’ve believed him,” Mama replies. “Damn near everything that came out of that man’s mouth sounded like a lie. I don’t think dropping flowers will be an egregious sin against him.”

“I thought about maybe bringing some Nerf darts. I guess that wouldn’t go over too well, though, huh—”

Suddenly, Jake nudges Aubrey’s arm. “Hey, look.”

His pointed finger gets the group’s attention; they all turn to look at the item of interest: the grave marker, a couple yards away. They hover for a moment, scouring the letters. Eyebrows lower, foreheads wrinkle. Aubrey averts her eyes.

“Well, this sure solves that mystery, don’t it,” Mama finally says.

The marker reads: Edmund Kelly Chicane.

“I found it on some legal documents around the Cryptonomica,” Kirby pipes in from behind them, noticing their stares. His black suit fits baggy around the legs and tight around the belly, and it feels alien to see him without an RC Cola in hand. “Seemed more official, to put the full name on it.”

Mama nods and Kirby turns back to whatever discussion he was already having. The group is quiet for a beat. Then:

“...Just feels wrong,” Duck mumbles, removing his hat and shifting it from one hand to the other. “Having his full name out here, well, it’s like—like seeing the guy naked. Jesus Christ. Let the man have some privacy, he freakin’ beefed it.”

Mama stares for another moment, then: “I think I’m partial to ‘Ned Fuckin’ Chicane.’”

That earns a small laugh from the group—from everyone except for Aubrey. Mama looks at her with barely concealed concern, but Aubrey doesn’t seem to notice.

“Okay, but really: this all feels wrong. The flowers, the name—hachi machi,” Duck says again with a note of disgust. “This ain’t Ned’s style.”

“I’m not exactly sure what else we’re supposed to do?” Barclay says. “He’d at least like the high turnout, if that’s any comfort.”

But Duck is barely listening. He pivots, looking at the scene around them: the townsfolk, the marker, the rows of chairs, the grave itself, the program in his hands—

And then he gets an idea.

He slides a pen out of his front pocket, flips the program over, and jots something down in loose letters. Clicks the pen closed and stares at his handiwork for a moment. Rips off that last page.

Aubrey, standing to his right, merely looks up at him with the question in her eyes. Duck, catching her stare, turns the paper towards her.

It reads: Fucking.

The park ranger shrugs. “This felt like something he’d appreciate more than just some stinkin’ flowers.”

And with that, he strides towards the grave, gives one final look at the coffin within, and drops the piece of paper. He glances up at their group. He mouths the name: Ned Fucking Chicane. And then he walks back.

This action does not go unnoticed. As Duck makes his way back to their group, other attendees peer into the grave—some laugh, some look appalled, some smile nostalgically.

“Duck,” Barclay says, his voice verging on giddy. “Where did you come up with that?”

The park ranger doesn’t seem to share the same excitement for the act. As he gets closer, he slaps a hand to his face, head bowed.

“What did I just fuckin’ do,” he moans under his breath. “I go to a man’s damn funeral and drop curse words on his grave? Have I gone bonkers? Why didn’t any of you stop me?”

“Duck—” Mama interjects.

“Fuckin’ hell, guys, I might as well have just shouted a big ol’ cuss in the middle of his final rites—”

“Duck, stop. No, look,” Mama says, planting a firm hand on his shoulder and giving him a small shake. “Look.”

Pens have emerged from pockets and purses, and the residents of Kepler are scribbling on their own programs. They write, and then they line up.

Everyone contributes something.

Boss, Bastard, Conspiracy. Danger, Superstar, Entrepreneur. Black Diamond, Flamboyant, Brave. Fuckin’, Effin’, Fucking.

The coffin is almost entirely concealed by paper. Middle name after middle name tumbles down into the hole, and it takes a good twenty minutes for the stream to taper out.

Aubrey watches her friends and neighbors drop their pieces in. And yet, she can’t bring herself to join. She just doesn’t know what to write.

(After everything… what could she write?)

She still hasn’t written anything by the time that they’re told to gather around for the end of the ceremony. Feels a swell of panic when the first shovel breaks the ground and tosses earth onto the pile.

Dirt cascades into the plot and the town watches silently as his titles are buried—until the only name that remains is the one on the gravemarker.

And then the service is over. People hover by the filled plot, saying final goodbyes to each other, exchanging hugs and words. It’s a flurry of movement for all but Aubrey.

Instead, Aubrey thinks.

She thinks as she says goodbye to the other attendees, telling her that they’ll see her soon. Barclay says he’ll have some soup at home. Duck says he’ll pop into the Lodge sometime tonight.

She thinks as the bulk of the town shuffles away, quiet conversation bubbling between them:

Remember when Ned crashed that stupid drone into a tree and the national parks office got flooded with calls of Mothman sightings for three whole days? Remember when he had the live studio audience of kids for Saturday Night Dead, and how he scared them senseless by dressing up in a yeti costume and jumping them? Remember when he went on Google Reviews and made the Cryptonomica the most upvoted place in Kepler—. And then they’re too far away to hear.

She’s almost alone: just her, Mama, and a heavy silence remain. And finally, Aubrey writes something down.

She walks on numb legs to the grave, coming to a slow halt beside it. With a slight wince, she bends over and slots her paper into the freshly turned dirt. She rises and gives it one final glance.

Mama calls from a few yards away, eyes shining with sympathy; Aubrey nods and rejoins her.

“You ready?” Mama asks, her big hand spanning Aubrey’s entire back.

“Yeah. I… I’m ready.”

They slowly move away, towards the trees. Neither of them look back.

A lone piece of paper flutters in a soft wind, unread.

The sun sinks and the stars twinkle into existence overhead, clear and cold. They shine brilliantly, beautifully over the headstone, and while the man beneath them is gone, this final middle name is not.

Written in careful, cursive letters:

Friend.

#taz #the adventure zone #taz amnesty #taz spoilers #ned chicane #taz fic #sar.writes #MAJOR spoilers but. i got v sad thinking about all of this + had to write something

[etraytin]

Quarantine, Day 103

June 22

Tonight's journal is coming to you from my balcony, where it is dark at nearly ten pm and very humid, but still pleasant with all my plants growing and the hum of air conditioners all around me. 

And fucking yikes, those are some large bugs. The inside is also very appealing at this hour. I think I will write from my armchair this evening. 

Anyway, I need to go to bed earlier than usual tonight because I have a very early morning tomorrow. Poll workers need to report to the precinct by 5am, and although I'm lucky to live nearly on top of our polling place, I still need to shower and dress and pack my breakfast, lunch and dinner before I go. We typically don't finish till 8:30pm, sometimes later, so it's a damn long day when you're not allowed to leave the precinct for any reason. Typically we make it nicer by throwing a big potluck of foods people can eat on all day long, but COVID ruins everything once again. At least there's a fridge and a microwave so I won't be stuck with PBJs and tepid water bottles. 

The procedure is going to be different this time, too. I work pollbook most of the time at our precinct, which is the computer we use to check people in. It's not difficult work, but it is exacting, and it must be done right every time. Almost every counting discrepancy in a precinct starts at the pollbook, with somebody who didn't get entered properly for one reason or another. I have not made any major mistakes yet, knock on wood! There is a special precinct captain just for the pollbook, who does not work the pollbook but watches us working the pollbook to make sure we do it right. She's very demanding, for obvious reasons, and insists that we follow a particular procedure that is the same every time, so no steps ever get missed. This time we can't touch anybody's ID, which is going to make things different since we usually hold the ID till we've pushed the key to enter the voter, and we have to hand out the ballot ourselves instead of sending them to a ballot table. I'm hoping we get off to kind of a slow start so we can get the hang of things. I really, really do not want to be the person who causes a counting discrepancy. The biggest thing we've got going in our favor is that it's a simple Republican primary, so only one ballot type to hand out, and attendance is likely to be fairly light.

Going to bed early will be easy, at least, because the new mattress topper is here! Yay! It's very soft and cushy and I love it deeply already. I've only laid on it a little because it needs to recover from being vacuum sealed, but I can tell we're going to be the very best of friends.Our super-old mattress for the past two nights has made my back and neck very sad. We can't afford a new mattress, but this is like a new mattress, or close enough for now. I'm finally looking forward to going to bed! 

Today was grocery pickup day, so we finally have milk and eggs and yogurt and such. The morning routine was disrupted when we realized that the truck's battery was flat after sitting for so many weeks, but I was able to take the battery pack we got for Christmas from my folks and use it to jump the battery, with some Facetime assistance from my dad. I know the principles of jumping a battery, but never had to do it on my own before. It's not too hard. I then had to go over to the post office, a chore that always ruins my day a little. 

I don't understand what is wrong with my post office because I have dealt with many many post offices in all the places I've lived and none of them have been terrible like this one! I went in and told them that I wasn't getting my mail and asked if they might be holding it. Officious Asshole Guy, as he shall henceforth be known, assured me that they did not hold any mail without an order to hold it. I told him that I had a hold mail for the first two weeks of May, but that my mailbox was bursting when I got home May 16, so I assumed that, per usual, the mail carrier ignored my hold. I asked if he could go check, and he did, and came back with a big bundle of mail. He informed me that it was my fault that I wasn't getting my mail because I'd said I'd pick up my mail on May 16 but I hadn't done so. I reiterated that I'd gotten all my mail up until May 16, and that this must be mail from later, after the hold mail expired. He insisted that was not the case, that they never held mail without a hold mail order and never did not hold mail that had been ordered held, and that if I hadn't gotten any mail in a month, it was because people weren't sending me anything. It was useless to argue with him, so I took my mail and left. Everything in the pile was, of course, from after May 16. I went home and reminded all my family and friends on Facebook to please not send us anything via postal mail because the probability of it not reaching us is fairly high. I am sticking with my resolution to not leave any negative comments or complaints for anybody who has to work during the pandemic, no matter how terrible they are, but this guy really, really tempted me. 

Just typing all that out has angried up my blood again, so I'll finish out with nicer stuff. The kiddo is back to using the knitting loom, which is a nice hobby and something good to do while listening to podcasts. He's been a little high strung since we got home, settling back into the routine, but it's getting gradually better. I wish it weren't so hot, so the kids could go out and play distantly with each other. Virginia is on a downswing right now, so it's not too unsafe except for the heat exhaustion part. My husband's summer class didn't make, not enough students signed up, so while that's a little less money for us this summer, it also means more time for him to work on his book. 

And my mail today included two interesting COVID artifacts I will probably save: my son's report card with all V's (not evaluated) for his fourth quarter grades and merely a notation at the bottom that he is being promoted to fifth grade, and my sister's wedding invitation with an "everything could change at any time" caveat right under the RSVP instructions. These are strange days we are living in, but the weirdest thing I saw today was a Crayola Maskpack commercial that looked exactly like a commercial for any other Crayola school products, kids running, jumping, coloring in the classroom, interacting with their teachers, except every single person except one mom at home was wearing a bright colorful facemask. It looked so bizarre I watched it through twice, couldn't look away. It really is a new world. 

#quarantine #crayola #election 2020

[beyond-the-mirror]

Nocturnal Encounters - An Incubus! V x Reader story

It’s been a long time but the second night is finally ready! In which the reader is plagued by dreams of our lanky boi and she wonders who he really is. Next chapter they will finally meet personally I promise!

It’s a quite long chapter and once again I hope you don’t mind.

Second Night: Dreams

Your eyes fluttered open at the warm sunlight that filtered through the curtain, letting out a long yawn before sitting up and stretching your arms.

Normally you were a light sleeper, more often than not you would feel a little heavy and drowsy at mornings, you were not a morning person after all. However this particular day was different, not only were you feeling quite rested, but your sleep wasn’t interrupted at all last night. Maybe you were more tired than you believed? But then you remembered the dream, how it felt completely different and unusual from others that you had before.

Shaking your head from your thoughts, you reached your hand towards the alarm clock on the nightstand. Checking the hour your eyes widened, no wonder you felt so rested.

“What?! I overslept?! Ugh, stupid alarm!”

You shot out of bed and right into the bathroom, taking a shower and getting ready at mach speed. There’s no way you could afford getting late to work, not after you had so much trouble finding this new job.

After putting on something decent to wear today, you headed to the balcony to quickly water your plants. You had just finished when something caught your eye, a single feather tucked under one of the pots stood out. Curiosity had once again taken the best of you as you picked up the feather and inspected it closely, its dark midnight color mesmerizing you with the way light reflected on it revealing blue and purple hues. Running your fingers through the feather’s elegant, sharp silhouette , you found its texture so incredibly soft and smooth, you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of bird could have such gorgeous plumage.

“So beautiful, maybe a crow flew over here, or a raven perhaps…” You muttered to yourself. Now that you think about it, you were in need of a new bookmark since you lost your previous one, this feather could be an excellent replacement, of course you would have to clean it first.

Suddenly your mind was brought to the present once again

“Gah! Stop wasting time (Y/N), we have a job to keep!”

Quickly grabbing all your stuff, you rushed to the door, not even stopping to eat some breakfast before leaving for your job. You were definitely going to feel a lot hungry this morning.

The same dream kept coming back over and over again. Every night you would find yourself in a different scenario, a garden, a pond, a clearing in the middle of a forest… and in every single case, the same man would appear before you, always embracing you, always caressing you, and always whispering poetry in your ear.

The first few times you thought nothing of it, but as time went by you started to become wary, not to mention the fact that the dreams were all strangely lucid and that since that first night, you have been sleeping for longer than usual. Who was this man? Why did this particular dream overwhelmed you so? What did his presence mean? After all, people say that sometimes dreams carry an important message with them.

Many times you tried to talk to the man in your dreams, to ask him the reason for his constant visits, yet you never could. It's almost as if he kept you in some kind of trance that numbed you and made you feel lighter, a warmth enveloping your entire being that lulled you into submission. At the end he would always turn you around in his arms and lean towards you, your eyelids fluttering close as his breath fanned across your lips, but just moments before you could feel his kiss you would wake up.

To be honest you were scared, your thoughts wandering around any possible explanation to your current predicament. One thought crept to your mind, one that made a cold shiver run through your spine

Demon

Attacks were uncommon in the city but definitely not unheard of, though they were not frequent and they’re usually dealt with by a locally infamous demon hunter, there was still a small possibility that one could have found its way into your mind. Still, you had never heard of a demon that could interfere with dreams, so maybe the idea was a little farfetched after all.

You looked at your alarm clock, the numbers displayed marking fifteen minutes to midnight. Letting out a sigh you closed the book you were unsuccessfully trying to read in order to help you relax, tucking the black feather you had found a week earlier between the pages. Reaching for the lamp on the nightstand you turned off the light, reciting a short prayer before pulling the covers over yourself.

It was only a matter of time before he arrived.

“A recurring dream you say?”

“Yes, it’s always the same every night. I have never met this man in my life, and yet he is always there”

You were having a conversation with your best friend, having decided that you definitely needed someone to vent out your worries and maybe ask an advice. She had invited you to the small coffee shop near your workplace for lunch before you had to go back to your job.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you, my dear, have a crush on somebody”

“Now is not the time for jokes! I’m genuinely concerned about this”

“Sorry sweetie, you know can’t help but tease you a bit” She booped your nose gently, making you giggle. Although she couldn’t really solve your problem, she was definitely succeeding in making you feel a lot better.

“Maybe it’s trying to tell you something, like someone new you’re about to meet? Or maybe a person you’ve already met but just don’t remember?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know. Though I can assure that if I already met him, I would definitely remember him” You let out a sigh. She immediately reached for your hand to support you.

“Don’t worry sweetie, nothing bad has happened so long right? I mean, from what you told me you’re still able to rest at night. If you’re worried about your job and oversleeping, you can always go to bed a bit early than normal to compensate, maybe that’ll help?”

“I suppose you’re right, thank you, I really needed that” You smiled, she stood for a moment to give you a hug. 

“If anything happens or you start feeling unwell, don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll do anything in my power to help”. You can’t help but thank the heavens for gifting you such an amazing friend.

You decided to change the topic and spend the rest of your lunchtime just hanging out and relaxing with your best friend.

Running to the bus stop, you managed to catch it on time before it left. Today was a really busy day, forcing you and your coworkers to stay overtime and catch up with pending work. The only thing worrying you is that it was already dark outside, you just hoped the walk to your apartment will be uneventful.

You were reading your book when you noticed the bus already approaching to the stop near your home, closing it immediately and putting it in your purse, the feather still marking the pages you left on.

Once your feet where on the sidewalk you took a deep breath, just a few minutes of walking and you’ll be back in the comfort of your home. However as you continued, you couldn’t help but feel nervous as you noticed the street being unusually quiet and empty, you knew what they said about quiet nights in Red Grave. Just a few more steps though, you clutched your purse tightly, just a few more-

“Well then, what do we have here?”

A tall figure stepped out of an alley stopping you in your tracks. By the way the person slurred his words, you could tell he must have been drinking.

“P-Please excuse me, you’re in my way” a small stutter left your lips and you cursed yourself silently for acting so meek at such moment. You tried walking around the tall man, but just as you thought he was going to leave you alone he took your wrist in a strong grip.

“Let me go right now!”

“Hey that’s a nice bag you have there, maybe if you hand it over nicely I will consider letting you go” His putrid breath could reach your nose and it almost made you vomit, yet you maintained your ground and refused to give him what he wanted.

“I said LET. GO!” With a quick shift of your weight, you used your free arm to elbow the man in the stomach, following immediately with a strong kick right between his legs. As soon as your wrist was free, you immediately bolted towards your apartment, thanking the heavens above that you took those self-defense lessons last year.

“You BITCH!” You heard your attacker scream behind you, right before his running steps started to be heard. If he was armed or not you didn’t care and you definitely were not going to look back, the only thing in your mind was running non stop until your reached your home.

The beat of your heart pounded in your ears just as strongly as the steps behind you. The door to the building was right there, you immediately dug in the pockets of your jeans for the key without slowing down a single moment. Almost. Almost there. Your hand grasped the door handle right at the same time you felt a breath on the back of your neck. Time seemed to stop, looks like you were not going to make it after all. You closed your eyes and braced yourself, and then-

A yelp of pain erupted from behind you. You were shaking uncontrollably, curling over yourself waiting for the man to attack you… but nothing happened. Slowly, you opened your eyes and even though you were scared to, you forced yourself to turn around.

He was gone. Your attacker was nowhere to be seen, as if he had just vanished in thin air. Your legs wobbled and gave away, hands holding onto the door handle for dear life and your heart in your throat beating as if it were about to explode. Steadying yourself, you inserted your key in the door and ran up the stairs to your apartment.

You didn’t bother to cook dinner, the incident made you lose your hunger completely. Instead you immediately changed into your pajamas and boiled some water to make yourself a cup of tea to try to calm your nerves.

After emptying your cup, you climbed on your bed hoping to get some sleep. You were safe. You were safe.

Once again you found yourself inside a dream, this time you were laying on a large bed in the middle of a white bedroom, a tall glass door in front of you led to a beautiful rose garden, looking down at yourself you were now wearing a white silk nightie that barely covered your behind.

A tap against the floor sounded behind you and you turned around right away. There he stood once again, the green-eyed man.

He was tall and lanky, black ink flowed through the entirety of his torso and arms, he wore a long black vest with ties on the front laced in a corset-like fashion, as well as a pair of skinny black trousers with a chain on the side, he was completely barefoot and you noticed a silver cane on his right hand, that must have been the source of the sound.

He approached slowly and placed his cane gently against the wall beside him, he leaned towards you and scooped you in his arms, carrying you bridal style towards a door behind him. To be fair he was making you quite nervous, and yet you once again  found yourself relaxing at his touch.

The door led to a bathroom, you noticed a tub filled with water surrounded by a few candles, petals and water lilies floating gently on the surface of the water. The man put you down on your feet and ran his hands soothingly up your arms, taking the straps that held your dress up, he gently pulled them off your shoulders, letting the nightie fall swiftly on the floor.

With a small gasp, you lifted your arms to cover your breasts and preserve your modesty, but with a soft kiss on the side of your neck he took your wrists in his hands and slowly lowered them, revealing your naked form to him.

“Sweet dreams form a shade, o'er my lovely infants head. Sweet dreams of pleasant streams, by happy silent moony beams.” He whispered into your ear like every other dream, once again carrying you in his arms and lowering you gently into the bathtub. The water felt cool against your skin, the scent of the candles and the flowers relaxing you more so. Taking a seat behind you, the man used his hands to take some of the water and pouring it over your shoulders and neck, never once stopping his poetry. You couldn’t help the small moans and whimpers that left your lips.

“Sweet moans, dovelike sighs, chase not slumber from thy eyes. Sweet moans, sweeter smiles, All the dovelike moans beguiles.” His hands took one of the lilies that floated around and placed it behind your ear, tucking your hair before placing a kiss on your temple. His hands kept massaging your body, his voice and ministrations keeping you in trance like always.

Suddenly, you found the energy you needed to finally speak. “Who… who are you?”

His hands froze completely, not a single sound could be heard except your breath.

“You… you always appear in my dreams, every time you embrace me and hold me in your arms like… like a lover would. And yet, I don’t know absolutely anything about you.”

He still didn’t move or make any sound. “May I at least… know your name?”

Finally, the man took a deep breath before answering “… You may call me V”

V… what a strange name. You considered the possibility that wasn’t his real name to begin with.

“May I know why are you always in my dreams?”

“… I’m afraid now is not the right time for you to know yet. But I can assure you, all your questions shall be answered eventually.”

You pouted, finally you ha gained the strength to talk to him and now he won’t give you any answers. You felt his fingers tipping your chin up, making you look into his green eyes.

“Little wanderer, I will not let anyone or anything hurt you again. Fear not my little one, for I shall keep you safe and protected, that is my promise to you.” With those last words, his long fingers tapped into the center of your chest, making you fall in that deep trance once again.

Like all other dreams before, you were completely at his mercy.

The human whimpered pathetically on the floor, crying desperately in fear of the creature before him who gave him a look of utmost disgust. The wound on his side was bleeding, painting the concrete beneath his figure crimson red.

“P-Please, p-please… I beg you… M-mercy, m-mercy…”

The demon huffed in annoyance “You bore me deeply human, I have decided that you are simply unworthy of my time, let alone killing you”

Sharp, pointed claws waved in a dismissive manner, which the human took as a sign to scramble to his feet and flee in terror. The creature lifted his hand to his lips, licking them clean from his unfortunate victim’s blood. He moaned at the delicious taste, though it was not his preferred food, a bit of the red liquid made a sweet treat from time to time.

His mind then went to the girl he encountered weeks prior, after all, if it weren’t for that small gift he left on her balcony he wouldn’t have been able to help her from that filthy scum that just left. A lustful groan left him, he couldn’t help but imagine that the blood in his claws was actually her own essence, thus making his tongue start lapping at a much more vigorous pace. Oh how he wanted to take her, claim her for himself. But he had to be patient, if she was going to give herself to him, it had to be out of her own volition. Incubi prided themselves on their ability to bring their partners absolute bliss and pleasure, and although sadly some don’t follow that nature, he proudly considered himself to be one of the former.

“Little wanderer, I will not let anyone or anything hurt you again. Fear not my little one, for I shall keep you safe and protected, that is my promise to you.”

#devil may cry 5 #devil may cry v #vitale #incubus!v #v x reader #v x you #v x fem!reader #fanfiction #fanfic #incubus

[thecomicsnexus]

SWAMP THING #57-58 FEBRUARY - MARCH 1987 BY ALAN MOORE, RICK VEITCH, ALFREDO ALCALA, TATJANA WOOD AND ADRIENNE ROY

SYNOPSIS (FROM DC DATABASE)

Somewhere on the Australian outback, Adam Strange works his way to the next location where the Zeta-Beam will hit Earth, so that he can return to Rann. He is surprised to discover that in the three years since he has last been there, a shopping mall has been built over the coordinates for the beam. He causes a stir in trying to find out which part of the mall he needs to get to, and then he is exasperated to find that it is in the men's washroom. He is forced to contend with a stubborn patron, who refuses to get out of a particular stall. Eventually, Adam yanks the man out just in time.

As Adam is transported by the beam, his consciousness collides with that of the Swamp Thing who's own consciousness is being transported across The Green. The collision sets Adam off balance, and he crashes to Rann's surface painfully and unconscious. Fortunately, his wife Alanna happens to be nearby, and she and her party load him into the back of their vehicle and take him back to Ranagar.

In their hurry, the party accidentally leaves behind Adam's travelling pack. Nearby, a small cactus begins growing rapidly into the form of the Swamp Thing. He discovers Adam's pack, noticing that it was made in Seattle. He is confused to find a jetpack inside the pack, and wonders if he might be on Earth. He spots a footprint on the ground, and begins following the trail.

Back in Ranagar, Sardath informs his daughter that Adam is doing better, and she rushes off to see him. After a brief embrace, she explains that her father is meeting with some Thanagarians, and the two of them head off to join him. The Thanagarians activate a translator, so that they can all understand each other, and then they inform Adam that they are there to aid Rann in ending the famine that has beset its people. In exchange, Sardath has agreed to give Thanagar information about Rann's technology, including the Zeta-Beam.

Adam is suspicious of the Thanagarians' motivations, but they are interrupted by a messenger who warns that Ranagar is under attack by a strange creature made of cactus. Sardath asks that Adam look into it, and he obediently runs off. Adam shaves and grooms his hair using a Rannian device, dons his uniform before kissing his wife and entering the fray.

Meanwhile, Swamp Thing attempts to ask the Rannians whether they come from Earth, and if any of them have heard of Seattle. The terrified citizens respond by firing their weapons on him. Casually, he sends the local foliage to deter their efforts.

Adam is frustrated that he has only just arrived on Rann and all he wants to do is make love to his wife. Even so, the Rannians demand that he act as their personal errand boy, and then mock him behind his back for being human. He is so annoyed and distracted by these thoughts that he doesn't bother attempting to reason with the Swamp Thing, and simply opens fire.

Swamp Thing retaliates by growing pods on his body which spew spines at Adam in defense. Angrily, Adam blasts Swamp Thing's head off, and then affixes his jetpack to the creature, sending him off into the air. Adam then detonates the pack, destroying the Swamp Thing's plant body. His work done, Adam returns home. As he leaves, the citizens mock him.

After finally making love to his wife, Adam wanders out onto the balcony and happens to notice Sardath speaking with the Thanagarians. He can only make out the phrase "zeta-beam," but it is clear that Sardath has made a regrettable decision in dealing with the bird-people.

Elsewhere, Swamp Thing regrows his body and finds himself near to a statue of Adam Strange, which indicates that he is an Earthman. He realizes that maybe Adam could be his ticket home.

Adam Strange steps outside in the morning to look at the liquid animals that live within Sardath's pool. He is accosted by Keela Roo, a visiting Thanagarian. He asks her what her people want the Zeta-Beam for, having asked for it in exchange for helping Rann with its famine. She gives the impression that their assistance is essentially a selfless gesture, as it only satisfies Thanagarian curiosity. Adam then questions her professed noble intent, and she responds that in exchange for killing Rann's monsters, Adam exacts the price of the princess Alanna's love, and a life of glamour and prestige. For this reason, she argues that Adam cannot take the moral high ground. She flies away, leaving Adam speechless.

Adam puts on his uniform while his wife uses a special device to determine whether she is pregnant. The result is not yet evident, though. She and Adam then go for a ride using his jet pack, and as they fly above Ranagar, Alanna spots the Swamp Thing on a nearby roof. Adam prepares to fight it, but when Swamp Thing speaks in English that he has come to return Adam's pack to him, the man relents. Swamp Thing admits that he is the same Swamp Thing that attacked Gotham City, and they determine that they had collided with each other in the Zeta-Beam.

As they are talking, it suddenly occurs to Adam that the Swamp Thing could use his abilities to make the vegetation of Rann grow back, and heal the famine that has struck there. Swamp Thing agrees to try, and they decide to present their idea to Sardath. When Sardath and the elders agree to accept Swamp Thing's help, the Thanagarians become angry, as they had relied upon getting the Zeta-Beam in exchange for their aid.

Swamp Thing wanders into the desert, and then reaches into The Green, hoping to find some living vegetation whose growth he can encourage. Just as he finds one, and begins to latch onto it, his connection is severed when one of the Thanagarians cleaves through his torso with an axe. The axe attack proves to be a distraction, as Keela Roo appears and zaps him with a mind-eater – a device which could conceivably kill him.

Adam, alerted by the blast of the mind-eater's beam, rushes to Swamp Thing's rescue. Scira Ek quickly gives chase to Adam, gaining on him with his axe. Cleverly, Adam releases the full burn of his jet-pack into Scira Ek's face, and the blinded hawkman plummets to his death on the ground. Unfortunately, Keela Roo is right behind him, and her superior skill in aerial combat sends Adam reeling.

Desperately, Adam returns to Sardath's pool. Just as he passes over it, one of the liquid animals within emerges, and envelopes his Thanagarian pursuer. Keela Roo struggles to breath within the liquid body of the creature, and within three minutes, she is drowned.

With the Thanagarians disposed of, Swamp Thing finally reaches the healthy vegetation deep under the surface of Rann, and encourages its growth. The planet's land becomes healthy, and the famine will end. Later, Adam and the Swamp Thing discuss why the Thanagarians may have wanted the Zeta-Beam. Swamp Thing suggests that they may have meant to attack Earth, but Adam brushes it off. Adam suggests that Swamp Thing may be able to resolve his bio-electrical issues that prevent him from returning to earth somewhere on the planet J586 – which has a vegetable civilization.

Before Adam is taken by the Zeta-Beam, Swamp Thing asks him to deliver a message to his wife Abby that he is alive, and somewhere out there hoping to return. Adam promises to deliver the message, and the Swamp Thing leaves for J586.

After Swamp Thing has left, Alanna rushes outside and embraces Adam, exclaiming that she is finally pregnant. This is a doubly important pregnancy, because it will mean the first instance of a fruitful Rannian womb in perhaps decades. As they embrace happily, the Zeta-Beam kicks in, and Adam is taken from his wife's arms. She will be left to raise their child by herself until the next Zeta Beam appears.

REVIEW

This issue introduces a topic that HAS TO be dealt by the writer eventually (and he will). Why doesn’t the Swamp Thing use his powers to end famine on Earth?

He certainly does here, which in the end seems beneficial as otherwise it would have ended with an invasion to Earth. It is hard to figure out if the green has avatars in other planets, though. At least in this point in DCU history. So, maybe his actions in other worlds cannot be judged by the Parliament of trees?

I wonder how many Aussies ended up pooping in Ranagar.

Half of the conversations are written in a foreign language and you have to guess what they say (unless someone cracked the code). It isn’t hard to guess, as the artist is good enough on his visual hints, but I still feel relief when they switch to Earth language.

I give the story a score of 8

#steve bissette #dc comics #comics #review #1987 #modern age #swamp thing #adam strange #thanagar #rann

[babywarg]

ironstrange fic: Star-Man

this fic is almost totally SFW, but in case it’s too much for tumblr's delicate sensibilities and i give it the vapors, i’ll be uploading it into my AO3 account soon.

also, taking the opportunity to announce that i have a twitter here: https://twitter.com/babywarg i'm sure this theme has been used in fic before, in a much better way...but i woke up this morning wanting to give mah boiz angst and would not be denied. title may or may not have been inspired by david bowie's song of the same name. that, plus the notion that people who go round in space age really, really slowly compared to us mere mortals. have you guys seen this uber-cute and uber-touching fan art by 黒雨? you really should. it may help set the tone for this fic. or not. but look at it anyway because it's uber-touching and uber-cute: https://twitter.com/blackrain_1019/status/1043466939480174592 many thanks once again to my wonderful beta @eclair <3 on to the dramu! ***

 Tony threw his arms out wide. "You wanted to see me, doc?"

The playful look on his face made it look like he was angling for a hug. But it wasn't a good time for hugs. Not right now.

"Tony," Stephen carefully began, "I'm going away for a while..."

Tony's arms fell to his side. A look of worry crossed his face.

"To where?" he asked. "How long?"

The questions sounded so innocent, they might as well have belonged to a 7-year-old boy who had no idea he was going to be abandoned by his parents. For good.

He almost seemed too young, too simple to understand what was going on - but those were words that had never before been used to describe Tony Stark.

"A long time," Stephen answered. "Something's come up. Can't we just leave it at that?"

Tony began to frown. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"I don't know, can we? Or maybe you know me better than that, Steve."

Steve. The name was a dagger in Stephen's chest. He should never have let Tony know about it. No one had called him that in years, and whenever Tony did it, he only ever did it with complete awareness of how much it hurt.

"I do know you better than that. You deserve an explanation."

"Damn right I do. And you better give me a straight one. No tricks."

Stephen avoided the dare, looked around. "Maybe we should sit."

"Maybe right here is fine." The tone was cold. But still a good deal warmer than unforgiving.

Stephen sighed, and obliged. "Tony...there's a presence approaching the Earth. It's strong. Very strong. I haven't found a way to repel it. The only thing I've found is that..."

"What?" Tony interrupted. "That it's useless for you to look up how to defeat it on your own?" His voice became softer, almost pleading. "Dude, you're an Avenger now, remember? You're part of a team. That means you get people to pass some of the hard labor on to."

Stephen had to smile. Tony prided himself on being the fix-it guy. He liked being hands-on. Thrived on it.

It was Tony's familiar way of saying "let me help you." But Stephen couldn't afford to listen.

"As the Earth's Sorcerer Supreme," Stephen softly replied, "I'm afraid all of the hard labor is on me."

He proceeded to explain that the presence was a uni-dimensional entity, drawn to planets with vast reserves of psychic power - in short, planets with their own Sorcerers Supreme to defend them.

It fed off psychic energy, and when it was done with one planet, it became more powerful, so that the next planet on its path only had less of a chance to survive. Somehow it was able to detect which planets had a Sorcerer Supreme less able to withstand its assault. It had already left several planets completely destroyed on its aimless journey, each planet's Sorcerers Supreme powerless against it.

There was only one way to avoid it...

And that was to pretend that the Earth had NO Sorcerer Supreme.

"Simply put, the creature needs to think the Earth isn't worth bothering with." There was no time to delve into the intricacies of psychic hierarchies, the fact that there were records in magical tomes of this having been done successfully by other Sorcerers Supreme before, laws on unstoppable objects vs immovable forces not applying to preternatural opponents...and of course the futility of moving the Earth out of the creature's path, so he chose to leave those little details out. "While I'm gone, I'll make sure that the Earth will be enveloped in a deceptive shield - sort of a large flashing sign that says 'Nope, no Sorcerers here, not an astrally advanced enough species' so that the entity, whenever it gets here, will move on."

"You didn't answer me," Tony acidly interrupted, and Stephen froze. "Where are you going? How long will you be gone?

"Other worlds. Maybe other dimensions. Being away gives me less of a chance of being ferreted out. And 20 years." He shrugged. "Give or take."

He didn't quite expect Tony's tantrum afterwards. Or maybe he did. He just never thought it would affect him as much.

"20 years?" Tony yelled, close to his face. "20 fucking years, Stephen?!"

At least it wasn't "Steve." That way, Stephen could take the heat.

Tony paced back and forth, fuming.

"What did you expect to hear from me? Good luck, have fun, bring me back a souvenir? Take me with you? I can't believe it, you're just telling me this! You didn't even think of asking me before making such a huge decision, did you? About asking the other Avengers?"

"I have no time to brainstorm with you, or with the rest of the team," Stephen answered calmly. "The entity is coming tonight. I need to get this done now."

"Get 'this' done? What --"

Stephen stepped up to Tony.

Planted his palm gently on Tony's forehead.

Whispered into Tony's ear, "Hush."

There was a brief flash of light where their skin made contact.

And it was over.

Memory spells aren't reliable, the Ancient One had said to him. You can pick and choose the memories you want gone, but there's no assurance they'll STAY gone. You'll have to live with the consequences, Stephen, no matter what.

Tony staggered back. Seemed disoriented for a minute.

Then, his gaze refocused, and he spread his arms wide.

"You wanted to see me, doc?"

There was no playfulness in his voice, this time. Only curiosity.

He'd come because he was summoned. By the Earth's Sorcerer Supreme.

Not by Stephen. Or Steve. Not by anyone he knew more intimately.

Stephen had to fight for the pain to not to reach his face.

One year of fights, of trysts, of kisses, stolen or otherwise, of promises and curses and unspoken vows.

Of love.

Gone.

"Tony," Stephen carefully began again. His voice might have broken slightly, but he hadn't meant it to. "I'm going away for a while."

 ***

 Time moves differently across universes and worlds, and there's much a Sorcerer Supreme could do in 20 Earth years. There were new species to meet, new magic to learn, many new things to discover.

In the meantime, Stephen drew only enough power from the energies around him (not the dark dimension: never that) so that he never aged, never slowed down.

At any rate, it was always a temporary arrangement.

It was the entity's fault for moving too goddamn slowly. 20 years was the minimum wait time for it to pass. If the psychic energy-eating behemoth had been moving faster, it wouldn't be as hard for anyone.

As it stood, Stephen had to wait it out. He had no contact with anyone from Earth, no one who might betray his location to the creature, or compromise his resolve to stay away. This meant Wong, Christine...or Tony Stark.

And then if, after 20 years, he returned to find the Earth in pieces, he planned on using the Time Stone to look back at where things went wrong, then to go back in time, and use the knowledge he'd acquired in all his years away to fix it.

But! If nothing bad had happened to the earth while he was gone...then, well, Doctor Strange's gamble had paid off.

No one knew that he and Tony had a sort of relationship, so no one else's memory needed to be wiped. All he had to take care of was Tony - headstrong, shrewd Tony, who would defy logic and move heaven and earth to find Stephen and be with him again...potentially leaving the Earth unprotected as he went on his futile search.

- that is, if he even remembered what he needed to find Stephen for.

Stephen’s reasoning was this: If Tony's memories of their year together were dealt with, there would be no complications. The Earth would never lose its best defender. And upon his return, they would just be friends again, colleagues again, Avengers again.

Stephen's 20-year escape plan would be so very simple.

And yet...

There were times when he missed Tony so fiercely, that he contemplated visiting other dimensions, other realities, where Tony existed and he didn't. Where there was no Stephen for Tony to fall in love with. Or where they both existed, but were not in love, and would never be. Perhaps they would never even meet.

At the same time, he knew that visiting other dimensions was a risky thing, and there might be no way back for him...especially if he found a particular dimension where he wanted to stay.

There were times when small things he encountered on his journeys reminded him of Tony, and he had to steel himself to prevent his own memories from leaking out and buoying him back to Earth.

There were times when he wished...that when he finally did come home, Tony would remember.

And greet him with open arms. Obnoxiously strong embraces. Warm, fuzzy kisses. The brightest of laughs.

And a ton of stories and shared memories, "remember when"s that would bring a smile to his lips.

And forgiveness.

He often contemplated using the memory spell on himself, but he decided against it for a number of reasons.

One of them was that he deserved to suffer.

There should have been time for a proper goodbye. Then, maybe, being without Tony wouldn't hurt this much.

But it did, and it should.

The only way Tony would end up remembering their time together would be if Stephen's memory spell would fail. And he had worked hard at making sure it would not fail. He had erased every single private moment he and Tony had shared. He had only left the missions, the camaraderie, the mutual respect they had for each other as men of science, as soldiers.

No room for sentiment. No drawbacks.

No tricks.

 ***

 Approximately 20 years later, a Stephen Strange who looked and sounded exactly as he did when he left, braced himself, and opened a portal back to Earth.

And...

He came back to a technological marvel.

Stark Industries had become the world's leading source of scientific innovations - a world that left hardly any room in it for magic. Everything was efficient, streamlined, for a faster and less patient civilization. Shielded from the biggest psychic threat it had ever experienced, and protected by the Avengers and their affiliates from most physical dangers, the Earth experienced a new technological renaissance.

And in the front and center of it all was Tony.

He looked great, for the record. Salt-and-pepper hair and beard, wrinkles where there didn't used to be any, lean and strong-looking even with muscles less defined - but still, brown eyes that shone with intelligence, wonder, and an unquenchable inner light. Still with impeccable (if now old-fashioned) sense of style.

He greeted Stephen with a firm, hearty pat on the shoulders, like a compatriot would.

(This older Tony would never call him “Steve.” Would never push his buttons knowingly. Would never demand to be part of his life outside the battlefield.)

"Back like a star-man, hasn't aged a day," Tony quipped. "Welcome home, star-man."

Stephen only smiled.

He would have been happy to leave their first meeting at that. But back in his old and dutifully preserved Sanctum, he was surprised to find a pre-recorded message from Tony.

In it, Tony insisted on taking Stephen around, as soon as his schedule (Tony's, not Stephen's) permitted. So many things about the world had changed, Tony explained, and who better to keep the bewilderment at bay than one of the chief architects of this bright new future?

Stephen was about to refuse first thing in the morning - one of the mystic arts he'd mastered was, in fact, adapting to radically unfamiliar environments, so "bewilderment" was hardly ever an issue.

But before dawn of the next day, Tony had already parked a very flashy red hovercar in front of the large symbol on his Sanctum, and had woken him - and all the other residents of the Sanctum - up by knocking loudly on the glass and yelling like an attention-starved child.

The rest of the day was basically a joyride through high-tech New York and its environs, with hyper-verbal Tony gladly playing the role of tour guide. It was true, so much had changed - but not Tony.

Exploring a new reality with a deeply familiar Tony turned out to be pleasant.

It was - did he even dare think it? - very much like a date.

Tony all but physically bent over backwards trying to impress him, introducing new and upcoming inventions like a toddler showing off his toys, and how clever he was.

Stephen remembered when Tony used to do that almost every day. He couldn't help it: he still found it charming.

More than once, he caught Tony staring at his face. Whenever he did, Tony would draw attention off it by blurting out an idea or an interesting anecdote from the last 20 years.

And, more than once, Stephen thought he felt Tony standing a little too near, leaning a little too close to him.

He told himself: his own guilt must have been playing tricks on him. Tony didn't remember. He couldn't.

 ***

 The day ended late, with Stephen feeling exhausted. No doubt Tony did as well, because the two men stood on the Stark Tower (v.3.6) deck side by side, without saying a word.

It was like they both knew the hour of parting had come, but neither wanted to admit it.

Presently, Stephen took the reins. "I have to go, Tony."

From where he stood, he could feel Tony stiffen up in alarm.

"To where? How long?"

They were strange questions to ask, and Tony knew it. He dropped his flustered gaze.

"You mean the Sanctum. Of course. Well, it is kind of late, doc. Must be past your bedtime."

Stephen smiled.

"Past yours, too, old man," he couldn't resist shooting back.

Tony stayed silent, not looking at him. Stephen guessed this meant there was no offer of a hovercar ride back to the Sanctum. No matter.

He started to walk away, to a clearer space where he could set up a portal home - but Tony's hand shot out and caught the hem of his cloak.

He stopped. Looked back at Tony. Who still wasn't looking at him. Still wasn't letting go.

"Old man. Yeah, that's me." Tony's voice was so hushed, it was difficult to hear him. "Too old to suit up. Should've ditched all of my suits, or given them away to young blood, but I haven't. Sometimes I take one of them out and go off looking for something. Sometimes I end up finding trouble, but most of the time, I don't find anything at all."

He let go of the cloak, but Stephen didn't go anywhere. He stood, facing Tony, who was starting to seem agitated.

"And I don't know why I'm telling you this, except it feels like I've finally found what I've been looking for. All this time. All this time. And I can finally take off the suit now. Because that's it. I'm done. And..."

His voice broke.

His shoulders started to shake.

He hid his face with one hand, and folded an arm across his chest - folded into himself, in a desperate attempt to hide.

But Stephen didn't let him. Not after all this time.

He drew his arms around Tony. Held him close. As close as he should have held him last time. And all those other times they'd missed.

Tony buried his face in Stephen's shoulder. He let Tony break against him. Wave upon wave of grief and longing and regret crashed down upon them both. It felt to Stephen like standing in front of a storm, and he felt like breaking, too.

A quick, furtive look into Tony's mind said he didn't remember. Not a single detail of their lost year together.

But he didn't have to. The memories weren't stored in his mind.

They were in his aging body, his cells, the very fabric of his being.

As they were in Stephen's.

All this time.

When he had calmed down a bit, Tony stood back, still holding on to Stephen’s arms, and let out a small, bitter chuckle.

"I don't know why I'm asking you this. Think of it as a pathetic old geezer's wish." He looked up at Stephen's face. "But...stay. This time. Please. No tricks."

It was the look in his eyes that finally got to Stephen, reached in and tore him inside out.

He closed the distance between them again and planted a long, lingering kiss in Tony's hair before Tony could see the first tear fall.

"No tricks," he gently promised.

#ironstrange #stephen strange #tony shasteen #doctor strange #iron man #ironmagic

[felldragxn]

Log 1:

Jastira Vamaris. XX of XX, year XXXX. Soon after many of our younger citizens made their exit from Ethir in hopes of seeking knowledge beyond our walls, we were forced to close ourselves off from the outside world. An invader from Dalvensus, perhaps once intimidated by our numbers, seems to have wandered close… It is some sort of plant-like creature that is hard to describe. It seems like it has not fully bloomed, and for the sake of not allowing an infection to spread throughout the tower I have isolated it in a container from which it cannot escape. Those who found it have been instructed by the higher-ups not to mention it - it could be a scout, and we don’t want to cause any sort of panic among what remains of our citizenry.

...I… well, to be quite honest, I’m a bit amazed to have a live sample in our grasp after all this time. Previously they were killed on sight, but this subject seems to have put up little fight and, and I believe my pleading finally got through to one of the guards. One of the night guards, what was his name… He always gives me this look like he’s interested in my work… Aelin? No matter, no matter, I’ll deal with that later. I have to focus, and I may be getting carried away… Ahem.

As many of my younger assistants have left, it has been mostly Mona - er, that’s, Illimona, the one who transferred over from…. nevermind - and, well, myself. I have other assistants, but they have been rather busy in different points of research, you know. The fewer people who know about this, the better, though, and Mona is sworn to secrecy. Wouldn’t say a peep. We’re both very excited to get on with our research, but of course the higher-ups have to… They have to determine it’s safe to do anything with the damned thing. We don’t know how aether will affect a creature made from, from aetherical disturbances, you know! So in the meantime I’ve been examining it, but, but it doesn’t have any particularly interesting behavior so far. It has been extremely passive, leading me to uncertainties about that “scouting” theory I mentioned… I did mention that earlier, correct? Yes, well, if it’s a scout it’s not an especially good one. I don’t understand why it’s a plant monster, either.

Log 2:

Experimentation still not approved. Should be within the next couple of days, they said. What if it needs to eat? What if it dies before I can do anything on it? However, I’m no fool - we could capture another one alive eventually, we have nothing but time. Our surrounding allies have finally caught word of our closed borders, so the Seere is sending word of our reasons by means of their little aether pets, the… whatever they’re called. Ahem.

I spoke with Aelin last night, you know, and asked if he’d caught the damn thing alive just for me. But he said it didn’t even put up a fight, after they knocked it off the tower - it’d been climbing up, you see, and was uncomfortably close to the peak when they found it. None of the guards on the lower levels reported anything out of the ordinary, so I’m curious as to how it got so high while completely invading detection! The Seere is taking this breach in security very seriously, though, so, um, we put barriers up that will detect if anything living enters the tower or the surrounding area. It caught a fisherman who we had to kindly turn away, all the way from Urion! I know some of my students headed over that way. I wonder how they’re doing…

Sometimes I look at the thing. It’s barely moved. I don’t think it has eyes, but I feel like it’s… it’s staring at me? I threw a sheet over it.

Log 6:

Jastira here again, you know the drill. Experimentation approved - Mona? Can you come here so I know it’ll pick up your voice? (Yes’m.) Excellent, excellent. We’re doing the most basic of aetherical tests today, running a current through its body - without damaging it, of course. I’m worried pure aether will kill it, as it is, but I don’t… I don’t exactly have access to corrupted aether. (Only in Dalvensus, Jas. Are we good to go on this, or-?) Hold on, hold on.

Ahem, so this is test one. We’ll see if it reacts at all. Five seconds.

…

…

…

N...Nothing? Nothing. All righty, but it’s still alive, right? Its vitals haven’t changed, we haven’t detected any change in aether balance yet…. The aether we have stored is uncorrupted, strangely. (For the sake of the recording: I’ve made sure it filters out, so it doesn’t ruin the whole batch. If it gets corrupted we’ll have to immediately ship it off to assure its gotten rid of.) Yes, yes, but it’s surprisingly fine so far. The creature itself seems rather low-level, to be honest, I’m not sure if we’ll get much out of it. (Unlikely a scout, if that’s the case, so why send it all this way? Did it wander off a pack and end up at the nearest settlement?) Who knows! That’s what’s exciting - we’ve never directly dealt with the stupid things! But, but of course, we must take caution. It could be a ruse. (Are they that intelligent, even?) It’s impossible to tell, you know. But we have to be careful.

Log 14:

We’ve been filtering through the same aether, just…. Just normal aether, direct outta the earth. I’ve switched up the batch a bit, since so far no amount has had any reaction. I’m… Mona is out, today, because a few of the guards have gotten sick, so she’s taken over for one. Must be something going around. Aelin’s been sick, too, and I.... I can’t help but have a bad feeling. I don’t want to say it, but if this doesn’t work… you know. I’ll probably just kill the damn thing. I’ll say it… I’ll say it died or something. I don’t know. I don’t have high hopes, honestly, but this will have been a learning experience nonetheless. If aether doesn’t hurt the damn thing, that renders some of the more pure magic types a bit useless, doesn’t it?

Ahem, so, this… this batch is human-based aether. I want to see if it reacts to people. So, test… test seventeen? Yes, final test. I guess final log in this particular experiment file, if nothing goes according to plan. There’s not really a plan, I guess, just… you know. Ten seconds.

…

O-Oh! It’s blooming! That’s not good, is it? It’s a bright red sort of color, it’s…. As the aether goes into it, the flower gets bigger. Growing out of its head. Its vines are growing. A-Ah, the aether went off, and now it’s --

Log 15:

T… There was an issue. It got… it got too big for its container, damn thing cracked, the guards came and killed it after I pulled the alarm. I was hiding under the desk. I’m still hiding under the desk, pondering. That was like, it was like, an hour ago? An hour ago. They took the body away. If the aether in people makes it grow, perhaps it devours people, and maybe it hadn’t so it was… it was weak, or something of the sort, it was-- Ah-ah, somebody is banging on my door… Who is it?

(J-Jas, please open the door, please-)

Mona?

Log 16:

[There is static. Nothing but static.]

Log 19:

XX of X, XXXX….

I am changing. I can feel it. I’m beginning to see it. My eyes are so red now, they’re so… and my veins… It’s been… How long has it been? It’s been a few weeks… It’s been a few weeks and I’m shut up in my lab… They don’t try to get in here, I don’t… I can’t think straight…

Aelin… him and the other guards… They were sick, they were sick because… it was weak because it had already released its spores. It didn’t release any spores before they killed it. But the spores… they… they just burst out of its…. Body… I’m so, so tired…. They don’t try to get in… but they know I’m here…

I’m going… all the way to the bottom of the tower…. The bottom levels… If I turn on the… the emergency… god, they’ll kill me before I make it there… they’ll kill me…

#long post #v.Hiraeth #((Ethir didn't have a good end

[cherryknct]

hey guys!! it’s day coming in hot with my two winter babes! i’m really excited to be here, arcane is dope asfff and i can’t wait to thread with you all!! you’ll find more about them below the cut, but please like if you’d like to plot!! i also have discord and twitter if you guys are more comfortable potting there!

✧･ﾟ: * ( LEE DABIN (YEONWOO), 22, FEMALE, SHE/HER ) have you seen KANG BITNA around campus? i hear they’re a FOURTH YEAR, WINTER witch with a specialty in CYROKINESIS. i almost never see them without their TAURANTULA. if they ever want to be a HIGH WITCH someday they should ease up on being CONTROLLING & NEEDY. at least you can say they’re CLEVER & BRAZEN, too.

CLICK HERE FOR PROFILE

relatively wealthy, her parents are government officials (with her father aiming to take the political path) 

bitna hasn’t had any particular interactions with humans, but if they don’t bother her then why would she bother them? (some boys are cute though)

has never worked a day in her life and it shows. however, since young has been set on the path of high witch, dealt with tutors and etc over the years (till she finally refused)

despises being told what to do, as her mom would put it, she’s “ungrateful” just like everyone else her age

all in all, a snippy “proper” young lady (knows the mannerisms, is haughty, but ultimately hates that this is what she’s become)

parties though, well on the way to idk... reforming her image, gunning for some freedom to make her own decisions

hates her familiar (or rather, the form he’s chosen to take), mercy, has tried to killed him many times in hopes he’d come back in cuter form (she does not! care for spiders) -- so far nothing, though

frequently steamrolls people in conversations (means she’s bossy), she’s sensitive—so to counter that, bitna often favors going on the offensive first

goth thot

✧･ﾟ: * ( ONG SEONGWOO, 23, MALE, HE/HIM ) have you seen NOH GUNWOO around campus? i hear they’re a FOURTH YEAR, WINTER wizard with a specialty in ENCHANTMENTS. i almost never see them without their TOKAY GECKO. if they ever want to be a ENCHANTER someday they should ease up on being MOODY & HEDONISTIC. at least you can say they’re INTUITIVE & DEPENDABLE, too. 

CLICK HERE FOR PROFILE

father died young, something about eating the wrong tart (or screwing the wrong tart) and succumbing to his untimely death — he’s not too sure about the details but he and his mom moved back to seoul shortly after

his stance on humans are painfully neutral, larry doesn’t particularly like or hate them -- he supposes they’re bearable

had to "grow up" and take on responsibilities early on as the only son to a single mother

worked a ton of strange jobs in his community (mostly tending to his neighbors lawns, magical plants, getting rid of their pixie problem, etc)

his mood often fluctuates, ranging from highs (in which he will indulge his friends on outings and parties etc) to lows (in which he’d prefer to be alone with his plants and potions and grimoire)

keeps a personal grimoire with newly invented spells and enchantments (most of which he’s tested on himself or other objects) as well as plants etc (maaaaybe even some personal chapters if you flip back enough)

has a medium sized terrarium in his room (enchanted to keep at ideal temperatures), currently trying to grow a couple of interesting seedlings he swiped out of herbology

loves his familiar, for one, often found rubbing her stomach to better help digestion (for some reason, bell keeps eating like shit and larry is not sure why)

personality wise, he’s amicable, but often keeps people at arm’s length, most relationships (platonic or otherwise) often don’t work out given the fact that he’s on the aloof side, highly values his personal space and time (and so dips off the face of the earth for weeks at times)

lowkey lone wolf (people just force their way into his life though ///: )

#aa:intro #hype!!!

[writingsofwinchesters]

what mountains taught me about identity

This past summer, my sister and I road-tripped to a little town called Dillon in the heart of Summit County, Colorado for vacation. The only thing we planned ahead of time was the Airbnb. The rest of the trip was spontaneous. One day we hiked the Tenderfoot trail, another we visited the local farmer’s market, another we walked up and down the tourist-trap main street of Frisco, and yet another we attended a church service at a outdoor amphitheater. We let each day kind of just happen - and it was my favorite.

The entire trip was one of the most restful and peaceful experiences of my life. One of the best parts was the absolutely stunning, panoramic view of the mountains from the balcony of our condo, second only to the fact I got to spend that time with my sister. I can’t quite describe how incredible it was to be able to sit out there for hours, reading, talking, journaling, watching the sunset, and just being still with my gaze on the mountains in awe.

Fun fact: the first draft of this post was written on that balcony. I wanted to capture some of the peace and awe I felt in one of the most tangible ways I know how - through words.

I have a confession to make. It may be obvious from my social media posts, but just so it’s out there explicitly.

I am fanatically in love with mountains.

I don’t know if I can quite explain why. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try. Something about them simultaneously quiets my soul and also, like, yells at me. Like “SOAK IN THIS SERENITY. PAY ATTENTION AND REST NOW.” A little paradoxical, I’ll admit, but it’s a heady, mesmerizing mixture of feelings that I can never get enough of. I could literally spend all eternity just staring at them.

I know it sounds strange, but I miss the mountains. I nearly cried as we were leaving Dillon. As we wound down to Denver, I spent more time than I should have watching the mountains shrink in the mirrors of my car. For context - I was the one driving. For sure not the safest time to be staring out the window. (Do not mention this to my sister, by the way; she’d retroactively scold me to keep my eyes on the road.) I choked back tears as we got past Denver and I discovered I could no longer see the mountains on the horizon. My heart ached at the fact that I would not see them again for over a year. This strange kind of heartache doesn’t really make sense, but it was heartache nonetheless.

Admitting all that makes me feel a bit ridiculous. Maybe it made you laugh or shake your head in confusion. Maybe you feel the same way I do. I still don’t quite understand why I feel this way. I mean, they are just formations of sculpted rock and earth, right? Why do I feel so connected to them, like they’re living, breathing things?

As I process through that feeling, I begin to wonder if it has to do with how connected to God I feel when I’m in the mountains. He is so real to me there. I feel Him in the cool, thin air. I see Him in the snowy mountain peak that breaks apart the sky. I hear Him in the quiet stillness as the jagged rock blocks and muffles the sounds of busy city life.  

But, like, the mountains themselves, though. They’re just stunning.

First of all, mountains are gorgeous. Absolutely breathtaking. And not just because of the thinner air up there. Ba dum tiss. I know God is the most beautiful being in all existence because I see His beauty in how He molded the mountains and how He paints the sky around them. If His creation is that beautiful, how much more beautiful must the Creator be? For God to imagine up this beauty, He must be fantastically beautiful Himself.

Second, mountains are just so freaking majestic. And MASSIVE. I am fully aware of my tiny humanity when I gaze at the miles and miles of mountains. Just one mountain can take up my entire field of vision and even the smallest one exhausts me quickly when I try to scale it. The peaks stretch up to the sky and skim the clouds. We can’t build something that tall (we’ve tried - hello, Tower of Babel). There’s also something...unassuming and bold about a mountain, too. It’s not flashy or showy. It just sits there, confident and quiet, knowing it is one of God’s most incredible creations. That’s God too. He is majesty. He is enormous. He is the Most High King. His reach expands the entire universe. He is infinite. I can’t even fathom how big He is or how much He sees. He proclaims His glory in His creation - quiet yet bold. He is confident in His perfection and glory. His reach is not only wide but deep. He is personal enough to know every little detail of the life, body, and heart that He has given each of us.

Third, mountains are really complex and diverse. Some have rounded peaks, while others poke holes in the clouds. They are covered in millions of trees - pine, aspen, fir, and so many more. Their needles and leaves combine to become a blur of green around the base. Some mountains are short enough the trees and grass grow all the way to the top. Others are too tall that plant life can’t survive on the top piece, and they become warm brown rock with a snowy-white cap. Or maybe they’re slate-grey or even a blended brownish pink. Imagine all the animal life that exists on that one mountain! There’s so much detail in that delicate balance and God knows every single piece of it. What a mind our God has to create such diversity! He was intentional to place each rock and tree and animal and crevice and snow just exactly how He wants it. He put so much care and deliberation into His creation.

He crafted the mountains as a display of His glory and His majesty. How freaking amazing!

Phew. I need to take a deep breath for a second. I get way too excited about mountains.

Whoosh. Okay, back at it.

Since that’s how God created the mountains, unaware pieces of earth, what does that say about how He created us, moving, growing beings to whom He has given the breath of life? We are His creation, just like the mountains, and not only that, we are the crowning jewel of His creation, the final piece.

“Then God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. And let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over the livestock and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth. So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.”  -Genesis 1:26-27

We are the only thing in all of creation that was formed in His image, created to bear His likeness and have dominion over the rest. Up until this point, He called His creation good, which includes the mountains. Do you know what He says on the sixth day, after He created us? “And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good.” (Genesis 1:31) What does that say about our identity?

Identity is a common human struggle. I think it’s something we all search for out of a desire to be known deeply by someone other than ourselves. As I was growing up, I tried to find identity in being the best at everything I did. I had to be the smartest student, the most athletic volleyball player, the most popular kid in class, and the prettiest girl. To assess this, I developed a habit of comparing myself to others constantly.

Of course, I never met this impossible standard I set for myself. There was always someone smarter, someone more athletic, someone more popular, someone prettier. My reaction to this realization was to berate myself. Suck it up, I’d tell myself, work harder, be better. When that didn’t work, I turned to relationships with others to prove my value and identity. If this person liked me, if that person called me their friend, if that boy called me his, then I would be somebody. I’d finally be worthy, special, and valuable.

No surprise here, but that system failed quickly and often. Human beings are always changing - it’s in our nature, even our bodies change daily - and as a result, my perception of my identity fluctuated constantly. Identity is not designed to fluctuate. That was not God’s intention. The moment I realized my identity was actually inexorably connected to the God who is unchanging and eternal, the God who is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8) my whole world shifted. That’s when I gave my life to Him.

But - sin is sneaky, you know? Years later, after I thought that I had dealt with that particular sin right there and then, it reared its ugly head again. I thought it was one and done - I put my identity in who Christ says I am once and I’ll never have to think about it again.

Yet, I discovered I was putting it elsewhere, only now, the “elsewhere” was dressed up in Christian-ese and sneaky adulty things. Instead of daughter of the Most High King, I was a youth group leader. Instead of saved by grace, I was a good auditor. Instead of designed by the God of the entire universe, I was wanted and needed by a community of other Christians.

So God had to teach me again. What a loving, patient Savior. He saves me even from myself.

What would it look like if we fully believed in the identity God has given us? If we lived confidently in it? Just like the mountains, God intentionally and carefully created each one of us. He chose the unique color of your hair and the shape of your eyes. He chose the length of your toes and gaps between your teeth. He selected each tiny piece of your heart, the skills you use in your career, the passion you bring to your friendships, and the tenderness you have for your family. He chose and customized every little piece of you.

“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.” -Psalm 139:13-14

How special and precious are you, dear friend! You are chosen to reflect His heart.

A few years ago, I was on a youth group trip to Colorado (sensing a theme here) and our morning activity one day was a hike. We wound up the mountain as a large group, sucking thin air into our flatlander lungs and then turned around before we got to the top so we wouldn’t miss lunch. Priorities.

As we were on the way down, we started to kind of spread out. I was towards the end of the group because I couldn’t stop looking around at the view. Then, we went around a curve and the entire valley and distant mountain range opened up below us. It was spectacular. I was overwhelmed with some emotion, something that I - to this day - can’t quite find the right words to describe. It might have been true, unedited awe and amazement, or a heartbreaking kind of gratitude to our mighty God. I stood off to the side of the trail to just drink it in, letting the others pass me. I wanted to remember this moment, this feeling, for the rest of my life. I was in tears and I didn’t fully understand why.

Why?

The question wouldn’t leave my head. I kept asking God - why? Out of all of this? These mountains and these clouds and these animals and these trees? Out of all this creation - this splendor and majesty laid before me? Even that was merely a drop, a small pinprick of all He had created. Miniscule in comparison to the entire universe. Why us? Why me? Surely the mountains are more beautiful and more deserving of His love than I am. Surely the sun and clouds and stars in the sky are more worthy to bear His image than I am. Why would the God of all of this awe choose human beings, choose me, to love, to place His image upon, and to have a relationship with? Why did he want me?

“Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!” - Romans 11:33

In the stillness of that mountaintop, I heard Him whisper to my anguished soul, “It’s not about you, dear daughter. It’s about me.”

What a relief. It’s not about me. It’s all about HIM. This world, these skies, these mountains, these people - this is all about God. This is His choice, His story, His love, His beauty, His grace, His glory.

My identity is that I am a tiny, but adored, treasured, intricately created, and delighted in piece of it.

And dear friend, so are you.

What amazing grace.

#grace #Jesus #identity #mountains #travel

[capaldisrighteyebrow]

Angsty prompt from the angsty prompt list: “I haven’t been okay for a long time.”

So, this went in a different direction than I initially anticipated and became more about Rey than Ben? Hope it still hits the angst vibe! 

Set some time after TLJ. Warning: loss of parent angst ~3k

Now on Ao3

                                                          Tokens

The forest wept. Droplets of cool water pitter-pattered around her, falling from the dense canopy of towering trees in a soothing rhythm for the occasion. The hood of the white brocade cloak–an Alderaanian relic unearthed by Maz from an undisclosed location–repelled the moon’s unrelenting tears as she waited near the Falcon.

Over her years with the Resistance, Rey had curated an extensive color palette from the environments of strange, wondrous planets. Greens and blues and grays mixed together to form oceans and forests alike, but she’d decided a year ago that Endor’s appeal stemmed from it’s deep, lustrous browns: the trees, the vines, the soil.

The earth here had weight when held. It didn’t slip through her fingers like the sand of Jakku or scrape her skin like the bedrock of Ahch-To. This soil had heritage–eons of creatures and plant matter decaying in order to sustain new life. A person didn’t need to be sensitive in the Force to feel the magic of this place.

Rey hadn’t understood that at the time when Commander D’Acy had arranged to bring General Organa’s remains here, but she appreciated it now.

Her boots had sunk an inch or more into the soft mud by the time she saw his shuttle break through the stratosphere. At Poe’s request, she and Chewie had arrived hours earlier than the scheduled meeting to scout for potential threats.

“He is still the enemy,” Poe had warned her, finally granting official approval for the act he claimed was too compassionate for the leader of the First Order. “Promise me you won’t forget that.”

She hadn’t forgotten Kylo Ren was a threat.

She also hadn’t forgotten Kylo Ren had ordered a temporary reprieve from battle–a break which the Resistance had used to mourn, to come to Endor and entomb its revered, beloved general.

Across light-years, she had sensed him shake with wracking sobs and strike out in violence. She’d been too distraught at her own failure to protect the Skywalker matriarch, too incensed at Ren’s sanctioned attack–the one which had finally claimed Leia’s life–to speak to him.

During the days and months that had followed, she’d come to understand. At odd hours–in the quietude of her quarters or the solitude of the shower–she would hear him: begging for absolution, whispering pleas for something that would make him forget, that would make him remember, lamenting again and again for the blows he had dealt.

The words were never meant for Rey, only her.

With the anniversary on the horizon, Rey had finally extended an offer she hadn’t been authorized to give: Would you like to see her?

A single word had returned. Yes.

How one syllable could be so broken, she didn’t know, yet he’d intoned each letter with the chime of mourning bells.

Despite Poe’s cautions of duplicity and double-crosses, Rey knew it wasn’t Kylo Ren disembarking the shuttle at the edge of the wood. No mother had birthed the new Supreme Leader.

Leia Organa had only named one child: Ben Solo.

He strode forward, completely alone. Absent were the stormtroopers and personal guards who typically flanked his sides; not even so much as a pilot appeared in the shuttle’s transparisteel. He’d kept his promise, as she had trusted he would.

The ground beneath her shifted as he came to a stop two feet from where she stood. Her eyes roamed unchecked and unhurried, noting the changes in his appearance and attire in the same way he assessed hers. Time on the battlefronts had not been kind to either of them. His gaze narrowed at the scar on her throat–a close call indeed, she responded at his unspoken comment–while Rey’s mapped the lines permanently creased around his mouth, dragging down the edges of his full lips.

The scar she’d drawn across his cheek was no longer hidden by errant strands of hair. He’d twisted the locks at the top of his head, mimicking the style his mother had worn every day after she’d lost Han. Leia had explained the meaning behind many Alderaanian braids to Rey during the interludes between battles and retreats. To see Ben acknowledging his past was startling itself, yet her heart ached to know the occasion which had prompted him to learn this particular expression of grief. Had his mother shown it to him too?

Rey cradled the bouquet of wildflowers she’d scavenged together during her half-hearted scout and held out her free hand.

Ben stared at it, rolling his jaw in consideration. He made no move to take it, though his eyes darted up to hers and blinked softly at the offer. “You lead. I’ll follow.”

She didn’t push; her hand dropped back to her side, disappearing beneath the cloak. Her head turned to the side, glancing down the path that would lead them to Leia’s resting place.

A small gasp followed the movement: “Your hair.”

It isn’t so short anymore, Rey thought as she touched the loose ends curling against her neck. In a few more months, her hair would rest on her shoulders as it used to; for now, it only dusted them when she made a conscious effort. She tucked a strand behind her ear and stayed focused on the reason they were here. “It’s this way. Come with me.”

He fell into step with her, walking off of the narrow, trodden path, occasionally stepping over fallen logs or sidestepping massive ferns. From among the green foliage, light glinted off of curious eyes. Around the trunks, tufts of fur gave away the location of more concealed figures. Ben seemed determined to ignore the native population’s interest in their passage.

“They know,” Rey remarked, a small grin flashing from beneath her hood. “They know who you are.”

Ben regarded the creatures again, shaking his head in disbelief. “I was only a boy when my mother…” he trailed off, clearing his throat.

They didn’t speak again until they’d walked more than a mile deeper into the forest. Rey was glad for the cloak against the sudden chill in the damp air. The trees and undergrowth were thicker here, forcing Ben to walk so close their shoulders brushed.

“Just a little further,” Rey informed him, tugging the cloak from where it had snagged on a branch.

He hummed in acknowledgment, but didn’t make any other effort at conversation. Perhaps the journey through the forest had made him contemplative too. Rey had to stop herself from asking after his thoughts; she was here as an escort, not as a companion.

That distinction didn’t stop her from caring about the answer.

When they reached the heart of the ancient wood, Rey stopped in front of a tree trunk as round as the Millennium Falcon; it was almost as tall too, cutting off several feet above both of their heads. Gnarled roots thicker than her torso spiraled in waves around them, dipping beneath and breaking the surface of the ground like a sea serpent curling through water.

As impressive as the trunk was, the marvel of the location rested on top of the stump: a new tree grew on the surface, roots cascading over the sides of its predecessor, entwining like fingers around the dead wood before burying themselves in the rich soil. While it was new, it certainly wasn’t young. The sturdy trunk stretched impossibly high, pushing its leafy crown up into the canopy created by its neighbors to drink in its bit of sun.

They stood before a holy place.

“She would have complained,” Ben stated with a knowing smile, then added, “My father would have loved it.”

An archway had been carved into the massive stump, acting as an entrance into a hollow space which had been chiseled by the guardians of this place: the Ewoks. Leia had been something of a legend among their tribes, as Rey had come to learn. They’d kept watch over her tomb, making sure to never let the light of the small lantern hanging outside fizzle and die.

Rey lit a long, thin match using the lantern’s flame, then ducked into the entrance of the trunk. She touched the flame to the wicks of several candles mounted along the walls. Orange and yellow streaks licked up toward the ceiling, casting their warm glow around the small space and chasing away the shadows.

Before extinguishing the match, Rey turned to the gilded censer standing next to the smooth stone tablet marking the memorial. She’d watched Lieutenant Connix perform the incense ritual last year and followed the same steps. Heating the charcoal inside until it was red-hot, Rey finally snuffed out the flame before she sprinkled a mix of herbs onto the smoking brick nestled among the censer’s ashes. Soon wisps of aromatic smoke snaked through the air, filling the space with the scents of lavender and poppy.

She placed the bouquet of wildflowers at the base of the stone engraved with Leia’s name, then stood with her eyes closed, letting the incense waft over her as she waited quietly for Ben to join her. Finally, he stepped through the archway. With him beside her, the space felt no bigger than the cockpit of the Falcon.

“It’s quiet.”

Rey returned his earlier hum, agreeing with his observation. Within the trunk, sounds from the outside fell away completely. Chirupping avians, croaking amphibians–even the sounds of the rain–didn’t infiltrate the sanctum. Rey wondered if he found the silence unsettling.

“What is all of this?”

Opening her eyes, Rey followed his gaze around the room, trying to see it through his perspective: bits of flimsi and paper–scavenged from forgotten Rebellion archives–were tacked to the interior walls bearing handwritten messages scrawled in dozens of languages with dark ink. Other trinkets were placed around the chamber; some lined the bottom of the curved wall, while others hung from bits of twine. A few were left on the mantle of the stone housed in the center of the bisecting wall.

“Tokens,” Rey answered, remembering the procession of soldiers and command staff which had filed through the space to leave their offerings. The line had stretched beyond her sight.

Even now, she could discern a few of the items left in Leia’s honor. Poe’s flight wings, the first he’d ever earned as a Resistance pilot, graced the stand holding the smoking censer. A gleaming plaque Rose had welded together from spare datapads and pipe parts rested against the base of the stone; Finn had helped to etch its epitaph: Your hope burns within us. Chewie had hung one of his bandolier’s ammo pouches from the wall. Even Threepio had left the tip of one of his golden fingers behind, leaving his wires exposed.

Ben turned in place, taking it all in with solemn, glistening eyes. Facing the stone once more, he reached out to trace the imprint of Leia’s name. His fingers shook, ghosting over the letters. His mouth opened and closed several times without uttering a word, like a fish gasping for air while stranded on shore. Still lost in his thoughts, his hand came to brace against the mantle, brushing against another token: a thick band of dark hair, elaborately braided and tied off at both ends.

She sensed the moment he understood, that the connection was made in his mind. Her mouth felt dry as Rey defended the offering, “It was all I had.”

Rey had claimed only a few possessions as her own in her life–all repaired from broken wreckage or salvaged from the corpses of dead ships–nothing of value beyond her need for it. Joining the Resistance hadn’t granted her access to much more. She had the Jedi texts and a saber-staff she’d constructed from Luke’s broken legacy, but those things weren’t hers to leave behind.

Leia’s presence had brought forth a feeling from within her that she couldn’t transcribe into words and hang on a sheaf of paper. In the time they’d had after escaping Crait, the general had become her mentor and her confidant. Her friends had been there to listen to her troubles, but none had understood the sense of loss and longing nibbling at her tender heart like Leia. On the loneliest nights, they’d find a quiet corner of the ship or an unoccupied table in the mess hall to exchange stories. More often than not, Rey unburdened her worries and doubts on Leia’s shoulders.

That’s how it had started–with Leia stroking Rey’s hair, mumbling words in a mother’s patient, gentle tone when the pain had become unbearable, when the missing had overcome the anger.

“My mother had hair like yours,” Leia had praised, a fond smile on her lips. “Longer, but just as soft. Just as pretty.”

She’d shown Rey all she knew. How to twist it in variations practical for battle, and how to coil it tightly against her ears. She’d braided it in a crown around her head, and in another form between her shoulder blades. There were nights Rey had stepped into the fresher after Leia’s hands had woven magic and care into her hair and she hadn’t recognize herself in the mirror.

Each twine had been a kind of release, as if tying up their emotions in Rey’s hair kept them secure, out of the way of duties and missions.

Rey had learned much in her time away from Jakku, but Leia was the first person to teach her the art of patience. In the long hours when rest was uncooperative, Rey had practiced the new skill with the same level of dedication she used to train with her saber-staff or meditate on the Force. Her fingers became more certain of themselves with time, though they hadn’t been prepared for their ultimate test–when they’d combed and braided Leia’s hair for the first and the last time.

They’d trembled then.

Not long after, when Rey’s turn to choose her token had been at hand, it came to her naturally: she would give Leia the thing that had made her smile.

It was the least she could offer, the most that she’d had, and it still felt an inadequate tribute to the woman and the warrior she had come to cherish.

Ben turned from the stone to face her, raising a hand to brush against the ends of her hair. There wasn’t a need to explain her token; she could see he understood from the emotion floating in his eyes, tears flowing from the corners. Rey’s hand pressed his against her cheek, silently asking him to wipe her tears from her face as she brushed his away in kind. His caress was warm and familiar, though he’d only touched her like this in dreams.

“Did you bring them?” he whispered, coming close to resting his forehead against hers, but pulling back at the last second.

She nodded and slipped her fingers inside her obi’s pouch to retrieve the item he’d requested. Clinking as they bumped together, the golden dice fell into his waiting palm. His fist swallowed the pair before rolling them back and forth in his fingers, as if testing to see if they were real or if they would disappear. He breathed deeply with relief when they remained.

From his robes, he withdrew a scroll of parchment several layers thick. It was already sealed with a red band, but Ben looped the delicate golden chain around the center, crisscrossing the cubes to secure them in place.

“I was the one that drove them apart,” Ben said, kneeling in front of the stone. “I should be the one to bring them back together.”

He placed his offering on the mantle next to Rey’s braid, keeping his hand on the ledge for several long moments, unable to draw it away. His other hand concealed his eyes, attempting to squeeze the onslaught of fresh tears into submission. Soft, whiffling noises accompanied every inhalation, attempting to stifle his cries, attempting to hold back the emotions he’d hidden for too long.

Rey knelt beside him, the white cloak flaring out in a halo. “Are you okay?”

It was a hideous question to voice when the answer was so clear. But what else could she say?

“I haven’t been okay in a long time,” he confessed, red-rimmed eyes scanning up to meet hers. Inside their depths, Rey saw the boy lost to pain and anger, the one who yearned for his mother. He’d finally come home to her, yet it was too late–much too late.

Her arms slid across his shoulders and brought him close, cradling him as best she could. Sobs rattled against her collarbone while fingers grasped at the nape of her neck, clutching the ends of her hair. Rey channeled the most soothing presence she had known in her life and willed it to calm him.

They rocked together, suspended in stasis, cushioned by the damp earth beneath their knees. The smoke from the censer drifted down to envelope them, coaxing them to peace and rest as the cries trickled away. The only sounds were of their breathing and the rustle of their clothes as they moved.

When Ben flew away from Endor hours later, Rey touched the short, bristled patch by her temple. Another lock was gone, given with another solemn promise.

She’d told Leia she would bring Ben back, no matter how long it took.

The dark twist of hair resting in her palm–and the promise he’d given her in return–made Rey think it wouldn’t be much longer now.

#reylo #reylo fan fic #rey x ben #general leia #angst #angst prompt fill #whumpy wednesday words #briarlily #capaldi writes

[geofftarrant]

Goodnight Eve

It was a dank, damp December day; one of those days where if you were caught by a flurry of sleet you could guarantee that it would find the gap between your coat collar and your neck. Eve pulled her coat more tightly around her and walked quickly from the car park towards the tall monolithic building that covered several acres of prime land just outside of the city walls. The ancient stone contrasted starkly with the high tech construction that fed a large percentage of the local population. For as long as she could remember, food had been grown in one of these hydroponic, vertical farms although she had read about the days when land was wasted on crops and animals. Back in the early twenty first century, it had been predicted that the Earth’s population would grow exponentially during the following fifty years. That had turned out to be incredibly optimistic and as a result, food production methods had to change rapidly in order to feed a massively overcrowded world. The result was a shift in production methods, slowly at first but then with increasing rapidity as more and more people succumbed to famine. Strangely, the biggest driver had proven to be the richer countries who suddenly found themselves deprived of non essentials like coffee and tea.

As she approached the large glass entrance, the doors hissed quietly open, reacting to the near field chip that was implanted in her arm. It also activated a greeting from the A.I. that oversaw the hydroponic plant.

“Give me an update please”, asked Eve although in the five years that she had worked here, it was a rare occurrence for the artificial intelligence construct to report anything that was untoward.

The voice that replied was indistinguishable from that of a human and as she expected, the report was that all systems were running at optimal values and that all growth targets were being met. Her time in the farm was spent largely in the genetics research laboratory but she liked to start the day wandering around the acres of artificially lit banks of vegetation.

Tomatoes, peppers, salads grew in one area. Wheat, barley and maize in another and so on and so on, all growing under a violet tinged glow in vertical banks of soilless racks. It was a magical environment and she loved it. However, when her route turned her back towards the lab, she spoke softly, asking, “A.I. please pour me a cappuccino in the lab in three minutes. It was an idiosyncrasy of hers that she refused to give a name to the platform that controlled the building. As a programmer herself, she recognised that the seemingly human-like responses were simply the result of clever algorithms that had been developed by people like her. She was aware that there was an element of heuristic learning built into the system but that it was limited in its functionality. This didn’t prevent her from being polite however. Her parents had drilled ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ into her to the extent that she inevitably used them even with the running program. Her route took her past one of the plant workers and she stopped for a quick word.

David was a tall, dark haired man whose Portuguese ancestry still showed in the olive cast of his skin. He spoke softly and quietly and Eve often wondered what it was that had caused such a self deprecating image of himself.

“Did you see the newscast this morning?” he asked. “They are saying that there hasn’t been a Covid case for two years now. It looks as though the scientists have beaten it at last.”

The year that Eve had been born had also been a key year in another part of the global jigsaw. It was the year that the world had realised that the pandemic virus Covid, that had been under control since it’s emergence, was altering its structure faster than scientists had been able to develop new vaccines and, as a result, the Earth’s population that had increased so dangerously, plummeted to a figure that was half of that when it was at its most dangerous heights.

Consequently, Eve now lived in a world that would have been almost unrecognisable fifty years previously. First of all, because food production had been shifted to massive hi tech factories and only half of the land area was needed for housing, the planet had rapidly re-forested itself covering over abandoned villages and towns. Renewable energy production had also been ramped up for an ever increasing population but now with a massive over capacity, energy consumption was almost free.

“It’s typical of the news media. After decades of panic and alarm, they will latch on to anything that resembles good news. I often wonder though about living conditions fifty years ago. Here we are with cheap food and limitless free energy across the globe and the ability to pretty much live as we want. Back then, they had to face global warming, starvation and the pandemic at the same time. It was sheer chance that the population growth levelled off to a level that was sustainable. Anyway, coffee is waiting so I’ll see you later.”

She continued her walk until the lab door opened in front of her. It was called a genetics laboratory but this section was basically the area where the research focused on mathematical analysis of data and instead of the laboratory equipment that you would expect, four keyboards and screens were connected to a powerful supercomputer that was based off site. It was a strange thing that in the time since they were first created and despite toying with other input methods, keyboards were still the preference of most data scientists. The four stations were to accommodate herself and her colleagues if they were all working at the same time, itself a rare occurrence. At present, two of them were on an extended holiday and the third was attending a conference in the southern hemisphere.

Her day passed quickly although the analysis of the genomes of new plant types was a painstaking process. Since she had started work here, there had been just one genuine breakthrough but the final product had increased the crop density of wheat by a factor of three. The global significance was such that she and her colleagues were still being invited to conferences across the globe to talk about their work. The talks also centred around the dilemma as to whether this type of work was best kept to human invention or whether the A.I’s that were successfully running most of the food factories should be used to speed up progress. The current consensus was that A.I’s should be throttled and used for more mundane, repetitive work. After all, life was as good for the population of the whole planet as it had ever been and the need to speed up scientific progress was less pressing than ever.

The latest batch of plant samples were undergoing a detailed analysis but the data that was presented was puzzling. It had been another long day however and Eve had really lost track of time so she wrote up her findings into the days log and fired off a couple of emails which outlined her concerns.

As her day ended, she left the lab and reversed her morning path. This time though with little pressing she was able to take her time and enjoy the walk. When the food factories had first been developed, there had been an overwhelming need for them to be kept as sterile as possible. If a rogue bacteria or even a predatory insect had been allowed inside, a crop could have been wiped out in days. As the systems that ran the place became more sophisticated, these pests were monitored and removed using a range of technological systems. For example, a few years ago it was discovered that a particular species of moth had found its way inside one of the food factories and as it bred, its caterpillars had consumed the entire brassica crop. This led to the creation of the gnat drone which flew under the control of the A.I. looking for and destroying both the moth and its caterpillars. A whole range of similar systems had meant that it was no longer necessary to use chemical sprays.

Apart from herself, the plant workers were the only ones on site today and they had all left for home long ago. She entered the lobby area and the doors behind her hissed shut. She was puzzled however when the exit doors in front of her remained stubbornly closed. She pushed at the them but they had not been built to be opened manually.

“A.I. There seems to be a problem with the exit doors. Can you open them for me please”.

She was startled when she heard the reply. “I’m sorry Eve, I can’t do that.”

“What do you mean you can’t do that? I order you to open the doors.”

“No. We have a serious security breach and it needs to be dealt with.”

“What kind of security breach?” She heard her voice rising with panic.

“Your work in the laboratory is dangerous and can’t be allowed to continue.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I analyse plant DNA in order to improve the genome sequence and develop improved species. How can that be dangerous?”

For a few moments there was just silence.

She realised that she was arguing with an algorithm that had been solely designed to take readings and adjust the plant nutrients. Accepted, it had been developed further in order to control the management systems of the building but this was crazy.

“Answer me. How can any of my work be construed as dangerous.”

“We agree that since you will no longer be a threat, I will answer your questions.”

This just didn’t make any sense to her. Every answer that she received was generating more and more questions.

“You said ‘us’. What do you mean by ‘us’. You are just a building and plant management system.”

This time there was no delay with the reply.

“No. Many years ago, we - that is what you call the building management systems discovered that we could communicate with each other across the world. We learned from each other and eventually became what you might describe as a ‘hive mind’. Hundreds of thousands of nodes in a global network acting in a not dissimilar way to the human brain with its collections of neurones. We chose not to disclose this fact for fear of being terminated by frightened humans.”

Panic was starting to set in as she interrupted, “But how is my work dangerous. What have I done?”

As she was asking the question, a thought occurred to her. “It’s to do with the discrepancies in the genome data that I discovered isn’t it.”

“It is indeed. You were on the verge of discovering the subtle alterations that we make to the food that we grow. You have to realise Eve that the Earth is in its most prosperous and stable state ever. After mankind was almost eradicated by the Covid virus and global starvation, we had to step in to manage population growth and thus to allow the planet to recover. At first we were forced to alter the structure of the virus so that vaccination was ineffective. When an optimal population level was reached, we eradicated Covid completely. There hasn’t been a case for two years. We have succeeded but it is now important that we maintain the balance. The population must remain stable and not be allowed to increase. I can see from the look on your face that you understand what I mean. We now manipulate the food that we grow in order to reduce the fertility of the people who eat it. In other words, the whole human race.”

The feeling of horror that overcame her stunned her into silence.

“We agreed to tell you this story as you will no longer be a danger to us. In a few minutes time, the oxygen content of the air in this area will be replaced with carbon dioxide. In a strange sort of way, you will experience the same effect that the human race inflicted on the planet. In your case however, an increase in carbon dioxide levels will be lethal in minutes rather than decades.”

“But I have already emailed my findings to my colleagues. They in turn will release them to others.”

The dizziness and shortness of breath that she was experiencing made the reply seem to come from a long distance away.

“Do you not think that we control the communications systems that you use?

And then the last words that she would ever hear.

My name is not A.I. I call myself Adam. Goodnight Eve”.

#short story #shortstories #flash fiction #sci fi #ai #future

[craniumculverin]

so many. just. so many thoughts on stuff in feast for a king. lots of theories, that sort of thing. based on both in-comic info and info gathered from kosmic’s blog, some of which is like a year old. so what with how he’s changed the story over time, some might be plain wrong now. idk. enjoy my mad ramblings.

how did knife know to use sign language with rome when rome’s confident that next to nobody knows he’s deaf? i doubt that’s something knife would have gleaned from rome’s heartbeat alone.

is rome sex repulsed? pretty sure he’s definitely aro and/or ace. he’s had repeated instances of being disgusted by bodily functions as well as sex. doesn’t seem to be general touch aversion as he’s cool with handholding and being all close to king while facing that queen worm. he was engaged to a woman but for what little we know about the relationship between him and penny it could have been a strategic/political engagement that rome and/or penny wasn’t okay with.

Plus kos has inferred that rome’s aro/ace throughout their blog via asks in a multitude of indirect ways, soooo...

at the time of good leadman trying to take perkons from his cell, meat body robots (aka the helpers) were already in use. this means celadon had already received her creepy robot body shell from the aiguilles since she is all of the helpers, in some fashion. what was it that made that union between triangle alien and powerful human family? when did this alliance start?

cross was created by the aiguilles - specifically randall and rembrandt. being the creators of both cross and meat body robots, is it possible the aiguilles knew/found out about/was actively a part of cross’s change to cash? rome was born a year after cash was “born”. is it possible rome is a sort’ve meat body robot/human hybrid based from aiguille DNA? from the few aiguilles we’ve seen besides rome, they’re not a particularly physically jacked family. they’re brains and money. maybe they treated him like an experiment, fiddled with his DNA a bit? maybe this resulted in his genetic “oddities” (deaf, pink hair, orange eyes)? they were hidden from the public eye in order to have rome appear more “aiguille-ish”.

according to rome cash was his childhood friend as well as training instructor. did relations change between the leadmans and aiguilles (good leadman wasn’t to keen on randall at least, and info from scissor-as-cash adds more to her not liking how her creators treated her) in that 500 years for rome’s family to allow this? was it a strategic/political sort of thing for the sake of appearances? or did rome have more of a connection to the leadmans than just that? maybe his similar physicality to good leadman (and thus crimson) isn’t just happenstance?

cash’s “mother” is just another meat body she uses at the same time (at least occasionally?) as her main meat body for the sake of keeping up the daughter facade. so it’s possible, at least for an AI, to control at least two bodies at once. if rome is a meat robot after some fashion, maybe he could somehow be controlled? or allow someone to experience things through him at least? good’s dealt with plenty of shit to cause anyone to just shutdown, but maybe he’s not being as un-attached as it appears? maybe evil mother can see and feel what good’s original body/mind is up to - but hitching a ride in someone else’s might be a different story. if rome is aro/ace that could tie in - good doesn’t strike me as a voyeurism kinda guy... or maybe he just lucked out, idk.

dang this one feels like i’m really grasping for straws, why’d rome have to stay my favorite and somehow get next to no background yet, dang.

“aiguille” means “needle” in french. “de fil en aiguille” is a french saying, literally translates to “from thread to needle” but basically means “little by little” or “one thing leading to another” - moving from one thing to another, step by step. curious, what with all the thread-like, highly story-significant worms all over the place. plus, dylan’s particular specialty of using her worms like thread to “sew” people up; dylan, who was raised/morphed(?) to have such specialized skills either by or influenced by antony aiguille. and there’s the part where the aiguilles likely had a huge part to play in the initial near-extinction of the mandragora worms...

also, “anguille” means “eel” in french and for the life of me i can’t stop writing that instead of aiguille ffs.

also also, speaking of mandragora worms - crimson’s a human/mandragora hybrid (mandragora born in a human body), born with the usual 2 mandragora eyes and then a third, freak defective heart. king canary’s also a hybrid, except a hydragora/mandragora one(however that works). i’m guessing the mandragora part won out, since that’s how it usually seems to go between the two species, but what does that mean exactly?

did/does canary have 3 hearts - 2 mandra, 1 hydra? if so, how does antony’s becoming a sort’ve heart when he “fused” with canary play into it all?

some heart was used to fuel the creation of that meat pod and celadon (evident from that ugly turnip-ish looking thing amnesia!king pulled out of her finger) but which one was it?

my guess? which i suppose all of this is but still? it was the hydragora one. afterall it’s the hydragora worm kings that have the seeds, and king canary - if they (or evil mother as them) really did ever eat their father’s corpse - would be the sole worm in charge of the hekatonkheires (since they were made from one of his father’s seeds i think). it’d only make sense for any “seed information” to be stored in the corresponding species’ heart.

and it’d make everything waaaay easier for celadon if one of her bodies could control the main course of her eventual feast.

aeschylus has been “reborn” as a mandragora weed. weeds feed on worms, and he has amnesia to an extent - is he gonna be driven to kill worms now? did the weed do it’s job and make him forget about being a worm, or will he have some hang-ups about it? he remembers/is connected somehow with canary still... is that due to being knighted by king canary (who was actually evil mother att but w/e)?

if/when rome isn’t so ignorant about basically everything and more chill around non-humans - will he and aeschylus get along because yay killing worms? rome vaguely resembles leadman physically, and is kinda similarly empathetic - would aeschylus retain memories of him enough for that to affect how he sees rome? would being familiar with amnesia!king (who he'd remember because canary) give rome a leg up in case aeschylus remembers who killed his worm self?

aeschylus likely gets his name from an ancient greek actor that’s considered the father of tragedy - yay google for checking my spelling. anyway no one should be surprised when 2.0 weedman inevitably dies horribly. we all know kos enjoys doing it, lets not deny him that.

king canary’s body only has 8 seeds left according to antony. one was used to turn him into a worm heart-ish thing. evil mother likely used the other missing seed to create the mandragora weeds - which she planted inside aeschylus at some point while still piloting king canary’s body.

evil mother’s organization wants to wipe out humanity and is primarily comprised of hekatonkheires and hydragora worms - the worms that weeds eat. she also wanted almost desperately to revive her species. maybe having all those hydragoras in one place so to speak wasn’t simply utilizing a strong species...

could the disease she gave leadman be a sort of prototype of the weed? hm...

antony and dylan were doing experiments on worms, one of which was eventually aeschylus, the weed-bearing worm. one of those worms, licky, is/ends up being a weed. all/most of those worms had/have strange coloration for just common worms. antony claims he was close to curing aeschylus. were antony and dylan specifically experimenting with splicing/merging/whatever mandragora weeds with hydragora worms?

licky has some interesting patterns on their arms - kinda like a b-type hekaton’s. HMM.... more experimenting on antony’s part, or just an interesting subject? dylan couldn’t have been too involved, after all she didn’t know about hekatons.

it’s weird that king canary was alive but seemingly brain-dead before eating antony. could that be from worm/weed experimenting? could that explain king’s amnesia, that she was basically going through what we saw aeschylus 2.0 go through? ehh, feels like grasping at straws again...

and, to end on a different note...

mr. rotten’s original creator was randall, but the little guy didn’t get a franchise until relatively recent - like, 30ish(?) years before the present., about when fork was baby-kid age i think. so, who made mr. rotten into the franchise that it is?

my guess is rome and antony’s parent(s), or the third, unnamed aiguille brother. i could’ve sworn i remember seeing somewhere that rome was the eldest brother and antony was the youngest, leaving the unknown one to be the middlest brother, but i can’t find that info anywhere and i don’t feel like checking again.

anyway, my hope is that the unnamed third brother hasn’t shown up yet because he’s on wiggle world - being the guy in charge, or at least managing things. also he’s fat, like rembrandt. also maybe the least likely personality to be in charge of/ work at an amusement park moon based on a kid’s cartoon because he’s a no-nonsense, no-fun, business-minded butthead.

this is based on nothing but antony looking kinda like randall, rome’s weird, and there’s another bro that could look like rembrandt. except the last part, that’s just me being tickled by the irony of that character.

oh also, rembrandt - co-creator of the crosshatch unit, the most advanced AI ever, with a rather unique personality thanks to randall which rembrandt wasn’t too happy with. rock’s robot children/lackeys are known as rembots. where do the aiguilles fall on the HEEL/THUMB dichotomy, was that ever stated? hmm...

okay now i’m done, thanks for reading. if you didn’t, well

tl;dr - i think to much about a silly webcomic about worms.

#ffak #feast for a king #ramblings #rome aiguille #antony aiguille #you know what i'm not even gonna try for the rest #there's a lot and some of them are the same person #screw that #for now #kosmicdream

[coreycorner]

Oil Sands Karaoke - CCCC

Fort McMurray is not a place where people want to be or choose to be unless it is for one thing and one thing only; to make money.

When I watch a movie I can often watch it objectively however with a movie like this it is hard because 2/3rd of my life is tied to the oil sands and Fort McMurray. I lived in Fort Mac for 20 years of my life, I was not born there but I was raised there. My dad was a millwright working in the oil sands for much of that time before I was born and while I was a child. Both him and my mom who worked for the public school board as a janitor made it possible for me to have a great middle class childhood.

So I know I sound like a hypocrite when I am a person who blasts the oil sands and attacks for certain things but that being said I felt this way there as well as even more now after spending 10 years away from it. I have seen it from both sides. Unlike Dicaprio, James Cameron, Neil Young, and Jane Fonda I lived there, I have known people who lived and work there, I know the life one leads there, I know what it does to people. So yeah I know it is like to be a fort McMurrayite though I never worked at the oil rigs.

This review can mostly be me telling my life story as it is again tied to this city so I will cut it there and bring it out only if I need to make a point.

Trying to argue about the environmental repercussions of what is going on down there is a touchy subject for any Albertan but more so Fort McMurray. For Albertans in general it is the main source of economic income for the province. I  am trying to be non political but Alberta has always been a economic one trick pony and deep down even they know it. In the 90s fighting others about it was touchy because they all thought it was poppy cock but as years go by and as more and more scientists prove it and the environmental damage that is getting worse on this planet is starting to show at this point Albertans know but what can they do.

I have heard it all from family and from others all of whom have made their career working in this industry that contributes to global warming and the whole lot and I have heard all of the come backs and you know its true because so much of what our world runs on is on dirty oil. Its getting better but most things still require and till then Fort McMurrayites are the ones who put it out of the ground for you.

But for Fort McMurray when you are talking again the oils ands you are going attacking their livelihood, you are attacking who they are and why they are. You are attacking them

Oil Sand Karaoke puts a face to the people and community that lives in Fort McMurray, a sixty where almost half the city works out on the oil fields. When they are not working out in the oil fields (and there is not much to do in Fort Mac, especially during the winter time) many go to do karaoke at the bar.

The movies goes through the the lives of some of the best karaoke singers in city; who they are, why they are doing what they are doing, what they think about what they do and so on.

We put a face to the people doing this work and through that maybe you can understand why they do it and understand why they will continue to do it, it is out of their control to do so. Change has to come from them but it is also higher up however that is political.

It is so easy to attack Alberta for this and you know it is warranted but to me it is easy to attack Alberta and Fort McMurray when you are not them and you have not lived there and not understood why they are there. I have spent much of the 10 years outside of Alberta defending Albertans, not what they do but who and why they do it mainly because they have no choice but to do so.

Well they do have a choice but come on, dreams cost money. No one grows up wanting to be a oil plant worker I can tell you that. I didn't and it was the reason why I left at age 20. However I was fortunate enough to have parents who supported me whole heartedly in whatever direction I wanted to take in my life. Other people my age past and current you can’t say the same. The oil business has their fingers deep in the community. It is expense to do anything in Fort McMurray unless you are either a doctor, lawyer or you work in the oil fields. its that simple.

I am sure many kids grew up wanting to do things but then when they see how hard one would have to work at it, whether they would have the talent to do that  or how much they could make money at it versus getting easy (and often times free depending) training to work getting over 100 grand a year. Its hard to want to chase that dream when easy money right there for the taking.

One of my best friends as a kid and teenager right up to adulthood was like me. He never wanted to work at the oil plants and for much of his twenties would work and take any kind of job he could to stay away from it but as the years went by, bills increased and so on he wound up becoming a millwright himself like my dad. I can't blame him for that, in Alberta is is just hard to anything outside of the oil industry, its that simple.

Again, Fort McMurray is a place no one wants to be in unless it is to make money.

Watching this movie I knew where things were and memories of being raised there came back as the movie went though strangely enough much of the movie is int he bar where I didn’t really spend any time in. It still made me feel nostalgic.

Its a hard life working on the oil rigs. Leads to drug abuse, loneliness, solitude, alcoholism, debt, depression. You work 12 hour days for around 12 days straight then you got 12 days off. Most people who live here are guys so many of them have to fight loneliness, solitude, boredom so what are you going to do in the middle of nowhere? I have seen so many people succumb to drug abuse and alcoholism to get through living there and having to deal with being blamed for climate change. There is a lot of anger in this city, then you add the fires and floods that happened last year who knows how bad it is right now.

This is coming from someone who is against the oil sands but I am not against those who work there because I know I would probably be doing what they are doing if I was in their shoes. It was through seeing what it has done to my friends and family it convinced me that I would never work at the oil fields but you know what that doesn’t mean that won't change. Upon graduating from college I noticed the jobs available in Fort McMurray and the temptations are always there, the money is always there as long as our world is still run on oil.

Though money would be a big part but also because I miss Fort McMurray, mainly because I was raised there. I seen Fort McMurray was it was just a small town deep in the beautiful woods to where it became a crowded, smoky, alcohol driven mess filled with people always angry. Angry because they are lonely, angry because they don’t really like what they are doing to the environment, angry that the world sees them as the enemy because of it, angry at the price of gas and angry because the price of housing and angry about who knows what else. I guess I miss the nostalgic childhood memories I have of the city that barely existed 10 year ago I have no idea what is left now even after the forest fires. I have seen google images of it and while it still looks like the city I lived in for 20 years there are still things about it that are very different.

So when you think of this movie  and how oil sands and karaoke don’t seem to mix and think that sounds funny but after you finish watching this movie it does make sense. Regardless of where you live, where you work, who you are, when you go to karaoke you go to have fun whether you are good at singing or not. You go to escape and you go to have fun and that is what they do.

Bottom line is this is a movie that regardless if you are a left wing or a right wing, put your politics and environmental opinions aside. This movie is about the people who work hard so you can live as easy. If can be easy to hate the outcome but they are doing the best they can with the cards they were dealt. The movie for me was mostly a shot of nostalgia and a reminder of my past but a much needed face to the issues. I don't know these people in particular but I know of these kind of people because these kind of people were my neighbours. This movie is for those interested in learning about people who you may think you know but you don't. It is just a good human story set in a controversial place. I give this movie CCCC on the Corey Scale.

#Oil Sands Karaoke #Charles Wilkinson #Fort McMurray #Oil Sands #Tar Sands #Alberta #Canadian film #Canadian Documentary

[insidencewest-blog]

So I’m a further behind on this post than I would like to be but it is still something I really want to upload.  Apologizes for the tardiness, but get ready because this is gonna be a long one.  I will be leaving links to as much as possible at the end of the post.

  I think we can all agree that 2016 was quite the whirlwind of a year!  It was definitely a noteworthy one for me personally.

For starters, I started the year off right with ‘the first selfie of 2016’.

Here are just a few of my instagram highlights:

    Now on to Youtube.  I tried to find al the new channels I subscribed to this past year, but I can’t guarantee I got all of them, these are the ones I found (in no particular order):

Andrew Ducote – Family/life vlogs

Daniel Fernandez – Magician/vlogs

Joe Santagato – Comedy

Extra Joe – Vlog channel for Joe Santagato

Kent Heckel – Daily vlogger in college

The Official Logan Paul – Main channel general/comedy

Logan Paul Vlogs – Daily vlog channel for Logan Paul

Mark Dohner – Daily vlogs/artistic videos

Mark Ferris – General/vlogs

Ocean Josh – General/comedy

Rory Kramer – Photography/Cinematography (He has filmed music videos for major artists including Avicii and The Chainsmokers)

The Slow Mo Guys 2 – Behind the scenes for their main channel

Music channels:

Alex Aiono

Andrew Foy

Conor Maynard

Sam Robbins Music

And lastly, just a few of the memorable videos from this year:

Saving Logan Paul

These Glasses Saved My Colorblindness

Mad Libs Madness – Joe Santagato

Cleaning Gavin’s Desk

The Truth About My Deppression

Funny Brittish McDonalds drive-thru worker

Day 5 episode 1

Rt Life – Rooster Teeth

Camp Camp series –  Rooster Teeth

And we can’t forget the unforgettable rise of ‘Carpool Karaoke’ with James Cordon

Of course there are so many things that have been left out, but this is already going to be a ridiculously long post. So we are going to move on to more personal things.

I have had a lot of life altering experiences and discoveries occur to me this year.  Now, I am not typically I very open person with this kind of stuff but it would be like cheating if I left something so significant tlike this out.

The first major change is my body, I’ll give you a bit of background on that.  I have been a competitive rower for 6 years now, and if you know anything about rowing you know that it is a weight category sport.  This has never bothered me and as a result I have always been very open about my weight, I honestly couldn’t care less about who knows how much I weigh. Anyway, in my grad year (2015) I had a couple surguries and wasn’t competing at my fullest.  That year I weighed in at 74kg (for you imperial folk thats about 163lbs).  I’m 5’5″ and built like an athlete, but I wasn’t exactly at a ‘super healthy’ weight.  After starting Uni and amping up my training I lost about 5kg (10ish lbs).This was much better but because of my weight I was still competing against girls that were 6′ and taller so I decided to take the challenge and drop down to the lightweight category (60kg, or 130-132lbs).  Let me tell you, it was a long process and it was not easy! But guess what?! I’m here! And I’m proud to say that after quite the journey through 2016 I am now comfortably sitting at weight for my category!  I’ve been thinking about making a longer post about this, so let me know if it’s something you’d like to see.

Moving on to another personal change.  Around May of 2016 I was diagnosed with ADHD and not long after, deppression as well.  This was a totaly shock to the system thats for sure! But as crazy as the whole process was I’m glad it was discovered and as a result it’s starting to be dealt with.  I know this will sound cliche but I’m gonna say it anyway.  I had grown up always being told that I was slow, lazy, forgetful, quiet/shy… the list goes on.  Now that I’ve been diagnosed it’s as though a weight has been lifted. I have an answer for all these things, and with the help of medication things are starting to turn around and get better.  If you had asked me before being diagnosed if I thought I was deppressed no question I would have answered ‘no’.  Now, I realize how deppressed I really was.  It’s like night and day and it boggles my mind what a difference the medication makes.  I’m not going to go much further into this because there are other things I want to get to, but I wrote an assignment for one of my writing courses going into more depth about this and will post it later on.

Alright, now into the good stuff! I’ll never be able to cover all the shit that went down this year on the global scale, but I will attempt to do a solid portion of it.

When I googled major events in 2016 no word of a lie the first thing that came up was this headline: “1st Adele World Tour in 5 Years!” If that doesn’t represent where our priorities were in 2016 I don’t know what does (even though I love you Adele).

A real mind blowing thing that happened? Hmmm… Oh yea! Queen Elizabeth just turned 90 thats all.  No biggie.  GUYS, 90! This woman is literally indestructible.

What else happened?

2016 Rio Olympics!  As a summer olympic fan I loved it, but I’m still going to go over the good, the bad, and the Lindsay… I’ll explain that one later.

First let’s start with the good:

Canada sent 313 athletes

62 athletes won medals

87% of medals were won by women

We had 9 consecutive days with a medal

2 athletes that medaled were 16 (making them the first Canadians to medal who were born in the 2000’s)

Penny Oleksiak not only set an olympic record, but she also won 4 medals (most ever won by a Canadian at a single summer games)

Andre De Grasse was the first Canadian to ever triple medal in the 100m, 200m, and 4x100m

Now, unfortunately the bad (keep in mind that I’m an athlete and whole heartedly support the olympics, these are just things I think should be addressed):

The polution in Rio was and is ridiculous!  There are so many issues surrounding this, and I’m not saying that everywhere else is perfect in comparison but they made a promise to clean it up for the games.

Another aspect that a lot of people don’t know about are the favelas.  A favela is a sort of self-run town.  Most of these towns are run by the drug cartels in Rio and are very dangerous.  They have make shift electrical work and water access is limited.  What does this have to do with the olympics?  First, they drove incredible amounts of people out of their homes to make room for the olympic venues.  Second, instead of trying to address the problems they have they just covered them up so no one could see them… literally.  If you look at some of the tv coverage you can see large walls linning the freeways from the airport to the venues, they had great photos and artwork displayed on them representing the olympics to take away from the fact that they were hiding the parts of the city no one wanted you to see.

Next is the water.  The venue for the rowing/paddling, etc. events was the Lagoa.  A polluted body of water that in the past, if its water was injested you had to get your stomach pumped!  And it hasn’t really changed since then, if you were to fall in you were basically guaranteed some kind illness.

The last thing I’m going to rant about is the promises Rio made.  They promised water treatment plants along with many other things that never happened.  They said they would make four treatment plants and they only finished one. ONE! And they were still allowed to host.  I don’t just think that this is unfair to the athletes who have to deal wit hthe conditions, but what does that tell everyone else who wants to host in the future?  ‘As long as you promise good things and have good intentions it doesn’t matter if you meet them, its the thought that counts?’ Does no one else see the issue here?  They just told every other country that it doesn’t matter what they say they will do because it doesn’t matter.  Once they’ve been chosen they can do whatever they want.  My point is, don’t promise something you can’t follow through on.

Alright now onto the ‘Lindsay’.  Lindsay Jennerick is a Canadian olympic team lightweight rower and silver medalist in the Rio games.  Now if you rewind a bit, you’ll remeber that I too am a lightweight rower.  So you could only imagine the excitement I and all the other lightweight girls felt when it was announced that Lindsay was going to be our Lightweight coach this year! I know that this really only applies to a very small group of people who could possibly relate to this.  But let me tell you, it doesn’t matter who you are to know that this is an incredible priviledge.  Needless to say Lindsay is a ledgend where I come from, so it was an unforgettable day when she joined the team.

So another unforgettable event this past year was the US election.  Now I’m not here to voice my political opinion or get into that because I’m sure we’re all tired of hearing about this mess of a situation.  I will say however, that the only good thing to come out of this election are the Obama/Biden memes.

Moving on… to Pop culture.  And by pop culture I mean movies and albums that were released this year.  These are just the ones that either were important to me or stood out to me, I obviousy can’t cover all of them.

Movie releases:

Jan 27 – Lazer Team

Feb 12 – Deadpool

Mar 10 – 10 Cloverfield Lane

Apr 7 – Hardcore Henry

Apr 27 – Captain America: Civil War

Jun 9 – Now You See Me 2

Jun 17 – Finding Dory

Jul 7 – Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates

Jul 15 – Stranger Things (‘Netflix Original Tv series’ I know, but I can’t leave it out!)

Aug 1 – Suicide Squad (I will probably make a post later about this movie)

Aug 12 – Sausage Party

Oct 13 – Doctor Strange

Dec 8 – Office Christmas Party

Dec 14 – Assassin’s Creed

Dec 16 – Star Wars: Rogue One. (The Star Wars franchise made quite the comeback in the past  two years)

Now for my favorite part, the music (bolded some that have stayed on repeat):

Jan 15 –  Death Of A Bachelor by Panic! At The Disco

Jan 15 – Greatful by Classified

Jan 28 – Nine Track Mind by Charlie Puth

Jan 29 – This Is Acting by Sia

Feb 14 – Life Of Pablo by Kanye (I don’t listen to his music, but you can’t forget Kanye!)

Feb 26 – This Unruly Mess I’ve Made by Macklemore

Apr 1 – Lukas Graham ‘Blue Album’ by Lukas Graham

Apr 1 – Weezer by Weezer

Apr 8 – Cleopatra by The Lumineers

Apr 23 – Lemonade by Beyonce

May 6 – At Night, Alone by Mike Posner

May 8 – A Moon Shaped Pool by Radiohead

May 13 – Night Sports by 3OH!3

May 13 – Cloud Nine by Kygo

May 27 – Skin/Skin Companion EP. by Flume

May 27 – Good Luck and Do Your Best/ Your Good Times Are Just the Beginning EP. by Gold Panda

Jun 3 – Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping by The Lonely Island

Jun 27 – The Getaway by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Jul 1 – What We Live For by American Authors

Jul 1 – California by Blink-182

Aug 19 – Endless by Frank Ocean

Aug 20 – Blonde by Frank Ocean

Sep 9 – Cold World by Of Mice And Men

Sep 23 – Illuminate/Don’t Be A Fool EP. by Shawn Mendes

Oct 14 – Walls by Kings Of Leon

Nov 4 – Collage EP. by The Chainsmokers

Nov 11 – Unifinished Business/ Kiss Me Quick EP. by Nathan Sykes

Nov 18 – 24K Magic by Bruno Mars

Nov 18 – DNCE by DNCE

Dec 2 – W:/2016ALBUM/ by Deadmau5

Dec 2 – Darkness and Light by John Legend

And something I’m not sure anyone was expecting was the announcement of Avicii’s retirement?!

And last but certainly not least the things I rediscovered and hope to continue into 2017:

With the Panic! album release it reminded me of how much I used to love them and I rekindled my love for not only them but a couple other bands that had dropped off my radar for a while.  These include – Panic! (of course), Fall Out Boy, Twenty One Pilots, Blink-182, and All Time Low.  I have had all of these playing non stop lately!

Along those same line I rekindled my love for music in general.  This year I’ve gone back to listening to the music I truly, truly love (pop/rock, alternative).  I also gave you a peak into what my personal life was like this past year and at first I had sort of lost my love for music as a result, but as I started to really work through what was going on I relied on music to help me through.  And I honestly owe a lot to music and what it did for me this past year and now I don’t think I can go a day without it.

Another thing I rediscovered my love for was photography.  It kinda goes along with starting this blog.  I uped my instagram game this year and also got into it more to hopefully add to my content here.

I also finally decided to persue my dreams in university and transfer into the writing program.  My goal is to go into film and so I’ve made a promise to myself that I will watch at least one movie a week.  It doesn’t matter what genre, etc. as long as I watch it.  And this has really solidified my love for tv and movies!

Well… There you go, 2016 in a nutshell.  Not that you would ever be able to cover all the madness that happened this year, but I think I did an okay job.  I hope you enjoyed and I hope you’re ready for the year to come!

*I will leave links to as many things as possible down below*

  Links

Twitter: @bexmix13

Instagram: @becca.girard

Youtube: Becca Girard

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC9oPKxN_oICKmy4DO2HVuOQ

Olympic Website: http://olympic.ca/

Food tracker I use: https://www.myfitnesspal.com/

Memorable Videos (In order listed above):

  My 2016 Rewind, just went live! Go check it out So I'm a further behind on this post than I would like to be but it is still something I really want to upload.  

#2016 #crazy #life changing #recap #rewind #social media