#ben's conscious stream

[benadril]

sometimes i look around and wonder how do you all grief your childhood. How do you all keep going with the knowledge that there is a time in your life you could never go back to. How do you cook a meal, go grocery shopping, do your laundry, knowing there's a last time for everything. How is it not consuming you from the inside out. How do you not let it make you grieve the present. I wake up and I'm not home getting ready for my mom to go get snacks in the morning. I wake up and I'm not home watching a movie at the lowest volume to not wake my family up. I wake up and I'm not home laughing with my dad about the mean teacher at school. I wake up and I'm not home. I wake up with a last time for everything holding the key to my childhood bedroom but there is no door. I drink tea my mom did not make. I try to run home and find myself in the middle of campus and suddenly I'm 6 years old and lost at the mall. I think about calling everyone I've ever met over to my place and make them all dinner

[d-targaryenshoe]

Reflected Love - Benedict Bridgerton

Word Count: 1761

Summary: When one does not see the beauty of themselves, maybe the person that loves them the most can show them, can they not?

You sat in the corner of the room, your gaze fixed upon your husband as he carefully mixed the paints on his palette.

His concentration was absolute, his movements precise and deliberate. You couldn't help but marvel at the way he could lose himself in his work, becoming utterly absorbed by the process of creation.

It was as if he were a different person when he was painting.

You recalled the first time you had seen him in this form when you were still courting.

He had been painting a portrait of you, and you had felt a strange mix of awe and vulnerability as you had watched him capture your likeness on canvas.

It was as if he had been able to see straight into your soul, revealing a depth of understanding that you hadn't known was there.

The canvas he was working on now was a landscape, a serene meadow with a winding stream and a stand of trees in the distance.

The sunlight danced across the scene, casting dappled shadows that you could almost feel on your skin.

It was a peaceful image, a study in tranquility, and you wondered if it was meant to represent something particular in his mind.

You were about to ask him when he paused, his brush hovering above the canvas. "What do you think, dearest?" His voice was soft, almost tentative.

You considered the question for a moment. The light was beginning to fade, and the room was growing dim.

You moved closer to the painting, your eyes taking in the details that you hadn't noticed from afar.

"It's beautiful, Ben," you said truthfully. "It reminds me of the day we picnicked at the lake, just outside of town."

He looked up at you, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You remember that?"

You nodded, your heart swelling at the memory. "Of course, It was one of my favorite days with you."

He smiled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he returned to his painting. "I'm glad you think so. I've been trying to capture that feeling of serenity and peace in this landscape. Do you think I've succeeded?"

You studied the painting once more, taking in the way the colors danced across the canvas, the gentle brushstrokes that created the impression of a soft breeze rippling through the grass and the leaves of the trees.

"Yes, I believe you have, love. It's beautiful." you paused, your eyes meeting his once more. "But there's something else I've been wanting to speak to you about."

Your husband's brush hovered over the canvas, waiting for you to continue. He had always been attentive to you, and quick to offer support and understanding.

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. "It's about myself," you said softly. "Lately, I've been feeling rather self-conscious. I've been wondering if I look...different to you."

Benedict's brow furrowed in confusion. "Different? Of course not, my love. You're the most beautiful woman in the world to me." He set his brush down on the palette and turned to face you. "Why do you ask?"

"Just rather curious, yet you're my husband, I felt like I wanted to know."

Your words hung in the air between you, and Benedict took a moment to consider his response. He knew that you were likely referring to the change in your relationship since courting became a marriage.

"I do see you differently now, my love," he said gently. "But not in a way that makes you any less gorgeous or desirable to me. I see the depth of your soul, the strength of your character, the love that you bring into my life."

He moved closer to you, taking your hands in his. "You are my wife, y/n, and nothing will ever change that."

You smiled at his words, feeling the warmth of his touch. "I know that. It's just...I want to make sure you're happy. I want to be the woman you need me to be."

Benedict held out his hand towards you. "May I?"

You nodded, your heart swelling with emotion. As he took your hand in his, you felt a sense of peace and reassurance wash over you. "What are you going to do?"

"Trust me," Benedict answered, leading you over to the long mirror that was placed in the corner of the room, standing behind you.

He started to undo the ties of your dress, making the fabric fall down to the ground.

"I want you to close your eyes," he whispered, his voice low and gentle. "And just feel."

You hesitated for a moment, then obeyed. You felt the cool air caress your skin as he moved your hair aside, exposing your neck.

His touch was so light, so gentle, that it sent shivers down your spine. You breathed in deeply, letting the sensations wash over you.

You felt his fingers trace circles on your back, and you arched your spine instinctively, wanting more.

It was a strange, intoxicating feeling, being so vulnerable and yet so desired. You could hear the soft rustle of his clothes as he moved closer, and the warmth of his body against yours made your heart race.

With a soft moan, you let your head fall back against his shoulder, allowing him to guide your movements.

His touch was confident and sure, and you felt utterly safe in his embrace. He placed a tender kiss at the base of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Look at yourself," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "Look at how captivating you are."

You obeyed, opening your eyes and gazing into the mirror.

The reflection showed you how Benedict had his strong arms wrapped tightly around you.

She could see the intensity in his eyes as he looked down at you, his expression one of pure adoration.

As he continued to hold you close, you could feel the hardness of his body against yours, and you longed for him.

His touch was so gentle and tender, yet so possessive and demanding. He lowered his head and kissed you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours.

You moaned into his mouth, arching your back as he took control, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

He guided your hands to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

You ran your nails lightly across his skin, teasing him, and he growled with pleasure.

Benedict pulled away from the kiss, gazing down at you with fierce adoration. "I need you," he breathed, his voice thick with desire.

You arched your back, offering yourself to him. "Have me," you whispered, feeling a delicious ache spread through your body.

He moved with a grace that belied his strength, guiding your hips to meet his rhythm.

Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, each stroke deeper and more urgent than the last.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving tiny half-moons in his skin as he drove into you, claiming you as his own.

You gasped his name, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your bodies moved together in a dance of desire.

He kissed you roughly, his tongue tangling with yours, his teeth grazing your bottom lip.

You arched your back, feeling the familiar tension building deep within you.

You could feel the pull between you both, the connection that went beyond physical desire.

It was as if you were two halves of a whole, perfectly fitted together. He thrust into you harder, faster, his eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror.

"You're so beautiful," he growled, his voice rough with desire.

You moaned in reply, arching your back to meet his thrusts. "I want you," you breathed, feeling the familiar tension building deep within you. "I need you."

Benedict growled, his movements becoming more urgent as he drove deeper inside you.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue dancing with yours.

You could feel his strength, his power, as he held you close, his hands running down your back, cupping your bottom, lifting you higher against him.

"Oh God," you moaned, your voice breaking as you moved with him, your bodies in perfect sync.

You could feel the mirror under your hands, and the contrast between the hard surface and the softness of his skin only served to heighten your senses.

Benedict's movements grew more urgent, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked into your eyes.

"That was..."

Your words trailed off as you clung to Benedict, your bodies still entwined. The intensity of your lovemaking had left you both breathless, your hearts racing.

You could feel the warmth of his skin against yours, the steady rhythm of his breath in your ear.

He had been so rough with you, driving into you with such urgency, but it hadn't been overwhelming. It had been exactly what you needed.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you remembered the look in his eyes, the way he had looked at you as if you were the only person in the world.

You knew that you had given yourself to him completely, and in that moment, you couldn't imagine ever wanting anyone else.

As your breathing began to steady, you could feel the weight of his body pressing against yours, the warmth of his skin.

You could still feel the mark of his hands on your hips, the impression of his fingers against your skin.

It was as if he had left a part of himself there, branding you as his own.

"Not that, but you, you are, the center of everything I do," Benedict said.

You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the softness of it against your fingertips. "So are you," you replied, looking deeply into his eyes.

"But if I'm right, we're still very naked in this room where every moment one of your siblings can walk in."

Benedict chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, they won't bother us," he assured you. "They know I adore the art of nude portraits." His words sent a shiver down your spine.

"I love you."

You whispered the words as you gazed up into his eyes, your heart racing. You felt so exposed and vulnerable in this moment, but at the same time, so free.

He had always made you feel this way as if you were the most important person in the world.

As if there was nothing you couldn't do or be with him by your side.

[secretlyhuntokar]

Penumbra podcast Junoverse headcanons

(under cut because there are a Lot) ((Also spoiler warning up to Thief's Honour pt 2))

- Juno leaves notes in his and Nureyev's room on the Carte Blanche if he gets up before him so Nureyev doesn't worry he left again

- One of the main reasons Nureyev is scared of aging is because he's already lived a full hallucinated life and doesn't want to waste any second of his real one

- Juno wears a trenchcoat because Rita was really into old Earth noir detective streams when they first met and she bought a trenchcoat for him. And it was the first gift someone had bought for him in years.

- Juno still wears that trenchcoat to this day

- Nureyev once bought/stole Juno a new trenchcoat and while Juno thought it was a really nice trenchcoat and a sweet gesture, he never wore it because its not the one Rita got him

- Nureyev likes to see how many of Vespa's knives he can steal before she notices and yells/threatens him for them back

- Vespa taught Buddy how to play Rangian Street Poker

- The Ruby Seven is green because wherever it's from, Ruby is their word for green

- Rangian Street Poker varies very slightly across Outer Rim planets, and even more so on the Solar planets

- New Kinshasa's version of Rangian Street Poker is the most similar to the Solar version out of all the Outer Rim Variations

- Nureyev and Rita make each other jewelry. Rita hands the jewelry she makes to Nureyev directly, while Nureyev sneaks what he makes under Rita's door at night, or leaves it on her seat for her to find in the morning

- Rita is from the Cerberus Province or someplace similar to it. Or she spent a lot of time sneaking out to the Martian sewers while growing up and befriended the Martian sewer rabbits

- Jet didn't know how to wash his hair properly and one time it got especially greasy after changing the Ruby's oil or something, so Rita showed him how to clean it properly. Since then they try to have a 'spa day' sort of thing once a week

- The Mechanisms are somewhere Out There in Junoverse

- Buddy Aurinko has met the Mechanisms, and Vespa has not. She is definitely not jealous about that. Nuh uh.

- Buddy is naturally taller than Nureyev but she does not know this because Nureyev is always wearing heels that make him appear an inch taller than her. No matter what shoes she herself chooses to wear that day.

- Nureyev kept the handcuffs from the Murderous Mask ep

- The entire Carte Blanche has matching friendship bracelets that they made together (suggested by Rita and organised by Buddy). The Ruby Seven's bracelet was made by Jet and is tied around its steering wheel. Nureyev also made it one later on, which he hid under one of the seats.

- Juno has 10 eyepatches he frequently wears and they are all identical.

- Juno and Slip would've loved each other if they had the chance to meet properly. Platonically or romantically it doesn't matter. Either way, they would pretend to be jealous of each other around Nureyev for a while, until one day Nureyev catches them watching a shitty stream together, making fun of the bad writing.

- Slip didn't want to be revived

- Slip was sometimes conscious enough to hear everything that happened around him

- Slip calls Nureyev "Petya" either because that's the Brahman pronunciation of it or because he misheard the first time they met and it stuck as a nickname

- If Petya is the Brahman pronunciation of Peter, then Mag was the one who changed his name to "Peter" so it "sounded more Solar"

- Buddy and Vespa dye their hair together

- One time they were real tired while dying their hair, and accidentally switched the colours around. For a few months Buddy had green hair and Vespa had red hair. Vespa has a photo of her and Buddy with swapped hair colours as her comms homescreen

- Juno used to think diamonds were beautiful, and now can't stand the sight of them

- Ben would teach Juno to dance (I think this one is canon? Juno's "I had a good teacher" line in Man in Glass makes me think so? And it might've been brought up in other episodes too)

- Juno couldn't bear to do any sort of dance for years after Ben died

- Juno tried to keep the dahlias and roses Nureyev got him for his birthday alive for as long as possible, but they probably wilted either during the THEIA stuff or soon after he left Hyperion city. They still sit in his office though, and he has a photo of them from before they wilted that he looks at sometimes

- Buddy sometimes does her makeup in a green that matches Vespa's hair. Vespa does the same, but in red

- Nureyev used to not have a favourite colour, but it became gold after Man in Glass

[randoms-fandoms]

Hi I had a request for Scott from twisters x reader

She’s an artist that works for Tyler’s team and she likes to sketch everything any anything she finds interesting and she ends up sketching Scott and the team seems to notice and someone (Tyler Boone Kate etc) let it slip to Scott who thought his feelings were unrequited leading to him to awkwardly confess his feelings to her :)

Sorry this took a minute! I’ve also been working on my longer ao3 twisters fics lol :P anyway!

Just a little warning for swearing lol

Relationship: Scott x Female! Reader

Contrary to what many casual storm chasers may assume about the Wranglers, they held no contempt for career chasers. Folks who were on business, got payed good money for risking their lives— StormPAR, of course, being this year’s friendly competition.

Scott would never admit it, but he was grateful for this. As much as he liked to roll his eyes and shake his head at their loud music, obnoxious streams, hordes of fans— there was one thing he really, really liked about the Tornado Wranglers. Well, one person.

You. You were one of three young women chasing alongside Tyler— of course he thought you were gorgeous, and absolutely brilliant when it came to storm chasing, but what he really admired about you was your appreciation for beauty.

As an artist, you knew how to find something worthwhile in every location you found yourself in. Every time he saw you, you had your sketchbook in hand, capturing the way an anvil was billowing on the horizon, or the delicate shape of a dandelion popping up on the edge of a parking lot. It was almost aloof, how you politely excused yourself from crowds of fans to instead sit in the grass nearby, or perched in the bed of Tyler’s truck, all by yourself, lost in your own world— and it was absolutely magnetic to him.

Scott was watching you now, sat cross-legged in the grass outside of a small diner, through the grimy window as he boredly listened to Javi talk business with Riggs. He wished he could just go talk to you, but there was no way he could do that… he sighed, thinking back to the first time he saw you.

He’d only grown aware of you maybe a week ago, when Javi convinced him to watch one of the Tornado Wranglers YouTube videos— but he fell fast.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Javi had said. “I like the aerial shots, really gives you an idea of the scale.”

Scott blinked. “Our PAR shit is cooler,” he replied after a moment— he wasn’t paying attention to any of the actual tornado chasing content, now that you were on screen, proudly showing off a page in your sketchbook. It was an impressive drawing of the twister, perfectly illustrating the movement and power of the thing.

Your smile was distracting though, he thought as he watched your lips pull upwards, your eyes warm ever so slightly, gazing into the camera— it was like you were looking at him. He felt his face warm with a self conscious blush, and he turned off his iPad.

“Whatever.” He said, as if he wasn’t committing your name to memory. The Wranglers are chasing in Oklahoma this season, Scott recalled. I wonder if we’ll see them. Guiltily, he hoped.

Days passed, and you and your team had made the long road trip from Little Rock, Arkansas to middle-of-nowhere Oklahoma. Lily hated being in the car for too long, but you didn’t mind it as long as you had your art supplies with you. She’d put on some music and the two of you would talk and laugh while you sketched the landscape, the buildings, the sky— anything that caught your eye.

But after six hours in the car and an exciting stream, even you were feeling a little weary— still, as the sun went down in the parking lot of that night’s motel, you wanted to enjoy the moment. The air was warm but not too hot, humid but not unpleasantly so, and the sound of crickets and distant fireside singing put you in a good mood.

You were sat in your camp chair beside the Ram, listening to Dexter explain to Ben about how Doppler machines work, absentmindedly gazing up at the thousands of stars— that’s when you saw movement out of the corner of your eye.

It was a man, hastily leaving his motel room. “Yeah, I’ll be back in a minute, I just gotta check my email— the wifi in here is so slow, I gotta head to the front.” You heard his voice float across the parking lot as he spoke over his shoulder, closing the door. He pulled out his phone and headed in the direction of the reception area of the motel, but he paused before he got there and just sat on the curb.

He was cute, you decided. Neat dark hair, nice jawline, prominent dimples appearing as he pursed his lips— even glaring down at his phone in annoyance, he was handsome.

Absentmindedly, glancing back and forth between him and your page with a smile on your face, you began to map out the features of his face.

The man started typing on his phone, frowning and leaning forward more, resting his arms on his knees. He didn’t fit in at all with the rest of the crowd in the parking lot, in his tidy white polo shirt and slacks.

You continued sketching out the lines and shapes of his build— muscular arms, long legs, broad shoulders— as you shaded in his brown hair, you came to a bothersome realization.

If he’s with StormPAR, he probably wouldn’t want to talk to me. It was no secret that StormPAR liked to keep their distance from the crowd you rolled with, groups who chased storms as a hobby. You frowned, tracing over the lines of his eyebrows again. I wish I could just talk to him… Oh well. you sighed, closing your sketchbook and standing up to head to the room you were sharing with Lily and Dani.

“Night,” Boone said. You glanced back, bidding him goodnight, attributing his playful smile to the beer he’d been drinking— you didn’t see that he’d been watching over your shoulder as you drew, after all.

The next morning, Boone had a plan. Maybe it was a bad idea, and maybe Tyler had discouraged him, but it was just too good to pass up.

Scott, meanwhile, was busy feeling sorry for himself, cornered in a booth with an investor.

“Heya, StormPAR.” Came a friendly voice from behind him. He and Javi both turned to look.

“We’re busy, Boone.” Javi said. Scott was surprised by the familiarity of it— are they friends? He wondered if maybe that meant that he could befriend you.

“I’ll get outta your hair, I just gotta talk to Scott for a sec’. It’s real important.” He grinned, and Scott raised his eyebrows. Riggs frowned.

Eager to just speed things along, Javi turned to Scott. “Do you mind?”

Scott didn’t. “No, it’s cool, I’ll catch up with you two later.” Javi stood, and Scott scooted out of the bench to follow Boone outside. The other man took a long sip of his hot cocoa.

“What is it?” Scott asked, adjusting his cap to shield from the bright sun as he squinted down at Boone.

“Are you single?”

That caught Scott entirely off guard. He felt his face warming up with a self conscious blush, glancing around to make sure nobody was around them. “The hell are you asking that for?” He asked, voice lowered.

Boone shrugged, smiling. “I know someone who likes you, that’s all.”

Scott sighed. “It’s not you, is it?”

“Nope, I’m already spoken for.” He winked. “My friend over there, though—“ he nodded in your direction. “She thinks you’re cute.”

Scott felt a funny feeling in his chest, nervous and shy and unfamiliar— it had been a long time since he’d felt like that. “…How do you know?” He whispered, all petty hostility abandoned.

“She’s an artist, y’see— an’ every time we talk about, every time I ask her ‘bout her inspiration and shit, she always says the same thing.” He shook his head contentedly. “‘I just draw what catches my eye,’” he said, giving an impression of your voice.

“And she…”

“Last night, she was drawin’ a picture of you.” Boone looked up at Scott with a smile. “Ain’t that cute?”

Scott didn’t know what to say. Of course it is, he thought, but he could never say that out loud, not to Boone of all people. So he just nodded. “I’m going to go talk to her,” he said decisively.

You always got so stuck in your head while drawing, focusing on nothing but the subject and your page. It took you a moment to realize someone was calling your name, but when you did, you startled and hurried to stand up.

“Sorry, I was—“ You paused when you turned around, realizing exactly who was talking to you. It’s the guy from last night! “I was just drawing, I didn’t hear you.” You said with a smile, showing him the picture. It was of a crow that had been pecking at the grass, but had flown away when you stood up. That’s okay, it was pretty much done.

“It looks good,” he said, eyes trained on the paper. Either he thought your drawing was really interesting, or he was feeling too shy to make eye contact. Maybe both.

“Um… anyway,” You folded your sketchbook closed. “Can I help you?”

He blinked, looking up to your face. Am I imagining it, or is he nervous? You smiled, trying your best to be friendly, and a rosy pink blush tinted his face as he looked away.

“My name’s Scott. I’m also a storm chaser.” He awkwardly held out his hand for you to shake, nodding politely. “I’m— I’m really interested in your, um, work.” He gestured to your sketchbook. “And I—“ he looked away again, laughing nervously. “I really like you, too.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Is he being serious?

“Um, would you maybe… want to go out sometime? I’m working today, but maybe tonight we could get something to eat.” He gave a smile, sincere and shy and vulnerable, and you thought he was just adorable.

“Yeah, sure!” You replied. Not wanting the conversation to be over, you were just about to offer to show him more of your drawings when somebody called his name from across the parking lot.

“Scott, we gotta go!”

At the same time, Dani jogged over to you in her cowboy boots. “Come on, we’re headin’ out.”

You and Scott looked at each other, and you both couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’ll see you out there,” he said with a smile.

You smiled right back, face warming in a blush. “Only if you can keep up!”

A/N: hope you liked this! Scott is a cutie I wish there was more content for him ^_^

[weixuldo]

Enigma// ch 20

anakin x reader

a/n: i’m not a medical professional so don’t mind in accurate info lmfaooo- there is barf in this chapter only because i’m trying to make it realistic to what actually occurs after these procedures ( plus i kinda like writing whump lol)

The extent of Anakin’s condition is revealed and you wait for him to stabilize

warnings: cursing, alcohol abuse, emtephobia (barf and stuff…), hospitals, alcohol poisoning

_______________________________

“Ben!” you called when you spotted the bearded man sitting in the waiting room. 

“Y/n, Ahsoka- You two didn’t have to come, I could hav-”

“No, I want to be here” you interrupted. 

“Where is he?” Ahsoka asked.

“He’s still being treated, but they said a room should be ready for him soon”.

“Did they tell you his evaluation? What’s happening to him?” you asked.

“Yes, they concluded it was severe alcohol poisoning, enough to trigger a seizure and enough that he went into an alcoholic coma… I’m not sure for how long, but he definitely could have died.”

“How much did he have to drink to be in a fucking coma?!” Ahsoka exclaimed. 

“I’m not sure, but this is the most he’s ever drank,” Ben answered sadly, “but in addition he must have hit his head when he fell because he also sustained a mild concussion. “

Ahsoka seemed more frustrated than sad at the moment, “Un-fucking-believable!” she huffed. 

“Of course he was fucking drinking. I tell him he needs to go back to rehab or he at least needs some help, but does he listen to me...? No! And now here he is- going into a coma over it”.

You felt awful about Anakin’s admittance to the hospital, but you also understood the frustration Ash was feeling. She crossed her arms aggressively and tilted her face away, but you couldn’t help but hear her sniffles. 

“Ash?” you called, gently turning her towards you. Tears streamed down her face as her bottom lip quivered. 

“Ash…” you sighed, pulling her into your chest. 

“I-I try s-so hard to help him- but h-he…. I ju-just don’t want him to d-ie” she cried into your shoulder. 

Her outburst of emotion hit you in the feels and in turn made you teary as well; Ben came up and rubbed Ahsoka’s arm in comfort.

“I know Ahsoka. I know”.

_________________________________________

Days passed and Anakin was finally released from the ICU to a normal hospital room; it had a nice view of the city and good natural lighting. The room was equipped with a sofa and armchair as well as Anakin’s bed (of course). 

For the past few days you had taken residence in his room; sleeping on the couch and keeping spare clothes in a duffle bag, just to keep an eye on him.

You were the one to stay with him everyday because Ben and Satine had work and Ash had training camp.

Honestly, you only offered since they were all busy and you really had nothing else to do. 

The sofa was definitely an inconvenience for you, it was hard, didn’t have much space, and your back already hurt from the extra weight of your belly. 

You yawned and stretched your arms as you sat up from the couch beside Anakin’s bed.  

Taking Anakin’s reduced body size into account, the effects of the alcohol he consumed were amplified. His coma had lasted for 5 days and they continually pumped his stomach as well as gave him plenty of IV fluids.

Since they had gotten his vitals back to normal (relatively), he was predicted to wake up any day. 

Anakin looked so weak wrapped in the white sheets, a breathing tube sticking out of his mouth, wires connected to him, and tubes coming from every which way.

You had seen him without his prosthetics before, but the harsh hospital atmosphere made it all the more noticeable, you knew he would hate that he was disassembled when he woke. 

You heard a noise coming from Anakin and you saw his eyes weakly opening and closing as he choked on the tube down his throat. Immediately you jumped up and called nurses into the room. 

You weren't sure how conscious he was but you did know he was definitely scared. After a while you were let back into the room and told that he may be vomiting for the next few hours from all of the stomach pumps, concussion, and other shit that had happened. The head nurse told you that it was normal but to notify them if there was blood in the throw up. 

You thanked each nurse for watching over him and entered the room, fully prepared to take care of him.

He was lying in the same position he was earlier, but now he just had an oxygen tube running under his nose instead of the breathing tube.

You approached him and found his eyes were closed- he was probably resting. 

He threw up on and off for the next few hours, but it was the last time that was the worst. 

You grabbed one of the bins they gave you as you wondered if he was even cognizant enough to comprehend what was happening.

The dull room was on the chilly side but you could see the sheen of sweat forming on his brow, he was fighting so hard. 

You grabbed a cloth and went to dab at his forehead when he coughed, your eyes widened as you used your arms to sit him up so he wouldn’t choke. He coughed some more and began to drool, you grabbed a can and held it in front of him as you helped hold him up. His eyes were still closed and his head rested on your shoulder until you leaned him over the bin when he started to retch. 

You really had never been able to be around throw up without feeling sick to your stomach, but this was different: all you could think about was how you wanted it to be over so he could finally rest. 

His head was in the can and you rubbed his back as his body shook with the violent rolls of nausea. 

After a few minutes he finally finished and you put the bin on the ground so you could help him lie back down.

The metal can was definitely heavier than when you had originally given it to him, but you would have to take care of that bag later, now you need to focus on Anakin. 

He was almost about to fall over when you got back from setting the can down so you rushed to his side and grabbed one of the many washcloths the nurses had left in the room for this very occasion. 

His eyes were unfocused and barely open: that answered your question, he was not cognizant.

He groaned as you wiped his mouth and brushed his soft curls back; slick with his sweat. 

“Shh, shh, it’s going to be ok, Ani” you comforted, helping him lie back down. 

You rolled him onto his side just in case he started again and brushed your fingers through his hair. His brows were kneaded together and he was shaking; this was bad. 

A frown found its way onto your face as you watched him suffer, you never wanted him to have to go through this. 

After a few more minutes you removed your warm hand from him and went to assess the bin- there was no blood, so at least that was a good sign.

You stepped into the hall to call a nurse but there was already one there who had a custodian on the way. You thanked her and the custodian for being so patient with Anakin and you. 

After everything was sanitized you went back to sitting beside Anakin, you scanned his face for any signs of coherency but he was still really out of it.

The only sign of emotion was the small tears that fell from the corners of his closed eyes. 

______________________________________

Anakin tried to open his eyes but there was a blinding light shining down; he tried to speak but no words were forming. 

You noticed his rasping from the chair beside his bed and quickly jumped up and went to his side. He was attempting to pull off his oxygen tube but you stopped him and gently placed your hands on his face. With you blocking the overhead light, he could finally open his eyes. 

“Anakin?” you asked, trying to make sure he was actually up. 

He hummed and glanced around until he saw the IV pole and realized he was in the hospital quicker than you could have imagined his vitals went crazy. You backed up in shock as he tussled around in the bed, attempting to get out. You knew he had PTSD from being in the hospital during his recovery, but you didn’t expect it to be as bad as it clearly was. 

“Anakin it’s alright!” you tried to calm him, but he was too scared. 

Soon a team of nurses rushed in and took over before he could hurt himself; they ushered you out in the process. You texted Ben and Ahsoka to let them know that he was awake.

Once he was settled, you were allowed back in; his bed was propped up so that he was sitting and he had his head turned away from the door. 

Gingerly, you walked towards him as you tried to think of what to say. 

“Anakin?” 

Nothing. 

You sighed.

“Look, I know I'm the last person you want to see right now but putting that aside, I needed to know that you were going to be alright…”

Finally, he met your eyes.

“Did you put me in here?” he asked, more sadly than accusatory.

“No, Ben found you and called 911” 

He nodded, “I don’t remember- I don’t know what happened. I just woke up and you were there with lights shining from behind you”. 

Your face formed a sad smile, “you had severe alcohol poisoning. You were non-responsive…a-and your pulse was gone.”

His brows furrowed as he tried to comprehend what you were saying. 

“They had to pump your stomach and when they finally got your vitals back up, you had already slipped into a coma” you explained.

“People don't just go into a coma from alcohol, surely it had to be something else” he protested.

“Anakin, you had a blood alcohol concentration of .57…. Your average is .15” 

He looked up to the ceiling and laid his head back onto the pillow. 

“Fuck” he exclaimed. 

“Anakin, you can’t keep doing this-”

“I know,” he interjected with a frustrated tone. 

He took a breath and began to cough; he continued and you stepped closer, “Anakin, do you need your inhaler, I can go get-”

“I'm -” he coughed once more, “fine”.

You took another step closed and laid a gentle hand on the end of his arm stump but he quickly retracted his limb from your reach. You flinched and looked at him with wide eyes, you only meant to comfort him. 

His blue eyes looked more fearful than angry, what was going on?

His gaze traveled from your perplexed face down towards your growing stomach; his pupils dilated slightly before he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Please leave”

“But Anak-”

“Please” he pleaded, refusing to look at you. 

Your teeth gently bit down on your lower lip and you nodded, slowly heading for the door.

At the entrance, you rested a hand on the door frame and caught one last look at the man in the bed; tubes and medical tape all over his body, the hospital grade blue gown, even his sandy curls looked sad.

You had never seen him look so helpless, so dejected; surely he was lost in thought- to him this was probably torture. 

He already hated hospitals, but now he couldn’t even entertain himself with his phone. In addition, the doctors weren’t allowing him to put on his prosthetics yet.

He wanted nothing more than to just go home and sleep. 

As for you, you just wanted the father of your child to be able to recover and hopefully reign in his deadly addiction. 

***

a/n: sorry for all the throw up in the chapters lately (i just wanna try and make it as realistic as possible :( ) buuuttt next chapter will heat up emotionally and we’ll start seeing more y/n x ani moments :)) i have so many plot points i wanna do, so i’m not sure how long this fic is gonna end up being…. i hope you stick around though!! thanks for reading :)

taglist: @dnamht @sxoulohvn @angeelcoree @wtf-andys @httpeachesblog @katsukiswrld @jetiikote @poisonedsultana @imarimone12 @fallinlovewithevil

[pinchofhoney]

Heyyyy. Could you please do: “do you know you mumble in your sleep? it’s precious how it’s all either about stars, strawberries and rainbows or murder, arson and dictatorship. there’s no in between” with Ben Barnes? 🥹

stars, strawberries and murder # 200 follower special event

» prompt event » special events masterlist

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

ben barnes x gn!reader

word count: 585

warning: none, no use of y/n, fluff

summary: Every tiniest moment in a relationship is worth cherishing.

a/n: the below piece of writing might be (and honestly is) short, but is adorable and that's what matters the most

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

taglist: @wolfmoonmusic @myladydarkling @alexxavicry

As the sun began to descend in the sky, the warm rays streaming through the window, you and Ben relished in the peaceful ambiance of the cozy apartment. The hustle and bustle of the outside world seemed like a distant memory as you settled into a leisurely afternoon.

After a long and arduous day at work, during which you had to deal with a new and somewhat troublesome intern, all you craved was the comfort of your home. You could feel the weight of the day lifting from your shoulders as you slipped into a comfortable tracksuit and nestled into the inviting couch.

Ben sat at the kitchen table with his latest script, his energy flowing as he read the next pages of the scene. You watched him for a moment, marveling at his focus and dedication, before turning your attention back to your book.

The pages turned softly under your fingers, the story unfolding before your eyes as you lost yourself in the narrative. The only sounds in the apartment were the gentle ticking of the clock and the occasional rustle of a page.

As the minutes turned into hours, the peaceful atmosphere enveloped you, like a warm blanket on a chilly night. The gentle hum of contentment radiated from you, a silent acknowledgement of the happiness you felt in this moment.

It wasn't until you felt your eyes begin to droop that you realized how long you had been lost in your book. You let out a soft sigh as you surrendered to the embrace of sleep.

As you woke up slowly blinking your eyes open, you felt a sense of disorientation. Your surroundings were a little hazy, and for a moment you weren't sure where you were. But as your senses began to sharpen, you felt the familiar comfort of the cozy apartment enveloping you like a warm embrace.

You rubbed your eyes, feeling a little groggy, and looked around to find Ben sitting beside you on the couch, his eyes fixed on you with a warm and amused expression.

“Do you know you mumble in your sleep?” he said, his voice carrying a gentle teasing tone. “It's precious how it's all either about stars, strawberries and rainbows or murder, arson, and dictatorship. There's no in between.”

You felt a rush of embarrassment flood over you, but Ben's words were accompanied by a soft chuckle that put you at ease. You let out a laugh of your own, feeling self-conscious but also amused by the revelation.

“Really?” you asked, still a little groggy from your nap.

“Really,” Ben confirmed, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “It's kind of adorable.”

As you leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body and the softness of his embrace, you felt a sense of gratitude and contentment wash over you. It was a small moment, but one that felt significant in its own way – a moment of shared intimacy, of gentle teasing and affection.

Then, with a mischievous grin, Ben added, “But just so you know, if you start talking about murder in your sleep, I might have to keep an eye on you.”

You playfully swatted at him, feeling a sense of lightheartedness and joy bubbling up inside you. “You are the one who kills people in your roles. Maybe I should be the one to keep an eye on you?” the two of you dissolved into laughter, the sound filling the cozy apartment and adding to the sense of warmth that surrounded you.

[thisisnotmeta]

Million Dollar Man

Chapter 2

-

The train journey to London unfolded with a continuous hum, a rhythmic repetition of tracks beneath its carriage wheels. I leaned against the window, gazing into the passing landscape that morphed into its own mosaic of fleeting images. The city sprawling out before me, a canvas painted with the subtle hues of the afternoon.

Ben messaged me a couple of days ago inviting me to Jack Hatton’s (lead of streaming at Dirty Hit) leaving party in London - I made a mental note of the fact that he was leaving to move to Australia with his girlfriend - incase I needed a conversation topic… just for my socially anxious brain. As much as I was excited to meet more of the team and potentially the artists, my enthusiasm mingled with a thick layer of apprehension.

The city lights flickered in the distance, casting shadows on my skin as I considered the people I could potentially encounter there - industry insiders, artists of the label, potentially new… friends? The invitation felt like a pass into a realm where my burgeoning career could intertwine with the established echelons of the music industry and it made me feel slightly sick, especially since I was going in alone.

Stepping onto London’s turf, I deliberately chose a hotel in Canary Wharf, paid for by yours truly - this choice being highlighted by my newfound but still modest monthly income courtesy of Dirty Hit. With a sense of fiscal responsibility guiding me, I made a conscious decision to specifically allocate these earnings towards my career and music in general (ie. Travel, hotels, instruments) - the frivolous expenditures can be done by my part time job at home, I thought.

Unpacking with ease, I had some time to kill before needing to get ready. The hotel, strategically positioned just a 15-minute walk from the venue, became my new hub. The TV emitted a soft glow, casting an ephemeral light on the hotel room. Mindless reruns of “Victorious” played in the background, their laughter and scripted drama a distant hum. Perched on the edge of the bed, I idly observed the characters on the screen. At just 23, I couldn’t shake the subtle unease about the most definite generation gap I would be encountering at the party.

What am I getting into? I mused, scrutinising my own reflection in the TV’s muted light.

The likely attendees loomed in my mind. I always strive to never care about how I will be perceived in times like this but it gets the better of me here. Would they see me as a songwriter? Or just another one trying to get by as an amateur artist like every other angsty young adult. Am I truly just crashing a party beyond my years? Do I sound like an absolute idiot right now?

My apprehension found a bit of refuge in the idea that there’s a few youthful signings to Dirty Hit in the recent years - hopefully they don’t cancel like I was contemplating to do a few minutes ago.

In the lingering hours leading up to the event, I settle into a quiet rhythm, my fingers dancing across the strings of my guitar. Quietly strumming to not upset anyone next door, the melodies echoed through the room. Jotting down anything that resonated with me on my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles notebook, I sought solace in the familiar embrace of my instrument, using it as my own vessel to get out the jumble of nerves and excitement within me.

My upcoming encounter with Matty Healy on the ‘songwriting getaway’ loomed large in my mind. He has a profound reputation for his creative mind, occasionally flirting with pretentiousness, but an intricate and enviable mind nonetheless. Would he see the potential in my songwriting?

The weight of his potential judgement fuelled my determination to impress him with the depth of my ideas. A fangirl moment interrupted my thoughts as the realisation struck - Matty might be at the party. It wasn’t even an outlandish notion either; after all, he was apart of the label, a big part at that. The mere possibility that the entirely of The 1975 might grace the event sent a shiver down my spine. Amid the brief reverie, I needed to refocus.

I want to show him good work.

A few more minutes of brainstorming and writing down ideas pass. “We all look for heaven, and we put love first,” was a phrase born from the introspective haze of my disassociation. I wrote down a few more ideas to pair with it - I liked it, it was earnest and real… hopefully others would think the same.

Glancing at my phone, the numbers told me there were still two and a half hours left. I nudged myself off of the bed and started the practical task of getting ready for the night. The shower became a sanctuary, the hot water cascading over me, it was a welcoming embrace after the lingering residue of travelling. As steam filled the bathroom, I closed my eyes, letting the warmth wash away not just the physical grime but the lingering nerves that clung to my skin.

Turning off the shower, I stood before the mirror, my damp hair awaiting transformation - fingers crossed. After drying, I curled and weaved strands into pin curls, a skill passed down from my mum. The familiarity of the routine was comforting. Makeup followed, the unfamiliar intensity of liner, mascara and slightly over-lined lips were a subtle nod at my newfound insecurity in my maturity. It made me look a little more mature, I guess. My hold-all offered a few choices of different outfits. I selected an off-the-shoulder black lace top, low-waisted jeans that hugged my hips and point-heeled boots to complete the ensemble. I surveyed myself in the mirror, definitely passable for the evening. With fourty-five precious minutes ticking down, I unraveled the pin curls, each strand dropping down into place showing a nice ‘blowout’ style. The air filled with the sweet embrace of my perfume, a final touch to my persona tonight.

Turning to my phone, I couldn’t resist the urge to take a couple selfies before heading out - I’m Gen Z, give me a break. Downstairs, the bar beckoned with the confident offering of liquid courage. I approached, I definitely need something strong. Ordering a double vodka, lemonade and a splash of blackcurrant, I winced as the contactless reader slapped me with a hefty £12.00 charge. Ah, London prices. The glass in my hand became my talisman, my elixir to bolster my resolve. As I sipped the time away, nerves tingled beneath my skin.

The party was likely in full swing by now, but my strategic calculations told me that arriving 30 minutes later meant most would be deep into their second drink, too dizzy to give me more than a fleeting thought. I nursed my drink, eyeing the clock, unwilling to dish out another £12 when a free bar awaited me at the venue. As I contemplated moving to a more comfortable spot a few feet away from the bar, my phone lit up with a message from Ben.

Eta?

Pre drinking alone at the bar haha. My university student brain is fried at London prices.

Nice lol, thought you weren’t coming for a sec. See you later.

Finishing the remnants of my drink, I relished the familiar burn as the liquid slid down. The hum of conversation and clinking glasses around me formed an antithetical soundtrack to the city’s docile pulse outside, excluding the occasional taxi driving past. I found a comfortable refuge in the short time i’d sat here, not really finding it in my feet to leave yet. The dim lighting cast a warm glow, creating their own little pockets of intimacy. A plush, but old-fashioned patterned carpet absorbed people’s footsteps, and the scent of aged wood and polished brass lingered in the air.

Pulling up the venue’s address on my phone, I looked at the walking journey on my screen. Google maps being my sacred guide through the labyrinth that is London streets - and oh, what I would do without it. And I know what you’re thinking: Camille, why the fuck are you planning on walking the streets of London at night alone? That is, my angels, because I am a cheap bitch and I refuse to spend £5 for a 3 minute car journey - I will just take my chances.

With a final glance at my phone, I examined the reflection staring back at me - not bad. I absolutely didn’t look like I was overcompensating for being an absolute nobody/foetus at this party.

Popping off the high bar chair, I smoothed down my top, my fingers brushing against the lace. As I reached the exit, the city’s climate bared itself to me, pinchingly cold air wafted onto me. The initial opening of the door was bad, but once I was outside, I was able to absorb most of the coolness. The glow of the streetlights guiding my way, casting a golden hue on the pavement.

At the end of my very safe -actually- walk, I was greeted by the bright LED sign that boldly announced the bar venue - ‘Pergola On The Wharf’. The glowing letters ambient against the night sky, like a beacon to draw people in. I could hear the muffled laughter and music through the refined brick walls. Stepping underneath the halo of the sign, I took a moment to myself, letting the good vibes and energy seep onto me. I made a mental commitment to let go of any lingering anxiety and embrace what could be a really fun night ahead. Maybe I’ll find Ben or I could introduce myself to other producers, or maybe even talk to Holly or Jamie.

Putting everything behind me, I stepped through the door of the bustling nexus of a bar. Unfolding everything before me, it was flooded with an array of unfamiliar faces, each one adorned with a concoction of some type of alcohol in their hand, laughter bubbling from every corner.

Groups of people, all talking together to make a harmonious cacophony, were scattered across the contemporary styled and what looked like plant-filled botanical bar. Lush ferns, vines, and vibrant flora adorned every corner and ceiling pane, creating a natural abundance of decoration. The vast glass window at the back offered a panoramic view of the dock outside, hinting that this bar probably had an inundation of bright, natural light during the daytime - which was a stark contrast to the glowing, candle-lit evening tonight. The aroma through the air was an intoxicating blend of florals and oud. A faint hint of cigarettes clung to people’s knitwear and thick clothing, adding a touch of ease to the ambiance.

Navigating through the basically sea of people, I looked around for any familiar faces. Some people danced energetically on the makeshift dance floor, lost in the rhythmic allure of the older club classics spun by the DJ in the corner, whilst others gathered in clusters, sat and stood all around. Amidst the crowd, I saw someone at the bar that caught my eye - a girl, roughly my age, who I knew just recently signed a deal with Dirty Hit, just a couple of months before me. She was engaged in a conversation with an unfamiliar face as they were paying for their drinks.

Seizing the opportunity to make some new friends, I made my way over, introducing myself with a smile. “Hey, hope I’m not interrupting, but I don’t really know anyone here. I’m Camille, I just signed with Dirty Hit a couple of months ago.”

“Hey! No, you’re totally fine,” her thick Scottish accent welcomed me warmly, the girl next to her turning also with a friendly grin. “I’m Isla and this is Sorcha. I was signed a few months ago as well so I don’t really know anyone here, so I thought I’d bring a plus one.”

“I didn’t even realise you could bring someone,” I laughed. “I wish I brought someone from home because honestly, an hour ago I was debating not even coming.”

“Oh, there was no plus ones allowed,” Isla replied in a hush, leaning in closer. “I just hope they think Sorcha’s one of the interns!”

Isla, a girl with unmistakable Scottish charm, stood out with her gorgeous, curly, ginger hair that tumbled in a cascade of vibrant, thick waves. Her fair skin bore the artistry of delicately placed freckles, and a bright smile that creased her eyes. Next to her, Sorcha was a striking contrast with her tanned complexion. Her long straight black hair flowed with a sleek elegance, framing her face and adding a touch of shine. Sorcha’s features were chiseled, embodying a blend of modernity but classic allure at the same time. They both were gorgeous and looked like a dynamic duo only seen in movies.

We found a comfortable spot at the bar, and talked about what we were working on in our early days being signed at our label. Sorcha was still in University, studying media and radio in hopes to have her own radio show one day. Isla was found via TikTok and had amassed an impressive following of 70k for her covers before she was scouted. She had been working with one of Dirty Hit’s partner producers in Scotland to save the constant trips, and is looking at releasing her first single in the next few weeks, which is so exciting.

“It’s called ‘Do I Have Your Attention?’, it’s basically a slow, acoustic song about my relationship with my family. I’m really proud of it,” she beams, circling her finger around the glass top of her cocktail.

“Honestly, that’s so exciting,” I smile at her. “I’ll keep an eye out for it when it’s out!”

“Aw, yeah, you should give me a text and let me know what you think about it!” Isla replies as she grabs her phone out of her pocket and slides it over to me. “Put your number in, always good to stay in touch with each other!”

Whilst putting my number in her phone, it seemed like a perfect time to grab a drink. I perused the menu, green circular stickers next to certain drinks indicated what was and wasn’t apart of the included drinks tab tonight. Opting for a French martini, I joined the conversation again, mentally wiping the sweat off my forehead for finding people I could talk to.

“What are you working on right now?” Sorcha shifted the spotlight onto me.

“I’ve had a few sessions with a few producers to establish what sound I want to make, I think I’ve found my voice with one of them, so I’m excited to work with him again,” I say, thanking the bartender as he brought over my freshly made French Martini. “I actually got a call a week or so ago about if I was interested in going on a work getaway for a few days to make new music, so all I’m doing right now is just writing down anything I like or anything I think I could use in a song. The idea of showing off my ideas to them is so nerve wracking.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Isla chimed in with understanding, acknowledging the pressure in the industry. “Everyone has so much experience and is so creative, that it’s actually really anxiety inducing to show them what you’ve been working on, honestly I’m completely in the same boat. But everyone here is just so lovely.”

Her reassurance carried the weight of our shared anxiety, and I found comfort in her words. As we moved away from the bustling bar, standing amidst the lively crowd, Isla's curiosity veered toward the details of my upcoming musical getaway. I shared the scant information I had – a countryside location, collaboration with Ben, and the unexpected mention of Matty from The 1975 expressing interest in working with me, for some unknown reason.

"Matty Healy?" Sorcha's eyes widened, leaning in with genuine awe. Isla, equally surprised, exchanged glances with her friend. "Are you friends with him?"

I chuckled at Sorcha's enthusiasm and Isla's teasing nudges into her friend’s arm. The playful banter lightened the mood as I clarified that I wasn't friends with Matty, but rather, the prospect of collaborating with him was a part of the upcoming getaway.

Sorcha, in her unabashed love for Matty Healy, couldn't help but gush over the luck tied to the opportunity. Her cheeky question, a typical Love Island-esque move, drew an amused look from Isla. I navigated the topic, acknowledging Matty's attractiveness and creative prowess while trying to gracefully sidestep the "do you fancy him?" inquiry.

"I mean, he's definitely attractive," I replied with a hint of laughter, unsure how to navigate the question diplomatically. Admitting my admiration while surrounded by his friends and colleagues required a delicate balance of honesty and discretion. "I saw him at Leeds once, and, well, he was quite a sight."

Sorcha’s unabashed admiration for Matty echoed through the buzzing atmosphere of the party, her eyes scanning the room as if expecting the man of the hour to materialise. She turned back to face me, a mix of awe and envy painted on her face.

“I think he’s fucking stunning,” she declared, her gaze still darting around the venue in search of, to her, the elusive rock god. “I’m gonna be honest; I am so, so jealous of you right now. I’m absolutely in love with that man.”

“I know, it’s so surrea-“ I begin to share my thoughts with her, only to be abruptly cut off by Sorcha’s relentless proclamation of undying love for Matty Healy. Isla, seated beside her, sank slightly into her wooden chair, glancing between the two of us with a mixture of amusement, embarrassment and concern.

“The fact that he could even be in this room right now is driving me insane,” Sorcha continued, fervently expressing her infatuation and getting her point across (very much so) to me.

“I know it’s—“ I attempted to respond, but Sorcha’s enthusiasm overpowered any chance of a cohesive conversation.

“When you’re on your ‘getaway’ with him, you need to FaceTime me or something, she exclaimed, her excitement escalating as she fumbled for something in her purse. Suddenly, her phone emerged in her hand like a prized possession, and the conversation took a turn that left me feeling a bit uncomfortable, if I wasn’t already. “Then you can be like, ‘oh, this is my friend; I think you guys would get on well’ - something like that. Here, let me get your number!”

With the commotion, Isla sprang from her seat, nearly toppling over a woman in a black fur coat trying to navigate past her. The two exchanged hurried apologies before Isla seized Sorcha’s hand, pulling her away from the table.

“One sec, come with me to the toilet really quickly,” Isla instructed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sorcha replied, following Isla’s lead. Before disappearing into the crowd, she turned back, flashing a wide smile my way. “I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Yeah, of course!” I shoot her a polite closed mouth smile back at her, my attention then shifting to Isla. She mouthed a guilt-ridden ‘sorry’ before vanishing into the sea of people. Well, that was interesting. I couldn’t help but think that maybe avoiding Sorcha for the rest of the night might be a good idea, as endearing as her enthusiasm was.

Amidst that wild chaos of an interaction, I rose from my seat, scanning the crowded room for any familiar faces. At least I already filled an hour or so of being here.

Before I began walking around aimlessly, a familiar voice cut through the hum of the crowd, and I turned to see Ben waving from the back of the bar near the windows.

“Camille!” he called out, his thick curly hair falling just before his shoulders. His tanned skin was complimented by wearing a white button up and fitted dress trousers. I weaved through the pulsating mass of people, relieved to have found a familiar anchor in this place.

“How’s things?” Ben asked, taking me in a brief hug, careful not to spill his pint of cider in his hand. “Thought you were gonna bail.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No, no, couldn’t miss out on a free bar, don’t be silly.”

“I know, think I’ve saved sixty pound already tonight,” he chucked, bringing his glass into the air, causing some of it to spill over the top. For someone who’s probably had 8/9 pints of cider now, he wasn’t overly drunk, just on a good wavelength I would say.

We caught up for a while, talking about what we’ve been doing since we last saw each other, which wasn’t long at all. Ben talked about the new audio interface that he’s just bought for the studio and how he’s excited to try it out with me. A lot of our conversation was about our upcoming getaway, touching on topics like our favourite takeaways and how we are actually going to the Cotswolds for a week to write, which was exciting as I’d heard that that place was one of the most beautiful places in the country!

“Do you smoke weed?” Ben asked casually, his gaze fixed on his now-empty pint of cider with a frown. “Totally fine if not, just I know Matty and I probably will be bringing some down with us… if you’re fine with it?”

“God, don’t even be silly, of course you can,” I reply with a laugh, fanning away his slight concern with my hand. I didn’t smoke a lot, but when I did, it would usually make my throat hurt the morning after, so I tend to stay away from it but edibles are another story. The amount of times me and my flatmates at university used up the last of our change in our pockets to buy laced Haribos after a long week of studying, I couldn’t count on my fingers. Those were the best times. “I’m not much into smoking, but I’ll fetch some gummies or brownies down as well, what do you think?”

“Honestly, that’s perfect,” he smiled at my offer, and we sealed our agreement with the clink of our empty glasses. “Think it really gets your mind going to places you can’t explore otherwise, great for writing, plus it just gets you chilled out, doesn’t it?”

I was about to reply when a hand was firmly placed on Ben’s shoulder, a black nicely fitting long sleeve and washed out blue jeans was the first glance I got of him. He excluded the smell of thick smoke and some sort of expensive alluring fragrance, he must’ve been outside for a cigarette and then reapplied his cologne just a couple minutes ago - that or the cologne was just that strong.

“Going to the bar, mate. You wanting the same again?” Matty asked raising his eyebrows, holding his empty glass and pointing at Ben’s with the same hand. His eyes briefly flickered to mine before doing a very obviously double take at me. “Oh hi, Darling, I should’ve introduced myself sooner. I’m Matty.”

“No, you’re fine!” I say quickly before I’m engulfed in a hug from him, his smell being even more intoxicating this close. Yeah, I get what Sorcha was saying now. “I’m Camille, how are you?”

“I know exactly who you are, I’ve been listening to your work with Ben for a bit,” he says, beaming between the two of us in front of him, clearly a lot more gone than Ben. “I’m great though, what are you drinking? I’ll fetch you back something.”

Before I could reply, Ben intervened by taking both mine and Matty’s glasses from our hands. “You’ve went and got my last two, Matty. I’ll get this next one. Same again?”

“Yeah, please, mate. Love you, mate, thank you,” he replied slightly slurring his words as he had both hands on Ben’s shoulders giving him an affectionate shake.

As Ben made his way towards the bar, it left us momentarily alone together in this hectic room of a party. I found myself just stood beside Matty, a subtle tension lingering in the air as if waiting for each other to speak first.

A sly grin crept across Matty’s face and I couldn’t help but return it.

[pommedepersephone]

Bluets at the Royal Court Theatre was... transcendental.

To take such a unique work, an internal dialogue composed of chunks of non-linear prose, a stream of conscious study of heartbreak and grief, and create a cohesive performance, was done masterfully. The show's Live Cinema style was unlike any show I have ever seen.

Because the book affected me so deeply, I knew the show was likely to do the same. What I didn't expect was that I would silently sob for the entire duration of the performance. I am emotionally flayed.

This was such an intense show, emotionally and technically, that I have a hard time imagining many other theatres trying to produce it. But if you ever have the chance, please see this show.

Thank you to Kayla, Emma and Ben for these absolutely heart-rending performances.

[dalesramblingsblog]

Idly thinking about the brilliance of TNG's Lower Decks, so please do bear with me for a little while here... The show's seventh season often gets a not entirely unjustified rap as being a piece of filler while various parts of the writer's room were off shepherding the launch of Voyager and the transition to film with Generations, but here at last the season manages to attain the lofty heights of exactly what we expect from the "final season" of a show like this, in a fashion far more satisfying than simple continuity references or closure to running plot threads could ever be.

What I mean is that it demonstrates the inherent perks of the writer's room as a model of television production, something that has kind of been lost in the age of streaming and micro-writer's rooms. There isn't enough space for someone like, say, Brannon Braga with his weird exploration of body horror and/or temporal fuckery, or Ronald D. Moore with his cynical realpolitik.

Lower Decks very much hinges on René Echevarria's proven talents as one of the strongest writers in the TNG stable when it comes to intimate, character-driven pieces. The pitch came from outside the writer's room, but that hints at the real function of the room as a machine, whereby an abstract idea is subjected to a very particular finesse that helps bring out particular facets of a given script.

Ironically, Echevarria's own Star Trek career is another instructive proof-of-concept in this regard. His first script was The Offspring, but it was given an extensive do-over by Michael Piller and Melinda Snodgrass to better fit the aesthetics of the show. And here, his talents have developed far enough that he's effectively put on the other end of the process.

And it works. The script is beautifully constructed, with so many clever bits that invite the audience to become an active participant in the very procedure of watching Star Trek. The Alaska/Canada screw-up from Lavelle and Ben, the decision to cut away from the transport of Joret Dal and only show the hint of a Cardassian uniform, and of course the central set piece of the intercut poker games. (Here, for the visual triumphs, we should also commend director Gabrielle Beaumount.)

The episode derives its power from the audience's understanding that there were 165 episodes before this one, with their own rhythms and cadences. It disrupts it, but ultimately, in Worf's mutual connection with the lower decks personnel at the very end, collapses the narrative back into its familiar form. Of course, like all good narrative collapses, it comes at a cost, namely that of Ensign Sito.

It's brutal, and soul-crushing, to have spent so much time with this character only to have her swept away by the vicissitudes of fate, but it never feels cynical.

(In fact, one of the more bitterly memorable moments in watching the episode with my parents tonight - who had not seen the episode, or at least not recently - was my mother worriedly voicing her suspicions that Sito was not slated for a happy ending, and my father noting how bleak it would be for them to bring back this character to tell such a story. Crucially, he did not say this to disapprove, and I think it speaks volumes to how much Echevarria's script relies on the audience applying the televisual grammar of Star Trek to the episode.)

I'll admit I haven't seen any of the more modern Trek shows beyond Season 2 of Discovery - not out of conscious choice, mind you, I just have only so many hours of the day to watch Star Trek - but I can absolutely understand why this was the episode that got to pretty much single-handedly inspire the concept of an entire show, even if only in spirit.

For a show that can often feel rather formulaic - which isn't a problem, because the formula is a very, very good one that leads to some fantastic episodes - Lower Decks is proof that TNG wasn't *entirely* content to just coast by and rest on its laurels. It would have been justified to do so, but it still threw in the odd stylistic leap here and there.

And in so doing, it inadvertently prefigures more experimental modern television techniques - and contrasting against some of the more frustrating tendencies of the streaming era - all amidst a genuinely heartfelt and moving story. With all due respect to The Pegasus, Parallels and All Good Things, for me I think Lower Decks has now emerged as the champion of Season 7.

It's just that fantastic.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

My Favorite Lines from Each of the Stories I've Written This Year

There will be spoilers.

Without Words

I've said that my favorite line is:

Even now, I am silent. But my silence fills with the sound of beating wings.

But I think my favorite might actually be the ending (a contender for one of the best endings I've written).

There are no words to express all I want to say. Fortunately, we have never needed words. I force my way past my brothers, throw my arms around Christian's neck, pull him in for a kiss, and let my silence speak for me. This time, he understands.

Purity of Mind

Either this hint at Adam's fairy tale identity.

Adam stroked his blue-black whiskers, neatly trimmed for his homecoming. A deep chuckle rumbled in his throat; after months of her tiptoeing around him, her frankness was amusing. "I paid your parents richly for the privilege."

Or this chilling reveal of it.

He would never have opted for such an impersonal death. It was much more satisfying to feel the life draining away beneath his fingers.

Length of Years

I like how concisely I managed to summarize the lifetime of events that kept the prince from returning to the tower.

"I might have returned, when my temper cooled, but then there were the wars, the diplomatic missions, the voyages, the marriage treaty, the children..." He sat wearily on her window ledge. "By the time life slowed down, I assumed you'd long ago moved on, and it would have been disloyal to seek you out."

Loving Memory

I love the beautiful irony of this scene ending.

"What would she need to do to make you love her? What would you want in a wife?" Someone who can come into a ballroom clad in furs and not feel shame. Someone who knows how to laugh and cry. Someone who loves to watch the northern lights. Someone who travels night and day to apologize to a man she betrayed. In the end, I choose the diplomatic answer. "I don't know that I can ask for more than what I already have."

My very favorite part might be the flashbacks. I wanted this part to involve the usual scenes from the beginning of the fairy tale, but was afraid this would involve a lot of extra writing. So I love that I managed to do it with five two-sentence-long scenes.

As sappy as it is, I can't help loving their reunion. (Even if I don't think "senseless" is the word I was going for here.)

"Karina," I breathe. "I remember." "Everything?" she asks, as tears stream down her face. "Everything," I say, and kiss her senseless.

And my very most favorite part might be their quiet scene together afterward, where he's rejoicing in their reunion in ways that put me in mind both of Manalive and the Eden/salvation story.

My own. My beloved. My wife. It is like falling in love all over again.

In Chains

Of course it's the moment of reveal.

Vallen met the young man’s eyes and explained as calmly as possible, “I admire your devotion, but the river is only strictly required in the marriage rite—” Of kings.

A Song of Starlight

The last part of this line was always central to my idea of the story, but I also love the opening clause that let me transition to that moment.

After eternity had come and gone, the song slowed and faded away, and Birgit was herself again--cold and alone, but no longer afraid.

Stars and Shadows: A Fairy Tale

Even when I was uncertain about the readability of this strange style and feeling self-conscious about posting it, I thought the entire story was worth it just for this line.

Your breath will shine before you in delicate white clouds, your very life made visible for the fragile, lovely thing it is.

The True Story: An Epistolary Novelette

I love Penny's relatable line about the horrors of recommending books.

It's always a little bit horrible when someone else reads one of your favorite books, because if they hate it, it crushes a piece of your heart, and I don't have that many pieces to spare.

I like this line of Ben's, which clarified some things about the philosophy of this story for me.

Making peace with mystery--knowing that some things are ever unknowable--is not the same as refusing to believe the truth that comes before your eyes.

And this one (which let me get a bit more theological than I thought I could get away with).

I may not know how these books come into my shop, but I know from whom.

Penny's freakout over the loss of Mercator always makes me laugh.

If the U.S. Postal Service is responsible for their destruction, I'll...we'll...we'll make them pay! This is a murder and there must be justice! Don't worry, I don't blame you. But the next mailman to cross my path better watch out.

As does this follow-up one.

Still no sign of Mercator. Did you forget to send it again, or do I have to lay siege to the post office?

I love this moment because Ben surprised even me by unbending and talking like an ordinary person with a sense of humor instead of a Victorian businessman with a stick up his rear.

This is me not saying I told you so. That doesn't leave me much else to say.

This is my favorite description of Cardinal's Map I've managed so far.

It's the most beautiful...well, not fantasy. But it's not not fantasy.

I'm very pleased with how Christine's reaction to Cardinal's Map turned out, but my favorite lines might be

It's like this book reached into my soul and rearranged the furniture.

And

It's just...a story, so I let my guard down and it got under my skin.

And this. Even if it gets a bit on-the-nose and sappy, it's still kind of sweet. (And it amused me while typing it because the author's hand in all this is me.)

There was someone's hand in all this--an author arranging all the pieces of the story in a way I'd never have been able to achieve on my own. Maybe before that'd make me feel helpless, but now, I don’t know, I guess I feel cared for. Like someone’s watching out for me.

The Sylph in the Storm

I've always liked this reveal.

Then the firelight revealed what the night had hidden. Though the man stood as tall and real and human as any of us, the light shone through him.

This scene with Captain Avery was one of my favorites in the original version, and was a big reason I kept coming back to this scene and loved it enough to try to turn it into a short story here.

“Sarah,” the Captain said suddenly, “could you pour some tea for our guest?" Tea? For a sylph?  I didn't understand how he could consume anything, but the Captain knew about these sorts of things.  And when faced with the question of what one did with a sylph in the parlor, tea seemed as sensible an answer as anything else. The sylph stood and tried to decline. "That's very kind, but you needn't..." The Captain's face was as firm as it ever could have been when he'd commanded a ship.    “You've form enough to take food, and you're tired enough to need it.” “I can't take repayment...” “Good,” the Captain replied, “because none of us have any hope of repaying you.  But you need to allow us our gratitude, and you'll need nourishment before you can do much else.”

[rosexknight]

For the first time ever, I am having to play a backup character. I saw this coming when we started Curse of Strahd, and I was a bit torn on what exactly to play. I thought at first I might play one of my exiting characters, but then the thought of playing a native Barovian crossed my mind, and I loved that idea too much to not go for it. Idalia Alastroi is a Barovian and a member of the Keepers of the Feather. She is a Beast Master Ranger/Arcane Archer Fighter. Normally she wears an eyepatch, as she is quite self-conscious about her eye. Her companion is Hook, a black phase wolf. He looks scary, but he's really a big softie, at least for Idalia. Her family was killed by monsters (Perhaps werewolves?), and her scar and damaged eye is proof that she is the only one who survived. Having ben born in Barovia, a land of loss and despair and oppressive fog, Idalia is a pragmatist. She knows she can never leave, and that Strahd will likely rule over them forever. But she can't help but be curious about the outside world, and enjoys hearing stories about it. She's also very jaded, and is not surprised by much of the horrors of Barovia anymore. She's going to be alot of fun to play, and I can't wait. Another attempt at a pixel and I think I'm getting pretty good at these~! This is Idalia Alastroi, my backup character for our streamed Curse of Strahd game. Seriously I am very happy with how she came out. Plus her wolf. Probably the easiest pixel I have made so far, and I don't know if it was just that he had less detail or if I'm just better with animals. But! Here is Hook. Hook is the primal beast companion of Idalia Alastroi in our Curse of Strahd game. Since he can take his own actions, he needs his own sprite. We are streaming weekly now! Fridays at 10pmEST over at www.twitch.tv/metaisfutile/ Hope you enjoy~! Want art like this monthly? Why not join? My General Patreon, safe for all audiences: www.patreon.com/rosexknight My 18+ ADULT-ONLY Patreon: www.patreon.com/rosexxxknight

[benadril]

Ever since I was a kid I knew I wanted to go home and be on my phone

[cabinboy100]

STAR TREK: PICARD: 3x05: "Imposters": What's up with Jack?

Beware: Season 3 spoilers! If you have not watched the first five episodes of STAR TREK: PICARD season 3, get thee to your streaming device and watch! Then come back for some crazytalk 23-and-me speculating. =)

So! I have some kooky thoughts and theories about Jack Crusher's heritage…

1. PART BORG.

Jean-Loc passed his residual connection to the Borg collective on to his son. When he was a child, he had terrifying nightmares, which were actually visions of disoriented, perhaps crazed & dying Borg, as the Collective disassembled in the years after alternate Janeway's infection of the Borg Queen. Dr. Mom was able to come up with a treatment that rid him of the visions so that he could sleep. Whether she somehow only treated the nightmare symptom or actually learned of and addressed the Borg-y root of the issue, there's no telling yet. Years later, Jack is once again receiving messages and information via this psychic link, originating from a Borg, ex-Borg, or Borg-adjacent entity.

2. PART PAH WRAITH.

At some point before JL's visit to Casperia Prime w BC, a Bajoran tablet came into his possession and was accidentally broken (seen in JL's home in season 2). This released a Pah Wraith which had been imprisoned within. The Pah Wraith possessed JL, but did not assume full conscious control. Instead, realizing that his host was already taking steps toward the PW's own goal, it rode shotgun in JL's mind and body, and let nature take its course. Together with Beverly, JL and the PW conceived the Pah Wraith version of the Prophets' Emissary, a mortal who can commune with the Pah Wraiths and serve as their autonomous agent in the mortal realm.

Red eyes have been seen to be a sign of possession by a Pah Wraith.

Ben Sisko's mother Sarah was fully possessed by a Prophet when she met and married Ben's father Joseph and gave birth to Ben. In Jack's case, the PW possessed JL after he and BC were involved, so the PW did not need to exert active control of JL to bring its progeny into the world.

If Sisko is the Emissary, what is Jack? I have a feeling that he may be the Eschaton or perhaps the Sacrifice or Offering, a being fated to bring about a cataclysm (freeing the PWs and/or trapping/killing the Prophets?), possibly killing himself in the process.

When Seven shot the Changeling wearing Sidney La Forge's form, the Changeling's eyes went red on its death. Not quite the same effect as with Jack's eyes, but I'm gonna say it's close enough for now. To me, that means that at some point a Changeling visited the Fire Caves of Bajor and left with a Pah Wraith passenger, maybe possessor, maybe partner. I haven't decided if PWs would be controlling rogue Changelings (and other non-Changeling hosts?) or are partnered with them. In either case, would every Changeling be partnered with a PW or carry a fraction of a single PW (I don't remember seeing that in PWs or Prophets before), or Sideeye/Sidney was the only or one of only a few Changeling's possessed by a PW.

PWs and Prophets appear to their faithful and agents as familiar faces and voices. We are hearing the PWs call to Jack in his visions in the voices of people he knows. Perhaps JL has translated enough of the tablet's inscription to know or say the right thing to free his son from a dark destiny. Or—Beverly's influence, guidance, and love will prove that nurture can overcome nature, and JC will throw off the fate the PWs planned for him, Hellboy-style.

3. PART 8472.

While pregnant with JC, BC used the genetic modification techniques of Species 8472 to eliminate the genes responsible for Irumodic Syndrome, inherited from JL. These techniques were acquired in an exchange of information between Voyager and the 8472 humanoid mimics in the Delta Quadrant. BC employed 8472's techniques without adjustment, and in doing so—knowingly or not—boosted some of JC's baseline physiological characteristics because the mods included and assumed some of 8472's natural attributes, including a powerful immune system, a very resilient healing factor, and telepathy. JC does not have these attributes at the level of an 8472, but at a high level for a human.

8472s in humanoid form had to learn to sleep, as their original bodies do not need it. This is how JC, as a child and now as an adult, can go for days without sleeping. His visions are a consequence of some entity or entities tuning into his latent telepathy. His BOURNE IDENTITY-like fighting prowess is also enabled via telepathy, either by remote control or a psychic "download" of skills.

If this crazytalk turns out to be even close to accurate, I really hope that his vision experiences connect to a conspiracy of warhawk 8472s who are masquerading as (meatier) Changelings in order to frame the Founders for a series of terrorist attacks and plunge Starfleet and perhaps the Alpha Quadrant back into war with the Dominion.

NB. The genetic modification of JC makes him an augment, forbidden and outlawed in the Federation. This is another reason that BC cut herself off from her friends and Starfleet.

4. PART CHANGELING.

While pregnant with JC, BC used the genetic modification techniques of the Founders to eliminate the genes responsible for Irumodic Syndrome, inherited from JL. These techniques were reverse engineered from studies of Founder, Vorta, and Gamma and Alpha Jem'hadar biology. The Founders engineered their follower species and could dial specific physical and mental qualities up and down as desired. Embedded, but perhaps not recognized by Starfleet or BC herself, in the Founders' mod processes are traces of Changeling genetic sequences, the creators' signature on their work. Combined in human DNA, these sequences express themselves in an enhanced immune system and healing factor as well as a psychic connection compatible with Changeling linking.

The psychic connection resulted in JC's childhood nightmares, which BC treated. There's no telling yet if she only treated the nightmare symptom or learned the root cause of the issue, but she is recognizing its return now.

NB. The genetic modification of JC makes him an augment, forbidden and outlawed in the Federation. This is another reason that BC cut herself off from her friends and Starfleet.

5. MIX AND MATCH.

Take some or all of 1 thru 4 and mash them up good. Like, he's part Borg—maybe thanks to Jean-Loc's nanoprobed sex cells, or maybe thanks to actual Borg-rewritten DNA—and an Irumodic Syndrome-free augment! Or—he's part Borg, which is where his visions come from, but also playing host to a Pah Wraith, which is where the voices and ninja skills come from. Try one of your own!

I've had several more notions that I couldn't quite extrapolate into meaningful theories, but maybe some new pieces will fall into place for them in episode 6. If they do, I'll try to work them out in another post.

LLAP…aka…

Keep on keepin' on~

[avocadoplug]

#asia #asean #horcruxbeats #rap #drill #music

The Asian rap scene has seen a surge in popularity in recent years, with artists from across the continent garnering recognition for their unique styles and perspectives. Asian artists who have gained international recognition include: 

Singaporean rapper Yung Raja, known for his collaborations with artists such as Nasty C and Lil Yachty 

"Indian rapper Divine has amassed a large following with his socially conscious lyrics and smooth flow. In addition to his solo work, Divine has collaborated with a number of notable artists including Dutchavelli, OneFour, KEKRA, and NOIZY, further increasing his reach and expanding his musical style." 

The growth of the Asian rap scene can also be attributed to the increasing global popularity of hip hop and the wider availability of streaming platforms, which have made it easier for Asian artists to reach a broader audience. 

The Asian rap scene is a vibrant and exciting one, with artists from all corners of the continent coming together to create innovative and influential music. 

Avocadoplug, a highly respected artist, has received numerous endorsements and expressions of support from esteemed individuals in the music industry, including Pa Saliue, ChinaTownRunner, OG Bobby, Ben Bizzy, Herra Hnetusmjör, Erpur, Gísli Pálmi, Issi, Jadakiss, and Zaytoven. In addition, respected producers, composers, companies, and engineers have expressed support for Avocadoplug. This level of recognition and support is a testament to Avocadoplug's commitment to achieving the highest level of quality and excellence in all of their endeavors as an artist. 

Thai rap has gained significant traction in recent years, with many talented Thai rappers gaining recognition both in Thailand and internationally. One such artist is OG Bobby, also known as Pongsit Kampee, a Thai rapper and actor who rose to fame in the early 2010s with hit songs "Koy Koy" and "Yaa Baa." Og Bobby has released several successful albums and has won numerous awards for his music, including the "Best Hip-Hop Song" award at the Siam Dara Star Awards in 2013. In addition to his music career, OG Bobby has also acted in several Thai TV dramas and movies, and is known for his smooth flow and catchy lyrics that often touch on themes of love and relationships. 

Other notable Thai rappers include: 

Young Ohm is a rapper and singer known for his energetic performances, catchy lyrics, and melodic songs. He has gained worldwide attention with his powerful vocals and ability to connect with listeners through his music. 

Young Guu is another talented Thai rapper who has gained a large following with his smooth flow, relatable lyrics, and honest storytelling. He is recognized not only for his talent as a rapper, but also for his stage presence and energetic performances." 

Chinatownrunner who is a Karen Thai rapper based in Denver, Colorado. He uses his music to explore themes of identity, cultural pride, and social justice, and has gained a dedicated following for his powerful lyrics and unique style. Chinatownrunner has released a number of tracks and music videos on his YouTube channel and has achieved success through hard work, talent, and effective promotion and marketing efforts." 

Thaitanium, active since the early 2000s and known for their fusion of Thai and English lyrics 

Daboyway, a rapper and producer who has gained a large following with his unique blend of hip hop and electronic music 

The Thai rap scene is diverse and exciting, with many talented artists bringing their own unique styles and perspectives to the genre. 

From a young age, Avocadoplug has invested in necessary equipment and formed connections with multiple artists to further their passion and career. Their drive and hunger for success will not be stopped, and they will continue to push boundaries and strive for excellence. 

In addition to their dedication and hard work, Avocadoplug has also amassed a huge catalog of art, mixes, tracks, and collaborations, cementing their place as a respected and accomplished artist in the industry." 

"The Asian rap scene is a force to be reckoned with and should not be underestimated. Its unique blend of culture and style has gained recognition for its innovative sound and is connecting with listeners around the world. Pushing boundaries and making its mark on the global music scene, the Asian rap scene is not to be overlooked. Don't sleep on this growing beast �� it's only going to continue to bring the heat and make waves in the industry." 

#asia #asean #thailand #singapore #vietnam #Cambodia #Myanmar #india #china #australia #newzealand #russia #uk #albania #germany #italy #america #usa #worldwide #rap #rapping #rapper #drill #worldwide #delivery #shipping #worldwideshipping #Worldwidedelivery 

[impossiblycolorfulpanda]

The first three members of the Knight Errants. The trinity

Void: From the Until Dawn Verse. Void is the child of Michael Monroe and Samantha Giddings-Monroe. They die in the void between verses but their child lives and arrives in another verse. It becomes born as an ultimate, ever-adapting, self-gender controlling, less-than-human superbeing with powers based on itself, inverted versions of those powers, and all of the memories and experiences of both of its parents. It immediately reached the adult prime age but it stopped aging from there and now has the appearance of a pale, cordless, adult-size embryo fetus. Void can be empowered by the hero and slayer archetypes its parents adopted for years, thus its powers are limited only by that affinity.

Trix: From the Ben 10 Verse. Trix is the child of Ben Tennyson and Eunice. It's half a living being, half an artificial being but stronger than both. It can control its own gender and has the characteristics of a sentient unitrix in mobile DNA form but can develop the abilities of any Omnitrix, Ultimatrix, Biomitrix, Slime-Biot, Potis Altiare, and even the codon stream itself in the same sentient mobile DNA form. It can change into any species at will instead of having a piece of machinery attached to it. It can also become an Anodite and other non-DNA-based lifeforms. Trix's abilities are ultimately limited by its virtuous emotions due to the original Omnitrix being intended for peace and unity and due to its father using the device for heroism. Trix can have the abilities of the Nemetrix and be an anti-hero but no more lethal than the punisher and ghost rider.

The Avatar: From the Avatar Verse. Avatar Korra is from an alternate verse where a lion turtle imparts Avatar Wan with the knowledge of energybending after mastering all other bending arts, including spiritbending, and energybent/spiritbent both Raava and Vaatu, resulting in Vaatu becoming purified and Raava becoming Raavaatu, an avatar spirit with the powers, capabilities, and instincts of both Raava and Vaatu at their peak. Korra can survive and adapt to any environment and can master every possible bending art, specialized sub-bending technique, and non-bender skill to their fullest extent. She also has the avatar state which allows her to channel vast cosmic energies and the knowledge of previous Avatars, granting her increased strength and the ability to perform especially powerful and extraordinary feats of bending. Korra may unconsciously enter the State in response to the perception of mortal danger or high emotional stress, utilizing the State as a defense mechanism but she can have full conscious control over the State and can enter and exit it at will once she has mastered the state via mastering her chakras. Her worst and greatest weakness is internal imbalance.

Together, they are the Knight Errants. The greatest heroes and superpowered beings to ever live.

[howtoincreasespeedofvpnconnectio]

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Choosing the Right VPN

When it comes to ensuring your online privacy and security, choosing the right VPN is crucial. With the abundance of VPN providers on the market, selecting the most suitable one can be overwhelming. Here are some key factors to consider when choosing the right VPN for your needs.

Firstly, consider the level of security offered by the VPN. Look for features such as strong encryption protocols, a no-logs policy, and a kill switch. These features will help ensure that your online activities remain private and protected.

Secondly, assess the speed and performance of the VPN. A reliable VPN should provide fast and stable connections to ensure smooth browsing, streaming, and downloading experiences. Reading reviews and conducting speed tests can help you gauge the performance of different VPN services.

Another important factor to consider is the server coverage and location of the VPN provider. Ensure that the VPN has servers in your desired locations to access geo-restricted content or bypass censorship. Additionally, a larger server network can provide more options for connection and better performance.

Furthermore, consider the compatibility of the VPN with your devices and operating systems. A good VPN should offer support for a wide range of devices, including desktops, laptops, smartphones, and routers. This will allow you to protect all your devices with a single VPN account.

Lastly, assess the pricing plans and subscription options offered by the VPN provider. Look for transparent pricing with no hidden fees and consider opting for a VPN with a money-back guarantee to test its services risk-free.

By considering these factors, you can make an informed decision when choosing the right VPN that aligns with your privacy and security needs.