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thedelicatearcher · 3 months

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Ok so fun fact abt me is my biggest hobby is making friendship bracelets😭and im not talking eras-tour-beads-and-charms im talking good old embroidery-floss-knotting-until-your-nails-break friendship bracelets. And those are literally just making rows and rows of knots in various patterns and stuff (im sure you can see where im going with this)

FINNICK WOULD LOVE MAKING FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS BC NOT ONLY IS IT SOMETHING TO DO WITH HIS HANDS THEYRE PRETTY AS HELL AND HE’D MAKE EVERYONE HE KNOWS WEAR THE ONES HE MAKES FOR THEM‼️‼️‼️

anyways I just wanna sit in silence w him as we make friendship bracelets is that really too much to ask for???

YES!! I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!

finnick has many hobbies that involve working with knots and patterns such as crafting nets as beach beds for his friends, knitting, and making friendship bracelets is also one of them for sure!!!

all of finnick’s bracelets are sea themed. whether it’s from the colors he picks--from example, a mix of pale green and a soft blue representing the algae in the sea. a mix of warm colors symbolizes the loving sunset he admires every day on the beach. he finds a meaning in every color. after making an all-red bracelet, he explained to everyone how it represented a crab. it’s also from the little charms too. he has tons of stars, which he sees as starfish. he has little dolphins too, some anchors, and smiley faces.

he could spend an inhuman amount of hours sitting on the floor, humming sweet melodies as his hands work on the knots. expertly following the familiar patterns, it becomes effortless for him. his mind drifts, relaxed as he focuses on getting the tension in the bracelet just right. if you were to look at him, you would notice his focused frown, legs crossed, tongue sticking out in concentration, surrounded by supplies spread across the floor.

what he loves most about making friendship bracelets is choosing the colors according to the person he has in mind. for mags, he made a lilac and sky blue bracelet with a pattern that had hearts all over it.

for peeta, he carefully chose soft tones of orange and yellow embroidery floss, aiming to capture the essence of the quiet sunset he so admittedly loves. he includes a small sun charm to complement it. finnick smiles like a child as he imagines peeta's face when he explains the meaning of the bracelet to him.

for johanna, he picked the brightest, most colorful neon colors. a mischievous grin spread across his face because he knows she won’t reject the bracelet. he understands johanna won't wear her bracelet when he is not around, but the satisfaction of knowing that she loves him so dearly that she would wear it, even if she hates it, it's enough to him.

he takes great pride in his creations, adoring the sight of the strings on his dearest friends' wrists. his hands may be cramping, but his heart feels full of love for his friends

#johanna doesn't hate it she loves every bracelet finnick gifts her #but finnick's funny ass always gives her his most colorful creations #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #thg #the hunger games

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serenescribe · 10 months

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pénthos Twisted Wonderland | 2.2k Summary: Silver is dead, and everything is wrong. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52165603 TW: Major character death, heavy angst

I wrote this a few days ago while trying to process my complex feelings about death and life continuing on, mainly due to the sudden decline in health of one of my family's dear pet cats. It is, in essence, a vent fic; it deals with a lot of grief and hurt.

Nevertheless, writing is still a form of expression, and I hope that someone can find some meaning in this, in spite of the heavy content.

The cottage door opens with a long, drawn out creeeaaak.

He covers his nose and mouth with a hand as he steps inside, eyes squinting against the deluge of dust and musty air that permeates the inside of the house. For a moment, Lilia lingers there, standing stock-still in the doorway, his other hand still wrapped around the handle of the door. His grip tightens the slightest bit, the movement imperceptible, matching the way his heart is squeezed within his chest — a scarcely noticeable gesture to match such inner, invisible pain.

With deliberate effort, Lilia forces his hands to drop to his sides.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes.

And then he dives in.

A home is a place, everyone says. That is the textbook definition of what it is — a place where one lives permanently, especially as a family member, or as a member of a household. This cottage is a home, has been a home for all these many years spent deep in the woods of the valley. It was once decrepit, abandoned, falling to pieces, but Lilia had restored it for the purpose of creating a home.

A home for two — for him, and for his son.

His steps are slow, soles practically dragging against the dirt-stained floor. Despite the way the stale air makes him cough, with barely any fresh oxygen in this musty household to revitalise his soul, Lilia leaves it as it is; it is far more fitting this way, than to push open the windows and allow sweeping gusts of forest air to burst inside, washing the living room alight with life.

The decrepit atmosphere matches his mood, the emotions clawing inside his chest, tearing into him from the inside out. There is no point bringing life into a home, when to him, it does not feel like one anymore.

And with that thought, that realisation, Lilia stills. He blinks, and for a moment, it feels as though something indescribable has overcome him — an emotion so peculiar, so powerful, eating at the hollow abyss that has festered within his chest ever since it happened. His shoulders stiffen, teeth snagging against his lower lips. He raises his head, pulling his eyes away from moth-bitten curtains and dust-smeared windows to glance around instead.

Lilia looks at the frames on the wall, housing paintings and photographs within them — an oil painting of him, hair streaked fuchsia yet still draping over his shoulder in long locks, a slumbering toddler seated on his lap; smaller colleges of him years later, laughing in black-and-green uniforms with a boy who towers over him; and scribbly doodles on yellowing paper that tears at the edges, crayon scribbles of stickmen, with wobbling words that read: “Papa and me.”

The claws of fate snatch at his chest, and strangle his heart.

Pressure builds behind his eyes, something wet pricking at the edges. Before he even knows it, Lilia is pressing a hand against the framed drawing, tracing the amateurish yet loving strokes, a lump forming in his throat to choke him until he collapses into the black.

From the very moment he found a crying bundle in a castle of thorns, he has known one singular truth: Lilia has never intended to live longer than the son he shall raise.

Even all the way back then, as he used magic to bless the baby, watching sunlight-spun hair turn to streaks of silvery moonlight, Lilia has always known that his end was near. His only mistake was assuming he had more time than he actually did; if he were truly aware of how meagre his magic reserves were, of how he would run out before Silver even reached the threshold of adult maturity, he would have taken careful steps to preserve it longer.

But Lilia has always known he would not outlive his son. For all his human mortality, Silver was young, and Lilia was old; death has always followed him in his shadows, stalking him with each ticking year, looming like an inevitability that would one day swallow him up.

And yet, the fates had been cruel. Far, far too cruel.

Everywhere he steps in the cottage, Lilia sees him.

He lingers in the bookshelves, from the picture books to survival guides and training manuals. He is there in the wood-carved critters, from amateurish carvings of a bird to much more detailed squirrels and bunnies, that gather dust along the shelves, keeping the neglected books company. A candle, half-burnt, the wax melted a significant amount, sits on the square table they take their meals at; it would always be lit by a smiling son, who started with matches and ended with flickers of budding fire magic.

He haunts the creaking steps and groaning floorboards, the hinges that squeal as Lilia pushes into room after room. He stiffens with each sound, whisked back to years of the past; suddenly, he is playing hide and seek again, and he expects to hear a squeal or a giggle as he calls out a playful warning; “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” When Lilia steps into the bathroom, he spots the laundry basket that the giggling boy used to sit in, when he was tiny enough to hide inside and pull the lid over his head, unable to stop his laughter from squeaking out as Lilia entered and feigned ignorance about his obvious whereabouts.

He lives on in the withering potted plants and the bird houses hanging from the outside of the windows, still visible even through dirtied glass. Signs of life taken care of, from the flora which flourished under his care, lapping up water poured from a little cup and blooming with ample sunlight, left in the view of the shining sun, to the birds and squirrels who would clamber up swinging feeders, chirping and chittering as they tucked into meals of nuts and berries, a veritable feast gathered by a young boy who simply loved the world.

The hollow ache in his chest never dissipates. It only grows and grows, consuming his heart.

Lilia feels something streak down his cheek, and absentmindedly wipes it away.

Silver’s room is untouched by time.

Everything is just as he left it, coated with thin layers of dust. His bed is made, quilted duvet folded and spread over it neatly, his pillow fluffed up at the headrest. His tables are cluttered with a few trinkets, and his training sword, wrought from wood with some metal to emulate weight, leans against the wall. Books line his shelves, next to gifts received from his years of schooling — clocks received as gifts from hometown travels, a little jewellery case that gleams with far too many expensive jewels, and a memory album received in his final year. Lonely clothes hang within the wardrobe, limp and sad without their owner to adorn; he swallows a lump in his throat at the sight of a silly hat tucked away within an inner drawer, thinking back to the silly smile his son adorned when he wore it for the first time.

The weak rays of a setting sun streak into the room. Dust dances in the air.

Lilia stands in the middle of the room, and stares.

Slowly, he moves to the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and he spreads a hand against the patchwork quilt beneath. Lilia can remember every little patch of fabric and their origins; against the logic that barely stands out in his tumultuous, aching mind, he summons what little bits of magic he has left, closing his eyes as he casts—

“Far Cry Cradle.”

Silver is young, and Lilia is younger than he is now, new to fatherhood with little idea of what to do. Silver outgrows his clothes at a rapid pace, faster than Lilia expects — how peculiar it is, the way the little human baby seems to grow in the blink of an eye!

The clothes pile up, again and again and again. Silver is older, tottering around on two feet. He giggles at him and claps his hands together, babbling at him over and over.

Lilia has always held a weapon in his hands. The calluses marring his flesh is proof of that. The needle he picks up feels pathetically small in comparison, thread looped through the little ring on the end. Silver slumbers in the cot nearby. A pair of scissors rest on the table to his side, along with a mountain of tiny patches of fabric.

A patchwork quilt. Baul told him about it, when Lilia visited him and his daughter and her family, and had grown interested in the colourful blanket folded across her child’s bed. “She sews one for everyone in the family,” Baul tells him, his voice gruff, though pride and affection underlines it deep within. “It’s her way of showing her love.”

So he tries. He uses Silver’s old clothes, before he moves on to his own, and then he moves on to anything else he can get. Silver grows as new squares are added, his stitching clumsy before it slowly straightens out over the slowing movement of time.

By the time he is six, Lilia wraps him in a thick, snug blanket, heart soaring at the way the young child beams at him, flashing him a toothy grin.

“I love you, Papa!”

Silver is dead, and everything is wrong.

“The worst thing about loving humans,” Baul’s daughter said to him once, when he’d visited in a panic over Silver growing sickly and ill, “is that they don’t live long.” At the time, she had fed the baby some medicine, mixing herbal remedies with some warm milk before feeding him with a bottle, and when she and Lilia began to converse, she had been rocking the slumbering baby in her arms.

Her eyes had grown distant as she glanced down at Silver, before raising her head. Their eyes met; “The knowledge that you will outlive them won’t ever go away,” she told him, her voice tinged with a miserable acceptance. A sad smile graced her lips, scales across her face shifting with her emotions. “I will someday have to bury my own husband, and perhaps even my own children. And yet, that is the risk I have taken, to love who I love, and to raise those who are mine.”

“I do not know if I will outlive Silver,” Lilia had confessed. He drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, eyes floating down to the slumbering baby cradled in her arms. “I’m not sure how much Baul told you about me, but I am rather old, as it stands. And it isn’t just an issue of age,” he added. “I… greatly overworked myself during the days of war. Magic is what makes us who we are, after all — and how much longer can a fae live without their magic?”

There had been a pause, a comfortable silence filling the air. And then Silver had hiccupped noisily, eyes squinting open the slightest bit. He babbled, hands raising weakly, and Baul’s daughter had smiled at Lilia, reaching forward to pass him the little bundle of life. “You never know what may happen, Lilia,” she said, as Lilia took Silver into his arms, the baby breaking into a toothless smile. “Lifespan is one thing. Have you ever considered how much more fragile humans are?”

“Of course I have,” Lilia answered as he rocked Silver back and forth, heart bursting with such melting warmth. “Who do you take me for?”

And that was precisely why he decided, there and then, that he would raise Silver to be the strongest human that ever was. To live long, to live forever, to live past Lilia, and thrive through the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, fingers clenching tight around the quilt. He hangs his head, the tears finally flooding forth, pouring down his face as he gasps for breath. “Silver, I’m sorry—”

But the only thing left for him is the ghost of a home, an empty cottage ladened with dust.

Even as Lilia wraps the patchwork quilt around him with trembling hands, burying his nose into the fabric in hopes of drinking what little snatches of Silver there still are, he knows, deep down, that Silver is gone. A horrible reality he never hoped to pass has come true — he has outlived someone he always knew he would, no matter how hard he tried to cope, lying to himself about a shortened lifespan and dwindling magic.

Fool, he thinks to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. You absolute fool, you—

A home is not a home without the son he so truly loves. As Lilia tips backwards, collapsing into the bed, he stares at the ceiling. The little mobile with the carved animals that he made when Silver was just mere months old still hangs over the bed. Even as Silver outgrew it, he still insisted on hanging it when he upgraded from a cradle to a bed of his own.

Lilia watches as the animals drift the slightest bit — barely moving, for all intents and purposes, static.

He sucks in a deep breath, and closes his eyes.

#my writing tag #personal writing #twst #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #twst ch7 #twisted wonderland spoilers #twst fanfiction #twst writing #lilia vanrouge #twst silver #thank you all for your support. i love you guys #i'll be fine. i just miss my cat a lot #my crossposts

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thatpodcastkid · 3 months

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Magnus Archives Relisten 22, MAG 22 Colony

Oh no.

The Mag 22 analysis that nearly killed me, spoilers ahead.

Facts: Statement of Martin Blackwood regarding an encounter with the being he believes to have once been Jane Prentiss. Statement given March 12, 2016.

Statement Notes: Oh no.

"Writhe."

I pointed that out in my analysis of the first Jane Prentiss statement. It's the perfect verb. It evokes the image of the worms crawling from Jane Prentiss, towards the victim, and into their skin. Prentiss doesn't just represent the fear of insects, but also trypophobia. The creatures dig into your skin, scar you, leaving the victim full of holes. Those holes are where they live, where they writhe.

The sfx begins when Martin says the worms writhe. The additional sound effects have been used sparingly in these early episodes. They're only used when key figures have been introduced, when particularly powerful horrors take action. The crawling effect doesn't begin until Martin says "writhe" because that is when he reveals the true essence of Jane Prentiss and what makes her so dangerous. It's not the worms, but the way they writhe.

It's important that Prentiss didn't break down the door. She could've at any time. She could have easily sent worms up through his pipes or the ventilation system. But she didn't. She didn't want to infect him or kill him. She wanted to keep him locked away for thirteen days becoming paranoid and sick and terrified. She wanted him afraid. She wanted him to tell the Institute how afraid he was.

Building on that, as mentioned in my MAG 6 post, Jane Prentiss seems selectively lucid. She's aware enough to lie to Jon through Martin's phone, to follow him through the underground to his flat, and to wait outside his door strategically making noises to keep him trapped. Yet, by MAG 40, her actions seem to be more controlled by the hive than her.

The only thing that was really confusing me about this episode on the first listen is why Prentiss would be in the basement of Vittery's home. The two statements seem unrelated. However, after developing my MAG 16 theory, I realized that this is why Cane placed the spiders in Vittery's first apartment. She manipulated the scenario so that Vittery would die in the new flat, meaning Martin would have to go investigate, where he would encounter Prentiss, and then be dragged into the ensuing violence.

The final text from Prentiss is what really go me. "Keep him. We have had our fun. He will want to see it when the Archivist's crimson fate arrives." Not only does she know what will happen to Jon, but she knows Martin will be forced to watch. She knows.

Entity Alignment: Prentiss and the worms are obviously affiliated with the Crawling Rot, and the manipulation I discussed earlier ties in the Web. But this episode also highlights the connections between the entities and the existence of the One Entity. Like I said, Prentiss could have simply killed or infected Martin, but she chose instead to isolate him. By making it so being alone is the only way he could be safe, Prentiss pushes Martin further into the Lonely. Martin is not predisposed to serve as a Corruption avatar, so the Entity would not force him towards it. Rather, it utilizes Prentiss and her abilities to push him towards his true destiny as a Lonely avatar.

Character Notes: The diction in this episode drives me nuts. Martin wants to do the investigation "for you," he's getting proof "for you." He's putting his life in danger and dedicating to the world's worst job all because of Jon. My little heart.

This further establishes my theory from the MAG 16 post that Martin and Jon's relationship was part of Cane's manipulation. This is the episode Jon starts ingraining Martin into his life (giving him a room in the archives, taking special note of his safety, believing his account of the supernatural, etc.), forming the roots of what would eventually become their relationship. But the events of this episode were prompted by an investigation into Carlos Vittery, found dead encased in webs.

Jon's dismissal technique is more prevalent in this episode than one may initially realize. In the first live statement, "Alone," Jon encourages the statement giver to speak and stresses the need to record what happened. Although he likely already believed that statement giver because they were using the tape recorder, he likely had some doubts or he would have dismissed the whole thing out of fear. Yet, by this episode, it's been established that Jon believes in Jane Prentiss' abilities, but he still tells Martin he doesn't have to give the statement. He discourages Martin from giving an account of what may be the most real and relevant encounter they've had. But Jon denies things he's afraid of. He knows Prentiss is real, and he's terrified, so he wants to act like nothing happened.

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thevulturesquadron · 4 months

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Honestly he’s a whole mood today. You and me both, Mags, you and me both.

Woke up to a couple of awful takes - from Magneto telling his kid it would be better if he’d stay dead, to a weird series of cringy lines from Rogue in the wedding special because people can’t see a character is progressive unless they speak in on the nose lines like ‘be gay do crime’, ‘bro’ and ‘independent strong women.’

I am not even touching the subject of the power dampener and how Rogue’s written there when this woman used to have control over her own powers!!!

Why is it that every time Marvel writes a wedding they just turn it into an empty marketing selling point? It’s like they have a recipe for sucking out the essence of what makes these characters great and replace it with a list of cheap ‘romantic’ tropes.

Ok, hope with this rant I got it out of my system. It’s… not a great week for marvel comics huh? Magneto and Rogue really drew the short stick today (and if this would be a competition he’d win uncontested with that line). Anyway choose your fighter:

On to Rise of the Powers of X #5. Please save this mess🤞

#marvel #magneto #rogue #destiny #mystique #erik lehnsherr #max eisenhardt #raven darkholme #irene adler #anna marie adler #x men #textpost

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autooptic · 12 days

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Horacio Pagani was not born into automotive greatness. His story begins in 1955 in the grasslands of Casilda, Argentina, far from the stretch of Italian asphalt known as Motor Valley, where his namesake supercar brand now produces its vehicles alongside the likes of Ferrari, Lamborghini and Maserati.

Pagani’s mother was an artist, his father a baker. They were a family of makers who earned a living with what they could conjure with their hands, creating from experience, knowledge, raw materials and pure effort. At age ten, Pagani also began to create, first sketching and then carving model cars out of wood.

“Ever since I was a child I’ve had a great passion for the car,” says Horacio. “I made my models with balsa wood and all the materials that a kid could find and use, and from that moment on I was convinced that those were my cars.”

The neighbourhood vehicles and the odd car magazine that would drift over from Italy provided plenty of inspiration for the young inventor’s mind. Pagani recalls chasing down a local man’s 1963 Jaguar E-Type on his bicycle at age eight, just to sit and stare at it for hours, parked. These were the first indications of the extreme lengths to which this inventor would go for a beautiful machine.

“My mother told me that even when I was 14 years old I proclaimed to her that one day I would go to Modena to draw and build these cars,” he says. “Through those few magazines that came to Argentina, I discovered that there was a world in Modena – there was Maserati, Ferrari and Lamborghini – and the place I hoped to someday move.”

Years later, with a career in full bloom, Pagani would buy a Jaguar E-Type like the one from his boyhood memory, the first truly nostalgic purchase of his life. But how did a boy with a balsa wood hobby and an Italian-based dream he pulled from the pages of a car mag manage to bring it all to fruition?

In essence, he harnessed the same two assets he’d used to chase down that Jaguar E-Type all those years before: effort and determination.

#pagani

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single-braincell · 8 months

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Theory time: at the end of tma, they sent the horrors away to "somewhere else" personally, I think Mag Protocol is that somewhere else. By the end, Jon and Martin were so deeply connected to the Eye and Lonely that while their physical bodies were destroyed, their spirit or essence or whatever tagged along for the ride. My theory? That IS Jon and Martin just discorporated and likely completely unaware they were once human beings. I mean, they thought they died, right?

#the magnus protocol #the magnus protocol theories #tma #tmagp #tmagp spoilers #the magnus protocol spoilers #the magnus archives

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lokisasylum · 8 months

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What fuckery did Weverse mag do now?

Like no hate to Jhope, but respect where it is due. Since when did he "lead a contemporary style" in the live performance of "Spring Day" OR "Black Swan" when everyone and their momma knows and SAW that Jimin is the only one dancing in contemporary??? Not to mention that Jimin is not only the highlight, but the one who actually starts the choreo in contemporary style with his interpretation of "flying snow".

And also the dark beauty, essence and pain of the Black Swan.

The article also seems to discredit RM's contribution in "Spring Day" O__o just what the f is going on with weverse lately?

First they cancelled orders for FACE Vinyls without a prior notice and only refunded HALF the money, now they're putting out bullshit ass articles that look like whoever wrote it just scrolled through X and picked the first fan-posts they saw, instead of doing actual research.

#go home weverse you're drunk #weverse magazine #jimin #park jimin #bts jimin #bts #pjm #jiminie #Spring Day #joke of the year honestly

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ninja-troll-lover · 1 year

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Meet the lesbian moms of Willow (OC), Fern (OC), Clover (OC), JD, Spruce, Clay, Branch, Hazel (OC), and AJ (OC)!

Headcanons about them 🏳️‍🌈👩🏾‍❤️‍👩🏾

Blueberry 🫐

Daughter of the deceased couple Rosiepuff and River (OC)

Twin sister to the deceased Raspberry Hazel and oldest sister to the deceased Plumberry Spruce and Goldenberry Clay

Ash's Wife

She doesn't know where her four sons are.

Forgot why the Trolls Tribes Split

Really forgetful ever since her escape from Bergen Town

Most of her scrapbooks aren't filled with glitter

Snores and sneezes VERY LOUDLY.

Sleeps through any noise.

Member of the "Extreme Sleepover Club" (Sky Toronto invited her, and she stayed because it reminded her of her wife)

She has multiple albums of her children's drawings.

Good friends with Peppy, Sky Toronto, Dr. Moonbloom, Mags Gumdrop, Queen Essence, King Quincy, Lownote Jones, Rufus, and Gia Grooves

She went into a coma after a bird attacked her, and after the first troll movie events, she was now awake from her coma.

She and Branch used to communicate by letter.

She can usually be seen with her trollings or the grandchildren she's taking care of.

Night Owl and/or Early Bird just depends

Really fast considering she has to chase trollings on a daily basis.

She can hear a pin drop even if she's asleep.

Sings lullabies and reads stories to trollings so they can sleep peacefully.

Please don't test her patience.

She starts remembering her old memories ever since TWT.

At age 6 she started journaling

In my human au, she's half Nigerian from her mother, Rosiepuff, and half Filipino from her father, River.

When it was revealed that Ash Sr. was actually a rock troll, she still loved her despite her music heritage.

She was mad that Ash Sr. didn't tell her that she left with three of her children; she was hoping that she could surprise her by telling her that they were having another kid. Basically, Ash Sr. wasn't there when Ash Jr. Was born.

Also, she didn't know that her mom killed someone before she died.

Ash Sr. 💚

Youngest daughter to Falcon & Jasmine

Retired tattoo artist and body piercer.

Has four older brothers and their quintuplets; their names in order are Emerald, Dusty, Cliff, and Basil.

In my human AU, she's Mexican.

During her stay at the Troll Tree, she secretly sings rock songs to her kids at night so they can sleep.

Some Pop Trolls and Peppy didn’t know she was a rock troll because she told them that her pointy ears were just a result of her parents pinching them all the time, and they just believed that.

After Ash Sr. moved back to Trollstopia, some of the pop trolls realized that she was a rock troll.

Moved to Trollstopia to be with her wife and kids again.

Some of her nieces and nephews also moved to Rock Hollow, Trollstopia.

Practicing some pop-troll traditions: gift baskets, scrapbooking, etc

Comes from a long line of the best tattoo artists and body piercers.

Made Croco and several other snuggle toys for all her children.

She thought that the Bergens and Pop trolls were working together, and when a troll gets eaten, she thought it was an execution among pop trolls, so that’s why she lied about her pointy ears, but after witnessing her first Trollstice, she thought of revealing her true music heritage, but didn’t want to risk it; what if Blueberry, some pop trolls, Peppy, or worse, Rosiepuff, her then girlfriend’s mother, finds out? So she decided to hide her music heritage.

Rosiepuff actually knew she was a rock troll from the start and told Ash Sr. her secret was safe with her.

Rosiepuff gave her approval of Ash's relationship with her daughter and a blessing for their marriage after eating her fluffleberry, saying it tasted really good for her.

She did tell Blueberry her music heritage after years of encouragement from Rosiepuff

Her kids call her “Mama”, while they call Blueberry “Ma”

Has made a presentation about her brothers and relatives and their low downs on Blueberry when they actually meet them.

Ash Sr. had to leave the troll tree with her three kids because some troll kept sending her threats that he knew she was a Rock troll and that if she didn't, she would be thrown off the troll tree by that same troll. (I'm not going to name that troll, but let's just say he was eaten by a Bergen.)

That same troll (the one threatening Ash) was later pushed off the troll tree by someone who didn't really like him; hint hint it was probably Rosiepuff.

But sadly, Ash Sr. has already left, not knowing that her wife is having another child.

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bornincaldecott · 6 months

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X-Men '97 | Episodes 1 & 2

X-Men TAS has always had a special place in my heart. That, along with the Dark Phoenix Saga (granted it had been out for awhile by the time I was able to read it), was my introduction to comics. I love everything X-Men, but TAS is special. So, like a lot of people, I went into this feeling several types of ways. When the intro started, I got chills.

All-in-all, I really enjoyed the first two episodes. I'm not super crazy about the animation style (why are all the ladies wearing super thick eyeliner a la the Scene Era?), but it's fine.

Crop Top Gambit in the first five minutes? Incredible. I wasn't crazy about his new VA initially, but he grew on me pretty quickly.

I actually liked Scott's voice the best. I think his new VA did an incredible job channeling his original VA.

The writing was clunky at times, but I get why (like when Rogue is moping about her powers at the rave, or when Jean is explaining to Storm about the Phoenix). First, they're trying to capture the essence of TAS, 90's cringe and all (nailed it). Second, this show isn't necessarily meant to bring in new fans. It's a happy by-product, sure, but not the intent. That said, they still have to ensure that things make sense (as much as possible) to any X-Men newbies, which means we gotta endure some awkward exposition.

Also

ALSO

I fucking called Rogueneto. When the first trailer dropped, and we got the last clip of hunky Mags, I was like...oh, they're doing Rogueneto. And honestly? I'm here for it. Do I like the pairing? No, it's not my cuppa, but what I do like is the angst it presents for Romy. Rogueneto also helps set Rogue and Gambit up as a foil to Jean and Scott's established relationship, and then they're the mid-point between Jean and Scott and what I am guessing is going to be Jubilee and Roberto.

This broke my heart though. UGH. I know it'll be alright in the end because the show's already said Romy is their OTP but stiiillllll.

AND I CALLED MADELYN?! Okok we won't actually know until next week but ?!?!?!?!?!

I could go on and on about the first two episodes, but instead I'll highlight some of my favorite parts.

Storm turning the desert to glass. JFC. Even the sentinels were like "danger Will Robinson!" And the quiet piano sound during the scene? MY GOD. CHILLS.

"He's here!" / "Apocalypse?!" / "THE BABY!" & Wolvie got a convertible.

Mag's monologue in the sky. Fucking wow.

The sentinel fight. It was so cool seeing them fight as a team.

And not to end on a bummer note, but...they introduced Genosha...did a whole bit with Mags saving the Morlocks and sending them there...and with what Jean saw in Cerebro in the first episode...yeah...I think we're getting that story.

Anyway! Loved the first two episodes. Super jazzed for the rest.

Have one last Remy gif for the road.

ffs I want him to look at me like that.

#xmen 97 #this is not a spoiler free zone #i really need you to watch it so i can reblog with reckless abandon #hh xx always

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lycanlovingvampyre · 2 years

Text

MAG 140 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: taking a bubble bath^^

BASIRA: "You look awful. You try drinking with Daisy again?" The S4 Archives crew dynamic is so incredibly funny! I headcanon Jon getting super emotional when drunk, pouring his heart out!

BASIRA: "You don’t remember any of it?" JON: "You drink the whole contents of a bar, you don’t remember what the Merlot tastes like. (sigh-adjacent sound) It just hurt." Already said last episode, with a character capable of sort of an omniscience it would have been kind of a plot hole not to try to just Know what the plan was. And this is an excellent way to handle it. The reason, why Jon didn't get any information out of it, works so well.

That encounter with Maxwell Rayner was probably the reason Basira got so much into books when she joined the institute. She was already researching Ny-Ålesund back then and dove deeper into the history of John Flamsteed and Edmond Halley (MAG 108).

BASIRA: "The first Astronomer Royale. Had the post until his death in 1720." JON: "1719. He died on New Year’s Eve." People often say 'No one likes a smartass," but I actually love them!^^

BASIRA: "Names shift over the years. ‘Specially if you’re not keen on keeping the same body." Oh the foreshadowing!

Oh god, this statement... I'm a few sentences in and I already forgot everything. This old English writing makes my brain bluescreen...

"With a fierce strength never before awakened within me, I gripped the head of my foul adversary, and forced it down, into the dark pool before us.There I held it, the water so cold upon my skin the marks have yet to fade. And Reimer thrashed, and kicked, and made such sounds as I have never before heard of the dying. And he was still." I'm guessing, that "dying" by the black water of the Dark only achieved Rayner being one with it now. His essence somehow preserved in the liquid. (Also death to become a full-fledged Avatar, yes yes...) Cause that liquid is how he hops bodies right? It was coming out of his mouth and flowing towards Callum Brodie.

BASIRA: "But I mean – didn’t you say he got blown up in World War I as well?" And that's the only reference we get to that dead soldier in MAG 7. Though his tags said "Joseph Rayner". In MAG 7 Jon said the recognizes the name from somewhere, but now he's not sure himself there.

BASIRA: "Ah, Jon. What’s this?" [SHE PICKS SOMETHING UP.] JON: "Hm? Oh. That’s… I, th, uh – that’s my rib." BASIRA: (Pythagorean theorem, volume of a cone) "Right." [SHE PUTS IT BACK.] JON: "Yep." BASIRA: "And… the jar of ashes." JON: (stress.exe) "Not – not, m,mine – I mean, it belongs to me, I, I, I guess, but it’s not – stationery is in the, uh, other drawer." 'No, Basira, this is my human remains drawer...' xD Also the fan transcript, lol! Stress.exe xD (got my headcanon to the survival of the jar of ashes in my post to MAG 123 btw - Martin salvaged it after the Flesh attack.)

JON: "I hope you’re not suggesting that Santa works for the People’s Church." BASIRA: (exasperated) “Jon.” Yeah, Jon. Santa is an Avatar of the Eye, did you not pay attention to "Santa Claus Is Comin' to Town".

BASIRA: "I bring all the guns from Daisy’s old stash, you bring the spooks you used to mess up that delivery guy." [LONG PAUSE.] JON: "What – That’s it? Christ, I thought my plans were half-assed." Afsdjfld, I forgot this was an actual conversation, lmao!

@a-mag-a-day

#a-mag-a-day #mag 140 #tma #tma spoilers

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