#this is the result of the workshop adventure I took last night

[gophergal]

Puttin' that old man in Outfits Once More

[hashal-nutcracker]

The model of the Hussar "Gashal" was created in the middle of the war, by one of the engineers Jacob Farakaso, his work attracted the attention of the military due to the fact that the designer, even despite his injuries sustained in the war, had a very sad effect. The lower limbs lost their mobility, but by exerting strength, he managed to assemble a semblance of an endo-skeleton that allowed him to move as before, connected to the cervical region and stretched inside with fibers of synthetic flesh with nerve endings allowed him to return to service, but since he was commissioned. He spent some time with his family, learning about the applications of nutcrackers in the news and other sources, and seeing that they have their own weaknesses as flaws, the dying creature caused pity, because he also lost many comrades.

he began developing his own model that would allow the nutcrackers to be more protected and maneuverable, but for a long time he did not come up with engineering solutions, which depressed him. Except that the daughter had just brought a hussar figurine, its mechanics, although simple, but reliable, movable joints, a head that could be retracted into the shoulders, as if a soldier was hiding his head from the shots that came from an easel machine-gun pillbox.

sleepless nights spent at the table brought out a very effective model, his ideas on reinforced mechanical parts, as well as an ultra-sensitive hydraulic system capable of reacting much faster, like a powerful computer, it could protect its owner from a blow, from a shot from a heavy gun, give speed that was not a strong feature, jump over trenches, not fall into mud traps where so many wounded died, because such a simple trace from a shot by a large artillery shell collected water and blood inside itself, becoming quicksand

Sample number one: Hashal – passed the tests of basic motor skills based on computer modeling of the military and staff situation, tests without substance.

entry number 0-19/F-1:

the test revealed small failures in the body and joints of the cervical spine, yet it is very difficult to create a body for creatures when you do not have a sample, it cost a lot to establish system consumption, but a very impressive result. The chest opening was adjusted to the maximum, the spike was not so important, the magnetic belts turned out to be strong, but the check related to water turned out to be very unsuccessful, as well as for chemical reagents, some types of gas melt wires and their insulation, I do not have enough material to protect the cables.

Maybe I should turn to an old friend, he was sorting out the nutcrackers, maybe I can find the answer in them

Revision: this nutcracker took me a lot of time, I had to use ship cables with their insulation, but I had to look for details from undermined and faulty installations, tanks, and similar equipment, this made it easier for me to fuse some fragments, as well as microcircuits.

The control has improved, the balancing is almost calibrated, I made the inner ribs from titanium and aluminum, I had to melt a whole sheet of plate armor of the tank, oh gods, they will obviously kill me soon

Entry 0-20/F-2:

My fears were true, my adventures were noticed by those whom I clearly would not like to see in my house, they were looking for my prototype, the workshop was destroyed, I can't say how long I still have to live, they can kill my daughter, except for her I have no one left after that the case.. The projectile flew into our complex, damn freaks! So many civilians died then, and Jesse.. she was torn apart, the Collie was not sleeping then and did not let go of my hand: daddy, please.. Don't leave, there's a war! They're killing there! I'll work as long as I can, but how long will I last?

I don't remember how much time has passed since I finished it, it remains only to carry out the final touches, but how to carry them out without filling? Where will I get such a creature, even though such creatures could try to escape the same way, or have offspring, but here? How can this happen at all, especially here..

The Collie began to behave more closed, as if hiding, even though I said that secrets should only be told to those whom I am ready to entrust them, she is probably afraid to tell me about it, the main thing is that it does not attract too much attention to us.

entry number 1 from a personal notebook:

Well, still, these weasels watching my family noticed my daughter's behavior, they came with weapons to the complex! This is not acceptable! The rules do not give them the right to come here with weapons, with soldiers.. but among them I saw white coats, damn scientists, always climbing where they shouldn't and playing gods

Insomnia is killing me two or three months after people came to the complex, but I finally managed to get an answer from my daughter, damn it! She found the offspring of these creatures, even two, where should I put the other one? Of course, I can restore and upgrade the previously destroyed nutcracker, but how much will it be useful?

To the touch, these lumps of flesh are pleasant to the eyes, they are quite small, and so inquisitive, one of them with grayish-blue eyes constantly asks me, if I take it, he does not come off me all day. I feel like a mother to these creatures, if they can reproduce, then I can assume that two nutcrackers could have hidden them initially in our complex, but they could have got in other ways, they are difficult to see if they climb through the ventilation ducts. Collie became their babysitter, but they trust her more.

[ficrecsbybu]

WinterIron fic rec 2021: Part I

Note: this fic rec consists only of Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark fics. the only Stucky & Stony you might see is as past relationships but that’s it. it’s also complete works ONLY. also - no underage stuff 🔪.  if you have any requests for Winteriron fic recs (for e.g non-superpower au, only one shots, series, hardcore smut, post-tws, college au, not team cap friendly fics, bodyguard au etc.) you can send me requests ^^. anyway... enjoy 😉 

✨ The Guiding of Death by RayShippouUchiha

“That whole Merchant of Death thing,” someone off to the side faux whispers, “makes a lot more sense now.”

It echoes across the bridge like a gunshot. 

Rated M, Hades & Persephone AU, Canon Divergence, always female Tony Stark, not Team Cap friendly. word count: 41391

(note: listen... I know het pairings and/or gender bend is not popular and I never really read those in general BUT this is straight up one of the best fics I have ever read so I NEEDED to share this with y’all...✌️)

✨ Forms of Love by bear_bell

Tony's the bad guy, after all. He's used to it. He's fine with it. He's good at it.

Only now, there's something far worse loitering around the tower - The Winter Soldier. No one notices the guy at first, but when they do, Tony figures that he should have the soldier's back.

Birds of a feather should flock together, and the bad guys should start a book club.

Rated E, Post-CW, Bucky Barnes & Winter Soldier are Different Personalities, Team Iron Man. word count: 33591

✨ Looking at You by NotEvenCloseToStraight

Bucky looks for so long that now all he wants to do is touch and hold and fix everything. But Tony can barely be in the same room as Bucky, cant even look him in the eye. So Bucky doesn't know what to do about Tony, but he is determined to do something. Because all he wants is to look at Tony, and see Tony looking back with a smile.

Rated E, Post-CW, PTSD, team heals, mental healing, forgiveness, angst with a happy ending. word count: 28,168

✨ I'll Be Your Bodyguard (If You'll Be My Security Blanket) by NarutoRox

When one of Loki's pranks gone wrong leaves the team with a young Winter Soldier in their care, they know they're going to have their hands full. Especially since this newer, tinier version of Bucky seems to have a bodyguard complex - and a particular attachment to Tony.

Rated T, kid fic, age regression/de-aging, de-aged Bucky, tiny bodyguard Bucky. word count: 4,993. 

(note: finally something CUTE. Im so sorry for being such a slut for angst and heavy stuff 😅)

✨ Fate Strings Not Required by Akira_of_the_Twilight

Tony took the hint.

Tony wrapped his hand around the new guy’s elbow. He kept his touch light and breakable in case he’d misread the cue.

“Just some guy claiming to be my soul mate, babe.”

The new guy’s eyebrows rose to his hairline in surprise. He chuckled and gave the first guy a smirk. “Strange. Last time I checked we were soul mates.”

Rated T, AU - no superpowers, AU - soulmates, Bodyguard Bucky Barnes, age difference. word count: 7,032.

✨ Shameless  by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)

Tony isn’t actually sure which of them starts it—he’d like to take credit, but if he’s learned anything it’s that Barnes is by no means a wilting flower. Besides, the start doesn’t matter as much as figuring out who’s going to actually finish it.

rated M, flirting, dirty talk, sexual tension. word count: 2,560

✨ Winter Wooer by salytierra

Winter may not be the most pleasant guy to live or share your body with, but he isn't nearly as destructive as everybody expected him to be either. He likes to brood in the corners, watch British TV, and freak people out. And Tony. He really, really likes Tony Stark. There's just one problem – Bucky's pretty sure he doesn't feel the same way about the guy.

Rated M, Bucky Barnes & Winter Soldier are Different Personalities, team as family. word count: 8,726

✨ Even Darkness Must Pass by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)

“Fake it till you make it,” Bucky whispered to himself, swallowing around his panic. Sam had drilled the idea into him, and it had become a mantra of sorts, something to hold onto when all he wanted to do was blend into the shadows and disappear.

“You’ll be fine.”

Steve placed a warm, strong hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeezed, his super soldier ears having picked up Bucky uttering the now familiar saying.

Bucky nodded, tried to believe his own words, and followed Steve onto the common floor, a wall of sound hitting them as they entered.

rated M (but mild sexual content), parent Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes recovering, team as family, of love and hobbits 🧝🏻‍♂️. word count: 15,289

✨ Paths Are Made by Walking by Potrix 

The road to recovery is long, winding and a different one for every person walking it. Bucky chooses to help himself the only way he knows how; by doing what he does best.

Or, alternatively; the one in which Tony is a mess and accidentally kick-starts Bucky’s protective mother hen instincts.

rated T, post-TWS, fluff, humour, getting together, idiots in love. word count: 4,744.

✨ Rise In Perfect Light (Be Not Fearful Of The Night) by RayShippouUchiha

At first, the new element singing in his chest, Tony doesn’t understand what he’s done.

Doesn’t understand the full consequences of his actions.

But, to be fair, there’s no way he really could have.

Not even a futurist like him could have ever seen this coming.

rated G, post-CW, past Stony, angst with a happy ending. word count: 3,589.

(note: this fic is SO BEAUTIFUL. lemme just asjkdjnsjkdm)

✨ and amidst the ruins, there was you by TheKitteh

With everything resolved - post the Berlin conflict, Siberia and the rogue Avengers' return - Tony relishes in the clarity of what the team is now. He can finally see the well-defined lines, he can rely on solid rules and the chain of command. He's settled into his life like never before.

That is, until one day, an unhinged sorcerer with no grasp on his magic shatters that new-found balance.

As a result, half of Tony's soul is now gone, but he's willing to do anything to get it back.

rated T, post-CW, canon divergence, au - Dystopia, Dimension Travel, magical accidents, slow burn, getting together. word count: 36,976

✨ and so we unfold by TheKitteh

Senbazuru. Thousand Cranes.

An ancient Japanese legend that promises anyone who folds a thousand origami cranes will be granted a wish by the gods. Some stories believe you are granted happiness and eternal good luck, instead of just one wish, such as long life or recovery from illness or injury.

Bucky’s not big on believing in any legends, not after all that has happened. He just wants to create something for a change, not destroy.

He needs to prove himself that he can be trusted to handle something delicate. He doesn’t need a promise of a wish come true. He just,- needs to do this for himself.

He doesn’t need noticing how sad, tired Stark looks. Doesn’t need to want to do something for the man, when he can barely do anything for himself.

rated T, CACW canon divergence, getting together, reconciliation, POV alternating, Bucky Barnes recovering. word count: 14,449

✨ Spilt on the Ground like Water by tisfan

Tony has been black-bagged and illegally held at the Raft. Steve has no intentions of going to rescue him.

But the Winter Soldier isn't going to leave him behind.

rated E, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, implied/referenced torture, frottage, dub-con, mention of part non-con (HYDRA trash party), not Steve friendly, suicidal thoughts, touch-starved. word count: 10,853

✨ Norns, Save Us (From Ourselves) by phlintandsteel

It’s been ten years since half the universe was dusted.

rated E, post-IW au, A/B/O verse, Omega Tony, Alpha Bucky, Soulmates, Peter & Harley playing matchmaker, still recovering Bucky Barnes, not Steve Rogers Friendly, angst with a happy ending. word count: 37,324.

✨ Change You Like A Remix by ficlicious 

No one ever said Avenging would be easy, but Bucky could have really used a memo about the weeks where the hits just didn’t stop coming. He’d probably still have signed his soul away to the gods of spandex and paperwork, but a heads up woulda been nice before he nodded and smiled and took up residence in the house sanity fled when the Avengers moved in.

---- Soulmates, misunderstandings, snark, genderswap and sleep-deprived Avengers abound. Tony's a woman. Must be Friday.

rated E, AU - soulmates, established relationship, temporary gender swap, jealous Bucky Barnes, misunderstanding, miscommunication. word count: 10,494.

✨ Getting to Know You by orbingarrow

It had been an adventure, navigating the sweetly apologetic Bucky Barnes, who haunted the tower most days, and the the Winter Soldier, who occasionally inhabited Barnes’s body. The Winter Soldier was not apologetic; he was scary. And he was currently chilling out, uninvited, in Tony's lab.

“Leave,” Tony said, because Tony was either a dead man or not, and there wasn’t much he could do about it before coffee.

“Or you could give me permission to be here,” the Winter Soldier suggested.

“I don’t let strangers poke around my stuff,” Tony grumbled, as he walked past the Soldier to take a seat at his workbench.

“Easily solved,” the Soldier deflected. “Get to know me.”

-This is what happens when Tony does.

rated G, Bucky Barnes & Winter Soldier are different personalities, fluff, Clint Barton is a good bro. word count: 9,470

✨ Safe House by ali_aliska

For years, Tony had successfully kept his secret. Neither the world nor his team knew he was Iron Man and as far as he was concerned, everyone was better off that way. On his best days, Tony Stark was not someone people liked and trusted, so the last thing Tony wanted was to tarnish Iron Man’s good reputation by revealing the truth.

But then SHIELD falls, the Avengers face disarray, and a stray Hydra assassin forces Tony to go into hiding—and where better than the safe house he had just crafted for the Avengers and their own ex-assassin ready to come in from the cold?

Tony plans to hide away from everyone in his makeshift workshop until the coast is clear and he’s safe to go home. No one would care to spend any time with the reclusive, arrogant billionaire anyways, right? Iron Man is the one everyone wants around.

Bucky Barnes, on his own journey to reclaim his life and identity, seems to disagree with that sentiment.

rated T, post TWS, canon divergence, au - Secret Identity, mutual pining, team as family, slow burn, misunderstandings. word count: 89,533

✨ Versace on the floor by withered

The modern man’s armor is his clothing, and Bucky wants Tony out of his.

rated T,  post CW, Bucky Barnes & Winter Soldier are Separate Personalities, Barnes & Soldier & their hard-on for Tony, not team cap friendly. word count: 2,127 

[usuallyapirate]

A short Introduction to the most common Player-Races in Dungeons and Dragons as given by the DnD 5e Players Handbook:

Dwarf

“Yer late,elf!” came the rough edge of a familiar voice. Bruenor Battlehammer walked up the back of his dead foe, disregarding the fact that the heavy monster lay on top of his elven friend. In spite of the added discomfort, the dwarf’s long, pointed, often-broken nose and gray-streaked though still-fiery red beard came as a welcome sight to Drizzt. “Knew I’d find ye in trouble if I came out an' looked for ye!" 

– R.A. Salvatore, The Crysta lShard

Kingdoms rich in ancient grandeur, halls carved into the roots of mountains, the echoing of picks and hammers in deep mines and blazing forges, a commitment to clan and tradition, and a burning hatred of goblins and orcs—these common threads unite all dwarves.

Elf

“I HAVE NEVER IMAGINED SUCH BEAUTY EXISTED,” Goldmoon said softly. The day’s march had been difficult, but the reward at the end was beyond their dreams. The companions stood on a high cliff over the fabled city of Qualinost. Four slender spires rose from the city’s corners like glistening spindles, their brilliant white stone marbled with shining silver. Graceful arches, swooping from spire to spire, soared through the air. Crafted by ancient dwarven metalsmiths, they were strong enough to hold the weight of an army, yet they appeared so delicate that a bird lighting on them might overthrow the balance. These glistening arches were the city’s only boundaries; there was no wall around Qualinost. The elven city opened its arms lovingly to the wilderness.

 – Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman, Dragons of Autumn Twilight

Elves are a magical people of otherworldly grace, living in the world but not entirely part of it. They live in places of ethereal beauty, in the midst of ancient forests or in silvery spires glittering with faerie light, where soft music drifts through the air and gentle fragrances waft on the breeze. Elves love nature and magic, art and artistry, music and poetry, and the good things of the world.

Halfling

Regis the halfling, the only one of his kind for hundreds of miles in any direction, locked his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the mossy blanket of the tree trunk. Regis was short, even by the standards of his diminutive race, with the fluff of his curly brown locks barely cresting the three-foot mark, but his belly was amply thickened by his love of a good meal, or several, as the opportunities presented themselves. The crooked stick that served as his fishing pole rose up above him, clenched between two of his toes, and hung out over the quiet lake, mirrored perfectly in the glassy surface of Maer Dualdon. 

– R.A. Salvatore, The Crystal Shard

The comforts of home are the goal of most halflings‘ lives: a place to settle in peace and quiet, far from marauding monsters and clashing armies; a blazing fire and a generous meal; fine drink and fine conversation. Though some halflings live out their days in remote agricultural communities, others form nomadic bands that travel constantly, lured by the open road and the wide horizon to discover the wonders of new lands and peoples. But even these wanderers love peace, food, hearth, and home, though home might be a wagon jostling along a dirt road or a raft floating downriver.

Human

These were the stories of a restless people who long ago took to the seas and rivers in longboats, first to pillage and terrorize, then to settle. Yet there was an energy, a love of adventure, that sang from every page. Long into the night Uriel read, lighting candle after precious candle. She'd never given much thought to humans, but these stories fascinated her. In these yellowed pages were tales of bold heroes, strange and fierce animals, mighty primitive gods, and a magic that was part and fabric of that distant land. 

– Elaine Cunningham, Daughter of the Drow

In the reckonings of most worlds, humans are the youngest of the common races, late to arrive on the world scene and short-lived in comparison to dwarves, elves, and dragons. Perhaps it is because of their shorter lives that they strive to achieve as much as they can in the years they are given. Or maybe they feel they have something to prove to the elder races, and that’s why they build their mighty empires on the foundation of conquest and trade. Whatever drives them, humans are the innovators, the achievers, and the pioneers of the worlds.

Dragonborn

Her father stood on the first of the three stairs that led down from the portal, unmoving. The scales of his face had grown paler around the edges, but Clanless Mehen still looked as if he could wrestle down a dire bear himself. His familiar well-worn armor was gone, replaced by violet-tinted scale armor with bright silvery tracings. There was a blazon on his arm as well, the mark of some foreign house. The sword at his back was the same, though, the one he had carried since even before he had found the twins left in swaddling at the gates of Arush Vayem. Father’s face was as kill she'd been fortunate to learn. A human who couldn’t spot the shift of her eyes or Havilar’s would certainly see only the indifference of a dragon in Clanless Mehen’s face. But the shift of scales, the arch of a ridge, the set of his eyes, the gape of his teeth – her father's face spoke volumes. But every scale of it, this time, seemed completely still— the indifference of a dragon, even to Farideh.

– Erin M. Evans, The Adversary

Born of dragons, as their name proclaims, the dragonborn walk proudly through a world that greets them with fearful incomprehension. Shaped by draconic gods or the dragons themselves, dragonborn originally hatched from dragon eggs as a unique race, combining the best attributes of dragons and humanoids. Some dragonborn are faithful servants to true dragons, others form the ranks of soldiers in great wars, and still others find themselves adrift, with no clear calling in life.

Gnome

Skinny and flaxen-haired, his skin walnut brown and his eyes a startling turquoise, Burgell stood half as tall as Aeron climb up on a stool to look out the peephole. Like most habitations in Oeble, that particula tenement had been built for humans, and smaller residents coped with the resulting awkwardness as best they could. But at least the relative largeness of the apartment gave Burgell room to pack in all his gnome-sized gear. The front room was his workshop, and it contained a bewildering miscellany of tools: hammers, chisels, saws, lockpicks, tinted lenses, jeweler's loupes, and jars of powdered and shredded ingredients for casting spells. A fat gray cat, the mage’s familiar, lay curled atop a grimoire. It opened its eyes, gave Aeron a disdainful yellow stare, then appeared to go back to sleep. 

– Richard Lee Byers, The Black Bouquet

A constant hum of busy activity pervades the warrens and neighborhoods where gnomes form their close-knit communities. Louder sounds punctuate the hum: a crunch of grinding gears here, a minor explosion there, a yelp of surprise or triumph, and especially bursts of laughter. Gnomes take delight in life, enjoying every moment of invention, exploration, investigation, creation, and play.

Half-Elf

Flint squinted into the setting sun. He thought he saw the figure of a man striding up the path. Standing, Flint drew back into the shadow of a tall pine to see better. The man's walk was marked by an easy grace – an elvish grace, Flint would have said; yet the man’s body had the thickness and tight muscles of a human, while the facial hair was definitely humankind’s. All the dwarf could see of the man’s face beneath a green hood was tan skin and a brownish-red beard. A longbow was slung over one shoulder and a sword hung at his left side. He was dressed in soft leather, carefully tooled in the intricate designs the elves loved. But no elf in the world of Krynn could grow a beard ... no elf, but...

“Tanis?” said Flint hesitantly as the man neared.

“The same.” The newcomer’s bearded face split in a wide grin. He held open his arms and, before the dwarf could stop him, engulfed Flint in a hug that lifted him off the ground. The dwarf clasped his old friend close for a brief instant, then, remembering his dignity, squirmed and freed himself from the half-elf’s embrace. 

– Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, Dragons of Autumn Twilight

Walking in two worlds but truly belonging to neither, half-elves combine what some say are the best qualities of their elf and human parents: human curiosity, inventiveness, and ambition tempered by the refined senses, love of nature, and artistic tastes of the elves. Some half-elves live among humans, set apart by their emotional and physical differences, watching friends and loved ones age while time barely touches them. Others live with the elves, growing restless as they reach adulthood in the timeless elven realms, while their peers continue to live as children. Many half-elves, unable to fit into either society, choose lives of solitary wandering or join with other misfits and outcasts in the adventuring life.

Half-Orc

The warchief Mhurren roused himself from his sleeping-furs and his women and pulled a short hauberk of heavy steel rings over his thick, well-muscled torso. He usually rose before most of his warriors, since he had a strong streak of human blood in him, and he found the daylight less bothersome than most of his tribe did. Among the Bloody Skulls, a warrior was judged by his strength, his fierceness, and his wits. Human ancestry was no blemish against a warrior – provided he was every bit as strong, enduring, and blood thirsty as his full-blooded kin. Half-orcs who were weaker than their orc comrades didn't last long among the Bloody Skulls or any other orc tribe for that matter. But it was often true that a bit of human blood gave a warrior just the right mix of cunning, ambition, and self-discipline to go far indeed, as Mhurren had. He was master of a tribe that could muster two thousand spears, and the strongest chief in Thar. 

– Richard Baker, Swordmage

Whether united under the leadership of a mighty warlock or having fought to a standstill after years of conflict, orc and human tribes sometimes form alliances, joining forces into a larger horde to the terror of civilized lands nearby. When these alliances are sealed by marriages, half-orcs are born. Some half-orcs rise to become proud chiefs of orc tribes, their human blood giving them an edge over their full-blooded orc rivals. Some venture into the world to prove their worth among humans and other more civilized races. Many of these become adventurers, achieving greatness for their mighty deeds and notoriety for their barbaric customs and savage fury.

Tiefling

“But you do see the way people look at you, devil’s child." Those black eyes, cold as a winter storm, were staring right into her heart and the sudden seriousness in his voice jolted her.

“What is it they say?" he asked. “One’s a curiosity, two’s a conspiracy—”

“Three's a curse,” she finished. “You think I haven’t heard that rubbish before?”

“I know you have.” When she glared at him, he added, “It’s not as if I’m plumbing the depths of your mind, dear girl. That is the burden of every tiefling. Some break under it, some make it the millstone around their neck, some revel in it.” He tilted his head again, scrutinizing her, with that wicked glint in hiseyes. “You fight it, don’t you? Like a little wildcat, I wager. Every little jab and comment just sharpens your claws.” 

– Erin M. Evans, Brimstone Angels

To be greeted with stares and whispers, to suffer violence and insult on the street, to see mistrust and fear in every eye: this is the lot of the tiefling. And to twist the knife, tieflings know that this is because a pact struck generations ago infused the essence of Asmodeus – overlord of the Nine Hells – into their bloodline. Their appearance and their nature are not their fault but the result of an ancient sin, for which they and their children and their children’s children will always be held accountable.

[ramheavenandhell]

The Worth of a Morty

AN: This story was actually inspired a long time ago by many, many fanfics where Morty gets terminally ill and Rick tries to cure him. However, I decided to make mine a platonic take of that kind of premise…and also give it a sad ending. So, you have been warned. Also, many, many thanks to @rickxoxomort for drawing this precious cover art <3 You're da best! Warning: angst, character death, OOCness, probably some spoilers if you haven't read the comics Summary: "It's okay, isn't it? I mean, it's not like it really matters, right Rick? Isn't that what you always say "nothing matters"? So, this is nothing. It's just a small blip on the radar of the universe. I'm just one Morty and you always keep reminding me how disposable I am. My life holds no worth. And Mortys die every day anyways, right? It's just infinite minus one. Doesn't really matter on the grand scale. Nothing does. I'm just another Morty, who didn't make it now…"

The Worth of a Morty Many things were said about death. Some say it comes swift and unexpected. Others said it would slowly creep up on you. Rick Sanchez was a man that wasn't thinking much about death. Or rather, he was thinking too much about it. The realization of his own mortality and the futileness of his existence on the universal scale. The knowledge that after his death, he would be soon forgotten and the universe will just keep expanding as if he hadn't existed to begin with. The thought that with death everything was just over and there was no paradise in heaven or fiery pits of hell. No afterlife and no rebirth. There was nothing. You just drop dead and that was it. It was these realizations – that his own existence didn't matter – that made him choose to drown his own thoughts in alcohol every so often. It was also the reason why he choose to live his life to the fullest every day while still abiding to the natural struggle of staying alive for as long as possible like every other living being. However, while the thought of his own death was something that he liked to avoid as much as possible (though in his old age, it was still constantly in the back of his mind), he didn't really feel bothered by witnessing the death of others. How could he, seeing, as he himself was often the demise of entire species, planets, even solar systems? As equally unmoving did he feel about seeing his own corpse, which also wasn't as much of a rare sight as one might think. Seeing, as there were infinite dimensions, one Rick Sanchez was just bound to stumble across one or two dead versions of himself eventually. And how could that bother him really? In the grand scheme, it didn't really matter anyway and there were still plenty of him around. It was just infinite minus one or two, really. So, he didn't feel anything when seeing himself die or dead. He also didn't feel anything when seeing other versions of his family finding their end. And the same went for Mortys. He had certainly seen as many dead grandsons as he had seen dead versions of himself. Sometimes, he was even the cause for their death. It meant nothing to him. After all, there were still plenty around. However, the question was if he would be equally unbothered if it was about his own grandson – the Morty from his dimension. He was constantly busy saving the boy from trouble that he brought upon himself (though in truth, Rick was the one, who would get him into that sort of trouble to begin with). And while the occasions were rare, he went out his way to even sacrifice his own life for him. However, while he was usually successful in his rescue missions, eventually there had to be one time that even Rick Sanchez had to fail. It all started slowly, so slowly creeping up on them that it hit them unexpectedly… "R-Rick… I don't feel so good…" Morty groaned softly as he stumbled to keep up with his grandfather's long strides. Rick didn't stop or even look back. "Quit your whining, Morty." He had important stuff to do and didn't care about whatever Morty was complaining about. If the boy really got sick, he would just make him a cure when they got home. At the moment, it was more important for him to get those rare crystals, which he would use as a new power source for his space car. He wasn't just going to stop because his grandson started to get a cold or something stupid like that. However, for as tame as their hunt after those mysterious crystals went even before their adventure ended, Morty was more exhausted than ever. "C-can we please… take a br-break… Rick?" the boy asked between panting breaths. "No way, Morty." Rick said, as he looked the crystal in his hand over to make sure that they really found the right ones. "These crystals don't harvest themselves. So grab a bag and start plucking." With shaking hands, he caught the big brown sack that his grandfather threw at him and started to collect the crystal that glowed in a turquoise color. Of course, it wouldn't be a real Rick and Morty AdventureTM, when things would have just continued to stay as peaceful as that. Their happy-crystal-harvest was quickly interrupted as Morty accidentally woke up the creature on which's back the crystals were growing and not soon after were they chased through the maze-like tunnels of the cave that they were in with a dinosaur-like alien on their heels. While they fled, Morty was slower than he usually was in a situation in which he had to run for his life. The monster was steadily gaining up on him. Worse came to worst, when the boy stumbled and fell to the ground. "Argh! Dammit, Morty!" Rick cursed as he, too, sharply stopped and dashed back to pick up Morty by the back of his shirt. "Will you stop acting like a virgin in a slasher movie for once, Morty? It gets really repetitive when you fall down every time that we're being chased." There was no comeback from the boy as he continued to hang limply in Rick's grasp. Rick only grunted in annoyance that he had to lug his grandson around while they were still being chased. Eventually, he managed to escape from the beast and opened a portal, which brought them back home – inside the garage and Rick's personal workshop. He let the boy finally drop unceremoniously on the ground as he started to ramble on about how Morty had once again managed to ruin everything as they returned empty-handed now. "Goddammit, Morty! I already had those crystals and then you-you-you had to wake it up and now I've got nothing." Rick kept on ranting for a while before he stopped. Something was weird here. Usually, Morty would protest back that it wasn't entirely his fault that their adventure had ended like this or he would complain about something or another, but he had oddly stayed silent through the entire time that his grandfather had been verbally ripping into him. "Morty?" Rick actually turned around to the boy to see him still laying on the floor where he had dropped him. "Morty!" He rushed over to the boy only find out that he had been so silent the entire time because he was passed out. It made Rick panic a little bit before he remembered that Morty had complained about not feeling too well before. He had been also trembling, panting and sweating a lot even though they hadn't really walked all that much. Maybe he had caught some sort of alien flu or something? So, Rick decided to cure his grandson – also for the sake that he wouldn't be a whiney bitch about this after he woke up again. He picked Morty up and brought him down to his underground laboratory where he placed him on an examination table. Rick took a blood sample and started to run several tests. However, the more he tested and looked over the results, the more confused he became. In the middle of the examination, Morty had come to again and looked quizzically up at his grandfather as he looked once more over the results. "Have you found out what is wrong with me, Rick?" he asked weakly. "That is the thing, Morty. There is nothing wrong with you." "What? But I feel so weak." Morty couldn't believe that it was true. Rick sighed. "You're probably just exhausted, Morty. You should go to bed and sleep." The scientist decided to give up and could only assume that the boy was just tired. Maybe he should avoid pulling him out of bed around 3 AM for a while, he figured. Morty still found it hard to believe, but followed Rick's advice and went to bed early. True to his word, Rick had avoided waking Morty up in the middle of the night to take him on an adventure. He didn't even bother the boy at school and generally laid off for a while. However, it seemed that over time instead of getting better, Morty's condition just got worse. The only things that he complained about was just being tired all the time and feeling nauseous though. When the boy eventually became too weak to even walk on his own anymore, Rick examined him once again… and once more, he was not able to find anything wrong with him. Being at the end of his medicinal knowledge, he decided that he needed professional help. "Oh c'mon! Just get your ass over here!" Rick practically yelled into his mobile phone while Morty watched him queasily from the examination table. "Haven't you sworn an oath to help all Mortys or something like that?" Whoever Rick was talking to, replied. Unfortunately, Morty wasn't able to hear what was said. "As I told you before, I can't bring him over to you. I'm pretty much sure that I'm not welcome on the Citadel anymore after destroying it and killing everyone in charge." He was silent for another moment as his conversational partner replied. Then, "Yeah, see you." With those last words, he hung up. Morty wanted to ask whom Rick had called, but before he could even get the first word out, a portal suddenly opened. "You better remember that home visits aren't cheap, C-137." The Rick who entered through the portal said as a greeting. He wore a blue-green top with inflated see-through plastic sleeves and a white smock. Teal-colored latex gloves were also adorning his hands. The white headpiece on his head kind of looked out of place on him though. It was something that Morty would have expected a nurse to wear, but not some kind of Rick doctor. The doctor, who was known as Surgeon Rick, also had a large briefcase with him. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Will you just go and take a look at him already." Rick waved towards his Morty, not really caring about money at the moment. Surgeon Rick went over to the examination table. "Why, hello there, Morty. Where does it hurt?" "I'm not really hurting. I just feel really weak." Morty said, feeling a bit uncomfortable as he always did around doctors even if this one was a Rick…or maybe especially because this one was a Rick. Surgeon Rick hummed as he opened his briefcase and removed all sorts of tools that he had brought with him. The sight of some of them made Morty sweat and swallow heavily. Hopefully, the doctor wasn't planning on using all of those on him. Just like Rick C-137, Surgeon Rick began to run several tests on the boy. Looking with a frown at his results, he began to question the boy. "Morty, did you eat something before you started to feel like this? A plant or fruit or did you put anything else in your mouth?" The boy shook his head. Surgeon Rick hummed. "Did you get bitten by an animal or another creature or stung by something?" "No. Nothing like that. I just started to feel really tired from one moment to the other." Surgeon Rick hummed once more before he turned towards Rick C-137. "Where did you say again did he catch this?" "We were on planet Cyrumlon in dimension B-622C. Could you find out what he has?" "Gonna set that one on the red list so other Ricks won't bring their Mortys there." Surgeon Rick said as he made an according note on his tablet pc. "It seems your Morty's muscles are deteriorating by the way." "Yeah, I already figured out as much! I want to know what's causing it or preferably how to cure it!" Rick was pissed. He hadn't gone out of his way to bring this asshole of a professional medic here just to hear from him what he already knew. "See, that's the thing, C-137." Surgeon Rick started and moved a bit farther away from the Morty as if he didn't want him to hear the conversation even though the boy could still hear them. "Your Morty is a hopeless case. There's no way to cure him." "You can't be serious!" C-137 protested. "Just telling you as it is. There's nothing that I can do for him. You know as good as I do that at this rate, he's only got a few more hours or may one to two days at best. Just give up and get yourself a new one at the Citadel's Reassignment Center. Better get going soon 'cause, you know that they have long lines and it takes a while to get a new one." Surgeon Rick started to pack his stuff together. "Oh, if you like, I can put him out of his misery right now." "What?! No!! Get the hell out of here!" Morty felt queasy as he followed the conversation especially when the doctor offered to put him out as if he was just some pet. This was it though, wasn't it? If a Rick Doctor of all people said that there was no chance of recovery for him then he was really done for. He wasn't sure how to feel about it. Though, he had never liked to imagine it, he had been thinking how it probably must be for people when they were diagnosed with cancer and were told that they only had a few more months to live. He'd always imagined that if it was him, he'd probably freak out, get really angry and start throwing things around or just break down and cry, but now he just felt numb. "Here's your stupid money and now get out you quack." C-137 practically shoved the money into Surgeon Rick's arms and pushed him through the portal. He didn't like to hear the news, but in the end it only confirmed his fears. Even the medic couldn't find the cause for the disintegration of Morty's muscles and therefore a cure for it. Rick knew there wasn't much that he could do anymore now. Sure, he could try to stimulate the boy's muscles with electricity and use some other stimulants on him, but in the long run the only good it would do was buy them some more time. Eventually, the muscles in Morty's body would completely stop working, which in turn would mean that his heart would stop pumping blood through his veins. It would just stop beating and the boy would die and even if he tried to give him a pacemaker, his other organs would also eventually fail to function. Completely bypassing the fact that Morty would be bedridden and not be able to take care of himself anymore… "Hey, Rick?" Morty interrupted his dark thoughts. "Since you lost the free voucher when I had been kidnapped by those drug lords, you'll probably have to wait a bit before you get another Morty…so you should probably do what the doctor had said and go to that reassignment center right now." Morty actually hoped that Rick wasn't too angry about that time. They just happened to forget the voucher there after all that chaos. The boy could still remember how Rick had handed him the piece of paper before he had been abducted. "Here." Rick said, as he handed him the slip that Morty quickly identified as the voucher for a free Morty that Rick had received after he had been falsely accused of Rickicide by the Council of Ricks. "While I'm on the toilet and produce something worthless, you can think about your own worth, Morty." "Wha-wha-what are you saying, Morty? You're not gonna die. I'll fix you back up again, all right buddy?" Rick tried to smile reassuringly at his grandson. "Grandpa's got this, Morty. I'll fix it. Ju-just like always, Morty." They both knew that it was a lie. "It's okay, Rick." No, it wasn't okay. It was anything but okay. But what could Rick do about it? There was nothing that he could do. He was the most intelligent man in the entire universe and yet there was nothing that he could do to save his grandson. "Morty…" Rick started, his tone sounding apologetic. Rick Sanchez never apologized. Morty interrupted him though. "Hey, Rick? Can you do me a favor?" "Sure, Morty. What is it?" At this point Rick would do anything for him. Well, maybe with a few limitations, but as long as it wasn't too whack, Rick would grant him his wish. "I would like to see Vensenulon 7 one more time." "Sure, Morty. Is that all you want?" That request sounded too simple. Rick would have expected that Morty might had wanted to do more than just that before he… Maybe eat so much of the best ice cream in the multiverse till he exploded. Or hang out in Blips and Chitz. Heck, he would have even understood it if the boy wouldn't have wanted to die as a virgin and asked him to bring him to a dimension where Jessica had the hots for him and would let him do the do with her. Because that dimension totally existed out there. "Yeah, I just wanna see it one more time." Morty nodded. Rick grabbed his portal gun and inserted the coordinates. Meanwhile, Morty tried to get up from the examination table by himself, but his weak arms failed to heave his upper body up. Trying the next best thing, he rolled over on his side and let his legs dangle over the edge before he placed his feet on the ground. As soon as he tried to put his weight on his legs though, he collapsed and fell on the ground. Rick quickly went over to him and picked him up, carrying Morty in his arms. It was sad to see that the boy was already too weak to walk on his own. As they went through the portal, the beautiful sight of a lush meadow, a violet sky and a giant mountain from which spewed sparkling water in the distance opened up in front of them. For some odd reason Morty could only remember this place fuzzily, but he didn't know why. It was almost as if he had forgotten something important about it, but he couldn't place his finger on what it was. Yet it still looked as paradisiac as he could recall from his murky memory. "Um, Rick? Could you bring me over there please?" Morty shakily pointed to a spot that was a bit closer to the river. Rick didn't complain and carried him over to where he wanted. "Here?" "Yeah, this is a good spot. Please let me down here." Rick let Morty down, who then sat in the grass and looked over the water. His posture was a little slouched as he struggled to maintain his seated position, putting more effort and energy in it than he ever remembered doing before. Even though it was still afternoon, it really was a good spot from which the sunset could be viewed perfectly. For a moment, neither said a word. "Well, you should probably go and pick up your new Morty now." Morty finally spoke up. "You can just leave me here." "But, Morty…" "It's okay, isn't it?" Morty smiled sadly. "I mean, it's not like it really matters, right Rick? Isn't that what you always say "nothing matters"? So, this is nothing. It's just a small blip on the radar of the universe. I'm just one Morty and you always keep reminding me how disposable I am. My life holds no worth. And Mortys die every day anyways, right? It's just infinite minus one. Doesn't really matter on the grand scale. Nothing does. I'm just another Morty, who didn't make it now…" Morty remembered the many dead Mortys he had already seen in his life. Whether it was his own corpse that he had to bury in the backyard, the countless bodies as his Rick had warped the entire Citadel of Ricks into the high security prison of the Galactic Federation or the Morty that he had shot as he was on his fascism hunt. He was just one of those Mortys now. As equally as important as all of his dead alternate selves who didn't amount to anything. Maybe, it was finally now that he understood Rick better than ever before, he thought. "M-Morty. I just can't leave you here." Rick protested. He wasn't just going to leave his grandson all alone in his last moments. Morty blinked back up at him. "Oh, if you have the need to bury my corpse or something, you can still come back later to do that. You don't really have to wait here." In Morty's opinion that made sense. Wouldn't it be even more efficient for Rick if he would just bring his new Morty and let him do the digging? He knew if he were the "new Morty", Rick would have made him do it. Rick suddenly knelt down behind him and wrapped his arms around him, hiding his face in Morty's neck and making it impossible for Morty to look at him now. The action surprised the boy. Rick had never done anything like this before. The scientist wasn't really one for cuddling and hugs were maybe not completely absent, but they were still pretty rare. "Don't you want to say goodbye to your family or something?" Rick mumbled against his neck. "Wouldn't it be weird if I did that when you're going to show up with a new Morty later on?" Morty argued back. "Besides they weren't my real family anyways. My family is in dimension C-137 and I don't think that they would care much if I showed up now. I've been probably dead to them since we left that dimension behind…" He remembered how they had acted the last time that he had seen his original family when he had brought his "current" Summer there. A sob rang suddenly through the air. "R-Rick? Are you crying?" Morty asked as he heard unmistakable sniffling. "Why are you crying? Did you get hurt or something, Rick? If you're hurt you should take care of it. Or-or-or go and see a doctor in case it's something serious…" "Will you just shut up, Morty!" Rick ground out angrily and pulled the boy even closer into his arms. Morty was confused by this behavior. Surely Rick wasn't crying because of him, right? No, he couldn't be crying over Morty because in a few hours, he would have already picked up a new Morty anyways. And then Rick would just continue to live his life like he had done before. He would probably not even think about him anymore or even remember him. And why should he if he had a new Morty at his side? The sobs had subsided after a while and both just sat there and watched the sun slowly set behind the mountain. Since it became too exhausting for Morty to even sit up, the boy just laid down on the soft grass while Rick continued to sit close beside him. They watched how one of Vensenulion 7's many moons rose and admired the night sky still in silence. Morty started to shiver. "It's gotten cold." His voice was barely audible, it was so weak. "Yeah, you're right." Rick said. It wasn't true though. It wasn't cold at all. The nice warmth from the day still hung in the air and radiated from the soil and the close by water. Still, Rick took off his lab coat and wrapped it around Morty. "Thank you." The boy mumbled and Rick merely shrugged it off. It was rare to see Rick being so nice to him, but Morty didn't mind it. It made him smile. Silence settled between them once again as they both continued to look up at the stars. They both thought about all the adventures they had shared together… and all the ones that they wouldn't be able to have together. Rick had always thought if one of them would have to die first, it would be him. Obviously, with his age and all. That was the natural order of things and no grandparent should have to live through the death of their grandchild ever. His zero risk-awareness would have probably also furthered the odds of him being the first to go, too. So why wasn't he? Why did he get to live while Morty had to die?

The universe could be so fucking unfair, cruel and unforgiving sometimes…

Morty thought somewhat similarly about the order of their deaths though he always thought that they both would die on the same day. He had always been expecting that Rick would die first and then leave him behind in some crappy, alien-related, dangerous situation in which he would die without Rick's genius and technology then.

To see it come to this felt almost ironic.

"I…feel so…tired…" Morty's voice was so faint that it was merely a whisper anymore.

"…then sleep, Morty. And tomorrow we'll watch the sunrise together." Rick also whispered.

Morty hummed in response though if it wasn't for the small vibration his body created with it, it would have gone completely unnoticed. The boy slowly closed his eyes.

Rick bit his lower lip. Of course, he knew that it was a lie. Morty wouldn't see the sun rise again.

Not much later Morty's breath became fainter before it was gone completely.

Rick checked his pulse, but there was nothing.

Morty was gone for good. He wasn't going to wake up again.

Rick hugged the body of his grandson close to himself and sobbed again. He had failed Morty.

He knew what he needed to do. He needed to let go and go to the Citadel to pick up a new Morty. There were so many rickless Mortys there that waited for a new Rick to pick them up.

But Rick couldn't do it.

He couldn't let go of Morty and just continue to live on as if this had never happened. Not again. This boy hadn't just been a Morty. He had been his grandson – his grandson from his original dimension. And no one – no other Morty – could replace him. Ever!

"What had happened to Rick and Morty a hundred years?" Rick mumbled against Morty's still body.

No, he wouldn't let go. Never!

He would never fail his Morty again!

A Rick and his Morty where walking around on Vensenulon 7, searching for one thing or another. "Wah!" unsuspectingly, the Morty stumbled suddenly. As he looked down to see what he had stumbled over, he shrieked loudly. "What the heck are you screaming like that for?" his Rick asked. "Th-th-there's—it's our corpses!!" Rick walked over to take a look for himself. "Yeah, that's a dead Rick and his Morty from another dimension." He commented nonchalantly. The Morty was still frazzled. "But why? What did they die from?" He looked around in a panic as if expecting to find what had caused their deaths to be still lingering around and attacking them any moment. Which was kind of stupid because if they had been killed by some kind of animal, it probably would have eaten them and not just let the corpses lay around untouched like that. "Hmm." The Rick kneeled down a little to look a bit closer at his dead self as he analyzed the possible cause of his death. "This Rick must have died from dehydration." The signs were obvious enough. "What? How can that be? There is a giant river right over there?" The Morty gestured over to the body of water as he said that, not feeling one bit better at the revelation. "His Morty seemed to have died a while before him." The Rick ignored his grandson as he stared at the dead alternate of the boy that was held in his own dead counterpart's arms. The boy's corpse had already started to decompose. "It's hard to tell what he died from though. There's no wounds on the outside that would suggest an attack. And if it had been poison there should have been some discolorations on his skin." The Rick stood up again. "Can't really tell without autopsying the body." "I still don't understand what has happened here." The Morty was as confused as he was in the beginning. "Well, I'd say after his Morty died this Rick just gave up and waited here for his own death." He already turned away from the bodies and resumed his walk. "Which is really stupid. He could have just gotten himself a new Morty on the Citadel. There's plenty around." The Morty still stood over the corpses and looked at the strange picture. A Rick holding his Morty close to him even in death. Despite the grotesqueness, the sight looked oddly sweet, showing a sort of affection that he had never felt between himself and his grandfather. "Morty! Hurry up if you don't want me to just leave you here and get a new Morty." The Rick reprimanded him. The boy hurried to catch up with his grandfather, knowing that he probably would make that threat true if he got lost here. After all, he knew how much he was worth to his Rick. His grandfather had made it clear for him often enough…

[ardentmuse]

Perchance a Parchment (George Weasley x Reader) - Part 2

Harry Potter - George Weasley x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.7k

Summary: Writing letters to the mysterious and flirty Rhubarb may be fun, but real life, and the difficulties of your shop, are bound to get in the way. 

Series Masterlist // Masterlist

A/N: Thanks for your patience! I hope you enjoy.

You were part way through your mug of morning coffee and fully through the work of restocking the shelves before opening. You were just beginning to tackle cataloguing the latest deliveries -- new collections of the adventures of Tiago de Paula, world renowned treasure hunter and ladykiller, by the incomparable Quetzalli Flores, your favorite teacher from your short stint at Castelobruxo -- when the bell above your door rang. You jumped at the unexpected sound, spilling your coffee on the floor behind the counter. Though the ring being a surprise was silly. It was 8:58am, just in time for your shop to open.

“‘Mornin’, boss,” Patricia sung as she swept in. She had her hat and coat on the rack before she even notices your spill. “Need some help with that?”

You smiled as you moved to the other side of the desk to retrieve your wand and with a quick wave the spill was already forgotten.

“So,” Patricia said as she took a giant plop into the large armchair that divided the children and adult parts of the store, “What’s got you so jumpy?”

Without even looking, Patty reached over and took a big swig of the cup of tea she knew you would have sitting there for her. This was your morning routine, lazily stocking shelves and cleaning until the local moms brought around their toddlers for the 10am story session, all the while drinking your morning beverages so slowly they grew cold multiple times over and all the silly personal stories of the previous day were exhausted. You too took your seat beside her, watching as her round halo of curls compressed as she relaxed her head further into the cushions.

“Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

Patty raised an eyebrow. “Finally had that good night romp with Tom you’ve been craving?”

The mention of your boyfriend made you feel guilty. Tom hadn’t spent the night in weeks. Or was it months now? And honestly, he hadn’t crossed your mind all morning. You really did need to end it…

“No,” you managed between sips, “Nothing like that.”

You both sat in silence for a few moments companionably. Patty had this way of simply waiting and always getting the information she wanted. She had the air of a co-conspirator, trusting and easy and a tad bit devious. Just a simple raise of her eyebrows as she sipped her tea always had you talking.

“Here,” you finally said, handing her two crumpled pieces of parchment from your pocket.

Patty unraveled the first, reading the words and pausing part way.

“Peaches?” she asked, “Your best friend back in America? Why didn’t you send it?”

Without meeting her eyes, you said, “I did. Keep reading.”

You watched Patty through your lashes as she scanned the page and moved to the next. The light of recognition came across her face, then confusion, and then laughter as she folded the letters, finished, in her lap.

“Oh boy! Someone has a secret admirer!”

“It’s not like that,” you said, “He doesn’t know me. He just knows I’m female and probably a young adult given the content and thought he’d flirt a bit. I mean, he could be some old creep with some weird owl-intercepting fetish for all we know.”

“Well, I think he sounds cute. And he has surprisingly nice handwriting.”

She stood and began opening the crate containing the latest Flores novels.

“And,” she said, more to the box than you, “Rhubarb has a point. Why don’t you have a passionate romance? A woman on the verge of an engagement shouldn’t feel that way.”

You knew she was avoiding your gaze now, worried how you would respond.

You downed the last bit of your coffee. “You’re right,” you said as tears pricked at your eyes, but you swallowed them down.

Hearing the hiccup, Patty returned to your side.

“Listen, friend. I know you don’t want to hear it, but you have to rip off the Band-Aid, as the Muggles say. Tom loves you. He wants you happy and if he’s not doing that, then he needs to know. In the meantime, why don’t you go upstairs and respond to Mr. Rhubard and I’ll get the story room ready.”

“You sure?”

Patty smiled wide, “Positive.”

You began the trek back towards your office when you heard Patty scream.

“What kind of codename is Rhubarb anyway?”

You chuckled as you sat down at your desk. Diomedes came to rest on your shoulder almost immediately.

“Maybe he’s old and sour,” you shouted in return.

“Or maybe he’s tall, thick, and red,” she cooed seductively.

“Red?” you teased as you pulled out your parchment, realizing you still needed to send your post to Peaches as well.That was probably why this Rhubarb returned the first letter. What a sweet gesture, you thought. Maybe he wasn’t some creep after all.

“You know,” Patricia called, “Ginger.”

You laughed once more, shaking your head. Patty knew too well of your weakness for redheads. You mind was running with images of strong, pretty, thoughtful men with soft red locks and freckles across their noses, an image that was vaguely familiar to you somehow. But it was an imagine you liked regardless.

George had been upstairs all day, wanting to intercept any owls before Fred could, not that Fred cared about the post at all. But after that letter he sent, he was feeling more embarrassed than anything. A single letter flies in his window, wording the things his heart had been saying for weeks and he immediately spills his soul out to this unknown woman. He felt foolish and silly, cringing at himself all night about the last line of his letter.

But Fred had been right. He’d been avoiding women for years now. Since the end of the war, the loss of his ear, and the failed whirlwind couple months with Angelina, he wanted to just focus on himself for a bit.

A bit quickly expanded into a couple years though and now George found himself desiring something different from his nights. He didn’t just want to be sitting on the couch joking with Lee and drinking beers with his brother. He wanted more.

As time went on, he found himself noticing those signs of love that filled his childhood home; the way Ginny always ran into Harry’s arms when he returned from a long few days away with work, the way Harry clung to the fabric of Ginny’s shirts like she was the only thing tethering him to the world, the way Hermione and Ron teased each other, how a laugh could be so much more than just a sign of humor but an expression of utter peace and contentment, the way Fleur lit up every time she caught Bill’s eyes across the room, and the way Bill lit up every time he heard one of his children say, ‘mama,” and even the way he’d occasionally overhear his parents call each other by ridiculous pet names and exchange soft touches that lifted even the heaviest tension.

George hadn’t been home in a few weeks. Going home made it insanely obvious that he was indeed alone.

A knock at the window pulled him from his thoughts and he felt his heart rate increase as the tawny owl from the day before tilted his head to seek entrance. For a moment, George considered not letting the bird in. The inevitable rejection was going to ruin his day. He was sure the letter would contain a right rebuke from the sender, a collection of strung together statements about how truly creepy it was to respond to someone else’s mail and a quick request to cease all contact.

But ever curious, George opened the window anyway and found attached a letter tied with pretty red string and a loopy, friendly “Rhubarb” upon the scroll.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he opened and read the letter.

Rhubarb,

Thank you for taking the time to send me back my original letter. Peaches would have been very disappointed to not receive my incoherent early morning ramblings. You are a true knight and for that I am grateful.

In regards to your question, you could say my life is not lacking for love, just not the passionate kind I had hoped for in my youth. But there is always the future. I’m still young and free to explore what the world has to offer.

I am lucky in some ways. I have an amazing community around me and a family I adore. I moved around a lot as a child, so I have friends on every continent. In that regard, I am never really alone.

In some ways, I got the adventure I always imagined. I just didn’t know it at the time. Maybe that is the secret to all of this. Life is always filled with the things desire, but only in reflection. Each dream is just an effort to reclaim a feeling we didn’t know was special until it was over.

So Rhubarb, what are you seeking? What’s your dream? What special feeling are you trying to reclaim?

Looking forward to hearing from you again.

Sincerely,

Cherry

ps. Your handwriting is lovely.

George was beaming by the time he read those last words. The letter wasn’t anything revolutionary. It didn’t rock his psyche the way the first letter did, but it still spoke to a level of honest and forthright communication his life had been missing. With Fred, everything was a joke, a light-hearted spat, or a source of wonder. Things like anxiety, fear, doubt, and insecurity didn’t exist in the mind of Fred Gideon Weasley. Anytime George mentioned something as simple as a worry resulted in a jab and a chuckle and, most important a change of conversation.

But now, for the first time in quite a long time, someone was asking George what he wanted, what he hoped for, what he feared. Someone, a stranger, cares what he thinks.

“George!” a voice called from the bottom of the stairs, “Get your rump down here to talk to these real estate people!”

George sighed and patted the owl on the head. Penning a reply would have to wait.

“And this,” the real estate agent began, all boisterous confidence, “is the building I was thinking for your new workshop. As a storefront, people walking by would be able to see all the cauldrons going. It would be a spectacular for sales, I think.”

George took in the pretty wooden exterior of the shop just a few doors down from their own. He had never bothered to observe the tiny bookstore housing titles and authors he had never seen before. But the lights inside were warm and inviting. He could see the colorful spines across the oak shelves, all arranged and sorted expertly. Tables covered in stacks of parchment and pens, a counter covered in postcards and gift bags, and plush chairs for reading in every available corner.

But the thing that caught his eyes right away was the bay window, curtained in plush velvet. And just beyond, in a small wooden chair, he saw that same beautiful face from the night before. Only today there was no scowl but instead an animated expression; eyebrows in the air, mouth wide with wonder, and cheeks full and happy. She held a book in her hand, open to a small circle of young children packed together, their parents hovering and chatting at the counter just beyond. He watched as characters lept from the pages of the story, small sparks and lights stealing the toddlers’ attention. And as the woman bent forward in a mock whisper, he heard the children burst out into laughter. George thought just maybe he had never seen a more beautiful sight.

“But it isn’t empty,” Fred said in confusion to the real estate agent.

“Oh, it will be soon,” he responded, with such a dismissive tone that George wanted to spit.

“Something caught your eye, brother,” Fred called, snapping George from his gaze. When Fred followed George’s line of sight, he sighed. “Ah, just your type.”

George shook his head and started the walking back to their shop. If they had to buy someone out of their business, did it have to be an enchanting, vibrant woman who knew just how to engage children?

That night, Diomedes finally returned, along with another bird you did not recognize. Diomedes rushed past the snowy owl to find home upon your bed, a letter strung snuggly to his leg. You hated to admit just how curious you were about the letter from Rhubarb but the idea of some mild flirtation, of feeling wanted and stimulated intellectually made you happier than you cared to register.

You started with Diomedes, who upon being relieved of his parchment flew swiftly into his cage.

Dear Cherry,

May I call you dear? It seems silly to treat you like a stranger given the kind of things I wish to share with you.

I too can say I am lucky to have what I have. My family is lovely, though I have often been the least remarkable among them. I have never had a moment where I haven’t felt loved and cared for. But what you say is true. The war took a lot from us. I look back on the time before the war with much joy and admiration, though it probably was not as idyllic as I remember.

I can honestly tell you I am not sure what I want. I have one very strong memory that I go back to when I need positivity: my brother and I flying in our family orchard first thing, teaching our little sister how to fly before our mum noticed she was missing. I guess if I had to put it into words then--

You were interrupted in your reading by the snowy owl pecking harshly at your hand.

“Alright, you fearsome devil,” you said to the bird as you pecked the small parchment off its leg, abandoning your letter from the enticing Mr. Rhubarb to your bed.

This parchment only had a handful of words.

Sorry, Y/N. Can’t extend your lease at the current rate. We need a new deposit of 1000 galleons by the 30th or you’ll need to vacate.

I’m sorry, dear. I really do love your store.

The signature was scratchy but it was indeed your landlord. You felt your stomach tighten and the tears prick at your eyes. You thought you had more time.

Your only thought was to grab the pillow from against your headboard, press it tightly to your face, and scream, a raw primal scream that let the tension ease from all of your muscles. You screamed a second time for good measure, but a voice pulled your face from the pillow before you could let out a third.

“Babe, is everything okay in there?” Tom asked from his place in your kitchen cooking your dinner. You had forgotten just how much could be heard through your paper thin walls.

Immediately, you snatched up the letters and stuffed them under your mattress, taking extra caution to make sure the one from a particularly flirty potential suitor was properly tucked away. You just had time to wipe the tears from your eyes as the door cracked open and an adorable head of messy brown locks, one that used to make your heart flutter and now did very little, poked in.

“All good?” he asked.

“Stubbed my toe,” you managed.

Tom’s eyes raked your body and with a nod in conformation, he left, shutting the door behind him.

Before it even closed, you flung yourself down on the mattress. You knew eventually you’d need to go out there and eat the dinner he prepared and feign interest in the latest economics news, but for now you would lay here in a starfish upon your mattress and fully and sincerely cry.

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt,  @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug

Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot

Perchance a Parchment tags: @cucumberinmyass, @justducky0423, @thequeen-ofnerds, @yuaasa, @comic-creature, @hermionebennet, @semicharmedkindofali, @sugerquill, @can-i-fangirl-yet, @doct0rstrange, @igotmadskills, @otherthingsinhead, @olixerwxxd, @caramiriel, @gryffinclxw, @lizmar20, @indicisive-af, @confettidreameryouwhoreo-blog, @hellizhelusive2, @kaitsubaki, @dooriha, @justfollowtheroad, @memogorgon, @xxsophie-raabxx

[jason-lanier-photography]

Photographing the Aurora Borealis- Ten Tips to Get GREAT Shots of the Northern Lights by Jason Lanier

Have you ever seen the Aurora Borealis? This was the first time for me and Emily and it couldn’t have happened in a more beautiful time and place. Shortly following a workshop that we taught in Stockholm we took off in our rental car for the long 1,500 mile roundtrip trek up towards the town or Kiruna in northern Sweden, near the border of Finland.

Having never seen the Northern Lights before we weren’t quite sure what to expect, but it was on our Bucket List and we were going to do everything we could to capture them if it was possible. We arrived near Kiruna and went out looking for the Aurora. And what we found was AMAZING!

PLEASE check out the video below to see our Ten Tips to capture fantastic images of the Northern Lights. Below are some samples of what we captured while out there. These are the shots that I captured. These were captured over many different locations that we shot on the same night. The lights lasted a good 2-3 hours while we went from location to location. It was surreal.

Emily on the other hand chose to create a time lapse by keeping her camera in the same spot and the results were incredible. Below is one of her shots where she captured a shooting star in the composition:

To see the beautiful time lapse that we created with Emily’s shots please check out the video above!

In regards to gear both Emily and I used the Sony A7Riii. My lens was the Canon 11-24mm and hers was the Sony Zeiss 16-35mm f/4.

**LINKS TO GEAR:

*Sony A7Riii- https://bhpho.to/2N3K9OV

*Canon 11-24mm L lens- https://bhpho.to/2JjMQgp

*Sony Zeiss 16-35mm f/4- https://bhpho.to/2POdlgs

We can’t thank you enough for joining us on this incredible adventure. And if it helps you get some great shots for yourself, we couldn’t be any happier. Don’t forget to click on SUBSCRIBE and NOTIFICATIONS so you’re updated every time a new video is released!

Thanks,

Jason and Emily

[janephillipsblog]

Happy New Year! 2019 Reflections, 2020 Resolutions

This is the time of year to reflect on everything that has happened in the past year and look forward to the new year and perhaps make some resolutions. We are also entering a new decade, which is something that I have never thought much of in the past. The 2010’s have been interesting and life changing for me that is for sure. Going back even further to the beginning of the millennium, it’s certainly been quite a journey. 1999 was the year that I took up theatre as an adult so 2019 marks the 20th year that I have been doing theatre. It has been quite a ride and the road has been long, winding, and often quite bumpy! Relationships, pets and business ventures have come and gone, whereas other aspects of my life have remained constant or improved.

In 2018, I had made a commitment to myself that whenever I had money to spare I would enroll in classes and workshops for acting or personal development. I got 2019 off to a good start by taking the Essentials of Film and TV class at Company of Rogues starting in January. That month I also volunteered as an usher for the One Yellow Rabbit High Performance Rodeo. My blog post about the festival resulted in a feature on me as a volunteer in the One Yellow Rabbit newsletter. Rehearsals also started that month for Gilbert and Sullivan’s “Princess Ida” with Morpheus Theatre. I also started as a volunteer with the Alberta Animal Rescue Crew Society (AARCS), mostly as a cat caregiver. I volunteer at the animal shelter about 2 to 3 times a month.

I turned 45 years old in February. I also took a stunt combat workshop with Adrian Young Action Services which was fantastic. I also did a story slam workshop one evening which was something a bit different as I had never done any sort of oral storytelling before. I also participated in the Dead Cold Run, a 5K run in South Glenmore Park. I am looking forward to completing the run again in 2020.

In March I joined the Calgary Society of Independent Filmmakers (CSIF). To date, I haven’t done much with my membership other than volunteer one evening, but the intention to do more with it and get involved is there! I took Bruce Horak’s creative workshop, Tendencies, which was fun and I also volunteered as an usher for the Festival of Animated Objects which was very enjoyable. I also participated in the Rogers Insurance Run for L’Arche and ran my first 5-mile race (8K), a new distance record for me. March also was the official end of my relationship with my boyfriend of the past 4 years.

Gilbert and Sullivan’s “Princess Ida” with Morpheus Theatre opened in April and ran until May for a total of 14 performances. I participated in the Onesie Run in Prince’s Island Park and also started seeing my current boyfriend during this month.

In May, “Princess Ida” finished its run.  I started getting regular IATSE 212 stage call work. The film industry was getting busy so permittees such as myself were able to get more work. I took the Bouffon Intensive Masterclass workshop this month which fulfilled its promise of pushing my boundaries and challenging me as a performer. I also participated in the Rocky Mountain Soap Company’s Fast and Female women’s run (completing the 5K distance) in Canmore. This was challenging as there were hills and Canmore is at a higher altitude. I hope to participate in it again in 2020.

In June, I ran my first 10K in the Huntington’s Run for Hope, I also started to work on the summer trains for Aspen Crossing and did a day on set as background for Tribal. I also volunteered at Horror Con selling tickets. This was also the month I started to put the wheels in motion to find employment within the film industry, submitting my application for permittee status with IATSE 212 in film.  

In July, I started a series of vocal lessons with Naomi Williams. I took the set etiquette workshop with IATSE 212, a requirement for the film permit and at the end of the month I took the production assistant workshop with the Director’s Guild of Canada, Alberta District Council. July was also a great month for stage calls with IATSE due to the Calgary Stampede. During the Stampede this year, my boyfriend and I checked out several bands on the Coca-Cola Stage - Metric, Bishop Briggs, Dear Rouge and Death Cab for Cutie - and played the midway.

At the beginning of August, I was offered a role in “Babette’s Feast” with Fire Exit Theatre, which I of course accepted. I did the performer set etiquette course offered by ACTRA and also did a couple of days as a background performer on “Ghostbusters: Afterlife”. I did a road trip with my boyfriend to Grande Prairie to see his parents, returning to Calgary via BC, staying in the fabulous Three Valley Lake Chateau for the last night. At the end of the month, I left the legal industry for good and began work as a production assistant in the locations department on a TV series called “A Teacher” which was shooting until October.

In September, I participated in the Pride Parade with ACTRA and DGC. Rehearsals started for “Babette’s Feast” and I would be playing Babette. I went to Ontario to visit my family for my Dad’s 80th birthday. My sister was also there and I hadn’t seen her for 15 years so it was a fantastic reunion.

In October, I worked on the Train of Terror as a scarer for Aspen Crossing. I also had a day on set as a background performer for “A Teacher” and towards the end of the month worked as a locations PA on a Canadian feature film called “Chasing Justice”.  I also accepted a role in “Clue: The Musical” with Dewdney Players. I also got to see Morrissey and The Interrupers live in concert this month.

In November, I took the mermaid course with Adventures in Scuba. I did a day on set as a background performer for “Winter in Vail”, a Hallmark movie. I also had a few IATSE stage calls.

Photo Credit: Jen Carty

In December, “Babette’s Feast” with Fire Exit Theatre opened at the Engineered Air Theatre in Arts Commons and ran for 7 performances. I also worked on the Polar Express for Aspen Crossing. On a personal note, I also made the last payment on my car loan.

Generally, over 2019, I formed and maintained some great habits. I was happy to have continued regular exercise and increase my running distance, however, after I stopped being a full-time office employee with access to a gym at lunch, I stopped running for a few months. It was also difficult to maintain an exercise program when working 14-hour days on set as a PA, however locations work can be physically demanding and IATSE stage calls certainly are. I discovered that I enjoy physical work much more than office work - it’s great to get paid to work out! I have recently started to run again and finding the 5K distance easy to do and looking forward to all the races that I can participate in next year.

I am happy to say that auditioning has become a habit. I auditioned a lot last year. It took 18 auditions (screen and stage) before I was offered a role in “Babette’s Feast”. The role of Babette was definitely worth persisting for, because I admit, after rejection after rejection, that negative little voice inside my head kept suggesting I give up, that being an actor is too hard. I am glad that tenacity took over and I kept on going. As far as auditioning goes, I felt very happy that I was invited to audition for Vertigo Theatre twice last year. Those experiences have made auditions in general easier and not so scary. I have three theatre auditions lined up for January 2020 already.

Writing is developing as a habit. I have been keeping a journal on and off since a teenager and I try to write in my journal every morning. I completed a short story in November, which I submitted for a competition (still waiting to hear), and am working on several scripts. I am learning to focus more and work on one project at a time - taking on too many projects has definitely been my downfall in the past and I have many incomplete ones.  

I have also seen a lot of live theatre this year. 52 shows!  I have been able to see this many shows as I volunteer as an usher as much as I can. I have learnt so much as a performer and writer from the shows that I have had the privilege of seeing this year. Here in Calgary we certainly have a vibrant scene both amateur and professional. There seems to be a great demand for it as well as many shows sell out even with long performance runs. There was only one show that I did not really enjoy (which shall remain nameless - it was more to do with the actual story than the production itself), but my ten favourite shows this year were, in no particular order, “Cafe Daughter”, Alberta Theatre Projects (part of the High Performance Rodeo), “Deathtrap” - Vertigo Theatre, “Tria Fata” - La Pendue (part of the Festival of Animated Objects), “Giant” - Ghost River Theatre (part of the Festival of Animated Objects), “Avenue Q” - Front Row Centre Players, “Boom X” - Rick Miller at Theatre Calgary, “The Invisible” - Catalyst Theatre/Vertigo Theatre, “Iceland” - Theatre Calgary, “Monster” -  Seadreamer, and “A Christmas Carol” - Theatre Calgary. “Deathtrap” was my overall favourite for total entertainment value. 

2019 was not a great year for real estate. It wasn’t for a lot of Realtors. For me, working full time and trying to run a business was not easy, but now I have the time to focus more energy into my business, to help more clients and hopefully bring more results!

2019 was a not a great year for me in terms of background work either, especially compared to 2018. I only had 5 days on set as a background performer this year. This is one of the reasons I decided to pursue work as a crew member, which I found fulfilled the desire to simply be on set.

So what does 2020 have in store for me? I guess I will have to wait and see with 20/20 vision! My main resolution is to continue with the work I have been doing. To keep exercising, keep running, ride Stardust more, more mermaiding, swimming, walking, exploring. For acting to keep taking workshops and classes when I can and keep auditioning and hopefully get more auditions in film and TV. I am going to continue to write and complete things, allowing others to read them. I have a short film script that I would love to see produced next year. I hope to do more real estate, more PA work, more IATSE work and more background work. I also want to travel. I would dearly love to go to Ontario for my mother’s 70th birthday in March and for my brother’s 40th in December. I also want to visit my cousin in New Mexico. But mostly I resolve to stay true to myself, to not accept second best and to keep striving for excellence, inspiring others and myself at the same time.

Happy New Year!  

[averagemarvelbitch]

Pride and Joy / PART 9

I wrote more D: You can read the whole fic on AO3

---

“You have got to be kidding me”.

As far as bad plans went, this one wasn’t bad. It was actually the worst plan in the entire history of bad plans. She looked at Natasha, as if asking for help, but the red head just shrugged. Abigail was starting to think that “coming up with horrible, poorly thought plans” was a requirement to join SHIELD.

“It’ll work”.

“No, it won’t. In fact, what you have is not even a plan”.

“It’s barely a pla”, Clint replied, snickering. When everyone turned their eyes at him, he shrugged, “Phoebe Buffay? Friends?”, and when there was no answer, he snorted, “Bunch of uncultured swines”.

“ANYWAY”, Tony interrupted, “I agree with the kid, it’s a bad plan, but we’ve got nothing better so…”

“So we’re doing the suicide pla?” Abigail asked. Clint gave her finger guns, winking.

Tony nodded sharply, pursing his lips, “We’re doing the suicide pla”.

---

They did the suicide pla. They saved the day, and with it a few million people around the world. The difficult, suicidal mission hadn’t been anything new. Abigail had spent most of her life going to almost impossible missions, after all. However, none of those missions had ever been about saving people. She’d killed politicians and scientists and even kings, but she’d never saved someone, let alone millions of people. It felt oddly exhilarating, knowing that for the first time since, well, forever, she had actually used her skills for something good. Skills acquired in the Red Room. It was mind-blowing and, to be very honest, she had never felt so proud of herself.

“Tony is with Steve at the hospital”, Natasha said after knocking on the open door.

“Is he okay?”

“He’ll be fine. He heals fast”, Nat replied, sitting beside the younger woman on the medical bed, “How’s your arm?”

“Fine. I don’t know if you remember, but I happen to heal fast too”, Abigail said with a smile.

“So… Fury knows”.

“Yep”.

“And Tony doesn’t”.

“Yep”.

“When are you going to tell him?”

Abigail huffed, biting her lip. “I don’t know. Maybe when they come back from the hospital. But that’s not important. How’s the Soldier?”

“He’s still out cold. I can’t believe you took down the Winter Soldier”, Natasha said, shaking her head in disbelief, “How did you do it?”

The young woman opened her mouth, but seemed to think better and just closed it again. Then, she smiled playfully. “I guess I’m just better trained”.

“I’m the one who trained you”.

“Yep. The student has become the master”, she replied with a curt bow.

Natasha pulled her closer, with a hushed laugh, messing up Abigail’s hair. “That’s my girl. I’m so proud of you”, and she hugged the younger woman tightly, “And I missed you”.

“I missed you too”.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure”.

“Did she suffer?”, Natasha asked in a serious tone.

“…Yes.”

“Good”, the red head replied. They stayed there for a long while, enjoying the brief moment of peace.

---

Natasha invited Abigail back to the tower, in New York. Apparently, that’s where all the Avengers had been living together since the alien attack. At first, Abigail refused, afraid that her father might not like that very much, but Natasha and the others assured her he would be more than happy to have her there, so off they went. Steve was still in the hospital, so he and Tony would be arriving a few days later, which gave Abigail plenty of time to acclimate herself with the tower.

On her very first day, she met JARVIS. Natasha had introduced them as soon as they walked through the door and she and the AI had hit it off right away. Abigail took advantage of the fact that JARVIS seemed to have a bit of a soft spot for her to ask questions about her father. What is he like, what does he like, what doesn’t he like, what’s his favorite food. The AI answered every question with gusto, and even let her enter the workshop to introduce her to the other robots, Dum-E, Butterfingers and U. At one point, Abigail asked JARVIS if Tony wouldn’t mind her there, in his space.

“Sir is aware you are here, miss, and he gave me permission to allow you into this space”.

“Oh. So, he knows?”

“Indeed he does, miss Anastasia”.

“Do you know when he’s coming back?”, she asked, feigning disinterest.

“Sir and the Captain will be here at approximately 6pm”.

“Oh. Good. I need to do something, but… Could you let me know when he arrives? And tell him that I need to talk to him?”

“Of course, miss”, the AI promptly replied.

With a final goodbye to the robots, Abigail left the workshop, going straight for the medical facility. She had some things she needed to take care of before her father arrived.

---

Tony and Steve arrived in the tower at 6:15pm. The Captain looked much better than the last time Abigail had seen him, which was good. She had fought the Winter Soldier before herself. It had been bad enough in training, where he couldn’t really kill her, so she could only imagine what Steve had gone through fighting him when there was nothing stopping him.

It was almost 7 when JARVIS said Tony was waiting for her on his workshop. She knew the exact time because she had been staring at the clock since Tony and Steve had arrived. She went down to the workshop, her faithful flash drive secure on her right hand. She was nervous and scared and she felt the strange urge to cry, which was weird because she never cried.

When the elevator doors opened, she stepped inside the workshop and smiled when Dum-E came rushing to greet her.

“Hey, kid. I heard you charmed my children”, Tony greeted her, cleaning his hands on a dirty rag.

“Yeah, they’re really nice”.

“So, what do you want to talk about?”

“Uh”, she started, looking around, “Can we sit, maybe?”

Looking a bit confused at that, the engineer nodded, gesturing to a couple of chairs nearby his workstation.

“Okay, kid. Talk away”, he said when they sat down.

“I’m… not a SHIELD agent, like I said before. I… I know Natasha from her time in the Red Room. Because I was raised there with her. They called me Anastasia. I didn’t really know why until a few years ago, when I found some files. Turns out my handlers actually had a sense of humor”, she explained, with a small smile, “do you know who Anastasia is?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the Disney movie”, Tony replied, and then promptly explained when Abigail looked at him, confused, “she is a princess, evil wizard attacks her family, she tries to escape with her grandmother, falls, hits her head, forgets everything, goes to on a adventure with a dashing guy and his sassy friend, falls in love, finds her grandmother, defeats evil wizard, and bang, happily ever after”.

Abigail was about to retort when JARVIS interrupted her, “I believe that is not a Disney movie, sir”.

“Whatever. The point is, they called me Anastasia because she was the lost princess of an empire. And, as it happened, I was the lost princess of an empire as well, a technological empire. I was taken from my family when I was born and given to the Red Room. The plan was for them to raise me and train me, and then one day they would kill my father and I would come back, the long lost daughter, and take his place. And then HYDRA would have a lot of power”.

Tony stayed silent and merely nodded, urging her to continue.

“But I found out. It took me a long, long time, but I managed to break their system and decrypt all the files. And then, when I was ready, I… I burned down the Red Room and everyone in it and I came here, to warn Fury about HYDRA. And to find my father”.

She took a deep breath, looking down.

“The folder with my name on it had, among many things, a copy of my birth certificate, videos taken from a hospital’s security cameras and an audio conversation. The conversation was between a man named Pierce and another man name Stane, and the name on the birth certificate was Abigail Maria Stark”.

Tony suddenly stopped breathing. He felt like his lungs had suddenly shut down. He didn’t know what to say or what to do, so he just kept staring at her, mouth hanging, not really understanding what was going on. Abigail looked up at him and extended her arm, opening her palm to show a flash drive.

Tony took the flash drive from the girl’s hand, still petrified.

“All the files are there. And Dr. Cho took a sample of my blood. She’ll send you the results”, Abigail said, looking down for a second, “You should… Check all that. And then, if you want to talk or something, I’ll be around. So… yeah”.

With a final nod, she exited the workshop, leaving a very bewildered Tony behind.

---

He spent the entire night reading files and more files. He cried when he read about Abigail’s training in the Red Room. He threw a nearby wrench right at the wall after listening to Stane’s conversation, feeling more enraged then he’d ever felt in his entire life. By morning, Steve found Tony sitting on his desk, holding his head on his hands, looking completely lost. The blond pulled a chair and sat beside him.

“Nat told me. How are you?”

Tony looked up, huffing. “I always knew I’d be a shitty dad, you know? From the beginning, I knew I was going to screw up. But I figured I’d, I don’t know, spoil them rotten? Or maybe be an absent dad, like Howard”, he laughed humorlessly, “But no, I actually went way beyond that. I abandoned my daughter and, while I traveled and ate fucking sushi and went 11 for 12 on the 2007 Maxim cover models”.

“11 for 12?”, Steve asked, arching an eyebrow.

“March and I had a scheduling conflict. But the Christmas cover was twins”.

“That’s… very disturbing”.

“Seriously? THAT’s what’s disturbing?” Tony turned to look at his partner, incredulous.

“Honey, listen to me. It wasn’t your fault”.

“I’m her father. I was supposed to protect her. Do you know who took her from me?”

“Stane”, Steve replied, taking his partner’s hand in his and holding it, “Nat told me. Look, I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now, sweetheart, but I’m going to repeat this until you get it… It wasn’t your fault. You trusted him. A lot of people trusted him. Come on, look how many HYDRA agents infiltrated SHIELD and no one noticed. Tony, you couldn’t have known”.

Tony looked away and then down, shaking his head. “I still failed her. She was tortured and brainwashed and they made her do things…”, at this, Steve squeezed his hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it lightly, “She must hate me”.

“You’re kidding, right? Tony, she rebelled against her handlers, burned down the Red Room, traveled here all alone, fought a bunch of Nazis and the Winter Soldier… She did all those things just to meet you. Trust me, she doesn’t hate you”.

Tony stared at him for a moment, tears in his eyes, and then nodded, taking a deep breath.

“She’s upstairs, having breakfast with everyone. I’m going to go check on Bucky”, Steve said, getting up, “Abigail is upstairs having breakfast with everyone. You just get up there when you’re ready, okay?”

Tony closed his eyes briefly as Steve kissed his cheek. He watched as his partner left the workshop and went back to trying to figure out what to do next.

“What do I do, JARVIS?”

A video suddenly showed up right in front of him. The date read September 18th 2004. In it, Tony was sitting on the floor of the workshop, a bottle of scotch on his right. He was looking up, head resting on the desk behind him, looking as lost then as he felt right now.

“I never got to hug her. Hell, I barely got to hold her”, video-him said, covering his eyes with his hand, “That’s all I wanted to do… Hug my little girl”.

The video cut as suddenly as it had started. Tony stared at it and then smiled. He got up and went straight for the elevator.

Bruce and Clint were making what appeared to be pancakes while Abigail, Nat and Thor were sitting around the kitchen aisle, talking. They turned when they heard the sound of the elevator opening. Tony walked towards them, hands on his pockets.

“Hey”, Abigail greeted him, standing up.

“Hey. Can we talk over here?”

“Sure”.

The others pretended to be busy, stealing glances at their teammate and their daughter as they walked to the joint living room.

“We can’t hear them”, Nat complained.

“We’re not supposed to. This is a private moment, let them be”, Bruce replied, putting some pancakes on Thor’s plate.

“Yeah, guys, come on, don’t be assholes”.

“You’re reading their lips, aren’t you?”

“Yep”, Clint said, taking a sip from his grape juice through a licorice straw.

On the living room, Abigail and Tony stood face to face, looking uncomfortable and lost.

“So, you saw the files”.

“I did, yeah”, the engineer replied, nodding emphatically.

“Right. So you know the things that…”.

“Yeah.

“…that I’ve done…”

“…that they did to you…”, Tony replied at the exact same time. He looked up, into his daughter’s eyes, confused, “Wait, no. The things you’ve done? That’s… That’s not your fault”.

“Nat keeps telling me that too. It may not be my fault, but I still did them”.

“That’s my fault. I… I should’ve protected you, I should’ve…”

“You couldn’t know…”

“I should have…”

“Okay”, Abigail interrupted in a forceful tone, “Just… You don’t hate me? Because of the whole… murdering… people… thing?”

Tony laughed quietly, shaking his head. He had tears in his eyes when he spoke next, “You know, when I found out that I was going to be a father I was scared shitless. I wasn’t exactly father material. I drank too much, I slept around… I had this ton of trauma hanging over my head that I pretended didn’t exist. I mean, it’s still there, but at least now I acknowledge it and actually talk about it with a proper health professional. Anyway, I wasn’t ready for all the responsibilities that came with a baby. But I wanted you. God, I wanted you more than I had ever wanted anything in my entire life”, by this point, he couldn’t hold the tears any longer.

He looked over to Abigail, who was silently crying, and took a deep breath before continuing. “I painted your nursery. Even bought some wood ballerinas to decorate it, you know. It didn’t look very good, I gotta tell you, but I think you might’ve liked it”.

“I know I would have”, she replied with a small smile.

“Yeah. I kept the room after, well, after you ‘died’, kinda like a shrine to you”, he winced, “that sounded a lot less creepy in my head. Anyway”, he said, shaking his head and looking at his daughter, “what I’m trying to say is… I loved you the moment I found out about you. And I loved you all these years. I will always love you. And I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here…”

However, he didn’t finish his sentence, because Abigail threw herself at him, hugging the engineer as tightly as she could. At this point, neither tried to control their tears anymore and both started fully crying, holding one another as if their very lives depended on it.

“Can I call you dad?”, she asked in a whisper, burying her head on his chest.

Tony laughed, nodding and kissing her hair. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be amazing, actually. Guess I’m now legally allowed to make dad jokes”.

“Oh, man”, Clint complained loudly from the kitchen, receiving a hard slap right on the back of his head from Nat.

Tony and Abigail just laughed amidst tears and joined the rest of the Avengers in the kitchen for breakfast. There was a lot to talk about, but it was okay. After all, they had all the time in the world.

[tommyoboe]

FINAL YEAR - WEEKS 29 & 30.

Oh, Birmingham. 

Oh. Birmingham.

Being back here after what has been quite a blast of a two weeks away is not fun. Stress is taking over my being and today has just been lovely. Not.

I was all ready to go in this morning for an audition for an exciting orchestral opportunity in September, and just as I was heading out the door I received a message from a colleague about a rehearsal I was supposed to be in.

Shiiiiiiiit. I knew there was something I had forgotten this weekend, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it, as I had this audition today. Like, it’s not a huge deal, but I really don’t want to be that person who is flakey and unreliable. I’m constantly having a go at those sorts of people, so there is no way I’m going to become one.

Then I spilt yoghurt inside my bag, so I had to go round smelling like strawberry flavouring all day. How lovely.

But I suppose things improved: I had a good first rehearsal with my string group for one of my recital pieces and I’m now enjoying treats with Cameron to close the week.

Now to talk about something much more exciting than being here in cold miserable Birmingham.

I went to Texas! TEXAS! 

On the second Monday of the Easter break, at a rather ghastly 4:30am, quintet and I set off from Mark’s house in Hertfordshire to Heathrow Airport to get the plane to Dallas/Fort Worth and then to the nearby suburb of Southlake, where we were to be based for the next ten days.

After the nine hour flight, having to put our clocks back to lunchtime was not pleasant, and as much as I wanted to be, I was not hungry for instant Mexican food with tonnes of Texan queso.

It was a lovely welcome though, and set the tone for the next week and a half of concerts, travels and crazy adventures.

This began with a rehearsal at what would be 1am UK time with the Southlake Community Band for a commission piece we would perform with them on the Saturday.

With this in mind, tea and rest was well deserved afterwards.

Waking up at 9 the next day realising it was 3pm in the UK felt bizarre, as if I had spent a hungover day in bed. But no, I had the rest of the day to come yet, and no, I was not hungover.

I had the ambition of selling some of our CDs at our first concert on Tuesday, but realised I did not have a large enough pot for potential cash, so I nicked a tiny bowl from my hosts’ house. To our pleasant surprise and amusement, on the night we sold ten CDs, which meant the bowl was overflowing and I resorted to combining our general donations with this money to share with the others. It was a great feeling, properly earning that money for ourselves.

It also meant that we didn’t have to busk whilst we were out there, quite a relief.

The next two days were free, so we filled the first morning with bowling, which for me started off well before things dramatically declined, rather like a bowling ball crashing to the floor.

Luckily my day was redeemed with a large chocolate covered cherry milkshake. That alone was enough to make up for the rest of the day, and then with wine at tea back at my hosts’ place, I was back feeling *the opening of Love Affair’s Everlasting Love*.

Visiting the ranch and cosmopolitan areas of Fort Worth on Thursday provided some real holiday vibes as we roamed in shirts and shorts in the strong Texan sunshine as if it was summer. We watched the cattle drive (ten seconds of cows with horns) before exploring what people might associate more as ‘traditional Texas’. We ventured into places selling Stetson hats and cowboy boots for $5000 (craaaaaaaazy) and thankfully did not have to dual at high noon in chaps, which I really wanted to find so I could joke to my mum about wearing them as I did as a child out of mine and my brother’s costume box.

Not even embarrassed about that.

Cosmopolitan Fort Worth brought a slice of me to the trip, with high buildings a plenty and cool places for tasty food in a cute open square. The toasted sandwich I had was simply excellent. I am thoroughly missing it now, as I am most of the food.

This included the beautiful brisket we enjoyed at one of our hosts’ houses that evening, before indulging in too many brownies, as well as beer and wine. The effects of that lethal combination weren’t felt until after the laughs in the swimming pool and hot tub and gazing at the beautiful husky puppy brought by a family friend. Almost falling into the swimming pool at one point and cutting my finger on a bottle opener made for some literal sore moments, but overall it was a wonderful night in company as such.

Once the lethal effects of that night did pass through me (unfortunately a bit too literally), I was ready for our first day giving a school performance and workshop. This provided many laughs and even a great moment of tension as we played our classic workshop game ‘21′. With the idea between the group to get to 21 without multiple people saying the same number, the moment two people synced ‘21′ was explosive as the room erupted into meltdown and laughter. It definitely made a change to nodding off in some of the workshops I’ve experienced as an audience member!

Following this was a mammoth of a dinner (not literally, obvs), as I had a super large portion of pesto pasta with a gigantic brownie to follow. Some of the others had huge slabs of cake, easily four times the size of portions here in the UK. Food comas ensued.

Said food coma did not stop us from visiting a beautiful place that evening called Velvet Taco, containing the best taco I’ve ever had. No regrets.

Dallas that evening was also superb. As we drove in and saw the skyline emerge, my eyes lit up as we found a place I would happily live in. I just love the excitement and buzz of big cities, and in its architecture alone Dallas had this in abundance. The contrast with a park right in the middle of the city with a cinema made for another lovely evening.

Saturday brought our partaking in a local festival. The sun deceived us, as despite having pegs for the outdoors setting, this was not enough to prevent the wind behind us blowing our music all over the place. However, our missing entries here and there as a result (or sections in some cases!) didn’t prevent us from enjoying our slot at the popular Southlake festival and with a few accent jokes and our supportive hosts as audience, we got through a tricky couple of hours.

Later that day we returned to the gazebo stage with the Southlake Community Band to give a premiere performance of our commission piece, titled ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas’. It was a fabulous piece, full of traditional American tunes and fun little quirks. Having the band play it so well enhanced our playing also, and even with a couple of hairy moments we performed our best and embraced the great opportunity we had been given.

Delicious Phillipino food at another of our wonderful hosts’ followed, sending me into yet another food coma. Can’t complain though, with salmon it was so worth it.

The next day we took part in a church service, which contained lots of terminology that went over my head, like ‘offertory’ and ‘postlude’. I just did what I was told and appropriately walked out between playing when I had forgotten some music (as you do) and listened to a passionate sermon involving the pastor bashing the table and crying (again, as you do). I just sat there like, well, we’re just here to play the nice music and eat the nice food, thank you, bye bye.

We were indeed treated to food afterwards though so my heart’s desires were fulfilled.

Abi, Henry and I ventured into Dallas again that afternoon to watch the Dallas Symphony Orchestra’s stunning rendition of Stravinksy’s Firebird. It was thrilling, after a slightly lacklustre programming for the first half. I just hope all I remember isn’t Abi and I laughing at some of the captions of the story that came with the music, including the antagonist’s soul living in an egg.

Spoiler: it got smashed.

In the next days more school concerts and workshops took place and we expanded our group knowledge and skills whilst meeting some lovely young people. My favourite person by far was the girl who had a mutual love for The Beach Boys; we took great pleasure in discussing best songs afterwards.

We embraced culture on Tuesday, with a trip to Dallas’ Sixth Floor Museum, an insightful exhibit on the assassination of John F. Kennedy, giving interesting details and making me theorise with my colleagues over what may have happened on that historic day.

This was followed by a trip to TGI Fridays, where history was made in the fact that I indulged in yet another massive meal, along with a VERY fruity cocktail.

Before we knew it it was our final day in the vast state, and after a full morning of performances and masterclasses, we treated ourselves to ice cream and I mean ICE CREAM.

I enjoyed two enormous scoops: one of Oreos and caramel and the other rocky road. It was divine. The others revelled in the fact that I finished so speedily. I don’t mess around, you see.

And then it was our last meal and drinks as a whole group. We enjoyed a final night of interesting conversations, fun laughs and lots of pictures, as well as a coffee stout that literally changed my life, before heading back to rest in preparation for the next day’s flight back.

Saying goodbye to everyone was genuinely emotional in places, and with my hosts having been so great to me, I almost didn’t want to leave. The level of accommodation there was nothing like I’d seen before. Such great people.

The flight back, on the other hand, was not great. Due to waiting in a holding bay for almost an hour at Chicago Airport, we missed our connecting flight, which was to be a huge double decker luxurious plane where we could all sit together.

So we were automatically booked on to the next direct flight home where we were unable to sit next to each other, I hardly got any sleep because I felt uncomfortable and as a result of me misinterpreting the air steward’s question of me wanting a ‘special meal’, I got some horrible vegan shit for my tea, whilst everyone else got chicken entrées and pasta. Abi said they weren’t that nice though so that admittedly did make me feel better #notspoiltatall.

Oh and then because we were told our luggage would be transferred over to this new flight, we believed them and were somewhat surprised to not find our luggage on arrival back in London. It turns out they were put on the next flight after ours, so Mark had to come back in the evening and pick everything up to have delivered to us the next day.

We’ll know which airline we shall NOT be flying with next time...

So despite a sour note to end our fantastic trip on, the experience has been that and more, with so many memories made. I have serious holiday blues now being back in Birmingham, and at the moment seeing Cameron and knowing I can be productive again are the only things getting me through.

Now for a gruelling two weeks and then I will have finished final year! Mental! And then the real world, which tonight seems less horrible as I’ve just got some work for the summer, but after that, who knows...

Back to reality this week, wish us luck!

T

(https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipNgt2j9ypNMB3m1d0u8bBzs8naSTuc3kyJ-eBz8CJgfVnUg6Ok16C8W1Gt4dTRbLg?key=UjdtUmNqYTNUU1E0Q0lYcDF5NzEyLUpmMXRpYkl3 - pictures from Texas: there are just too many for one blog post!)

[whimsicalworldofme]

In Five Years Time

A little over five years have passed since the end of the war and Poe and Ava’s rescue of Ben from the Republic prison, and life is good.

(This is it guys. The final chapter. It’s more of an epilogue really. Anyway...thank you for reading my story! It’s been really fun the last two months, posting things and seeing your reactions in real time. I’m glad we’ve shared this adventure together!)

Word Count: 1977

Content Warnings: None

As the warmth of Spring washed over Paxis, the residents of the city of Organasville turned their attention to their fields. Temmin had managed to build an increasingly successful farm which started to employ more and more residents as the size of the fields grew. It wasn’t easy work, but everyone saw it as work worth doing. Snap Farms fed the entire city most of their fruits and vegetables. And he’d expanded to dairy animals and meat birds, though never Porgs, which had become popular pets among the children. Chewie’s flock of them which had snuck back from Achtoo had started to become a problem but the children on base loved them and kept them as pets. That too had in turn become a big business for the people of Paxis.

               Ava’s family hadn’t escaped the Porg obsessions. All of the Dameron children had one, except for Poe and Ben, who at only two months old, had no need for pets. Poe had been right that they would fill their house with kids. Seven months after they rescued Ben, they’d welcomed little Kes into the family. He was Poe’s son through and through, from his vibrant brown eyes and cocky smile, to his risk taking and limitless affection. A little over a year later they had Rora, quiet and gentle like Ava but commanding and firm. And then the second set of twins, boys this time. Both Poe and Ben had had their reservations, giving the twins their names, but in the end, Ava won with the argument that since she’d suffered the excruciating pain of bringing them into the world, she was going to pick their names. It was hard to tell the littlest boys’ personalities yet. They were both clever, that was for certain, and quiet, which was welcome. Rora had been quiet too, which was a very nice balance to the riotous, raucous ways of their eldest siblings.

               That afternoon, Ava was planting their family garden. Temmin plowed the patch in their backyard for it each year when he plowed his own fields and it had been sitting for a few days just waiting. The problem was wrangling the children to help. Kes didn’t want to wear shoes. Rora cried because she didn’t want her Porg, Sir Screech, to be left out even though Ava explained to her red-faced child that Sir Screech would eat the seeds and therefore couldn’t come. Leia and Shara had opted to spend the day working with Poe, Ben, and Luke in their workshop. They had named it Dameron, Solo, and Son, and their reputation had spread through the Republic as being the best place to get speeders and light ships. Leia had taken a shine to the business side of things, the negotiations, making sales, while Shara really enjoyed the actual mechanics of building and repairing ships.

               “You’re going to have to change the name when the girls are old enough if they decide they want in on the business,” Ava teased Poe.

               “So, we’ll change it,” he beamed. “Dameron and Solo Family Ship Builders Has a good ring to it.”

               Poe had gone completely grey in the past five years which prompted a lot of good-natured ribbing from both Ben, who wasn’t grey at all, and Snap who had gone grey himself. But Ava liked it and insisted that he shouldn’t dye it even though it was an option he sometimes considered.

               “I don’t know,” he had stood in front of their bathroom mirror that morning, brushing at his curls with his fingertips as though looking for any remaining strands of jet colored hair. “You don’t think I look like a geriatric?”

               “You aren’t even forty,” Ava slipped her arms around his waist and kissed his cheek. “And grey is very sexy on you.”

               That had resulted in a very…physical affirmation of just how sexy she found him, which delayed the whole process of the morning. It wasn’t until after lunch that Ava marched her little troupe of helpers out into the garden to show them how to plant the seeds neatly in their little rows. She’d caved on Kes’ demands to go barefoot but Sir Screech was notably absent, though Rora just sniffled at the injustice.

               They had hit a stride about ten minutes in though it was slow going, since her kids had a million questions and felt the need to go slow and lay the seeds individually and just the right way. Kes’ attention was shot though when Finn came over, holding hands with his four year old daughter Hannah, a little girl with her mother’s vibrant brown eyes and her father’s tight curly black hair in three buns running down the middle of her head, and on the other side, toddled his two year old, Lee, who had his broad nose, round cheeks, and brilliant smile.

               “Mama Uncle Finn is here!” Kes shouted gleefully, standing up straight and pointing. “Hi Uncle Finn!” He stopped pointing and waved instead. “Hi Hannah! Hi Lee!”

               “Kes whatcha doing?” Hannah called back. “Daddy I’m gonna go see Kes.” She stated before letting go of Finn’s hand and running to her favorite friend and catching him up in a hug. They always greeted each other like they’d been apart for years, even though they saw each other pretty much every day.

               “We’re planting seeds. I’ll show you how,” Kes took Hannah by the hand and went to the next row with his little packet of seeds and began to instruct her on how to plant like his Mama had said.

               “Afternoon, Sis,” Finn kissed her on the cheek when they hugged hello. “Hope you don’t mind a few extra hands. Though I don’t know how much help we’ll be,” he chuckled.

               “Well we’ve already had two tantrums and a meltdown this morning,” Ava laughed. “So, nothing can really hinder us much more. And we love having you here. Hi Lee,” she bent down and tickled the little boy’s tummy, making him giggle.

               It took another hour and a half to get the whole garden planted and Ava was grateful that it didn’t take any longer because the children’s attention and energy were both vanishing rapidly. Ava insisted that Finn and his kids come inside for a snack before sending them home and sending her own kids up to their rooms for a nap. She checked on the babies, who were under the careful watch of C-3PO. Luke and Ben had come up with a new program update for him to help him pick up on social queues a little better and to understand babies’ needs. Ava still didn’t leave the babies with him long term, just when she had to go outside and couldn’t bring them with, or if she had to run into the city, which had grown up from the original base. Otherwise she had Finn and Rey watch them.

               With the kids napping, Ava had time to work on ideas for the next lesson she was going to teach her Jedi students. She and Rey had taken on a few more students in the past few years. There wasn’t any political or social motive for their doing so. They simply agreed that if there were people out there in the galaxy who suddenly found themselves able to connect to the Force and they wanted some guidance, someone should be there to provide it. Six whole families had come in the last two years so that one of their members could learn to control their connection. She’d planned out some exercises and started on dinner by the time the rest of the family arrived home.

               BB-8 and R2 zipped right into the living room, alongside Shara and Leia, to join Kes and Rora who were making little cities with building blocks. The babies were in little bassinets where Ava could see them just outside the kitchen.

               “Honey we’re home,” Ben snickered, announcing their arrival as he came around the corner from the foyer, followed by Poe and Luke. They smelled of grease and oil and were all utterly filthy. She had gotten used to it though. She enjoyed when her men came home after a long day of working together. They were always so pleased about what they were working on and loved to talk about their most recent projects.

               “How is the new speeder coming?” Ava asked, smiling as Ben kissed her on the cheek in greeting. He had changed so drastically for the better in the last five years. It had been countless sleepless nights of staying up with him through the nightmares. Endless days of building his confidence and ensuring him that they wanted him there with them. They assured him regularly that his past was in the past and it seemed now he finally believed it. There were still days when the sorrow hit, when he thought of Han and was torn up with guilt, or Leia and felt a sharp emptiness consuming him. Being surrounded by his family helped.

               “We’re trying to increase the max speed on it,” Ben scratched his head and went to the sink for a cup of water as Poe stepped forward, kissing his wife on the lips.

               “The engine is meant to go faster but the frame is dragging it back,” Luke added. “We have to find a way to compensate for the weight without losing some of the size and features.”

               “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she assured him, reaching up and ruffling his hair, which prompted him to groan slightly but he smiled. “Why don’t you three go get cleaned up. Rey and Finn are coming with the kids for dinner in about thirty minutes.”

               “Uncle Ben,” Rora scuttled into the kitchen and grabbed Ben by the hand and tugged at him to go back towards the living room. “Come play with us. You can put the top on the tower,” she pointed at a high, narrow, teetering stack of blocks. “Please?” She pleaded, pulling his arm.

               “All right, sweetheart,” Ben laughed. “I’ll help with your tower but then I need to go wash up.”

               “Come on, Uncle Ben!” Kes waved eagerly for him to get over there as he added another block to the top of the tower, watching it teeter slightly.

               “Mom can Jaina come over for dinner?” Luke asked, filling and then gulping down a cup of water.

               “Of course,” Ava beamed. “You know she’s like family.”

               “Pushing,” Poe cautioned under his breath, holding her from behind.

               Jaina and Luke had officially begun dating a few years prior and while nineteen was young still, Ava was hoping to add a daughter-in-law permanently to the family in the near future. Luke had a level head on his shoulders and plans for his future. He’d become a fine young man and Ava was excited to see what his future held, unaffected by war.  

               “I’m going to go shower,” Luke ignored the commentary about his relationship, set his cup in the sink, and hurried upstairs. The little kids kept playing. Ben fulfilled his promise to Rora and completed her tower before ducking into his own room to shower too.

               “Twenty years ago, when you asked me to marry you the first time, did you think this would be the end result?” Ava asked, leaning against her husband, enjoying being held in his sturdy arms. He kissed her on the cheek and sighed in contentment.

               “No,” he admitted. “I never expected seven kids. Definitely didn’t anticipate Ben. Or having an adopted brother, his wife, and their kids living next door. I don’t know if I ever really expected anything other than war for the rest of my life. I hoped. But this is better than anything I’d hoped for. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

               “Yeah?” Ava turned around, smiling.

               “Yeah,” he kissed her happily.

                                                      The End

Last Chapter                      Master List 

[randomconnections]

Thai, Slides, and Drums

Vernal Equinox Sunset over Fidalgo Island – a photograph that has absolutely nothing to do with the attached post, but included because I like it.

For a Wednesday there was a LOT going on. There were trips back into town and to see more daffodils, as well as new musical and food experiences. Here’s a quick rundown of the day…

Laura wanted to see more of the daffodils. We headed into La Conner for lunch at our favorite BBQ place, then out across the flats. Since I’ve photographed these fields many times, I decided not to stop and take photos that looked just like the ones I’ve already posted. Plus, it was starting to get crowded to looky-loos. We enjoyed them from our car, instead.

Laura’s new hammock arrived. It’s an ENO knock-off, but a double-nest hammock plus straps cost only as much as the Atlas straps did for my ENO. It seems to work just as well. While she attempted to read I kept buzzing her with my quadcopter.

I had multiple options for the evening. There was another Irish session at Village Pizza. I seriously contemplated attending, if for no other reason than to bolster my confidence with that genre. Not only was it another Bring Your Own Guitar night, but I had also discovered a drum circle, also in Mount Vernon. I wanted to do all of them.

Thai Food

First, though, was the matter of dinner. I was craving Thai food and had thought that I’d just walk down to Thai House Restaurant. It’s on the same street as Empire Ale, where we have BYOG, so it would be a good close option. Turns out I found an even better, closer option.

I parked right across from Empire Ale on a side street. Right in front of me was a little hole-in-the-wall place called Rachawadee Thai. Balancing between skepticism and adventure lust, I tipped over to the adventure side.

The place was tiny. There was one long counter with about eight seats and a cooking/prep space just on the other side.

I got there right after it opened for its 5:00 dinner service. Already there were a couple of people sitting at the counter awaiting orders. I had just beaten the rush. Lots of take out and eat-in customers filed in after me. Space was at a premium.

Those of us seated squeezed in tighter to make room at the end of the counter. You absolutely had to be sociable in this setting. I chatted with the young woman next to me. Jen told me about her upcoming backpacking trip across Europe, starting in Iceland, then heading to the Scandinavian countries to visit relatives.

The menu has standard Thai fare at reasonable prices for this area. There are warnings that their dishes are hotter than most. Even so warned, I ordered Pad Thai with chicken about medium spicy. It came out hot – much spicier than what we’ve had in other places. It was delicious. I enjoyed my meal and the company, even though perspiration streamed from my forehead. This place is a keeper.

Slide Guitar

From Rachawadee it was just a short step down to Empire Ale. Lisa and Ann were already there getting set up for our slide guitar workshop. Sherry and newcomer Jax joined us. It was a small group.

I’d not really tried slide guitar, but took to it quickly. Lisa had an injured finger on her left hand, hence the slide sessions. She led us through some exercises then we tackled a couple of simple pieces.

About halfway through we switched back to our standard repertoire, but I stayed on slide, playing the melody and trying to improvise against their chords. It was fun.

Drum Circle

I’ve been looking for drum circles ever since coming to the PNW. Sadly, every one I’ve found looked too “New Agey” for my tastes. I just wanted to bang on a drum and make cool rhythms without getting too holistic and spiritual about it.

I finally came across one listed in Facebook that might be tolerable. The event listing described it as “Learn World Rhythm drumming in a fun and safe atmosphere.” Of course, it was the same night as BYOG, but it started a bit later, running from 7:00 to 8:00. The venue was almost right across the street from Empire Ale at the Mortar and Pestle Apothecary.

As I headed out for the evening I tossed my djembe in the back of the car with my guitar, just in case. I figured I could either leave BYOG early and walk across the street, or just pop by later. I decided upon a more casual approach than full participation.

We finished BYOG around 7:30. I invited my fellow guitarists to come along and see what this was about. Only Jax took me up on the offer. We dropped the guitars off in my car and wandered down to the Apothecary.

I wasn’t sure what to expect. When I hear the word “apothecary” I think of an old-time pharmacy. Laura reminded me that this was Washington State, after all, and that an apothecary that advertised herbal remedies might have a different meaning out here.

When Jax and I got there the lights were on, but we couldn’t see any activity. I was about to turn around and head back but Jax tried the door. It was locked, but a set of bells attached to the door rang. A woman poked her head from behind a curtain and approached us skeptical. No turning around now.

As she opened the door a crack I said that we had heard about the drum circle and wondered if we could listen to the last ten minutes of their session. We were led to the “Crones’ Loft” upstairs, where two other women sat with djembes. Mary Ellen was the session leader, Donna was the owner of the venue, and Katherine/Crystal?? (I can’t remember the name) was the other participant.

Jax and I took a seat and the trio started playing some of the patterns they had been learning.

I’d left my djembe in the car since we were just on reconnaissance. They still invited us to join in. Donna passed me her drum and she and Jax took shakers. We went through several rhythms for about fifteen minutes or so.

The group is using patterns from a book entitled Congo Joy. It had the familiar “bass”, “tone” and “slap” notation with which I was familiar from my classes with Ben Weston. However, the book appears to be unavailable now.

Afterwards we chatted a bit. Mary Ellen is an elementary music teacher and a percussionist with the local symphony. I gave them my background in music and drumming. The group was curious about our BYOG events and I invited them to the new Bring Your Own Buckets and Sticks which would start next week.

The venue, the books on healing and spirituality, and the wall decorations led me to believe that this could have easily been pushed into the New Age realm. I was honest and told them that I was glad to find a drumming event that focused on the music education rather than spiritual aspects. Donna said that the spiritual type of drumming was what she originally wanted, but that Mary Ellen had convinced her to go a different direction.

There were only three there tonight, but usually there were from five to seven participants. The group meets once a month, usually on the third Wednesday. I didn’t ask if they were all women or the make-up of the group in general, but the phrase “Crones’ Loft” led me to believe this is mostly a female-leaning group. Even so, they had no problem with Jax and me being there.

As we left Donna showed me around her place. The upstairs loft where we drummed is a reading nook, complete with a kitchen. Downstairs were gallon jars full of various herbs (none of them cannabis.) There were a few small drums, incense bowls, and other items for sale, including “healing teas, herbs lotions and salves” according to the FB page. Donna also makes herbal soaps and showed me a table with her creations.

I thanked Donna for letting us crash their party and having faith in us. As far as she knew we could have been a couple of street thugs just wanting in, but she let us in. As a result we met some nice folks and got to do a bit of drumming. I’m glad Jax went ahead and tried the door.

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[pacamaracatuai-blog]

Taller de calidad: Part one of two!

I had the incredible opportunity to help out with a Coop Norandino quality workshop in a town called El Carmen de Curilcas this past Friday, and I learned a lot. Here’s part one: getting to Carmen and sharing 2016 results.

Getting to the workshop was quite an adventure - buses coming at the wrong time, a last minute change of plans regarding when to leave, and the team being unable to find my hostel and not having my phone number! But I found my ride - obviously the pickup with a sample roaster strapped in the back. It was a long, bumpy and curvy road through the mountains at night, but once the sun rose I saw some of the most breathtaking mountain views in the world.

We arrived and the men carried the sample roaster down the path to the meeting place, along with the rest of our equipment. Upon arrival we were greeted with the small gift of granadillas, small fruits you can drink or eat with a spoon - their gloopy and syrupy sweet filling contains satisfyingly crunchy little seeds. The equipment setup was quick, and then we were treated to a local delicacy for breakfast: cuey, or guinea pig, fried.

First on the agenda was introductions and remarks from the president of the local organization. Then the team distributed cupping results of the 2016 lots that El Carmen sent to Norandino. This town’s coffee, unlike the coffee in Sicchezpampa, is processed by each farmer at home and sent to Norandino as parchment or pergamino coffee. That means that each farmer depulps the coffee from their chakra; takes this product and adds water for a controlled fermentation of about 24 hours; then dries this coffee on a patio to the proper moisture. Farmers can earn more money by doing more of the processing themselves, but they can also cause quality issues with improperly washed coffee.

In 2016, most of the samples from Carmen that had defects were a result of fermenting the coffee too long. This yields a vinegar or rotting fruit flavor in the cup. The team discussed the defect and took questions from the farmers on how to prevent overfermentation; turns out that, not surprisingly, the heavy rainfall makes it confusing for farmers to figure out how long to ferment and sun dry their beans.

After this discussion, we began the quality competition by asking each farmer to submit a sample of their parchment coffee. The coffees were milled in a nifty lab-sized milling machine to remove the parchment layer. Yulie then examined the samples quickly - she removed defects (like the large machines at Norandino’s dry mill normally would) and checked the moisture of each sample.

Instead of a portable moisture meter, she used her teeth - a pretty neat and quite accurate trick! Beans that were chewy meant that that sample was too wet to yield a good cup and would likely take a very long time to roast. Beans that were hard were from samples that were good to go!

Enjoy the photos; part two coming very soon, while my internet is still strong!

[fluorescentmythicalbeastie-blog]

Fantastic Eggs and Where to Find Them - Chapter 5 - Hello, NY

*Back for more! Thanks to my loyal readers who have followed Newt and Tina on their adventure to find Smidgens’ eggs. I suggest you reading the previous chapters if you haven’t already, for this startup hinges on it. Enjoy!*

“Barely anything.” Tina admitted, warily getting to her feet. Newt poured a cup of tea and slid it across the table, encouraging her with a brief glance. Tina took a thoughtful sip of the steaming brew. Newt had just returned from his forest excursion and, after discovering Smidgens' eggs, was very concerned for the safety of the others.

“They followed Smidgens for two weeks before capturing her. Did you see them while you were watching her?” Tina inquired. “They knew where she was for two weeks? They waited that long?” Newt ignored Tina’s question by presenting two of his own, confusion crimping his face.  He didn’t wait for an answer. He set down Smidgens’ papers and covered the wooden surface with the stained sheets, scanning each one individually. Tina came to his side of the table, equaling his concentration and taking particular interest in his sketches. He thought he heard a muttering of “You’re a great artist…” but he couldn’t be sure.

“There were four eggs in total, Tina.” he muttered, tracing his finger across the trail map of Smidgens’ flight patterns. “You think someone stole them?” she queried. Newt didn’t feel the need to answer. Instead, he straightened and began pacing the length of the room, mumbling to himself. He spun around to face Tina.

“Why would they follow her for two weeks without capturing her? During those two weeks—” Newt presented a small sheet of paper from his pocket “—she had three accidents. One involved a muggle—No-Maj—, the second set a department store on fire and the third…” Newt’s voice trailed away. It was difficult to talk about Smidgens in a way that might make her disrespected. The third incident resulted in death of a young witch. After the first accident, why hadn’t they attempted to capture her to avoid more destruction?—Not to mention the great amount of Oblivation that had to be done.

“What do you know about Igor Orgnuk?” asked Newt, gaging Tina’s reaction as he spoke the name of the overseer of Smidgens’ capture. She sucked in a breath and spoke from memory. “He’s been on MACUSA’s list for years. After so many trials, we aren’t allowed to open an investigation until we receive a complaint or find evidence of foul play.” Newt rapped his knuckles against the table for a moment, considering this. “I suppose I could submit a complaint.” he said. Tina shook her head and dropped her soulful brown gaze to her feet. “Do you think Picquery will take anything you say seriously? She’ll think it’s about revenge.” said Tina truthfully. Newt turned away from her and sighed heavily. He felt as if heavy sandbags were roped to his shoulders, dragging him closer into the pit of despair. He felt useless to Smidgens and her eggs. He was sick of being targeted by authoritative figures.

“Newt?” Tina’s voice cut through Newt’s depressing thoughts. He turned to her, expecting to see a look of pity or remorse. Instead, her eyes were beaming brightly and she was standing at attention. “We should head back to New York. I’ll find out more about Orgnuk and you can take care of the egg.” Tina was desperately trying to keep Newt clinging to hope. Newt drummed his fingers on the nearest surface while contemplating this suggestion. It made sense. There was nothing more to do in the forest. “How are you feeling?” Newt inquired. Tina waved her hand dismissively. “Dizzy spells here and there, but I’ll be fine.” assured Tina.

         Newt agreed to the plan and departed the workshop to do a last minute check on his creatures. Tina also wanted to change into the only extra set of clothes she had brought. Newt knew that this, the plan of heading back to New York, was all for the best, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Tina was trying to shake him off like dust from her shoes. Had she come to a decision about Newt? For once, Newt was on the verge of asking Tina outright. No, he’d wait.

           Newt allowed Tina longer time to rest, claiming she needed to keep an eye on the egg. He disembarked from the briefcase and clasped it shut, trekking through the dark forest alone. It was almost sunup when he began the daylong journey to the nearest road. He hummed little tunes, thought of not-very-funny jokes and soaked in the dawn beauty of nature. While doing all these things, he was wishing that Tina was alongside him. When he caught himself thinking these things, he would perform simple spells to keep himself busy. It wasn’t until noontime that Newt allowed Tina to accompany him. He was attempting to be very cautious with her health. He had never had to take care of an ill person before and he wasn’t sure how to go about it. Luckily, Tina seemed to be on the up and up.

“You know,” began Tina, stopping Newt in his tracks. He turned around, swinging his briefcase in front him. When he caught sight of Tina, he was painfully reminded just how beautiful she was. She stood in a swath of sunshine, glowing against the dim timberland background. An abashed smile spread across Newt’s face, giving him a very dopey appearance. “This really is gorgeous land.” said Tina, affectionately patting the tree she leaned against. Newt made a noncommittal grunt and continued walking. He was having trouble focusing on much of anything. One minute he was feeling helpless and full of despair, hoping to continue onward and find out a way to find the other eggs, but the next he was unable to make a plan to save his life—err, to save the life of Smidgens’ eggs. His mother had once described such a feeling to him; he was unwilling to acknowledge the truth behind her statement.

“Have you been to the jungle before?” asked Tina, trailing closely behind Newt. “Of course! How else am I supposed to find an Acromantula?” Newt replied, casting a lopsided grin back at Tina. “Look in the book.” he added upon her inquisitive stare. To his great disbelief, Tina immediately removed his book from her pocket. He hadn’t known she was going to keep it on her person…“An Acromantula is a species of giant spider…”

         The day withered away before Newt’s eyes. He had to admit, despite the ominous overhang of emotions, he had enjoyed his extended trip with Tina. They Disapparated to the MACUSA Headquarters front steps. The large, stone building came into focus after a sickening trip. Newt wasn’t as quick to relinquish Tina’s hand as he usually was, worried she might collapse. Despite looking slightly queasy, she appeared to be alright. “I’ll find out as much as I can about Igor.” Tina promised, her eyes anxiously flitting across everyone passing by the building.

“Thank you.” Newt said softly. It was an odd thing to say during the middle of their continuous plight, but he still needed to say it. After all, Tina had showed him a whole new possible side to his adventures. She gave him comradeship and lent him her energy and time—that was very important to him.

“Mrs. Esposito will still be awake, so go up the fire escape.” said Tina in a hushed tone. Newt cocked his head to one side, confused. Tina rolled her eyes in exasperation. “You can stay with Queenie. She’ll feed you properly.” Tina whispered. Newt was about to protest, seeing as he’d spend the entire night in his briefcase anyway, but Tina was already bounding up the steps. She slowed her stride to a professional looking speed walk, nodding to a wizard who departed the MACUSA building as she entered. Newt watched her disappear through the windowed doors before rousing himself into action. He checked for any Muggles on the streets before Disapparating to the front of Tina and Queenie’s apartment building.

         Once his Apparation was complete, Newt realized just how high up Tina and Queenie’s apartment was. The fire escape looked in need of replacement and was sopping wet from the continuous spring rain that dripped over New York. Newt doubted he could stealthily climb the rickety structure, but he was willing to give it a chance. He quietly scampered across the street, acting as any other pedestrian would. At the last available step, he darted into the empty alleyway, directly beside the slippery ladder of metal.

         It was quite the task to quietly ascend the steep steps, occasionally having to climb a ladder and throw his suitcase above his head. At last, Newt reached a dimly lit window that he believed to be the bedroom of Queenie and Tina. He stooped low beside it, peering between the streaks of rainwater. He could make out the edges of two beds on either side of the room. One was neatly organized and freshly made while the other was a mess of dresses and blankets. Newt allowed himself a brief smile before quickly rapping his knuckles against the pane. In less than a few seconds, a bright face appeared at the window. However, it was not the bouncing golden curls that Newt expected, but a round mustached face—Jacob!

         The window slid open and two pudgy hands gripped Newt firmly by the shoulders, practically yanking him into the room. Newt was alarmed by the hostility in the digging fingers. He remained silent as his long body, muddy and quite smelly, reconfigured itself in the bedroom. Jacob, still short and indignant, stood before Newt with a grimace on his face. “What do you think you’re doing, mister?” the voice was meant to be a threatening growl, but it stopped short and disintegrated into surprise. Jacob’s eyes were fixed on Newt’s, remembrance stirring.

“Hello, Jacob.” Newt said awkwardly, forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to know who Jacob was. This made Jacob drop his hands from Newt’s arms and take a nervous step back. Newt wasn’t quite sure what to do. He didn’t know what Jacob recalled from their adventure together and he wasn’t certain that Jacob was allowed to be with Queenie alone. Nevertheless, he felt a stirring of sheer joy at the sight of Jacob’s curly hair and corpulent appearance. Thankfully, Queenie appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.

“Mr. Scamander!” she exclaimed gleefully. She clapped her hands together before taking excited little steps towards him. “Come in! You’re soaked! Long journey, I suppose. Is my sister with you?” the remarks and questions barreled into Newt like a train. He had already become accustomed to him and Tina’s simple conversations. “Ah, no, she went straight to her office to do some research.” Newt answered as he was dragged into the living area. Jacob followed closely behind him. “This Igor ‘fella doesn’t sound too savory.” said Queenie, painfully reminding Newt that she could read his thoughts. Before being forced into the nearest chair, Queenie grabbed Newt’s jacket and tossed it into the air. It glided gracefully to the fireplace, remaining stationary to dry. Newt hugged his arms around himself, feeling oddly bare. Queenie whisked away into the kitchen, leaving Jacob standing close by Newt’s seat.

“Jacob Kowalski—have we met before?” asked Jacob, holding out his hand for Newt to shake. Newt pretended not to see, choosing instead to fiddle with the golden clasp of his briefcase. “Might have.” he replied, unsure of what would be crossing the line. Clearly unsatisfied, Jacob took a seat in an armchair and began scratching the back of his neck. Newt stifled a chuckle at his friend’s rousing of memory.

         The Goldstein’s apartment was just as Newt remembered it. The crackling fireplace cast a cozy glow across the room. The furniture was slightly shabby, yet still inviting in the warmth of the room. Newt expected to look up and see Tina and Queenie beside each other, maneuvering a dinner into existence. However, it was just Queenie, clad in an elegant pink dress. Newt sighed, realizing that Queenie wouldn’t release him before had dinner. Truth be told, he was feeling the effects of longstanding hunger, but he tried to keep those thoughts away.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

Newt and Jacob both heard it. It was a small rattling noise beside Newt’s sofa. Newt inched away from the edge and anxiously peered at the armchair table. He had noticed the table when he arrived at the apartment two days earlier. It was laden with picture frames, each one containing the smiling face of either Tina or Queenie. Some of them had tall figures standing over the little girls, presumably their parents, and a few contained scenic overlooks in the background. One frame, however, caught Newt’s eye.

CRASH

Half the picture frames toppled over. Metal crashed against the wooden table and a few toppled to the floor, causing Newt to spring backwards. The noise was sure to bring the landlady storming up the stairs and Jacob seemed to know it, too. He was on his feet, shuffling towards the coat closet with a fearful expression his face. Queenie was suddenly at Newt’s side, looking as livid as Queenie could get.

“Mercy Louis!” cried Queenie. The shaking of the apartment had ceased, allowing the sound of loud footsteps to echo throughout the building. Mrs. Esposito was on her way.

*Feedback is appreciated!*

[newyorktheater]

The Fre at The Flea, by Taylor Mac

Two Broadway veterans — Taylor Mac, Tony-nominated playwright of “Gary” and Greg Kotis, the Tony-winning co-author of “Urinetown” – are back Off-Off Broadway this season, and why would that surprise anybody? That’s where they began, it’s where they honed their craft, and it continues to reflect their sensibility,

Theirs are among the 11 shows I highlight in my first-ever Off-Off Broadway season preview guide.

Now, I’ve been doing separate semi-annual preview guides for Broadway and Off-Broadway for a decade – and I also put together a monthly calendar of openings that includes Off-Off Broadway.

But Off-Off Broadway always struck me as too vast*, too ill-defined* and too complicated** to fit neatly into a preview guide. Typically Off-Off Broadway theaters give little advance notice of what’s coming up, the runs are very short and the official descriptions are often too vague, coy or hallucinogenic to be of much help . Yet an Off-Off Broadway show can be groundbreaking, and sublime. This is relatively rare, yes, but the surprise of seeing something sublime Off-Off Broadway – and for as little as $10 – is so much more satisfying than paying through the nose for the pre-certified sublimity of a Broadway hit. Also it’s year-round, not limited to the similar fare in the theater festivals that get so much concentrated attention in January and during the summer. So in the spirit of experimenting that characterizes Off-Off Broadway itself, below are 11 shows that I’m looking forward to checking out this season, organized by the theaters in which they are appearing, many of which are my favorites. And below that, a list of other Off-Off Broadway venues of repute, linked to their websites.  See for yourself what else is playing this season.

  La MaMa ETC

La MaMa Experimental Theater Club is one of the quartet of theaters that gave birth to the Off-Off Broadway movement in the 1960s, and the only one that still survives. Since Ellen Stewart launched the theater in an East Village basement in 1961, it has presented more than 150,000 artists from over 70 nations. It launched the careers of an astonishing array of notable American performers and playwrights. It found a worthy successor in Mia Yoo,  and won the 2018 Regional Tony Award. It is, in other words, the place to start. There are 20 shows at LaMaMa from now until the end of April. I could make LaMaMa my entire preview guide, but I’ve selected three.

The Transfiguration Of Benjamin Banneker January 23 – February 2 This show by Theodora Skipitares, renowned puppet artist, celebrates the life of Benjamin Banneker, a free black man living in Maryland from 1731 to 1806, who taught himself mathematics and astronomy, and made groundbreaking scientific discoveries. It features dance, live music, the Soul Tigers Marching Band, and a multi-generational cast of Brooklynites, including students from Benjamin Banneker High School , a pioneering puppet artist whose Radiant City ,about Robert Moses using giant puppets of his head, was eye-opening and memorable.

One Green Bottle February 29 – March 8 Bo, Boo and Pickle all have plans, but someone must stay home to care for their pregnant dog, Princess. Trivial disputes and slapstick mischief quickly morph into family feuds and also, possibly, to the end of the world. Playwright Hideki Noda is one of the most celebrated theater artists of japan.

The Beautiful Lady April 30 – May 17 With music by the late Elizabeth Swados, and direction by Anne Bogart,

The Flea

Begun in 1996 by a group including down avant-garde legend Mac Wellman, Jim Simpson and Sigourney Weaver, this theater won me over way back after 9/11, with Ann Nelson’s “The Guys,” and I’ve written about its ambitious plans , its new building and new artistic director,, Niegel Smith who took over in 2015.

Leaving the Blues January 16 – February 8

African-American blues and jazz singer and songwriter Alberta Hunter  follows her long-dead friend, black comedian Bert Williams. Written by Jewelle Gomez and produced by TOSOS (The Other Side of Silence), which bills itself as New York City’s oldest professional LGBTQ+ theater I had the pleasure of interviewing Hunter when, after working as a nurse for twenty years, she resumed her singing career at the age of 82.

.The Fre February 28 – April 12 The Fre is written by Taylor Mac, and directed by The Flea’s artistic director Niegel Smith, his collaborator on “Hir” and “24 Decade History of Popular Music” and that makes this show a must-see no matter how weird or uncomfortable it winds up being. “In this queer love story, audiences will literally and figuratively jump into the mud with the Fre to hash out the current cultural divide.”

HERE Arts

Doctors Jane and Alexander January 24 – February 15 A new play by Edward Einhorn about his grandfather, Alexander S. Wiener, who discovered the Rh Factor in Blood. Told through the lens of interviews with his mother, Jane Einhorn, a PhD psychologist and visual artist who had recently experienced a stroke at the time of the interviews Nearly everything I’ve seen by Einhorn and his Untitled Theater Company #61 – from Money Lab  to The Iron Heel  to The Neurology of the Soul  has been, as promised, “a theater of ideas” — inventive and intelligent

  The Tank

I Am Nobody March 5 – 29 An unhinged computer chip engineer threatens to destroy the world. What’s most noteworthy about this production is that it’s written by Greg Kotis, the author of arguably the most successful Off-Off Broadway show ever, “Urinetown.”

  Dixon Place 

One of the venues that simply doesn’t offer much advance notice of its shows, almost all of which have short runs. But I’ve lucked out often enough here to feel it more than a coincidence, and I share their interest in puppetry.

Packrat

January 31 – February 14 nspired by the adventure novel “Watership Down,” this multimedia puppet play follows one peculiar rodent on his journey to discover the interconnectedness of life

NYTW Next Door

New York Theater Workshop offers support and the use of the 60-seat Fourth Street Theatre to a wide range of companies.

La Paloma Prisoner

Based on the true story of a group of incarcerated women selected as beauty queen contestants at the Buen Pastor prison in Bogotá, Colombia, the play centers on a woman who avenged the raped women of Bogotá.

The Bushwick Starr

Bushwick has become something of its own cultural center now, but those not in the know should at least know that it’s just a block and a half from the subway.

The Conversationalists January 8 – 25

I was impressed enough with a  previous show by James & Jerome to be drawn to theirnew one despite the confusion engendered by its description: “James & Jerome create an original movie that plays only inside the audience’s minds. This live “movie” is an international melodrama about the triangular friendship (and sometimes enemyship) between a Colombian-born Mexican-raised pop-ranchera star, her teenage son, and a Palestinian-born Jordanian-raised owner of a chess shop in Greenwich Village. The Conversationalists is experienced at once as a theater piece, a concert, a radio play, a night of storytelling, and a movie dreamed together.”

Jack

Best Life In Melissa Tien’s play, a woman of color can rewind time, but only within the last five minutes. The result: her exchange with a white woman in a cafe becomes increasingly alarming

  Among the other Off-Off Broadway theaters worth exploring:

  Ars Nova Although still offering programs at its Off-Off Broadway building in midtown, it has has taken over Greenwich House Theater, which with 199 seats is an Off-Broadway house.

The Brick has a new artistic director with a stated aim of “multi-week theatrical runs and a dynamic line-up of singular one-off events”

The Clemente , a former school building on the Lower East Side that includes three Off-Off Broadway theaters.

The Invisible Dog

Labyrinth Theater

New Ohio Check out their Producers Club series “we invite familiar and new-to-our-orbit companies into the New Ohio for a couple of days to…test their next great idea.” And DirectorFest

New York Live Arts

Target Margin Theater

Triskelion Arts

Theater for the New City

  *Technically, Off-Off Broadway simply means theaters with fewer than 100 seats, but it’s used as a description of companies as well, not just physical buildings. Many of these companies have no permanent home. A recent report issued by the Mayor’s Office Of Media and Entertainment found “748 small venue theater organizations” spread out across the city. **Few Off-Off Broadway companies give much advance notice: For example, one of my favorite Off-Off Broadway theaters, Labyrinth, lists “World Premiere Play TBA Spring/Summer 2020” on its website.  In addition, some venues offer a mix of Off-Broadway and Off-Off Broadway-sized theaters. Most of the venues aren’t producing their own shows, but presenting the work of other companies. So does it even make sense to organize a look at Off-Off Broadway via venues?

Off-Off Broadway Season Preview Guide Two Broadway veterans -- Taylor Mac, Tony-nominated playwright of "Gary" and Greg Kotis, the Tony-winning co-author of "Urinetown" - are back Off-Off Broadway this season, and why would that surprise anybody?

[rhunterwriter-blog]

The Chemist

It had all started with a flower.

Many years ago Leland had just been a small town chemist, providing whatever medications and treatments his neighbors could have need of.

To fill the time between concocting actual medicines and stabilize his income, he had occasionally experimented with mind altering substances. Nothing really dangerous of course, just compounds to produce mild modifications of sensation and perception.

One day he had received a few potted flowers from one of his regular customers. The man had told him that the flowers grew wild in the area around Resthaven, and that they were supposed to produce a mild hallucinogenic effect. An expansion of perception, his friend had called it.

Leland could still remember his excitement in those first few days, the rush of experimenting with something entirely new, if only to him. He had quickly determined the flowers themselves to be harmless, at least in small quantities, and had moved on to attempting to extract their anomalous effects.

In the end it was a fairly simple process, mostly just a literal distillation, which produced a few drops of transparent green liquid from the petals of one of the flowers.

He had spent hours debating how best to utilize the substance. He had settled for placing one drop under his tongue and washing it down with a glass of water.

For a long while, he thought he had failed. Everything in his home and workshop had looked the same, as had everything outside. That was until he happened to glance at the two potted flowers sitting on a workbench next to his window.

The previously ordinary white and violet bulbs had taken on a fractal nature; constantly shifting and folding in on themselves. They were at once both infinite and completely contained in the space of the flowers. Staring into that space, he could have sworn he saw an entire world of strange foliage and landscapes, all reflected in the ever shifting crystals that somehow grew on a delicate stem.

Leland wasn’t sure how long he had stared at the strange plants that first day, or over the next few days as he tried other methods to coax out the mind altering properties of the petals.

Why the strange flowers did what they did he hadn’t the slightest idea, but over time he discovered that when under the effects of his distillate he could see something akin to auras around strange and anomalous things. People always seemed to have them, though most were pale and subdued. Sorcerers, and others with unnatural abilities, often had stronger auras, somehow both attached to them and not wholly contained within them.

Objects occasionally carried them as well, but only ones with strange properties, or those that had been touched by the anomalous. These always sparked an instant curiosity in Leland; he had always had a taste for the strange and otherworldly.

At first he had sold his new discovery just like many of his other experiments, as a harmless experience for the curious. To his surprise it became extremely popular with salvagers, hunters, and other adventurous types. Apparently many dangerous creatures had a strong and obvious aura around them, making his distillate essential for anyone at risk of encountering such beasts, or searching for objects with anomalous properties of their own.

He had also been surprised at how much people offered him for the substance. It did make sense, when he considered that for some of his customers having it could literally be the difference between life and death.

With that in mind he gladly took their money, and when they couldn’t pay with coin, he almost always accepted trade. For him this was a perfect arrangement. After all, the people he was trading with were also the people most likely to encounter strange and anomalous things, and he was always happy to get his hands on anything that matched that description.

They sometimes traded in other things as well. Mostly books. The ones about Old World science and medicine were always useful. The ones about more esoteric subjects were usually less so, but he valued the few useful bits he could extract from them immeasurably.

Over the years those trades had filled his shelves with all sorts of books and stranger things. At first the later had just been curiosities, but over time he had discovered that he had a knack for extracting and distilling down the effects of the anomalous.

The shelf above his desk held vials, jars, and boxes containing all sorts of abnormal substances. A small vial held a clear liquid, distilled from ice brought from the glaciers in the far north, that instantly froze any water that it came into contact with. Another held a fine powder, extracted from a bag of sand brought from the far west, which would absorb the moisture out of anything it touched. He always kept those two vials as far apart as possible, curious as he was to see how they might interact.

One box held explosive powder. A jar, ever burning fire. Some were the products of his research into Old World sciences, others of attempts to understand and condense the properties of what his customers brought him. A few items he kept purely for himself, others he sold. None of them was ever as popular as his simple floral distillate, and even now, decades later, it still had to be his favorite discovery.

This particular evening he found himself sitting at his workbench, carefully dispensing a pitch black fluid into a small vial. He was under the effects of his floral distillate. One small drop of diluted essence in each of his eyes often helped him with his work, especially for projects like the one he was finishing now.

In addition to his usual business, people sometimes came to him looking for help with particular projects or problems. His latest client had arrived three nights ago, carrying a bottle of warm black liquid. Black Blood.

The man couldn’t have known that Leland would recognize the substance for what it was, but three years ago another man had come calling late at night, begging the chemist to treat his daughter. It had taken Leland quite a bit of time and effort to convince both the father and himself that the girl didn’t have a disease. The girl was becoming a ghoul, and the blood in her veins was in the process of turning black, but her symptoms didn’t have anything to do with illness. It was a transformation. While a ghoul’s appearance changed, in return they gained superhuman strength and speed, not to mention a lifespan greater than that of any human. It was a curse, yes, but also a gift.

At least, that was what Leland had told the girl’s father.

After that encounter he had taken the time to learn more about the process. Because of that research, he was reasonably confident that the blood the stranger had brought him was quite potent. Taken from either a ghoul of the first generation, or Shab’wahyd itself, the progenitor and god of their race.

That was how Leland had known that when the man asked for him to make an extract of the substance’s power, something that would make him stronger than the blood itself ordinarily would, that he was essentially asking for Leland to make him a god. Under different circumstances Leland might have refused outright, but when someone showed up at his door in the middle of the night carrying a jug full of blood fresh from a being stronger and faster than any normal human, he considered it safer to play along. Especially considering the disconcerting aura that surrounded the man.

His work finished, Leland capped the vial containing the results of his last few days of work and sealed it with wax. The man, if man he was, had said he would return in three days. All that was left to do now was wait.

Leland ended up waiting for hours, recording his process and the results of his efforts by candlelight. It was just after midnight when he finally heard a firm knock at his door.

He stood and swung the door inward to find his newest client waiting on the other side. The stranger’s appearance wasn’t particularly remarkable, just an ordinary man in a dark brown traveling cloak. The effect of Leland’s eye drops had worn off in the hours since he had finished his work. He was grateful for that. The sight of the man’s aura made his skin crawl.

“Do you have what I asked for?” The stranger inquired, his voice quiet and distant. As if the sound hadn’t come from his mouth at all.

Leland didn’t answer, he just pulled the sealed vial from his pocket and offered it to the man.

The stranger snatched the vial and, without taking his eyes off of the shimmering black liquid inside, tossed a small bag on the ground at his feet. He turned to walk away without another word.

Leland waited for a few moments to be sure that the man was really leaving, then shut the door behind him, leaving the bag where it had fallen. Presumably it contained the coin that the man had promised, but he didn’t much care. He was just glad that the stranger was gone.

For the next half hour Leland made a show of finishing his notes, but his heart wasn’t really in it. After he had closed and replaced his notebook he walked around the house, checking the latches on the windows and glancing outside to make sure that the stranger hadn’t doubled back. That done, he returned to his desk and retrieved another small vial from a rack in one of its drawers.

Leland wasn’t a judgmental man. For all he knew, the stranger might have made a fine god. His aversion to the man wasn’t the only reason he had decided not to give him what he had asked for. Perhaps Leland could have made the substance the stranger had asked for, but instead he had removed the transformative components from the liquid, rendering it inert, and replaced them with poison.

Not a fatal poison of course, but something that would make the stranger so ill that he was unlikely to ever try the process again. The trick had been finding a poison that produced a convincing aura, but wasn’t strong enough to kill many times over.

Separating out the inert components had by necessity left him with the active ones, and Leland had been torn about what to do with those. The source didn’t bother him over much. They were either alive or dead, and nothing he did could change that. His aversion had more to do with his past experiences with transformative substances.

He had ultimately decided that further study was required. He thought he had managed to discern two distinct functions in the blood the stranger had brought him. The first was transformative, altering whoever was exposed to be more akin to the originator. In this case, Shab’wahyd itself. His preliminary tests had indicated the second was an enhancing agent, presumably responsible for giving ghouls there strength, speed, and long life.

That second substance was what he now held in his hands, purified and distilled, a clear liquid with an emerald tint in spite of its midnight black source. Producing it had taken all of his skill, the result of decades of careful study and experiment. He had also made one small, sentimental addition. A single drop of the essence of those peculiar violet flowers.

Leland had no interest in being a god, but he was getting older. He was well into his forties now, and he was only beginning to scratch the surface of what his work might reveal. If he was right about what he was holding in his hands, he could live for centuries yet, with more speed and strength than he had ever had, and still remain human.

His hands were shaking, torn between excitement at the possibilities, and dread of what might happen if he had gotten it wrong.

In the end, Leland raised the small crystal vial to his lips. He drank the elixir down in a single swallow, trying his best to ignore the taste.

For a few blessed moments, he felt nothing. Then he became aware of a wrenching pain in his guts, and knew instantly that something had gone wrong. He fell to his hands and knees, trying desperately to vomit.

He succeeded in producing a few flecks of a white-green substance, which instantly began to grow and bloom into small flowers as they struck the ground.

It was at this point that Leland realized that he was well and truly fucked. He convulsed, trying to vomit again. Even as he did so he felt something snaking through his body, struggling to free itself from his intestines. Then his bowels released, and something came pouring out.

All his retching produced was a similar sensation in his throat as a supple green growth slithering up his esophagus and protruded from between his teeth.

Leland gagged on the creeping tendril, then realized with horror even as it continued to grow that it wasn’t cutting off his ability to breath entirely. And so he laid there, convulsing on the ground for hours until he was finally torn apart by the fresh green growth emanating from his body.

Even many years later, people still occasionally commented on the mysterious fate of the local chemist.

One day he had been his usual reclusive but friendly self, and the next he was gone, his home reduced to ruins and a massive tree growing over the foundations.

The tree itself was commented on even more often than the man who had lived where it stood. Why did it seem to have shards of white bone embedded in the trunk? Why did it bleed red sap that dried to a rusted brown? Why was it surrounded by strange violet flowers all year round? Why did it seem to sway in the breeze, even when the air was still, and the forest around it quiet?

No one knew the answers to these questions. They would have asked the chemist, but he had disappeared the same night the tree had grown. Most people avoided the ruins, but a few more adventurous sorts swore that they always felt more comfortable under the tree, basking in the constant unfelt breeze and surrounded by flowers whose scent they could never describe, but loved nonetheless.

This one has quite a bit more backstory than I usually put in, I'm interested to know what you think about it.

As always, thanks for reading.

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