#enough to adjust to the way the world changed during the apocalypse

[sangfielle]

i want to make some old guard vampires with their own little faction but i a) don't want to put any more Vampire Politics in nny i feel like theyre already overrepresented and b) don't want to displace them as far north as new england because im conceptualizing these people as all being southerners and while linas in nny and is from ky/tn shes a new age-ish vamp even if she is one of the oldest of that generation idt any of the post-20th century vampires had any kind of sway with the oldheads when lina moved north and certainly not enough to make a group of them uproot like that. so i guess they could be an excuse for me to start picking at another area outside of ny/nj and figuring out how the dissolution of current society shaped that part of the world...

[detachedminxsfics]

Motel

Masterlist

Characters: Negan (Dead City) x F!Reader

Summary: You've grown particularly close with the Motor Inn's personal walker killer and decide to pay his motel room a visit.

Word count: 4.5K

Warnings: NSFW - Oral (m receiving), vaginal sex, hair pulling, shower sex, praise, dirty talk, negan's usual foul mouth, gentle dom negan

A/N: If you're from my tiktok (which spawned the chaos that motivated me to finish most of this bc you guys are crazy), hello! This is my first time managing to actually finish and upload a oneshot in months, so I apologise in advance. I was also extremely tired when I wrote most of this, but I hope it was worth the wait for the handful of you bombarding my comment sections for the past 24 hours. 😂 I knew what I had to do the moment I saw that shower scene...like damn.

You downed your third shot of the day before slamming it back down onto the counter and wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, your eyes idly following the neon lights on the sign hung proudly behind the bar. The Easy Stay Motor Inn. It was a shithole. It only served as a way of keeping four walls and a roof over your head, and walkers off your ass. Speaking of, there was only one guy you'd grown particularly fond of during the month you'd spent working for the lady who owns this place and lapping up the amenities of their accompanying motel, Negan. He wasn't from around here, that much you gathered just by taking one good look at him, but then neither were you. You were both drifters. Heading from one place to the next, never staying anywhere long enough to see it through and find out whether it'd go to shit or hold out long enough before eventually falling to pieces. You just kept moving. That mentality had served you well so far and had kept you alive long enough to say that you'd made it well over a decade into the apocalypse now, not that you had much to show for it.

"Want another?" The guy behind the bar asked, half expecting you to agree to it as you had with all the others and making his way over to the bottle of vodka you'd been chipping away at.

"No thanks", you shook your head with a small smile and slid off the bar stool, "I'm gonna go try to entertain myself someplace else, but don't be surprised if I come back and finish that off later." You gestured to the vodka with a tilt of your head, and the certainty in your tone had the bartender smiling.

You headed towards the backdoor that led to the motel out back, the harsh change of lighting making you squint and shield your eyes to adjust for a moment, the dim vivid hues of the neon-lit windowless bar you'd been sitting in for the past hour or two being snuffed out once you stepped into the natural sunlight. Visual disorientation aside, you made your way down the row of motel rooms lined at your side, your interest only lying with the idea of arriving at one motel room in particular, and you stopped in front of the door when you found it. The door was a stark black to match the wooden panels sitting on either side of the window not too far from the right of the door, vines having wrapped around some of the slats in the wood from the overgrowth of shrubbery on the floor beneath it. It was run down and uncared for like just about anywhere else in this world. You tested the handle to see if the door was unlocked and to your surprise, it was. Twisting it fully you pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind you as you began to observe the interior of the room. It was generically decorated like just about any other room in this place, and he didn't seem to have left anything behind for you to snoop through. The room was so empty that if you didn’t know any better you might have thought that he'd moved on already, packed up all his shit and hit the road. You figured that this was on purpose and probably explained why he didn't care too much when it came to keeping the door locked since he didn't have any shit to steal. Smart.

Negan hadn't been around for too long now, in fact, he'd only arrived about a week after you, but he left a lasting first impression. He was useful. He pulled his weight by taking care of any of the walkers that roamed or wandered into the perimeter of the motor inn, and was never bad company on the occasions that he'd sat on the bar stool next to you and made conversation. As time went on you'd gotten closer and more comfortable with one another, and you quickly found yourself noticing that Negan was the one person you'd opened up to the most in the duration of your entire stay here, better yet felt the most comfortable doing so with. Your vulnerability wasn't one-sided, either. He never went into an awful load of detail, but he had a bad past. He wasn't on the run per se, but there was a group of people that he was hoping to avoid the possibility of encountering for the rest of his days, a community that he had a difficult history with. He alluded to what seemed to mostly amount to horrible shit that most people had done by now just to stay alive, the kind of things you see at night when you close your eyes, haunting you from the backs of your eyelids. You paid it no mind, and you told him that too; he seemed to appreciate your lack of judgement. Gradually, the conversations grew more personal and not so casual, things got flirty. It was subtle, but Negan would make small coy comments on things that you say, or little compliments now and again that toed the line a tad too much for what could be considered harmless flattery or him shooting his shot. You were able to keep yourself humble up until the night when he had jokingly mentioned how good your ass looked in your jeans after more than a few drinks, not that he needed it to let you know just how much he was checking you out. Your thoughts were interrupted by the twist of the doorknob and the sight of it being pushed open afterwards, revealing a rather sluggish and slightly dishevelled-looking Negan. Negan had a silver beard that he seemed to keep well-maintained, the hair decorating his top lip thicker than the rest. His dark hair was always slicked, though it seemed to have transitioned to more of an ashy brown over time with grey tinging at the sides of his hair. He was ruggedly handsome, that was for sure. A grin crept onto his lips when he noticed you standing by one of the beds, closing the door behind him and running his hand through his hair, slicking some of the strands that had fallen out of place in the process.

"Just letting yourself into my place now, huh? We graduating from drinking buddies to whatever the hell this is?" He quipped but was amused by how bold you were to just waltz on into his motel room.

"It's not like you don't want me here." You remarked with a knowing smile as you sat on the end of one of the double beds, to which Negan chuckled and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, a seemingly small mannerism of his that always drove you wild.

"Touché."

He sauntered to the bed next to you until he stood at the foot of it and started to shrug off his leather jacket with a sigh.

"Well whatever it is honey, it's gonna have to wait. I have been out there cracking rotting skulls for who knows how long, and now I need a damn shower."

The checkered flannel shirt he'd been wearing open underneath it was next, him tossing it on the bed in front of him before his fingers brush over the hem of his black tank top. He glanced at you with the material still pinched between his fingertips, a cocky smile creeping onto his lips as he noticed the way you were shamelessly staring at him and didn't seem to plan on stopping anytime soon.

"You gonna watch me strip now too, darlin'?"

You playfully shrugged and let your eyes wander down his torso, an eye movement Negan most certainly followed judging by the way his smile grew, as did his ego.

"I can turn around if you're too shy, Negan."

The throaty chuckle he let loose was almost immediate, his eyebrows raised as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Me, shy? Fuck no. You can stare your little heart out, and you would most definitely be staring."

Well, you certainly hadn't expected him to take it with such pride, so you caved and turned so you were facing the wall next to the bed. You could hear the sounds of clothes falling against the sheets and the clinking of metal as he undid his belt, and then the zipper on his leather pants.

"You still thinking of sticking it out here for a bit longer? I know last time we spoke you weren't so sure." Negan muttered as he got his pants down to his ankles and started to try to shake his ankles out of them.

You thought for a moment, then sighed a little.

"I think so? I don't know, I'm just trying to go day by day. Why, would you miss me?" Your tone picked up towards the end as did the enthusiasm in your voice, the suggestion making Negan's sudden laughter start in the form of a snort.

"Miss you? Shit, course I would. I'd probably move on from here after that."

You opened your mouth to speak but found yourself unable to form the right words. He made it sound like you were the only reason he was still staying here, and that without you there'd just be no point. You didn't ask him to elaborate though, just silently rolled the thought around in your head.

"Well, time to take that shower. I'll be right back, and I don't know maybe we can grab a drink or some shit afterwards?"

"Sure." You mumbled in response.

After that all you heard was the soft tread of his footsteps as he made his way past you and into the bathroom, then the sound of the water being turned on and beginning to crash against the floor of the shower for a few moments before it became more muffled with Negan's body interrupting the stream, and you turned back to face something other than the blank yellow wall you'd be staring at whilst he was stripping. You did your best to focus on the small details of the room to occupy your head, the peculiar framed pictures decorating some of the walls, and the hideous design choices when it came to the taste of the room, but it was no use. All you could think about was what Negan had looked like underneath all those clothes when he was a mere few feet behind you, and what he looked like right now standing in the shower in the very next room, the image of water droplets trailing down his torso and body making it harder to stay seated with every passing second until you just couldn't take it anymore. You stood to your feet and made your way to the bathroom, standing in the doorway for a moment as you stopped in your tracks. The shower had a sliding door that Negan had slid shut, the distortion of the glass still allowing you to be able to make out the sight of him with his head tilted town and one of his palms pressed up against the wall, and the tattoo decorating his shoulder blade. There was no turning back now, you had made up your mind. You approached the glass and gave it a soft knock, the sound startling Negan a little as he turned and slid the glass just enough for him to lean into the gap he'd made.

"Everything okay?" He asked, concern tinging his voice as he used his other hand to sweep some of the hair that had fallen into his face back in place.

Your only response was the sight of your fingertips grasping the hem of your top before you pulled it over your head, holding the top in your hands for a moment as you gazed at him, trying to gauge Negan's reaction to your now exposed breasts. He seemed taken aback for a moment or two, and then his eyes darkened with lust.

"Can I join you?" You asked, fingers teasingly dancing along the waistband of your jeans as though you could tell by just the look in his eyes that he wasn't going to deny your offer.

He didn't.

"Fuck yeah you can." He rasped with a shit-eating grin, leaning back and pushing the sliding glass all the way open to make room for you to join him.

You stripped until there was nothing left, discarding all of your clothes into a pile on the tiled bathroom floor and stepping into the shower with him. The first thing you noticed was the heat. The steam from the hot water, the heat coming from Negan's body, all of it swarming your body with warmth. Then, him. All of him. From the water droplets falling from the scruff of his beard, the dark hair decorating his chest and trailing down the centre of his torso, and even the skull tattoo inked on the right side of his chest. The man was gorgeous. Your eyes dragged down his body, drinking in every inch of him until you got to the part you'd been anticipating most, but were interrupted. He cupped the underside of your jaw and urged your head back up, his thumb brushing along your chin as the tip of his thumb traced just along the edge of your bottom lip.

"You like what you're seeing, huh?" He seemed to be making more of a statement than genuinely asking, but you entertained him nonetheless.

"A lot." You replied simply, the intense and lustful look your eyes were lit with corrupting your stare as your eyes bore into his.

"Good."

He used the hold on your jaw to guide your lips to his, his lips claiming yours. The hand that had been cupping your chin moved to grasp the nape of your neck, his other hand gripping your hip and drawing your body against his. You could feel him hard against your thigh as he groaned into the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth so you could taste him and his hands keeping you pressed firmly against his body, your own hands beginning to wander from the top of his chest down to his abdomen. The water cascading down his shoulders caressed along your fingertips and down your breasts, the warm water trailing down your body whilst he continued to move his lips against yours until you couldn't breathe, and you were forced to pull back for air. The moment you did Negan dove his head into the crook of your neck and pressed his lips against your pulse point, gently sucking the skin there and occasionally teasing it between his teeth in a way that was sure to leave marks, his beard scratching along your jaw as he did. The attention he paid your neck had your hand rushing up the nape of his neck and into his hair, combing your fingers through the back before taking a fistful of his wet strands. The slight tension on his scalp and the way your breath was shaking right by his ear made him pause for a moment to smile against your skin, a hoarse chuckle following shortly thereafter. The warmth of his breath from the laugh felt hot on your skin, and you used the strands of hair you'd taken in your palm to urge his head back until his face was inches from yours again. His tongue swiped over his bottom lip when you found your voice.

"You've thought about this before haven't you, fucking me?"

His brows raised at your boldness, the corners of his mouth fighting a smile.

"Damn right I have. I'd have to be blind or crazy not to, you are easy on the eyes, darlin'."

"Oh?" You tilted your head as you feigned mock surprise, his eyes looking you over like you were good enough to eat, and you might just let him.

Slowly you leaned in and seductively ran your tongue over his lips, finishing with a small kittenish flick at his top lip before leaning back. You soaked up the wanton look in his gaze when you sank to your knees, your eyes locked with his all the while. Now kneeling on the floor of the shower you reached up and closed your hand around his shaft, the way his breath caught in his throat once he felt your touch giving you the encouragement you needed to lean in and run your tongue over the swollen tip, beads of precum gathering along your tongue as you did. As you licked at it you felt Negan's fingers stroke over your hair before he started to gather it in his hand, all of your hair soon clutched into his fist like a makeshift ponytail.

"Don't be a tease." He warned as he slid his free hand underneath your chin and cupped it, allowing him to use both the grip on your hair and your jaw to urge you forward.

Willingly your lips parted, his cock sliding past your lips and into your mouth.

"Fuuuck, there we go." Negan slurred as he slid further into your mouth, stopping just before he reached your throat.

He grunted once you flattened your tongue on the underside of his shaft and leant forward, bracing one of his hands against the tiled wall of the shower when he lowered his head to look at you.

"Shit, you look so good with a mouthful of cock." He rasped crudely with the dirtiest smile before pushing himself down your throat, and you fought the urge to gag as he did.

He started to move his hips, the motion prompting you to place your hands just above his knees for support whilst he slid in and out of your throat. Soon enough tears began to well in your eyes, the urge to choke too great as you finally gagged on him, the sensation making Negan momentarily screw his eyes shut before sliding out of your mouth. He let you breathe for a moment or two before he was already pushing down your throat again, his groans getting louder and deeper with every thrust.

"Ohh, good girl." He cooed, his sounds of pleasure gradually turning into a blatant string of curses as he repeatedly thrust down your throat, and you shamelessly took every single inch.

Eventually, the movement of his hips got slower, his moans getting louder until finally his hips stuttered and his abdomen began to tense. He tightened his grip on your hair, the harsh grasp burning your scalp, and then you felt the hot wet spurts of warm liquid coating your tongue. You waited until you knew he'd spilt every last drop and then carefully removed him and swallowed his release, your breath a little laboured whilst Negan hovered above you with totally ragged, uneven breath, his eyes half-lidded as he tried to come down from the high of his orgasm. A few tears had escaped your waterline and slid down your cheeks as he fucked your throat, but it had mixed with the occasional stream of water trickling down your face from the shower.

"You did so good, baby. So good." He praised as he finally released your hair from his hand and started gently running his fingers through it instead, his touch soothing some of the pain he'd inflicted upon your scalp.

You stayed like that for a moment just listening to the sound of the water until you felt his hand leave your hair and the sight of him extending it out in front of you for you to take, which you did. He helped you to your feet and wrapped his arm around your waist the second you straightened your back, his mouth crashing against yours and allowing him to taste himself on your lips, the urgency with which he kissed you making you moan into the kiss a little. Whilst he stole your air Negan guided you backwards until your back came to press against the steamy tiled wall, the condensation pooling on the tiles smearing against your skin, and the faint coolness to it making you gasp. You wrapped your arms around Negan's neck to draw him in closer, your hips subconsciously moving to bring your groin against his and allowing his still proudly hard cock to brush against your inner thigh. You broke the kiss to try to regulate your unsteady breathing, leaning back just enough so that your lips were practically still brushing, the hot heavy pants Negan breathed against your lips making you need him all the more.

"Negan?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you inside me."

He couldn't hold back the dangerous look his eyes filled with when you whispered exactly what you needed, an arrogant look in his eye as he leaned back and cockily smiled.

"Your wish is my command, sweetheart. C'mere."

He slid his hands all the way up the backs of your thighs, towards your outer thigh, and then took hold of your hips. The gesture prompted you to do a small jump that allowed Negan to hoist you up and trap you between the wall and his body, your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands moved to cup your ass. In one calculated movement Negan lined himself up and sank inside you, the way you stretched around him eliciting a filthy moan from your lips almost immediately.

"That feel good, baby?" He purred, his voice full of arrogance.

He knew it did, he just wanted to hear you say it.

"Yes, god yes." Was all you could manage as he set a hard and intense pace, drawing all the way out before slamming back inside you, the feeling of fullness with every thrust making your mouth fall open.

One of your hands slid down his chest, his dark chest hair brushing up against your fingers as you did, whilst the other slid up his shoulder and moved to rest on the nape of his neck. His fingers were digging into your skin with the grip he had on you, strands of your hair clinging to the condensation of the tiled walls as you slightly threw your head back, uncontrollable sounds of pleasure spilling from your lips from the way he roughly fucked into you. The overwhelming sensation caused you to idly weave your fingertips in the hair at the top of his neck and run your hands through the back of his hair, occasionally tugging at it when he buried himself especially deep and you could do nothing but squirm in his grip. The water was still running just off to Negan's side, the hot water wasting onto the floor and creating a small pool at his feet. With the way you'd angled your body it allowed him to lean in and lick a stripe up the valley between your breasts, your skin feverishly hot against his tongue as he gathered some of the water droplets and left nothing but a trail of spit before beginning to kiss up your throat. He littered your neck with kisses, moving his affections to the side of your neck before planting a few kisses along your jaw, his stubble scratching along the side of your face all the while. It felt like heaven. You couldn't think about anything other than his touch, the way his mouth shamelessly marked your skin, the sounds of his heavy breath and the guttural groans spilling from his throat like music to your ears. By this point your sweet moans grew to resemble sobs, your legs slightly shaking in his hold as Negan thrust into you over and over, and a feeling started to burn in the pit of your stomach unlike anything you had ever felt before.

"Negan." was all you managed to choke out, practically in the form of a cry.

All you felt was his lips claiming yours, and the occasional parting of your lips just enough for him to whisper into the kisses.

"I got you, I got you, baby." He swore over and over, his gentle reassurance paired with his hard thrusts tipping you completely over the edge, and your whimpers getting lost in his heated kisses.

You feel the knotting in your abdomen just before everything comes crashing over you, waves of pleasure ripping through your body and making you clench around him as Negan continues to fuck you throughout your high, your mind hazed with overstimulation. Eventually his movements began to stutter, his abdomen clenching amidst the deep v-lines framing his hips, and a string of gravelly curses poured from his mouth. Carefully, Negan unwrapped one of your legs from his waist and urged you to set it down on the floor of the shower, the other still wrapped around his hips as he held it there. His free hand moved down to his shaft, wrapping his hand around it and giving it a few quick strokes until he finally came. His hold on your leg became more of a firm squeeze as he threw his head back a little and grunted, liquid splashing over the top of your inner thigh and beginning to gradually trickle down your leg. The bathroom was full of steam now, the air thick with humidity and both of your chests rising and falling rapidly as you both tried to catch your breath. After a few moments you felt Negan place your other leg down, his release still dribbling down your skin as you tried to come down from your incalculable high. His breath evened out a little, his eyes still half-lidded when his hazel eyes locked with yours, his gaze capturing you amidst the knowing grin playing on his lips. You were totally fucked out, and the sight made him chuckle.

"That good, huh?" He teased with raised brows, his tongue dragging over his bottom lip making you playfully roll your eyes and manage a small laugh.

"Shut up."

You'd give credit where credit is due, the man knew what he was doing, but you couldn't allow yourself to stroke his almost nauseating large ego any further. He shook his head with a smile, both of his hands smoothing over your waist and then taking hold of it, using it to lead you towards him. You let him coax you to the space closer to the shower head, the water now splashing directly against the back of his neck and trailing down his body, droplets of water simultaneously forming along Negan's jawline and repeatedly falling from his wet beard. He kept one hand on your waist whilst the other held one side of your face, his eyes boring into yours. His head tipped forward so he could rest his forehead against yours, water sliding down his neck when he started to speak in almost a whisper at first.

"If I hit the road, I want you to come with me."

You thought you may have not heard him right at first and leant back with slightly wide eyes, shock etched into your features.

"Really?" You muttered.

"Yeah."

A moment of silence passed, the stare you shared serving as more of an answer than any words you could utter, but you parted your lips to speak and did anyhow.

"You've got yourself a deal."

[heartscfvalor]

Introducing: Branch

Lived underground to get away from the world 'Til I had my life changed by a beautiful girl

WARNING! Spoilers ahead for Trolls, Trolls: World Tour, and Trolls: Band Together, as well as Trolls: The Beat Goes On!

Branch (formally known as Bitty B) was once the youngest member of the hottest band in the Troll Tree, BroZone. With his iconic sunglasses and falsetto made of gold, Branch and his brothers John Dory, Floyd, Clay and Spruce made themselves well known with several records under their belt, until one night during a performance, John Dory was so obsessed with the idea of hitting the Perfect Family Harmony that things fell apart...quite literally. The brothers went their separate ways, leaving little Branch to be raised by his grandmother, until Rosiepuff died to save Branch from being eaten by a Burgen shortly before the Trolls escaped the Troll Tree in Bergen Town. Due to this massive upheaval, no one really noticed that Branch was by himself.

As a result of Rosiepuff's death, Branch became a depressed, paranoid recluse, losing his vibrant colors and turning a flat gray. He spent many years building the hide out that he and Floyd had been planning together, instead turning it into a reinforced bunker, stocking it with enough food and water to last him a decade or more. He started tinkering with experiments, all in the name of self preservation, resulting in his love for rules, regulation and safety. The other Trolls, despite caring for him, began to see Branch as a bit of an outsider; he never sang, never danced, hated Hug Time and his gray appearance was off putting. It also did not help that he often had a terrible and sarcastic attitude.

The one Troll that Branch could not seem to stand was Princess Poppy, the daughter of King Peppy. She was everything he wasn't; effortlessly charming, sweet, kind and always in a bright, upbeat mood. She was always inviting him to parties, and he always refused, but secretly held onto every invitation, hiding them away in a cubby within his bunker; as time went on, Poppy's endearing kindness thawed Branch, just a little. He definitely developed a crush on her by the time they were teenagers.

It all came to a head when, twenty years after the escape from the Troll Tree, the Trolls were found by Chef, a vengeful Bergen who's specialty was cooking Trolls for Trollstice, all because of Poppy's wild anniversary party. When Poppy came to Branch for help, Branch simply told her she was an idiot and tried to make her leave; she responded by having all of the Trolls break into Branch's bunker before setting off to rescue their kidnapped friends, and Branch finally escaped his bunker by the third Hug Time because he couldn't handle the stress.

The adventure that followed was just as stressful, starting a rivalry with Cloud Guy and almost getting eaten by Bergens; but Branch regained his True Colors during the journey, and Poppy was able to make peace with the Bergens so that Trollstice was no longer something they needed to feel happy.

The next adventure was stopping the Rock Apocalypse set off by Queen Barb of the Rock Trolls, who wanted to unite all of the Troll Kingdoms under one music genre. Poppy was able to save everyone by destroying their Strings, and reminding them that music was inside their hearts, saving them all, before heading home and trying to adjust to the new normal.

When King Gristle and Bridget, Poppy's best friend, were getting married, John Dory came back into Branch's life to ask for help in saving Floyd, who was being held captive by some wanna be fame leechers; despite Branch's reluctance, he agreed to help, first in tracking down Clay and Spruce, now renamed Bruce, before going to Mount Rageous to save Floyd from certain death. With BroZone finally reunited, Branch has hope that maybe the family he felt so rejected by can heal together.

My Branch is also taking inspiration from Trolls: The Beat Goes On. He's become less of a paranoid recluse and more of a rule loving fanatic; while he's struggling to come out of his shell more often, Poppy and their friends are there to catch him if he falls, and he appreciates that more than words can say... but don't tell Poppy. He's got a reputation to uphold, after all.

[cathalinaheart]

I miss your battle cry – Reveals!

The @cap-ironman 616 month is coming to a close, which means it is finally time to reveal the podfics made for the 616 SteveTony podfic exchange! Here are all the wonderful podfics that were created. Give them a listen!

[Podfic] Heart Covered in Smoke by  GoLBPodfics for grrreed_pods [T, 00:17:41] And now Tony's standing here, at the end of the world, and Steve's coming to kill him. Honestly, he can't think of a better way to go.

Nothing Pure Enough [podfic] by grrreed_pods for Cathalinareads [M, 00:15:50] You shouldn't be able to develop a Hanahaki fixation on someone you've never met who's been dead for decades. But Tony has always been special. 

[Podfic] Fifty/50 by  Cathalinareads for  GodOfLaundryBaskets [M, 00:52:57] Adjusting to life after the great Avengers vs. X-Men debacle is hard enough, but since when have the Avengers ever caught a break, anyway? When some rich dudes pool their funds to build the creepy and possibly unstoppable Angels of the Apocalypse, Tony has an idea to fight them off, but it involves exploring something he forgot during his SHRA days. The other Avengers look to Steve to solve any SHRA-related discussion, but this decision is tough. It's basically fifty/fifty. Steve might as well toss a coin, but saying yes or no to one decision couldn't be that world-changing? Could it?

You and Me and Him, by navaan (podfic)  by cookiemom6067 for DepressingGreenie [T, 00:26:44] If you live in the same house, it’s really hard to keep your secrets. Especially if you are good friends. He doesn’t mean to watch as closely as he does, but it’s obvious to Steve that Tony and Iron Man are in a relationship. Right?

Twenty-First Century Boy [!Podfic] by DepressingGreenie  for cookiemom6067 [G, 00:34:38] A portal crashes into Steve and Tony during a mission, bringing them to an incredible spaceship in the utopian 25th century. Steve assumes they'll be stuck in the future together, but soon learns that not only has time travel been perfected and regulated, they're also free to either stay in the future or go to any time and place in history. Steve doesn't want to stay in the 25th-century, where he'll be competing with advanced technology for Tony's attention and stuck in an era with no need of Captain America—or Steve Rogers, for that matter. Obviously, Tony's going to stay in the future. Right? Right. So Steve's just going to enjoy these last hours together before they never see each other again.

[helaintoloki]

Hey lovin this prompt list sooo much!! I was wondering if you could write #38 from the 50 wordless things to say I love you list, with Five from TUA? Thanks :))

*38: letting them warm their cold hands under your shirt // taken from this prompt list

warnings: language, mentions of hypothermia, soft!five

“Shit,” Five curses lowly, making sure to keep his voice down so that you remain unaware of his frustrations. He doesn’t want you to worry, but he also knows that if he doesn’t get this fire going soon you’re going to die of hypothermia.

The weather conditions had been harsher than usual these last few days, and when the snow began to fall you’d been forced to hole up in the best shelter you could find. The basement of a church that was no longer standing was your only option, and though it kept you protected from the storm the insulation wasn’t enough to keep the cold out. Five did his best to keep the two of you warm with as much layers of clothing as possible, but it didn’t seem to be doing the trick for you as you sat huddled up against the wall shivering incessantly. You were only experiencing the first stage of hypothermia so there was still time to make it better, but with the fire refusing to start and Five growing more frustrated by the minute the situation seemed very bleak. But he wasn’t willing to give up on you just yet, and there was no way he was about to surrender the only thing that kept him sane since his arrival in the post-apocalyptic world to a snow storm. Not on his watch.

“Five?” You call gently, eyelids suddenly feeling very heavy as you try to blink away the drowsiness. “Can we go outside?”

“Not yet,” he replies in an equally gentle tone, his gaze taking you in carefully and his chest tightening at the sight of you. You’re beginning to succumb to the fatigue that accompanies stage two of hypothermia as well as confusion. He steps away from the fire for a moment to wrap you in another blanket, making sure to tuck the edges in tight so you’re completely encompassed in the ragged fabric. It isn’t much, but it’ll slow the process down just enough so that Five can have a chance to get the flames going.

After five frustrating minutes, the boy is finally able to get a small fire going. He’s quick to add in extra firewood to increase the size of your new campfire before quickly rushing over to you and escorting you to sit in front of the furnace. He makes sure you’re sat as close as possible and removes some of the blankets so that you don’t completely overheat. You’re exhausted, eyes shutting for longer periods of time than normal, and Five has to be sure to give you a gentle nudge each time you begin to nod off.

“Hey, stay awake,” he urges. “I know you’re tired but you need to stay awake for just a little while longer.”

“I’m cold,” you complain with slurred speech, prompting Five to furrow his brows with worry. Carefully taking one of your hands in his own, he inspects your fingers and finds that the tips are beginning to turn blue. You’re going to be okay now that the fire is going, but it’s going to take some time before you completely warm up, and Five doesn’t want to take any chances.

“I know you are. I promise it’s going to get better soon.”

He repositions himself so that he’s sitting comfortably close to you before taking your hands and slowly tucking them away underneath his many layers of clothing. Unlike your icy fingertips, his skin is warm and soothing to your chilly hands. A small sigh of contentment leaves your lips at the newfound warmth, but Five is stiff and uncomfortable as he adjusts to the sudden temperature change. Goosebumps litter his skin, but the act seems to help and for that he’s grateful. Can’t have you freezing to death on him.

“Can I go to sleep now?” You ask again, body slumping against Five’s form beside you. He checks for your pulse and finds that it’s beginning to strengthen, so it couldn’t hurt to allow you a chance to rest now.

“You can sleep now,” he finally permits, and he doesn’t miss the small smile of triumph that etches itself across your features as you shut your eyes and begin to sleep.

Five decides he can’t afford that luxury this time. He stays awake the whole night making sure to keep the fire going and checking your pulse every other thirty minutes to confirm that you are, in fact, alive. You weren’t built to survive an apocalypse, weren’t trained to fend for yourself like he had been, and so despite how much he often complained about having to carry your weight during your travels together, he felt it was his job to keep you safe. Despite all the destruction and all the chaos surrounding you both, you always managed to keep a smile on your face and never once let the darkness get the better of you. You were different and you were special, and Five would do anything in his power to make sure your light was never snuffed out.

When you wake the next morning your hypothermia is completely gone, though you now have a case of the sniffles and can’t travel until both the storm has stopped and your health has improved. But Five doesn’t mind tucking you in each night and feeding you soup, and whenever you grow cold he’s the first to offer the warmth of his body heat underneath his clothing for you to warm your hands— it worked like a charm the first time, and now it’s become a clutch the two of you rely on whenever you begin to teeter on the edge.

Five takes care of you, and in return you make things less lonely. And no matter how tough things get, it’s a solid deal you both can get behind.

[iceeckos12]

tma fic recs

I’ve seen a couple of fic rec posts floating around. since ive been reading so many excellent fic recently, i thought that id make one as well! please note this list is going to be 99% jonmartin. also buckle up, because this is going to get long.

Completed

the umbrella by Wildehack (tyleet)

"And to think—all of Jonah Magnus’ carefully laid plans, the centuries of scheming, the murders, the sacrifices, all of that work could have been completely undone if Martin Blackwood had gone back for an umbrella" - holdthosebees

Notes: This is probably my go-to fic if i want an apocalypse never happened scenario. The jonmartin is wonderful, as is the h/c.

Diary and Prenon-nous la main by luftballoons99

Diary summary:

Not for the first time since they ran away together, a camera reel of all the things they don't know about one another whirs behind Martin's eyes, and he can't help but look at all the sprawling magnetic tape and wonder if they’re going to wind up a romance or a tragedy.

or: Office parties, garage bands, and the joy of being known.

Prenon-nous la main summary:

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

Notes: Do you love impeccable safehouse jonmartin characterization? do you love characters grappling with the mortifying ordeal of being known? do you love softness so tender that it makes you want to weep? please read these fic. im begging you.

i’ll tell you about all the times i’ve smiled because of you by cryptidkidprem

Summary:

Martin thinks about their shoes, sitting beside each other on the floor by the bed. Thinks of the way Jon wears Martin’s cardigans more often than he wears his own, the way Martin’s started keeping elastics around his wrist because Jon always forgets his own when they go out.

He thinks about all the gentle touches and fussing over each other they’ve done, and how much is still to come over the next… however long Jon will have him.

They have a long way to go, an entire life to build out of the wreckage Jonah Magnus and Peter Lukas left them, but laying together in a comfortable, sleepy quiet, Martin thinks they’ve got a good start going.

Or, Jon quits the Institute, saves the world, and it turns out to be exactly what he needs in order to heal and start moving forward towards building a life with Martin.

Notes: how many times have i reread this fic? more than i can count. jon quits the institute and it’s just full of soft jonmartins. they get married! god i love them.

go softly by doomcountry

Summary:

And there is nothing else besides this.

Notes: every time i remember this fic i reread it. please heed the tags because martin is blinding jon, but he’s like. blinding jon in the most heartbreaking way possible. idk how the author made this so tender but i know i was certainly crying so!

The Reverb in These Holy Halls by  Wolftraps (AlwaysBoth)

Summary:

Undoing the apocalypse would have been enough for Jon, if all his people survived. Without them, Jon's only recourse is making it so it never happened in the first place. He's going to do better this time.

Notes: Do you like time travel fixits? i sure like time travel fixits. reverb is an excellent one. heavy on the h/c, I wanted to hug jon so so badly. 

Yesterday is Here by  CirrusGrey

Summary:

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking. The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him. "I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. -------- Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

Notes: Yet another time travel fixit! also excellent. the teasing was HYSTERICAL. also Im just going to say this now - CirrusGrey in general writes incredible tma fic. You can’t really go wrong.

unassigned supplementals by  bibliocratic 

Notes: I won’t put in a summary just because it’s a long series of oneshots, but bibliocratic’s writing is amazing. Again, you can’t really go wrong with one of their fic!

let the soft animal of your body by autoclaves

Summary:

Standing in the warm kitchen, slats of sepia light filtering through onto the counter in front of him, Martin doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He half expects them to go through the countertop entirely, glossy and solid as it is. He isn’t used to any of it, yet. The safehouse. Jon. Beams of sun pouring into his hands. After being deprived of everything of significance for so long, the longing that crashes over him is almost painful in its tangibility. He wants to laugh, to sob, to scream and hear it echoed back against the neat, square walls of the safehouse.

In the end, he doesn’t do any of these things. He makes eggs instead. He can do that, can’t he? Use his hands for something simple and plain and good.

(Or: In the safehouse after it all, Martin starts cooking.)

Notes: this fic really speaks to me a) because i project on martin like crazy and b) because food is also my love language. this fic is incredibly soft and it’s all about cooking!

“Have you tried turning it on and off again?” by shinyopals

Summary:

I hope you find your new role as Head of the Institute as rewarding as captaining the Tundra, wrote Elias Bouchard, to Peter Lukas. There are so many people working there: all with their own interesting lives, and all desiring your attention and support. I'm sure you will relish the challenge it will bring and enjoy every moment spent with the fine men and women of the Institute. In time I'm confident they'll become like a family to you.

The Magnus Institute has a new boss. The Magnus Institute also has a new tech support technician. These two facts are unrelated, except they both happen at the same time.

Meanwhile Jon's woken up from being dead for six months and for once he's trying his best. He just wishes Martin would stop avoiding him and answer his messages...

Notes: if you’re looking for a good laugh, this fic is SO SO SO FUNNY. i was dying. basically the magnus institute being an absolute bureaucratic nightmare.

hello my old heart  by  firebirdsuite

Summary:

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

Notes: it’s all about the yearning. and trust me, the yearning in this fic? im just. i sure do love jonmartin, and this is such soft, loving jonmartin it just makes you want to cry

two ships passing by pyrites

Summary:

Gerard Keay is 10 years old the very first time he tries to run away from home, right around the time that Jonathan Sims has just come into possession of his first Leitner.

Or: One dropped stone can change the way the whole ocean moves.

Notes: again, JONGERRY. MY GOODNESS. this fic is beautiful, the writing is absolutely breathtaking and it owns my heart. im so in love with it. the author said you’re going to have emotions about jon and gerry and jongerry and i said OKAY

Terminal Sight by viv_is_spooky

Summary:

Spider silk weaves through the visions of two Seers. Monstrosity is dawning on them both.

Notes: I’d never read a gerryoliver fic before this, but the execution is EXCELLENT and now im sold on the ship forever. This fic has wonderful prose and great characterization and i love it a whole lot.

Incomplete

assistant archivist au by  PitViperOfDoom

Notes: I won’t put a summary since I’m reccing an entire series, but. it is absolutely no secret that i adore jongerry. pit’s assistant archivist au slapped me over the head with some gorgeous jongerry oneshots and then gave me the gift of the main fic (which is still in progress) about head archivist martin. i love this au so so much

dustsceawung by  callmearcturus

Summary:

Martin had always been favored by the summer courts, and moving up north to the little village of Lacuna is a difficult adjustment. It's rainy and lonely and everyone seems to have a strange, distant relationship with the local faerie court.

However: there is a strange man in a cloak who walks past Martin's remote little cottage every few days.

However: there is a moth that keeps getting stuck in Martin's house during the rain.

These events are not as disconnected as they first appear.

Notes: you ever just read a fic that you didn’t know that you needed until after you read it? yeah. featuring the fae and moth jon and excellent characterization.

Illicio by ThatOneGirlBehindYou

As the new Archivist debates between life and death, the Eye ponders on what to offer him in order to avoid an encore of the unfortunate situation with his predecessor.

-----

Gerard Keay opens his eyes at what feels like fuck-ass in the morning, inside a room with far too little space and far too much dust.

Notes: This is also the moment where I reveal that im a sucker for jongerrymartin. please read this fic. gerry is brought back from the dead in s4 and everyone is far better off for it.

where there’s a will, we make a way by bubonickitten

Summary:

"So, what does happen if an Eye learns to See within itself?

What happens is this: the Archive Beholds the Watcher – and the Watcher blinks first."

________________________

Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Notes: this time travel fixit is shaping up to be an absolutely incredible read. i love the way this author writes jon so so much, and the characterization is spot on. this whole fic just satisfies some little part of me. god. also!! bubonickitten’s writing in general? beautiful. please check out their other works.

The Timeline of Theseus by Applea

Jon tries to force the Spiral to send him back, but the Sprial's corridors never twist things quite the way you want them to. Back in 1996, Elias has no idea why or how the Eye made such a powerful Avatar out of an 8 year old, especially when said 8 year old doesn't actually know he has any powers at all. Clearly such a child cannot be left outside the Institute's care. 

Notes: This fic is legitimately brilliant. The author manages to capture the big ADHD mood and the precociousness of baby Jon while managing to write a wonderful storyline. Time travel! Elderly lesbians! A Jonah who is wildly in over his head but was walloped over the head with paternal instinct! Baby Gerry! What more could you possibly ask for?

rooms full of people who do not love each other yet by seaer

Summary:

“Wanted to ask about a book.” The boy has his hand on the counter, and he leans into it, nonchalant. The library is air-conditioned, but by no means frigid, and Jon can’t help but feel sweaty just looking at the layers he’s wearing; what looks like old leather over an olive-green Magnus pullover over his school shirt. “Do you have A Journal of the Plague Year?”

Jon says, tetchily, “We’re about to close.”

“I know. Do you have A Journal of the Plague Year?”

Notes: I am so in love with this author’s writing style and the way they write the characters!! The jon and gerry friendship is PERFECT and the character interactions are all darling.

if you read these fics please send the authors some love, they definitely deserve it!! 

[nyxdelanuit]

My Kingdom for a Bath (Ojiro x Reader)

This is for the BNHarem’s Apocalypse NSFW Collab!! THE MASTERLIST CAN BE FOUND HERE! Be sure to check everyone else’s out c:

NSFW BELOW~ 

It had been two years since the world you had known disappeared. No one could come to an agreement on what had happened. Some said that a quirk had raged out of control, some said that it was an act of terrorism, and others said it was an experiment to fight global warming and deforestation gone awry.

 All you knew was that two years ago, you were visiting your parents in their modest suburban town one moment, and the next, the ground was splitting apart under your feet. It was pure devastation, a reclaiming of the earth sped up by a millennium. From the fissures grew giant redwoods, consuming houses and breaking people along their boughs. Those that were able took to the skies, leaving those like you scattered among the broken ground.

Few lived through that, and fewer still survived the days to come. So dependent on the culture of convenience, not many were able to find ways to feed and shelter themselves. Those with quirks closely related to nature flourished until people flocked to them, relying on their energies to sustain groups double or triple their limit. Those groups tended to die out quickly, the leader succumbing to their frailties or abandoning them altogether. People that were used to farming struggled to till the overgrown soil, barely able to pull together crop enough to feed what was left of their families. And then there were those like you, who lost everything in the fall: no family, no ties, no way of finding out if your friends survived elsewhere.

 You wandered, the only way you were sure you'd survive. It was a surprise to you that you'd been able to survive this long on your own, but while everyone else had tried looting the remains of grocery stores and cafes, you had focused on raiding the bookstores. Books on survival, camping, memoirs of people lost in deserted areas, as many as you could carry, were cradled in your hold. The most useful for this new world were compiled, using a stray pair of scissors you found to carefully cut out the needed pages and bind them to the others with twine. You had tried for the first few weeks to carry them all, covers and all, but the weight on your shoulders prevented you from finding enough food to keep you going.

 They were invaluable, teaching you how to find clean water and how to make simple snares for small game. More than once, you had held a plant close to your mouth before deciding to check your notes, finding it the more poisonous cousin of a mild vegetable. It made you wonder how many others passed that way before you.

 Now you wandered through the central city, normally an hour's drive from your parent's home. It had taken you months to trek here, through the skeletons of cities devoured by ivy and teeming with wildlife not seen in centuries. They were becoming more brazen as of late, and you had wondered how long you'd be able to stave them off with no more than your survival knife at your hip.

 The city looked more eerie than any town you had traversed. The concrete below your feet was reduced to no more than pebbles providing you traction. Redwoods and cedars towered where buildings used to kiss the sky, the structures that still stood consumed in creeping vines and sinking into the loamy soil.

 You weren't immune to missing the comforts of your old life, that is why you were here after all. On the other side of this sprawling city was an old road, tucked into what had been quaint woods. Following the path took you to a modest hotel, one that you hoped was moderately untouched, for that hotel had been known for the only hot springs within your area. Thinking about it only made you aware of the grime that clung to you like a second skin.

 It was so close, you could almost feel the warm embrace of the water against your skin. Washing yourself in the cold rivers and streams only to be covered in pollen and debris the moment you set foot on land had driven you to the edge of sanity, and those outdoor baths would be your only solace. You felt a surge of energy that hadn’t graced you for months, trekking through the ruins of the places you used to visit. It was a melancholy sight, like seeing the places you walked during the day in the lens of the night. It used to be bustling, always busy, and now you were the only soul in sight scrambling over tree roots the size of cars and through brambles that threatened to embed their thorns into your legs as you passed.

 You had made good time on trekking through the overgrown city. You assumed you were a good few miles into the city proper by the time night started to descend. While you weren't able to wait for unassuming prey to fall into one of your snares, you had hidden away a few portions of meat you had smoked in your bag, enjoying your full belly as the embers of your fire lulled you to sleep.

 That was your intent, at least, until the rustling around you started to sound less like the usual small animals scurrying around you and more menacing, larger. Your hand flew to the knife at your side, dulled from daily use, but the only defense you had.

 You wished you still had enough faith in humanity to feel relieved when a man walked into your clearing. You wish you hadn’t seen how far people could fall when their survival was no longer ensured. But your hand stayed planted on the blade as the blonde-haired stranger made himself known. It eased your nerves a little that he was purposefully making himself known. He made no further attempts to placate you, however.

 “Fire is dangerous around here.” The words he spoke were rough, as if he hadn’t needed to use his voice until now. Your eyes narrowed as a tail swung behind him, kicking up dirt and smothering your sad excuse for a fire. The moon was bright enough that it only took moments for your eyes to adjust. The stranger was already turning to leave.

 “The animals around here will not hesitate to turn on you if you keep making yourself known.” With that, he nodded, moving to leave.

 "Wait…" You called out, not knowing why you were trying to reach out to this man. You had gone so long without relying on others, so why were you teasing yourself with the thought of his company? You watched him pause, turning to you. It seemed that something changed within, and he looked over you once more. For a moment, you thought you could see the shadow of who he was before all of this began.

 “How far is it to your group? I could lead you to them if you wish.” His voice was soft, as if he was speaking to a victim of some great tragedy. You supposed you all were, at this point.

 “I don’t… I’ve never had a group.” You stuttered out, your throat catching on words unused for months. “I’m… not from around here.” He nodded, eyes unfocused as he thought.

 "Neither am I. I was stationed here maybe two weeks before…" Before whatever this world had become. It was funny how, when the world falls apart, people became so xenophobic. Anyone unknown turned away to shelter those they had grown with. What a lousy time for you to be so far from your home. "Would you like to come with me? At least for the night?" A fire burned in his eyes, a desire to protect that you had all but forgotten. You found yourself nodding before you could process his request—anything but staying in the ghost of this place, the dark moving in like an unwelcome visitor.

 He moved quickly, naturally, through the undergrowth. His tail, thick and sturdy, providing him extra support as he glided near silently through fallen leaves. He made you feel clumsy and loud despite how far you had come these past few years. He at least had a mind to make sure you were following him alright, adjusting his pace once he realized you had fallen behind.

 The silence of the night, filled only with the chattering of bugs, unnerved you. Unable to take the creeping quiet, you spoke your name. A small offering to the person saving you from solitude. "Ojiro Mashirao." His voice was tenuous, as if the name would offend. It sparked some dull memory in your mind's recesses, some small thread that you were unable to follow. Your rolled his name in your mouth, savoring the syllables as they fell from your tongue.

He turned to you with a soft smile. How long had it been since he's heard his voice from someone else's mouth? How long had it been since you had heard yours? It felt almost foreign at this point. Ojiro had led you to a massive cedar, the branches reaching out to shelter the area with a pitch-black canopy. You watched in awe as he swiftly launched himself onto the lowest limb, his tail propelling him higher and higher.

 He seemed confused when he realized you weren't following. Even if you had wanted to, the nearest branch fell perfectly out of your grasp. You had doubted the large fungi that littered the bark would hold your weight if you tried to scale the tree using them. Ojiro looked almost ashamed as he watched you struggle below.

You were just a lone citizen making your way through this unforgiving world, you didn’t have the advantages of all the training he had. Snaking his way back down to stand before you, he looked down apologetically.

 "May I?" He held his hand out to you, timidly. Touch. Something else you had almost forgotten. Not like you had much of a choice as you placed your hand in his. With no hesitation, he perched you on his back, adjusting his hold before he vaulted into the sky. It was a strange sort of adrenaline that filled you as he raced through the branches. You hadn't felt the wind upon your face this way since the last time you had been in a car.

 He brought you into the main boughs of the tree, thick enough to relax without falling to your death. It seemed as if he had been here for a while. Things littered the branches, sets of clothes, buckets of water, personal effects salvaged from the town. From up here, the animals hidden at your approach wandered around the trunk, as small as ants.

 You weren't ready to let go of Ojiro's firm shoulders, wanting to keep sinking into the warmth he exuded. Yet some sense of propriety still spoke within you, ushering you from his hold. To distract yourself from these feelings, you took the time to really look at your surroundings. Luminescent plants littered the trunk of the tree, and u were so high up that the air started to feel just a touch thinner.

 "Come, I'll set up a place for you to rest. I can't make a fire, for obvious reasons, but if you stay close, I can keep you warm. It gets cold this far up." You nodded, it was logical, but you were still nervous—two years since you had been this close to someone. You watched as he pulled fabrics from branches, settling them in the cradle of the boughs. It was easily big enough to keep a handful of people nestled in its hold. Your eyes stayed glued to his back, watching the muscle tense beneath his shirt. Even that was enough to send a shiver down your spine, so touch-starved that you were aching to run your hands over his back for a taste of someone else's skin.

 He must not have been kidding, laying blankets and scraps of cloth next to the bundle that must have been his. He patted the fabric as he sat in his nest of blankets, ushering you to his side. You slid into the makeshift bed, not bothering with your boots or your clothes. Sure enough, the air turns cold as soon as you stop moving, driving you closer to Ojiro's heat.

 "So, where are you heading, if not to a group?" His voice was barely a whisper, trying to not startle you from your half-awake state.

 “It’s going to sound really dumb… but there’s a bathhouse on the other side of the city. I just wanted an actual bath, even if it’s in a hot spring.” Sure enough, Ojiro chuckles.

 “And after that?” You dazedly shrug, the lull of another body next to you dragging you into sleep.

 “There is no after that.” The last flutter of your eyelashes before they fell still revealed Ojiro looking at you, concern written over his face.

 You awoke with the sun, something your body had gotten used to. Ojiro was nestled into your side, the two of you tangling together in the night. He blinked awake slowly, not making a move to extract himself from your hold. On the contrary, he looked to your eyes, searching for any discomfort. With the part of you that screamed you were acting impolite hushed by the sleep still heavy in your eyes, you moved closer, burying your face in his chest.

 You didn't speak of the morning once the two of you got moving. Ojiro insisted on accompanying you to the bathhouse, and you weren't eager to rid yourself of his presence just yet. His touches became more assured, helping you over obstacles with the support of his hand, wrapping his tail around your waist when you stumbled. Brushes of hands left unspoken but not ignored.

 With Ojiro's help, you were able to get through town much faster than you expected. If you had been by yourself, you would have traveled the roads you used to know, but Ojiro only knew the paths naturally carved into the landscape. Two years of memorizing this city-turned-forest, and by noon you were almost halfway to your destination. It was bittersweet, you weren't sure how you'd react once this taste of his company disappeared. As much as you had adapted, you missed the touch of another. You could only imagine your hands intertwined as someone else's so many times before you started to feel pathetic.

 As you walked, you shared stories of how you had survived this long on your own. Ojiro listened, enthralled, and worried all at once. You had made so many mistakes, had so many close-calls. The fire he had thought burnt out suddenly blazing in his stomach—the need to protect, to cherish. Still, you impressed him with how you swiftly collected edible plants, giving Ojiro ample time to take down a fresh kill for the both of you. It was such a relief, having a decently balanced meal for once. Something both of you were so thankful for, despite the lack of words to voice it.

 The edge of the city was in sight by nightfall. You had hoped that this night would be as peaceful as your first together, but as Ojiro stiffened, you knew it wouldn’t. His hands flew to your waist, gripping you close as he hopped into the nearest tree. While he focused on finding the areas that would best support the two of you, you watched the sounder of boars scrounge through the roots of the tree. You held your breath as they passed underneath. Boars were known to be terribly aggressive, especially in groups. You could only imagine what would have happened without Ojiro by your side.

 You didn't have the luxury of sprawling out that night, instead you were tucked into Ojiro's arms as his tail wrapped around the tree. The two of you had used the knives you carried to cut the green branches into strips, threading and braiding them together to make enough of a rope to secure the two of you together.

 Sleep didn't come easy between the noise below you and your heart pounding against Ojiro. You could feel his heart echo under your fingertips, and could tell he was trying to adjust without jostling you too much. The morning sun warmed your back, the heat of Ojiro's chest dueling with the flush of your face. It was too much, being this close and not being allowed to touch. At this point, you weren't sure what stopped you, yourself, or the fear that Ojiro wouldn't reciprocate.

 It was easy going, wandering through the fields outside the city. It seemed like every place outside of the towns had just become wild instead of the crazy growths that blanketed the buildings behind you. Ojiro still followed you dutifully as you tried to enjoy the calming warmth and dancing grasses around you. It was even harder to find the road that slithered into the adjoining woods with how broken up the path had become. Yet you still soldiered on, the call of the springs ringing in your ears.

 For a moment, you were disheartened. The hotel wasn’t as bad as most buildings, but it still showed the effects of disrepair. Signs hung off the walls, ivy’s climbed and crept through windows, the masonry started to crumble apart. But your hope renewed as you crept around the side towards the back.

 The fences were all but destroyed, some floating through the bubbling waters. Besides that, everything looked… functional. It wasn't as glamorous as you remembered, but the appeal still stood. Ojiro sent you into the dilapidated structure with explicit instruction to avoid any upper floors and to look for some towels while he quickly got to work clearing the debris from the baths. Much of the building had grown damp and musty, the fabrics inside eaten by the bugs inhabiting the walls, but you finally happened upon a room. The doors were cracked ever so slightly, bringing a fresh breeze through the musty air. Hidden in the storage lockers were towels, once fluffy and smelling of lavender, but still usable. The plush against your hand brought another onslaught of excitement coursing through you, running back to Ojiro.

 You breath caught as you returned. Ojiro had done his best to restore the hot springs, and he had stood in the waters, pants rolled up to his knees, trying to place the bamboo fence back into place. His shirt already thrown to the side, letting you admire every dip of his chest and the pull of his muscles as he maneuvered the fencing into place.

 "To give you some privacy." He offered as an explanation after he caught your stare. It could have been the heat of the water, but you swore you caught the hint of a blush as he turned away. You retreated to separate sides of the fence, and you didn't have the heart to tell him that you could see straight through the missing slats. You turned your back to the opening, gratefully peeling the clothes from your body and throwing them into another nearby pool to wash later. Standing bare to the expanse of nature, you slipped into the water. You tried to hold back the groan building in you as you sunk to submerge up to your shoulders in the warm embrace of the water. All the sweat and dirt lifted from your skin, and you couldn't resist moving to stand under a mild waterfall built into the side. In your search, you stumbled upon some real shampoo and various other cleaning supplies, leaving half for Ojiro with his towel. Now you opened the shampoo, scrubbing viciously against your scalp. You repeated this until your hair felt silky against your fingers, running through quickly with conditioner. This was the closest to heaven you could remember, standing under warm water and smelling of lavender and jasmine. Your skin was rubbed a sensitive pink, but pink, all the same, no longer stained by the grasses crushed under your touch or dirt under your nails.

 You had a chance to really look at your body in the dull reflection of dirty glass nearby. You had grown considerably more lean as you learned to survive, but surprisingly not just skin and bone. It gave you a quick rush of confidence. You looked pretty damn good now that you had gotten a chance to wash away all the years of struggling.

 Finally you could just relax, and relax you did. Propped up against the cleanest edge you could find, you let yourself take in the natural wonder around you. You were truly at ease until your sight slipped to the break in the fence. Ojiro faced away from you, body freshly cleaned and shampoo in his blonde locks. The reach of his arms showed off the muscles in his shoulders, and you couldn’t help but admire how the muscles twitched in response to his tail swishing against the surface of the water. Rivulets of water streamed down his body, contouring to the dips and curves as he rinsed the suds away. So lost in following the water down his body, you almost hadn’t noticed Ojiro turning.

 You rushed to hide your staring, ducking your head under the water. You took the time to calm yourself down, to fight the stirring in your stomach at how good Ojiro looked, before breaching the surface once more. Something that was ultimately worthless, as he stood in front of you, reaching out to you in worry.

"Sorry, I saw you slip, and I-" Ojiro's voice faltered as he finally took you in, body not at all concealed by the water around you, and lust blowing out your pupils. It seemed he had also forgotten how bare he was in front of you, the effects of your body on show for you to see. And see you did, eagerly drinking in every facet of his body. The confidence you had found earlier returned, urging you to stand. The cold air enveloped your upper body, sending goosebumps spreading across your arms and pebbling your nipples. Ojiro watched, enraptured by the reactions of your body, but came no closer.

 He didn't mean to at least, but his tail almost seemed to have a mind of its own, slithering towards you. You accepted it with a brush of your hand, lewd thoughts running through your mind. You allowed his tail to trail down your thigh, the tip tickling your sensitive skin, before you slipped your leg around it. Now his tail lay between your knees, and you watched his face as it slowly trailed up your inner thigh. It seemed that this was all he was going to do as his tail pulled away, the red on his face no longer able to be brushed away as a result of the heat, but then he surged towards you. His hands lay on either side of your waist, effectively pinning you to the edge of the hot spring. His head dipped towards yours, a chaste peck placed on your lips. His eyes searched yours, unspoken questions dancing before he allowed his eyes to fall closed, returning to your lips in earnest. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged him close enough to hook your legs over his lips.

 The water was doing you no favors as he bucked against your heat, and Ojiro could tell too. He wasted no time lifting you out of the water and setting you to sit on the edge. He chased the water dripping down your neck with his tongue, dipping to lap the valley of your breasts. You pushed his hair back from his forehead to watch as he reached up to guide a nipple into his mouth. The warmth of his swirling tongue settled the chill, adding another layer of pleasure to the act. He dropped kisses along your chest as he made his way to the other, a hand trailing down your stomach to prod at your slit. Your legs opened quickly to allow him in, and he groaned against your breast as he dipped a finger into your slick.

 He pulled away to watch your face as he dipped fingers into your cunt, easily stretching you out. You braced yourself on his shoulders, his free hand falling to the small of your back to bring you closer. Ojiro's patience was growing thin if you could judge by how he stole your breath with a kiss, his tongue tracing the seam before dipping in, molding his mouth fully to yours. The sensation of his tongue against yours and his fingers eagerly pressing into your dripping slit.

 The water splashed around his hips as he rutted into the air, quickly pulling his fingers from you. You whined at the loss, eagerly pulling him closer with your legs. He took your suggestion early, adjusting himself to line up with you before plunging in mercilessly. The stretch burned, the water dripping from his cock not a decent lubricant, but it eased with every shallow thrust. You felt yourself grow wet around his length, easing the passage for the both of you, but it still wasn’t good enough. Ojiro’s hands gripped your thighs almost painfully, lifting you from the edge only to settle himself on it, plunging you down onto his lap.

 You were finally full of him, wrapped so wholly around his length. The stone surrounding the sides of the hot spring bit into your knees, but you could hardly care as you rocked yourself on his length. Ojiro groaned, his face falling to place kisses and nips on the juncture of your neck. You were startled as you felt his tail wrap around your waist, the furry tip falling between your breasts. His muscular tail lifted you up, slamming you back onto his length with as much ease as breathing. Your legs fell limp, letting Ojiro use you as a glorified fuck toy. His hands tangled in your hair as he devoured the moans falling from your lips. With his tail fucking you onto his cock, his hands were free to position your legs as he wished, pulling them up to your chest. He was deeper now than anyone had been before, dragging the head repeatedly against a spot that made you writhe in his hold.

 “Please.” He panted against your neck, “Please cum for me, please.” One of his hands drifted in between your bodies as he placed sloppy kisses on your shoulder. He looked almost in pain as he started to draw sloppy circles over your clit, the calloused fingers dragging you to the edge quickly. Your nails bit into his shoulders as you moved in earnest, pleas and moans falling from you like water from the springs.

 The clench of you around his length only spurred him on further, forcing you harder on his cock and rocking your hips against yours before lifting you again. With the rough movement of his tail at your waist, the fingers circling your clit, and his desperate prayers to you, you came with a cry. Ojiro lost himself to your gasps of pleasure, driving himself quickly in and out of your heat until he spilled himself within you, tears pearling on his lashes.

 He was careful with you as he placed you onto the rocks, looking you over for any spots he may have been too rough with you. You heard more than saw him move through the water, coming back to your side quickly. The rough texture of the torn towel in his hand was only slightly softened by the warm water as he took his time cleaning his spend from your legs, laying chaste pecks over every reddening mark on your hips. Ojiro cradled you like something precious before allowing both of you to sink back into the soothing water, enjoying the contrast between the crisp wind and your heated skin.

 “So where are we off to next?” Ojiro murmured against your shoulder.

 “We?” You turned to look at his face over your shoulder.

 "If you'll have me, that is?" You flashed him a soft smile.

 “I don’t think I’m quite ready to leave you behind.” His arms curled around you tighter.

 “I’ll spend every day making sure you won’t want to.”

[gatherthesuspectspod]

A hundred ways to die in Wales

Hello Tumblr!

My first post ever here! I’m still learning the ropes, so please be kind!

This might be awfully presumptuous of me, but you may recognise the name from a few years back. Before all of this happened, I worked for BBC Radio 4 as their Welsh correspondent - a bit niche, I grant you, but I did alright on social media. I even had a blue tick on Twitter before it went down for good. 

At its peak, whatever media you worked in, scoops were delivered on social media. No one went to the radio or the newspapers for breaking news. Hell, even the TV news was struggling.  So, even radio journalists like me had to be twitter savvy, you know? 

It does make me wonder how Tumblr survived. As a journalist (well, former journalist) I should probably have done some research and found out…  

 My housemate, Jack, suggested I start to keep this blog so that he, in his exact words, ‘wouldn’t have to listen to me moan about not being a journalist anymore.’ So, here I am, coming to scream into the void that is the last social media platform standing (apart from LinkedIn… Shoulda known that even during the apocalypse, start-up CEO Chad Moneybags would still need to post motivational bullshit about 5 am starts and tagging every post with ‘#crushingit’)

Anyway, I’ve strayed slightly from the point… So, this blog isn't going to be full of hard-hitting investigative journalism or even those colourful local news stories you used to see about water skiing hamsters. It’s just going to be me, posting my thoughts about how much more screwed the world is than the previous week. 

Cheerful stuff, right? Well, as REM sang, ‘it’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine’. And you know what, while fine might be stretching a bit, it could be worse...

Before it happened, when people thought about the end of the world, we always pictured some huge catastrophe. ‘The Hollywood Apocalypse,’ Jack calls it. You know the kind - people screaming in the streets as some unspeakable horror unfolds about them. 

In movies, the end of the world was always sudden, over in a flash,  with pockets of humanity left to pick up the pieces of a shattered world. Except, that’s not how it happened, not that we should be surprised, life rarely imitates the movies. 

In fact, it happened so slowly and contained so many individual strands that by the time it arrived, it took us even more by surprise - even the right-wing newspapers didn’t have time to come up with some ‘pithy’ name for it. I’ve always liked the term ‘tipping point,’ The point at which every one of those strands, however linked or disparate, tipped the scales so far against humanity, there was no turning back. 

I mean, we shouldn’t have been surprised. We had been warned, after all. For years (no, decades, even) scientists talked about how we were destroying the earth. From the changing climate to the destruction of entire ecosystems, all in the name of capitalism. 

People warned us it would lead to societal collapse. It wasn’t hard to see it coming, if you were paying attention. But, even if you were paying attention, the sheer magnitude of it was enough to cause even the strongest advocates some blind spots caused by existential terror. Like a Lovecraftian monster rising from the depths of the ocean, who could wrap their head around the true horror.  

Instead, we played out our little culture wars as the planet died… we elected people to distract and not solve… we lied and allowed ourselves to be lied to. Until, in the end, there were so many that no longer cared about the truth that finding a solution was never a possibility.   

The rise of ignorance led to the rise of populism, which led to the rise of fascism, and eventually isolationism. Each country, widowed and trapped in its own poky bachelor apartment of despair. With nothing but memories of past glories to keep it going while the world around slowly burns.

The thing about this kind of creeping apocalypse, this tipping point, is that there is a certain mundanity in it all. There are millions dead, but there was no Hollywood pre-credit sequence of terrified crowds running through Manhattan. 

This apocalypse had an absence of symbols - actually, no. That’s not quite right. I mean, we don’t have the statue of liberty drowning in sand while hyper-intelligent apes roam the planet, sure. But last week, the sea caught on fire… the fucking sea! You’d think after completely decimating the planet for a hundred years, some companies may have learned a lesson or two - like not setting dire to the fucking sea again!

And just today, the newspapers are full of pictures of yet another ghost town in West Wales slowly sinking into the sea. We have our symbols, alright. They are just smaller, more mundane than the Hollywood apocalypse we always felt we deserved - as a species, we are so arrogant that we feel even our extinction deserves something special, something showy. But, like I said, if you are paying attention, there are symbols to be found everywhere. 

Is our slow, boring apocalypse better than the ostentatious apocalypses of Tinseltown, complete with their big budget explosions and alien invasions? I’m honestly not sure. 

One part of me used to think that at least then it would be over quickly. This was a particularly comforting thought during the war, as English shells rained down on Cardiff. But, even the war fizzled slowly, bubbling away around the fringes, with neither country having the resources, will or money to mount any serious threat to the other. It turned out that not even the newly installed Albion dictatorship in England could get away with a costly hot war, while millions of its citizens starved to death. 

It sounds weird to say, but slowly you adjust to it. You know? Slowly, bit-by-bit, the fucking sea being on fire doesn’t seem such a big deal as it did a year ago. Slowly, bit-by-bit, you stop watching the news. You realise the images of starving children 50 miles away over the border have become the norm. 

You become desensitised to the food queues, the extreme swings in weather, the rapidly shrinking coastline. When was the last time you even saw a bee? It’s all just normal. But in spite of all of that, we still sit here, night after night, staring at our tiny plastic phones, reading the latest #crushingit update from that douchebag Chad, half hoping that there is still time for the aliens to show up and finish the job…

I realise that was quite a long run-on sentence, but it’s been a while. I’m out of practice. Like I said, it’s been three years since I last wrote, well, anything! I don’t know if anyone will even read this… I mean how many people can even access Tumblr anymore? But, Jack was right, it did help to get some stuff out.

Until next time (possibly), stay bored out there!

Kara

[archivingspn]

Entertainment Weekly Special Edition: The Ultimate Guide to Supernatural 2017

SAM AND DEAN WINCHESTER KNOW "WEIRD." Their entire life has been weird, ever since the moment a demon claimed their mother's life. In case anyone has forgotten over the course of the show's past 12 seasons, Supernatural tells the story of the Winchester brothers, portrayed by Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles, who fell into the family business of hunting creatures after their mother's murder. What began as their father's journey for revenge has evolved into endless monster slayings, near-death experiences and more than a few actual deaths.

By this point the Winchesters have been to Hell and back, killed Death himself, come face-to-face with God and prevented the Apocalypse. But perhaps more impressively, the series has survived three network presidents, five showrunners, a writers' strike and five different time slots. Turns out the only thing harder to kill than the Winchesters is the series itself. "It's one of those shows that has moved a lot, and yet each time it has found that core audience and built on it," Warner Bros. Television president Peter Roth says. "It's been an unsung hero."

If anyone knows about being an unsung hero, it's Sam (Padalecki) and Dean (Ackles), who've dedicated their lives to saving others and asked for nothing in return. Seriously, how many nights have they spent sleeping in their car?And yet that on-the-road lifestyle has paved the way for a number of the show's riskier episodes, which play a crucial role in keeping the audience engaged. In 2015 "Baby" was told entirely from the perspective of their beloved 1967 Impala, and that's not even close to the craziest thing the show's tried.

Aside from the rules the show creates within its canon—yes, they have a historian in the writers' room to keep them honest—not even the sky is the limit when it comes to story ideas. “[Show creator] Eric [Kripke] used to say, 'Smoke 'em if you've got 'em,' which meant: Anything crazy, don't be afraid to run it by us," executive producer Robert Singer says.

That motto led most famously to season 6's "The French Mistake," in which Sam and Dean found themselves in an alternate universe where everyone mistook them for Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles, the stars of a show called Supernatural. "Our show's not bound by reality," Ackles, 39, says. "We're rooted in reality, but we're not bound by it. That gives us a fifth wall almost."

But Supernatural's season 12 finale managed to raise the stakes by somehow introducing the boys to something they'd never seen before: a world in which they don't exist and Heaven and Hell are locked in an eternal war. By episode's end, their allies Castiel (Misha Collins) and Crowley (Mark Sheppard) were dead, and their mother, Mary (Samantha Smith), who was resurrected-by God's sister!-in the season 11 finale, found herself trapped in this new reality with the Archangel Lucifer (Mark Pellegrino). If that doesn't seem bad enough, the birth of Lucifer's son is the very thing that opened the rift to this apocalyptic realm. "The world in which Sam and Dean were never born is not a good world," showrunner Andrew Dabb says. "It speaks to the importance of our guys. The world Sam and Dean live in is certainly not perfect, but it's a whole hell of a lot better than the alternative."

Dabb describes the new run of episodes as more melancholy than last year's, with new threats including some long-dead characters. And somehow Scooby-Doo has a role to play. (More on that later.)

"Last season was, in some ways, a very upbeat season for us," says Dabb, who goes on to explain that season 13 will be "darker." In their grief the boys will butt heads when it comes to both Lucifer's son Jack—Dean wants nothing to do with him; Sam thinks he's worth trying to save— and Mary, whom Sam refuses to give up on despite Dean's having lost hope that she's still alive. "The Apocalypse world hangs over our guys a little bit like a sword of Damocles," Dabb says of the season's beginning. "We're definitely going to spend a little time there."

And of course Sam and Dean have this new responsibility thrust upon them before they've had the chance to properly grieve their many losses, including Castiel, who Dabb says will appear, though maybe not the way fans are expecting. "We're not looking to hit the reset button," Dabb says. "We want to give both our guys an opportunity to react to that and ask the question: How would that affect them if their closest friend sacrifices himself for them? There is a certain amount, especially when you look at Dean, of survivor's guilt."

That being said, there will be at least one (animated!) moment of levity, though it's in the season's back half. Episode 16 will be a much-anticipated Scooby-Doo crossover, for which Ackles, Padalecki and Collins have already recorded the audio. "They've often talked about Supernatural crossing over into something." Ackles says. "I love that it's Scooby-Doo."

But even with exciting new ideas on the agenda, there's always the lingering question of how much longer the show can continue. According to CW president Mark Pedowitz, the answer is as long as the guys are happy and the ratings are relatively stable. As for Ackles and Padalecki, they are focusing on the next milestone: hitting 300 episodes (something that would take them 13 episodes into season 14). However, if Sam and Dean have taught the actors anything, it's that Death can be lurking around every corner (and he's usually eating pizza). "If we don't make it to 300, I think Ackles and I will both be truly bummed," Padalecki, 35, says.

Ackles adds, "They're paying us to bring that little bit of magic to what they wrote, and I still feel that magic. The day that I don't feel that magic will be a very sad day, and I hope that day never comes. I'd like to get to 300 before that day comes."

One thing everyone can agree on is that they want to know when the end is nigh. "I think it would be bad for this show to just ride off into the sunset without a finale," Singer says. "I think we've earned that." Ultimately the only thing that's certain about Supernatural's eventual end is the fate of Sam and Dean's Impala, Baby. "He gets Baby," Padalecki says of Ackles. "I get Baby Two." Ackles makes one correction: "No, you'll get Three. Two is a stunt car. It's beat to s---.”

But nobody gets Baby just yet. For now they'll need all the Impalas they can get as they try to solve the problems of not one world but two.

[pg 10-12]

LIFE IN THE FAST LANE

Stars Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki and Misha Collins have rolled with rapid changes and some surprising detours during the series' remarkable run. BY SAMANTHA HIGHFILL

JARED PADALECKI CAN STILL REMEMBER THE exact pitch for Supernatural's first season: “Route 66 meets X-Files, brothers on the back roads of America hunting things that go bump in the night.” That was how he and costar Jensen Ackles were told to promote the show, which, in its first year, was just that-Sam and Dean Winchester chasing urban legends from state to state.

But over time that original pitch added a few sentences. Much like with any good road trip, there have been quite a few turns—and the occasional crossroads along the way. Although the show remains about two brothers on the back roads of America hunting things, those "things'' now include everything from vengeful spirits to imaginary friends and even Lucifer himself. After all, a show doesn't last 13 seasons without adjusting its game plan. For Supernatural that has meant an ever expanding mythology, some shocking deaths, resurrected characters, breaking the fourth wall and so much more.

Yet all the while, one thing has remained true: Sam and Dean Winchester will do whatever it takes to save the world and, even more so, to save each other. And they'll do it while navigating those seemingly endless back roads in their 1967 Impala.

Finding John Winchester (portrayed by Jeffrey Dean Morgan) was the boys' goal in season 1, though that ended up being about as difficult as getting John to stick around once he was finally discovered. The Winchester family reunion was short-lived: Season 1 closed with a car crash and the fates of all three men up in the air. And then there was that demonic deal John made with the same monster they had been hunting.

JENSEN ACKLES Everything up until that point was about finding Dad. We found Dad, we continued to fight as a unit, and then we lost Dad, and now we were two orphans.

JARED PADALECKI And I think that was the first time we ever brought back somebody from the dead, and it was you [to Ackles].

ACKLES I died in the car crash, and he traded his life with Azazel.

PADALECKI I think that was the first time we ever saw a major character die and come back. And that was a total leap of faith. So we told the story of Reapers and the veil and what happens to your soul.

ACKLES That's when we got into afterlife.

PADALECKI That was a big title shift in what Supernatural could do...

ACKLES With the introduction of Hell and making deals with demons—which is funny, because you think about that now, and [creator] Eric [Kripke] must've always known because Mom made the deal with the yellow-eyed demon.

The next shift would come later in season 2, laying the groundwork for the introduction of angels far before Castiel spread his wings in that abandoned barn in season 4.

PADALECKI "Houses of the Holy” was the first time we ever talked about angels on Supernatural. [Jensen] and I both were like, “Whatever your religious beliefs, whatever ours, we're not here to proselytize. We're here to make a serialized television show, but we want it to be universal.” So we actually had a conference call with Eric Kripke, and we were like, "Hey, man, we don't know how we feel about this.”

ACKLES We didn't want to be a mouthpiece for writers' religious views, because it wasn't the show that we had signed up for. Our argument was: “We trust you. You've done good by us so far. However, this is our one concern, and we're just bringing it to the table so that we can discuss it.”

PADALECKI And they heard us out, and I think that's why they waited another year and a half before introducing our second and most famous angel. I think it's the one time we've ever called them together with a complaint. Because I'm not a writer. I don't want to be a writer. I enjoy my job as an actor. But that was legitimately like, “Listen, if you're going here about religion, I don't want to be a part of it.”

MISHA COLLINS And now amazingly, 11 years later, so much of the show has been hung on biblical lore and mythology that is actually drawn from the Bible. One interesting thing for us is that we end up talking along the way to priests and pastors and ministers, or even nuns, who love the show.

(...)

ACKLES It was amazing, but my point being that we're in one of the most religious places on earth, and they're catering to people from a show that deals with religiously inspired story lines.

PADALECKI But not telling the story that the Bible tells.

ACKLES That's the out. That's where we get a pass is that we're not trying to tell the story of the Bible. The writers take inspiration from biblical elements and then elaborate on them. So when we got into that original discussion, Eric came back with: “We're not here to tell the story of Jesus Christ. We're here to take that element and use it as inspiration for the story.” I think that alleviated any concerns that he and I had. And at the same time we really trusted Eric and still do to this day.

Another leap of faith came with season 2's "Hollywood Babylon,” which can be considered the show's first meta episode. It opened the door for everything from season 6's “The French Mistake” to the upcoming season 13 Scooby-Doo crossover.

ACKLES “Babylon” was the first time we took the piss out of ourselves and were poking fun at the industry.

COLLINS That has been a huge [help to know] that you can go to these absurd lengths and break conventions. Reading the script where we are doing a Scooby-Doo episode makes me feel proud. Where else can you do that?

Padalecki What other show does that and has the fandom at large excited that they’re going to do that? Can you imagine if JAG or NCIS did a Scooby-Doo episode? People would be like, “What?” Not only do we break the fourth wall, do we go meta, but those end up being some of our best episodes.

The season 5 finale holds the No. 1 spot on EW's episode ranking, but that hour was important for many reasons, one of which being that it was creator Kripke’s farewell.

COLLINS “Swan Song" was another milestone because that marked the culmination of Eric's original vision for the show. He had a five-season arc in mind that tied up perfectly with a bow, and then he moved on and handed the reins over to Sera [Gamble]. That became, “Okay, guys, now let's figure out how to start a new chapter or a new volume in a series of chapters.”

PADALECKI It's the story that we were all born from, those of us who were introduced in the first five years. So to have the creator step away? I would argue that it was the largest shift.

Gamble served as showrunner for seasons 6 and 7, the latter containing another major show moment: the death of Bobby (Jim Beaver), Sam and Dean's father figure.

PADALECKI Bobby was such a big part. Jeffrey Dean [Morgan] was never as much a part of the show. He was obviously a huge part of the story, but he did [just a few] episodes, and Jim Beaver did 60 or something. And there was something about his death that we knew it was final...or final for Supernatural.

ACKLES Because his character said, “I'm done.” So it wasn't like he got killed accidentally and we found a way to bring Bobby back. He was like, “I'm hanging it up, guys." It was heavy.

PADALECKI That probably was the first big death of someone who'd been there for years...

ACKLES [Interrupting] A fan favorite...

PADALECKI Yeah, and I remember [CW president] Mark Pedowitz saying something to the effect of “As a fan, I hated when Bobby died, but it was great television.” That's how I feel. 

ACKLES Like when Sam Winchester dies for good, it's going to be good television. But when Dean Winchester lives on, it's going to be great television. [Everyone laughs]

The season 12 finale saw the introduction of an apocalyptic alternate world in which Sam and Dean Winchester were never born and Heaven and Hell are locked in an eternal war. And with that world comes the possibility for a number of character returns. But does it feel like a turning point? 

COLLINS Well, I think the rift and the fact that you can go into the apocalypse world and you can all of a sudden revisit every character in a different iteration—there could be a different version of every character—it opens up this incredible panoply.

(...)

PADALECKI And if an alternate universe exists, then how many alternate universes exist? It's hard to say, because I feel like it's impossible to identify a turning point during the turn. In hindsight it will reveal how this story will affect the show, the canon at large and the way we move forward. But I certainly feel like we're opening up doors with the rift and with the son of Lucifer.

(...)

[pg 20-26]

THE CORONER'S VAN JUST PULLED INTO THE driveway. It's the middle of August in 2016, and Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles are filming a scene for Supernatural's 12th season at a farmhouse in the Vancouver countryside, which is standing in for Iowa. Sam and Dean Winchester have ditched their flannels and jeans for sweaters and slacks in order to pose as social workers. They're doing what the two brothers do best: lying about their jobs in order to solve mysteries and kill monsters—in other words, saving people, hunting things.

When Supernatural premiered, Sam and Dean Winchester were born into the family business of hunting creatures, and it's a lifestyle that, over the years, has left them with very few people they love. Turns out, when you spend your days battling shape-shifters, witches and the occasional angel—they're not all nice, you know—nothing is guaranteed, especially not tomorrow.

But no matter how crazy the Winchesters' world gets—or how many worlds they have to face—one thing remains unchanged: At the center of it all are Ackles and Padalecki, whose Dean and Sam are the beating heart of the show (whether theirs are beating or not).

(...)

(...) even pulling up their favorite scenes on their phones to watch at the table. Padalecki can easily name the scripts that made him cry—“Heart,” “Sacrifice" and "Baby" all land on the list. The common thread is a heartfelt moment between the brothers where they get to talk about their crazy life as if, say, having visions of Lucifer is normal. “I feel like those situations where we treat the abstract and the fantastical as just part of life is where the show thrives,” Padalecki says. Ackles adds, “I think the show is truly at its best when it doesn't take itself too seriously, then it does take itself seriously, and it gets scary as s---,”.

But whether Supernatural is making fun of itself, scaring the living daylights out of its fans, or just letting the brothers have a moment on the hood of the Impala, it all works because of our central heroes. “It's about the Winchesters," says Crowley actor Mark Sheppard. “We really do care, and it's a testament to the boys that we still care."

(...)

As the sun sets on the Vancouver countryside, Sam and Dean ditch their slacks for jeans and send the coroner's van on its way. It won't be needed—this show, and the brotherly bond that holds it all together, has a lot of life left in it. Not that death has ever stopped it before.

[pg 32-34]

(...)

DEAN WINCHESTER Jensen Ackles

He was always the good son. Dean embraced the hunter's lifestyle, and he idolized his father despite John's many faults. But with the senior Winchester devoted to tracking down demons, it fell to Dean to help parent Sam, and he went to great lengths to protect his younger sibling-at one point even making a deal with a Crossroads demon (at the cost of his own life) to resurrect Sam from the dead. The two have had their differences, but throughout, Dean's brother was his first priority. "Watching out for you, it's kinda been my job, you know? But more than that, it's kinda who I am." Cynical and initially skeptical of the existence of God, Dean has nonetheless managed to become best buds with the angel Castiel (and on first name terms with both God and God's sister Amara). His self-sacrificing nature means he would do literally anything for those he considers family-and that's a short list: Sam, Mary and Castiel.

[pg 38]

Sympathy for the Devil

EVERY HERO NEEDS A HELL, BUT SUPERNATURAL HAS JUST TWO PROTAGONISTS AND HUNDREDS OF VILLAINS. HERE’S HOW THE SHOWRUNNERS APPROACHED SAM AND DEAN’S MANY FOES, FROM WELL-KNOWN URBAN LEGENDS TO SATAN HIMSELF. By Samantha Highfill

[pg 51]

Stairway to Heaven

SAM AND DEAN MET CASTIEL. AN ANGEL OF THE LORD, IN SEASON 4, AND IT CHANGED THE COURSE OF THE SHOW. BECAUSE ANGELS WEREN’T ALWAYS THE PLAN— AND CASTIEL WAS ONLY THE FIRST. By Samantha Highfill

(on page 57 there’s a small box of print on the corner that says: In what executive producer Robert Singer calls one of the series’ most “iconic images,” Castiel (Misha Collins) is introduced as the show’s first real angel.)

WHILE OTHER CHILDREN WERE LEARNING multiplication tables, Sam and Dean Winchester were hunting monsters. “When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45!” says Sam to Dean in the Supernatural pilot, recalling an episode when he was 9 years old. Clearly creature encounters were par for the course in the Winchester way of life. And when you grow up battling all the evil in the world, it's hard to believe in the good. But in the show's season 4 premiere, Dean would come face-to-face with the one supernatural entity he didn't think existed: angels.

“[Show creator] Eric [Kripke] wasn't in love with the idea of doing angels,” executive producer Robert Singer says of the early days. “But as things went on and we were getting into demons, I would say to him, 'I don't know how we do demons without doing angels.’”

The show tested the waters in season 2's “Houses of the Holy,” when Sam and Dean worked a case that appeared to involve angels then went in a different direction. It wasn't until late in the next season that the seraphim were finally embraced. When Dean was dragged to Hell, they needed to get him out. And if there's a Hell, it stands to reason there has to be a Heaven. "[The season 3 finale] was the gateway into this whole other world of angels and demons," executive producer Andrew Dabb says.

When it came time to spring Dean from Hell, it was Castiel, the show's first angel, who gripped him tight and raised him from perdition. But Castiel quickly established that he wasn't a typical cherubic angel. Many of the show's angels were, as Sam and Dean would put it, real dicks. “We have our own brand of angels and the idea that they were these warriors of God,” Singer says. “We introduced Castiel, and we just went from there. Heaven opened up different levels of angels.”

The moment Castiel spread his wings, the show expanded its universe. Castiel came bearing news of something much bigger: the Apocalypse, the ultimate showdown between good and evil-or more specifically between Archangels Michael and Lucifer. “We started with archangels and the idea that Lucifer was an archangel and was cast out of Heaven,” Singer says. “We certainly took some license, but it was all biblically grounded. We just took those things and went a step further to make them work for our story.”

From there the show explored all kinds of angels, from Zachariah and Naomi to Gabriel and Metatron, and, of course, it eventually arrived at God-or Chuck, if you prefer. “We didn't really know that Chuck was God when we first started with him," Singer says of introducing the character in season 4. (He wouldn't be revealed as God until season 11.) “That evolved. We wanted a relatable God, a God with foibles.”

Nine seasons later, what started as one angel in a trench coat has evolved into Lucifer, God, Leviathan and even a sister for God. “We play a little fast and loose with religion, but no one has really complained about it,” Singer says with a laugh. “So we'll just keep going.”

[pg 56-58]

CASTIEL Misha Collins

What can you say about the only member of Team Free Will who wears an overcoat? Cas has become a true member of the Winchester family.

[pg 61]

[douxie-casperan]

☽ for the memory meme? :)

☽ - A memory of their father

At least a whole month had passed since the three of them had come to end up in a somehow even more scrungy apartment based in the heart of New York City and despite the chill of the air Douxie had snuck outside onto the balcony in dire need of something a bit fresher than the mustiness of inside to be alone with his thoughts. Despite all the filtration wards that had been set up to make Nari that little bit more comfortable they barely seemed to be making a dent and the second he realised he was fidgeting more than focusing on the paper sitting on the coffee table outside seemed the wiser course and so here he was.

Stupid as it might sound life of late was feeling disturbingly monotonous in how it was get up early (UGH), grab something quick to go because there wouldn’t be a chance to eat until the first shift was over, hopefully get a snack before heading to the second job then if really lucky have enough time to crawl back here to collapse somewhere with no energy left for much else except on those scarce days off eked out when the stars aligned right. The three job days were even worse, you wouldn’t think his sleep schedule could get even more erratic but it turns out the threat of higher rent could do that to anyone and he was a particularly soft target to begin with.

On top of that as someone who adores travelling staying put for long usually drove him stir crazy after a few months he was already showing signs of it happening here too. In comparison somehow Arcadia never did, maybe it was because it’d felt like a home much like Camelot had done once? Part of the reason was definitely the fact Zoe could be a constant for the first time ever compared to the days, weeks or months scattered over the centuries whereas now they were once again forced apart by both wrong end of the continent stuck with phone calls or laughing at one another over the camera only. He misses the bookshop so much work had been put into, the customers that came into Benoit’s always asking how he was doing, the novelty of not having to pretend trolls didn’t exist even if the whole Akriridon thing was a surprise not to mention the apocalypse round two that came with them. It was a good normal and one he was felt a bit lost without.

Leaving also meant that certainty of Merlin was out there somewhere waiting for his moment to pop back up really was gone, something that had been a constant reassuring thought and it’s almost like being a moored boat just one wave away from drifting to parts unknown. Much like the explosion some things that happened still didn’t seem real, more like they were more this weirdly vivid nightmare that forgot to let him wake up so was stuck in a golden haze with no way out.

Glancing through the door he can just about make out Archie perched next to Nari on the armrest having grabbed the sofa for herself and looks to be marvelling at something on the TV making him smile softly. It’s likely one of the David Attenborough docs she seemed to have become quite taken with particularly in how the camera could ‘travel’ between all these places faster than even she could. Neither had the heart to say it was clever video editing, even the magical deserved a bit of sparkle in their lives. This’ll just be for him then and that’s fair enough.

Grabbing one of the two shoddy white plastic lawn chairs he’d picked up dirt cheap with the added bonus of easy cleaning he sits down and pulls his favourite guitar into his lap. Taking a deep breath to try and dislodge anything that might be rattling around his throat that shouldn’t be he begins to strum a few testing notes and making a few minor adjustments to get things about how they’re needed. There had been words banding through his head the past twenty minutes and if they weren’t going to let themselves be written down then going straight to testing will have to do he supposed. Using the staff was an option but… Maybe when he is more certain that he won’t be spit balling something terrible, on the fly usually fell one way and not always in the positive.

Grazing the strings once then a second time, the wizard begins to quietly sing not at all caring who might hear.

~*---*~

Within the earliest boughs of Spring

Everything felt fresh, new and wild

Full of possibilities it could bring

Was spared a sword and led away

Into the court of a King

Things were so innocent back then

-

Night became day and day into night

With chores as endless as my curiosity

Who could have imagined such a sight?

An orphan free to roam in a castle

Yet easily scared by a simple knight

I guess it was only a matter of when

-

As I grew older things started to change

You saw something coming, didn’t you?

I noticed, I did, even thought it strange

You grew quieter and the arguments worse

Everything I knew had started to rearrange

Spring was finally coming to an end

-

That Summer would burst into life

Blazing ready to reduce everything to ash

It sensed blood and carried a long knife

Poked and prodded them all just so

Then marvelled at the ensuring strife

With hindsight it was such an obvious trend

-

Within your fabled workshop

You would perfect the Amulet

After working for hours and hours nonstop

A weapon to save Camelot you said

But it was not humans it would adopt

To Trolls instead it would ascend

-

Killahead came ordering lines to be redrawn

I remember that Arthur was lost first

Wasn’t this supposed be a new dawn?

Yet I lost a sister, a Master, a home

And only more resentment did it spawn

There was only Archie now I could depend

-

Time started to become rather slippery

Though I did what you bade to the letter

Silently we became watchers of history

Dwelling in this brand new Autumn

I was spending it in as much happiness as misery

Some days it was much harder to pretend

-

During a trip to Babylon fought a specterghast

Helped move a strigoi on that was haunting folks

Honestly the adventures have been unsurpassed

The people, the food, all of the places

The future started to seem so much brighter than the past

Even met someone who’d one day be more than a friend

-

Learned far more than I dared dream

Visited places beyond imagination

Though couldn’t say much for my self esteem

All I wanted was to do right by you

I guess my life had a running theme

One that the passing years alone would never mend

-

Eventually the leaves began to fade

It must have started when I settled in Arcadia

Then upon a day when the world fell into shade

The first sign came in the form of an eclipse

To protect people I stood there unafraid

As the Winter began to descend

-

Seeing you again was like some form of rehash

Current or younger we argued just the same

Then suddenly my entire world was over in a flash

You even said you were proud of me

Before in my arms you turned to ash

And to another plane you would transcend

-

It would all came down to one last spell

I fought so hard for us all

But it was time for a final farewell

Everything moved too fast

No one was left to catch me when I fell

Only hearts to rend

-

Goodbye

It was so hard to say

This second chance, a retry

I love you both, I hope you know?

No matter what that was never a lie

Not being here though, it’s hard to comprehend

-

But I’m still here

The path ahead is clear

I refuse to simply disappear

No longer bowing to my own fear

Every word is spoken sincere

Because my time is now

-

This life is my own to walk

 ~*---*~

As the last few words leave his lips he is not ashamed to admit that tears had started falling probably about four verses back and are still coming so he tries to rub the evidence away on a sleeve. Unfortunately all it ends up doing is smearing salt into blue eyeshadow leaving him even more of a mess than he’d started plus an aching chest. It hurts so damn much but it is a good hurt, a reprieve.

“Some grand tribute, huh? Still can’t do much without it all setting me off again.” It is said half sighed while leaning back where he is barely able to make a single star out because of all the lights that blare well into the night unknowingly snatching away another source of comfort. But they’re still there he knows, watching as they have his entire life. Nothing is forever in the world of magic nor in life, not as long as somebody is still there to talk about it.

“Thank you for everything, Master.”

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Nothing’s Normal | Cliff Steele x Reader (Request)

Request:  Hi can you do a imagine where the reader is the daughter of Bruce wayne and a meta and in a relationship with cliff Steele please and thank you

A/N: @rachelcarroll1819 Sorry it took me a while to get to this request because life and I keep forgetting to post it, so here it is. I know it’s supposed to be a simple imagine, but I got carried away because I love writing the dynamics between the Doom Patrol members. I hope this is what you asked for.

Warning: Doom Patrol-typical swearing, usual Doom Patrol shenanigans, some angst?, some fluff

Words: 3211 (lol idk what happened)

-

It had been almost a year since your adoptive father, Bruce Wayne, had sent you to regularly check up on Vic and the others at Doom Manor. He was made aware of this new team of metahumans through the young Cyborg and as Batman’s assistant, you were assigned to keep tabs on all of the Justice League members in case of emergencies.

One rule that he made sure you understood was that you’d go when Niles Caulder wasn’t around. You heard about that doctor and his work with the Bureau of Normalcy. Your father heard about them during one of his investigations into a series of missing persons cases, all showing signs of possessing some kind of power. Being aware of your own powers, you agreed with your father to stay away. That doesn’t mean you had to stay away with the Doom Patrol members, though.

You wiped your forehead as you finished fixing up their black painted bus. The team currently had the budget of a public high school in an expensive city, so there wasn’t much good material to work with, so you made as much adjustments as you could while giving room for some upgrades.

“Not exactly the Magic School Bus,” Cliff said, handing you a cloth to wipe your hands with.

“Well, Vic could always get some of that good juicy tech stuff from home so we could turn it into the Magic School Bus,” you said, raising an eyebrow at Cyborg.

Vic shrugged, stepping back to look at the small bus. “I think it looks fine. Maybe you could actually do more if you take off those gloves.”

You purse your lips and say nothing. He still doesn’t know the reason why you wore those gloves and you try your best to keep like that for as long as you could.

Rita walked over with Larry, placing her hands on her hips and sighed. “Are we looking at the same thing? It looks so dreary and… and… shabby,” she said.

“Hey, what’s wrong with my paint job, man?” Jane snapped.

Rita ignored her. “No one’s going to take us seriously as an actual superhero team.”

“No one takes us seriously anyways,” Larry pointed out.

“Yeah, but think of what (Y/n) could do with that cool tech, Vic,” Cliff exclaimed, grabbing Vic’s shoulder, “She worked on the fuckin’ Batmobile! I think after saving two towns and the world from the apocalypse, we deserve a Doom Mobile.”

Vic was slowly being swayed, agreeing that the team should have some kind of advanced mode of transportation instead of relying on Flit to emerge and teleport them to their destination. Vic rubbed his chin, then nodded.

“Yeah, I could try and-” He looked up to address you and Cliff when he realized that the two of you vanished, “Where did they go?”

They all shrugged.

“It’s not like they can fuck,” Jane said bluntly.

“Jane,” Rita scolded her. Jane rolled her eyes and made her way back to the manor. Rita looked over at Larry who shrugged.

“As long as they’re not getting into trouble, it’s none of our business,” he said before walking to his greenhouse.

Rita pouted, standing with only Vic to talk to. “I just want to know what my dear friends are up to, don’t you? Cliff seemed so… happy lately, hasn’t he?”

Vic nodded. “Yeah… you don’t think that Cliff… and… (Y/n)?” He frowned just thinking about it. How would that work?

Rita hummed. “Maybe we should… check if everything’s okay,” she said lamely.

“Yeah, maybe,” Vic said, getting curious. He knew you ever since he joined the Justice League and you didn’t seem the type to be in a relationship. Surely, you and Cliff were just friends.

-

“You think we could get the bus to go that fast?” you asked Cliff, nodding over to the TV in the corner of the Robotman’s room, playing a recording of an old NASCAR race. You leaned over the sketches of upgrades you’ve been meaning to add once you get the right tools and materials, your gloves tossed to the side.

“I mean the air resistance will be something that we have to compensate for,” Cliff said, “Race cars are slim as fuck, which is why they can flip the fuck out when we crash into each other.”

You wrote some notes down, then looked up at Cliff. “Why did you choose to be a racecar driver?”

Cliff shrugged. “I liked driving. I liked the rush. I liked the crowd. And I was really fuckin’ good at it, so I liked the winning, too.”

“At least you didn’t become an actor,” you teased, “Though you’d surely win a Raspberry award.”

“Hey!”

Cliff reached out to grab you on your sides. You shrieked, feeling the tips of his metal fingers nearing the most ticklish part of your body before you ran away. He chased you around the room, making you laugh as he bumped into the furniture when you’d dodge.

You ran out of breath from running and laughing too much, pausing for a moment, giving Cliff enough time to grab you. You huffed a laugh, gripping his metal arms and relishing in the cold touch as he carried you over to the couch and plopped you down.

Cliff was one of the very few people that you could touch without any gloves or clothing in the way. It wasn’t like skin, but at least you didn’t have to worry about your powers affecting him.

He looked down at you and sighed before sitting down. He held your hands and ran a metal thumb over them, having similar thoughts running through his head.

“I wish I could fuckin’ feel this,” he muttered, “You deserve someone who’s normal. Someone that can feel your skin, feel how soft your hair is, be able to kiss you, pop a fuckin’ boner. When you hug me, it’s just all bulky metal for you, and I can’t even feel how warm you are.”

You leaned against him and also sighed. “I could… I heard they’re developing these synths, they call it. Robots that look like humans with realistic hair, skin, everything. I could try and maybe look into it, if you want. If you’re comfortable with it,” you offered.

“What if it doesn’t work? Then you’re stuck with this,” Cliff gestured to his body.

You shook your head. “I just want you to be happy and I know how hard it is to not be able to touch anything. We can keep trying to find other ways, Cliff.”

“Even if I had my human body, just me, I still think you deserve better. I… I was a horrible person. I was a bad husband and a bad father. I’m learning from that and I feel myself getting better, but what if I relapse?”

There were so many things you wanted to tell him, that him having his human body back won’t change the fact that you still won’t be able to touch him, but you knew how hard it was for him to come to terms that all those human traits he had were gone. Everything except his brain.

“Your friends and I won’t let that happen to you,” you said firmly.

You ended up sleeping on Cliff’s lap after talking for a couple more hours. He carefully ran his metal fingers through your hair, mentally cursing when your hair almost got stuck in one of the joints. He slowly lifted you up and carried you over to one of the guest rooms next to his, setting you down on the bed and covered you with the duvet. He had the urge to kiss your forehead, but knew he couldn’t. When he turned to leave, Rita and Vic were standing there with knowing smirks. Cliff wanted to roll his eyes as he pushed past them.

-

“How long are you going to be gone this time?” Cliff whined as you packed up your duffel bag.

“Not sure,” you said, “but they said it was urgent, so Vic and I are both needed.”

“Can’t we come with you, go sightseeing around Gotham?” he asked, following you out of the room.

You snorted. “Not much to see around Gotham, unless you’re looking for criminal activities and corrupted cops.”

“Yeah, and Batman.”

“And dangerous criminals.”

“We defeated Mr. Nobody! We stopped the apocalypse!”

You sighed, stopping at the manor’s entrance. “Cliff, maybe next time. Right now I have to focus on the mission.”

“You ready?” Vic called out from the small plane that your father sent you.

You nodded, picking up your duffel bag. “I’ll call you,” you assured him.

Cliff nodded, his shoulders slumping. You beckoned for him to lean down and you pressed your forehead against his metal head, closing your eyes for a brief moment before pulling away. The chauffeur grabbed the bag from you as you climbed into the plane.

“So… why Cliff Steele?” Vic suddenly asked.

“How-”

“Rita and I saw you two.”

You leaned back in your seat and shrugged. “He makes me laugh.”

Vic nodded. “Fair enough, I guess.”

The two of you fell in silence for a moment. You picked at your gloves, before looking up at Vic. “But please don’t mention this to anyone, at all,” you pleaded, “No one has to know.”

“Alright, no problem, (Y/n/n).”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the flight was silent, with the both of you trying to get in touch with your respective fathers. Your father was reluctant to bring you into the mission, but your expertise and powers were needed for them to solve their investigation. You hated your powers and your father knew it, which is why he tried his best to avoid the situation from reaching that point, leaving you as the last resort.

“Half an hour until landing, miss Wayne,” one of the pilots announced.

“Thank you,” you called out, grabbing your duffel bag to change in the bathroom.

-

Cliff played with his mini racetrack for the hundredth time after standing around outside watching Jane paint and hanging around Larry in his greenhouse to understand why he loved watering plants so much. He tossed the remote control onto the couch and sighed. What is it that you do that you were needed on the mission? Every time he asked, you would shrug it off and say that you were a glorified secretary for the Justice League. Do they need paperwork to be filled out or some shit?

“And why are you telling me this?” Rita sighed as she brushed her hair in front of her large mirror, Cliff sitting on the floor behind her after unloading his thoughts onto her.

“You were the one that wanted to know about our relationship!” Cliff shouted.

“Okay, okay. Calm down, Cliff.” She set her brush down and turned in her seat. “So what is it that you want?”

“Uhhh.” Cliff tilted his head. “I feel like she’s hiding something from me.”

“Did you ask her?”

“What the fuck is she going to say? Yes, Cliff, I am hiding something from you. What is she going to say next, it was for my own good?”

“Cliff, we’ve known (Y/n) for a year. She doesn’t owe us everything about her life. I’m sure she has her reasons. She works for the Justice League for crying out loud. There’s a level of secrecy that she must have to keep as part of the job.”

Cliff groaned. “So we just wait, then?”

Rita gave a firm nod. “We will just wait.”

They sat there in silence. Cliff blinked, staring at the ceiling, then back at Rita. She shifted around in her seat, then cleared her throat.

“I never thought I’d be… itching to go and save the world,” she began, “I wonder what it’s like for the Justice League.”

“Don’t they usually battle some otherworldly being or each other?”

“I know, but I’m sure there was never a time where they were… self-conscious about going out there. They don’t have powers like we do, if you could call it that, where even the slightest of our emotions changing would affect us badly.”

Cliff waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m sure it’s the same for them, just in fancy costumes.”

Rita sighed, then nodded in resolution. “You know, Cliff, you’re right. Maybe we could-”

“Who the fuck are you?!” They suddenly heard Jane shout, followed by a loud crash.

“Where’s Niles Caulder?” A deep male voice bellowed.

Cliff and Rita exchanged a look before rushing out of the room towards the entrance. Rita’s eyes widened as she saw Batman storming through the door, pushing past Hammerhead, with (Y/n) trying to stop your father while Superman was trying to calm Hammerhead down.

“What the hell is going on here?” Larry jogged over as Vic rushed in towards the group. “Vic, what’s going on?”

Vic let out a frustrated sigh, glancing back at Batman, before turning back to his friends. “Our mission uncovered some things linked to Niles and not in a nice way,” he said, not sure how much of the classified mission he was allowed to share with the people who were also victims and complicated friends of said Niles Caulder.

“And why are they here?” Rita pressed.

“Let go of me, you fuckin’ Ken doll in stupid ugly overcompensating tights!” Hammerhead growled as Superman wrapped his arms around her, preventing her from pouncing on him or Batman.

“Where’s Niles Caulder?” Batman demanded, glaring at the group.

Larry looked at the others, not sure what to say. Rita shook her head while Cliff nodded. (Y/n) stood in front of him and growled in frustration.

“Not until you calm down!” you snapped.

“He did this to you,” your father hissed.

“He did it to all of us,” you said, gesturing to the group, “With reason. There’s no excusing the shit he did, but you have to hear everything out before you carry out your justice. You've taught me this before. Now. Sit. Down.”

He clenched his jaw, looking back at Superman, who disappeared. “Where did they go?”

They heard an explosion from the front yard, followed by Superman’s voice. You all looked at each other and groaned, “Oh, no.”

Cliff was the first one out the door, already approaching Flaming Katy. You rushed forward, but Vic held you back.

“Cliff’s done this before,” Larry assured you.

“Come on, Jane. They’re not worth it. Think about it, they’re here for Niles. Think they’d smack him around, just a little, after what he’s done?” Cliff called out to the flaming figure. “Baby Doll, I can make those peanut butter jelly sandwiches you like, without the crust and everything. I’ll even watch those shitty nineties rom-coms with you, Karen.”

The figure slowly lowered, the flames gradually extinguishing until Jane emerged again. She glared at Superman, then at Cliff.

“Fuckin’ prick,” Jane muttered, not aiming it to anyone in particular,  stomping back into the manor.

Cliff turned back to the others and gave a thumbs up. You sighed in relief, urging everyone to go back inside. As they filed back into the large living room, you lingered by the door until you and Cliff were the only ones in the parlor.

“Sorry about this,” you muttered.

Cliff shrugged. “Meh, I was actually talking about you anyways.” You raised an eyebrow, silently asking about what. Cliff shrugged again. “I just missed you.”

You gave a small smile. “I missed you, too.” You took off one glove and pressed your hand against his metal arm, letting the coolness seep into your skin.

You opened your mouth to speak, when you heard a familiar coughing. You pulled away, your cheeks heating up. Your father narrowed his eyes at Cliff before jerking his head over to the living room where everyone was sitting. You pressed your lips into a thin line and followed him in, Cliff trailing behind you.

Once everyone was seated, Rita cleared her throat. “So, let’s start from the beginning, shall we?” she said, taking charge in leading the conversation. “So, what was it that caused you to seek Niles Caulder out?”

Your father was still fuming in his seat, so Clark decided to speak. “We were following a trail of missing persons cases and stumbled upon an underground facility. The missing persons were subjected to countless experiments and many didn’t make it. From the files we found in their database, it was all initially headed by a Doctor Niles Caulder. The first few experiments had actually been cancelled, but a team continued to do so without his knowledge,” he said.

Everyone stared at him, entranced by his handsome face and his smooth voice. Clark looked around and frowned, wondering why they were looking at him weird.

“I’m sorry I tried to punch your sharp jaw,” Jane muttered.

“You would have been cut from it,” Larry told her.

Rita waved a hand to dismiss them. “You,” she pointed at your father, “Batman...  person, you said that Niles did this to (Y/n)? Our (Y/n)?”

You sighed. “I was a part of the initial trials until my- until Batman saved me,” you said.

“What did they do to you?” Larry asked.

You hesitated, looking around the room. You spotted a dying flower, a plant that Larry had given Cliff to practice taking care of. You carried it over and set the small pot on the coffee table. Your palms were sweaty as they hovered over the wilting petals before you slowly lowered your finger. With a single touch on a petal, the flower was slowly revived, all color flooding back to its vibrant petals.

“That’s pretty cool,” Cliff said.

You shook your head, touching the petal again. The life from the flower slowly drained away until it was curled up and dry.

“Oh.”

“I can bring a living being back to life with a single touch, but… touch them again and they’re dead. Forever,” you said. “I wasn’t sure how long I’ve been in that lab. Some of the early records were gone by the time I was rescued, but if the aim is similar to what he’s done to all of you… I may be older than I look.”

“Well, I’m glad that our age difference isn’t weird anymore,” Cliff commented. You gave him an exasperated look until you remembered that you were sitting next to your father, making you freeze. The rest of the Doom Patrol members turned to Cliff and glared at him. “What? You guys were dying to know, and now that we’re talking about it… I’m just saying, people should stop thinking our relationship is extremely weird-”

“You’re still a robot, Cliff,” Larry reminded.

“So this is Cliff?” Clark asked you, ignoring the bickering.

You nodded. “Yeah…”

“Wait, you knew?” Your father turned to Clark. You closed your eyes and sighed.

“Well, it came up in a conversation…,” Clark tried to defend.

“Don’t you think I have the right to know who my daughter’s involved with?” Your father hissed.

“Wait a fuckin’ minute!” Cliff said, looking at you, then back at Batman, who was still in costume, then back at you. “What the fuck? Daughter? (Y/n)... What the fuck?”

[lowell-moonguard]

Call for RP Contacts

Heya there! I’m trying to reach out to folks to hopefully find some more RP contacts for my characters. My work hours make it really hard for me to really do it in-game given that most people are in bed by the time I walk in the door and due to the amount of bigotry I’ve faced in the past for my queer characters, its made me somewhat afraid to try again. 

I am not available during the daylight hours (MG Time), I work 2nd shift at my job and am home at the earliest of 2am monday-friday. Often times I can be home even later (4:30am mon-thurs and 6am fri). Aside from raiding on Saturday I am generally free on the weeknds. All characters are on Moon Guard.

What I am Not comfortable with

Overly flirty characters: This is mostly because I’ve had bad experiences in the past with people who tend to lean really hard on very sexual and/or flirty characters. I don’t mind the occasional thing, but if its very constant I don’t think we’re going to be a good match. 

Romance RP: I’m not currently looking for romance rp. If we click and it looks like something that might come up between us, it can be a conversation that happens then.

ERP/Erotic Roleplay: I am an adult, but these are not the adult themes I want to explore.

Erasure of my characters canonical disabilities: If your healer character has the power to “fix” their disabilities, then this not something that I’m willing to entertain. Magic doesn’t mean that disability is gone, but that the definition of disability is different and has a completely different context within the various societies of Azeroth. And even ones that are disabilities in all contexts isn’t something to just be waved away with magic as that carries some very problematic ideas towards what its like to be disabled.

Themes I’d like to explore

This is not an exhaustive list! I’m open to others and discussions!

Rebuilding of Trust: Slowly rebuilding one’s trust in others, a concept, or something else! Trust is an easy thing to shatter and very difficult to fix. Especially if it was the fault of someone who isn’t even still alive.

Finding your place in a world that’s moved on without you: Time might have stopped for you, but the world did not. Coming out into the world decades behind at best is jarring and finding your place is difficult when everything’s changed

Neurodivergence and disability within a world with magical accommodations

Grief and magically altered memory: How does one mourn when the person isn’t allowed to be remembered? How does one cope when someone else decided to tweak details of one’s memories for their own gain? How does one cope with magically induced amnesia, built up from a mistake when they desperately want to remember?

Please note that while I am separating them by faction, its mostly to sort them as blizzard does.

Alliance Characters

Lowell Wyther

In-Game Name: Lowell

Worgen Harvest Witch

Age: 25

Gender: Nonbinary

Pronouns: they/them

Faction: Night Elf

Bio: What is effectively a feral child being drug kicking and screaming back into the lucid world Lowell has struggled to adjust to life as an actual person with responsibilities. They deal with the curse about as well as one can expect, but are alienated from their peers. A fact that’s only gotten worse since the burning of Teldrassil which nearly took their life. Having no loyalty to the Gilnean royalty, and what little faith they had in the Alliance Leadership shattered. Lowell has found that hoping that someone swoops in to save them is the quickest way to die, and is of the opinion that that there is no one who is coming to save you.

Muirín Battledirge

In-Game Name: Battledirge

Dark Iron Dwarf Shaman

Age: 235

Gender: Genderfluid

Pronouns: any/all

Faction: Neutral

Bio: Growing up and surviving Azeroth makes anyone jaded and cynical. Muirín is no exception. However she instead of wallowing in her misery and self-pity she takes it upon herself find the joy in life. The sweet before the bitter takes hold. To laugh, and sing, and find company with her comrades before the next apocalypse. Once the dust settles and the fires are put out, she takes up her violin and starts taking down the names of the dead, adding them to her music in the hope that they are remembered. 

Falmarin Tempestwake

In-Game Name: Falmarin

Night Elf Demon Hunter

Age: Adult

Gender: Bigender (woman/agender)

Pronouns: she/they

Faction: Neutral, Night Elf leaning

Bio: Falmarin’s origins are similar to many Kaldorei that followed Illidan’s path. The Legion came, they lost everything, and they made their choice. She, however, didn’t really expect to make it past their victory. Now a few years after the Legion’s defeat she’s found herself with little purpose, and little reason to live. Naturally she became a pirate with her close friend from the Illidari. 

Horde Characters

Vansia Dessuphis

In-Game Name: Vansia

Nightborne Monk

Age: 5,000

Gender: ???

Pronouns: he/they

Faction: Neutral

Bio: Spending his life under the “safety” of the bubble Vansia scraped but only just barely. Working as a courier and inscriptionist he raced through Suramar before and during the rebellion, using these skills to aid the Dusklily. Today he is a student at Tian Monastery, learning the healing arts and learning to heal from his own trauma.

Erynion Desrosiers

In-Game Name: Erynion

Nightborne Grove-Tender

Age: 485

Gender: ???

Pronouns: he/they

Faction: Neutral, Horde Citizen

Bio: Unlike his peers, Ery struggled to learn magic as taught. It wasn’t that he was incapable of magic, it was that the approach was wrong. As a result he’s leagues behind where he should be for an elf his age. What he lacks in teaching he makes up for in enthusiasm, as once he found his love of flora nothing could keep him from it, even caring for the plant life of Suramar by hand without magic until someone pulled him aside to teach him just enough to be useful.

Vothaeu LaChance

In-Game Name: Vothaeu

Nightborne Caretaker

Age: 26

Gender: Questioning 

Pronouns: She/her

Faction: Neutral, Horde Citizen

Bio: After the rebellion, Vothaeu used her withered wrangling skills to take care of them after they were no longer useful to the Shal’dorei. Specializing in their care as well as their retrieval she spends her shifts either taking care of the ones that have already been rescued, or diving deep into the ruins of Suramar to find others who the city had failed. Excited about the world she longs to find adventure beyond Suramar but her heart can’t bare to be away from home long.

[sweetbutteryspacejesus]

NNT SPOILERS

-

Notes:

This is what I have written of the prologue for a Nanatsu fanfic - which I will upload soon, I hope - with which I won the local literature contest, although I will possibly modify it to be a little experiment with a new format of "" novel "". I'm still writing the first episode, but it's already pretty fun to write. It's my fix-it fanfic and I choose what gives me comfort lmfao. :)

It's not on it's fully potential tho' but anyway I was... well,,, I just want it to....probably I'll delete later lol.

Enjoy, ¿I guess?

-

At first, she didn't notice them. Not until the consequences were very striking. She had to help Arthur as her ward, she had consumed too much effort toward this experiment to fail now. That had kept her entertained, although that beautiful ending of hers would soon change. Arthur was adjusting well to the ruling, she expected no less from her tutelage. He was noble and honourable, although he was still somewhat innocent a quality that almost disappeared during the holy war. There wasn't a lot of things she valued, but that was one of the things she still allowed herself to look longingly at, still, her decision was already made. She had chosen Arthur, for so long, throughout the war... That was her purpose, that was what filled her. The prophecy of that King able to unite and rule Britannia. She did what she had to do and she didn't regret doing it. She didn't.

Her hand came to rest on her face. She didn't regret the people she had left out. And so she chose Arthur. "The memorial would be soon", she thought as she ran her fingers across her jaw. She wondered if someone would come. Definitely none of the deadly sins, not after that outcome. So this time she would likely go alone, as she had been all her life. Not that one-off company, the seven deadly sins, not the one who always knew how to see right through her. Escanor. It was ironic, every time she saw her marks she felt a warmness expand through her body, comforting her haunting guilt. She didn't remember the exact words he said to her in his last moments, but there was always the same disturbing feeling in the memory. Useless. She couldn't remember if she had ever felt that way. There were always firsts times, she supposed, even for a person who had lived 3000 years. Sometimes things that make the least sense can be the answer. In this case, the answer to why her triumph had been so unsatisfactory. Normally when she had filled her curiosity a shot of pleasure ran through her veins. The pleasure of knowing. It was her only addiction, her way of living. Since she was little, following the example of her distant father. Until she met Meliodas. Some might believe that she didn't have a heart however it was not true, her pulse was as alive as the blood that ran through her veins. Although of course, the metaphorical one... The right person but at the wrong time, too late. Isn't it ironic? But it was over now, Isn't it?

Her gaze fell on the book. King and Diane had thought that she was the one who should have it, in the end, all those poems were for a single owner: her. After his words, both of their words. She could afford these thoughts, it was his day after all.

She wondered how many would come, of course, there would be at least 3 of them missing.

She brought her hands to the handkerchief, putting on the piece of cloth. She didn't usually allow people to see her like this. With the passage of days, the absence of him, those burns were something more intimate. Like his poems, this was the first, last and the only poem she dedicated to him. Only to him. She would treat them as such, also she didn't want to waste time with looks from those ignorant who didn't understand their meaning. Few people could.

She closed her eyes. With the actual circumstances, it would be difficult to pass by without being seen. But still, she arrived just before noon, the sun right in the middle of the sky. Rhitta was glistening. Someone - another mystery to her - had planted a couple of flowers around the weapon and its roots were climbing up, clinging to the small nameplate that gave it its meaning to the always still weapon.

- Good morning, Escanor.- She walked, the words weren't something that used to come from her lips in recent days. Not that she had anyone to talk to daily. But she liked to do this thing where humans talked to objects which belonged to dead people out of pity. What a pity that he died. She had wondered many times if that was what she missed: Being heard. ¿What was the missing piece? - It seems we will be alone again.- She lowered the reddish handkerchief feeling the cold air brush against the scars.- You know, everyone is busy. Diane and King protecting their clans... Gowther is visiting the world. It seems that they're beginning to forget you.- Inevitably, she paused.- You know, I'm working on a new poison extracted from the darkness of demons. I'm trying to apply the same method that my spell-orbs. It's not of much use at the moment, but who knows ... maybe Arthur needs something like that.- No, that... didn't feel right. He always liked to listen to her but...

- From what I know he's trying to expand Camelot. I hadn't told you before, but I'm not his direct assistant anymore. After the battle of the clans his trust... At least he lets me live here, not like fairies or giants anyway. I have to say that he has made his exceptions, he has to maintain an image, but perhaps his decision was not the correct one. - Her expression changed, looking away. If there had been someone closer, she wouldn't have said it.- Maybe mine wasn't either. But what matters is that Arthur is safe for the moment. But there is a somewhat disturbing prediction that has recently gained a lot of interest among the knights of the castle. - She brought her hand to his chin, following in the same monotonous tone of voice.- I don't know if I should worry. Arthur is more than capable. Although the figure of the knights of the apocalypse is ... interesting.

More than interesting, it was disturbing. The existence of the deadly sins had shown her how a kingdom could be demolished by a few people. If that prophecy was true and they had enough power, the expansion of Camelot could be compromised. She knew only a few people who could have enough power to deal with the chaos. She didn't want to doubt the new court that Arthur had, but, there was no one in the fairy or giant clan who could stand up to him.

- Of course, the power of chaos is at another level. - She dismissed the issue with a wave of her hand and a smile. - What do you think Escanor? What words do you have in mind? You would take care of me from the afterlife, didn't you say that?. - The surprise lasted a few seconds, she vaguely remembered that phrase.

The words of the silence grew heavier as she waited for an answer: No one. She turned her face back to her neutral state, wasting that smile. There were no laugh marks on her face. Only her tightly clenching jaw expecting a different result from an experiment already completed. Two, three, four times ... It was useless, she didn't find comfort in this silly tradition, it only left her with this devastating feeling. The warmth of the poems was gone. Escanor had disappeared.

[buffyversefanfiction]

Buffy versus The Originals

Warnings: I do not own nor claim to own the copyrights to the following tv shows; “Buffy the vampire slayer”, “Angel”, “The Originals”, “The Vampire Diaries”. Nor do I claim to own any canonical continuation via comics, spin-off televisions and such. I do not claim to own any of the characters within either the Buffyverse or the TVDverse, I am purely doing this for non-profit as a fan of both worlds and fanfiction itself.

15 Plus: May contain medium to graphic displays of violence and torture, displays of witchcraft practice, horror elements, supernatural elements, sexual innuendos, and scenes of a sexual nature.

F/F, F/M, M/M, GEN + OTHER

Preliminary Round: Part One

Buffy Summers managed to stop yet another apocalypse not that there was ever any doubt that she would win, she always wins. Although, to be fair this time around her hometown of Sunnydale was destroyed during the big battle and what once was a beautiful Californian town looked like nothing more than a tribute to the Grand Canyon leaving Buffy and her friends homeless.

Luckily, the blonde-haired vampire slayer knew of a certain vampire with a soul called Angel who happened to live in a semi-decaying hotel located in Los Angeles, and after a quick and awkward phone call with the vampire she once loved Buffy, her friends, her loved ones, and her fellow slayers made their way to L.A. to seek refuge with Angel and his team at the Hyperion Hotel.

Angel well and truly had his hands full at the Hyperion Hotel after rejecting Wolfram and Hart’s offer, his city always kept him busy with its many supernatural creatures, but he also had the complicated mission of trying to wake the woman he loved from her supernaturally influenced coma.

So, when Buffy, his former love, called him up looking for a place to stay briefly he was more than willing to oblige, hoping Buffy and her team could help in waking Cordy up.

Cordelia Chase had gone from being a spoiled rich girl at Sunnydale High School, to the vision’s girl at Angel Investigations to a half human, half demon, hybrid that found herself getting possessed by a rogue member of the powers that be called Jasmine, the latter using a magical pregnancy to give birth to herself, sending Cordy into a coma shortly after giving birth. 

Cordelia was the heart of Angel Investigations and it was struggling to operate without her, her friends and loved ones, were struggling to cope without her and so, Angel, Wesley, Fred, and Gunn were more than thrilled to have guests at the hotel who could lend a helping hand.

Faith Lehane had also gone through many changes herself, going from being a rogue slayer pitting herself up against Buffy, to finding redemption with the help and patience of Angel. So, after becoming Buffy’s ally once again, and helping her defeat the first in Sunnydale, the brunette Boston born slayer was more than happy to check into the Hyperion Hotel and catch up with her old friend Angel, especially after hearing the tall, dark, and handsome, vampire with a soul, needed help in waking Cordelia from a coma.

Buffy, Angel, and both their teams, sure proved to be the big help that Angel Investigations needed with the night-to-night hunting, and patrolling, however, the mission to awake Cordelia Chase struggled to pick up momentum which Cordelia herself began to grow impatient about as her fragmented spirit began appearing to them all frequently, complaining, and eager to get back into her comatose body.

Willow Rosenberg searched every grimoire, book, and magic shop to find a magical solution to Cordelia’s coma until eventually she came up with the idea to cast a spell which would not only summon Cordelia’s spirit but would force said spirit to return to her body. The spell in question required a non-beating heart, horns from a near extinct demonic species, and the translation of a long-forgotten language.

Willow waited for a reasonably quiet night to perform the spells she believed would bring Cordelia back to her body, waiting until it was just her, Buffy, Angel, and Faith in the hotel and gathered them all within the grand foyer of the hotel, as they each sat down on the floor in a circle, while Willow held a book in her hands, ready to cast her magic, ready to bring Cordelia Chase back.

The first spell to summon Cordelia’s spirit was performed, cast, and executed to perfection by the brilliant red headed wonder witch, however, the second spell to return Cordelia to her comatose body went a little awry as Willow accidentally opened a portal to a whole other dimension, a portal which wound up pulling Cordelia’s spirit into, as well as Buffy, Angel, and Faith before closing itself and leaving Willow completely alone, and without any idea of where they went, or how to get her friends back.

“Way to go Wills, now where the hell did, she send us this time?” Faith wondered as she, Buffy, Angel, and Cordelia found themselves, picking themselves up off the ground within the bayou in New Orleans late at night, each of them completely confused as to where Willow’s spell had sent them to. “I think it is safe to say we’re definitely not at the Hyperion Hotel, and knowing our luck we’re probably not even in Los Angeles.” Buffy replied to her, as she looked around the bayou, attempting to piece together where they were. “Hey! I’m back to being solid again!” Cordelia screeched with excitement as she threw her arms around Angel and pulled him in for a hug, the two of them equally as excited to see and feel each other once again. “Enough of the sickeningly sweet reunion time, we all know what happens when you get happy Angel.” Faith warned Angel, as she pulled him out of Cordelia’s arms, eagerly breaking off their hug. “You’ll lose your soul, then Cordy becomes food to soulless you, and me and B wind up tossing a coin to see which slayer takes you down this time around. “Well at least Willow’s spell to put you back in your body clearly worked.” Buffy stated to Cordelia, before the questioning slayer turned her attention to Angel. “You did not store her body in the woods, did you?” “No, I never!” Angel denied nervously, as he noticed a disapproving glare from Cordelia. “Not like you can blame him if he did, I mean maybe the big man’s still a little pissed about you bumping uglies with his son, I mean did you not used to change his diapers?” Faith teased Cordelia, more than happy to stir the pot between Cordelia and Angel. “Firstly, that was some wacky super powered bitch called Jasmine who not only hijacked my body but got me pregnant just to give birth to herself. Secondly, I would never sleep with his son when not possessed…stupid rogue powers that be hussy!” Cordelia snapped back at Faith, clearly disgusted. “I swear those powers that be can go straight to hell!” “As fun as this is, how about we change the topic and find a way back to the hotel?” Angel suggested to the women, more than eager to change the conversation about his son Connor’s past with the woman he loved. “Yeah, I don’t really want to hear about my ex’s love triangle with my high school classmate and his adult son.” Buffy agreed with the brooding vampire. “Straight to hell, you hear me?” Cordelia screamed upwards towards the clouds, hoping the powers that be were listening and heard her fury. As the foursome decided to explore their whereabouts it did not take them very long to find their way out of the bayou and learn that they were in the city of New Orleans, the only thing they did not know was the fact that they were no longer in their world, they were now in the Mikaelsons’ world…

Preliminary Round: Part Two

Josh Rosza had been through a lot since turning into a vampire, going from being a club kid turned vampire to best friend to the young harvest witch Davina Claire to the boyfriend of werewolf Aiden, but the hardest change in his life that he had to adjust to was losing his first love at the hands of a wicked witch called Dahlia, a loss that at first he blamed Klaus Mikaelson for.

Josh was never particularly popular with any of the original family of vampires and neither did he want to be, knowing all too well that friends of the Mikaelson siblings tended to quickly turn into foes before winding up permanently dead at their hands but all that had changed over the last few months following the notorious family defeating Dahlia.

Following Camille O Connell’s unexpected departure from New Orleans, Josh had managed to take over her job bartending at Rousseau’s which meant dealing with all kinds of clientele including none other than the hybrid Klaus Mikaelson himself, who had become a regular while drowning his sorrows every night since Cami had left.

Fear was quickly taken over by fascination as Josh’s reluctance to grow close to any original began to dwindle as friendship quickly grew between Josh and Klaus, a friendship which had started out with two lonely hearts before developing into something much deeper, a bond truly cherished by them both.

Klaus Mikaelson tended not to make friends easily mostly due to the fact he did not want to and even when the original hybrid did make the occasional friend it was never too long before he either watched them be murdered or they displeased him in some kind of way leading to him killing them.

However, following Cami’s decision to leave New Orleans behind for good, the fact Hayley Marshall had moved away with his daughter Hope and his brother Elijah was not currently talking to him, Klaus was in need of some kind of company and he found that and more with newbie vamp turned bartender Joshua Rosza.

Klaus found himself spending more and more time with Josh as a regular at Rosseau’s until the two unlikely companions quickly found themselves developing a friendship made from two lonely hearts graduating into something deeper and before long the original hybrid would come to think of the vampire bartender as his best friend, a friendship which Klaus valued greatly and would protect at any cost.

Rebekah Mikaelson had been granted her freedom from always having to be by her brother’s side, forced to endure heartbreak after heartbreak as Klaus put his needs and wants before her own time and time again, but now she was free and yet it did not feel like it to the original female vampire.

Rebekah had been travelling the world in search of a way to bring her brother Kol back, chasing leads from her older sister Freya, hoping to find some magical remedy to restore her family, but as the months went by and the leads grew thinner the original was starting to run out of steam and her warring brothers Klaus and Elijah was doing anything but making her feel free from her family entanglements.

So, Rebekah decided it was time to pay her family a little visit to reconcile Elijah and Klaus’ brotherhood having had to step in many times before, like when they thought over Tatia then squabbled over Katherine Pierce, as the blonde haired immortal beauty just found herself being thankful that this time her brothers weren’t fighting over another bloody doppelgänger.

Elijah Mikaelson had spent a thousand years sticking by his brother Klaus’ side, cleaning up his messes, and attempting to keep the rest of his family in line but after Klaus used their aunt Dahlia to cast a werewolf curse on Hayley, the woman he loved, he was done fighting by his brother’s side and although Hayley forgave Klaus after New Orleans’ regent witch Davina Claire broke the curse, Hayley decided to move away with Hope.

Hayley Marshall still popped into New Orleans as her and Klaus shared custody over their daughter Hope but she lived there no longer and although she did not live far from the city she lived far enough away to start a new life, a life that Elijah Mikaelson was no longer a part of much to his own heartbreak.

Elijah knew he could not blame Klaus entirely for Hayley’s decision to move but he also knew the curse sure did not help things, in fact if anything he believed it determined her decision and with her now gone and Rebekah too, Elijah was running out of reasons to remain forever by Klaus’ side.

Freya Mikaelson had taken to the oldest sibling role a little far too well and she had started to feel the weight that came keeping a family like hers from killing each other. Not only did the Mikaelson witch have to play mediator between a warring Elijah and Klaus but she was also using her expertise to try and help her youngest sibling Rebekah to find a way to resurrect Kol.

Family was not Freya’s only struggle however as she tried to stop Davina Claire and her vampire father figure Marcel Gerard from declaring war on her siblings every other day, while finding unlikely common ground with Vincent Griffiths in restoring their city for the better as well as keeping her promise to her brother Finn, one that meant finding him a suitable body that would require minimal violence if possible.

Freya literally had everything on her shoulders and was trying her hardest to wear it well, so the last thing that she wanted, needed, or even expected, was the arrival of two so-called vampire slayers, a demon, and a vampire with a so-called soul.

[script-a-world]

Clearly there are some settings which make no sense scientifically. But how do I decide when to intentionally ignore reality, can't bother to do research, don't understand research, and thus create scientifically impossible places? When are such things considered be offensive or overused cliche or have a reader point out the impossibility and can't get into the story? I'm guessing some of this might be structural issues instead of world building?

Tex: One of the perils of attempting to write about highly technical subjects is that you run into the issue of not understanding your writing. I do raise a nominal objection as your first sentence, because sensibility is a sliding scale based on one’s familiarity with a given subject. I don’t know crap about, say, textile art (however much I might have bluffed readers in the past - no, no, this is just good googling skills on my end), but that doesn’t mean the textile arts are an inherently incomprehensible subject.

Scientifically, automobiles were once thought to be insensible. Scientifically, phones were thought to be a flight of fancy. Scientifically, 3D printing was improbable. Scientifically, quantum computing was the stuff of sci-fi nerds who just wanted to slap the “quantum” label on everything.

And yet we are now on the verge of robotic vehicles, mostly functional smartwatches, laser printing cells (PDF), and quantum computers (VentureBeat, IBM).

So I would argue that the insensibility of a setting would be due mostly to, yes, a structural issue - on the part of the author. No matter what you put into your world, internal consistency is key; nothing, no matter how ostensibly outlandish, will make sense if you contradict yourself.

I’ll volley a few questions back to you:

“[...] when to intentionally ignore reality” - Are you ignoring reality entirely, or just parts of it? Why? How does that decision benefit your world? How does it detract from your world?

“Can’t bother to do research” - Is it because you are discouraged by the breadth of your comprehension of a subject, compared to the subject’s depth? Or is it because of something else?

“Don’t understand research” - Is this because you don’t understand the academic papers that turn up in your search results, or because you have a fundamental lack of or misunderstanding of the given subject? Or is it because of something else?

“When are such things considered to be offensive or overused cliche” - As someone who intentionally arranges their studying around the plausibilities of the future, I would quite frankly be delighted to see more conceptual stretches of the imagination in this regard, as do many others on this blog, and beyond it. Why have you already passed judgement on the offensiveness or clichéd-ness of incorporating scientific things? Is this related to your other comments?

“[...] or have a reader point out the impossibility and can’t get into the story?” - If you are writing to please a specific individual or demographic, you are inevitably always going to fall short, because it’s genuinely impossible to meet every single item on a group’s wishlist without devoting your life to it (not an entirely worthy pursuit, in my opinion, but alas). What made you decide to be so concerned over the potential reaction to your stories that you worry about it before the story is even written?

I think I will put the majority of my curiosity’s weight on the last bullet point, as I’m seeing similar themes with the other portions of your question. It’s a fruitless endeavour to tie yourself into knots over a possible (not necessarily probable!) reaction - and quite likely from a stranger, to boot. Education is a relatively easy situation to fix, so long as you’re patient with yourself; dealing with anxieties over readers is… not so easy.

I can really only recommend that you take a close look at the goals of your worldbuilding, and see where you contradict yourself - once you have that in hand, it’s a relatively simple yes/no process of what concepts you want to keep. If the issue of decision comes from a lack of understanding, then make a note to yourself to seek out either the million wikis we Pylons utilize ourselves like any other worldbuilder, or to chalk it up as a genuine lack of context.

Please understand that even someone who’s dedicated their life to a certain aspect of science won’t know everything about it - that’s the point of research! We’re constantly asking ourselves questions, and pushing the envelope of known boundaries. Star Wars has lightsabers, but we don’t need to know how they work; likewise with holodecks in Star Trek. So long as an audience is reasonably entertained with the least amount of head-scratching, you can get away with handwaving quite a lot.

Lockea: On a scale between Star Trek and Star Wars, how “hard” is your science fiction?

I mention that mostly to illustrate that science fiction exists on a continuum, wherein science fiction with more “science” than “fiction” drives a story towards the harder end rather than the softer end. Also, a story’s place on the continuum will change based on what we know and understand about science.

I feel like everyone always beats me to saying all the important stuff about questions, so I’ll just give a few thoughts from my personal experience as a science fiction fan with two engineering degrees and a thesis about robots on the moon (yes really, I wrote my thesis on AI for moon robots). I really, really, love the creativity of science fiction writers. I think so often in defending the genre, we can get caught up in saying things like “science fiction predicted XYZ!” Well, sure, I may have studied Isaac Asimov’s three laws of robotics in my introduction to engineering ethics course, but I was also greedily reading my way through “The Hunger Games” by Suzanne Collins at the same time. The fact that I sincerely doubt Panem will ever happen didn’t dampen my enjoyment of Katniss’s story. It was a fun read and it gave my friends and I something to talk about that wasn’t “feasibility of Battlestar Galactica” during our daily lunches.

The thing about writing science fiction is that, without a doubt, there will be someone who knows more than you about a topic who reads your story. Most of the time, I end up being that someone since everyone likes to talk about Skynet and robots taking over the world to a roboticist who sincerely refers to artificial intelligence as artificial stupidity. Y'all are seriously overestimating the field, my friends. Nonetheless, I still enjoyed “Captain America: The Winter Soldier” even as I thought how impossible Project Insight would be. Honestly, something every READER of science fiction needs to make peace with is the fact that writers will get something wrong. Writers, despite their best efforts, are not always going to understand that a facial recognition algorithm will fail if you introduce tiny amounts of random noise and are thus going to treat The Algorithm™ as infallible in your crime drama novel.

It’s not the writer’s fault, though.

That deserves to be on its own line. It is not YOUR fault if you get something wrong. Would it be nice if science literacy was just better all around? Of course! But it’s not your fault if your science literacy isn’t up to snuff enough to parse the article I cited above. It’s also not your job. Your job as the writer is to tell the most interesting story you can and to maintain your own internal rules and logic such that the reader never breaks the willing suspension of disbelief.

I watch Star Wars and get really into the light saber fight scenes and forget that light sabers are basically impossible to make. Star Wars has the Force, which is basically magic, and that’s okay. Really. I KNOW it’s not possible, but I still have a lot of fun watching it!

So yeah, write that story about how the robots are going to take over the world. I’ll probably enjoy reading it even as I laugh off my friends telling me that I will be the first to die in the robot apocalypse (of course I will -- I have five robots in my living room alone).

Constablewrites: Tone and consistency are the biggest pieces of this for me. If it’s the kind of story where the answer to “How does this work?” is usually a detailed and plausible explanation, then getting an answer later that is implausible or slapdash will stand out more. But if it’s the kind of story where the answer to “How does this work?” is “You push that button and it goes whoosh” from the start, my expectations adjust accordingly. (It’s possible to have the latter version in a story that is mostly the former, frequently when it’s played for last. Again, tone is key.)

So yeah, a lot of this is execution and the way the story sticks to the rules it sets for itself, and also how central the implausibility is to the story. A realistic thriller that relies on cartoon logic for a background bit might be a little jarring, but not nearly as much as a realistic thriller that relies on cartoon logic to set up its main showdown. The more central it is to the story, the more consistency and accuracy matters. Learning how to balance this can take some practice and some insight from beta readers.

[dangerousfwellows]

FLUSTERED. Lawrence

request: Hiii! can I get a Lawrence imagine where the reader tells Judy that she likes Lawrence, and they have a moment together where she reveals she likes him after judy tells her to. Maybe it’s just really fluffy and he’s kinda shocked and is embarrassed/flustered?

warnings: female pronouns, everyone is alive in this, Lawrence is obviously a little ooc as he’s usually very confident.

 Word count: 1,775

Your arrival to the school was somewhat of a strange one. Was it good? Bad? There were positives, reuniting with Judy and meeting the benevolent and rather… attractive men and women in her group. And not to mention finally being swarmed and surrounded with other humans. Isolation was terrible in an apocalyptic world, it was bad enough feeling lonely in a normal situation, but being alone whilst surrounded by zombies? It was strange and macabre. Death gloomed at every corner, leaking through each little crack of safety, disturbing the previously peaceful world. The negatives? Well, Scarlett mostly. Though, you were sure she was probably just frightened, her emotions getting the best of her. You couldn’t blame her, at a time like this.

You would quickly settle into the group, offering help and assisting on patrols on nightwatches, earning you keep. Your relationship with Judy blossomed, your friendship as strong as ever. Her happiness really stood out against the bleakness. It was… refreshing. You also began to grow closer to the group’s leader, Lawrence. He was undeniably beautiful, his dishevelled chestnut hair, russet eyes surrounded by dark, long lashes and his pale smooth skin was very attractive to you. Every time he would smile at you, the myriad of butterflies would explode in your stomach. A sense of familiarity irked you. You were sure you remembered him from somewhere, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. So, you decided to confide in Judy.

“Ah! So you do like him!”

Judy exclaimed, an excited twinkle in her eyes. You felt a flush rise to your face.

“I-I’m not saying I like him, I just… find him attractive.”

Your sentence had trailed off into a mumble. You were currently sitting in your shared classroom, resting after a long day of patrolling. Judy had noticed your shy body language around Lawrence, and decided to go into her detective mode and uncover the truth. She nodded in response, waiting for you to continue, which makes you sigh softly and decide to just tell her how you feel exactly.

“Well, I don’t know… I seem to remember him from somewhere, but I can’t remember where from, exactly. And I am attracted to him, I mean he’s really beautiful, and kind. I think he’s a perfect leader for us. It’s just, I wouldn’t be able to express this to him. He’s kind of… intimidating.”

Judy chuckled shortly,

“Look, y/n! I think you should just talk to him, bring it up casually. Maybe he feels the same, I would be surprised if he didn’t. And you only find him intimidating because you’re nervous. Maybe you should try flirting with him?”

You smiled lightly and nodded,

“I suppose… I’ll try in the morning. Thank you, Judy.”

She grinned sweetly and nodded, and both of you eventually drifted off to sleep.

The morning finally came around, sun beams peeped through the battered old blinds that covered the windows. You stirred slightly, a soft exhale leaving your lips as you awoke. You hurriedly dressed and got ready, rushing to classroom 1-C, where Lawrence was usually, preparing for the day. He was always up before everyone else, he was the leader after all.

You slid the door to the classroom open, instantly Lawrence, fussing over today’s rations. He turns his head to the sound of the door opening, and he greets you with his usual adorable smile.

“Good morning, y/n. You’re up early.”

He spoke, turning away from you and returning to the desk that he was working at. He felt your eyes burning into him, carefully observing him as you slowly approached him.

“Well, so are you.”

You replied swiftly, standing by his side.

“Anything I can do to help?”

You asked, gesturing to the breakfast he was sorting out for the group. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, he shook his head, his chestnut locks framing his face.

“That’s alright, I’m just finishing up anyway.”

You nod, offering him a small smile. You sat at a desk next to him, biting your lip as a silence engulfed the room. You shifted slightly, eyes trailing over the busy male.

“you know…” You begin, and Lawrence’s russet orbs flicker over to you, “I recognise you, from before all this.”

He smirks lightly, turning his focus onto you as he leans against a desk.

“Oh? Is that so?”

You nod,

“Mm, but I can’t remember where from exactly.”

He simply crosses his arms, and you take a step towards him, eyes scanning him, desperate to try and recall. The glint in his eyes told you that he seemed to remember. He feels his face heating up lightly at your closeness. He remembered you, of course, and his heart fluttered like a pair of wings on a snowy white dove at the thought you also remembering him. You let out a sigh and pout,

“Won’t you tell me?” You ask, watching the soft, rose blush increase across his pale face as you leant closer to him, resting you head on his shoulder. He tensed lightly at you touch, but quickly relaxed. He chuckled and shook his head.

“I guess you’ll just have to try harder to remember, hm?”

He pulled away from you as Eugene and Zion entered 1-C, whining about being hungry.

You and Lawrence didn’t have any other… moments together for a while, to your (and Judy’s) disappointment. That would change, however. He, you, Zion and Ethan were on a supply run. Ration were running dangerously low, and food was needed. So, here you all were, silently searching for grocery stores across a street that the group hadn’t raided yet. It was a dismal, grey day. Rainclouds and thunder loomed in the atmosphere. You were all slightly grateful for this however, the roars and groans of thunder acted as a shield for noise, allowing you to wander the streets with only a few zombies roaming around, not paying any attention to any of you. Lawrence stopped walking, gesturing for the group to come closer.

“There’s a grocery store over there. Let’s go in, everyone be on guard, okay? We can’t get ahead ourselves because there aren’t many zombies out here, anything could be lurking in there.”

You all nodded in response, grateful for Lawrence’s careful leadership skills. Ethan tightened his grip on his bat, and you all began making you way to the store. Lawrence peered into the glass windows in the door, furrowing his brows as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He nodded, signalling it seemed safe to go inside. You all entered the store slowly, eyes darting around for any wandering zombies.

“Alright, let’s spread out. Zion and Ethan, you two take the front of the store. Y/n, we’ll take the back.”

Your leader spoke, keeping his voice low and quiet. Ethan and Zion head to the back, and Lawrence leads you to the aisles in the back. You begin searching shelves, placing anything valuable into your bags. A sudden bolt of lightning crashes loudly and abruptly, practically making you jump out of your skin. You feel a hand on you shoulder, comforting you from the sudden rush of fear. You turn you head to see Lawrence.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and you hurriedly nod. You turn more towards him as the soft patter of rain hits the glass windows. This all seemed so familiar, being near Lawrence, surrounded by rain, the two of you alone. Then it hit you, that’s where you remember him from. He beams as you nod, and begins to turn away, going back to searching.

“Lawrence!”

You blurt out, and he faces you with a slight look of confusion. That night had never left your mind, before the apocalypse. You had lent Lawrence your umbrella on an inclement day, and after that, he lingered in your mind. He was undeniably handsome, and even though you hadn’t met or seen him since, you couldn’t but long to see him again, creating little fantasies in your mind. You stare at the male in front of you, watching him look at you with a raised eyebrow at your sudden outburst, to which you now stood silently in front of him. You think back to Judy’s encouragement to just tell Lawrence about you little crush, but you couldn’t find the words. it wouldn’t hurt to… show him, would it? You take a few steps forwards, and he in response takes a few uneasy steps back, his back hitting a, thankfully empty, shelf.

“uh, wha-“

You cut him off with a hesitant kiss, feeling him tense up, the kiss was over as quickly as it started as you pull away, noticing his flushed face.

“W-what was that for?”

He mumbled, avoiding your eyes as he pushes his glasses up into place.

“I remembered you.”

You reply swiftly,

“…and I, well, I kind of, have feelings for you, I’ve been attracted to you since we first met.”

Lawrence stays silent during your confession, leaning back against the pillar behind him. You grow nervous at his silence, mentally wishing he would say something.

“Sorry for kissing you… I got ahead of myself, I’ll just forget-”

He cuts you off by grabbing your wrist gently and clearing his throat. “No, no… it’s okay. I, ah, I… feel the same.”

A smile tugs at you lips as you lean into him, kissing him once again. He hesitantly hovers his hands over your body, before softly gripping at your waist, you hungrily push your body flush against him, nibbling gently on his lip. The kiss heats up slightly, your leg pushed between his, desperately gripping at each other as if you were each other’s lifeline. It was just your feelings for each other, the touch of another person was something you both craved, there was hardly any affection shared nowadays. You were interrupted by a loud “ew” to which you quickly separated and saw Zion watching you two with a smirk on his face.

“I was just going to say that Ethan and I are done, but… I see you’re busy.”

Lawrence flushes again, turning his head away from Zion’s cocky gaze.

“Uh, okay… Y/n and I are almost done, we can leave in a minute.”

The fiery haired male raises an eyebrow and replies with a simple,

“‘kay.”

He exits and you listen to his quiet footsteps retreating, whilst turning to Lawrence. He smiles sheepishly at you.

“I guess we should hurry up finish our search.”

You nod, a small smile resting on your lips as you continue searching the shelves with Lawrence.

“You know… You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“…Shut up.”