#that part of the bunker. that old part. it might come to love its inhabitants. not as legacies but as people who need a home.

[quietwingsinthesky]

anthropomorphizes angel blade anthropomorphizes the tablet anthropomorphizes the bunker anthro-

[grouchomarxiste-blog1]

Bong Joon-Ho’s Parasite: Marx and Violence

Warning: A majority of this was written pre-pandemic, so please excuse my overly optimistic tone. It was a different time.

Yes, another Bong Joon-Ho film. Can you blame me? The guy’s a genius. Parasite was another one of those great films that will never leave you. You can watch the movie simply without doing a major analysis in your head and you will still agree that it’s a great movie. Which personally, is why I believe it's made its way into the major American awards season. Parasite winning Best Foreign Film at the Golden Globes was one of the few decisions I’ve agreed with. I didn’t see any of the winners in the film categories besides Parasite, and I’m very much ok with that. It’s making its way into Hollywood and the favorite lists of celebrities. Elon Musk said he loved Parasite (he also turned Grimes, the former “anti-imperialist,” to the mother of his future child). Chrissy Teigen loved Parasite (a lot can be said about her, so let’s not). Obama loved Parasite (but I have some serious doubts about the authenticity of his yearly favorites list. Mainly because I can’t imagine him listening to Summer Walker). I was completely boggled at all of those tweets. How? How is one so blind? How did one watch Parasite and not feel a thing? After I watched Parasite, I rushed back to school to attend the discussion section of my Political Theory class so I could read and discuss primitive accumulation through dispossession with revolutionary fervor. I recommended it to everyone near me. I even wrote a note to my professor who tucked it into his book. But is that the problem- that all these beloved figures (not mine) end up loving the sheer adrenaline of the story and tweet to their followers about how great the movie is. Those followers, with their favorite celebrities’ seal of approval, watch the movie, not putting it together either. Bong Joon-Ho is critiquing those very figures! In every post-Parasite interview, Bong Joon-Ho has said that Parasite is about America and capitalism, but we have just reduced those statements to memes on Twitter. As funny as they are, Parasite is rich for its class analysis. The Hollywood reaction is just as important. Marx is all over this movie, there's no question about it. I also want us to understand these controversial moments from a Fanonian perspective, again all with relation to Marx. I hope for us to understand that everything about this movie is intentional and every bit of it is worth pages and pages of discussion. I nearing 11 pages as I write this. I also hope that this film can be a way for us to understand economic exploitation in the 21st century. While many celebrities have misunderstood it, it is important that you, us, the people, the working class, grasp every bit of this radical film.

I’m not going to bother with another one of my “brief summary” because I’m assuming, we’ve all seen it. It's on Hulu now and I believe Apple TV. If you don’t want to pay for either platforms, watch a pirated version online, I genuinely don’t think Bong will mind.

I want to talk about the home. I know we all had the same reaction to that beautiful home: awe, admiration, and envy. The Park’s home itself is significant, but also in contrast to the Kims’ home. The Kim’s live in a small semi-basement home, where they have to reach up in order to look out their window and see the street level. Their home is dirty, cramped, just not a place where anyone wants to be. But immediately, I thought of Fanon and the native sector. I know that Parasite isn’t about colonialism, but space is important to Marx (I’ll return to Fanon). In The Communist Manifesto, Marx and Engels attribute many things to the process of proletarianization. To name a few: literacy campaigns and public education, the politicization of the proletariat towards the end of feudalism, expansion of media, etc. One that stands out, is the mass migration and urbanization of the proletariat. Through that, the proletariat was concentrated into the poorest parts of the city where they shared their most intimate quarters with workers like themselves (Marx and Engels, 15) One might dismiss this as a historical example specific to Europe, but if we go back to my thoughts on Memories of Murder, we’d note how Korea’s transition to a modern capitalist society, was a fairly recent one (from 1987 onwards). As the agricultural sector suffered, Koreans living in the rural provinces were forced to move into the major cities. Park (Song Kang-Ho’s character in Memories) was lucky enough to become a successful businessman, unlike the Kims who earn their livelihood by holding pizza boxes- the most insignificant work. Along with urbanization, the proletariat also occupied the small space of the factory, where they are reminded of the everyday brutality of their work. The Park’s home is not cramped, but the one scene where everyone is rushing to hide from them, results in Ki-taek, Ki-jeong, and Ki-woo hiding underneath a coffee table overnight. After that lengthy battle with Geun-sae and Moon-gwang, the Kims are exhausted. They do not want to be laying side by side hearing the Parks have sex. My friend Sef also reminded me that the Parks had weird sex as Mr. Park recalled how their old chauffeur possibly had sex with a drugged-up prostitute, a scenario that previously made Mrs. Park scream out of disgust. Revisiting this, I believe this definitely deserves a psychoanalytic analysis.

This isn’t their breaking point, but also hearing Mr. Park say that Ki-taek smells like the subway is a factor. Once making their break they run outside where it's raining heavily. They come to their home which is flooded and destroyed. Here is where I’ll start talking about Fanon. [READ NOTE]. Again, I know the colonial system is not the case in Parasite. Fanon was a Marxist and expanded on Marxist theory in the colonial context. I just want to warn you that I am using Fanon as carefully as possible, not using concepts that are distinctly racial. I know there’s probably also much more relevant work out there on spatiality and violence, but I think Fanon’s prose style in The Wretched of the Earthis quite appropriate for the film. Let’s consider the colonial bourgeoisie as the Parks and the natives as the Kims. Fanon calls the colonial world, a “compartmentalized world.” The colonists’ sector is clean and protected whereas the native sector is overcrowded, envious, and starving. Sounds about right so far.

The colonist’s sector is a sector built to last, all stone and steel. It’s a sector of lights and paved roads, where the trash cans constantly overflow with strange and wonderful garbage, undreamed-of leftovers. The colonizer’s feet can never be glimpsed, except perhaps in the sea, but then again you can never get close enough. They are protected by solid shoes in a sector where the streets are clean and smooth., without a pothole, without a stone… The colonized’s sector or at least the “native” quarters, the shanty town, the Medina, the reservation, is a disreputable place, inhabited by disreputable people. You are born anywhere, anyhow. You die anywhere, from anything. It’s a world with no space, people are piled one on top of each other. (Fanon, 4)

This becomes extremely relevant when the Kims run out of the Parks’ home in the pouring rain. I kept noticing that they were all barefoot, only focused on getting out of there. My toes curled in the movie theater watching that. Running away from that traumatic house to find your own home destroyed, relocating to a displacement camp, THEN going to work the next day for your unaffected employer who has the audacity to audibly take a sniff of you. I don't know about you, but to me, this sounds like the conditions for a proletarian revolution. Besides the literal allegory, the tone sharply shifts. One could argue that it began to change when they found Geun-sae in the bunker or when Moon-gwang hit her head but that was just some good old dark comedy for me. After the flooding, things are different. Ki-taek has this unmoving face. Things turned grim and we knew something climactic was about to happen. Fanon’s most famous chapter, “Concerning Violence,” maintains that decolonization will always be a violent event because colonialism is a violent system itself. Something that I absolutely love about this chapter is that it isn’t some dense, theoretical work. It’s a revolutionary call to arms for all colonized people. It has a strategic pace which parallels Parasite so well. He sets the scene- the compartmentalized, Manichaen world. He slowly intensifies the antagonistic relationship between the colonizer and the colonized, until this culminating point:

The colonized subject thus discovers that his life, his breathing and his heartbeat are the same as the colonist’s. He discovers that the skin of the colonist is not worth more than the “natives.” In other words, his world receives a fundamental jolt. The colonized’s revolutionary new assurance stems from this. If no longer strike fear into me or nail me to the spot and his voice can no longer petrify me. I am no longer uneasy in his presence. In reality, to hell with him. Not only does his presence no longer bother me, but i am already preparing to waylay him in such a way that he will no longer have any solution but to flee (Fanon, 10)

As corny as it sounds, when I first read that, it brought me to tears. I’m not sure if it was just because I was up for three days straight writing my midterm and I was finally breaking, or because it just meant that much to me. But that section in which the colonized discoversthat his life is worth as much as the colonizer is such a crucial moment. This parallels the infamous birthday scene. Geun-sae gets out of the bunker, stabs Ki-jung, the Park’s kid (I’ll look his name up later) has a seizure, and Chong-sook is wrestling with Geun-sae. Shit is going down. If we recall, Mrs. Park mentioned that it takes a few minutes for her son to die after a seizure and needs to go to the hospital immediately. So much is going on and Mr. Park starts screaming at Ki-taek to give him the keys. Ki-taek is immobilized at this point. His daughter has been stabbed, son attacked, wife almost killed, the Parks’ got him dressed up in some cultural appropriation, Hollywood Indian regalia. In fact, I find it very fitting that he’s dressed up as a Native American at this moment. I see this as Bong’s satirical nod to old ultra-capitalist Hollywood. But if enough wasn't going on, Mr. Park sniffed. He got close to Geun-sae, a man who’s been living underground for 3 years and audibly sniffed him in disgust. The same way that he sniffed Ki-taek. Of course, there’s probably a difference between a “subway” smell vs. “I haven't showered in 3 years” smell but at the moment it feels as if it's almost the same thing. In my initial viewing, I thought what happened next was because of that, but no. Ki-taek realized that his life was worth the same as the Parks, and their presence no longer bothers him, but he is now plotting against him, and the time of action is now. Ki-taek stabs Mr. Park and flees. Annoyingly, the YouTube section for this clip is filled with people feeling bad for the Parks and discussing how what Ki-taek did was wrong. Of course, the average viewer will view the Parks as some sympathetic rich suckers who only treated the Kims kindly. The casual reader who picks up Fanon for the first time would also dismiss his theory of violence as immoral in comparison to non-violent methods like Gandhi’s. A lot can be said about Gandhi, but Fanon says that non-violence is a strategy created by the colonizer to deter decolonization and paint the colonizer as a gentle ruler who wants peace. This is not the case. Colonialism is a violent system. Capitalism is a violent system. Colonialism can only be undone violently. Capitalism can only be undone violently. Now I don't mean to make this all about colonialism, as my friends say I often do. But the similarities are clear. The question isn’t whether the murder of Mr. Park was a justified act, but what were the conditions that forced Ki-taek to murder. Geun-sae killed Ki-jung, but no one in the comment section is having a debate on whether his murder was ethical. Because in our heads we feel bad for him, and the life that he’s lived- why don’t we feel the same towards Ki-taek? Geun-sae and Ki-taek are two sides of the same coin. Geun-sae’s exploitation is naked. He’s confined to the basement, controlling the lights of the home. A feature of the house that Mr. Park doesn't even pay attention to, never mind considering that there is someone manually operating it. A clear example of how our labor is alienated. All while blindly worshipping Mr. Park- a man who knows nothing of his existence. Honestly, I hope some of you see yourselves in Geun-sae the next time you defend billionaires online. But Ki-taek is just another exploited worker. I understand this can be hard to understand in our current understanding of the world. How is Ki-taek exploited? Him and his family conned their way into their jobs and leech off of the Parks. Again, we must return to the system as a whole to understand. None of this wouldn’t have happened if the Kims weren’t desperately poor in a capitalist society, which enables families like the Parks, to live a life of excess at the expense of the Kims. Capitalism is a system of exploitation; we cannot forget that. Quite simply, no one is rich without thousands that are poor.

          The levels of the home are also this unforgettable feature. I just want to make this quick note about the issue of the ghost. Did you forget about the ghost? Da-Song didn’t (yes, I finally looked his name up!). I find the story of the ghost such an interesting touch. Not just as a way for Bong to warn the audience about Da-Song’s history of seizures. When Mrs. Park tells Chung-sook of the story, she says “they say a ghost in the house brings wealth.” This, of course, is true since the exploitation of those like Geun-sae are responsible for the wealth of the Parks, in the larger picture. I’d like to look further into this. There's a twofold meaning to this. I do believe that this ghost is symbolic to the exploitation of the Kims, and the proletariat in general, but that’s Mrs. Park’s understanding of this ghost. The way she understands this ghost, is as a source of wealth. Maybe Mrs. Park isn’t as ditzy as we imagine- she to some degree, understands her class position. But like most, she doesn’t question the ghost, or her class position. She knows that if she looks into either, it would result in the ugly truth. Da-Song, however, is just a child. He’s too young to really understand the economic and social relations which are responsible for his wealth. He’s also too young to consciously suppress any desire to investigate the matter like his mother. He is a child after all and is naturally curious. But his first encounter with the ghost was the one that resulted in a near fatal seizure. This can be his body’s reaction to the life-threatening figure of a ghost. The ghost isn’t just a threat to his mortal life, but his wealth, some may argue that these are the same. Mrs. Park pays for therapy for his “trauma” so he could forget the event, but he still knows. He saw this ghost and is the only one to seriously consider its threat. Mrs. Park knows it's real but chooses to not think about it. I want to return to the Manifesto. Let's hear these famous words: “A specter is haunting Europe- the specter of communism… Two things result from this fact: Communism is already acknowledged by all European powers itself to be a power...” (Marx and Engels, 8). Don’t think I’m just including this because he’s talking about a specter, in fact, I think this story of the ghost is an intentional allusion to the specter of communism. Da-Song represents this figure of the bourgeoisie who is in constant anxiety over the threat of his wealth. When he reappears at his birthday party, he has another seizure. Also, at this time, the family, and all of their guests are witness to the horrors of their wealth and what it's created. This naked, hideous display, this moment of confrontation is a pivotal point in the dialectic. Of course, this murderous moment is not seen as a success to the viewer with Mr. Park, Ki-jung, and Geun-sae dead, Ki-woo presumed to be dead, and Ki-taek missing. This just shows us that the bourgeoisie are their own gravediggers- to again invoke the Manifesto. On a larger scale, this would be the moment of a revolution- but we don’t. Ki-woo survives with Chung-sook and is put on probation. Ki-taek is missing to the police, but Ki-taek realizes that he’s living in the bunker in hiding. Ki-woo declares that he will make enough money to buy the home and free his father. At first, I wondered “why couldn't he just sneak him out of the house when the new owners were asleep?” “Why did he have to buy the home?” As much as I wanted to portray the Kims to be revolutionary figures, Ki-woo has the common fate of most. Instead of usurping power from the bourgeoisie, he believes he can free his dad from the home, by owning the house. Everyone who lives in the basement is stuck there for a reason, because someone is forcing them to stay there. A perfect allegory for the relations of production as I have repeatedly mentioned throughout this text. Ki-woo desires a bourgeois life (as most working-class folk do!) in order to lift his father out of the despair of poverty. He believes the only way he can save his father is to own the home, which could easily be seen as the means of production. A nice touch which I had to look up, was as Ki-woo tells us of his desire to buy the home, a song plays called “546 years”- the amount of time it will take for him to earn enough money. I wish this song title was more obvious for the American viewer. I am not trying to take away from this film by saying that, but for a viewer who knows Korean or the song title, they’ll understand the tragic nature of his dreams. Whereas the American viewers will sympathize with his dreams- as we’ve done with immigrants and “the American Dream” or the bootstrapping mentality of some people. In some way I do think Bong didn’t want an overtly revolutionary ending. I don’t think the average viewer, especially in this day, could handle an ending like that. Not to say that we don't understand class inequality and such. We are not living in, say the 60s/70s where there were Marxist movements all throughout the world. I don’t think we have the conditions for a revolution at this moment, although I do think the mass unemployment and the other severe economic consequences of this virus will radicalize the working class in large numbers, to a degree that we haven't seen in a long time. But to make my point, I feel that we are living in historic political times and we are coming to understand ourselves in a liberating way.  It is my hope that films like Parasite will awaken the revolutionary potential in us all.

Note: I wanted to use Fanon’s theory of violence and diagnosis of colonialism as a violent structure, in relation to capitalist society. I don’t want us to interpret his writings as something that can be isolated from the racial structure of colonialism, but i do think it is a beneficial guide to understanding this film.

Work Cited:

Philcox, Richard, translator. “On Violence.” The Wretched of the Earth, by Frantz Fanon, Grove Press, 2004.

Joon-Ho, Bong, director. Parasite. Barunson E&A, 2019.

Marx, Karl, and Frederick Engels. The Communist Manifesto. International Publishers, 1948.

[nerdylittleshit]

Thoughts about Spn 14x13 AKA EPISODE 300!!!!!

SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS!

I HAVE A LOT OF EMOTIONS! This episode was really something truly special. Admittedly I’m not the biggest fan of John Winchester and I wasn’t looking forward to his return. But man, I really loved how they pulled this of. It was really close to perfect. It was a big character piece and very  self-referential. But whereas the 200th episode (“Fan Fiktion”) was a love letter to the show and the fans, this felt like a closing chapter, going back to the start, letting go and finding closure. And of course the show ain’t over yet, but it addressed by now its two original wounds, Mary’s death and John’s absence, to let Sam and Dean truthfully move forward. It answered some question and shed a light on a few unanswered questions as well. And I feel by now the show has come full circle in so many ways, so when it eventually will end, and they give us episodes like this, it will be a great end.

But, as always, let’s take a closer look.

Lebanon

Despite the fact that the Winchesters live in Lebanon since season 8 we haven’t really seen much of the city. I wish we would have seen an entire episode from the town’s perspective, but I’m glad with what we saw here so far. The Winchesters, whose family business is to track down Urban Legends have become a Urban Legend in their town by now. We see them interact with the people in town, they are familiar, and this warms my heart. Because again it brings us back to the original concept of the show, a road movie every week. And while this element is still present they also have a home now, a place they can return to, people who know them.

I also love that they go by the name Campbell in town, Mary’s maiden name. Of course the Winchester brothers are officially dead (more than one time), but it also connects them more with Mary. The show started with them known as John’s sons, but they are their own men now (more about this later), and they also acknowledge Mary’s side of the family through that.

The three teenagers can be interpreted as tem free will mirrors, with Max, the girl who loves plaid and classic cars, as a Dean mirror who falls for a brunette. Make of that what you will.

I love that the little case of the week included John Wayne Gacy, representing both Sam’s worst fear (clowns) and his special interest (serial killers). Just like Dean gets his biggest wish granted but there is a downside to it as well.

I also love that we learn that to heaven Lebanon is ‘muddy’, that there is some sort of interference, probably because of all the warding in the bunker.

Finally, the title of the episode doesn’t seem to make much sense at first. Of course the episode takes place in Lebanon (but so did many others) and we get to see more of the town and its inhabitants and how Dean’s wish affects them. But this episode is about family at its core (just like the show is). The family is the centre of every home, of Dean’s heart, just as Lebanon is the geographical centre of the US.  

What your heart desires

Of course the plot of this episode is a bit constructed. All of sudden Dean gets a magical pearl that grants him his biggest wish, what his heart desires. But it doesn’t really matter how we get there, but more what it tells us about Dean and what happens next. For one we see that what Dean thinks is his biggest wish is different from what his heart truly desires. We are the most unreliable narrators of our own stories. Second, as typical for this trope, be careful what you wish for. Sam knows this, so his immediate reaction is to think about the consequences of their actions. Because they learned the hard way that nothing in life is for free and you always have to pay the prize.

So, let’s take a look at what actually happens. Den wishes for his father and they summon John from the year 2003. Therefore dad goes missing two years earlier than in their original timeline (and will likely never return). As a consequence Sam and Dean are not reunited; Dean still hunts whereas Sam becomes a TED-Talk giving whatever. Sam never dies, Dean never makes a deal and goes to hell, Cas never rescues him and remains a loyal servant of heaven. The apocalypse never starts. Mary never returns.

We can debate how much of that would have actually happen like that. My biggest complaint is probably Sam. I just don’t see him becoming this person who totally distances himself from the entire concept of family. I mean he still would have met Jess, fall in love with her, propose to her. And it is still possible Yellow Eyes ordered to kill her to get Sam back in the life, to prepare him to become Lucifer’s vessel. Did Jess still die but Dean wasn’t around so instead of hunting Sam dedicated his life to his new career?

And is it possible Zachariah, just as the Winchesters, still remembered the original timeline? He says to Cas “You wouldn’t [understand that reference”, implying the original Cas would have. He notices the interference of time and says Sam and Dean were supposed to play a role in the apocalypse. Either way, by now Sam, Dean and Jack have killed all a version of Zachariah (Dean the original one, Sam this new one and Jack the one in the AU). It’s a family thing.

And even though they killed Zachariah they don’t kill Cas, despite this new Cas trying to kill Cas, because I don’t think they could have. In the end though it is not (or not entirely) the change in Cas that makes them realize that John has to return to his timeline, but the prospect that with John staying Mary will fade away. John choose her life over his own, saying it is no real choice. I do wonder if this is foretelling in some way, that one character will choose another one’s life over their own, perhaps even in a romantic context.

The first conversation we see is that between Sam and his father. It seemed to me that Sam didn’t really wanted to be alone with his father (he immediately asked where Mary is) and that he was unsure what to do and what to say. Sam and John parted with so many things unspoken, with a huge fight shortly before John died, and Sam blamed himself for not making things right. What I loved is that John is aware that he messed things up, that he wasn’t the best father, and that he apologizes. It means a lot. But it is also interesting to see Sam’s reaction: he forgives his father, and in doing so he forgives himself. Sam truly lets go of the past, of his complicated relationship with his father, of the guilt he felt regarding his father’s death. Sam forgiving John wasn’t just for giving John peace, but to give himself peace as well. Forgiveness isn’t about whether someone deserves our forgiveness or not; it is about our own ability to let go, to find peace, to heal.

Interesting despite the fact that it was Dean’s wish I thought Sam needed this sort of closure much more, more than he even realized. Dean seems more confident facing his father, like he already made his peace and needed this final conversation to close this chapter of his life. John tells Dean that he was proud of him. Back in 1x22 it was because John told him the exact same thing that Dean got suspicious and realized that his father was possessed. Dean needed to hear this (I needed to her this because this scene always makes me very emotional for personal reasons). John also says that he had wished for his son to get a normal life, once their mission of killing Yellow Eyes was completed. This is surprising as John throw out Sam for wanting to live a normal life. And it brings us back to a very old theme of the show: Dean vs the apple pie life.For as much Dean denied in earlier seasons to want a normal life we this is not true, but neither the hunting life or the normal apple pie life with Lisa and Ben had made him completely happy. Now though he has the best of both worlds: he still hunts, he still does in his eyes do something meaningful, but he also has a home, has a family, and he tells his father exactly this. It might not be a family in the traditional sense (that we then see at the family dinner) but it is a family all the same. However it made sense to me that neither Cas or Jack were present for the family diner, as this episode was so much about going back to the beginning, so it was about the core family that started this show.

In a later conversation with Sam we see how much Dean has grown, how mature he acts. Even though the idea of sending their father back with the full knowledge of what will happen (giving him peace but also risking he will change the past) is tempting, Dean doesn’t really think about it. He knows that if it wasn’t for them some other people might had to save the world, might have been given their burden. He acknowledges that his life has been hard, has been painful, that both his parents are partly to blame for it. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. Because his life made him who he is, his choices made him who he is, and that is the Dean he is at peace with, the Dean he wants to be, the one who sacrificed so much because he couldn’t live with himself if he wouldn’t. Dean acknowledges that their lives are theirs, that they are their own man now, writing their own stories. In a show that deals so much with losses of agency, with the concept of fate vs free will (especially again in this season), this means a lot.

When the time arrives to say goodbye John once again tells his sons that he is proud of them, and that he loves them. Dean returns the “I love you”. After Mary and Sam this is the third time he tells someone he loves them, and it leaves some space because there is yet one person left that he hasn’t told yet he loves him (I’m talking about Cas of course). And while, as I explained, it made sense that Cas wasn’t around for the family diner, it also made sense he was there at the end. Because he is part of Dean’s family, and mirrors what John was to Mary (also, any bets on what John and Mary did in their alone time when Sam and Dean were out grocery shopping?).

John won’t remember what he learned about the future, though it would have given him some peace to see what would become of his sons and that Mary would return to life. It is nice though that at least he remembers some things as a dream, which made gave him shortly some comfort. But in the end this wasn’t so much about John, but about Sam and Dean. It is different than Mary’s return. It plays with the idea to have one final conversation with a loved one you lost, to find a chance to say goodbye, to find some peace and closure with it. To let them know that you are ok after all, to look back at your own life and find peace with who you are.

So much about this episode was going back to the start, to show how they have come, how they changed. Much of it felt like an ending. Episodes like this make me positive than when this show will eventually end they will do it in a satisfying way. They know their characters and their stories so well by now, that so much about the last seasons doesn’t feel like stretching the story out but rather coming full circle. The show is becoming its own epos.

And finally huge respect for all the acting this episode, but especially Jared and Jensen’s performances, who brought me to tears. To everyone who works on this show, before or behind the camera, who gives their best every week: thank you.

[zeciex]

Obsidian & Angelite Ch. 16 part I

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, 

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

Apocalypse Now Part I

The first week of the apocalypse she had spend in a concrete bunker with some of Michaels ‘associates’ that was really just a nice word for servants or followers. Michael himself had kissed her goodbye for the next three months and sent her away to that cold little grey prison. If he had been there she might have slapped him for not warning her.

And then she was taken away, wrapped in a strange plastic suit that should stand as a protection against the radioactive outside. They drow for what felt like hours and without the sun upon the ever grey sky it was hard to tell how much time really did pass. Everything was burned to a crisp. Ash and bones and remnants of what was before standing as a solome graveyard. In some areas, there was nothing, just dust, while in others the skillet of buildings tumbling down served as society headstones in a world that tried to forget what was before.

They came to an area where burned bushes and trees begged for the sun to shine through the massive layer of dust that encapsulated the world. By the time the sun was to show its face once more, the plants would be long dead and gone. It saddened her, to see nature well past its breaking point.

They drow through black gates and guided her off the car before leaving her in the middle of nowhere alone. And for a few moments, she was alone, completely, with the destruction weighing in on her.

From within a strange sculpture of sort appeared two black dressed figures with masks that resembled plague doctors. At first, they sized her up with unreadable faces hidden by the mask, the next they mentioned for her to follow. They took an elevator down into the ground.

After she had been disinfected and cleared she was allowed to take off the suffocating space suit she had come to find both all too hot and cold at the same time. She was lead out into the hallway and found the tiles were all the same, lighted up by candles that cast a warm glow along with deep shadows. It was strange to be underground, a place where the dead had been buried for millenniums, now a place protection.

“I am Wilhelmina Venable and welcome to Outpost 3.” Her voice travelled along the stones, cold and distant. Venable looked gothic, to say the least, controlled in every aspect of her, with dark lips and even darker eyes. So this was the woman Michael had chosen to run the outpost. Oya couldn’t exactly say she agreed with his decision but of course, like with everything else Michael had a plan and if that plan had her playing someone smaller than who she really was, then so be it.

As she followed the gothic woman through the bunker she began talking. Telling Oya of the sorting of Purples, the elite as she called them, and the Greys.  Then about the rules, the strict no sex policy that’d end with a bullet between your eyes were you not to follow it and the schedule. The apocalypse had given Venable the chance to remake this tiny little world inside the safety of these walls in her image.

Oya could already tell that it was going to be a long 3 months.

After changing her comfortable clothing into a tight corset and purple victorian dress, she joined the rest of the inhabitants in Outpost 3 in the library. The woman with dark short hair and round figure she had come to know as Mrs. Mead introduced her to everyone else with a cold disinterested voice Venable would have been proud of.

“This is our newest arrival, Oya Jeon.”

“Did you pay your way to get in here too?” A blond ask with a stringy and obnoxious voice. Before Oya could answer Mrs. Mead did it for her. “Not everyone paid their way into the new world.”

“Then what, huh?” All attention was now on Oya, immediately labelled as someone not like them.

“She has a PhD in botany. Someone has to be able to grow the new world,” Mrs. Mead bit back and left her to the wolves. Oya looked over them, one by one. They were a pathetic gathering in her opinion. Why Michael decided to give her a degree in botany of all the things she could have been given were beyond her. He could have made her a doctor or engineer, something more impressive than plants.

“I would have thought they’d have Mexicans with their skills in gardening and not some china-doll,” the oldest woman spoke before throwing back her drink. The causality of her racism seemed to make everyone in the room roll their eyes and even made the obvious gay man with short blond hair visibly uncomfortable.

“I’m Korean and if you want anything to eat whenever the radiation is gone you’ll need a person with knowledge of plants and a greenthumb,” Oya spoke not stumbling the slightest under the narrow glare the old bitch send her. The blond man laughed uncomfortably and approached Oya, reaching out to touch her hair. She couldn’t help but frown and lean back as he took a strand of her hair between her fingers, looking over it with interest.

“My god, you do have beautiful hair! I would love to set it some time,” he spoke, walking behind her to lift up the rest as if he was already starting to piece together what to do with it. A blond woman abruptly stood up, fist in balls at her sides, while her pink lips were cast downwards. She glared intensely at the two of them.

“You’re my hairdresser! Without me and my ticket you’d be dead by now!” She exclaimed childishly. “Her hair is not even that great.”

And so life in the bunker began, wrapped in torturous corsets, outdated dresses and lace while being fed the most boring meal of all time in the form of a tiny little cube. Michael was going to pay for this.

The old hag Evie proved to be the most annoying of all. She was a relic of a time long past even before the apocalypse, cast in old time glamour and venomous intent. Then there was her grandson, Mr. Gallant, whom Oya found one of the better of the survivors. Dinah Steven she found to be one of the quiet ones, yes she took part in the conversation but whatever she truly thought never came through. There was something about her, a shadow that lingered, one none of the others had. Oya couldn’t help but think that she was a woman that’d do anything to survive, to get ahead in life. Quite opposite to his mother, Andre Stevens and his boyfriend, were weak and dramatic, neither of them carried the shadow, the promise of teeth and claws.

And then there was Coco. Never before had Oya met anyone as shallow and superficial as her, which was the reason she sometimes bit her tongue to get along with the woman. No one could possibly be as fake in personality as her, which only made Oya feel a sense of… forgery. And in turn, there was Mallory, the quiet little mouse that followed Coco around and did everything she was told. The grey was so tiny, both physically and in personality, easily overshadowed by Coco’s sense of self. Because of that and her status as a grey, the group that was overlooked and lingered in the shadows, Oya used her as an opportunity to keep her ear to the floor so to speak. If anything were to happen in the outpost a grey would know about it. Mallory was a sweet girl who wanted nothing but acceptance and kindness in return. So Oya gave her that.

The person Michael had told would protect her, was still in the unknown and the treats were many. There were days where it felt like the whole place could collapse into insanity, the human psyche was not meant to be trapped like this day in and day out, with no stimulus and no new impressions. Once she saw Stu cry over the song that played over and over again.

And then there was Mrs. Venable. The cold shadow, the now familiar click of her cane sending shivers down one's back and striking fear into hearts. There was no other word to describe her than cold. And along with her were Mrs. Mead, the loyal guard dog.

If Oya hadn't promised Michael not to kill any of them, they’d all be dead. Even the newest arrivals, Timothy and Emily, bleak as they were. That day two greys had been executed for their indiscretions. The two newcomers were teenagers said to have the perfect DNA and as soon as Oya heard that she wanted to throw a book at Michaels' head. Perfect DNA? Ridiculous. They were normal hormonal teens bound to fall in love when trapped with the most horrid people left on earth.

Of course, marking their arrival the tension had grown within the outpost and during dinner it simmered over with Coco standing up and demanding answers, demanding better treatment for the 100 of millions that had gotten her in here. Like clockwork, Mrs. Venable rained down on it, hard. Stu was the price for disturbance, the price for the growing tension. Killed with the excuse of radiation and by doing so Venable maintained power.

Oya had a hunch it would happen but she never imagined being feed Stu on a silver platter, literally. Even if Mrs. Venable denied that it was an act of cannibalism, the suspicion of it was enough to fast that day and enough to keep the people on their knees, just as she wanted them.

When the three months had passed Oya began to feel a sense of dread and hopelessness set in. She tried to fill her day with books, finding solace in written words rather than unintelligible conversation. By that time she knew more about the others that she cared for.

When 6 months had passed anger began to set in, along with the annoying need for skinship, the ache that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times she masturbated. Her body, mind and soul had grown accustomed to Michaels and when faced with lasting separation, it seemed too long for his company. So instead of focusing on longing, she focused on anger.

Where the fuck was he? Who the fuck was he to abandon her here with these people?... Was he hurt? Was he dead?

And if he wasn’t fucking dead he was sure to be when she got her hands on him. She’d ring him like a fucking dinner bell, wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze until his eyes popped out. Or maybe stab him, over and over and over. Poison him. Kill him with a dull spoon. When there were all the time in the world you’d think a whole lot of things.

18 months. From what she counted it was 18 months after the end of the world. That was 15 months more than what was expected. After a year she had begun to falter, to think that something had happened and she could do nothing about it. With her powers locked away and Michael in the possession of what could release them she was unable to tap into the energy. Within the prison of her body were her magic, her body within the prison of the outpost and Mrs. Venable, and all of that within the prison of radiation. To be kept from her full potential and to look eternity in the face with these people was painful to say the least.

If he came he better carry a fucking crown for her.

The day had been the same as every other day, but this time there were entertainment at dinner. Mr. Gallant boiling over with anger and hopelessness, throwing a tantrum as soon as they were told of the decision to cut back another meal. Everyone was starving and desperate.

Hiding behind a glass of water, Oya allowed herself a tiny smile at the entertainment. If she were honest she’d pay to see Gallant shove a fork into Dinah for her endless positivity blabber. She’d pay even more if he were to do it to his grandmother. Gallant was in an uprise, ready to rebel against the dictators and create a revolution, all he really needed was the rest of them on his side. It could happen. It was a possibility.

But this revolution they had seen happen all too many times. And the fires were to be extinguished or else it might just actually change things.

“What is the point of all of this? Starving? Killing each other? Getting shot?!” Coco exclaimed over the others. Her nose flared, breath quickened in anger. “-All we’re doing is waiting around finding out how we die.”

“I say we take out chances outside,” Mallory commented with strange confidence, breaking the trusted mouse position she was always in. It happened every once in a while, that something broke through the insecure mask of hers. While Coco was extravagant and dramatic, it felt as though Mallory was created to be overshadowed by her. While Coco was hostile, Mallory was docile. But sometimes she wasn't.

“She’s right!” Gallant agreed loudly, his voice rising into a yell. Oya put down her cup of water and nibbled at the half a square jelly on her plate. The sight of it managed to make her sad. Maybe a revolution was really what was best for them. No one was coming after all and Mrs. Venable grasped the reigns of power all too tightly.

“We have to get out of here,” He continued.

“Nobody is going anywhere,” Mrs. Mead spoke in a cold and controlled tone. This seemed to be Gallants last straw, the passiveness becoming too much. He threw his plate to the floor in anger, shattering it into pieces that scattered across the tiles.

“What are you gonna do?! Shoot me?!” He yelled loudly and restlessly, squaring up for a fight. If anything, the mountain of a woman, the one called ‘Fist’ as if it were any better, began to prepare herself for a fight, waiting for the order to rain down on the smaller man. “Huh! What are you gonna do? Shoot us all? Huh? What’re you gonna do!”

In a flash the room was cast in red light, swallowing up all colours and shadows. It wasn’t long after the alarm began, the deafening noise travelling through the halls, cast over the stones in a never-ending loop. Oya’s eyes went to Mrs. Venable who hadn’t yet masked her surprise, nor the glimpse of panic.

What this it? Did this mean that the outside had finally broken in. Everyone was aware of the death that lurked outside and wishing to enter. Had death finally arrived?

A silent confused panic spread through the room, laced with worry and fear. Oya couldn't help for join in, feeling her heart pick up speed and adrenaline spiking through her veins. She was after all human, just like the rest of them. She had asked Michael what would happen if she die, where she’d go, maybe now she’ll find out. If I die now, Michael, I swear to everything I will make your existence worse than what hell offers. She thought.

“Perimeter alert, there’s been a breach,” Fist spoke over the alarm. Mrs. Mead quickly followed Fist while the other survivors were sent to our rooms for the time being. Oya followed Timothy and Emily up, her room further down the hall to theirs. Everyone knew and if they didn’t know they suspected that they were together. Love at the end of the world.

“What do you think it is? A carrier pigeon?” Emily asked with the sprinkle of hope in her voice.

“Or death has come knocking,” Oya spoke behind her, receiving a worried glance and a sour glare from her boyfriend.

“It’s properly nothing,” Timothy said with faux hope, trying to appease his counterpart. His arm wrapped around her waist as they went up the stairs and pulled her aside as soon as they reached her door. Oya looked away when they kissed, giving them the minimal opportunity of intimacy and privacy, both which seemed long gone.

“Oya could you help me get out of this dress?” The two entered the room, one that was familiar and standard. Instead of a zipper that was usually used on the dresses, there were buttons, small fabric buttons. Oya’s fingers were nimble and quick, they wrapped around them and forced them through the hoop with ease.

“Do you really think it’s death?”

Oya looked up after having pulled the dress down the smaller girls form, letting it pool on the floor for her to step out of. If she spoke the truth or told a lie it wouldn't make a difference. In the past she might have gone with the truth, that death was out there and breathing down their necks, but after spending a year with them she had grown fond of some of them, fond in a way that they stood between her and insanity, between her and utter boredom. She was fond of them the same way she was fond of her bed, she could live without it, it wouldn’t make a huge difference, but it was nice to have. Emily, Timothy, Mallory, Dinah and Gallant were all nice to have, and sometimes Coco.

For a while, she had wondered if the knowledge of their possible deaths and Michael’s return to her, affected the way she thought of them. If the possibility of getting out of here without them stood as a roadblock to develop affections towards them further than acquaintances. Or if it was just her preferring the company of a few with actual intelligence were just how she was.

She did always prefer plants over people.

“No,” She spoke, watching Emily pick up her dress and place it on the bed while she rolled her neck. The corset looked too old on her, like a child playing dress up of a time that should have been forgotten. Oya fucking hate the Victorian gothic theme Mrs. Venable had decided on and from what she knew Emily agreed. “I don’t think it’s death. Mrs. Mead and Fist are here to protect us, they have weapons. Beside, remember last time? It was The Cooperative with its messenger pigeon and before that, it was you and Timothy.”

“You don’t think it’s people, do you?”

She felt herself falter, brows furrowing at the question and the strange pang that tugged in her chest. “No, I don’t think it’s people either.”

Oya left but only reached the end of the hall before a scream tore through the air, repelling against the stone and carrying through the outpost. Before she knew of it, Oya was running back towards Emily’s room intent to know what had caused the disturbance and more so because curiosity was one of her biggest adversaries. Not much happened in the outpost so when anything did happen she wanted front row seats.

Timothy had reached Emily before her, holding her against his firm chest, with arms wrapped around her protectively while they stumbled back onto the bed, feet up. Twisting and turning on the floor were snakes, most of them dark but a few white.They slithered across the floor in a clove. Unafraid, she walked into the room and bend down to grasp the snake that slithered along her skirt. Her grip was firm and unrelenting, no matter how much it hissed and how hard it twisted around her wrist, she would not let go.

Fist burst into the room only to take a few steps back as she discovered the snakes, followed by Mrs. Mead and her bellowing voice. “What the hell is going on in-,” her question was answered by hisses. Her eyes landed on Oya with a snake in her grip, confusion eating at her features.

“I thought everything outside was dead,” Fist said eyes raking over the snakes only for them to land on Mrs. Mead.

“God knows how deep they went after the blast,” Mrs. Mead answered taking the axe from Fist. “Maybe they came through the sewage or ventilation system.”

“If anything were to survive the blast and radiation it would have been cockroaches, not snakes,” Oya mumbled, looking at the black snake hissing at her. Its scales reflected the candlelight.

“H-how did you do that?” Emily stuttered and let out a squeal when Fist picked up a thin grey snake that came all too close for her liking. Mrs. Mead looked up at Oya interested in her answer, as she should be. It’s not every day a botanist picks up a snake as if it were nothing.

“I had a pet snake once,” Oya shrugged, sticking closer to the truth to make the lie more believable. Just like Michael had done her botany. “And every once in awhile you come across snakes when working in nature. Be careful, they’re poisonous.”

The head of the axe cut through the snake, partening its head from its body. This were to be the fate of most of them, hacked to pieces, while a few lucky ones were thrown in a pillowcase and taken somewhere else. It wasn’t until there were no snake alive or in the pillowcase before the greys were sent in to clean up.

“Pet snake?” Mrs. Mead spoke with skepticism.

“Yes.” With that Mrs. Mead and Fist walked away. Oya was left starring after them. Indeed if there were anything to survive it was cockroaches not snakes. This was equally concerning as it was interesting. Snakes had always been a symbol of cycles and rebirth as well as balance and danger, but most of all they were her symbol. Whatever they were doing there it meant something, something she was soon to find out.

They gathered around the dinner table as usual but this time snake was on the menu and even though Oya cared for snakes she wasn’t going to turn down a proper meal for the first time in ages. There were a restlessness lurking over them, hanging in the air. Of course Venable remained tightliped about what happened earlier but ensured their safety.

“I have a rule against eating things with no legs or too many legs,” Coco complained loudly sitting light a pouting child. Andre was quick to rebuke but by that time Oya had already tuned out. It was dull, the conversation, the constant nagging and going in circles. Honestly now that there were snakes here she might just up and poison all of them. She might hear what they say but it was only on the surface, instead she was going over possible ways for the snakes to have gotten in or even survived.

“So who’s in your office?” Emily asked. The air was sucked out of the room, eggshells laid out on the floor waiting to be crushed under someone's heel, this time Emily's. It caught everyone's attention including Oya’s. So it was a person.

Mrs. Venable narrowed her eyes, stare cold as ice and threatening. “I beg your pardon?”

“The alarms went off before and someone came inside,” Emily continued. How she obtained that information eluded Oya but it seemed like she wasn’t the only one hiding in the shadows and obtaining information. Venable glared through the room with her mask of superiority, grasping at the reigns of control and order. A match could light the room ablaze, the fire of change hidden behind an unlit match, one each of them were holding. But with the match came the chance of a bullet hole.  

“Who else is here?” Timothy asked with a voice filled with persistence. The boy had balls, now we just had to wait and see if he got to keep them.

“All questions will be answered in due course,” Venable slickly averted, her cane tapping against the floor as it always did, sending a wave of chills down each of their spines. Tap! “Eat.”

Collectively they all removed the lit from the plates, the expected sight of snake soup turned into a literal living nightmare. The snakes that had once been bits and pieces were somehow now slithering over the dinner table followed by a corus of skittering chairs and squeals, not all coming from the women. The snake that coiled in her soup hissed and made attempt to skitter across the table but Oya caught it by the head as she had done earlier before rising from the table and stepping back. The snake wrapped around her wrist. Dead snakes don't just come back to life.

He was here, he had to be here.

Gathered in the library, everyone waited in quiet anticipation so thick you could cut it straight out of the air.  Oya was placed between the loud and annoyed Coco and the failed revolutionist Gallant. Even the greys that were usually shuffling around in the shadows now stood gathered along the walls of the room, waiting for what came next. Overlooking all of this were Venable herself, of course, eyes ice and stone set in the mask of superiority.  

Her fingers tickled with adrenalin, heart pumping profusely as the seconds drawed out feeling like ages. She knew, even before he ever stepped in the room, that he was there, the one she wanted to strangle for making her wait at the same time wanting to just bury her face in his chest and draw in the familiar scent of allspice. Most of all she looked forward to watching how the others would react to his presence.

The echoes of footsteps rang out, creeping along the floor of the hall and ending in the middle of the room. When his presence caught up with the sounds of his steps her heart stopped within her chest. Her mask of stone and mild indifference hiding her thoughts from the world around them.

All eyes followed him while his eyes remained on Mrs. Venable whose expression remained closed of and cold until he was standing right beside her. It was strange to see her falter, to see her mask crumble under his unwavering gaze.

Michael’s aura was predatory, dominant. It demanded respect and attention. His hair was longer, much longer, and more golden that she remembered. It was as if during the time from where he send her away he had fallen into who he was, he seemed more comfortable.

“My name is Langdon and I represent the Cooperative,” he spoke calmly with the same drawl she had missed. Hearing his voice made it all reality, she had imagined this for so fucking long and now when it happened it ignited the anger that burned within her for so long. Still she remained perfectly in place, not storming up to push in into the fire or break the glass vase on the table to cut him up with, no for he had given her a task, a role to play and she damn well were going to play it to the fullest.

“I won’t sugarcoat the situation,” he continued, passing his eyes slowly over each person. Andre looked positively starving and Michael would be the one snack in the room. It didn’t go unnoticed that every single person seemed drawn by him, some more than others. His beauty was after all one of the greatest weapons. “Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilised life on earth.”

The air seemed to still, become colder at his words despite the fire burning behind him. It cast an orange aura around him lighting him up in either hellfire or a halo depending on one's point of view.

“The three other compounds in Syracuse, New York, Beckley, West Virginia and San Angelo, Texas, has been overrun and destroyed.” Oya glanced at Venable who looked troubled at the information and of course she would. It have her a bitter sadisfaction to see the glimpse of panic on her face. Shivers went through the room. “We’ve had no contact from the 6 international outposts but we are assuming that they too have been eliminated.”

“What happened to the people inside?” Timothy asked suspiciously.

Michael rolled his head towards him, drawing out the tension before answering. “Massacred.”

For a moment it was as if every single person within the room had been douched in ice water, frozen at Michael’s disturbing words and the realization that it could every well be them next. Oya couldn’t blame them, his words even made her feel the shiver.

“The same fate that would befall all most all of you.”

“Almost all?” Mallory asked with raspy voice and faltered under the gaze of the others. Once more she proved herself to me more than what she presented.

“In the knowledge that this very moment might occur we build a failsafe, The Sanctuary,” Michael answered calmly.

“The Sanctuary?” Coco said not masking her skepticism.

“The Sanctuary is unique,” Michael elaborated. “It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun.”

“Excuse me, Sir, but why weren't we given them?” Mrs. Mead asked worry painting her features while Venable looked positively furious. As well as the mask of superiority fit Venable every once in a while her eyes gave her away.

“That’s classified,” Michael shut her question down with the wave of his hand that elegantly raised through the air. Movements were like a cat or a trained ballerina, it was elegant and polished. “All that matters is that The Sanctuary will survive so that the people populating it will survive so humanity will survive.” He made it seem so normal and that was possibly what disturbed the others so much, how he seemed almost indifferent to annihilation.

“Who are the people who are populating it?” Now it was Andre’s turn to ask a question, his eyes no longer eating Michael up now that the realisation of the severity of the situation had come.

“Also classified,” Michael answered with annoyance. “However, I’ve been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us.”

Hope bloomed like a flower and spread like wildfire. It rippled through the room transformed into small whispers. Like birds they chippered and Oya participated in the role she had created for herself.

“The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning teknike we like to call -cooroperating. I will then use the information gained to determine if you belong.” His eyes traveled through the room drinking in every expression. Every one of them but hers. Not once had he looked at her and it only made the fire within her chest burn more wild. It was irrational of her, she knew his plan, she knew her part, but after being deprived for so long irrationality became rational.

“What is this, the hunger games?” Coco began, her voice sounding like nails on a blackboard. Oya breathed out and leaned back, knowing exactly what was going to happen. Coco was shallow, superficial and downright childish. Somehow her ego was bigger than her dead father's bankbook. “This is bullshit!”

Michael lifted his eyebrows and glared at her with utter indifference while she continued her tantrum. “I paid my way in here and that is the only cooperating I plan on doing.”

“You don’t have to sit for questioning,” Michael simply answered with a nonchalant like none other. He couldn’t care less, she could drop dead right in front of him and he’d simply walk over her body on the way out.

“What happens if we don’t?” Andre braved to question.

“Then you stay here and die.” Nonchalance turned to annoyance once more. It was made obvious that if they wanted to survive they didn’t have a choice. He could walk out of here with all of them or none of them and from what he must think by now, the former were the prefered choice.

With minimal hesitation Gallant almost exclaimed, “I volunteer to go first.” And efficiently beat everyone to the punch. The bleached blond looked wide eyed at Michael.

“And so you shall.” The air in the room had become tense again, if it had ever chanced. The usual tension had been swallowed up by impending doom sprinkled with bits of hope. Oya dried her sweaty palms on the purple fabric and swallowed, annoyed with every single person in the room, most of them for falling into what Coco had once taught her ‘a thirst trap’, what she herself would have called desire for someone who stood as a gatekeeper between life and death. She was annoyed at their simplicity, human stupidity, but most of all for feeling it herself. “Process should only take me a couple of days, so…-you won't be kept in suspense forever.”

It happened then, their eyes met and she felt electricity shoot through her. It was but a moment, a leaf in the wind, but it made her feel all the more solid and less invisible. It was a simple acknowledgement that she was here and not a specter trapped in hell with these people. These people, she was part of them for now she realised and that was the reason why he had glanced her, just like he had done everyone else.

She got one look and no more.

Bastard.

“For those of you who don’t make the cut,” Michael spoke with ease, shaking his head slightly. “All is not lost.” Slowly he pulled a vile from within his sleeve. “If it were to happen that feral cannibals were to come knocking…” Now the vile filled with tiny little white capsules were on full display. She recognizes them as one of her own product, made to kill without pain, they were always good to have, pop it into someones wine or food and they’d drop dead. Did he ransack her medicine box?

A hint of a smirk formed on his face, smug in the face of death. “Down one of these. One minute later you fall asleep and never wake up.” Now that the severity of the situation had fully formed in their minds, the hint became but a memory when the smirk fully bloomed on his lips, eyes gleaming with power and mischief. He knew he had them right in his palm. “I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.”

With that Michael left the room, leaving them all to down in their own thoughts. Venable looked troubled, unhappy that someone had come into her territory and was now fighting to keep what power she had. She tapped her cane on the floor harshly, the anger apparent, simmering beneath calm exterior.

In silence the world began to spin again. The grey’s were sent away to whatever work they had while the purples remained. Oya rose from her seat feeling smothered by Gallant and Coco. She found her way to the other side of the room, wanting to look over the books once more as if it would magically make a new one appear.

“Pet snake?” Venable spoke with a hard tone. Oya blinked at her confused for a moment.

“Yes.” Venable didn’t spare her a glance and instead walked away, her posse of trusted guarddogs following.

“Well, smooth move asking to go first,” Coco was the first one to break the silence, turning her anger and discomfort towards Gallant who looked almost innocent. Oya picked out a book with black leather and golden trimms, skimming through the old pages. This one was written in latin.

“It’s an old actors attage, either go first or go last,” Evie commented, her voice somehow more cutting that Coco’s.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Coco bit at the much older lady and thereby stepping into the battlegrounds. Oya rolled her eyes, hidden by shadows and leather, and she knew she wasn’t the only one.

“Are you suggesting that he’s going to pass me up?” Evie broke out offended. Oya had been wrong earlier, the biggest ego within these wretched walls was Evie. Apparently there were nothing she hadn’t done, no one famous she didn’t know and everyone was subjected to listening to her endless stories of hollywood grandeur. She was a Diva with a major D and she let everyone know it. Which was what had made it hard for Oya not to concoct something to slip into her many drinks or even that ugly lipstick the hag maganged to abuse. Sometimes she had even planned how to make her death look like divine intervention or fucking suicide.

“You’re ancient!” Coco barked back, body hopping a little on the plush pillows. If Evie was ancient what was she? “He’s looking for people to repopulate the earth not fill a bingohall.”

“You know, for someone with a mental capacity of a 3 year old I suppose 52 might seem ancient.” At this Oya couldn’t help but snort, trying to keep her laugh hidden. From the look of it they all heard, most of them agreeing with her sentiment. 52? 52?!

“You were 52 when Elvis took his last shit,” Coco snickered. Apparently this became too much for Gallant as he breathed out, “That’s enough.”

“No no, dear, let her spout. I remember…” Evie began her tale and Oya immediately shot her out. Coco and Oya made eye contact and there were a brief moment of understanding, acknowledgement of the others pain where both of them rolled their eyes at the hag continuing her story.

She put the book back and left the room, wanting to remove herself from the hassle of other humans. The halls were quiet, lit dimly by the candles that cast an orange glow on everything while managing to make every shadow darker and more sinister. She rolled her neck, trying to work out the tension that had build up there, while trying to calm the fire that burned within her. If she had run into Michael right then and there, she’d have dragged him by the hair to the staircase and pushed him over. Or that was what she would like to think happen, reality would most likely be much different.

It was strange being angry to the very bone, the fire burning through her chest and into her bloodstream, but also relieved. He as here, it was finally happening, but he was here and it was finally happening. The feelings were two very distinct ones, a mix of happiness and hatred, relief and disdain. The thought of being in a room with him brought a thrill tearing through her soul, but it also made it clear how abandoned she really felt.

Anything could happen during their impending interview. Only time would tell which feeling would win the battle.

[sweetiepie08]

Everything Stays (Chapter 2)

Adventure Time au 

Inspired by Simon & Marcy’s relationship in Adventure Time

Héctor can’t remember how he found the amulet or why it’s chosen him, but it saved him and his daughter when the end of the world came. As he and Coco wander through the wreckage, he can feel the amulet’s power growing and trying to creep into his mind. He knows it’s slowly taking over despite his attempts to fight, but he must hang on for Coco.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2.

The shock at finding each other again was so overwhelming, all they could do was stare. Each pair assumed the other was dead. It took a minute for it to sink in that they were not looking at ghosts.

The moment passed and they rushed toward each other. Her Tío Filipe picked her up and gave her a toss, commenting on how much she’d grown. Tío Oscar embraced Papá with a clap on the back. Papá hugged him back, but was careful to place his hands on his own skin. For some reason he’d become impervious to burns.

“Did you join a boy band?” Oscar joked, a bright smile on his face.

“In the 90s?” Filipe added.

Her Papá pinched a lock of platinum blonde hair in his fingers and absently examined it before flicking back in place. “Would you believe it is natural?” He said with an awkward grin. The scattered locks of blonde now growing from his head was just one sign that something was off. His skin had also turned a shade more orange and his hands were always warm to the touch.  “I can tell you about it later,” he added, sparing a glance at Coco.

“Yes, there’s so much to talk about,” Oscar said. “We’ll explain on our way back to camp.”

“Camp” referred to the little community of survivors from Santa Cecilia. Oscar and Filipe took turns explaining what happened to them before the Flash. As the Mushroom War escalated, the brothers started building a secret bunker just outside of Santa Cecelia, hoping they would never really need it. They happened to be working on it when the green cloud appeared. They started getting everyone they could find into the bunker and closed the door just before the flash went off. They stayed down there for a few days until they finally decided to check if it was safe. When they came out, they found Santa Cecelia destroyed, covered in scorch marks with strange puddles of green slime splashed about the landscape.

They’d become a wandering community since then, everyone had to be now a days. Papá’s first question was if Imelda was with them. She was not. No one had seen her since the flash. Papá looked sick.

They did mention that Ernesto was with them for a time. He hid in the bunker with them and traveled with the community for about a year. Then, he found something, he wouldn’t say what, but he thought he found a way to reverse the flash. He went off on his own to find it, and that was the last time they saw him as well.

When they finally made it to camp, Coco could hardly believe her eyes. Sure, the camp itself was little more than a series of tents and campfires, but there were people there. She hadn’t seen so many people in so long. And there were kids there! Kids her own age! Kids she could play with!  She even recognized a few from school. She begged Papá to let her run ahead, and he actually did. He never let her wander out of his sight these days. Surely this must be a special place.

The rest of the day was like a dream. It was almost like she had her old life back. She got to out to play for the first time since she couldn’t remember when. And the smile Papá wore as he watched her play was real. It was a real smile.

Lately, his usual ones were fake, usually accompanied by lies like, “I’m alright,” despite evidence to the contrary. They were weak with worry and shrouded in sadness. They were frowns forcibly and painstakingly turned upside down, not that he would ever admit that. Whenever she asked about it, he’d tell her not to worry about it. Every kid knew that meant he was just keeping all the worry for himself.

Her dream shattered that night, as quickly as a false smile. After they shared dinner with the rest of the community, Papá asked her uncles to talk and they went into one of the tents. She said she wanted to go too. Papá told her everything was fine and to go play with the other kids. But everything was definitely not fine. She could tell by the way they whispered.

After they went in, she waited until she was sure they’d think she was off playing before sneaking up to the tent flaps. Right away she knew something terrible was about to happen.

“Of course we will,” her Tío Filipe said. “That’s not even a question.”

“But you’re staying too,” Oscar added.

“I wish that I could,” Papá said. He was sad; so, so sad. “Imelda would be so proud to see what you’ve done here, but I can’t be part of it. I’m slipping, I can feel it. I’ve already begun changing. If the amulet were to take over entirely…”

“Maybe it won’t come to that.”

“Maybe, but more likely it will.”

“You can’t just give up.”

“I’m not giving up. If there is a way, I will find it and I will find you all again, but this is what’s best for everyone. Before today, my only plan was to pray that I could hold on long enough for Coco to learn to survive on her own. Now that we found you…” there were tears in his voice, “at least I know I’m leaving her with family who loves her.”

Leave? Her heart jumped into the back of her throat. Papá was going to leave? No. It was worse. He was going to leave her behind.

She tore into the room and launched herself into Papá so hard he nearly fell over. “You can’t!” she cried as she clung to him. “Please, Papá! No! You can’t!”

“Coco…” he breathed. That was all he could say.

“I know the amulet made you sick,” she continued, tears streaming down her cheeks, “but it’s okay now. Tío Oscar and Tío Filipe are here. They’re smart, really smart. They can fix you.”

Her uncles gave each other a helpless look. “Coco, I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way,” one of them said. She couldn’t tell which. They both looked like the same blurry blob through her watery eyes and her heart pounded too loud in her ears to hear the subtle differences in their voices.

Papá wiggled out of her grasp enough to kneel down to her eye level. He placed a hand carefully on her cheek and wiped away a rolling tear. His hands were hot, they always were now, but they didn’t burn. “I never want to leave you.”

“Then don’t!”

She could see the heartbreak behind his kind, brown eyes. Somehow, he managed to keep his composure. “You know about my fire magic,” he said in his calming voice. “It’s getting too dangerous now. I need to go away to find a way to fix myself, but I need to do it alone so that I don’t accidently hurt anyone.”

“You wouldn’t hurt anyone,” she insisted. “You’re too nice.”

“I don’t want to, but if I don’t fix myself, I might. When I find a way, I will come back.”

What if you don’t? The question was in her mind, but she was too afraid to ask. She thought she already knew the answer. Instead, she threw herself into her father’s arms. He held her as she cried until she had no tears left. “Do you have to leave right now?” she asked as she regained her breath.

“No, I can stay a few days.”

“Will you play for me?”

“Of course.” He kissed the top of her head. “Will you sing my songs, even when I’m not around?”

She hugged him tighter and buried her head in his chest. “I promise, Papá.”

[-]

She was 8 when he left.

At age 10, her uncles discovered a new force was seeping into the earth. For lack of a better term, they called it magic.

At age 12, they discovered monsters, thought only to be myths and fairy tales, were making themselves known again. Her uncles theorize that the earth cycles through periods of high and low magic and magic was on the rise again.

At age 14, search parties began setting out into the ocean in hopes of finding more inhabitable lands. Some came back empty handed. Some didn’t come back at all.

At age 15, Tío Filipe was attacked by a vampire and nearly killed. Coco began training to be a monster hunter.

At age 16, a search party returned with news of an uncharted archipelago, uninhabited and untouched by the war. They began making plans to build boats and move the community to the islands in hopes it would become a permanent home.

At age 19, she lost a fight with a vampire just weeks before they were set to depart for the islands. The vampire turned her and she couldn’t go with them. She was able to control her new bloodlust just long enough to say goodbye to her uncles.

Age 20, she discovered she didn’t need blood to survive, just the color red. Also, she started going by Socorro. She just doesn’t feel like Coco without her family.

At age 25, she returned to Santa Cecilia and found the white skull guitar miraculously still intact in its case. It was horribly out of tune, but she learned to fix that. She remembered his songs and she swore to learn to play them.

Age 36, she found her Papá again for the first time. She didn’t recognize him at first. He’d been completely transformed into the Flame King.

He didn’t even look anything like the man from her memories. His dark hair had turned to a pale yellow and grown somehow even more unruly. His skin was now an inhuman shade of orange. His brown eyes were tinged with red.

This wasn’t him. It was someone else entirely. She can’t stand to look at him. She ran.

Their paths crossed again at ages 83, 154, 247, 333, 421, 518, 609, and 700. By 705, found her every couple of years. Now, at age 1000, it only takes him a few months.

He didn’t do it intentionally, at least not always. Half the time he didn’t even remember that they’d met before. Once, just once, she let on that he was her father. It was a mistake. Luckily, he forgot by the next time they met.

[-]

When he showed up at her home that day, she was ready to throw him out and find a new place to live again, as usual, but then he showed her the little red book. “I thought people might like me if I wrote them a song, and I need your help because you write the best songs,” he said as he held up the book. “Your songs are so good, I wrote them all down. I mean… I don’t remember doing that, but I must have.”

He didn’t know. Her heart twisted. He didn’t know that she sang his songs, that she played his guitar. He didn’t remember that she promised him she would.

So, she let him in. He lugged in a makeshift guitar slapped together out of wood scraps. Socorro took out her own guitar. This one she got herself to play on while the white skull guitar rested safely on its stand. She never risked doing anything that might damage it. She kept it in good shape, cleaning it and tuning it, never letting it collect dust. Every once in a while, she’d hold it across her lap and strum her fingers along the strings, but it was never quite the same as when Papá played.

She wished she’d known the Flame King would be in her house today. She would have locked it up somewhere.

Their session started off predictably awkward. He claimed he never wrote a song before. He wanted pointers from her. She almost laughed at how completely backwards he had it. He was the musical genius, not her.

She tried anyway. At first, she thought she could draw on the hours she spent watching her Papá work. She could easily see him hunched over his guitar, plucking out melodies. He was so vivid in her mind; cringing and biting his tongue when he hit a sour note, furiously erasing lyrics or notes that just didn’t fit, eyes lighting up when he found just the right word. What she wouldn’t give to have that version of her Papá here now.

A crash brought her out of her memories. She turned to see the Flame King holding the remnants of his slapdash guitar. The rest of it sat crumbled on the floor.

Her heart leapt. “Oh no, guess this means we can’t play together anymore,” she said, beginning to usher him out of her home. “You probably want to go home to fix it.”

This was great. If he couldn’t play, they couldn’t write. He’d have to go back to his molten tower and she could get a jump start on moving again. Maybe he would just forget the whole thing and she wouldn’t have to move.

“What are you talking about? You’ve got another one right there.” He pointed at the white skull guitar and her heart sank.

“Oh, I don’t use that one.”

“Why not? Looks alright to me.” He started toward it.

Socorro managed to rush ahead and block his path. “No. You can’t use that one.”

“Why not?” Steam rose from his hands.

“I said no!”

“Let me play!” His hands engulfing into flames.

“Stop it! Right now!”

“Fine!” he shouted. “I don’t need your dumb guitar anyway!” He launched a fireball at the guitar. Socorro managed to grab it out of the way just in time. The fire landed on her carpet. She stomped it out and turned back to him, fire in her own eyes now.

“Do you have any idea what you almost did?” she roared, hovering over him. “You could have destroyed it! You have no idea what that guitar means to me!”

As quickly as his temper flared, it dissolved again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he pleaded like a child.

She couldn’t look at him. It hurt to look at him.  In fact, it enraged her to look at him. This pathetic creature, whatever it was, was not Papá. It couldn’t be. It might be walking around in his skin and morphing his body, but it was not Papá.

“You don’t know anything! Do you have any idea what it’s like to be around you? You don’t even remember who you are anymore, do you? Héctor?”

“Who?” The Flame King blinked his vacant eyes. Socorro searched for some trace of recognition but found nothing.

She looked around for the songbook and snatched it off the couch. “You wrote these when I was a kid!” she shouted, opening to a random page and showing it to him. “Don’t you remember?”

“I wrote music?”

Socorro let out a sigh and looked back at the book. She traced her fingers over the notes her Papá wrote so long ago. Maybe this is all I get, she thought as she flipped through the book. Vivid memories of her Papá writing and singing and playing danced in her mind. Maybe he is just memories now. That’s more than he has.

She flipped to the back and her hand froze as she came across a song she’d never seen before. It was written in various colors of ink, apparently whatever he had on hand at the time. She ran her fingers over the notes. This is him, she thought as she scanned the lyrics. It might be the last thing he ever wrote.

“What’s that?” The Flame King asked, peeking over her shoulder.

“A song.”

“And I wrote it?”

She turned to him and looked in his eyes. She could almost see something behind the haze, something familiar. “Yes.”

“Is it good?” He picked up her guitar and plucked a few strings. “Sing it for me.”

Socorro looked down at the song. She wondered if her Papá ever played it. He left the guitar behind when they left Santa Cecelia and she doubted he ever found a new one. She never heard him sing it, so if he did, it wasn’t around her. Maybe this song deserved to be played again, just once.

“Socorro, is it just you and me in the wreckage of the world?

That must be so confusing for a little girl.

And I know you're going to need me here with you.

But I'm losing myself, and I'm afraid you're gonna lose me too.”

The Flame King began playing along with her words. She watched his fingers move along the frets. He was still in there somewhere. This was indisputable proof. No one else could play like him. No one else could make it look as effortless and natural as he could. He remembered somehow. Even after he forgot his own name, he remembered the music.

“Wow, I wrote that? What’s it about?”

Her heart dropped. “You don’t remember what it means?” She turned the book toward him and shoved it in his face as something wet rolled down her cheek. “Look!”

He peered at the book and sang the words off the page.

“This magic keeps me alive, but it's making me crazy,

And I need to save you, but who's going to save me?

Please forgive me for whatever I do,

When I don't remember you.”

He didn’t know what he was saying, or at least he didn’t understand the significance of it. She could tell by his vacant eyes. Whatever flicker of her father she saw was just that, a flicker. Very little remained of him now. It wasn’t enough to fight through the havoc the amulet wreaked on his mind. She should have known better than to get her hopes up. Papá was gone and the Flame King took his place.

She picked up with white skull guitar and strummed it in tune as she joined him in the chorus. The tears flowed down her cheeks but he didn’t notice. Papá would have noticed, but he didn’t.

Still, she played on. It was her Papá’s last song. It deserved to be played on his guitar at least one time.

[winchestergirl-13]

Be My Soulmate?

Tristan’s 200 Follower Challenge

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Other pairings: Destiel and Saileen

Warning: fluff and angst respectively 

Word count: 3757

Prompt: “He’d burn the whole world down till he could dig you out of the ashes.”

A/N: Sort of a Soulmate AU. The other pairings are in the story, just not in the focal part really. @super-not-naturall I hope you like it!

Soulmates. It was one thing that many people believed in, and that many didn’t (at least until they found their one and only). To go your whole life with the words they’d say when you first meet on your wrist was something to be excited about. Always wondering when you were going to meet them. But not everyone seemed so excited. (Y/N) was one of those that believed in love, but to have someone destined to be her “soulmate” seemed a little far-fetched to her. Despite her “brothers” (Sam and Dean basically took her in and she became their little sister) having already found their soulmates, who happened to be their best friends.

Dean and Castiel have known each other for a long time and it was only when Dean came back from hell that his soulmate was the one who saved him. Their wrists read “Who are you?” and “Castiel”. It took some time for Dean to come to terms with the fact that he was bisexual, but Castiel stood by him through everything. And they’ve been together ever since. It took Sam a few years to find his soulmate, but when he did, he was glad to understand what his wrist meant. It read “You can’t call me though.” It was a banshee case at an old folks home where he met Eileen, who was deaf. Her wrist read “Feel free to drop a line if you ever need anything…”. They had an interesting meeting seeing as they didn’t know it was each other until Sam and Dean were leaving. But they couldn’t be happier.

(Y/N) was happy for them all, really, but she felt lonely. She knew that sometimes it took people a while to find their soulmates, but as time went on, she found herself not really believing that her mate would show up. If only she knew that they had met before and that he had sacrificed himself to save them. To save her.

Gabriel was never really dead. Well, at one point he was, but Dad-Chuck-pieced him back together and gave him his position as Messenger again. But right now, he was sulking around The Garden watching through a portal of some sorts as (Y/N) walked around the Bunker, just cleaning it here and there. Mary was on a hunt with another hunter and wouldn’t be back for a week. Dean and Castiel were out on a supply run and Sam and Eileen were at a movie. She was asked by both of them if she wanted to come with them but she declined. Saying she wanted to stay home. He smiled sadly when he saw her looking at her left wrist. “Will you be my Baby?” was what hers read. His read “Only if you’ll be my Johnny”; Dean’s weird love for all things Swayze, like “Dirty Dancing”, rubbed off on her apparently. This is where Chuck found Gabriel.

“You know, you could just go down and see her. I’m sure she’d be happy to see you.”

“Shit! Dad, don’t sneak up on me!” Gabriel jumped when his father appeared behind him, chuckling at His son’s reaction.

“I’m sorry, Son. I didn’t mean to startle you. But seriously, you should go see her.”

“Dad, I can’t. She believes I’m dead. And it’s been years. I don’t think she’d be too excited to see me. I know Sam and Dean wouldn’t be,” he sighed, looking away from his father back to the swirling portal in front of him. (Y/N) was reading a book in the library, curled up on the couch with a cup of mint tea beside her.

Chuck sat beside Gabriel, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Gabriel, you won’t know unless you try. Go to her and tell her what happened. Give her time to get over the shock of you being back before you mention that you’re here soulmate. It’ll be easier.”

Golden eyes turned to meet icy blue, full of confusion. “How do you know that’ll work?”

With a smirk, “Because I’ve seen how this will turn out.” And that was all he got before Chuck snapped his fingers and Gabriel found himself in the middle of the Bunker’s library, (Y/N) staring back at him in shock.

“Uh…hey kiddo…” he muttered, scratching at the back of his neck.

“G-Gabriel?!” (Y/N) stumbled as she stood up, reaching out to hug him, but stopping short. He could see the pain in her eyes as she struggled with herself.

“I’m back…Dad thought it would be good for me to return,” Gabriel broke the silence, taking the chance and stepping closer, but stopped in his tracks when she held a hand up.

“How long have you been alive? How long have you been hiding? Why show up now?” (Y/N) fired off one question after another, too upset to notice the tears falling down her face.

“I’ve been resurrected for maybe a year now. After everything you Winchesters did to help Dad and Aunt Amara, he brought me back. I wasn’t really hiding; I was up in Heaven. Back being Dad’s Messenger again. I would have showed up earlier if I thought you would have wanted me around. I guess this is Dad’s way of saying you guys might need me,” Gabriel finished with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. There was a moment of silence, neither saying anything, just taking it all in. “I’m sorry. This was a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have come,” his hand raised as if to snap away. But he stopped when (Y/N)’s hand rested on his.

“Don’t go. I have missed you. It’s..it’s just so much at once. Please don’t go,” she softly begged, intertwining their hands together.

“Then I’m not going anywhere,” he smiled bringing her into a hug. They spent the rest of the day watching movies and catching up, curled around each other on the couch. That’s where Sam and Dean found them when the four of them got home. Castiel was ecstatic to see his brother and Sam was grinning at the sight of the two of them cuddled up on the couch. He knew that (Y/N) harbored a crush on the Archangel, but didn’t act on it for she didn’t think he was her soulmate. Sam thought otherwise, but never said anything. Eileen was confused as to who this new guy was, but after some story telling, she figured out he was a good guy and not someone to worry about. Only when he started pranking them. Dean however, wasn’t as excited as the rest of them to see Gabriel back.

“Why now? Why not months ago when we could have used your help?” he sneered, glaring at the Archangel.

“Dean…” Sam sighed, shaking his head.

“No, it’s alright Sam. He has every right to be angry with me. I’ll tell you everything, alright?” And he did, retelling the story he told (Y/N), all while signing so Eileen didn’t have to rely on just reading his lips. (She was extremely grateful for that- apparently angels know every language, including signed language and braille.)

Dean still wasn’t too happy, but accepted his explanation. It would take some time before he fully trusted Gabriel, but for now, he was grateful he was back. (Y/N) was a wreck when he died and no one could really figure it out. They were friends so they chalked it up to her being upset over loosing a friend. But the pain she felt was like someone tore her heart out of her chest. Others have described that feeling when their soulmates died, but she hadn’t known that at the time. Castiel was the only one who knew, but he never said a word. He wished he had, but it would have destroyed her at the time. He could only hope that Gabriel would “man up” and tell her soon before someone intervened and did it for him.

It had been a few months after Gabriel suddenly showing up and things were running like they usually did. A hunt here, a case there, and a break somewhere in between. Mary was in the kitchen preparing some breakfast one morning with (Y/N)’s help when suddenly there was another presence in the room.

“Sorry ladies. Hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”

They both turned around at the voice, (Y/N)’s face lighting up when she saw who it was. Mary was a little confused as to who this was.

“Chuck! I’m glad you’re here!” she cried, running over to hug her friend (friends with God; how many people can say that?).

“Hello (Y/N). Hello Mary,” he smiled in greeting.

“Wait…Chuck…y-you’re G-God…?” Mary stammered, a little shocked to say the least. Chuck only smiled in compassion and sat down with her as he told his story. By that time, the rest of the Bunker’s inhabitants meandered into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Sam yawned as he walked in, heading for the coffee pot before he realized who was there, “oh…uh hi Chuck.”

“Hello Sam,” he chuckled as a small blush worked its way onto Sam’s face when Eileen walked in wearing one of his plaid shirts like a dress. Soon Dean, Castiel, and Gabriel joined the family and they all sat down for breakfast before heading out later on a hunt. What no one knew (well Chuck did) is that this hunt would test (Y/N) and Gabriel’s “relationship”.

It was supposed to be a simple werewolf hunt. Get in, kill the monster, get out. What none of them knew was that it was a pack, not just two like they thought. Mary and Eileen had stayed behind with Gabriel (it would be too crowded with seven hunters going undercover) but Gabriel would wish he was there instead of being prayed to later.

*Meanwhile*

“(Y/N) duck!” Dean shouted as he knocked one werewolf off before another went at him. (Y/N) turned around just in time to be tossed into a bookcase, destroying it in the process.

“There’s too many!” Sam cried out, fighting three at once while Castiel was trying to help him and Dean at the same time. This pack had to be at least fifteen strong which should be easy to deal with, but with it being a full-moon, they were stronger than usual. None of them noticed one stalking towards (Y/N) as she tried to get up from the rubble surrounding her.

“Well, well, well. No one here to save you. You’re as good as dead,” the werewolf snickered as her claws dug into (Y/N)’s shoulder as she broke her leg like it was nothing. (Y/N)’s wail of agony caught everyone’s attention (mostly the wolves) and Sam, Dean, and Castiel fought tooth and nail to kill them.

(Y/N) thought she was going to die, so she sent a quick prayer to Gabriel for help. “Gabriel! Please help me! I don’t want to die!” She closed her eyes, waiting for Death to come for her, but nothing happened. All she heard was the sound of wings and the werewolf’s body dropping to the floor. Peeling her eyes open slowly, the first thing she saw was the body of the werewolf, missing it’s head with an angel blade in its heart. Looking up, (E/C) eyes met golden whiskey eyes, full of concern and anger (not at her, at the monster that attacked her).

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?” he questioned as he knelt in front of her, assessing the damage.

“ ‘I am now.’ Yeah, aside from a broken leg and a torn shoulder, I’m fine,” she joked, wincing in pain as he poked her leg.

“Fine?! This isn’t fine! You’re lucky that werewolf didn’t hit an artery. Now hold still,” he ordered as he placed a hand on her shoulder and leg, a golden light emanating from his hands, enveloping her in a soothing warmth. She could see Cas fixing Sam and Dean up, but her attention was mostly on the Archangel in front of her. He pulled his hands away from her, wounds all healed up. Gabriel sat back on his haunches, making sure she was alright.

Neither said a word for a moment, their brothers looking on, uncertain on what to do next.

“I’m sorry,” they blurted out at the same time. And then started laughing. He helped her off the floor and together, the five of them took care of the nest and made their way to the Impala. Before Dean could start her up, with a snap of his fingers, Gabriel transported them and the car back to the Bunker. Dean got out and started fussing with his car, looking for any damage during the “flight” home, Cas pulling him away before he could do anything to Gabriel if he messed up his car. Eileen had met them at the door, pulling Sam into a hug before leading him to their room. (Y/N) had gotten out of the car, but before she could do anything, Gabriel was there, taking her hand and leading her inside.

Chuckling, she let him, but not without stating, “You know, I can walk now. Thanks to you.”

He gave a sigh, a small smile on his face as he looked over at her, “I know. But just let me help, please? I almost lost you. I can’t loose you…”

(Y/N) stared at him in shock. She never saw this side of him before. She let him lead her to her room, where he left her to get changed. Later, she found her way into the kitchen where Mary and Chuck were making some dinner for everyone.

“Hey. Need some help?” The two “parents” turned around and grinned.

“Of course. Why don’t you help me put together this salad?” Mary offered. Washing her hands, she joined her “mother” as they put together a nice salad for everyone.

“You know Dean isn’t going to want the salad,” she snickered, imagining her brothers face at the sight of the salad on the table.

“True. But he’s going to eat it. I don’t care what else he has tonight, but he is eating this,” Mary stated, her “mom voice” leaking through. The three of them worked on dinner in comfortable silence, making conversation here and there. While waiting for the pasta water to boil, (Y/N) pulled Chuck away for a moment.

“Can I ask you something, Chuck?” she looked around for any listeners before diverting her attention back to the deity in front of her.

“Of course. Is this about Gabriel?” He took the chance, already knowing what she wanted to talk about.

“Yes. Wait how…right, God, never mind. Yeah, it’s about him. He’s been acting differently around me lately. Did I do something wrong?”

He took her hand and lead her over to the table, sitting down beside her. With a wave of his hand, there were two steaming mugs of Earl Grey tea with honey in front of them. She’d never tell him, but he reminded her of her late father (Chuck knew, but he wouldn’t say anything).

“You didn’t do anything wrong, darling. Gabriel is just overprotective over those he loves. He’d do anything to protect his family.”

“But why did he seem so scared today? He’s seen me hurt like that before. He told me he didn’t want to loose me. I’m confused,” (Y/N) wondered, taking a sip of her tea.

Chuck gave her a knowing look and smiled, “He’d do anything for you, (Y/N). He cares about you. Gabriel…well lets just say that he’d burn the whole world down till he could dig you out of the ashes.”

(Y/N) felt her eyes widen in shock. Seriously? He cares for her that much? But as she thought about it, it made sense. Over the time that Gabriel has been here, he’s been rather protective and caring to her, to all of them really. But he always honed in on (Y/N) most of all.

Chuck watched as she took in what he said before going to put the pasta in the water. Mary looked back and forth between them, already knowing what this was about. She could see the way Gabriel looked at her. The love and adoration in his eyes. If this turned out the way she was hoping, then she’d have to have some words with a certain Archangel. (Y/N) was her daughter in everything but blood. If Gabriel hurts her, he’ll have to deal with Mama Winchester before he dealt with her brothers. But she didn’t see that happening.

“Chuck?” came a small voice from the table.

“Yes, (Y/N)?” he questioned, turning around.

“D-Does that mean…he’s my…” her words died in her throat. She couldn’t say it for she feared it jinx everything.

With a knowing grin, he motioned with his head towards the “living room” and simply stated, “Why don’t you go ask him yourself?”

With a nod, (Y/N) got up and made her way to the living room where everyone else was hanging about (they got kicked out of the kitchen earlier). She observed her family, seeing Dean and Castiel taking up the love seat, Cas curled up against Dean’s side, his arm wrapped around his shoulder. Sam and Eileen were sharing the recliner, Eileen curled up in Sam’s lap as they worked on teaching Sam some more sign language. That left Gabriel by himself on the couch, watching some random show on the T.V., not really watching it.

“Mind if I sit with you?”

He looked up, giving a megawatt grin and patted the spot next to him. (Y/N) took a seat, sitting sideways to talk to Gabriel. He turned in his seat, too. Now that she was next to him, everything she wanted to say, she couldn’t form the words. Averting her eyes to her lap, she fiddled with her hands until Gabriel’s covered hers with his, causing her to look up.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” he asked her softly, not wanting to draw attention from the others.

(Y/N) battled with an answer before Gabriel’s voice broke through her thoughts. “And don’t tell me “you’re fine”. I can see it in your eyes. Somethings bothering you. What is it? What’s going on in that head of yours?“

Taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage and managed to say, “Chuck…he told me that you’d burn the world down just to pull me from the ashes. What did he mean by that?” By the hitch in his (rather unnecessary) breath, she knew she touched on something. What is was? No idea.

“He…he told you that?” Gabriel muttered, looking at their entwined hands.

“Yeah he did. What does he mean?”

With a sigh, he ran his right hand through his hair. As that happened, (Y/N) caught sight of his wrist. The words “Only if you’ll be my Johnny” showing proudly. Sneaking a glance at hers, “Will you be my Baby?” made so much sense now. Gabriel started to speak, so she turned her attention back to him.

“Basically, that means that I’d do anything for you. I would do anything and everything I could to save you. Even if it meant destroying the world in the process.”

“Well, I hope it doesn’t come to that. I rather like this little planet,” she joked, getting a small chuckle in response. They just stared into each others eyes, getting lost in them.

“What’s your favorite movie?” he asked suddenly.

“Uh…Dirty Dancing. Why?” she questioned, tilting her head.

“You’ll see. Come with me,” he pulled her up off the couch and walked down the hall, away from prying eyes and ears (Everyone had an idea as to what was happening anyways). They entered an unused, empty room. It looked like a dance room. Shutting the door, Gabriel walked over to the music player in the corner. What came through was not what she expected. “Time of My Life” started to play and she couldn’t help but laugh. While she didn’t know the moves to the dance aside from the lift, the two of them still danced around the room, attempting the lift in the end (which worked by the way). As the song ended, another one came on, “Be My Baby”. They swayed in time to the music, just enjoying each other’s presence.

“So, what was the movie question about?” (Y/N) wondered as they stopped, arms wrapped around each other loosely, music still playing in the background.

“The reason I asked is…” Gabriel trailed off, suddenly nervous.

“Is?” she pushed.

“I wanted to know, Will you be my Baby?” he asked softly.

With a smile, (Y/N) closed the space between them and said, “Only if you’ll be my Johnny.”

Huffing a chuckle, golden eyes twinkling, “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Well, what are you going to do about that?” she challenged, a mischievous look in her eyes (and you wonder why they are soulmates?).

“I was thinking something along the lines of this,” and with that, he leaned in slowly, (Y/N) leaning up to compensate and met in the middle. The kiss was sweet and slow, Gabriel tasting like chocolate. It didn’t feel like the first kiss, it felt like the hundredth. It felt right. When the couple walked back to the living room holding hands, everyone knew at that moment that they finally told each other.

“Gabriel, you hurt our sister, you’ll have to deal with us,” Dean stated.

“You’ll have to wait your turn first, Dean. He’ll have to deal with me first if he hurts (Y/N),” Mary spoke up from the doorway, arms crossed but a smile on her face.

“You won’t have to worry about that. I’d rather stab myself with an angel blade before I’d even think of hurting her,” Gabriel reassured, squeezing her hand.

“Please don’t. The last time that happened, my heart felt like it was ripped from my chest. I don’t think I could take that again,” (Y/N) commented, looking into his eyes.

“Then you have nothing to worry about. ‘Cause that ain’t never gonna happen again, sweetheart,” he gave her his signature Gabriel smirk before leaning in for another kiss, smirk growing at the grossed out sounds from Sam and Dean. The little family of misfits sat down for dinner that night, everyone happy again. And all was as it should be. Soulmates are a tricky thing to understand until the day comes when you find the one that was made for you. That day may come sooner than you think or it may take some time. One way or another, your soulmate is out there, waiting for you to find them.

[zrtranscripts]

Season 6, Mission 16: Poison

Report anything suspicious

JODY MARSH: Is it a bit weird that we know Pit Viper has the contract on Selma? Do they usually advertise that sort of stuff?

AMELIA SPENS: In general, their favored form of advertising is heads on spikes. I don't know how the Laundry learned Pit Viper have Selma's contract. Perhaps Sigrid wanted it broadcast to discourage others from running.

PAULA COHEN: To discourage others from running? From her Handmaid's Tale-style fertility baby serum factory?

PETER LYNNE: And they weren't even injecting babies with zombie spit in Gilead.

AMELIA SPENS: [parks vehicle] Well, this is as far as I can take you. Highgate, the badlands of London. Well, some of the worse lands. Anyway, I'm not getting nearer the Pit Vipers than this.

PETER LYNNE: Surprised you got as close as this, to be honest. You going soft?

PAULA COHEN: Or do you like us, Amelia?

AMELIA SPENS: I've always liked you, but liking has nothing to do with business. And this is business. Buying out Selma's contract is worth a shot. If you manage to deal with Pit Viper, they'll be grateful I sent the business their way. And if you don't make a deal with them, they'll be grateful I sent their targets their way. Win-win-win.

JODY MARSH: I'm always surprised. I should try to stop being surprised. That could be my New Year's resolution, actually: don't be surprised when Amelia seems helpful, but actually has an angle.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, but if you weren't surprised, it would hardly be as much fun! Right, you lot. Pit Viper's HQ is in the London Underground. You have my directions. You'll have to do some fast talking when you get there. 

See up there, amid the plumes of oil fires and the burned buildings? That hellscape is what remains of Highgate Station, and is absolutely the safest way into the Underground, this side of the wall. Well, I've got to be back at New Canton soon for an oil treatment. Go on. Do what you do. Run!

PAULA COHEN: It doesn't sound safe.

PETER LYNNE: It's not likely to be safe. I heard the London Underground was totally filled with zombies.

PAULA COHEN: I heard there were enclaves down there. Found their way to the Cold War bunkers and have been living off old tinned SPAM ever since.

JODY MARSH: We've got to do this. Pit Viper are after us and after Selma, but they're neutral. Like Amelia, they just go to the highest bidder. So if we can buy out both our contracts, they'll be working for us against Sigrid, not against us. And I'm sorry, Peter, Paula, Five, but you've all shown you're more indestructible than most.

PETER LYNNE: No, that's fair. I've got more lives than a Christmas number one, and I like to think I'm not quite as annoying.

PAULA COHEN: [laughs] If you want annoying, I'll sing you the dreidel song if we get through this. All right, Five. Let's get down these stairs into the pit of Hades.

JODY MARSH: Amelia's map is pretty clear. She's put it together from – oh, nice. She's written, "Compiled from the reports of those of my people who made it back alive." She says at the bottom of the staircase, you turn... towards the skeletons.

PETER LYNNE: Ooh, look, there are actual skeletons nailed up to the wall here. What delightful taste in interior decoration the inhabitants of these tunnels do have. [gasps] You could ask Zoe and Phil to do a radio segment on it, Jody. "Post-Apocalypse Decor: Dos and Don'ts."

[zombies moan]

PAULA COHEN: And to add to the ambiance, there are zombies. How chic. Five, you take the lead. Time to run.

PETER LYNNE: Oh yay! Someone's smeared this part of the wall with their own blood and feces!

PAULA COHEN: How do you know it's their own? There are viscera there. I suppose it might be somebody else's body cavity contents.

PETER LYNNE: Hmm, you make a fair point, Doctor, as you always do. Someone smeared this wall with blood, feces, and viscera of unknown origin.

PAULA COHEN: Pit Viper's doing a very efficient job of trying to put people off finding them.

JODY MARSH: That's what everyone says about them. They're an unstoppable killing machine. Once they've taken on a job, they never give up. There are no lengths they won't go to to do what they’ve set out to.

PETER LYNNE: Well, if you're going to be a deadly assassin force, at least be an excellent one, I suppose. You know, I think this is almost as bad as commuting in London before the apocalypse.

PAULA COHEN: Oh, I don't know. At least we're getting somewhere. No one's canceled our transport, and we don't have to deal with Southern Rail apologizing for our inconvenience in a totally unconvincing way, which makes it clear that, ideally, they'd like to inconvenience us some more. Possibly using blood, feces, and viscera of unknown origin.

[train creaks]

JODY MARSH: Guys, a train has just come loose from its siding uphill from you. It's rolling towards you!

PETER LYNNE: Is that a coincidence, or does someone know we're here?

JODY MARSH: No time to find out now. Run!

PETER LYNNE: Paula, Five, up here!

PAULA COHEN: Five, take my hand!

[train passes, PETER LYNNE and PAULA COHEN laugh]

JODY MARSH: Wow, that was close!

PETER LYNNE: You know, last time I was in London, something similar happened to me. Your wife almost didn't save me, Paula. I think she'd have left me there to be crushed by the train. 

PAULA COHEN: But would you rather she had?

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] I think maybe I would have, then. I don't know. It's funny, isn't it? Keep expecting this grand moment. Flash of meaning where I realize what I'm for, and why I'm like this. It didn't come. Had to work it out for myself.

PAULA COHEN: Yeah, I know what you mean. For a long time, I asked myself, why me? Why was I infected? Why is it me who can't even play with my daughter without checking myself for nicks and scrapes every time? There's never an answer. Why did one person die in the apocalypse and another didn't? Because we're all subject to the laws of randomness of the universe.

PETER LYNNE: I like that. We're a playlist on shuffle. Things just come up. Sometimes you think you see a pattern in them, but it's you making the pattern, not the world.

PAULA COHEN: Ugh. More zoms I think, Jody.

JODY MARSH: Um, Amelia's map says it's an enclave of city commuters.

PETER LYNNE: I see them in the dark corner of the platform. 10 of them. Teeth filed to points, and pinstriped loin cloths. They're holding – are those broken shards of iPad?

PAULA COHEN: Not too dangerous, then.

JODY MARSH: Amelia's map says they dip them in a noxious compound of flesh-eating bacteria that can destroy even zombies. She also says, "Do remember, bankers are the ones who ran the economy off a cliff. They know how to muck stuff up."

PETER LYNNE: She's got a point. Which direction?

JODY MARSH: Straight ahead, then right. Go.

[spear thunks into wall]

PETER LYNNE: And one final spear outrun. The bankers have given up for now.

JODY MARSH: Amelia's notes say, "Don't kid yourself. They'll be back, and in greater numbers." I think she put that stuff in because she thought Sam would be on this mission. Have you noticed how they're getting friendly since they've been working on the baby rescue together?

PAULA COHEN: Yes, but I don't like to think about it. We'd better keep moving. How far are we from Pit Viper now?

JODY MARSH: Amelia's notes - mm. Get a bit sketchy here. She says, "If you get this far, you'll have done better than most people I sent down here. I think the commuters ate most of them! Well, you should find Pit Viper if you continue down the tunnel until you find another train. Or a building."

PAULA COHEN: That's vague.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, God. Look at that.

JODY MARSH: What are you seeing?

PAULA COHEN: Peter's pointing to... the wall of the platform?

PETER LYNNE: No, the shadows. The shadows, they're following us, look!

PAULA COHEN: Oh, no. It's headless zombies, Jody. Those indestructible zombies. The ones you can't kill by taking the head off! They must be behind us. We can see their shadows. God knows what would happen if one of them bit me.

PETER LYNNE: Or me, or Five. We've got to get out of here. Run!

[zombies growl]

PETER LYNNE: They're not getting any closer.

PAULA COHEN: They're not getting any further away!

PETER LYNNE: Yes. Peculiar. They've been exactly keeping pace with us, just a little behind us the whole way. Just a sec. Stop a moment.

PAULA COHEN: Stop?

PETER LYNNE: Just three seconds. I'll time it. One Mississippi, two hippopotamus, three extraterrestrial. Look.

PAULA COHEN: They've... stopped.

PETER LYNNE: Intriguing, isn't it?

PAULA COHEN: What are you doing?

PETER LYNNE: Heading back a bit to see what's going on. I shouldn't think Pit Viper will thank us for leading a horde of indestructible zombies to their hideout. Probably won't put them in a deal-making mood.

PAULA COHEN: Fair enough. Something is off here. Let's go with, Five. Huh. Would you look at that?

JODY MARSH: Again, I can't see.

PETER LYNNE: They are decapitated zombies with their heads in their arms.

JODY MARSH: So maybe get out of there?

PAULA COHEN: They're nailed to a little wagon. Look. There are remote controlled brakes.

PETER LYNNE: That's incredibly efficient. Keep everyone at bay, minimum effort or danger. Brilliant tactical work.

JODY MARSH: Yeah. I've heard that about Pit Viper. Always get the job done.

PETER LYNNE: Yes... yes, they would.

PAULA COHEN: Watch out. Someone's coming. It's... a train guard. She's still wearing her RMT uniform.

GUARD: I see you've passed the final obstacle. You must be here for the Pit Viper.

PETER LYNNE: Why, yes, we are.

GUARD: Come with me now. Run!

[classical music plays]

JODY MARSH: Where are you guys? My cams are giving me nothing.

PAULA COHEN: Jody, it's actually lovely! Nice, quiet tube carriage. Upholstered seats, curtains on the windows. Pit Viper have set themselves up well. Protected and secure.

PETER LYNNE: Feared by everyone, they can go anywhere. Talk to all sides. How very, very clever.

GUARD: Are you ready to meet the Pit Viper?

PETER LYNNE: Oh, I think we are.

PAULA COHEN: Jody, there's a door at the end of the carriage. The guard is just -

GUARD: [opens door] Step inside, please.

JODY MARSH: Where are you, now?

PAULA COHEN: An office. Very tidy. Utilitarian. A map of the new UK on the wall, and there's... a person in a viper mask sitting behind the desk.

GUARD: I'll leave you now with the Pit Viper. You parley alone.

PAULA COHEN: Yeah, um. Thank you. [door closes, music turns off] Uh, Pit Viper. We're here from Abel Township. We know you have a contract on us, and... we wanted to discuss it. [sighs] Oh, look. Would you mind taking the mask off?

[cloth rustles]

JODY MARSH: Are they doing it? Taking the mask off?

PETER LYNNE: Yup.

PAULA COHEN: Oh, Jody. You'll never guess who Pit Viper is.

JODY MARSH: Is it - ? Oh God, it's not Sigrid, is it?

JANINE DE LUCA: No, Miss Marsh. It's me, Janine.

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

15 podcasts guaranteed to tell you a fantastic story

What's the magic ingredient of a really great podcast, the thing that makes people tune in time after time? It's simple in theory: Have a really good story. But how? 

There are all sorts of ways. Take Serial, the investigative journalism podcast that launched with the true story of the unsolved murder of high school senior Hae Min Lee. It's been downloaded more than 350 million times as of 2018. Come September 20, it will debut its third season. Or, consider This American Life, where producers have been sharing good stories since 1995. 

SEE ALSO: This is the most important thing you need to start your own podcast

However they do it, one thing is for sure: You won't want to stop listening. These 15 podcasts deliver on story-telling like no others. 

1. Serial

Image: Serial/facebook

Serial's first season earned its popularity with its strategically timed narrative, quality production, and a dogged attempt to get as close as possible to the 15-year-old murder of Hae Min Lee, for which her ex-boyfriend was convicted — don't worry, this isn't a spoiler: It's merely where the story begins before delving deeper into the case.  

In Serial's second season, the podcast focuses on the true story of U.S. soldier Bowe Bergdah, who returns home from Afghanistan in 2014 after being held prisoner by the Taliban for five years. Bergdah's celebratory homecoming is cut short when the public suddenly denounces his hero status, calling him a deserter and traitor. Bergdah shares the events that lead up to the public's general disapproval of his actions in Afghanistan.

What makes Serial so captivating, whatever the season, is host Sarah Koenig's dedication to uncovering the truth behind each story, and delivering key findings, research, and conversations with the people involved. 

2. Longform

The Longform podcast is made alongside Longform.org, which curates some of the best longform journalism, like Atlas Obscura's overview of Britain's secret nuclear bunkers and the New Yorker's speculation of whether or not Facebook has had a direct impact on democracy. 

Each episode features an interview with journalists about their most hard-hitting stories, their methods, and their connection to their subjects. Well-known interviewees have included Gay Talese, Malcolm Gladwell, and Michael Lewis. Learning what happens in the making of a story gives listeners a better understanding and appreciation of journalism as a whole.

3. The Moth

The Moth has been around for about as long as This American Life, though not necessarily in audio form. The New York City-based nonprofit started with live storytelling events and contests (StorySLAMs with themes like "Saved," "Scars" and "Gratitude"), and now has a podcast featuring these short stories. 

What makes the podcast so great is its simple format: people sharing their stories. The tales are heartfelt, humorous, original, and sincere, and they're  told by everyone, from comedians to professional storytellers, like Hari Kondabolu and Elna Baker. You'll hear of exotic dancing, heartbreaking high school rejections, and experiences with Australian wild life that will make you laugh, cry, and everything between.

4. Strangers

Strangers comes from Peabody award-winner Lea Thau, former director of The Moth. The podcast's ethos is the notion that you can create a connection to someone despite their being a complete stranger just by hearing their story. 

Thau explores heartbreak, the connections we make, and what happens when you realize you're not the person you thought you were. You'll hear about a person whose parents control their dating profile, what happened when a Somali refugee family moved to Vermont, and learn of the enduring career of a bank robber. 

But what really makes this a great storytelling podcast is when Thau shares her own stories. In the three-part episode "Love Hurts," she delves into the difficulty she faces dating. Her vulnerability and openness is emblematic of the series' ability to evoke your deepest emotions. 

5. Uncivil

Image: uncivil/gimlet

History buffs keen to learn more about the Civil War should listen to Uncivil. The 2017 Peabody Award-winning podcast delves deep into lesser-known Civil War history. You'll hear stories about everything from political uprisings to corruption scandals, and wonder why, or how, these stories were left out of the textbooks. 

The podcast connects abolitionists' stories to the world we live in today, making the past thrilling, and revelatory, for today's listeners.

6. Snap Judgment

Snap Judgment, like The Moth, is based off a live storytelling show. The difference is that Snap Judgment, which is produced by NPR and hosted by Glynn Washington, adds musical accompaniment to stories, usually making for an experience more along the lines of slam poetry. Public listening risks public tears, thanks to Snap Judgement's moving and affecting stories.

7. Backstory

The aim of Backstory is to take the headlines of history, both banal and historic, and make them into stories. It's hosted by three American history scholars, so you'll get both accuracy and fun — thanks to the hosts' undeniable chemistry and interactions.

Sure, you could just read a history book or google events you're yearning to learn more about, but then you'd miss out on all the links being made to current events, not to mention the hosts' witticisms. Learn about the history of college sports, utopia, and extinction in America, among many other things.

8. Radiolab from WNYC

Radiolab makes human interest stories out of science and philosophy's most difficult questions, interweaving these mysteries with music. Popular recommendations include "Falling," "Numbers" and "Limits" — episodes exemplary of Radiolab's ability to tackle big themes.

9. The Truth

Image: the truth/facebook

The Truth offers short stories — frightening, funny and heartwarming — woven through with audio elements, like narration and sound effects, to make them come alive. Subjects include everything from co-ops to mall Santas. Then there's the episode "Brain Chemistry," in which a cryogenically frozen man returns to life and finds it is not what he expected. 

10. Welcome to Night Vale

If you like your stories creepy and soothing at the same time, you'll love Welcome to Night Vale. This podcast blew up with the help of a Tumblr fan base, and has been spinning tales of the weirdest supernatural fictional desert town in America ever since. 

The podcast is formatted as if it were a traditional local radio news program, giving its community updates on things like mysterious hooded figures, a sentient glowing cloud, and an old women who lives just outside of town with a bunch of angels. 

Watch out for now-renowned one-liners like, "Weird at last, weird at last! God almighty, weird at last!"

11. The Thrilling Adventure Hour

The Thrilling Adventure Hour is based on a live production staged in Los Angeles, and it has the nostalgic charm of old radio. Each episode features three unique stories, along with fictional sponsored ads and songs, lending the show an eclectic and whimsical vibe. 

With a collection of well-known guest stars and an expanding universe of story arcs, you might want to start at the beginning — and listen to them all.

12. We're Alive

While many of these podcasts are trying to keep the radio form alive, We're Alive has been focusing on keeping it undead. It's a serial podcast that tells the story of one group of people surviving the zombie apocalypse in Los Angeles. 

Tune in for vivid and dark descriptions of the apocalyptic landscape, the creatures that inhabit it, and the close bonds formed among the main characters. The characters reveal their hardships, fears, and hopes for survival in this emotional drama.

13. The Leviathan Chronicles

Leviathan is a science-fiction audio drama with high quality audio effects and an original soundtrack. The premise might seem too stuffed — a secret race of immortals in a city called Leviathan underneath the Pacific Ocean in the midst of war —but it gets a human face with Macallan Orsel, a genetic scientist in New York, who becomes embroiled in a war when she finds out she's descended from the people of Leviathan.

14. The Habitat

Image: The Habitat/gimlet

Ever wonder what it would be like to live on Mars? Well, so did the six people who signed up to reside in a concealed, imitation Mars habitat in Hawaii for a year. This podcast documents the true story of what occurred during this NASA-organized project.

The goal of the project was to help NASA gauge what they could expect upon visiting Mars, and the results of the project are fascinating. The Habitat recounts the experiences of the volunteers, and what life is like on Mars, well, fake Mars, anyway. You'll learn everything about the mission, from the freeze-dried food ingested to the meticulously monitored and curated "Mars" landscape.

15. Dirty John

Dirt John tells the true story of interior designer Debra Newell, who meets and becomes entangled with John Meehan, a handsome doctor who seems to fulfill all of Newell's needs. But something's not quite right with Meehan. Eventually, he's revealed to be a con-artist, and he becomes the menacing center of the story — terrifying not only Newell, but also the people who surround her. L.A. Times' Christopher Goffard, who reported the story, also hosts the podcast.

WATCH: In honor of 'Solo' hitting theaters, we talked about what makes Star Wars so magical

The story was originally published in 2014 and updated in 2018.

[londontheatre]

Andrew Polec as Strat & Christina Bennington as Raven in BAT OUT OF HELL credit Specular

2017 has been a busy year with our team of reviewers attending and reviewing nearly 800 productions across London, including West End and Off-West End. These are the top picks for the year.

1. Bat Out of Hell The Musical – London Coliseum (21 June) Andrew Polec, as Strat (leader of ‘The Lost’, a collective of young rebels) leads a ridiculously talented cast with flair, energy and intensity. Polec’s vocals are outstanding, his stage presence amazing, and he was conspicuous by his absence whenever off-stage.

2. Everybody’s Talking About Jamie – Apollo Theatre (22 November) Hilarious and hard-hitting in equal measure, this is a great British musical not to be missed. I don’t like this show. I love it.

3. Barber Shop Chronicles – National Theatre, Dorfman (7 June) Filled with laugh-out-loud humour as well as food for thought, this electrifying and magnificent production is theatrical heaven from beginning to end.

4. Henry V – Southwark Cathedral (3 February) I wasn’t prepared for… quite how different and spellbinding this production was from any other Henry V I’ve seen before… Powerful and poignant.

5. Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? – Harold Pinter Theatre (9 March) The narrative unfolds over just one night, and this production is so intense and absorbing I found myself willing both the ‘interval’ of 15 minutes between Act 1 and Act 2 as well as the ‘pause’ of just five minutes between Act 2 and Act 3 to end.

6. The Life – Southwark Playhouse (30 March) The whole cast are well-drilled by veteran director Michael Blakemore, and the show is clearly influenced by more than one well-known musical theatre show […] what a magnificent and sensational production this is.

7. Hamlet – Harold Pinter Theatre (15 June) These sofas, these business suits, these sliding doors. It’s all bound to annoy the purists to high heaven. No matter. This is a surprisingly warm and inviting production, and a welcome addition to the many versions of this timeless play.

31 Hours – The Cast Photo by Lidia Crisafulli

8. 31 Hours – The Bunker Theatre (6 October) An admirable play with compelling performances, this intriguing and informative production doesn’t apportion blame or offer tidy solutions to a persistent problem. The script is poetic when it wants to be, other times flowing between characters so much it requires impeccable timing and pacing, which this cast possesses in abundance.

9. The State of Things – Jack Studio Theatre (13 September) A joyous final number sends the audience out with cheerfulness, even if all the ends aren’t tied up, loosely or otherwise. The script is tasteful and imaginative.

10. Fingering A Minor on the Piano – Soho Theatre (5 April) This is a compelling and passionate show, as much of an education into what’s really going on in the healthcare sector today as it is a fun-filled hour of hysterical anecdotes.

Chris Omaweng

*******

1. Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Bridewell Theatre This story of friendship and hope took two drag queens and a trans woman from Sydney to Alice Springs, in a big pink bus. Along the way, they met new friends, and face rampant homophobia. SEDOS brought every element of the show together beautifully, and to a standard that you would expect to see in the West End. Sold out virtually as soon as it was announced, this was the ‘must-see’ production of the year.

La Cage Aux Folles – Pamela Raith Photography

2. La Cage aux Folles, New Wimbledon Theatre This is was a touring production of a show that demonstrates the importance of family and how much a parent will sacrifice to help their offspring. John Partridge put on the stiletto heels and sequined gowns as Albert/Zaza and delivered a tour de force performance. With wonderful sets, costumes and songs like the iconic “I Am What I Am” this production hit all the right notes.

3. Richard III, Cockpit The amazing Kim Hardy led the cast in the title role of this first-rate production of Shakespeare’s play in fine style. With some extremely realistic battle scenes, the entire production brought the story to life in a really fantastic way. Richard is a role that Kim was born to play and has set the standard for anyone that wants to take on the king in the future

4. Henry V, Southwark Cathedral Another touring production as Antic Disposition visited various cathedrals around the UK this year with their version of this classic Shakespeare play. I caught the production at Southwark Cathedral where, under the watchful eye of the Bard himself. Aside from the highly impressive location, the production itself – set in a World War I field hospital – adds a wonderful poignancy to the show. Rhy Bevan was excellent in the role of Henry and led a superb cast who between them made this a very memorable show.

5. Loot, Park Theatre Back to the swinging sixties with this production of Joe Orton’s farce set around the funeral of an elderly woman. Whilst most assuredly of its time in some of its attitudes, Loot still works very well at holding various parts of society up to a critical light. The cast, set and costumes all worked perfectly to bring the sixties back to North London and overall this was one of the funniest things I’ve seen in a long while.

6. The Clockwork Orange, Park Theatre Another trip back to the sixties with this all-male production of Anthony Burgess’s horrific story of a dystopian future that, at times, has too many links to the present to make comfortable viewing. Stripped back in colour and set, the sho is headed up by Jono Davies absolutely smashing the lead role of Alex. An intense production that is not easy to watch but is totally engaging.

7. Lord Dismiss Us, Above the Stag Theatre Glen Chandler’s play is partially based on genuine experiences at a public school in the sixties and as such is a very well observed study of the English upper classes at a time when the world was about to change. However , instead of focussing on the outside, the play brings us into the school where a violently homophobic new headmaster decides there will be none of that business going on in his school. One of the great elements of the play is that one of the more negative characters from the start of the play turns out ot be the hero of the story. A lovely bit of writing, excellent translated to the stage.

8. Posh, Pleasance Theatre Probably one of the real surprises of the theatrical year for me. Posh was the story of an elite male dining club from one of our red brick universities on a night out. A fairly normal story you might think, but in this production, all of the roles were played by women. Retaining their femininity, the actors really brought out the roles well to the point that their gender was totally unimportant. A brave staging choice that worked extremely well.

9, Boys in the Buff – The Musical, Stockwell Playhouse and Boys in the Buff – The Concert, King’s Head Tackling the subject of body image and how we view ourselves and each other is not an easy thing to do but in these productions – the full one and the cut down version – it is done in a wonderful way. Humour, songs, dance and great writing combined to make the Boys in the Buff shows something well worth seeing. A fine cast, willing to give their all for the show, really entertain and inform and leave everyone feeling just that bit better about themselves.

Out There On Fried Meat Ridge Rd

10. Out There on Fried Meat Ridge Road, White Bear Theatre Back in January, this show showed up at the newly refurbished White Bear Theatre and completely took my breath away. The story of the inhabitants of a run-down motel and the wonderful revelations that come out, with the wonderful twist at the end, set the bar for every show from then on. Following its time the White Bear, the play transferred for a very successful run at the Trafalgar Studios.

Terry Eastham

*******

1. Out There On Fried Meat Ridge Road by Keith Stevenson at Trafalgar Studios Small town America at its side-splittingly smallest.

2. Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare at The National Simon Godwin’s delicious production takes role reversal to the limit.

3. Everyone’s Talking About Jamie by Tom MacRae & Dan Gillespie Sells at The Apollo Theatre Funny and heart-warming – best new musical of the century.

4. We Are The Lions Mr Manager by Neil Gore @ Tara Arts Theatre

Girl From The North Country

5. The Girl From The North Country by Conor McPherson @ The Old Vic (transferring). 6. The End of History by Ian Hollingshead @ Tristram Bates Theatre 7. Happiness by Lily Lowe-Myers @ The Bridewell Theatre 8. Rules For Living by Sam Holcroft @ The Rose Theatre 9. The Comedy About A Bank Robbery by Henry Lewis, Jonathan Sayer and Henry Shields – The Criterion Theatre. 10. Reasons To Be Cheerful by Paul Sirett @ Theatre Royal, Stratford East

Peter Yates

*******

Amadeus – Royal National Theatre Hedda Gabler – Royal National Theatre Follies – National Theatre Don Juan in Soho – Wyndhams

Paddy Briggs

  Martin Freeman (David Lyons), Tamsin Greig (Jean Whittaker). Photo by Johan Persson

The Ferryman – the most superb play/production seen in London for years! Totally gripping throughout its 3 and a quarter hours – yet nothing happened! So Irish!

The Best Man – which I saw at Windsor and which has not yet opened in London: superb, a gripping play about USA presidential election: could have so easily have been trite but beautifully written and directed and co-starring Jack Shepherd as the terminally ill past president. He was superb: charismatic. I hope Bill Kenwright brings this into town in 2018. (Martin Shaw was very good too!)

Labour of Love at Noel Coward Theatre: again superbly written and acted. There have been many first-rate plays this year!

John Groves

*******

Blush at Soho Theatre The Ugly One at Park Theatre La Soiree at Aldwych Theatre

And an extra that I loved but didn’t review was The End of Hope at Soho Theatre

Roz Wyllie

*******

Rent 21st Anniversary UK Tour – this show stole my heart and reignited my love for theatre. Bruce Guthrie directed the production perfectly. It was raw, gritty and truly touching. Choreography by Lee Proud was innovative and interesting and the entire cast were outstanding. It felt like they were living their lives through the character for those 2 and a half hours each night. All cast members poured everything into each performance and everything came together to create magic on stage.

Yank at the Charing Cross Theatre, London – the story was powerful, gripping and relevant. Scott Hunter and Andy Coxon were just superb in their roles, particularly Scott Hunter who shone throughout. Staging and choreography were slick and in keeping with the story. It was also fantastic to see an audience of predominantly men, so many in fact that men were lining up for the toilet.

The Toxic Avenger at The Arts Theatre, London – the show really impressed me with its comic-timing, fantastic use of the stage and the actors were fantastic. Songs were catchy and the plot fitted well together. Certainly different from my usual favourites but I laughed my way through this show.

Amanda Reynolds

*******

Girl From The North Country: This would have been a wonderful straight play with a tremendous book from Conor McPherson but add some of Bob Dylan’s greatest songs and you have a masterpiece. It’s atmospheric and at times mesmerising. I’ve seen it twice at The Old Vic and hope to see it again when it transfers to the Noel Coward next year.

Follies: Follies has always been a difficult musical to stage due to the fact it has no real plot and a downbeat ending but the National have done Sondheim’s Magnus Opus proud. The production is wonderful and the performances from the likes of Imelda Staunton, Janie Dee and Philip Quast sublime.

Romantics Anonymous: This was the most magical piece I’ve seen on the London stage for a long time and is Emma Rice’s swansong before she leaves her post as Artistic Director at the Globe. This was a bit of surprise as being at the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse, it slipped under my radar. Let’s hope it gets a transfer to the West End as it deserves it.

Alan Fitter

*******

Alice’s Adventures Underground in the Vaults – a kooky, surprising and interactive take on the classic tale. Hedda Gabler by Euphonia Studio at the Drayton Arms – a stark, pared-down, psychologically compelling performance. When Midnight Strikes by MKEC Productions at the Drayton Arms – a funny and moving tale of a special New Year’s Eve.

Genni Trickett

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