#Alamo freeze

[aphroditeslover11]

Secret Santa

Thanks to @nimnim-girl for her help with the ideas, couldn't have done it without you lovely 💕

Warnings: Alcohol and allusions to adultery, author didn't proofread!

It December at Los Alamos and the ground was dusted with snow. It was freezing all the time now and the mesa was turning into some sort of desert winter wonderland. The scientists were all huddled in winter coats as they moved between buildings and the army men were doing their best to look unphased by the biting wind. You were here working as an assistant to Hans Bethe who was heading the Theoretical Division. You weren’t a scientist yourself, actually studying philosophy, but Dr Oppenheimer had picked you up during his travels, intending that you would work under him before he handed the role over to his friend.

There were ten days remaining until Christmas and you were determined to try and spread a little more festive spirit around the place. Yes, some lights had been put up and you had badgered Oppie to have some carols playing over the radio of the base, but everyone still seemed miserable. You were close to the director, regardless of how much his wife hated it, and you were hoping that you might have his ear on this. At the end of another day you made your way to his office, feeling lucky that there were no other secretaries around and knocking on the door.

“Come in, if you must,” you heard, pushing open the door. Robert looked up from his desk and his face brightened a little when he saw you. Everyone knew how much pressure he was under, so it was a rare sight now.

“Please, y/n, I apologise for my greeting. I thought you might have been Groves. How are you? Do take a seat.”

“Groves giving you a headache again Oppie?”

“When is he not?” He laughed, but you could hear the weariness behind it.

“I have an idea, I want to help the others.” Robert leant forward on his desk.

“My dear, we have been through this. You don’t understand the ridiculous things that the men here are trying to do, hell, I don’t half the time. I know you’re trying to help, but there is nothing…”

“Oh lord no, you can keep your physics to yourself. I mean that you need to make more of an effort on morale.” He looked puzzled.

“What do you mean?” He took his pipe from his desk, lighting it and starting to smoke, as he always did when a matter perplexed him.

“This place is suffocating in depression, almost as much as I am right now in your pipe-smoke.”

“I can open a window…”

“I’d rather be warm. Anyway, it’s nearly Christmas, I don’t care what Oppie but please, I’m dying here, you have to do something for the season.”

~

The conversation had gone on for a while longer, the culmination being that he agreed to hold a Christmas party for all of the scientists to attend. There was already a plan, from Feynman predictably, to have a piss-up in the bachelors dorms, but you were hoping that this might prove to be a little more of a unifying force. On top of this, you had also suggested a secret Santa exchange, which he agreed to. Typically when you pulled the names out of the hat you ended up with Oppie - what on earth do you get for the  man who owns Picassos and Van Gogh paintings? 

When the day of the party finally came Robert turned up to the main hall of Los Alamos on his own, wearing a suit and tie with his usual pork pie hat. He had just had a row with Kitty who had decided to stay at home. His mood was clearly compromised, but he managed to pull a smile onto his face. He immediately made his way over to where the alcohol was being kept, fixing himself a whiskey before going to find Ravi, needing someone to take his mind off things. By the time you arrived, late after one of the typewriters had jammed itself and you were left to fix it, he was a fair few drinks down.

There was a big crowd around the director, who was telling a ridiculous story of how he had returned from a trip collecting minerals with trench dysentery as a youth. This story coming out was the hallmark of a fairly intoxicated Oppie, and Isidor gave you a knowing look as you made your way over. As soon as Robert saw you he raised his arms in a slightly exaggerated welcome, before wrapping one around you and planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek. Great - he decided that you were going to be his distraction for the night.

“My dear, how wonderful of you to finally join us. I was just telling the story of when…”

“I know Opp, you’ve told me it before remember.” You cut him off, feeling an acute sense of second hand embarrassment. 

The evening wore on and it was mostly a case of forcing water down your boss’s throat until he was sufficiently sober to go back into polite conversation. He spent most of the party trailing after you with an arm around your waist. You’d tried to shake him off but we’re getting nowhere, you just hoped that his wife didn’t suddenly show up out of the blue. It was clear now that he was ashamed of his actions, but he was slowly getting back to his usual self. After a heavy day you decided to call it quits early when you heard a shout from behind you. 

“Y/n, hang on, I need your for one more thing.” He pulled a neatly wrapped present from a nearby surface. That was when you remembered the gift you had in your bag for him. What were the chances of getting each other?

“Well this is a coincidence, I seem to have got you as well.” 

You made your way to a corner before exchanging gifts. His was slightly messily wrapped, you could picture him getting frustrated as the tape stuck to itself and the colourful language coming out of his mouth just looking at it. Yours was much more neat, complete with a bow and all. After exchanging a few words about the coincidence of getting each other in the draw you swapped, unwrapping the gifts opposite one another. Your mouths dropped open when you saw what you were holding - an anthology of the poetry of Byron, different editions, but the same work. Robert was the first to break the silence.

“Well, it would seem that we both thought alike my dear…” he was chuckling as he said it. 

“Oppie, I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t had any idea…” You were stuttering, trying to make some sense of the situation.

“Y/n, stop worrying, I love Byron or I wouldn’t have bought it for you and I’m guessing you would say the same thing to me, yes?” You nod in response.

“Clearly we have bought the perfect thing for one another then. Let’s just say it’s a sign of how well we understand one another.” He lifted an arm to your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“Now go home and have a good night of sleep, I think we both have a little reading to do, and I have some other things to sort out.” He placed a kiss on your cheek, though a lot more dignified than earlier, before leaving you to go on your way.

The next morning you opened the door of your room to find a singular red rose with a ribbon wrapped around the stem, there was clearly going to be more to come.

[floralcyanide]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 - 𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧!𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫

cillian!oppenheimer x gn!reader

disclaimer: this is a work of fanfiction. cillian's representation of oppenheimer is also fictional to a degree. if you dislike this kind of fanfiction, please keep scrolling and do not interact with this post. otherwise, have a lovely day. ♥

warnings: depression, lack of communication.

word count: 996

author’s note: please read the disclaimer several times if you must before you decide to comment something snarky or send a dense anonymous ask. (: anyway, I wrote this the other day at work after seeing the movie again. I hope everyone who does read this enjoys it.

main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

Despite the face Robert put on for his acquaintances and the world, he was terribly depressed and disturbed about what he created.

He hasn’t eaten much since the bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and sleep has been hard for him to come by. Robert won’t so much as look at you anymore. You understand where he’s coming from, and try to be patient. But it’s hard with him coming home every day and not saying a single word to you. Even harder when you’re packing your things to move away from Los Alamos without conversation. The day you move into the new house, you finally reach your breaking point.

You’re wiping the glasses out with a towel before placing them gently into the cupboard, humming a tune. Robert is unpacking your China dishes, and his hand slips, causing him to drop one accidentally. You stop humming. Your body visibly tenses at the sound of the delicate ceramic ware shattering on the floor. Robert freezes and bends down to pick up the pieces.

You close your eyes, exhaling slowly to release your tension, “Robert.”

He says nothing, still picking up the larger dish pieces and looking around for a broom.

“Robert?” you call again, putting down the towel and cup you were cleaning off.

Still no answer.

“Where is that damn broom?” Robert mumbles.

“Robert!” you snap, turning around sharply to face him, finally having enough.

He sighs, slowly standing up from his kneeling position, broken ceramic in his hands. He turns to you, his eyes not meeting yours.

“Look at me,” you say sternly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Robert will flick his eyes over yours and your face but won’t let them settle on your gaze completely. He then realizes tears are streaming down your face.

“Sweetheart, I can buy a new set-“

“I’m not worried about the China dish,” you shake your head, wiping your tears away with the heel of your hand.

Robert nods, studying the room before he spots the broom, walking over and grabbing it. He begins to sweep up the dust and smaller dish fragments, still not looking directly at you. You stand there, arms crossed, as you glare at the man you love.

“If you don’t look at me right now,” you say through gritted teeth, “I will walk out of that door and never come back.”

Robert’s blue eyes immediately shoot up to look at yours, and his face softens, “Don’t.”

You tilt your head sideways, taking in the emotions behind his eyes that he hides so well from everyone- everyone but you. Which is why you know he refuses to look at or speak to you.

“Then talk to me,” you say softly, “You know you can tell me anything, Robert.”

He shakes his head, “I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you press your fingers to your temples, stepping around still-packed boxes until you finally reach where your husband is sweeping.

“I would never,” Robert frowns, and you just look at him.

“You aren’t telling me something, and keeping it from me is lying.” 

Robert finishes sweeping the mess up and looks at you defeatedly, “Fine.”

When things go wrong, you and Robert always mend it. And you do that by drawing a bath and sharing a bottle of wine, your favorite vinyl playing softly in the next room. Every time whatever needs to be worked out always turns out okay by the time the bath water is ice cold.

Robert is lying behind you, smoking his pipe as you press your back against his chest. It’s quiet except for the music coming from the turntable in the bedroom and the occasional drip from the faucet.

“Talk to me, love,” you rest your head on Robert’s shoulder, peering up at him.

He traces his fingers through your hair, looking down at you through his eyelashes.

“I just…” Robert trails off, “It’s been difficult.”

“I know,” you say softly, “But you can talk to me. Why won’t you talk to me? Or look at me?”

Robert places a hand on your cheek, pulling your face to his and pressing a delicate kiss to your lips before answering.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” Robert sighs, “For what I’ve done.”

“I don’t hate you, and I never could,” you furrow your eyebrows, looking Robert in the eyes closely.

He nods, “But I could. I do.”

“Don’t hate yourself for what you’ve created. What the government did- that’s not your responsibility. You’re valid for wishing it were Germany instead. What they did, it’s inexcusable,” you run your thumb over the structure of Robert’s face tenderly, “Japan isn’t your fault.”

Robert let’s put an empty laugh, “Then why does it feel like it is?”

Your frown, “You tore a hole in the fabric of the universe,” you say, holding Robert’s face firmly in your hands, “But you didn’t destroy it.”

Robert searches your eyes for any speck of falsehood but finds nothing. 

“I love you, and you can always talk to me, okay?” you say.

“I know,” Robert says, “I just get too inside my head.”

“And what a wonderful place it is to get stuck,” you smile, “Just know when to pull away. And if you can’t, I’m here to lend a hand.”

“I love you too, my gem. Thank you.”

“Never a problem,” you relax back into the cooling water, head against Robert’s chest.

The two of you lay there until the water is freezing and your glasses of wine empty. The two of you curl up in bed, warm and cozy. Robert holds you as close to him as physically possible, stroking your skin to lull you to sleep. And that night, he finally sleeps and isn’t plagued with nightmares of you leaving him. He doesn’t care if the world or history hates him because as long as you love him, the hole he tore in the universe doesn’t seem so big.

taglist:

@baizzhu @queenshelby @orijanko @raineeace @savagemickey03 @langdons-slut @shynovelist @mypoisonedvine @darkmoviesquotespizza @babybluebex @madlittlecriminal

[njbice]

Day 3 and 4 of the Frank Bette plein air paint out! Wednesday was 'off island' day, so I got to stay in the city and I painted at Alamo Square. Of course it was freezing and windy. Day 4 I was back in Alameda and participated in the quick draw, but I didn't like that piece. Afterwards I rallied and did a little shop downtown with a tree in front of it.

Tomorrow, Saturday August 5, is your opportunity to come see everyone's paintings and have the first opportunity to purchase them if you're interested. But by all means just come to look if you want! We will be at South Shore shopping center in Alameda from 10-5.

[dudeshusband]

Words: 334

Ship: Mike x Dude

Description: Drabblecember Day 1: Cold Weather

Mike shivered and pulled their coat closer to themselves as they stood at their post outside the Hotel Alamo. Somehow, after living the past 3 years in Presidio County, Texas, they were still surprised that the late falls and winters could be so cold in such a barren place. 

Their boyfriend, Dude, walked out of the hotel, wearing his characteristic black tie and a coat made of stiff cotton. He rubbed his tanned hands together and blew into them. 

“It’s so damned cold,” he said. 

Mike looked him over and smiled, “So you can button your shirt all the way.” 

Dude instinctively looked down at his checkered blue shirt. “I only wear ‘em like that because it gets so hot.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“You don’t believe me?” 

Mike shook their head, “Nope.” 

He lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I don’t have anythin’ to be ashamed of.”

“You sure don’t,” Mike said. 

“Now, it’s button up or freeze.” 

“We could always cuddle up to keep warm.” 

He smiled and came closer to them.

"It's not a bad idea. You're always so soft."

He took them into a tight embrace. Mike felt the rough material of his coat on their face. Not liking the sensation, they moved to nuzzle into his neck. 

“I’d like to stay like this all day,” Dude said. “But I ain’t gettin’ paid to cuddle you.” 

Mike mumbled into his neck, “It could be arranged.” 

Mike felt Dude’s full body laugh as he held them.

“You’ll pay me to cuddle you?” 

“If it gets me more cuddles.” 

Dude pulled away with an amused glint in his eye. “You’ll just have to make do.” 

He kissed them goodbye on the cheek. “See you later?”

“I’ll be in a bundle of blankets in my room. It’ll be a game of ‘find the needle in the haystack’.” 

“Find the Mike in the bundle of blankets. Sounds fun. What do I get for winnin’?

“Me, of course,” they said. 

“You’re the prize? Can’t get better than that.” 

Mike smiled and shook their head fondly. “See you later.” 

“See you later.” 

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Vampire's Nest

Masterlist

We ended up hiding in the trees and look out this old barn house where we see the door open. A man comes out and holds up his arms to shield his face as another man pulls up his car to the building and walk over to him. They talk for a bit then they head back inside.

"Son of a bitch. So they're really not afraid of the sun?" Dean asked. "Ahh, direct sunlight hurts like a nasty sunburn. The only way to kill 'em is by beheading. And yeah, they sleep during the day -- doesn't mean they won't wake up." John said. "So I guess walking right in's not our best option." I said with sarcasm. "Actually, that's the plan." John said and I turn to him. "Wait, what?" I said, shocked.

Dean opens up the trunk and we began to weapon up while John does the same from an automatic hidden compartment that slides from the back of his truck. "Dad, I've got an extra machete if you need one." Dean said as he holds it up but John unveils a massive shiny serrated edge machete from a leather holder. "I think I'm ok. Thanks." John said as Dean and I check the machete out.

"Wow." Dean mutters.

"Impressive." I said and John turns to us.

"So, you three really wanna know about this Colt?" John asked us. "Yes sir." Sam and I said as Dean nods. "It's just a story, a legend really. Well I thought it was. Never really believed it until I read Daniel's letter....Back in 1835, when Halley's comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo. They say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun. He made it for a hunter, a man like us only on horseback. Story goes he made thirteen bullets, and this hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. And somehow Daniel got his hands on it. They say...they say this gun can kill anything." John explains and my jaw drops at this.

"Kill anything like, supernatural anything?" Dean asked. "Like the demon?" Sam asked. "Yeah, the demon. Ever since I picked up its trail I've been looking for a way to destroy that thing. Find the gun -- we may have it." John said as he looks between us.

John jumps through the barn window and disappears into the dark building. Then one by one, Dean, Sam and I follow him and we begin to survey the room. It was all quiet as the Vampires were sleeping in hammocks.

John starts to head one way while the boys and I make our way through the barn. I pass a hammock and, accidentally, kicked an empty bottle on the ground. I freeze in place then look over at the vampires, but they didn't seem to hear it as they continued to sleep. I let out a quiet sigh of relief and continued on until I hear Sam whisper yell at me and Dean.

"Guys." He whispers and we see a woman tied up to a pole. Sam begins to untie the woman until we hear a noise. "There's more." Dean whispers as he looks behind us. I turn around and Dean and I make our way to a locked metal grid.

Inside, we could see more people tied up. All of them seemed to be sleeping or they were unconscious, it was hard to tell. I try to open the door but I could see there's a lock on the door. Dean grabs a metal hook to break the lock. Sam and I look up sharply at the noise and we look over to the hammocks. But there is no movement.

Just then the woman tied up against the pole begins to stir. "Hey. Hey hey, shh, I'm here to help you." Sam assures her when she roars, an unearthly roar. Sam rears back while Dean and I look around to see the vampires waking up. 

"Sam!" Dean and I shout and we start to get up. "Kids, run!" We hear John shout and we run as the vampires give chase. We burst out the barn doors into the daylight and run up the slope to the cars before turning to look back.

"Dad?" Dean calls out but nothing. "Dad!!" Dean calls out again. After a long pause John comes running up the slope. As soon as we see him, the boys and I turn to leave.

"They won't follow. They'll wait till tonight. Once a vampire has your scent, it's for life." John tells us once we put some distance between us and the nest. "Well, what the hell do we do now?" I asked him. "You gotta find the nearest funeral home, that's what." John said. The boys and I look at him, confused, then at each other.

"Whew. Man, some heavy security to protect a bunch of dead guys." Dean said as he and I return the motel room where Sam and John were left inside. So far, it looked like they hadn't killed each other so that's good.

"Get it?" John asked us and I pull out a paper bag from my jacket pocket. Then I pull out a bottle full of blood out of the bag, or Dead Man's Blood as they call it, then handed it to John, who takes it and looks it over.

"You know what to do." John said to us and we nodded.

John, Sam and I were hiding in the woods, John and Sam were on the other side of the woods, while I was hiding close by to Dean and the Impala. I was holding a crossbow with a loaded arrow, the tip covered in Dead Man's blood, and we watch as Dean leans over the opened hood of the Impala, looking at the engine.

"Car trouble?" A woman asked and we see a dark-haired woman standing there as Dean turns to her. "Let me give you a lift. I'll take you back to my place." She said, flirting, and I clench my jaw at this. "Nah I'll pass. I usually draw the line at necrophilia." Dean said, smirking, at her.

"Oooh." The woman said then she backhands him as another vampire approaches. She grabs Dean's face and lifts him into the air. "I don't usually get this friendly until the second date but..." Dean said to her as I raise the bow a bit.

"You know, we could have some fun. I always like to make new friends." She said, seductively, and she lowers him to her level and kisses him, still holding his cheeks tightly. The other vampire watches this, smiling, and I take aim. 

"Oh. Whuf. Sorry. I don't usually stay with a chick that long. Definitely not eternity." Dean said and an arrow pierces the other vamp's back and I fire the arrow into the woman's chest. "Dammit." She growls once she looks down at the arrow in her chest while Sam, John and I emerge from the trees.

"It barely even stings." She growls at us. "Give it time, sweetheart. That arrow's soaked in dead man's blood. It's like poison to you, isn't it?" John asked and she looks at us, shocked, then wavers and loses consciousness. "Load her up." John said to us then he gestures to the other vampire.

"I'll take care of this one." He said and he approaches the other vampire, who is sitting groggily on the ground. Raising his machete, he brings it down on the vampire's head.

Later, we had a campfire burning and John hands Dean a bag and they move from the Impala's trunk back toward the fire where Sam and I were patrolling with a couple of machete. "Toss this on the fire. Saffron, skunk's cabbage and trillium. It'll block our scent and hers, until we're ready." John said as Dean sniffs the bag and coughs. "Stuff stinks!" He said.

"That's the idea. Dust your clothes with the ashes, and you stand a chance of not being detected." John instructs us. "You sure they'll come after her?" Sam asked John. "Yeah. Vampires mate for life. She means more to the leader than the gun. But the blood sickness is going to wear off soon, so you don't have a lot of time." John informs us.

"A half hour oughta do it." I said and John nods. "And then I want you out of the area as fast as you can." John said and we give him a confused look.

"But..." Sam said as Dean shakes his head.

"Dad, you can't take care of them all by yourself." Dean said to him. "I'll have her. And the Colt." John said as he gestures towards the vampire. "But after....We're gonna meet up, right? Use the gun together. Right?" I asked him and he looks between the three of us and Sam sighs.

"You're leaving again, aren't you? You still wanna go after the demon alone. You know, I don't get you. You can't treat us like this." Sam said, his voice rising. "Like what?" John asked. "Like children." Sam replied. "You two are my children. I'm trying to keep you safe. And I know (y/n) isn't my kid, but I feel an obligation to keep her safe, I'm sure (father's name) would agree with me." John said.

"Dad, all due respect but, uh, that's a bunch of crap." Dean said and we all look at him in shock. "Excuse me?" John asked, shocked. "You know what? Sammy, (y/n) and I have been hunting. Hell, you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can't be that worried about keeping us safe." Dean said as he steps up.

"It's not the same thing, Dean." John said to him. "Then what is it, John? Why do you want us out of the big fight?" I asked him. "This demon? It's a bad son of a bitch. I can't make the same moves if I'm worried about keeping you alive." John said. "You mean you can't be as reckless." Dean spat.

"Look...I don't expect to make it out of this fight in one piece. Your mother's death...it almost killed me. I can't watch my children and my best friend's daughter die too. I won't." John said.

"What happens if you die? Dad, what happens if you die, and we could've done something about it? You know I been thinking. I...think maybe Sammy's right about this one. We should do this together." Dean said and Sam and I nod. "We're stronger as a family, Dad. We just are. You know it." Dean said and John looks at us, looking unconvinced.

"We're running out of time. You do your job and you get out of the area. That's an order." John said and he walks off. I frown as Dean looks down, emotional, and Sam clenches his jaw. I look at the boys and placed an arm around and give them a side hug.

The boys and I make it back to the barn and we take out the vampires that stayed behind then make our way to the locked container that was full of people. "I told you we'd come back." Dean said as I begin to break the hinges. 

Once we break the people out, we grab some crossbows and started to make our way to find John. Eventually, we find John unconscious on the ground next to his truck just as one of the vampires looms over him.

Dean raises his crossbow and fires an arrow, which pierces one of the vampires. We run out of the trees, Dean pauses to line up while I shoot another vampire with my crossbow. Sam moves toward the vampire, that was gonna attack John, but he backhands Sam.

Dean grabs a machete and we turn to help but the vampire has his arm around Sam's throat and I raise the crossbow at the vampire. "Don't! I'll break his neck. Put the blade and the crossbow down." The vampire ordered but Dean and I do nothing.

Then the vampire tightens his hold on Sam's neck, cutting off his air supply completely. Dean and I drop the machete and the bow, immediately. "You people. Why can't you leave us alone. We have as much right to live as you do." The vampire spat at us.

"I don't think so." John's voice said and the vampire turns around as John raises the colt and shoots him between the eyes. The vampire lets go of Sam who stumbles away, gasping, and Dean and I pull Sa. behind us.

A sigil appears where the bullet hit the vampire and he stumbles. A brief flash of light reflects his skeleton, before he falls to his knees. "Lutherrrr!!!!" The female vampire, we caught earlier, screams as another flash of light passes through Luther and he slumps to the ground dead.

The woman starts toward John but another vamp grabs her, pulling her to their car. They take off, wheels screaming, while John smiles at us, in satisfaction.

The next day, we were packing up when John enters the room and we turn to face him. "So, kids..." he said. "Yes sir." Sam said. "You ignored a direct order back there." John said as he looks between us. "Yes sir." Sam and I said. "Yeah but we saved your ass." Dean said and Sam and I look sideways at Dean, nervously.

John looks steadily at Dean, who swallows. "You're right." John said and a confused look washes over Dean's face. "I am?" He asked. "It scares the hell out of me. You three are all I've got." John said then he turns me. "Even if you're not my own blood, (y/n)." He said to me and I nod at him. "But I guess we are stronger as a family. So...we go after this damn thing. Together." John said and we nod at him.

"Yes sir." We said in unison.

[synthsays]

Doctober day 25:

*~¤ Café ¤~*

Marty got a job at the coffee "shop", if you could even call it that, in Los Alamos. The so-called shop was really a stand in the corner of the grocery store but Marty liked to call it his shop. For the residents of Los Alamos that were just passing by in the mornings for work, they would get a coffee. Marty would make that coffee. Of course, he himself always hated the stuff, but work was work and he didn't have anything better to do. He had memorized most of the orders, but one he knew by heart.

Doc Brown, A.K.A. Marty's adoptive father and best friend, ordered coffee every morning. Marty took the liberty to tell him how bad it was to have so much caffeine, but Doc usually responded with a simple smile and left. Doc's order was always a black coffee, plain and simple. How he managed to drink it without gagging was an amusement to Marty. But it was his job to serve, so serve he did.

Helen, one of the scientists from the project Marty had befriended, also preferred her coffee in the morning. Marty wondered if she got coffee just to see him. She never got coffee as often as Doc but she still got it frequently. Her order was complex compared to Doc's. She usually ordered coffee with a bottle of milk, cinnamon and two sugars. Not as complex as some orders, but at least some diversity.

Today was chilly, an average fall day, so Marty expected more customers. The first customer of the day was always his favorite, because it was Doc. A simple order was always great to start off the day.

" Hello, Marty," Dr. E. Brown placed a quarter on the counter, " I'll have the usual."

"You got it, Doc." Marty replaced the quarter with a cup of hot coffee. "What are you working on today?" Marty grinned.

" You know I can't tell you, but it's something important."

" You're the doc, Doc. Good luck!" Doc left, leaving the store eerily quiet yet again.

**

Marty's business always cooled down right after the morning spree hit. After all, who gets coffee at noon? Edna Strickland, that's who. Apparently, the switchboard's team gets a break at noon, along with a couple of the scientist groups. Of course, the next shift took over, but the previous shift had worked through the morning. She usually wasn't willing to take anything less than her predetermined standard. Marty thought she would just have to deal with it.

" Hello, Mrs. Strickland."

She responded by dropping a pair of dimes on the register.

" Large coffee with ⅓ cup of soy milk, 3 sugars, two dashes of cinnamon. And that's dashes not pinches. There's a difference. 2 ice cubes and ¼ cup cream. If you have it, add one-"

Edna continued her obnoxiously long order, which she happened to change every time. Unfortunately for her, Marty had heard about two words and then tuned her out. He was more focused on lunch than whatever she had to say.

" Young man! Are you even listening?"

Marty worked up from his daydream.

" I'm on it!"

After fetching a cup, he poured a black coffee, put four sugars in and added a splash of milk.

" Here you go, ma'am."

The look of disgust on Edna's face was enough to almost make Marty laugh aloud. He didn't, but it was a possibility.

" This is not what I ordered."

Edna pushed the cup back across the countertop.

" Have a nice day now!"

Marty took his chance to go "to the back", which was really just the area right behind a wall. Essentially hiding there, Marty waited.

" I'll file a report on this place, sooner or later." She grumbled as she reluctantly took the coffee back up.

**

The season was now winter. Marty had originally thought he would get customers but now he was reevaluating. He could always count on Doc, but someone came in he wasn't expecting. Helen, out of all people, was the first to order on this cold winter's day.

" Good day, Marty. How have you been?" She pulled down her scarf.

"It's been great! Well, as great as one can be when he’s freezing himself in a store in the middle of New Mexico."

" Oh, it's not that bad. Well, believe it or not, I'm wondering if I could get a coffee."

Helen and Marty both laughed.

" I think I can manage that. What are you ordering today?" Marty held a pencil and pad to jot down whatever she had to say.

" I'll take the usual: milk, cinnamon and two sugars." " Coming right up!"

After Marty prepared the drink, he got an idea. Why not start a habit of leaving notes for each other? Marty didn't need to do so with Doc, but Helen he didn't talk to so much. He quickly scribbled down a " Good luck with the project Helen!" with the previously mentioned pencil and paper, and stuck it between the cup and saucer.

Later, when he went to pick up the cups from the small table positioned in his little "shop", he noticed the paper had been flipped. On the other hand read ' Keep up the coffee, Marty!' with Helen's signature. Marty smiled and stuffed the note into his pocket.

Hours after this interaction, Marty checked the time to see that it was the end of his shift. He hadn't gotten much from today's shift. A couple more, back coffees or the occasional milk with sugar, but besides that, the store was empty. He threw his apron over the counter and pulled on his jacket. He hadn't noticed it had started snowing.

Must've been too caught up in daydreaming.

It was a bad habit, he had to admit. Recently he had caught himself thinking about the past. Or should I say, the future. That was years ago, yet it still hurt to think about it.

Now wasn't the time, though. He had to focus on how to not freeze his eyelids off. That made him think, had he worn enough layers today?

I wonder if they had cold medicine in the 40s…

[flowerliker]

Do you have any advice for keeping smoliv in a colder climate? I recently acquired an egg for one.

- @alamos-garden-lover

smoliv's normal-typing actually makes them a little hardier than they might be if they were pure grass-types!! even if it is cold though it is very important that they get lots and lots of sunlight!!!

you are going to want to be extra careful to make sure they are getting enough nutrients to keep themselves healthy. smoliv can go up to a whole week without eating anything with no problem but even if it does not really have the appetite you should make sure it is getting its nutrients anyway! you will probably want to look into nutritional supplements, the kind that a reputable garden store that specializes in grass-type care will get you, to help support its diet because it will be especially susceptible to ill effects from the cold if it is not nutritionally satisfied

oh the thing you have to be very careful of though is the oil it stores in the fruit on its head!!! i am not sure on exact temperatures from within the fruit, but outside the fruit the oil will start to solidify at 54f/12c and it will start to freeze at 10f/-12c 🥶 you have to be very very mindful to make sure that does not happen!!! colder days should be inside days and cooler days should involve hats and scarves 🧣

and also as i always recommend for grass-types, a nice warm sweater will not hurt and a sun lamp inside for it to go back to when it is chilly is basically a must!!!! ☀️

[walker-extended-universe]

Cassie and windy hoyt

Cassie-

1: sexuality headcanon

Disaster bi

2: otp

Kevin/Cassie OR (if he's evil) Trey/Cassie

3: brotp

Cassie & Cordell aka Team Tol and Smol

4: notp

don't really have one at this point

5: first headcanon that pops into my head

She decided to go into law enforcement after witnessing Ben suffer from a homophobic attack and seeing the police do nothing about it

6: favorite line from this character

"CA-CAW!!!"

7: one way in which I relate to this character

We are both very awkward in the ways of romance

8: thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character

Nothing she's perfect

9: cinnamon roll or problematic fave?

Cinnamon roll <3

WIndy Hoyt-

1: sexuality headcanon

Bisexual

2: otp

Lucia/Hoyt

3: brotp

Hoyt & Calian

4: notp

Hoyt/Abby

5: first headcanon that pops into my head

Hoyt resents his father for staying at the Alamo instead of coming home to him.

6: favorite line from this character

"We should bring the rest of the gang out here. Except Kate; she'd probably freeze the water."

7: one way in which I relate to this character

We both have a healthy appreciation of the female figure

8: thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character

This man is so confident in cheating and yet he's so bad at it

9: cinnamon roll or problematic fave?

Problematic fave and he's hot at it <3

[gayle-blythe]

On the day you moved out, your father handed you a bottle of honey and a Manila folder. He told you that these two items have been passed down through the family for generations. Saying that the honey is thousands of years old and the folder holds documents to prove so, you took his word and his gift. You’re curiosity got to you a few weeks after and you decided to look in the folder. What you found you almost felt unworthy to be handling. Papers and parchments, some old, some new, and some REALLY old. Some preserved in sheets and others sealed in plastic. As you look at them you see family records among other “documents of authenticity” but what really caught your eye was that some of the other documentation was written in a different language. You couldn’t identify it yourself, but then again you’re no linguist.

On your own you came into some money and with global tensions rising, war on the horizon, you decide to prepare, just in case. Among the canned food, bottled water, survival gear, and some extra valuables, you also decided to stash your fathers honey.

As it turns out, your investment paid off. Bombs flew and as many were stopped and shot down, just as many made it through. You didn’t have time to react, you saw a flash, a cloud, and then you heard an emergency alert. You’re lucky you didn’t freeze in the panic, your body moving on its own, rushing to the bunker.

That was a month or two ago.

While you still have food to survive off of for another few months, the selection has grown slim. Still plenty of medicine, all you had used was some cold medicine, and some antibiotics when a cut got infected a while back. But that’s not the issue. Lately you gotten sick, far sicker that you’ve been and in more pain then you think you’ve ever felt. You’re not sure what’s wrong, you’ve tried everything you can think of. So you’ve deduced it must be something beyond your control. Radiation poisoning? Some sort of chemical leaking in? You can’t be sure, but whatever it is, the growing lumps and peeling skin CANNOT be good. One thing you are sure of is that you’re as good as dead.

Once you had come to this conclusion, you found your eyes drifting to that bottle sitting next to the Manila folder again and again. When you had rediscovered it upon entering the bunker, you had decided to save it. Maybe, once you could leave, it would hold value to someone, you could sell it and maybe live a little more comfortably in the post apocalypse. Or maybe just hold on to it. Make it out alive and keep it as some sort of trophy to your survival. Maybe even pass it down to your own child if you ever have one. But now it looks like those options aren’t so obtainable anymore.

You hold the cloudy glass to the light. The fluid so thick and dark only allowing little light through, but what does break through glows a deep, rich amber. You glance around the room, searching for something to eat with the honey and eventually land on hardtack, the foundation of your diet here in this hole. While it doesn’t taste horrible, after some time it began to become more of a chore to eat it and the taste began to wear on you. Especially since you ran out of any sort of jam or preserves to spread on it, so a touch of sweetness will be a welcome change! Speaking of, it has been some time since you had ANYTHING sweet down here. Pushing that thought aside you grab a spoon and some of your hardtack and sit, ready for your impromptu meal. It takes some elbow grease but you crack open the lid and immediately a pungent sweetness permeates the air. It takes a moment to adjust but once you do, you find the smell, appetizing, almost intoxicating. Your stomach growls as you suddenly feel profoundly hungry. You take your spoon and scoop a little honey out. You let it drizzle back into the jar for a moment, Alamo t mesmerized by the way it flowed. Thicker than syrup but thinner than molasses. You move it to begin coating the hardtack as your mouth begins to water. You stop and set the spoon back in the jar just before the honey leaks over the side of the cracker. As you bring it to your lips the sweet smell is stronger the ever, just begging you to taste it. And so you do. It’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Sweeter than anything you’ve ever had, and more rich too. It’s a different kind of sweet, one that while overpowering, it doesn’t hurt or sicken you like some sweets you had tasted in your past. It’s overpowering nature, you welcome it, crave it. You lack the words to describe it and only one word comes to your mind.

Ambrosia

You thought you had only taken one bite, but the whole cracker is gone, all that remains is some drops of honey on your fingers. You lick it up greedily. You must have more. You break off another chunk of hardtack and hold it in your hand, this time skipping the spoon and pouring straight from the jar. You let it overflow into your hands but not enough to let it hit the floor. You set the jar down and you feast. Some how it tastes better the second time. You sloppily eat the cracker, hardly chewing, lapping, slobbering, and slurping the rest of the honey from your hands.

You MUST have more

You grab the jar, fully intending to drink it all. You put it to your lips and tip your head back. The sickening sweetness stronger than ever before. The liquid flows towards your gaping maw, yet it can’t seem to come nearly fast enough. Just as the honey begins to bear your lips, you come to your senses. No. You must savor it. You must make it last until your final days here. If you were to run out, you’re not sure you could take that loss.

You screw the lid back on. As you sit, you feel full. Fuller than you’ve felt in a long time. Almost stuffed. And you feel… warm? Regardless, you feel better than you’ve felt in a while and you decide it’s time to sleep.

The next few days pass without much note. You eat some honey with each meal, but you never lose yourself as you did the first time. Just drips and drizzles, but you find it just as sweet and filling as before. Some days when you eat it, you think if your father and the rest of your family. Thinking on where this honey came from, as well as where you were before all this. Reminiscing on warm memories. These last few days, you’ve felt far less hungry, and far less cold.

Weeks pass

You’re honestly surprised you’re still alive, but you don’t question it. Oddly, you’re more worried by the ever shrinking honey reserve. You’re left with about half of what you started with. As you go to get a spoonful for todays lunch, you feel the spoon hit something solid. As not much happens in the bunker, this is new, and curiosity takes you. You begin fishing it out, wondering what it could be. A piece of honeycomb? Maybe a bottle with a note inside! Or maybe it’s just a rock. Regardless, whatever it is, it’s likely been in here since the honey was bottled. It doesn’t take to long to fish it out, but in that short time, the anticipation is still unbearable. As the spoon breaks the surface, it takes you a moment to realize what’s on top of it. You don’t recognize it at first. In shock you drop the spoon. Surely, surely that is NOT what you think. You stoop down and upon closer inspection, your suspicions are confirmed.

A finger

You feel sick, it takes all the strength you have not to puke then and there. Once you regain your composure, you close in again to examine it further. You were right, it’s a finger. You poke it and I kinda of feels like… jerky? It’s dark and slightly shriveled up but it’s been sitting in that honey for god knows how long. Is it mummified? You remember seeing mummies in a museum as a kid and this kinda looks like that, but you can’t be too sure. You pick it up, touching it as little as possible, and drop it in a can, carrying it to a corner of the bunker where you leave it. You sit there for a moment, staring at the honey, the can, and the blank concrete walls. You ATE that. You are A LOT of that. Starting to feel sick again, you decide to stop thinking about it. You close the jar of honey and set it on a shelf, telling yourself that’s the last you’ll eat of it.

A day passes

And another

You haven’t eaten the honey as you said, but you’re starting to feel… wrong. You’re cold again. You’re feeling hungry again. You need it. Deciding that if it was going to affect you, it would have already, you reintroduce it to your diet.

You wonder if your father knew when he gave it to you. You wonder if his mother knew when she gave it to him. These question fill your mind each time you eat and most the time in between.

Days continue to pass

As you go to change bandages covering open wounds in your arms, you contemplate your mortality once again. It’s been quite some time now since you were certain you’d die. Why haven’t you died? As you question this, you realize all at once that you aren’t hurting any more. In fact, you haven’t been hurting for a while now. When did that happen? You quickly unwrap the bandages and see clear as day, where open wounds and sloughing skin once was, new skin was growing. Still sensitive, but you were healing. How? You check your other wounds, the bumps and rashes and sure enough they’ve all shrunk if not completely healed. How is this possible?

Then it hits you

The jar, the honey, the finger. That’s what changed. But how, how could that possibly work. You think of what happened to you when you first tried it. Not matter how much you try to convince yourself, you can’t accept it. Yet the proof is clear as day. Did they know? If so, why didn’t your dad tell you? Regardless, you know now. You try to think of what this means, the implications and repercussions but your head is just swimming with questions. Once you calm down, an idea comes to you.

You look at the door

Surely not, right? It’s not possible. You’ll die out there. But, maybe there’s a chance. You have this… this miracle! You already know it saved you from the brink of death. What else can it do?

You stand

If there’s even the slightest chance, you have to take it right? For your father, who gave you this second chance, for your family. Maybe they’re still out there. As your hand touches the cold steel of the bunker door, you feel something you haven’t felt in a long time.

Hope

Your dad had this vintage bottle of honey, dated thousands of years. He always told you to save it for a special occasion. Trapped in a bunker about to die, you think it’s the right time.

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 3.6 (before 1940)

12 BCE – The Roman emperor Augustus is named Pontifex Maximus, incorporating the position into that of the emperor. 632 – The Farewell Sermon (Khutbah, Khutbatul Wada') of the Islamic prophet Muhammad. 845 – The 42 Martyrs of Amorium are killed after refusing to convert to Islam. 961 – Byzantine conquest of Chandax by Nikephoros Phokas, end of the Emirate of Crete. 1204 – The Siege of Château Gaillard ends in a French victory over King John of England, who loses control of Normandy to King Philip II Augustus. 1323 – Treaty of Paris of 1323 is signed. 1454 – Thirteen Years' War: Delegates of the Prussian Confederation pledge allegiance to King Casimir IV of Poland who agrees to commit his forces in aiding the Confederation's struggle for independence from the Teutonic Knights. 1521 – Ferdinand Magellan arrives at Guam. 1665 – The first joint Secretary of the Royal Society, Henry Oldenburg, publishes the first issue of Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society, the world's longest-running scientific journal. 1788 – The First Fleet arrives at Norfolk Island in order to found a convict settlement. 1820 – The Missouri Compromise is signed into law by President James Monroe. The compromise allows Missouri to enter the Union as a slave state, brings Maine into the Union as a free state, and makes the rest of the northern part of the Louisiana Purchase territory slavery-free. 1834 – York, Upper Canada, is incorporated as Toronto. 1836 – Texas Revolution: Battle of the Alamo: After a thirteen-day siege by an army of 3,000 Mexican troops, the 187 Texas volunteers, including frontiersman Davy Crockett and colonel Jim Bowie, defending the Alamo are killed and the fort is captured. 1857 – The Supreme Court of the United States rules 7–2 in the Dred Scott v. Sandford case that the Constitution does not confer citizenship on black people. 1869 – Dmitri Mendeleev presents the first periodic table to the Russian Chemical Society. 1882 – The Serbian kingdom is re-founded. 1899 – Bayer registers "Aspirin" as a trademark. 1901 – Anarchist assassin tries to kill German Emperor Wilhelm II. 1904 – Scottish National Antarctic Expedition: Led by William Speirs Bruce, the Antarctic region of Coats Land was discovered from the Scotia. 1912 – Italo-Turkish War: Italian forces become the first to use airships in war, as two dirigibles drop bombs on Turkish troops encamped at Janzur, from an altitude of 1,800 m. 1930 – International Unemployment Day demonstrations globally initiated by the Comintern. 1933 – Great Depression: President Franklin D. Roosevelt declares a "bank holiday", closing all U.S. banks and freezing all financial transactions.

[47burlm]

Day 8 at the Alamo

Think about this for a second and put yourself in the mindset of roughly 200 men-. For eight days you have either stood behind crumbling old wall’s or crouched behind them. You have had little water and just enough food to keep you going. During this time you have seen the enemy forces grow close to 2,000, and you have watched as cannons point in your direction on all four sides. For a moment you ask yourself why, then you hear a voice from where you don’t know, saying “better to die on one’s feet than to live on one’s knees” and you load your musket once again

Facts About Day 8 of the Alamo

A cold front arrived, dropping temperatures near freezing for the second time during the siege.

32 Texan reinforcements arrived from Gonzales, which was 75 miles away, and famous for being the site of the Battle of Gonzales, the first engagement of the Texas Revolution.

The reinforcements from Gonzalez were led by John Smith, Albert Martin, and Charles Espalier.

The arrival of reinforcements boosted the morale of the garrison at the Alamo.

These men are known as the “Immortal 32” for their sacrifice.

Artillery fire from the Alamo struck Santa Anna’s headquarters.

Mexican forces that had been sent to engage Texas reinforcements from Goliad turned around and returned to the Alamo after no Texans were found.

[teacherintransition]

The Wordy Ramblings of A Weak, Weary, Wimpy Texan Wandering Winter

No, really …a REAL winter

Ahhh …how everyone tingles with excitement to hear the braggadocio and bravado of the Texas man! With rapt attention all humanity bends their ear and focuses full attention when a rough and rowdy Texan starts a sentence with, “by god …why back in Texas we got it all!” “We got us mountains and rivers and forests and beaches and deserts and wild horses and longhorn cattle and the ‘by damn’ Alamo and the best ‘by god’ barbecue in the whole damn world!” He won’t stop there; oh no …he will go on ad infinitum! “We got us Merica’s team …THE COWBOYS, we got us the Astros and everything is bigger in Texas!” And, with no forethought or sense of restraint will bellow, “AND ITS BY GOD 120° EVERY DAMN DAY!” It’s too late now, with foot firmly planted in the loud mouth, he must respond to the inevitable question asked by any thoughtful citizen of the forty nine other states or the rest of the Northern Hemisphere; “that’s amazing big Texas fellow, but how are the winters down there?’ “How do you fellas handle cold weather?”

At this point, excuse making and stuttering and stammering most likely follows. The bigger than life Texan will most likely be overcome with a sense of feeling inferior and attempt a subject change. I got them feels. I know that the entire state will panic and shutdown the moment a gray sky fills the horizon and a few gentle snowflakes make their way to the ground. Cars run off the road whether it be a farm road or interstate highway and sand is poured on aforementioned roads to avert vehicular disaster. It’s a real scene man and would be hilarious if it was for the mismanaged disaster of the 2021 “snowmaggedon” where hundreds of Texans froze to death. That’s all I’ll mention about the criminally bungled handling of our major winter storm; we can’t lose the light hearted frivolity of this article …what would the reader say? What would sensitive Texans say? What do I have to say beyond the rambling?

As a lifelong Texan, the last two weeks of our time in Kansas City, Missouri, I must say I’ve been humbled, nay I’ve been rattled, disconcerted, why in a tizzy even. We arrived January 5th to a light dusting of snow and we “ooed and awed” at the lovely sight. We were being set up for what followed; and what was that you may ask? Two weeks of -15° temperatures (I couldn’t bring myself to look at the wind chill factor) ice on roads an inch think and up to a foot of snow. It HURT, I couldn’t get a semblance of getting warm, my doggies wouldn’t step onto the iced over porch to do their business.(let your imagination wander on that one) Driving became precarious, cabin fever set in, I felt stir crazy, the sun disappeared; and, with proper …uh props to Dr. Peter Venkman, sleet and ice falling from the sky, rivers freezing, forty years of darkness, earthquakes, volcanoes, human sacrifice, cats and dogs living together….MASS HYSTERIA!* I exaggerate, but just a little because as I write this tale of woe, a gray squirrel just slipped off of an icy limb and fell twenty five feet into a snow bank. He brushed himself off and climbed back up the tree. Obviously not a Texas Squirrel. What is even more frightening to consider is that bar mates of mine who have lived in Canada, Nebraska, Iowa and Minnesota wave their hand at this weather saying, “oh,this is nothing!” It is beyond my comprehension!

We’ve had people question us with incredulity as to why in the world are we there? Geez, we’ve asked ourselves the same questions. It’s a metaphor for a life well lived …in a sense. Life ain’t always sunshine and warm tropical breezes my friend, sometimes it’s cold and harsh; but aren’t we better off for the experience? The experience… life is all the more richer when you have a variety of experiences. No one wants just vanilla all the time and the hardy nature of the folks we’ve met and the beauty of the snowy cold has been fantastic. We know we can handle it; another new challenge overcome, yea for us! Memories and stories and anecdotes will be packed away with the others we’ve collected since this traveling adventure began two years ago. Variety is the spice of life whether it’s served hot or cold. All of us on this world carry their own struggles, triumphs and challenges, with the more of them you see yourself the better human you can become. Look, it’s snowing again …

*From the lines of the immortal Bill Murray in GHOSTBUSTERS

[brownohaveroklahoma]

PUBLIC ADJUSTER NEW MEXICO

Have you suffered an insured loss in NEW MEXICO?

Brown O'Haver has been adjusting claims in New Mexico for over thirty years. Twenty years ago we were asked to help the insureds at the Cerro Grande fire and we ended up working in excess of thirty million dollars in claims. Interestingly, many firms came to Los Alamos to work on claims but left soon afterward. It took nearly three years before the claims of our clients were resolved and we didn't walk away from a single one.

New Mexico's insurance climate is unique. New Mexico is truly the land of enchantment but there is nothing enchanting about an insurance claim.

We understand. Wind, freezing, fire, vandalism, We can help.

Brown O'Haver of New Mexico:

c/o Law Offices of Richard MacKenzie   1127 Paseo de Peralta   Santa Fe, NM 87501   (505)982-9823

[i-never-forgot]

I love how you worded this Sofie! I’ve been wondering about the logistics of this, too, although I have a slightly different headcanon if you don’t mind me sharing 😊

I like to think that mystery dungeon function similar to how Palkia “locked down” Alamos Town in Rose of Darkrai, i.e. setting a spatial boundary that rebounds and attempts to escape and traps those already within its boundaries.

In the case of Explorers, since it’s time that’s acting up (until Grovyle, Hero, and Partner fix it) and then space that goes wacky thanks to Darkrai’s secondary meddling (which makes me wonder if he would’ve gone for Giratina and the reverse world next had Palkia not kicked him into amnesiac oblivion), I figured there’s a bit of blending going on since time isn’t linear and space is flexible—a combination of both planes intermingling to create the issue.

So, we know that mystery dungeons do not operate at random, despite their name, as they have a certain set of rules by which they abide:

The areas within which they occupy are visibly distinctive from normal landscapes.

They do twist on themselves to form labyrinthine structures that differ each time they’re entered, but the entrance and the exit are fixed, which thus means they extend towards the same general direction (be it horizontal, like fields or caves, or vertical, like ravines or towers).

They have a specific “list” of items and feral Pokemon that they are capable of regenerating, but that never deviates unless outside forces influence them. (Outlaws/civilians entering into them for various reasons, dropping specific items, or whatever else kind of job offers are usually a result of said outside forces, but in the case of “special events”—like the secret rooms for which you have to bring a key, for example—I think would preexist but maybe only appear when the dungeon presents it after regenerating after a certain number and period of time; kind of like the Mirage Islands in Hoenn, sort of.)

If you drop or leave anything there, especially if it’s not in that “list,” it’s lost forever bc the dungeon “deletes” it since it wasn’t “written” into its makeup to start with.

Probably some other stuff I’m forgetting tbh…let me know if I’m missing any glaring details

With all of these factors in mind, here is my personal assessment of how they would logistically work in a more realistic context, forgoing the game mechanics:

Space/time gets distorted in a certain area in the fabric of reality at a specific point, creating the beginnings of the mystery dungeon within the perimeter of however wide and/or deep the distortion goes. (I also think they’re semi-linear rather than having floors; although there would most definitely be elevation variation, especially in caves and such.) There is really no rhyme or reason for what areas are effected, bc plain fields get involved just like ancient ruins and/or locations with Time Gears, which I think might influence the process more than other places that don’t have them…maybe it slows it down since they’re supposed to heal time like they do in Temporal Tower, but then that’s why the exchange of them being removed and freezing time around them is so drastic, like the release of pressure after lancing a wound? (Perhaps if we wanted to involve Giratina, too, they’re locations where the barrier between reality and the reverse world is thinner? Idk, but it sounds like a cool concept)

Whatever items, Pokemon, or particular non-fixed geographical features (i.e. water/lava) that is initially trapped within said perimeter cannot escape, as they are “bound” to that area. They’re written into that distorted fabric and irremovable thenceforth. For bosses, it’s contextual. Uxie lives on top of Fogbound Lake and generates Groudon as an illusion. For the Concealed Ruins, though, Regigigas is incoherent and trapped, and the Hitmonlee/Bronzong might be trapped and duplicates. These could be interpreted differently.

Being stuck there drives these Pokemon feral eventually. And, due to the nature of the dungeons “time looping” themselves, it causes duplicates/copies of those Pokemon to form at random. Space/time is continually contorting, folding, and wrinkling over itself again and again. This applies to items, etc, too. This is why the landscape gets gnarled, as well, and why you end up with dead end corridors and such.

As the issues with time/space get worse, the fabric continues to erode and spreads outwards and gets bigger over time. This might trap more Pokémon and/or items inside. This might also cause there to be more “phases” of a dungeon.

This process can only be stopped by time and space being patched back up. This occurs during the storyline, obviously, and while it is an incredibly slow process that will take years longer to unmake the damage done, they will eventually shrink back down to nothing once more, and the location will be healed, as well as the original Pokemon having their minds restored. I don’t think they’d have any memory of the ordeal, though (that would be the merciful thought).

In addition, I want to add some extra headcanons:

Traditionally, you cannot leave without losing items/money, but I personally think, in this context, that would be caused by being knocked out and those things dropping out of your Treasure Bag. It doesn’t necessarily have to happen, but in the case of apprehending criminals, they would most definitely rob you blind. I prefer the thought that you can leave, however, and the Guild just encourages you to stick through the job and warns of the outcome mentioned above to have their apprentices prepare for dungeons and jobs accordingly.

As far as the “magical teleportation” for clients with the Explorer Badge, I have two thoughts: one, it has an Escape Orb implanted in it and you can use it to send Pokémon out (but you’d have to replace it every time—maybe the Guild would provide them, and it would be neat to see them work as Pokeballs without actually being Pokeballs), or two, just…escort them back out. This would make sense for rescue missions especially, and for item deliveries/escorts, obviously they handle themselves just fine. If you’re apprehending criminals, knock them out and either coordinate with Magnezone to have his deputies take them off your hands once you exit the dungeon or drag them back to Treasure Town for arrest at the Guild. I prefer the latter bc it just seems a little more feasible.

I agree with your point on recruitment, Sofie! It makes more sense that the “sane” Pokemon are the ones that would join the team more reliably, not the feral ones trapped in a literal space/time vortex lol.

Like I mentioned above, while dungeons are like mazes, they are somewhat fixed in where they lead, and therefore somewhat linear.

I also don’t believe in the “something is coming” thing. I think it’s just a game mechanic to get people to stop messing around on one floor for too long. (Unless…?)

Probably more stuff I’m forgetting. I’ll post more if I remember other details. :)

Anyway, sorry I rambled and kind of took over your post, but stuff like this is so fun to untangle into something that translates from a game to a concept somewhat explicable in a realistic context!😊

How would recruiting pokemon from dungeons work in your pmd verse?

It's mostly non-canonical--- unless a pokemon in a dungeon originates from outside of one (i.e. is a normal, sentient person that actually exists and isn't just conjured by the mystery dungeon), you can't recruit them. Most of the time, the only sentient pokemon you encounter in dungeons are outlaws or people who need to be rescued--- so if you're going to recruit someone, it's usually after you rescue them and you meet back up at the guild!

[kennychesneyserious]

Grandma Saracen supporting QB1

[arkofblake]

MATT WHAT ARE YOU DOING