#I know diddly squat about floors

[writefightandflightclub]

Anyone know anything about repairing floors/acquiring people who can repair floors?

Boring specifics below the cut. If anyone can advise I will be super grateful 😭

So. Water has seeped in through some poorly sealed floor planks in our bathroom (it’s the kinda floor where the individual panels are clicked together and then sealed with hot glue?!) causing the underfloor material to go squishy over time. It’s directly beneath the mat on the spot where we step out of the bath so it’s not a leak or anything - completely isolated issue and no other damp, no mould or anything. Should be a quick solve… but we can’t seem to find anyone to fix it! We had a repair done, the squishy section of underfloor lifted out and replaced, and the floor panels which sit on top of that replaced and resealed. But, as it turned out, they were replaced poorly. They quickly warped, the seals broke again, and so water gradually got through again. The same spot of floor is squishy! 😩😩😩😩😩 We can’t find the right tradesperson to help bc we don’t know the right search terms to use?! Everything we try just brings up floor fitters. And that’s not quite right to deal with the issue. Can anyone help? Not asking you to come and fix it, lol, but does anyone happen to know what “type/category” of tradesperson deals with this type of repair so we can narrow the search? Or even what this job would be called? Based in the UK if that makes any difference. Just really want this fixed now and I don’t know where else to look for advice. We’ve posted on generic local job listings for tradespeople and no-one everrrrrrr replies 😭 Cannot be the first people in the world to have this problem though?????? 😝

[bihanspookies]

If you’re willing to do requests: MK1 Earthrealm Champions with a reader who’s a vigilante assassin?

Helll yeah bruudddeerrr, let’s get it

I’m writing it as them finding out what you do 🧐

Johnny Cage

• You saw how he reacted to Liu Kang, Bi Han and Kuai Liang showing up at his front step. He didn’t believe diddly squat until he saw magical shit up close and personal. You think he’d be a little more open to finding out you’re a vigilante assassin but—

• When he first finds out of course he’s in disbelief, he’s standing there with his hands on his hips and looking at you like 🤨

• He’s known you for YEARS how could he have not known this?

• Honestly though he finds it hot.

• Brains, beauty AND deadly?? Sign him tf up.

• Now he knows for sure to not mess with you.

“Wait wait wait so you’re saying that was you who took that guy out? Get outta here.” He waves a hand dismissively at you, using his other hand to take a sip of his drink. You both had been drinking the night away casually, swapping random stories when you had let it slip about your little ‘side job’.

“It’s true Johnny, not quite sure how I can prove it you but,” You shrug, downing the rest of your drink and popping one of the table snacks into your mouth. Johnny can only look at you, lips parted in suspicion as he tries to process the information you just told him.

“So the—?”

“Yeah.”

“And the guy—?”

“Mhm.”

“….Fucking amazing.”

Kenshi

• He isn’t quite sure how to handle it tbh. One on hand he understands wanting to punish those that deserve it but on the other he doesn’t like that you’re putting yourself in danger, no matter how good you say you are.

• He knew something was up with you the more he got to know you. How you’d seem more tired on certain days, bruises that were way too severe from just a simple sparring session, or how you’d suddenly take interest in someone from Kenshi’s past.

• He got extra worried when he saw you snooping through his office one day, filing through some old papers before claiming that you were ‘looking for something else’.

• He followed you one night, using Sento to guide him with ease throughout the city. It was late, raining, and he was starting to get frustrated the longer he tailed you.

• Finally he feels you stop, slipping quietly into a building from the fire escape. He’s not too far behind, climbing up and through the window just in time to see you slice open the neck of some poor unsuspecting man.

• He jumps down and makes his way to you, ready to tear you a new one until he sees that it’s someone from his yazuka days.

“The hell are you doing??” He hisses your name, Sento clutched tight in his tattooed hands as he approaches. He glances down at the bloody body on the floor, muffled gurgled sounds of his former enemy choking on his blood.

“The hell are you doing here?” You retort back, wiping your blade clean with your shirt and tucking it back into its sheath.

Kenshi doesn’t know what to say, too stunned at just witnessing you murder someone without even batting an eye. You can see the gears turning in his head and decide to let him in on your secret other life. You’ve known him for years, you can trust him.

“Vigilante… assassin?” He doesn’t like how the words taste on his tongue, grimacing at he tries to connect them and you together despite what he just witnessed.

You had walked and talked, disposing of the body as you did so and soon you find yourselves sitting on top of another building.

For the first time in a while you feel nervous, fiddling with your nails as you watch him soak in this new information.

“I just… be careful alright? I don’t like it but I can’t stop you.”

Kung Lao

• Like Johnny he also doesn’t believe you at first, claiming that you’re just making shit up to have a one up on him.

• You know that scene in the incredibles when Helen spins around in the chair waiting for Bob and she’s like “is this rubble 🤨.” That’s Kung Lao when you come home late one night covered in blood and debris.

• He’s immediately on you, asking where the hell you’ve been while also questioning why you look like you just came out of the Koliseum.

• Usually you’re so careful when coming back, slipping in and out like a snake but this particular job had nearly gone wrong so you’d been a little reckless when coming back inside your home.

• Knowing there was no way out of this one, you sat him down and started to explain everything. It’s a good thing Kung Lao didn’t play poker because his poker face was absolutely awful. His facial features showing exactly what he was feeling in the moment.

• When you finished, he was silent for a few moments before letting out a chuckle. He gave a look of ‘really?’ And you could only sit there and watch him try to soak up everything you said.

“So you’re a sort of crime fighting assassin? Please, you insult me.” He crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrow raised and a bit of a smug smirk on his lips. You can only huff, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him.

“Lao it’s true, I don’t know what else you want me to tell you.”

His smile slowly dies off his lips, noticing your posture and the lack of humor in your voice. You’ve never been one to lie to him so why start now? It starts to lock into place when previous instances start to pop into head and suddenly he’s sitting up straighter in his chair.

“You’re… really going out and doing these things?”

Instead of answering you turn and lift your shirt up, showcasing the gash on your lower back that was caked with dry blood. He hisses, running his fingertips across the top before pulling back and lowering your shirt.

“Not quite sure I believe you yet but let’s get you cleaned up first.”

When he finally does accept what you do, he’s very excited to have you fight along his side, wanting to low key turn any fight you do into a competition even more now.

Raiden

• You know that face he did when Kitana said that she heard he has a crush on her. Yeah that’s him when he finds out.

• At first he’s stuck processing it, because he never thought that you of all people would do that.

• But the more he thinks about it the more he’s impressed and although he wishes that you would leave that stuff to the law, he knows what it’s like to having to take matters into your own hands.

• He admires you for being able to go out and just take someone out with no thoughts about it whatsoever.

• But also he can’t help but worry every time you disappear because now he knows what you’re truly up to. He knows you can take care of yourself but still.

• It’s late at night when he catches you slipping out, softly calling out your name to stop you.

“Another job?”

You nod, no expression whatsoever as you linger by the window. Your gloved hand taps silently against the frame, wanting to reassure Raiden that you’d be fine but truthfully these things could go either way and you didn’t want to give him the false hope.

He only gives a singular nod, crossing his arms over his chest as he takes in your appearance.

“May the Elder Gods protect you.”

And he bows and smiles, a barely noticeable one but it’s enough to have you feeling confident and excited to come back home to him.

“I will.”

He watches as you hop out the window, feeling a sense of odd pride swirl in his heart.

[infisonicosm-moved]

Tea Time! So, Saturday night, or rather, Sunday morning, I was feeling kinda down. So I started looking through my photos of the last year, trying to convince myself that my entire year was FAR from boring, becasue thats flhow i was feeling. I started typing out a LONG text to my oldest brother, who lives over in Germany, and hence was the only one awake at 1am. I started going through each month of the year, highlighting events and things that I did. He responded immediately by asking if I was tired and/or had been drinking. I was kind of tired, but no drinkies.

He ended up facetiming me and we talked for an hour about lots of stuff, mostly about how I need to set boundaries concerning one sibling and that all the stuff I'm feeling is valid, and I'm loved, and everything I subconsciously know, but never hear physically. I feel like I'm a background kid, being #8. I'm the oldest child in the house right now, which I never thought would happen. Despite that, I still have trouble voicing my opinions totally honestly because I have a lot of respect for the older kids and that's ingrained in me. Plus, as the youngest of the adult group, I know that my opinion means diddly squat. Or at least, thats how feel. For that one sibling, however, I have much less respect. She and I used to share a big bedroom and bath until she moved out a couple years ago. Since then I've grown a ton as a young woman, and I'm a little apprehensive about her coming for Christmas.

See, she's staying overnight, and due to other relatives staying overnight, she has to bunk in my room on a mattress on the floor. I'm nervous, because we've not shared a room for 2 years. And I think my subconscious mind got triggered, because my period started almost a week early, and she said that hers was supposed to start this week too. Both of ours used to be synced up, but when she moved, hers adjusted by a whole week. And I'm both excited and nervous about her staying the night. I'm going to do my best to make it go smoothly, but I'm a bit worried that she'll do or say something that justs breaks my resolve and we won't part on good terms.

So, yeah. That's my pot of tea. On the bright side, I'm looking forward to her reaction when she sees what I got her. Perhaps the fact that a bunch of other family will be around will cause her not to be so uptight. And I swear, if the other sister who'd gonna be there gives me one single look about being too boisterous or loud, I'll bitch slap her. Figuratively...maybe.

Oh this was a rollercoaster! LMAO

Girl let me buy you a drink after all of this cause you're gonna need it!

[thestupidhelmet]

Honestly? I would love to read a complete AU from you where Jackie never met Kelso, so she's introduced to the gang as Hyde's girlfriend when they get together. It would be tricky to write because Jackie's relationship with Kelso was very important to her character development, but I'm really curious to see how you what you would come up with!

Thank you, @zeppelin-and-unicorns!

The first two questions that story would have to answer is 1) how does Jackie meet Hyde and 2) how do Hyde and Jackie start connecting?

On the show, the quick answer to both is Kelso. The longer answer to the second is that Hyde recognizes and cares about Jackie's vulnerability, and his instinct to help and protect her kicks in.

This turned into a ficlet.

In this fanfic AU, one possibility is that Jackie's junior cheer squad (vs. varsity cheer squad) friends play truth or dare at lunch. Jackie keeps picking truth, and one of her teammates calls her on it, claiming Jackie's too chicken to do a dare. To prove this teammate wrong, Jackie picks dare her next turn.

Hyde has a reputation around school, and his mom is the lunch lady. The cheer squad member who gives Jackie the dare knows this about Edna (Jackie doesn't on the show until "Career Day" [1x18]). She dares Jackie to go on a date with "Gross" Edna's son.

Jackie: She has a son?

Cheerleader 1 [pointing at Hyde across the cafeteria]: That's him.

Jackie: That table has four boys at it. Which one is her son? Please tell me it's not the bony, geeky one.

Cheerleader 1: It's the one with the pork-chop sideburns.

Jackie: Ew! That's almost as bad.

Cheerleader 1: So you're not gonna do it?

Cheerleader 2: Such a chicken.

Jackie [to Cheerleader 2]: Would you?

Cheerleader 2: It's not my dare. It's yours.

Jackie: Fine.

Jackie goes to Hyde's table, taps Hyde on the shoulder, and says, "Hi, I'm Jackie Burkhart, you might've heard of me. I'm the star cheerleader in the junior cheer squad. My dad is on the town council and owns Fatso Burger. Anyway, you're going to pick me up for a date this Saturday night at seven, okay? I'll slip my address in your locker. Which one is it?"

Hyde stares at her, unsure of who this nutcase is, what's happening, and why it's happening. Eric, though, thinking this situation is funny says, "His locker's 302 on the third floor."

Jackie: Thanks!

She strides away with a skip in her step, satisfied with herself. Kelso is shocked a cheerleader asked Hyde out instead of him.

Donna: She didn't ask. She gave him an order.

Fez: She could order me around any time. "Fez, carry my books. Fez, fondle my books. Fez, kiss my books."

Eric: Are you sure you mean books?

Fez: In my country, when a woman asks a man to touch her books, it's the beginning of courtship.

Donna: Of course it is.

Hyde: Fez, if you want to "carry her books," you can pick her up on Saturday instead of me.

Fez: Really?

Hyde: Consider it my gift to you.

Back at Jackie's table--

Cheerleader 1: So did you do it?

Jackie: We're going on a date this Saturday. I'll, of course, write instructions for him: one, shave off the sideburns; two, show up in a button-down shirt and slacks; and three, get a haircut.

Cheerleader 2: Where is he gonna take you?

Jackie: I haven't decided yet. Maybe the Vineyard.

Cheerleader 1: Are you going to pay? Because no way he can afford that place.

Jackie: I'm sure he's saved up enough of an allowance or money from a job in case an opportunity like this came along.

Cheerleader 1: Yeah, right. He's got no dad. His mom makes diddly-squat, and I know because my dad's on the school board. Hyde cuts classes a lot and not to work at one of your dad's fast-food joints. To smoke joints.

Jackie: You mean he's a head?

Cheerleader 1: Yeah, so if he actually show's up for your date, know the grass is higher on his side of the fence.

---

Saturday, 7:00 pm. Fez shows up for the date. Standing at the front door of her house, Jackie is shocked and asks where Steven is.

Fez: After he got your list of ... demands, he told me to tell you where you could stuff them. But you may demand all you want from me, and I will give it.

Jackie: Um ... okay. I demand that you tell Steven he's a fool, a jerk, and has no idea what he's missing.

Fez: Are we not going out on a date?

Jackie: No.

Fez: I see. How about--

Jackie shuts the front door in his face. Unfortunately, the junior cheer squad members missed nothing. They hid themselves by the gate of the Burkhart Mansion and were able to witness the whole exchange. They don't know what was said, but they know Fez showed up instead of Hyde and that Jackie sent him away.

---

Jackie becomes determined to fulfill her dare, especially after the cheerleaders' ribbing at school the following Monday. She tries to ingratiate herself to Hyde, which pissed him off even more. He eventually gets sick enough of her pursuit to make a haiku on the spot:

Go the hell away. We're not going on a date Ever or today.

The cheer squad overhears this and laughs at Jackie profusely. Hyde overhears the laughter and taunts as he walks off and begins to put the pieces together: the cheer squad put Jackie up to this. He returns to Jackie in the school hallway and says, "You got a driver's license and a car?"

Jackie: Yeah ...

Hyde: Meet me at my house this Saturday at eight. I'll put my address in your locker. Which is it?

Jackie: 715, fifth floor.

Hyde: Cool.

As Hyde walks away again, Jackie calls after him, "Is this gonna be a date?

Hyde says, "What else, man?"

The cheer squad gawk at Jackie while Jackie smiles triumphantly -- and smugly.

---

This is how Jackie and Hyde’s connection begins. Their first date is mostly filled with them questioning each other about why they are the way they are, both coming across as judgmental, and both hearing advice about to be better people. By the end of the date, they’re not talking to each other. Jackie drops Hyde off at his house, but before he slams the passenger-side of her Lincoln, he thinks he hears Jackie say, “Thank you.”

[ladyhindsight]

A lady of my word, I finally did it. I finally dipped my toes into the murky waters that is this book. Out of all the Clare books, Chain of Gold was the hardest for me to begin. I was so bored out of my mind for half the first chapter that I had to go take a nap before continuing it. Not the most gripping opening for me personally.

Different to many other installments in the overall series, I know next to very little about this one—the plot, the story, the purpose, any of it. I haven’t read the back cover blurb and the premise here tells me diddly-squat. My knowledge on the characters is also almost nonexistent and consist solely of messages that I have received regarding this particular series. 

There is a lot of exposition and info-dumping already. It’s been a long while since I’ve last read any first book of any Clare’s Shadowhunting series, and I had blissfully forgotten this fact that keeps repeating itself in every first installment. The Wicked Powers is going to be magnificent considering how much clumsy recapping of previous series like in this book has to be shoved into it. 

It’s just been like one whole chapter and I have too many thoughts as usual, so I’m just going to let them out.

The book begins with a telling of a past event when Lucie was ten years old, the main point being her meeting a mysterious stranger and Idris being lovely. But nothing truly begins before mentioning the Herondales.

If there ever was the stupidest introduction/reminder of who is Herondale, it’s this. Especially since Lucie herself comes from the Ancient and Noble Line of Herondale and this chapter is from Lucie’s point of view.

A good simile makes the story more vivid. It emphasizes and makes descriptions more clear. Bad similes are just weird and pull you out of the story. The brightness of the moon is simultaneously compared to white liquid and light, and here I sit imagining milk pouring in from the window.

→ “It was pouring into her room, laying white bars of light over her bed...”

Participle phrases indicate concurrency. Lucie can’t both climb through a window and drop out of it at the same time.

→ “She slipped out of the bed, climbed through the window, and dropped lightly to the flower bed underneath.”

This part ruins the fun in the previous paragraphs. It’s underlying the humor too much, like trying to justify it or explain it by shrugging it off. The bit works better without it, just by moving on without any commenting on it.

Don’t tell when you can show the magic disappearing.

→ “She spun around, heart thumping and breath caught in her throat. The trees loomed above her like threatening ghosts. The leaves were rustling, as if carrying the chatter of unearthly voices through them...”

Just repeating the same, obvious information that you’ve already told. 

I’m not necessarily totally against beginning a sentence with a conjunction, but here it could be tied to the previous clause.

→ “...the way she might shinny up a tree, but the earth was too soft...”

She could see a lot, great. The first two highlighted sentences just feel choppy, so alternatively:

→ “As they finally both stood next to the pit, Lucie saw the boy better now.” (or something)

And then less filtering through Lucie: → “The moon was out again and illuminated his eyes that were the color of the green moss on the forest floor.”

So Lucie has met the stranger who she observes to be a changeling. I’d think she could be wrong but this is also a Clare book, so a changeling he must be. I’m going out of a limb here and guess that the boy is Tatiana’s dead son. I have no fucking clue. And then we leave this thing here and continue on with James and Friends.

If you integrated it into the main clause, you wouldn’t have to point it out separately. James doing that isn’t so noteworthy that it is needed, especially since the purpose of closing his hand on the blade is shown in the next sentence.

→ “He closed his right hand around the blade of his knife. The jolt of pain...”

I so hate that “and indeed”. How about:

           Thomas!            His massively tall friend had appeared behind the Deumas, armed with his bolas. Behind him was Christopher...

Don’t tell when you are have just shown. Clearly.

“from the blade of the knife” is just redundant. Readers probably know to connect the bloody cut to James cutting himself, it wasn’t that long ago. Quit hand-holding. 

“to prevent his companions from seeing it” is also useless specification because they eventually do see it. 

→ “He closed his hand into a fist and hid his hands in his pockets.” Since they are leaving the alley anyway.

No comma.

Other thing that this chapter loves aside from constantly vomiting exposition is overusing colons. Also constant filtering. All here in one paragraph. And with the same theme we continue:

→ “One moment he had been standing on green grass, the next on charred earth.”

Period. I feel like at this point is more of a reflex to use colon because it has absolutely no justifiable reason to be there.

Thank you for clarifying. When I thought you finally had come up with something all on your own.

There’s nothing mysterious about bAD LYING.

Peeerioooood.

Wasted on a boy like they were wasted on Will Herondale. And also as everything is still about looks, girls couldn’t possibly fancy Christopher because of his intellect. To center this more on his personality and actions rather than solely his looks (that are good despite his visual impairment):

→ “Christopher ought to have been popular with girls, but he spend most of his time submerged in his research rather than socializing and had gunpowder perpetually embedded under his fingernails.”

Of course, teenagers can be appearance oriented, but the question is whether one wants to perpetuate that or challenge it.

This similarly to earlier part in the “Days Past” ruins the humor. This is once again underlying the humor way too heavily by having one of the characters have such over the top reaction. It’s funny, get it?

Then we continue the chapter with Cordelia and her family.

It just seems strange to use an epithet when Sona speaks and then call Sona by her name in context of her children’s worry over her. 

→ ““Children.” Sona glanced at them reprovingly.” → “She knew he was worried about their mother too.”

You realize all of this has already being told before, sans immortality? The final sentence would be rendered useless if the immortality aspect were explained earlier during James’ point of view:

→ “Warlocks were the immortal offspring of human and demons: capable of...”

So now we’s already know that Tessa is 1. a warlock, 2. immortal and 3. a shapeshifter. So you needn’t introduce Tessa twice and explain this once more in such detail:

→ “Beside her stood two figures. One was Lucie’s mother, Tessa Herondale, the famous wife of Will Herondale, who ran the London Institute. She looked only a little older than her daughter for she did not age.”

Also famous among Shadowhunters is sort of given. I mean, who is expecting Tessa and Will to be famous anywhere else than in the Shadow World?

→ “Once, when she’d been a small girl, she’d reached to pet a swan in the pond by her house. The bird had launched itself at her, barreling into her midsection, and knocked her down.”

This is some Stephenie Meyer-esque bullshit.

Somehow, as if wrenching the carriage door open needs some wondrous maneuvering that you’re trying to skip over explaining how Cordelia did it to save time and effort.

→ “She’d wrenched the carriage door open and was no standing...”

As is evident.

→ “The men in the van tried to make conversation with her, but Risa spoke only Persian. She understood English perfectly, but she liked her silence.”

→ “Risa spoke only Persian; she understood English perfectly, but she liked her silence.”

The fact that Cordelia is wondering whether the men may or may not have tried to make conversation with Risa is such an odd thing to put there. It seems to serve no other purpose than to justify why we’re being told about Risa’s language skills right now. You can just tell it straight like it is without diluting it by shoving Cordelia wondering something hypothetical relating to the subject.

No comma.

No comma.

Period.

One is good, the other bad and should be a comma.

I really wish the story will elaborate more on why the Clave is being a big meanie this time, because I’m going to need a lot more than this. 

More realistic would be if the Clave was trying to blame it on the group as a whole (since they all took part in the expedition gone wrong) instead of just one person with no other motif than have a scapegoat. This is solely to serve the Carstairs part of the story and the basis for it seems pretty flimsy.

How could Charlotte Fairchild be so dumbed down as a character to not realize this pretty evident fact??

What exactly are these factions and what is their agenda? What do they want and how are they interfering in this matter? What does being a female Consul have to do with having to fret about keeping people happy? Doesn’t that apply in general like what is the point of being a Consul in the first place if you can’t use that enormous power you supposedly possess, female or male.

I see this with Jace and Clary as well. Jace is incredibly graceful and nimble, his hair is impeccable no matter the occasion, and he always lands perfectly. Whereas Clary is tumbling down hills and stairs when the occasion calls for Shadowhunter finesse, and her hair and appearance is an absolute mess. Then Clary looks to Jace how perfectly he is kept and compares herself to him and belittles herself, like Cordelia does here regarding James. Great work on heroines here.

I received a message about this once. Cordelia’s answer here is just a cover to her true thoughts. I’m baffled by her. Lucie may as well think it is a special gift if their relationship is good, being siblings doesn’t necessarily mean taking the other person granted. But Cordelia’s idea and Lucie’s idea of valuing time with James have extremely different bases. “One didn’t, when it was one’s family” means absolutely effing nothing.

It would never occur to me to be even mildly jealous of someone spending time with their sibling if I happened to like said sibling? Like how does that factor into anything? If someone fancied Alastair, would Cordelia deem it appropriate that someone was then jealous of her? Because I imagine she’d think she’s got nothing to do with it. As Lucie does not have anything to do with Cordelia’s fancy of James.

Thank you for this hand-holding, but I’d like to let go now. Your hand is sweaty.

Over-explaining your joke just so readers are guaranteed to get how funny your joke is. England’s foremost Romantic poet? Staring out of windows? HILARIOUS.

No comma.

Gold hair ✔️ Lion metaphor ✔️ Kitty cats ✔️

Jace, is that you?

I’m going to guess that this is true but not in the way Cordelia expects, because these things are just so hard to guess.

THOUGHTS SO FAR

i. Christopher is the bomb. Lucie seems delightful with her endless positivity and sliiight naivety.

ii. Upon introduction, Thomas, Christopher, and Matthew are just a list of male names without faces. They were difficult the tell apart or remember who is who.

iii. This book really proves that some authors are incapable of improving their craft. I’m running this concurrently with City of Glass and my complaints and notes on writing and structure remain the same.

iv. So much info-dumping and exposition. It begs the question whether it is needed at all, since how many of the readers begin the series with this book? How much context is actually lost despite the exposition and explaining every concept and character? How about gradually revealing the information through context, not dumping everything in the beginning?

v. Making The Last Hours accessible to new readers ends up ruining the writing more because the effort to figure out alternative ways to relay information more subtly and less patronizingly is zero.

vi. My interest picked up when Cordelia and Lucie started talking plot. Otherwise I see no direction where the story is going. 

vii. I forgot that I did know about James’ bracelet, that it was given by Grace Blackthorn and it makes him fall in love with her. Purpose for this I don’t know.

viii. All in all more uninteresting than any other Shadowhunter series based solely on the fact that I don’t see any reason for this TLH to exist.

[terisrog]

Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon: Ser Jorah Mormont and Iain Glen

All the Iain Glen and Ser Jorah excerpts from the “Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon” book by James Hibberd.

CASTING (Ch2)

Scottish actor Iain Glen already had some Hollywood genre-movie experience thanks to major roles in films such as Resident Evil: Apocalypse and Lara Croft: Tomb Raider when he tried out for banished Westerosi knight Ser Jorah Mormont.

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): No one knew anything really about it except that it was HBO and so many [British actors] were going out for it. I met with them, felt pretty good about it, then it all went silent. I said to my wife—and I never usually say this—“I really, really want that job.” She asked why. “Honestly, I don’t know,” I said. “Because I know nothing about it. I just got a funny feeling”

PILOT EPISODE (Ch3)

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): It was a bit ragged and, in some ways, ill conceived, and no one had great conviction. Since the wedding was shot at night, quite a lot of money had been spent on seeing absolutely fuck-all.

(...)

IAIN GLEN: Some bigwig at HBO said, “Why the fuck did we go to Morocco? You can’t see fucking diddly squat, we could have shot it in a car park!”

SEASON ONE (Ch6)

EMILIA CLARKE: From day one, I was like, “Looking silly is not an option.” And the only way to not look silly is to just be completely balls-in the whole way. Because I thought if anything’s going to end up looking stupid, it’s going to be because of me, not in spite of me. I was too naive to know [others’ messing up] was even a possibility.

Clarke received reassurance and support from her more experienced scene partners Iain Glen and Jason Momoa.

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): One of Emilia’s great qualities is she has no idea how good she is, but that also causes her to doubt her ability and causes neurosis. She worries. So I always wanted to be reassuring. She would always want to talk through the possibilities in a scene.

(...) 

“Those were tough days,” [Emilia Clarke] said, and on the Armchair Expert podcast added, “I’ve had fights on set before where I’m like, ‘No, the sheet stays up,” while praising Momoa and Glen for being helpful and protective.

IAIN GLEN: In moments when she felt exposed because of what she was required to do, I was always very protective of her on set, making sure that the protocol was followed and everyone knew to treat her with respect.

(...)

In the most stunning shot of Thrones’ debut year, Daenerys rose from the ashes, Ser Jorah fell to his knees, and the Mother of Dragons was born.

ALAN TAYLOR: A stuntwoman walked into the flames for Emilia. I didn’t think it was working because she was wearing a gossamer gown like Emilia was wearing and they had to put so much fire retardant on it that it looked like she just climbed out of a vat of Vaseline. I thought, “This is never going to work,” but it seems to work fine.

Clarke’s real-life emotions about performing Daenerys’s rebirth nude were infused into her portrayal of the iconic moment, and she detailed her thoughts during each phase of the reveal.

EMILIA CLARKE (Daenerys Targaryen): On one side, that moment was incredibly powerful. And on the other side, I was butt naked in front of people I didn’t know. Alan saw the fear on my face and said, “Let’s lean into that then.” So there’s that close-up of me looking up at Ser Jorah, who’s looking down. And that’s exactly what I was going through: “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what I’m expected to feel. I don’t know what I’m expected to do. I’m fully aware that I couldn’t be more ... open.” So the shot went from sitting down where there was fear and then as I stood up I was like, “It’s all out. So you just better own that shit.” Then as you stand up, you think, “Okay, you’ve done the worst bit. You’ve stood up. No one is behind you. No one saw up your ass, so you can stand all the way up now.” Suddenly that feels like a much more confident stance than just sitting cross-legged on the floor buck naked in front of people. Then I just naturally felt my shoulders go back.

(...)

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): At the time, the dragons were just dots on Emilia’s naked body. But the way she looked and the way the pyre went up, it all felt pretty amazing, and there was that buzz around the cameras that something magical was being created.

EMILIA CLARKE: They were like, “But what about the dragons?!” I decided I wasn’t going to stand there and think I have dragons all over me. This is a stupid example, but if I had my dog, I wouldn’t change my position because she was there. The dog would just exist, and just do whatever they’re going to do.

ALAN TAYLOR: Her performance is so rich and layered in that scene. Also, Iain Glen’s performance. It’s one of those cinematic moments where you convey the wonder of what you’re seeing partly by seeing it but mostly through the old Spielberg trick of watching somebody else react to it. Jorah’s reaction when he sees Daenerys and the dragons and falls to his knee is so beautiful.

(...)

ALAN TAYLOR: Probably the thing I was most proud of was the aftermath. [The dragon reveal] in the novel takes place at night. I wanted to shoot it at dawn and got into a fight with David and Dan about it. I wanted to be able to pull back to see the landscape, and we couldn’t afford to light that much landscape at night. They let me do it. I’m really happy with the shots that bring Jorah in and we do the slow reveal and the magic of the dragons, showing people awakening to this new world, then being able to drop back to a truly vast landscape. And what [composer] Ramin Djawadi does with the music there, so the last thing you hear is the dragons’ cry. The last line of the first book was “And for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.” So that was a wonderful way to end. We know this world, and now it’s been launched into whole new territory and you can’t wait for next season.

SEASON THREE (Ch9)

ALEX GRAVES: I came up with what’s been called “the Apocalypse Now shot.” But we were filming in Morocco during the Arab Spring, when transporting high explosives into North Africa was not allowed. I didn’t give up because that image of Emilia was so burned into my brain. So we smuggled the explosives into the country to do it. Emilia stood in front of these fireballs and you could feel the heat and the shock wave from the explosions, and she didn’t flinch.

EMILIA CLARKE: Iain Glen, who was consistently my mentor, was like, “Darling, come here. Look at how well taken care of you are. All you have to do is stand in front of that and all this shit is happening.” I realized that was all I needed to do. And it felt so good. It felt so electric. It was like everyone who had ever fucked me off in my life, they had them all lined up.

SEASON EIGHT’S SCRIPT (Ch28)

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): For eight years, you go, “Please-please ...” You just want to stay in the party, you just want to stay on board. This was the season to [get killed off], if you’re going to go. It’s a heroic and satisfying demise [for Ser Jorah]. Dan and David were sweetly nervous about everyone’s reaction, and their instinct is you'll be upset if you go. So the first thing I did was I emailed them and told them how much I loved the scripts.

JORAH’S ARC (Ch28)

... and Jorah Mormont, who died protecting Daenerys from the Army of the Dead.

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): You either conclude as a character, or you get to the end of the whole thing and people try to project forward of what’s the future of your character that you'll never know. I was happy to conclude. He would absolutely sacrifice his life for her to succeed. In a way, he was given the conclusion he wanted.

DAVE HILL: For a long time we wanted Ser Jorah there at the Wall in the very end—the three coming out of the tunnel [in the series finale] were to be Jon, Jorah, and Tormund. But the amount of logic we’d have had to bend to get Jorah up to the Wall and get him to leave Dany’s side right before [her tragic turn]—there’s no way to do that blithely, and Jorah should have the noble death he craved defending the woman he loves.

SHOOTING THE LONG NIGHT (Ch29)

Those fifty-five nights sandwiched in the middle of an already demanding schedule became like a real-life version of an eternal soul-crushing supernatural winter. The production had the added misfortune of getting slammed by two “polar vortex” storms, dubbed “the Beast from the East” in the press, as if White Walkers had literally arrived on the set. The storms brought extreme low temperatures with weather that local reports said felt as low as nineteen degrees Fahrenheit. “One night we were supposed to film Jorah defending Dany by a flaming trebuchet, and we had to call it off because it got so cold that the gas fire bars wouldn’t light,” Dave Hill recalled.

The cold blast combined with freezing rain, gusting wind, and an intensively physical and technical job that stretched from early evenings to the mornings. The Thrones crew prided themselves on being resilient, but the “The Long Night” very nearly broke them. The cast had to become actor-athletes, enduring week after week of physical endurance challenges while continuing to give their usual acclaimed performances.

IAIN GLEN: I don’t think people can comprehend what eleven weeks of continuous night shoots does to the human body and brain. It destroys your system and your thinking. We just had to get so wet and so dirty and so cold and do it again and again that it really was the hardest thing in all eight seasons for all departments. You kind of try and retain a gallows humor, but it was absolutely brutal. In storytelling terms, it made sense because of who they were up against. But it was a real test. It completely fucked your body clock. You have no life outside it. On day shoots you'll go have a meal in the evening and do a bit of something. On nights those down hours are removed. You get to sleep at seven in the morning and then you get up in the midday and can’t really do anything. It was the most unpleasant experience in all of Thrones.

(...)

IAIN GLEN: How Miguel managed to hold it together is beyond my comprehension.

(...)

IAIN GLEN: You had an absolute fucked bunch of actors, but on-screen it looks horrible and dirty and dark and cold. Without getting too Method about it, it bleeds onto the screen.

HER BELOVED SER JORAH (Ch30)

What followed was a succession of, as Clarke put it, “strings being cut” for Daenerys. After their victorious battle against the Army of the Dead, Daenerys lost her beloved Ser Jorah. And when Varys heard of Jon’s rightful claim, the Spider took steps against his queen, attempting to manipulate a scenario where Jon could sit on the Iron Throne instead. Daenerys, already feeling isolated and paranoid, ordered Varys executed by dragon fire. And that, in turn, further caused Tyrion and Jon to question their loyalty to her.

THE PYRES (Ch31)

Ser Jorah was laid to rest after the Battle of Winterfell, with Iain Glen among several actors lying on funeral pyres.

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): In that moment, I was aurally saying goodbye, listening to the set operating. What a vast, slick machine it had become, and to hear it orchestrating ... I got into it. Everything echoes backward over the past decade. Trying to let the whole thing go.

But when Daenerys said farewell to her faithful friend, she bent forward and whispered something in his ear. In the script, her words are described as “something Jorah will never hear, and we will never know.” Appropriately enough, Iain Glen will not reveal what Emilia Clarke said.

IAIN GLEN: It was something entirely sincere and true to the moment and something that I will never forget. I'll always cherish it because it’s something no one will ever know but the two of us. And that’s a memory to hold on to.

THE END (Ch32)

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): What we do as actors is ephemeral. We get lost in something and then go get lost in something else. But to live in that for a decade was the best thing ever to be involved in. Until my dying day it will be the most exceptional experience. To be in the biggest hit ever is the best feeling. What you can’t do is project ahead and say, “I want more than that,” because it ain’t going to happen. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing. You have your final shot, your final red carpet—all of the “finals” of everything. There’s even a final “How do you feel about it ending?” It never hit me that much. It’s only looking back now, occasionally, that a shock will go through me: “I won’t be doing that again.” I can be doing anything, but it’s usually around work, when I just get a memory of the Thrones world. You had the most amazing support, the most brilliant crew, these great friendships, and a great deal of love for what we were doing, where anything was possible. Nothing will ever compare to it. Nothing will be like that, ever.

[ablogofthecriminalmindsvariety]

Whumptober Day Twenty-One: I Don’t Feel So Well

Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

--

Wow, this one really got away from me, it turned into some heavy angst there at the end, whoops.

--

Spencer was not a medical doctor. He was a doctor, but not the type of doctor that knew how to properly suture a wound with the right technique or how to diagnose an illness.

It did not take a medical doctor, however, to know that the cut on Aaron’s leg was infected.

It didn’t look right. It wasn’t the right color. It wasn’t healing up like it should have. It just… it wasn’t right. It had been three days.

Aaron had it stuck out in front of him, on the cold concrete floor of the basement. Spencer had taken his tie and tied it around it as some sort of bandage. He washed it out every couple of hours and rebandaged it. He had never really liked that tie all that much anyways.

He didn’t know what to do. There was nothing to clean it out with other than water, which wasn’t doing much. There were no proper bandages, there wasn’t diddly squat that he could do and they were both miserable from it.

All that he could do was sit with him, tucked under his arm and stroking his sweaty hair and trying to make him feel better. Which, medically, didn’t do a whole lot, but it was just about all that he could manage to do with the supplies, or rather, the lack of supplies that they had at their disposal.

He recited books to him and he sang to him in his own sort of off key, quiet sort of way. All the old, European lullabies that his mother had sung to him when he was younger. Always in their original tongues.

Three days turned into four. Four turned to five.

Aaron slept, his head in Spencer’s lap and Spencer wondered how they were going to get out.

On day eight, his wondering stopped being how and started to be if.

On day nine, it was if they did get out, would it be one or both of them.

He hoped that they got out soon.

He wondered if they would.

He wished and prayed and hoped and cried.

Come day ten, they were still there. Hope was gone. Morale was nonexistent. They were going to live out the rest of their miserable existence in some crappy basement while the rest of the team looked for them, probably against orders, and Spencer somehow doubted that they would actually end up finding them.

The world sure did have a funny sense of humor.

[klaus-king-of-death-hargreeves]

Team Zero

Prompt: Can I ask for hurt/comfort one shot where Diego is hurt on his vigilante night job and everyone is taking care of him?

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, and needles. Stay safe, y’all. ♥ CONTAINS MILD SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2

Clarification note: Set after season 2 but since I know diddly squat about what follows the ending of season two it has tweaks.

~♡~ ~♥~  ~♡~   ~♥~   ~♡~   ~♥~  ~♡~  ~♥~  ~♡~  ~♥~  ~♡~  ~♥~  ~♡~  ~♥~

While he didn't want to admit it, Diego always felt a need to prove himself. It started when he was young and pushed to be better –do better. It was hard being Number 2, constantly reminded that Luther was better than he was in every way, but it wasn't just that. He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to save lives and better the world. Even if it didn't always come across that way.

When they had returned, the world saved and them in their rightful timeline, he expected nothing to change. He expected for his siblings to part ways again and go back to their old lives, but to his surprise, they didn't. The academy was standing -a shock to all of them but a welcome one. It wasn't that they were going to go back to fighting crime, but they had missed each other. A fact that none would admit to though it did show in little unspoken ways. Like shared drinks or sitting together at meals times, talking and poking fun at one another. They were closer now. Felt closer. For the first time they truly felt like a family.

Not everything fell back into place, however. Ben was gone and Allison's time was split between the academy and her daughter while Diego went back to doing what he did best. Saving lives. There was a comfort in the old routine though things weren't all the same. There was no Eudora to bicker with -a thought he tried his best not to entertain because it still hurt too deeply. Still, he found himself enjoying his nightly ventures and for the most part, they went smoothly. After all, he was trained well but accidents happened.

There wasn't anything special about the call. It was a routine break in at some old ladies home and at first it seemed simple enough. He had easily taken down two of the suspects and was in the process of helping the elderly woman living there when it happened. Heard the shots before he felt them. Loud pops, one following the other but unmistakable. At first he thought it had been the old woman had gotten hit by the way she screamed, but then he felt it. Like fire burning through him. He looked down, hand moving to gingerly touch the one of the wounds only for his gloved hand to come back glistening with blood.

“Fuck, “ was all he could say before he hit the floor just as the sounds of sirens reached his ears.

“I told him he was going to get killed doing this.”

“Allison, I don't think it's the time.”

“I always thought he would get stabbed.”

“Really, Klaus?”

“What? He brings knives to every fight. You telling me not one person would think of taking it and stabbing him?”

“Klaus.”

“Guys, I think he's waking up.”

Slowly Diego opened his eyes only to shut them against the bright light. Was he dead? Was this Hell?

“Diego?”

Wincing, Diego opened his eyes again to see all his siblings staring at him. Well, not all. Ben wasn't there. He blinked, as he looked at them, their worried faces. Only then did he realize where he was.  A hospital.

“What happened?”

“You were shot.” Five's matter of fact tone piped up from his left and as he turned, he saw his youngest –oldest brother staring down at him with his usual serious expression.

“Oh.”

“Oh? Is that all you can say? You could have died, Diego.” It was Allison who spoke now, pulling his attention to the right this time.

“I'm fine.” He felt fine. A little pain but not much. “Actually I feel kind of good.”

“That would be the drugs.” Diego turned to look at Klaus who took a drink from a flask he seemed to carry everywhere now.

Right. He slowly raised a hand to take a look for himself.

“Oh, I wouldn't–,” he heard Luther say as his eyes focused on the needle sticking out of the back of his hand before everything went black again.

He was discharged a day later with strict instructions to take it easy. Instructions his siblings were damn determined to make him follow. They fussed over him all morning, fluffing his pillows and bringing him everything from cold glasses of water to magazines declaring the latest fall fashions. It bordered on maddening but the pills helped.

Diego drifted in and out of consciousness, always waking to find a different sibling by his side. He would catch Luther awkwardly fluffing up pillows and switching them out or Allison checking on his bandages. A plate would appear on the table by his bedside with a cup of juice and he could see the back of Five who was making a quiet exit. He even once woke up to Klaus painting his toe nails a matte black as music played softly in the background.

It was strange to see them fussing over him but nice.

“Oh, hey. You're awake.” The sound of Vanya's voice reached his ears as he slowly opened his eyes again, allowing himself time to adjust to the bright morning light. Someone must have opened the curtains. Vanya was sitting by his bed, one hand holding his and another holding open a book. “Do you need anything? Water? Five brought some food earlier but it's cold. I can reheat if you want.”

“No, it's fine,” Diego said with a small shake of his head. “I don't need anything. What are you reading?”

“Treasure Island. Claire left it the last time she came over.”

“I don't think I ever read that one.”

“You want to read it?” Vanya closed the book and held it out but Diego shook his head.

“Nah. I'm good.” He paused, allowing himself a second to think. “I don't think I would mind hearing it though.”

Though the smile was small, Diego caught it right before Vanya looked down and opened the book back to the beginning so she could start reading it out loud to him. Though Diego wouldn't admit it, he was glad she was there. He was glad all of them were there.

[winchester-fantasies]

Even Better

Summary: After you’re almost attacked by demons at the dog grooming boutique you work at, Sam and Dean Winchester take you under their wing. When an unexpected member is added to your group, Dean realizes he may have feelings for you.

Word Count: 3876

Warnings: fluff, show level violence, gruff Dean, sweet Dean, some swearing

Pairing: Dean x Plus Size!Reader

A/N: This was written for an anonymous request: Can I request a dean x plus size reader where she a dog groomer and demons almost attack her at her job and dean and Sam have to watch her to make sure she safe, while they are protecting her dean starts catching feeling for her sweet, animal loving personality and confess his love to her when they get drunk one night! Sorry this sounds so awkward haha 😊😊 Thank you for your request! Hope you like it!! ❤❤

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

The first thing you noticed when you walked through the door of the dog grooming boutique you worked at was the flickering of the lights you had left on overnight. You thought it was strange; you’d replaced the bulbs just a few weeks before. You stopped to watch the light fixture, flipping the switch off and then flicking it back on. The flickering stopped, but the next second you frowned as it started back up. You sighed heavily as you walked behind the counter, depositing your purse in the cubby under the counter. You’d probably have to end up calling the electrician. The last thing you or your boss needed was a short to have to deal with. 

You flipped open the scheduler on the counter. Your first appointment was with one of your usuals - a poodle named, Maxine. She was one of your favorites to work with and you couldn’t help but smile whenever you saw her name on the schedule.

You yawned and rubbed your bleary eyes. You sighed heavily. You really shouldn’t have stayed out so late drinking the night before even if it was your best friend’s birthday. You needed a coffee, and desperately. You seriously considered running over to the café next door and grabbing one of their German chocolate flavored coffees. But it would have to wait until later.

You had just stooped down to grab your name tag from the cubby when the bell over the door tinkled. You straightened back up, finding a man and woman standing a little ways from the counter, both dressed in suits.

You smiled in acknowledgment. “Good morning,” you greeted. “How can I help you? Do you have an appointment?”

The man eyed you up and down before clasping his hands in front of him. “Of sorts,” he said vaguely. 

You frowned in confusion. “Do you have a meeting with Margo?” you asked, glancing at the scheduler in front of you, searching for an appointment for your boss but finding none. 

“No,” the woman clipped. 

“Then why are you here?” you asked uneasily, suspicion forming in the back of your mind.

“We’re here for the shears,” the man stated as if you would know exactly what he was talking about.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t sell shears here,” you said. “If you go right down the street, though, there’s a….”

“Stop playing games!” the woman snapped. Her eyes were suddenly pure black. You screamed in terror, backing up and tripping over the chair behind you. You felt yourself falling backwards just as the door burst open. You caught a glimpse of two men rushing in right before you fell to the floor with a thud, your head making contact with the tile with a crack.

Your head was spinning as you struggled into a sitting position. You heard two agonized cries and a sound like sparks crackling in the air before two heavy thuds followed. Silence filled the building and you were about to attempt to get to your feet when one of the men who had rushed inside rounded the side of the counter.

His brooding, green eyes met yours, a look of relief crossing his face. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded as he extended his hand to help you up. You eyed the dagger in his other hand cautiously, not trusting anyone. Especially after what you’d just seen.

“C’mon,” the man said in exasperation, motioning with his hand impatiently. When you made no move to take his hand, he rolled his eyes and pursed his lips, dimples forming on either side of his mouth. He resheathed the dagger before reaching out for you again. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he reassured.

You looked at him carefully for a moment more, gauging if he was being truthful or not. Something in his eyes told you you were better off with him than those black-eyed freaks. You took his hand, his strength surprising you as he hoisted you up in one swift movement as if you weighed no more than a leaf. You weren’t exactly small. Not with your wide hips, curves, and thick thighs. 

“We gotta get outta here,” he said, jerking his head towards the door. You nodded, looking around for the other man who had come in with the one in front of you. But he was nowhere to be seen.

You glanced down to the two bodies on the floor, blood pooling beneath them. “Don’t look,” the man said, his voice gruff and authoritative. He reached for your hand, leading you outside. 

The other man was standing behind a black Chevy Impala, the trunk open wide as he rummaged through a duffle bag. He glanced up as you approached. He shot you a thin-lipped smile, dimples appearing on his cheeks.

You didn’t have time to return his smile as the first man opened the back of the vehicle and gestured to the back seat. “Get in,” he commanded.

You hesitated for a moment, staring into his face. Was it really a wise thing to get into the car of two strange men? 

You didn’t have time to think more about it or even protest as he all but shoved you into the back seat. “Get in!” he snapped again, slamming the door closed after you. “Sam! Come on! We gotta go. Now!” He rounded the car quickly before climbing into the driver’s seat. 

The taller one came around to the passenger’s side after a few moments, shooting you an almost apologetic smile as he squeezed himself inside.

The vehicle roared to life, the tires screeching soon after as your green-eyed savior peeled out onto the road. Soon you were heading south, the scenery growing denser and the population thinner. A sense of uneasiness once again filled your mind as you listened to the two men talk, their voices low and muffled by the rumbling of the Impala’s engine. Every once in awhile, the taller man would glance back at you, his brow furrowed and hazel eyes filled with concern. You didn’t know what was going on, but the longer you traveled the more questions arose in your mind that needed answers.

You licked your lips and darted your eyes between the two men, the one who’s name was apparently Sam, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening his web browser. “Where are you taking me?” you finally dared to ask, your voice wavering.

“Somewhere safe,” the driver clipped, never taking his eyes off the road. 

You swallowed hard. You weren’t entirely sure you believed him, but nevertheless you nodded.

“I’m Sam, by the way,” the man in the passenger’s seat said, turning to look at you, his dimples once again appearing as he shot you his first genuine smile.

You couldn’t help but grin back. “(Y/N),” you said.

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N),” Sam said. “This is my brother, Dean,” he added, gesturing to the man beside him.

“Oh,” you said simply, not really sure what else to say.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” Sam commented.

You huffed out a harsh chuckle. “That’s an understatement.”

Sam chuckled before turning back around and looking at his phone again. “We’ll explain everything. But right now, we need to get you to safety.”

You nodded again before settling back into the seat, wrapping your arms around yourself and looking out the window at the waning light.

**********

You must have fallen asleep because when you next opened your eyes it was completely dark outside and the car had stopped in front of a shady looking motel. You winced at the crick in your neck, rocking your head side to side, trying to loosen up the tight muscles.

You jumped just as the back door was pulled open, Sam stooping down to look inside. “Hey, you’re awake,” he said with a grin. “Thought I might have to carry you inside.”

You chuckled lightly before climbing out of the car and stretching your body, muscles aching from the stressful day. You followed Sam to Room 111, finding the room clean and surprisingly put together despite the off white walls and stained carpet. 

Dean was sprawled out on one of the full sized beds, arm under his head and eyes closed. You stopped, looking between the thinning sofa and other bed, biting your lip. “You can take the bed,” Sam offered as if reading your thoughts.

“Are you sure?” you asked hesitantly. “I don’t mind…” you said, gesturing to the couch.

“No, really,” Sam insisted. “It’s fine. I guess you don’t have a change of clothes do you?”

You bit your lip and shook your head. You’d left everything back at the boutique - your purse, phone, wallet...everything. You looked down at the knee length skirt and peasant top you were still wearing; the clothes on your back were literally the only possessions you had to your name.

“She can borrow one of my shirts,” Dean’s gruff voice broke the silence. You nearly jumped at the sound; you thought he’d already fallen asleep. Instead he sat up with a groan, his eyes tired looking. 

He stooped down to rummage through the duffle bag at the side of his bed, pulling out an old and faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt and tossing it to you. “Thanks,” you said, catching it and haphazardly folding it. 

“You wanna get a shower?” Sam asked gently. “Might help you relax after everything that happened today.”

You smiled your thanks and nodded before walking to the bathroom. The water pressure was shitty; the water itself barely lukewarm. And the fan in the ceiling did diddly-squat to help circulate air and by the time you were done showering, the small room was hazy with steam. 

You quickly dried off, folding your dirty clothes into a semi-neat pile before pulling on Dean’s t-shirt. It swallowed you, the hem falling nearly mid-thigh. You didn’t feel like you were a thicker girl; in fact you felt sexy.

You walked back out into the main room, finding the lights off and both Sam and Dean already in bed, covers up over their bodies. You tiptoed over to your bed, placing your clothes on the nightstand. You were about to pull back your covers when your stomach growled. You grimaced at the sound as it seemed to reverberate around the room.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you carefully considered what you should do. You didn’t have your wallet, but you thought maybe you had some loose change in your skirt pocket from when you’d stuffed it after getting gas that morning. You unfolded your skirt, quietly rummaging through its pockets, coming up triumphantly with three quarters.

You made your way to the door, silently unlocking and unchaining the door. You took one quick look at Sam and Dean, making sure you hadn’t woken them before slipping outside. The night was cool; the hint of fall in the air. Your bare feet padded across the cold concrete before rounding the corner, finding two snack machines crammed into the corner. 

You stopped at the first one, surveying the offered items. Most of them were candy bars and chips, which were to be expected you supposed. You knew you needed something more nutritious, but with nothing else to choose from, you finally settled on a Twix. You deposited the quarters, pressed the keys of the slot you wanted, and watched as it dropped to the bottom of the machine. You grabbed it up, turning and hurrying back to the room, the cold starting to seep into your bones. 

You rounded the corner again, but stopped dead in your tracks, your heart in your throat. There, not even three feet away, stood a Cocker Spaniel. Its hair was matted and body thin, but its tongue hung loose and happy-go-lucky and tail wagging. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of years old, judging by its height and the puppish-looking face staring back at you.

“Hey, there, cutie,” you crooned, walking slowly over to it, stooping down and extending your hand. Its tail went wild and it - he, you could now see - bounded over to you, practically jumping into your arms and licking your face with wild abandon. You giggled and petted him until he calmed down enough for you to check his collar. You frowned when you found none. “That’s strange,” you said, looking into his soulful, dark eyes. “Do you have a home, Fella?”

He licked your face once more in response. You chuckled before straightening and looking down at him. You glanced from him to your motel room just a few doors down from where you stood. You didn’t know if Sam and Dean would appreciate waking up to a dog, but you couldn’t just leave him alone and homeless. 

“C’mon, Fella,” you called, clicking your tongue and patting your leg. Fella immediately responded, loping to your side and easily falling into step with you as you made your way back to the room. “Be quiet,” you whispered, turning the knob and pushing the door open quietly. Fella bounded inside, making a beeline straight for Dean’s bed. “No!” you hissed just as Fella jumped into the bed, landing full force onto Dean’s sleeping form.

“What the fuck?” Dean bellowed, all but jumping out of bed. Sam shot up at the sound of his brother’s exclamation, his long hair askew and eyes dazed. You flipped on the light to see Dean sitting straight up in bed, his face a mixture of shock and confusion as Fella cowered on your bed, apparently having run away at Dean’s outburst.

It finally seemed to register that Dean was looking at a dog because his brow suddenly turned down into a scowl. “What the fuck?” Dean asked again, looking from Fella to you, still standing in the open doorway.

You swallowed hard as you turned and closed and locked the door behind you. When you turned back, both Dean and Sam were staring at you. “Uh, this...this is, Fella,” you said, trying to add as much pleasantness to your voice as you could muster.

Dean looked back to Fella who’s fear of Dean had apparently abated a bit, but who still sat, gauging the still scowling man suspiciously. “You can’t just bring a dog here!” Dean finally snapped, his green eyes blazing as he turned his wrath onto you.

“I...I’m sorry,” you stammered. “It’s just...he was outside. And it’s getting cold. And he didn’t have a collar and it’s not like I could just leave him out there.”

“No,” Dean said, his voice gruff, shaking his head staunchly. “Absolutely not. We’re taking him back to the bunk….”

“Dean,” Sam interjected, finally finding his voice after the initial confusion. “C’mon. We can’t just leave him. He doesn’t look like he’s been fed or had a home in weeks.”

Dean grumbled, his frown deepening before he settled back down, turning away with a loud huff. “Fine,” he clipped. “But we’re not keeping him. As soon as we figure this whole demon thing out and get (Y/N) back to her place safely, he’s gone.”

**********

Dean awoke the next morning to a pair of dark eyes staring into his soul. Fella’s tail was wagging as he scooted forward, his wet nose booping Dean’s before the dog’s tongue licked a stripe over Dean’s mouth. He shuddered and rolled over, throwing off the covers as he sat up.

He found (Y/N) and Sam still asleep, (Y/N)’s body sprawled out on the opposite bed, arms and legs both twisted at angles Dean would never be able to get out of. He shook his head before getting up and going to the bathroom. He was about to close the door when Fella decided he needed to join him, pushing past the half-closed door and stopping just a few feet away and looking up at Dean with pure adoration.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Dean asked, scowling. He turned around, lifting the seat and relieving himself, feeling Fella’s eyes on him the entire time. Once he was finished, he jumped into the shower, letting the sweat and grime from the day before wash off. 

He’d almost forgotten Fella had decided to join him as he stepped out of the shower onto the grimy linoleum floor of the bathroom. He reached for a towel and started drying off when he felt something wet and rough meet the skin of his leg. Dean jumped away, looking down to find Fella languidly licking the water droplets off his leg. “Seriously, dude?” Dean asked, biting back the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Dean threw back on his boxers and t-shirt before exiting the room, finding both Sam and (Y/N) fully awake and ready for the day. (Y/N)’s face lit up as her eyes settled on Fella. “Hey, there, cutie!” she greeted, bending down and laughing as Fella threw himself into her arms and licked her face.

Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but feel a tug at his heart as he watched (Y/N) interacting with Fella. Dean cleared his throat as he pulled out a fresh pair of jeans and a flannel and pulled both on before zipping his duffle back up. “We need to be outta here in ten,” Dean said, turning around and heading for the door.

Sam and (Y/N) nodded in acknowledgement and soon enough they were back on the road, heading for the bunker. Dean kept glancing in the rearview mirror at (Y/N). Her face was more often than not lit up in a wide grin as Fella stayed glued to her side. Dean swallowed hard, shoving down the foreign feeling in his chest and tried to ignore the butterflies he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager fluttering in his stomach. 

Along the way Sam gave her the whole monster spiel, her eyes widening in shock and fear as Sam explained that it was demons who had almost attacked her. Sam and Dean thought it was part of a deal that one of (Y/N)’s old coworkers had made with Crowley, the King of Hell; ancient and magical shears in exchange for a life of wealth and fame. But of course there was always a catch. Her coworker’s soul would be Crowley’s in ten years...but they didn’t tell (Y/N) that.

By nightfall they were back at the bunker. Dean climbed out of the Impala, going to the trunk and taking out his duffle and hurrying to the bunker’s entrance. He had to get away from all the overwhelming emotions swirling in his chest. He couldn’t decipher exactly what was going on, but it felt akin to the few times he’d been put under a spell.

His eyes seemed to have a mind of their own as he couldn’t seem to take them off her. He seemed to notice everything about her; the way her hair fell to her shoulders and cascaded down her chest and back; the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed at Fella or at something Sam had said - and god...that laugh. It was like tinkling bells. He bit his lower lip as his eyes followed the way her hips swayed as she made her way down the hall to the bathroom. Fuck, was she the finest specimen of a woman he’d ever laid eyes on. He frowned as she disappeared around the corner. When had he become so sappy? Fuck, he needed a drink.

He got up from the library table, going to the kitchen and pouring himself a good sized cup of whiskey. He took a big swig, relishing the sting as it settled in his stomach and almost instantly relieved some of his nerves. 

But in an instant his butterflies were back as (Y/N) walked into the kitchen. “Hey,” she said, her lips turning up into that gorgeous smile of hers. 

“Oh, hey,” he said, his voice coming out higher than he’d intended. He cleared his throat and gestured to the bottle on the counter. “You want some?”

“Uh, sure,” she said, coming to his side as he took a tumbler from the shelf and poured her a glass. She smiled her thanks before taking a sip and hissing. “That’s good,” she said. “Been a long time since I had whiskey.”

Dean smiled before making his way to the kitchen table and sitting down, (Y/N) joining him a few minutes later. “So you like animals, huh?” Dean asked, taking another sip of his drink.

(Y/N)’s eyes lit up and she nodded briskly. The next thing he knew, he was listening in avid interest as she explained that she had always loved animals and after she had graduated from cosmetology school, she had decided to invest in that passion and put her skill into practice.

By the time she was done talking, they had both almost finished the entire bottle of whiskey. His mind was fuzzy and all he could think about was how easy it would be to reach across the table and kiss her. 

He was still thinking about how her lips would feel against his when Fella sauntered in, immediately going up to (Y/N) and showering her with wet and sloppy kisses. She giggled, leaning down and kissing the top of his head that she had yet to clean. 

Dean smirked, that tugging at his heart happening again, this time stronger. “Who gave you the right to be so damn sweet?” Dean slurred. He hadn’t even realized he’d said it until (Y/N) looked up at him, her beautiful eyes filled with both mirth and confusion. 

“What?” she chuckled.

“You heard me,” he said, fiddling with his tumbler on the table. “You’re so sweet. And drop dead gorgeous, I might add.”

“Oh,” (Y/N) murmured, her cheeks growing red. She dropped her gaze, but the next second raised her eyes to meet his as he pushed back from the table and walked around to her side. Before she could even register what was happening, Dean had taken her hand in his and hoisted her up. He wrapped his arm around her, his hand pressed to the small of her back as he held her close against him.

He raised his hand to her face, his thumb tracing her cheek. “And I think I’m falling in love with you,” he breathed. Her eyelids fluttered in shock and he heard a soft but audible gasp leave her mouth. He glanced to her lips, so plump and supple. He locked eyes with her again, finding her pupils wide. “I could kiss you right now,” he whispered, his eyes darting to her lips once again.

They formed into a smirk before he looked back to her face, her eyes holding a sultry and enticing look. “Then why don’t you?” she asked.

And he did. Her lips formed around his own, the taste of whiskey on her tongue as she allowed him to deepen the kiss. 

It was just as he’d imagined. No, he thought, his grip on her tightening as she wrapped her arms around his neck.... This was even better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤❤

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags:

Everything:

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Dean Girls:

@weepingwillowphoenix​ @akshi8278​

[ratherthepoint]

I love looking back at all of Essek’s interactions with the Mighty Nein now knowing that he’s just..... an awkward lonely goofball who wants friends. Because he was SO ANNOYED at them for insisting he teleport to the middle of a forest and then saying he did it WRONG but like also.... I bet he low key loved that. His daily life is spent floating around because he’s committed to a bit and performing stellar feats of magic because everything think he’s a prodigy and these absolute FOOLS walk up to him and go “Hey, you can teleport us to a volcano, right? Cause we’re friends? You can totally help us out with finding our friend who’s lost in a forest. You pooping?” Like, sure, they’re taking advantage of his magic but not because they think he’s a prodigy, it’s because they latched on to the first person they found like ducklings imprinting on a random mama-duck shaped log. They don’t care that he’s the youngest consecuted person ever, they care that he doesn’t trip when he floats over a trap of ball bearings they left on the floor. Like, it had to be weirdly the most REFRESHING thing to find weirdos who didn’t know diddly squat about his position but still wanted to hang out with him. In conclusion I love my sweet overworked child and hope he spends more time relaxing in the hot tub

[fapangel]

WELCOME, NEW GUN OWNERS!

A Brief Intro To The Whole ‘Gun’ Thing Business Stuff

By Planefag

1. So You Bought A Coronavirus Gun and you’re honestly a bit scared of it. What now?

You already know the four rules of gun safety because 1. the guy at the store told you, 2. it was in the users manual, which you read, and above all 3. you’ve not a redneck going “yee-haw BANG-GATTY!” you’re a goddamn sane human being. In point of fact, this new gun kind of scares you a bit and you sometimes have second thoughts.

Congratulations! You’re already becoming a Responsible Gun Owner.

Y’see, what us gun nerds don’t tell you is that we practice gun safety to the point of obsessive paranoia. Guns don’t shoot people, people shoot people – including by accident. The gun doesn’t do jack diddly shit – YOU do. All that responsibility is on YOU. And if you’re sitting there eyeballing the damn thing like it’s a live snake, it means you respect and fear the power, which is the first step in fully accepting the responsibility of gun ownership. You didn’t buy that damn thing as a dick replacement or to kill tin cans in the backyard, you bought it to protect yourself and your family should the worst happen – i.e. you’re already taking responsibility for your and/or your family’s own safety.

Being a grown-ass responsible adult is what qualifies you to own a gun. That’s it. Everything else is just knowledge, and none if it means diddly squat without the attitude, and as a (likely) reluctant owner, you already have that.

Never forget this.

2. What Nobody Will Tell You About The Safety Culture Of Firearms

You are absolutely going to fuck up gun safety a lot and the entire system and culture of firearm safety is designed to deal with this.

It starts with the Four Rules themselves:

All guns are loaded at all times.

Never point the gun at anything you don’t want to destroy.

Keep your finger off the trigger unless you intend to fire.

Never shoot an unidentified target and always consider what’s behind it.

These rules are multiply redundant safeties. Just ONE of these rules can and will save your life. You, as an ordinary mortal human, cannot possibly be perfect all the time, even with well-ingrained safety habits, but with multiple safety habits, you don’t NEED to be. Once Upon A Time a friend brought over her husband’s new gun for us to see, and my whole family handled it and tried it out. I asked to try the trigger pull, and before I touched the trigger, I decided to check the chamber – and a live round popped out.

That’s when I realized that, despite all of us having failed to check the chamber, we had all: 

1. Never touched the trigger 2. Never walked in front of the muzzle 3. Never pointed it in an unsafe direction - only at the floor.

My whole family, my friend, and I all fucked up, and nobody was hurt because while you will occasionally forget one or even two rules of gun safety, it’s effectively impossible to forget all four.

This “multiple redundancy” extends to other gun owners, and it’s why gun nerds seem to be such tiresome pedantic pricks about precise terminology – it all starts with “trigger discipline;” i.e. pointing out when someone else has their finger on the trigger when they’re not about to shoot; in a movie, in pictures, in real life, in a TikTok video etc. Muzzle discipline (don’t point it at things you want to destroy) is a close second. This is how gun owners work together to reinforce each other’s safety habits until they are second nature. This is the root of much gun culture – for instance, “silencer” is a perfectly valid name for the round make-gun-more-quieter-can, but lots of people get uptight and insist they be called “suppressors” because they don’t actually literally silence a gun, and your hearing can still be damaged if you fire a louder/bigger gun with a “can” on it and omit hearing protection (“earpo.”) Safety is serious business and you can expect other gun owners to coach you in it.

This system is formally enforced at shooting ranges, where someone called the Range Officer walks around for the sole purpose of making sure every rule of gun safety is observed at all times. With so many people in such tight confines, perfect gun safety is required, which is beyond the ability of any mere mortal. The range officer’s job is to be your second brain, helping you observe gun safety. They will often show you tricks to help avoid common mistakes in gun handling – one RO showed me how to stand sideways to my bench, so that when I manipulated my pistol in both hands, I could hold it sideways (as one naturally wants to do, to inspect it,) while still keeping the muzzle downrange. It’s natural to feel embarrassed if an RO corrects your mistake in gun safety, but you shouldn’t be – RO’s see every knuckle-dragging moron on Earth and can easily tell someone who is trying to be safe from a simple moron who doesn’t give a damn. RO’s treasure earnest newbies, because its easy to teach knowledge and habit, but difficult if not impossible to instill responsibility.

A final note on safety involves storage. To be of any damn use, your gun must be loaded and ready in your home, but many people also need to secure it against children, dumb-ass visiting friends or in some neighborhoods, possible burglary. What you need is a quick-access safe, like this one linked here. Note how the keypad has grooves so your fingers can find it in the dark, and only has four buttons. These tools are expressly designed to keep your firearm readily accessible and also safe and secure. Avail yourself of these.

3. You Don’t Know Jack Shit About Guns And That Doesn’t Matter.

Everything you think you know about guns is probably complete fucking bullshit – but if you know how to point YOUR gun’s loud end at the bad guy and pull the trigger, that’ll do.

Many in my own tribe will rip me a new asshole for saying this, but its true nonetheless. A TON of what you think you know about guns is total bullshit propagated by Hollywood, and some of it’s dangerous because it could get you killed – for instance, if you think your new shotgun doesn’t need to be aimed because it’ll light up half the living room from five feet away like in video games.

But you don’t own every gun from movies or games, do you? You only own YOUR gun. That’s the only one you need to worry about learning right now. You’re probably stuck “sheltering in place” and all the shooting ranges are closed, but that means you have plenty of time to watch youtube videos, and damn are there a lot of good, informative youtube videos on firearm topics. Paul Harrell alone has tons of excellent, down to Earth videos on every topic you can imagine, and he often caters to fresh-faced newbies, such as this introduction to shotguns and what they do. Full30.com is “gun youtube” and has nothing but informative gun videos.

Watching these videos you’ll soon realize that what sounds like basic newbie information to you is being delivered in videos aimed at experienced gun owners – because we gun owners often don’t know shit, either. Even among gun owners ourselves, a great many myths and legends persist; the classic example being old-timers who think the springs in magazines will wear out if you keep them loaded too long (they don’t, any more than the suspension springs on your car do from just sitting in the garage.) These rumors persist because while their recommended techniques don’t help, they almost never hurt, either. Gun owners pursue these almost mythical rituals for the exact same reason they have such strong opinions (and sometimes bitter arguments) over trivial differences in firearm performance or utility – even though the differences are very minor, when you are fighting for your own priceless life, even slim advantages are worth having. Even though most gun owners keep a simple shotgun for home defense and spend most of their money on Fun Shooty Guns for the range and/or competitions, the entire community is, ultimately, rooted in traditions and lessons pertaining to actual practical use of firearms for community, family and self-defense.

Thus: when fellow gun-owners, in person or online, give your selection of firearm shit and recommended ten billion other accessories or methods to buy or use, do not be fooled into thinking your gun is useless or seriously sub-par; almost anything that you can put lead downrange with, where you want it, will do the job. At the same time, understand that this community has such strong opinions on often trivial differences because you’re preparing to defend your and your families lives, and with infinitely high stakes, no advantage is too trivial to consider.

Sights and slings and magazines and such are all well and good to have, but if you need to make a choice, remember that having the gun, and the skill and familiarity to use it is already 90% of the equation. Paul Harrell demonstrates this very very well in his video on using double-barreled shotguns for home defense, which he opens with the line “not everyone can afford thousand-dollar guns,” and “you don’t need the latest, greatest thing to get the job done.” Clint of Thunder Ranch – a man who has in fact shot people and been shot at – is also on-record as warning people that you can absolutely be killed by the oldest, silliest damn Oregon-Trail looking goddamn Elmer Fudd popgun if the wielder knows how to run it well. Look no further than the return of lever-action Old West guns for home defense.

4. The Right Of The People To Keep And Bear Arms Shall Not Be Infringed AND YOU ARE PEOPLE

YES, YOU, YOU LEFT-WING BERNIEBRO TRIPLE-COMMUNIST FROM SOVIET MORDOR. AND YOU, TRANS-QUEER-POC-NONBINARY OTHERKIN. YOU ARE PEOPLE.

IF YOU ARE PEOPLE, THIS IS YOUR CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHT. IT IS NOT CONTINGENT ON YOUR POLITICS, YOUR RELIGION, YOUR SEX, GENDER, OR PREFERENCE OF GAMING CONSOLE. YOU BOUGHT A GUN, NOT A POLITICAL PARADIGM SHIFT. IT CAME WITH A TRIGGER LOCK, NOT A PACKET OF KOOL-AID.

WE GUN OWNERS HAVE FOUGHT TIRELESSLY FOR GENERATIONS TO DEFEND THE RIGHT OF THE PEOPLE PRECISELY BECAUSE WE KNEW TIMES LIKE THESE WOULD INEVITABLY COME. AND NOW THAT THEY’RE HERE, BEING VINDICATED IS ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NO FUN AT ALL, BECAUSE WE’RE ALL IN THIS SHITSTORM TOGETHER.

5. Come Talk To Us – We Don’t Bite

Most gun owners collect guns because we can’t afford to collect cars or old tractors or whatever, and worse, we can’t race them against each other nearly as easily as we can go to an IDPA competition and blap steel pop-up targets. Firearms are exquisite works of engineering, and marksmanship is a science, an Olympic sport, and a true art that was respected as the domain of the experienced and wise even in Antiquity. Most of us were taught gun safety as a case-study in the responsibilities of adulthood, at our parents and grandparents knee, and we find real joy in introducing new people to the joy of firearms ownership and shooting sports.

Gun owners have been subject to non-stop, wall-to-wall abuse for decades due to our views on firearm rights – quite often to our faces, from family members. It makes us scornful and defensive – but it also primes us to welcome fellow supporters of self-defense rights with open arms as long-lost brothers. Hit us up on Twitter or BookFarce or whatever the hell you use. Ask your questions – yes, even the dumb ones. We asked the exact same ones ourselves when we were starting out. We’ll deny it till the sun burns out, but we did, and our guilty memories mock us still.

It often feels like the divides in America are too deep to ever be healed, and even in the midst of this crisis, where there should only be two sides – humanity vs. virus – the bitter recriminations continue. But it’s still the best chance we’ve had to see eye-to-eye with each other, and that new gun of yours, lying in its factory grease still in its factory hardcase, is proof positive of that.

You’re disgusted by this reality, aren’t you? That such ugly measures are necessary? That things have gotten this bad?

Good. So are we. Which is why we need you; you people who wish for a world where guns aren’t needed and people sleep with their doors unlocked at night. People who push forward, finding a way to advance. And this current disaster is why you need us; people who know how bad it can get, how easily the center can fold, who prepare for the worst.

We will need you again in the future. And that is why we are here for you now.

[samkat10423]

Vintage Champs Les Sims - again!

Lately I’ve been playing a family in Murky Hollow – that world where EA supposedly gave us players the Open for Business option that we’d been asking for – forever! (Another big fail on their part). Anyway, while in the land of Doom and Gloom, I discovered the Doe family – a throwback to the 50s. And surprise, surprise! I actually like them! Who knew! They’ll be moving here - the kids, not the parents. Although, I may kill the parents and add them to my cemetery.

Anyway, the other day, I ran across Tedhi’s latest videos over on YouTube, and just like that, it was back to Champs Les Sims! I did have a “saved” game, but I’ve been on a CC-cleaning spree lately - the perils of 5 weeks of quarantine! - so I got that infamous, “Missing Items!!!!! We couldn’t load diddly-squat. Sucks to be you!” message. Which meant I’ve been going from lot to lot, replacing crap.

Anyway, I’m pretty much done now, which means I’ll be starting a new game – just because. But here’s a picture of one of my lots – not sure if you ever saw this one. It’s called the Church of the All-seeing Llama, and is next door to the town cemetery. 

Basically, this is just the outside view and some horrid shots of the ground floor - because this build is just so damn narrow. There is a balcony upstairs, with an organ and some other musical instruments, but I didn’t bother to take pictures of that, because big whoop. Anyway, I do have a priest who’ll be working here - thanks to Zerbu’s mod. Currently, he lives with his mom - whose sister, owns the local bakery. (The 2 women hate, hate, hate each other. Something about one of them running off with the other’s fiance).

And these two sims are some of my graveyard residents – because I don’t like generic ghosts wandering around my graveyards. I also recreated the original ones that were in EA’s town. I guess I could have sent a sim there to fetch them, but I was lazy. And I wanted to dress them in 20s clothing. Although, the one ghost – Tim Doorson -  I dressed in WWII clothing, since in my town, he was a friend of that St. James dude. St. James – an American in my world – survived the war and married a local girl. The ones shown here – a married couple who hated each other – died during the French Revolution, hence the garb. I did spare the dog. Don’t know why, but I feel guilty killing pets in the Sims. Have no trouble killing sims, just not their pets. Go figure.

[wreath-of-laurels]

First time watch the boys: S1, E1, Name of the Game

I've been a comic fan for almost twenty years but, with the exception of his truly excellent war comics, (seriously read them) I pretty much range from dislike to despise everything that Garth Ennis has written. It's not that I necessarily object to violence in comics, so much as I feel like his violence ends up practically pornographic (sometimes literally as in Crossed). Thus, when I heard that his comic The Boys was getting an adaption, I rolled over and dragged my pillow over my head.

That being said, I saw a number of clips of the show with some truly great acting and have decided to give the thing a shot. Therefore, here's my reaction as watch the thing.

A minute in and I already love Hugh/Robin. Shit. One of them is going to die, right? I bet it's the girl. It's always the girl.

...

Sigh. It was the girl. 

A really dark part of me observes that they filled the Women in Refridgerators and the Black Guy Dies First tropes within the first fifteen minutes. Is the Black Guy Dies First trope gender neutral?

I am assuming Starlight is more or less the straight guy when comes to the heroes, as in the one who is there to be the sincere hero. And so far the other ones . . . do not seem like the sorts I'd want to be heroes. But the Deep (is that his name?) and the blond guy seem okay so far.

...

Eugh. Yuck. Let me edit that earlier statement.the Deep (is that his name?) and The blond guy seem[s] okay so far.As much as I hate it, The Deep is probably a fairly realistic depiction of a rapist or other sex offenders. He comes off as nice and sweet until he's not. Even then, his demeanor is all 'Hey this isn't a big deal! Why you making a fuss?'.

...

Okay, here's the actual hero. I think British guy is the hero....Maybe more like the protagonist?

...

Uhm, he's clearly manipulating the hell out of Hugh. And police/FBI/law enforcement, my ass! That being said, if he's right about the stuff that's going on with the superheroes, something that really needs to be done.

...

Hugh Hughie, just happened to be sitting at the same bench as Starlight/Annie. Coincidence? Did the creepy British guy set that up?

Errrr, Starlight? I'm all for standing your ground and all that shit but between the Deep and Translucent's little nude welcoming party in the bathroom, I think you should get out. The Wonder Woman-knock off's 'sympathy' towards your pain is not helping. And now we got the Seven starting their meeting by arguing about money. I really think you should get the fuck away from those toxic bastards. They're no good for you.I am starting to have doubts about Blond Guy. He comes off as Supermanny but why does he hang out with the rest of the Seven given their demeanor? He's either very stupid, very idealistic or he's as fake as a cardboard cut-out.

...

Creepy British guy has convinced Hughie to do something seriously dumb. Now the bug has been planted at Evil Inc. and Translucent tracked poor Hughie down. So he got a beat down. Hughie is not having a good day.Did Translucent tell the others at Evil Inc what he did? I'm betting he didn't or this would be a lot shorter of a show. 

Ouch, Creepy Guy used Car Fu on Translucent. He deserved it.

Oooooh, I wonder how he's going to explain the whole new floor-to-seal window that the Brit took the time to create to his boss. Is he British? Definitely not South African. Maybe an Aussie or a Kiwi? I can't place the accent.

The fucktard is alive? Is durability a standard part of the hero package or something? By the way, Brit/Aussie/Kiwi guy? I know you're all bad ass but if the car didn't keep Invisiboy down, you will do diddly squat. Nice use of the blood though. I'll give you that.

Hah, my inner scientist is satisfied by the poke at the innaccuracy of Translucent's name. I now rename him Invisiboy. And apparently Invisiboy was asleep that day in school.

Invisiboy got fried via Hughie. Apparently, Hughie has a brain. Hughie kicked Translucent's ass! 

Unfortunately, unless I am very much mistaken Hughie’s accent confused stalker is not working for FBI/cop/law enforcement on his side. So...

Hughie. Is. So. Screwed.

...

And so is that plane.

[blessyourhondahurley]

October 16 - If I Could Talk to the Animals

[Read on AO3]

The first time it happens, Dean's up and out of bed earlier than usual, for no particular reason. As he nears the kitchen, he hears Cas's voice rising and falling in conversation. There's no other voice to be heard, though. Who's he calling at this hour? Dean wonders, but when he enters the room, Cas doesn't have his phone in his hand. He's crouching slightly, and seems to be talking to the baseboards in the corner next to the fridge.

"I would appreciate it, thank you," he's saying to no one, and Dean thinks, this seems kind of weird, even for him.

Out loud, he plays it cool. "Hey Cas, whatcha doin'?

"Hello, Dean," the angel replies, straightening up. "I was talking to the spider who lives in that corner. I was making sure that he's not planning to move his residence to any of the parts of the kitchen where we prepare food, for reasons of hygiene."

So... Cas is talking to spiders now, Dean thinks. Then he shrugs it off. He has a dim memory of his mom doing something similar when he was a little boy – talking to the bugs she shooed out of the house, thanking them for their visits and asking them to find new places to live. It's kind of cute. As long as he doesn't think the spiders are talking back, he decides with a laugh.

~~~~~

The next time it happens, they're on a case, and that's when things start to get strange, by Dean's admittedly skewed standards. Despite the fact that the witch has been, uh, “neutralized”, the spell that's keeping this family in an enchanted coma hasn't broken. There must be a hex bag in play. But they've tossed the house as thoroughly as they can manage without attracting attention from the legitimate authorities or the nosy neighbors, and they've turned up a whole bunch of diddly-squat.

Then Dean turns around and realizes he's alone in the house. It freaks him out a little, because they'd talked it out, and he thought they'd agreed that the angelic disappearing act was a thing of the past. He breathes a little easier when he looks out into the backyard and finds Cas standing by the doghouse, talking animatedly despite the fact that there's no one out there with him. Before he makes it to the back door, Cas is striding back inside.

"There's a hex bag under the kitchen sink," he states with certainty. "And one in the master bedroom, between the mattress and the box spring."

Dean goes and looks, and there they are, exactly where Cas told him they'd be. A couple flicks of the lighter later, they get the call from the hospital: the Robertsons are waking up, and are expected to make a full recovery.

As they're driving back to the Bunker, Dean asks him how he knew where to look.

“I asked the dog,” he says casually. “if she'd smelled anything new the day her family got sick.”

And Dean doesn't know what to say to that, so he turns up the radio and lets it be.

~~~~~

They finally talk about it in the woods behind the Bunker one warm day. Dean wakes up a little early again, and there's no Cas to be found. This time, rather than freak out, Dean throws him a text. I'm outside, comes the reply. So Dean pulls on his boots and heads out.

He doesn't have to walk far to find him – the angel is just at the edge of the trees, and he's not alone. Clustered in a semicircle around him are a mama bear and her two half-grown cubs. They're standing very still, gazing at him with rapt expressions on their furry faces. Cas seems to be holding forth on a topic of some passion; Dean isn't close enough to hear his voice, but his fervent gesticulations are easy to see.

Cas looks utterly at ease, but that's okay – Dean is scared enough for the both of them. Cas, get outta there! he screams in his head. This ain't no Disney movie. Those are wild animals! There's no way he's getting any closer to that little tableau, so he whips out his phone again.

Are you fucking insane? Those are BEARS, he types. He hits send, then watches from thirty feet away as Cas reads the text. He laughs, then turns Dean's way and gestures.

Come over, he sends in reply. It's perfectly safe.

Are you serious??

Cas nods at him, and then the mama bear turns to look his way, and she nods, too. At this point Dean stops trying to make sense of anything that's going on, and starts walking over.

When he's about ten feet away, the cubs scamper off into the woods. The mama bear huffs, nods to Cas, and follows, disappearing among the trees.

“I'm sorry,” Cas murmurs when Dean reaches him. “The cubs are shy around new people.”

“It's fine, Cas. I wasn't in any hurry to meet a bear. Why were you out here hanging with bears in the first place?”

“We were discussing the bees,” the angel replies placidly.

As freaked out and confused as he is, Dean can't stifle a laugh at that. “Of course you were. But, like, really? You were having a conversation with them? Were they magical creatures? Like... Familiars? They spoke English?”

“No, I can speak bear.”

Dean is floored. “You can...? Why can you speak bear?”

“I can speak all languages, Dean. Not just human ones.”

“Wait...” The gears are finally engaging in Dean's brain. “So, does that mean you actually can speak spider? Like in the kitchen the other day? And you really did ask the dog about the hex bags at the Robertson's?”

“Of course, Dean, what did you think I meant?” Cas tilts his head and looks at him like he's the baffling one here.

“I thought you were kidding! Or playing a joke! Or, I dunno, that maybe you did some kinda angel mind meld on the mutt. I didn't know you could literally speak, like, schnauzer!”

“It's nice to know I can still surprise you,” Cas says primly. He turns and begins to walk back to the Bunker. “Come on, I'll introduce you to the spider.”

[felidarachnid]

How feral are the Noah? a thesis

Earl/Adam. on the surface is extremely refined, underneath a panicked disaster. 6/10

Tryde. honestly we know diddly squat about this guy but he has a scene hair tassel so that bumps him up on the scale a little. 2/10

Tyki. eats fish out of ponds but wears a top hat sometimes and somehow thinks this makes up for his behaviour. 7/10

Sheril. dangerous and unpredictable but this is not the same thing as feral. 3/10

Wisely. tired child who probably doesn’t bathe or eat vegetables. 6/10

Fidora/Feedler. i am scared of this man. he looks like he would run you over with his car so he can eat your brains off the sidewalk. 9/10 but like…not the cute kind of feral

Mercym. the only time i’ve seen him he is contemplating a skull like hamlet so i assume he reads shakespeare. 0/10

Skinn Bolic. the kind of feral you see in a screaming angry raccoon caught in a trap, but in the body of a 7 foot weightlifter. 9/10

Road. like a cat that comes and goes as it pleases. half-tame which i guess is technically the definition of feral. 7/10

Jasdero. looks feral but would actually submit for a belly rub at the drop of a hat. 4/10

Devit. would take food offered to him but then bite you and piss on your floor. 9/10

Lulu Bell. initially independent cat-type of feral 3/10 but then became a jaguar and probably decided being a human was too much effort 8/10

Mightra. im still not fully convinced this guy is human under there. ????/10

Neah. epitome of knife cat meme. 7/10

[thanksjro]

Eugenesis, Part One, Scene Seven: I Can’t Frikkin’ Believe This

Death’s Head wakes up, answers a few questions, and then is stabbed to death.

Well, no, actually, he just makes it look like the stabbing killed him. Being mechanical has its perks. Still, he’s in a bad way, and needs to get the hell out of dodge if he wants to make it through this.

Lord Xenon is wise to the peacekeeper’s game of ‘possum, however, and blasts him with his eye lasers. Death’s Head’s day really took a downturn in the last little bit.

The Quintesson leader demands that the bodies of the flying fucks they blew out of the sky be brought to him, as he has an idea. Clearly, only good things can come from this.

Meanwhile, back on Cybertron, Red Alert’s on the verge of a panic, trying to make sure the open-air inspection isn’t going to be turned into an assassination.

He hears Prowl coming up behind him- Red Alert knows all his pals by the sound of their footsteps, as all good friends should- and greets him, noting his ever-present Resting Bitch Face. Prowl, not one for small-talk, asks how things are going. They’re going well, all-told, but it wouldn’t be Red Alert without a little paranoia that everything’s going to land butter-side down before it’s all over.

Chromedome’s in this scene. He’s checking the spycams.

MEANWHILE, IN AUTOBOT CITY, Wheeljack’s packing up for another move. Looks like Magnus’ tomorrow came today. He’s got most of his gadgets in boxes, including a little something to help with Springer’s robot-equivalent alcoholism. He doesn’t know how to feel about all this, though he’s pretty sure going back to the war zone that is their home planet is going to suck the big one. Wheeljack is pretty despondent about the whole thing.

There’s mention of the Witwickys being dead. Wonder how that happened?

BACK ON AQUARIA, the flying fucks have been laid out on some operating tables, and are being subjected to some good old-fashioned, Roberts-style body horror. A Quintesson surgeon rips out their brain modules, which causes them to jolt, as if trying to turn themselves inside out. The surgeon isn’t terribly professional- he’s a known drunk, and throws the modules on the floor like a litterbug, where they promptly burst into flames. Xenon tells the doctor to get these lifeless husks ready for a brain transplant.

Man, these Decepticons didn’t even get names, just color-coding. Fare-thee-well, Red Fuck, Blue and/or Purple Fuck, and Olive Green Fuck. May you rest in pieces, and sorry about whatever atrocities your dead bodies are about to be subjected to.

MEANWHILE, ON CYBERTRON, a Micromaster named Emyrissus has been staring through the scope of a sniper rifle for almost three years, waiting to carry out his mission to kill Galvatron. Out of the entirety of the fortress Darkmount, there is but a single window pane which, when shot at the perfect angle, will shatter, allowing for the tyrant to be assassinated.

Problem is, Galvatron never gets off his ass so that he’s actually within this spot. Ever.

At the Autobase, Nightbeat’s staring at that orb again. I have a feeling we won’t be getting any answers on that for a good while.

He has a message on his computer, but he’s ignoring it. Doubleheader knocks on his door, and is about to shoot the keypad when Nightbeat answers it. Doubleheader doesn’t seem to understand that Nightbeat would prefer to be alone right now, and asks if he’ll be attending the inspection.

Nightbeat will not, due to social anxiety and general self-loathing.

Nightbeat, are you, like, okay? Because holy shit.

Well, Nightbeat doesn’t have to go to the inspection, but the narrative does, so we meet up with Prowl, who’s overseeing the security measures. Prowl has a very “none of you would survive without me” view on this whole event.

He overhears Rodimus and Thunderclash going at it- it seems Mommy and Daddy are fighting again. Thunderclash still wants this inspection called off, and Rodimus is having none of it. It gets to the point that Prowl, the only adult on the entire planet, shouts at them to both shut up and get over themselves.

On the other side of the stadium, Red Alert’s quintuple-checking all his security measures, as the event’s about to start.

Chromedome keeps getting mentioned as being in the scene, but he’s done diddly squat so far. I’m hoping for something completely balls-to-the-wall crazy out of him in the next little bit, like he rips off his head and throws it at a would-be assassin, saving the day. Hell, within this continuity, that’s actually completely possible.

It’s time for the High Command to make their appearance, and we get a look at some personalities via their trek across the stage- Perceptor is awkward, Prowl’s all business, Sunstreaker is an attention-whore, Kup is old, so on and so on.

Quark, sweetheart, it’s going to be okay.

Rodimus takes the stage, overwhelmed by just how many people there are.

He

He almost said the thing.

Rodimus goes on to say that he’s proud of each and every one of those in attendance today, and that he’s got a plan to bring Cybertron back into Autobot control.

And the crowd

goes

wild.

Except for the fucking double agent wait WHAT-

Emyrissus has the chance and is about to take the shot when something happens.

WAIT WHAT THE FUCK

Back at the inspection Doubleheader shakes hands with Rodimus Prime and asks if he’s ever wondered what it feels like to die.

Doubleheader has a bomb in his chest. He’s a fucking suicide bomber. He’s the double agent and he’s a suicide bomber.

AND THEN PART ONE ENDS.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME

ROBERTS

I AM WAY TOO INVESTED IN THIS

I WASN’T EXPECTING TO GET SO INVESTED