#more or less just. i find the idea of the unnamed one super compelling as a villain but the motu comics are a big blind spot for me

[beesgav]

loudly declaring "my city now" but the city is still pretty densely populated and I'm ignoring like 90% of it

[scrunchie-face]

My ranking of TS8 based on absolutely nothing but my personal opinion

From least to most favorite:

peace: this is the only song on the album i really don’t like. her accent/cadence sounds a little affected to me and there aren’t any lyrics or musical moments that really resonate.

invisible string: i feel like i might get some pushback on this since so many people seemed to LOVE this one but hear me out. This one is clearly about Joe and their relationship and for me, there is not a single song about him that she has written that has been as good as “Call It What You Want” and “New Year’s Day.” Every other song she has written since then about being happily in a relationship with Joe has fallen flat for me. Also, I’m not gonna lie, the more cynical and less romantic side of me finds the whole concept of the “invisible string” to be a bit trite and saccharine. “Isn’t it just so pretty?” To me, yes, it is a pretty thought and that’s all it is.

mirrorball: this song is pretty, and reminds me very strongly of the Speak Now era, but with the complexity and maturity that she’s obviously acquired since then. That being said, to me the metaphor feels like it’s trying to go in two different directions at once and neither one quite gets there, leaving a song that feels somewhat unfinished. It’s either a very pretty love song or a darker reflection on identity, but it never feels like it commits to either.

august: this is where we really start to get into “there’s nothing really wrong with it, I just like other tracks better” territory. Lyrically, I think it’s very poignant, with its reflections on love, time, and memory. Unfortunately, I think the whole “Teenage Love Triangle” hint actually does this song a disservice by indicating that the speaker is the “other woman.” Since the bent of the other two songs (”cardigan” and “betty”) seems to indicate that those two singers/speakers are the couple that is “meant to be” it gives the poor unnamed “august” singer a bit of an uphill battle for sympathy in context. That’s not to say I don’t have any sympathy for her; I have by far the least sympathy for James. Unfortunately, James gets a catchier song (more on that when i get to “betty”). Which brings me to the real reason for this low-ish ranking: I just don’t find the song as musically compelling as most of the others on the album.

this is me trying: as I suggested in the previous paragraph, a lot of the way I rank songs personally is by how much the music resonates with me. I can forgive a lot lyrically if the way the music moves gives me goosebumps. With “this is me trying,” there are several lyrics that I love. The repeated “I have a lot of regrets about that”? PERFECTION. Musically, however, the song as a whole doesn’t really impress itself upon me, making all but the couple lyrics I really love forgettable to me.

mad woman: this song, and the two on either side of it, were ranked somewhat arbitrarily. higher than “this is me trying” for having a little more edge and a more engaging tune, lower than “hoax” because I generally prefer sadness and angst to anger. This is by far the most vindictive track on the album, and while I understand it and think it’s executed very well, the tone isn’t totally appealing to me personally.

hoax: this song, to me, has a very strong Hozier vibe that I enjoy very much. As i said in my blurb about “mad woman” I connect more emotionally with the sadness and turmoil here, hence its higher ranking. “stood on the cliffside screaming ‘give me a reason’“?! Gorgeous, and if you’ve ever felt that way, the line resonates in your bones. “the only hoax I believe in” is such a complex line that I could probably write paragraphs about it; it’s got psychological, emotional, and even religious elements to it that I think are part of what makes such a sad and personal song still feel universally relatable. It asks you, what are your hoaxes? Which ones do you believe? Is it because you want to? Because you have to? betty: ranking this song was difficult, because i find the character of James to be incredibly irritating. Unfortunately, the questionable nature of James’ behavior and attitude towards Betty and the unnamed girl is not enough to condemn the song to a lower ranking because the tune is just so catchy and fun. It’s got one of the best hooks on the album: the rhyming of “Inez” and “she says” just delights me every time. The “--most times--” caveat is amusing and very in character for a teenager trying to explain himself. And then “the worst thing that I ever did was what I did to you.” It sounds super trite, yes, but it would’ve probably gotten my forgiveness when I was seventeen. Also I love “will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends?” Bold words for someone in James’ position but I love the bravado and the way it pairs with the music. The triumph here may be premature but it’s SUPER contagious. epiphany: so this one is perhaps the most arbitrarily placed because I realized when I got the the end of my list that I had forgotten  it.... BUT that being said, I really like this song. It seems to be one of the more divisive on the album; people either love it or think it’s boring. I like it a lot. When we talk about big events--wars, pandemics--it’s very easy to distance ourselves from them and forget that those more affected than we are are people too. This song gently rehumanizes the people we see in books and newspapers and tv reports, reminding us that they are suffering, they are trying, and reminding them that they are seen and loved. It’s extremely beautiful and moving.

the 1: based on my previous claims that the music is  my most important factor in song ranking, this one may seem unfairly high. Like with “peace” I find the accent/modulation of her voice in this song to be somewhat affected and irritating. The tune, while fun and catchy, doesn’t really have much power behind it. But I enjoy it just enough that, paired with some absolutely spot-on lyrics, this becomes a song I was deeply attached to from the first listen. Anyone who has ever had an important relationship that came to nothing will recognize the brief emotional rollercoaster of “I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn’t though,” and feel absolutely convicted by the bridge. “persist and resist the temptation to ask you/ if one thing had been different/ would everything be different today?” If you’ve lost a friend or a lover, you’ve tormented yourself with that question, I guarantee it. Even off her musical A-game, she absolutely nails the emotions here, and I love it.

my tears ricochet: this song actually started out pretty close to the bottom and slowly made its way up. Honestly, the reason for its low ranking was that I still can’t quite figure out what it means. Taylor occasionally writes songs that are very hard to tease out into any sort of linear narrative or neat metaphor; you feel them more than you understand them. And for that reason it usually takes me a little more time to get to a point where I appreciate them. The relationship here is tangled; it’s not the simple bad guy/good girl that we would’ve seen in the Speak Now era, and I would argue that at times it’s unclear which party is even the speaker. Once my analytical mind got past that hurdle, I remembered that this is one of the most musically powerful songs on the album. The bridge? GOOSE.BUMPS. The way the music builds and pounds at “just not home... in your bones.” Shivers. Even if I don’t totally understand what the song means, i can feel the conviction and emotion in the words and music and that is what makes it such a pleasure to listen to.

cardigan: this song is simply beautiful. just lovely. sad and nostalgic and hopeful and it just hits on some stuff that is absolutely true. “when you are young they assume you know nothing./ But I knew you.” I recently had a conversation with my husband about this very concept. This idea that adults look down on young people simply because they don’t have “perspective.” But the truth is that young people know something very important: what it is like to be young and to experience things AS A YOUNG PERSON. Not as an adult looking back on being young, but as a person to whom these experiences are fresh and real and important. “cardigan” takes that whole concept: the struggle between youthful experience and adult perspective, and absolutely NAILS IT. Add in a touch of the sentiments from “the 1″: “i knew you’d haunt all of my what ifs.... i knew i’d curse you for the longest time,” and combine it with a melody that rises and falls and slows down and speeds up and you just have this gorgeous tribute to youth and life and love.

illicit affairs: i love this song so so much. I’ve never been in an “illicit affair,” but the regret and the confusion and the attachment and the love and the hate and the feeling of being trapped are all so raw and visceral that even if you’ve never felt anything like this before in your life you can feel it now. Underneath the fairly simple melody of “don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby,” you can hear the screaming anger and heartbreak. “look at this idiotic fool that you made me!” Gah. I can’t even. It’s just so real. So there. This is a song that you both understand AND feel and it’s so powerful it’s almost overwhelming. Taylor and her killer bridges absolutely ending me every time.

the last great american dynasty: this song is so fun. The story is funny and sad except the indomitable Rebecca doesn’t for a moment let you feel sorry for her. As soon as you see her pacing the rocks looking out over the ocean--a wistful, often angst-ridden position--the song turns right around and informs you that she stole a neighbor’s dog and dyed it green. And then, “and then it was bought by me.” The story has been so definitively about someone ELSE this time until suddenly SURPRISE! The twist at the end is delightful; every story we tell, every story we love, we tell it and love it because it’s about us too. And like i said, there is a quiet undercurrent of sadness and loneliness that never becomes the focal point of the song but is there giving it depth and something more to think about that facts and funny anecdotes. This song is a unique one in Taylor’s discography, and it stands up very well to that status.

exile: is my love for this song partially colored by the fact that Justin Vernon’s voice makes me swoon? Probably. The duet between him and Taylor is hair-raisingly beautiful and heartachingly melancholy. But that aside, I think the thing that first caught my attention was Taylor’s verse. The “staring honey/understudy/knuckles bloody” rhyme drives me absolutely WILD. It’s SO GOOD. It flows perfectly and poetically and honestly i transcend my body and scream with delight into the ether at those three lines every time. That is not an exaggeration. Also, “I’m not your problem anymore, so who am I offending now?” And of course the juxtaposition between “never gave a warning sign (i gave so many signs)” is this perfect description of how, to quote another, much older, lyric “miscommunication leads to fallout.” This song reminds me very much of “Story of Us.” In case you couldn’t tell from previous comments, this whole album, for me, recalls Speak Now, very strongly in many ways. I see her revisiting a lot of similar themes and stories with a more mature perspective and a different sound. Red  as well, actually, but I digress.

seven: i knew from very early on that this would be my favorite song on the album. Taylor’s voice goes places I have NEVER heard before, evoking something elemental and primal. “Before I learned civility/ I used to scream ferociously/ any time I wanted.” Her forays into actual childhood in her songwriting are periodic but relatively rare, and this is unquestionably the best of the lot. Here we see children, almost too young to remember exactly what happened, but marked forever by their experiences of nature and relationships. “I can’t recall your face/ I’ve still got love for you.” This song evokes all the things that dance around the edge of your memory: faces from long ago, the feeling of flying, the fear of falling, the irresistible impulse to plant yourself on the ground and fling your existence out into the world with your voice. The need to feel safe. The references to a friend’s troubled home life are oblique: “your dad is always mad... you won’t have to cry or hide in the closet,” and the solutions are childlike: “come live with me...and be pirates,” “move to India forever.” The song is an immersive experience, charged with feelings you can’t quite express, but that you know and remember, although they are perhaps faded a bit around the edges.

[notnaturalanahi]

What Kinda Lame Name For a Demon is Dean?

Characters: 1st person Gender neutra!lReader, Demon!Dean, nameless Demon, OC’s (also unnamed). It can be a Demon!Dean x Reader if you want to.

Wc: 3167 (consider this a long drabble)

Warnings: Foul language, drinking, violence, blood, death (minor character), loose ends and loopholes, open ending. 

[This is a crack fic, don’t lose sleep over it]

Summary: I decide to stop  for a drink on my way home and it’s defenitely not what I expected for a wednesday night.

A/N: This piece is my entry for @evansrogerskitten Ash’s Hottest Dean Challenge my prompt is bolded in the text and there’s also a gif. I have so much writing this one. It was supposed to be a drabble of this scene that popped into my mind, but it turned out into this cracky/action thing. 

Unbetad, brace yoourselves for mistakes.

Check out my Masterlist - Also you can Join my TAGlist - Or Talk to me, gimme some feedback

Whatever, love you. bye!

The weather’s chilly and drizzly tonight, from where I’m sitting at the counter I have the perfect view of the dark night and the empty street outside. Well, empty with the exception of the occasional car that rolls by with the windshield wipers mid speed or the passerby covered head to toe and carrying an umbrella or a few street dogs… Okay, maybe not that empty. Anyway,  since I forgot my umbrella and only realized it after I got off work I decided to make a stop when I saw the bar down the street from my office was open. This first half of the week had been dreadful, so I deserve a drink to cut short the week.

Staring at my drink in hand I reconsider my previous plans. I made the decision as I walked into the establishment that I would only have two drinks, but now as I contemplate the last of the 2nd one I find my mouth itching for more, maybe just a 3rd or even a 4th after that one… I know I shouldn’t, I have an early morning tomorrow and I should be at home right now finishing with the retouches of my thesis. It’s been a long way but I think after the professor’s last corrections it’s gonna be perfect… so yeah, I’m going home.

A sudden chill runs down my spine, as if a cold breeze hit my skin or someone breathed right behind my back, twisting my neck I see noone. The front door remains closed, a big clock above it telling me it’s 8:45pm. Taking in my surrounding for the first time since I walked in 30 minutes ago I see the bar is almost deserted. To my left, a happy looking couple, too immersed in their own conversation, looking super cute together, sitting on the same side of the booth. To the right a drunkard nursing on his beer, eyes looking beyond anything, right into the astral plane. Also somewhere around the back is the bartender, a middle-age guy who looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Sighing I look up and notice the amount of dirt in my glasses, I’ve lost count of how many times a day I had to wipe them today, I snatch a paper napkin from the metallic holder while removing them from my face and proceed to carefully rub the lenses. Once I finish I put them back on. Why can I just not wear glasses, what’s the meaning of having eyes if they’re not gonna work properly?

Ugh, the story of my life.

I shiver again and take it as a cue, in one semi-large chug I throw back the rest of my vodka, grimacing at the scolding sensation traveling down my esophagus and I know I’m gonna regret that in five minutes or less, my stomach’s not gonna let me forget about it. Immediately I fish onto my bag for my ever evanescent wallet. When I find it, I pull a big enough bill to cover for both my drinks and a very, very modest tip -sorry to the bartender but as student/trainee I don’t have much to spare-. And slide the sleeves of my jacket over my arms, followed by the strap of the crossbody bag before jumping off the barstool.

Apparently my eyes were closed or maybe I’ve fallen asleep while moving; I don’t know I’m tired, it’s been a long day, because I only notice the tall man standing right next to me when my face collides with the solid, yet tender wall of muscles that is his wide chest. I open my eyes.

“Oh shit! Sorry, I didn’t see you there. Almost like you appeared outta nowhe-” I can’t help it, I look up adjusting my glasses already fuming at the back of my head cause I will have to wipe them again and my words cut short, I swallow the rest of my apology down. At the end of broad shoulders and resting above a thick neck I find an extremely handsome face. Jawline for days, covered with sexy scruff. Plump lips -cocksure smirk- slightly crooked nose, deep, deep green/ hazel eyes that stare down at me and all of that served with a side of freckles dusted all over.

So hot, I hate him.

He just stares, smug smile and wrinkly eyes. He’s wearing more layers than a normal person needs tonight -it’s not that cold- and his hair is combed to the side.

“Leaving already?” obviously he ignores my apology.  

I blink the salacious thoughts away and focus on his piercing gaze “It’s late,” I explain plain and simple.

I attempt to sidestep him but apparently somewhere in the middle our four words conversation he laid an arm on the back of my old chair, successfully trapping me between himself and the unmovable counter.  I look back up and of course the mother fucker knows what he’s doing, a mischievous glimpse sparkles in his eyes.

I sigh, dramatically.

“Look I’m flattered. A tall, hot guy like you coming up to me. But hooking up is not why I’m in here tonight. So I dunno. Maybe we can exchange numbers, you know… get a raincheck. You can call me on the weekend? Tonight I have plenty to do, and unfortunately you’re not on the list.” I know he hasn’t say anything and I’m rambling a little. But certainly I don’t give a shit. Perhaps I did some time ago but at this point in my life, I don’t anymore.

He chuckles. A hand comes up and I still myself because I have no idea what’s so funny or what his intentions are. Thick and long fingers -I gulp at the sight- pass through his mane, pushing it all back and I think he looks even better that way than styled to the side.

“What?” I ask while trying to push his arm off the metallic bar at the back of the stool, realizing how solid it is, pure fucking muscle. My hand pulls at it but nothing happens.

“Dollface, I’m not here to flirt and sleep with you,” he states, “although I wouldn’t say no to you,” he adds giving me a once over and throwing a chin shrug to the mix.

When he stops talking my eyes shoot up, no longer entertained with the way my fingers look hooked around his forearm, or how the tips don’t touch each other as I wrap them around his wrist. With a coked eyebrow I demand to know what he means.

“I’m here to kill you,” he simply says, like it’s nothing.

I back away a little and snort at his joke. It’s gotta be a joke right… Who comes up to someone they don’t know at a bar and tell them they’re gonna kill them?

I let out a chuckle that I can’t hold in and he joins me. Our laughter increasing by the second and soon we engage in a full body laugh, belly shaking and I let my hand lay on his firm chest because I need to feel that firmness again. All of the sudden he stops laughing, I’m too busy to notice though, cackling away. Both my hands now on his chest, supporting my weight missing the way he leans in forcing me to bend backwards until my back hits the barstool.

My eyes flutter open and his face is right there, deadpan expression. “I’m serious,” he hisses, hot breath fanning my face.

“Okay,” I gush rolling my eyes.

His gaze drops, entrusting me to do the same and as I follow his line of sight down his chest and hairless stomach, up to the waistband of his jeans where he’s pulling the hem of his shirts up for me to see… and Oh. My. God! That belt’s kinda low around his hips and ugh they’re so narrow. Why are his hips so narrow? Is this how he wants to kill me?

Sign me up, please!

His hand let go of the fabric and it lowers down, my eyes widen because I think he’s gonna open his fly or something and flash me and I don’t know if I wanna see that … not here at least.  Except what I see is the handle of a knife, a blade that seems to be made out wood or bone or something… Eesh!

“Are those teeth?” I slap myself mentally, seriously though? The guy it’s showing me his lower abdomen and a knife, of curse the knife is actually what matters! I compel myself to stop looking, because as alluring that sight may be, he just told me he was here to kill me. Closing my eyes I lift my head to I can look at him in the eyes and-

“FUCK! Your eyes are totally black. Are you aware of that?”

He only nods.

“Okay it’s that because some medical condition or some like that and I’m being a total asshole for bringing it up. I’m so sorry!”

“I’m a demon,” he says with a malicious smile.

“Whaaaaaaat? No you’re not!”

He sighs, not even trying to conceal this exasperation,and with a blink his eyes go back to the normal deep green -yeah I’m gonna go with green- and he signals to the bartender, asking for a whiskey when the server gets closer.

“Hey!” I complain and he quickly changes his order from one to two. “Thanks! If you’re gonna kill me, at least buy me a drink first… like common courtesy,” I joke.

Breathing through his nose he pulls the barstool next to the one we were standing by and sits down. He’s so tall he only needs to move his ass to the side and he’s sitting. Me on the other hand, almost need crampons to climb into that thing like the first time, but I make it just in time to see the bartender deliver our drinks and some peanuts.

“I’m assuming you know everything about me, or at least enough… I mean, you’re sure I’m the one you wanna kill?” I say.

“I’m sure,” he answers before his lips latched to the glass.

“Oh-kay…you have a name?”

“Dean.”

“Dean, Really?”

“What the hell’s wrong with my name?”

“Nothing it’s just… Kinda lame ain’t it. I was hoping for a Moloch or Aemon or I don’t know… errr Abaddon?”

He gives me a killer look. “Dean’s fine though… Yeah, or perhaps you could also go with Deacon. Deacon has more of a demonic charm I think.” Dean makes a sound, kinda like a growl or something. “Okay, okay. Dean!”

“So what’s the deal, Dean. How’s this gonna happen? You gonna get me drunk and stab me with your big bone?”

He turns to face me, smirking, lines appearing in his forehead because of his questioning eyebrows. A horse laugh escapes me when I realize what I said, but I cut myself, this is not a funny situation.

“I mean, you come in here, pretend you wanna sleep with me and at the last second you drop this bomb on me and that’s it? When you gonna do it or why?” I move my bag from the middle and start removing my jacket.

“Shut up,” he commands. Breathing deeply he combs his hair with his hand again and looks at me sternly.

“Fine,” I complay and bite my lips into my mouth and turn to hang my jacket on the back of my seat, sitting forward in silence. He has the knife, so I should do as he says I guess. Taking a peanut from the bowl I play with it, rolling it around my fingers. Pulling that little tip of and chewing it with my front teeth.

I open my mouth to say something, closing it right away because I don’t even know what to say. I take the small rimmed glass in front of me and take a big gulp almost spitting it all out instantly. “God, I hate whiskey.” After that we both remain silent for I’m not sure how long until I can’t take it anymore and I jump off the stool.

He does the same and stands right in front of me. “I’m just gonna go to the restroom,” I tell him, lifting my right hand up as promise.

“How do I know you’re not gonna run on me?”

“If I do run, would you come after me, find me?” I allow my hand to lay on his arm, enjoying the way his muscles twist under my touch.

“I will,” Dean promises, roaring near my face.

“Then it’s useless for me to run. I’m gonna pee, if I don’t come out in… let’s say 4 minutes you can come looking for me.” With a couple of soft slaps on the side of his arm I walk past him and towards the restrooms, not even looking back to see if he’s watching me because I can totally feel the way his eyes pierced a hole in the back of my head.

Once in the restroom I sigh and closed the door behind me. Apparently I’m dying tonight… That’s happening. Shit!

Bending down to take a good looks in the stalls I check all of them are empty. I don’t like going to the bathroom with people sitting right next to me where they can hear everything I do. I pick the one on the far back and do what I have to do. I can see the stains all over my glasses again but chose not to wipe them to hurry it up a little just in case. When I get out I go to wash my hands and I hear the door sing open. The bar was empty so of course I assume Dean came to check on me.

“Hey it’s been like 2 minutes, you could have a little more trust in me. I told you I wasn’t gonna run,” I joke to my killer because that’s how I am and rinse the foam of my hands. “Besides, the moment I start running I will trip over my own feet and that’d be it for me,” I add while giggling but the second I lift my gaze from the jet of water I see someone else. A man, definitely not Dean standing right behind me at the sinks.

I turn around, my eyes scan his tall form, and head to toes black attire. He blinks and his eyes match his clothes.

“Fuck!” I try to go for the door, but he’s quicker than me -of course- and steps in my way, pulling my head and throwing me back. I stagger but surprisingly I keep my feet on the ground, his large hand lands on my throat and he’s pushing me to walk back, until my back hits the wall of the first stall.

My hands grip around his forearm, but no matter how much force I apply his grip won’t loosen, he’s a lot stronger than I am -not that that’s so hard to accomplish.

“I already have a demon here to kill me,” I force myself to speak through his hold, maybe he doesn’t know about Dean.

My eyes are starting to get lazy though and the blurry spots appear in my line of vision. The bathroom door whips open, crashing against the wall and closing again due to the forced and I’m able to see Dean walking towards us.

“A demon,” I scream, although I know it’s barely a whisper and I’m not really sure Dean can hear me, but I point to the demon with my finger, so he can catch my drift.

Dean retrieves the bone knife with teeth from his jeans and launches for this other demon, who ducks in time and he toss me aside, as if I were just a piece of paper. I land with my side of a trash can, wailing in pain.

The new demon, flashes from under his sleeve a long silver pointy knife, and it makes me wonder what’s with demons and funny shaped knives. It’s that like a trend?

They both stand right in front of each other, like facing a duel or something. “All you Abaddon groupies are the same, you know that?” Dean asks rhetorically.

Wow, Abaddon does exist it’s not just mythological!

“You can’t just can’t accept that the queen is dead, can you?” Dean continuous.

Oh, and it’s she and she’s dead. I sit up because I never in my life thought I see a demon, less of all two demons ready to duel… Will they count their steps?

“Maybe we just can’t accept that a douche like you was the one who killed her,” the other demon spits with anger.

It doesn’t truly surprise to know it was Dean who killed her. He does look like the guy who’d take down a  big bad legendary demon. “Ah. Yeah, that’s got to hurt, doesn’t it?”

That was too cocky, Dean should learn to be a little more humble.

The fight it’s quick, the other demon, swings to get Dean with his pointy knife but Dean is faster -ugh soooooo hot!- and blocks his move, spinning him around and jabbing his bone, teethy knife into his chest. I gasp, unintentionally when orange light shoots from the demon’s eyes and chest.

Then Dean let his body fall to the ground once he’s dead and blood start pooling around his body. I get up as fast as I can, I don’t want his blood to touch me. Dean looks at me, not even preneting he’d help me get up and nods towards me.

“I’m okay,” I raps clearing my voice. My throat feels swollen already.

He comes closer to me, his hand moving up and I freeze because he’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna do it and my last words were I’m okay, so lame. At last second his warm palm rests on my chest, fingers inspecting the bruises forming around my neck and I open my eyes.

“Let’s go somewhere you and me,” he says close to my face. I blink dumbfounded.

“What, you and me?” I swallow, the soreness of my throat still there. “Where?”

“I dunno, anywhere,” he shrugs, bending over to clean his knife of the dead demon clothes.

“You wanna kill me,” I refresh his memory in case he’s forgotten.

“I just save your life,” he defends.

“I guess you’re right, I’m still alive. But what are the chances of that becoming a thing?” I caress my own neck, whining in pain.

“Let me ask you this. If I really wanted to kill you, wouldn’t’ve done it by now?”

It’s my turn to shrug. “I guess.”

“Let’s go. You should get some ice on that neck before it gets worse,” Dean says, his hand on my lower back as he hold the bathroom door open for me and leads me towards the back door of the bar.

Everything: 

@nadiandreu7, @thegreatficmaster (no Sam/Jared), @mogaruke, @samisimportant, @ria132love, @donnaintx, @feelmyroarrrr, @just-another-busy-fangirl, @love-kittykat21, @emilyymichelle, @walkingkhaleesi, @imagining-supernatural, @kdfrqqg, @charliebradbury1104, @thedevilinthedetails, @docharleythegeekqueen, @artprincessbree, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels, @supernatural-girl97, @sam-inaflannel, @sammys-lost-shoe, @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester, @nanie5, @roxyspearing, @emoryhemsworth, @rambling-rabbit, @akshi8278, @meganwinchester1999, @geekgirl1213, @maui137, @creepykatftw @novakfandoms, @waywardasfudge, @kickasscas67, @spnwoman, @tattooedmomster13, @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou, @asgardianvamp21, @michell868,

@possesstheheart, @thatpeachybandgirl, @read-the-reid, @supernaturalmistress @jensen-gal, @its-my-perky-nipples, @esoltis280,

Dean/Jensen: 

@missmotherhen, @valerieshubin, @chennyetomlinson, @justanotherdeangirl, @jennell79, @ruprecht0420, @jalove-wecallhimdean, @evyiione, @laurafloradora, @fanfreak07, @superapplepie, @wingedcatninja, @sandlee44, @plaidstiel-wormstache, @lessons-of-red, @supernatural-fan-123, @mandilion76, @blackcherrywhiskey, @akshi8278, @papertrailsstrewnacrossthefloor, @shut-ur-face-and-get-in-the-car, @aly-winchester, @winchesterdemon67, @supernatural-strangerthings-1980

[hostilepoet17]

Unsinkable + 2, 6, 7, 10

Ooooh thank you!

2. My favourite scene to write? 

Molly Brown was a joy to write for, and it gave me a fun opportunity to allow a distance between Nikola and Helen, where the stakes weren’t too high, and they couldn’t properly get into a row, so they’re just sniping (rather mildly) at one another, without real consequence. I also just frelling live for people observing them in action (99% of my non-pre-show fic ideas involve Will/Henry playing witness to an altercation/unintended confession between Tesla and Helen. I live for that kinda thing.)

The opening letter was super fun as well, it was the first thing I wrote and it was great to try and immerse myself in the language of Helen Magnus in that era (I love the idea of their writing back and forth, and that’s mostly inspired by reading the letter chapters in David Mitchell’s ‘Cloud Atlas’ in which Frobisher’s letters to Sixsmith could easily be Nikola Tesla, had his passion lain in music rather than the sciences, but maybe that’s just me!)

6. Any cut scenes? I cut a flu storyline! When I first began thinking about writing this, I had intended for Helen to be quite ill shortly after her arrival (with Mr Tesla to care for her, of course. *sings* Because I’m a sucker for these things, and it would be cuuuute). However, at the time of writing that particular chapter, I myself was laid up in bed with the flu, and therefore did not particularly fancy sitting down and writing about it (when one is in the throes of the flu, one finds the notion far less romantic and compelling as a plot point). Instead, Helen is physically fighting fight, but alas harbours mental scars...

Any added in? Not yet... However, I did realise that this fic is entirely set within a hotel suite revolving around the lives of my babes, and while that isn’t an altogether unpleasant plot, it is lacking! To truly write a fic involving Helen Magnus, there has to be an Abnormal aspect, I think, not purely historical. Whether it involves her study of Abnormals, a stakeout to infiltrate an Abnormal smuggling ring, the hunt and capture of a deadly creature, and so on, I think there has to be an element of her work involved. Because who is Helen Magnus without her work at her core? It’s easy to give Tesla his, you just need to throw in some dialogue about his current projects (and more likely than not, unfortunately, his recent failures). He’s easy. I find Helen’s line of work harder to incorporate. However, last year, I did decide to add an element of this to the story, but that won’t come into play until the end (whenever the hell we reach it). There will be the vaguest of hints, but nothing too heavy until I’ve really sketched out this idea for myself. I will however, start to mention her work in about two chapters (?), I think. I’m finding it difficult to remember that this is an aspect of her that bears consideration, and it’s something that I’m trying very much to weave into all of my headcanons.

7. Oh my, Nikola is by far the greatest pleasure to write for. You can make him say the most outrageous things, write lines of catty comments, fill pages full of smirks and scowls, and THE DRAMA. Helen often gets my best lines, but only because I write something ridiculous for that damn vampire, and then think, “Christ, what would Helen say? Would she be flustered? Would she brush him off? Raise his hackles? Bait him? Tease him?” And once you decide what she’d do, his response is automatic. He’s easy, because he’s competitive and sauve, he has a bloody answer for everything. I love love love writing for him, he’s really someone who quickly becomes larger than life in a scene.

10. I don’t think there’s much to clear up about the title! I needed something that conveyed that this story was about the Titanic, I wanted something snappy, memorable and relevant. And “Unsinkable” was thrown around far too much prior to and in the aftermath of its demise. Of course, the fabulous Margaret Brown, a survivor of the Titanic, has been referred to as “The Unsinkable Molly Brown”. I’m not very imaginative when it comes to titles I’m afraid (hence all my unnamed chapters, something I do intend to remedy at some point), give me snappy dialogue any day, just not a title!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE GREAT ASK! I promise I’ll get back to working on chapter 11 this instant (currently weighing in at 1700 words, and plenty to go...)