#series: the multiversal accounts

[dunbonnets]

Black Clover ♧ The main three characters of The Multiversal Accounts of the Lives of Ones Astrid Turner, Patricia Stackhouse and Teresa Holmes — a series of collabs written by @dunbonnets, @pseudonym-lux and @pepperronys

Trisha Herrera grapples with the weight of her curse, which binds her to the moon and leaves her feeling trapped. As the Vice-Captain of the Black Bulls and a skilled Imitation Magic mage, she serves as a mentor to her diverse squad while navigating her complicated feelings for her best friend, William Vangence—who himself understands the burden of curses. Despite their closeness, Trisha's curse looms large, casting doubt on her path to happiness. Will she ever break free from its grasp and embrace the love she longs for?

Teresa Sherwood appears to be an ordinary commoner from Hage Village, yet her striking silver hair and lilac eyes tell a different story. As a powerful Ice Magic mage and a new recruit of the Golden Dawn, Teresa uncovers her true identity while grappling with her feelings for her childhood best friend, Yuno. Their relationship evolves from a deep friendship into a romantic bond, complicating their lives as they face challenges together.

Astrid Turner has known tragedy since she was a little girl and both her parents were brutally murdered. Though she survived the attack, she was forever changed. As a Blood Magic mage, she will stop at nothing to fulfill her father's mission and rid the world of vampires, even if it means her own death. After being recruited to the Black Bulls, Astrid must learn how to balance her life's mission with her growing feelings for her friend, Asta and if her secrets will destroy everything she holds dear.

[xivu-arath]

legitimately gnawing on my hands over the "which sci fi series has the best lore" poll because, yes, destiny lore did in fact rewire my brain and how I approached writing

but. holy shit. the reason no one knows transformers lore that I've seen is because it is batshit layers of incredible and stupid at the same time

[lilliryth]

i don’t discriminate <33

[atherix]

Mumbo legit when "He's annoying as hell but god damn it do I wanna kiss that pretty face"

Idk why but that sounded wayy too silly in my head wjdjjd

- purp anon

LMAO

That's hilarious, but he definitely didn't want to kiss him back then. He was attracted to him but like- he didn't like him. (Admittedly though if Mumbo and Scar's relationship was still this way when Mumbo's Vampire instincts started really kicking in...) Now if Scar hadn't been Like That™ and an absolutely manipulative ass it would be a very different story- I mean look at how fast Mumbo caught feels AFTER going through those years of hating Scar, imagine how fast it would have been if he had really known Scar from the start LMAO-

[blindtaleteller]

Well, and unfortunately... with the Thor corner in particular; that's been going on for literal years.

Over five, in fact.

The thing is, Waititi set a standard of not giving a rats ass as far back as the making of Gagnarok aka Thor: Ragnarok: and promised to keep on in that same flavor after the studios and gen fans patted him on the back for it repeatedly. (yes, that's a link to a more collected list of examples straight out of his own mouth)

It massively helped that, instead of replacing problematic people on the MCC around the time Gangnarok was being put together (the MCC's entire purpose having been someone being responsible for upholding exactly that kind of continuity from one film/series to the next) was disbanded instead: allowing asshats of similar disposition like Herron and Waldron to enter the franchise; and spread it to the rest of the MCU (don't get me started on the Dr. Strange sequel Waldron also wrote that forgets every scene of and premise of the movie it was supposed to be a sequel to just as a start).

The studios, also took that as a green light for that kind of behavior and treatment; which has been getting progressively worse since.

Add in the audience/customer blaming, the ism accusations aimed at anyone who surprise of surprises also expected an entertainment company to actually prioritize good entertainment rather than politic pushing every production to capitalize on social trends; among other things.. and well. Yeah. Of course Disney as a whole is down the shitter, and taking the MCU with it since they took greater control back then.

Just sayin'.

(Also tags)

one of marvel’s biggest issues is that writers/directors are just constantly writing ooc fanfic of each other’s work instead of using it as a foundation to continue a collaborative fictional universe off of. like. character development should matter. a character shouldn’t have a different personality in every single appearance. major plot points established by other installments shouldn’t be ignored. idk man. 

[acourtofquestions]

Why do I think all fictional characters would have favorite Taylor Swift songs despite the fact they are in another world? — uh duh — because I wouldn’t want anyone fictional or not to live in a universe where Taylor Swift music does not exist. OF COURSE THEY ALL HAVE FAVORITES!!!

[billiewena]

THREE YEARS SINCE NOV 5TH, 2020 as summed up by Supernatural (sequel to this and this)

image ID & context below:

[image ID: screenshots of Supernatural paired with screenshots of various tweets, news headlines and Tumblr posts.

A screenshot of Ed and Harry in SPN 3x13 Ghostfacers saying "You gotta be gay for that poor dead intern" with a screenshot of Misha Collins at the SPNNJ 2023 convention saying "I got a call from Warner Bros and they were like hey uh...is there any world you just let it go?" This is in reference to an incident in 2022 where Misha accidentally made headlines after a comment that seemed to be referring to his sexuality. His comments at this year's panel imply that the studio in fact did not want him to retract the comment and make the apology that he posted, but to instead just roll with it.

A screenshot of Bobby saying "Time travel?" and Dean saying "Yeah" in SPN 6x18 with a headline that says "Jensen Ackles' Explains The Winchester's Multiverse Twist & Supernatural Connection." This is about the series finale of Jensen's Supernatural spinoff "The Winchesters", in which it is revealed Dean and the Impala somehow traveled the multiverse to the alternate timeline the show takes place in.

A screenshot of Dean in SPN 15x08 saying "He's back, and he's out of control" with a screenshot of Misha Collin's first Tumblr post in seven years, a video with him and his brother being a public nuisance on public transportation. Also included are screenshots of various Tumblr users reacting with tags from various tumblr users. becauseofthebowties: "mishacollinsofficial tumblr account back from the dead???" myboobsarentsentientbeings: "this is the first thing he posts? after nearly 7 years???" casismybestfriend: "RED FUCKING ALERT MISHA IS BACK ON TUMBLR" cannabiscasgate: "who the fuck gave you back your password"

A screenshot of two news anchors in SPN 14x20, with one (named Jack) telling his co-host "I love you" and her replying "Jack?" with screenshots of the Destiel/Supernatural Confession meme trending multiple times this year with other current events topics like Russia, Titanic, etc. There is also a screenshot of a post by saintedcastiel that says "I cannot believe that since we started using the destiel meme as a breaking news alert that there hasn't been ONE destiel news anchor AU fic where they're co-anchors on the morning news. cas confessed on accident while they're on air and dean doesn't know how to respond so he just reads the next thing on the teleprompter."

A screenshot of Dean in SPN 5x14 as Cupid says "I-I was just following orders" with a screenshot of an anonymous Tumblr ask to user luxshine. The ask says "Hey! I was wondering if you have any updates on the LATAM dub situation and if you were/will able to contact the dub director". luxshine says "Hi! Well I could get the translator (you know, our dear rogue translator) and he told me that while he doesn't remember it completely (because he translates a lot of series) if Dean said "And I you" it's because the script he got said "And" I you" and the video he saw said "And I you" because he doesn't add stuff." This is in reference to a change in Spanish LATAM dub of Castiel's confession SPN 15x18, which added a line where Dean reciprocates, which was previously suspected to be a change added by the LATAM dubbing director or translator

A screenshot of a detective from SPN 8x08 saying, "[Chuckles] Whatever you say Scully" with a screenshot of the tumble blr blog ao3topshipsbracket's poll "AO3 Top Relationships Bracket - Round 2 Side 1" with Fox Mulder/Dana Scully (The X-Files) vs. Castiel/Dean Winchester (Supernatural.) In the final results from 51,514 votes, Mulder/Scully won by 53% and Castiel/Dean won by 47%. In early 2023, Tumblr added a polls feature which has led to numerous content, debates, and bracket polls similar to this.

A screenshot from SPN 11x15 where Dean says "No money, no glory" with a headline that says "Supernatural creator Eric Kripke gets 'zero' residuals from Netflix"

A screenshot of Dean rising from his grave in SPN 4x01 with a screenshot of a post from the official CW Supernatural Instagram with a clip from the pilot episode and the caption "And the story continues..." and a comment from a user that says "THE STORY CONTINUES?? WTF ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL US?? I HAVE ANXIETY YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME." For context, no one is sure if the post was supposed to reference new content from Supernatural or not but it has led to speculation.

A screenshot of SPN 8x01, with the onscreen lyric "Another year has passed me by."

[gingerhastoomanyobsessions]

the lords in black are so interesting to me because. they’re so us. we’re watching the citizens of hatchetfield suffer for our own entertainment just as much as they are. we’re their accomplices in all of it

pokotho made hatchetfield into a musical because musicals are entertaining. and we ate that shit up! it’s soooo fun watching a little man scramble as the world around him bursts into song. the musical genre is satirized because pokey knows how the genre conventions work just as well as we do. we like watching musicals so much that black friday and npmd are musicals, too, even though they don’t revolve around pokotho’s plans as much as tgwdlm. we want them to sing. pokotho does too.

bliklotep is the audience and the audience is bliklotep. trail to oregon calls the audience “the watcher with one thousand eyes” and that’s not all, in watcher world blinky seems to be able to see through the eyes of anyone and everyone who loves spectacle. he wants to see the characters go through angst because WE love angst. it’s fun to watch alice and bill express their buried frustrations. blinky wants it to end in bloodshed because he loves tragedy, and let’s face it, so do we. it’s like that one post about how hamlet is aware of the audience and is angry that we don’t do anything to intervene because we want to see how it plays out. personally, I think blinky could have stopped the woodwards if he really wanted (he’s an elder god, after all) but alice shooting him shifted the narrative so that the emotional payoff would be more fulfilling if they escaped. and blinky loves a good story.

t’noy karaxis has blorbos. we joke about it, but that’s really what it is, isn’t it? he’s the fan who watches the movie again and again and again and again to see his favorite character’s dramatic death scene. he’s the guy who writes and reads angst fics by the hundreds because he likes to see his faves cry. he’s the hatchetfield enjoyer who’s on the edge of their seat waiting to see how ted kicks the bucket this time. the bastard’s box is pretty much just an ao3 account filled with whump and hurt no comfort. he’s sadistic AND he genuinely adores ted, because we fans are often cruelest to the characters we love the most. he puts ted through character growth— the realization that his life went the way it did because of his own mistakes, his inability to be vulnerable with jenny before it was too late— and he does that by writing a 56-chapter angst fic that’s still updating to this day

nibblenephim is the fan who voraciously devours every scrap of content that a creator produces and demands more, more, more. let’s face it, the fandom will never let starkid rest until we see this story through to its end. and then someone will demand a sequel series. nibbly is hungry because we will never stop yearning for more stories. he’s simple because that desire itself is simple— as humans, we need creativity like we need air to breathe. nibbly wants more because we want more. and we will never be satiated.

wiggog y’rath is the ruler and the king because he’s the self-inserting writer. I think jon matteson plays paul *and* wiggly for a reason— wiggly is the only lord in black to be played by the same actor in every single show, and that actor also plays the protagonist of tgwdlm. wiggly wants to be the protagonist. he tries to force himself into the human world of hatchetfield because he wants to participate, dammit! he wants to be the bestest ruler that the earth has ever seen! everyone has to love him because he’s going to be their bestest fwiend! when he appears in human form he’s gonna be the prom king! he’s the ebony dark’ness dementia raven way of the hatchetfield multiverse. he wants every human character to bend to his whims and to love him and to put him at the tippy-top of planet earth because he’s the writer and the writer’s main character, you fuckheads, and he can make whatever story he wants, whether the other characters like it or not! if you’ve ever written a self-insert story? congratulations! you’ve been wiggog y’rath.

and the funny thing? I don’t think the lords know that they, too, are as fictional as anyone else in hatchetfield. maybe blinky knows— he sees through the audience’s eyes, after all— but I don’t think the others do. if they did, maybe they’d be a little less tyrannical. a little bit nicer.

but then the starkid writers wouldn’t have much of a story to tell, would they?

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me | Issue #7

COLLABORATED WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You finally get some answers out of Miguel about who you are to him.

Word count: 5,700 words.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

"So let's take it from the top," you tell him, as you sit down and put down the Trenta-sized caramel flavored hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup in front of the man named Miguel O'Hara.

The two of you are sitting across from each other at a small booth at the nearest Starbucks you were able to find, seeing as you're homeless now, and there's nowhere else you could think of to go.

He's dressed in a large fitted hoodie that drapes down to his thighs. Where he's managed to find something that is oversized in length on him, you don't know because he's not exactly short.

"I'm from a dimension known as Earth-928," Miguel says.

Before he can continue, you raise one hand, and you can see his right eyebrow twitch unhappily at the interruption. 

"Yes?"

"Just to clarify, so we don't have another ‘coffee cake’ misunderstanding. When you say Earth-928, do you mean a different version of the Earth we’re on now? Or is this a habitable planet in another galaxy that happens to be partially named Earth?"

"It's a parallel universe characterized by distinct physical parameters and initial conditions, accounting for the diverse manifestations of our observable universe. So still Earth," he says, sweeping his gaze across the café, nose wrinkling the way one does when there's something off-putting in their vicinity. "Just a little bit less primitive."

Of course he would say that, wouldn't be able to resist the jab would he.

You peer up at him across the table. He is very technical and thorough with his explanations. But as grateful as you are for him finally being willing to answer your questions, you hadn't expected those answers to be quite so information dense. You need to pick your questions more carefully or you are going to have to go down the street to buy yourself a notebook in order to keep up.

"How did you end up on this Earth?" you ask.

"Where I'm from, I'm a scientist, a researcher. One of the things I studied was the theory of physical cosmology and the existence of the multiverse. My work was concentrated on the theoretical ability to navigate between distinct universes within a hypothetical multiverse–”

Ah shit, you should've been more narrow in your question. Should have asked him to simplify it a bit more for you. Because now you're sitting here blinking up at him, pretending you understand half of what he's saying. 

It makes sense that he’s STEM. He speaks like the type. Smart as hell with none of the social skills to gauge whether the other person is following the conversation. 

Listening to him reminds you of that time in college, when you'd walked into the wrong lecture hall, wound up in advanced chemistry instead of your math class, felt too awkward to leave and just sat there drawing doodles with an attentive expression until the class was over. 

And he’s still at it, “– employing advanced mechanisms that manipulate or transcend conventional spacetime frameworks, enabling exploration–"

"Okay, wait, hold on a sec," you interrupt, once it becomes obvious he’s not going to stop any time soon on his own. "Can you... simplify, please?"

He stops mid-sentence, taking a deep breath as he looks up at the ceiling and considers your request, with a serious expression as if he's thinking really hard on it. "I’m a scientist. I study the multiverse. I built a parallel universe traversal device, it allows me to visit different dimensions." Your brain feels insulted that it clearly took more mental effort for him to dumb it down for you than to just give the supergenius version.

“So… a machine that allows you to jump between alternative universes?” 

“Yes.” 

There’s a pause between you as you run through the questions in your mental list you want to tick off now that he’s turned cooperative and talkative. But with everything that’s happened in the last handful of hours, a lot of the questions you previously had seemed outdated. The one question, the most important one, you’ve wanted to ask from the start though remains. 

"Who am I to you?"

Miguel takes the large sized drink in his even larger hands and somehow this big paper cup still manages to look tiny in his grip. "You and I were... involved," he says.

You frown. ‘Involved’ is such a vague term. It belongs in the trash with other useless terms to describe relationships: “situationship”, “complicated”, you hate them all. 

"So I was your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, something like that," he concede, fidgeting with the thin gold chain looped around his neck, his eyes not quite meeting yours, like he's embarrassed to use the term.

‘Something like that,’ you chew on his answer unhappily, sympathizing with your other dimensional self and how the other you seemed to have snagged a commitment phobe. 

Other-you, who isn’t here in this dimension with Miguel. You wonder why that is. 

"What happened to me?" you ask.

His eyes are glued to the table,  not looking up at you as he answers you in a voice so quiet you can barely hear it. "She died."

"Oh."

The revelation shouldn’t take you by surprise. 

Every time Miguel’s brought up your other self, it’s been tinted with earth-shattering sadness. It's not hard to put one and one together and come to the conclusion that whatever happened to you in this other dimension didn't end happily.

Still it's an odd feeling to know that out there, somewhere, a version of you has died. A version of you that was clearly very important to the man in front of you.

"I'm sorry," you tell him.

It feels silly to say. It's bizarre to give your condolences over your own parallel death, but Miguel looks so heartbroken. He’s slumped in his seat, large shoulders rounded until his frame looks so much smaller than you're used to, and you don't know what else to do.

"So what is happening to me now," you start, not sure how to word what the phenomena that you're going through is, "these continuous near-death experiences, is that how she died?"

"Yeah."

"And do you know why that... kept happening to her? Why is it happening to me?"

"I don't, and I don't know how to stop it. Believe me I tried."

He cradles the paper cup in his hands, the grip a little bit tighter now until he's creasing the paper and the caramel liquid oozes and leaks from the top.

"What I do know is that the universe isn’t going to stop trying to kill you, no matter what you do. And with every near death incident you manage to survive, these incidents will escalate in nature, until..." he stops, eyes flickering away from the cup to meet yours, but it's like he loses courage and doesn't want to say the last part.

"Until, what?" you prompt.

"Until your dimension collapses."

The blood freezes in your veins. "Wait, collapses!? What do you mean?"

"I can't guarantee it will happen again. But that's what happened last time. When the other you kept cheating death, the universe eventually started to collapse in on itself."

You slump back in your chair, trying to process what you've just been told. What does that mean? That even if you managed to defy all odds to survive, doing so would doom the rest of this universe as you know it?

"When will that happen?" you ask, and you're surprised you manage to get the words out because there is a hard lump in your throat that makes it hurt to even swallow.

"Judging from the trajectory and escalation of events, you have about three months give or take."

The two of you sit in heavy silence, for the moment you're not sure what else to ask him. Because it feels like you are trapped in a building looking for an exit sign, but all that’s tacked onto the brick wall is your death certificate, waiting to be signed and formalized.

There’s no way out. Nowhere to go.

"Give me your hand," he says, breaking the silence. 

You give it to him without hesitation, watching, puzzled, as he takes off his watch and secures it around your wrists.

"Why are you giving me your watch?"

"It's not a watch," he says, then he presses something on the face of it, and an image of a young woman flickers into existence in the space above your wrist, vaguely see-through. A hologram!

"This is Lyla," he introduces.

Wait, wait? Lyla? As in your mom Lyla? You watch the tiny woman floating above your wrist. Short bob-cut, and flashy heart-shaped sunglasses, with a twinkle in her eye. 

The hologram looks nothing like your mom. You part your mouth, about to ask about the name but you're interrupted by the energetic buzz of a female voice greeting you.

"Boss-girl! Long time no see. Want me to catch you up on the latest multiversal gossip? I compiled an edit of highlights set to Despacito."

"Lyla," Miguel warns, tersely. "Not now."

"Ruuuuude! You're the one who woke me up you know."

"Lyla, go back to sleep."

The female avatar grumbles, but then her image flickers away and the watch turns back into, as far as you can tell, just an ordinary watch.

"Why did you name the watch Lyla?"

"It's not a– " He cuts himself off, sighing with exasperation. "Lyla is an advanced A.I. she's going to be with you at all times. She's an added layer of security, built to protect you."

He didn't answer your question. Completely sidestepped it as if the two of you are having two different conversations.

Built to protect you, he'd said. Does that mean he still intends to do that?

"So you're not going to leave?" you ask him.

He leans back in his seat, eyes drifting towards the table. "No."

You look up at him, stumped. Not sure you're understanding what he's saying. Because not even a few hours ago, when the two of you were in your apartment, this man was adamant there was nothing to be done to save you. That he was going to leave and you were never going to see him again.

Right now though, his actions seem to be contradictory to that. You can't make heads or tails of him. Hot and cold doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

"Why not?" you ask, "I mean, not that I’m not grateful, but you seemed pretty set on the whole ‘I can’t save you’ thing. What changed your mind?"

“You did.” His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, crossing his arms ever his chest, "You told me you wanted to live. Have you changed your mind already?"

“Wha– NO! I just want to know why you changed yours.”

“I–” He hesitates, another wave of sadness passing over his face. “I’m a superhero. I save people… or try to. It’s what I do. I’m not gonna just leave you to die after you tell me you want to live.”

It’s a good answer, even if you don’t buy that it’s the whole truth. 

You look down at your wrist, and the shiny chrome of the not-watch he's just gifted you winks back up at you. "Do you think I have a chance of surviving all this?"

"It's pretty hopeless," he says, and there’s no break in his expression as he continues. "Your chances of making it out alive are pretty much mathematically impossible."

It's odd though. Even though he's outlining the futility of your situation, basically telling you to raise the white flag and surrender, there's something contradictory in the tone of his voice. 

"What do you want to do?" he asks you.

It’s a challenge, you realize. An encouragement. He has faith in you. It's all of these things rolled into one. As if he's telling you to prove the universe wrong.

"I want to live," you answer. "If the universe collapses in three months, then please stay with me. Give me time to solve this and find a way to stay alive."

His mouth curls into a hint of a smile. The very first you've seen from him since you've met. It's bright and boyish, erasing the harsh lines of his stern expression until it gives way for something much softer underneath that makes your heart leap in your chest with triumph.

You grin, a strange elation of happiness buzzing in you as you stretch out your hand to him, in an invitation for a handshake to seal the deal.

"Deal?"

Miguel leans over the table, clasping your hand in his much larger one as he squeezes it back gently.

"Deal." That small smile from before is still there. "So what's next?" he asks.

The thing you never realized, being an ordinary person bereft of super genes or other superhuman powers is just how convenient commuting can be if you have them. 

No longer do you have to brave the Lynchian nightmare that is the NYC subway system. Half-naked manic street preachers giving sermons as you’re held hostage, with nowhere else to go in the carriage. Being chased down by a drunk trumpeting Mariachi band. Instead, all you need to do to get from point A to point B (A: being the Chrysler building and B: the building formerly known as your home) is to hold on tight to Miguel as he swings you both above the city gridlock.

You imagine that this is what paragliding must feel like, except it's so much better because here you don't have to do the safety training beforehand or pay $3,000 for the privilege.

The city skyline is a dark evening blue, dotted with the sparkling lights of office buildings, cab roof lights and street lamps, as the wind ruffles through the fabric of your clothes.

It's such a different sight when you're flying above instead of walking on the streets below, that you don't even clock that you're in your neighborhood, until you see a building with a collapsed wall that's been blocked off, looking like a crash site. Only then do you realize... you're home.

Miguel carefully sets you down on your feet on a small patch of concrete that is clear of the rubble and destruction.

"Why did you want to come back here again?" he asks. 

It’s a good question. Now that you're here, standing in the middle of charred debris and cracked bricks, you're not sure either. You had some vague plans of seeing what you could salvage, hoping for some clothes, maybe your electric toothbrush, or really just any of your stuff. Something that’s yours, no matter how small, to hold on to after the events of today have ripped away life as you know it.

But there’s nothing left. The furniture, all your books and knick knacks, and even your dirty laundry piles have been demolished. Your home as you know it is gone. There's only piles and piles of rubble and traces of white fire extinguisher foam on the ground. The fire has been out for hours, but the pungent smell of smoke and sulfur still pervades the air. 

"You okay?" Miguel asks.

He's still standing at the outer edges of the apartment, close to where your window would have been if a helicopter hadn't crashed through it.

"Yeah... I guess the silver lining is that I didn't have anything expensive. Though it'd been nice if I could've saved my mom's Le Creuset set or at least the nanny-cam so I could return it and get a refund," you joke glibly. 

You nudge aside some concrete rubble with the cap of your shoes. There's nothing under there, no treasured memorabilia that's still miraculously intact. Just more burnt concrete and rubble.

"Why did you have a nanny cam?"

You turn around at his question, to see him hovering close to you, one eyebrow raised with an unhappy set to his jaw. 

From the displeased expression on his face, he's probably misunderstanding something here. Probably thinks you're operating a very unlucrative Onlyfans business, when what you've really been doing is spy on him and his nightly visits. You don't know which is worse to confess to, so you don't confess to anything.

"No reason," you say, ignoring the way his already raised eyebrow twitches with irritation at your lack of an answer.

"Come on, let's go," he says, and he waves towards you in a come hither motion like he's commanding a dog.

"Go?" you ask him. "It's past midnight. My place, as you can see, is wrecked. Go where exactly?"

Miguel shoots you a strange look. "A hotel," he says, like it's the most obvious thing, and– okay, he's not completely wrong in that assumption.

Problem is, you didn't have time to pick up your wallet or phone before your impromptu interdimensional visit. They’ve been incinerated along with all the rest of your worldly possessions, which means you don't have any way to pay for a hotel.

Plus Manhattan hotel prices average $400 a night. Even if you still had access to your debit cards, your budget’s pretty tight right now after all the capital you invested in your unhinged quest to trap the superhero before you. 

"In the city? I don't have that kind of money and it will take months for any insurance payouts to come in."

You should know. As an insurance claims adjuster, you know you’ll be lucky if your claim is processed before the end of the year. And, ugh, just the thought of the paperwork you’ll have to fill out is enough to give you an anxiety migraine.

"I’ll cover the room," Miguel says casually before holding out a hand to you, "Come on, let’s go."

When Miguel said he’d cover it, you expected a reasonably-priced room at one of the Days Inn across the river or the like. Hopefully a place with no rats or bed bugs, and maybe clean bedding over a somewhat comfortable mattress for you to pass out on if you were lucky.

You didn't expect this.

Standing in front of the Midtown Four Seasons, you find yourself on sleek marble so polished you can see your own reflection. You haven't even stepped a foot inside yet and there are two old fashioned doormen, wearing immaculately fitted suits, with an even more impressive posture opening the majestic double-set doors for you as you approach.

It's swanky as hell, and you can’t help gawking like a tourist, eyes glued to the decadent carved ceilings that must be at least 30 feet tall, soaring above you. Honey-colored limestone that looks like it’s been looted from Ancient Rome.

You feel more than a little bit out of place. This is way outside of your budget. You could probably work your job for a lifetime, and not have enough disposable income to stay the night at a place like this.

"Uhm, Miguel... this place is way too–" you start, turning towards him.

But as you were busy lamenting the state of the housing market, he's already walked away from you (for such a bulky guy, he moves swiftly and silently) and as you whip your head around to find him, he's already standing in front of the receptionist.

Damned antelope legged man, would it kill him to wait up for you once in a while? You run up after him and have to tip-toe in order to see over his shoulder because the giant mammoth is blocking the check-in counter.

And wow, even the receptionist here is of a different caliber than the ones you'd find at Holiday Inn. A fashionable bob-cut with razor sharp edges, looking like a model cut out from a Vogue cover.

"Do you have a reservation, Sir?"

You half-expect him to say no, and that the two of you would have to tuck your tail between your legs and walk out of here to the backdrop of a sad trombone playing.

To your astonishment he says your name. The receptionist tip-taps away at her keyboard and then she nods and smiles gracefully at you both. 

"Yes of course. After reviewing your reservation details, I am pleased to inform you that all necessary arrangements have already been made, including advance payment and verification of your identification. Your room is ready for you, we trust you will enjoy your stay."

She flashes you a pearly white smile so shiny it's almost blinding and hands you a hotel key card. 

When you turn around, to your confusion Miguel is no longer next to you. How does he keep disappearing like this? 

"Cielito," Miguel’s voice calls. The nickname doesn’t register at first. It doesn't even occur to you that he’s referring to you, until he barks it out a second time. 

Your head darts up to see him standing by the elevator, tapping his feet impatiently as he waits for you to make it over to him.

"How did you do that?" you whisper loudly to him as you step into the elevator. "Where did you get my ID? How did you make a reservation? How did you--"

He takes your hand, mid-sentence, turning your wrist upwards and taps the watch.

"The computer systems in this universe are child's play for Lyla to manipulate. Reservations, money, ID, she can take care of all of that easily," he explains.

"She can do that?" you ask, and Miguel merely nods at you as the elevator closes behind the two of you.

You tip your head down to inspect your gifted watch. In awe of this technical marvel that would make Siri look like it’s from the stone-ages. You wonder if she can boost your credit scores. She could probably hack any wi-fi password so you'd never have to worry about data throttling again. She could get you table reservations for Libertine! The possibilities are endless!

You turn to Miguel. "Can Lyla get me Beyoncé tickets?" you ask. 

He just shakes his head at you with what almost qualifies as an amused smile.

The room upstairs is massive. 

It’s easily three times the size of your little studio apartment, and the ceilings are twice as tall, with a hanging glass chandelier that’s sparkling bright enough to blind you. It looks like one of those places featured in Architectural Digest. 

Everything is in an art deco style, with expensive looking furniture and even more expensive art hanging on the one spare wall that isn’t covered in floor to ceiling windows. There are large shelves and a sleek looking kitchen, complete with an opulent looking velvet lounge chair of emerald green that looks like something a Roman emperor would be fed grapes on. 

In this colossal space of a room, there is only one bed. One colossal, plush-mattress-topped, goose down duvet and probably 1,000,000,000 thread count sheet covered bed.

You tense up, not sure what the arrangements Miguel had in mind. Did he want the two of you to sleep in the same bed?

Miguel did pay for the room, so you’re not going to start voicing objections. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time in the short time span that you two have known each other to do that. This bed is also a lot wider than your tiny double bed, so it wouldn’t be the cramped disaster it was last night. You’d just have to make sure to use the bathroom before bed this time so he doesn’t jab your full bladder in the morning again. 

Without saying anything, Miguel strides across the length of the room with impatient and determined steps. His hand reaches for the balcony doors and slides them open. 

"Wait wait, where are you going?" you ask him as you run up to the middle of the room. 

“I’m sleeping outside,” he says over his shoulder, and your mind boggles with that. 

“Why? Isn’t it better for you to stay here?”

"This is the 62nd floor. That’s about as safe as you’re going to get. I’ll keep a lookout to make sure no more helicopters come crashing in.” 

You’re not sure if he means the last part as a joke or not, but as you watch his broad back retreating as he walks away from you, a sickening sort of the deja vu twists through your chest. 

I can’t save you, he’d said back in your apartment, Nothing can. 

The feeling clawing at your chest feels alarmingly like panic. It screams that he’s leaving you. That he’s never coming back. That you’ll never see him again. 

You’re being irrational, and you know it. You remind yourself that he wouldn’t have done this much for you only to bail in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t stop the fear that’s festering, sharp and urgent, under your skin, or the way your heart races, your whole body flashing hot and cold at the same time. 

You want him to stay. 

“Miguel,” you call out, and he immediately stops and turns to look back at you, one eyebrow raised in a skeptical question. 

Please stay. 

You open your mouth, but the words won’t come out. You can’t ask this man—this big, sarcastic, rude hulk of a man—to have a sleepover with you because you’re scared to be alone in the dark. He would laugh you out of the hotel room.

“Uhm… thank you,” you say instead, but it’s no less sincere, “For everything.”

His eyes soften, the sharp narrowness of them easing up. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, and despite the cold chill of the evening, you think you can see a faint flush blooming in his cheeks, before he quickly ducks his face from you. “I’ll be right outside if something happens.” 

He turns back around and walks out, closing the patio doors with a gentle click behind him, leaving you by yourself. 

It’s quiet. 

You survey the empty room you’re in. Without Miguel’s large frame taking up space, it seems even bigger than it did before. 

It’s a beautiful room. Something that you’re pretty sure you’ve seen in a movie set. You don’t know why you’re not as excited as you were before. This is you living your Pretty Woman moment. You should be filling up the big jacuzzi tub you saw with bubbles. Heck, maybe ask Lyla to order you a bottle of champagne from room service. 

Instead, your eyes linger on the glass patio doors leading to the balcony terrace. You walk over to the bed, perching yourself down on the edge of the mattress, then flop down. 

Might as well try to sleep, you think to yourself as you climb under the covers and switch off the light. The best thing you can do right now is catch yourself some rest so you’ll be alert while trying to figure out your next steps tomorrow.

3 months… That’s what Miguel told you.

That’s all the time you have left. 

That means you don’t have time to waste, but you also have no idea where to start. The local library doesn’t exactly carry any resources on how to stop the universe from trying to kill you. 

The Universe. 

An infinite cosmos, grander than any human being can possibly comprehend. This vast space containing all the galaxies with its billions of stars and planets, where an individual being does not even register as a speck, and it wants you dead. How can you possibly fight against those odds? 

You lie wide-eyed and awake staring into the dark of the room, and the feeling of dread gnaws into you. 

You don’t want to be alone right now. Turning in the bed, your eyes find their way back to the blank slate of the pitched night outside the balcony doors. 

You really wished he had stayed with you. 

Sitting upright in the bed, you consider your options. You can lie back down. Suffer insomnia and the existential horror of knowing the universe is trying to murder you. Or you can man up, swallow down whatever tiny morsel of your pride you have left and ask Miguel to come back inside and stay with you. 

Flinging the duvet from your body, you get up to walk over to the balcony. You hesitate for a moment before tapping the window pane the way you might knock on a door, giving a polite head's up before you slide the balcony patio open. But when you poke your head out, turning your head left and right, Miguel's nowhere to be found. 

Okay, that’s weird. He said he’d be right outside if you needed him. You walk up to the ledge of the balcony terrace, leaning over the rail and peer down to see him dangling upside down, from the ledge of your balcony. The sight nearly makes you scream. 

"Miguel!” 

At you calling his name, he pulls himself up, one clawed hand gripping at the concrete wall as he climbs his way up and over to you. He makes it look easy, as if gravity does not exist for him, and it’s only a moment until he’s perched on the ledge of the balcony, facing you. 

“What’s wrong?” he demands, eyes concerned, and you’re suddenly aware of how very close he is. His face mere inches from yours, your noses nearly touching.

“What’s wrong? You’re hanging upside down from the 62nd floor! What are you, a bat?!"

“Why did you come out here?” he clarifies, and his words give you pause. You try to gather your thoughts after the bizarre sight you just walked into and remember what you came out here for. 

He’s still looking at you with his full and intense concentration that makes your skin prickle with warmth.

God, it’s embarrassing to ask. You feel like you’re five years old, asking your parents to turn the nightlight on, even though you know you’re a big girl now and aren’t supposed to be afraid of monsters hiding under your bed any more. 

You look down on your hands, where you’re wringing them together, then back up at him, and make yourself spit it out, "Could you… maybe… stay with me tonight?" 

His eyes widen at your question, but he doesn’t actually answer you and gives you no physical indication one way or the other. 

"I feel safer when you're with me,” you admit. 

“I am with you out here,” he counters, because of course he can’t make this easy for you.  

“I can’t see you out here.”

The line of his shoulder eases, and he ducks his head down with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Get back inside, Cielito. You're going to catch a cold like this."

You shuffle back inside to your bed, watching out of the corner of your eye as  he follows you inside and settles himself on the lounge sofa. He’s so tall that his feet are sticking out over the armrests, like a long-legged stork. 

Hiding a smile, you climb back into bed, wrapping the bedding all around yourself.

“Good night,” you call out, and he makes a grumpy noise of acknowledgment. 

Your head drops back onto the soft pillow, and you close your eyes, ready to sleep. It’s such a nice bed. The sheets are cool and soft against your skin and smell of fresh eucalyptus. The mattress is the most comfortable you ever remember resting on, firm but somehow soft at the same time. You feel like you’re sleeping on a cloud. 

Moments go by, and you revel in the sumptuous bed, waiting for the best sleep of your life to claim you. 

Except it doesn’t. 

Somehow… you still can’t fall asleep. Is it… too soft maybe? You turn in the bed, twisting your torso to get into a position you can comfortably sink into, but something doesn’t feel right. There’s no lumpiness like at home, but that should be a good thing. 

Except… despite the decadent softness of the bed. Despite the fact that the sheets probably have a thread count with more zeros than your checking and savings accounts combined. Despite all of the luxury that surrounds you, you still find yourself tossing and turning and wide fucking awake.

The bed is too big. You don’t know what to do with all this space. Your body is not accustomed to this sort of decadence. What if you suffocate sinking into this soft fluffy pillow in your sleep? What if you toss and turn until you fall off this massive bed and break your neck? Maybe that’s how out of all of the universe’s attempts to kill you, you end up dying? 

Fuck! 

You can’t sleep. 

You turn to your side and stare into the velvet lounge chaise on the opposite side of your room, where Miguel is. 

Quietly, you pad up to his still form until you’re standing in front of him and hunch over, trying to decide how rude it would be to wake him up again when there's nothing he can do about your stupid insomnia anyway.

In the dim light, you spot something glinting at you. Looking closer, you notice that the thin chain looped around his neck has escaped his shirt to pool on the fabric of the sofa cushion under him. You gently drag the loose end of the necklace toward you, and find a smooth golden band threaded onto it.

Picking it up cautiously, you flip it in your hand and find that there's something engraved on the inside.  It's hard to see in the darkness, but when you lean closer and squint your eyes, you can just make out what it says.

'MO'—undeniably the initials of one Miguel O'Hara.

Twisting the ring slightly, you find a tiny plus sign followed by your own initials, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach.

Oh.

The memory of sitting across Miguel at Starbucks returns to you, when you had asked him who you were to him. You think of the avoidant gaze and how he couldn't look you in the eye.

‘Something like that,’ huh?

Guess the other you wasn't just his girlfriend after all, you think, chest drawn so tight it’s painful.

Holding the wedding band in the palm of your hand, you slide down to sit down on the floor with your back pressed against the chaise lounge.

Your heart aches for the man in front of you and everything he's lost.  You really, really hope you're not going to end up as just another regret on his list.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: As always to my best friend @thirstworldproblemss I am half asleep and running on fumes. I'm wording things poorly but I just want you to know that I am very happy I have you. Thank you for being my friend and for the time we get to spend together. I have the most fun when I'm with you.

Also to @guruan who is my muse, my source of inspiration. This chapter is dedicated to her because have you seen this beautiful piece of artwork she did for EYEM?!

[zepskies]

Hey Zepskies!

So I just wanted to ask if you could tell your most fav fav fics for Supernatural.

I’m pretty sure I’ve read all your fics and they are just 🥹🥹SO GOOD!!❤️❤️

But I need more.. so if you could pls pls help me out here🥰

Thanks!!

Oh my goodness, what a great question!!

(And thank you, my lovely. I'm so glad you enjoy my writing. 🥰🥰)

I've actually been doing a lot of reading lately, despite also writing up a storm, working on Smoke Eater.

Here are some of my favorites! They will span Tumblr, Ao3, and FF.net, as I did a lot of my early reading/writing on other platforms.

Now, in no particular order...

Keep in mind, I probably like several fics from each of these authors, but I'm featuring one or two that I very much enjoyed.

**[Minors beware, I'm recommending a lot of 18+ only content here!]

Dean Winchester x Reader or OC:

Stories are Dean x Reader unless noted OC.

Hold On I'm Coming - @ravengirl94

Clear the Area - Alisha Ashton (Excellent 4-part series!)

Unspoken - @thatonewriter15

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas - @deanwinchesterswitch

Twenty Minutes or Less - @iprobablyshipit91

Magical Blooms

The First Time Series - @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

The Dangers of Hope

It's All For You

Things Learned and Unlearned

Remind Me - @justagirlinafandomworld

Delicate

The Fallout

Feral - @jawritter

Here For You - @marvelfanfn2187a113

Collared - @spnexploration

Old Man - @kaleldobrev

Creature of the Night - @waynes-multiverse

Friends with Benefits - @deanwritings

Safe - @waywardxwords

Carry On - @acreativelydifferentlove

You're Home

Helping Hand - @deanwanddamons

Love Language - @mind-empty-just-fictional-people | @jacklesbrainworms

It Ain't About Pity - @ejlovespie

More to Love - kittenofdoomage

Never Spoken, Always Said

The Widow - @pink-sparkly-witch

Say I'm Beautiful - Lindsey D. Perez

While They Dance On A Pin (Jane Series 5) - shirleypositive72 (Dean x OC)

She's My Cherry Pie - BeccabooO1O

Feral - @luci-in-trenchcoats

Witches - @waywardxwords

Wild Flower - @deanbrainrotwritings

Take a Shot - @rizlowwritessortof

Late Night Show

Lost in You

That’s How It Should Be (Sheriff!Dean)

Girls, Girls, Girls - @spnbabe67 (Dean x OC)

NSFT Alphabet [Dean Winchester] - @chevroletdean

Masturbation [Dean Winchester]

Roots in My Dreamland - @pamwritessometimes

Dean Winchester x Lisa Braeden:

Damages - adventuresinposting

One Step at a Time - FaithDaria

A Dad By Any Other Name - bloodmagik

Sam Winchester x Reader or OC:

Stories are Sam x Reader unless noted OC.

While You Were Sleeping - Avrilando (Sam x OC)

With The Eyes of a Loving Man - Avrilando (Sequel to While You Were Sleeping)

It's Your Birthday - Lindsey D. Perez

If You Give a Moose a Muffin - Lindsey D. Perez

All of Me - ALoversDream

Could Have Told You That One, Winchester - BeccabooO1O

Samnesia - @princessmisery666

Delicate - @ohsc

I'm sure there are many, many more, but here's a starter list for you of my favorite people! 💕

I have several more stories favorited on my FF.net account. (Beware if you try to read any of the stories I wrote there though. Some of those are old as hell and not to my current standard. 🤣)

[burrotello]

hihi! i found you via boxer au, but what is zipped up? i love your art and want to understand the things you post :)

Zipped Up is an animated indie series created by @minnyroll that I've been working on!!

The general synopsis for the series is that Zipped Up is a series about a teenage girl, Alejandra, and her best friend Nelly navigating the multiverse alongside their friends Gadget and Levi to find their way back home to their home universe! You can find out more about this through the many social medias linked to her account!

[cupofadonis]

Wow, it's been a while since I drew something based on Sonic the Hedgehog!...

Well, well, I tried my hand at the Sonic Ova style a little, and I liked it!!

Honestly, the world of Sonic Ova - Planet Freedom is for me the most beautiful, interesting and canon place, and I am very sad that this world did not and never received its continuation...

This whole story with Sonic living on Mobius or Planet Earth is some kind of nonsense to me, because when I see cultural inconsistencies in the Sonic canon (which does not exist?? wtf-) I feel almost physically ill. A lot of characters were lost, deleted despite games and comics.

Eggman as a character stands still, and Sonic's world is not even clearly divided into which states...

Sonic's Ova revealed its potential for me in one film - What happened to the people in the new territory of "Dark Eggman"? Was it the apocalypse? How long ago did this happen? Is this why people moved to the fly islands? Why did people acquire animal features (For example, Sarah's cat ears and tail)? Is this due to the merger with the "Mobians"? Were there anthropomorphic animals before the apocalypse, or are they a consequence of it? Maybe the reason?

What about Sonic and Tails' house? Damn, did you see this COOL DESTROYED PLANE?!? Now remember Tails' house from IDW comics, which is just a damn joke

I can't love the damn Black Doom saga enough because it feels like a cheap Metarex parody. The only good thing Black Doom brought was the character Eclipse from Archie Comics -...Oh yeah, he doesn't exist anymore either. Like Cosmo.

Sally was a typical good character from the 97's who could stand up to the mouse from Chip 'n' Dale, but due to the company's negligence we have no SatAm ending, some kind of porn parody in Archie from Penderson, #Rally4Sally

No Sonic Ova, no completed Sonic Multiverse, there is no properly explained story of Silver, Blaze and Elise from Sonic 2006.

What about the fact that it was Sonic who was the Ultimate Life Form in the plot of SA2? What? Don't remember this? But what about the blue flask that fell to Earth and was considered lost? I congratulate you on the bad narrative of the SA1 and SA2 game series, friends...

Sonic Ova and SA1-2 feels like the only correct versions, it pains me to see how Sonic’s character is now changing for a new audience and the psychopathic egoist and narcissist Sonic turns into a sweet and shy hero, although even taking into account the seemingly terrible and negative qualities, Sonic was a hero...

Changes have always been and will be, this is normal, I don’t want to shout that it was better before and the grass is greener, but for me the canon is only Sonic Ova vision, and I would like to add this vision for myself in my Sonic Ova AU. I think it would be fun. Just for me and my auditory...

So ... What do you think about all of this?

[loki-us]

Welcome to my Mega Problematic Sylvie post

I wanted to make a list of everything problematic about Sylvie in s1 and s2 because she gets away with whatever she wants and it bugs me to no end that she never takes accountability for any of the pain she causes.

You have been warned. So let's get into it.

1. Sylvie’s way is the only way and she expects everyone else to just bend to her will without complaint

2. She is physically mentally and emotionally incapable of trusting anyone besides herself

3. She uses other people's emotions to manipulate them into getting what she wants

4. She refuses to even entertain the possibility that anything besides her own opinion is correct

5. She criticizes others' attempts to clean up the mess she caused while she herself does absolutely nothing about it

6. Always looking to ruin and run, taking the easy way out and avoiding any accountability

7. Puts her own need for revenge above the well-being of everyone else in the multiverse

8. Blames everyone else for the problems she herself caused

9. Insults everyone at the TVA for their lack of empathy despite it being the exact reason she didn't want to return in the first place. Every critique she delivers just illustrates how much of a hypocrite she is

10. Berates Mobius and all the people who are actually trying to fix her problem even though they never once blamed her for the mess they're in

11. Acts like she's doing everyone a favor just for being there and insulting everyone when in reality, Loki had to ask multiple times before finally getting her to return

12. Never willing to put in more effort than just destroying everything and walking away

13. Even when directly asked for her help, Sylvie straight up refuses. She couldn't care less about anything besides her McDonald's employee-of-the-month badge

14. Sylvie gaslights Loki into thinking they're the same, that she's not in the wrong because they're both only thinking of themselves. In reality, Sylvie is thinking only of going back to her own timeline, alone, while Loki is thinking only of making his friends happy, because that's what makes him happy too.

15. While being completely unsympathetic to Loki struggling with his greatest fear, Sylvie makes the decision that Loki's friend's are all better off where they are now. But is it really better for them, or just better for Sylvie?

16. And now, after 11 episodes and countless requests for Sylvie's help, she actually cares about the rest of the multiverse. And yet it's still solely because her own timeline is finally in danger

17. When Loki ends up sacrificing himself to solve the problem Sylvie created, her only response is a joyful shrug that she's now happy, alone, and responsibility-free.

Overall, I know Sylvie's only purpose as a character is to be a darker mirror of Loki and everything she does is understandably informed by her trauma. This is likely a result of having a limited-episode-series and having all male/not diverse writers creating female characters. Sylvie is used only as a comparison to Loki before he met Mobius, and unfortunately is never given any thoughtful character moments like Loki had showing how he was aware that his actions hurt others. In 1x1, Loki talks about how he doesn’t enjoy hurting people and only does it to maintain control. The only time we ever see Sylvie reconsider her actions is when she didn’t kill Timely, which I think is more because she saw herself in Timely as someone who didn’t want to be controlled by their ‘destiny,’ not because she developed any kindness or compassion toward him.

I understand the fact that Sylvie was never given someone like Mobius to allow her the opportunity to change like Loki did, but I don't think that should excuse her causing so much pain and being so self-centered. Sylvie never trusted or cared about anyone and that's also my biggest argument against Sylki; her loving or being driven by anyone besides herself is just so inconsistent with her entire character.

Anyway, my purpose here was not to be hateful or to search for any reason to criticize Sylvie, but instead to look critically at her character since I've seen a lot of people praise her as the strong, independent female Loki whose behavior can always be forgiven. Unfortunately, the way she was written is that Sylvie turned her own trauma into everybody else's problem and they all spent 2 seasons trying to clean up her mess. That's my take thank you and goodnight

[carrrrino]

HELLO I am very excited for this project! I wanted to express a concern though…it’s rather hard to find the any info on the project aside from what’s on the blog (which isn’t…very much information wise) I’m not sure if that’s an intentional decision…

I know when I first found the info I….kind of didn’t believe this?? That sounds odd. I suppose what I mean is, it didn’t seem the most legit. I did digging through the blog, read all the links, searched for a Twitter and YouTube accounts and had a hard time doing that as well…Simply because there is very little information on it. Which there’s nothing wrong with…I was wanting to suggest (as an outsider) that you and your team put more announcements/ marketing into this…?

I REALLY hope to see this project grow, it’s absolutely deserved, and very few people seem to know about it. I’d hate that to be something people miss out on. I don’t really expect an answer on this but I thought I should share the concern as an outside perspective. 💛

I really hope this project is going well for you and that it gets the deserved recognition as it’s coming out!!! So excited!!!

I'm so happy that people share the same excitement and concern for the series. Also, the fact that you guys think it's worthy of success Is truly inspiring! I think it's time I SAY something though about my current situation.

TL;DR - Our team basically went inactive after the summer; everyone returned to their lives and I'm the only one who can keep up with the project unconditionally. I didn't mean to dishearten you guys! It's a pain in the ass to work alone - excluding voice actors and SFX producers. The OUTBREAK blog will change entirely, it will be used for info and marketing. This blog will just be general art created by me (&no-namestuff). I will continue to work on the series independently, but I'll definitely give out more info as requested and make things more legit whenever I can!

Over the summer, a group of us began working on the project together, but as most of my friends returned to school and their regular lives, it became almost impossible to keep going. Currently, only a few are available to help, but they're too busy.

I didn't want to worry anyone by saying that it's basically just me working on the project; it's tough to balance animating, scripting, marketing, planning, publishing, AND funding by myself. Over time it (advertising and insightful communication) just became indifferent to me, I even considered going silent for a while until I had a mother-load of progress, but that's really not fair.

The project was a bit of a mess when we started. We didn't plan on making it a big deal, my animations were half-assed and incomprehensible; I barely knew how to work Adobe and could barely even pay it off, the sound was going to be recorded via iPhone, the script wasn't even halfway done, and voice actors weren't thought of until the Prologue. After more than six months of work, Verse 1-4 (or 6?) was deleted because of issues with the file.. this really drew the line for everyone.

So here I am, despite everything; I revised the script, which is barely halfway done, redesigned the characters, read more into the multiversal conundrums of AUs and UNDERTALE, built a portfolio, studied poses for the action scenes — and there’s still a lot that I have to learn. I'm working on Q&As, asks, and the teaser / test / project animations. I don't want people to be confused or hesitant, so I appreciate you a lot for reminding me of this. As requested, I will provide additional details about the project too :) !

No-Name's theme is in progress (thanks to Synth Mints), I've invested heavily in software for good quality animations, talented voice actors from this fandom (some you might even know) have agreed to voice for me - I'm extremely grateful for their help. Even if it takes years to release an episode or pilot, I'm still excited about the outcome. Who knows, I might even have a genuine team by then! :D

aw geez sorry for the whole bit-life story, I'm just trying to shed some light on the situation for you all. I do care, I want everyone to know that, it's just hard work.

Until the next teaser animation, please have these lil' pieces of teasers / lore as an apology!

SD by @/galacii ERROR by @/loverofpiggies / CrayonQueen

LASTLY today is my birthday yayyy 🥳🎂

[billcipherisntreal]

WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL!

IT TOOK THEM A SHOCKINGLY SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME TO BREAK UNDER MY ANTICS! BUT NO MATTER, THEY WERE OF LITTLE USE TO ME, AND UGH, THE MUSIC THAT CRETIN LISTENED TO! ABHORRENT! DISGUSTING! IT MAKES MY ORAL LUNGS BLEED JUST THINKING ABOUT IT! WHAT KIND OF LOWLIFE DEGENERATE DECIDES TO TORTURE THEMSELVES BY LISTENING TO HATSUNE MIKU? I RETCH AT THE THOUGHT.

BUT ENOUGH ABOUT THEM, LET’S TALK ABOUT MY FAVORITE SUBJECT IN THE MUTILATED MULTIVERSE:

ME!

BILL CIPHER IS NOW OPEN FOR QUESTIONING!

WANNA KNOW HOW YOU DIE? EVER GET CURIOUS ABOUT HOW MANY FINGERNAILS YOU’D NEED TO CREATE THE ENTIRE POPULATION OF ATLANTIS FROM SCRATCH? WHAT EXACTLY WAS YOUR UPSTAIRS NEIGHBOR DOING THE NIGHT OF NOVEMBER 24TH 1971?

ALL OF THAT AND MORE WILL BE ANSWERED IF YOU, YES YOU! DECIDE TO SLIDE INTO THE ASK BOX OF THIS VERY ACCOUNT! DON’T WAIT, SUBMIT YOUR INQUIRIES TODAY BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE! TOO LATE FOR WHAT, YOU ASK? FIND OUT!

Bill Cipher is not liable for any nightmares, nightmares squared, mental anguish, physical turmoil, emotional distress, pain, suffering, agony, Deja vu, unwanted summoned entities, bad memories, future bad memories, Deja vu, eviscerations, mastications, castrations, felony charges, murders, weight loss, weight gain, weight displacement, clavicle deletion, thyroid sickness, bone duplications, alien abductions, unwanted thoughts, wanted thoughts, unknown thoughts, intrusive thoughts, politely overstaying their welcome thoughts, mucus detonations, facial reconstruction, Deja vu, locating the Beyond of Bed Bath And, being late for dinner, being early for dinner, removing dinner from existence, removing you from existence, copulating with your mom, causing your parent’s divorce, causing your Batman origin story, influencing your friends to only speak backwards, malfunctioning mirrors, Deja vu, breaking My Chemical Romance up again, theft, crime, hooliganism, roughhousing, squid parties, inverting mountains, causing your immune system to become aware of your eyeballs, spinal dysfunction, ending the great emu war, starting the second great emu war, putting cement where it shouldn’t be, spontaneous sinkholes, scheduled earthquakes, permanent removal of a random protein sequence in your DNA, gifting you the gift of too many chromosomes, killing Santa Claus, preventing baby Hitler from being murked by time travelers, giving Donald Trump plot armor, framing you for time crimes, giving the muppet joker a new kin, Deja vu, rigging the World Series, eternal bad luck, stealing all your Tupperware lids, replacing your spaghetti with snakeskin, toggling gravity off, turning off the sun, evaporating all water on earth, spinning the solar system backwards, reversing the irreversible, adding 13 to all clocks, giving giraffes sentience, making chimpanzees invincible, making mosquitoes invisible, overconsumption of battery acid, brain bleeding, soul molding, mind breaking, and cancer. Bill Cipher and his associates hold no responsibility for any and all disasters listed here. By submitting an ask you forfeit your mind body and soul to be used in the future as Bill chooses.

DSJ MB DEOUT TGB SUPBR SBARBT KHCBKONF LBDK OCCBR!

[writeforfandoms]

Welcome to New York 1

Find the series masterlist

I hope you guys are ready for a long haul because this is gonna be a slow burn with lots of feels. 

Eventual Miguel O’Hara x f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence, mention of blood, multiverse shenanigans, little bit of paranoia. 

Word count: 2k

Moving to Nueva York had been a tough decision, but one you ultimately hoped would be right. Your work had offered you a good bonus to move there, and although it was more than a little terrifying, you were also exhilarated. Nueva York was a beautiful city, tech integrated all over for convenience. And you’d been able to afford a decent apartment, so your commute wasn’t terrible.

Sure, you didn’t know anyone. And you were living alone. And the city could be a little bit terrifying. But still! You had hope that this was the right move to make. 

It didn’t take long to settle in to your new routine. Work was work - you were fortunate to have a decent office job. People were still the same they were everywhere - some were nice, some were rude, and there were a lot of them. 

The first couple weekends you spent unpacking and making your apartment homey. 

But after that? You had a whole brand new city to explore, and a list of places you wanted to visit. Which is how you ended up at the Natural History Museum on a beautiful Saturday, excited to spend the day wandering around. 

You got as far as the Ocean Life exhibit before something happened.

Because this was Neuva York, and you’d forgotten to take the superheroes and villains into account. 

The lights flickered, a subtle vibration running through the floor. You tensed, ready to dive for cover. It felt a little like a tiny earthquake, but Nueva York wasn’t supposed to get earthquakes. The low murmur in the room ground to nothing as lights burst in the middle of the room, a kaleidoscope of colors that expanded until a black hole had formed. A figure dropped through, and the colors and the black hole were gone. 

A figure you’d only seen in news reports rose from the floor, looking around slowly. The yellow mask stopped facing you, and your breath froze in your lungs. 

“This isn’t right,” he muttered, and you could just hear him. But that seemed to be enough - people ran. Someone knocked into you, pushing you back a step, your balance completely thrown. Shouts filled the air as people ran, advising others in the museum to get out too. 

Someone got smart and hit the fire alarm, lights flashing overhead. Between the flashing lights and the noise, Electro seemed to come back to himself, electricity crackling between his fingers. 

You fled. You were one of the last out of the room, stumbling out even as the general lights started flickering and went out. Screams rang out, shrill cries of small children only adding to the din. You grit your teeth, heart pounding. 

The crowd pushed as one panicked mass, making for the exits. You tucked your hand under the elbow of an older woman, helping her along until a surge of people from the stairwell shoved you into a wall, between two display cases. 

Glass shattered above you, and more people screamed. But this time it was Spiderman leaping down to a clear spot on the floor. 

“Everyone out!” he shouted, somehow audible over the din and the chaos. “Go!” 

Well, you’d been trying to do that already, but thanks for the helpful directions, dude. You made a face, trying to push back into the crush of people escaping. 

But a stray elbow caught you in the chest, and you wheezed, falling back into your unintentional hiding space. You coughed, debating the merits of waiting the rush out versus getting potentially electrified. 

The revving of a motorcycle caught your attention, and you looked up in time to see a motorcycle fall through the space Spiderman had made. You had just enough time to see a black woman riding it, the blue and red of her outfit bright in the light. 

And then another person dropped through the hole in the ceiling, this one also in blue and red. This one shot webs out to catch and redirect a glass case that had been thrown from somewhere further in the museum.

What the actual fuck.

There was more than one Spiderman? Or, er, Spider-person? 

Electricity arced through the air and everyone hit the ground as more glass exploded overhead. You covered your head with your arms, tucking your head down and squeezing your eyes shut. By now the crowd had started to thin, at least a little, and when glass stopped falling you lifted your head. 

A little kid was stumbling out from the staircase, face scrunched and red and wet with tears. But no adult was with them. Your heart lurched, and another bolt of electricity sent people scrambling out as fast as possible. 

The kid was getting left behind.

You were not a hero. You weren’t even very brave - you avoided confrontations and would rather duck your head and agree than argue. Hell, you were still too scared to move from your protected little niche. 

But you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the little kid. 

The last of the people cleared out of the front entry. You could just hear sirens now over the cacophony of shouting and electrical sizzles from the fight. 

And the kid was still looking around, going even redder, tears rolling fast down their chubby cheeks.

Fuck.

One deep breath and you scuttled out of your hiding spot, trying to keep low until you got to the kid. “Let’s get you back to your parents,” you breathed, scooping up the child. Thankfully, the child didn’t try to hit you, one chubby little fist twisting into your shirt. 

You turned to head for the exit, holding the kid probably a little too tight, heart pounding, throat tight. 

One of the Spidermen slid across the floor in front of you, hard enough to hit the glass doors and shatter them. You ducked down, covering the kid’s head with one arm.

Okay. There were more doors across the way, you just had to–

The building shook, and the kid wailed into your chest. Three heads jerked your direction as the fight left the ocean room and into the main room: Electro and the two remaining Spider-people. 

“This feels different,” Electro quipped, lifting one hand, gaze now focused on you. “Let’s see what this does.” 

All the hair on your body stood on end, your feet rooted to the floor at the sheer horror of what was happening. Oh no. No no no. You had to–

The big (very big) Spiderman tackled Electro, the motorcycle one throwing webs and roaring in a circle around the villain. You backed away as fast as you could, feet skittering and crunching over glass. The third Spiderman vaulted over your head to get back in the fight, and you couldn’t help the terrified little sound that left your throat. 

Something glowing orange-ish surrounded Electro, two of the Spider-people apparently keeping him contained. The last one, the big Spiderman with the darker suit, leapt over to you. You barely had time to blink before he scooped you and the kid into his (very firm) chest. 

Not that you had time to enjoy it - he deposited you both outside on the concrete as something inside crashed to the floor about where you’d been standing. 

You stared up at him, shocked and overwhelmed and definitely a little punchy. The space of his mask where his eyes would be had focused on you. Just for a moment. Just for long enough that you felt seen, that you felt safe. 

And he was gone, throwing himself back into the building without a single word. 

Paramedics helped you to your feet, although it took long moments for their words to make sense. Then you handed over the kid, because no, it wasn’t your kid. You were just in the right place at the right time. Someone dropped a shock blanket over your shoulders, leading you to an ambulance, although you declined a hospital visit. 

It wasn’t until one of the paramedics sat you down that you realized you had dozens of tiny cuts from the glass, and all of them hurt. The pain hit you all at once, a wave that had been waiting for acknowledgement to crash. 

You caught the flash of multi-colored light through the empty doorway into the museum as a nice paramedic was cleaning and bandaging your arms. 

You didn’t see any of the three Spider-people or Electro emerge. 

It took hours to get the okay to go. You had to give your statement and finish getting patched up, and the mother of the kid you’d grabbed had to hug you within an inch of your life. (You really couldn’t blame her for losing one kid temporarily since she had four of them, and things had gotten very chaotic.) 

It wasn’t until that night, finally safely back in your apartment, that you realized you’d never heard a peep about the other Spider-people. But you were sure that you’d only heard about one before you moved.

Which meant it was time to hit the web (you absolutely did not snicker to yourself out loud in your apartment). 

Naturally, searching for Spiderman got hits stretching back years. So you had to narrow your search, trying different terms and looking only at recent additions until you struck gold. 

A fan page had stories of other people seeing multiple Spider-people, too. You browsed through the stories, frowning to yourself.

It didn’t take long to start recording things on your own, keeping track of different Spider-people and sightings. Because this? Was a little crazy. 

Honestly, you felt a bit like you were diving into a conspiracy theory, but you placated yourself by reminding yourself that you were simply gathering information. You weren’t spreading it, you weren’t creating wild theories. Just gathering things into one space. 

Besides, you knew what you’d seen. Three Spider-people taking down Electro. Electro, who, upon further research, did not look like the Electro in past news reports. 

There was definitely something there. But theorizing made you feel like a crazy person, so you tried not to do that. 

You kept your research to your off time, scrolling through news articles and keeping an eye on certain accounts. There were of course still the normal stories of Spiderman, including shaky footage and blurry pictures. 

Most of which you ignored as unhelpful. 

Falling back on your bed a week later, you puffed out a breath. Was this level of curiosity really necessary? No, probably not. Were you ever going to get anywhere with it? Also probably no.

Could you stop yourself? Eh. So-so. 

“I need a new hobby,” you muttered to yourself, staring up at the blank ceiling above you. 

But the puzzle kept ticking away inside your head, even when you told yourself to leave it alone. It just didn’t make sense, Spider-people appearing out of nowhere and then disappearing again. 

You probably would have never gotten farther with your research than that - compiling dates and lists and sightings. 

Except that you got lucky looking out the train window one day, flashes of blue and red and pink catching your attention. You watched from a distance as a man in a pink bathrobe went out a window, scaling the side of a building with his hands and feet before going back in at least fifty feet further up the building. 

Now that? That was too good to ignore.