#'we were supposed to fight the occupants not FUCK THEM' for example

[milfbrainrot]

implications here from SOMEONE that fixer wanted to fuck principal but no one else knew they were insinuating fixer/principal. really it was probably principal who wrote this.

[teddy06writes]

People Watching

Requested by outsiders anon: "It's November. Yes. Nearly Christmas. Yes. Can we already hear Mariah Carey bounding towards us chanting her xmas ritual song. Yes. But I've had this idea forever and I've just remembered it. At least I think I haven't requested it. Get this- Dallas but somehow he's a lifeguard. That's the whole idea, if u can do something with that, props to u. And very nice dps writing, top notch 🤯👍 - outsiders anon"

Okay, so, as much as I love the idea of dallas being a life guard, I have no clue how to fit that into a story. Instead I offer you this:

About a million years ago my dad came up with the 'guess their occupation game', where when your bored in public (totally not a real example but lets say, bored of following your sister around the mall), you look at random strangers and come up with a job and stuff for them

Dallas Winston x reader

trigger warnings: some swearing

premise: you and Dallas get bored waiting for the rest of the gang, so you play a few rounds of the guess their occupation game

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Jesus Christ, how long are we gonna have to it here?" Dallas asked.

You sighed, "We've been waiting for less than five minutes Dal. And we're early. It's gonna be a bit."

He groaned, leaning back against the bench, "Why did you want to come so early?"

"You forget that I had 'to be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late, and to be late is to be dead' drilled into my head since childhood," You sighed, "Besides, I like people watching."

"People watching?" He asked.

You nodded, gesturing with your chin to where a woman in a bright red shirt was sitting, a pack of smokes clutched in her hand, "Okay. She's got a dead end job as a waitress, and a few weeks ago this real nice guy walked into her diner, and she fell in love. But, he's from out of town. He promised he'd come back and marry her before he left the next today. He said to meet him here, but he's not coming."

"What the fuck are you on about?"

You rolled your eyes, "Guess the occupation game. Your turn."

"The what?"

"The guess the occupation game. Your supposed to give random people a story. It's your turn, go." You half explained, looking around the park.

He sighed, "Why?"

"Because it'll kill time. Dude in the tracksuit whos about to run past."

Dallas watched the man run past the benches, "He's....... a bookie, down at the tracks, and he steals half of all the gambling money he's in charge of."

"Yes! That was good! Okay ummm. The teenager in the blue hat, by the pond. Most people think he's just in high school, and he is, but he runs an underground fight club in the gym after school."

"Lady in the yellow jacket. She's a housewife, twice widowed but just remarried," Dallas said, nodding to one of the other benches, "She came here to plot how to kill her third husband."

"Ooo, that's good. Uhhh, the idiots walking toward us. Big tall dude in the middle is a single mom." You chuckled at your own joke, pointing to where Darry and the rest of the gang were crossing the street.

[catharsis-in-a-bottle]

ALL MY THOUGHTS ON GENDER:

A brain dump / essay-ish thing

Hello, dear humans! I had no particular inspiration for this massive chunk of text beyond “it’s late and there are thoughts in my little human brain.” And so here are all my current thoughts on gender - all of the thoughts that I can... think of... at least. Disclaimer: much of this is speculation and personal opinion. This isn’t a research essay. This is a brain dump. These are thoughts that have been shit out of my head, tidied up, and sprayed with perfume; proceed, therefore, with a critical mind.

There arises a thought, and likely a rather common one among those who think about gender on a regular basis. What if this heap of gender baggage - the expected appearance, personality, and occupation of a given sex - did not exist? What if people disregarded genitalia in favor of raising all sexes with the same status quo, or perhaps even without expressional expectations?

My question is: what, then, would become of gender dysphoria? If the differences between men and women in society were not so heightened - if the existence of nonbinary people was something normalized... I don’t think I would be dysphoric. My mind would be nonbinary - as gender itself is possibly an intrinsic part of neurology, whereas the gender baggage (roles and expectations) is socially constructed - my mind would be nonbinary, but there wouldn’t be an ideal body to ‘transition’ to. So what would I do? The only difference now would be biological sex. And perhaps, for some, this alone is enough for incongruence and/or dysphoria.

And if all sexes were raised not only equally, but better yet encouraged to express themselves as they wished - how might the face of the earth be changed? In terms of fashion, form-fitting clothing would not be made only to accentuate “feminine” curves. Maybe it would simply accentuate *human* curves and features. If the only recognized differences between sexes were natural physical appearances and roles in reproduction, and we DID NOT create gender roles to accommodate those roles in reproduction... Our world, the products we create, the ways we act... everything could be very, very different.

This imagined world is, of course, an unlikely outcome of our societal evolution. In the animal kingdom, different sexes are assigned different roles and jobs. Why should humans be any different? The task of physical labor to men arises from the sole biological factor of higher potential muscle mass - and in our prehistory, that muscle mass was real. Everyone was working hard as hell in the fight for survival.

And so the differences in sexes grew and grew. With a gap in the jobs they were expected to perform based on their reproductive and physical capabilities, societally recognized men and woman drifted apart. And as humankind grew, these differences were portrayed in wildly different ways in differently developing cultures. So in our prehistory, there were hunters and gatherers, caretakers and fighters; but in the beautifully diversifying cultures developing across the globe, the gender baggage differed. Ideas of femininity, masculinity, neutrality, and combination of expression were quite different as one moved from place to place. In western culture, neutrality was rejected and stomped upon, while in many non-western cultures, neutrality, ambiguity, and overall third genders received their own baggage and thrived in the gender arena (which is now a term, thank you very much.)

Gender expression and gender roles were socially constructed. But what of gender itself? What is gender? We say it’s a personal identity, what’s in our minds and hearts. Is it neurological? If so, that would explain gender incongruence at the base level - feeling that incongruence based solely upon one’s sex. If not, if gender itself is in fact entirely social construct and not just the baggage, what of transness? What would it mean to be trans? That’s not my place to answer, because I don’t know and all of these rhetorical questions are sheer speculation. Whether or not gender is an intrinsic, neurological part of our individual selves, trans people still exist.

And not only do trans people exist, but we deserve to live as the height of our true personal expression. Freedom is so fucking important. Speaking your mind and being yourself and showing the world, or showing a loved one, or knowing and loving who you are - this is all freedom, this is all personal expression. For trans people it is emancipation and liberation from the shackles of all of that gender baggage. In one way or another, gender differs from biological sex, and the sheer difference in what each gender is supposed to do, present as, act as - that difference is what feels so absolutely, goddamn confining. If we returned to my unrealistic little scenario in which we somehow suppressed the evolution of gender baggage, the societal confinement would not exist. It would be biological confinement. And who knows what that would entail; certainly not I, a non-omnipotent little Homo sapiens.

Being a woman and having society tell you you’re a man is confining. Being a man and having society tell you you’re a woman is confining. Being nonbinary and having cultures in which that is simply *not historically a thing* tell you that “you’re whatever’s in your pants” is confining. In my own personal experience in western society, this enby confinement is different than that of binary confinement, as a neutral role - a good old nonbinary baggage suitcase - is a new thing. Nonbinary PEOPLE are not new; a nonbinary suitcase (I love making terms up) is new though, once again illustrating the difference between the gender baggage and gender itself. The struggle of nonbinary people is not to be compared to that of binary trans people, as it is a separate category. They are related but not the same. Binary trans people push against gender baggage that has developed, evolved, and existed for centuries; nonbinary trans people are making a new category (in cultures in which that isn’t a defined gender role). And we don’t necessarily want to create any more ‘baggage’ for nonbinary people, as once again this is what causes that suffocating feeling of confinement within society.

Xenogenders are sort of similar in this sense - an entirely new category is surfacing. At first I did not understand them. But not understanding something is never a basis for disrespect. I don’t know the people identifying as xenogenders, and I don’t know how they feel or what their personal struggles are, so who am I to say “ahahaha trender”? Their existence does not affect me. “But they make the trans community look like a joke.” Well, people with xenogenders are not the face of the trans community, and those who think they are simply cherry-pick the “cringiest” examples in a varied community that they can find, which is already shitty in itself. And also, the problem is not “trenders”. The problem is people with already transphobic mindsets, whether that be passively transphobic or actively transphobic. That mindset is just being extended to this emerging group of people. I don’t give a shit if someone uses neopronouns or describes themself using a neogender, because I do not know them and their existence does not affect me negatively in any way, nor does it affect the trans community negatively. By simply their identity, they are not hateful or discriminatory. And so what trans people should really be fighting against is passive and active transphobia within society - the actual, real life problem. We shouldn’t be turning inwards and setting our own dogs loose on each other.

Here we are in the world. Femininity, masculinity, neutrality and ambiguity have become established fashion codes and expressional standards in my good ol’ western society. Occupational gender roles still exist heavily, because that’s literally an intrinsic part of our evolution as humans, but these occupational roles are being fought against. Which is due, because anything otherwise would be archaic and non-progressive. Personality and personal expression are still heavily scrutinized when differing from one’s own assigned gender. The latter is an issue; the fashion codes and expressional standards have their deep problems, such as violence on the basis of expression, but once femininity, masculinity, neutrality, and ambiguity have been extended and allowed to all genders and socially accepted, these issues should fade. It’s sad that we must base the resolution of violence on social acceptance. But we must push for this social acceptance. We must push for the elimination of confinement, and for the absolute freedom of personal expression for all people; once real, true freedom of expression becomes normalized, becomes the status quo, it will no longer be met with challenge and hate.

That’s one thing we want deeply in life. To exist as we wish to exist without challenge and hate.

That concludes my... words. I hope that entire thing could be perceived as relatively orderly. I encourage you to leave your thoughts in the notes or ask a question or whatever you want to do.

[stusbunker]

Featuring: MoC!Dean x Demon!reader, Original Female Character, Castiel, Charlie, Crowley, Rowena

Summary: Our reader’s back and there’s gonna be trouble! Charlie brings back the Book of the Damned and CC asks Castiel for something he doesn’t want to give.

Warnings: This is super long, possession, show level violence, rough sex, face fucking, oral sex (male and female), hair pulling, dirty talk, dub!con smut.

Series Masterlist

*^*

March 30, 2015

Munich, Germany

           The city was old, streets wrapping around buildings at harsh angles and in varying stone. But that was what you needed, age, wisdom, answers. At your sendoff, Crowley had given you a name, occupation, and a proverbial pat on the head. You didn’t know why you complied so easily; until you heard the first peal of laughter from a stranger on the sidewalk. Humanity. To be surrounded by life was worth the mission. Language and social niceties came back quickly, adjusting from vessel to vessel as you navigated the foreign byways.

           It was easy to forget your time with Dean here; to imagine yourself something newly minted in this different world. The power you found during your initial escape in that lonesome field painted with bull’s blood, was nothing compared to the possibility of redemption. It taunted and teased you with that naïve hope only Crowley’s goading could coax from your battered mind. He hadn’t mentioned your previous time running his errands, nor the Winchesters, but he didn’t have to. He had your number, and once you started stacking the clues together; you had his.

           The shop was warded to the nines, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t watch from the café across the street. You handed the server a fifty Euro banknote and asked to be left alone, freeing your table for the lunch hour and beyond. Hell, the teacher of eternal patience had left you with nothing to do but absorb and endure. So, you did what you knew; you waited. Eventually, the shopkeepers eased from the side door, their business hours long faded into the setting sun.

           They each cast a hasty glamour once they spotted you. Too late; you had their scent now. Carefully you rounded the building the opposite way they had headed, the alleys were dark and narrow so much more inconvenient for the humans you tailed. Their hurried footfalls remained unmasked, up and over the next embankment. You didn’t flinch as they separated, trying to confuse you further. They only managed to spread their magic too thin and soon you had gained on the rasping breaths of the one that had decided to go north.

“I’m not after you, you know. I’m looking for someone else,” you said in blunt German.

“I know who you work for,” the rough voice answered in accented English.

“Then you know it is easier to give me the information than wait for the consequences.”

His middle-aged face appeared as he dropped his last barrier from your shining black eyes. He pushed off the brick wall and squared his stance, hands dangling and fingers working in distracting movements. You pulled the handgun from your waistband and met his bluff. No one expects a cowboy duel in the Fatherland, but nothing about your afterlife made sense.

“You want to draw a little more attention to yourself there? Bullets don’t scare me, demon,” he spat out the last word as if he was some holy man, some saint worthy of a judgement.

“Witch killing bullets might slow you down a tick though, yeah? Witch.” You said it how it felt best on your tongue. You spoke over your shoulder to the one who had rounded back, failing to trap you, “thanks for joining us. All I need is for one of you to talk and then we can all go home. Easy peasy.”

“What does it want?” The one still hidden from sight demanded from the one staring down the barrel of your gun.

“Information,” you answered evenly.

“On who?”

The man shook his head at his partner; the name in your head reaped more fear in the witch than Crowley. The silent conversation dragged between them and you decided incentive was necessary at this point. If Crowley’s reputation wasn’t enough, enforcement needed to make up for it. You pulled the hammer back and aimed.

“Alright, alright, what do you need to know?”

“Give me everything you have on Rowena MacLeod.”

*^*^*^*^

April 1, 2015

Inside Man

           If Dean was avoiding CC, then he was. If CC was avoiding him, he had no idea. It was almost too easy to be with her in the quiet library or even the cavernous garage, now. Maybe it was the non-human thing, but Dean didn’t really notice her anymore. A chameleon in any room, there, only when she wanted to make her presence known, otherwise she had become as peripheral as furniture. So, it was with the same regard as to a bookcase that Dean called Rudy, begging to be his back up on a case. Sam had his mime movie thing and Dean had his cabin fever. Bupkis it was.

           He slipped into the driver’s seat and headed to nowhere in particular, the purples and greens of twilight kept at bay with Baby’s headlights. Dean needed something normal, something expected, something as easy as his hands on the wheel and his cassettes in the deck. This was where he belonged, where he was himself and how he could make sense of things. Now with what the Mark and the world had done to him, he needed it more than ever. Without Sam’s constant vigilance and CC’s over accommodating methods; Dean needed to feel like Dean again, even if it was just for the forty-mile drive to a douche filled sports’ bar.

           He switched to the radio about twenty minutes down the road, letting a familiar snare walk and bass line fill the car. He started singing along, drumming his fingers on the downbeats. Dean let himself sink into the music, the carefree joy of belting out crescendo after crescendo. His voice cracked on a lyric and he stopped to swallow as it all hit him. He missed her. He fucking missed the demon. He finished the song, words hitting him harder on the other side. He ignored the tightness in his chest and the shake to his hands. Thinking it made it real and the reality of longing for something, someone like that made his stomach pitch. But it wasn’t disgust, it was grief.

           Dean yanked his thoughts out of the depths and brought them back to surface survival as he pulled into the parking lot. The faux neon signs reflected on the Impala’s freshly waxed hood. The meager groups were congregated around the pool tables and Dean decided to try his luck.

           A few beers and a pool hustle later; Dean realized he should have stayed in for the night. Rowena had set a pack of rabid frat boys on him and he had to reign in every ounce of his control to stop from gutting them all.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean had the tiny woman pinned to the bar after her spell failed to even give him a nosebleed.

“Saving my son!”

Dean’s confusion was dwarfed only by his surprise. “Your son?”

“Crowley,” she challenged him, adding another shock to the moment.

“Crowley Crowley?!”

“My son is a king! A god, or he would be if you didn’t—You snap your fingers and he comes running like a wee lapdog.”

Dean started to back away, missing whatever blame he held in this scenario. “Lady I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a good influence on him. That’s why you need to die!”

“Well, sorry your little light show didn’t work,” Dean held her fast, he wasn’t going to underestimate her now.

“Oh, I’ll try again,” she whispered the promise that sent a chill down his spine.

“What, you think I’m just gonna let you walk outta here?” Dean matched her menacing smirk.

“I think, you’re a hero. You could have killed those men, but you didn’t. Because they’re innocent.” She winks at him then, taunting him even with the knife to her very pale throat. “Cuz, you’re the good guy and you want them to live. But the spell I cast will DEVOUR them from the inside out, just like it did that girl.” She knew exactly how to use her powers and wiles against him. “I’m the only that can save them. What’s it going to be, HERO?”

Dean recoiled, releasing Rowena as he stepped back to allow her the chance to reverse the damage she had caused. “Fix ‘em up and go.”

“So civil, aren’t you?”

“Lady, I think I’m being the, bigger person here? You did just try and kill me.”

“Well, bigger isn’t always stronger, is it? Brains are a muscle you might want to, strengthen?”

Dean rolled his eyes behind her back. Lithely, Rowena whispered into each of the dude bro’s ears, pulling hexbags from their pockets.

Another bar, another drink with another MacLeod

           “Who’s the liar now?” Crowley looked at Dean a little too knowingly. Dean scoffed and took a drink. “She says I’ve gone soft.”

           Dean chuckled, because damn if the red head isn’t right, “you have. What? Yeah, maybe it’s all the human blood that Sammy pumped into you, you know? Maybe it’s, uh, I don’t know. I don’t know. But the old Crowley, he would have come in here with hell hounds and demons and he would have blown the roof off the joint. Now? You didn’t want to fight. You wanted to talk. And maybe I’ve changed too. Here I am playing Dr. Phil to the King of Hell. Never saw that coming.”

           “Maybe we’re getting old,” Crowley waxed mortally.

           “Never saw that coming either,” Dean agreed.

           Dean let go with Crowley, explaining the backbone of who he is and how he had made it this far. Family. Then he shoved the piss poor example of a mother Crowley was clinging to, back into the demon’s face. “Does that sound like your mother?”

           Crowley knew better, but he was feeling generous. Dean had become his Achilles’ heel after all. “You know I may have seen it coming. Might have had someone digging up all her years of indiscretions since I’d last seen her.”

           “Well, good, can’t be too careful,” Dean takes the last pull from his glass, smacking his lips together.

           “She’s kind of a wildcard, but I think she’ll get the job done. Who knows, maybe it’s just me getting soft. But I do love an underdog,” Crowley’s eye sparkled back at Dean as the suspicion creeped through the man’s features.

           “What’s that supposed to mean?”

           “Dunno,” Crowley stood. “Just, uh, let me know if you want her number? Might be worth the dime.” With little segue, he vanished. Dean groaned and slid Crowley’s drink over, holding back the fruit and ice before taking the leftovers as payment for not offing the guy’s mom.

April 16, 2015

Book of the Damned

The Bunker after the Cabin

           “Whoa,” CC muttered just as she felt Castiel arrive. She looked across the War Room table to Sam who just walked in from whatever he had stashed in his room. “We’ve got company.”

           “Hello, Sam, CC.” Castiel joined them, filling in the details of their plan to get information out of Metatron on the Mark behind Dean’s back. Castiel explained in guilt-laden detail how his original grace had been restored. CC felt an ease in the Angel’s eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. Sam did his best to placate Cas, while CC started guessing how a being like Metatron on the loose was going to come back to bite them all in the ass. A stone started to worry in her gut over the words of a never forgotten dream.

           “You did the right thing. That book needed to be destroyed,” Castiel’s reassurance brought CC back to the present. “We will find another way, Sam.”

           The creaking of the entry door turned everyone’s head skyward.

“We’re back bitches!” Charlie’s spunky return continued to brighten the mood as the evening moved forward with genuine ease in the air. CC never saw Dean smile as much as he did when the red head was around. Something about her tenacity and unabashed nerdiness brought out the teddy bear in him, which CC liked to see, even from a distance. The hacker had become part of the family in a way she never had, despite living with them for this long. Thoughts of a lonely childhood and her looming solitary eternity caused CC to call an early night, leaving only a weary Sam to notice her exit.

April 18, 2015

Manhattan, KS

A summons.

Though the hope had betrayingly crossed your mind, more than once, you never thought he would actually do it. Now that you stood before Dean Winchester once more, you weren’t sure if it was to kill you properly or to fuck you senseless. His glare was that gloriously intense. You welcomed either outcome, if it was at his hand.

“You rang?” You smirked in greeting, hoping the vessel was moderately appealing. The timing of the spell didn’t really give you many options, she was a petite Latina in her early forties, though her genetics hid her age well. You weren’t in the Bunker, but what appeared to be the storage area of an old basement. Mildew and old masonry evident as you gathered any detail that held potential of his intentions. Secrecy abound; you were very much alone.

“Y/N?” Dean didn’t break eye contact, his voice cracking as your eyes misted at his acknowledgement. You only nodded, the emotion of seeing him again began to break through.

“I wasn’t sure you remembered,” a whispered confession.

Dean looked down, shame falling over his usually steadfast features, “Yeah, well I had to do some digging.”

“So, you still don’t know who I am?” Realization knocking you down a peg once more. Geez, drag a girl across the world and you still can’t put the pieces together, some great love he was. And yet he was, damnit.

“I don’t think I know anyone the way I know you.” Dean chided himself, biting at his lip and tsking his tongue. He stepped closer, eyes searching yours. You unconsciously mirrored his movements, taking you to the rim of the red spray paint on the cellar floor.

“I suppose that is the best I could ask for.” Your arms longed to be around him, to feel the weight of him against you, to feel his heart beat. You didn’t know what he wanted from you, but you knew it was your last chance at honesty. You answered his call and raised him with your shared history.

A heavy breath escaped your chest and you let your eyes go black. “I first met you, centuries ago. Before I was a Demon and before you were the infamous Dean Winchester. When you were just some kid who sold his soul for his much more promising brother. Before you knew of your destinies and long before you gave Heaven and Hell the finger.”

Dean’s shoulders straightened, one hand in his pocket as his head cocked with mild amusement.

“I remember the first day Alastair strapped you to his table, the way you screamed and challenged him. I still heard it some nights back home: your voice in agony and me powerless to stop him just outside the door to his favorite torture room.” You began to pace inside the trap, working through the memories both cherished and painful.

“How long did he leave you there?” Dean asked, arms crossed over his chest now, brow furrowed.

“I was left outside your sessions until the day you took the deal,” you stepped forward as he shook his head in disbelief. “I heard him, every day, ask you and I heard you every day, even after hours of anguish, refuse. I begged him for the same opportunity, but I wasn’t special. I wasn’t you. And then I finally saw you face-to-face.”

“The First Seal.” Dean closed his eyes as it all came crashing back and into focus.

“I never blamed you,” your voice fell, hand raised trying to comfort him. He stood just beyond the barrier of his own devising. “Of course, I would have done the same, had I been given the chance. But it wasn’t until your Castiel rescued you, did I feel Alastair’s final torment.”

“Just stop, okay?!” Dean pleaded suddenly; he thumbed the Mark of Cain which seemed to be throbbing over all of the blood he had shed in Hell. The hunger that threatened his humanity once more. You flinched at his words, your stories had brought you back to that vulnerable human soul who had witnessed her schoolgirl crush and torturer ripped from her plane of existence. “You’ve only ever seen the worst of me. Why didn’t you just kill me?”

He kept his eyes down, but you saw how perplexed he felt; you were not a predictable demon and bless him for trying to understand. Your face softened, the endearment you felt catching him off guard. “I was just getting to that part, dumbass. Love. Alastair’s final torment for me was an unwavering and unrequited love, for you.”

“We had very different experiences with Alastair.” Dean’s face broke into a smile, the slight blush on his features. He was such a dork, it hurt to watch him like this.

“Yeah, well, according to Crowley, it wasn’t Alastair at all. He wasn’t ‘that sophisticated with the emotional aspects of the job’.” You shrugged.

“He has a point,” Dean relaxed, walking a bit as you continued to speak.

“Where’s Chloe?” You asked nervously, “And Sam?”

“Chloe? She’s still kicking ‘round the Bunker, but, well, too much water under the bridge.”

“That’s our girl.” You knew she would move beyond this ordeal better than most, yet somehow you still worried for her wellbeing, even after she extradited you. Fucking symbiotic relationships.

“And Sam’s fine. Ornery and trying too hard to make me listen to reason–”

“A lost cause if there ever was one.” You teased, Dean smirked, toeing the line that separated you.

“I’m done fighting the Mark, Y/N.” Dean let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not strong enough, either I go hermit-style like Cain for as long as I can, and people die. Or I just give in.”

“That seems a very narrow list of solutions to a very new problem.”

Dean’s whole torso twitched at your candor, “Well, the Book of the Damned was our last lead and that’s toast. Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

You stepped closer; tips of your pointed shoes frozen against the magical wall of the Devil’s Trap. “I’m what you would call an ‘entry-level demon’. I got out on sheer dumb luck the first time, Dean. They don’t share the great mysteries with the cesspool. Honestly, I think Crowley has been honest with you about the Mark since you became his trusty Knight in Shining Plaid.”

“Yeah, well, worth a shot.” Dean tried and fell just below gracious. He was truly desperate. It carved at you to see him so defeated.

“Is that the only thing you wanted from me?” The pain you couldn’t hide from your words, returned to you in his aching glance.

“It’s not like that.” Dean swallowed. “You know it’s—”

“It’s better left unsaid.” You nodded, trying for the stiff upper lip, sniffling against his stubbornness. “But tell me something else?”

Dean head shot up, waiting for your next question.

“If you’re done, if you’re giving in to the Mark. Why the trap? Afraid I’d get out or just afraid I’d touch you? And you’d really turn? If there’s really nothing to lose, why don’t you—”

Then he was kissing you, Dean Winchester had stepped inside your cage and welcomed your darkness as if it was his only salvation. Though you couldn’t save him; you needed to show him everything words were unable to convey. How you wished he could see how perfect in his imperfection he was, how his self-sacrifice never ceased to take your breath away, how with just the sound of his voice you could withstand a hundred years in the Pit. How much he was loved and needed and how he deserved so much more than a worthless hell-spawned wretch could offer him.

The height difference sent you spinning, he was everywhere, broad shoulders and strong hands, clutching at your now smaller body. The danger Dean accepted by stepping into the circle gave you a rush, your core tightening as he deepened the kiss. Suddenly, you were weightless, he lifted you up, your legs quickly opening to lock around his waist and before you knew it you had tugged open half the buttons of his shirt. When you pulled the tee shirt up from where your thighs had pinned it to his sides, Dean broke the kiss, with heavy breaths he rested his forehead against yours. It had been years since you had tasted him and never with this tongue, but somehow, he still knew how to kiss you.

*^*

Dean could have stayed in that moment forever; the oasis of Y/N’s arms was something he hadn’t known he had missed until he found his way back home. Her hands were now delicate and soft, her legs shorter and waist impossibly narrow, but she still moved the same, with Y/N it felt right. His cock twitched against both his jeans and her impossibly sheer leggings. She rolled her hips against the movement, causing him to groan before leaving a fierce trail of nibbles down her jaw, her skin spiced and smooth beneath his chapped lips.

*^*

The heat growing in your belly intensified as Dean’s mouth wandered lower, his teeth tearing at the lowcut top, you pulled down the shirt and lace covered bra, freeing your aching nipples for his hungered mouth. Balancing one hand tightly on your back, Dean’s free hand kneaded your left breast before teasing the puckered flesh with the warmth of his tongue. You clamped down against the emptiness inside, overwhelmed with each affection Dean gave you.

You grinded harder against him, whimpering, letting your hands snake through his hair, your fake nails digging in as he switched to the opposite tit, pulling that nipple between his straight teeth. He watched you grow needier beneath his every touch, the desire in his eyes making you more desperate. You pulled yourself up, flush against him as you worked off his shirt. The anti-possession tattoo utterly elementary compared to the ancient curse on his arm.

You took over, your kiss demanding his submission as he backed you against the invisible concave wall. The barrier, though intangible was strong, and you used it to rest against as you slid down Dean’s body to remove the clothing restricting you from taking him fully. You wiggled the trim hips from the thin material, tossing the drenched lace to the side among the bunched pant legs. Dean had kicked off his boots, thumbing his shorts and jeans off with a swift dip. He was simply gorgeous, solid and bowlegged, but stunning all the same. Lust battled the emotional appreciation of his nudity and all too soon you were sinking to your knees. Tiny fingers raked up his calves and over his sturdy quads, heavy lashes fluttering over your cheeks as you waited for his impatience to get the best of him. Your face so close you could smell the tang of his heavy balls, eyes lingering on the drop of want leaking from his menacing tip.

Every inch of him seemed larger than before, perspective was in the eye of the beholder and for this vessel Dean’s cock was downright intimidating. The trim legs held you up, the abundant chest brushed against his leg as you silently dared him to make the next move. His hand came down hard on the crown of your head, thick fingers lacing in the dense black locks, he slid through until yanking at the nape of your neck. As he snapped your head up your mouth opened automatically from the jarring tug. In his other hand Dean fisted himself, “You don’t get to tease me, or I’ll send you back. You understand?”

You nodded, tears forming from the intensity of his grip on the base of your neck.

“Sorry?” Dean tilted his head, dramatically inviting you to speak up.

“Yes. Yes, Dean, I understand.”

He sucked air through his teeth, green eyes darkening as he released his hold on your hair, his rough thumb dragged down your jaw to circle lazily around your pouting lips. Instinctively, you licked them before he paused. “No teeth, Y/N. I know that was you and I mean it.”

“Whatever, you liked it,” you hissed before taking him into your smart mouth. Dean’s hand fell away from the base of his shaft as you worked him deeper and deeper with each test of this mouth. The lips were fuller, plush against the veiny length of him. He repeatedly tucked your hair back, keeping your face on full display as you sucked and mewled over him. As your tongue lapped from underneath, your core clenched, once again, over nothing. The gagging girth of him quickly made you lightheaded.

“You want it so bad you’re gonna choke on it, aren’t cha?” Dean crooned down at you as you looked back up at him, his fat bottom lip clenched between his perfectly white teeth. You slid back to lock eyes with him completely, delicate fingers massaged his balls as he called out into the night. “That’s it, that’s my dirty little demon slut. Hmmm,” Dean huffed and suddenly the Mark took over. His massive hands planted themselves on either side of your fragile skull and suddenly he was thrusting back into you. His dick deepened to puncturing your throat, your stomach rolled, saliva building as he growled with the fierce snap of his hips.

The pressure on your temples increased alongside his speed, delicious and terrifying. Then you began to cough, Dean finally slowed, which allowed you to swallow against the thick mucus that had gathered in your esophagus, tender and stretched wide. You dragged her nails back down his legs before letting him go with an audible pop. Then Dean did the hottest thing you had ever seen, he crouched with those damned bowlegs, lowering his pulsing cock to the generous cleavage in front of you. In a frantic whimper, you tugged your breasts apart for him, tips of your fingers teasing the dark areolas before holding the fleshy globes tight against his spit-slicked cock. Once again, his strong digits weaved into your hair as he fucked your tits. His every muscle worked to dominate you, the Mark of Cain ragged against his pale forearm, his abdomen tense behind the soft layer his other vices supplied, all overloading your senses with his power, his lust for you and just how far you would push each other.

You teased the ruddy head of his cock with the tip of your tongue, his salty juices seeping out to aid in the rough friction. Your nipples ached as your pussy sopped with emptiness.

“On you back, Y/N. I need to eat some of that before I am done with you.” Dean growled, tugging as his cock as he tried to step back from the brink. “Fucking smell you from here, you know that?” ­­

You didn’t reply, just slowly sat back on your bare ass, the cold floor sent shockwaves through your overheated thighs and straight to your folds. Your nipples puckered impossibly smaller. Dean spread out his large shirt behind you, before leaving a tantalizing kiss on your shoulder. Then his lips took over, he sucked and nibbled and decimated the teak colored skin. When his hot breath hovered over your nipples you thought you were going to cum on the spot. Each sensation barreled into the next, your legs were shaking by the time Dean spread your knees wide.

“Now this view, Y/N? I have got to hand it to you, hmmmm, nice choice,” Dean’s eyes glinted as his thick tongue found your swollen bud. It gave a dizzying jostle before licking broad strokes up and down your lips. Spreading you wide, Dean gathered your juices with his skilled fingers. You half laughed and half moaned when, at long last, your trembling cunt earned its fill. Dean’s fingers worked into you as he sucked gently on your bursting clit.

“Is it sweet enough,” you teased back, watching him lavish you, drunk on your sex. His scruff shown with your arousal, his whiskers adding roughness along your tender apex, further blurring the lines of pain and pleasure.

“You know what’s the most messed up part?” Dean whispered, sliding back to watch his fingers disappear inside you. “I don’t know this chick and I don’t care. I am just fucking you. Not Chloe, not anyone else. Right now, it’s only us. And I should care and I’m sure I am going to hate myself tomorrow. But that feeling of not caring?”

“I’d call it freedom. Best kind of bittersweet.” You sighed, reaching up to stroke his temple. His closed his eyes and you finally saw how bone-tired he was.

“I hate being this scared, Y/N. It’s not who I am.” His fingers never stopped; his mouth ghosted over every sensitive crease as if the act alone was penance for his confession.

“Dean?” Your voice hitched.

“Yeah?” Dean placed tiny pecks along the inside of your thigh, his voice impressively soft.

“I really need to cum. You make me feel so good, but I can’t—” you broke off into a gasp as he added a third finger inside you, his tongue pressed wide and forceful against you. You didn’t know if it was his admission or the added effort once you begged for it, but less than two minutes later and your climax overcame you. Waves of heat flooded your system as everything contracted. Then the break and you fell: unwinding with the stuttering pulses. Dean pulled you through it, his fingers’ pace slowed in calculated increments. Just as he slipped from your clutches, he made sure to nuzzle your mound before easing up to his knees.

With a tempered swat at your knee, you caught his drift, rolling completely over you rocked back to give him another angle to admire. You arched your back and shimmied your shoulders to stretch out the tension that had settled as you braced for your orgasm. You couldn’t see him, but you knew Dean was centering himself behind you, his damp fingers coating his length as it returned to its full glory. You squared yourself, knees below hips and shoulders over splayed palms, ready for whatever he would give you.

Dean nudged your knees farther apart, causing your upper half to lower onto your elbows, the cold stone floor stiff beneath your thin joints. Ass bared and ready. “I want you to tell me, who I am.”

“Deeeeeeeeannnnnnn.” You keened as he stretched you open, even his fingers couldn’t prepare you for the heavy steel of his cock.

“And?” he slowly rolled his hips, barely hitting that secret spot, as if by accident. He was fucking vindictive.

“Dean fucking Winchester.”

“That’s more like it, Y/N.” Dean built up his rhythm.

“Hunter.” You mewed.

“What else?”

“Mark Bearer?”

“And?” His teeth were clenched now, the words strained and menacing.

“Knight of Hell!” You screamed as he smacked your ass, pounding into you with constant shallow thrusts.

“Who am I?”

“The Righteous Man!”

Dean growled at the old title, the darkness of the Mark at war with his true nature: protector of the innocent. As his other hand connected with the opposite cheek you tensed, unsure of what else he wanted to hear.

“Michael’s Sword!” your voice was high and whiny as everything that was holding you upright began to weaken. He took both of your hips in his palms now, dragging out of you slowly before popping his pelvis back in, forcing you to press back into him or crash to the floor. He hummed in appreciation as he spread you wider from behind, his thumb pressed against your puckered hole, adding to the building pressure throughout your core.

“That’s mine, just like this pussy is mine. You hear that, Y/N? You’re mine.”

“Always have been,” you replied plainly without even registering what it all meant. “My Seal Breaker.”

Dean liked that one, because he raised one knee up and began to work you over again. You tossed your head back to watch him over your shoulder, bending nearly in half. He was breath-taking, his mouth open and panting, skin dewy and tense, uncountable scars and freckles randomly yet perfectly placed to outline this impossible man.

“Come on, baby, let me see you,” Dean coaxed, your eyes burst open, the inkwell pools staring back at him as he thrust harder into your luscious depths. “Hmmm, Y/N, you know how good you feel? So. Fucking. Sweet.”

“Better than her?” You half-whispered, half-begged.

“Every ti–.” Dean broke off on a moan, your body pulling him as deep as it could, and suddenly you crested again, muscles spasming as a howl escaped your mouth. Dean gave you only two beats before slamming back into you with wild abandon, reveling in the tightness and the added slick. The slap of his balls against your clit and his strong hips against your firm ass an erotic symphony.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum so hard in that borrowed pussy, you want that?”

“God, yes, Dean. Fill this tiny little thing up,” You whined, tugging at your nipple as Dean began to add an extra roll of his hips between his thrusts. Damn, he knew just how to move, your channel quaked against him, another orgasm looming just out of reach. Dean slid one hand from your waist to palm the small bubble of one ass cheek, fingertips digging so deeply they’d leave marks in the morning. He brushed your g-spot over and over again, everything was vibrating, but it grew too loud. As soon as you felt the next wave approaching Dean froze, spilling inside your wanton cunt. Hot, thick and delicious Dean’s cum slipped from your lower lips as he eased his spent cock from your shaking walls.

He wouldn’t stop touching you, his hand on your hip as you slid down to curl on your side. He let his breathing regulate as he perched back on his heels, his well-built body on full display, the base of his multicolored pleasure trail glistened with both of your juices. His mouth a perfect pink “O” as he blew out a chilling stream against your lolling breasts. You groaned and rolled back up to all fours, biting his delicious thigh as you snaked up his body to steal another kiss. His arms encased you, pulling you in a painfully tight squeeze, the Mark of Cain, hotter than the rest of him, pressed against the lower curve of your ribcage.

He nestled his nose against yours with a satisfied hum, “Now, THAT, was not something I never thought I would do.” Gesturing to the sigils beneath your bodies.

You laughed, “Come on, not even when you were the demon?”

“Okay, maybe once, but Sam was in the room, no way he was getting a free show.” Dean winked down at you, which you eye-rolled away, letting the black slip away for effect. This was it: you felt the inevitable end approaching like a derailed train. You couldn’t look away or sidestep the onslaught, you just had to let it happen. If Dean would let go of the brakes, it would all be over soon.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” You asked softly, letting your hand rest just below his tattoo, head against his collar bone.

He shook his head, “Not a clue, but I had to see you again, in whatever way I could.”

“Well, you could have come to me,” you teased, “I’m pretty sure Knights get all access passes.”

“I’d much rather come in or on you, sweetheart.” He grinned, what an ass. You shoved him away playfully, setting these carefree moments to memory. Even if you were both shit at coping, but professional at bullshit, at slapping on a mask for everyone else’s benefit. Well, Dean the later at least. You didn’t care much for anyone other than yourself, him and CC, if you were being honest. Which you weren’t.

“I don’t think I could handle if you went back, you deserve better than Crowley’s crap-dom.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I can’t die then.” He kissed you gently. “And won’t be going on another karaoke tour anytime soon.” There were so many things you wanted to say and none of them sounded like what he needed to hear. So, you sat there in silence, naked and blissed out upon the grimy floor of a forgotten warehouse in Dean’s arms.

***

He had fallen asleep, with his flannel as a pillow and his jeans thrown back on, unzipped and rumpled, he snored lazily at your side. It was some surrealist painting unraveled, he was raw and clammy with every spare patch of skin reaching across fictitious distance between you. He grumbled senselessly as you watched him, the vessel’s pleas growing with each passing minute. You kept your exploits from her, but she still knew she wasn’t safe there. The wrongness of losing perspective fostered the alarm churning inside your shared head. You savored every second you spent watching Dean dream, which was all the more precious because it was brief. Fleeting as a heartbeat, gone as quick as a wink. Nothing gold can stay.

Once the awe of it all wore down into undeserved contentment, she pushed harder and your willingness to ignore her thinned. You had work to do, a King to please and a vessel to free. You may have been a demon, but you weren’t cruel. CC had taught you how to be honest, even when it cost you everything. You wouldn’t look him in the eye and offer a true goodbye. You didn’t want to hurt him, and you couldn’t bear it if he wasn’t as pained as you.

Which is why you left like a thief in the night. The trap meticulously scratched through with the switchblade Dean always kept on him. Hastily, you left a note, prying a strip of vellum from the spell book he had used. Sam would have a bitchfit about it later, that you were certain. You couldn’t just disappear after experiencing an ecstasy of his choosing. Dean deserved more than you could offer, but you muddled through. With an air of melancholy that would make a Victorian widow proud, you staggered away on feet too swollen to be shoved back into her tiny boots.

*^*^*

When Dean woke up, everything hurt: his pride especially.

He hadn’t planned beyond summoning and facing her, but once he was inside her vessel with her; Dean had found what had been missing all those months. Dean saw his mirrored half: damned and deceitful, surely, but beautiful and blossoming all the same. He started to laugh when he fully came to, a deep belly laugh that brought tears to his eyes. Here he was, left half naked in a devil’s trap and somehow felt like he was the one doing the walk of shame. Either way, they both were. Figured.

He started gathering his spell materials as his phone went off.

           “Dude, where are you?!”

           “I had an errand, Sam. I’ll be home before noon.” Dean plucked a folded piece of paper from the middle of the old grimoire he had stolen from the Bunker’s collection.

           “Everything alright?”

           “I haven’t killed anybody, if that’s what you mean.” Dean read the note carefully before tucking it into his breast pocket, phone pinched between his shoulder and ear.

           “That’s not what I— You know what, forget it. I’ll see you when you get back.”

           “Not if I see you first,” Dean replied ad nauseum.

           Sam barked a forced laugh. “Nice.”

           “Yeah, well, you too.” The brothers both hung up, allowing Dean to finish clearing the basement of everything but the mangled sigils ringed in red. Before Dean started the Impala’s engine, he pulled out the thin scrap and reread the words she had left him.

           Dean-

                       I’m sorry to do this like this, but this one needs to get back to her life. I’m still on a job in Europe for the time being, but thanks for the one-night vacation. You were, as always, incredible. I hope you know you can call me; whichever way works best, anytime. Just, don’t do anything stupid. O.k.?

           Always yours,

                       Me

May 1, 2015

After Angel Heart

If Castiel had known Chloe Collins her entire life, perhaps he wouldn’t have been surprised by her request. Maybe, if he had known her without a demon’s influencing their entire history; she would have built up to this massive deceit with more finesse. Though angels were known best for being direct, unless one considered Lucifer and Gabriel, of course. Every way he regretted their tumultuous past; it still didn’t make answering her any easier.

“No.” Castiel glared at CC like she had suggested he trade the trench coat for Bermuda shorts.

“Castiel, please? This is really important and now that you’re fully you, you can show me how.” CC hated asking for favors, especially of the Angel, but this had gone too far.

“I don’t understand why you think I would do such a thing.”

“Because it is for their safety, Castiel. Sam and Dean are in danger with this hanging over us. We ALL are in danger from the truth getting out.” CC moved further from the backdoor of the Impala, drawing Cas out of earshot.

“Why?”

“Because, ‘Heaven’s eyes will never be far from you now and the minions of Hell will seek you out as a fortress against the light.’” She huffed in exasperation, eyes locking onto his impossible blues as the warning resonated between them.

“Whose words are those?”

“Mine, or my granddad’s, I don’t know. I had to make a choice to comeback from being comatose, Cas. I chose to live with the knowledge of my birth, of what and who I am. So now; I am a target. Dean doesn’t need another cross to bear, his plate is full. And Sam? Sam’s already walking on thin ice.” She stopped before she could expose every dirty secret she had learned from her months of hiding.

“Why are you only telling me this now?”

“Claire. You did the right thing, even if it hurt like a sonofabitch.” CC gave him an impressed eyebrow as he took what she said as the compliment she intended.

“You trust me?” Cas looked at his hands then back to CC, who’s own were tucked into her back pockets.

“Us Heaven rejects need to stick together, right?” Her smile pulled one out of him.

“If I agree to this, when would we even be able to do it?”

“As soon as possible. I need to get back at it, especially with the Steins still out there.”

“And you’re sure this is the only way to ensure Sam and Dean’s safety?”

“Fuck no. This is the only way to ensure Sam and Dean’s blood isn’t on my hands. Those assholes don’t do safe, you know that.”

Castiel nodded into a shrug, still playing at considering her offer.

She stepped forward, dropping a heavy hand onto his shoulder. “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t care about them, Cas.”

He noted her repeated use of his nickname from Dean and the physical contact that they had never shared before. “Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll erase the knowledge of your lineage from Sam and Dean’s memories.”

“And Charlie’s,” CC added.

“And Charlie’s, of course.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” CC reached her opposite hand out and shook Castiel’s hand, solidifying their agreement. Cas took her hand and her anxiety in his, sensing she needed the peace of mind as much as she needed the escape.

*^*^*^*

Next Chapter: Finale: Just One of the Many

[lawgrain]

Not Boyfriends (Phandom)

Fandom: Phandom (Dan and Phil)

Pairings: Take a random guess at it, I’m sure you’ll get it right.

Summary: This is actually a prompt fic. It goes something like this:  “ Where a superhero has to deal with a super villain that thinks they're best friends.” I thought it’d be more fun to do boyfriends instead of best friends. This story has just been chilling out on my laptop (for at least a year), it’s kind of cheesy but I thought I’d post it.

***Those who follow me for Sanders Side, this is not that fandom but I’ll finish that fic up O.o

Story!

Phil's POV

“Put it down.”

“But honey!”

“Why do you insist upon being difficult?”

“Darling, I was getting it for you. I thought it'd be special.”

“For the last time. We. Are. NOT. Dating.”

Phil put his head in his hands out of exasperation. Normally it's a dangerous idea to break eye contact with the enemy but this was a special case.

This was Phantom Dove.

Phil hates him. Primarily because he decided to spend his time pretending Phil was his lover and they most certainly were not.

“Gasp! Are you breaking up with me?”

“Did you actually just say ‘gasp’? And no I'm not breaking up with you because we were never together!” Phil didn't know why he even humors the man.

“Oh good so you're not breaking up with me. And the gasp was for irony so you can't say anything.” Phantom smiled innocently, completely ignoring the latter part of Phil's statement.

They could honestly go all day if Phil didn't put an end to this.

“Just put the jewels down and we’ll get you to the police.”

“Really? Has that ever worked with me before?” Phantom’s voice laced with sarcasm because no, it had not worked. Ever.

“Fine. Shall you start or me?”

“Awe, you know I’d never throw the first punch, love.”

And just like that, they were off. Phil threw a powered punch straight towards Phantoms head. He dodged leaving just barely a space between his nose and Phil's fist. He shot a light beam with his other hand. Again Phantom dodged. Phil heard a shattering of glass behind them where his attack must have landed. He didn't hesitate at the sound and barreled forward with a kick aimed towards his side. This time it landed, shoving Phantom to the floor.

Quickly, the other got up. “You got one in, babe! You're getting so good at thi–” Phil cut him of with lasers streaming from his eyes. And no, not figuratively. Phantom jumped to the other side of the room ten feet away. Phil always hated when he did that. He liked playing a game of cat and mouse where Phil would have to guess where he'd be next.

Phil wasn't having that today. He flew forward, eyes lit up and ready to attack. He got a hold of Phantom and pinned him in the wall a few feet above the ground.

“Oh darling, I didn't know we were going to play kinky today.” He smiled. “Want me to call you daddy?”

Phil sputtered in shock. He wanted to kill Phantom right now. Taking advantage of Phil's hesitation, Phantom electrocuted him.

Phil didn't even see how he did it. Usually the man had to touch his hands to Phil in order to shock him but Phil thought he had the other securely pinned.

That didn't matter now as Phil laid on the floor with an approaching super villain.

“Wow, I hope that didn't hurt too much.” He leaned down and inserted something in Phil's arm. “Don't worry about this. It's just a thing I made that'll keep you still long enough for me to get out of here.” He pulled back and saw what must've been the syringe he put in his arm.

The thief continued to raid the place for more priceless items while Phil was unable to move a muscle. Before long, sirens could be heard in the distance.

“That's my que! I'd tell you when that stuff wears off, but considering your super healing, I don't actually know. Feel free to tell me later. Bye love!”

And then Phantom was gone. The police lost him and by the time Phil was able to move, it was much too late. He had disappeared like a ghost.

After speaking to the police, Phil was finally able to hang up the cape for the night and focus on getting sleep for his day job. Somehow, masquerading as a vigilante in a mask didn't help him make a living. That's why during the day, he worked as a film editor for various companies and people. He liked working on small projects so he could stay at home.

Once he'd considered becoming part of the police force, but luckily his common sense kicked in and he realized that would be too strenuous to keep up when he went out every night. He much preferred the decision he made. He got to put away his false sense of seriousness and be an actual person with friends.

When Phil was younger he couldn't say he had much of a social life. He was awkward and majorly confused at why he could fly and others could not. Later it became known that superpowers were a thing. Sadly, the world found out because of a super villain, but Phil supposed that was how he became the world's first superhero.

Surprisingly, the world wasn't complaining. Not about Phil at least. He knew that the lack of hatred was due mostly to how much crime had gone down in his city. Phil always caught the bad guy and not many with superpowered people were psychotic. The few that were caused unrest and Phil made sure to stop them as quickly as possible.

The only one Phil couldn't seem to catch was Phantom. It was ridiculous that a villain that took nothing seriously could always best Phil. It wasn't like the man was a top priority, but he still irked Phil. Most people had some sort of reason for crime but Phantom Dove made it look like a hobby. No motive, no purpose, just a thing to do. And that made him unpredictable. He lived up to the name Phantom. The man couldn't be found or tracked. He simply appeared for the heck of it and disappeared when things got tough.

Phil couldn’t wait to catch him. He couldn't wait to finally put a name on the obnoxious man. And he certainly couldn't wait to put him in jail.

Dan's POV

Fighting was a fucking bitch.

Dan should've been quicker. Should've dodged that kick better. If there was one thing he envied about Light Knight was his super healing abilities. Actually Dan would be happy with any superpowers.

Oh yeah, that's the real ringer isn't it? The super villain of the city isn't super at all. Not that Dan would sell himself short. His genius inventions had somehow tricked everyone that he was super. Even the city's superhero thought so.

Although that came with some downsides. For example, the hero never held back on Dan. Meaning he always came home with cuts and bruises and today he had a really bad bruise on his ribs. While his suit could absorb the brunt of any blow, he was pretty sure the surrounding neighbors thought he was abused.

Dan had tried stalling the man after that particular attack, but was certain the hero was too focused on winning to hear the strain in his voice. It didn't matter in the end. Dan had won and left with a lot more money than he came in with.

That wasn't the real prize though. No, the real prize was the Light Knight. Dan had been utterly paranoid about the man. He felt unsettled that he could be anybody on the streets and he'd have no idea. Dan set out to fix this and put a tracker on him while he was paralyzed.

Sure there were some ethical things being broken here, but Dan wanted to feel safe. So what if that involved violating someone's privacy? Then again Dan could've picked a less dangerous occupation if he wanted security.

Too late now.

Taking some pain medication, Dan took to looking at where the tracker was. Needless to say, he was beyond relieved to find out the hero wasn't a neighbor. That was somehow a worse case scenario to Dan. But it wasn't to be because when the man had settled for the night, he was not in Dan's area.

This brought Dan to phase two. He wanted to know the man's name. For others this would be hard but something tells him that no one knows of his side hobby: hacking.

He knows that his life decisions were morally ambiguous, but fuck society.

He had actually picked up the hobby as a thing of boredom. He wanted access to things the internet simply refused to supply and Dan just wasn't okay with that. He didn't know at the time that he was going to become a criminal, but it certainly didn't hurt when he accessed Light Knight’s building security, traced the footage from when he entered the building and then to the when the man arrived at his flat. And it really helped when he searched for the homeowners name of said flat.

Philip Lester. A rather disappointing name in Dan's opinion.

He supposed it was alright but he was sort of hoping for better material to tease the man with. Dan was fully aware that he shouldn’t piss off a guy with powers, but he couldn't help it. When he put on his suit he could be anyone he wanted. And he wanted to tease the straight-laced grumpy hero who was apparently called “Phil”.

Phil was the first thing that gave him actual happiness in a long time. He had been in the middle of a more complicated heist when they had met. Honestly, it wasn't extremely complicated other than the fact that Dan was apparently working with idiots. One of which would've gotten Dan killed, accidentally knocking him from the roof of a building, if it weren't for Light Knight catching him. For that reason, Dan wasn't even upset that his temporary partners were caught. In fact, it gave Dan the chance to sneak away.

After he started engaging with the hero as much as possible. Dan had never met a man that would give a criminal a second thought— someone who would save a criminal. He was used to people who shoot first and asked questions later. Once he'd gotten to know the hero more, Dan found himself enjoying their banter and quick quips. It got to the point where Dan thought they had a sort of relationship.

And not a romantic one. He wasn't delusional. That type of bantering started when he found out how much it bothered Light Knight and only then did he start to use flirting at every turn. It was refreshing to be able to do things he'd never do with the mask off. As Phantom Dove he could be confident, flirty and silly. As Dan Howell he was just a quiet depressing loner. Given his options, Dan chose to go with the thrill of being Light Knight’s friendly enemy. The relationship wasn't necessarily a positive one... But if a rivalry was the only connection Dan could have with someone, he'd take it.

He doubted the hero genuinely hated him though. Believe it or not, Dan wasn't the only bad guy around. While he relied on technology for crime, others actually did have superpowers. They also had no qualms about killing others which Dan would never do. If it's destruction and theft, count Dan in, but if it's world domination and murder, he wants no part in the deal. He thinks Light Knight just is pissed that he can't catch Dan. Well that and Dan insists on making suggestive comments to him.

Plus there was that one time he went overboard and said Light Knight was his boyfriend on national tv. The next time they saw each other he received some bruises that lasted a month.

Worth it.

For now though, all Dan had on his mind was how he was going to use this information to get under Phil's skin. He wouldn't deal out the information to others but there was no way he wasn't going to have some fun with this.

He couldn't wait.

Chapter 2

[fallout4holmes]

Far Harbor 7

Valentine and I returned to Far Harbor in the morning to find a Miss Nanny model robot talking to Captain Avery. The robot introduced herself as Pearl, and said she was looking for a detective. Apparently the staff at the hotel on the cliff were distressed by the lack of a response when they tried to call the police.

A staff of robots who hadn’t realized the world had ended, and now wanted help with a murder investigation. At least it was different. The hotel was swarming with ferals, as should have been expected. In fact, I assumed this whole thing was simply going to be a macabre misunderstanding, an example of a robot's programming unable to adjust to dramatic change.

Then we saw the Vault door.

“Well, well,” said Valentine, “this place just got a little more interesting.”

“Indeed. I shudder to think what sort of experiments they had planned for the hotel residents.”

Never in my wildest nightmares could I have conceived what we found inside. The Vault was a plush luxury hotel, every possible need of its residents tended to by a staff of robots. We were met by the head of staff, a Mr. Handy called Maxwell, who led us to the scene of the crime where two of the… residents, were arguing.

“Goodness,” Valentine said.

“I would have used much stronger language,” I muttered.

“No need to be crass while we're working.”

“Normally I'd agree, but this seems an appropriate exception.”

The residents were human brains encased in glass domes atop mechanical cylinders with simple robotic arms and caterpillar wheels. They could speak, and did so, shouting at each other around the toppled form of another one, the glass protecting the brain smashed in. Maxwell managed to interrupt, asking them to return to their quarters while the detectives investigated.

“Your residents are robots?” I asked as they left.

“Not robots, Detective. Well not exactly anyway. I believe the term they use is 'robobrain.’ Back before the war, the residents decided the best way to wait it out was to put their brains inside robotic chassis.”

“I guess someone wasn't a fan of robobrains,” Valentine commented as he looked down at the smashed glass, “At least not this one.”

Maxwell gave us the name and occupations of all five remaining “robobrains” and we began. It was surreal, to put it lightly. No, I must be honest, it was mad. We found the Overseer’s office and learned the Vault was originally intended as a grand social experiment; a lower working class would be housed in a cramped wing of the Vault while an elite rich lived in luxury… but the door wouldn’t open when it came time for the masses to enter. As Maxwell said, the rich residents had decided even before the war to gain immortality as robobrains, and so the Overseer was stuck as the sole experiment, the one person who had to live with ‘these assholes’ as he put it. For their part, the robobrains descended into a mild madness of delusion and banality… until one of them decided to commit murder.

There were limited options as to who the killer could be, and the solution was ultimately fairly simple, though certainly unique. I’d never had a case where the murderer stole the victim’s voice to fake his own death before. Ultimately, Vault 118 was a surreal, macabre distraction from the drama of the island. It was almost refreshing to deal with something as straightforward as murder born from greed, as terrible as it may be to say so. At the same time, Vault 118 is little more than a lush Hell of its residents’ own devising.

We returned to town and were met by Dr. Wright. Teddy, as he insists I refer to him, heard about what I’d done to assist around town, and had an idea for turning around the town’s attitude toward me. There is an old ritual called “The Captain’s Dance,” a ancient rite of passage that hasn’t been completed in a long time. It involves chumming the water and fighting what comes. If I can complete it, it’ll earn the respect of the town.

Valentine is doubtful. I wanted another opinion, so I went to the best source of information on Far Harbor and the island. Longfellow’s initial response was not encouraging.

“You want to what?! Cap’n, I know you can handle yourself in a fight, but there’s a reason this old tradition faded away. Too many people hoping to be Captain ended up dead.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, “But will it work?”

“Assumin’ you don’t die, sure it’ll get people to respect you, but why the hell do you care?”

“I don’t give a damn about their opinion of me, Longfellow. To be perfectly blunt, the people in that town need a reminder that monsters can be fought and beaten, and maybe not every stranger that comes to town is trouble. I’m tired of seeing nothing but suspicion and despair everytime I say hello to someone.”

He sighed, and turned to Valentine, “And you’re just going along with this, metal man? Ain’t you supposed to be his friend?”

Valentine was mildly offended, “You think I haven’t tried to talk some sense into him?”

“You’re stronger than him, ain’t ya?”

“Not particularly fond of the idea of knocking my partner unconscious,” he frowned. “You’re welcome to try locking him up, but he’ll get out.”

The old hunter scowled. “… well, hell, cap’n, if you’re dead set on this foolishness, I guess I’m gonna have to go along with you. Can’t have your death hauntin’ me, got enough reasons to drink as it is.”

I was not cavalier, I knew exactly how dangerous this undertaking would be… I thought. After all, I'd defeated everything that has tried to eat me so far. This would be dangerous, but survivable. I had plenty of ammunition, a few grenades, and friends at my back. There was no sign of an angler’s light, no sound of a Fog Crawler in the distance, just a swamp full of mirelurks.

I should have anticipated the queen.

And yet she fell… and so did I, collapsing as my head spun and vision fogged. I heard Valentine shouting in the distance, and then he was beside me, “Holmes! Sherlock? Oh thank god you’re alive.” I felt the familiar jab of a stimpak in my shoulder, and another in my leg. My sight cleared as he gripped my shoulders, worry and anger all over his face, mere inches from mine, “You are an absolute idiot! If you weren’t half dead I’d… I don’t even know what I’d do!”

I had no words to adequately express what I felt in that moment, and only one reaction seemed reasonable. His lips against mine felt like something between malleable plastic and supple leather worn by the elements. “I'm sorry,” I said. At his baffled scowl, I clarified, “For scaring you. You're right, this was an idiotic plan.”

“That suggests you had a plan to begin with. I said you were an idiot, period.” His hand clasped mine. “If I could have heart attacks, I'd have had three of them since meeting you. Can you stand?”

I could. Longfellow shook his head as we approached, bemused. “You’re a strange one, cap’n, no mistake. Come on, let's get you back. Reckon the witness the doc sent will get back long before we will.” The old hunter chuckled, “Should have seen the way he ran out of here.”

We made our slow way back to Far Harbor in exhausted silence. The people were assembled, a feast set, and Dr. Wright was giving a speech about me. Cheers went up all around as a Harborman confirmed I'd completed the 'dance' and killed a mirelurk queen, and the party began.

Dr. Wright confirmed I wasn't going to die, and quipped, “If they don't respect you now, well, fuck 'em.” It was a sentiment I heartily agreed with.

I milled about, making an appearance and performing the socializing expected just long enough to claim exhaustion and go up to the room over the Last Plank. Valentine followed.

“First time I’ve seen this town in a good mood. Almost makes this dumb stunt worth it.”

I pulled off my chest piece with a groan, “You’ve made your point.”

“Hey, hold still.” The contrast of leathery plastic and cold steel on my back as he pushed up the edge of my shirt surprised me. He tsked, “Your armor’s straps rubbed the skin raw. Being constantly soaked the past few days probably didn’t help.”

I set to removing the rest of my armor, “I hardly noticed.”

“We’ll have to buy you a new set of clothes.”

“The clothes will have dried by morning.”

“My point was to get you out of wet clothes in the first place…”

He was suddenly quiet as I removed my shirt. I glanced at him, “Is something wrong?”

“I'm not sure.”

“You did say I needed to get out of these wet clothes.”

“Holmes, you don’t even come downstairs in your own home unless you’re dressed or in a robe to cover the fact you’re only mostly dressed.”

I removed my boots and socks, “The two of us are alone in a room above a bar on the fringes of what might be described as civilization. My desires for privacy and propriety are second to my need to be dry for an evening.”

“And you'd rather be naked than wear a fisherman's outfit.”

“What? Of course not, it simply wouldn’t be practical. There’s no point in spending caps on a full set of clothes I’m only going to wear one night, perhaps two.”

“Sure, sure,” he grinned. He watched me search for some sort of blanket for the bed, his grin fading to something softer, more self conscious. “Hey, Holmes… about the kiss.”

“What about it?”

“You aren’t usually the type for physical displays of affection.”

I scoffed, “The fact that I choose to keep my most intimate emotions private from the rest of the world doesn’t mean I don’t feel them.”

“I wasn't saying otherwise. Just surprised.”

I sighed, “I apologize, it was a common assumption for most of my life. I'd never seen you so panicked, I was relieved to be alive, and…” I shrugged, “even I have moments of emotional impulse.”

He softly laughed to himself, “I guess I'm making this more complicated than it is.”

I tossed the threadbare excuse for a quilt I’d found onto the bed and turned to him, “May I remind you, Mr. Valentine, the idea of us being partners in more than the business definition was originally your suggestion.”

He folded his arms, “While you cracked wise about being on one knee.”

“I simply want to establish that any confusion in our relationship is your fault.”

“Ha! Any relationship with you is going to be confusing. Half the time I don't know what possessed me to fall for you.”

If I can be forgiven for using such a cliche, my heart leapt. “I wonder that myself. God knows you deserve better than -”

“Shut up, Sherlock.”

His kiss was firm, his arms circling around to pull me close. I let the boundaries fall, melting against him. A soft heat emanated from his chest, along with the faint hum of internal machinery. It was exquisite.

“Are you always this warm?” I asked.

“Running a little hot right now, actually. Must be a kink in the coolant system.”

I pulled away just enough to see his face, “Was that a joke?”

He grinned, “Yes, that was a joke. I don't feel… what I guess you'd call lust, but some part of me sure wants to. If you were a dame, at least I might have some idea of what to do next.”

I stifled a sudden laugh, “Dame??”

“Don't make fun of the way I talk, you're almost as bad as Danse.”

“I’m not nearly so verbose.”

He smirked, “Whatever you say, doll.”

“Valentine, if you ever call me ‘doll’ again, I will respond with violence.”

He laughed, “Got it.” Metal fingertips traced the side of my face in pure awe, “Any thought of love was all memories, just the old Nick’s grief… but you. You’re mine.”

I turned my head to kiss his hand, “For as long as you’ll have me.”

He kissed me again, and made a small sound of surprise as I coaxed a deeper kiss from him. His mouth is warm and dry, tongue like soft rubber that tastes of smoke and something slick and metallic and unidentifiable. I was quickly losing whatever semblance of physical control I'd had.

“Nick…” I’m not sure I knew what I was asking for, but I was begging.

His hands drifted lower, slowly seeking permission and giving me plenty of time to change my mind. “You sure about this?”

“Yes… if you want,” I suddenly analyzed everything about the scene, panicked that a partner who can't feel lust would feel forced or obligated…

A gentle force on my jaw turned my eyes to meet his. “I’d like to see if I can make you stop thinking for two minutes.”

I shivered, “Only two?”

He smiled, “One step at a time, partner.”

He's buying clothes this morning. Mine are dry, but desperately in need of a wash. And so I woke to him leaving, a quick kiss as he said, “We can afford clothes, one use or not. Go back to sleep.” I didn’t have the energy to argue.

I've never been more affectionately bemused at the sight of bruises on my skin. I have not often craved physical contact with anyone; my marriage was one of intellectual companionship and deep friendship. I remember being in her arms or holding her in mine, the proximity to someone I love a unique comfort, but this…

I love him. I already knew it, but seeing it written…

Dear god, I'm prattling away into a diary like a lovesick schoolboy when there's work to be done.

[riddlebot]

dremis, all 100 oc questions

you MONSTER

1. How do they present themselves to others? He presents himself as a confident and sexy.2. Do they like animals? He loves animals!! Mostly small woodland creatures tho.3. How do they dress? Nipples: covered. Belly button: out. Clothing? Skin tight.4. How many languages do they know? He knows 4 languages.5. How big is their family? Pretty small at first, but it’ll get pretty big in his future. His found family is huge.6. What is their purpose in the story? Comedic relief at this point I swear7. Do they know how to fight? Yes! 8. What is their back story? [redacted]9. Why is their name, their name? His first name was the one I liked the best from a fantasy name generator, and the rest are nicknames and stuff added in the typical gnome naming convention. 10. Do they have any nick names? All his names are nicknames basically. So yeah, a whole lot.11. Do they have a romantic interest? Not currently but he will.12. How do they cope with struggles? It depends on what the struggle is. If it’s something big it’ll effect his mood drastically but if it’s small he’ll try and hide it to deal with on his own.13. Do they have anyone they can lean on? His giant found family.14. How do they react to someone dying? If it’s someone he cares about, then he’d be very upset and inconsolable. 15. Can you name 5 personality traits they have? Funny, charming, perceptive, excitable, caring.16. How did they become a character? I made a DnD character just for fun and he was a complete joke of a character and then you made me flesh him out.17. Do they get along with others? Yes! He’s a very friendly boy.18. What flaws do they have? Emotions can get the better of him easily, he’s really invested in his career, and he is not quick to get on the front lines to fight with his friends.19. How do they influence the story? I’m not sure, the same way any PC influences the story I guess.20. What do they look like? A tiny little blonde menace. 21. What are their hobbies? He likes to collect little knick knacks, and play pranks.22. What are their ticks? I have never thought about it... Probably something to do with touching his hair, like tucking it behind his ear and then untucking it over and over again.23. Do they like children? He loves children.24. How do they react to being around wild animals? If it’s a small animal he tries to talk to it immediately, if it’s big he is wary but won’t do anything unless it attacks him first.25. If they were given the task to prank someone, who would it be, what would they do, and would the prank work? He does so many little pranks, so it would probably be really elaborate and ridiculous, I’m not good at pranks though so I can’t think of anything.26. Do they have any survival skills? Not on his character sheet, but in my heart he does.27. Are they more book smart or street smart? Can you be both? He’s both.28. How do they get out of a difficult situation? He will talk or fuck his way out of any situation.29. Do they use their body, mind, personality or force to get what they want? Body and personality.30. What music do they enjoy? Tavern music.31. How do they overcome obstacles? With help from his friends.32. When faced with a difficult decision do they get stronger or break? Break, if it’s really difficult. 33. Do they have any special powers? I think technically gnomes are supposed to be able to turn invisible at will but I don’t have that on his character sheet so who knows. 34. How do they change throughout the story? He becomes more serious and adult like, and more trusting I think.35. Do they have any friends? If so, are they close knit? He has a ton of friends, and he think’s he’s close knit with them but they might disagree.36. How is their family life? [redacted]37. Are they likable? I think so, I certainly made him to be.38. Are they the hero, or anti-hero? Hero.39. Do they make questionable choices? I think to some people some of his choices in life are questionable. 40. How do they become who they are? Some good old fashion trauma.41. How was their childhood? Pretty average.42. Are they close with anyone who is going to screw them over? I don’t know, but I’m sure you know as the DM.43.How do they adapt to different situations? Do they adapt at all? He is very good at adapting.44. How do they speak? Examples - Are they soft spoken, hot heated, vulgar. Hm... It depends on who he is speaking to. He’s got a loud clear voice and he speaks in a very friendly and polite way to strangers, but is more casual to his friends.45. Are they opposed to violence? Not a ton like he would rather talk things through but he knows the world they live in works a certain way so usually problems are solved with fights.46. When is their birthday? Fuck if I know.47. Are they quick to judge? No I don’t think so.48. Do they have anything they are trying to hide from others? Not actively but his backstory is not known by a lot of the party members.49. Do they act different around different people? Yes, but doesn’t everyone.50. Do they enjoy the arts? Yeah he’s a gnome that’s like their life.51. Do they like science? This is funny because I actually decided he was a flat Earther, but instead of Earth its whatever place our DnD world is.52. Are they more emotional or logical? Emotional.53. How do they deal with their emotions? Their emotions just come out and are big and loud and a lot.54. How do they cope with sadness? He holes up in his room and cries and doesn’t talk to anyone until someone breaks into his room to get him and console him because he’s a big baby.55. What is something they care about? His job, his friends, his guild.56. Would they die for anyone/anything? He would die to protect his friends absolutely.57. What do they do when they are happy? His ears stand up and he grins and he bounces around and chatters quickly. He’s a dog.58. How would they come across to other characters? Examples- messy, lazy, childish, caring ect. It depends on the character. He could come off as suave and sexual, or dorky and silly.59. Do they have a phrase they use over and over? Praising the Gnomish god in a “oh my god” fashion, probably.60. In a crowed room are they in the corners, sides, or in the middle? Depends, if it’s just a party he’s dead center, if it’s a mission he’s a good distraction to have in the middle but he’s also tiny and can slip into shadows so he could also be on the sides, watching.61. Are they comfortable being in a crowed room? Yes.62. How do they relax? Reading in a garden.63. Have they ever harmed anyone and regretted it? Verbally or physically? I can’t think of a time.64. Do they like to dance? Yes.65. How do they get around their environment? Examples - horses, bike, vehicle? He walks and they probably use horses but he’s tiny so he’d need a pony.66. What is their pet peeve(s)? When people don’t laugh at his jokes.67. Do they have a disability? No.68. How do they react to getting flowers? He would smile and flush a little.69. Would they ever wear a flower crown? Yes I’ve drawn him in several.70. Do they like themselves? It’s complicated but I’ll say for the most part yes.71. Who do they dislike? Rich people. Human men.72. What is their motto? my brain immediately said “eat the rich”73. Do they have any markings on their body? Yes, a scar on his hip.74. Have they ever been abused? Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm yes.75. What is their biggest fear? [solas voice] dying alone76. What are their goals? Right now, fucking the dragonborn in our party. He’s not doing great.77. How do they go about achieving their goals? Rolling a die after every mission we go on to get a 19 or 20.78. Do they have a fight or flight response? Flight lmao.79. Is there someone in their life that they care about more than themselves? There are a lot.80. How would they fair in zombie apocalypse? Pretty good I think, he’d be freaked the fuck out by zombies but he’s a sniper and tiny and good at hiding.81. Do they have any tattoos? If so, are they significant? I jokingly gave him a tramp stamp but I haven’t drawn it since.82. Are they good at mental math? No.83. Do they get along with others? Yes.84 Are they lazy? Not usually.85. Are they self motivated? Yes.86. How do they cope with anger? His anger is scary, he lashes out.87. Have they ever been in a situation where they were helpless? Yes.88. Are they organized or messy? Organized chaos. He has a lot of things packed into a small space like a mouse.89. Can they remember a lot of information at once? Yes.90. What is their occupation? He’s a sex worker. And also a rogue.91. Do other characters respect your OC, if so, is it out of fear? Or do they respect your OC because they like them? I actually feel like most of our party doesn’t take him seriously, aside from his best friend. But people who know a lot about him respect him because of knowing what he’s gone through and how he’s come out of it.92. If they were given minutes to live, what would they do? Who would they want to see and say? I honestly think he’d just panic because he has so much he still needs to do.93. How do they deal with stress? Full on hair pulling laying on ground anguished scream.94. Do they have a more submissive or dominate personality type? Dominate. He is good at getting and holding a room’s attention.95. Do they have a pet? I had him have a squirrel but I think I scrapped that idea.96. Do they have a stash of weapons? In his room probably yes.97. Where do they live? Who do they live with? He lives in Sanctuary in a guild.98. How do they calm themselves down? Breathing exercises. 99. Are they co-dependent? No.100. Are they a day, or night person? Night.

[odilekuronuma]

Castlevania Netflix Season 1 review

                                       Wallpaper found on Reddit.

Better late than never I suppose.

Let me just preface this by saying that I’m a HUGE Castlevania fan, I’ve played most of the games, even the old school ones. And this blog is originally dedicated to Castlevania, and its artist Ayami Kojima. In fact my username is a direct reference to her and her pen name, as well as “Santa lilio Sangre” which is the title of her artbook, that I highly recommand checking out .

Also this review will contain spoilers so be warned.I don’t think I can talk about the story and the characterization without mentioning spoilers, so read at your own risk.

With that out of the way, it wouldn’t come as a surprise that I’d have an interest in this series. Actually this came out of nowhere, there was talk of an adaptation years ago, but it came to nothing. And with the whole Konami debacle, all hope of seeing anything Castlevania related vanished....until Netflix came in.

The story is based on Castlevania III Dracula’s curse, which I’ll have you know is one of my favourite games in the franchise.It’s also partly inspired by Symphony of the night, which is by far my favorite game of all times.  I gotta say that I’m really impressed about how the showrunners expanded on the lore of the game and the franchise as a whole. There’s a clear effort made into fleshing out the characters, and expanding on the lore and the story. The games were never really heavy on the story, but here we get to know more about the context  of those times, and how the Church for example played a huge role, not just in regulating the religious life of the believers.

The  story follows Trevor Belmont, of the clan Belmont, whose main occupation is hunting vampires and all kinds of otherwordly creatures, on his quest to defeat Dracula.  One year prior to the current timeline, Dracula is legitimately pissed off at humanity for having burned his wife on a stake after wrongly accusing her of being a witch.

I gotta say I love how the showrunners fleshed the relationship between Dracula and Lisa. It’s short but it’s to the point.It’s better than any crappy Vampire romance we’ve seen in the past 10 years. It starts with Lisa from Lupu village showing up at Drac’s castle, to learn science. She wants to be a doctor to help her fellow humans. She’s portrayed as being quite witty, and in fact most of the main cast are portrayed as such (not counting the priests since they’re dumb as fuck).

She manages to convince Dracula to teach her science, and here there’s somewhat of a deviation from the usual lore. While in the games it’s not unusual to encounter objects that are futuristic, or even the Creature which by all means is the result of science, Dracula’s powers are deeply rooted in magic, or even alchemy. A recurrent area in Dracula’s castle or “Castlevania” is the Alchemy Laboratory. Either way in exchange of him teaching her all there is to know about science, she in turn will teach him how to enjoy life as a human, since so far it appears that Dracula has never walked or travelled as a man. He originally starts by hating humanity and not having much faith in them, and this beautiful woman comes along and changes his views entirely.

Years later while Dracula is away, travelling as a human which shows that he followed Lisa, aka his wife’s advice, the Church does a really dick move by burning her at the stake....Yeah that’s bound to backfire horribly. Lisa on the stake begs Dracula not to be mad at humans, but all the harm has been done. After he learns of her demise, he transforms into a fiery pillar and goes to face the Archbishop and all the assholes responsible of her death. He gives the people of Targoviste a year to make peace with their God. And then he’ll unleash hell on humans.

I gotta say Dracula’s wrath is justified, you decided to piss off the guy who didn’t like humans to begin with, and took away from him the thing that made him become a better person. So there’s bound to be some retribution. However as Alucard, his son from Lisa points out, he should direct his wrath on those who are directly responsible for her death, and not all of humanity and people who are innocent. But Dracula won’t have any of that, so he attacks his son to prevent him from meddling with his plan to raise an undead army in a year.

So that’s pretty much the context of the story, and what lead to the current events, where Trevor our reluctant hero is currently embarked in. I gotta say the characterization is top notch, and it doesn’t end with Dracula.Our hero’s motivations and journey are also fleshed out, because as it turns out Trevor doesn’t initially want to do anything with it. He’s first shown to be a drunk mess, despite the fact that he comes from a noble house, the Belmonts. But that is due to once again the interference of the Church, who after relying on the Belmonts for years to protect them from monsters and creatures like Dracula, decided to excommunicate them on ground they dabbled in magic pretty much...Which is as dumb as pissing off Dracula. So with his house in ruins, Trevor pretty much sunk into alcoholism, which is a pretty interesting take on his character. He’s all around very different from his character in Curse of Darkness, who is overall very serious.

Instead here Trevor is portrayed as being sarcastic and witty, and there’s a good amount of comedy involving him, mainly due to the fact that he’s a drunk and out of practice. So his initial motivations aren’t anything grand, and overall he just doesn’t want to get involved with the Dracula drama. He just wants some booze and something to eat. But soon he starts to care, after his encounter with the speakers.

After making it to a town that is plagued by raids of  Dracula’s minions he meets the Speakers, a band of nomadic story tellers who pass their wisdom orally. Because he’s a Belmont, he had previous knowledge of such a group, and unfortunately for them, the Church (again) plans to pin down the onslaught by Dracula’s forces on them, because they happen to use magic...sigh. The Church are even bigger villains than Dracula himself, they fucked over pretty much everyone. Trevor bides them to leave town, but they can’t, not until they retrieve the body of one of theirs, the grand daughter of their leader in the catacombs. As to why she ventured in the catacombs, it is to find the “Sleeping warrior” who is according to a prophecy, the one who will defeat Dracula.

So Trevor ventures in the catacombs to find her, and he saves Sypha from the Cyclops, yay. While she’s grateful, she doesn’t think too highly of Trevor, and who could blame her, since at this point he won’t do anything about this situation. But with Sypha’s and the speakers help, who won’t abandon the city despite the fact that the mob lead by the Church is after them, he comes to realize that it is his duty as a Belmont to stop Dracula. 

After that they both end up in the catacombs again after trying to run from the mob and confronting Dracula’s minions in one of the best action scenes of the season. While they keep falling in the catacombs they end up encountering the “Sleeping warrior” who turns out to be a vampire, and none other than Alucard, Dracula’s son. Of course Trevor and him would come to fight since for the former it is likely Alucard is Dracula and is a vampire and thus can’t be trusted, and for the latter it is more of a test to see if Trevor is worthy.Trevor manages to kick Alucard’s sweet ass on more than one occasion thanks to his consecrated whip and weapon of choice, the Vampire Killer which is very effective against vampires. But Alucard manages to come on top thanks to his superior swordsmanship . In the end both of them stop fighting after Trevor managed to stab Alucard a few times, and Sypha threatens to burn Alucard’s precious little head if he tries to bite Trevor.

Either way they all agree to stop fighting, and Alucard announces that the other 2 passed the test, that is supposed to show if they’re worthy to be his companions and aid him in killing his own father Dracula....

So through 4 episodes, the length of the first season,  we get Trevor’s character arc, who starts as a reluctant hero but slowly comes around to realize that it is his mission to protect humans from people like Dracula. And characters like Sypha played a big role in it.Alucard comes along to gather all of them and aid them in defeating his own father. So in terms of characterization I have no complaint whatsoever, the showrunners really did flesh them out well. 

Another reason for me to like Trevor as a character is the fact that he’s voiced by Richard Armitage, who is a great actor (if you haven’t watched the Crucible go watch it now) and has an amazing voice...and I have a crush on him, but what’s new? I have a crush on 90% of Hollywood actors XD. In fact the original english dub (so weird to say that) has an amazing cast, even though I find it a bit odd that characters from Wallachia would have a British accent....But that’s how things are, and Sypha and the speakers have a Spanish accent, which I guess means they’re from Spain (Sypha Belnades) and are the equivalent of Romani people. Yeah I guess that makes sense.

So the story is very well written, they managed to also portray the characters in a realistic light. The voice acting is also great. But what about the actual animation? I’ll let you judge by yourself.

It is surprisingly good. In fact it’s better than fucking Berserk 2016/17. That one barely qualifies as animation. To me this series is a homage to 2D and during the very important scenes, mainly action scenes, it literally has some of the best animation I’ve seen in a while. The art style is also rather manga-ish and to me a bit reminiscent of Ayami Kojima’s style which is very feminine and graceful.

The action is top notch, and the Trevor vs Alucard fight really lived to the hype. It wasn’t as one sided as I thought it would be, since Alucard is supposed to be overpowered, and while he is portrayed as such with him being able to teleport thanks to the hidden ability of the Alucard sword, he still has the basic weakness of vampires to the Vampire Killer. Dracula is also overpowered since he’s able to appear in fire pretty much everywhere at will.And the action scenes are carried by the quality animation and choregraphy.

My only complaint is that the music is forgettable, it has none of the classic feel of the video game franchise. It uses a lot of synth tunes, which makes it really generic. The endings do feature a song that somewhat feels gothic, with all the choir singing, but it’s nowhere close to the quality of the music from the games. I personally pictured the music to be like the score from Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust. It could be a mix of classic instruments and more synthetic sounds, but alas none of that here. So that’s my main gripe with it, and it is somewhat important since CV is known mainly for its music.

So overall really impressed with this series and I totally recommand watching it. . It’s short, only 4 episodes though which I guess is made on purpose.Perhaps Netflix wanted to test the waters first and see how this series does. But fear not my Crestfallen children, a second season has been greenlit that should come out in 2018 and it will feature double the amount of episodes. And I’m more than willing to wait till 2018 as long as they can keep the same quality of storytelling and animation. And maybe they can also improve on the music while they’re at it.Also I’d be interested in seeing them doing a third season, and maybe also feature the events of Curse of darkness, even though the characters are less memorable and iconic compared to the CV III trio (since Grant isn’t here apparently). And maybe even beyond.

I just don’t want it to end. XD

[davidfostercomedyblog]

I’m With Kap: Why I Support Kneeling for the Anthem

I love Mike Francesa, though said love is mostly compartmentalized to his views and subsequent expressions on sports and athletes. I’ll never forget the experience of falling in love with his show as it became quickly apparent that he was in my brain, better yet, the better version of my brain, poignantly elaborating on everything I’d thought and wished I could express in a way that made every other sports talk guy sound second rate. Nevertheless, my brother and I would joke that we’d never before observed a greater disparity within one person’s IQ between one subject matter and every other in the world.

Have you ever heard Francesa discuss movies or TV shows or political climate? Before your eyes (ears) he suddenly transforms from all-knowing guru into this generic, old, white, Long Island dad, who isn’t necessarily racist but says some things that racists say, thinks Frank Caliendo is funny, and… voted for Trump.

I was once listening as one of his callers, typically cut from the same cloth pontificated on the Colin Kaepernick saga by making the point: “Football is entertainment, Mike. It’s entertainment, am I right? (red flag any time someone poses this rhetorical) We don’t need to turn on the TV at 1:00 for our favorite pastime on Sundays and have it ruined by these guys kneeling during the national anthem. It’s supposed to be entertainment.”

I held my breath in prayer that Mike would come through for me.

“That’s a great point,” Mike said, “ a really great point,” and he broke my heart.

First of all, do they even televise the national anthem before every game? I’m honestly not even sure because like most fans, I don’t tune in for the national anthem, and I’d venture a guess that up until now this caller didn’t either. I think we can all agree that the entertainment is in the actual football, so until players start wearing NAACP stickers on their helmets or perform end zone celebrations that include raising one fist as they hang a Nazi dummy from the end zone post, I’d say the entertainment compartment remains unblemished.

Mike continued in accord: “People work hard all week long, and they just want to relax on Sundays and watch football – not your political protest. And you’ll see, you keep doing it and people will stop watching, and you’ll have to get a regular job paying not nearly as much as you’re getting paid now to play a kids’ game.”

Okay…

1.     Umm, no they won’t (stop watching). Do you have any idea how popular football is? I know you do. The NFL could air Black Panther rallies over the national anthem and KKK cross burnings at the Super Bowl halftime show and it would still do better numbers than any NBA finals or World Series game. If you think the mindless drones of the Midwest who worship football second only to the Lord in heaven, Jesus Christ, and Donald Trump, are going to stop watching football you are out of your Diet Coke-infested mind.

2.     Can we agree that the only thing more reprehensible than getting paid loads of money for playing a kids’ game is getting paid loads of money for simply talking about said kids’ game?

3.     If a five second clip of five or ten guys silently kneeling while the surrounding 75,000 others are standing in reverence compromises your ability to relax on Sundays then you should seek immediate mental health.

Obviously one is free to disagree whether there is in fact social injustice, but isn’t this part of what makes our country great, the very first amendment: Freedom of Speech? Aren’t you that much less “American” when you protest peoples’ right to protest, ironically shitting on the Bill of Rights whenever it happens to not appease your views? When Lebron James, Carmelo Anthony and Chris Paul used their platform to speak out against violence in urban communities it didn’t seem to bother anyone. Mohammed Ali and Arthur Ashe were activists whose legacies are both celebrated, and Bruce Springsteen often interrupts his actual entertainment to do the same. Why didn’t any half-wit, Jersey douche bags call in about these?  

When Kaepernick first made the decision to kneel I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I knew it didn’t offend me as an American. I just wondered what a lot of others did, whether it was the right context for the action, in terms of potential efficacy towards intention. For years it was one of the biggest stories in sports, which might indicate actualization of the first stage of efficacy.

He made it clear that his choice had nothing to do with disrespecting the troops or their families – that there are many components of a nation, and his message was in regards to just one of those components. One could equally choose to kneel in protest of the drug companies, health insurance or legalization of Monsanto poisoning our food. Or we could stand in support of the troops, our democratic freedom and land of occupational opportunity. I found this point to be thoughtful, indisputable, also personally relatable.

I grew up a huge hip hop head and was often judged and criticized, mostly by fellow whites as being inauthentic, the inverse of an Uncle Tom; but also occasionally by black people, for not having the right to culturally appropriate “their thing,” because I didn’t have to worry about getting shot by cops when I walk down the street.

I always thought this was an unfair card to pull, since as abhorrent as police brutality is, it still makes up a very small percentage of the black experience in America. I’ve lived in New York my entire life and have spent a huge chunk of time in black communities. If the people I see on the streets are in this alleged perpetual state of worry about getting shot then I’d hate to see what they look like when they’re relaxed. I think it’s horrible how authorities have often dealt with the black community, but it would be as impossible for blacks to be relegated to a perpetual state of worry or fear as it was for New Yorkers to be of terrorism after 9/11.  

This is classic cherry picking, highlighting only the most tragic examples of a particular reality in order to make an accused transgressor seem as such. My hip hop appropriations being labeled as disrespectful to social inequality was as inaccurate as Kaepernick’s kneeling is to the troops or their families.

As we grow into adulthood we become abundantly aware that we are flawed, then we come to terms with accepting that the partner we fall in love with is as well. I remember how enlightening it was for me in adolescence when I first heard (white) friends criticize “white people” in broad strokes that were only somewhat tongue and cheek. This was huge for me, and so logical. Of course! We live in the diverse melting pot of New York. We should surely specify when we’re talking about white people, as there are other people in the world. Secondly, “white people” as a group have resounding flaws, as well as strengths, and it’s OK to acknowledge either or both. The same goes for black people, Hispanics, Asians and Arabs, as well as men, women, and groups of every religion. I think one of the primary red flags for stupidity is a failure to recognize the shortcomings of the group which one is inherently a part of. Much more disturbing to me than the 15 or 20 black players I see kneeling for the national anthem is how long it took to see even one white player join them.

As individuals we are microcosms of our group and/or our nation, which means if we are flawed so must be our macrocosm, which means we should take every opportunity to correct said flaws. We’re quick to honor and celebrate those of us who make great efforts to address their individual shortcomings, but equally quick to attack those who attempt the same for the group they are a part of. Colin Kaepernick is part of the black “group,” but he is also a part of America, a successful, upstanding part I might add. For this it pains me to see teams run from signing him, as fast as he’s run for so many end zones, in fear of backlash from their fan base who might oppose his peaceful protests. The Philadelphia Eagles signed Michael Vick after he was released from prison for the violent crime of torturing and killing fighting dogs. Kaepernick, conversely, is legally protesting violence with the intention of raising social awareness, and he can’t get back into the league. It should be no surprise that our society is in the state that it is. Also, fuck the Eagles.

[the--blackdahlia]

Red Dawn Final Chapter (SPN AU)

Title: Red Dawn Final Chapter

Summary:  Calumet, Colorado is just a normal, American town. And the Winchesters are just a normal family. Until war breaks out on their doorstep. Now, they have to fight not only for their lives, but the lives of their friends, neighbors, and all of America. Based off the Red Dawn movies.

Warnings: Brief language

AN: Thank you so much for everyone who read this train wreck! I hope you liked reading it as much as I liked writing it!

Twelve Years Later

“This year is the tenth anniversary since the defeat of North Korean forces and the reclaiming of the United States. Several events are going on not only today, but all week. There is a memorial service on the front lawn of the White House today, followed by a nationwide moment of silence. Several rebuilt cities are hosting festivities including firework shows. July 4th is a big event, but this gives newer generations a taste of what is worth fighting for…”

“I’m tired of hearing this every year.” Benny grumbled, cleaning glasses behind the bar. Retirement looked good on him. He had taken a job at Sal’s not long after Operation Reclaim. The colonel was finally ready to relax and more than willing to break up a bar fight here or there.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad.” Jo said, setting her tray on the bar and dropping off a couple beer steins. “It’s patriotic.” Benny shook his head and took the glasses from her. The bell above the door rang then and Benny smiled as Lisa came in.

“Hey honey.” Benny said, walking from around the bar to place a kiss on her lips. “Long night?”

“Tell me about it.” She groaned. “I was going to go pick Ben up from daycare, but he’s asleep so I just thought I’d let him be for a little bit.” Benny smirked and went back around to pour Lisa a beer.

“Jimmy invited us all to mass tonight.” Jo said. “Mom said I should go. Said church would do me some good.”

“I’ve made my peace with god. We’re good now.” Benny said with a shrug. Lisa was about to say something when a noise outside caught her attention. She turned to look out the glass door and gasped at what she saw.

A black, 1967 Chevy Impala drove by the bar.

“Is that…” Jo started, looking from Benny to Lisa. Lisa set her beer down and went to the door.

“He’s back.” She said. Benny looked around the bar and found it empty. Everyone who had been here had to go back to work or the festivities in town. He turned the Open sign off and turned off the lights.

“Let’s go see him then.” He said.

****

The car made the trek up the road towards the forest, which was now a state park. People came with their kids to have picnics and camp, many knowing about what happened on this mountain, but someday it would just be a page in the history books and the people who came out here wouldn’t know from a first-hand source what had happened here. On the edge of the forest, in a clearing, set several boulders. A plaque was anchored to one of the boulders, explaining the significance of the boulders. The Impala parked right there, right by that memorial.

The driver’s door opened up and Dean Winchester climbed out. His skin had been kissed by the sun on his travels, making him a couple shades tanner than he had been when he left Colorado years ago. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes, hiding the green orbs from anyone. A baseball cap that said San Jac’s Saloon was on his head. He had worked there for a couple months while living in Austin. He had worked a lot of places for not very many months, just trying to keep himself busy. He took note of some people standing around the boulder, staring at the names and other things carved into it.

“This stands a memorial for the brave men and women who died during the North Korean occupation of the United States,” A man read to his kids. “These people died so that we could live, and we must remember them. This stands so that people can also remember the Hunters, a group of kids and young adults who fought to keep Calumet safe for another day…”

Dean nodded along as he read the names on the stone. John Winchester, Mark Pellegrino, Jessica Moore, Caleb Padalecki, Rick Padalecki, Rufus Turner, as well as a few other names that hadn’t been there when Dean left. But one name was missing, and that bugged him more than anything. Pulling out a pocket knife he had gotten while working in Georgia, Dean climbed up on the rock.

“Hey! I don’t think you’re supposed to be up there.” The woman that was there with the man and kids said. Dean ignored her, climbing to the top and starting to carve Sam’s name into the stone like Sam had done with all the others.

“Hey!” The man said. Dean glared down at him, gripping his knife. The man raised his hands. “Uh…never mind.” He quickly led the woman and the kids away from Dean.

“Stupid asshole.” Dean grumbled to himself. He slid down to the ground after he finished his work. Sam Winchester. His name deserved to be up there with all the others. He deserved so much more than what he got. But Dean couldn’t fix that. This was the best he could go.

“I saw your book.” A voice said behind Dean. He spun around and saw Crowley standing there. He was wearing a police uniform, something that surprised Dean. He always expected an orange jumpsuit. “It’s really good. Sam’s journal. That was a good idea.”

“Hey Crowley.” Dean said, folding up his pocket knife. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

“A vintage ’67 Chevy Impala comes into town and people talk.” He said with a shrug. “They all want to see you.”

“I can’t. Not with the way I left.” Dean said. “I’m just stopping through. Have an appointment with a woman named Jenny. She lives in the old house and has things that were left.” He looked Crowley up and down. “And since when did you get on the right side of the law?”

“Since you ran off and inspired people.” Crowley explained. “You and Sam saved a lot of people. I figure that I might as well follow you’re example.” Dean sighed. “Jimmy is hosting a mass tonight. More of a get together for the surviving Hunters. Please come.”

“Crowley…”

“There will be food.” Crowley said with a shrug. Dean sighed.

“We’ll see.” He turned and headed for his car, leaving Crowley standing there by his own.

****

“Mommy, is this going to be boring?” Ben asked as Lisa carried him into the church. While it would be a mass, it was really more of a reunion for the hunters that remained in Calumet, or the ones that had survived the occupation.

“No honey. It’ll be fun.” Lisa said, ruffling his hair. “And Aunt Meg and Uncle Cas will be here. I know how much you love them.” Benny watched his wife and son with a pleased smile on his face.

Soon, Benny, Lisa, Jo, Cas, Crowley, Meg, Ruby, and Bobby gathered in the first few pews of Jimmy’s church. Ben set between Benny and Lisa, staring at the beautiful stain glass windows and amazing artwork. Jimmy looked around at everyone, sighing a little.

“I’m glad to see everyone here.” He said. He was about to start his small sermon before the food was served when the doors to the church opened. Everyone turned around to look.

“Mom, who’s that?” Ben asked. Lisa stood up and raced down the aisle to him, wrapping her arms around him.

“Dean.” Lisa gasped, hugging him tightly. She pulled back after a second. “Where the fuck have you been?! Sorry Jimmy.”

“Acceptable in this case.” Jimmy said, waving her off. Dean took the hat off his head.

“Everywhere.” He said. “I stayed in Free America until the occupation was over. Then I travelled the country. Anywhere I could to keep my mind off of things. Published Sam’s journal, minus a page or two.” He looked around at everyone staring at him, including a little boy he had never seen before. “This can all wait though.”

“I think the lord would rather hear this story than me telling his word right now.” Jimmy said. Dean shook his head. He didn’t want to get into this right now. He didn’t even really want to be here, but talking to some of the old neighbors who had gotten their homes back and seeing Crowley up at the mountain made Dean think. And he decided it was best after all these years to tell them he wasn’t dead. He sighed and set in a pew. Everyone turned so they could see him.

“Well, after I left, I headed towards deep Free America. I hung out there for a while, doing some training for Special Forces who would go to drive the enemy out. Once that happened, I bounced from state to state. Texas for a few months, New York, hell I even ended up in Canada for a while. But after all that running, I got tired. I figured it was time I came home.” Dean explained.

“We’re glad you’re back.” Jimmy said. “If you need a place to stay, I’m sure that many of us would open our homes to you.” Dean nodded and settled into the pew. Plans could be made later. Right now, Dean just wanted to listen and forget for a while.

****

Months Later

A mountains still were a beautiful backdrop to Calumet. The roads had been repaved during reconstruction, taking away potholes and unnecessary bumps. The McDonald’s with the burnt out M had been upgraded and was now partnered with a gas station. “Eat here and get gas” was a popular joke among the locals. The inside was new though, and it still was a popular place for breakfast.

The movie theater had been updated with a digital projector. But it mainly showed vintage films on the weekends and kids movies during the week when schools were on a break. There was a multi-cinema not too far away that housed newer films. Currently, there was an Elvis movie on the marquee. Viva Las Vegas and Jailhouse Rock would be on screen this weekend.

The parking lot of the high school was finally paved. There were a lot of divots in the gravel from tanks and other machines tearing it up. The Wolverine had been painted, standing out against the old building now. There was a memorial in the main hall of the high school, to remember the former students of Calumet who had fought hard and proud to keep the town safe.

Dean Winchester took it all in as he drove from the small house he had bought on his old street. Two down from the one he used to live in with his brother and dad. He had gotten a job at the old garage his dad worked at. The owner had welcomed Dean with open arms, after making Dean promise that he wasn’t going to jump ship after a couple months. So Dean made the trek from home to work, a Blue Oyster Cult song soundtrack for his drive.

The End

Tag List: @petrovadixon @theas-bedtime-stories @aiaranradnay @policeofficerdean @blacktithe7 @af112992 @dekahg

[gumiguta]

Colloquial Polish (23/?)

Special thanks to @wednesday-angeline for helping me translating this word!

Colloquial word for osiedle m (pl. osiedla) - housing estate

ośka f

Idziemy dzisiaj na ośkę z ziomkami. Weź browary. Today we’re going on the housing estate with buddies. Take beers. 

ziomek m - buddy, mate browar m - beer (see more HERE)

Notes:

HISTORY

A term osiedle was previously strongly connected with the Polish People’s Republic (Polish: Polska Rzeczpospolita Ludowa, PRL) (a part of the history of Poland under Communist control between 1952 and 1990 - SOURCE). a typical Polish osiedle those days is a complex of large blocks of flats (they were supposed to last max 20 years because of the shitty construction but they still exist as a reminder of Communist era in some European countries like Czech, Slovakia, Ukraine, Russia etc.). Here are examples:

Osiedle Gaj, Wrocław (SOURCE)

Osiedle Kozanów, Wrocław (SOURCE)

Osiedle Za Żelazną Bramą, Warszawa (SOURCE)

We’ve got also words connected with this kind of a complex of large blocks of flats:

blok (mieszkalny) m - block of flats 

blokowisko n - complex of large blocks (colloquial)

wielka płyta f - a colloquial term for a panel building constructed of pre-fabricated, pre-stressed concrete (SOURCE); in Polish you can say wielka płyta refering to blok (mieszkalny)

Wielka płyta, Polska (SOURCE)

Construction of the building Lachmana Wacława 6, osiedle Ursynów, Warszawa (SOURCE)

If you want to take a closer look at Polish wielka płyta and a communist osiedle Ursynów (Warszawa), I recommend you watch a Polish comedy TV series “Alternatywy 4”. 

We welcome the householder. Alternatywy 4 Street

It’s a satire of life under the communist rule. Completed in 1983 (but aired in 1986 due to the censorship) “Alternatywy 4” contains 9 episodes directed by Stanisław Bareja. The title “Alternatywy 4” refers to a residential complex, still in existence at 3 Marii Grzegorzewskiej Street in Warsaw, Poland (SOURCE).

Personally it’s one of my favourite Polish tv series. I love the absurdity of those times on the screen (but not irl).

SOCIETY

There are strong stereotypes about occupants of osiedla / blokowiska (pl.). Polish don’t have a good opinion on them. We’ve got:

older people who still remember communist times

people with social problems, social ills

dresy / dresiarze and kibole (pl.)

Let’s start with the first point - older people (50-60 yo). They still remember communist times, usually it’s a patriarchal form of a family, sometimes with a alcoholic problem (mostly men). 

So called social ills, in Polish patologia f (colloquial word - patola f) or problemy społeczne (pl.), refers to families/people with social problems like poverty, alcoholism, drug addiction, sometimes home abuse.

Dres m / dresiarz m and kibol m are the most characteristic occupants of osiedle / blokowisko. 

DRES m / DRESIARZ m

It’s only an introduction to the dres subculture - it’s much more complicated; the description under is a simplification.

(SOURCE)

“Dres m / dresiarz m - a term used in Poland to describe a specific subculture or class of young males. Dresiarze stereotypically live in urban tower blocks or tenement houses. They are usually portrayed as undereducated, unemployed, aggressive and anti-social. The dresiarz phenomenon was first observed in the 1990s, and is sometimes compared to the British chav, although is perhaps more similar to the Russian Gopnik. It would later partially merge with the hooligan subcultures, and sometimes attributed to football hooligans.

The term refers to tracksuits, which in Polish is dres. Kark (pl. Polish: karki - napes) and blocker (pl. Polish: blokersi - block-people) are related but not synonymous terms. The term has a pejorative connotation in Polish mass-media.

Kark, meaning “neck” and a short for byczy kark (“bull neck”), is most used in connection with weight lifting; a person perceived as a kark may be wearing neither trainers nor a tracksuit, but shares most other elements of stereotypical dres behaviour. The term may also refer to lower-ranked members of gangster groups, i.e. “Thugs”.

Blokers - a term for a young person exhibiting anti-social behaviour, living in towerblocks (blok in Polish).

ABS - an acronym for Absolutny Brak Szyi (“Total Lack of Neck”). Often used pejoratively for heavily “pumped up” thugs and hooligans.” (SOURCE)

KIBOL m

It’s only an introduction to the kibol subculture - it’s much more complicated; the description under is a simplification.

Śląsk Wrocław (SOURCE)

Lech Poznań (Kolejorz) (SOURCE)

Legia Warszawa (SOURCE)

This term refers to a fanatic football supporter in Poland. They often reminds dresy / dresiarze - clothes, behaviour, interests. They usually wear clothes related to their favourite football team. Every football club has its own aggresive supporters known as kibole (pl.). They especially hate:

the police (their typical slogan is “jebać policję” - fuck the police; or “zawsze i wszędzie policja jebana będzie” - the police will be fucked everytime and everywhere)

supporters of enemy football teams (they have special songs like “Stara kurwa do jebania - Lech z Poznania!” - Lech from Poznań is an old whore to fuck!; a song of WKS Śląsk Wrocław for Lech Poznań)

homosexuals (if you look like a “faggot” to them, you can get kicked on the ass quickly)

imigrants (right now kibole are more against imigrants than ever what causes fights, even murders of both sides - kibole and imigrants)

They are a dangerous group during games, so it’s better not to piss them off… It is said that the most fanatic and dangerous kibole are in the smallest towns (years ago I’ve read an article about arbiters in small towns of Poland and it seems like they literally fight for their lifes after the game sometimes).

It’s not like you can’t watch a game of your favourite football team while not being a kibol. Kibole are usually “closed” in a special sector where they can’t hurt other supporters. But fights on the stadium happen from time to time. After the game (outside the stadium) fights between supporters of football clubs and the police are “normal” and frequent. 

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT THESE ARE ONLY STEREOTYPES. This picture of block of flats society is exaggerated! Occupants of blokowiska vary a lot!

PRESENT

Osiedla / Blokowiska are still built in Poland but they are on the outskirts of cities. They are more expensive than previous blocks of flats (sometimes even worse constructed!) so people are not so willing to live there. Right now a term osiedle can refer to a group of single-family houses. Examples:

Osiedle Malownicze, Wrocław (SOURCE)

Wiślany Mokotów, Warszawa (SOURCE)

POST SCRIPTUM

You can say that block of flats and whole blokowiska are even heroes of people’s lifes. One of the best movies I’ve ever seen is Russian “The Fool” (”Дурак” 2014). 

“At stake are the lives of 800 inhabitants of an old dorm that is at risk of collapsing within the span of the night. Dima Nikitin is a simple and honest guy, a foreman of a repair team at a provincial housing service. Nothing really makes him stand out among the rest. It’s only the unusual combination of honesty and integrity that makes others perceive him as somewhat weird.In the little town there is a notorious dorm, inhabited mainly by drunkards and outcasts. One night the pipes burst at the dorm. After arriving at the scene, Nikitin discovers that things are way more serious - the building will not stand through the night. People need to be evacuated immediately. Fighting the red tape, Nikitin sets off on a night Odyssey around the town authorities.” (SOURCE)

“The Fool” is not strictly about occupants of the block of flats, it’s more directed to the town authorities. Despite this you can clearly see how people live in this kind of building, why social ills are so common there. 

Watch it, you won’t regret it.

[evilelitest2]

Debunking Stupid Christopher Hitchen’s Quote

     I don’t think this is going to be like a reoccuring thing, but may be every so often I should take a statement made by somebody and just delve into how wrong it is.  Today’s offering comes from @datablossom in defense of Christopher Hitchens.  Only context you need, I was saying that reductionist views towards your opposition leads to extremely stupid decision making, like Christoper self describing himself as a single issue voter in regards to the War on Terror and how dumb it is, and this quote is suppose to debunk my claim.  Now for a bit of context. Christopher Hitchens was an atheist Philosphy of the “New Atheist” movement, one of the supposed Four Horsemen, and cards on the table I just can’t stand the New Atheist philosophy at all, I find it trite, smug, and extremely intellectually vapid, its Voltaire without the humor. But beyond that, I find it very much like the Free Speech Warriors, where they start out as a group using questionable methods to oppose an actual right wing evil force (The Religious Right and the Fox News culture Warriors) only to immediately ally with those exact same people and support their world view in a moment’s notices.  Its like a LOTRS thing, they use the methods of the Enemy and almost instantly become the enemy.  Cause remember, Christophen Hitchen started out as an opponent to Fundamentalist Christianity, and then once you introduce Islam into the mix, he quickly winds up supporting those same people 

So here is the quote, as well as the commentary of @datablossom which will be marked in Italics 

Here’s Hitchens’ actual words, not some truncated quote that explains nothing, it’ll just boil my guts if I don’t bring them to the forefront:

“There is a widespread view that the war against jihadism and totalitarianism involves only differences of emphasis. In other words, one might object to the intervention in Iraq on the grounds that it drew resources away from Afghanistan - you know the argument. It’s important to understand that this apparent agreement does not cover or include everybody. A very large element of the Left and of the isolationist Right is openly sympathetic to the other side in this war, and wants it to win. This was made very plain by the leadership of the “anti-war” movement, and also by Michael Moore when he shamefully compared the Iraqi fascist “insurgency” to the American Founding Fathers.”

Ok right off the back, we have Hitchens utterly failing at his supposed goal to be rational and engaging in the type of hyperbole simplistic thinking that he himself smugly mocks in his other books (I had the misfortune of raeding Hitch 22.  Lets break this down 

1) Ok so firstly, Hitchen is doing a really classically stupid thing of buying into simplistic black and white paradigm created by the duplicity  and believed by their ignorant, because in case you haven't noticed, the War on Terror isn’t a war with a single force.  Jihadists and Totalitarianism aren’t like...singular things.  Hell they are actually two very different entities and it is really evident that Hitchens hasn’t read Arendt.  The War on Terror isn’t with a singular opponent, that is why it is such a clusterfuck.  Here let me use an example of a normal war as a contrast.      WWII was a battle against the Axis powers, who were three countries and their associated Vassal States.  They had capital cities, heads of states, armies, forms of goverment and a physical location that they occupied.  Nazi German controlled this land mass 

So if you send an army in and take over the territory in red, guess what, you’ve won, you have eliminated Nazism.  Which we you know...did.  There is a clear war end with a clear victory condition.      But Terror isn’t like...a nation.  There is no Terrorstan with its capital city of terovania ruled by the King of Terrorism who we can go in and kill, because this isn’t a conventional war.  Like what is the end goal of the War on Teror, how do we win?  Are we fighting to eliminate Bin Laden and Al-Quedi?  Well in that case, then why invade Iraq, because if anybody actually understood anything about the period they would know the two men detested each other and opposed each other politically.  Is the goal to wipe out islam?  Well that means that you are talking about the largest genocide in all of human history.  Is it to try to eliminate Fundamentalist militant Islam? Well then the best way to do that historically has never been through war which only strengthens Islamic extremism (you know how since the invasion of Afghanistan and Iraq we have seen Islamic fundamentalist get only more powerful?)  The thing about the War on Terror and the War on Drugs is that they are these huge international utterly mismanaged fuck ups which not only cost an inordinate amount of blood and treasure, but also can’t really be won because they are by their nature unwinnable, how do you fight a fucking concept? And Hitchens is just sort of accepting this premise that the War on Terror is like a thing, he is just kinda unquestioningly going ‘Well this paradigm totally exists and lets run with it”  Terms like “The Enemy” or “The other side”.  What is the Other Side Exxactly?   2) I mean going off the mindless Assumptions that HItchens is making, who are we fighting exactly?  LIke ok, if you aren’t 4 years old, you should know that the Middle East isn’t a singular faction of unified peoples who all agree on stuff.  I mean lets do a quick list of factions in the middle east The Saudi Royal Family The Saudi Wahhabist Clerics The Pakistani Goverment The Pakistani Military Saadamn Hussein’s Iraq (at the time of this writing) Al-Queda Hamas Hezbollah The Theocracy of Iran The Goverment of Turkey The Kudishistan Fighters The Government in Egypt The Muslim Brotherhood The Dictatorship of Syria The Goverment of Lebenon The Monarchy of Jordon The Palestinian Leadership The nation of Israel (with all of the factions contained there in) The various sub states that make up the UAE The goverment of Qutar The Dictatorship of Kuwait The Dictatorship of Libya The Dictatorship of Tunisia The Dictatorship of Yemen The Dictatorship of Oman The Governments of the US, France, Britain, Russia, India, and their Allies The various exiles and rebels from all of those countries And that is just a short list.  None of those groups are unified with the others, they might be allies or share common interest, but they aren’t the same thing, I mean the Sunni Shia division is just one big part of this.   Again its one of those things that if you are you know....stupid it seems simple but the moment you try to understand the details, the whole thing falls apart, and as evident from this and other writings by him, Chris really doesn’t actually know anything about middle eastern politics like...at all.   3)  Speaking of unquestioning assumptions HItchens is oh so fond off, even if we are going to fight against radical Islam, he just kinda accepts that direct military intervention is going to work, because...look its gonna work ok, it just is.  And this is one of those things that if you actually you know...studied the history of the region and the politics or just occupation in general, you’d immediately know how stupid that is, but again, Hitchens is basically going with military approach because it feels emotionally correct, but because it feels emotionally correct and seems simple.  ‘argg, goes guys are bad, lets send troops in and stop them’ which of course...no, that doesn’t work.  Because when you bomb somebody’s house, they aren’t inclined to listen to you, and imposing democracy at Gun point doesn’t have a history of working.  LIke if he knew anything about the history of the region he could have studied the Soviet Invasion of Afghanistan or the fall of the Ottoman Empire and maybe conclude ‘oh wait, just going in their guns blazing just doesn’t work”   4) Now mr. Rational here supported the Iraq War, and thought that was a capital idea, only for it to fail disastrously.  And his argument was “Well its a Muslim dictatorship, lets get ride of it”  And no where in his article does he go “Oh lets also invade Saudi Arabia, you know, the Muslim Theocracy which provides most of the funding for Islamic fundamentalism?”  But again, that just goes unquestioned cause you know...he doesn’t actually know anything about the region beyond some vague stereotypes 5) Also Jihadism and Totalitarianism are different concepts, Christopher you fucking idiot.  If we are fighting against Totalitarianism, then we should be invading China, Russia, North Korea, Totalitarianism is a sytem of goverment, Jihaadism is a militant practice, they are sometimes linked but they aren’t always the same thing.   6) So when Hitchen says “Oh the Left wants the Other Side” to win, what does he even mean? Again, this isn’t a two sided conflict, is like...39 sided conflict and some of them keep switching sides.  So which “other side” does the left want to win?  Do his think that Moore wants Bin Laden to create a new caliphate because you know...that never happened.  or does he mean like leftists wanting Palestine to get its own state, because yeah, a lot of leftists do want that. but he doesn’t really argue how that helps “The Enemy” or how the one state situation helps weaken Islamic fundamentalism.  But no, this is just the same Red Scare bullshit of “Oh if we don’t even try to understand why people are trying to kill us, that means we win the war right?” bullshit that didn’t work then, and isn’t working now.  For example, if Hitchen understood like...anything about the region he’d know about the 1953 Iranian Coup and how that didn’t weaken Muslim extremism but only made it worse.   7) Also, I hate defending Michael Moore of all people, but no, he didn’t say he wants Muslim extremism to win, he said that the war is immoral, unjust and doesn’t work, creating more problems than it solved.  The point of the founding father’s comparison is that one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter and to the Iraqis the insurgents, they are trying to get foreign invaders out of their country.

Ok next quote 

“To many of these people, any “anti-globalization” movement is better than none. With the Right-wingers it’s easier to diagnose: they are still Lindberghians in essence and they think war is a Jewish-sponsored racket. With the Left, which is supposed to care about secularism and humanism, it’s a bit harder to explain an alliance with woman-stoning, gay-burning, Jew-hating medieval theocrats. However, it can be done, once you assume that American imperialism is the main enemy. Even for those who won’t go quite that far, the admission that the US Marine Corps might be doing the right thing is a little further than they are prepared to go - because what would then be left of their opposition credentials, which are so dear to them?…….” 

Lets switch to letters for this one 

A) Yes it is true there is a racist America First anti War Right wing element, but...the left never really embraced them.  In contrast, it was the right who really came to love them and then elected one of these Lindberghians president, good job 

B) Evidently it is really rational to assume that there are only a few sides in very argument, it doesn’t seem to occur to Hitchens that you might oppose Islamic fundamentalism and also not think that invading a country that had nothing to do with 9/11 are both wrong because nuanced thinking is rejected by the new atheists evidently.  You see why I am never impressed  by the so called New Atheist Rationalists, because they are really shitty about being rational, they take the rhetoric and shallow trappings of rationalism and use it to cover opinions that are coming from anti intellectual reductionist bigoted places and say “look its rational”...actually very similar to how muslim fundamentalists acts towards Islam.    

Reading Hitch 22 for me was a lot like watching Citizens Kane but without awareness, because every single thing he condemned he inevitably wound up doing himself.  

C) Also if you are talking about getting into bed with people they should oppose, lets talk about the fact that Hitch here became a surrogate for a Right Wing movement led by a Fundamentalist Christian who opposed Stem Cell Research, denied Global Warming and has a mixed record on evolution...and Hitch gets into bed with them.  And for all of his talk of Human rights, democracy, and feminism, he winds up working with people who hate feminism, who violate human rights regularly (you know...torture), and who support dictatorships abroad.  Again, the only way the rationality of Hitchens seems remotely consistent is if you are...stupid and don’t know any of the details.

This is why the New Atheist almost always wind up working with the religious Right, and why the people who opposed Republican attempts to demonize video games winded up part of the Right Wing machine, because if your core intellectual methodology is simplistic, then you are going to always be attracted to simplistic people.  

“………And this is the religion that exhibits the horrible trio of self-hatred, self-righteousness and self-pity. I am talking about militant Islam. Globally it’s a gigantic power. It controls an enormous amount of oil wealth, several large countries and states, with an enormous fortune it’s pumping the ideologies of wahhabism and salafism around the world, poisoning societies where it goes, ruining the minds of children, stultifying the young in its madrassas, training people in violence, making a cult of death and suicide and murder. That’s what it does globally, it’s quite strong. In our societies it poses as a cringing minority, whose faith you might offend, who deserves all the protection that a small and vulnerable group might need. Now, it makes quite large claims for itself, doesn’t it? It says it’s the Final Revelation.”

Lets go Roman Nummerials this time 

I) Globally its a giantaic power, I love this bit, because Hitch just spilled his hand and revealed to the world that he honestly thinks the Muslim powers are all one thing.  Cause....no....no they aren’t.  Three of the largest oil producing countries are Iran, Iraq and Saudi Arabia and guess what, they all hate each other.  Iran is Shia, Iraq was secular, and Saudi Arabia was a Sunni Fundamentalist State.  

II) OK he is talking about the mass funding of madrassases with Whahabism and yeah, thats a problem...How is invading Iraq solving that problem Hitch? Cause while Saadam Hussein was an evil terrible person, he wasn’t really big with Muslim fundamentalism, he was more secular, and into nation building.  Wouldn’t Hitch want to like, invade Saudi Arabia instead?  It honestly feels like he doesn’t know the difference between Iraq and Saudi Arabia 

III) Which makes his alliance with the Bush administration all the more ironic because you know who has massive ties to Saudi Arabia?  Oh right, the oil industry which is in bed with the Bushes and the Republicans party

IV) So you are just kinda left with a man who will abandon all of his principles (again he voted for Bush) if they appeal to his single issue

“I'm a single-issue voter, to get straight to the point. I'm really only interested in the candidate who's toughest and least apologetic when it comes to the confrontation with Islamic Jihadism.”

So you know...a moron 

Hitchens’ single issue was the fight against totality. Whether it comes from the madmen of jihad, the brutal fascist conservative windbags of the world, or the stilted leftist wignuts that pretend video games turn normal boys and girls into women hating sociopaths.

It seems like Hitchen’s point is “I don’t actually understand these issues, but I am going to rely upon broad generalizations to make it seem like my opinion on the matter actually is important.”  And that is generally what you get from Hitchen’s work, self important preening and fertilization of intellectual standards that he will never hold and will abandon in an instant if something appeals to his bigotry or xenophobia.  But I see why he is so popular with teenage boys, because the childish inflated sense of self worth is very telling, and I still think he hasn’t actually read Orwell.

“Beware the irrational, however seductive. Shun the 'transcendent' and all who invite you to subordinate or annihilate yourself. Distrust compassion; prefer dignity for yourself and others. Don't be afraid to be thought arrogant or selfish. Picture all experts as if they were mammals. Never be a spectator of unfairness or stupidity. Seek out argument and disputation for their own sake; the grave will supply plenty of time for silence. Suspect your own motives, and all excuses. Do not live for others any more than you would expect others to live for you.”

Good Advice, would be nice if the man actually followed it for once.  

[fapangel]

>It’s a 90-day moratorium | One that is utterly fucking useless since it doesn't even cover countries who have delivered the most death to Americans outside of armed conflict and occupation. If you, and Trump, actually give a shit about our national security, maybe we ought to be re-examining our relations with the Middle East as a whole, rather than implementing a halfassed moratorium. Maybe it just feeds in to how much you pretend to care about America, and the Americans who disagree with you.

Liberals last week: ISOLATIONISM IS BAD TRUMP IS SATAN

Liberals this week: FUCK THE ENTIRE MIDDLE EAST, ALL OF ‘EM! 

Only the left-wing could sneer about the blatant racism of Trump “banning” Muslim-majority nations from immigration while simultaneously sneering about how he didn’t “ban” them all and how stupid it is. Listen, fiddlefuck - you are literally so wrong that NEWSWEEK of all goddamned publications did a pretty good job (despite themselves) documenting how and why those nations aren’t a problem and/or why diplomacy takes precedent:

http://www.newsweek.com/muslim-majority-countries-not-included-trump-travel-ban-550141

Or just read my list: 

Saudi Arabia: Our longstanding and crucial regional ally which provides most of the bases from which our aircraft conduct operations against ISIS - and against Iraq in the first and second Gulf war - and are aligned with us in trying to contain Iran, etc. There’s a whole fucking Wikipedia article on the close relationship between the US and Saudi Arabia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saudi_Arabia%E2%80%93United_States_relations

They’re not our fucking friends but they sure do play ball, which means there’s actually a co-operating government with working intel services on their end helping to vet visa applicants. 

Pakistan: Also a vital regional ally the US has long ties with, and worse, it’s a regional ally that is most definitely not our friend, something about “fucking hiding Bin Laden within shouting distance of their fucking major military academy” or something, I dunno. They’re also fighting an ongoing Taliban insurgency in their country (many of which we chased out of Afghanistan) and not doing too fucking swell at it, oh and did I mention they have nukes? You might say that situation is ticklish, but given the shit-tons of financial aid (and weapons) we provide them, we’re not lacking for influence when it comes to compliance and aid in immigration matters. Suffice to say the Pakistanis have a functioning government and halfway competent military/police force, and good reasons not to piss us off by letting fucking insurgents embark at their airports. And on the flip side neither of us really like the other, and relations are still shaky so this isn’t a good time to be cockslapping them with an immigration moratorium, moron. Here, read the fuck up: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pakistan%E2%80%93United_States_relations#Alliance_with_United_States

Afghanistan: You mean the nation we have 7,000 fucking troops in as we fucking speak, and the government is one we defend, support and effectively prop up? We control the fucking airports out of that country, you knuckle-dragging fuckwit. 

Turkey: Last week: TRUMP IS TRYING TO TEAR APART NATO AND LET PUTIN REIGN AS SOVIET GOD-KING TILL THE END OF TIME! 

This week: WHY DIDN’T TRUMP SKULLFUCK OUR NATO ALLY AT THE EXACT SAME TIME PUTIN’S SUCKING THEM OFF AS HARD AS POSSIBLE TO CAPITALIZE ON ALREADY SHAKY RELATIONS!? 

You fucking idiot. 

Tunisia: You mean that nation we’ve had good relations with for as long as we’ve had relations at all, that’s actively co-operating with our military operations against ISIS and has an actual democracy again after the Arab Spring actually worked there? Yes, let’s take an actual example of democracy by, for and of the people, living and thriving in the Middle East - you know, every ideal and virtue the US is trying to promote and defend - and just slap our nuts on their face. Top-fucking-notch suggestion, shitstain. 

Jordan: Jordan is a fucking designated MAJOR NON-NATO ALLY, a title we hand out to very few nations - Japan, South Korea, and Australia among them. Their king was personally flying airstrikes against ISIS, something their government can’t damn well admit to (Kirk is not supposed to go on Away missions) but probably happened anyway, because the crazy bastard’s like the child of Chesty Puller and a machine gun. Oh yes, these are definitely people who have shit-tier customs and immigration apparatus that we just can’t trust and need to vet more strongly, Except not, you cock-gobbling sycophant fuck. 

UAE and Qatar: See Saudi Arabia. Especially the UAE, they’re bombing the everloving hell out of ISIS and their efforts to keep them out of their country are, how you say, vigorous. 

Egypt: The definition of “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” since they broke with the Soviets back when the Cold War called the shots, but what’s significant now is that the de-facto rulers - their military junta - fucking hate the Muslim Brotherhood with a hot, hot hate. To give you an idea of how long the Muslim Brotherhood has been around; they were active in plotting insurrection against British rule - in the 1930s. They also had a hand in the rebellion of British-owned Iraq in WWII. They’re old-school extremists, and the Egyptian military junta, which rules with an iron and very stable fist, hates their fucking guts. 

To be clear, here, you are literally advocating discrimination based on national origin, a protected class defined under the 1964 Civil Rights Act. Unlike Trump, who is temporarily pausing immigration based on port of embarkation, targeting nations where the local security services and/or government/intelligence apparatus cannot be trusted to do an adequate job on their end. And you’re going to lecture me on how much I “care about America?” If you gave fuck one about your country maybe you’d educate yourself before voting instead of dragging your knuckles all the way to the polls.