#All tras should be killed

[oxiiiii]

Holocaust deniers but make it woke

[djuvlipen]

They have been getting so bold lately...

[swagging-back-to]

not sorry. i extend very little sympathy and patience towards tras who are underage, and the only ones who do get said sympathy are TIFs. but again. it's MICROSCOPIC levels of sympathy.

[miladysatsuki]

hi I just finished my first ever playthrough of undertale (neutral and paci endings) and keep bawling about asriel and think I shrimply will never be normal again

[wildwestdean]

impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park. 

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you. 

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait. 

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.” 

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach. 

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?” 

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together. 

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like. 

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.” 

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.” 

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets. 

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be. 

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo. 

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun. 

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.” 

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.” 

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building. 

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock. 

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?” 

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.” 

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold. 

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you. 

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?” 

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.” 

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.” 

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him. 

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance. 

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs. 

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker. 

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed. 

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall. 

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way. 

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles. 

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you. 

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere. 

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun. 

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!” 

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision. 

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you. 

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns. 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!” 

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her. 

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.” 

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent. 

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on. 

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.” 

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up. 

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood. 

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him. 

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.” 

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down. 

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand. 

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?” 

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.” 

“What?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?” 

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?” 

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently. 

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket. 

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress. 

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks. 

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you. 

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat. 

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously. 

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?” 

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.  

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink. 

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker. 

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand. 

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall. 

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say. 

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?” 

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion. 

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.” 

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.” 

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink. 

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam. 

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother. 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically. 

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer. 

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean. 

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away. 

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on. 

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table. 

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.” 

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth. 

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you. 

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter. 

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar. 

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away. 

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you. 

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head. 

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice. 

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded. 

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?” 

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car. 

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you. 

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats. 

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?” 

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?” 

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff. 

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.” 

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!” 

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.” 

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance. 

“What, why?” you asked in confusion. 

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.” 

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off. 

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned. 

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.” 

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy. 

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders. 

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done. 

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom. 

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand. 

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran. 

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you. 

He couldn’t save you. 

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart. 

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him. 

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.  

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind. 

“Dean.” 

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came. 

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above. 

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut. 

“God dammit, Dean!” 

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer. 

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt. 

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.” 

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice. 

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him. 

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out. 

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current. 

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.” 

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order. 

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone. 

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name. 

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere. 

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order. 

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink. 

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him. 

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake. 

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang. 

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.” 

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?” 

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle. 

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?” 

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.” 

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice. 

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not. 

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.   

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself. 

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration. 

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.” 

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation. 

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.” 

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?” 

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!” 

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.” 

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed. 

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief. 

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?” 

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!” 

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.” 

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?” 

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!” 

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?” 

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.” 

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!” 

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?” 

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?” 

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff. 

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-” 

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?” 

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!” 

“Right,” Sam said sceptically.  “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised. 

“What?” 

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared. 

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively. 

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.” 

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.” 

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued. 

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.” 

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on. 

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin. 

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction. 

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen. 

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully. 

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge. 

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen. 

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway. 

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly. 

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child. 

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.  

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do. 

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything. 

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.” 

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!” 

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him. 

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion. 

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife. 

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?” 

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?” 

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes. 

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily. 

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call. 

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more. 

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered.  So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do. 

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.” 

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late. 

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.” 

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?” 

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.” 

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.” 

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation. 

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.” 

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner. 

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water. 

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water. 

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself. 

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding. 

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant. 

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.” 

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him. 

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.” 

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered. 

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.” 

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you. 

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly. 

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.” 

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?” 

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again. 

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.” 

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.” 

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?” 

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.” 

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.” 

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door. 

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out. 

“It’s not gonna kill me!” 

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?” 

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?” 

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.” 

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign. 

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.” 

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!” 

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.” 

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.” 

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.” 

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“You know what,” you scolded. 

“This is so fucking ridiculous.” 

“Tell me anyway.” 

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly. 

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.” 

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him. 

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.” 

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head. 

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.” 

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed. 

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully. 

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.” 

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.” 

“I do,” you agreed quietly. 

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.” 

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?” 

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.” 

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly. 

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].” 

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle. 

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently. 

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.” 

“Right,” you agreed. 

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly. 

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.” 

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously. 

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.” 

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off. 

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.” 

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say. 

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.” 

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.” 

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while. 

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.” 

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build. 

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.” 

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.” 

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.” 

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question. 

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat. 

“Okay,” he said with a huff. 

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly. 

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you. 

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened. 

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked. 

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.” 

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more. 

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.” 

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly. 

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?” 

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.” 

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?” 

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?” 

“Always,” you said honestly. 

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed. 

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. 

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly. 

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more. 

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things. 

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest. 

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares. 

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest. 

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

tagging: @roseblue373

let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

[sophie-frm-mars]

The Cass Review, and what we can do about it

The UK government is making decisive moves toward banning trans healthcare outright. The NHS says it is adjusting its policies to be in line with the "cass report", a pseudoscientific report written by a transphobe that goes as far as to claim that little boys playing with trucks and little girls playing with dolls is biological, and which disregards dozens of scientifically sound previous studies into HRT and trans healthcare in order to reach its conclusions that trans healthcare for under 25s should be radically changed to discourage transition at every turn and make it as hard as possible for young people to transition.

These moves will kill countless young trans people. I would not have made it to 25 if healthcare wasn't available and I know so many other trans people wouldn't have either.

The mainstream reporting in the UK is keeping itself ideologically cohesive by claiming that trans people exist, nobody hates them, and they're very rare, and the big problem is the explosion of new cases of not-really-trans people who are clogging up the system (this is a lie, the system has been intentionally slowed by malicious neglect, it isn't even a resource issue, the clinics have far more capacity than the number of patients who are let through)

Once again, this is genocidal and is actually a commonplace methodology of genocide. The nazis asked GRT people to help them understand which Traveller families were "real" travellers and which were the fake ones, since they insisted it was only the fake ones who were the problem and who had to be exterminated (because a lot of nazi GRT policy was based on American indigenous reservation policy).

Labour, the main opposiiton party in the UK, has announced it will "follow the Cass Report", and implement these restrictions on trans healthcare once in government.

For the survival of young trans people, robust community structures must be developed immediately.

Efforts to change the electoral situation will proceed at a snail's pace and will be entirely at the whims of what is politically expedient. It will turn around, but it will take a long time. At the voting level, everyone in the UK who cares about trans people needs to make it clear that they won't vote for Labour unless they reverse position on this, and to be clear about this: Labour will not listen. They are PR Brained Psychopaths and they don't want to get into this "controversial" issue in a way that might cost them further popularity and the easy election win.

Wes Streeting, inhuman lab experiment and Labour Shadow Health Secretary has said that activists need to "stop protesting to ask us to be better opposition and start protesting to ask us to be better government", in other words their electoral promises are cynical reactionary bargains and deals to get them into power and the only point at which they will change anything is once they are in government, if at all. I know this sounds very "push Biden left" but I'm not saying give up now - to repeat, everyone who cares about trans people in the UK should tell Labour to get fucked right away, and then keep doing it as loudly as possible, but it's just not going to change until after the general election at least.

Another way to help could be through legal routes, like the work that The Good Law Project has been doing for trans people for several years now, but I don't know enough about the law to know if it can be used to challenge this at all.

We have to accept there is no electoral solution right now to this genocidal campaign against trans people in the UK, and while those efforts are ongoing trans people and cis allies need to fucking organise. Trans exclusive / separatist organising is riddled with issues, I don't want to cast hopelessness around but there are really very few of us and while it's absolutely necessary to privilege trans voices in trans organising and give us the deciding power and the autonomy, we need to utilise the support and time and labour of every cis person who is willing to help in whatever way they can.

Robust community structures means community structures that are helping young trans people get healthcare as an absolute basic starting point, but it means a lot more than that besides. We need community structures that are consciously organised by people who are taking responsibility for the community roles they are in and being completely explicit with each other about the nature and function of their organising. We need HRT community resources so young trans people can survive this medical segregation, we need drug user harm reduction spaces so that what people turn to in despair doesn't kill them, we need sober spaces so that people can get away from unhealthy coping responses, we need conflict resolution structures so that our problems are dealt with privately and nobody is left completely isolated, but more than any of those things, and in order to have all of those things, we desperately need trans assemblies

Assemblies are how we will get a community of robust radical organisers, because only by repeatedly practicing the ongoing process of democracy can people learn how to do it in a way that will facilitate their own organising. We have to empower the whole community to answer our own questions, come up with solutions, organise people into structures to enact those solutions and then do them. All this means is that an open door event convenes frequently (at least fortnightly) to discuss what is happening in the community. Trans people get the mic for allotted time, and discuss the issues, and then whatever voting structure the assembly uses facilitates further discussion, for example through working groups - the assembly breaks into smaller groups to discuss the topic and then representatives report the outcomes of those discussions back and consensus is reached from what the representatives report.

We have to get people engaging in this process because in order to effectively combat this situation trans people must agree on the solutions and then tell cis allies how to help and so far we haven't been doing that. We really really haven't been. But we could be with a little work. And as I'm saying, doing this will also empower everyone in the community to organise toward specific solutions for specific issues like HRT provision, sober spaces, housing, food, etc.

fuck

I'll have more to add to this post later I have to get to therapy I just got really mad when I saw the news this morning

[as-if-and-only-if]

the thing that I've got to say is that it really is ethically straightforward that you should vote Harris.

it's not even a trolley problem, it's a trolley triviality. I don't want to use the meme because it seems disrespectful to use those specific images of MS paint people when these are real lives we're talking about.

The analogy itself is serious, though. it looks like this:

the track diverges at the lever; many people are on lower track, while no one is on the upper track. then: the tracks re-converge and continue, and there are people on the track after that convergence.

The point is that the lever—the vote—can be used to prevent those lives on the lower track from being lost, but cannot save the lives lost after the re-convergence.

it differs from the classic trolley problem in an extremely important way: there isn't anyone on the upper track. as such, it's not a question of "who do we save?"—it's only a question of "do we save the people we can?"

(I need to emphasize, because many on this site have long shed the shackles of reading comprehension, that this does not mean that no one dies as a consequence of U.S. or presidential policy choices in a vacuum. It means that your vote cannot prevent that, but your vote can prevent strictly more people from dying, with no trolley-problem type tradeoff of "who do we choose to die".)

~~~~~

you might think that this is abstracting away too much of the real situation—but it turns out it's ironclad.

to see that it is, and reconcile it with reality, we have to ask: what is not modeled by this analogy? where might it fail?

this amounts to asking the question: is there a benefit to killing the people on the lower track that makes doing so "worth it"?

that is: what justification might you have for saying "yes, we actually need to let those lives on the lower track, the ones we could save with the lever, be lost"?

and the answer—as you might have guessed—is that there is no such justification. no peculiar fact about voting means that you should let those people die.

~~~~~

so why do some people—very passionately—insist that not voting is right? I'll survey a few of the most common attempted justifications I've seen, such as:

"I'm not going to vote for less genocide." This is obviously equivalent to "I am totally fine with more genocide!", a truly horrific stance, and yet I have seen it nearly verbatim from so-called "leftists" a few times. My guess is that this usually stems from a kind of perceived moral contamination: a feeling that a "vote for" a candidate is a moral alignment. This is artificial; not real; not consequential. A vote only makes you responsible for the difference between the two tracks while they diverge. Touching the lever doesn't make you responsible for the track. Choosing between these two outcomes is all voting can do—and because voting for most is easy, and doesn't stop you from doing anything else, there are no trade-offs. No "I'm not at the lever, because I had to work on another way." (If your vote is suppressed, that's another story—but this doesn't imply a general anti-voting stance.)

Ironically, some who aren't voting feel they are "keeping their hands clean", when they are in fact actively increasing the chance of more death and suffering. This is kind of the definition of getting your hands "dirty"; it just doesn't feel like it because they're not touching a voting machine, which is kind of just magical thinking. it's not a point not made frequently enough, I think: what some think of as "doing the right thing" here is very much doing the wrong thing, with respect to their own underlying values of right and wrong, and with respect to what they say they care about. those who claim to have the moral high ground by not voting do not actually have it at all.

On that note, some people (fewer, though) seem to think that touching the lever does make you responsible for the track in a real outcome-based way. That somehow, voting lends "legitimacy" to the track, and that by not voting, we are maybe creating a future with no people on tracks. This is just not true; a dangerous fantasy that asks you to sit back and wait for a utopia that's not coming. There are enough voters in this upcoming election that that institution is not going anywhere anytime soon; you'd need a coordinated movement of not voting plus plans for what to do after the state has lost legitimacy, and that is just...obviously not here. To think otherwise is to live in that fantasy, and so to abandon ethical thinking at all, as ethics comes first from a confrontation with reality. you cannot act ethically without acting practically. However: the margins are thin enough that a few people deciding to vote (who wouldn't otherwise) could actually change the outcome. You can actually save the people on the lower track.

Some people think that the tracks never separate at all, or that the same people are on each, or that one way or another, Harris and Trump are "the same". If you think this, please look beyond tumblr "leftists" for facts here. You've been bombarded with all and only all the bad stuff about Harris (not arguing with most of that—though there are misconceptions, e.g. that Biden/Harris provided no protections for trans people); but you haven't seen how much worse Trump is on every single one of those cases, issue for issue, including Gaza. If you think Gaza can't get any worse, you've essentially written everyone still alive there off for dead. Likewise for any group who would suffer more under Trump. Needless to say—don't do that. The comparison—the difference between the diverging tracks—is all that ethically matters when deciding whether to flip the lever or leave it alone.

Some people think voting is primarily "speech", a means to communicate (or worse, merely express), and probably do not realize that this means they think the outcome of "sending a message" (which would do nearly nothing in real terms) is worth killing the people on the lower track.

Similarly, some people think that it's meaningful to "punish" Harris or the dems. (Truly, putting punishment over the cost in lives and suffering is the most horribly american thing to do here.) Some people just want the feeling of punishment, of blame; some people try to excuse their actions in advance ("well, if the dems lose, it will be their fault"), conveniently omitting their own agency in voting, and thus excusing them from the practice of acting ethically at all. Some people think that punishing the dems will actually push them left in the future, to which I say: you don't have a good reason to think this at all, based on history. Parties go where the winning is. And if you do still have a hunch to the contrary, I am sure you don't have a good reason to be reasonably certain of it. This means that you are paying for a gamble, a mere chance, one unsupported by fact, with the lives on the lower track. You can find another way.

~~~~~

Let's be concrete for a moment.

Since this is about difference, let me gesture to a few obvious differences between Trump and Harris: LGBTQ+ rights, Gaza, climate change, mass deportation of illegal immigrants, education, voting rights (and, yes, democracy), the economy, housing, the long-term future success of leftist movements and activism (much more difficult under Trump, who, no joke, has said neatly verbatim he wants to use the national guard and military to handle the leftist "enemy from within", and who can now do so thanks to the supreme court's ruling on presidential powers), everything Lina Khan and Deb Haaland are doing, etc.

And before you respond with something bad the dems or Harris are doing with respect to one of these—I know. Now compare it to Trump on the same issue. That is the only thing relevant to acting ethically in this brutal, tightly-constrained situation.

For example: Harris doesn't want to ban fracking or reduce oil consumption (bad), but wants to fund renewables, stay in the Paris agreement, strengthen climate initiatives in general.

Trump wants to completely gut funding for renewable energy, withdraw from the Paris accords, dramatically increase oil consumption, commercialize NOAA, weaken the EPA, and so on.

We don't get neither. A vote for none is a vote for "worse is fine by me". We are handed the terrible task of making one of these work, and any person actually, practically concerned with that would choose to try to make the Harris version work then spend precious resources fighting the overwhelming tide of the Trump version.

Only someone who does not actually care about these issues is okay with letting Trump in.

Unless you are capable only of black-and-white thinking, unless you can write off the lives in the difference and convince yourself this is ethical, you can see that letting Trump in only lets more lives be lost, and does not reduce anyone's suffering. No trolley "problem". No trade-off.

Voting Harris is not moral alignment. It's not unconditional support. It is maybe the most conditional action you can take: there are only two real outcomes. One not only has more people, as in a trolley problem, but also results in the death and suffering that would result otherwise.

~~~~~

So there it is, spelled out in the most painstaking detail I'm willing to give to a tumblr post: a few of the failure modes of reasoning that lead to not voting. Often simplicity is too simple, a meaningful departure from reality, but in this case the opposite is true: the simple argument

There are two possible outcomes: one of them eases no one's suffering and creates a great deal more. Therefore choose the other, instead of allowing the worse one to come to pass.

—stands up ethically in this case to every sublimation of righteous anger into misguided action.

And I am not using "righteous" sarcastically: it is right to denounce the Biden/Harris admin on Gaza, it is right to denounce the dems on not doing enough for climate change, etc. But that is not the question being asked by your vote. Do not give the right answer to the wrong question.

The question is only: Harris or Trump? Which outcome should happen, now, in the real world, when it's one of exactly two, when "neither" really, truly isn't an option?

If you do not vote, what will your answer be to the people on the lower track? I am sorry; I dreamt nobly, of no track, no lashings at all. No, I was not kept from the lever. It did not even compromise my dream to push it. Still, I just couldn't bear to touch it; still, you had to die, to save me this discomfort.

acting ethically does not always feel righteous. it is not always a release valve for righteous anger. it does not always feel like progress; sometimes it is only the prevention of catastrophe. it is still ethical. it is still necessary. vote Harris. vote to save the people you can.

[fang-toothed]

I feel like we need to talk about how increasingly poor reading literacy (in America, ofc) is causing subtle negative effects that affect daily lives and make it extremely difficult to understand arguments, analysis, data, and other content, and it is undoubtedly affecting the political sphere.

Over half of Americans 16-74 have a reading comprehension lower than 6th-grade level (source linked below). This is honestly a crisis, yet we already have so many other critical emergencies going on that it’s put on the back-burner. Many people are looking at headlines referencing studies and assuming that whatever’s put in the headline is the truth (they’re often directly against findings or based on deeply flawed studies/surveys). Many don’t understand speeches and debates from politicians (and definitely not the implications they house). In this confusing, heavily biased and illicitly-funded era of endless headlines and content, many don’t even have a 6th-grade level of reading comprehension - how the hell are they going to understand even the basics that are already from unreliable sources?

I can’t help but to think that this may be part of the reason extremist ideologies (MAGA, anti-vaxxers, cultists, TRAs) are becoming increasingly popular. Now, people need to be told what an article or survey or study means - usually by the same people who are trying to get them on their side. Every single TRA I’ve encountered has had massive misunderstandings in the very basics of radfem ideology: they believe we want to kill all gender-nonconforming people, that we think trans-identified people should kill themselves, that we are all conservatives, that JKR has outright advocated for the murder of trans-identified people.

What scares me is that we have one side with all of the anti-vaxxers, MAGA-enthusiasts, and creepy religious cults, and on the other we have the TRA movement absolutely screaming we need for trans people to be catered for in every possible public setting or we’ll “have blood on our hands.” I think anti-vaxxers and the Bible-enthusiasts are more dangerous than TRAs, but at least they are recognised as dangerous. Both sides are controlled by at least one extremist ideology. What the hell are we to do in the 2024 election?

PLEASE take a college reading comprehension course if possible. Many community colleges offer courses cheap, and if it still isn’t feasible, there are plenty of sources online to help improve your reading comprehension.

[cyborg-franky]

hello!! I saw that you have requests open, so...

can i request scenario law x f!reader with ASL as her overprotective brothers? modern!au if possible!! I also don't know English very well, so forgive me if there are mistakes in the text(( you can ignore it if you don't like it!!

thanks in advance for your reply!! (≧◡≦) ♡

Oh this seemed fun so I decided to do it. I hope you enjoy but I don't do female readers <3 hope thats okay.

GN Reader X Law SFW

You had been dating Law a little while, a few weeks and it had recently started to become serious which meant it was time for him to meet your brothers.

Not by blood, but the three men always acted like your older brothers, always being over protective and keeping an eye on you.

You hoped Law would do well, pass their critical judgment.

“So, anything I should know?” Law asked as you stood outside the apartment door, you looked at him for a moment, you didn’t think anything would prepare him for how the three were and you also didn’t want to scare him off.

“Nah, just take your shoes off when you get in,” You saw the puzzled look on his face when you nervously chuckled and fumbled with the keys.

Once inside you saw the three. Luffy was at the counter stuffing leftover pizza into his mouth while Sabo made himself tea in the kitchen area.

Ace was flopped on the couch, watching TV.

Law soon found all eyes on him, like he’d stepped foot into a raptor enclosure.

He kept his cool, he didn’t falter under the gazes of all three.

“Tra-guy!” Luffy yelled, spitting out pizza as he recognised Law.

Law winced and you could tell his balls jumped back inside his body at the shrill greeting from Luffy, seemed they already knew one another and that was going to be a story for another day. One huge wall at a time.

“Ace, Sabo, Luffy, this is my boyfriend, Law.” You introduced as you slipped off your shoes, watching Law do the same as he eyed up Luffy with an annoyed expression on his face. Oh yeah, he for sure knew Luffy.

In a blink of an eye Sabo and Ace descended on him. Both slapping a hand hard and firm on each shoulder, giving Law a scrutinizing gaze.

“How did ya both meet?” Ace started the interrogation, looking down his nose at Law, or trying to. Law was taller.

“We both go to the same coffee shop and got talking.” You explained.

“How long have you known each other?” Sabo asked, making sure Law could see all his scars  along his face and neck, trying to come across as intimidating but to his credit, Law held fast.

“Like two months?” You replied and looked from Ace to Sabo and back at Luffy who was still eating.

“Tra-guy is a good guy, he won’t do anything to them, you don’t need to worry!” Luffy stood up for Law, whose shoulders sagged when Sabo and Ace looked over at Luffy, processing what he’d said, backing off a little.

“Really?” Both asked and Luffy nodded, mouthful of food.

“Alright, Law,” Ace said, sniffing and backing down, folding his arms over his chest, still trying to size him up as Sabo also backed down “But if anything happens to kiddo here, we will be the first to know.” Ace added and Sabo nodded. 

The killing intent behind the smiles that Ace and Sabo both plastered on their faces was enough to make Law agree to anything.

Once out the apartment Law sighed and looked at you.

“They were joking right?”

“Oh? Ace maybe, but not Sabo. My exe still doesn’t trust his breaks.” you said like it was nothing, taking his hand and pulling him down the hall.

“W-wait? What?”

“Don’t worry! Anyway, how do you know Luffy?” you simply got a groan in reply.

[lukaherehelp]

Okey, Detectiva Luka on the case!

I'll be cracking this plot open in order on how things will go so, sit down and relax, grab a coffee and something to munch.

This post will briefly attached things from this post by @syrena-del-mar alongside my post here on the movies,as well as the ones about Tan and Phee being the killers and Tan using poison on the guys, as well as my theory of why I think each mask is different and I think I know whom is behind each one (thanks again to @blmpff for the screenshots). All these theories have being a collective effort between the multiple minds in the bl/gl server so also a big thanks to them for being as unhinged about these as me djslkajdlkjass with that being said...

Let's jump right in, shall we?

So yesterday we discovered that the movie posters in Non's room are fake mock-ups of real life horror movies, right? and there's a fourth poster that can be found in Jin's room in the trailer that we haven't seeing yet in the series, but I'm going to talk about it as well. They go in these order:

Rivarium, Whisper and La Madre

and Jin's:

Devil

Imagine Jin's is where the bookshelf is in Non's and we get this order:

Rivarium -> Whisper -> Devil -> La Madre

or may I say:

Vivarium, 2019 -> The Whisper, 2007 -> Devil, 2012 -> Mamá, 2012

the order they are in is really important because it actually shows us how the plot is moving. The movie posters give away the plot. Let's go in order:

What is important to us from Vivarium (2019) are two things: the looping element of its plot (not a timeloop) and the brood parasitism example they show at the beginning of the film and feeds into with the plot later on with the loop element.

Vivarium shows as at the beginning the brood parasitism of cuckoos, birds that don't nest their eggs and instead, sneak them into other birds' nest for them to raise them. The gang, quote "Non's Friends" are the cuckoo, leaching out of a bird to raise their babies. Or, in their case, draining Non (the bird) out of his ideas and kindness (the nest) for their own good. The loop element comes into these with two new cuckoos, Tan and Phee, infiltrating the group (the birds), but instead of using it to rip the benefits (getting their eggs in the nest), their true intention here is being full parasites. They are a virus contaminating the body that is the friend group. They are "The Boy", ready to kill.

And how do they do this? Here is where The Whisper (2007) comes into play. David as a concept, to be more specific, comes into play.

David is an eight-year-old boy that is not really what it seems. He's the son of a wealthy woman, so kidnapping him should be easy, but this provokes many deaths in the movie amongs his captors. Why? 'cause David, in reality, is a demon. A demon that can "suggest" and "influence" the people around him to do whatever he wants. Only Max survives and is able to kill David, but not after the later has taken with him the lifes of everyone else without moving a finger. Phee and Tan haven't moved a single finger against the group (yet), but "the killer" has being doing it ever so slightly. And even like this, the only death among the boys that has happend wasn't even by the hands of "the killer". No, Por dies because Top kills him. "The Killer" (Phee and Tan) are pitting the boys against one another without them even knowing. The only thing they have done truly is poison them (going again with the loop thing as the gang drugged Non in the past) so they allucinate. And one specific allucination brings me to the next movie:

@syrena-del-mar gave a really good synopsis:

Devil (2010) revolves around five strangers that become trapped in an elevator. As they struggle to escape, it becomes apparent that one among them is the Devil incarnated, manipulating events and tormenting the others with a series of disturbing manifestations. Meanwhile, outside the elevator, a detective investigates the strange occurrences, gradually piecing together the connection between the trapped individuals and the sinister presence haunting the building. As the situation inside the elevator becomes increasingly dire, the characters are forced to confront their darkest secrets and sins, each suspecting the others of being the Devil in disguise. Once they deny their sins, the devil is able to claim their soul. The Devil is unable to claim the last survivor's soul, because these one confesses and repents for having killed a family in a car accident and fleeing the scene. "

Y'all can see why Jin is the one to own this poster, right? But I think there's two reasons for this:

the first one is the obvious, which is that Jin, amongs all the boys, is the one that probably regrets the treatment towards Non the most. He really cared about him, and he harmed him as badly as the other did. But he is repenting, and he might have already done half of the work no so long after the release of the video...

Because the second reason Jin has these poster is the fact that he shares the same sin as Tony, the survivor, in Devil: a hit and run. In Jin's case, Keng's hit and run.

Jin's only allucination speaks for itself, so I don't think I need to add anything else to this point.

but Devil also begins with a bible verse:

"Be sober, be vigilant: Because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour."

The devil, the lion here, are Tan and Phee... or in Jin's case, Phee specifically. Both boys are playing the long game dragging these revenge for three long years, but Phee has make it upon himself to get the closest to Jin. And I think is because he knows, he knows Jin was involved with what happen to Non, he knows about the video, and he wants Jin to pay as well. But avenging Non by killing Keng might be what could keep Jin alive at the end... or at least to not be killed by the hands of Phee and Tan.

Talking about killing! A little side track to point out that I definetly believe that White will survive yes or yes and as I said this morning, I need him to be like the main character in the book Final Girls by Riley Sager and kill Tee himself. Period.

getting back on track, LET'S BEGIN WITH @blmpff BLORBO, THIS SILLY GUY, or well, these three silly guys:

But there's four! - it looks like we have four masks but upon closer inspection I think is just three. Not only the eyes are different but also the face structure of each changes a litte bit and the last two here look identical, so I just think is a matter of actual production of the series and them having that same mask duplicated but because it has more "dripping blood" on the eyes, it doesn't look the same in both. In any way, I'm about to tell you whom is whom.

Our first Killer, "Clear Sight", is Tan.

Tan, in this theory, is New, Non's older brother.

So yes, I know, this whole plan is a revenge for what happend to his little brother, so you'll think that he would be a little bit more "passion" driven when it comes to revenge, but taking in account the other two killers... well, makes sense that the older one is the one being more focus and calculating about what they do. A "Clear Sight" amongs them. He's also the one that has poisoned the friend group, as I explain here. So yeah, cold blooded and with a plan in mind.

Which he has really well tight up with the second Killer, "Bloody Tears", since they flawlessly were able to fool us all when CS stole the motorbike from Tee but then BT pulled up with it.

So, whom is "Bloody Tears"? Say it with me class: is Phee. Yes.

His eyes are bloodshot and he's crying blood because hiswhole purpose with all of this is to avenge Non. He feels guilty over his last words to Non:

"You want me to forgive you? Just get lost and die."

He's the one being more driven by passion, by rage, by wrath. These absolute fuckers destroyed the Non he loved so dearly and he will destroy them.

So if "Clear Sight" is Tan, and "Bloody Tears" is Phee... Then whom is "Fresh Blood", our third Killer?

For the sake of this these "timeline" theory, we will go with the idea that "Fresh Blood", the masked killer with the fresh blood on its eyes and the cruch, is Non.

The obvious reason: the crutch. FB is the only one holding it, both when he appears in front of Top and when he's in the woods.

And we saw what Non was capable of three years ago when he finally snapped in front of the others, so I don't need to explain why the blood of his eyes is till fresh. He's a goner, he's fully commited to the bit, he will take all this fuckers to hell with him... including Jin.

Because Phee could spare Jin, but Non will not. And so we are down to four people by the end of these tale: White, Tan, Phee and Non.

Here is where the last movie comes into play: Mamá (2012)

Mamá is about two sisters, Victoria (f8) and Lily (f6), whom were living as feral children for five years in a remote cabin in the woods after their parents' death. They are put under the care of their uncle Lucas and his girlfriend Annabel, but when the two girls start to build a bond with Annabel, what kept them alive in the woods, Mamá, wants to take them back with her. And by the end, she almost does. On a cliff, both sisters make a choice: Victoria chooses Lucas and Annabel, and starts a new life with them; but Lily, whom loves Mamá dearly, decides to stay with her. Mamá after this, jumps off the cliff with Lily on her arms, activily killing her and turning them both into moths.

Tan is Victoria, Phee is Lily and Non is Mamá.

Phee, like Lily with Mamá, will choose Non. After all the blood they have spilled, is better to get lost in the woods than to comfront the police, honestly. They can just get lost and enjoy nature like they did when they used to visit the lake. They will just count Phee as one of the many victims these cabin has taken.

And so is Tan because he, like Victoria, will choose to live his life. But he was never Tan. He's New, and he can just let Tan die at these cabin and go back overseas as himself, leaving all of these behind...

And leaving only White as our final boy.

so yeah, those are my theories and how I think the series is going to play out, this post has taken me 3h and a half to right down, I can't feel my brain any longer dljsaldjalkjsd

[saltsongwc]

thistleclaw is very involved with both of their original stories … how is he related to them in this rewrite?

@mrcow101 (sorry for not answering separetly but together fits better)

No art here, don't know what to put sorry

Okay so, tw for mentions of grooming, I gotta mention Spottedleaf's Heart because a lot of the divergences from the au would directly take place in the timeline of the book, TLDR if you don't want to read my "This is why Spottedleaf's Heart fails as an expansion of her charcter in a satisfying way, this is the trope and why it's in use both in the book and in the au, this is what happens, this is what I would change, this is why 'Thistleclaw is a horrible person even without Spottedleaf's Heart', and this is the end" yap: Spottedpaw is not groomed by Thistleclaw in the mate sense, he does groom her into his idiology of "Thunderclan above the rest" much like he did Tigerpaw, there is no Dark Forest training, and Tigerfoot kills him because Thistleclaw tried to kill him as revenge.

Yap session below

If Thistleclaw did the same thing he did to Spottedleaf in canon to Spottedstem in this au, then I would've have her kill Thistleclaw, my script teacher would say "that's not positive and shouldn't be good" but justice is not given to the characters in warriors they gotta take it for themselves.

The thing is how warrior's treated Spottedleaf's story is that it pushed her into the trope of Taking the Veil, there are historical reasons related to this trope (often used as a way for women to escape from the oppressive world by one, maybe as oppressive but in sisterhood than alone), Warrior's does not escape from tropes, especially not this one (the whole medicine cats not having mate or kits is an enforcement of this).

Tangent: Tropes are not necesseraly negative, depends on how they're written

The way I see it, Tigerfoot in this case also falls into this trope, the subvertion is that he, male, decides to take refuge into what the universe of Warriors classifies as a very feminine leaning job, the healer and the priest, both in fantasy to be read as very 'un-masculine', in his build and in his appearance he looks warrior like, and yet he chose otherwise for the same reasons Spotted did in Spottedleaf's Heart, it's ironic.

However the Spottedleaf in arc 1 and in Bluestar's Prophecy did not choose to become a healer just to escape from the world, rather to embrace another side to it, medicine cats in warrior's work best when they are treated not as a separation and an exclusion from the clan but as a crucial part of it that must work in tandemn. At the same time, I love putting medicine cats as "messangers of the eldritch being that is probably Starclan", so the separation makes sense. And I'm basing this au on the latter so yeah-

WITH WHY SPOTTEDLEAF'S HEART IS NOT GOOD OUT OF THE WAY-

Thistleclaw in this is au was Tigerpaw's mentor much like in canon, and planned to become leader to bring Thunderclan into war with the other clans, he wanted Thunderclan to control the forest, all under his rule, he was charismatic to many, and tried to push this ideology of violence to his clan mates, which during the time when they lived in (of constant battles and famine for short periods of time), was very appealing.

He was very liked among apprentices because he was the "Cool mentor" that let us eat what we caught whenever he was in charge of training, Tigerpaw was very proud of being his apprentice up until one of these "chest out, Thunderclan rocks" outings caused him to miss Leopardfoot's passing, he wasn't the same after that, and instead of being the stable supportive figure one should think a child should have he pushed Tigerpaw further into anger, taking his anger out on others, Tiny (ask about what pushed Tigerpaw into being a medcat here).

When his apprentice began giving him the cold shoulder, and it became unlikely Tiger would return to his duties, he turn his focus in other places, Spottedpaw was just beginning her training, and despite trying to beg Sunstar to give him another apprentice, as Tiger had not technically resigned by that point the leader was reluctant. It didn't stop Thistleclaw from butting into lessons as he was still, technically, a mentor. Spottedpaw was thinking of becoming a medicine cat apprentice (by her intial desires as a kit) before Tigerpaw took it from her.

Thistleclaw enters the picture, both very pissed at losing his shot of being leader, and now apprenticeless, that he decides that if he can't force his way of thinking into the clan, he should take a shot at the next generation, Spottedpaw.

So Thistleclaw is the dark mentor, the one that pushes out your worst qualities and makes you believe that they are your best, the one that has always been objectlively wrong in his way of thinking and is not a victim of poor wife syndrome, he is evil because he in canon wanted everyone but Thunderclan dead, and anyone who doesn't agree with it dead. He does not view other clans the same as Thunderclan, rather lesser.

This is bad. There is no other interpretation and there is no other excuse, he is bad both by his intetions and who he trained others to be.

One day, while escorting Tigerfoot, he planned to murder the medicine cat and make it look like an accident, he monologued about his plan, about the revenge, about in the cusp of victory how he would force the clans to his will.

So he did the clan a favour.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

You're still spreading the "groomer" narrative in 2023 while claiming to be pro-gay? Perhaps you should kill yourself, no coming back from that

If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, has feathers like a duck...

I've also never claimed to be "pro-gay". I'm not pro-gay or anti-gay. I'm pro-let-adults-do-what-they-want-in-bed-as-long-as-its-consensual, and pro-protecting children. I'm anti-grooming and anti-gay community and anti-TRA.

It is funny that you seem to be defending pedophiles, because that's who I attack, not gay people, and equating pedophilia and grooming with gays while also telling a gay dude to kill himself and think that's somehow pro-gay. People like you, and the people you defend, are the reason why everyone hates us again, and I find it increasingly hard to blame them when all the most vocal gays support things like child drag and child transitioning.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕎𝕙𝕠 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕣 - ℂ𝕙. 𝕏𝕀𝕀: ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕦𝕕𝕖 𝕥𝕠 ℝ𝕦𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you to @kavalyera for the beta read!

Summary: Vincent struggles to cope with the aftermath of a very significant kill. It doesn't help that he's still concussed, or that Gianna and Mo are so angry with him. Everyone seems to be turning on him at once...

TW: aftermath of a murder, concussion with headache and dizziness, cluster B splitting, Vincent and Chidi arguing

The soundlessness after a kill, even a kill by proxy, was deafening. It spoke into the black sky about a shrinking world, collapsed very slightly by the pressure that the Marquis himself exerted upon it. It spoke, yes, it expressed his influence, his victory, and no one dared interrupt it. Vincent’s heart was the only thing rushing in his ears, besides the distant river. Gianna did not scream, did not cry out, and no one moved. Perhaps a full minute passed before she said anything more.

“Dopo tutto quello che ho fatto per te... ma avrei dovuto saperlo. L'ho visto. La tensione tra voi due. E ora siamo arrivati ​​a questo. [After everything I did for you…but I should have known. I saw it. The tension between you two. And now it’s come to this.]” Her voice was low and trembling and settled below the silence, rather than truly disturbing it.

She was siding with the kidnapper, then. Unbelievable. “Davvero? Hai visto tutto? Hai visto il tuo prezioso fratellino mettere la mano sulla portiera della limousine l'ultima volta che ci siamo incontrati, prima ancora di tirarsi su i pantaloni? Sicuramente l'hai visto mentre mi perseguitava qui. Da quanto tempo ci seguiva? Con l'intento di uccidere nientemeno. Avvicinarsi a un uomo della Tavola Alta con un lanciagranate, con la sua guardia del corpo proprio lì... [Did you really? Did you see everything? Did you see your precious baby brother put his hand over the door of the limo last time we met, before even pulling his pants back up? Surely you saw him stalk me here. How long was he following us? With intent to kill no less. Approaching a man of the High Table with a grenade launcher, with his bodyguard right there…]” Vincent scoffed. “Cosa si aspettava? Ci devono essere delle conseguenze. [What did he expect? There have to be consequences.]”

She just shook her head. “Se solo avessi aspettato. Se mi avessi lasciato parlare con lui... Ma no. Non si può tornare indietro. Spero che tu capisca che questa deve essere la fine di ogni legame amichevole tra noi. [If you would’ve just waited. If you would have let me talk to him…But no. There’s no coming back. I hope you understand that this must be the end of all friendly connection between us.]”

It was, of course. It had to be, with the way she was taking Santino’s side. Yet that didn’t stop the sudden twist in his gut. “SÌ. Suppongo che debba esserlo. [Yes. I suppose it must be],” he said bitterly.

She stepped forward, lips pulled tight and eyes sparkling. “Come osi guardarmi così? Non lo conoscevi da bambino. Non sapevi cosa aveva passato, come era diventato così – [How dare you look at me like that. You didn’t know him as a child. You didn’t know what he’d been through, how he became this way – ]”

“Cosa aveva passato? Cosa aveva passato? Sai cosa mi ha fatto passare!? [What he’d been through? What he’d been through? Do you know what he put ME through!?]”

“Pensi di essere così diverso? [Do you think you’re so different?]”

Vincent drew himself up, suddenly twice as imposing. “È un dato di fatto, lo faccio. [As a matter of fact, I do.]”

“Je pourrais te tuer de la même manière que tu l’as tué. [I could kill you just the same as you’ve killed him.]”

Laughable, really, with Chidi standing between them still wearing the expression of a rabid dog. He shifted to block Vincent bodily from her line of sight. “No, non potresti. [No you couldn’t.]”

At last, her voice raised, flinging itself across the expanse like a slap. “Potrei ma non lo farò! [I could but I won’t!]” She tipped her head back towards the sky so that Chidi’s presence didn’t matter, seeming to cry out to the heavens. “La morte è troppo bella per te, marchese de Gramont. No, non sono arrivato dove sono agendo in modo avventato. Non ti ucciderò. Ti rovinerò. [Death is too good for you, Marquis de Gramont. No, I haven’t gotten to where I am by acting rashly. I will not kill you. I will ruin you.]”

“Ti do il benvenuto per provare. [I welcome you to try],” he spat.

But she ignored him. At last, Chidi had her attention. “E tu! Allontanati dal suo corpo. Ora. [And YOU! Get away from his body. Now.]”

Chidi looked to Vincent and didn’t move until he nodded. “Molto bene, il punto è fatto. Chidi, stiamo partendo. Recuperiamo Mo. [Very well, the point is made. Chidi, we’re leaving. Let’s retrieve Mo.]”

The silence continued in the car. The rush of the whole affair began to wear away, leaving the dull pound of a three-day concussion migraine in its place. And dread. “I will ruin you.” Gianna did not say such things idly, even in anger. She had ways. Her cunning had led him to seek her mentorship, and now the student would be tested against the master. He could not fail. It was bad enough for the relationship to have ended on such dismal terms. For her to view him as strategically incompetent, on top of loathing him…

Mo’s voice at last broke into his thoughts. “Sir, how long…” He seemed to lose his courage for a moment.

“Speak your mind, Mr. Osorio.”

“I want to thank you for this trip, sir. But I’m worried that I’ve been away from my work for too long. I’d like to return home tomorrow if that’s okay with you.”

Damn. So they’d frightened him off. His heart sunk further. “Fine. Chidi, see that my secretary makes arrangements for his travel.” He tore himself away from the passing streetlamps long enough to add, “It’s been a pleasure to have you with us.” Did he sound gentle? Would it matter, after the way Santino’s blood had ended up all over the cobblestones?

Mo let out a breath of tension. “The same to you, sir. Thank you very much for everything,” he said, a little too eagerly. No, then, it wouldn’t matter. Mo was still scared of him. What a reaction, honestly, when all he had done was defend himself! It wasn’t even a murder – if he was an ordinary civilian, he could make it out of a court of law unscathed on claims of self-defense. And yet here was Mo, running home to avoid him. He stared out into the velvet-dark sky, his mood turning equally black. It must be the headache that was making his throat feel so tight and putting pressure behind his eyes. To be sure, he couldn’t even lean his head against the window without stabbing pain, and settled for leaning back against the headrest instead, pretending to sleep.

Chidi wasn’t buying it. In his lap, his phone lit up with a notification. “Gianna avait tort, monsieur. Vous n'êtes pas du tout le même que son frère. [Gianna was wrong, sir. You are not the same as her brother at all.]” Vincent didn’t answer. He’d gone too dead inside.

As soon as they were alone together, safely behind Vincent’s bedroom door, Chidi got him into an armchair and brought a hot compress without even being asked. He stood behind his chair, massaging his head with gentle strokes. Vincent was too absolutely drained to protest. His mind just kept replaying Gianna’s words, and Mo’s. “Est-ce que ton frère va bien ? [Is your brother alright?]”

The stroking paused. “Eh bien… ce n’est rien auquel il n’est pas habitué. Et je ne pense pas qu’il ait vu le meurtre lui-même. Il se cachait. [Well…it’s nothing he’s not used to. And I don’t think he saw the kill itself. He was hiding.]”

“Hmm.” He focused on the motion of Chidi’s fingers for a moment, but Vincent couldn’t hold back the question. “Il me déteste, n'est-ce pas ? Je peux le dire. Je ne comprends pas. Tu sais, je voulais faire quelque chose de gentil pour toi. Je voulais… Mais cela n’a pas d’importance bien sûr, il peut être un misérable ingrat s’il le veut. Je m’en fiche s’il n’était pas ton frère. C'est juste… curieux, c'est tout. [He hates me, doesn’t he? I can tell. I don’t understand it. You know, I wanted to do something nice for you. I wanted – But it doesn’t matter of course, he can be a thankless wretch if he chooses. I wouldn’t care if he weren’t your brother. It’s just…curious, that’s all,]” he finished, with far more force than mere curiosity would require. His hands had taken up the now lukewarm wet towel off his forehead and balled it up tightly without his permission.

“Ce n'est pas votre faute monsieur. La vérité est que nous nous disputions avant cela. [It’s not your fault sir. The truth is, we were arguing before that.]” But he never denied that Mo hated him, Vincent noticed.

“Non, ce n'est pas ma faute, tu as raison. [No, it isn’t my fault, you’re right.]” A too-short, too-sharp sort of laugh. “C'est tellement amusant. Pour une fois, j'avais une très bonne raison de me déchaîner et pourtant, c'est toujours ce qui se passe. Les choses continuent à… échapper à ma portée… [It’s so amusing. For once, I had a perfectly good reason to unleash and still, still this is what happens. Things just keep…slipping out of my grasp…]” A helpless sort of gasp escaped him, halfway to a sob and Chidi tensed up in sympathy. He circled around to the front of the chair and, bless the man, he actually fell to his knees in front of Vincent, looking up into his with total devotion. Ready to help in any way he possibly could.

Vincent took his hand in gratitude, leaning forward. Confessing. “Qu'est-il arrivé à ma vie, Chidi ? Peu importe ce que je fais, ce n’est pas suffisant, ce n’est pas bien, les gens ne sont pas contents de moi. Plus je gagne, plus j’essaie de prouver, plus les choses s’effondrent. J'avais une famille et des alliances, un mentor, des amis et un plan et je – et je… [What has happened to my life, Chidi? No matter what I do, it’s not enough, it’s not right, people aren’t happy with me. The more I gain, the more I try to prove, the more things fall apart. I had a family and alliances and a mentor and friends and a plan and I – and I…]” He struggled to finish the sentence, but Chidi gave him time. And when the words came, they were a fountain. “Ce n'est pas ma faute, n'est-ce pas ? Est-ce vraiment ma faute ? Elle a dit que je suis comme Santino. Peut-être que je le suis, juste cette chose griffante, nécessiteuse et vicieuse, sans honneur, sans aucune raison pour ce que je fais. Tous ces gens me détestent. [It’s not my fault is it? Is it actually my fault? She said I’m just like Santino. Maybe I am, just this clawing, needy, vicious thing without honor, no reason for what I do. All of these people, they hate me.]” Or hated him, in the case of his father, but he couldn’t bear to say that. “Je suis le facteur commun. Est-ce moi, suis-je simplement impossible à – [I am the common factor. Is it me, am I just impossible to - ]” To love? God, even to like? “Pour… être là ? [To…to be around?]” Close enough.

“Non.” Chidi breathed out the word with passion, taking both of his master’s hands in his. “Absolument pas. Je vous le dirais, monsieur, si c'était vous. Je ferai ce qu’il y a de mieux pour toi et je te dirai la vérité quoi qu’il arrive, tu te souviens ? Même si vous ne voulez pas l'entendre. C'est mon travail. Mais je n'ai rien de mal à dire sur toi maintenant. Ce que vous m'avez fait faire ce soir était un acte d'affirmation de soi glorieuse. Finalement, vous vous êtes protégé contre cet homme qui s'est détaché de vous. Vous vous placez au-dessus de la stratégie ou des exigences des autres. J’aurais aimé que je le tue plus tôt, mon amour. Je souhaite que tu me laisses te protéger encore plus sauvagement et que tout le monde puisse te voir comme moi. C'est tout ce que je souhaite. [Absolutely not. I would tell you, sir, if it were you. I will do what’s best for you and tell you the truth no matter what, remember? Even if you don’t want to hear it. That’s my job. But I have nothing bad to say about you now. What you had me do tonight was an act of glorious self-assertion. Finally, you protected yourself against this man who has been leeching off of you. You put yourself above strategy or the demands of others. I wish you’d had me kill him sooner, my love. I wish you let me protect you even more wildly, and that everyone could see you the way I do. That’s all I wish.]”

Vincent tipped his head back with a giddy flying sensation. Helium in his veins, better than any high. The relief, the damn relief…but it was, unfortunately, weaker than the disbelief, which snuffed it out in a moment, slamming him back into his aching body. “Pourquoi alors ? Pourquoi je suis si détesté ? Le monde est-il juste contre moi ? [Why then? Why I am so hated? Is the world just against me?]”

Chidi looked down at their joined hands, and answered in his simple way. Simple, yet anguished. “Le monde… c'est peut-être ça, d'une certaine manière. Parfois, j'ai l'impression que tu es pris au piège. Une toile d'araignée, plus compliquée que tout ce que je peux comprendre. Vous êtes plus sage que moi et peut-être que vous le savez, mais pas moi. Les choses vous tirent dessus et je ne sais pas quoi faire. Ces gens qui rôdent qui vous entourent et rivalisent avec vous. Ton père. Le tableau lui-même. Tous vous tirent dessus dans des directions différentes. Ils pénètrent en vous et vous tirent également de l’intérieur et je ne peux pas voir tout cela ni comment cela se termine. Ils s’en prennent à moi aussi, à mon frère, à Mme D’Antonio. Tout le monde. Vous le ressentez davantage parce que vous en êtes au cœur. [The world…maybe it is that, in a way. Sometimes I feel you’re in a trap. A spiderweb, more complicated than anything I can understand. You are wiser than me and maybe you know, but I don’t. Things pull at you and I don’t know what to do. These prowling people who circle you and vie with you. Your father. The Table itself. All pulling at you from different directions. They get inside you and pull at you from the inside too and I can’t see the whole of it or how it ends. They pull at me too, at my brother, at Ms. D’Antonio. Everyone. You feel it most because you’re right at the heart of it.]” He looked up into Vincent’s eyes again, fierce as flame. “Mais je ne vous laisserai pas prendre, monsieur. Jamais. Résister. Moi aussi. [But I won’t let it have you, sir. Never. Resist. I will too.]”

The bond between them felt palpable then. Who had ever described his life so accurately? Trapped, caged, as if by fate? No one. Certainly, no one had suggested a hope for a way out. “Comment? Que dois-je faire? Comment puis-je agir en ce moment sans me piéger encore plus ? [How? What do I do? How do I do act right at this moment without just ensnaring myself even further?]” He couldn’t believe himself, reduced to begging for advice, for a way out. How utterly lost. But who better to be lost with? Chidi held fast to him this moment, without the smallest ridicule, caressing his flying pulse through his wrists.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself through some inner battle. Then, with certainty, “Libérez mon frère, monsieur. [Free my brother, sir.]”

“Quoi? [What?]” How could he think Vincent was in a position to do that? It was almost heartbreakingly naïve. “Chidi… il y a des règles. Si j’en laisse partir un, les autres attendront la même chose, jusqu’à ce que je n’ai plus personne. J’ai déjà été très généreux. Tu sais que je veux faire tout et n'importe quoi pour toi, mais tu ne devrais pas demander de telles choses. Tu m'obliges à te refuser. [Chidi…there are rules. If I let one go, the others will expect the same, until I have no one. I’ve been very generous already. You know I want to do anything and everything for you, but you shouldn’t ask such things. You force me to refuse you.]”

But he was actually serious. “Veux-tu que Mo ne te déteste pas ? Laissez-le partir, vivre une vie selon ses conditions. J’ai fait la même erreur, en le plaçant là où je voulais comme s’il n’était même pas une personne, et il me déteste aussi maintenant. C’était tout ce que nous pouvions faire à l’époque – vous n’étiez même pas au pouvoir, vous ne connaissiez même pas son nom, et j’étais un jeune homme essayant de sauver la vie de mon frère. Mais désormais, les choses pourraient être différentes. [Do you want Mo not to hate you? Let him go, to live a life on his terms. I made the same mistake, putting him where I wanted like he wasn’t even a person, and he hates me now too. It was all we could do at the time – you weren’t even in power, didn’t even know his name, and I was a young man trying to save my brother’s life. But now, things could be different.]”

“Différent comment ? Doux? Assez stupide pour jeter l’effet de levier simplement parce que je me sens sentimental ? Le nom Gramont est bâti sur les Myrmidons – parfaitement maîtrisés. Ils sont la clé, ils sont le pouvoir lui-même. [Different how? Soft? Foolish enough to throw away leverage just because I feel sentimental? The Gramont name is built upon the Myrmidons – perfectly controlled. They are the key, they are power itself.]” His hands tightened on Chidi’s involuntarily, gripping him so painfully he could not possibly slip away.

The man was so maddeningly stubborn though. “Tu garantis ma fidélité sans laisse. L'amour me lie à toi. Notre lien. Je vivrai pour toi, tout comme j'étais prêt à mourir pour toi. S'il te plaît. Je ne t'ai jamais rien demandé. Laisse-moi te prouver que je donne ma vie gratuitement. [You warrant my loyalty without a leash. Love binds me to you. Our bond. I’ll live for you, same as I was ready to die for you. Please. I have never asked you for anything. Let me prove to you that I give my life freely.]”

No. No, he would leave. He would run. Who wouldn’t? Vincent’s mouth was a hard line, and his hands turning clammy against Chidi’s. “Ne parlez plus de ça. Je n'entendrai pas un mot sur la rupture de vos liens avec moi. Essayer de se libérer de tels mensonges – « Je t’aime, maître », ceci, et « l’amour me lie à toi » cela. Ce sont les mensonges que les gens racontent pour se manipuler les uns les autres et obtenir ce qu’ils veulent. Dire que je t'ai presque cru alors que je sais mieux. [Don’t speak of this anymore. I will not hear a word about severing your ties to me. Trying to wriggle free with such lies – ‘I love you, master,’ this, and ‘love binds me to you’ that. These are the lies people tell to manipulate each other, to get their way. To think I almost believed you when I know better.]” Throwing Chidi’s hands down at last, he tried to rise, but his pounding head rose straight into a fog of bloodless, swooning star-speckles. He gripped at the arm of the chair dizzily, missed, stumbled…and he was in Chidi’s arms anyway, being lowered into bed. Damn it all.

“S'il te plaît, allonge-toi. Oublions ça pour le moment. Ce n’est pas le moment de te stresser davantage. [Please lie down. Let’s forget it for the moment. Now is no time to stress you further.]” Still doting, then. Still playing the part of the lover, trying to make a fool of him. It was certainly a commitment to the ploy, said a small voice at the back of his head, but a different part of him was in control at the moment. One that had no trust to spare.

“Ni plus tard. J'ai dit que tu n'en parlerais plus. Résolvons simplement ce problème maintenant. Mo est libre, oui ? Et demain matin, nous verrons qui a raison. Nous verrons alors où est ton amour! [Nor is later. I said you won’t speak of it again. Let’s just – let’s just resolve this now. Mo goes free, yes? And in the morning, we’ll see who’s right. We’ll just see where your love is then!]” He could already picture it – walking downstairs to find Chidi had caught a plane and would never be seen again. After all the days and night spent baring his heart to this man… His fists closed on the blanket. “De toute façon, je n’ai pas besoin d’un serviteur déloyal. [I don’t need a disloyal servant anyway.]”

“Vincent, s'il te plaît, je – [Vincent, please, I - ]”

“LAISSE-MOI TRANQUILLE! Dehors. En bas. Ou dois-je appeler un garde qui souhaite réellement me servir et vous faire expulser de mes appartements ? [LEAVE ME ALONE! Out. Downstairs. Or do I have to call for a guard who actually wishes to serve me and have you expelled from my chambers?]”

Chidi bowed deeply and walked away. The room was filled with Vincent’s panting, turning into a sort of wheezing punctuated by sobs. His own sounds mocked him in the late-night stillness. Rasping, desperate. Crying so dramatically over lovesickness.

The world could not possibly contain anything as merciful as Chidi. He should have known. All of those hours in the surreal heaven of his arms, all for nothing. Chidi kissing the tears off his face, telling him such nice things. He’d split Vincent open, exposing raw, horrific wounds, and offered some hope of a better life as consolation. Only to rip away that hope. He couldn’t take that loss, he realized. Chidi had formed the foundation of something in him, and to pull it out from under him now…Gianna couldn’t possibly match that kind of ruin. It hasn’t happened yet, he tried to tell himself. He’s not gone yet. He’s still in this house, sleeping downstairs. I still have him until tomorrow. But what was he worth if he wanted to leave?

No, Vincent decided, feeling his breathing start to subside, he was not like Santino. He’d rather die than hold Chidi unwillingly at his side, indulging delusions that they might one day love each other. He wouldn’t even hunt Chidi down when he fled, though that was the proper course for any defecting guard, Myrmidon or not, without or without a leash. No, no. Let him go, and try to live with what he’s done to me. Let him see how I rise above it…or else how I fall. And with that, Vincent switched out the light and let the foundation of his newfound hopes collapse out from under him.

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Image Sources: One (my screenshot) | Two

[rubykgrant]

OK, my thoughts about the final season of RVB! If you haven't seen it yet, warning for SPOILERS!

In general, I thought it was alright. The good parts were GOOD, but it felt kind of rushed, and a few things were disappointing. Certain parts I wish had been different, but I'm glad it exists. Watching it with lots of cool people made it fun, and it had a decent enough ending for what it was... though, after so many years, so many characters, just so MUCH of a story, I wish things had been a little MORE. It was a shame it was so short and rushed. I'm still glad the people who worked on it got it done, and we were all able to see it.

So. Actual thoughts on different bits...

I'm somebody who enjoys seasons 15-16-17, so while it will always be real in my heart, if they HAD to do a ret-con, having a spoof with a Retro Convention was VERY funny. Kai would absolutely milk her relation to Grif for some attention. I thought it was weird that Dylan was there, but she was a convention host? I feel like it would have made more sense for her to be one of the people asking questions about where the Reds and Blues went (y'know, like she ACTUALLY DID in 15). Oh well.

Things were very rushed... if this had been a more full season (or, in my perfect world, a story split into 2, so we get 19 and 20 out of it. I'm sorry, it just bugs my brain when something ends on a 9 instead of a 10. that's a ME problem), there could have been more of a Big Reveal about Tucker being the Meta. HOWEVER, since things were very condensed, I can appreciate how amusing it is to have Epsilon info-dump the plot to every body.

I did get a chuckle out of Epsilon being a "recorded prediction program" and not the true AI, and he decided to just be an obnoxious little youtuber. Like, that was so awful, it was AWESOME. It is also something that would have made Alpha Church super ticked off, which is very fitting. Good job Epsilon, 10 out of 10~

I was so happy to see Sheila and Lopez! Mechanical love lives on. It was a bit meh seeing the Reds act like they don't care about Caboose (we've been there, done that), but some of the funny bits that followed and Simmons getting Sarge interested by bribing him with Blue Defeat saved it (listen, these guys have been insisting they hate each other for 2 decades, but they can literally not live without each other. let them just admit they are ALL FRIENDS). Grif ranting was excellent.

No Donut is some major BS! Look, I get it, we stole the spot-light in 16-17, he was the time-god's most specialest pink princess and a harbinger of death, it can be intimidating to include something so powerful after trying to erase all that from existence... but come on. With all the important call-backs and connections 19 made with previous seasons, AND having the ending be in Blood Gulch? DONUT SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE AND HE SHOULD HAVE THROWN THE AI UNIT. No, I mean it, imagine the thing gets knocked really far away, maybe from an explosion, and Donut throws it clear across the canyon, because you KNOW he can! This time instead of it being a grenade that kills Tex, she catches the unit, tra-la-la, it all comes together. I'm sorry, Simmons doing the cool sports-ball throw was fun, but... Donut. DONUT!

Alright, moving on. It felt a little awkward that Wash is yet again hurt, and nobody is there with him? Oh wait, Doc is there, except no he isn't. Listen. Listen. I love plural Wash. I also love the idea of him genuinely having an emotional connection with Doc, because it DOES make sense; when Wash kid-napped him, Doc just kept making all his sarcastic little comments the whole time, and it tricked Wash into having real conversations with him. I honestly think that if Doc hadn't been with them, Wash wouldn't have been so open to the idea of finally settling down after his Villain Moment. They also both have a lot in common with AI incidents, and again, Villain Moments. I'm just annoyed that the Pacifist and the Original Bad Boy evidently died. Off screen. Give me back my purple boys. If we need to have Wash Not Be Around for a while, have him and Carolina go off to track down Hargrove or something. Maybe they went to two different locations, and Wash gets back to the others first, so we still get Carolina to the rescue.

Anyway, the plot! There was a lot of funny bits when it came to looking for Tucker, getting into the ship with the "video call security", and Niner being there! Hooray! I am... a little disappointed about WHY and HOW Tucker is a "villain". Obviously, I can't picture him being legit EVIL, but the idea that he's just the physical puppet being controlled by the AI isn't very... good. I understand how it was explained, sure, but still. I know I keep rambling about my own thoughts for alternate scenarios, but I can't help it! I just don't like when Sigma (or Omega) are just plain EVIL, for no reason. They've always been more complicated than that (the Meta wanted to be HUMAN, remember. and Omega even told Epsilon "I'll be here if you need me". they are definitely different kinds of harsh and intense, but they aren't the Murder AI or the Evil AI). I don't like that Tucker is being tortured into doing what they say... a more subtle manipulation, the Fragments not only convincing Tucker but also themselves that they NEED to do all this to get Alpha back, is very intriguing. After Epsilon Deconstructed, the Fragments lost their Memories. They just know they aren't complete. Tucker just knows he wants to talk to his best friend again.

If it needs another push to make it more insidious, I'd buy that Meta suit being a trap to begin with; Hargrove probably had that thing rigged to make it into a trap for anybody that wore it, so they'd have this subliminal inclination to collect all the AI, and kill anybody in their way. Something-something forgetting what your motives are, and only caring about the GOAL. Tucker and the Fragments ALL need to remember who they are and why they want the Alpha; it isn't about being a weapon. If there was more of a fake-out/reveal of Tucker being the Meta, maybe with a false hint of it being Felix with the orange/black colors, a sign that Tucker is still in there would be him getting close to killing everybody... but he backs off each time.

Speaking of killing... Sarge. Oh, Sarge. I will admit that, just from a thematic point of view, yes- it works to have a Sarge death. I don't care for it being Tucker that did it, or that Donut isn't there to share the moment as well. Matt Hullum acted the HECK out of that scene, though. In fact, the whole bit of Sarge running back to save Caboose, and trapping Tucker with a bubble shield, was AWESOME. I didn't want Sarge to die... but he went out wearing his red armor, and told Grif and Simmons he cared about them. It was sad, but it was well done. In my perfect world, we just THINK he died, but then at the end it is revealed he's still alive! How? Well, Doc gave him CPR! Doc isn't dead either, that is integral you see. I'm not sure of Sarge going "Hurgh Bleh" would have been better or WORSE. Well, heck. I wish he wasn't dead, but as much as I hate it, I... didn't totally hate it?

I kind of wish Simmons had more of a break-down over it. I wanna see him lose his temper. OR, he acts so quiet and cold, it is just UNNERVING. Then Grif helps snap him out of it. Let's be real, those two are so co-dependant, it ain't even funny. I appreciate Simmons telling Grif he is officially free to leave, and the conversation of "Come with me" leading to Simmons saying he wants to see this through, and Grif agreeing to come along was good. Simmons has aspired to be an impressive soldier from the beginning, and Grif has just wanted to be DONE. In the end, they meet in the middle.

I may be a sappy Grimmons person, but I can say, as objectively as possible, they should NOT be separated at the end. Grif and Simmons are literally the introduction to the series. They were the first two characters we see, they have been side by side almost CONSTANTLY, they are always bickering but they are also each other's favorite person. I don't even mean in a shippy way, it is just a fact. To have them say good-bye and just leave each other is honestly out of character (we saw that before, remember, in 15; Grif got so guilty about it, Simmons came to the realization that opposites attract, and they finally had to admit they missed each other. it was a WHOLE THING). I think it would have worked if, after telling Grif he's free to leave at the end, Simmons waits minute, then starts following him-

Grif; What are you doing?

Simmons; Coming with you. What the hell else would I do?

And that is that, wherever they do, they're together. Also, Kai shows up and HUGS HER BRO, come on, please!

Now, as a sappy Grimmons person, they should have just gone through with it. It has been more than 20 years. Seriously. We all know it. People who don't even care about the ship know it. Just commit to the freaking bit. Stop being cowards. Let them hold hands, or hug, or gently bump the visor of their helmets together, SOMETHING. Show them taking a walk on the beach together, all lovey-dovey. We deserve some emotional satisfaction after a 2 decade queer-bait slow-burn. JUST DO IT.

Sigh... OK, that is out of my system.

My absolute FAVORITE thing in 19 was Tex. She was so freaking PERFECT. I love Caboose telling the unit a story, his way of bringing her back, because that was how he talked to Epsilon. It was so sweet. When they asked Caboose why he brought her back instead of Church, he told them- "Because I wanted to win". Listen, Caboose LOVES Church, but he knows what is up. It was hilarious to see her go through the teleporter to get her black armor back. I absolutely ADORED her saying she's NOT a "failure" anymore, because she's not just based on the Director's memories of losing his wife, she's also got the memories of the guys who REMEMBER HER KICKING THEIR ASSES. 100 percent, Tex return was the best. Her reuniting with Church was also very sweet... the only thing I would have liked more would be the other Fragments showing up in there, so they can all be together (and Church gives Theta a hug; he doesn't even need his memories yet, he just knows he loves Theta).

I didn't care much for deleting the Fragments at the end, but I get the "reasoning". Like, sure. Fine. In my perfect world, Caboose gives the unit to Carolina, so someday, when they're all "ready to wake up again", she can see her family. Wash taking the fall to alert Carolina was both kinda wonky, but also very funny, and hey- it got her there! Again, I don't know why she wasn't there with Wash from the beginning. Also, just. A few characters being dead, and most of the others splitting up at the end... nah. They all need to live together and be friends and be happy and be OK! Like, come on. They've had a lot of "endings" in this series that were bitter-sweet, or kind of sad. I know life doesn't always have a happily ever after... but just once, give them that.

OH, and ANOTHER THING; if things had been just slightly different, if both the Fragments and Tucker sort of "forgot" who they are, the way to remind Tucker should have been JUNIOR. Heck, maybe Carolina was off finding Tucker's kid, and when they come back Junior gets his dad to remember who he really is... but the suit is still controlling him, forcing him to fight. I just want a happy Tucker family reunion. Give that kid his daddy back. Even if Junior isn't there for the big conflict, he should have shown up at the end, with Tucker promising they won't be separated again.

Well, that sure was a lot! The final season was a lot, in a short amount of time! Again, I wish certain things were different, but I'm happy I could see it. Even after everything, all the good and bad parts, I know that it still isn't "the end". I've got a lot of ideas for stories, and so do many other fans out there. I know people are going to keep sharing their thoughts, creating their art, telling their stories... because a universe without stories? That's just empty space.

Bow-chicka-Bye Now!

[thedemonofcat]

Jaskier is a changeling, including a deep connection to nature and its magic. However, what sets Jaskier apart is an extraordinary, almost unnatural strength. His physical power reaches such incredible levels that he can effortlessly lift Roach, even when Geralt is riding on her back.

Curiously, Jaskier remains oblivious to his true nature as a Fae being. The manifestations of his magical abilities only occur when he finds himself in situations where he feels threatened. It is during these moments that his latent powers surge forth, granting him access to his innate magic.

Following Nifflgaard's pursuit of Jaskier to extract information about Geralt and Ciri's whereabouts, the decision is made to bring Jaskier to Kaer Morhen for his safety. In line with the rule that everyone residing at Kaer Morhen must contribute, Jaskier finds himself obligated to participate in the training regimen, much to his annoyance. Despite his attempts to evade the training sessions, emphasizing his role as a bard and lover rather than a fighter, his pleas fall on deaf ears.

Eventually, Jaskier finds himself reluctantly preparing to spar with Eskel. Among Geralt's brothers, Eskel is the one whom Geralt trusts not to get carried away during the fight and inadvertently harm Jaskier.

At the onset of the spar, Jaskier's main objective is to evade Eskel's attacks, desperately searching for any means of avoiding the impending blows. However, Eskel's persistent prodding pushes Jaskier beyond his comfort zone, compelling him to gather his courage and fight back. Overwhelmed by panic, Jaskier inadvertently taps into his dormant magic, unleashing a surge of power.

In a sudden and unexpected turn of events, Jaskier's magic surges forth, propelling Eskel across the training ground and into the air. Realizing the potential danger, Jaskier instinctively conjures a bush to cushion Eskel's landing, using his nature-based magic to soften the Witcher's impact

Overwhelmed by the unexpected display of power, Jaskier spirals into a state of panic, convinced that he is some kind of monstrous entity. In his distress, he becomes consumed by the fear of being hunted down and killed by the people he has come to consider his friends. Desperate to escape this perceived danger, Jaskier attempts to flee, but his flight is halted by Geralt's firm grasp.

Geralt, understanding Jaskier's turmoil, intervenes to prevent any harm befalling his bewildered companion. He assures Jaskier that he has no intention of allowing any harm to come to him, emphasizing his commitment to protecting Jaskier at all costs. Once the others have ensured Eskel's well-being and tended to his injuries, Geralt leads Jaskier inside, seeking a more secure and private space to address the situation.

Inside, Vesemir takes the opportunity to chastise Geralt, expressing his frustration at the apparent lack of awareness Geralt had regarding Jaskier's true nature as a Fae. Vesemir remarks upon the extensive time he has spent imparting knowledge to the Witchers, highlighting their supposed intelligence and yet their failure to recognize Jaskier's heritage despite Geralt's years of companionship with him.

As Vesemir's words sink in, Geralt's mind begins to connect the dots regarding Jaskier's true identity. Certain peculiarities about Jaskier's interactions with nature start to make sense. Geralt recalls how birds would harmonize with Jaskier's melodies even when the bard merely hummed absentmindedly. It becomes clear that Jaskier's affinity with nature and the presence of magic within him are linked to his Fae heritage.

Still trembling with fear, Jaskier musters the courage to voice his concerns, questioning whether his Fae nature makes him inherently dangerous. In response, Vesemir assures Jaskier that his power does not make him a threat but rather reflects his lack of training. Recognizing the importance of keeping both Jaskier and those around him safe, it is decided that Jaskier should receive proper combat training. The goal is to harness and control his exceptional strength, ensuring it is wielded responsibly.

In addition to combat training, Jaskier finds himself joining Ciri in her magical lessons under the guidance of Yennefer. This allows him to explore and develop control over his magical abilities, granting him a better understanding of his nature-based magic and the means to channel it effectively.

[niiwa-angel]

@dylan mulvaney post, im sorry tras are backing who?? What child murderer?? Is this chris chan

Recently, there was a school shooting in Nashville that resulted in the deaths of three children and three adults. The children were all nine years old, not even double digits yet. The adults were older and in their sixties.

The shooter was 28 year old Audrey Hale, a trans identified female who had made maps of the school and done surveillance of the building long before she actually attacked. Police found two assault weapons on her person and two shotguns and other weapons in her home on later investigations. She also had plans to go to another school when she was done with that one.

Since the killing of six innocent people, half of them literal children and the other half older people, all of them being harmless, trans rights activists have only been concerned for themselves and how it makes them look. Nothing for the grieving families, nothing for the traumatized children, hell, not even remorse for the children who are dead. It's all about them. If you search Trans Day of Vengence on Twitter or Tumblr, you'll find horrible displays of trans rights activists calling for violence against 'cis' people, mostly women.

Twitter has had to crack down on those posting using the tag trans day of vengeance because they are inciting violence.

The trans rights activists are now trying to make Audrey a martyr for their community, claiming that she was killed because she was trans and not because she was shooting up a school.

There are even groups of trans activists rallying their followers together to get fire arm training. Literally days after school children were killed.

Also lots of images like these are circulating.

Yes, those are assault rifles. Yes, they have gained popularity after the slaughter of school children in their classrooms. But don't point out that it's incredibly gross to be making the focus yourself after a member of your group killed six people or you get tweets like these

There is so much more and it's frankly disgusting. I know some of my fellow Radfems have already made multiple posts on this and you really should check them out but the fact remains, six innocent people were killed by a trans identified female and all the trans community cares about is themselves. Now, I'm not going to pretend that I like Christianity, or any religion for that matter, but the fact is that nobody deserves to die because of their faith, or their parents faiths as these kids were too young to believe in anything except Santa.

The trans community has rallied around a child murder, who shot up one school and had plans for another. They wound up canceling a protest at the supreme court they had scheduled because they were concerned about bodily harm coming to their protestors. Not because it would be incredibly insensitive after one of their members killed people, but because of possible threats to them.