#she wouldn't know what he is just that he's different

[bloomshroomz]

Honestly, I'm not a fan of egg jokes. Mostly because, how do you know the person you're making the joke about isn't trans and stealth, or questioning, or closeted and not ready to come out?

What if that person you're calling an "egg" is a trans woman who is aware that she is trans, but isn't ready to tell anyone yet, and people speculating about it gives her anxiety and makes her feel unsafe?

What if that person you're calling an "egg" is in the midst of questioning their gender and you're putting additional pressure on them to make up their mind about it, or potentially even leading them to the wrong conclusion because of that pressure?

What if that person you're calling an "egg" is a trans man with a feminine gender presentation, and you're casting doubt on his manhood that he worked hard for, just because of his femininity?

I'm aiming towards being stealth, and honestly, I'll probably be the "cis man saying egg jokes are just as bad as misgendering" someday, because I wouldn't be able or willing to out myself just to make a point. I don't think trans people should have to say "I'm trans" to make people stop misgendering us, especially when that will ultimately lead to even more misgendering from transphobes.

Gender is often complicated and personal, and just because you think someone is trans in a certain way doesn't mean they are - it could be the exact opposite, and you might actually be inadvertently misgendering, outing, or pressuring a trans person.

While the context and impact is different between gender modalities, misgendering people is bad, whether they're cis or trans, or whether you perceive them as one or the other. Especially because, contrary to the belief of transphobes, you can't actually "always tell."

"I deadname Twitter and the gulf of mexico" is not a joke I'm comfy with a cis making tbqh. ever since I saw that cis guy say "making egg jokes about me is bad for the same reason as misgendering trans people is bad" I've realized that these people really have a second grader's understanding of the world and if we let them get away with that joke for too long they might start deadnaming Blaire White or some shit

[bunny-jpeg]

john price would trap you with a baby. no questions asked. he knew the years were catching up to him. he knew that wouldn't be much longer before he couldn't pass on the price genes.

he felt bad when he masturbated, felt like he was wasting his boys. spurts of hot cum down his large shaft wishing that it was inside a pretty little things smaller cunt. his hand was too rough even with lubrication. he needed something with supple flesh that he could sink his teeth into and a wet pussy to stuff full. he wanted to feel himself impregnating someone.

that was where you came in.

you felt amazing, sex with you was something else. the way you were like a bunny when you rode his cock. you bounced on him, not slowing down until he wrung at least three orgasms out of you. he found it endearing that you could take him. and while cowgirl was fun and missionary felt classic.

if price wanted to get you pregnant then, he knew that doggy style would be the best course of action. sadly, that position was a little more difficult given your size difference. price the bear and his little cub, those weren't just terms of endearment. he was burly, hairy, but you were so much shorter that he couldn't easily slip into you. but things could always be modified.

he smothered you under him as you laid on the bed with your legs spread and price was on top of you with his cock invading your slick entrance. the feeling was different and the weight on top of you only added to the pleasure.

his mind was focused, as he worked himself into you. he slid in easily, little resistance from you. your pussy was greedy for him, not that price could blame you. you were just so perfect for him. he shaped you into the perfect thing for him. you were his angel, the sweetest fruit, the woman he wanted to carry his child. if you liked it or not.

thoughts of you dark puffy nipples, the waddle in your step, the complaints of back pain. how your body changed because of him, he marked you in a way that no other man could. price boys grew strong and were a handful both in the womb and out. hungry boys too, but price would happily massage your fat tits to make sure there was more than enough milk for his boys. might have a little taste himself, see what all the fuss was. the heavy milk on his tongue as he fucked his pretty wife.

no need to go out and find a job. price's got enough to make sure that your wallet and your womb were packed full. no need to worry your little head, just make sure the babies are taken care of and price will do all the thinking in the relationship. he knew your dream was to see your diploma on the wall, but he thought that a family photo would be much better.

hard to complete your degree when your pregnant belly doesn't fit in the lecture hall seat or it was feeding time for john jr. there was nowhere for you to nurse his hefty son and you'd in the end miss too much class because price would be keeping you at home to start on the next one.

"that's it, doll. that's my girl. she suckin' me right in. she know what she wants and she's takin' it. made just for, huh, petal?" he growled as he pressed into you further, his cock didn't slip out. he fucked you feverishly.

he felt you tremble as you came not once, but twice, back to back. price continued to fuck you, ruin your pretty little folds and let him feel as much as he could of your sweet sex. you felt amazing, only pussy price would want. he fucked you roughly with his hands pressed into the covers on either side of your head. you were too blissed out by the time he finished inside of you that you didn't even ask for him to pull out.

a good wife took every drop.

he soon after pulled his cock out, the sight of his cum sticking to your slick pussy lips with most of his seed inside of you. made his cock peek at attention once more. "there she is." he purred, "messy girl." he tipped your hips up and held them in his large hands. he dipped between your legs and played with your pussy. something to distract you while his cum slid into the back of your pussy.

now be good, and get pregnant <3

a/n: i don't know what came over me... i'm sorry

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 16 - did i mean nothing?

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language, angst

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

the cold night air hit your tear streaked face as sarah, cleo and kie led you out the club.

"hey it's okay, you don't need to stay and watch that bullshit. what a great fucking friend cara is." sarah spoke.

"i didn't like her as soon as i met her" cleo mentioned.

"not right now cleo." kie shushed her. "look, it was all from her side right? rafe wasn't doing anything or initiating anything back so everything is ok i promise." she said, wiping your tears.

"i know you're right" you agreed, "i just can't believe she would do this. i don't understand."

"she's a cunt is what she is." sarah firmly said, earning a small smile from you. "i'm sending her home first thing tomorrow. i'll pay for her flight."

"no sarah stop."

"i'm serious, don't want her anywhere near you or us or him."

"oh fuck." cleo said, panic overtaking her face.

"what?" you mumbled, your heart racing at her distress.

"i am so sorry y/n," cleo whispered.

"cleo." your stomach dropping, "what is it?"

she turned her phone around and your heart dropped at the screen. rafe and cara face to face, lips almost touching. there was no denying the photo.

"oh my god" your voice fell, tears threatening to fall again.

the girls said nothing, but rubbed your back as you sobbed on the side of the pavement. no words could describe the way you were feeling.

"lets get you home y/n, i'll take you to mine." sarah finally spoke.

after a long, silent taxi ride home, you got out the car and straight into sarah's bed, tears not stopping.

you felt drained, your chest aching. the girls had tried everything to distract you, but you couldn't stop staring at the photo, like staring at it long enough would make it disappear.

but it wouldn't. it was real.

you couldn't process that rafe would do this to you. the boy who had loved you, written songs about you, confessed his deepest issues to you, trusted you. how could he have let this happen? did the last 8 months mean nothing to him?

"okay no more of that." sarah said, taking the phone out of your hands. "do you really think he would do that to you? i mean the photo isn't clear, he could've been talking to her?"

"come on sarah. you saw them together too." you mumbled.

"i just don't get it. he is so in love with you." she replied.

"cleary not." you huffed.

"that's not true and you know it." kie said.

"he told me i was different. that he'd never felt this way before." you spoke as the tears falling again. "i don't know what to do."

"look, we don't know the full story ok? there is nothing we can do." cleo chimed in. "i know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you're going to be okay."

"and i swear to god, when you're ready, we'll make sure they regret this." kie stated.

you swallowed hard. regret. did rafe even feel regret? did cara? or were they still at the club, laughing, dancing, kissing, like none of this even mattered?

your stomach twisted. did you even matter?

sarah must’ve sensed the storm in your head because she gently took your hand, squeezing it. “don’t do that. don’t let them make you feel like you weren’t enough. they weren’t enough for you.”

you let out a bitter laugh, eyes still glossy. “then why does it feel like i’m the one who lost everything?”

kie sighed. “because you’re a good person y/n. and they’re not.”

you wanted to believe that. you really did.

instead, all you could do was lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to breathe through the pain.

because no matter how much your friends reassured you, one thought haunted you.

rafe had promised forever,

and forever had ended with a single photo.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: sorry guys😩 you all knew it was coming

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes@judesgfirl@4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1 @amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld@blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy@bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @kittenjujusblog @bambii1i @thesunflowersociety @wtfdudesblog

[poorly-managed]

The other guy was a dick. For sure. It's just. We were all dicks. So really, if it was just a lack of dick-ish-ness the pretender wouldn't have been as welcomed.c

The thing was, this doppelganger did apparently NO research. About this particular dick, and possibly humans.

It started with Becky, who was trying to prove to the rest of us that there was something OBVIOUSLY WRONG with Ken. Who we all were secretly referred to as NK. Not Ken.

Everyone but Becky had figured it out. We were just playing our favorite game: "No one tell her. See how long it takes"

She wasn't exactly in the group for her brians. She was dating Ken.

"Ken. Let's go to karaoke at the bar tonight." Becky said.

She said it flatly. Almost sarcastically. None of the sweetness she usually threw his way. No fluttering lashes or flirtatious giggling.

Ken would normally say "the fuck are you on about?" And look at her like she was the dumb slut he told all her friends she was.

NK gave a strained almost smile and said, "Yes honey. Karaoke. Tonight. Great."

Actual Ken hated karaoke.

New Ken was tone death, like he maybe didn't know what a tune even was.

He learned pretty fast, and he read and spoke English. (As well as Japanese and Spanish, that we knew of). He was just. Never close. To what an average oddball would do. Eons away from what Ken would do.

And like. Okay. We were 100% Sure he was Not Ken. We were 80-90% sure this weirdo was Not Human.

They didn't know, however, if the living body was human, Ken. Whatever.

Yeah. So. The body was NOT human. The bleach and Drano cocktail they gave him made him act funny, but in a "this is what a kindergartener thinks being drunk is" kinda way.

So he didn't die. Except. When they said he should have. Then he sort of "played dead"

Except he didn't really get what that meant. So Becky would find him around the apartment, in different death poses. Becky finally told him actually they were wrong. He wasn't dead. He was back to alive the next day.

None of us are the warm fuzzy type. Most of our lines were drawn not out of empathy. It's just. Sometimes he got the idea how we treated him was just what humans did together with their friends.

We lost Becky before we realized stabbing him was fully out of the question.

If we poison him, we tell him it's something else. We don't let him see us slip needles into his food.

The thing is. this Not Ken is FUN. Some things bug him. Or seem to. Peanuts. Shell fish. Common allergy food. But it was hard to tell if it really bothered him or he had just read somewhere those were bad for humans.

Nothing kills him though. And as long as we're careful, as long as we don't let him see us try to hurt him, NK will do whatever we want.

So yes. The idiot who walks into the bank with the stupidest mask, nothing connecting them to any biological human, and the capacity to take endless rounds and keep moving? We like him better.

Your "friend" has been replaced by a doppelgänger. You aren’t sure where it came from or what it is under the disguise. But you know one thing; you prefer it over the original.

[00valentina-writes00]

Yandere reader with ambessa would be so funny cuz she'd just think you were cute for thinking she needed to be defended and shit... secretly she has no idea you've been eliminating all the people who argue with he run meetings. She appreciates it! She really does! But soon enough they'll be no one left to help her out with battle stuff and... that wouldn't be beneficial :(

♡♥︎ A War Won in Your Name ♥︎♡

Warnings: Yandere!Reader, possessiveness, murder, obsession, dark humor, Ambessa being terrifyingly amused, reader being completely unhinged but affectionate.

Ambessa Medarda was no stranger to bloodshed. It had woven itself into the fabric of her life, stitched into the very armor she donned every morning. Wars were fought in her name, bodies fell at her command, and empires bent beneath the weight of her power. She was a conqueror, an immovable force—unshaken, unbothered, undefeated.

So, really, she should have seen this coming.

She sat at the head of the grand table in her war chamber, her heavy fur-lined cloak draped over her shoulders as she surveyed the emptiness before her. The chairs that once held high-ranking generals, political advisors, and battle strategists now sat vacant, some still slightly pulled out as if their occupants had only stepped away for a moment.

But they weren’t coming back.

Ambessa tapped her fingers against the polished wood, her golden rings catching the candlelight as she leaned back in her seat. The air was thick with silence, an unusual thing in a room that once buzzed with sharp words and tactical discussions.

She knew exactly what had happened.

And, more importantly, she knew exactly who was responsible.

The door creaked open, and there you were, all soft smiles and bright eyes, as if you hadn’t just systematically wiped out half her advisory board.

“Ambessa,” you greeted, voice light, affectionate, as if you weren’t completely and utterly insane. You carried a tray with her evening tea, setting it down before her with the utmost care. “You seemed stressed during your last meeting. Thought I’d bring you something to relax.”

Ambessa hummed, watching you carefully. She had fought in wars against men twice her size, against warriors who could crush steel in their hands—but you, with all your love-drunk devotion and dangerously soft touches, might have been the most terrifying thing she had ever encountered.

She took a slow sip of the tea you offered, holding your gaze over the rim of her cup. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

Your smile didn’t waver. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Ambessa exhaled through her nose, amused. She leaned forward, resting her heavy arms on the table, the sheer size difference between the two of you almost laughable. You looked so small, so unassuming, and yet—

“I need my advisors alive, my love,” she said, voice smooth, patient, as if explaining something to a particularly determined child.

Your lips pursed, a hint of a pout forming. “They were being disrespectful.”

“They were giving me tactical advice.”

“They were questioning you,” you corrected, a spark of something dark flashing in your eyes. “They doubted your decisions. They didn’t respect your authority.”

Ah. There it was. That righteous, unwavering devotion that had you treating her throne like a shrine and her enemies like insects beneath your boot.

Ambessa chuckled, the sound deep and warm, and she reached out, cupping your face in her calloused palm. Her thumb brushed over your cheek, gentle despite the raw strength she possessed.

“You’re a good wife,” she mused, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet her gaze. “A devoted one.”

You leaned into her touch, preening under her praise. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“And I appreciate that,” she said smoothly, fingers trailing down to your throat. Not in a threatening way—no, this was something else. Something possessive. A reminder of exactly where you stood with her. “But you’ve been a little too… thorough in your protection.”

Your brows furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

Ambessa smiled, slow and indulgent, like a lion amused by the antics of a housecat. “There are barely any advisors left, my love. I need men to lead my armies, to organize supply lines, to run my empire.” She squeezed lightly, just enough for you to feel the weight of her touch. “As much as I adore your dedication, you’re making things difficult.”

You blinked, as if the thought had never occurred to you. “Oh.”

Oh.

Ambessa nearly laughed. It was so genuine, so completely absent of remorse, that it only solidified what she already knew: you weren’t doing this out of some grand plan. No, you simply loved her too much to let anyone else speak against her.

How adorable.

She leaned in, lips brushing against your forehead in an almost tender gesture. “No more killing my generals, sweetheart.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Only the disrespectful ones.”

Ambessa pulled back, arching a brow. “All of them have been disrespectful, according to you.”

“Well,” you drawled, tracing a finger along the edge of the table, “maybe they should have thought about that before talking to you like you weren’t their superior.”

Ambessa sighed, though it held no real exasperation. This was a mess, but it was a mess of her own making. She had known what kind of person you were before she married you—had liked it, even. There was something endearing about your unwavering devotion, the way you looked at her like she was something divine.

She just hadn’t accounted for the fact that you would act on those feelings so violently.

“I need my kingdom intact,” she said, voice firm. “Which means I need men to run it.”

You hesitated, gnawing on your lower lip. “Fine.”

Ambessa tilted her head, studying you. “Fine?”

You sighed dramatically, throwing yourself into her lap in defeat. Her arms caught you with ease, as if it were second nature. “Fine,” you repeated, pouting up at her. “I won’t kill all of them.”

Ambessa chuckled, her fingers sliding through your hair. “A compromise, then.”

You hummed, pressing your face into the warmth of her chest. “I just don’t like people talking down to you. You’re Ambessa Medarda. You should be worshiped, not questioned.”

Ambessa’s lips quirked, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You’d see my entire court executed if it meant I sat on a throne unchallenged.”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

Now, she did laugh—deep and rich, the sound vibrating through her chest. She cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer as she pressed a lingering kiss to your temple.

“You are so lucky you amuse me,” she murmured against your skin.

You grinned, fingers curling into the fabric of her cloak. “Lucky? No. You’re just as obsessed with me as I am with you.”

Ambessa hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps.”

And really, wasn’t that the most dangerous part?

She may not have been as outright unhinged as you, may not have gone around systematically erasing her enemies like a lovesick assassin—but there was something deeply satisfying about knowing that you would raze the world for her without hesitation.

And gods help anyone who thought to take you away from her.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Can you write an insecure!reader who has stutters or nervous tics or anything that prevents her from talking easily so she just rathers to keep quiet because it kind of embarrases her, even with her boyfriend Logan

It can be any Logan you picture!! Be free with the idea too

Glossophobia

Trilogy! Logan X F! Reader

You prefer to stay quiet, keep to yourself, and do your work, but you're asked to do something that fills you with anxiety, and Logan talks it out with you

A/N: I'm sorry this took me so long! I really wanted to write this properly. I had to take speech therapy when I was a kid (had a LOT of trouble with my S, C, and Th sounds), not to mention I would get tons of anxiety speaking to groups of people or people I didn't know. It hits a lil close to home. Hope you enjoy! Also Idk why trilogy Logan called out to me for this one...

Warnings: Sort of a subplot included, reader is a scientist apart of X-men, a bit of angst, reader gets frustrated, anxiety, a small moment of comparison to others, Logan being a sweetheart and supportive, Charles jumpscares reader (there's no way Charles randomly popping in your head wouldn't scare the shit out of you), open ending

“Can you explain these results to me?” 

You looked up from the microscope, examining the broken down elements of a particular Rice Krispie cereal, the cereal box sitting nearby- the cartoon character on it seemingly staring at you in a mocking manner. Hank stood there with a stack papers in hand, looking at you questioningly past his glasses.

You took a deep breath, pushing yourself from the table, you reached your hand out for the papers, taking them gently from his hand. A deep sigh as you glanced over the papers, words forming in your head in what to say- how to explain it. You understood it completely, you wrote the paper.

Just, talking about it went a little differently. 

You let out a breath, “Okay…” You paused, as you read the results again. Hank waited patiently. Then you dropped the papers in your lap and you looked up at Hank with a raised eyebrow. “There's no way that you don’t understand this, Hank.” You point at him. “You are a doctor after all” You say. 

“I just want to hear your interpretation, not the science. I don’t quite understand the section regarding biological functions. That is your specialty you know…”

You looked up at him, with a displeased expression, before taking the papers back in your hand, flipping through to find the section Hank is talking about. “Okay.” you reread them for the third time. “Um, S..s..so, this is basically just an explanation about how drugs affect the system.” You begin. 

“Right.” Hank nods, he turns grabbing a chair nearby, and pulls it up to sit next to you. “You write about how it binds to DNA cells, which then affect the hormone cycle.”

You nodded. 

“How?” Hank asks, a small shake of his head indicating he didn’t understand. 

“It’s…It’s the same way alcohol affects hormones.” You explain. “It…affects the um, the levels of testosterone, in a man’s body. The oestrogen, in a woman’s. Except with this- it doesn’t reduce the fertility. It c-c-lings to the spermatozoa or ovum of the individual, and…” You pause to take a breath, sitting straighter in your chair. Hank was staring at you, listening intently. While you appreciate the fact that he wanted to hear your explanation….

All the research is. Right. There!

“It attacks the cells that uh, have the potential to include or actually, form a mutation.”

“Fascinating and terrible.” Hank shook his head. “This is an amazing discovery on your part dear.” 

“I wish it was for something better.” You force a smile to him, as you look back down at the papers. “Is that all you want to know?”

“Actually-” Hank sat up, leaning over to the papers as he began to point at various sections, he began to talk about different points in your paper, asking for clarification as you stare at him with silent dread. 

After that grueling conversation, you were finally left alone in your lab. Thankfully. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy talking to Hank, you were both like-minded people, who enjoyed hardcore science, and drama-ridden soap operas. You just weren’t a talker, which is why you preferred pursuing research over medicine. 

With research, you’re sitting in a quiet room, focused on your own tasks, and writing your notes to type up a paper later. Occasionally quiet small talk over the water cooler, a little;

“How's your day?”

“Fine, yours?” 

A goodbye and back to work. 

Hank pushed you to explain and explain. Which was fine, totally fine, at least he wanted to make sure he understood everything before he brought the papers up to Congress, your papers, evidence, and commentary of the genetically modified food you have discovered. You rather not have your research being mistaken, especially since it was dire that things change, and fast.

It’s just the more you talked, the more you paused, the more you stuttered, the more you misused a word, or went “um” for the 4th time in a sentence; and the more anxious you got as you began to wonder if Hank was getting annoyed. Not once did his expression change as he listened to you attempt to explain your research in more casual wording, patience was always a virtue of Hanks. 

It still left you overthinking.

You attempted to go back to your work, resting in the silence that filled the room. Your nerves settled as you forced yourself to ignore your anxiety over the conversation with Hank. Just as you were getting ready to peer back into the microscope, to finish taking your notes on the most recent discovery of yet another popular food, genetically modified to attack mutant cells. 

It’s too bad, this type of cereal were yours and Marie's favorite and now you can’t be bothered to eat them. It makes you cringe to even have to buy the damn things just so you can confirm that yes, this major brand is also poisoning mutants and damning your futures. 

What a bunch of dicks

Just as you placed your eyes over the ocular lens of the microscope, Charles voice appeared in your head- scaring the hell out of you and making you jump. 

“Jesus!” You yelped, jumping out of your chair and tipping over the box of the cereal. You heard Charles apologize sympathetically for startling you, then requesting you to come to his study. 

You sighed, standing there as you watched the cereal pour out onto the floor, creating a mess. You watched the grains form a small pile, a conceding expression on your face as your shoulders slump. 

Deciding to clean it up later, you left the lab to go to Charles study, and find out what he needs you for. 

“I think you should present this research.” 

Your face fell at Charles words. “Ex..Excuse me?” You ask, your blood running cold at the sound of presenting. You let out a small nervous laugh. “No…No way.” You shook your head. 

Charles smiled sympathetically, “Now I know you don’t like doing it, but you’re the one who discovered this. You deserve the credit.” 

“That’s why my name is on the p-p-paper!” You exclaimed. “Besides no one, is-is going to want to listen to me.” 

“Now that’s not true.” Charles says, straightening his shoulders, clasping his hands together on top his desk. 

“There’s no reason for me to present!” You hands flew out. “Hank- can do it just fine. I…cannot do it Professor. You know I hate t-talking a lot, much less in front of people.” You attempt to keep your voice steady, not allowing much emotion to fall through but you were unfortunately failing terribly. 

Not that it mattered anyway, Charles could easily read your mind and see how you felt about it. You enjoyed the telepathy Charles and Jean both had, which allowed you to not always have to talk out loud with them. Nonetheless it become a tad bit awkward eventually when Jean and you are in a lab together in complete silence, and she randomly blurts out responses to things you were thinking about. 

“Think about it.” Charles says gently, and you purse your lips together, and force yourself to nod. 

You knew Charles had good intentions. He was always trying to get you out of your shell, especially ever since you came here. You just can’t do it. It’s hard enough on your own, talking to people you considered family. You found yourself embarrassed at your own voice most of the time, preferring to just stay quiet. Talking in front of strangers? Congress?

Absolutely. Not.

You were now at your desk, your chin resting on your clasped hands; staring down at your papers with a frown. You weren’t reading the papers, you weren’t even seeing the papers. Looking past them, as you obsessed over the conversation with Hank, and Charles earlier in the morning. 

Why can’t you just do it? 

You hadn’t noticed Logan slipping inside. A big goofy smile on his face as he walks up to your desk, slowly fading as he notices the intense look in your expression, the way you were glaring down at your papers. He recognized the grumpy look, the look that tells him you were having a bad day - and was gonna need some TLC. 

He came up from your side, standing behind your chair as he leaned over you, a hand pressing to your desk to brace himself. 

You still hadn’t noticed his looming figure yet, until your eyes just happened to flip over to his hand, in which you lifted your head up in confusion, before turning to look up, scanning the familiar and muscular arm, and landing on Logan's face. He quirked a brow, a small smile spread across it, as he leaned down to press a soft greeting kiss to your lips. 

You returned it, eventually melting into it as a smile formed on your face. He parted from you, a loud smooch echoed in the room. 

“What’s it take for a guy to get noticed by ya, huh bub?” He teases. 

“Sorry...” You mutter bashfully looking away. He moved to lean against your desk, crossing his arms. 

“Still working?”

“Uh, no.” You shook your head, not looking up at him. 

“You were glaring at these papers pretty hard like they said something to offend you.” 

You fiddled with some of the papers, not saying anything. He observed your body language, the way you were closed in on yourself, avoiding looking at him, and not speaking much. Meant that you were having a really bad day.

“Hey.” His voice low, as his hand reaches over to tip your chin up at him. His brows creased together in focus, but his expression was lighthearted. “You okay?”

“M’fine.” You mutter. 

“Something happen?” 

Your eyes finally reached his. You waited a moment, “Lo?” 

“Hm?”

“Does…Do how I t-talk..Bother you?” 

He blinks, his chin tipping back a bit, as if he were baffled by your question. Then he tilts his head, brows creasing as he examines you. “How you talk?” He shook his head, “What do you mean?” 

You sigh looking down, removing yourself from his hand. Chewing on your lip, you began to pick at your nails - already thinned down from your encounters this morning. “You know what…I mean.” You glance back up at him. “I s-s- stutter, a lot. I can never just…Say what I want to say.” 

His brows creased, he tilted his head, examining your face. “I….Don’t get it. I mean, is there stuff you want to say?” 

“No I mean- When I talk, I…. have trouble getting it out and I start to s.s..stutter- Like that!” Your hands went in the air in frustration. 

“Woah, woah, settle down.” His hands went to your arms. “I don’t notice it, and I don’t think anyone else does, and if they do, who gives a shit?” 

You sigh in frustration, a little embarrassment overcoming you. You never really talked about this with Logan before, only mentioning in passing during the timing of your friendship. When you got together, you really couldn’t bring yourself to talk about it to him. You were afraid of pointing it out, that he would notice it more if you did. Maybe he would get sick of it. Especially when the other ladies here, like Ororo, or Jean, seems to speak perfectly clear with no hesitation in their words. 

You didn’t want the way you spoke noticed, or to be compared in anyway to your peers. So you simply chose not speaking much. When asked for your opinions, inputs, etc, you simply opted for the easy answer, or simply redirecting the conversation to someone else.

Your conversation with Charles put you on edge though. On one hand, you don’t want to turn him down. You knew he meant well and has high hopes for you but that merely filled you with more anxiety that if you really went up on that podium and spoke in front of congress- representing X-men and mutants alike, you were going to be an embarrassment. You certainly held a passion for this research, and want to contribute to protecting your fellow mutants, but this…

“Hey-” Logans voice cut through your thoughts again. “What is it?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Stop that.” He says firmly, then moving to kneel in front of you, his hands on your knees. “We talked about this before.” He says, referring to your conversations from the past, about opening up to each other more. You weren’t the only one who didn’t like to talk much, yet Logan’s “talking” was more about his feelings, rather than physical speaking. You let out a small sigh.

“The way I t-talk. It’s like I…swallow my words. It doesn’t annoy you?”

“Of course not.” Logan says. “Did I…Ever act like it did?”

You shook your head, and a small bit of relief came across his face. “So what’s this about bub?”

“Charles…Asked me to p-p-present my findings to Congress, instead of Hank.” You look down at where your hands were on your lap, Logans hands resting over yours. “I…don’t want to.” 

“Then don’t.” Logan replies with a small shrug. 

“But Charles-” 

“You don’t gotta do a damn thing just cause Chuck asked you to.” He says with a shake of his head. “If you want to do it, do it, if you don’t want to, don’t. You don’t need to prove anything.”

“It’s just with this…This..The way I talk…” You forced yourself to look up at him. “I, I’m c-c-constantly wondering when people are going to snap at me.”

“Fuck em.” 

You blinked in surprise, and a small laugh escaped you. “Lo!” 

“I’m serious.” He raised a brow, his expression and tone evident that he was indeed serious. “Someone’s gonna be a dick, fuck em. Tell em that to their face. In fact I’ll do it for you. Don’t need to waste your time on someone like that.” 

You giggled, shaking your head and closing your eyes as you tipped your chin downwards. A faint smile appeared on Logans lips as he watched you. You opened your eyes and looked back up at him, and for a moment he felt his breath taken away. His hands squeezed yours, as he leaned up to capture your lips in a soft but urgent kiss. Parting from you, he rested his forehead against yours, your noses bumping into each other. 

“You sure it…doesn’t bother you?” You ask softly. 

“It’s you baby. Everything about you.” He replies, “There ain’t a single thing I don’t like about you. Don’t hide yourself from me. Got it?” 

You let out a small hum and nodded. 

“So…About this presentation Chuck wants ya to do…” He leans back a bit. “What worries you?”

“Making a fool of myself.” You mutter softly, as you felt a heat in your cheeks from admitting it. 

“You?” Logan raised a brow. “The only people making themselves out to be fools is the assholes who created the whole…food…thing.” He waved his hand in annoyance. “..and everyone with those damn suits but that’s another story.” 

You laughed. “You’d look g-great in that.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Focus.” He says in a warning tone, before pausing and winking at you. “Look, if you really don’t want to do it. Don’t. You don’t need to. Beastie will be fine. Just, don’t do it just because you’re worried about others judging you.” He reaches out, brushing some of your hair back. “Guarantee you’re 10 times smarter than all the assholes in Congress anyway. Don’t let others scare you from being yourself, and speaking up for yourself. Got it?” he adjusted himself on his knee. “Whatever you do, wherever you go, I got your back.”

Just when you thought you couldn’t love the man more. 

You bit your lip, and nodded. A genuine smile came across his face. He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it, and then the other. 

“So, what are you going to do?” He asks looking up at you with a raised eyebrow.

[red5tars]

all that remains, pt.1

ghost x reader; past ghoap.

cw: major character death, alcohol + drinking, simon is grieving and he is NOT happy

it was no surprise johnny would be forced into an early retirement. simon planned to follow him, hell, he would follow him to ends of the earth if johnny so much as hinted at it. but that wasn't the case, not this time.

or after going no contact for nearly two decades, simon riley gets the closure he's always needed with his sergeant. or rather, an extension of him.

he can hardly remember what happened.

(-security had to escort simon out of the hospital. yank him away from johnny as he yelled, cursed, told his mother that she could go fuck herself up the ass with the cross she carries in her bag-)

-the past a blur, smudged by time.

still, betrayal sticks to the back of his tongue like a bitter aftertaste. the feeling apart of him forever.

the day that johnny got shot, two matching holes were made: one ingrained into soap's head, the other in ghost's heart. time healed one while growing the other, the correlation negative. never crossing.

until now.

he reads the article over and over again, eyes darting all over the page.

local veteran. wife. daughter. car crash. multiple injuries. dead.

dead.

dead.

dead-

simon chucks his phone across the room, device shattering upon impact.

he shouldn't have asked price for more details, knowing his captain would never have spared him. then again, the last time simon talked with price was nearly a month ago, both men preferring to talk in person. unfortunately, this message couldn't wait.

according to elisabeth kübler-ross, simon should be in denial. shaking his head frantically, muttering 'no no no no no', tugging his hair and screaming till his lungs give out. yet, the first emotion that his apathetic brain can register is regret-

-days spent quietly in the woods, vows and toasts, an honest conversation, all lost when the text he's gone appeared on his screen only thirty minutes prior.

memories never created bounce around in his head, plaguing him. a ghost being haunted, how hilarious.

even when johnny was cut out from simon'a life, at the very least he knew he was still there. living and breathing, enjoying life with someone who wasn't him.

wasn't simon.

before he can spiral even further, his phone buzzes. a miracle, considering how hard he threw it. a part of him wants to break his phone, unable to cement this new reality (denial, maybe miss ross knew a thing or two).

but he's already walking, bending down to pick up the small device. his thumb hits the answer button before he can throw it again.

"i should've called first," price says, voice filled with sympathy, shielding his own grief. even decades later, his captain continues to put on a strong front. typical, but not unwelcomed.

a million responses run through simon's head; "yes, you should've", "it wouldn't have made a difference".

“you never should’ve told me. should’ve let me die an ignorance.”

"..'s fine," simon mumbles, eyes drifting down to the floor.

there's an uncomfortable silence that comes from the other end of the line. for a man who can figure out when the enemy is about to take their next breath, he's shit when it comes to comfort.

price sighs, "'s not, but not much we can do 'bout it now, huh?" he tacks on a humorless laugh at the end, which could be mistaken for another exasperated sigh.

he's right. there isn't much they can do about now. simon doesnt't even want to do anything. if he had to do something, gun to his head, he'd just pull the trigger himself and hope johnny is wherever he ends up (a low probability really. johnny believed in god and the only man simon worshipped was him).

"listen, simon," price's voice pulls him out of his thoughts, forcing him back to the present. the one where johnny is dead, "i didn't just call to talk about… him.

"they're gonna be 'osting a funeral, 'bout a week from now," he continues, simon taking every detail with a gram of salt, "gonna be in his hometown. i've been in contact with his mum considerin' the lad," (a weird word to describe him, but it makes sense. john has always been like a father figure to them all, offering guidance even outside of the trenches), "won't have a regular funeral."

a neatly folded flag, gunshots that echo of missions from years ago, and the husk of the strongest man he knows.

well, knew.

"figures," simon replies, despondent. it seems price catches on, another breath leaving him heavily, "look, i know you two weren't on the best of terms after the.. incident, but i do know that if he wanted anyone to see him off. it would be you," there's a slight rustle on price's end, a barely audible john..? reaching simon's end. price huffs, but it's filled with warmth, "woke up the missus.. listen, i'll talk to you again when everything is finalized just.. don't do anything you'd regret, simon."

it takes simon three minutes to respond, not realizing what john said wasn't a suggestion but rather an order (some things don't change, huh?).

"..yes, sir," and simon can hear the smile in his tone when john tells him 'good night'.

he didn't realize it till price left him in the static silence of his home flat, but simon didn't move a single inch during the entirety of the call. a strange superstition he had when he was younger, that if he didn't move, nothing would change. it didn't work of course. staying huddled in a corner didn't stop his father from seeking him out and beating him and his mother.

staying buried in the trenches didn't stop the enemy from firing at him.

and staying rooted in this one spot didn't change the fact that johnny mactavish was a dead man.

so much for some things not changing…

he thinks of what to do next. price ordered him to not do something he would regret, his to-do list quickly dwindling down to two options:

a) go to the funeral.

b) or don't.

to others it's an easy choice, but to simon? this would be facing the truth head first. face first.

johnny, expression contorted into something peaceful, telling a silent story of a man who lived a long fruitful life.

still, no amount of blush could hide the fact it's a corpse he'll be reuniting with.

it could do him more good than harm but what if it doesn't? what if it's then he truly snaps, impales himself on one of the many flower stands he knows will be there, removing himself only to drag his bleeding body towards his one true love.

splayed out like romeo over juliet except this isn't some shakespearean tale, star-crossed lovers and theatrical english. no, this is his reality, his purgatory made into actuality.

all that's left is to make a decision. stay or go? face the truth or don't?

it circles his head like an ugly carousel with a discordant tune, that is till his eyes land on a an unopened bottle of whiskey he got from america.

johnny had insisted on buying it when they were in the states for a mission. "we'll share it whin we git back to th' stead, lt. treat fur a jab weel done."

(they never opened it, that operation being dubbed 'the incident', followed by silence from both ends)

better late then never, simon thinks, skulking towards the bottle. the cap comes off with ease, simon swiping some dust around the spout. there's glasses somewhere in his shitty flat, a set that's engraved with their initials.

he settles on drinking straight from the source.

[antianakin]

It's more like several days prior to ROTS, not 20 hours, and since Anakin already has them on hand at a point in time where he hasn't been home in about six months as far as we know (he's presumably been stuck in the Outer Rim Sieges right up until the fight on the Invisible Hand, since he doesn't know Padme's pregnant until she's REALLY pregnant), Anakin has presumably had these sabers with him that entire time and the "upgrades" happened prior to him going on the Sieges. It's possible he could've continued making modifications during the Sieges, but it seems pretty unlikely, and he DEFINITELY wouldn't have had time to fuck off to Ilum to go grab a few new crystals he doesn't actually personally need. Given this timeline, we can probably safely assume he made the modifications shortly after Ahsoka left. Anakin definitely did not get that message from Ahsoka and somehow run off immediately to Ilum to get two new crystals, make it back, and make the modifications to her sabers ALL before Ahsoka arrived.

And setting aside the timeline issues, I don't even know if that would be strictly POSSIBLE. We know from The Gathering that getting a crystal from Ilum involves going through a very PERSONAL test. That crystal is now YOURS, and it's not necessarily supposed to be used for someone else's saber. Obviously there's some wiggle room here since Anakin and Obi-Wan are canonically given what we can only assume are spare lightsabers during the Geonosis battle in AOTC, implying that the Jedi absolutely keep not just spare lightsaber parts, but whole spare LIGHTSABERS, crystals included, around in case of emergencies. Jedi CAN use lightsabers with kyber crystals that aren't their own without a lot of issues. However, most likely those spares are taken from Jedi who have died and are no longer using them rather than built with crystals gathered by someone who never intends to use them.

So even if you move the timeline around to say that Anakin went and harvested two new crystals months prior to seeing Ahsoka again, it doesn't really make a lot of sense. You probably COULD do this if you really wanted to, but it'd be really weird to undergo a whole personal test in order to acquire two new crystals that you never plan on actually using. I honestly don't know how Ilum would even RESPOND to that motivation, whether it would give up those crystals to someone who came in for that purpose or not. And given that there's canonical evidence of whole spare lightsabers with crystals included at the Temple, it makes a lot more sense that Anakin just found some spare crystals that were blue and replaced Ahsoka's green/yellow ones with some new blue ones.

It's still toxic in a lot of ways, it's modifying Ahsoka's personal property without her consent, presumably in order to force them to match so that it sends a specific message about where she belongs or whatever, but it's perhaps not quite as insane of a concept. Although you could argue that Anakin modifying her lightsabers so that they match his, removing the parts of it that are the most HERS to make them more like HIM, and then carrying them around with him everywhere on the off chance that he sees her just so he can try to convince her to come back to him, is equally as insane in a different way. It certainly represents and unwillingness to let go of her or to respect her autonomy and her choices.

Anakin changing the color of Ahsoka's lightsabers is such a weird writing choice to make because it honestly makes zero sense with everything we've been shown or told up until then about how lightsabers work.

In the Gathering arc, we see all of the kids pick up what appear to be pretty similarly colored white crystals, but they don't all end up with the same color lightsaber. We hear them discuss the importance of choosing the design of the hilt to suit them, but never once hear them discuss any importance to choosing the COLOR of the saber. There's never any indication that the Jedi can choose the color of their saber, it's effectively chosen for them when they're led to a crystal to begin with.

The only other times we know someone can change the color of a crystal is bleeding and purifying which requires a lot of effort and appears to result only in red or white blades.

So for Anakin to have changed the color of Ahsoka's sabers from green/yellow to blue, either we need to completely discount that worldbuilding and assume that the hilt provides the color somehow and can be engineered differently, or Anakin somehow found two new crystals that he was able to confirm were blue and replaced her crystals with the new ones.

The option was there to just have Anakin have adjusted the design of hilt if they wanted to have Anakin do something to her lightsabers that was invasively sweet in a typically Anakin sort of way, to make them match his and Obi-Wan's more or something. Or if they wanted it to be genuinely sweet, he could've just given her back the sabers normally. And instead, they just... threw out everything we ever knew about the lightsabers just to give Ahsoka sabers that they were going to have her throw away in 3 episodes anyway and never get back. I don't really see the point of it when the lightsabers have no emotional impact upon anything.

[yoonkinii]

Jjk M.list

Gojo Satoru

Perfectly Imperfect

Synopsis: Everyone is born with a soulmate. Everyone knows by the time they hit age 18, a different kind of soulmate mark will appear. Some are unable to see color until they meet their soulmates gaze, others have matching tattoos. These are the more common ones; ones that can be tracked down in history but others are rare. So rare that there’s rarely any information available about it. Rare like yours and the only case of this soulmarking was dated decades ago with only two lines describing it.

"Person A and Person B afflicted by this marking will discover themselves to be covered in string-like tattoo markings in certain areas. These areas are what the soulmate A or B deem unworthy of themselves; or rather, what they hate about themself."

This wouldn't be a problem for you if it wasnt for the fact that everything from the collarbone to your ankles was decorated in white string-like lines.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Theme song: Bonfire - wave to earth

What color is my sky painted? What color is your emotion? Close your eyes slowly and feel the wind. The bonfire is fading out. Maybe we are falling Falling down with the rain.

amore mio aiutami- Piero Piccioni (literally the song that plays when M/C looks at him)

Warning(s):

18+, Sub!Gojo (gasp!), cursing, mentions of self-hate, discussion of Self-hate, mentions of minor character death- Will be added as chapters progress but if you see something that I didn’t include here, please let me know!

Note(s):

Expect this to be a short fic. I do not plan on having this over 6 parts and even then it could be less or couple chapters more. Depends on how I write everything.

Part(s): TBA

Ryomen Sukuna

Snippets of Love

Synopsis: Glimpses of your relationship with Sukuna through prompts/questions.

Paring: Sukuna x Reader

Theme Song: Heart To Heart - Mac DeMarco

So I had a late Arrival So, we never saw the start of each others lives heart to heart

Notable tags: ModernAU, slight age gap, Canon/Fanon implements, Sukuna still has his tattoos, CEO Sukuna, uncle Sukuna, college student reader, pierced Sukuna.

Note(s): Inspired to do this series based on Kyarrcha fanart of Sukuna on Instagram! I want this to be mostly based on requests about certain moments such as when Sukuna and you first met, first date, and things like that. This can also include certain scenarios or environments. Feel free to send in requests but I will also add in my own takes.

Requests: Open.

Warnings: will be listed in the sections.

You are not required to read snippets in order, but it is recommended.

How y♡u first met Sukuna!

How y♡u met Sukuna again (and got his number)!

First date with Sukuna!

Sukuna letting y♡u doll him up!

Sukuna with drunk y♡u

Jealous Y♡u

Argument with Sukuna

Choso Kamo

Echos of Desire

Synopsis: Choso is one of the few to possess abilities that transcend human limits. His family was taken away from him and he was given to serve the king. He was trained in nothing else but to kill and follow orders. He was a man made weapon. His name whispered in fear- the kingdom's boogeyman. He hates it though. Hates how his freedom was ripped from his hands. Hates how his ‘gift’ is more like a curse. He is offered a deal he can’t deny- transport the princess to safety in a neighboring kingdom. The only problem is, she’s the daughter of the man that took everything from him and she is being hunted down by unknown forces. 

Pairing: Choso x Reader

Theme Song: my love is mine all mine - Mitski

Moon, tell me if I could Send up my heart to you? So, when I die, which I must do Could it shine down here with you? 'Cause my love is mine, all mine I love mine, mine, mine

Notable tags: FantasyAU, Fanon (I am creating my own world and using some pieces of jjk in it), major character death, burning alive, abuse, gore, blood, mentions of self loathing, anger. (Will be updated as more parts come out)

Note(s): Just a little something.

Part(s): 1 |

Headers by @uzmacchiato

[weirdmarioenemies]

If you've played Kirby's Adventure or Kirby Super Star, you know who the Meta-Knights are. They're Meta Knight's loyal legion of soldiers that fight Kirby for him. Two of them, Axe Knight and Mace Knight, even get speaking roles in "Revenge of Meta Knight", which marked their last major appearance in a Kirby title but also their most iconic.

This post...is not about them.

Name: The Meta-Nots (speculative)

Debut: Kirby's Dream Land 2

What can be said about the Meta-Nots that can't be inferred just by looking at them. They're clearly just knockoff Meta-Knights, dollar store brand, the "Meta-Knights at home" if you will. Yet their existence is so, so fascinating to me for this reason.

In spite of Meta Knight's popularity, he does not appear for all of Shimomura's Dark Matter trilogy–that is, Kirby's Dream Land 2, Kirby's Dream Land 3, and Kirby 64: the Crystal Shards. Yet in spite of this absence, they clearly still wanted to use the Meta-Knights themselves, for whatever reason. A slice of that Meta-Pieght, if you will.

But obviously, the Meta-Knights are supposed to be tied with Meta Knight himself, so they had to make knockoff versions of their own characters. That's wonderful. That's beautiful. And today, they will finally get the day in the limelight they've wanted for 29 years.

Name: Blade

Debut: Kirby's Dream Land 2

Blade is our first and technically the most unique of the Meta-Nots, since he's not actually based off any Meta-Knight. But before you call this an originality win right out the gate, I have bad news: it's only not a knockoff of a Meta-Knight because it's too busy being a knockoff of a different enemy!

Although its name suggests a link to Blade Knight, it's clearly based more on Sword Knight, down to its squarish black body. It's a bit more aggressive than Sword Knight was in Kirby's Adventure, though, as it more quickly slashes forward and destroys projectiles before they can hit it. (Perhaps coincidentally, Sword Knight would also take on these traits when it returned in Kirby Super Star Ultra.)

Although Blade wields a sword and is named after the fact, it does not give the Sword ability–in fact, they cannot be inhaled at all, a trait shared with all the Meta-Nots! This actually makes them a bit tougher than their normal counterparts, who at their toughest simply take a little more time to be inhaled.

The last notable thing about Blade is that, for the Archie comics adaptation pitch for Kirby, we can see Blade getting inhaled on one of the pages, giving the Sword ability at last! This pitch would not come to fruition, but it would have been the first media to depict Blade since his debut if it had.

Name: Butch

Debut: Kirby's Dream Land 2

Diversity win! This knight is butch.

Unfortunately, Butch is still by far the most obviously derivative of the Meta-Nots. With her skull mask, axe, and even her purple coloration (shared with the other Meta-Nots), she is obviously meant to evoke Axe Knight, which is even more obvious when you look at Axe Knight's Adventure-era artwork:

This, in turn, kind of makes her my favorite? I probably wouldn't be making this post if it wasn't for her, with her obvious flagrant ripping-off of a character already in the franchise. Butch and Axe-Knight could actually canonically meet if they wanted them to and there wouldn't need to be any justification. I especially love how Butch's artwork is more obivously based on hers and Axe Knight's sprites with the more simple skull that has only two teeth.

Butches win yet again.

Name: Masher

Debut: Kirby's Dream Land 2

Perhaps the most unique of the Meta-Nots, in more ways than one, is the simple Masher. Although its behavior is practically unchanged from Mace Knight, its appearance is the most divergent from it. Honestly, almost gives me religious leader vibes in an esoteric way? And apparently, they agreed, because while the other two predictably haven't appeared since Dream Land 2, Masher got to make a few more appearances, each one actually notable.

Including one of the most exclusive Kirby clubs of all for any obscure enemy:

It got to be in the anime.

Not among Meta Knight's soldiers even still, Masher is instead a monster ordered by Knuckle Joe to 'test' Kirby, because children are sadists and Kirby's just not allowed a damn thing. Instead of just being a one tile tall, one tile wide enemy that mindlessly swings a flail around and simply cannot be inhaled, Masher is a huge roaring robot with a thirst for blood, easily towering over any resident of Dream Land. In fact, even the combined forces of Kirby and Meta Knight do nothing to stop his quest for bloodshed, and only Knuckle Joe's and Kirby's combined power of friendship is enough to stop him.

"But if Masher's so good, then where's Masher 2?" Yes.

This remained Masher's only appearance for decades. After Kirby Super Star, even Mace Knight himself only appeared rarely, so that didn't bode well for the metallic menace. But when he returned to the games,

He did so as a mid-boss, one of the few if not the only normal enemy to do so! In Kirby's Blowout Blast, he's a reoccuring mid-boss that uses music from the Dark Matter trilogy as his themes (though, ironically, none from Dream Land 2 itself). He was also made a bit larger, though not nearly as large as his anime appearance, and now attacks using a mace instead of a flail! Not even Mace Knight gets to do that!

So, I guess the lesson we should take away from all this is: plagiarism is not only cool, but it will get you far in life, including TV appearances and future games! Thanks, Meta-Nots!

[sofreddie]

Live to Die Another Day

Summary: On a hunt involving amateur witches, Y/N gets hit by a spell, and Dean is determined to help.

Characters: Dean Winchester x F!Reader, Sam Winchester

Warnings: NONCON/DUBCON, Consensual Sex, Spell, Fuck or Die, Angst, Fighting, Smut (Unprotected Sex, Outdoor Sex, Creampie), Fluff, Love Confessions

WC: 5,616

A/N: Another story that just came out of nowhere. I swear, I try to work on my current projects, but sometimes you gotta take a break and get the other ideas out of your head so you can keep going on your current WIPs. So, have a thing!

My Masterlist

The motel room door closed with a soft click that sounded louder in the confines of the small, rented room. Y/N slowly made her way to the closest of the two queen beds and gingerly sat on the edge. Dean eyed her cautiously as Sam settled at the little kitchenette table and opened his laptop, beginning to research what he could remember.

They had been hunting witches - pretty nasty ones at that - and had managed to kill them all. Well, not before the last one - a real amateur among them - threw a Hail Mary by tossing some red powder at Y/N and chanting Latin before Dean put a bullet in her head. 

Sam focused diligently as he typed the Latin he heard and the circumstances of the spell. Dean sat nursing a beer, concentrating solely on Y/N, not knowing what magic effects would affect her or what might happen. Y/N did everything cautiously - moving, talking, sitting, thinking - but she felt no different. Just a little gross from the hunt and a bit itchy from whatever that powder all over her contained.

"Sam, I feel fine. Honestly," Y/N sighed and smiled at him for reassurance. 

"Pretty sure it's a lust spell," Sam muttered, still focused on the laptop and taking a sharp inhale. "Looks like it's fatal if not appeased." He glanced at Y/N, then Dean, before returning to his computer. 

Dean felt his heart sink into his stomach. It made sense, considering the witches seemed to be experimenting with different sexual and lust-related spells and curses, hexing local citizens, most of whom died, but none of which had the same kind of spell or ingredients involved.

More than that, Dean swallowed hard at the thought of Y/N having to go through something like that. She'd need a partner, someone she trusted to help her. Dean tried not to get excited, to jump up and volunteer at the notion. However, he was still scared and worried that she could die or, worse, wouldn't take his help if offered. 

They were friends, hunting partners, and Bunker roommates. She'd been with them for over a year since they found her, saving herself from a nest of vampires that had tried - and failed - to make her a victim. Despite not having a hunting background, the Winchesters took her under their wing, immediately recognizing her talent and potential. 

It didn't take long for Dean to start falling for her. He'd flirt occasionally, wink and smirk, and enjoy her giggles, eye rolls, and flushed cheeks. But he was too nervous even to try, feeling way beneath her, unworthy of her, not wanting to taint her with him. 

"Fuck or die?" Y/N scoffed. "Seriously? I don't feel anything though. Maybe Dean shot her in time, and the spell didn't have time to take effect." 

She wasn't even sure Sam had heard her or was listening as he reached for one of the books he'd taken from the witches' place and scanned for more information. When his face went a few shades pale, she swallowed hard in worry. 

"Sam?"

"Looks like the witches mixed up some of their Latin conjunctions," he muttered, jotting down the words he remembered versus the spell. As he looked over everything before him, it all became clear. "I think they were going for aggressive lust. As in, the person would become consumed with lust and just take whoever they wanted. But they messed up the wording. So it makes them need to have sex to live but aggressively fight against anyone who touches them or tries."

"Wait," Dean stared at his brother as the gears turned in his head. "So that's why half the vics were mauled to death? Because the lusting party beat them to death for trying to have sex with them?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair, avoiding Y/N's eyes as he concluded. "Which means, to have sex to break the spell, someone has to fight her, overpower her, and…a-and." Sam huffed, his pleading puppy eyes looking up to Dean,  silently begging not to have to say it. 

"Fuck," Dean groaned, glancing at Y/N and surprised when she started laughing.

"No. No way, Sam," Y/N chuckled. "You're saying I have to fight and be assaulted by some dude or die? I feel fine! No arousal, no anger, I'm fine!"

"No one's touched you," Sam pointed out. "If someone touches you, that'll probably set it off."

Dean couldn't help but think over the whole case and their current situation and just how monumentally fucked up it all was. But he didn't want anyone else touching her, let alone fucking her. He really didn't want to get mauled trying to help her, either. 

Y/N was a good friend, but she'd meant more than that to Dean for a long time. He already considered her his, even if they'd never been together or taken that step. He had wanted to - God, so many times - but he'd never dared to take that leap. 

Now, everything felt like a nightmare of anything he ever wanted with her, but he simply could not let anyone else touch her that way.

"Okay, well, let's test that theory then," Dean said, stepping towards Y/N and extending his hand for a shake. 

Y/N was trying her best to be brave, but internally she was freaking the fuck out. She wasn't lying before, she didn't feel anything - no lust, no anger - but she was still scared shitless that could change at any moment. She knew what happened to the victims, and she saw the bodies. She didn't want to do that to anyone, and she really didn't want to die.

When Dean stepped forward with an extended hand, offering to shake, she couldn't help the sudden wave of arousal that washed over her. Dean always had that effect on her. She had wanted him and to be with him as more than just friends, but she was too afraid of rejection and pained by her past to take a chance. 

Now, however, that familiar arousal seemed much more intense. She hoped Sam was wrong and told herself it was probably okay to shake hands. Besides, if everything did go to shit, she knew she could trust Dean to care for and save her.

Y/N shook her head and laughed, thinking he might be joking, but Dean stayed firm and waited for her. With a groan and an eye roll, she rose from the bed and shook Dean's hand. Almost immediately, her grip tightened to near-painful levels as pure, fiery-hot rage surged through her veins.

"Don't fucking touch me!" she growled - actually growled - at Dean as she yanked her hand from his, looking feral and on the edge of attack. 

Dean was caught off guard, not expecting such a strong reaction, or any reaction, for that matter. He jumped back several feet, and Sam stood, raising his hands and stepping between them. 

"Hey, Y/N?" Sam tried drawing her attention to him, and she instantly relaxed since he hadn't touched her. "No one's going to hurt you. Dean won't touch you again, okay?" She didn't respond but backed down, keeping her eyes trained on Dean like a predator watching its prey. It sent both shivers and heat down his spine.

As Y/N sat back on the edge of the bed, she stifled a moan from the pressure against her core. She felt unbearably aroused, like a stiff breeze could nearly make her come. But her body and mind were reacting as if she was pissed Dean had aroused her - which she sort of was. She suddenly needed to be fucked, like really, truly needed it. But she knew if anyone touched her - which you kind of have to do for sex - it would make her as pissed at them as she was at Dean. 

Then there was Dean. Usually, the idea of him haunted her dreams, leaving her wet and aching in the morning. Usually, his proximity had her begging for any touch from him, even an accidental graze. But they were friends and hunting partners. Despite the constant flirting, he did that with many women, so she knew she wasn't special. It didn't matter with the spell anyway, as an utter loathing for Dean replaced the affection she typically carried. Instead of yearning, she felt only abhorrence and disgust.

She would rather die than let him touch her.

Dean and Sam talked in the corner, and she couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but Dean's eyes were locked on hers from behind Sam's shoulder. His gaze was dark, almost as if he was as needy as she was. She felt more wetness pool in her panties at the heated gaze, and it made her growl at him again, ready to pounce and rip his throat out with her teeth.

Dean couldn't - wouldn't - take his eyes off of Y/N. She looked downright feral, the fire in her eyes making his hunter instincts spark to life, ready for a fight. But the desire and hunger swimming in the depths, the way she squirmed in need subconsciously, made his cock begin to swell in interest. Sam was trying to talk to him about logistics, but he wasn't paying attention; his focus was entirely on Y/N.

Lucky it was, as she grew tired of the tension and jumped from her seat, her gaze and anger solely focused on Dean. Tossing Sam aside - who landed against the door with a loud thud and a hissed 'dude' - Dean readied himself for Y/N's attack. She came at him, wild and enraged, but Dean could easily defend against her. 

However, she twisted from his grasp and attacked again, catching him off guard. Maybe he had taught her too well. He growled at the hits she landed before his muscle memory took charge. The next few seconds found Dean not only fending off her attack but launching her away from him and onto the bed with a roar. 

Sam, seizing the opportunity, grabbed his older brother and dashed out of the motel room, slamming the door behind them and holding the knob in case Y/N tried to follow. Luckily, it seemed to quiet down, and she never went for the door. Sam exhaled and turned to look at Dean, who seemed equally concerned and angry.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Y/N froze, staring at the wooden portal as if something might jump out and attack her. Her energy and anger slowly drained, leaving her with only the lust racing through her veins. She forced herself back to the bed, every step causing her thighs to rub and graze against her sensitive core. Fucking witches!

When Sam was sure Y/N wouldn't follow or keep attacking, he relaxed and released the door, turning to his flustered older brother.

"You okay?"

Dean scoffed and shook his head, "This is fucked up. I could have hurt her."

Sam just nodded, "So, what are we going to do? It's not like we can find some random guy to help her. And any guy willing to do that to her isn't someone I want around."

Dean nodded and huffed, his hackles rising at the thought of some random person touching Y/N. She was their friend, their hunting partner, their family. Dean glanced at Sam and knew he could never do that to Y/N. They were close friends, but autonomy was significant to Sam, and Dean knew his little brother couldn't bring himself to fight and fuck Y/N - especially not like this. 

That left Dean, and as much as the thought made his stomach churn, he knew he couldn't let her die. He cared about her - more than he was willing to label - but their situation was a mockery of anything he ever entertained in his mind.

"I'm gonna have to take her somewhere," Dean began, seeing Sam's confused look. "We can't trust anyone else. I'm not about to let her die, but I can't do it here."

"Witnesses," Sam confirmed with a nod. 

"Right, I'll wrangle her in the car and take her somewhere. Then I'll do what I have to do."

They were both fighting off the rising disgust and nausea as they formulated a quick plan of action. The idea was for Dean to enter the room and restrain Y/N, getting her into the car and to the middle of nowhere. She would undoubtedly put up a fight and scream, but they couldn't afford to draw attention. Dean was willing to have another dark mark on his soul if it meant saving her life. He just hoped she'd understand and forgive him.

Plan in place, Dean took a deep breath and was in the mindset of a hunt before he burst into the motel room with urgency. Y/N's gaze shot to him, and she immediately turned from concern to anger, standing from her seat and taking a fighting stance. Anticipating her attack, Dean quickly avoided her initial charge, dodging to the side and ending up behind her. She spun quickly, and Dean blocked a barrage of punches she threw at him, growling and snarling the whole while. 

A well-landed blow on her part caught Dean off guard, but as he recovered, he was more determined. As she launched her next attack, Dean overpowered her, tackling her to the ground and using his size and weight to keep her from kicking or hitting him. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a set of handcuffs and clicked them into place, binding her wrists behind her back. 

With a huff, he rose to his feet, then pulled her up by the arms. She continued to struggle and fight, but Dean simply perp-walked her to the backseat of Baby, lacing the buckle through her cuffs to keep her in place.

"She's pissed off," Sam commented as Dean slammed the back door of the car a little too harshly.

"You think?" he scoffed, more than a little surprised by how strong and efficient a fighter she'd become. He was glad neither seemed hurt much but knew it was still far from over.

Sam watched Dean go to the driver's door, prepared to leave with Y/N. He wanted to say something, to encourage or reassure his brother, but he couldn't find any words to help their current situation. As Dean pulled out of the space and drove off to who knows where, Sam sighed and returned inside the motel room, hoping they'd both be okay.

-

Dean drove fast, in a hurry to get to a secluded area and help Y/N before she tore herself apart, trying to get out of her restraints. She was handcuffed, her arms pinned behind her back, and he had looped the seatbelt through the cuffs to hold her back in the seat. He didn't need her trying to attack or bite him as he drove. 

Once the light pollution from civilization faded, Dean relaxed as he pulled off onto a dirt path through thick woods. Far from anything, the stars and moon were the only lights. Dean parked the Impala and took a breath before climbing out.

Y/N began thrashing and shouting again as he approached the rear door. He'd chew her ass later for kicking the back of his seat as much as she could in the confined space. As he opened the door, he was met with a kick to the stomach, her leg bent at a weird angle to strike out at him. Having had more than enough, Dean growled and hastily undid the seatbelt, dragging her roughly from the car. 

"Look," Dean growled as he pinned her against the side of the car. "I know the spell makes you fight, but I am trying to help you."

"Fuck you," Y/N spat.

"That's the plan," Dean sneered, spinning her around and bending her over the trunk. "Now, if I remove these cuffs, you gonna be nice?"

"I'm gonna rip you to pieces," she chuckled darkly, and Dean couldn't help but swallow hard at the threat. He now knew she could probably go head-to-head in a fight with him, and he didn't want to.

"I guess I'll just keep them on then," he responded, holding her in place and looking her over.

A large part of him couldn't help but be aroused. He had wanted Y/N and thought about her many times but kept it inside, content with their close and cherished friendship. Seeing her bent over his Baby, her plump ass in the air, had him hardening in seconds. That's when he noticed the seat of her pants was soaked through, and she was squeezing her thighs together. She may not want him, but she certainly needed him.

The thought of just friends - now or after this - seemed to blow away in the wind.

"I'm gonna take care of you," Dean whispered soothingly as he unfastened her jeans, tugging them and her underwear down to her thighs.

"No, don't!" she growled, trying to move and getting nowhere more than squirming under him. 

She knew what was about to happen, and her mind was screaming to stop, to prevent him from taking her. But her body was desperate for it, for him. She'd wanted Dean - in the back of her mind, she knew that - but never like this. She wanted him to fuck her, and she wanted to kill him for daring even to touch her.

"No?" Dean questioned as his fingers teased over her core before rubbing against her swollen clit. She gasped and let out a wanton moan, her hips bucking against his hand. "Seems like your body disagrees."

Y/N still tried to fight, to get out from under his control, but Dean pinned her in place as he hastily unfastened his jeans and pulled out his fully-hard cock. Just the sounds - his zipper, his clanking belt buckle, his huffed breaths as he rushed - amped up her arousal until it was pooling at her entrance and spilling over down her thighs, making her moan and swoon despite the rage at Dean and the unwanted assault that was about to occur.

The sight of her slickened folds, dripping down her thighs, her delicious moans from his simplest of touches, had Dean hard enough to cut glass. He hesitated, reassuringly touching her hip and trying to still his nerves.

"Dean, please, don't. Don't do this," Y/N begged, almost making Dean call the whole thing off. Except, he knew she would die if he didn't. He'd rather have her alive and hating him than dead and gone entirely. 

"I'm so sorry, Y/N-" Dean apologized, knowing it would only be the first of many apologies "-but I have to. Forgive me."

Throwing aside his feelings and determined to 'get the job done,' Dean slid deep within her with one harsh thrust, making them both shout moans into the night air. He began fast and hard, focusing on working her towards her high, knowing it wouldn't take much for him to follow. 

Y/N tried to squirm out of the cuffs and tried to vocalize her rejection, but it all died out in the presence of her utter need. Her core clenched around his every intrusion, and moans and gasps ripped from her throat as he drove her toward her climax at an alarming rate. 

As soon as his hand reached around and rubbed her clit, she was gone, cumming hard around his shaft. As she clenched around him, he groaned, his own need imminent. But he wouldn't let himself cum, not considering the circumstances. He just wanted to help her and cure her, not violate her further. 

Dean stumbled back, pulling up his jeans but leaving them open and undone as he retrieved the key and unfastened the handcuffs around Y/N's wrists. She moved her arms with a hiss, and Dean tried to ignore the mess he made between her legs as he pulled up her pants for her, then quickly stumbled away from her again.

Y/N rubbed her wrists, sore and raw from her struggling. The spell over her had broken when they both climaxed, and she could feel the lust and anger ebbing away. What remained was the utter embarrassment and horror at the situation, at what Dean had to endure to save her. She was horrified at how she acted and that finally getting to be with him seemed like a nail in the coffin to ever being with him.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked as she turned around and leaned against the side of the car, only flashing him a glance before looking at the ground or anywhere but at him.

As everything settled over her and the spell's effects wore off, Y/N decided she was definitely not okay. Her mind was in turmoil, torn between what Dean did for her and what he had to do to her. She had wanted him, wanted to be with him, for so long, but now everything was just wrong. She fought back her tears and attempted to bottle up her emotions inside with all the rest. She could see on his face how destroyed he looked, and she didn't want to add to his pain.

Instead, she nodded and swallowed hard, tears springing to her eyes. "Dean, I'm so sorry."

"What?"

"I-I'm sorry," she tried again, the tears falling despite her efforts. Once the dam broke, she couldn't stop. "I'm so sorry you had to do that."

"You shouldn't be sorry," he spoke, and through her tears, she could see he was just as broken as she. "I'm sorry. I did this to you, and I know I had to save your life, but I feel awful about it."

Y/N nodded in agreement, sniffling and wiping her face in vain as the tears continued to fall. Both her body and her mind felt shattered. As she wondered if she and Dean could even survive this, if their friendship could last beyond this awful thing, her heart broke further. He was her closest friend, an ally and hunting partner, and a man she knew she had fallen for long ago.

"I forgive you," Y/N insisted. 

Dean shook his head against her words, "You should hate me, hit me, something."

"I hate the witch," Y/N said. "I could never hate you, Dean. I just couldn't," she shrugged, afraid to say more. But she knew he was beating himself up, which would only worsen. "It's okay," Y/N promised as she cautiously approached him. 

Dean shook his head again but didn't stop her as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and they fell to their knees in the grass and dirt, still in each other's embrace, as they sobbed and apologized. 

Neither was sure who moved first, but their lips connected in a deep, sweet kiss despite their tears. As they both desperately sought redemption from one another, Y/N ended up in his lap and his arms. 

Every kiss, every touch, was laced with tears and apology; for what had happened, how it had happened, for the ugliness built into the spell by that damn witch.

Dean leaned into the kiss, using the momentum to lay her on the grassy ground gently. Words weren't needed, and the moment was too severe and heavy. Instead, they spoke with their bodies, through their kisses, through their hands as they removed clothes and caressed skin with fingertips. Y/N surprised him, rolling them over and grinding her hips down onto him before finally granting him reentry.

As Dean slid within her a second time, they were both ready and willing. The air was silent save for their breaths, the gentle slapping of their skin, and the sounds of nature alive under the full moon above. Still, it didn't hold the romanticism one might expect from such a moment, tinged with their sorrowful apologies against each other's skin, mending the hurt that came before.

Pushing him back onto the grass, Y/N sat atop his hips, grinding slowly and flexing her walls, paying attention to his every expression and sound. She wanted to show him that it was okay, that she forgave him, and thank him for what he did to save her. Leaning forward, she moved down his neck and across his chest, kissing apologies and forgiveness into his skin. 

Dean couldn't help but feel more than that - feeling appreciated and, dare he say, adored. The combination of sensations sent his mind reeling and his body hurling toward another climax. Moving a hand from her hip to her clit, he rubbed tight circles that had her cumming hard and dragging him over the edge with her.

As they climaxed, one after the other, they seemed to melt into each other—a sense of relief, forgiveness, and cleansing washed over them. Y/N rolled off of him, laying on her back beside him as she caught her breath and eased the ache in her thighs.

Y/N was sure their friendship was intact and mended, but she didn't know where they stood. She was afraid to ask, especially after what he endured because of her - for her. They shared quiet and awkward smiles as they lay under the stars, catching their breath. 

It was romantic, but she tried not to let her mind go there. Dean helped her, and she thanked him. She figured that was enough for him. But she couldn't get up and dressed until he moved first.

Dean felt awful after the first encounter, but the second time seemed to soothe that ache. He wanted to look at and enjoy her, and he wanted her to see him doing so. He thought, maybe now, despite everything, that this was his moment to show her how he felt.

Leaning over, Dean placed a delicate kiss on her collarbone. Sitting back on his knees, his eyes wandered over Y/N - splayed out on the grass, thoroughly fucked, the moonlight shining off her skin and his cum dripping from between her thighs - and the scene left him breathless. 

For Y/N, there was no misunderstanding of Dean's touch or thoughts. He was very precise in that and good at it, too. She knew what he was thinking because it was the same feeling and thought she had. And now she was more than eager for it, for Dean the way she'd always wanted him.

Dean's heart raced, and his breathing picked up as his gaze traveled over her body and met her eyes. Somehow, after all the twisted events of the night, this moment finally felt like the one he'd been waiting for—dreaming of—for quite some time. The look in her eye matched him, her desire present, her body squirming for more as he admired it. 

"You are stunningly beautiful, Y/N," Dean whispered reverently.

He wasn't sure how he was hard again after coming twice - other than the fact that it was Y/N - but he wasn't about to complain as he leaned over to kiss her. Her thighs parted, and he settled against her comfortably, kissing her deep and thorough like he always wanted. He needed to take his time to kiss, feel, and taste all of her. 

He felt an urgency between them that drove him to prove himself and tell her everything through his touch. Time didn't exist; all thought and sense outside of the two of them disappeared as Dean took his time to worship her entirely. 

With hands and mouth, Dean sought out every curve, ridge, and line as he mapped out her body and committed it to memory. His lips skimmed from her lips to her jaw, loving the soft moan she gave as he kissed behind her ear.

As his mouth encased a nipple, his fingers danced delicately across her dampened folds. Her hands flew to his head and tugged at his hair as her body arched into him. He slid a single finger slowly and deeply into her core, smirking when she moaned and spread her legs wider. After a moment, he added a second, and she ground her hips down against his hand, seeking more.

She was driving him insane in the best of ways. Her sounds, movements, and the way her body responded to him made his need to taste her urgent. He kissed his way down her body until he reached her core, his fingers still buried inside of her, stroking her walls. He kissed her clot gently before licking at it, sucking it in his mouth to torture it with his tongue. 

Y/N gasped at the sensations as she tugged harder on his hair, holding him right where she needed him. She briefly worried about hurting him, but he gave no indication. Instead, he was focused, moaning into her pussy; his fingers and tongue worked in sync to drive her higher and higher. Once he found that special spot inside her, he grinned, and everything turned up to eleven.

Y/N came hard, wailing into the night. Dean removed his fingers and replaced them with his tongue as he hungrily and eagerly drank down her juices, moaning along with her and rutting into the air. She was amazed at what he did and how he made her feel. 

She tugged at him in an attempt to get him back to her lips and kissed him fiercely when he complied. Reaching between them, she pumped his hard cock before lining him up and urging him forward with one hand on his ass and the other on his lower back.

As he bottomed out, they both gasped into each other's mouths at the feeling of him sliding home. Despite having fucked twice already, this time felt brand new and long-awaited. Dean wanted to give in to his urges, to pound her hard and hear her begging him for more. 

Instead, he went slow and steady, wanting to feel all of her and have her feel all of him, drawing it out as his hands and mouth never ceased. Y/N couldn't help but be loud, unable to keep quiet under Dean's attention and actions. But she figured it didn't really matter since he'd taken her to the middle of nowhere.

"Dean," Y/N moaned like a pornstar, too deep into her passions to even attempt to control herself. "Please, go faster," she begged, trying to rock her hips and urge him.

She was getting close again, her body still sensitive from their last rounds, and having Dean with her, inside of her finally, made her stamina near nothing.

"No," he mumbled against her throat, sucking a mark and maintaining his pace.

As she continued to buck, he pinned her hip down with one hand, staring her in the eye as he kept the same consistent, steady, and slow pace. He was just as desperate, but more importantly, he was on a mission. He wanted to prove himself, show her how he felt, and enjoy how he wanted their first coupling to be. He hoped there would be more times after this. He couldn't bear the thought of never having her again, not after this.

"Wanna feel you come for me," he spoke against her lips, kissing her hard as he rubbed her clit in time with his thrusts.

She gasped and bucked before she clenched hard around him. Dean followed behind, the two of them riding out a climax that damn near had them crying from the intensity and emotion held within. Dean collapsed against her with a sigh as her arms and legs wrapped around him, holding him close.

Groaning, Dean slowly withdrew and got to his feet, his body popping, cracking, and aching as he did so. Y/N grinned and giggled, accepting his offered hand as he helped her to her feet.

"We have to get back," Dean said before pecking her lips. "Sam's probably worried out of his mind."

They stole glances and giggled as they found their clothes and redressed. Dean took her into his arms again, kissing her soundly. With a sigh, he dropped his forehead to hers. He held her hand against his chest before raising it to kiss her knuckles.

"Ready?"

Y/N nodded and let him lead her to the Impala, climbing in through the driver's door and sliding to the passenger's as Dean climbed in behind her. The drive back was quiet, but they held hands on the seat space between them. Y/N's cheeks were hot, and she bit her lip as she realized they were moving forward together toward something more. 

After parking at the motel, Dean helped her out of the car and walked hand-in-hand into the room. Sam immediately looked up, catching sight of their grins and interlocked hands. He breathed a sigh of relief and offered a lopsided grin.

"So…the spell's broken?"

"Yep," Y/N responded.

"And this," he gestured between them, "Is this a thing now?"

"Yep," Dean answered with a grin, squeezing her hand.

Sam's grin mirrored his brother's, knowing things could have been a lot worse, but in the end, it turned out better than either he or Dean could have hoped. Knowing how long he'd pined after Y/N, he was happy for his brother. He was also glad that she wouldn't mope about over his brother any longer. 

"Good,” Sam smirked. “Live to die another day.”

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[star-anise]

Related to this video, though I take a while to get there, as someone who's worked in domestic violence shelters:

I realize Gabby Petito's life and murder have already been armchair-psychoanalyzed literally ad nauseam. I don't want to rake up old muck for the fun of it. But I had to stop watching the recent Netflix documentary about it when it got to footage of the police stop, and after listening to both of them, the officers concluded that she was the primary aggressor, and threatened her with jail. (After that I looked: an investigation into the incident said their biggest mistake was failing to arrest her for domestic violence.)

SO HERE'S THE THING: This is not an isolated incident. I've seen it happen so many times, in so many places. Dare I say, it is a truth universally acknowledged: police are, in aggregate, absolute dogshit at responding to domestic violence. Not because they're awful people or even bad at their jobs, but because their basic, essential jobs, their training and tasks and tools, are just not the things we need to solve the problem. Police work interacts with domestic violence the way a hammer interacts with the inside of a computer processor. Something sure happens, but it's probably not going to fix the problem you came in with!

Why? And what can we do differently?

The basic job of the police is to find evidence of a crime, and arrest the person responsible for it. Through this function, they also deter crime because their presence implies the potential threat of arrest. The end goal of this work is either to prevent crime entirely, or to focus on identifying a criminal who, if arrested, can be convicted of a crime. They care about the cases that will stand up to the scrutiny of a judicial court.

If you want a deeper dive into this, the aptly-titled No Visible Bruises by Rachel Louise Snyder is a good place to start. There are a lot of initiatives out there to try to make the police be less absolute dogshit about domestic violence. I commend the various attempts made with police departments all over a world, because even something that's just medium dogshit is worth the effort. Even small improvements still return a benefit in terms of lives saved.

My point is:

Police are extremely oriented towards detecting crime, and disregarding other factors in a situation. "I don't care if you're starving, it's against the law to steal from a grocery store" and all that.

The crimes police tend to focus on are the ones with solid evidence that will stand up at trial.

So, in 2021, police get a call because a passerby saw a man hitting a woman, next to their white Ford Transit. Later, an officer pulls over a white Ford Transit with two people in it, who are in fact the people the call was about! They are Gabby Petito, who will be dead in two weeks, and the man that will kill her.

To condense from the full, Gabby's description of their fight earlier is: "I was just saying I'm sorry if I'm in a bad mood. [...] I had so much work I was doing on my computer this morning. [...] I've been really stressed and he doesn't really believe that I could do any of it, so, we just been fighting all morning and he wouldn't let me in the car before."

That man's description is: "We see this gets worked up sometimes and I try and really distance myself from her. So, I locked the car and I walked away from her. What happened this morning is that she's trying to start up a little website [...] but she just got worked up, because we were trying to get going and get our day going [... she] was trying to get the keys from me. I was just trying to, I know I shouldn't push her, I was just trying to push her away."

The officers on site set about solving what is, to them, the critical question: Did a crime occur, and if so, who did it?

So they look at the available evidence: the cuts and bruises on Gabby's face and arm, and that man's face and arms. They get testimony that seems to say: Gabby tried to grab her keys, and that man pushed her away. That means she is the one who assaulted him, and he responded in self-defence.

(They actually go back and forth about whether it meets the legal definition of assault, and because she denies intending to harm him, they don't press charges in the end. All the same, they give that man a hotel room to give him space from his "abuser" for a night.)

So, in the video about DARVO above, Dr. Yudin describes how the basic problem is that the aggressor tends to miss how their behaviour caused the incident to occur in the first place, and only clock that something is wrong once they experience negative consequences. When, if you back up, you can see the bigger pattern.

For example, the police come in and perk their ears up at what I'll call Incident 1, when it reaches the level of "violence that leaves marks the police can see without trying too hard". That's when Gabby reaches for the keys.

So I have to ask Annoying Question #1: Okay, and she reached for the keys because...?

Incident 2: That man locks the van and starts to walk away with the keys.

This does not, as the police understand it, rise to the level of criminality. I'm not a lawyer, but I still think it's something they should have paid attention to. They should know, because she tells them: He wasn't just locking her out of a vehicle, which she could deal with by walking or calling an Uber; he was locking her out of her principal residence and place of work.

Annoying Question 2: And he locked her out because...?

Incident 3: Even he has to explain this one. She just "got so worked up" about her "little website" that he had to make her go outside and take a walk! So she can calm down! Because she just gets worked UP, amirite? Gabby even endorses this by blaming her "bad mood" on her "OCD".

Annoying Question #3: And she was "worked up" into a "bad mood" because...?

Incident 4: She was trying to work, and he wanted her to "get going" instead, while also expressing doubts about her competence at "any of it".

I'll stop here, but the thing is: Yes, it is very hard to pick apart the moving pieces when you get to see someone for 15 minutes and then have to figure out the whole trajectory of everything. But that's often the amount of time it took us at the shelter to decide whether or not someone was in an abuse situation that warranted giving them a bed for the night. Sometimes it's not the amount of information, but the lens you use to analyze it.

The full transcript actually goes on at agonizing length, as the police use the tools available to them to try to solve this problem, think about the laws and mandated policies, the potential effects of pressing charges... it takes them over an hour and fifteen minutes. I'll admit, I absolutely could not read the entire insufferable thing. I don't hate myself that much.

The officer in question later said, "I would have done anything to stop it if I would have known that was coming. If I would have known [Laundrie] was going to murder her, I would have taken vacation to follow them, because I care about people, to the point where he was going to murder her … and I would have intervened and citizens arrested him in Wyoming! I would have taken my own time. I would have missed my family to go do that."

In my opinion, that's the stupidest crime prevention plan I've ever heard. This cop is making up a demented action movie in his head based on having psychic superpowers because he cannot imagine a way to do his job differently.

Thankfully we don't need divine revelation and a good PTO package to be less dogshit. We just need to change the focus from "Who committed a crime?" to "Is everyone okay?"

(I mean, he did focus, once he decided Gabby was the criminal, on that guy's safety. But that's not the same thing.)

Things we would ask during a domestic violence assessment:

-Do you feel safe around your partner? Are you afraid they might hurt you? -Has your partner ever hit, choked, pushed, or kicked you? Do they keep dangerous weapons around you? -Does your partner ever try to control where you go, or who you see or talk to? -Does your partner interfere with your access to money or the necessities of life? Do they try to stop you from working or providing for yourself? -Does your partner minimize their actions or blame you for their abuse? -Do you feel safe leaving them? -Do you have people in your life you can turn to for support? -Do you have somewhere you can go? -How can I help?

Having written these questions out, it's obvious why the police didn't ask them. If they had to provide this level of care, and actually set people up with the resources they needed, they'd be completely overwhelmed. Waiting until the crimes are committed and deciding who to punish for them is soooooo much more efficient.

And who cares if efficiency costs lives?

(Author's note: ...Good lord, and I planned to do things this afternoon. I've been writing this for hours. I don't have a good way to wrap this up, except go soothe the fury somewhere else now.)

I just found a really great explanation of DARVO (deny, attack, reverse victim and offender).

I'm dealing with too much shit right now to expand, but... it's fucking everywhere.

[scintillyyy]

hmmm i think to me. i do, on a completely logical level, understand and appreciate the read on the drakes where they had a kid out of obligation/because it's considered the done thing for heterosexual couples. it definitely fits with the fact that they did prioritize their own work, desires, and interests over the presence and hard work needed to raising a child.

but mmm in my opinion i don't personally think the obligation angle is like. quite it. as far as i see them. like idk. i definitely think that they were ill-equipped to handle the full responsibilities of parenthood and did make choices that prioritized not inconveniencing what they wanted to do and were ultimately *unskilled* in parenting but to me that in no way to me means that they wouldn't have not chosen to have tim at all with a more accepting heterosexual culture of not having kids. you can tell in the fact that jack, while often failing at the burdens of parenthood, is shown quite often to believe that tim is the best thing that ever happened to him. you can tell in batman #134 where alternate janet expresses great joy that she is alive to meet an alternate version of her son that she is extremely grateful for tim's existence.

and while often regretful parents still do find their children's existence at least worthy, that's genuinely not the vibe i get from the drakes. the drakes have genuine joy in their son's very existence and it's shown quite often how happy they are he's their son. they struggled a lot and did end up failing to fit him into their lives, but at the same time their time is also littered with them trying to fit him into their lives at least a little. tim even says that most parents wouldn't take their kids to the things like the art galleries and operas but his parents took him. i'm not saying that this makes them parents of the year, but these activities normally being something you'd get a babysitter for and them wanting to take tim with them instead indicates to me that they did want to fit him into their lives, they just also struggled a lot to do so. so i think that to reduce it to "they had a kid because society tells you to have kids -> they then didn't actually want to raise said kid" makes sense as something that does happen but i do think that to me. the drakes are a little bit more nuanced than that in their motivations. parenthood, even for the best prepared, is a fundamental upheaval to your life that you might think you're prepared for and then it turns out you're not because of how much it changes your life. you can want something a lot and then ultimately not be able to handle the responsibilities. but that falls under "should the drakes have had a kid/wanted to have a kid knowing they wouldn't be able to handle the struggles that come with the actuality of having one" which is a fundamentally different question of "did they drakes want to have kids or were the obligated to have one". and the drakes probably didn't know they wouldn't be that good at parenting! or that they wouldn't be able to handle it! truly parenting is one of those things where even with all the prep in the world, you truly have no way of knowing how you'll end up until after you've become a parent. so of course they would *want* to have kids. most people who choose to have kids do so thinking they can handle it and wanting it. and it's unfortunate when that ends up not being the case, but it's not so easy as only people who are going to be good at it, do it. that's the inherent tragedy of the drakes, to me. that they wanted tim more than anything in the world. if they went back in time they'd choose to have him again and again and again in any universe. they wouldn't make a different choice at all, if it means tim gets to exist. but that doesn't translate to them being able to handle parenting or beind good or effective at it. and that's the tragedy of their relationship imo. that they will choose him but will ultimately hurt him in that choice of him because of their imperfectness and inability to change themselves for him, who they want so dearly. idk for me the concept of "want" is separate from their capabilities to change for that want. and that's why i don't necessarily see it as an obligation on their part. they'd 100% do it all over again, have him again, have a shitty marriage together, if it means that tim gets a chance to grow into the wonderful person they clearly think he is.

and i always say that we never know the drakes before the circus narratively dooms them. their time at the circus before the deaths of the flying graysons show a normal family who is happy to spend time with each other. the only time we actually see them is after they have been broken beyond repair by the narrative. in fact, in a world without young justice, a universe where tim doesn't become robin and dick grayson doesn't seem to exist ergo they never went to the circus, jack and janet are both shown to be alive and present with tim, living as a normal family. they were fundamentally unable to handle the dooming of the narrative!! they didn't have a kid thinking "oh but what if we go to the circus and see people die, on second thought maybe we shouldn't i don't think i could handle that". they wanted tim! they just. couldn't quite handle everything that happens. that's what's sad. to me.

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

That was some really good writing. Honestly, I'm in pain and angry and also impressed. This show continues to side step some obvious and proven narrative choices to do something different.

I hate everything about Pemika and the industry here, and her rationalization is equal parts incredible and terrifying. And I'm questioning what exactly gmmtv is trying to say about it all. Because ultimately they won't vilify their own industry completely, so I'm wondering what the end goal here is. @colourme-feral posited in a convo that Mars could go independent, and I guess that's always a possibility, but coming from gmmtv that would be a strange stance to take. It feels a little too self-aware, which makes me sceptical about how far they’re actually willing to go with this. I said this before and I still think it is the most likely scenario, the company doing an 180 and decide to stick with Mars5. Don't know how that's gonna come about and how they'll also do the same with ThamePo, and PepperGam, but there's also no way we're not getting a happy ending here. Besides everything else, I'm really looking forward to seeing how the show will pull that off while still making us believe this story is remotely grounded in reality. I don't think we're not gonna see something like Only Boo happen here because the hole has been dug too deep on this one. The PepperGam storyline made sure of that. They can always throw Pemika under the bus, and change the company rules. That would be easier. Maybe she's lying about the Korea angle, I really don't know. Although that wouldn't really change anything about the dating issue. Either way, I just hope they don’t fumble the final arc because the show has been really solid so far.

The romance continues to be so good and that conversation in the rooftop felt very grounded and honest. "Let me be tired" - Thame, you're killing me. Also Po being the one who leaves is wrecking me. Can you imagine anything harder for him? He's a realist and although he wants to be with him, and Thame knows that, he also knows the industry that they're in and what happens as soon as they are outed. So it was noble, but not an idiot move.

That post credit scene was precious. For someone so inexperienced Thame's got good instincts. "Let us be a part of each other's everyday life". I melted.

[that-hazbin]

I've been thinking about the Media Demon AU and how things would be different - for starters I don't think Charlie's interview would be so bad. But rather then questioning if Sinners can be better Also, people would be questioning her why they would WANT to go to heaven - they don't want to be around those monsters, they want them to stop murdering them in yearly genocides! People would rather fight back then go to heaven - which means things might be different once Carmilla kills that Exterminator. Also at what point would Lucifer and Lilith reveal themselves as themselves to Alastor? Especially considering they've undoubtedly fallen for him by this point but they also know how badly people think of the royal family that signed off on Exterminations. And they've seen how different hell has become through Alastor's efforts - a sinner, not them. (Honestly, the average sinner probably thinks of Alastor more as a ruler then the King and Queen of Hell....)

You're right about Charlie's interview. Alastor specifically set up everything in Hell with the intention of Charlie not being treated like a total joke. It helps that he's in charge of the news in both radio and tv broadcasts, so characters like Katie Killjoy aren't going to be around.

There will be sinners questioning why they would ever want to leave Hell, but people aren't going to think Charlie's dumb for suggesting it, since there are sinners willing to go through with it if it means seeing their families again.

There's also one more thing. Exterminations are still happening, and overpopulation in Hell is still a problem. Everyone can see where Charlie is going with this and why she's doing this. Honestly speaking, Charlie probably wouldn't even bother with this project if it weren't for the fact that her people are being slaughtered once a year. They know that, and I'm pretty sure they're all aware that exterminators aren't the entire population of heaven. Again, their families are up there.

Sure, death rates are low in comparison to the other timeline since Alastor partnered with Carmilla and Sir Pentious for distributing security systems, but it's still happening, and it's still terrifying. In fact, it wouldn't be farfetched to believe that the exorcists would try to increase the extermination rate simply because the sinners got too good at keeping themselves safe.

I think Lucifer and Lilith wouldn't even need to reveal themselves to Alastor, because as soon as Alastor makes the connection that Charlie is the disguised half-imp he's basically took under his wing, he's going to know exactly who her parents are.

I think Alastor would make a dramatic scene about the reveal in front of Lilith and Lucifer, but internally, he doesn't actually care that much. He's already let go of his previous animosity regarding Lucifer because, again, his last memory before dying was Lucifer genuinely trying to save his life.

There's also the fact that the king and queen have actually been much more politically active than the previous timeline. They're going out more often disguised as an imp and succubus, and wouldn't you know? Imps and succubi deal with SO MUCH SHIT. Completely undeserved bullshit. This is to say that in this universe? The Helluva Boss trial just Would Not end the way it did, because the accusation on Blitzo would have been investigated.

Lilith and Lucifer are cracking down on prejudice so much more, now that they can actually understand it; because obviously they couldn't understand before, how could they? Lilith existed before different skin tones even did, and Lucifer is a fucking angel. Then, they were cast out and became royalty. They never once were in a position where they could understand prejudice, but now they've been hanging out with the media demon as hellborn for years.

So, yeah, Lucifer and Lilith would be scared of what Alastor would think about them given the uhhh, still Not Good reputation of the royal family. But Alastor would only give them shit about it to tease them, really. He's not actually upset with them and still quite likes them as individuals. (Especially knowing that they valued his opinions and point of view enough to make actual changes to the law when he complained about things. The fuck.)

(And yeah, the average sinner has way more respect for Alastor than the actual royal family. I wouldn't say all of hell thinks he's the actual ruler, but the Pride Ring? Yeah, despite Lucifer being the Sin of Pride, people look to Alastor for leadership.)

[goatgoesmbe]

tw : stalking, borderline crime attempted, abrupt ending, assault, shitty ex, SA, DEAD DOVE : DO NOT EAT

Soap x reader

You were being followed.

At first, you thought you were just paranoid, but you're sure of it now.

This was supposed to be your night, partying to your heart's content at the club, celebrating your promotion at work with your girlfriends.

The thumping of your heart climbed up your throat. You regretted denying one of your friends who offered a ride home before. You felt stupid, thinking that it would be okay since your apartment wasn't far anyway.

Looking back, your held your breath at the sight of a man in a hoodie who tried to act casual, standing by the bus stop.

You couldn't really see his face, but then his eyes locked with yours and you froze.

It's your ex.

He seemed to realize that his cover was blown, since he now starting to approach you boldly.

You should run. But your feet were frozen at the spot.

And when you finally snapped out of your fear, it was too late. His hand gripped one of your wrists when you tried to flee.

"Calm down, it's just me" He grumbled, still not letting go of his hold.

"What do you want?" You snapped back at him, looking up with a glare.

He sighed, sounding like he genuinely regretted everything. But you knew better "I miss you..".

The hair on the back of your neck stood up.

"I already have someone" You then hissed without thinking. And after you managed to get his grip off you, you stomped away.

His footsteps followed behind.

"Oh please, who else would want to tolerate you?" He said mockingly. "Come on.. while I'm still nice" He then added in a purr as his hand reached out to purposefully brush against your ass.

You jumped and let out a squeal which made him panic. His hand claimed your mouth shut and you continued to struggle.

Trashing around, punching and kicking at him as much as you could. But you were losing, feet digging onto the pavement as he tried to drag you to some dark alley.

As your movement became more frantic, you started to tear up and lose hope until suddenly- your ex let go of you to hold his cheek which was now red, a cut forming at the side of his lips.

Your ex glared at the direction from where the punch came "Who the fuck-".

A man loomed over you two, bright blue eyes pinning your ex on the spot, highlighted by the contrast of the night shadowing his figure.

"This is that someone I'm talking about-" You suddenly said without thinking and immediately stood beside this savior of yours. With your hands circling his arm, you pressed against his side. And you felt relieved when he didn't seem to mind.

You didn't know why you said that, desperation maybe, and the fact that he just saved you.

He didn't look bad after all, despite the glare directed at your ex, he seemed like a nice guy.

"My boyfriend um- John.." you said, saying the first basic name that came to mind.

You sensed your savior glanced at you for a split second before returning to glare at your ex.

"Aye, back aff" 'John' growled and pulled you closer by your hip.

His voice was deeper than you expected, giving you a different kind of shiver down your spine. A pleasant one.

You shook that thought of your head immediately. Not the time.

Your ex snickered, but was smart enough to know that he wouldn't be able to take this guy. "Really?" He asked to no one in particular.

None of you responded.

"Listen here, buddy" Your ex started. "A bitch that dressed like that, act like that.. is only want one thing," He said mockingly.

"Dinnae think it's any o' yer business." 'John' rumbled.

And before your ex could say anything in response, your savior got in his face. "Back. Aff. If she e’er feels unsafe aroond ye again, ye’ll learn firsthand whit it’s like tae be truly afraid"

The color in your ex's face drained at that. You watched him hesitating before finally stomping away after sending another glare your way.

The grip on your hip loosened when the piece of shit had gone far enough.

"Are ye alrigh', lass?" He turned to you, the rumble in his voice turning into something softer.

You could only nod in response, your heart was still racing in your chest as you tried to calm down now the threat was gone.

"..Thank you" You murmured after a moment.

"Let me walk ye hame, aye? It’s no safe for a bonnie lass like you tae be oot at nicht alane" He offered with a smile that made you blush.

"O-oh, alright then.. thanks.." You answered, thinking that it would be best to accept since you didn't know if your ex was truly gone for good or not.

His smile widened in response and he wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you two started walking.

Oh you.

Sweet yet foolish birdie that you are.

Falling into his palm just like that.

You should've thought twice before guiding some random man to your address.

You just said it yourself. He's your boyfriend now.

And he definitely won't let his new girlfriend out of his sight.

Or do you really need a lesson on how not to trust a man? Because he would show you why.

...

im ashamed to say this is inspired by one of those ridiculous novel ad, BUTTT I CAME UP WITH MY OWN PLOT