#these motherfuckers have never been protected a day in their lives and they need that!!

[naamahdarling]

I mean, the Nazis piloted their programs on disabled people because nobody would give a shit and they knew it. The first one was a 5 month old infant named Gerhard Kretschmar, willingly surrendered by his parents. They started Aktion T4 with a disabled infant. 200k to 300k people died under this specific program.

Life unworthy of life.

That is how oppressors will see us. Not as criminals or corrupting influences but as things that should simply not be allowed to live.

Your activism needs to include and protect us from day one. Folks didn't show up for us after we showed up to get you your marriage rights. I still can't fucking marry...I can't even have a civil union, or even have a partner they decide we are close enough to that we are "holding out as married". Y'all want to unionize. There is no union to protect us. (Don't fucking talk to me about the IWW, they have NEVER answered me when I have contacted them four times, and even the name excludes anyone who can't work, fuck us, labor is still a moral virtue I guess, fuck representing those who can't.) Y'all want a survivable minimum wage. I draw max SSI, but have to live on less than 11k a year, and am punished if someone gives me cash to pay to fix the oven that has been broken for 2 years; they'll deduct the full fucking amount past the first $60 as "unearned income". Y'all want SNAP. My disability payments are held against my SNAP. Y'all want housing for everyone. We get our benefits slashed if we live with someone who helps us, but we often HAVE to, fucked either way. Y'all want student debt forgiveness. I can't go to school too much or they might cut my benefits, but nobody can tell me how much that is.

Y'all want us disabled fucks to volunteer? GUESS WHAT, MOTHERFUCKER? THEY HOLD THAT AGAINST US.

FUCK. THIS.

I want ALL the things y'all want. Y'all need to familiarize yourselves with our struggles.

Fucking see us.

Fucking SEE US!

[sammichly]

going crazy over the parallel of Neil "I won't be like them. I won't let you let me be." Josten and Jeremy "As your captain and partner, don't I at least deserve the chance not to be a villain in your story?" Knox. THEY CARE SO MUCH

they're facing people who haven't been given a choice before, who have been ignored when they say no and they're saying it will be different with me. you will be safe with me. AUGHHHHH

[mrsriddles-blog]

Gasoline | T.R

Pairing: Slytherin fem reader x Tom Riddle

WC: 3.5k+

Warnings/Notes: Mild language, toxic relationship, manipulation, etc.

Summary: In which your naivety of Tom Riddle seems to come back to you later in life as a not-so-perfect marriage between you two, starts to fall apart.

Are you insane like me?

Been in pain like me?

Bought a  hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me?

Just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me?

Would you use your water bill to dry the strain like me?

Being Tom Riddle’s wife was no easy task. In the beginning, back when the two of you were dating—the Slytherin prince and princess—you were naive. You never believed what everyone said around you about Tom. He never showed that side to you, no, not until you were trapped in a marriage with him. Of course you loved him still, but you also knew this wasn’t healthy. 

It began with him becoming more possessive over you. He had moments where he’d blow up, accusing you of flirting with his followers or trying to get unwanted attention by dressing like a “whore”. You’d eventually reign him in, but sometimes he would throw expensive bottles of liquor at the wall or grab you a bit too roughly. Then it was to the point you walked into your shared room to see him throwing your clothes in the fireplace as he didn’t approve of them, and he replaced them all with things he liked. 

That was a little over two decades ago when the two of you got married. Time never really played a part in your life anymore now that you and Tom were both immortal. But, now you were amongst the descendants of your old friends. Like Lucius Malfoy, a living and breathing carbon copy of your dear friend Abraxas Malfoy. You were talking with Narcissa, holding the baby boy of hers, your own stomach swollen with twins. 

“Madam.” Daisy, one of the house elves murmurs timidly from beside you.

“Yes?” You ask politely.

“Mr. Nott…he has left his son in a basket on the porch.” She says. 

You were quick to hand Draco to Narcissa before you jog towards your front door. The door was open and you could see the other house elves pushing the basket in. You grab the little boy from the basket and gently open the letter. 

“Love?” Tom asks, storming your way out of concern.

“Theodore said Laura died giving birth to their son…Theodore Alon Nott Jr. He has given us full custody to raise him as our own. He said he wouldn’t be able to give him a good life.” You explain with a frown as tears well in your eyes at the loss of your friend. 

Tom looks down at the baby boy in your arms, unknowingly rocking him back to sleep. He looks back at the basket and grabs out the file that contained these things. He heads to his office as you gently coo at the baby. 

You were already beginning your task of making a list of extra baby items you’ll need. For now, you were using one of the cots you had gotten for one of your boys’, but materials like that were simply replaceable in your mind. 

You get Theodore laid in a cot, standing there for several minutes just watching him as your own heart hurts for the boy. 

“I promise to give you a good life, Theo…and I promise to tell you all about your mummy one day, sweet boy.” You murmur before leaving to head to Tom’s office. 

“He won’t answer!” He shouts, thankfully you had managed to close the door.

“Is it so bad that we raise, Theodore? We are married…Theodore said he was already blaming the child for Laura’s death…he wants to provide a good life for him. So, he thought of us.” You say confused.

“Are you fucking insane? I have plans! You being pregnant wasn’t apart of the plan just yet! But, you couldn’t fucking wait! We don’t need another child! We aren’t a fucking orphanage!” He snaps, freezing up after his own words. 

You were quiet, your hands on your belly protectively. You didn’t know that he felt that way. You tried to convince yourself that he was happy, but now that he said what he’s said, you could see the fake smile he gave you. It makes sense as to why he stormed off to his office after. 

“Carry on with your plans then…do not ask for my help. I’ll play no part. Instead, I’ll focus on the children. Theodore is staying.” You say, your voice void of emotion.

He didn’t get another word in as you turned and left. You  couldn’t stay…no, you were about ready to cry. You manage to wobble up the stairs as you hear little whimpers from the nursery. You open the door to hear more little whimpers. You walk to the cot and frown as you see the little boy with tears, watery eyes, and those little whimpers leaving his lips.

“Oh goodness, you’re so quiet. Come here, sweet boy. All is going to be okay. Wow…you have your mumma’s eyes. In fact…you look just like your mumma. I’ll have to pull out the old picture books once you’re older.” You murmur to him as you sit in a rocking chair. 

There was two…one for you and one for Tom. You waved a hand, your magic making it move to the attic. You sigh, looking down at the child in your arms. 

Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me?

Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?

Do the people whisper ‘bout you on the train like me?

Saying that you shouldn’t waste your pretty face like me?

“Mumma!” Mattheo yells, his tiny four year old body nearly knocking the breath out of you as he slams into you.

“Matty! What in the world?” You question.

Tom, who sat at the other end of the table in silence, looks up. You’ve hardly uttered a word to him since the night he blew up on you. He never apologized…you moved to another room. The marriage he fought tooth and nail for was falling to shambles because he wasn’t quite sure how to love. 

His eyes zone in on your left hand to notice you have taken the rings off. He clenches his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he tenses. 

“Theo tripped and got hurt! He can’t get up! We were just playing!” He exclaims.

“Stay here.” You say, standing as you hurry out the backdoor. 

Tom watches from the window as you break off into a sprint to where the boys always like to play: the garden. He tenses as a little hand nudges him. He looks back down at Mattheo who had walked to him.

“Are you the reason why mumma cries at night?” He asks.

“What?” Tom asks, genuinely confused.

“Mumma cries at night, looking at old pictures of you both. I asked mumma about it once and she said it was nothing and that she was just happy. But, those weren’t happy tears…I don’t like when mumma is sad. You need to fix it, mister.” Mattheo says seriously. 

“Dad…I’m your dad.” Tom says, not liking being called mister.

“I know…but I didn’t know if I could call you that.” He admits shyly. 

Tom frowns, realizing his own ego and drive was pushing his wife and children away. Sure, children were apart of the plan later in his life, but sometimes life doesn’t work the way you expect. He gets up and kneels in front of Mattheo. 

“You can call me dad, son…I know I’ve been distant…and I’m truly sorry about that, Matty.” He says.

“Okay…but, you can’t call me Matty. That’s mumma’s name for me.” He says.

You walk in with Theodore on your hip, his face buried in your neck as he whimpers. Tom was on the other side of her. You freeze seeing Tom in front of Mattheo.

“What are you doing?” You ask harshly, glaring at Tom. 

“Relax, mumma…I just wanted to talk to him.” Mattheo says. 

He runs over to you, hugging your leg. You gently rub his back before you glance back over at your husband who was still kneeled on the ground, looking at you. You turn away, walking upstairs to the boys’ room. You lie Theodore on his bed, gently tending to his ankle. 

You help the boys get washed up before you were helping Theodore down to dinner, the twins following behind you. 

“Is he okay?” Tom asks from where he sat. 

“He’s fine, just a sprain.” You murmur.

“I can perform a healing spell if you don’t mind.” He says.

“No. Those spells we learned in school can only fix minor injuries. It’s not meant for sprains and breaks, Tom.” You say.

“No, no…not one of those. It’s one of mine.” He says.

“Even more the reason as to why I’m saying no. He’ll be fine within a few days.” You say firmly. 

Tom quiets, nodding before focusing on his plate. He didn’t eat, he just kind of stared at it, lost in thoughts. The kids kept you lost in conversation as they told you crazy stories of their imagination. They were telling you of their adventures outside when Theodore got hurt. 

“I have a question.” Theodore says nervously. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask softly. 

“Can I call you mumma like Tom and Matt?” He asks.

“No! She’s my mumma!” Mattheo yells.

“Mattheo!” You and Tom scold at the same time.

You look at your husband in surprise who looks at you. You found yourself wondering what his sudden interest in your life—in your kids’ lives came from? Things hadn’t been the easiest the past few years. You faced constant whispering behind your back. You heard rumors of Tom having mistresses, some of those mistresses being with child, and the list goes on. 

“Mattheo, that wasn’t polite. It was rude and disrespectful. Theodore is our family. Apologize.” Tom says firmly, his son looking at him in surprise. 

“B-But…” Mattheo stutters before stopping as Tom raises his hand.

“No buts.” He says sternly.

“Mumma…” Mattheo trails.

“Listen to your father…he’s right…Theodore is our family. He’s always been a brother to both you and Tom. If he wants to call me mumma, he can…and I would still be your mumma, Matty. Nothing could ever do that. But, Theodore is a part of our family. You owe him an apology.” You say.

“I’m sorry, Teddy.” Mattheo whispers.

“It’s okay, Matt.” Theodore mumbles.

“Theo.” You say softly. 

“Hm.” He hums, pushing his food around on a plate.

“You can call me mumma if you wish. But, I want you to know that your biological mumma…she was a wonderful woman, one whom I will tell you about more in the future. She would’ve been a wonderful mumma. And she is always with you, watching over you. You know…your mumma loved the stars just like you. Next time you look at the stars, remember your mumma is the brightest star in the sky.” You say softly, your eyes stinging with tears as you remember your best friend. 

“I know, but I want you to be my mumma too.” He says, looking at you with big blue-green eyes that reminded you so much of Laura. 

You managed to get through the rest of the night with ease, putting the boys to bed before you went back downstairs to finish cleaning up.

“Can we talk?” Tom asks from where he stood in the doorway.

“Did you realize your head was so far up your ass that you were being an asshole?” You ask.

“I’ve realized that I’ve definitely been a bit of a twat. I apologize, love…dearly. I want to fix things…I want to be apart of our kids’ lives. I’ve put my plans before family for way too long.” He says.

“I’ve torn myself apart for years, trying to entertain the idea that maybe some sick, twisted part of you never meant those words. Then, I came to terms with the fact that maybe you are cruel and heartless. And now, after four years, you want to tell me that you are just now realizing this?” You ask.

“I’m sorry…I really am love…I miss us…you…and I want to be a part of our kids’ lives. I would get on my knees for you. I’d do anything…please, love.” He says.

And all the people say

You can’t wake up, this is not a dream

You’re part of a machine, you are not a human being

With your face all made up, living on a screen

Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline

“So…you and Tom are renewing your vows.” Narcissa says, the two of you drinking tea as you watch the boys play. 

“Yes…I’ve grown tired of fighting the advances of his. For a while he was so sweet and loving. Now, he's controlling and domineering once more. I keep living in this dream that he’ll be this sweet, loving and gentle guy. He never is.” You say with a sigh.

Deep down, you knew he loved you so much. His ways were just warped and twisted…it was something you just had to grow use to. There was no changing Tom.

“Why not leave him?” She asks.

“I love him…but even if I did choose to leave him, it wouldn’t be possible. I am his. His wife. The mother of his children. His property. He’d track me down if I ever tried to leave, drag me back and I’d face a punishment for doing so.” You say. 

Narcissa frowns, understanding that explanation more than she wished. She could say the same about Lucius. She had nothing without him though and he knew that. He’d never let her take Draco from him. So, if staying with Lucius meant she could protect her sweet Draco and to give him the best life, then she will stay. 

“Can you believe they are six?” She asks, changing the subject. 

“No…it seems that time keeps moving and we just want to hold onto our boys.” You say, smiling sadly at the boys. 

Soon, you were tucking the boys into bed before heading to your bedroom. Tom was already laid in bed, turned away from you as you made your way to the bed. Once you were settled, you turned the lamp off and let a soft sigh out.

You awake only hours later, a cold sweat on your forehead as you trembled. You reached over to hold onto your husband only to find that he was gone. 

“You can’t ever leave me.” He whispers.

“Tom? This isn’t funny.” You say shakily, looking around the room before turning the lamp on and seeing he was nowhere.

I think there’s a flaw in my code

(Oh, ooh-oh, ooh-oh, oh)

These voices won’t leave me alone

Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold

“Are you alright, love?” Tom asks as you push your food around on your plate.

“Fine.” You mumble. 

You found yourself pulling Narcissa off to the garden later as the boys played together. She looked at you worriedly.

“Cissa…he’s toying with me. H-He’s in my dreams…he’s constantly watching me…I hear him when he isn’t in the room…it’s like he’s using spells.” You ramble.

“You use to be the most lively person I knew. A flame that danced so beautifully. Then Tom came along, swallowing you up as that flame could only come alive when he wanted. And he’s taken so much from you…driving you mad and silencing that fire in you…one I once admired about you.” She sighs, looking at you pitifully.

“Cissa! I’m not crazy…I’m serious…he’s playing mind games with me.” You say, looking at her in frustration.

“Right…” She mumbles.

It was a tense silence before she hurried away to grab Draco, insisting she forgot that she was helping Lucius with something. You sit on the ground, staring at the grass with a frown as Tom watched you from the window. He smiles, feeling victorious. 

Are you deranged like me?

Are you strange like me?

Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?

Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?

Pointing fingers ‘cause you’ll never take the blame like me?

“My boys!” Your husband says, walking in. 

You cast your eyes to the floor, unable to look into his scarlet red eyes, nor to look at his distorted form. You feel his hand on your shoulder that squeezes you painfully. 

“Father.” Mattheo greets snarkily.

“Matty, please.” You plead softly. 

“Did I say you could speak, wife?” He asks cooly.

You clench your jaw hearing him groan in pain as he flies back against the wall. You stand slowly, turning to face him with a cold look.

“I am so tired of you telling me what I can and cannot do. I am so tired of you spinning your web of lies, sending our children out to do your dirty work, and trying to make me feel like I am crazy! I never should have forgiven you…you are incapable of change. I’ve had it!” You shout, lifting a hand as you began to chant the spell you created. 

He shouts, demanding you to stop, but you can’t. You focus on all that anger, all that sadness, and all those years of being belittled. You slowly set him down, looking at the man that stood before you. 

He was young once more, sharp features, those blue eyes you fell for, his curly black hair that was neatly styled…your Tom. The one before horcruxes and losing himself…just your Tom. 

“What did you do?” He asks slowly, looking at his hands. 

“I’ve given you chances time after time for centuries, but I’m tired of this nonsense. There is a side to you, one that is capable of love and care—a side my children deserve at least. You are mortal and I’ll piece your soul back together every single time you wish to tear it apart for immortality. Try to kill me or my children, I dare you, but we are immortal, a way that isn’t dark and twisted like yours. Until you can prove that you are a true leader…husband…and father, you’ll be taking a step down. Until then, I’m taking over.” You say coldly, glaring at the man that you despise yet love at the same time. 

“Y/n/n…love, don’t do this. Please. Make me immortal, I’ll prove myself as we go forth, but please do not ruin my plans.” He pleads.

“It’s always been about your plans and your work…well, not anymore. They are my plans and my work now.” You say, smiling sardonically at him before looking at the table of people. 

“Children, you’re dismissed.” You say.

“Momma…” Theodore says, standing up as he looks at you unsure before glancing at your husband.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Come here.” You murmur, opening your arms to him.

He steps into your embrace, melting into it as he always does, holding onto you as if it’s the last time he’ll ever hug you. You kiss his temple, waiting till he lets go. Then your twin boys launch themselves at you and hug you tightly, both trying to express their feelings through a hug. You kiss their heads before gently urging them to go with Theodore and the other children to the living room. 

And all the people say

You can’t wake up, this is not a dream

You’re part of a machine, you re not a human being

With your face all made up, living on a screen

Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline

“Be a little less…haste, Matt. Just a flick of your wrist.” Tom says.

You watch your husband with admiration. He has proved to come a long way and was teaching your sons how to perform some of his personal spells. Spells that weren’t simple to cast.

“Good job, Theo!” He praises as Theodore prefects the spell.

You look over to your son, Tom kicking at some rocks on the ground. He’s had a hard time with accepting his father back in. He was so scared he’d end up hurting him in the long run. 

“I can assure you that your father has learnt his lesson. I’ve seen into his mind and I’ve sensed it for a few weeks now. If you’d like…you can perform the spell to make him immortal.” You whisper to him. 

“Does he truly deserve it, mum?” He asks quietly.

“I know he’s hurt us so much in the past, but he’s genuinely trying. He deserves it. It’s not like we can’t rip that immortality away from him. You and I are the only ones who know of the counter spell. Go on, son, you’ll do wonderful.” You urge softly. 

You step back, watching him pull his wand and aim it at your husband. He mumbles the spell, a bright light shooting out of his wand. The light subsides and your husband was hunched over, slowly standing as he looks back at you and Tom.

“What…” He mumbles.

“You’re immortal. Mum said I could cast the spell.” Tom says nonchalantly.

Your husband strides forward, pulling his son into a hug. Tom tenses before slowly hugging his father back.

“To be able to perform a spell your mother has created is truly a one of a kind achievement. I’m so proud of you son.” He murmurs. 

I think there’s a flaw in my code

(Oh, ooh-oh, ooh-oh, oh)

These voices won’t leave me alone

Well,my heart is gold and my hands are cold

[glamaphonic]

But no for real all the "he should've gone to find Daryl/Morgan/had a protracted reunion with XYZ character instead of focusing on his wife and kids!" shit ties back into people's lack of narrative literacy and, underlying it, their lack of theory of mind when it comes to these characters and of course all those nasty implicit biases. They think that what they care about most is necessarily what Rick cares about most.

There are people who refuse to understand or accept how important Michonne and Judith and RJ are to Rick. Of course he loves his extended found family. Of course he cares about his community. But people want to act like those relationships are somehow interchangeable with (or for a lot of these clowns MORE IMPORTANT THAN) those with his wife and children. That has never been the case! For the entirety of this goddamned show, it has never been the case! Andy has outright said it: this entire story, from the moment Rick wakes up in that hospital bed, has been about a man trying to find and protect his family. That is this insane feral motherfucker's central, defining character motivation! You would think if you claim to be a fan of this character and love him so much you would know that!

And it is wildly transparent that for many people they do know that but are pretending this is no longer the case now because they don't consider the family he has made to be legitimate.

They've been "predicting" (read: wishing for) Michonne's death since the day she and Rick got together and she was "ruined" for them because they could no longer mentally sideline her as a Strong Black Woman with no internal life or emotional, physical, or spiritual needs. And the only thing they hate more than Rick having a dark-skinned black woman as a soulmate is him having a black son. Hated it so much they had a whole ass documented conspiracy theory trying to will that baby out of existence. Judith gets a certain amount of grace from a lot of them purely from the virtue of being white, but they still constantly pull out the most vile anti-adoption bullshit about her not REALLY being Rick's (or Michonne's) child too.

So they sat there and watched a six-hour narrative! A lovingly constructed narrative one of the emotional cruxes of which is the fact that Rick was separated from his wife, love of his life, for eight years, missed most of his daughter's life up until now, missed all of his youngest son's life up until now, was made to forgot his eldest son's face, made to forget his wife's face, and this traumatized him so profoundly that he literally wanted to die! This traumatized him so profoundly that when he at last had the opportunity to go back he was paralyzed by fear to the extent that he wanted to continue living an empty ascetic unlife rather than have to face the emotional turmoil of the mere IDEA of losing them all again.

They saw that and went, "Well him getting to be back with them is unsatisfying because it should've ended with him leaving them to go looking for a grown ass man whose closest interpersonal relation already fucking went to find him!"

And not all of them are stupid. They fucking know that there is a difference between one's relationship with their sibling or close friend and their relationship with their spouse. There's a difference between one's relationship with their sibling or close friend and their relationship with their children. And it's not about quantifying the amount of love, it's about the self-evidently different emotional needs and dependencies that exist in these relationships!!

They know it! They just don't want any of that to apply to this spouse and these children and they're mad af that the show unequivocally said that it does.

And to that I say: lol suffer, bitch.

[ursa-the-stranger]

Op had to restrict replies but I wanted to reblog so heres a copy paste of it sans op's name. I will take this down if they ask however.

I have been noodling over posting this for several days but I think it's important for some people to hear.

At a March on Saturday, at a pro Palestine march, my group and I were targeted by by nazis. Not targeted for violence, but targeted for recruitment. They weren't wearing swastikas, they weren't spewing blatant antisemitic hate speech. They seemed like two normal dudes. They marched with us, talked about how awful everything in Palestine was, how we wished world leaders would grow a pair and hold Israel responsible for fucking war crimes, how existing in the world right now was hard. They were empathetic, they were kind, they seemed like genuine good dudes.

Until we passed a synagogue where people were handing our water to marchers. They had signs defending Palestine on their table. But the tone of the conversation changed. These two seemingly normal dudes started talking about how "performative" the gesture felt, that Jewish people should be doing more. That they needed to PROVE it. They started talking about "Zionist" propaganda in the US, about how it was deeply entrenched in capitalism. Things that, on the surface, seemed reasonable but it set off alarm bells in my head.

When I was a kid, I remember getting the speech of "don't repeat anything your uncle or cousin so and so says and don't argue with them. Try to avoid them but if you can't be polite." Because those uncles and cousins said a lot of hateful things about anyone who wasn't like them, but their favorite targets were black people and Jewish people. I would find out as an adult it was because many of those uncles and cousins were in the Klan. When I studied hate symbols for a class in college, I found my self looking at images I'd seen on arms and necks and hands my whole life, because I live in an area of the US where the KKK is still around. And standing in that crowd, listening to these guys talk, i had the most horrible realization I've had in a long time.

We were being fished by Nazis. We were a group of able body, white American leftists. At a march in support of stopping the murder and genocide of Palestinians, these motherfuckers were out here, trying to find people they could get to hate Jewish folks. I wasn't the only one in my group who clocked it, and when we called them on it, the masks came off. They called us a bunch of "Jew loving bitches" before they moved on.

But we're marched with these guys for a couple hours, talked with them, laughed with them, brought them into our circle. For a moment we forgot we also weren't immune to propaganda, we weren't immune to people who make hate sound reasonable and that people like that never start out saying the quiet part out loud, they lean on your anger and your sense of helplessness to move you where they want you. If the last eight years has taught us anything, it's that fascists know how to adjust to the times, to work with what they got, to recruit. They know how to radicalize people, how to weaponize anger and helplessness. And I'm sitting here, every day, seeing posts that sound exactly like these guys did and it worries me.

I know I'm talking to the No Reading Comprehension Website, but I'm begging you guys to develop some now.

You are not immune to propaganda. We are all angry, as we fucking should be. We are watching an entire culture, thousands of lives, whole bloodlines, being wiped out in real time, and for many of us our nations are at best, wringing their hands, and at worst, shipping them weapons, all to protect capitalist greed. It's monstrous, it's disgusting. But look, REALLY LOOK, at the things you are tweeting, sharing, look at the language and how it's used. Take the time to educate yourself about how hate groups use social justice causes and civil unrest to recruit, research the posts your spreading, check your sources. If you are out protesting, be situationally aware, and do not be afraid to clock and call out Nazis. Listen to Jewish people, listen to their concerns, educate yourself on what Zionism and antisemitism actually are and how they can be weaponized. It doesn't feel as good as rage, it doesn't feel as good as having a group you can functionally rail against in a way we can't against a nation a world away, but it's a skill that's going to help you and a lot of other people in the long run.

[hairmetal666]

Steddie Notes BONUS PART

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7)

Eddie wakes up to an empty bed. He’s a little surprised, honestly, since he had his heart set on first anniversary morning sex. Though, based on the smells wafting through their apartment, Steve’s making breakfast, which is an acceptable alternative (plus, if he has it his way, they aren’t leaving the bed again today).

The digital alarm clock on his bedside table is obscured by a Composition Book he doesn’t remember bringing to bed. He reaches for it before his brain registers the red ink dragon sketched on the cover. His hands tremble as he flips it open, but the first few pages are written in his own scrawl. Steve’s handwriting doesn’t appear until 10 pages in and Eddie’s heart stutters at the sight.

March 28, 1986

God, Eddie, I’m so sorry. So, so fucking sorry. I can’t— I’m sorry. I should have been there, I should’ve protected you, I should’ve kept you safe. 

You wouldn’t be part of this if it weren’t for me. Robin and Dustin keep telling me that's not true, that Chrissy was already cursed but. Robin is here because of me. Erica-fucking Sinclair is here because of me. And now you. And you’re dying. And it’s my fault. 

I don’t even know what I’m doing right now, but I can’t just sit and wait, I’d lose my mind. Anyway. You left this notebook in my trunk, and I hope you don’t mind that I’m using it. 

I don’t think I’ve ever been this terrified in my life, Eds.

Please don’t die on me. I can’t live in this world without you. 

March 29, 1986

Hey Eds

You made it through the night. I can’t fucking believe it. I ripped Robin’s shirt when the doctor came in to tell us that you were out of surgery and stable, and then he dropped the bomb that your chance of surviving the night was 40%. Forty-fucking-percent. I guess you beat the odds, babylove.

I’m with Uncle Wayne at your bedside. He threw a fit to make sure I could be here whenever I wanted, and that everyone could visit.

You’ve missed some wild shit, Munson, you’re going to be so mad when you wake up. 

Come back to me, sweet boy. I can’t take this.

March 30, 1986

Made it through a second night, babe. 

I hope you wake up soon. 

Miss you like crazy. 

I keep looking at you in this hospital bed, and you look so fucking small. I hate it. You’re the loudest voice in the room. You don’t just take up space, you demand it. It’s killing me that I haven’t heard your voice in days. And my brain, it keeps filling in things you would say, and I wait for you to speak up, but of course you don’t. It’s a kick to the balls every single time. 

The thing is. 

The thing is that I need you to wake up, Eddie. You can’t leave me. I made up my mind a long time ago, we’re spending our lives together. And it can’t fucking end now. It can’t end because of this. 

And I need you to open your goddamn beautiful eyes so I can tell you how much I love you. You don’t get to go before you hear me say it, do you understand?

I love you. You’re it for me. I’ve never wanted a forever as much as I want one with you. So, you have to wake up, yeah? You have to wake up so we can grow up, have a family, have a life together. 

Promise you won’t leave me, Eds.

March 31, 1986

You woke up, you motherfucker. The doctors kicked me out to look you over and I cried so hard in the bathroom that Robin made El break down the door with her powers. 

Thank you for coming back. I won’t ever let you go again.

April 7, 1987

I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m giving this to you, babylove. It’s been a year. Look how far we’ve come. 

✏️✏️✏️✏️

September 18, 2015

It’s way too fucking early for Eddie to even be awake and he has the day off. Steve asked him to take vacation months ago, didn’t say why, and now that fucker has the audacity to not even be in the house. And like, sure, they’ve been together for close to thirty years, and Eddie knows that Steve goes for a run at the ass crack of dawn.

Still pisses him off, though. 

Eddie huffs down to the kitchen to get coffee started, doing a double take when he sees a familiar black Composition Book with red dragon on the cover. 

He walks towards it slowly because this has been framed on the wall since their first anniversary, way back in ’87, and Steve isn’t home.

Eddie opens it, re-reads the panicked, lovesick notes Steve wrote in the hospital, doesn't bother to fight back the tears. He gets to the last letter and the paper is stiff and wrinkled, like it took water damage. Eddie flips the page, grief already pumping through his veins.

What he sees instead is college-ruled notebook paper, glued in place. It reads:

“I fucking hate this class.”

“Tell me about it.”

“trig. You?”

“Algebra 2 :(” 

A sound escapes his mouth, something between a laugh and a sob.

“Hey man, I'm pretty sure I fucked things up with us, and I owe you an apology. I've always known who you were, but you had no idea I was me...”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of beautiful, Munson?”

“Watch. The. Movie. This is the last time we get high first if this is how you behave.”

 “What are you gonna win me at the fair, Harrington?” 

 “If you’re nice to me, probably something cute.” 

“Eddie…I think I really like you

You’re my favorite person in the entire world

Some days you’re the only thing I can think about

I want to wake up in bed with you everyday

I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you

Do you like me? Yes or No”

“What are you doing about Hellfire?”

“Huh?”

“If the game is Friday. Lucas can’t do both.”

“He made his choice.”

“You ever been in love?”

No, but I think I’m falling”

“I love you, Eddie”

All the sketches of the sailor boy and the rockstar are there, even the one Eddie stuck to the poster in his room, though how Steve managed to get that is anyone’s guess.

There are pictures too, Eddie and Max still recuperating in the hospital; Corroded Coffin performing at the Hideout; them holding the keys to the bar, Steve shirtless and hammering something while Eddie looks on, with the increasingly popular bands Eddie booked to play their must-see Friday night slots; Steve on his first day of college and one of him jumping into Eddie’s arms in his graduation gown, mortar board slipping off his head; In the hospital cradling their twin girls with Max giving a weary thumbs-up between them. Shot after shot of their family, their life, their dreams coming true. A scrapbook of their lives together, big moments and small; good and bad. 

Eddie’s crying freely as he flips through the rest of the book, still fucking astounded that Steve is the love of his life, that they’re making a forever together.

Eddie flips to the last page. Stops dead. 

In Steve’s looped handwriting, unchanged since high school, it says:

“Eddie, 

         Will you marry me?”

“What the fuck?” He yelps, standing up fast enough that his chair crashes to the floor. 

He turns and Steve— his reason for being, the man that brought him back from the dead—Steve Harrington, is down on one knee, something silver glinting in his outstretched hand.

“Eddie,” he says, his voice a wreck. “Marry me?” 

Eddie crashes to his knees, shoving at Steve’s shoulder. “You’re such an idiot.”

Steve laughs. “Is that a yes?”

Eddie laughs too, but it quickly morphs into a sob, “Of course it’s a yes, Steve. Of course.”

Hands trembling, Steve slips the ring onto Eddie’s hand. It’s a thin silver band with skeletal hands contorted into an infinity symbol. 

They fall into a kiss that rips the breath from Eddie’s lungs, but then that’s nothing new. When they finally pull apart Eddie asks, “why today?”

Steve blushes and grabs at the back of his neck. “Thirty-one years ago, I walked into Mundy’s class and found a note on the window ledge.” 

“What the fuck.” Eddie’s mouth drops, his heart stuttering. This man.

“Once I figured out you leaving that note was going to be one of the most important moments of my life? I made sure to never forget.”

“Baby.” Eddie pulls Steve in for another kiss. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

Steve tugs at Eddie’s hand. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?” 

“The girls will be here in a couple hours, and I have some things I want to do to you before they’re home.”

“The GIRLS?” Eddie shrieks. “How the hell long have you been planning this? Did they KNOW?”

“Since the end of June,” Steve answers without missing a beat. “And of course they know. Everyone knows. I asked Wayne for his blessing.” 

Eddie can’t speak, his heart crashing in his chest as he, once again, thanks whatever entity made it possible for him to have this.

“I’ve been in love with you for over half my life, Eds. I wanted to do this right. You deserve it. We deserve it.” 

He pulls Steve into his arms, kissing him hard enough that their teeth clack, but neither of them care.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

When they come home from dinner, as Steve reaches in his pocket for his keys to let the entire family in the house to celebrate their engagement, he finds a gum wrapper tucked in with the metal. He unfolds it, the words within unfurling in his heart, his soul.

"Thank you for giving me forever, sweetheart."

Edited: check out the full version on ao3!

This is officially the end! I hope you enjoyed this little (long) bonus part. Thanks for reading! 💜💜💜

@gaysonthefloor @little-gae-shit @ineffablecolors @mojowitchcraft @hiscrimsonangel @thegingerrapunzel @adelicioustragedy @mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @im-sam-fucking-winchester @rainydays35 @gobbledy-gluk-gluk @gay-stranger-things @sherilitchi @gezell-igg @leather-and-freckles @bornonthesavage @ramyayaya @awkwardgravity1 @chaoticvictorianspirit @thosemessyvibes @beeing-stuupid @silentiumdelirium @freyaforestafay @thatbitchgayasf @sapphirecobalt-1 @sahh-dude @adorkfromnewyork @ollie-in-gray @extralegobrick @snapshotmaestro

@fandomgenderz @nuttychaosface @thatcottagewitch @idoquitelikebread @shinekocreator @savveth @mackfrfr0 @yourebuckingkiddingme @steddieassheg0es @gamerdano @thebig-smoke @questionablequeeries @zerokrox-blog @thegingervulcann @charlies-candid-corner@perpetual-trashcan @sleepy-rainedrop @marvelous-musicals @hoffmannwrites @fromapayphone @courtjestermunson@juicinmyjams @daydreaming-mood @aceflavouredyougurt @emly03 @pille1983 @darcyshandflex @anteaterballs @adankrivervalleynearyou @didntwant2come @kittsu-makes-glass @alienace

@somewhereatdawn @5pac3g1r7 @thequeervibes @paperbackribs @bitchysunflowerr @knitsforthetrail @wrenisflying @plasticcrotches @demoniccorvid @em9515 @savory-babby @loverliner @aceacebaby42

@trainchomp @anaibis

[fbfh]

Leo Valdez is such a goddamn sexy motherfucker and he's so goddamn romantic but you swear to god you've never been more attracted to him than when he gets all protective over you. You're visiting some family and old friends in your hometown and you're... aprehensive. there's a reason you haven't really talked to these people in so long, and Leo's heard plenty of stories about all them so he has an idea of what you're getting yourselves into. normally you wouldn't have agreed to go at all, much less stay as long as you are, but this time is different, because you have Leo with you. everyone you're visiting would have insisted you bring him anyway, they haven't gotten to meet him properly and are curious to say the least. honestly, there's a good chance you're enganged at this point, so even if that weren't the case, there's no way Leo's letting you try to handle a stressful situation like this by yourself. he wouldn't have before but he's sure as hell not going to now. you get through a day and a half before something happens, which all things considered isn't too bad. what your relative said was shitty, but the way they said it was shittier. you stare at the floor for a second, processing what the fuck that was. you don't even need to look at Leo to know the exact expression on his face, but before you can, he pulls you into the kitchen to get more drinks. "Are you okay?" He asks through a laugh that's both outraged at what just happened and in total disbelief that someone really just said that to you. It would be funny if it were happening to someone else. "Yeah..." you say with a similar tone. He brushes his thumb over your cheek lovingly, and it's so soothing you can feel the sting of their words already fading. "Why don't you go upstairs and take a breather?" He offers, still holding his drink in his other hand. You nod, thinking about how nice it will be to have a few minutes to yourself. "Good," he starts, and you can see the change in his eyes, "you go take care of yourself, I'll take care of them." His tone is subtly sharper towards the end, and you know he's ready to unleash hell on whoever made you upset. You watch him down the rest of his drink before heading back into the living room, and even when you're upstairs, you can't stop thinking about how nice his hands looked in the light diffused through his glass.

[peachesofteal]

ok hi it’s me I was the one who asked for more detail about the fae boys and I don’t have a fic fleshed out but I have Thoughts.

Pre-nereid snatching, Ghost mentioned trading favors across dimensions, and roping in the rest of the 141 to help.

One of those was a deal with a witch, Soap went in Ghost’s place (in disguise of course) and asked for some help figuring out the blood magic bit (the little piece that was so obvious and Ghost couldn’t believe he missed it) so Soap’s like ‘great, thanks see ya never!’

and this is all fine and good for the witch, until news of a nereid becoming a fae’s wife hits across the magic world, and the witch can’t help but notice… how similar that spell was to the one she gave a man with a mohawk and- motherfucker. Well. She has a reputation to uphold, so she spends the next several months hunting down the fae (she knows the infamous Ghost wouldn’t show his face to just anyone, so it had to be one of his companions. Then she figured out Soap is the one with the mohawk, and puts it all together).

So when she finds him, she’s clearly furious, but trying her best to remain polite and Soap can’t help but laugh at how adorable it is that this witch is demanding an apology for tricking her.

and that’s really all I’ve got off the top of my head but I just think Soap with an angry witch wife is absolute perfection.

Okay… okay 👀 I love this! 🩵 Let’s say she’s a reader character…

You track him down in the mortal world. After all, the guys realm is nearly impossible to travel to, especially if you’re not from there. Which you’re definitely, definitely not. Your magic is completely different than Fae magic, existing within the confines of the tangible power mostly, fire, water… blood and bone. Your kind comes from the mortal realm, existing in the same pockets of forgotten lore and magic, much like the Nereids.

Here’s the other thing, Fae are the APEX in the magical realms. Even in worlds outside of their own, they are well known. Their power, intelligence, tricks and lust for bloodshed are whispered about far and wide. So imagine how you feel when you realize you inadvertently gave one of them the key to abducting a Nereid from her watery home? You would be devastated. Not to mention, every being knows that blood magic is witchcraft, not Fae magic. So your own community is turning their back on you because you’ve done this, you’re the one who allowed this to happen. You’ve betrayed them, gave away the knowledge of a magic that has lived well protected for centuries, all because you allowed yourself to be tricked by a handsome mortal? Who wasn’t even a mortal at all? How could you not see that… how could you be so blind?

Because you were flattered, that’s how. You were struck by how sweet, how kind and clever he was. You were entranced by his questions, his interest in you and the bookstore, hypnotized by the way his graceful fingers stroked the spines of your most treasured volumes. You weren’t like the others in your coven, you weren’t chased relentlessly by warlocks, weren’t praised for being an eternal beauty, you spent more time with your books and spells and cauldron than you did with with your peers. The few friends you had included your familiar, a mortal girl who worked in the shop with you, and your aunt.

After months of research, tearing apart grimoires and reading tea leaves, you finally figure it out. You finally learn the spell you need to track Fae, and then you cast it to find Johnny. You don’t have much to go on, but you remember his eyes, the sea glass blue shade that shimmered in the afternoon light when he approached you in the bookstore, following you into the back room. You had been completely charmed by him, and thus disarmed… distracted by clever words and his pretty face, letting yourself flirt with him by asking about his mohawk and intriguing accent.

You had been a fool.

So you shuttered the shop early one day, pulling his true form to your mind’s eye, the confirmation of the truth curdling your stomach as you cast the scrying spell, the presence of his magic shimmering all throughout the plane until it led you to a pub, a mere four blocks away.

Your rage, your shame overshadows your fear… a mistake you realize too late that day, far too late until you’re standing in front of him with your hands on your hips… spitting mad, magic swirling around you in violent hues of red and purple while he chuckles openly, admiring how your hair seems to float in the air with the electricity of your rage.

“You used me.” You hiss, fist unclenching, raising in front of your body like a weapon. “You tricked me, you Fae bastard.” Your finger extends, pointing right at him, and in the blink of an eye the air shifts, and he drops his glamour, exposing the true strength of his power, the tips of his ears, the mighty weight of the magic he carries in his veins.

Your words die on your tongue.

Johnny may not know much, but he knows well enough to never, ever, let a witch point at him, for a hex will surely come after.

His hand darts forward, strong fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you close, close enough that he can incline his head above your ear, voice razor sharp, lethal and cold when he whispers,

“Did you just point at me, little witch?”

[wadebae]

[copy pasta post because OP needed to turn off reblogs due to harassment. Another person asked them about doing this and they said it's fine, they just can't personally handle the harassment right now. These are not my words. Not giving credit solely to protect OP's inbox. Reblog or don't, but I wanted this on my blog.]

I have been noodling over posting this for several days but I think it's important for some people to hear.

At a March on Saturday, at a pro Palestine march, my group and I were targeted by by nazis. Not targeted for violence, but targeted for recruitment. They weren't wearing swastikas, they weren't spewing blatant antisemitic hate speech. They seemed like two normal dudes. They marched with us, talked about how awful everything in Palestine was, how we wished world leaders would grow a pair and hold Israel responsible for fucking war crimes, how existing in the world right now was hard. They were empathetic, they were kind, they seemed like genuine good dudes.

Until we passed a synagogue where people were handing our water to marchers. They had signs defending Palestine on their table. But the tone of the conversation changed. These two seemingly normal dudes started talking about how "performative" the gesture felt, that Jewish people should be doing more. That they needed to PROVE it. They started talking about "Zionist" propaganda in the US, about how it was deeply entrenched in capitalism. Things that, on the surface, seemed reasonable but it set off alarm bells in my head.

When I was a kid, I remember getting the speech of "don't repeat anything your uncle or cousin so and so says and don't argue with them. Try to avoid them but if you can't be polite." Because those uncles and cousins said a lot of hateful things about anyone who wasn't like them, but their favorite targets were black people and Jewish people. I would find out as an adult it was because many of those uncles and cousins were in the Klan. When I studied hate symbols for a class in college, I found my self looking at images I'd seen on arms and necks and hands my whole life, because I live in an area of the US where the KKK is still around. And standing in that crowd, listening to these guys talk, i had the most horrible realization I've had in a long time.

We were being fished by Nazis. We were a group of able body, white American leftists. At a march in support of stopping the murder and genocide of Palestinians, these motherfuckers were out here, trying to find people they could get to hate Jewish folks. I wasn't the only one in my group who clocked it, and when we called them on it, the masks came off. They called us a bunch of "Jew loving bitches" before they moved on.

But we're marched with these guys for a couple hours, talked with them, laughed with them, brought them into our circle. For a moment we forgot we also weren't immune to propaganda, we weren't immune to people who make hate sound reasonable and that people like that never start out saying the quiet part out loud, they lean on your anger and your sense of helplessness to move you where they want you. If the last eight years has taught us anything, it's that fascists know how to adjust to the times, to work with what they got, to recruit. They know how to radicalize people, how to weaponize anger and helplessness. And I'm sitting here, every day, seeing posts that sound exactly like these guys did and it worries me.

I know I'm talking to the No Reading Comprehension Website, but I'm begging you guys to develop some now.

You are not immune to propaganda. We are all angry, as we fucking should be. We are watching an entire culture, thousands of lives, whole bloodlines, being wiped out in real time, and for many of us our nations are at best, wringing their hands, and at worst, shipping them weapons, all to protect capitalist greed. It's monstrous, it's disgusting. But look, REALLY LOOK, at the things you are tweeting, sharing, look at the language and how it's used. Take the time to educate yourself about how hate groups use social justice causes and civil unrest to recruit, research the posts your spreading, check your sources. If you are out protesting, be situationally aware, and do not be afraid to clock and call out Nazis. Listen to Jewish people, listen to their concerns, educate yourself on what Zionism and antisemitism actually are and how they can be weaponized. It doesn't feel as good as rage, it doesn't feel as good as having a group you can functionally rail against in a way we can't against a nation a world away, but it's a skill that's going to help you and a lot of other people in the long run.

[morsartis]

Miscommunication

Gamzee x Standoffish!Reader

.

Life wasn’t always kind, it didn't wait for people to catch their breaths, it didn't let you get used to what it threw at you, and it certainly never slowed down. Life had taught you the best thing to do was to meet it halfway and keep trudging. You had built a calloused exterior over time to deal  with it. The sort of exterior that pushed people away because you couldn’t bring yourself to accept a hand held out in your direction. There was always some clause, some string, attached and you’d be damned before you fell for it. So for all of life’s pitfalls you’d hardened yourself against the potential. It worked as long as you didn’t count all the people you never meant to rub wrong- which you rarely did. If people were meant to be in your life they'd chip away at the walls you'd been steadfast in reinforcing, though you could admit to yourself you often made it far harder for people than you meant to. A small sacrifice for protection against getting hurt again.

Or so you had told yourself.

You’d been happy to be a prickly douche to whoever so much as looked at you for too long, snapping and glaring at every little thing life threw at you, and then you'd met Gamzee. The most spaced out, laid back motherfucker you had ever seen. Nothing fazed the troll. No barbed comment, no sneered look, no potential fight. It was as if he lived in a perpetual bubble of chill and good peace. After awhile it seemed almost cruel on your end to be mean to him at all. You’d been looking for a roommate to share your apartment with- rent was getting tighter each day and you knew it was only a matter of time before a check finally bounced- and Gamzee had simply made himself right at home. 

You had wanted an Alternian roommate specifically to guarantee they’d mind their business so you could mind yours. Too bad Gamzee never got that memo. Or maybe he had and simply ignored it. Just like he’d ignored your attempts to make him leave you alone and stop letting himself into your room to “hang” or sprawling along the couch to be in your personal bubble. No matter how many times you snapped and snarled and attempted to get him to do as everyone else did and fuck off he had remained. In fact the more you tried to scare him off the more he seemed to make himself right at home. It completely baffled you at first as to why you couldn't make him leave and then slowly you had begun to accept it. 

Begrudgingly and with the same level of discomfort as someone having their teeth pulled. 

That seemed to be all Gamzee needed to get truly comfortable. The minute you had begun to see Gamzee as a friend and start to open up to the clown he’d dug his claws in with all the glee of a child refusing to let go of a beloved toy. He invited you everywhere with him, sometimes not even waiting for an answer. You had thought it the desperate actions of a quadrantless troll- until he finally introduced you to his “palest of diamonds”. Karkat was like looking in a fucked up funhouse mirror. The two of you snapping at each other and pushing away in all the similar ways. It was no wonder Gamzee had seemed so comfortable with you. He had a type! And apparently you fit the bill. It had taken much longer for you and Karkat to get acquainted than it had with Gamzee but when you did it was clear the clown had used the same tactics he was using on you now to get Karkat as his moirail. 

A complete and utter disregard for your stubborn and standoffish nature. 

Though according to Karkat your long term roommate had a dark side, one you hadn’t seen and was hard to believe, but sometimes you thought you caught glimpses of it when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Calculating lucidity that would flicker in his otherwise stoned and glazed over eyes. It was easy to dismiss. 

But today you were reconsidering that dismissal. 

It had started out all the same. You’d had the day off work and had taken to lounging on the couch with your phone using the TV as background noise. Whatever conversation you had started out having with one of your few friends had devolved into archaic memes and had long abandoned coherence a good fifteen minutes or so ago. Gamzee would be home soon, you had memorized his schedule out of necessity from the times he’d wandered into the bathroom to grab some of his things while you had been showering. The mortification had been brutal and your landlord had banned changing the locks in the apartment for reasons lost to you. So the bathroom lock remained broken and you had memorized Gamzee’s schedule as a consequence. Since then there had been no mortifying bathroom mishaps. Not that Gamzee had seemed bothered at any point, he hadn’t been creepy about it either, just grabbing his things as if you weren’t there at all. You weren’t sure whether to be grateful or concerned but had settled uneasily on grateful. Today was no different than any other when he got back. Humming and chuckling to himself as he shed off his jacket and left it on the floor when he came in- another losing battle with him- before wandering into the kitchen without a care in the world. It was as if he hadn’t even realized you were home as he rooted around in the fridge for what you assumed was faygo. The two of you would have to go grocery shopping sometime soon, food and drinks were getting low again. You could hear him shut the fridge with his hip and the soft hiss of carbonation as he unscrewed the lid on his soda and wandered into the living room where you were still curled up on the couch. For a moment neither of you said anything and then you could feel as his eyes slid to and over you. Again that rare lucid clarity came to his eyes in a brief flash before it was replaced by the ever present glaze as he smiled wide to see you. 

“Hey buddy! You all up and got the day off?”

“Yeah. Figured I’d just relax.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.” He was still smiling that crooked smile as he hooked one long leg over the top of the couch and began climbing over it. You watched mildly unbothered by whatever strange fancy had struck him now as you continued sharing memes on your phone with your friend. Unfortunately that was all the acceptance Gamzee needed to plop onto the couch and then flop directly on top of you.

“Gamzee what are you doing?” You asked calmly. Maybe a little bit tiredly knowing from the start that it was a losing battle. 

“I’m just gettin’ my cuddle on.” He replied cheerful as ever. One arm snaked underneath your back to wrap around you as he began slowly inching his way up your body to rest his head on your chest. He’d had the fortunate thought to tilt his head so you wouldn’t be gored by his long goat-like horns. But it didn’t stop him from snuggling himself closer. Sighing heavily you set your phone aside and wrapped an arm around his neck. 

“Didn’t we have a talk about this yesterday?”

“I dunno. Did we? I just wanna get my motherfuckin’ cuddles on. Feelin’ all sorts a clingy lately.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked curiously but Gamzee’s mind was clearly already drifting away as he snuggled into your hold. One of his hands dangled off the couch with the bottle of faygo and you hoped he wouldn’t drop it. It took forever to clean up and you’d just cleaned the rug not even three days ago. For a while the two of you just laid there, Gamzee’s ear twitching as he listened to your heartbeat. His clawed fingertips on the arm wrapped around you tapped what you figured must be the beat of your heart on your side. You were half asleep underneath him, the chilled weight of his body helping calm you, when he finally shifted. You glanced down at him and found his chin resting on your chest as he looked up at you. Again that lucidity had returned to his eyes as he watched you. 

And then the unthinkable happened. The thing that turned your thoughts on the clown upside down. 

He slid in closer and before you realized what he was doing he had pressed his lips to yours. The first thing you registered was that they were cold, the second thing had been the slick slide of the greasepaint he wore as his mouth moved against yours, and the third was the way he was still staring at you. His eyes were still open, still watching, as he pressed his mouth to yours insistently. Your sound of confused surprise was muffled as he shifted his head just so and his tongue licked across the meat of your bottom lip. Eyes wide and shocked you tensed and he nipped lightly at your mouth before pulling away a more smug smile on his face. 

“You taste like popsicles.” He told you voice pitched strangely. Swallowing nervously you struggled to find words to even say to him. 

“Gamzee?”

“Hm?”

“What the hell was that for?” You hated how meek you sounded but the shock had been too great. He’d never even given you an inclination he saw you as anything more than a good friend.

“A motherfucker can’t just all up and kiss his matesprit?” He asked, clearly confused. 

“Your what?” 

His eyes suddenly went as wide as yours, a startling look on his face as he seemed to struggle to keep them open most of the time. 

“Oh shit.” He breathed, “I forgot to ask you.”

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave - chapter 29 - still Gale’s POV

We make our way across the bridge to Basilisk Gate, which is just one chunk of Baldur’s Gate, and where it seems to be very quiet. I thought it looked rough after defeating the elder brain, but this…this is just a gruesome disaster by itself, even without mindflayers. Normally, you’d hear chattering from citizens on every corner, or the joys of children laughing as they chase after one another, but all I hear is silence. Some guards are picking up trash on the corners of the streets, some are scrubbing off blood from the walls.

When we were here last, while Emmy was at the doctor getting observed, there was a circus, sorcerers and wizards casting magic outside, and people fishing down at the docks. Even when we were dealing with the mind flayers and Chosen Three, it was more lively here. Now? An empty city filled with loss, heartache, tragedy, and a vile amount of thick blood.

“Gods… This is worse than I thought,” I comment as I observe the emptiness of the city. Every building appears to be locked down for reasons of protection, though who knows how efficient that really is. A male guard approaches us as we try to make our way through the dreaded city.

“Halt,” he demands, though his voice has a tint of weakness. He’s terrified. “It’s not safe to be here. I suggest you find somewhere to take cover and quickly. The Stormshore Tabernacle is your best bet.” Lucky for us, we happen to be next to it, though we don’t have time to take cover and not do anything; these Bhaalists need to be stopped immediately.

“Believe it or not, we’re here to defeat these motherfuckers and put them where they belong – in the graveyard,” Karlach mentions with an expression of vengeance on her face. “We were the ones who killed Orin, Ketheric, and Gortash. Hell, even the elder brain. We aren’t scared of these pieces of shit.” The guard’s eyes widen, and the glistening of the tears he’s fighting back shows hopefulness. I wonder if he lost someone dear to him.

“Oh Hells. Thank the Gods. You’ll more than likely find the cult at the temple underground. Too many innocents are being slaughtered by the minute. Thank you.” His voice is breaking, but he’s smiling at the same time. While this entire situation isn’t ideal, I’m at least glad we’re getting involved to prevent more damage than what’s already been done.

I’m trying not to be distracted by how much I miss Emmy and our daughter. I can’t let these feelings distract me, though it does help to stay positive and think: “We will be home soon enough.”

It’s only been a couple days, but I can’t stop visualizing Emmy’s brown eyes, the way she bites her lip and closes her eyes when I make her blush, the way she leans her head on me after a long day. Then there’s our baby’s bright smile and thick brown hair, reaching for my face as I feed her a bottle…my favorite moment. Being able to bond with her like that, even though she will never age, is one quality of parenthood I enjoy most.

“Gale? Are you doing alright?” Halsin asks. I snap out of my heavy distractions and take a deep breath, preparing to move forward in our endeavors. He’s studying my face, realizing I’m not fully there.

“Sorry, I got lost in a deep train of thought. Let’s go.”

“Thinking about your family, huh?”

“No, no, just how we’re going to obliterate these horrible cultists and demolish their evil ways. I can’t wait to make these fools suffer for what they’ve done.”

“Gale, you’re a terrible liar,” Wyll adds, chuckling. Yeah, I never was good at stretching the truth, not even a little bit.

Once we reach the Lower City, I realize this area is actually rather clean and contains much less blood and gore; though, I suspect there are more guards over here to help keep it contained. Or, maybe people are better at hiding.

We find the manhole that leads down to the sewers, which is where the Temple of Bhaal is, unfortunately. The rancid smell causes discomfort and triggers a peculiar tingle within my stomach. Gods, another horrid odor I’ll never fully adjust to, no matter how often I’m around it. An unfamiliar sensation rises within me following the tingle, but not a regular feeling the average person would obtain. It feels to be a rising of power, something held inside me that wants to be unleashed…and it’s growing stronger by the minute. What is this?

“Hopefully we just go in, kill a bunch of Bhaalists, then make our way back home. I’m not sure it will be quite that simple though.” Wyll’s voice is hushed as we step into the dreaded murder temple, where thousands of skulls and corpses lay and screams of death are being heard from below.

“It never is, unfortunately,” I say, followed with a sigh. We’re here, and I am already aware of the Bhaalists ready to rip us to shreds, even though they’re shrouded and unable to be seen. I know when I’m being watched, the feeling is way too familiar. The screech of terror is nearly deafening and all I can picture is gruesome torture and death. I was hoping I’d never be here again.

We approach the center of the temple where we slayed the slayer, Orin. Piles of corpses surround the circular region and, as we get closer, I notice the assassins are surrounding it also. It seems they aren’t afraid to expose themselves. There’s maybe a hundred of them staring us down like prey; at least, the ones we can see anyway.

“Ooh, mmmm…. Another sacrifice to our Lord, our Father. But…but…but…wait…” One of the assassins growls as they approach us, licking his lips as he stares us down with hungry eyes. He looks around us, as if he’s trying to find a missing piece of a puzzle. “SPEAK. Where is she?”

“What the fuck is this loon talking about?” Karlach whispers.

“SILENCE! I’m talking to the Wizard. He’s married to the one we’re searching for. I’m going to ask again: where is she?” His eyes are piercing me as he awaits an answer, and they slowly turn into a vicious crimson as his patience runs thin.

“You want my wife? Why?”

“Our LORD wants her. He desires her. For her skin to be carved and hung up like cloth, for her body to be placed on his altar. Only then, will he have a new chosen. WHERE IS SHE?!” I give him a puzzled expression, wondering in my head why he thinks I’d willingly give him any information about Emmy.

“Why is she in particular interest to her Lord? Is it because we slaughtered Orin and he wants her avenged?”

“YOU WILL SPEAK NO MORE! Whoever slays her will take her place. I will slaughter all of you right here, right now if you do not speak the answers we desire.” I laugh as he continues to spew his pompous nonsense in my face, as he speaks ill of my wife in front of me. The feeling within me from earlier grows stronger and more potent, and it builds up within me as if I’m about to burst with radiant power.

“You can’t kill her, nor can you kill me. It’s physically impossible, you see.” The assassin licks his bloody blade and puts it against my neck, but he looks mildly afraid for some reason.

“And why not? Bhaal won’t like this, mmm no he won’t.”

“Because we’re immortal.” And it’s at that very moment, an intense wave of power flows through me, building up rapidly as rage grows. My body tingles, which leads to a feeling of overwhelming heat, like my body is an inferno.

“Oh shit, Gale’s eyes are…glowing?” Karlach mutters, observing me in horror but also excitement at the same time. I can’t see myself, but I imagine what I’m doing looks rather unsettling to the eyes of mortals.

“I’m going to be following up on Karlach’s statement with my own: Holy fuck, Gale,” Astarion adds. All the assassins move back as my body floats in the air, my entire body overflowing with powerful radiant magic that seems to be coming from the source of my immortality.

“NO, STAND DOWN!” one of the assassins shrieks in horror, but before they have the chance to dash out of the temple, my body releases the radiance held within me, completely disintegrating at least half of the bodies of the Bhaalists, leaving a few others rather injured. What was this power I was granted with? It’s as if my body sensed evil. It knew what was in here.

[dark-ice-god]

A KariBaku prompt: Guess I Just Have A Way With You

For all my KariBaku lovers (@itzairiii, thanks for the comment! I really appreciate it!)

This one's partically inspired by the oneshot I've previously published (no, the fact that I am writing this and that works at 1 a.m. doesn't count). Anyways, back to the story

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

Katsuki didn't care about others. At all.

They meant nothing to him, he meant nothing to them. Perfectly balanced, as Thanos would say.

That wasn't always like that. When he was small and young, he was a happy bun with huge eyes and a wide smile. So what happened so he became silent and indifferent?

Well, many things happened.

First of all, his family. Katsuku moved to his grandmother when he turned 12 and lived with her in her house, where he has had been noticed every day. Where he was met with a hug every day after school. Where he could not hold back a smile which wasn't needed because he had never smiled since then.

Second, his friends. Growing up, Katsuki saw that they stayed with him to get protection, for his power and interest in beating Deku up and not for his personality. He had dropped out from Aldera and moved to a different school before attending UA, where, of course, were people that found him "interesting". Kirishima was annoying, honestly. Thinking he could deserve the non-neutral reaction to his existance. Ha. He was wrong.

Third, Deku. This annoying motherfucker with this worried face. Katsuku was trying his best not to hit it back there, in Aldera. Well, sometimes he managed to do so.

He. Was. O. Fucking. Kay.

There was no need to walk on your tiptoes around him, asking in a most polite way about his health and home life. Katsuki had stopped screaming four years ago.

Fourth.

There was one guy whom he called Kariage for his hair style. A calm and understanding person with a good sense of humor. Katsuki could not explain this, but he liked spending time with him.

Kariage was just... different.

He moved to America, then came back to Japan and got in UA, General Course. Katsuki greeted him as an old friend, and they had a talk after school. A talk that Katsuki couldn't forget for some reason.

But he didn't feel love. He didn't love. He couldn't.

Kariage didn't have a house to live in, but Katsuki invited him to live with Granny — and he said "yes". Spontaneous decision leading to a spontaneous result.

They reunited as the closest friends, and Katsuki knew he could tell Kariage everything and he would listen and understand. Something, however, stopped him.

The school was hard, the time was always running out, so Katsuki was getting more and more tired. Plus, his classmates were draining all of his energy.

He could not say correctly when did it start, but approximately the first sigh appeared in October.

It was a coffee on a small round table near the couch he'd fallen asleep on and a warm blanket covering him.

Katsuki liked coffee.

From that moment his life had started to change.

Soon after accidental touches appeared, Kariage would shake Katsuki's hand for a longer time, brushing his fingers unnoticeably when it ended. On the movie nights he would sit closer to the blonde, their hands touching so slightly, but it was burning stronger then his own quirk.

The first not-family hug Katsuki experienced when he returned after being captured by League of Villains, and even though he hated them, for some reason Kariage's hug felt different. The way he ruffled the spiky hair, the way he soothingly rubbed circles into tired shoulders, the way he whispered his first name into his ear — that all combined gave Katsuki a feeling of being protected, being needed here, in this small house near the sea. As the cops came to ask questions, Kariage insisted in coming too, and he held Katsuki's hand under the table to soothe him while he was answering the questions.

Surprisingly for Katsuki, the hugs didn't stop. No, Kariage would hug him, not for a long time, but they were worth it. So Katsuki began to return them. The first time he did so, Kariage just smiled and ruffled his hair.

Needless to say, he would never allow any of his classmates be as close to him as Kariage was.

Katsuki was an early bird, but when he woke up after a movie night and discovered himself in a warm and comfortable embrace, head laying on Kariage's shoulder, he decided not to get up and sleep a little bit more.

All these memories flashed through Katsuki's mind while he was laying in the couch, head on Kariage's shoulder, one arm wrapped around his waist and another one around his neck, playing lazily with his hair.

"How did it come to this?" he muttered quietely into the space. Kariage smiled before answering:

"Guess I just have a way with you."

[catbountry]

I think before I go to bed, I should make it clear that my flippancy about the failed assassination attempt on Trump is because this man didn't give enough of a fuck to protect the citizens of the country he fucking ran from a deadly virus that killed hundreds of thousands of people in that country alone.

Like we talk a lot about all presidents being war criminals to come extent but for your average American, it's very hard to put names and faces to the anonymous brown people we hear getting bombed by drone strikes on the other side of the world. Like we know it's bad, but because we don't see these people, it's hard to actually like, internalize that. But with COVID? Your average American knew somebody who died, or almost died, or was in danger or dying. And this motherfucker, pumping his fist in the air after getting grazed by a bullet while a spectator in the crowd died, got to live through getting COVID because he was the President when he got it. He lived when our friends, our family, or neighbors, suffered and died. 100s of 9/11s worth of deaths happened while he was running for re-election. It's now gotten to over a million under Biden, but those early days when the most could have been done to curb the number of deaths, we just were at the mercy of a man who could not give a less of a liquid, fast-food induced shit about the average American. Like I know the government gladly serves capital over us but I've never seen it so mask off in my entire life.

I can't speak for when Reagan was president, mind, I was born halfway through his second term. Not a whole lot of memories of that because I was, you know, a baby.

But like Reagan, Trump did not take the lives of our countrymen seriously enough to even look out for us when we needed it most, and it wasn't even motivated by homophobia; just indifference. He failed us, not that we ever expected that much of him to begin with. The blood of people who we know with faces and names and voices and memories are dead because of him. And even if COVID is "over," he's made it clear that if he gets in, he doesn't fucking care if he does shit that kills more people through simply not caring, or just out of spite.

I'm sorry that I find it hard to try and play at good optics and respectability politics for the sake of not giving republicans ammo (they're gonna find ammo regardless, they always do). This man raped our country, and that word choice is very deliberate. He stumbled in, took what he wanted, broke so many rules, violated every boundary put into place to keep him in check, and like a vengeful ex, sicc'd a pack of his flying monkeys to enact violent revenge on the government elected by the people that dumped his ass. He's a petty little tyrant trying to become a dictator so he can huff deep from the most concentrated narcissistic supply known to a modern leader so far this century, and he has apologists who think he should have raped the country harder.

I am going to continue to live my life as normal as I possibly can, to try and focus on what I can do for myself to be happy and have a sense of stability and to be able to like myself, while also doing what I can to support my friends and loved ones. To remember the dead and remember what it was like to come down with COVID myself and how awful it felt. To try not to lose hope and vote if only just to protect the rights of my friends, my family, and myself, and hope that we can get through this together, whatever the fuck it will even be. I'm kinda scared, and jokes make things a little less scary because at least I know there are other people who are just as frustrated as I am, reacting the same way.

We gotta look for each other. Monke together strong.

Stay safe, guys. You are loved.

[polyhexian]

Since Raine was a teacher I think once they have Hunter living in their home they would immediately start to notice the signs of abuse. They would probably have issues with Hunter eating the normal amount of food for a kid his age because Belos starved him and also Hunter probably wouldn’t really be a big fan of something like pasta with sauce but wouldn’t say anything because he’s too nervous to make Raine unhappy with him so he doesn’t really eat much despite being underweight.

Hunter would probably go stiff if they put a hand on his shoulder or flinch if they heard them in anyway upset with him.

Hunter would probably take all of Raine’s suggestions on what to do while in the house at orders and carry them out with military precision even if Raine just suggested they watch a cartoon on the crystal ball.

Hunter probably has a lot of nightmares too so Raine would wake up to him screaming in his sleep.

Like Raine had hunter for a short while and the whole time it’s just one terrible revelation of what a monster Belos truly was after another.

raine definitely starts off worried about what the fuck jasper wants with this minor but i mean really theres better ways to Steal A Child, it being this SPECIFIC child who is VERY difficult to steal ironically makes it less suspicious like. okay. legitimately what is your game. and also like again despite the fact raine has seen him throw this kind on his ass a hundred times, theyve also seen him fucking vaporize one of their allies for trying to kill him so like. truly. what is his game here.

and then like. once they see how truly BAD it is with hunter, the way he flinches, how DEEP the soldier persona goes, the food and the sleep and the isolation- then its like. well, fuck, i would have wanted to help him too. so 1. how did the martlet know about all this before anyone else, because he CLEARLY knew about all this before anyone else did 2. why didnt he just tell me the truth? 3. why DIDNT he just take him and run?

i think theyre putting pieces together and while they probably have multiple theories- they might not know about the grimwalker stuff yet, but they know this kid is an orphan and related to the emperor, they know he was found the day the previous golden guard died, they know the martlet has the same colour hair as hunter, they've seen it, they know hes incredibly protective of him, they know the martlet is scarred as fuck and an incredible combatant AND a high level magic user despite never using magic- once they find out hunter cant use magic without a staff? click, dude. thats probably genetic! this guy has been around about as long as the previous GG has been gone. he looks like hunter, he's protective of hunter, he never uses magic without a staff, and the second raine asks darius about the previous GG, knowing they were close, "hey, did you ever see that guy use magic without a staff?" that seals the deal dude. raine has clocked that motherfucker from a mile away.

only now like. thats a NEW concern. okay, cool! parent. got it. well that explains his intentions. but now like- wow, he HAS hit this kid a lot, even if his motivations were clearly rescuing him. can he even be TRUSTED with him? would hunter be healthy living with this guy? is he even capable of living like a normal person? he still wont take off his stupid fucking mask or tell them his stupid fucking name! and oh, fuck- if he's the previous gg, he's done some VILE shit. should they be doing something about HIM?

darius and raine im sure have a very exciting conversation putting all the jigsaw pieces together before they realize that jasper isn't dead, jasper is the martlet, jasper is a powerless witch, jasper has a son, and holy shit is that son fucked up and in dire need of help.

meanwhile jasper is like ho ho i am sooooo good at lying and secrets absolutely no one suspects anything

[ebenrosetaylor]

Reblogs were turned off in the original post because op was getting death threats by Nazis, reposting with IDs to keep the information circulating

[Text transcrption from screenshots:

"I have been noodling over posting this for several days but I think it's important for some people to hear.

At a March on Saturday, at a pro Palestine march, my group and I were targeted by by nazis. Not targeted for violence, but targeted for recruitment. They weren't wearing swastikas, they weren't spewing blatant antisemitic hate speech. They seemed like two normal dudes. They marched with us, talked about how awful everything in Palestine was, how we wished world leaders would grow a pair and hold Israel responsible for fucking war crimes, how existing in the world right now was hard. They were empathetic, they were kind, they seemed like genuine good dudes.

Until we passed a synagogue where people were handing our water to marchers. They had signs defending Palestine on their table. But the tone of the conversation changed. These two seemingly normal dudes started talking about how "performative" the gesture felt, that Jewish people should be doing more. That they needed to PROVE it. They started talking about "Zionist" propaganda in the US, about how it was deeply entrenched in capitalism. Things that, on the surface, seemed reasonable but it set off alarm bells in my head.

When I was a kid, I remember getting the speech of "don't repeat anything your uncle or cousin so and so says and don't argue with them. Try to avoid them but if you can't be polite." Because those uncles and cousins said a lot of hateful things about anyone who wasn't like them, but their favorite targets were black people and Jewish people. I would find out as an adult it was because many of those uncles and cousins were in the Klan. When I studied hate symbols for a class in college, I found my self looking at images I'd seen on arms and necks and hands my whole life, because I live in an area of the US where the KKK is still around. And standing in that crowd, listening to these guys talk, i had the most horrible realization I've had in a long time.

We were being fished by Nazis. We were a group of able body, white American leftists. At a march in support of stopping the murder and genocide of Palestinians, these motherfuckers were out here, trying to find people they could get to hate Jewish folks. I wasn't the only one in my group who clocked it, and when we called them on it, the masks came off. They called us a bunch of "Jew loving bitches" before they moved on.

But we're marched with these guys for a couple hours, talked with them, laughed with them, brought them into our circle. For a moment we forgot we also weren't immune to propaganda, we weren't immune to people who make hate sound reasonable and that people like that never start out saying the quiet part out loud, they lean on your anger and your sense of helplessness to move you where they want you. If the last eight years has taught us anything, it's that fascists know how to adjust to the times, to work with what they got, to recruit. They know how to radicalize people, how to weaponize anger and helplessness. And I'm sitting here, every day, seeing posts that sound exactly like these guys did and it worries me.

I know I'm talking to the No Reading Comprehension Website, but I'm begging you guys to develop some now.

You are not immune to propaganda. We are all angry, as we fucking should be. We are watching an entire culture, thousands of lives, whole bloodlines, being wiped out in real time, and for many of us our nations are at best, wringing their hands, and at worst, shipping them weapons, all to protect capitalist greed. It's monstrous, it's disgusting. But look, REALLY LOOK, at the things you are tweeting, sharing, look at the language and how it's used. Take the time to educate yourself about how hate groups use social justice causes and civil unrest to recruit, research the posts your spreading, check your sources. If you are out protesting, be situationally aware, and do not be afraid to clock and call out Nazis. Listen to Jewish people, listen to their concerns, educate yourself on what Zionism and antisemitism actually are and how they can be weaponized. It doesn't feel as good as rage, it doesn't feel as good as having a group you can functionally rail against in a way we can't against a nation a world away, but it's a skill that's going to help you and a lot of other people in the long run."

Reply to the original post:

"A lot of right-wing commentators on Twitter have pivoted to pro-Palestinian talking points and/or lies that sound good because they have a pro-Palestinian veneer. Don’t boost them. They are not your allies."

A link to an article about alt-right X (Twitter) accounts riding the surge of pro-palestine content to gain money, spread misinformation, and eventually antisemitism. https://www.rollingstone.com/politics/politics-features/twitter-hate-speech-accounts-palestine-clout-1234867382/ "

END ID]

[samanddean76]

Ye Of Cumbersome Faith

Sam had always believed.  In most anything, really.  Believed in God, in angels, in demons, in saints, in sinners.  Believed in the inherent potential good of the overwhelmingly vast majority of people, but he also believed that our weaknesses were sometimes the doorway to true evil.  Because Sam believed in monsters too, but the evidence of their existence precluded the need for faith.  No, what had always captivated Sam was the thought that if he was somehow good enough, if he completed a sufficient number of gloriously valorous deeds, if he vowed to protect and fight for those who couldn’t defend themselves, then he would be proven to be worthy.  And then he would be allowed to enter heaven.  To reap the ultimate reward for all of his righteous labors. 

But as Sam had found out in an incredibly brutal fashion, that was all just a well-crafted fantasy.  God was nothing more than a cruel and capricious child, whose only amusement was found in the abject suffering of others.  Angels were winged dicks whose self-righteousness was so legendary, that they made Genghis Khan seem like a hermit shut-in by comparison.  Demons were at least honest in their devious intentions, wishing to corrupt and damn all that they could to a hellish existence in their afterlife.  Saints were little more than true believers who lived long enough to do an ample amount of good works before their blind faith doomed them to a horrible death.  And sinners, they might be the purest of the bunch.  Simply doing as they pleased, and caring so little for their immortal soul, that an afterlife in hell might actually be considered an upgrade. 

Yes, Sam had been a believer.  He had prayed to the good Lord above every single day.  Fallen to his knees and asked the angels and the saints for their guidance, their assistance, and vowed to do the best that he could.  He hadn’t always had the best intentions, but he had always fought for those that needed help.  He had killed countless monsters, sent innumerable demons back to hell, he had helped to avert a goddamned motherfucking apocalypse… 

And what was his reward for that incredible sacrifice?  It was to be trapped in a cage with a fallen Archangel whose only interest lay in hearing his own voice wax philosophical about all things unfair, unjust, undeserved, and unwarranted that had been sprung on poor old, little innocent him, just because he had wanted to show his misbegotten father how wrong he was about his new favorite creations.  The hairless apes.  That’s what the angels called humans, Uriel with such venom in his tone as he spoke the damning words.  An insane hatred flaring to life at the mere mention of God favoring those he deemed so unworthy of his father’s love. 

Sam had gone to literal fucking hell and all he had to show for his heroic deeds was to be trapped in a cage while he was being raped, endlessly, by Lucifer and Micheal.  The two brothers had finally seen eye to eye on something, unfortunately for Sam, it was his complete and total degradation. 

Sam’s last hope had been Michael.  The supposedly good Archangel.  The one that had obeyed his father, that was prepared to fight valiantly so that the many people that populated the earth might continue to live, might carry on with the legacy that had been passed on from one generation to the next.  But Sam should have known better, especially after all of their interactions with Zachariah.  Even the good ones aren’t truly good or pure.  They are simply less dickishly evil than their siblings.

Sam was being held down once more, as Michael pounded into him, whispering to him as he violated his immortal soul.  “Do you like that?  Does it feel good?  Oh, you like that, don’t you?”  On and on it went.  Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, decade after decade, century after century, until finally Death had strolled into the cage, and shown the two bastards who had never taken a break from tormenting Sam for the entirety of his stay in the cage, that they were little more than whining children who were in desperate need of a time-out.  And that Death was taking their favorite toy with him.  It was an image that still haunted Sam, the looks of pure, unadulterated rage that graced the brother’s visages.  How they raged as the only being in all of creation they truly feared, could simply dismiss them as if they were mere errand boys, little more than children playing dress-up. 

Sam clutched desperately tight to the arms that held him close.  As he buried his face into the side of the neck that was above him.  As he whimpered, with each and every stroke of the rock-hard cock that was pleasuring him to within an inch of his life.  He tried to block out the memories of Lucifer forcing him down, and driving in until Sam had screamed himself hoarse, until blood ran down and coated his thighs, but they always crept back in.  Even though he had pleaded with Dean to show him how much he had missed him, the hellscape trauma would always bleed back in.  Always ruin what had always been so perfect, before. 

But Sam still had his faith, he did.  But now he was placing it in someone who was worthy of it.  Someone who would sacrifice for Sam, a being that would slaughter the entire world if it meant that Sam would give him another dimpled smile, a brother who had always cared for him, as best as he could, in the direst of circumstances.  Always fought against all of the incredible odds, always strived to find his way back, to his Sammy. 

To his baby boy. 

Sam felt the thick fingers curl around his cock, and in just a few strokes, he was being torn apart as he came hard, knowing that Dean would put him back together again.  Would soothe every hurt, heal every trauma.  Would move heaven and hell, just so that his Sammy would be whole once more. 

Yes, Sam did have faith.  And he had finally placed it in the right being.

“Love ya, De.” 

“Love ya too, Sammy.” 

And Sam did give him that fragile smile, but then the image faded, and Lucifer began to cruelly mock him once more.  Because even the most fervent faith can’t keep true evil at bay.

Dean could only stare down at his Sam, as he screamed, as he writhed, as he desperately tried to get away.  Simply knowing that he would find something that would fix Sam, even if he had to burn this entire world to the ground to find it. 

So help him God.