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zepskies · 8 months

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Smoke Eater - Part 2

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: I was overwhelmed by the response on Part 1 (in the BEST way). 🥹 Thank you so much for everyone who read and sent me your lovely amazing comments! Here's Part 2 a bit early for ya. 😘

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 6,400 Tags/Warnings: Idiots flirting, with a side of sexual harassment. 😪

Part 2: "Lieutenant Winchester"

Firehouse 25 was just as much a house as it was a home.

Especially for Dean Winchester.

In the common room, he sat down at his preferred corner of the sofa with a cup of coffee. By now, the guys knew this was his spot, perfectly angled toward the new flatscreen TV someone donated last month.

Up until then, they’d had to hotwire the same tank from 1995, which had only got basic cable. Now at least the newer smart TV came with a subscription to Netflix, courtesy of the donor.

Dean raised his favorite Batman mug to his face, expecting to imbibe some rich dark roast. What he got was a travesty.

Spitting out the brown soil water back into the mug, he coughed and grimaced.

“Jack!” he called out.

Jack Kline, the newest addition to the house, raised his head from where he was trying to scramble eggs in the open kitchen directly behind the couch.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” he replied.

“Why does this coffee taste like ass?” Dean asked. His voice was still gruff with sleep, as he depended on his morning coffee to wake him up, not assault his tongue.

Behind him, Jack blinked in confusion. “Uh…”

Dean finally turned around and gave the younger man a raised brow.

“What brand did you buy, Candidate?” he asked.

A candidate was a freshly graduated firefighter on probation. They were the rookie, the bottom rung of the totem pole, and Jack was that proverbial whipping post.

“Um…” Jack went to find the coffee canister he’d put away in the cupboards. He showed Dean the red plastic jug. “Folgers. It was on sale.”

“Fuck me,” Dean muttered. “Never Folgers, Candidate. Anything but fucking Folgers. The one thing we don’t skimp out on is quality joe.”

“That ain’t nothin’ but dirt water, son,” Benny remarked, as he and Gordon entered the common room. Benny held a to-go mug he’d brought from home. After he’d seen what Jack brought for groceries yesterday, he’d taken no chances.

“What you wanna get is Gevalia,” Benny added.

“That European crap?” said Gordon. He took his usual spot at the dining table, leaning back in his chair. It left Benny to sit at the other end of the couch with Dean.

“Better than that piss water you drink,” Benny said with a smirk. Gordon raised a brow at him.

“Tea is medicinal, jackass.” The Black man raised a finger to punctuate his point. “It’s good for you. Unlike that carburetor fluid y’all drink.”

“Whatever, man,” Dean said, even though a grin edged at his lips. “All I know is, we need premium coffee, stat. Or it’s gonna be a cranky shift.”

“I can go to the store real quick,” Jack offered.

Say what you want about the kid’s poor taste in grocery buying, he was always willing to jump in when you needed him.

“Nah, stay on breakfast,” said Dean. “I’ll go afterwards. But remember, today you’re practicing rappelling drills.”

Jack nodded. “And lunch duty. And helping clean the truck, and all the bathrooms…did I miss anything?”

Dean shared a look with Gordon. Not only did he drive the truck, but he was one of the men Dean relied on most, as he had the next highest seniority on the job out of the whole firehouse.

Well, except for Benny Lafitte, Captain of the Rescue Squad. Squad members were considered specialists in complex rescue situations. They were highly trained on more sophisticated technical rescue equipment and rappelling, even scuba diving.

It took long years for a firefighter to make it onto Squad; something that Dean used to have ambitions for. But ever since he got promoted to Lieutenant on Truck 79, he realized that his role in this house was best served on the Truck, not on Squad.

“If he gets through all that, Meg might have something for him too,” Gordon said.

“Oh, don’t bring me into this,” remarked a droll voice. “I’ve already got one pound puppy to look after.”

Their Paramedic in Charge strode in with Chuck on her heels. They’d just pulled into the firehouse driveway on Ambulance 7.

“Nice. That’s how you talk about your partner of three years?” Chuck said with a frown. Meg turned to him with a wry grin.

“Only the ones who can hack it on my Ambo,” she replied. “What can I say. You’re special, Shurley. Either that, or a glutton for punishment.”

Gordon shook his head and looked over at Jack.

“Careful with that one. She chewed and hacked out her last partner in under a month.”

“Poor guy didn’t even transfer,” Dean added, making a “flatlining” motion with his hand. “He just quit. Dropped out of the Fire Academy that same day.”

Not all firefighters were made through Meg’s department, but it was a common route, working as a paramedic while getting put through your paces in the Fire Academy. Dean himself had gone straight to the Academy after getting his EMT certification.

But at Dean’s words, Jack’s eyes widened a fraction. Meg turned to him with an almost feline smile.

“How was the call?” Benny asked her, speaking of the job they’d just returned from. Meg’s expression dimmed a little, as did Chuck’s as they both sat down at the table.

“Ah, just Henry again,” she said. “Overdosed on his insulin.”

Benny frowned, while Dean shook his head. Jack’s brows furrowed.

“Who’s Henry?” he asked.

Meg sat back in her chair with a subtle sigh. Knowing his work partner’s mood, Chuck answered the young man’s question.

“He’s homeless, lives by the river,” he said. “He’s one of our ‘regulars,’ you could say. When we get the call, usually he’s passed out. Dehydration. But sometimes it’s more serious.”

“You can’t take him to the hospital?” Jack asked in concern.

“Today we did,” Meg said. Her brown eyes met Jack’s, her mouth in a thin line. “But without health insurance, there’s only so much they can do after they get him stable.”

That fell a bit heavily into the room. It wasn’t a pleasant fact, but it was the reality. Jack was learning more and more about that aspect of this job, and learning if he could handle the darker shades of what it could bring.

“Well, breakfast is ready,” he said, bringing a large plate of eggs and toast onto the counter. Dean tossed him an appreciative half-smile and got up from the couch.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, walking over along with everyone else. He took a moment to pat Jack on the shoulder.

“What do you want to do first: run drills, or help me and Gordon wash the truck?” Dean asked.

Jack looked up with a smile. “Can we run drills first?”

Dean nodded, grinning back at him. “Good answer.”

The rest of the Truck and Squad crews ambled in at both the announcement and the smell of food. And before long, the common room was filled with conversation, good-natured teasing, and shitty coffee all around.

From his vantage point facing the open door to the driveway, Benny caught sight of a young woman heading towards the double doors with a large tupperware bin in hand. Bonnie the receptionist happened to be coming in at the same time. You asked her a question Benny couldn’t quite hear.

“Dean… Oh, you’re looking for Lieutenant Winchester?” Bonnie asked. Her voice tended to carry. “Right in there, hun.”

“Well, that sure is interesting,” Benny murmured with a smile. He glanced over slyly at his friend. “Heads up, brother.”

Dean looked up from his plate of eggs expectantly. Benny gestured over with his eyes, just as you walked into the firehouse, both cautious and unsure of where you were going.

Dean’s brows raised. He found himself setting down his plate and getting up from the couch before he really knew what he was doing.

You looked exactly how he remembered. Though this time, you weren’t coffee stained in your professional blouse and black pencil skirt. His attention drew briefly downwards to your heels, this time solid black (and even taller than the last pair, damn).

He noticed all the same things he had last time: the shade of your hair, pinned up again with a clip as stray pieces framed your face. The way you carried yourself when you finally saw him, straightening with a subtle confidence in your shoulders, even though you looked a bit nervous. And the pretty curve of your lips when your eyes found his.

“Hey, there,” Dean said. He gave you one of his trademark smiles. “Good to see you again.”

“Uh, hi,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you remember me.”

Dean nodded. “‘Course I do. What can I do for you?”

Your face seemed to freeze up a bit as you looked up at him.

“Oh, um, nothing really. I just wanted to say thank you, again,” you said. And you glanced past him, where the rest of the firehouse members were discreetly watching. “All of you, actually. And my friend told me that firefighters really like food…but, I mean, doesn’t everyone?”

You laughed a little, in a nervous way that made Dean struggle not to smile too much.

“Anyway, I like to bake,” you twittered on, “and I had some time this week after…well, you know what happened. So…I brought this!”

You raised up your tupperware with a smile.

And you were damn adorable, Dean thought. His own smile deepened as he glanced down at the offering, then at you. He took the container and opened the lid, and was honestly surprised at what he saw.

He could’ve sworn these were Bonafede, just-poured-out-of-the-box Girl Scout cookies. Dozens of them. He saw shortbreads (complete with the little wavy lines), Samoa cookies with the coconut flakes, and even what looked like chocolate covered Thin Mints. They also smelled delicious.

“Wow. Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, with genuine warmth. “I’m pretty sure the guys are gonna tear these apart the second I put ‘em down.”

Your face brightened, and Dean noticed how it reached your eyes with a bit of a blush.

“Well, I hope you guys enjoy,” you said. Your hands fiddled with your purse next.

“Heading off to work now?” he asked.

“Yep,” you nodded, with a certain glint in your eye. “I plan on taking the stairs this time.”

Dean raised a brow. “All 22 floors?”

“Gotta get my steps in somehow,” you joked. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to become a repeat offender, make you guys come all the way back across town again.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t mind,” he said, meeting your eyes. And he found that he meant it. In fact, he didn’t think he’d mind if your building’s elevator broke down every damn week.

Your expression shifted towards amusement. “Well, you must be very dedicated to your job.”

“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”

“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.

He chuckled. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”

Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you. He had half a mind to heed his instincts, to take advantage of the signals he thought you were sending him, and ask if he could take you out sometime.

But it was unprofessional here at the firehouse (not that that had stopped him before). He’d been making efforts to curb that kind of behavior for the past few months.

He also remembered the 30 floors of your massive, fancy office building. He considered the price tags that probably came with the admittedly sexy, high-powered corporate look you had going on. Those were probably a lot more zeros than he was used to seeing on his paycheck.

So for once, he didn’t pull the trigger.

“Well, thanks. I really do appreciate that,” Dean replied. His smile then was more sincere, if also more professional. He gestured at the container in his hand. “And on behalf of all the guys, thanks for this too.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “I have to go, but…thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester.”

“Ah,” he shook his head, “just call me Dean.”

You agreed by smiling, just a little bit more.

“Dean.”

He nodded back, sending you off with a smile of his own. He forced himself to taper it down after you left, and he had to turn around to meet his friends. Their grins reminded him of piranhas.

“All right. Out with it, you freakin’ jackals.” He waved his free hand in a “bring it on” gesture.

Meg was the first one to burst out laughing. It spearheaded the rest of them, whooping and catcalling and generally being menaces. Even Jack was grinning at his lieutenant’s expense.

Meg got up from her seat and bumped Dean’s shoulder on her way to the kitchen, where she dumped her dishes.

“Thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester,” she mocked in a saccharine sweet voice. Then she lowered it into an exaggerated mimic of his deeper one, “Call me Dean, baby girl. Fucking priceless. You should get your own Hallmark movie.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He’d been prepared for this, but his face was still getting warm.

“Shut up, Meg,” he tossed back. They all had an ongoing Family Guy joke that never failed to make their PIC narrow her eyes. And she did so now, giving him a fake grimace as she left the kitchen.

“All right, kiddos. If you need me, don’t,” she said. “Chuck! Let’s sort the ambo’s inventory.”

“Got it,” her partner nodded. He too got up and placed his dishes in the sink before he took off after Meg.

This left Dean with the rest of the guys, who still gave him knowing smiles as he set your bin of cookies down on the table. He blew out a breath before he returned to the couch and sat down heavily across from Benny and Gordon.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Dean Winchester bitched out,” Gordon remarked.

Once again, Dean rolled his eyes.

“Truly incredible,” Benny added. He shook his head when Dean just crossed his arms. “She was eying you like a pork cutlet, and you just let her walk outta here.”

“We’re in the house, guys. What was I supposed to do?” Dean groused.

Benny and Gordon looked at him like he’d just denounced Led Zeppelin (his favorite band of all time).

“Get her goddamn number, Winchester,” said Gordon. The man’s lips curved. “Or at least, introduce her to a brother.”

Dean shot him a glance. Gordon Walker was damn good at driving the truck, but he was also known for being a hunter of the ladies himself.

“She seemed nice,” Jack put his two cents in with a smile. He was standing behind the couch, leaning his elbows on it. Gordon scoffed, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah, with a fat ass too,” he said, sipping his tea.

Benny reached over and hit his shoulder to shut him up.

“That’s a lady, Gordon,” he said. Though a suspect smile graced his lips as he glanced at Dean. “A lady with a nice ass.”

Dean shook his head, but he couldn’t disagree. The first time he met you, he’d been impressed by the way you stood your ground with your asshole boss. Dean thought you were going to chuck that lethal looking heel at the guy. But behind that steely exterior was a kind little softie.

Today, he got your sweet side. It was equal parts sexy and adorable.

And damn if you didn’t have a nice ass, nice curves, and a nice mouth.

But your eyes, he thought. Those were nothing short of beautiful.

About twenty minutes across town, an apartment building was swarmed by police cars. One unit in particular was sealed off with yellow caution tape as a team of officers drifted in and out.

What a fucked way to die.

Detective John Winchester observed the unnatural angle that the victim—Jerry Stillwell, a certified public accountant—had his throat cut with a jagged weapon.

It hadn’t been clean in the least. And he’d bled out across his work desk and a stack of papers, as well as his desktop computer. He was 45, unmarried, and murdered in his own home in the middle of a Friday afternoon.

The computer wouldn’t turn on, and not because of the blood. It had been wiped with magnetized technology, most likely by the intruder. Though there was no sign of forced entry, according to John’s partner. The murder weapon was missing as well, though it looked like a knife wound.

John leaned over the on-site medical examiner’s shoulder to peer closer at the man’s wounds. Stillwell had most likely been grabbed from behind. So far, the signs pointed to the culprit being someone the victim knew.

They probably took Stillwell by surprise, but he was a large man. If John had to guess, over 250 pounds, unathletic, but still, not easy to overpower. Likely the suspect was a man over 6 feet; strong, and efficient. Though the messiness of the kill made John think this guy took "pride" his work, so to speak.

“Signs of struggle,” said the M.E. “Skin under the fingernails. He fought back, and…huh.”

John’s interest piqued at the man’s shift in tone. “What?”

“Take a look at this.” The M.E. was holding Stillwell’s right hand, palm-up, revealing a small burn on the inside of the wrist. John’s gaze sharpened on the mark.

“Cas, come here,” he said. Across the room, Detective Cas Novak paused in his task of examining the entry points of the apartment to join John at his side. His blue eyes widened a fraction at seeing the burn. It was a symbol of a snake eating its own tail.

“That makes four,” Cas said.

“Yep. We’ve got ourselves a murder cluster,” John said. Cas nodded. He beckoned John to the side, making sure the M.E. was out of earshot before he spoke. “Isn’t it time we brought Sam up to speed on this, at least?”

John’s brows furrowed.

“No,” he said. “Sam’s an ADA. We don’t go to him until we have someone to indict.”

He walked away from Cas, who frowned. John knew damn well that wasn’t what he meant. This was the fourth murder within six months of this nature. The fourth to be branded with the mark of Azazel…a criminal who supposedly disappeared decades ago.

Shortly after November 2, 1983, the day of Mary Winchester’s death.

Seeing Dean again had gone better than you thought it would. It left you feeling light and downright cheerful when you left the firehouse this morning. Unfortunately, the great start to your morning only crumbled when you reached your office.

Now, even at the end of your day, finally back at home and in the familiarity of your kitchen, the tension headache was back.

“Dre, I’m tired. Can’t we do this another night?” you asked.

Your cell phone was balanced between your ear and your shoulder as you counted out your grandfather’s pills, and placed them in each “Monday through Sunday” box in the blue container.

“No, we absolutely cannot. Because today was horrific,” Andréa said. “For me, because my coworker decided to play hookie on the day our top account needed the mockups of their new website. Never mind that she hadn’t even started.”

Pause for an aggravated breath, through which you frowned in sympathy. She’d told you the entire story over lunch today.

“And for you, because Nick once again displayed why he’s a subhuman neanderthal, in spectacular fashion,” she added.

Your grimace deepened at the reminder.

Earlier today, just before a sales meeting you were set to lead, you’d turned away from the conference table to set up the projector. Nick was early for once, making it just him and you in the room.

He’d sat back in his chair and uttered a remark that set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“I’ll tell you what, babe. You sure know how to wear a skirt.”

Your back straightened, and slowly you turned. Your face was set in stone, save for a solitary raise of your brow.

“Excuse me?”

Nick’s smirk was lazy as he kicked his feet up on the table. His hand held a tumbler of whiskey. You noted the half empty carafe, which just yesterday had been full and untouched.

“Fucking fantastic legs,” he said, vaguely outlining your shape with his hand. “I applaud you. It’s all very…sexy secretary. Oooh! Sexcretary. Fucking brilliant.”

You gaped, trying to put a clamp on the furious spike in your blood.

“Are you drunk?” you asked incredulously.

He raised his fingers an inch or so apart, scrunching up his face and trying not to laugh.

“Actually nah, not at all,” he bluffed.

He let his hand fall back into his lap. You shook your head and set down your papers in order to cross your arms.

“Good. Then you’ll hear me clearly when I say, I’m filing a formal complaint with Billie in HR,” you said.

“Whaaat? Why?” he complained. You huffed incredulously.

“For your little comments, which are getting more and more heinous. Not to mention your excessive drinking during company hours.”

Nick pursed his lips. “Christ on a stick. Can’t you take a fucking compliment?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “What I refuse to take is any further sexual harassment. This isn’t the first incident I could disclose, but I’m damn sure you’ll want it to be the last.”

He kicked his feet off the table and slowly stood. You didn’t want to be afraid of this sloppy, frat boy drunken attitude, but a tendril of trepidation still laced down your spine as you took a step back.

“You could do that,” he nodded, tilting his head. “Or, I’ll give your Zimmerman account to Josh, along with your commission.”

You frowned, and shock made your entire body tense.

“You…you can’t do that!” you exclaimed. Your insides fairly shook with frustration tinged with anger. “I’ll sue you.”

“With what money?” Nick scoffed.

Your brows knitted together then. How the hell would he know anything about your finances?

The man noted your reaction with a nod.

“Yeah, I know all about grammy and gramps. Surgeries, funerals, treatments…” he said. He leaned against the table with one hand, and still he fairly loomed over you.

He wasn't as broad as someone like Dean, but he was tall and lean. His dirty blonde hair was swept to the side, his blue eyes bearing down on you.

“I am this company. If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out, sweetheart,” he said.

His gaze lowered, roaming your glowering face.

“And good luck getting anywhere else without a reference from one of the biggest corporations in Lawrence, Kansas.”

You sighed. Yeah, you might’ve shed some frankly embarrassing tears in the women’s bathroom after that. You hadn’t even told Andréa the full story, which included the details of his comments, along with his threats.

You didn’t want her to worry. And maybe, more selfishly, you were embarrassed at having to deal with it at all.

Truth be told, you still didn’t know what the hell you were going to do. About Nick, or your job…but somehow, getting drunk at a bar seemed about the last thing you should be doing.

“I need a drink,” Andréa insisted. “Which means you definitely need a drink. And I know exactly where we’re going.”

After a long moment, you leaned your elbows on the kitchen counter and rubbed through the persistent ache in your forehead. Maybe, just this once, you deserved to forget about reality. Just for a little while.

“Fine. Where?” you asked.

“It’s this great bar Meg told me about. The Roadhouse.”

“Ah, the usual suspects,” Ellen drawled at the men who managed to find seats at her bar, next to the rest of their party. The Roadhouse was packed on a Friday night, but she always had room for these two.

Benny and Dean wore similar tired, but pleasant smiles as they greeted their esteemed barkeep.

“What’s it been, Ellen, a whole shift since I’ve seen your delightful face?” Dean said.

Ellen gave him a mocking smile as she poured him his favorite beer on tap. Dean grinned and clapped his younger brother on the shoulder as he sat down. He and Cas had been waiting for a little while.

…Well, maybe longer than a little.

“Hey, dude,” Dean said. Sam perked up from his second beer with pursed lips.

“You know we’ve been waiting on you for like an hour, right?” he said.

“Aw, don’t get your panties in a twist, Sammy,” Dean teased. He nodded his thanks at Ellen when she set his beer in front of him, and a glass of whiskey for Benny. “We had a last-minute call. Some guy just couldn’t wait to start his Happy Hour. Drove his car into the company fountain.”

Sam’s brows raised incredulously. He looked over at Benny for confirmation, and the other man gave a resigned nod.

“Apparently it set the ducks into a tizzy,” he said. “The guy’s fine. Probably gonna get slapped with a DUI.”

Dean smirked and raised a finger at both Sam and Cas. “Duck Guy’s your problem now.”

Cas shook his head and raised his beer to his lips.

“Not my department.”

“Mine either,” Sam scoffed. Both of them worked in homicide cases, just from the differing sides of law and order. In fact, they worked together more often than Dean and Cas did.

Dean looked over at his friend Cas for a moment. He looked like more of a hot mess than usual, with his tie half undone, and a scruffy half-beard covering his face.

“Geez, man. You look like shit,” Dean remarked. “You and Meg fighting again?”

“No,” Cas replied, his brows furrowing. “…Well, yes. But nothing more than her usual insanity. Something about the cat preferring to sleep next to me than to her.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Benny said. “My dog don’t like her either.”

“Maybe they can smell that she’s feral,” Dean quipped. Cas sent him a dry look at that.

“She threatened to move out,” he revealed. “Even packed a bag at 3:00 in the morning. I spent two hours unpacking what she was re-packing, all while we argued in our underwear, not sleeping.”

Sam and Dean shared bemused looks, while Benny shook his head into his whiskey.

“So how’d it end up?” Sam asked. Cas sighed and took another long sip of his beer.

“Like it always ends, Sam,” he said, his lips quirking. “With our neighbors calling the precinct to complain, and me, somehow ending up sleeping on the couch for a crime I didn’t commit. If she wants to blame someone, blame the goddamn cat.”

Dean chortled. He brought his beer to his lips, but couldn’t resist a light jab at his best friend first.

“Dude, I love her like a sister, but your girlfriend’s unhinged,” he said.

Cas could only nod. “Most are, I’ve come to find.”

Sam scoffed and shook his head. “Not mine.”

“Yeah, that’s because Eileen doesn’t have to see you more than two minutes at a time,” Dean teased. He and his brother still shared an apartment, and Sam’s job as an Assistant District Attorney wrought demanding hours.

Sam shot his brother a flat look.

“Oh, I’m not taking that from the serial playboy,” he said.

Dean’s brows knitted together.

“All right, calm down,” he said. “I’m not Hugh Hefner.”

“Mr. Hit and Run,” Cas added, a smirk gracing his features.

“Chief ‘No Daddy Issues,’” Benny tipped in, giving his annoyed, green-eyed friend a sly glance. “With a side helping of the Clap.”

Dean’s lips pressed into a line. He leveled a finger at Benny.

“That girl was clean, okay? False alarm,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward as he sipped his beer. Thank Christ for that one. “The rash was just carpet burn.”

Sam shook his head and turned to his brother more seriously.

“Bottom line: until you date a woman for more than two weeks—hell, two days at a time—you don’t get to comment on the happily committed,” he said.

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew his track record with relationships. As in, he didn’t really have a record…but it wasn’t for lack of trying. At least, not for the past few months.

Sam managed to break Dean out of his thoughts by clearing his throat, pushing his empty bottle across the counter.

“All right, speaking of. I gotta go,” he said.

“Aw, why? We just got here. Let me buy you another,” Dean offered.

Sam shot his brother another knowing look. Dean knew it well; it said, if he’d been here on time, they would’ve shared the first two drinks.

“I’m picking up Eileen,” Sam said, grabbing his blazer and fixing the collar when he put it on. “There’s this Latin club she wants to go to.”

Dean raised incredulous brows.

“My brother’s going salsa dancing?”

Sam sighed in exasperation, despite his smile. “Bye, Dean.”

He shot his other two friends a nod.

“See you guys.”

Cas and Benny both saw him off with a subtle raise of their drinks, while Dean just shook his head.

“All right, Samantha,” he called out. Sam didn’t bother to turn around as he raised up a choice finger behind him.

Dean snorted into his drink. “Very mature.”

Benny and Cas shared a wry look. They were relieved when Ellen’s daughter Jo came by, picking up the slack for her mom, who was serving a rowdy group of college kids at a nearby table.

“Hey, guys. Need another round?” Jo asked. She gave them all a familiar smile, but her eyes lingered on Dean. He gave her a more reserved smile back.

“Hey, Jo,” he nodded. “I uh…actually think I’m good right now.”

“Me too,” Cas said. He even stood up and grabbed his trenchcoat in similar fashion as Sam had. The two had paid for their beers before Benny and Dean even got there.

“Aw, not you too,” Dean groused.

“If I don’t make dinner, we run the risk of the apartment going up in flames,” Cas informed him. Dean could only assume he was talking about Meg. “Despite working with the Fire Department for ten years, the woman can’t manage to boil an egg without supervision.”

Jo raised a brow, but her smile was bemused as she turned to Benny. “Anything for you?”

“Nah, darlin’. I’m good,” he said. But sensing the unspoken request in her eyes when she glanced at Dean, Benny straightened and raised from his seat. “But I’ll be back. Need’a hit the head.”

Dean internally sighed as Benny left him alone at the bar. Or, well, relatively alone. Jo lingered in front of him to wash and dry out a few glasses. The air between them was stiff, and a little awkward.

Dean’s thoughts shifted back to his brother then; while he still couldn’t believe Eileen had wrangled his gangly Sasquatch of a brother into going dancing, Dean was happy for him. Truly and sincerely. Sam deserved having someone who softened him, made him break away from his endless cases and have some fun.

Dean could also admit, if only to himself, that he was maybe a little jealous. Sam had something good with his girl. Something real.

Dean had carpet burn.

“So, how’s studying going?” he asked Jo. He couldn’t stand awkward silences. “Still planning on giving your mom a heart attack when you get into the Police Academy?”

Jo’s blue eyes flicked up to his. She brushed a coil of blond hair behind her ear after she finished drying a glass, and a smile raised the corner of her lips.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I gave her something to yell about,” she quipped. “But since you asked…my exam is in three months.”

“Good,” Dean nodded. “You’ve got time. Study your ass off. Keep up the conditioning routine I gave you, and you’ll be set. Just don’t forget the strength training. Very important.”

“I got it,” she said, this time with a brighter smile. “Some old firefighter gave me some pointers.”

Dean tilted his beer at her accusingly.

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. Benny’s got more mileage than I do…”

He considered her then, after briefly looking down at the counter.

“What?” she said.

He kept his lips tight. “Nothin’.”

“No, Dean. What?” Jo pressed. “You want to say something. Say it.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head.

“Ellen’s not the only one who’s gonna worry about you on the job, that’s all,” he said. Jo flickered at a rueful frown.

“That’s ironic,” she said. “I can handle myself, Dean. Something you so often seem to forget.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” he shot back. His hand tightened around his beer.

Jo’s face fell into irritation, mostly to cover up the hurt he saw buried deep behind her eyes. She gave him some relief by glancing away from him.

“And this is why we didn’t work out,” she muttered. Sighing through her nose, her eyes met his again. “You know what I hate, more than anything? People worrying.”

Dean carded his fingers through his hair, his brows knitting together in aggravation.

“Yeah, well, maybe they have good reason to,” he said. He could’ve predicted the way she tightened up. “And if I remember right, you did your fair share of hand-wringing the next time I responded to a fire on the job.”

He knew it was a low blow. But his point was made, and he fully expected the anger in Jo’s tight frown. They’d dated for a few weeks, mostly in secret.

That had been enough for Ellen to blow her top. Not because she had anything against Dean…just his job: at the very same firehouse her late husband had once served.

So Dean had backed off. He’d ultimately felt he had to end it. And clearly, Jo still resented him for it.

Slowly, however, the fire in her eyes dimmed. Her finger tapped on her side of the bar counter.

“You think I don’t worry anymore just because we’re not together?” she asked him.

Dean didn’t have a good answer for her. So his gaze fell to his nearly empty beer.

But he was even more relieved when Benny finally got back from the bathroom, or wherever he’d fucked off to for the past few minutes.

He did seem to know that he was interrupting a rather tense moment. Seeing as neither Dean nor Jo wanted to break the silence, Benny supposed it fell on him.

He reclaimed his seat and raised a smile up at Jo.

“I think I’m ready for the next round,” he said, glancing at Dean’s soured mood. “Two whiskeys, please, Joanna.”

Jo treated Benny with a half-smile. He was the only one besides her mother who called her Joanna (and got away with it). After one last look at Dean, she reached over for the Jim Beam.

You met Andréa at the bar in your own car, just in case you needed to dip out early to check on Grandpa George. He was happy to see you going out.

“You’re pretty as a doll, sweetheart,” he’d said, patting your cheek after you kissed his goodbye.

The thought made you smile, even though you thought you were dressed casually in your dark wash jeans and blouse. When Andréa met you outside the bar, she nodded in approval.

“Good. I like the hint of sexy,” she said, plucking at the sweetheart neckline of your top. You rolled your eyes and tried to cover up the cleavage a little, but she batted at your hand.

“No, no. Leave your professionalism at work,” she said. “Tonight, you’re going to relax and have some fun.”

It was hard to think about loosening up when you were literally getting belittled and threatened at work…but you supposed she had a point. You always had to be put together. You had to be sharp, because this world wouldn’t hand you anything on a silver platter.

And not to mention, you couldn’t just think about yourself. You also had to provide and take care of your grandfather too. He was the only family you had left, and you were it for him too…

But you took in a slow, deep breath. Tonight, you could have a couple of drinks with your friend. You could just be yourself, with no responsibilities other than not getting too drunk to drive yourself home later.

So with a sigh, you smiled and linked your arm with Andréa as you headed inside the Roadhouse.

It looked kind of divey from the outside, a worn-looking brown building with a faded red sign. But inside it was all dark wood and leather barstools and rows of soft lighting overhead.

There were records displayed on the wall; Prince’s Purple Rain, the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper, and David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, among others. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” played on the wall speakers.

There were several tables, both high top and regular four-seaters, as well as a long bar that spanned the far wall, where rows and rows of liquor were showcased. You followed Andréa’s lead to the bar, where you took a seat at the far end and tried to feel like you belonged here. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out to a place like this.

“This is nice,” she leaned over into your ear to say. “Next time my cousin should meet us here. She’s a handful, but I think you’d like her.”

You agreed with a smile. “If she’s anything like you, I think I’m well trained to handle your brand of insanity.”

Andréa leveled you with a playfully mocking look.

“Ah, you’ve got jokes tonight. Okay.” She waved over the blonde bartender.

“Hi, ladies,” she greeted. “I’m Jo. What’re we starting off with tonight?”

Before you could order for yourself, Andréa grabbed your arm and spoke over you.

“Do you have absinthe?” she asked.

Your eyes widened. “What?! I’m not drinking that—”

“Sure do,” Jo replied in amusement.

“Great,” said Andréa. You didn’t like her sly grin. “She’ll have an Aunt Roberta. I’ll have a vodka cranberry.”

“What the hell is an Aunt Roberta?” you asked.

Jo listed the ingredients on her fingers. “A nice molotov of brandy, vodka, gin, blackberry liqueur, and of course, absinthe.”

Jesus Christ. You shot Andréa a glare, even though you were trying to dim your smile.

“Are you trying to chill me out or fucking end me?” you asked.

Andréa smirked. “Whatever it takes.”

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded your agreement. Jo’s smile remained as she went to prepare your drinks. Meanwhile, your eyes wandered as you once again took in your surroundings.

Really is a cool place, you thought. And it was busy without being overbearingly crowded. There were even a few seats between you and the rest of the patrons at the bar. Your gaze drew a path onwards, eventually reaching the other end of the bar.

There you caught sight of red flannel over a black undershirt, familiar broad shoulders, and an even more familiar face. Your eyes widened a fraction as his met yours, gleaming with recognition…and interest.

That slow smile of his was familiar too. It made a lance of heat run down your spine. You gripped the counter, mostly to steady yourself as you let out a breath.

Lieutenant Winchester.

AN: *rubs hands together* It begins. 😏

Lol how'd you like Dean's little moment with the reader at the firehouse? Plus the introduction of the rest of our cast!

(And a possible serial killer on the loose?) Though sorry about Nick. He's a douchecanoe.

Next Time:

Anticipation and nerves coiled together in your lower belly. You turned to your friend, who was already sipping at her vodka cranberry.

“Dre, help me,” you pleaded.

Andréa discreetly followed the path of your gaze, and her brows raised. A smirk curved her lips.

“Oh, babe. You need to help yourself,” she replied.

“I haven’t done that in a while,” you admitted. Your dating life had been sorely lacking, between the demands of your job and taking care of things at home. “I’m gonna say something demented.”

Andréa huffed in amusement.

“So? That’s half the fun,” she said.

Keep Reading: PART 3

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

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rainbow-nerdss · 21 days

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Tease Tidbit Tuesday

Enjoy this hit from the bucktommy pit I've fallen into over the past few days! 💙💙

“Eddie gave me a shovel talk, you know?” Tommy says, next time they get together. They're at Buck's again, and Buck is cooking for them. He drops the spatula at Tommy's announcement, spinning to look at him. “He what? Jesus, I am so sorry, he shouldn't have—” “It's fine,” Tommy assures him. “It was cute. He cares about you.” Buck snorts. “Sure. He hasn't scared you off, at least?” "Nah, trust me, I've sparred with the guy enough times to know I can take him if I need to.” Buck raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn't underestimate him. That guy knows how to fight dirty. Trust me. He's scrappy.” “Scrappy, huh?” Buck turns back to the pot and stirs it again. “Hey, come taste this?” He holds out a spoon. Tommy joins him at the stove, standing far closer than necessary, almost flush against Buck's back as he takes the spoon in his mouth, chews, and swallows. “Delicious,” he announces. “Is that Bobby's Chili?” Buck nods. "Yup!" “Man, he was always so secretive about that!” Tommy complains. “How'd you talk him into sharing?” “Pays to be the favorite, I guess!” Buck preens. “So, what? Eddie suddenly decided to go all white knight protecting my virtue now I'm dating a guy?” He asks, steering the conversion back around. Tommy leans against the countertop beside Buck. “Nah, nothing like that. He just said that… He reminded me, forcibly, that you're a good guy, and I should probably refrain from hurting you, if I can help it.” Privately, a part of Buck glows at the knowledge that Eddie did that for him, even while he plans to rip him a new one for interfering. “I should clarify, Evan. I'm not… I’ve mentioned Victor, right? My ex?” Buck nods, turning to face Tommy in order to give this his full attention. “He sort of… did a number on me. Meeting you, doing… this, it's great. I'm just not…” “You're not ready for something serious,” Buck realizes. Tommy nods. “But, what we've been doing so far…?” “Is great! The dates, the, uh… other stuff, all amazing, but—” “You just don't want anything more serious than that.” “Exactly. If that's a deal-breaker, I can—” “No!” Buck rushes, putting a hand on Tommy's chest. “I mean, this is good for me too. Takes some of the pressure off, actually.” Tommy visibly relaxes, and Buck takes a moment to turn down the heat on the stove, leaning further into his space. “You said you were a relationship guy,” Tommy says, clearly wanting to make a hundred percent sure. Buck does him the courtesy of taking a moment to consider his answer. “I used to think I was. I thought my options were either ‘serious relationship’ or ‘meaningless sex that left me feeling like crap’.” He steps closer, close enough that he can feel Tommy's breath ghost across his skin. “But lately I've been discovering the joys of things being… somewhere on a spectrum. Keeping things fluid.” “Yeah?” Tommy asks, moving even closer. They might as well be kissing now, but they aren't quite, just a hair between them. “Yeah,” Buck repeats. “Though,” he adds. “For the sake of clarity. When you say other stuff, is that referring to the flying lessons you still owe me, or—” Buck pulls away just a fraction, just enough to allow Tommy the opportunity to reach out and keep him there, pulling him back into a dizzying kiss.

Tags:

I was tagged by @wildlife4life @spotsandsocks @diazsdimples @dangerpronebuddie @wikiangela @exhuastedpigeon and @bidisasterbuckdiaz

And tagging:

@theotherbuckley @aspecbuddie @thewolvesof1998 @daffi-990 @neverevan @loserdiaz @goforkinard @kwills91 @trenchcoatsandtimetravel @devirnis @steadfastsaturnsrings @sunflowerdiaiz @lover-of-mine @liabegins @lovelettertothewise @slowlyfoggydestiny @buddieboos @shitouttabuck @pirrusstuff @jesuisici33 @nmcggg @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @your-catfish-friend @eightpackdiaz @gigi-gigi @bisexualbuckleys @loveyouanyway @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @arachanae

#my fic #911 fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #tevan #bucktommy #this fic will eventually be buddie but i'm having too much fun laying the groundwork #just vibe with me here

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depravitycentral · 5 months

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Tw: misogany, non-con, incels, gender/power dynamics, writing this made me feel icky, if you are a person who genuinely believes in anything described in this post please consider changing your opinions, fem reader, MDNI, don't ask me where this post came from because I don't know

Thinking about men that think your rightful place is by his side as his woman.

You bring out this side of him that's brand new to him; this side urging him to utterly dominate you, to be in full control of your bank accounts, your friendships, your hobbies, even your own body. There's this new urge to make you ask for permission for everything, to just pin you down and stuff you full of him every hour of every day because it's your job. It's your duty to take his cock - you were made for it.

He's never been particularly misogynistic, but when he looks at you, all he sees is the beautiful, wonderful, perfect woman that he must domesticate. You're too wild on your own - too free-spirited, brainwashed into believing this 'modern woman' crap - there's a reason the man does the work and the woman stays at home. Don't you know that?

He's strong - you're not. (And he knows it, too - after a night of fucking, all the bruises littering your body and the way your legs struggle to hold you steady is proof enough. The way he can easily lift the heavy wooden bedframe of your shared bed is enough - you can only lift a corner of it off the ground, after all. The way he can get you to shut up with just a simple, stern look should be enough evidence.)

He's street-smart - you're not. (He understands what other men want and what you're good for - it's not sexist when he tells you that the shirt you're wearing is too revealing. He won't hesitate to tell you that your entire chest is basically out, angel, and you can't be showing the world one of your best assets. He understands that you're not strong or skilled enough to fight another man off should he decide he wants you - you'll try to fight, sure, but that'll only get the other man going, your resistance only getting them harder and more lustful, and when you inevitably give in - because you always will, all women will - he knows you might even enjoy it.)

He's smart - you're not. (You think you are - and you're right about some things, sure. You know the best ways to bathe yourself - he's never been as thorough as you, he's humble enough to admit that - and how to make delicious pie, and the best way to make the bed warm and soft. But there's a lot of things you don't know, like who to vote for at the next election, or how to change a tire, or how to use a debit card.)

He's a man. And you're not. And he likes that you aren't - he's attracted to you because of your feminine charms; your curves, your softness, your smell, the sound of your voice, and - of course - the fact that you are utterly, utterly his property. As his wife (your consent in the matter is hardly important; his last name is yours now, and that's all there really is to it), all your decisions are made by him. He tells you what to wear, what to get at the grocery store, how to address other men, how to smile, everything that he knows is too much for you to handle.

And, of course, he teaches you other things. Things that he knows you are - should be, at least - clueless about. So cute, huh?

He's patient when he tells you to sink to your knees, palms pressing on the top of your head as he pushes you down, softly shushing you when you start to protest. He's patient as he slips his briefs down, his cock already red and throbbing and big, making your cheeks look even softer and rounder, your glassy eyes and prettier. He's talking you through it as he traces his tip - wet and sticky and leaving a smear of bitter precum on your skin - around your lips, the look in his eye nearly boyish with excitement.

He's gentle when he grasps your chin between two fingers (much stronger than your own, of course) to keep you steady, shuffling his hips forward so that his tip (bulbous and red and positively glistening, already looking so swollen you're sure he won't last but a minute) slips past your lips. He keeps going until you're gagging, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment before immediately opening them once more because the sight of you below him, on your knees for him, shutting you up with his cock down your throat is oh so right.

He's patient when he pushes you face-first into the bed, running a hand over your hair and sighing to himself because god, aren't you pretty? His hands are on your hips immediately, pushing down on your lower back to get the arch of your back deeper, tighter, more intense because it looks better this way - it's better for him this way, and isn't sex really only about the man?

He's even generous enough to be gentle when he's pushing himself inside you - keeping the pace slow but consistent, hissing and letting a few comments of 's so damn tight, fuck and cunt was made for me, shit slipping past his lips. He's kind enough to give you a few moments (perhaps three) to adjust to his size, before he's smacking your ass and pulling your hair, fucking into you like an animal because you're his to use.

And he's not afraid to say it - t's all harsh thrusts that make audible slapping noises as his balls - very, very sensitive and very, very full - smack against you over and over, strong fingers grabbing at your skin and keeping you in place, just so he can ram into that one spot over and over and over, because he thinks the deeper he goes the more he's claiming you. He's groaning at you with stuttered breaths that you were made to get fucked by me, o-oh shit, this tight hole's only thing you're good for and accentuating the idea with his fingers groping at your breast and using it as leverage to pull you back further and get deeper.

The air is hot and smells like musk and cum and sex, every inch of your body unable to think of anything but him - just as it should be, really. He's grabbing onto the pretty, silver collar he's forced around your throat as he thrusts, the tracker inlaid into the metal feeling familiar to his fingertips and making his thrusts harder because he must know where you are at all times - you're his property and he can't lose you.

After all, if you were gone, who would he dress up to look all pretty for him then? (He's still dressing you up even in the humiliating outfits he forces you to parade around in at home - the cooking aprons and nothing else, giving him easy access to hump your bare ass from behind while you work at the stove, cooking him dinner all the while you keep his cock warm between those pretty legs of yours.)

If you were gone, who would wake him up with lips around his cock, soft gagging noises filling the air alongside songbirds as he gets a proper good morning?

If you were gone, who would listen to his endless rants about his horrible coworkers and friends and anyone that pissed him off all while he pounds a beer and jokes about how good you look while you load the washing machine full of his dirty clothes - you look nice bent over, sweetheart, why don't you stay in there for a bit and let me blow off some steam?

Of course, all of this is fine and dandy - owning you is the dream, and having you as his pretty, helpless, clueless little wife is the ultimate fantasy. He lays awake at night sometimes imagining how you'd be as his housewife - the pretty ring on your finger, how you'd eagerly wait at the door for his arrival home from work everyday, how you'd meticulously put on your makeup and style your hair and wear the pretty lingerie he'd bought you just so that you look as attractive and desirable to him as possible.

But first, he needs to show you your place as his woman, and get rid of this misplaced sense of independence you seem to be clutching onto for dear life. Stupid girl.

(His belt is unbuckled as soon as the door closes behind the two of you, his smile something between sinister and elated as he tells you to not bother working at the knot keeping your hands tied behind your back - tying knots is men's work, and you'll hurt your pretty fingers and hands. You'll need those later, so quit picking.)

Enji Todoroki, AFO, Nobunaga Hazama, Illumi Zoldyck, Daichi Sawamura, Kenjiro Shirabu, I don't write for aot or jjk but also Floch Forester, Eren Jeager and Naoya Zenin

#yandere hxh #yandere bnha #yandere haikyuu #yandere aot #_lee rambles #_i don't really know what this is #it just sort of happened #i promise i don't support misogyny #_enji todoroki #_AFO #_Nobunaga hazama #_illumi zoldyck #_daichi sawamura #_kenjiro shirabu #_floch forester #_eren jeager

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gay-dorito-dust · 4 months

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Ngl this drab was crap and rushed bc I didn’t know how to finish it…🦦

‘Are you going to eat that?’ Michael asked after a while, gesturing to the untouched crunchie that laid upon one of Oliver’s open books.

‘No, you can have it.’ Oliver said almost dismissively, his mind having been nowhere near close to pay attention to anything you nor Michael had to say in regard to the discarded chocolate treat. For just as soon as Oliver gave Michael the go ahead and rip the packaging off, you were quick to retort with; ‘at least ask me if I wanted a piece before you wolf it down like you haven’t eaten in fortnight.’

‘Oh I’m sorry, Would you like a piece y/n?’ Michael asked with the least amount of genuine, already proving what you had already know about him being willing enough to share the crunchie. You huffed humourlessly. ‘Yes I would like-‘ but before you could finish your sentence, Michael had already bitten into the Chocolate, almost consuming it whole with how big his bites were; so much so that you were certain he was doing this just to get a reaction out of you.

You couldn’t help that you were naturally an expressive person but it often seemed that Michael merely does what he does just to rile you up! You hated how frequent you seem to fall into these situations with him, something that Michael would often criticise you about on the odd occasion, but despite how repetitive and how obvious your reactions were; Michael continued to be an aching thorn in your side considering there was no one else he could bother.

For that was the only conclusion you always come to whenever the question as to why Michael bothered with you despite being extremely predictable as he would often call you. Nothing more, nothing less. In fact the moment Oliver came you thought Michael would move on to bother him and finally leave you alone but no, he didn’t; instead Michael took the piss out of both you and Oliver equally, if not sometimes you more so then Oliver. You just guessed he was delighted about having someone new to bother with his presence.

You certainly were as it meant you didn’t have Michael practically breathing down your neck all the time.

‘Here you go.’ Michael said as he dusted some chocolate flakes into your awaiting palm, smirking like he had just won at life. Meanwhile you could only stare at him like he was delirious. ‘Are you taking the piss, I asked for a piece not fucking crumbs you greedy speckled bastard.’ You hissed. Michael only shrugs nonchalantly as he spoke in that soft way that didn’t match his character in the slightest. ‘Isn’t it good that I gave you something then nothing at all?’

‘If you’re expecting a thank you then you can shove it up your ass.’ You barked as you continue to glare daggers into him whsilt wiping your had clean of the melting chocolate. Whilst you and Michael were solely focused on each other, neither of you had noticed that Oliver had taken this to his advantage and leave before either of you noticed his absence.

You didn’t because by the end of it you and Michael came out of the study with disheveled hair, clothing and sets of blossoming hickies placed in the most obvious of places…

#saltburn x reader #Saltburn imagine #Saltburn imagines #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x you #michael gavey x y/n #michael gavey imagine #Michael gavey imagines #saltburn

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das-a-kirby-blog · 4 months

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alright, this goes out to you guys. just gonna build off of this post

(THIS IS ALL JUST MY OPINION, NOT FACT!)

soooo I think the reason there are so many contrasting headcanons is not only because of the open interpretations the games leave, but because of what kinds of kirby media people are introduced to at first. you got the main games, the anime, the mangas, the light novels, etc. which. wow that's a lot of material you can build on. AND CONSIDERING THE AMOUT OF LORE EACH OF THESE TOPICS ARE COOKING???? DAWG WH

and I GUESS I can understand why some hcs are so bizarre in other people's eyes. but the way this fandom handles those different headcanons is...a lil bad.

YES I KNOW THIS ISN'T SPECIFIC TO THE KIRBY FANDOM, but the whole reason why I'm making this is to at least understand why people take it so close to heart.

and. not calling anyone out. but I do see quite a lot of posts with people (critiquing? complaining?) about how popular headcanons "ruin" the fandom (and this goes with ships too, but I'll get into that later) and all I gotta ask is

does it really??? does it really ruin the fandom?

I'm just gonna say. no. it doesn't.

you are focusing on a small percentage out of...oh idk...AN ENTIRE FANBASE? at LEAST open up a little and find a new circle if it is bothering you that much. or better yet. BLOCK! filter out tags!

with the amout of differing kirby medias, please understand that there will be headcanons that will oppose yours and that's okay! just don't be a jerk about it!

NOW. with the ships. specifically metadede. gonna try to put my overwhelming bias aside for this one I promise.

though metadede is the most popular ship in the fandom, it still comes with it's critics. and some are. actually valid! such as their relationship doesn't immediately have to be romantic. it can be seen as platonic! and I can understand why people feel that way.

but things get sour when people immediately try to crap on it because in their eyes, and correct me if I'm wrong here, metadede overshadows every other ship in the fandom. you hardly get to hear about their rarepair because of how metadede is everywhere.

if you take a step back and really look. there is a reason it is so popular. because of the LARGE amounts of media they have together. in the games. in the mangas. in smash. in official art. I mean if you wanna count the anime go ahead.

what I'm trying to say here is that compared to any other character interactions, meta knight and dedede are definitely up there for the most interaction in the franchise. and I'm not trying to downplay any rarepairs or other ships with a smaller fanbase.

BUT DON'T BLAME THE SHIPPERS! they are only doing the same as anyone else, they are going off of what they are given by canon and simply building off of that.

though, because I am a metadede shipper myself, you can take this segment with a grain of salt.

---

in conclusion...people can have their different takes. and that's okay! having different opinions is what builds this fandom and draws the attention of so many. but please! do not take any of these takes personal!

If there is a point in here you would like to argue against or build on, feel free to do so. I'm open to any other views.

#ask to tag #rant #again sorry for complaining

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tyquu · 6 months

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Here's the Ben whump rant i talked abt in my last post,,,

Ofc heed the triggers and what not: Blood, injury, ect ect

Also take everything here with a serious handful of salt, im being dramatic as heck. So if you don't wanna see me get serious abt something that's not that deep, this probably isn't the rant for you <3

Anywho...

Do you ever think about just how often Ben gets the absolute crap beat out of him? Like in Grudge Match, I forgot how many times he gets flung about in his human form. He's ten years old, his bones are way too weak for all that. The amount of head injuries he must get is insane, and Max never once seems to take Ben's injuries seriously.

Like that time Ben gets sick after sitting in the back of an ice cream van for like,, twenty minutes. He's ill to the point it's actively inhibiting his ability to play hero, blinding wildmutt with gunked up sensors and taking the heat out of heatblast. He's pale and sniffly and looks like shit, but Max still makes the executive decision to drag him out on errands instead of giving him time to rest.

Also just cause he takes the majority of damage in his alien forms doesn’t mean those injuries suddenly have no impact at all. I think in alien force they were toying with idea of his injuries carrying over becoming more of a problem for him, with his busted knee in season one, and black eye in the episode where he gets grounded. Either way, it’s still implied that wounds translate over after he de-transforms, even if to a lesser extent. Not to mention all the scrapes and little injuries he must get from de-transforming mid battle (on the occasions he does).

FUCK, I mean Ben actually displays short term memory loss as a direct result of getting hit in the head in alien force, and Gwen isn't concerned about it probably because she grew up with Grandpa Max not being concerned about it. She doesn't realise just how dangerous this level of head injury is, what the brain inflammation and possible bleeding could do to him. She's probably looked him in the eyes, with his pupils blown wide, dazed and confused about his whereabouts, and then buried her concern because it's nothing new right? Ben's been dealing with stuff like this since he was 10, and Max, the ever responsible adult, never shows the appropriate amount of concern for it, so it makes sense that both Gwen and Ben don’t consider these things serious until its too late.

Like not to get all dramatic about this and over think it (more so than I already am lol) but I’m positive this stuff would have long term consequences for Ben’s health as he enters adult hood, or even before then. Trouble recalling things, ringing in his ears, migraines and headaches as well a light sensitivity, all of these are symptoms of repeated and serious head trauma. Not to mention, paired with my personal headcanons about the burning chemical sensation of having the omnitrix fused to his flesh, leaking fluid into his bloodstream and scorching his skin. Or the chronic nosebleeds I think he would have as a result of all these other health complications. There's just a LOT that can be done with Ben whump, and I’m surprised it isn’t talked about/thought about more?

Folks love the idea of Ben being functionally immortal (at least from injury related death), and the power fantasy that comes with being the weilder of the omnitrix, but what about the fact that he’s just some guy?? That the omnitrix failsafe doesn’t protect him from everything, and that if the injuries are bad enough to have triggered the failsafe in the first place, then where does that leave him in terms of recovering from them??? Sorry, sorry, crazy moment.

#ben 10 #ben tennyson #ben 10 whump #whump #rant post #blood #injury #ty tidbit

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yarameijer · 2 months

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Hi, I've been reading accidental reversal and I really like your 'what if' scenarios with tenma and the gang, and I've had a fic idea I've been considering for a while that I'd appreciate your input on

I've really gotten attached to the idea of a Deaf Tenma, making the decision not to go to a Deaf School (The only Deaf school in Japan that I can find is Meisei Gakuen, which is located in tokyo, which is extremely close to if not the same city where Raimon is) so that he can play for the soccer team that inspired him, only to find the whole fifth sector mess going on.

naturally, he starts the whole revolution, because hes putting the quality of his education on the line to play for raimon, and he isn't about to let that sacrifice for nothing.

tsurugi notices straight away, and when he goes home he immediately starts learning JSL, because first of all he is Not ableist (for obvious reasons), and second is because if he's going to be monologuing at this kid, he's going to make sure he can be understood (he ends up being to go to interpreter when aoi/shinsuke isn't there)

shunsuke asks aoi to teach him and they bond

endou is surprisingly good at JSL when he picks it up (good with his hands + has a very expressive face), kidou, not so much (obscured face, not very expressive anyways)

due to the tension among the team in the first few games, it takes a good chunk of raimon an embarrassingly long time to realize that he isn't just wearing earbuds, and that he doesn't just have an odd accent, and that him looking directly at peoples mouths isn't just a quirk (shindou/kirino/sangoku being like 'How did you not realize? it's so obvious, we've just been learning independently')

also because I've noticed a trend in the show that these kids sure do like to monologue on the soccer field, and I think it's funny if they keep getting interrupted by a kid that just, does not seem to care (its difficult to lip read from a distance, they won't always be facing him, and it seems like a bad idea to wear hearing aids while playing a sport where kids can whip up fire tornadoes, because the average cost of a pair of hearing aids is approximately $4000, or ¥592,560)

anyways it's just an idea I've been considering

Whoa, I love that idea? It sounds so great! I’m a huge fan of rewriting the old story with just enough of a spin to give it a new flavor, and this one’s super interesting. Kinda reminds me of an idea I had at some point in which Tenma is mute and uses sign language. Also lmao Tenma pulling the revolution because ‘’I did NOT sacrifice my education just to get stuck with this crap’’ sounds like such a Tenma move, ngl.

Also yes, Raimon is located in Inazuma Town which is somewhere in Tokyo, it’s on the wiki if you want to check it out!

Okay so I’m not sure what exactly you wanted my input on, so I’m just gonna ramble! Feel free to send me another ask or comment if you wanted something more specific. Anyway, some things that immediately come to mind when I think about this:

1) One of the reasons Tsurugi takes his JSL lessons so seriously could be because Tenma reminds him of his brother. It’s not the same situation but in a way they’re both dealing with disabilities and Tsurugi has seen firsthand how hard it can be for Yuuichi, so he’s a bit softer towards Tenma because of that.

2) Depending on how much of a little shit you want Tenma to be: imagine him turning off his hearing aids at comedic moments, like when someone starts gushing about Fifth Sector’s goals. Tenma just nope’s straight out of that one. Or, although this might be a bit later when he’s more comfortable with the team, him turning off his hearing aids when someone starts scolding him. Absolute power move. They don’t even need to know he does it, maybe someone eventually finds out, cue comedic moment.

3) Since you mentioned accents… Tenma’s from Okinawa and as far as I could find, Okinawans have at least a bit of an accent. Deaf people are also known to learn how to speak by copying the lip movements of the people around them… so if Tenma grew up on Okinawa, it could be assumed he’s grown up speaking Okinawan Japanese and has the accent to match. I imagine non-deaf Tenma would have worked out most of his accent after he moved to Okinawa town so as to not stand out, but deaf Tenma would have had a harder time doing so/might not have even realized he had an accent in the first place. (There is a difference between Okinawan Japanese, which is a Japanese dialect, and the Okinawan language, which is a whole other language altogether and only a few people speak it (mostly the elderly) because it stems from a period before Okinawa was Japanese territory, so if you make use of this idea, maybe look into that a bit. It’s a bit of a complicated situation but I think it could really add something to the characters). This does depend a little on whether Tenma was born deaf or not, I think (that would also influence his lip reading/sign language skills - was he born deaf or has he only been deaf for a few years?)

4) Find subtle ways to mention it throughout the story instead of using full paragraphs. I like comparing it to writing someone who wears glasses. Small details are glasses getting fogged up when going from the outside cold into a warm room, or when drinking tea. Smudges on glasses that annoy the character. Pushing them up when they slip down their nose. These are all small, subtle actions that add a lot to the story and ‘remind’ readers of this detail without putting too much focus on it - you could try and do the same thing with Tenma’s deafness: lip reading is really difficult so Tenma might misunderstand or ask for clarification, or little habits he has (like you mentioned, watching people’s mouths rather than their eyes).

Anyway, I’d definitely recommend doing research on writing deaf characters because it’s very easy to accidentally make a mistake and come off as disrespectful. I’ve read a story or two in which there was so much focus on a character being deaf that it seemed to be their only character trait, and not only does that take away from the story, but it’s also not a good representation. Being deaf is not a defining character trait; it’s just part of their character, like wearing glasses or having asthma. An important thing that should be acknowledged but not constantly mentioned/made to be the center of their life and character.

Some questions that immediately popped into my head:

1. Was Tenma born deaf or did he lose his hearing?

2. Does he shout or say the name of hissatsu techniques? Would he even bother with that?

3. In fact would he even bother trying to learn the names of hissatsu techniques (since they can be super weird + it’s during a match and he’s not wearing hearing aids, so these both make it hard to lip read) and instead just come up with names for them himself? Imagine him referring to Sangoku’s Fence of Gaia as ‘’the rock thing’’ or Kami no Takuto as ‘’Shindou-senpai’s lightshow’’.

4. Does the entire team learn sign language (and how good are they at it), or does Tenma speak and lip read more with certain members of the team and use sign language with others?

Of course the amount of detail you put into it all depends on how long you want the story to be! I hope this is sort of what you wanted, and again, feel free to ask something else if this isn’t what you hoped for.

And in case you decide to write the story, best of luck!

#inazuma eleven #inazuma eleven go #ina11 #ie11 #ie go #fanfic #matsukaze tenma #raimon

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bigfemboyenergy · 1 month

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self indulging in the sonic x dp x dc thing

tails and/or knuckles could make an appearance. also i have no idea who or what to put for like. the dc part? im not super into dc except for batjokes lore (in technicality) and fics

Danny finds himself in a strange place. He has a lot of questions. After all, it was only a second ago that he was with his family. Where am I? he thinks to himself. What happened? Sadly, he doesn’t have time to dwell on these thoughts, because he sees something awfully “funny” and even potentially dangerous only a few feet away..

Sonic opens his eyes, and blinks several times in shock. He was with Amy, Knuckles, and Tails, but now he’s..wherever this is? He’s gone through some bullshit today, enough from Egghead, and he’s completely over it. Silently, he shrugs as he thinks, well shit, stuff always wants to keep happening.

With a sigh, Sonic uses this moment of what seems to be calm to look around. He blinks repeatedly, shocked. What he sees does not cease to surprise him. Growing up and living in open, bright greenery did not get him ready for the gloomy, dreary city he’s appeared in. He murmurs, vaguely, “what the absolute fuck.” It’s only then that he notices the guy next to him.

Both him and the stranger flinch, as if only just noticing each other. This person..is a human, certainly. Or, well, he looks like one. He looks terribly shocked to be seeing an..oversized blue hedgehog cryptid? Or a 3’ furry? His face shows that he has no idea what he’s seeing.

Danny narrows his eyes, observing the thing, concern and fear melting away. After all, he’s seen worse; who hasn’t, with internet access? He speaks, questioningly, “So, what are you, and have you also been mysteriously brought here without notice?” The creature says, coolly, “Isn’t it more polite to ask for a name first? But I digress; first of all, hedgehog, and secondly, yep.” Danny nods, interested by the way this creature knows English and is oddly human, for something that is, well- a hedgehog, they said? With a small chuckle, Danny speaks once more; “Well then, what’s your name?” The hedgehog grins and proclaims, “Sonic. Sonic the Hedgehog.” It is only then that Danny realizes this bad boy is, well..recognizable? He isn’t quite sure why he’s heard of him or where. He awaits his realization with much impatience. It feels awful to be only halfway to a conclusion.

Sonic looks up at the human, no recognition in his eyes. He doesn’t know him, it seems. With a playful shrug, he begins, “I’ve told you my name, so tell me yours,” he edges closer. “Come on, don’t be shy.” He almost sees the gears turn in the human’s head, before they say, “It’s Danny.”

Sonic looks Danny up and down, taking him in. He seems like an average guy, Sonic thinks. Nothing too unusual about him, probably. “I have a quick question, Dan- can I call you that?- is it..weird for hedgehogs to be walking around this place?” Danny shrugs in response. “I mean, before being brought here, I would’ve thought so, yeah? Pretty odd, if you know what I mean,” he states. “And sure, ‘Dan’ is fine.”

Carefully, Sonic drinks in the new information. He’ll have to consider the fact that bad crap will probably go down around him. He ain’t no normal guy, not in this place, it seems. Might even have to go into hiding, he thinks. That’d suck balls. He sighs to himself, wondering how he’ll even get home.

Danny notices Sonic’s dilemma, but can’t do anything about it. After all, he’s just a halfa, what can he do? He doesn’t have illusion-related powers; at least, he’s not aware of having any, that is. But since he himself has a very good reason to be sympathetic..he makes an offer. “We both got sent here randomly, right? So, why not find a place to crash together? Not sure you could even get a job here, so you’ll definitely need someone’s help.” Sonic snickers softly and holds out his hand for Danny to shake. “That sounds good to me, if you don’t mind,” he says, a bit calmer now. Danny doesn’t hesitate to shake Sonic’s hand as he says, “Hello, new partner in crime.”

Upon noticing that two people supposedly teleported here for no reason..the batfamily was in a state of worry. Now that they have tried to research these people, get a little info on them- they, uh..are quite shocked to learn that nobody fits their descriptions and/or the names they go by. Well, except for something they aren’t sure whether to deem it a coincidence or a completely mind-boggling disaster. More on that later.

Now that Danny and Sonic have gotten fairly acquainted, all that’s left is for them to find a place to spend their time, and hopefully some work.

WELL THATS IT FOR THIS TEST THING TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT 💀 and yes i am calling it “The Worst Crossover To Ever Cross Over” it’s a good pun imo ok

#dp x dc #dc x dp #sonic x dc #sonic x dp #dp x sonic #sonic x dp x dc #dc x sonic x dp #dc x sonic #danny phantom #sonic #dcu #new writer #The Worst Crossover To Ever Cross Over™️#new fic

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freementallyillkid · 29 days

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Toddler Hc

jinx x reader

Word count: 680

Sorry it’s kinda short. I wasn't feeling this prompt for some reason :/ hope you like it at least a little

-100% tricked when your toddler was a baby, they pretty quiet and went to bed without too much of a fuss

-Apparently they were just saving all their energy for when they hit year 2

-Very much like jinx in the good but slightly tiering way very artistic (though you struggle to figure out what they’re drawing) and always running around jumping off of something (which stresses the both you out to no end)

-VERY early on you realized how no toddler proof jinx’s lab is, which might seem obvious but when the both of you spent 90% of your time there you forget that the treasure chest of explosive is completely in reach for toddlers

-timeskip to 2 days later you’ve finished baby proofing it (probably) after that one you both really started to realize how stressful it is to much sure your kid is safe, not even in Jinx’s lab just living in the undercity

-This leads the both of you to become very protective of them (even more than before if it’s even possible) they will NEVER be allowed in the last drops bar no matter how old they are, any new staff will be going through teens stalking someone on the internet level background checks.

-Toddler is also 100% spoiled neither you or Jinx grew up with a lot so the baby will have anything they could want (maybe your both using it as a way to heal your inner child) + with silco king pen of the undercity they have the ultimate protection and spoil-y grandpa

-jinx makes HUNDREDS of little toys and crap for them

-on the more angsty side it was a real struggle to find a way for Jinx to be around as much as she wants to be with her episodes, she is prone to be way more reactive and violent

-Another thing that the both of you noticed pretty early on thankfully, you came up with a system just a random word or phrase maybe a noise to let you know when she could feel any kind of episode coming on and when she was already in one it was pretty obvious so you could take toddler somewhere/with someone safe so you could tend to Jinx

-This of course lead to you pretty often finding Jinx crying about how she was a ‘terrible mom’ you would always hold her and tell her how it wasn’t her fault and how being parent was going to be a wildly different experience for someone with mental illness

-and of course she does the same thing for you if you ever feel like you’ve failed as a parent in some way

-Jinx she wasn’t really old enough to remember much of her bio parents and even though Vander was a good father she didn’t get to be around him for very long and Silco isn’t really the best role model for what to be as a parent and if the you didn’t have a great parent you both feel like your not prepared to be parents

-not really knowing what should really be considered right or wrong while still wanting to let your kid know they do what they need to in order to protect themselves +when the hell do you even have that talk with your 2 year old??

-Jinx also being depressed about how your kid will never know their aunt, uncles or grandma and grandpas thinking it’s her fault

-She tries to find pictures of them and is only partly successful so she draws pictures of them too

-Being a parent in general is so hard already with tantrums, getting a toddler to sleep, feeding them, entertaining them, education (is there even a proper education system in the Undercity???), making sure they feel safe and loved.

-But all that in the first place but that as first time parents living in the undercity with at least one mentally ill parent???

-In the end no matter how tired ya’ll are you both love your toddler more than anything in the world and would commit multiple war crimes for them

—-------------------------------

#x reader #gn reader #fluff #arcane #male reader #fem reader #jinxarcane #jinx x reader #parenting #toddlers #parent!jinx #parent!reader #light angst

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wroteclassicaly · 2 years

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eddie finding out he has a thing for seeing you do sexual things w his guitar hits different. like???? "give sweetheart a kiss, baby. love seeing my girls making out" pls. pls.

Pleaaaase, this man would go absolutely haywire when you even talk to the instrument.

Side note: I know there’s a few fics where the reader gets dirty with Eddie’s guitar, so I tried to keep this as different as possible, but there’s only so much you can do with a guitar, and I’ve not seen any like this scenario. Lmao. :P

Warnings: Language, mutual masturbation, NSFW, and more!

~*~

It was just a joke—at first. But when you’d boldly plucked Eddie’s most prized possession off the mirror where ‘she’ hung, your boyfriend wasn’t laughing any longer. It was endearing the first few times he told you, “Babe, be careful. She’s irreplaceable, okay?”

“Edward,” You chastised him, sliding the leather strap securely over your chest, your manicured nails stroking her crisp strings. They must be new, you thought? “Anymore emphasis on this inanimate object, then you can emphasize this ass—“ You broke spinning slightly so that he could see the fabric of your jeans straining over your bottom. “—walking straight out the door.”

His doe eyes had widened rather comedically, his ring covered hand waving through the air. “Okay, m’ sorry. But can you just… put her back, please? It’s nothin’ personal, sweetheart—“

“Alright, Munson. You know what? I’ve had enough of this crap. Consider her my girl for the night, because you’ve just lost us both.”

“Baby…”

“Eddie…”

~*~

Thinking back on the short couple of hours that first occurred, it’s a funny thing. Eddie’s whining for his sweetheart’s safe return had ceased upon your threatening to leave his trailer, and ask him to see if ‘she’ could suck him off for the next two weeks.

“You might make her sing, but I can make you scream.” You’d purred.

Deciding you were his favorite lady was an easy choice for Eddie, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t… have some fun with you both. After all, you had stripped down to your birthday suit and reclined back in his room’s newest addition—the beat up old lazy boy. His guitar strap rests across your breasts, her glossy body laying a top your chest. His own personal pinup girl. You start it, really.

Your fingers are strumming aimlessly and watching how his maple irises have obliterated, currently at the mercy of a sinful, midnight sea of blown pupils. You aren’t realizing what you’re doing until Eddie is matching you, movement for movement, his hand in his jeans, tugging his cock out and letting a glob of spit pour off the end of his tongue, using those defined digits to spread it down his shaft. Your breath hitches, awaiting his next words, because he’s swallowing, those plush lips pursing, and you know that he’s got something to say. While you wait, your fingers spread open your cunt, one sliding up and down the slick seam, spreading the sticky wetness around your clit. Eddie chokes on his words, sentence coming out choppy and fragmented.

“F-fuck, princess. My two favorite babes. Just stark naked in my room.”

“Mhm. I’m number one though, Eds. Remember that.” You present him with a middle finger, then push it into your cunt, curling into the squelch.

He croons on a line of obscenities and slouches where he reclines, thumb swiping across the leaking head of his dick. There’s a hesitation and then he’s asking you to do a little favor for him, one you’re not the least bit surprised of.

“Baby, you wanna give my sweetheart a little kiss? Right there at the top? She’s a so lonely.”

“Insatiable dungeon man.” You mutter, but shift her weight to kiss a path along the crimson neck of the guitar, waiting yourself into a moments’ pause, deciding not long after. Watching with a steeled gaze, your tongue’s tip hits the body and you’re licking a straight line directly up the instrument, simultaneously pressing a second finger into yourself.

Eddie literally gasp, his abdomen muscles flexing, fist working harder, the tendons in jugular visible as his orgasm closes in on him. “M’ gonna cum, fuck!”

“Don’t you dare, Munson!” You’re edging your ass off the chair until you can push yourself into a wobbly position, making your way to his bedside. “Get the fuck up and get behind me!”

He scrambles without question, flinging his remaining clothing off and pressing himself into your backside, his throbbing cock pressed against the flesh of your ass. You rock over the friction, shoving your fingers back for him to immediately suckle inside his mouth, moaning like a pathetic little bitch around the taste of your digits. His chin presses atop your shoulder, hair tickling your neck, voice long gone when he speaks. “What do you want me to do?”

“You play,” you say, motioning to the guitar, jutting it with a bump of your knee, then with your newly spit covered fingers, you drag them back between your thighs, “and I’ll play.”

He noses in your the curvature of where your neck meets your shoulder, widening his legs into a spread. Bringing you flush to his ink splattered skin, the hair on his chest and that happy trail stimulating your entire back, his nipples hard and moving over you with every shift as he wraps his arms around your frame, steadying her neck and beginning to strum a few chords of something he’s been working on for himself. The vibrating rhythm and how he’s already getting so into it with sturdy working hands, his rings catching the light as his fingers strum rapidly. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder and picks the flesh up before releasing it. “Don’t stop touching yourself, sweetheart.”

“Thought she was?” You sass him, your fingers easily gliding into your pussy without any resistance.

“Be that as it may, I can’t fucking destroy her like I plan on doing to you.” He tilts to the instrument and bumps your hand, causing your fingers to go deeper as he hits a particularly good rift. You don’t know guitar speak much, but you can recognize Eddie’s thorough quality—and it always leaves you salivating.

“Please tell me you’re going to use the handcuffs tonight?” You rub yourself at a faster pump into his cock, feeling it slick up your ass.

“Oh, princess. You have no idea what’s comin’ to you.”

~*~

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jadeazora · 5 months

Text

Here are my favorite Gym Leaders (and Nanu) to counterbalance my least favorite Gym Leaders!

Kinda debating whether I should have gone with Koga or Sabrina since he does become an E4 member a generation later, but decided to go with him since that came later. Genuinely tough call between those two, but Koga's design and personality just always appealed to me a little more. (Sabrina did scare the crap out of me as a little kid tho in her anime debut.)

Morty has probably had one of my favorite glow-ups in the series. I always wanted to cosplay him, but our only con is in August and I would probably die of heat stroke. 😅

Probably a weird pick, but I always liked how jovial Wattson was. (Tho there is a bit of a facade there, from what I recall he had a bit of a shady past in ORAS with the New Mauville project. That makes him pretty interesting imo.)

Volkner is such a goddamn menace that Lear probably wants to literally strangle half the time, but I love seeing more of that side of him on Pasio! (There's also him being friends with Flint, and having a fun dynamic with him.)

I will forever remember Brycen just throwing hands with Team Plasma in Generations, completely forgoing having an actual Pokemon battle with them. Instant favorite. Kick their asses!

I really always loved Valerie's elegant design, but her personality and wanting to actually be a Pokemon is a lot of fun too.

I would consider the Kahunas a Gym Leader equivalent too, probably just not counting Hala since he's an E4 member too within that Generation, but Nanu is just cool from looking after Acerola, to being a UB hunter within the International Police alongside Looker in his backstory, to getting one of the most morbidly funny lines in a Pokémon game when he meets the protagonist, to kinda being the first dark-type Gym Leader, I just love the dude and he's my favorite Alolan character! I was so happy when they gave him a supporting role in the postgame of SM.

Our first true Dark-type Gym Leader, Piers is definitely my favorite Galar character overall alongside Raihan, and it was a tough call between them, but I really liked how they gave Piers an extended role in the postgame where he was more actively helping the player deal with the Royal Pain in the Ass brothers, so he was who I went with. It's also adorable how he dotes on/frets over Marnie.

Larry is also an E4 member, so I'll probably do one of these and feature him for my favorite of the Paldea E4 (tough call between him, Rika, and Hassel tho), so Ryme is runner-up. Her battle was just a lot of fun with the crowd hyping you up. She had a cool personality too, I really enjoyed her a lot as a character. They never miss with Ghost users.

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decarbry · 1 year

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After Yabureme's rehabilitation and he's reentered society as a 'normal person', how does the general public react to him. Because he has 4 arms and eyes all over his body. I think you said somewhere that he has to keep the eyes covered whilst out in public, but still, the ones on his face aren't covered. And wouldn't people recognise him as a villain, would they be scared of him or dose Mic come with him everywhere so people know that Yabureme is a good guy now

The general public is aware of who he is... largely because of his presence during events like the Kamino fight and other high-profile battles where there was some media coverage. They got at least one good look at him, and considering that authorities and pros have openly been looking for the kidnapped UA teacher, news of his reappearance spreads like wildfire and there's a huge amount of speculation, most of it not good for our boy.

When he gets out of Tartarus after his second stint there, and is housed with Mic, they're in protective hiding for a while. Yabuzawa isn't allowed to be seen (probably the only sunlight he gets is a small blocked-in apartment balcony, but that's no big deal since sunlight hurts anyway) and Mic has to stay subdued too, mostly because the LoV is still at large and they don't need them getting their hands on Yabuzawa again. He never really goes straight from "Yabureme" to "reintegrated into society". By the time he's spent any amount of time post-recovered and is mostly back to being Aizawa again, war is kicking off and he's dragged straight from hiding out to be with his students and the front-lines.

But yeah, the general public recognizes him. Much like how Deku is treated like crap by the public for fear of their own safety, the general public doesn't want to trust Yabuzawa despite his recovery. Mic makes sure that articles and news stations are well aware that Yabuzawa was a victim controlled by villains and not so much a villain in his own right, but of course not everyone is going to believe that.

Aizawa was never a fan of being out under lots of eyes anyway, but after all of this goes down he just prefers not to be seen at all.

#boku no hero academia #Yabureme Aizawa AU #text post #my hero academia #the stipulations of covering up have more to do with his skin than the eyes themselves #since the eyes can appear anywhere #but it's less to hide them and more to limit his abilities

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jacensolodjo · 11 months

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A lot of people point to Birobidzhan as proof of the Soviet Union not being antisemitic after all. But the fact of the matter is, while Birobidzhan was partially the brain child of a hopeful Jewish population, it was in fact a place they were allowed simply because it meant fewer Jews in the more populated areas of the Soviet Union.

Also don't get me wrong, Birobidzhan is not a ghost town. A bunch of Jews still live there (though honestly only 1% of the population now is actually Jewish). But it is a dying town. As Israel became a much more viable option for 'Soviet' Jews, the more Jews left for it. Or to the United States or Canada or wherever else. Birobidzhan's highest population numbers hit 80k in 1989, just before the Wall fell. It now hosts approximately 75k people, 1% of them Jewish. But there are also Gentile Koreans, Chinese, Ukrainians, Cossacks, Mongolians, etc.,

Birobidzhan was considered to some a compromise over going to Israel. The problem of course is that Birobidzhan was still in the USSR. However, you would not get blacklisted just by whispering its name like you would when talking of Israel. Because if Jews weren't dying in pogroms or giving up their 'Jewishness', having them leave the Soviet Union to instead be citizens of Israel was unacceptable. How DARE these Jews claim to not be Soviets? How DARE they leave behind the glorious Soviet Union? Even if we treat them like crap how DARE they leave!!

The area they were given for this new 'Jewish Autonomous Zone' was pretty much a desert. Jews were essentially being sent to wander the fucking desert again. Nothing really grew in Birobidzhan that could sustain such a population increase in the 1930s and anything that started to manage it often died off. Through a lot of hard work, they have greenery going on but not necessarily food. To say nothing of the infrastructure already there and just how isolated it really was. At least half of the Jews who arrived at Birobidzhan returned to whence they came because of just how difficult it was to live there.

By the way, did I mention that Birobidzhan was a place already occupied and the original population were told to pack up and get out if they didn't want to be around *gasp horror* jews?

While many Jews left for Birobidzhan of their own free will, many more fled there after being the target of pogroms and other antisemitic attacks in the rest of the USSR. It became a place that the powers that be (in a system that was supposed to give power to the people but didn't) knew they could find Jews to either exploit or kill anytime they fucking felt like it. Think Kristallnacht but many nights and many whims. You know, pogroms against people who had just fucking fled pogroms.

In this once upon a time in so called Jew Utopia, it was illegal to not only study the Torah (and the Talmud and everything else) it was also illegal to learn Hebrew or Yiddish (frequent visitors to my blog or just ppl who know will be aware this was true of basically every language that wasn't Russian which says a lot but i digress. But that does not mean everyone ONLY knew Russian because of course people will take the risk to learn a new language if they feel they must). Birobidzhan became a place eventually where they had a newspaper written in Yiddish (Birobidzhaner Shtern, meaning Birobidzhan Star in Yiddish appropriately enough) for a population that probably didn't even have it as a third language much less 2nd or 1st. It did however get the distinction of being the largest Yiddish language newspaper in the entire Soviet Union but as mentioned earlier that doesn't say much when the people of Biro barely got away with having Birobidzhaner Shtern in the first place.

It continues to publish to the present day so it can be considered one of the longest running Yiddish newspapers in the Eastern world (though not uninterrupted. There were many interruptions). It was also written in Russian, for all those Jews who never learned Yiddish (Not just because it was illegal. It sometimes wasn't viewed as necessary to know. Hebrew was used for worship and Yiddish for a long time was considered a lesser language when you already had German, Polish, Russian, etc., but many did still use it for everyday discussion. I have seen some people even now make fun of Yiddish which is... not cool. There is a difference between making jokes and making fun.)

Essentially, having any kind of proud Jewish soul was next to impossible in the Soviet Union. Worship was illegal, the language of our ancestors was illegal, our books were illegal. Yes, many still did all that stuff anyway but that doesn't erase it being illegal. If you were caught you could be executed for it same as many were executed for speaking or learning Ukrainian in the same time frame. Again, doing all this in Birobidzhan was basically living on borrowed time. At any moment the powers that be could decide they also could not stand having Jews in the ass end of nowhere being Jews.

Those living in Birobidzhan from the 1930s onward (remember, it was already settled when the Jews got there after a very trying journey) were all too aware that they weren't hidden. The powers that be knew exactly where Birobidzhan was, many Jews had actually been sent there from places like Ukraine and Belarus for being annoying about Russian settlement in their lands but not enough to send them to gulag. So they still lived in fear of the pogroms following them. They were also on the border with China and thus served as a low key deterrent for Chinese expansion. The Soviet Union even called the mass settlement operation the Birobidzhan Experiment.

In 1948, Stalin enacted a 'campaign against rootless cosmopolitans'. Cosmopolitan was almost always an antisemitic dogwhistle. 1948 is also when Birobidzhan was nearly bulldozed entirely. It had outlived its usefulness but managed to survive just barely.

Following this, 4 years later, in August 1952 came the Night (isn't it always for tragedies affecting Jews?) of the Murdered Poets. ALL 13 victims were poets who were Jewish and wrote predominantly in Yiddish. Some had a connection to Birobidzhan. Including a man who had the strongest connection to Birobidzhan, David Bergelson who came from a Ukrainian stetl before settling in Birobidzhan. Mere months later that same year, in November, St*lin erased all doubt about whether Jews were welcome anymore (and had never really been anyway): they weren't. He used the term Jewish Nationalist (basically any Jew that didn't consider themselves only Soviet) as well as a recorded use of the phrase "eat the rich" (again an antisemitic dogwhistle in that time frame; not saying it is now. it was also used against Ukrainian 'kulaks/kurkuls' to justify the Holodomor) in a speech to the Politburo.

It also continued his campaign for the Doctors' Plot, as that same speech had him railing about his belief that many doctors were 'Jewish nationalists'. From 1951 to 1953, any doctor was suspect even if they weren't at all Jewish (this was a belief shared by many nazis as well). With all of this going on, everything Jewish culture was closed down in Birobidzhan, just as in the rest of the Soviet Union. The mask had finally fully fallen approximately 30 years before the Iron Curtain fell and only 20 years after Birobidzhan was founded as a Jewish Autonomous Zone. Birobidzhan was never a true safe haven, nor had been the Soviet Union as a whole. The Soviet Union had always had the power to shut it down, it barely tolerated such a concentration of Jews simply because it was in fact so far away from 'civilization'.

Things only got marginally better for Jews in the Soviet Union when the Purim Miracle of 1953 happened: the death of St*lin. He had been ready to give the green light on a far reaching campaign that could have seen more than 75% of the remaining 'Soviet' Jewish population eradicated but, as the mention of Perum implies, this was stopped in its tracks with the death of St*lin. Even without St*lin, however, any Jew that so much as whispered about going to Israel was, again, blacklisted (which meant losing their jobs and homes) and given the title of the very thing Soviets hated: leeches aka people who relied on welfare (because remember they didn't practice what they preached about everyone deserving to have a life worth living no matter their ability or who they were).

Birobidzhan, while still populated, stands as a cautionary tale and proof positive that the Soviet Union lied for its entire existence about Jewish treatment and that russia has inherited this tendency. If it sounds too good to be true (especially for Jews), then it probably is.

TL; DR: there has never been a fucking Jewish utopia in the Soviet Union and anyone saying as such is a liar who has gaslit themselves into believing otherwise. With often the 'but there were SO MANY Soviet Jews' line being proof while forgetting (conveniently) that the USSR was a HUGE place to begin with that swallowed many countries that already had a well established Jewish population (Ukraine, for instance). And no points are given for pointing out 'marx was a Jew'. He was self-hating (and his entire family had converted away anyway) and led the charge in insisting Jews give up their Jewishness for the sake of communism. And Marxist Jews are deluding themselves.

#birobidzhan #antisemitism tag #anti communism

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