i like think about machete's death as a culmination of his paranoia and eventual cruelty and vasco as the single ray of light loving him up through the end. even through as terrible as he becomes, the thought of vasco's heart being with him even as he chokes on his own blood as the one thing that he could hold on to. what is it to love something you know is vile, and to mourn their loss regardless. i could drink the tragedy like wine

.

Can I request a size kink with a sprinkle of choking w our favorite blueberry man 🥺 (your thrawn fics made my day lol)

> title ☆ Lucky

> summary ☆ The warlord Grand Admiral Thrawn chooses you to keep his bed warm.

> pairing ☆  Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [2.1k] ☆ warnings ☆ size kink; big cock; size difference; very mild choking (consensual hand on throat, no squeezing or breathplay); butt plug; mildly dubcon because of the circumstance/power imbalance

> posted on ao3

You are lucky to be a warlord’s prize. Luckier still that the warlord in question is Grand Admiral Thrawn. 

“I frighten you,” he says. Not a question. 

You nod, because he does. He’s broad shouldered and tall, his uniform stretched over his back and chest and as you stand in front of him, the top of your head barely reaches his collarbone. He gazes down at you from such a height, his red eyes glowing and his expression glacially, ominously calm.

But he intrigues you for all the same reasons. Perhaps that’s why he had chosen you. 

Perhaps he could tell how your pulse had spiked the first time you’d ever seen him. How your breath had caught at how sharply handsome he was, and how very alien he seemed, with those unsettling, bright eyes and blue skin and forehead ridges. Even more than his stature, Thrawn commands power. It is honed and imposing, evident in every movement, every word.

He had pointed to you out of a lineup, silently. An elegant, almost lazy gesture of his white-gloved hand. He wanted that one-- you-- and two of his stormtroopers had hauled you off to his shuttle. 

He steals you away from everything you know. You did not think he would be so gentle with you. 

“Come,” he orders, indicating his lap. “Sit.”

In thin socks and your thin shift, you approach him, heart beating wildly. This won’t be so bad. He only wants you close, a little pet to keep him company. He chose you, he explains calmly, because you looked like you might be particularly responsive to stimulation… and he was right. 

Trembling, you don’t dare flinch away from his touch. But he quickly convinces you that you wouldn’t want to. Why had you ever wanted to? 

He plays with you absently for a while, running his fingers through your hair. Palming your breasts over the fabric and rolling your nipples, pinching and tugging them until you whine. All the while he has a data pad in his other hand, and he punishes you with a sharp slap to your thigh if you get too loud or impatient. You feel small in his lap, like a little toy, something tactile for him to play with. 

Sit nicely, be pretty. The more you wriggle in his lap, the more you feel something firm and big pressing against your butt. Too big. Enticing. You squeeze your thighs together, desire mounting with the heady knowledge that he could so easily overpower you and take what he wants. 

After a while, when you are restless, he turns you, ass up over his knee, smooths his hands up your thighs as he pushes them apart without resistance. He hmms at the sight of you. So unashamed and needy, all slick and shaking and ripe. Instead of touching you like you want, he works a plug into your ass, tells you “we’ll save that for later”, and sits you on his back on his lap. He is careful not to hurt you, but at the same time he takes no heed of your protests. Bounces his knee every so often so you don’t get too used to the plug. He wants to make sure you can always feel it, a reminder of what’s to come. 

He gets you wet and messy on his tongue first before he even undoes his trousers. You can see his erection tenting the fabric when he stands up. Big. This promises to be painful if he isn’t careful, and you can’t will the tension out of your body, even after he tastes you and opens you with his long fingers. One fits nicely. Two of them stretch you, bigger than anything or anyone you’ve had before. Three. Too much, but he tells you that you must, because his cock is even bigger and for it to feel good, he must take the time to prepare you.

But you feel so small under him, so unyieldingly tight. 

When he decides you’re prepared enough, he stands, his mouth glistening with your arousal. He doesn’t bother fully undressing, just tucks the hem of his tunic up in his belt and-- 

You can’t help staring when pulls out his cock. 

Thick and long, and much less human than you expected. It has ridges, seemingly made for pleasure. Made to fuck deep and stay deep, to fill so you so well you’ll never be happy with anything else. The shaft is particularly thick, around the middle. You don’t know how it’s supposed to fit in you or anyone.

He lifts you easily. Urges you to wrap your legs around his waist, which you do with apprehension. 

He notches the head of his cock at your entrance, where it feels impossibly big.

“It won’t fit,” you tell him in a small voice. “Please, it won’t--” 

Instead of pressing up, he lowers you, as if you weigh nothing. You squirm at the intrusion, whimpering too big too big please~ the thick head pushes, then slips. Thrawn gives a low growl, tries again. This time, he holds you securely, lets you drop slowly. He splits you open, inch by torturous inch, until the head is in. 

He stills. “Breathe. Take a deep breath.”

On your exhale, he lets you down a little lower. 

You whine, and as you slide down more-- a little more-- you’ve never had anything this big, had never even imagined it. You throb around it, squeezing your eyes shut. Thrawn’s hands grip your ass, spreading you apart wide, but even like this the plug doesn’t come out. 

Your body does not let the thickest part of him in easily. You know better than to struggle, you just have to relax and take it, but you shake with the effort, skin bright with a sheen of exertion. 

Blood roars behind your ears. Your cunt pulses around him uselessly. 

It’s too much.

He gives a slight jerk of his hips and--

A slick, obscene sound, and your own incoherent, shocked moan. Overwhelming pressure. You’re fully speared on his cock. 

Thrawn’s approval is a purr. An unbroken string of words in his low, soft voice. In Basic, first, but he lapses to something alien.

You have your arms slung around his shoulders, which are so broad you can barely reach your hands. Your face buried against his neck, mouth slack. You’re drooling slightly, drooling on his pristine white uniform. 

“Look at me,” he says. 

You raise your head, eyes bleary and unfocused. His lips are parted, cheeks flushed purple.  

“How do you feel?” 

“G-good. And…” the plug in your ass plus Thrawn’s cock -- your body sings with arousal. “Full.” And, against everything you expected, safe. 

He smiles. “Yes, you are quite full. I can feel how you squeeze. But…You can take more, can’t you. You want more.”

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl.”

And you melt. Lucky, indeed. 

He doesn’t kiss you at first. He waits until this moment, until you are fully impaled on his cock, to slant his mouth over yours in a hungry, claiming kiss. His lips and tongue are hot. He licks into your mouth, swallows down your little moans and answers with his own.  

He lifts you up, and your inner muscles tremble. 

He fucks you like you’re a toy. No need to thrust his hips when he’s strong enough to simply move you how he wants. Lift up- pull down. 

The pulse in your core races. Makes every in-out of his cock that much more immediate, makes you feel how you barely fit around him, you’re too small and tight and he’s much, much too large. Sweat beads across your skin, hot and prickly all over.

He’s so big, moving faster now, you can’t quite catch your breath. With every stroke his ridged cock drags a shivery pleasure over the most sensitive spot inside you, stretching you, pressing everywhere. 

He cums once, fast. His hips jerk and his cock twitches and swells and overfills you. He doesn’t stop. Barely even slows down even as his viscous cum drips out of you. And soon, with a needy, broken moan, he cums again. He’s not going to stop. He’s going to keep going, keep fucking you until he feels your pleasure unravel around him. 

When you are nice and pliant, he pulls out. Your body misses him right away. An empty ache where his cock should be. And you can’t quite stand on your own, your legs wobbly and coltish. His cum and your arousal drips down, you feel it and hear it squelching inside you. You sag against him. 

He puts you on the bed, which is neatly made with a military-style coarse wool blanket pulled over crisp, taut white sheets. 

You watch him, transfixed, spread your legs for him. 

His cock is still hard, a deep bruised purple but now streaked and sticky with his spend, with a line of it dripping down his balls too. 

Deliberate and meticulous, he undresses. Stripping off his belt and boots and tunic to fold and put aside with care. 

A uniform, on some people, lends charisma and authority they don’t actually have. Not Thrawn. He doesn’t look any shorter without his boots. His shoulders and chest are just as broad and well-defined without the sharp lines of the tunic accentuating them.

There is a perceptive gleam in his glowing red eyes. He knows his size excites you. 

He helps you turn over, onto your front. You feel the bed dip as he kneels, and you spread your legs wider, showing him the plug just above your glistening, well-fucked pussy. 

“You are proving delightfully willing.” His voice is warm with praise. “And so very… eager.”

He has to hold you up, just drags you up by your waist and pushes back in. 

You clench at the intrusion but there is no pain. Only sweet, aching fullness. 

Even better when he puts his thumb on the base of the plug and just— pushes. Pulses it into your ass in time with his thrusts while he fucks your pussy. 

He slips his arm underneath you, his hand easily spans your chest, covering your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers one and then the other. 

You bare your neck to him. His red eyes burn brighter. This act of submission intrigues him. 

He moves his hand up, and places it at your neck. Just— holds you there, forcing you to arch your back as he pumps you with measured strokes.

“More… please.”

Thrawn huffs out a low, almost desperate sound, lets his weight over you carry him deeper. On the next stroke, deeper again. 

You pant his name over and over, and he encourages you, his voice tender and soft but his words filthy. More…. Yes. Such a tight, sweet pussy, taking me so well. Already so full but greedy for more… 

At last he is as deep as he can go, his heavy balls pressed against you. He circles his hips, drawing a gasp from you, because in addition to his cock you can feel his hips press the plug in harder, deeper. 

He gives shuddering moans as he begins to thrust into you, as if he’s been holding himself back. His shaft slides fully in and out with ease, still thick and heavy, his balls slapping wetly against your clit. 

Thrawn rides you, reams you. He has hold of you by your neck, your back flush against his chest, possessing you completely. 

Heat builds in your core. Thrawn stokes it to a blaze. At the same time, his fingers tighten by a degree. Just to remind you. His control is absolute— your breath lighter, shorter— but warm and careful. 

He owns your senses. His hand at your waist slips down, finds your clit. All it takes is one little circle of his finger to make you feel— everything. 

And your mind blisses out. 

You clench around him strongly, back arching away from him as you strain but he keeps you where he wants you. 

Pleasure burns brightly through you like a wildfire, searing every nerve and for a moment, there is nothing other than pure sensation. He doesn’t stop when you cry out. He fucks you through it, praise spilling from his lips while he splits you open, enjoying how your tight, slick pussy takes all of the driving force of his cock. He draws it out, with longer, slower strokes. Until you’re whimpering and trembling, raw from overstimulation.

You could have been passed over. He could have pointed to someone else, and you’d have been shipped off to work in one of the factories like all the others.

And yet here you are. Warm and sated just from coming on a big cock and getting told what a good girl you are. The Grand Admiral lets you rest for a few minutes, brings you water, wipes your face with a soft cloth before pulling the plug out with a slick pop. You know what’s next. Your body hums with desire. Lucky. 

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Secret Smile: Fall to Pieces (Chapter Six)

Secret Smile | Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Before returning to Colombia to get things right this time, Javi’s childhood best friend asks him to keep an eye out for his sister while they’re both stationed in the embassy. Only you don’t need Javier to keep an eye you her. Your role as a new legal advisor is all about keeping an eye on him after all. Sparks fly, lines will be drawn and broken and there’s everything to lose.

Word Count: 3.3 k Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog, language, reader has a nickname (Blue) but no physical descriptors used Author Notes: As always, thank you for all your feedback, likes and reblogs so far – it means a lot and I’m having so much fun writing this fic. I’d love to know what you think of this next chapter so please feel free to comment, reblog or even send an ask!

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This is all too much. it’s not enough Blue is haunting him by working in the same embassy, in being assigned to be his glorified babysitter but to be living in the Tome apartment he used to live in?

Javi’s really pissed some karmic force off.

It was surreal, standing there in the Tome apartment he used to live in and suddenly flooded with all those memories while being aware that everything was slightly different, slightly out of place. There were different photos, different plants, different smells and personal touches. It was uncanny.

And then he’d almost kissed you.

He still can’t quite reconcile your reaction, can’t quite make sense of it all. It doesn’t matter though; it was a bad idea. A terrible idea even. There’s something in Javi - whenever he’s faced with those regrets and mistakes, whenever things seem to be going wrong, he wants to find solace in someone else. He did that with Katie, the intern, and he wanted to do that with you too.

Or was it more? He knows you, or at least knew you once. You’re part of his history, of his hometown. In Bogotá that makes you a spectre, reminding him of who he wanted to be, who he used to be. There’s something soothing yet so confusing about your presence right now.

He thinks about you, about what would have happened if you had kissed, the way your lips would have felt, how far it could have gone. Even now, every time you’re in the Tome room, he can feel the rising temptation, the desire to be closer to you, to be with you. He’s no longer immune to the smell of your perfume, to the way you look down at the ground for a microsecond before you smile, or how you fiddle with your necklace when you’re thinking about something. There’s something simultaneously fierce and vulnerable about you; that keeps you an enigma to him.

That moment in your home - at his old apartment - opened a door to something he was trying to keep locked away.

He’s glad nothing happened, glad he didn’t ruin everything with you as well. He probably would have.

That seems to be the way of things now.

Days have passed since the arrest and with them, an itching sensation has risen that things are going downhill. The pressure is slowly building, the tension mounting. Javi feels like he’s a lobster in boiling water, unable to escape and aware of what is coming and not sure whether there’s any fight left, or if he should just accept his fate.

He remembers the way the panic rose as he was called out in the meeting after the arrest; asked what his roadmap to victory was. This new role with its suits, ties and endless meetings? It’s not really him.

He can’t give up though. The names and faces of so many of the people he has let down in Colombia haunt him. Without someone like Martinez on his side too, Javi’s worried.

He needs results. He needs to find Jurado, to get more evidence. If he can’t do this, all the evidence his team has amassed, the progress he’s made, will collapse like a house of cards.

So, he asks Stoddard to play the wiretap tapes, tries to ignore how Stoddard reacts to that, pretends he didn’t hear Stoddard say you would not react well if you found out about this. Instead, he asks Stoddard about where he sees his career in five years if he asks others that question on the tapes’ legality and he feels the weight of the job add just a little more to his shoulders.

The odds are stacked against him, against bringing down this cartel.

What is he supposed to do?

“Please tell me this is a joke, your idea of humour perhaps?” you ask, voice acerbic and body taut.

Ever since you overhead Stoddard talking to one of your colleagues in thinly guided hypothetical scenarios a few hours ago, you’ve been waiting for this conversation. You had to sit through a meeting with your manager while quietly planning out everything you would calmly say to tear Javier Peña apart. It is a true skill to be able to do that while looking like you are listening to whatever the other person was saying.

In the past few hours, you have toyed with several reactions. From screaming at him in front of everyone to using that cold, deadly voice you only used at work when someone had really upset you. In some of your more extreme imagined responses, you have thrown the empty glasses in his office against the wall and roared too. However, that strikes you as a little excessive. You’ll save that for Plan C perhaps.

Monologues have been meticulously planned, edited, and rehearsed under your breath as you went about your day. You mentally experimented with the timbre of your voice as you spooned coffee into your mug, with exactly which words to use to best craft your argument, your admonishment.

Only now you’re here, facing Javi and it’s real.

“Blue, I-” Javi looks at you with those deep brown eyes, pleading somehow, but you refuse to fall for that.  He’s wearing one of those infuriating well-fitting shirts, the top button undone and tie loosened.

You almost kissed him …

You look over and notice the ash tray on his desk is once again filled with cigarettes and his desk is covered in scattered papers and files.

You know he’s been under pressure. Over the months, you’ve noticed the way he fidgets; the way he automatically moves his fingers when he’s nervous or under pressure. You know what the higher ups are asking of him, you know it’s a lot for one person to bear. To do what he’s done though? Any sympathy ebbs away.

“Because,” you continue, your voice venomous and arms folded, “after everything we’ve talked about, I know you wouldn’t knowingly instruct one of your team to conduct a wiretap like that, not without going through the correct processes. I know that, right? Because you’re not a complete fucking idiot.”

“I am trying to get a fucking case so we can stop the Cali cartel. Stop being naive!” Javi snaps, finally showing his real feelings. He’s not sorry, you know he isn’t, and that makes this even worse.

“By using an illegal wiretap? Do you have any idea what that could do to the case? Yes, of course you do which is why you didn’t tell me.”

“I was protecting you.”

“That’s not your job, Javi. My job is to protect this case and right now you’re hindering me.”

”Look, I know we can’t use the tapes -”

“Or anything from them! It’s fruit of the poisoned tree, Javier. This entire avenue of investigation isn’t so much on shaky ground as it is utterly destroyed. I - I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

Your head is throbbing and you massage your temples to no avail.

“It took a while, but I am almost there with Franklin Jurado’s wife, Blue and then -”

“Oh, I bet you are,” you bite back.

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

“What do you think?” you retort, completely lost to the argument at this point. Everything in you is saying to be calm, rational, to not let your emotions dictate but you are infuriated by what Javi has done.

It isn’t just about how ill-advised, how unethical it all is or how it could compromise your case. It’s because he did it anyway, knowing what your role was, knowing the position it would leave you in.

“I’m waiting on a - confirmation of something and then I’ll know where he is and we’ll get him. It’ll be solid. I have a plan.”

You sigh. “You better, Javi, you better.”

The parcel arrives the day after your confrontation with Javi. You immediately recognise the messy handwriting as one of your closest friends from back home, Shelley. Immediately it acts like a balm for your sharp edges and irritation.

To both your amusement and horror, during college she started dating one of your best friends from home, Carlos. Now the two of them are married and live in Laredo of all places. Shelley hosts a local radio show and while the people of your hometown generally seem to prefer more mainstream music to Nine Inch Nails, Shelley is persistently building a small, devoted following.

You miss them both. Shelley had made it clear that she had hoped you would come back to Texas when it was clear you needed to leave DC. She had even joked in your last phone call when you first arrived in Bogotá that she’d told you to go for a fresh start, a new job, but not to leave the damn country!

Over recent years, you’ve mostly ended up meeting outside of Laredo at concerts for bands you loved or last summer you’d all hired a house by the coast for a week. It had been you, Shelley, Carlos and Jamie, your now ex-boyfriend. 

The box has arrived at a perfect time. Javi and you were even more tentative around each other today. Yesterday’s frustration was so thick in the air you could taste it, feel it constricting around your body like insulation.

Beyond that, you’ve been riddled with doubts, anxieties, and unwanted memories since the near kiss. It’s like one moment has dropped you months into the past, back to a time you don’t want to think about.

You hate the double standards and hypocrisy at play, the assumptions you’re trying to prevent. You hate the politics of it all - the way you must prove yourself and prove yourself and never ever let a single vulnerability show while you’re at work.

You don’t open the box from your friends until you’re in your apartment, perched on the edge of your couch as you tentatively cut it open.

There are numerous packets of some of your favourite types of candy, several new paperbacks, three letters and most excitingly of all, two cassette tapes.

It’s funny how just a few small touches can immediately transport you somewhere else, can make you feel a little lighter.

You take in the three envelopes, one is clearly from Shelley, it looks the longest, the next is clearly from Carlos and is short but sweet. The other you can tell by the blocky handwriting is from Jamie. You’d spoken to him before you left for Colombia, told him that Shelley would be the best way to reach you if he wanted to.

You’ve never stayed friends with an ex before, but Jamie is different. You think the real indicator of this was that several months after your break-up when everything had kicked off in DC, he had been there for you, been a steady and calming presence when you were questioning everything and Shelley and Carlos were so far away. It’s probably part of the reason he’s still tolerated enough by Shelley and Carlos that they let him send his contribution to your care package via them, that they would even have reached out to him to get this or would have known you would be okay with that.

For a second you remember the time the four of you had met in New York to go to a concert for a band you all loved. Everything seemed simpler then - life, relationships, work.

You think about the adrenaline of this job; of how much your life has changed since then. Would you ever have imagined having dinner with Javi after he arrested a cartel leader back then?

This country is changing you slowly. Perhaps it’s not all for the bad either.

You open one of the packets of candy and the letter from Shelley first.

Shelley’s letter makes you feel like she’s right there in the room talking to you. You smile warmly at the memories of your friendship with her. Shelley’s always encouraged you, always been there for you, she’s been that supportive voice in all of those moments where you’ve wondered if you can do something. She’s been a friend you haven’t been able to shut out, who hasn’t let you push her away. You hope you represent something similar to her.

One passage stands out in letter because even in this moment, you can’t escape Javi.

Your brother says that a certain Javier Peña is out in Colombia too, which I didn’t think was a big deal but Carlos tells me definitely is. I think I saw him at Danny’s wedding and if I’m right, he is a tall glass of water. Do you see him at work? Tell me everything!

Well Shelley, you think, I completely messed up and almost kissed him, then rejected him and the man just leaves me completely confused. I may also have chewed him out spectacularly yesterday so I don’t think he’d ever want to kiss me again, even I wanted to.

You miss your friends; you wish you could more readily just phone Shelley and have a long talk over a glass of wine. You need to write back to her. Carefully, of course. There is so much that cannot be put in writing at all lest it fall into the wrong hands.  Words are slippery in a world like this; you can’t just say whatever you are thinking, but you can’t avoid replying either.

You can’t concentrate on the letters though. Your confrontation with Javi still rages through your veins - you’ve analysed everything you could have said differently, come up with several witty comebacks you missed and perhaps worst of all, in your mind you ended the discussion far more positively.

Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad if it wasn’t for the near kiss. That’s just as confusing in your mind too.

You were reckless with Javi. There is no way you can afford being seen that way here. It’s too close, too risky, too much. You have already left one job, fled the country once. If anyone from DC even heard whispers about what could have happened with you and Javi …

You scowl, trying to stop your spiral as quickly as possible. It’s okay, nothing has happened.

You take another piece of candy and sigh. You need to forget about what almost happened with Javi. For both of your sakes.

Willemstad is beautiful. The mix of painted buildings and blue ocean makes it look like paradise. You never expected that you would be somewhere like here on a work trip.

A couple of days ago, when Javi had told you he finally had located Jurado, you expected that you would just create the motions and legal briefs. You’d sit in your open plan office and listen out to hear whether the operation was successful. Only now you’ve been swept along with him to this amazing place and you feel a complete imposter.

You’re not an agent; you’re a lawyer. This isn’t like any courtroom or legal office you’ve encountered before.

“Stoddard’s confirmed all the logistics, right?” you ask as you start to walk towards the main police building with Javi, happy to be stretching your legs after the short flight.

“Yes. It should all be in place so you don’t need to worry about that. I wanted you here more for the Miami side - I need this guy on US soil as soon as possible and when he is -”

“We need a deal.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think he’ll cooperate? Has the wife given any indication of that when you uh, spoke to her?”

“I think he has to. Fuck, Blue, for this to work then he has to. I need his testimony.”

You look at Javi. For a moment you’re taken aback to some of your initial thoughts about him in Bogotá; that he looked like Atlas with the weight of the world on his shoulders. How is it possible he looks even more burdened now?

“Let’s get it then. I’ll work on the paperwork while you arrest him.”

He’s covered in sweat, a grim smile on his face. The pink shirt he was wearing this morning, the one you thought looked infuriatingly good on him, is darkened with sweat.

“He’s arrested then?” you ask cautiously. You’d heard that Javi’s original plan to arrest him within the grounds of the bank was shut down by the police; apparently that wasn’t how things were done in Curacao. From Javi’s appearance it’s clear a chase has taken place.

Javi nods, running a hand through his sweaty hair and you wonder how easy the arrest was for him and the team. “We’re getting the plane ready and we’re going straight to Miami. The Ambassador said the extradition papers were set? Have you updated Justice?”

You point at a pile of papers in front of you. While Javi’s appears to have been chasing Jurado all around Curaçao, you’ve been stuck in this room typing up briefs and motions in preparation.

“We should have everything we need. I spoke to the Ambassador earlier and then the team in Miami before you came in and we’re all set,” you say, stifling a yawn as you stretch your legs. You’ve been sitting for too long.

You hand Javi your glass of water. He looks like he needs it more than you and he gratefully accepts, gulping it down. You try not to notice the rivulets of sweat on his neck as he does that.

“Have you spoken to Stoddard about the wife? The moment the cartel knows, Javi, they will - and if I were Franklin, I wouldn’t have a deal unless she was included and safe.”

“I know, I’m calling now. We’ve got to get this all in place before they know we have him.”

   It feels like you barely have time to collect your thoughts before you’re on a plane with Javi and Franklin Jurado on your way back to the United States.

You hear snippets of Javi’s conversations with Franklin as you walk back from the bathroom but you’re not paying attention to what is said. Instead you are intent on using the flight time to get ahead on the many other briefs and motions you need to complete, to test out the exact wording of the plea deal with Franklin Jurado, to complete the plans and decision trees for Justice and Jurado’s lawyers just in case.

You miss the courtroom.

You’ve realised that’s where you shine, where you feel able to most make a difference. This job, as varied, as unexpected as it is, is a step removed from that. It’s more about diplomacy, about briefings and managing interested parties and application of the law but not in a courtroom, not where you feel most at ease.

You can’t regret this job. There are so many parts where you feel you are adding value and you needed to leave DC regardless. This was the right decision.

Javi gets up from his seat, walking over and leaning over you from the aisle. You immediately put your file down and look at him.

“We’re landing in a few minutes. You ready for this, Blue? Is the deal ready?”

“Oh yes,” you say with a slight smile, “Now you’re in my wheelhouse, Javi.”

“Looking forward to it,” he says in a low voice.

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I am high on weed and NyQuil and yet am still awake because a bad cough and a fever and for some reason decided it was a good idea to read the AC Odyssey Novelization! Here are some random things that stuck out that I think you should know:

Kassandra’s hears Nikolaos’ lessons in her head throughout the book.

She also loves Phoibe so much but tries so hard to pretend she doesn’t because her mother told her that love is weakness when she was a kid.

Kassandra finds Ikaros as a hatchling taking shelter among the bones at the bottom of Mount Taygetos.

It’s mostly from Kassandra’s POV but there’s some other brief POVs too. The Cult POVs seem to exist pretty much make sure that the reader knows they’re like super fucking evil and Stentor’s few POVs are mostly to bitch about Kassandra.

In one of his less bitchy POVs it’s revealed that a Spartan soldier in Megaris tried to grab Kassandra and kiss her and she either full on broke or just badly bruised his jaw

Building off that sorta, the only person Kassandra even kisses is Alkibiades at the symposium, and mostly to get information.

Nikolaos’ fate is left ambiguous for a long time.

Someone mocks Barnabas’ storytelling in line to see the Oracle and Herodotos later sets the guards on him to provide a distraction so Kassandra can sneak back and talk with the Oracle more.

The Cultists are way less protective of their identities in Delphi and way more obvious with their plans to get rid of Deimos. Also, Kassandra kills a lot of them on accident.

Aspasia keeps Kassandra from drinking poisoned wine, courtesy of Hermippos, at the symposium and helps her escape Athens

Chrysis is killed by her own biological son, the priest Dolpos who helped Myrrine, in revenge for both taking his tongue and killing countless children over the years.

Kassandra and Brasidas’ super badass warehouse fight doesn’t happen. Instead they are discovered by the Monger and taken captive and rescued by two heterae prisoners after the Monger burns Kassandra’s legs with an iron poker.

Phoibe dies playing hide and seek with Kassandra as they escort Perikles to see the Parthenon one last time and Kassandra first realizes something is wrong because she can’t hear Phoibe’s giggles anymore 😭

The first time Kassandra cries after that night on Taygetos is when Phoibe dies.

Aspasia only fully decides to leave the cult after Perikles’ death.

Pausanias’ super secret cult nickname is the Red Eyed Lion and he is uncovered because of a wine stained map or letter or something and a ring seal of a lion and some other super circumstantial evidence.

When they return to Sparta, Barnabas and the crew somehow temporarily sink the Adrestia in a cove to keep from being spotted by Spartan scouts.

The Kos and Arkadia storylines don’t happen at all and the Olympics happen after Kassandra and Myrrine already got their house.

At one point, Kassandra refers to her new family as Myrrine, Barnabas, Herotodos, and Brasidas, which made my shipper heart happy. Then in that same paragraph she refers to Herodotos and Brasidas as something like proud uncles, so we’re pretending that doesn’t exist

Kassandra is imprisoned in Athens for months and like in the game, is “rescued” by Barnabas and Sokrates. Barnabas still has his shovel but Sokrates has a broom instead of a pitchfork.

Also, there’s a small subplot about the woman Barnabas has a fling with on Naxos and her husband who Herodotos met that visited Thera. He’s being tortured by the Cult when Kassandra is imprisoned in Athens and is brutally murdered when he refuses to tell them anything.

Kleon was 100% planing to kill Deimos at Amphipolis.

Brasidas basically dies telling Kassandra how happy he is to see her what the fuck???

A lot of the confrontation on Taygetos is the same as the good ending of the game, where Deimos tells Kassandra that he’s done terrible things. But he also tells her that he can’t change no matter how much he wants to while preparing to throw a knife at Myrrine so she kills him.

Nikolaos and Stentor watch Alexios’ funeral at a distance until Kassandra and Myrrine invite them to join them for dinner.

Kassandra doesn’t fight the Minotaur and Co. but is just given the staff by Pythagoras, who talks to her after his death through the pyramid.

Aspasia’s fate is somewhat left ambiguous in the end because Kassandra’s focused too much on the vision from the pyramid.

Overall, it read a little bit like a weird fanfic! I saw glimpses of the characters we love from the game but since the author cut out such big pieces of the plot and every side quest - which makes sense since it was a very short book - we didn’t get to see too much of them either. Except for Kassandra, who is a lot more no nonsense than I imagine her as. There’s no flirting or and very little joking, but I really liked her resourcefulness and unique fighting style. And her love for Phoibe and her family that shines like a beacon throughout the entire book, from the very beginner where her mother tells her it is unspartan to love. Of course, our lovely Kassandra is a lover and a fighter and that does not change no matter what ❤️

Hope this list helps some of my fellow lovely wonderful odyssey fic writers I love you all so much you beautiful souls 😘😘😘

When is a dead human a crime - and when is it archaeology?

Inspired by @rainneondecay thanks for asking!

Edit: written from the 21th century POV of a Western European field archaeologist.

There’s no real set of rules or standards or… but there is logic. And a seriously long post coming up. Ready? Set? Go!

First of all, archaeology is reading the remains of human activity within the soil. If you can read it from a book or… you know… ask someone, than it’s not really archaeology. You need to kinda be dead long enough to become archaeology. The people/institute who were alive with you/responsible for you have to be gone long enough and there should only be a skeleton left of you. Archaeologists will never use the word “corpse”. Only “human remains”. Because that’s what you need to be. Just bones and additional grave goods. No soft tissue apart from maybe hair and the utmost rarity of mummies.

A human becomes archaeology based on three things: place, date and context.

1) place. if you dig in a (former) church yard: bodies overload. It’s no surprise to find any human remains there. If you dig a Roman house, not so likely to find any remains there. But medieval people are weird and police are not stupid. When they come and look at the bones, they’ll confirm it’s old and we can continue

2) date. We look for any clues that tell us that a body is old. Sand is too acidic and eats your calcium build bones. If the bones are in super bad shape, it means the body has been there for at least centuries. Grave finds such as jewelry and dress elements provide us with datable evidence for when a person died. The grave filling is important too. If it’s compacted and light in color, it’s quit old already. If it’s loose and the finds are recent and … bodies don’t decay that that fast… it’s recent. And we for sure need police.

3) context. This is such an important one. People luckily don’t commit deadly crimes left, right and centre. But crimes committed in the past can reach archaeologists. Medieval people who committed crimes were buried on their stomachs. People who are not baptized are buried outside of church grounds. There’s plagues and war. You want those dead people as far away from your village as possible. Kind of a positive that victims of those kind of events are not just a single person but rather a bunch all at once.

When does it become dodgy? Starting from WW1 and even more so WWII because we didn’t do a lot of nice things to each other back than. There’s colonialism and racial segregation. You can do archaeology on them, but there’s still people who you can take accountable for. Nunneries and red light districts are also kind of creapy because both institutions were notorious for getting rid of unwanted children. Christian institutions/beliefs are guilty of a looooot of crimes towards humanity. And Christian power has only been decreasing since veeeeeeery recently.

On a more positive note, people are usually nice enough to give no matter who a burial. And usually they will do it in or near a place where other people have been burying people since ages. There’s Frankish graves around Bronze Age burial mounts. That’s a time span between 3000 BC and 1000 AD. Than we had church yards and Muslim and Jewish graveyards where we as humans took the time and effort to dig identifiable graves. That’s actually beautiful when you think about it.

NO WAIT THIS MAKES THE ASHLYN MADDOX BOUNDARY SNIPPET HURT SO MUCH MORE OW??????????????????? OH MY GOD MADISON CAN FUCK RIGHT OFF I HATE THAT BITCH

:)

This was weird.... Or it's not weird, and Maddie just doesn't know it....Madison didn't act like it was weird, she would have told Maddox, she likes telling her when she misses things.

But God why is she sore? Her muscles keep flexing and she can't stop them, all over, again and again, her arms and legs are exhausted. She's never been sore after color wars.

Whatever, she just needs to hit the showers, she feels like her sweat from earlier has turned into crystals on her skin, trapping dirt, and making her feel gross.

Wait, she has to grab her script from the office first..

Changing directions, Maddie walks off the path through a tree thicket, cutting the 7 minute walk down to 3, perks of knowing the woods.

Opening the door, she hears the sound of someone startling, and as she enters, she sees a somewhat sheepish Val holding her phone.

Maddox can help it, "We're not allowed to have our phones Val....".

Val blinks, and gently smiles as she drops her phone back into the bucket without looking, eyes fixed on her new companion.

"Hi Maddie, I know, I'm sorry. Hey, where'd you go earlier? We missed you at dinner. We thought you'd gone to find Madison, but she came in about halfway through and you never showed." Val scans Maddie as she talks, classic CIT training kicking in. 'Have to make sure all your little campers are safe and sound!' Right Dewey?

Maddie must have caught her at a bad time, she seems nervous and worried about something. Maddox should ask, a good friend would ask, but she's so tired, and the faster she gets her script, the faster she can shower and get some sleep.

"I, uh I was out by the shrine.... looking at the trees...." why didn't she just tell her, normal teens talk about these things all the time, hell she's talked to Val about this before....but it wasn't her that time, and it doesn't feel right, and she doesn't want to fight with herself right now....

"did the California sun finally get too hot for you too?"

What? Oh right, Maddie's still in her undershirt, which Val's seen before, but only in the brief seconds of the morning when Maddie gets dressed.

"ha, uh.....yeah, too hot.....hey did I leave my script in here? I need to grab it for tomorrow"

Val stares for another minute, and looks like she wants to talk about something, and God Maddie's such a bad friend. But then Val seems to sag before casually opening the drawer to the Stage Manager's desk and pulling out Maddie's copy of the script with all the blocking and cue notes.

Maddox grabs the booklet, and turns to exit the cabin, missing Val's reaction to the smattering of bruising along her upper back. She heads out to the Honeycomb.

Back in the office, Val is puzzling together some things. Madison had wandered into the barn halfway through dinner, cool as can be and smug. This in itself was a bit odd this year, with Mad and Mad having been inseparable all week.

Val had made EJ switch spots with her, so she could watch better. Madison had evidently jumped right in to some grand tale, laughing and gesturing all the while.

Eventually EJ and Ninis conversation died down a little, and she could hear the next table a bit better. Madison was bragging about some 'battle wound'? Rolling her sleeves and showing off what was......definitely not an animal bite.....

And now, Maddie comes in looking like she'd tangled with a bear and like she was two steps away from taking one of her 'long hikes' they all pretend are normal nature walks.

Even without the mounting evidence, I didn't take a genius to figure, Madison has always liked displaying her affection to Gadget's neck, and right now she looks like the survivor to a Friday the Thirteenth film.....

Maddie seems uncomfortable, but Maddox's face doesn't always line up with what she means or how she's feeling..... truthfully, Val really didn't think she was all that into intimacy, but she supposes the last time they'd talked about it she'd been a little distracted....

Well regardless, she needed to talk to Madison about private moments and what shouldn't be so freely shared. It's wonderful that she's so open, but Val is certain Maddox would be uncomfortable with everyone knowing her business, hell no one even knows her last name, or anything about her outside of camp.

The next day Val couldn't seem to get a hold on either of them, Maddie having evolved onto her yearly whirlwind a day early, and Madison deciding to 'help' every pre-prom activity, relay style.

she did see Crash give Maddox a High Five for 'beast taming', to which she confusedly returned. And Val added him to the list of people to talk to.

Stephen Strange Meta-Fic Sequel - Chapter 13: We’ve Come to Bargain!

*Cheesy announcer voice* Stephen’s having yet another showdown with the Dread Dormammu! How will he outwit the warlord this time? Stay tuned!

TRIGGER WARNING: Language, scary situations, anxiety

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 13: We’ve Come to Bargain

*We retreat to our quarters.  However, the anxiety is beginning to mount again.  I’m trying to keep my cool, but it’s bubbling back up to the surface.  I take a few slow, deep breaths in an attempt to stay calm.*

Me (to Trix and Prettywitch, nervous):  I know we’re supposed to have faith in Stephen, but this fight is gonna be gnarly.  Like, probably one of the worst ones he’s ever been in since he barely has any backup.  Plus, no do-overs…I…I just don’t know, guys.  I’m trying to stay cool, but this is bad.  I’m not really worried about us, per say.  I’m worried about him and our friends and families.

Trix (trying to be confident): If anyone can do it, it’s Stephen. We’ve done everything we can to help him out including going to Dark Dimension and stealing Dormammu’s shit. Stephen defeated him with the time stone before, but he didn’t have us and he didn’t have all this help. 

Prettywitch: Exactly! The only other thing we could do is maybe siphon our magic power and give it to Stephen temporarily, but I don’t know how much of a boost that’d be to an adept magic user like himself.

*I think this over, still shuffling anxiously.*

Me (nodding quietly):  Anything is better than nothing.  I’m willing to give him as much as I can.  Even if I end up passing out for a while.  Anything that could possibly give him more of an advantage.  I’ll set an alarm for 15 minutes before he’s about to leave so we regain a bit of energy from some food and sleep before giving.  Does this sound reasonable, guys?  *I’m serious.*

Trix: Makes sense to me. If the fight is happening in our home, might as well give him our universe’s magic!

Prettywitch: Wait, really!? Holy shit! I didn’t think you guys would go for it- (She stops herself.) You know what? I’m rambling. I’m in.

*I set my phone alarm and turn it on max volume to make sure we can give energy in time.*

Me:  Then let’s do this.  We’ll have a quick meal and get some rest.  When the alarm rings, we give Stephen everything we can muster.

Trix: Gotcha. *She kinda hesitates* But can we sleep in the same room? I honestly don’t think I’ll go down easily otherwise. 

Me:  That’s fine.  I’m kinda too nervous to decently fall asleep anyway.  Maybe some company will help.  

*We head to the mess hall for a quick bite to eat and then settle into one of our dorm rooms to rest.*

*Meanwhile, Stephen pores over the stolen tomes and analyzes the relics intensely.  He concentrates as hard as he can and occasionally gets help from Wong.  Some of the language is so obscure or arcane that he struggles.  He’s beginning to get frustrated since he has such limited time.  The sorcerer can feel the time crunch getting more and more intense.*

*Clea is also pouring over spellwork, knowing the differences between magic in different dimensions. Still, she can’t help looking over at Stephen from time to time, smiling at how intensely he’s studying. Until she snaps out of it, anyway. Then she goes off to find a relic that may suit her. ANY relic. This is war, afterall.*

Stephen (hissing under his breath):  Even the diagrams in some of these pages make no damn sense…*He’s trying to figure it out, stressing about getting everything ready in time.*

Clea: *She hears Stephen’s frustration and slowly walks over to him.* Stephen? Are you alright?

Stephen (quietly, slowly mounting):  I need to figure this out.  Now.  Otherwise, this is a massive waste of time.  This might be the key to defeating Dormammu and I can’t even decipher a simple diagram!  *He isn’t actually shouting, but the frustration is highly evident in his tone.*  Can you make any sense of this?  *He shows Clea the book, hoping that she might know something.*

Clea: *She skims the book.* Some of this I can make out. *She comes over to his side.* It’s written in very old code used by the Faltines. Some of this was taught to me when I was young, so I should have some idea of how to translate this.

*They begin to make some progress in that particular book, giving them both hope.  Though the next one is written in some extradimensional language that neither of them have any clue about.  Is it even language?  Diagrams?  It’s a confused mish-mash of what is barely even recognizable as script.  Stephen goggles at the new material and cradles his head in his hands.  His head is beginning to hurt.*

Wong (having re-emerged from the sickbay):  Move over, Strange.  Let me see.  *He steps in to help.  Wong manages to get them through more of the seemingly ageless spellbooks.  Though there are still some significant gaps remaining.  They did, at least, get through around 90% of the material.  However, now, they’re all stumped.*

Stephen (grim):  We’re running out of time.  Most of it is useful now, but the most critical parts…*He gives a venomous glare at the baffling whatever-passes-as-texts.  At this point, he’s approaching the end of his rope.  They’re so close to the right material, which makes this even more maddening.  A vein throbs in his temple.*

Wong:  Compose yourself.  We will not get any further if you lose patience.

*Stephen looks at Wong.*

Stephen:  We only have one chance at this and I have to be on the girls’ Earth within 3 hours before Dormammu consumes and destroys everything there.  How can I possibly be calm?!

Clea: *She gets up.* You can be calm. Because you must. You are Doctor Strange, the man who sees all possibilities and outcomes.

*He looks at Clea wearily.*

Stephen (grim):  Not anymore.  I don’t have the Time Stone anymore.  It has been destroyed.  I have limited foresight.  Far more limited without the Stone.  I…am merely along for the ride now, so to speak.  *She can hear the hopelessness starting to seep back in.*

Clea: I wasn’t talking about the stone, Stephen. *She walks towards him slowly.* I thought what you did was brilliant, but it wasn’t the stone that impressed me, it was you. Your bravery, your cleverness, your resolve in the face of an impossible outcome and see it through to the end knowing it might not work. Even knowing the pain it might bring you. That’s the Doctor Strange you are, the Doctor Strange I know exists in you.

*He sighs.*

Stephen (resigned):  Clea, that’s very sweet of you, but your uncle knows all of my tricks from last time.  This was supposed to help me find something new to outwit him…

Clea: And it will! My uncle may be powerful but he is not invincible; there has to be a way we can defeat him.

*He glares back at the stack of books again, as though it had gravely insulted the three of them.*

Clea: *She takes his hands in hers.* Stephen, why don’t we divide the books among ourselves? I’ve seen how fast of a study you are, I have no doubt you will understand the dialect in those books.

Stephen (flatly):  Very well.  We shall divide the books and I will also attempt to apply whatever compatible spells I can to the new relics.  

*They split up the books and get back to work.  It’s an hour-long slog, but Wong, Clea, and Stephen manage to get another 5% of the tomes translated.  There are a dozen or so pages left, but they leave everyone stumped.  The final spells are incomplete despite the group’s best efforts.*

Ancient One (appearing out of nowhere): You’ll find that these last portions were specifically inverted and mirrored then translated as to confuse anyone who wished to do harm to Dormammu finding these works. It is a convoluted system but Dormammu was always a bit of a diva. *she floats closer to the group, frowning at the diagrams* 

Clea: He DID!? *She pouts.* THAT JERK!!!

*Stephen is startled.  Wong seems to have expected her to pull something like this.  Then again, he did know The Ancient One far longer than Stephen.*

Stephen:  So, you can help us translate this?  *He looks at her hopefully.*

Ancient One (smiling at him): Of course. I’m sure between the four of us we can figure this out. Three sorcerer supremes and probably one of the most competent and powerful of the Faltines I have ever heard of.

*He seems to be reassured and the group gets back to work, finally finishing their translation of the books.  They immediately get to enchanting the remaining relics.  It’s arduous work, but it does get done with about half an hour to spare.*

Stephen (grateful to the group of sorcerers):  Thank you.

*Wong nods in acknowledgement and gives a small, approving grunt.*

Clea: It was no problem at all, Stephen. I’m just glad you’re feeling better, now.

Ancient One: Of course. 

*Stephen and Wong get ready for battle.  They hear a distant alarm go off and they soon see the girls jogging over to them.*

Me (panting slightly):  Before you guys leave, here.  Please.  Take our energy since it’s compatible with our universe’s magic.  Any advantage you guys can possibly get.

Stephen (taken aback):  You three planned this again?  This is the second time in a day.  You’ll all lose consciousness.

Me:  We’re willing to do it.  Fainting’s the only real penalty for us here.  So…Are you okay with us donating more of our energy?

Trix: Plus if we’re unconscious here from safely giving you a power boost, we won’t be over there fighting and distracting you because you’re worried. *She smiles sadly at him*

Prettywitch: Yeah. We don’t mind, honestly. Besides, sometimes there’s no other way. You know?

*He looks at us for a while with a mix of concern and gratitude.  There’s also a lot of worry in his face, but he shakes his head slightly, as though banishing it for now.  At least in an attempt to comfort us.*

Stephen:  Very well, but let’s go to the mats over there so you won’t be hurt.

*We make our way to some of the mats still laid out for combat training.  Then, the girls proceed with the ritual and give Stephen as much energy as we can muster before we all pass out.  I’ve pushed so hard that I can’t even astral-project.*

Ancient One: I will guard them while you face Dormammu. There is no safer place for them to be right now, Stephen. Take their willing sacrifices and gifts of concern and save their world.

*Stephen can feel our energy surging into him.  He’s energized and takes The Ancient One’s word to heart.*

Stephen:  Okay.  I will.  *He’s more determined than ever.*

Wong:  Then let us go.  I will open the portal.  Clea, ready?

Clea: *She cracks her knuckles.* I was ready an hour ago. Let’s do this.

*Wong nods and proceeds to open the portal to our world.  The three sorcerers are armed to the teeth and bristling with magical energy.*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Our universe’s energy has begun to practically vibrate with the influx of Dark Dimension energy flowing through the rift that Dormammu created.  A rippling fog of reddish-purple magic spills forth and ebbs through the countless ranks of Mindless Ones all standing at attention, awaiting their master’s orders.  In the meantime, there are also numerous platoons of our military forces, complete with tanks, soldiers, and various weaponry; not that they would do any good against such powerful magical enemies.  The tension throughout the scene is palpable, with such a depth of eerie silence that one could hear a fly buzzing from a block away.  Stephen steps forward to confront his old nemesis.*

Stephen (with hardened resolve):  Dormammu, we’ve come to bargain.

*The fog grows, almost appearing like a tornado as it spins and erupts into the sky. Lightning strikes haphazardly and thunder roars as Dormammu appears, nearly as large as Stephen once encountered him. The sky turns green as the weather shifts. The ruler of the Dark Dimension growls, furious at his enemy reappearing when he expected him least.*

Dormammu: We already have a bargain, sorcerer. *The being snarls, reminded of his past failure* I have stuck to the terms of your agreement. 

Stephen (firm):  I’ve come to make an additional bargain.  This world is also protected.

Dormammu: I was merciful once, Strange. I will not be a second time. Tell me, what world might I be allowed to conquer next if you believe yourself powerful enough to command me? *The large face made out of Faltine flames sneers, his entire focus on the Sorcerer Supreme* This universe is but a speck, only just flickering into being. Surely there are more important places you would be more invested in?

Stephen (stone-faced):  I could say the same to you.  Stand down and retreat with your forces back to the Dark Dimension.  Now.

Dormammu (furious): You will not command me, sorcerer. We both know that I can kill you instantly if I so choose. I have granted you mercy once before and I will do so now if you leave and this universe falls under my rule.

Stephen (glaring):  No.

Dormammu (grinning menacingly): So be it then, sorcerer. 

*With a guttural yell, Dormammu commands the mindless ones to advance upon Earth. And shoots a barrage of fireballs at Stephen*

*Wong and Clea immediately spring into action.*

*Wong casts a massive shield, forcing the tide of Mindless Ones back as Clea uses an opposite spell to turn the fireballs into ice sculptures that crash onto the paved road.  The US military forces proceed to open fire on the interdimensional beings, though to no avail.  Instead, Wong works on boxing the entities in while Clea forms several shields around the US military and their vehicles.*

*Stephen quickly casts Shield of the Seraphim, defending himself from the onslaught of fire.*

*Immediately following the fire, familiar crystalline shards begin to shower down on Stephen and everything around him*

*Several stray soldiers fall victim to the shards.  Meanwhile, the Cloak lifts Stephen into the air, both sorcerer and relic remembering the last time where Dormammu used the shards as a distraction before impaling the sorcerer from below.  He then telekinetically stops the crystal shower momentarily before firing them right back at the Dread Dormammu in a volley of chaotic spikes.*

*Dormammu snarls and the shards explode into a conjured shield of flames. While they fight above, more and more mindless ones pour onto earth along with a strange fog similar to Dormammu’s. As it begins to roll over the bodies of the fallen soldiers from Earth, they slowly transform into new Mindless Ones, crawling up and staggering towards their former allies.*

*There are several cries of alarm from the ranks and sounds of gunfire as they attempt to counter what just happened.  Meanwhile, Stephen’s eyes glow green with magic as he builds up a new spell and casts it, with a massive blast radius erupting around him.  The still-forming new Mindless Ones drop down limply as the others begin to slow their advancement, almost freezing in place.  They seem to be almost crippled by whatever previously-unseen spell that Stephen just released.  It creates a veritable traffic jam at the portal, preventing more Mindless Ones from emerging.*

*Dormammu frowns down at the Sorcerer Supreme.*

Dormammu: You…are not supposed to know that spell. *He grows angrier* No matter, even if there was a traitor in my kingdom, they will die knowing that you failed in your latest bargain. You are lacking your infinity stone, sorcerer. Time is not your ally.

*Dormammu launches another attack, the storm growing around him is suddenly absorbed into the mass that is Dormammu. In taking more energy from this universe, he begins to understand the power that this new type of magic brings. He immediately uses the storm to summon tornadoes and harsh thunderstorms, not caring if it takes out his own army as long as it kills Stephen Strange.*

*Several bolts proceed to “go rogue” and begin to strike Dormammu repeatedly.  Then, a booming voice resonates throughout the atmosphere, echoing through to the very souls of the mortals inhabiting this land.*

Voice (enraged):  WHO DARES TO INTRUDE UPON MIDGARD?!

*Our universe’s Thor appears in a massive flash of lightning in front of the various armies.  He looks beyond normal levels of fury.*

Dormammu (confused): You are not a sorcerer, and yet you possess this new magic. Similar to the sorcerer… *Dormammu’s face changes as he comes to a realization and stares down at Stephen* You want this world for yourself and have already taken magic from this place and dare tell me I cannot do so? *Two giant hands made out of fire appear as Dormammu becomes angry enough to start becoming more…hands on. The Dread Dormammu casually smacks Thor out of the air before focusing on Stephen*

*Stephen uses the unexpected distraction to launch a counterattack of his own and uses the Icy Tendrils of Ikthalon to bind Dormammu’s fiery hands together.  He hears Dormammu’s retort, but refuses to give the warlord any potential “fuel” with a response.*

*Meanwhile, Thor goes flying and slams into the ground.  He’s still.  At least for now.*

*Dormammu uses his bound hands to smash into Stephen like a wrecking ball. Meanwhile, the Mindless Ones have finally recovered enough to continue their assault*

*Before the massive hands can hit him, Stephen conjures a protective ball of enormous spikes made of dark energy.  Another “new trick” with a potentially painful result.*

*Dormammu surprisingly reacts with a yell of surprise as the spikes actually harm him. With a glare, the warlord uses the surprise to draw in more ambient energy and dispels the bindings*

Dormammu (enraged): How did you enter my Keep? Who betrayed the Dread Dormammu? I will kill them using the singed and broken remains of your corpse for even considering to defy me.

*Stephen stubbornly remains silent as he works on his next counterspell.*

Clea: I dare, Uncle!

Dormammu (whipping around to face her): Of course. My defiant niece, determined till the end. I have been merciful to your insolence for too long. *He draws back to attack her*

Clea: *She throws up a shield.* Do your worst!

Dormammu (smirking): With pleasure, niece. *He unleashes a large wave of pure energy at Clea as well as her allies to try and drown them out in power*

*Clea holds the wave back, even struggling a bit before throwing it back at her uncle. She takes on her Faltine form and flies towards him, ready to fight.*

*Wong looks at Clea for a second, as though subtly approving of her actions, before resuming his work on corralling the army of Mindless Ones while Dormammu is distracted.*  

*Dormammu decides to cheat and instead absorbs her Faltine energy, using it to throw her crashing into the roof of a nearby house. Luckily she isn’t harmed.*

Clea: You cheat!

Dormammu: It’s not cheating in a real fight, not that you would know, niece. *He begins to absorb more and more ambient energy from this new universe and he begins to shift in color with his flames turning from red, to blue, to white*

*Stephen notices Dormammu drawing in more energy from this world and decides to throw yet another twist.  Remembering the runes from the girls’ time fighting Agatha, he suddenly launches himself in a flight pattern around Dormammu, dredging up massive boulders around the warlord in a seemingly random pattern.  Then, he concentrates and casts the Images of Ikonn.  Each duplicate of Stephen proceeds to carve runes on the boulders, staying on specific sides of them, before a purple aura begins to form a barrier around Dormammu.*

*Meanwhile, on the ground, our Thor is unconscious from Dormammu’s swat. In a burst of green magic, a dark haired figure appears next to the unconscious god. They roll their eyes at Thor before snapping their fingers and the two disappear in another burst of green magic. Dormammu is too focused on Stephen to notice the gods or the forming barrier and continues to try and swipe at him*

*The runes’ barrier fully activates once the inscriptions are complete.  A wall of purple magic encloses the warlord.  Stephen stays slightly out of reach just in case and watches his handiwork and Dormammu intently.*

*The Warlord goes to attack using more fire only to be caught off guard as nothing happens. He tries again and has the same results. After exhausting a number of spells and all of them fail, he snarls and turns to the sorcerer*

Dormammu (angry but almost concerned): WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME, SORCERER?

Stephen:  *He shrugs, but with a cunning expression on his face.*  Surely, nothing so strong as to cause an immensely powerful being such as yourself any pause.  *He sneers.*

*Dormammu roars in rage and the image of Dormammu ripples before turning into smoke that condenses down to a more…human size. This smaller version of Dormammu is still a force to be reckoned with, but around the same height as Stephen. His head and hands are still engulfed in flames but his eyes and mouth are still visible on his face as he glares at the sorcerer*

Dormammu (still angry but trying to be civil): Even without my magic I can defeat you easily, but I will…show restraint and offer you a challenge. No magic, and the winner gets this universe. First to yield loses.

Stephen:  Very well.  I accept your challenge.  The loser will not harm and/or influence anyone and/or anything in this universe by any means, nor will they or any of their allies set foot here again.  Do you accept these terms?

*The warlord studies Stephen for a moment before nodding*

Dormammu: I accept. *He begins to walk, circling around Stephen* Three rounds. You are able to call the end of a round at any time however yielding means the battle is over. Whoever is unable to continue at the end of the third, loses. Summon your weapon.

*Despite his inability to use spells, Dormammu summons a large broadsword made out of Space Shards. He walks a few paces away before turning back to Stephen suddenly with a wide grin on his face*

*Stephen summons and wields the Pincers of Power, a familiar and formidable weapon to Dormammu.  He watches the warlord intently, coolly assessing each move.*

*Dormammu begins to circle the sorcerer, gauging what he thinks Stephen might be able to do. This is truly the first one on one between them on equal footing as it were. Finally, he lunges at Stephen’s back with incredible speed*

*Stephen feels the breeze as Dormammu makes his move and quickly dodges out of the way, giving Dormammu a shove to add to the being’s momentum so he will be thrown off-balance.*

*Dormammu trips ever so slightly but quickly regains balance to launch another jab at him.*

*Stephen dodges and uses Dormammu’s close proximity to trap the warlord’s sword-wielding hand in one of the Pincers.  He starts to twist in an attempt to force Dormammu to drop his weapon.*

*Dormammu uses the momentum to trade the sword to his other free hand and manages to get a swipe in at Stephen as he almost dances out of the hold but is still stuck by the pincer.*

*Stephen grunts in pain, but tries to yank Dormammu with the Pincer.  Failing that, he detaches it and jumps out of reach.  It seems he isn’t as adept at hand-to-hand combat.*

*Dormammu smirks as he gets the first blow. He immediately dives right back into the battle, watching closely for any weaknesses as he begins a flurry of swipes at the sorcerer.*

*Stephen continues to dodge and does his best to stay out of reach.  When he sees a pause in Dormammu’s volley, he bluffs a charge before jumping back again.*

*The warlord grins as he continues to push forward, growing more confident as his opponent keeps retreating. His attacks become quicker as he pushes harder to finish Stephen off quickly.*

*Stephen retreats a bit more before suddenly ducking under Dormammu’s attacking arms and locking a pincer around his opponent’s ankle.  He yanks.  Hard.  All the while, his other hand locks Dormammu’s knee so he cannot steady himself.*

*Dormammu’s eyes widen as he suddenly careens face first into the floor, his momentum getting the best of him after Stephen redirected it. He growls as he attempts to push himself up.*

*Clea sees an entrance and streaks towards her Uncle ready for Round Two.*

Stephen (urgent):  Clea!  The duel!  Go back and help Wong or our agreement will be rendered unusable!

Clea: *She understands and nods.* Right! *She flies back down towards Wong.*

*Wong is currently starting to struggle with holding back the horde of Mindless Ones by himself.  The older sorcerer has used far too much energy for one day and it’s starting to show.*

*While Stephen is distracted by Clea, Dormammu begins to try and shove Stephen off of him to stand*

*Stephen moves his free Pincer up to lock around Dormammu’s wrist as he tries to get up.  While doing this, the sorcerer strategically places his knee right on the base of Dormammu’s neck and applies enough pressure from his bodyweight to prevent the warlord from getting up, but not enough to choke him.  Stephen then detaches the other Pincer from Dormammu’s ankle in the meantime and starts to drag the trapped wrist towards the other.  He’s making a capture move while attempting to hold Dormammu down.*

Dormammu (grunting): You cannot defeat me, sorcerer. I am superior. 

*Stephen is focused on keeping Dormammu down and restraining him to end the fight.  Then, he notices a shift in the ambient energy and looks up at the runes.*

*Hairline fractures are beginning to form along the walls that are engraved with the runes. Dormammu is still struggling against Stephen’s hold, but something is clearly diverting his attention*

Stephen (sneering):  I take it that this duel is no longer one of honor, Dormammu.  *He’s calling the warlord out for his attempt at cheating.*

Dormammu (distracted but smug): Your honor will mean nothing when you are dead and this universe is mine. *He grunts and shimmies, trying to get out of the hold and the cracks on the summoned walls grow larger*

*Stephen tightens his hold and puts more weight on the pressure point he’s using on the base of Dormammu’s neck, both to keep Dormammu down and to cause just enough pain to break his concentration.  Meanwhile, knowing that the runes are all that is keeping the warlord’s powers in check, Stephen has no choice but to focus on maintaining the walls.  It has come down to a battle of pure willpower.*

*Dormammu finally gives up physically struggling and suddenly goes limp before pouring all of his energy into trying to break down the walls. The sudden onslaught is fierce and even Dormammu’s Faltine form begins to flicker out*

*Stephen closes the Pincers of Power on Dormammu’s wrists, binding his hands together behind the warlord’s back.  Then, he fully focuses on the barrier himself.  Thanks to the girls’ energy, he’s still able to resist Dormammu’s attempts.  Though just barely.  He quickly begins to chant another counterspell, to fully activate the Pincers and seal away Dormammu’s ability to cast spells.*

*Finally, finally, with one last weak push at the barriers, Dormammu falls completely limp and his fully depowered*

Dormammu (exhausted but angry): I……yield.

Stephen (firm):  Very well.  Hold to your agreement.  Take back your forces and leave this universe and mine.  Never come back.  You and your allies will not harm and/or influence anyone and/or anything in this universe by any means, nor will you or any of your allies set foot here again.  Do that, and I will release you from the Pincers the moment you fully retreat to your dimension.

*Clea meanwhile, is staring at him starry-eyed. She can’t help thinking he’s wonderful.*

Dormammu (begrudgingly): I will hold to this agreement, sorcerer, so long as I never see you again. *He glares up at Clea* And you, niece, are banished. If you step into my domain, you will be executed for treason. Immediately.

Clea: *She shrugs.* Fine. 

*Stephen silently allows Dormammu to get up and watches him leave, ordering his army to retreat.  He follows the warlord through the portal only to release Dormammu from his restraints before going back to rejoin Wong and Clea, a look of fatigued relief on his face.*

Stephen (genuine, to both of them):  Thank you.

Wong:  It is simply part of our work.  *Though he looks even more drained than Stephen at this point.*

Clea: It was my pleasure. *She looks a bit sad now that her Uncle’s gone.*

*Stephen awkwardly places his hand gently on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.*

Clea: *She looks up and smiles at him, sadly.* Thank you…

Stephen (offering condolences, feeling guilty that he dragged her into this):  …I’m sorry that you were banished.  If you need anything, then I’ll do my best to help you.

Clea: No! Don’t be. I am sad that I can no longer return to my home…But I’m also glad that I helped you, Stephen. 

*Wong nudges Stephen, who was digesting this information.  He silently remembers what it was like being homeless.  Wong’s nudge brings him back to the present.*

Stephen:  …Erm…You could always stay with us at Kamar-Taj.  Otherwise, I have a room in my Sanctum.  Whichever is more comfortable for you.

Wong:  Strange may not be blessed with proper social skills, but he is more than hospitable.  I can assure you that he will see to whatever you may need.  *He subtly gives Stephen a look that says to behave and treat her well.  Stephen meets his mentor’s eyes with a slightly withering expression.*

Clea: I’d like to stay with you if I may, Stephen!...I mean, I do believe I will have access to all types of magic I can learn here. Or even learn to call my friends in the Dark Dimension.

Stephen (awkward, but doing his best to be polite):  Very well.  I will show you around the Sanctum momentarily.  After checking on the girls.

Wong:  I doubt that they will be awake yet.  It seems that they gave all of their remaining energy to you.

*Stephen shifts his weight slightly, concerned.*

Wong (blunt, but reassuring):  We will check on them.  Come on.

*He opens a portal back to Kamar-Taj.*

***To be continued***

Christ-like

Christians, we are told, ought to be Christ-like. That is, they ought to be like this chap in their book named Jesus Christ.

All right: so just who is this character? What is he like?

Well, we are told he's kind and gentle, meek and mild, loving and forgiving. Occasionally, carefully selected excerpts from the book will be presented to support these claims.

"So he's a good guy?" we ask. "Purely and unmixedly good, with no character qualities any sane and moral person could possibly object to?" And we're told that of course he is—he's the son of the most perfect, pure, good god there could ever possibly be, and in addition to that he's actually also his own father, which makes him the most purely, perfectly good god there could ever be.

Parent/child confusion aside... that's quite a claim. Let's go to the book and check it out.

The very first words this Christ character speaks in the book are to some guy named John the Baptist. Christ wants John to dunk him in some water "for repentance." John says no way—the Christ character is so awesome that John doesn't even deserve to carry his shoes. Rather than John baptizing Christ, John desperately needs to be baptized by Christ! Christ doesn't deny it. Instead he convinces John to baptize him anyway, to sort of put a cherry on top of his already perfect righteousness.

The first Christ-like characteristic: arrogance.

"Of course I'm better than you."

Christians certainly take after Christ there. It's not arrogance, they'll argue—they are better, purer, more moral than everyone else, but it's not innate! It's their god who cleanses them, and honestly you could be just as good as them if only you worshiped their god too....

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Next we see the Christ character in the desert, after 40 days of fasting. He's hungry. Some other guy turns up and points out that, being a demigod and all, Christ ought to be able to create food for himself. Rather than address the interesting question of whether or not the Christ character canonically has the power to turn rocks into bread, Christ's second spoken line in the book? Humans don't just need food to live—they need God's words, too.

The second Christ-like characteristic: missing the point.

Sure, maybe humans need info from a deity in order to live in this story. But it's pretty obvious that even in this book, humans do still need food, too! Can the Christ character make food for himself when he's starving, or can't he?

This is a question he apparently doesn't want to confront, so he deliberately misses the point and goes off on a tangent.

Familiar.

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Christ's third spoken line asserts that evidence of supernatural claims should not be asked for (demanding credulity), while his fourth line is a rejection of an offer of power in exchange for worship of anyone other than Yahweh. Apparently it's fine for him to take a deal that makes him supreme ruler of all humanity so long as he's worshiping and serving the right person. Not sure how to characterize that, but it sure is interesting.

His fifth red-letter line is "repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near"—in other words, everyone else in the story should feel bad about everything they've done that the main god in this book doesn't like and try real hard never to do any of it again, because the world's about to end.

I'm not sure how to boil that down to a word or two either, but it's certainly familiar, isn't it? There are Christ-like people on every street corner, some places.

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Christ's next piece of dialogue is much longer than the early bits we just looked at.

It's the Sermon on the Mount!

We've all heard a lot about this part, so it's tempting to think we already know what the Christ character's like here. Love your enemy, give to the needy, don't judge others—good stuff, right? Well, let's see.

First up the Christ character gives us a long list of lucky, enviable people: people who're poor in spirit/breath, whatever that means (weak-willed? no sense of self-worth? asthma?), people who're really sad, people who're humble and gentle, people starving for justice/god's approval, people who show mercy, people with pure hearts (whatever that means), people who make peace, people who get followed around and harmed because they act in accordance with god's law, people who get insulted and slandered for following the Christ character, doing what he says and acting like him. Super blessed, all those people.

The main takeaway here is that unfortunate people are actually the fortunate ones, because good things will definitely happen to them eventually. Making big promises to unhappy people.

The second thing to notice is the idea that if you do the things Yahweh wants you to—we can assume these are supposed to be right things, good things, moral things, upright things—people will hate you. They'll insult you, slander you, follow you around and ruin your life.

In short, he's claiming that other people hate goodness and morality.

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Next he tells his audience that they are 1) the salt of the earth, and 2) the light of the world. What's the message there? Well, he explains, salt is only good for stuff if it remains salty. If his followers lose their saltiness, he tells them, there's no way for them to get it back: the only use for them would be to get thrown on the ground and trampled. Metaphorically speaking. Being salty seems pretty important in this story, but the Christ character doesn't explain what saltiness is or even point to how any of his followers display saltiness. They're salty now, whatever that means, and should try real hard not to lose that part of themselves, whatever it is.

Being vague is the key here. He's vaguely assuring the people listening to him that what they already are is good, and vaguely threatening them should they stop being whatever it is that they already are. He knows what it is. They don't. The lack of clarity is worrying, and establishes his authority quite effectively.

Moving on to point two, he tells his listeners that he wants them to do good deeds openly and visibly, like a city on a hill that can't be hidden, or a bright lamp that's not covered up by a light-blocking bowl. Half a page later he'll tell them to do the opposite: give to the needy in secret, for example, so people don't see you doing the good deed. Self-contradiction is very Christ-like.

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In the next section of his monologue, the Christ character brings up the Law and the Prophets.

If you have the book in front of you, those can be found in the Old Testament section. In-story, the Law is all the rules Yahweh gave to a group called the Israelites through a character named Moses (the god in this book doesn't speak directly to large groups of people). The whole of this god-given Law can be read by people outside the story by starting in Exodus chapter 19 and stopping once you run out of instructions prefaced with "the Lord said to Moses." If you want to skip to the end, flip to Deuteronomy 30.

The Prophets are the people who made predictions about the future/those predictions about the future (the chapters Isaiah through Malachai for us nonfictional people, plus some others that didn't make it into the final edit).

Christ explains that he's not contradicting or erasing any of those. He's fulfilling them, which means all those laws still have to be followed: anyone who breaks even the tiniest, stupidest one of those laws and teaches other people to do the same will—well, they'll still go to heaven, but they'll be really low-ranking. Like, the lowest of the low in the kingdom of heaven.

Being legalistic is the same as being righteous: righteousness is uprightness according to god's law. A righteous person is a (god's) law-abiding one.

Christ will later give his followers special dispensation to break some of those laws. Inconsistency is, ironically, a consistent aspect of this character. Note also the assertion that he's fulfilling prophecy rather than abolishing it: reinterpreting old writings in a new and different way while claiming the new interpretation was what was meant all along is also very Christ-like. Not easy to say in a pithy way, though.

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The next piece of Christ's sermon expands on what he means when he says his followers need to follow the Law even better than the people it was given to originally. In short, it's a "follow the spirit of the law not just the letter" spiel.

He lists off six of the nearly interminable laws—no murder, no adultery, no divorcing a woman without a certificate, no oath-breaking, if you gouge out someone's eye say goodbye to your own, no grudges against a member of your own people (yes, these are all instructions the main god character gave to the Israelites)—and explains the spirit of each, essentially transforming each one into an even more restrictive rule.

• No murder and no getting angry with those close to you.

• No adultery and no lust.

• No divorcing a woman, period (unless she cheated on you).

• No oath-breaking and everything you say is an oath.

• Poke out someone's eye, lose yours and an evil person can take yours even if you did nothing to theirs, no fighting back.

• No grudges against a member of your own people and no grudges against anyone else either.

The self-inflicted martyrdom is strong.

He also takes this opportunity to tell his followers that 1) calling someone an idiot is so bad that you could be tortured for all eternity for it, 2) you can blame parts of your body for your own actions, 3) chopping off those sinful bits of your body might be a good idea because it's definitely better than burning in hell forever, 4) divorcing a woman makes her a cheater, 5) marrying a divorced woman is the same as cucking her ex-husband, etc.

Among other things, it's pretty obvious that the Christ character sees women as less than men—at the very least, a woman can't divorce her husband even if he cheated, and will be seen as his even if he divorces her, plus his action makes her an adulteress. Pretty misogynistic.

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Skipping over the bit where Christ contradicts himself about whether his followers should or shouldn't do good deeds visibly, we get the bit where he tells his followers not to bother telling their god anything, really.

God already knows, you see, so don't babble. Just say the Lord's Prayer ("you're awesome, everyone and everything should obey you, keep me alive today, forgive me for whatever because I've forgiven other people for their slip-ups, don't make it too easy for me to disobey you, save me from evil") and you're good—that's all you need.

Definitely remember to forgive other people for stuff, though, or Yahweh won't forgive you for anything.

This is a handy set up for people who don't want to change their behavior: "You have to forgive me anyway, or God won't forgive you and you'll burn in hell forever."

Intentional? Or accidental? Either way, it's setting up support for abuse.

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Next Christ tells his audience that physical things ought to be disdained. After all, they don't last forever, and even while they do last people can take them away from you. So, he concludes, it's better to focus on storing up treasures in heaven.

In-universe, the character may well be right. In this book (at least this part of it), people exist forever—so it makes sense for them to focus on gathering stuff that also exists forever.

Christ goes a step further, though.

These characters do exist physically now, you might think, so it's reasonable for them to care about physical stuff now, while they need it and can enjoy it, right? Wrong, the Christ character says. His audience should focus only on spiritual things. They shouldn't worry about food, or clothes, or shelter: they should live like the nonhuman animals, like birds, or even like plants, and not gather food for the winter or even do any work at all. Their god will provide.

...It is possible that, in this story, birds don't gather food. The worldbuilding is not very good—many things are unexplained.

In any case, the Christ character is advocating doing no work or planning for the future. Which sounds pretty good, if there is in fact a deity that will take care of the future for you: provide enough food for each day, make sure you've got clothes nicer than even a super rich king ever did, etc. Otherwise it's just telling dangerous lies.

He also displays some black and white thinking here: either you serve his god (store up treasures in heaven, look towards heaven, worry about making it to heaven, focus on obeying the Law even better than the teachers of the Law, etc.), or you serve money (store up treasures on earth, keep your focus on earth, worry about food and clothing, plan for tomorrow, etc.)—one or the other, not both. You can't, he says, do both.

Loving those false dichotomies.

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In the next section of his soliloquy, Christ explains that, despite everything he said earlier about the Law and righteousness, the standard any given person will be judged by is the standard they use to judge others. In other words: standards for judgment are subjective.

If you think murder isn't wrong, and don't condemn anyone for murdering, you can commit murder all day long without condemnation, apparently.

Missing the logical implications of your own statements is also pretty darn Christ-like.

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The Christ character assures his followers that their god will give them anything they want: all they have to do is ask for it. Bread? A fish? Just ask! He also calls them evil. "You're evil," he says, "and even you know how to give your children good things. Obviously God is much better at giving his children good things. So just ask for them, and you'll definitely receive them!" Another big promise here.

And the logical implications of this promise are plain: if a character in this fantasy world is dying of starvation, prays to Yahweh for food, doesn't get any and dies, either A) it wasn't good for that person to not starve to death, or B) they weren't a child of God.

Either saying suffering is good or blaming the sufferer—both are Christ-like.

He wraps this up with the Golden Rule (do unto others as you'd have them do unto you), a rule that falls apart the second you consider what the world would look like if everyone had to give everyone else $500, fold everyone else's laundry for them, greet everyone else cheerfully whenever they saw them, ignore everyone else whenever they saw them, etc. One person's desire is another's nightmare.

The Christ character says following the Golden Rule is the same as following all of the Law, thus displaying ignorance of Biblical canon. What part of "do unto others" is "pay her father 50 shekels"?

...Ahhh, right.

I'd forgotten that women aren't people in this book, and don't count as "others."

If you rape a woman in the world of the Bible you're not doing unto her, you're doing unto her father—and I suppose if someone raped my daughter, I'd want them to pay me for her too. It's like breaking a vase at Walmart: no one else is going to want that. Without the fine, Walmart's losing money! What's that you say, pay the vase? What a ridiculous idea.

Outrage aside: even disregarding women as people, the Golden Rule still doesn't cover the parts of the Law about mixed fibers and tassels with blue cords. The Christ character is unfamiliar with his (supposed) father's law.

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Next Christ tells us a little about the spiritual side of the Biblical world.

The road that leads to eternal life, he says, is narrow. Out of all the people in the world of the Bible, only a few of them will make it to life. Most of humanity will end up taking the wide road to destruction, hell, eternal death, unending burnings, etc.

Also, there are people in the Bible world who claim to have a direct line to the main god character, but are (gasp!) lying. Christ says you can tell who's telling the truth and who's lying by checking to see what fruit they produce. If you pick a grape out of their ear, for example, they're not a thornbush. How this translates from metaphor to reality is unclear.

The Christ character insists, furthermore, that it's impossible for a good apple tree, say, to produce a bad apple.

Maybe that's true in his world. It's certainly not true in ours.

At this point Christ has made so many claims that are untrue in the real world (with no evidence that they're true in his fictional one) that it seems fair to remark that another part of the Christ-like character may well be denial of reality.

In any case, since he hasn't defined either good or bad fruit, if any prophet pops up who he disagrees with, the Christ character can pick something about them, label it "bad fruit," and declare that they ought to be cut down and thrown into the fire. Metaphorically. ...Probably. Being vague is very, very important to this Christ character. It lets him hold all the cards; all the knowledge, all the power.

Christ carries on to tell his audience that just worshiping him isn't enough.

They can call him Master all they want—even use his name to get a direct line to Yahweh and do actual, legitimate prophecies and miracles—but if they don't do what he his dad wants, he (Christ) will reject them on the day of judgment, and they'll go to hell.

Demanding obedience with threats is very Christ-like.

He carries on to explain that everyone who listens to him and does what he says is like a very clever and intelligent man who built his house in the right place and weathered all kinds of storms without issue, while everyone who listens to him and doesn't do what he says is like a very stupid man who built his house in the wrong place and had it collapse during the very first storm.

According to the narration, this whole sermon impressed people a lot because being incredibly confident and stating things as fact without allowing for the possibility of being wrong wasn't something they were used to from experts.

Such authority!

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We've learned a great deal about what Christ is like from just the first seven chapters of Matthew. Highlights from the rest of the book include:

• Telling his disciples not to bother preaching to any goys

• Telling his disciples to be afraid of his godly parent because Yahweh could send them to hell body and soul

• Announcing that he's the exact opposite of a peacemaker

• Insisting that people love him more than anyone else, even their own families (or he'll disown them on judgment day and they'll go to hell)

• Cursing the cities where his preaching didn't go over well to a worse fate than Sodom's

• Disowning his mother and brothers publicly when they came to see him

• Ignoring a woman who begged him for help because she was a goy, then finally giving in and helping after she agreed that she was a dog and begged for the kind of crumbs dogs get when their masters are eating

• Announcing that he was going to turn up attended by angels to judge everybody and give them their just rewards—and, furthermore, that some of his disciples would still be alive at that point

• Saying that it's perfectly fair to pay someone who's worked from sunup to sundown and someone who's worked one hour exactly the same amount

• Killing a fig tree for not having any figs out of season

• Reiterating that the folks who don't make it to heaven on the day of judgment go to "eternal punishment"

• Pointing out that a slave who knows what they're supposed to do and doesn't do it gets beaten harshly, while a slave who doesn't know what they're supposed to do and so doesn't do it is only beaten lightly... but not saying anything about slavery being wrong

• Pointing out that slaves don't get praised for doing only what they're supposed to do, so his followers should do more (but not saying anything about slavery being wrong)

• "If you love me, you will obey me"

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In short, the Christ character Christians are supposed to be like is inconsistent, arrogant, racist, ignorant, misogynistic, threatening, and abusive. He denies reality, rejects tests of reality, and tells dangerous lies.

He contradicts himself whenever it's convenient for him, and apparently doesn't notice. He's determined to be a martyr, yet he demands obedience (conflating it with love) and claims superior morality while ignoring and even enabling abuse. He makes unrealistic promises to the desperate and unhappy, devalues the real world, and demonizes those who disagree with him.

He's manipulative, illogical, immoral, and dangerously untethered from reality.

Christians are just like him.

August 26, 2023

Prisoners (2013)

When Keller Dover's daughter and her friend go missing, he takes matters into his own hands as the police pursue multiple leads and the pressure mounts.

JayBell: I remember seeing this movie in theaters when it came out, but since it’s been a decade (a decade!) the details were pretty fuzzy.

The movie is two and a half hours long, but honestly I didn’t feel like it was slow or long and I never got bored. I was invested the whole time in figuring out the mystery.

Anzie and I did figure out some of the major twists by an hour in, and we had a pretty solid theory for the true bad guy (which didn’t turn out to be a hundred percent accurate). But I still say we did a pretty good job picking up on all the clues. The movie definitely tries to confuse you on purpose, hiding certain things, giving red herrings and such. But I think it does a good job at not revealing too much too soon.

All the actors did a wonderful job, especially Hugh Jackman, Paul Dano, and Jake Gyllenhaal. I do have to point out the very strange amount of blinking Jake Gyllenhaal does throughout the entire movie. It's very distracting and a little bizarre. Like he's an alien and knows that humans blink, and so to blend in, he's just like *blink.*

Besides that, I only have a few other notes of grievance. First, this is supposed to be a major case for the town right? Like 2 little girls are missing. And yet why is Jake Gyllenhaal running around like a lone ranger? Besides talking to the captain a few times, he goes around investigating with no partner, no backup, no support. There’s no one really offering up their own investigative skills. And even when he’s in immediate danger, his character makes no move to call anyone for backup. It doesn’t make sense, especially for such a sensitive case.

Since that’s my main grievance, I’ll spare you a few others. With that said, it was a well acted movie with mystery and suspense and drama and I had a good time playing detective. So I can brush aside some plot holes.

Rating: 6.5/10 cats 🐈

Anzie: Sooooo this movie is kinda nuts. Not like absurd, but also definitely absurd in that what happens is almost the opposite of what you think is going to happen or why something happened. So yay for thrillers that keep you guessing.

It was a great watch for sure- I still don’t have any of the cuticles I bit off bc I was so nervous watching this movie. And the actors were awesome bc even tho they’re really great actors and stuff and super well known you totally believe what they’re selling. The investigation part of this movie really gets me bc where is Jake Gyllenhaal’s character the entire time- like he some super cop that’s solved every crime he’s worked……yet all this is happening….soooo. But it was fun for us while watching to keep guessing what was going on and how things were going to turn out. I mean I know what happened but I think my brain is protecting me from fully recognizing the entire situation this movie plotted out. Plus the “red herring” (I guess) could’ve been explained just a bit clearer- but like I said you get it without knowing too much anyway. But on that note there’s a lot of evidence and stuff shown throughout that is a real fake out that everything’s been concluded— that was ruuude.

I know none of these ramblings make sense…. And I’m just gonna say it’s bc this is a movie that must be experienced and cannot be explained….and not that it kinda broke me even tho I followed the story. 😅😅😅 It’s just a lot of detail to smush in a 2 hour span, but like I said it was good and entertaining bc of how detailed and captivating it was.

Rating: 6.5/10 Cats 🐈

#JamesDonaldson On #MentalHealth - Does #SocialMedia Use Cause #Depression?

How heavy #Instagram and #Facebook use may be affecting #kids negatively Writer: Caroline Miller Clinical Experts: Jerry Bubrick, PhD , Alexandra Hamlet, Psy What You'll Learn - What do we know about the connection between #socialmedia use and #depression? - How can using #socialmedia affect kids negatively? - How can #parents help #kids build healthy #socialmedia habits? - Quick Read - Full Article - #Socialmedia and #depression - #Socialmedia and perceived #isolation - #Socialmedia and #self-esteem - Less healthy activity - Disrupted concentration - Sleep deprivation and #depression - How to minimize negative effects of #socialmedia use Studies show that #depression among #teenagers and young #adults has gotten more common over the past decade. #Socialmedia use has also increased during the same time. It’s hard to say for sure that #socialmedia causes #depression. Still, there are several ways that using #socialmedia could harm #kids. Some experts think that connecting with peers online is less emotionally fulfilling than connecting in person. Research shows that #teenagers who spend more time on #socialmedia also feel more isolated. It could be that #kids who already feel isolated use #socialmedia more. But it could be that using #socialmedia actually makes #kids feel isolated. Another theory is that #socialmedia is bad for #teenagers’ #self-esteem. Seeing lots of perfect pictures online might make #kids (especially #girls) view themselves negatively. Feeling bad about themselves can lead to #depression. #Socialmedia can also cut into the time that #kids spend on activities that make them feel good, like exercise and hobbies. Additionally, it can distract from important tasks like homework. Having to juggle those responsibilities can increase kids’ #stress. Studies also suggest that using #socialmedia at night interferes with restful sleep for many #teenagers. It’s important for #parents to check in with #kids about their #socialmedia use and help them develop healthy habits. You can encourage #kids to turn off notifications, spend plenty of time on offline activities that make them feel good, and put phones away before bedtime. You can also set a good example by modeling balance in your own use of #socialmedia. Finally, be sure to keep an eye out for signs of #depression and get professional help if you’re worried. It’s especially important to check on #kids who are under a lot of #stress. Is using #socialmedia making our #kids unhappy? Evidence is mounting that there is a link between #socialmedia and #depression. In several studies, #teenage and young #adult users who spend the most time on #Instagram, #Facebook and other platforms were shown to have a substantially (from 13 to 66 percent) higher rate of reported #depression than those who spent the least time. Does that mean that #Instagram and #TikTok are actually causing #depression? These studies show a correlation, not causation. But it’s worth a serious look at how #socialmedia could be affecting #teenagers and young #adults negatively. One reason the correlation seems more than coincidental is that an increase in #depression occurred in tandem with the rise in smartphone use. A 2017 study of over half a million eighth through 12th graders found that the number exhibiting high levels of depressive symptoms increased by 33 percent between 2010 and 2015. In the same period, the #suiciderate for #girls in that age group increased by 65 percent. Smartphones were introduced in 2007, and by 2015 fully 92 percent of #teens and young #adults owned a smartphone. The rise in depressive symptoms correlates with smartphone adoption during that period, even when matched year by year, observes the study’s lead author, San Diego State University #psychologist Jean Twenge, PhD. Over that same time period there was a sharp spike in reports of #students seeking help at college and university counseling centers, principally for #depression and #anxiety. Visits jumped 30 percent between 2010 and 2015, and they’ve continued to rise since the #pandemic. #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleOrder your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife:From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com #Socialmedia and #depression One of the biggest differences in the lives of current #teenagers and young #adults, compared to earlier generations, is that they spend much less time connecting with their peers in person and more time connecting electronically, principally through #socialmedia. Some experts see the rise in #depression as evidence that the connections #socialmedia users form electronically are less emotionally satisfying, leaving them feeling socially isolated. “The less you are connected with human beings in a deep, empathic way, the less you’re really getting the benefits of a social interaction,” points out Alexandra Hamlet, PsyD, a clinical #psychologist. “The more superficial it is, the less likely it’s going to cause you to feel connected, which is something we all need.” Indeed, one exception to the #depression correlation is #girls who are high users of #socialmedia but also keep up a high level of face-to-face social interaction. The Twenge study showed that those #girls who interact intensely offline as well as through #socialmedia don’t show the increase in depressive symptoms that those who interact less in person do. And there are some #teenagers who aren’t successful in connecting with peers offline, because they are isolated geographically or don’t feel accepted in their #schools and local communities. For those #kids, electronic connection can be lifesaving. #Socialmedia and perceived #isolation Another study of a national sample of young #adults (age 19-32) showed correlation between the time spent on #socialmedia and #perceivedsocialisolation (#PSI). The authors noted that directionality can’t be determined. That is, “Do people feeling socially isolated spend more time on #socialmedia, or do more intense users develop PSI?” If it’s the latter, they noted, “Is it because the individual is spending less time on more authentic social experiences that would decrease PSI? Or is it the nature of observing highly curated social feeds that they make you feel more excluded?” Which brings us what we now call FOMO, or fear of missing out. Jerry Bubrick, PhD, a clinical #psychologist at the #ChildMindInstitute, observes that “FOMO is really the fear of not being connected to our social world, and that need to feel connected sometimes trumps whatever’s going on in the actual situation we’re in. The more we use #socialmedia, the less we think about being present in the moment.” Instead we might be occupied with worrying why we weren’t invited to a party we’re seeing on #Instagram, or making sure we don’t miss a single post from a friend. But if we’re always playing catch-up to endless online updates, we’re prioritizing social interactions that aren’t as emotionally rewarding and can actually make us feel more isolated. #Socialmedia and #self-esteem Another theory about the increase in #depression is the loss of #self-esteem, especially in #teenage #girls, when they compare themselves negatively with artfully curated images of those who appear to be prettier, thinner, more popular and richer. “Many #girls are bombarded with their friends posting the most perfect pictures of themselves, or they’re following celebrities and influencers who do a lot of Photoshopping and have makeup and hair teams,” explains Dr. Hamlet. “If that’s their model for what is normal, it can be very hard on their self-confidence.” Indeed, image-driven #Instagram shows up in surveys as the platform that most leads young people to report feeling #anxiety, #depression and worries about body image. Curation of a perfect image may not only make others feel inadequate, it’s unhealthy even for those who appear to be successful at it, notes Dr. Bubrick. “#Kids spend so much time on #socialmedia trying to post what they think the world will think is a perfect life. Look at how happy I am! Look how beautiful I am! Without that they’re worried that their friends won’t accept them. They’re afraid of being rejected.” And if they are getting positive feedback from their #socialmedia accounts, they might worry that what their friends like isn’t the “real” them. Less healthy activity Another possible source of #depression may be what #teenagers are not doing during while they’re spending time on #socialmedia, including physical activity and things that generate a sense of accomplishment, like learning new skills and developing talents. “If you’re spending a lot of time on your phone, you have less time for activities that can build confidence, a sense of achievement and connectedness,” explains Dr. Hamlet. #Kids who are spending a lot of time on devices are not getting much in return to make them feel good about themselves, she adds. “Yes, you get a little dopamine burst whenever you get a notification, or a like on a picture, or a follow request. But those things are addicting without being satisfying.” Disrupted concentration Another thing disrupted by #socialmedia is the process of doing homework and other tasks that require concentration. It’s become common for #teenagers to engage with friends on #socialmedia at the same time they are studying. They take pride in being able to multi-task, but evidence shows that it cuts down on learning and performance. “Basically, multitasking isn’t possible,” Dr. Hamlet notes. “What you end up doing is really just switching back and forth between two tasks rather quickly. There is a cost to the brain.” And with poorer concentration and constant interruption, homework takes substantially longer than it should, cutting into free time and adding to #stress. Sleep deprivation and #depression Some of the ways in which #socialmedia use impacts mood may be indirect. For instance, one of the most common contributors to #depression in #teenagers is sleep deprivation, which can be caused, or exacerbated, by #socialmedia. Research shows that 60 percent of #adolescents are looking at their phones in the last hour before sleep, and that they get on average an hour less sleep than their peers who don’t use their phones before bed. Blue light from electronic screens interferes with falling asleep; on top of that, checking #socialmedia is not necessarily a relaxing or sleep-inducing activity. Scrolling on #socialmedia, notes Dr. Hamlet, can easily end up causing #stress. “#Socialmedia can have a profound effect on sleep,” adds Dr. Bubrick. “You have the intention to check #Instagram or watch #TikTok videos for 5 minutes, and the next thing you know 50 minutes are gone. You’re an hour behind in sleep, and more tired the next day. You find it harder to focus. You’re off your game, and it spirals from there.” How to minimize negative effects of #socialmedia use While we don’t yet have conclusive evidence that #socialmedia use actually causes #depression, we do have plenty of warning signs that it may be affecting our #kids negatively. So it’s smart for #parents to check in regularly with #kids about their #socialmedia use, to make sure it’s positive and healthy, and guide them towards ways to change it, if you think it’s not. Also, be alert for symptoms of #depression.  If you notice signs that your #child might be depressed, take them seriously. Ask your #child how they are doing, and don’t hesitate to set up an appointment with a #mentalhealthprovider. Steps you can take to ensure healthy #socialmedia use: - Focus on balance: Make sure your #kids are also engaging in social interaction offline, and have time for activities that help build identity and self-confidence. - Turn off notifications: App developers are getting more and more aggressive with notifications to lure users to interrupt whatever they’re doing to engage constantly with their phones. Don’t let them. - Look out for #girls at higher risk of #depression: Monitor #girls who are going through a particularly tough time or are under unusual #stress. Negative effects of #socialmedia can have more impact when confidence is down. - Teach mindful use of #socialmedia: Encourage #teenagers to be honest with themselves about how time spent on #socialmedia makes them feel, and disengage from interactions that increase #stress or unhappiness. - Model restraint and balance in your own media diet: Set an example by disengaging from media to spend quality family time together, including phone-free dinners and other activities. #Kids may resist, but they’ll feel the benefits. - Phone-free time before sleep: Enforce a policy of no smartphones in the bedroom after a specific time and overnight. Use an old-fashioned alarm clock to wake up. Read the full article

[tv review] ds9 2x14 "whispers" (1994)

this is a really fun episode. i know that’s probably a weird thing to say about an episode where a main cast member is spiraling into pretty justified paranoia as evidence mounts that everyone around him is conspiring against him, but idk i love a good mystery episode, conspiracies are fun, and the structure of this episode being told in flashbacks during a log entry is a favorite star trekky structure of mine. so it has a lot working for it!

i really like how the episode plays with perspective. i especially like the bit of the episode when odo gets back from a trip to bajor and you’re like, “phew, finally, o’brien has an ally and they’re gonna figure this out.” which makes it even more terrifying when o’brien realizes “they” “got to him too.” i don’t think everything totally adds up once you know the whole story? like, why wouldn’t they just get him in the brig and then come in and explain like “hey chief, we’re not sure you’re you, if you are we’re really sorry, if you aren’t we’ll figure it out.” just sort of telling

everyone he might encounter and treating him with kid gloves seems like a pretty bad approach? but still, in the moment it really does work. and it’s one of the most unique & interesting episodes of the series to this point.

a-rank

It seems that not only are saturated fats much better for us than trans fats, but they also may not be that much worse for us than a range of other fats—including many that have been championed as “healthier” alternatives

You read that right: butter, and the fats it contains, are not only likely to be part of a healthy diet, but they may actually be better for us than many alternatives [… Unfortunately …] I know far too many people who still believe that eating fats makes you fat. This boggles the mind, given that the low-fat craze coincided so perfectly with a huge increase in overweight and obesity in the general population. What’s more, many studies contradict the “fats make you fat” hypothesis. Systematic reviews of studies of all kinds of diets show that low-fat diets do not outperform other kinds of diets with respect to weight loss […] In fact, experts now generally agree that dairy products—perhaps the most common source of saturated fats in any modern kitchen—are likely fine for you so long as you don’t have too much of them. But how much dairy is too much? Well it depends on who you ask […] According to the dairy industry, people who avoid milk are missing out on some fantastic health benefits […] But there’s not much evidence for these types of claims. In fact, the research often flat out contradicts them […] Even studies that have examined the specific nutrients in dairy products for possible protective effects come up short. So if your doctor (or a milk industry advertisement) is telling you to consume more dairy so as to get more calcium, you might want to ask how sure [they are] of that advice

Let me be clear [though]: I’m not telling you never to drink milk […] I’m also not telling you to believe arguments that demonize any dairy consumption at all as harmful. For instance, anyone who claims that just because our ancestors didn’t drink milk, we shouldn’t either, is doing some pretty selective thinking. We didn’t always cook our food either, but no one but a crackpot would tell you to eat all of your meat raw. Similarly, we didn’t always have coffee or beer, yet there are responsible—and highly enjoyable—ways to consume both beverages. Just because we didn’t eat a certain way in the past doesn’t mean we can’t eat that way now [P] Moreover, when it comes to the overall healthiness of dairy, there’s plenty of good news

Besides, there are some pretty compelling reasons why you would want to consume milk—reasons that have more to do with pleasure than with health […] Bottom line? The evidence in favor of a low-fat diet is very thin, whereas the evidence for the benefits of certain fats is mounting. To be sure, trans fats appear to be terrible for you, but thankfully they’ve been largely removed from our diets already […] Saturated fats may be bad for you in large amounts, but that issue is far from settled. Unsaturated fats seem to have few negative health consequences, and trying to limit them—especially if you’re replacing those calories with carbohydrates—is a bad idea [P] So take heart: a bit of butter—or cream, or animal fat—won’t hurt you, especially if you’re using it to season vegetables, fish, or other components of a healthy diet.

From The Bad Food Bible: How and Why to Eat Sinfully, published 2017; Dr. Aaron Carroll, MD (My Review Here) (My Ko-Fi Here)

pairing: Ona Batlle x f!Reader

warnings: pregnancy, injury and angst

word count: 2042

summary: she couldn’t have known, she couldn’t have known and you don’t blame her for it at all

a/n: this is the first part of this series

You Couldn’t Have Known

Ona coughs, leaning back into your arms weakly.

‘Shhh.’ You rub her back as she leans forward, emptying the contents of the stomach into the toilet bowl. She coughs again, wincing as she tastes bile in her mouth.

The Spanish girl reaches for the cup of water you hold, sipping it shakily.

‘Ona you can’t play today.’ You tell her and she groans, putting the cup away.

‘I know.’ She reluctantly admits, disappointment clear in her voice.

‘I’m sorry.’ You tell her, smoothing her hair back.

Ona’s body had been struggling to adapt to the pregnancy, the morning sickness taking its toll on her.

When you’d first decided to have a child together, the plan was always for you to carry the baby. But then you had gotten injured and after six months of recovery, you were just about back playing at your full fitness level. It was too soon for you to take a break again.

Ona had then decided that she wanted to be the one to get pregnant and she had adamantly insisted on it. You’d relented only because you knew how she had thought it through and was already sure of her decision.

When you had talked it over seriously with her, she had simply told you that nothing had changed except that the plan was reversed. You two had always planned for two children and now she would carry the first and you the second.

The both of you hadn’t told anyone yet, the pregnancy was still so new and there were so many things that could go wrong and honestly, Ona wanted to enjoy what little playing time she had left.

******

The downside of not telling anyone was that Marc had no idea.

Ona had passed it off as a bad case of food poisoning and thinking that a week’s recovery had been sufficient, Marc had put her in the starting eleven for an upcoming game.

You weren’t so sure if that was the right decision but there was no getting Ona out of the roster without revealing the truth.

With Hannah, Kirsty and Millie out with injuries, the team was short on reliable defenders.

Ona’s morning sickness had become better but she was still slightly out of it. Her reflexes were slower and she was struggling to play at her usual pace. With her lower energy levels, she often fell asleep immediately after coming home from training

Still, as she had not thrown up all morning, she was determined to play.

******

You caught her chewing some gum in the locker rooms before the game and she quietly admitted that she was feeling slightly queasy.

However, she had reassured you that other than that she was feeling perfectly fine and up to playing.

‘Promise me that you won’t make any unnecessary slide tackles.’

‘Even though you think I look sexy when I do?’ She laughs, making you roll your eyes briefly.

Trust the Spanish girl to remember the offhand comment you had made one training session years ago.

Ona kisses you, seeing the worry in your gaze.

‘I promise mi amor. The baby and I will be alright.’ She murmurs, unconsciously touching her still flat stomach.

‘Okay.’

Accepting her answer, you make sure no one’s looking before kissing her and then pushing up her jersey to press a kiss onto her stomach.

******

The game starts off as usual, the other team coming at yours with the expected intensity.

You focus on passing the ball to Ella and Ivana, all the while keeping an eye on Ona.

By half time, it’s evident that she’s tiring.

******

Before the whistle blows again, you notice Marc pull her aside.

You’re too far away to hear the conversation but you see her shake her head firmly and immediately know what he’s asking her.

From her response, it was clear what her answer was.

******

The moment the whistle blew, Ona struggled to keep up. You knew she was already exhausted and the mounting pressure does her no favours.

The way the Arsenal players marked her, you could tell that they saw it too.

A minute later and she’s pushed to the ground with challenge from Beth Mead.

She lays there a few seconds longer than she normally would, chest rising and falling as she tries to catch her breath.

You’re about to make your way over when she pushes herself to her feet, giving you a reassuring glance.

She’s breathing hard but she nods her head at the referee, asking for play to be continued.

Right then, you should have known better and insisted she be subbed out.

******

With fifteen minutes left on the clock, the tension was high as your team lined up for a corner kick.

The referee blows her whistle and players of both teams rush towards it.

From behind you, there’s a pained scream and the referee is blowing her whistle again.

Pushing your way past the other players, you see a limp form on the ground.

Your stomach drops as you immediately recognise who it is.

Rushing to her side, you check on the Spanish girl.

‘Ona. Hey love, look at me.’

She sluggishly does, eyes barely open as she blinks slowly. Ona opens and closes her mouth, as if she’s trying to form words but nothing’s coming out.

Everything slows to a stop around you as her hand finds yours, squeezing it shakily.

‘The baby.’ She mumbles, tugging on your hand weakly.

The medic who’s just arrived stares at you, pausing to check if he heard right.

‘She’s pregnant.’

That’s all he needs as he yells for a stretcher. Your teammates gasp at the news and you squeeze Ona’s hand tightly.

‘Fuck.’ Ivana curses beside you, her worry increasing tenfold with the words you had just said out loud. She knew the both of you had been trying but she hadn’t known that her best friend was pregnant. She’d simply assumed that Ona’s poor performance was due to her still recovering from her ‘food poisoning’.

‘I’m sorry.’ Ona cries, trying to hold onto you as they lift her up.

‘You’re fine. You’re both going to be fine.’ You say, trying your best to calm her down. Trying your best to calm yourself down.

Katie had run off to talk to Marc at the sidelines. She must have told him what you’d said because he immediately gestures at you to go.

You do, going off the field with Ona, holding her hand in yours as the Spanish girl sobs.

It all goes dark for her a second later.

******

Touching her hand, you kiss the back of it.

Right on her tattoo, ‘Why not?’

Ona had always been determined, stubborn almost in pushing boundaries and pushing herself. It was one of the many things you loved about her.

She had got that tattoo done as a reminder to keep challenging herself but now you think you should have reasoned with her more. You should have made it a point of insisting she be subbed out or better yet, stayed home to rest and not played at all.

Rubbing circles onto her palm, you anxiously rest your head on her bed, waiting for her to open her eyes.

Her long brown hair is spread over the pillow, skin slightly paler than its usual tanned shade. God, you would do anything to make sure her and the baby were okay.

Maybe someone out there is listening because Ona stirs, groaning softly as she frowns.

‘Ona? Wake up love.’ You softly urge her.

She blinks slowly, clearly disoriented as she tries to adjust to the bright hospital lighting.

‘Me duele la cabeza.’ She mumbles and you press the button beside her bed that calls for a nurse.

She continues speaking incoherently in Spanish as you try to keep up.

Whenever she was tired or sleepy, she often unconsciously reverted back to her first language. That usually wasn’t a problem for you because she had taught you Spanish but her slurred words were making it hard for you to understand.

‘Ona? I’m here. It’s me okay?’

You can see the moment she finally focuses because her hand flies to her middle.

‘My baby. Is our baby okay? Dios mío I-’

Her panic and fear is evident and the heart monitor beeps, showing her heart rate increasing rapidly.

Grabbing her hands before she accidentally pulls her IV needle out, you force her to look at you.

‘Ona. Listen to me. The baby is fine. The baby is fine.’

You’d purposely repeated the last sentence to make sure it gets through to her, putting extra emphasis on it.

Ona stills before a choked sob escapes her. Tears are streaming down her face as she grips your hand.

‘Oh mi amor.’ You breathe, your free hand wiping away her tears.

‘I’m sorry. I-I should have listened to you. I knew you didn’t want me to play but I was so stubborn. I could have h-hurt our baby.’ She stammers, crying even harder as she remembers what happened.

‘It’s not your fault mi amor. The baby is perfectly alright now and you will be too. We just have to be more careful and take it slow now okay?’

Ona sniffles, calming down slightly as she tries to breathe evenly.

You gently trace your thumb down the side of her face to her jaw, squeezing her hand in yours.

The nurse and doctor enter then and you feel rather than see Ona stiffen.

‘Okay Ms Batlle. Your test results have come back and it shows that you have a mild concussion. You were also a little dehydrated but that was resolved with the fluids we gave you.’

Your wife nods, the remnants of her tears making the doctor smile kindly.

‘Your baby is good, just be advised that it would be much safer for them if you took things slower now. You need lots of rest and I would encourage you to try not to cause any more undue stress. Especially in the first trimester.’

‘Okay.’ Ona says softly and you can see how serious she is.

‘Now that all that is sorted, I would like to conduct an ultrasound. Just to check on the little one.’ The doctor adds.

The Spanish girl glances at you and you give her a reassuring smile.

‘Will I be able to see my baby?’ She asks, hand touching her stomach instinctively.

The doctor hums, checking her chart before looking back up.

‘Your wife has said that you should be around eight weeks pregnant so yes I’m fairly confident we will be able to see the foetus and hear their heartbeat.’

For the first time since the accident, you see Ona smile, reassuring you more than anything else could.

******

‘It’s cold.’ Ona mumbles as the nurse squeezes some gel on her stomach.

You kiss the top of her head as her grip on your hand tightens.

‘Alright Ms Batlle, you may feel a little bit of pressure when I move the wand around but it will in no way, harm the baby.’ The doctor explains as she turns the screen towards the both of you.

Ona nods tentatively, gasping softly when the doctor touches her stomach with the wand. She moves it around and slowly the image on the screen becomes clearer.

A little white shape on a grey background.

‘That’s our baby.’ Ona breathes in awe, unable to tear her eyes away from the screen.

You stare at it, tears unknowingly making their way down your face.

‘And we can hear their heartbeat.’ The doctor smile, flicking a switch as the most beautiful sound fills the room.

A steady thump thump thump that causes Ona to sob, covering her face with her hands.

‘You’re okay. You’re okay.’ She repeats, relief washing over her.

She cries as you pull her into a kiss, cupping your cheeks and leaning her forehead against yours.

‘Congratulations, your baby is perfectly healthy.’ The doctor says after examining the image.

Discreetly, she types on her keyboard to print out a sonogram picture for you to keep.

Ona intertwines your fingers with hers, resting them on top of her stomach. On top of your baby, whose steady heartbeat is finally putting the two of you at ease.

Spanish Translations:

‘Me duele la cabeza.’ - ‘My head hurts.’

dios mío - my god

mi amor - my love

Not Going Anywhere

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When he nearly loses you, Dean finds he can’t stand the thought of that happening.

Requested by Anonymous: “May I please request a one shot of dean and reader with her having an internal bleeding. You know when the character seems fine but then boom they collapse and turns out they're not fine at all?? I LIIIVE for that shit... The shock, the realization, the worry....”

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: angst, injury, bleeding, shock, anxiety, mentions of alcohol, guilt, fluff

You sat slumped in the backseat of the Impala, exhausted from the hunt. Fortunately, it’d been close to the bunker, close enough that you didn’t need a motel room overnight. Close enough that the drive hadn’t been terribly long like most cases were. You felt like you’d been run over by a semi two times over, a certain weakness running through you that left you feeling less than okay.

You watched quietly as the rain came down and trickled against the chilled windows of the car, falling into each other as they raced down the glass before fresh ones took their place in an instant. It was gloomy weather, something you could have found yourself seeking comfort in on any given day, something that otherwise would have been cozy had you not felt the way you did.

But you did, and it wasn’t leaving any time soon.

Dean had the heat cranked up because he could see that you were cold, could tell by the way you wrapped your arms around yourself. The ache and burn in your stomach had yet to subside, Dean having cleaned your wound before setting off to go home earlier that day, but that didn’t stop it from hurting.

You were less than comfortable, as far from it as you could be as you sat behind Sam. You missed the way Dean had glanced at you in the rear view more often than not, his concern evident in the crease between his brows, deepening each and every time he looked. He saw your agitation, the way your face contorted in discomfort as you slumped against the seat. You couldn’t sit still even if your life depended on it, constantly moving in your seat despite the way the hurt in your abdomen is screaming at you otherwise.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so restless in your life more than you were in that moment, anxiety settling in heavily the more you sat stuck in that car. There wasn’t anything in particular for you to feel this way over—you’d ridden in this car more times than you could count for years, having sat in the very same spot for far longer than this trip has been before. You’d done it all before without fail, without a problem, but this time was different.

It was different and he knew it.

Any other time you’d start a conversation about any and everything, singing along with him to nearly any song that came on the radio for the sake of getting on Sam’s nerves. Any other time you’d take a nap if you were tired, especially on a day like that where the clouds and rain offered ample comfort to allow you to do so, but this wasn’t any other time. This time you looked like you were two seconds from hopping out at the next red light, and it didn’t sit right with him.

“Sweetheart, you okay back there?” He calls out over his shoulder.

You’re not even sure if the words came out of his mouth, not even sure if you heard him as you shifted your gaze. When he didn’t get a response he looked in his mirror at you, calling out your name once more with more concern than the last.

You sat up a little straighter, glancing at him with eyes squinted slightly in confusion. “‘M fine, De.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced of that, not even a little bit as you blinked, trying to gather yourself a bit more than in that moment as he turned down the road that led to the bunker. You had a habit of saying you’re fine when you’re not, and you’re so clearly the opposite and he finds himself grateful he’s home, you’re home. But that doesn’t soothe the worry boiling over in the pit of his stomach, clouding his mind of anything and everything revolving around you.

Your words were merely words as they fell from your lips, that feeling simmering within you feeling awfully bad as you sit there, as the impala descended down into the bunker’s garage. The fluorescent lights were harsh on your eyes, your wince inevitable as you fought the groan sitting in the back of your throat. Dean didn’t need to be worrying over you, though he surely already was.

You think you just need a rest, a few hours sleeping in your own bed would do you some good. It had to.

You hadn’t fully registered the fact that the car had come to a stop, put in park in its usual spot and it gave Dean enough time to round the back end of it before you tried to get out on your own. When he pulls the door open you’ve got that look, one that tugs at his heart because you look so miserable, so tired and defeated. He crouches down closer to your level as you sit there, watches as you take a deep breath to try and steady the race of your heart. To try and calm the queasy feeling in your stomach.

“Sweetheart?” He asks, eyes on you in search of any indication that you’d been listening. You were, you really were, but you were trying to get a handle on how you felt. “Baby, we’re home.”

You nod then, turning your head to look at him with a soft smile in an attempt to assure him you’d heard him. He stood to his feet and held his hand out, gentle as he helped out of the car. You tried to ignore the rush that came down over you the moment you got up, tried to swallow down the intensifying nausea that’d swirled around in your stomach just begging to come up. You tried your hardest and it was proving to be a challenge.

You were dizzy when you stood to your feet, almost overwhelming, but you were quick to balance yourself and you brushed it off. You’d been in the car for the past two hours, doing nothing but sit in the same position for the majority of that time and you’d yet to eat or drink anything. A little dizziness seemed reasonable upon standing in your mind, not to mention the way your head had been hurting for nearly the same amount of time as the drive home.

You felt his hand slip from yours in favor of wrapping around you to steady you, to help you as you walked but you shrugged him off just as quickly, flashing him a look.

“De, I’m fine. You don’t need to fuss over me,” you say, and the look on his face shows just how much he disagrees with you. You could see it with the dimples forming by the very corners of his mouth and the raise of his eyebrow.

“Y/n—”

“I’m serious. I just need a little sleep and I’ll be fine,” you say, smiling once more in hopes he’d settle down, but you knew he wouldn’t.

It took a few moments, but eventually he dropped his hand to his side reluctantly and eyed you carefully, cautious as he watched you walk ahead into the bunker’s hallway towards your shared room. He knew you better than you thought, better than you knew yourself. He knew you like the back of his hand, but you were just as stubborn as he was and that’s the problem.

You flickered between bouts of nausea and none at all, between feeling fine, like you said you were, and feeling like you’d been drug all the way home tied to the trunk of the Impala. It was something that worsened the more you dwelled on the feeling, something you wished would subside.

You felt a beat of relief upon seeing the golden eleven mounted on that familiar wooden door come into view just down the hall, could smell the faint scent of Dean’s cologne wafting over you as he walked by towards Sam.

You were almost there, then you could lay down for a good long while, tuck yourself into that memory foam bed that was unbelievably comfortable and smelled every bit like Dean, and rest like you’d been longing to do since the moment you left to come home that day. You could rest in the comfort of your shared space for as long as you needed to get better. You were almost there.

But you weren’t.

In that moment, you felt like you were miles away from your destination, you felt like the conversation the two of them were having just a few feet away had been miles away from you, their voices muffled far more than they should be for how close they’d really been to you.

You slowed yourself to a wavering stop for a minute just to gather yourself a little more than you were then and there, reaching out for the wall that was just a little farther than you anticipated it to be. Your ears began to ring slightly, gradually, as that same nausea made its unpleasant return in your stomach, eyes squeezing shut just for a moment. You weren’t aware of just how awful you looked in that moment, but you knew it couldn’t have been too good if it was a reflection of how you were feeling in that very same moment. To be quite honest you felt like you’d just run a marathon with the way you couldn’t catch your breath, with the way your heart had been hammering within your chest at a faster than normal pace.

You felt like a walking, breathing disaster, and sure enough, you looked like it too.

Dean’s brows furrowed when he followed Sam’s gaze, to you, to you who stood there unsure of yourself as a flurry of emotions flashed over your face within a second’s time. A number of emotions, none of anything positive being displayed and it intensified the worries he’d had running through him. A sheen of sweat had glistened over your skin despite the chill that ran through you, your vision doubled as you opened your eyes once more to try and give Dean a glance.

“Y/n?” Your name fell from his lips, soft and hesitant at first as the initial confusion took over, his mouth going dry as he approached you.

“I’m…” you start, nodding your head as you swallow thickly. “I’m fine, Dean. I just…"

Your words were failing you, your ability to form a coherent thought failing you in that moment as you lost all means of balance, teetering on the edge of collapsing before you’d gone and done it. The shout of your name had come off as an echo to you, the impact of the floor having been cold and unforgiving as you fell, too weak to catch yourself.

He hated just how limp you felt in his arms as he knelt beside you, the pain jolting through him from dropping to his knees on the concrete floor having been the very least of his concerns as he watched you. Panic had lanced through him as your head lulled, caught in the crook of his arm as his other hand grabbed your face. Despite the sweat gleaming across your skin, your cheeks were void of any heat that you’d expect to feel and it only added to his upset.

“Y/n!” He called out, your brows furrowing as you felt yourself go from bad to worse, a steady declining feeling blanketing you. “Sweetheart, stay with me.”

His voice was loud, carrying through the winding hall in an echoing display of his fear, the sound taunting him as it bounced off the walls. You nodded weakly, despite the way your heartbeat hammered loudly in your ears enough to muffle what he’d been saying to Sam, or the way you couldn’t hold yourself up if it weren’t for the way he held you. Despite that, you nodded for him.

That ache from the wound you’d walked away from that hunt with was still very much there, that you knew. You knew things didn’t look good for you in that moment, not with the way Dean looked at you as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, or the fear in his eyes when he’d pressed his fingers to the side of your neck, your pulse faint but bounding beneath his fingertips. Things were continuing to go from bad to worse, to far beyond that and you knew that wasn’t a good sign.

You knew it the moment that feeling hit you in the car an hour earlier and the panic you felt was only increasing the more you thought things over.

You should have said something then, you know that now. You should have stopped saying you were fine when you so clearly weren’t, should have stopped doing what you always do and downplay a situation in fear of thinking about the outcome. You should have known better than to think it’d be as easy as Dean patching you up, not after what that spirit did to you. Nothing in hunting is ever as good as it seems, as easy as it seems, and you should have said something earlier.

Because now, now you were quite sure you were facing your fate when you didn’t have time to prepare for it. And that’s what scared you the most. It could have been something trivial, that’s what you’d been longing for it to be, but you knew it was just your own denial telling you that.

“Dean,” you say, taking a breath as you look up at him. The green eyes you loved so much were filled with a kind of emotion you never liked to see. “I—I just want you to know—”

“No, no c’mon. We’re not doing this sweetheart, okay?”

Nausea hit him like a ton of bricks at the sight of the crimson that slowly began to stain your teeth when you coughed, rage bursting through him in waves over the situation he doesn’t know how to control the ending of. Over the fact that he doesn’t think he can control the outcome for the love of his life in his very arms. He knows nothing in this life is guaranteed, not for the life of someone who hunts the world’s worst monsters.

He’s lost so much in his life, but damn does this one hurt.

“I don’t feel so good,” you murmur instead, watching the expressions flicker across his face through half closed eyes as you groan, brows furrowing at the expression he’d been looking at you with. “What is it?”

He couldn’t tell you what he saw, he wouldn’t do it.

“I know you don’t,” he says softly, chuckling despite it being void of humor, running his hand over your head. “I know you don’t but you’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

All you could do was hum and nod, a soft noise you can’t quite tell had left your lips as the weight of your eyelids grew heavier and heavier. You were tired, that much was true. But he tapped your cheek with his hand lightly, grabbing ahold of your face.

“Don’t do that,” he urged, “please, don’t do that.”

He looked to Sam, a mirrored look of panic looking back at him that didn’t do much to soothe his stresses.

He feels near paralyzed when his gaze drops to you again, your eyes closed. He’d grabbed your face and called your name till his throat felt like sandpaper, till it felt like he swallowed a thousand knives he shouted your name. He held you tight in his arms as his mind worried in a frenzy of fear, calling out desperately for the one person that could help.

Cas.

If there was one thing that Dean Winchester knew how to do, it was worry. He’d worry himself to death over the ones he loved, in fact, there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to keep them safe. But worry is what he’d done for the last two and a half hours and nothing else.

If it was possible, one might think he’d wear a hole in the floor from his pacing at the foot of the bed in the bunkers infirmary. Cas had come in a moment’s notice much to Dean’s relief, had swooped in quite literally and healed you the way he hoped you could be.

It turns out that spirit had done more than just graze you, had gone a little deeper than either of you had thought. It turns out you’d been bleeding more than just on the surface, and that it hadn’t actually slowed to a stop once he’d patched you up back there. You were bleeding this whole time, you just didn’t know it until it almost became too late.

It all made sense now, the way you were acting in the car. The restlessness, the agitation and the way you couldn’t sit still. He knew there was something wrong even when you refused to admit it, and he hated it when you did that. Hated it when you kept your pain to yourself when you really didn’t need to, in favor of staving his worry and trying to be independent, and that’s something he knew well.

But that wasn’t the point, the point was you were lying there in that bed almost within an inch of your life had Cas not come. The point was he nearly lost you in his arms and he couldn’t help the blame that sparked and burst within him that maybe he shouldn’t have believed you when you said you were fine. He didn’t, but he felt he should have kept pushing, kept prying to get you to admit it. Thinking that maybe he should have known there was more to that injury by the way your face crinkled up when it happened, by the way you fell to the floor for a moment or two before you stood back on your feet.

He felt like this was on him, and it was tearing him up from the inside out.

Dean ran through a myriad of emotions that night, each one hitting harder than the last. He was scared, the mere thought of losing someone he found himself rapidly not being able to see himself living without having scared him more than he’d care to even admit. He was angry, his fear masked behind clenched jaws and hands running through hair, chairs kicked and chest heaving. Angry at himself for not having gotten to you sooner back there.

It was a never ending cycle of fear and anger and guilt, a cycle he felt he’d always feel in one way or another so long as the ones he loves keep getting hurt when he feels he has the means to prevent it somehow.

For the better part of that two hours, apart from the anxious pacing, he sat at your side as you rested. He was reluctant to leave your side should something happen again. He couldn’t handle that and he knew it. He sat there with his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. He held your hand for a while, thumb absentmindedly brushing over your knuckles as his foot tapped and his knee bounced subconsciously.

For the better part of that two hours, the events of what lead up to that point had replayed in his mind over and over in a taunting loop, having worsened the feeling he held each and every time it restarted. Each time he recalled something more in the way you’d looked in the car, in the way you acted, in the way you felt in his arms.

Cas had to tell him a million times over that you’d be okay. That wound on your stomach had been healed, everything had been healed as though it was never there. He told him a thousand times over that you were stable, you were okay. You were okay, but he couldn’t find it in himself to get over it just yet.

The last time Cas had said it was when he believed it, it was when he couldn’t be in that room another second otherwise he just might crack. He couldn’t bear to see you laying there like that, no matter the fact that you were just fine. It made his stomach churn and twist in knots.

He left, the stack of lore books swept off the table in the library in his wake, a string of curses leaving his lips. He went to your shared room first, the door slamming roughly behind him. He was angry at no one else but himself despite the fact that he shouldn’t be, but he’ll beg to differ on that a thousand times over.

When you woke up, the infirmary was empty. You’d seen the chair at your bedside that hadn’t normally been there. And if it wasn’t telling enough of Dean’s presence, the weight of his jacket splaying warmly overtop of you was sure to make it all the more obvious he’d been there.

You were sore as you sat up, stiff from having been laying in the same position for an amount of time you were sure of. But, when you lifted the hem of your shirt, that burning wound had no longer resided where it’d been. That nausea had since dissolved, that headache had gone away for the most part, and the weakness you felt, the dizziness, it’d all gone away. You knew it was done with the help of no one other than Cas.

You were sure Dean had been there with you for quite some time, but you also knew Dean better than to think he’d handle it well. You knew by the way you’d woken up by yourself that he’d handled it horribly. He gets worked up over injuries that are on a smaller scale, but this, this was far different than that. Inches from meeting your fate had been much too different than that and you knew he’d disappeared to sulk by himself.

You sighed when you pushed yourself off the bed, leaving the empty infirmary before navigating the bunker. The sight of the books splaying messily across the floor had been an indication of something you already suspected, the quiet in the air having added to the tension only followed when one of the three of you had been angry.

Your bedroom was empty, the blankets stretching over to his side of the bed having been wrinkled some from where he’d been sitting. A photo of the two of you had been sitting there on the nightstand, half-tucked under the base of the lamp sitting lit atop it, the drawer not closed all the way.

The Impala was still in the garage where he’d parked it hours ago, a frown tugging at your lips at the sight of the very hallway everything had taken place.

You knew where he’d be at this hour, at one where everyone should be asleep. Sam had been, you were sure of that, but if Dean hadn’t been in either of those places, you knew where he’d be.

A knowing sigh left your lips as you stepped down into the kitchen, the very one you’d been looking for sitting at the table. You saw the bottle of whiskey on the table and you saw the glass in his hand. You saw the way his hair had been a ruffled mess and you saw the ivory of his knuckles as he held that very same glass. You knew that all too well, you knew he’d been all sorts of torn up inside. He was.

“Knew I’d find you here,” you say, his head turning at the sound of your voice.

You could see the relief flooding his expression as he looked up at you, at the way his eyes widened and the way his face lit up just a little bit more than before, though it didn’t take long for the crease between his brows to deepen once more as you sat down next to him. He’s quiet for a moment before he presses a lingering kiss to your temple, and another as his next words are murmured against your skin.

“Sweetheart, you should be in bed, you’ve been through it today.”

You could hear the fatigue in the softness of his tone, could feel his nose brush against your temple before he turned away.

“Without you?” Your words are lighter as a soft smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

He chuckles, half-humorous as he shakes his head, swirling the whiskey around in his glass. He swallows thickly, thoughts weighing heavy on his mind as a million words sit on the tip of his tongue. You knew a little humor didn’t do much to stave off that feeling he held.

“‘M fine, Dean.”

“Don’t say that,” he says, head shaking before he brings the glass up to his mouth and swallows the rest of his drink, pouring himself another.

You saw the way his eyes were rimmed a pale shade of pink. Dean Winchester wasn’t one to cry too often, but you could always tell when he had been. His eyes were red and so was the very tip of his nose, flushed a soft pink and the quiver in his lip hadn’t quite left just yet.

“I’m serious, Dean. I’m okay.”

“Well you weren’t a few hours ago, Y/n. You were damn near dead,” he says, louder than before as his jaw tenses.

“Well I’m not,” you counter, the huff that puffs through his nose an indication of his frustration.

“I’m glad this is just another day to you, Y/n.”

He brings his hands up to his face, rubbing over it in frustration as he sniffs. You saw that quiver just a little more now, one he hid behind his glass as he tipped his head back and drank it.

“For cryin’ out loud you still got blood on your teeth, Y/n,” he says, softer this time as the tension in his jaw loosens.

You sigh softly, more so to yourself as you stay quiet for a moment or two, your tongue swiping over your teeth before you bite the inside of your cheek. You can see the emotions flicker and roll through him, can see the guilt written clear across his face to match the feeling simmering in the pit of his stomach. When you got up, he’d expected you to just walk away, though instead you find yourself leaning atop the wooden table.

You snag the glass from the loose grip he had on it, setting it aside as he drug his hands down his face.

Your shoulders drop a fraction as you look down at your hands for a moment, foot tapping quietly against the floor. When you looked at him, his gaze was on the table, the inside of his cheek between his teeth. You bring your hand up to smooth over his hair before your palm settles on his cheek, thumb brushing over his chin. His eyes lift to yours, weary and upset.

You don’t fail to miss the way he leans into your touch no matter how subtle, or the way the clench in his jaw dissipates the rest of the way before your hand drops to your lap.

“There was nothing you could’ve done differently back there, De. No matter how much you think otherwise,” you say, watching that tension return as he looks away. “I know that’s what you’re thinking right now, but I’m still here. Now you don’t have to believe me on this, and I know you won’t, but you were there when I needed you the most. And that’s the only thing that matters to me. So you can be mad at yourself all you want, you can blame yourself all you want, but I’m not blaming this on you.”

He sat quietly, simmering in his own silence with closed eyes as his chest heaves a bit more than normal. You swipe your thumb across the crease between his brows, smoothing it softly as you watch the way he bites the inside of his cheek. Dean Winchester’s got a whole lot of stubbornness in him, but a whole lot of softness no matter how many layers of anger and frustration and worry sit atop it.

You move from the table after a beat of silence, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He relaxed under your embrace, more so when you dipped down from behind him and pressed a kiss on his cheek, one more for good measure.

You don’t know what to say for a little while as your head rests against his, arms dangling over his shoulders as you clasp your hands together loosely. You know for a fact he’s still beating himself up for this, that was something you knew was unavoidable. But that was something you could handle.

“Come to bed, De, it’s late,” you murmur, kissing his cheek once, twice, three times.

He hums at first, nodding his head. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

You let him go with a soft squeeze to his shoulders, spinning on your heel as you sigh softly. But it doesn’t take more than a mere few seconds before you hear him move around.

“Sweetheart, wait.”

You turn around once more, brow raised in curiosity.

He’s hesitant for a moment before he crosses the room in a couple of steps, arms around you in an instant. You wrap yours around his neck, his embrace near bone crushing as his face tucks into your neck. His stubble is rough against your skin, the softness of your smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. He’s got fistfuls of your shirt in his palms, holding you close as you stand up on your toes.

“What do you say we ditch hunting for a little while?” He mumbles into your neck, your soft laughter immediate as you lean back to look at him. “Don’t want you dyin’ on me again, sweetheart.”

You bit your cheek for a moment as you shook your head, fighting a smile. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Winchester.”

He rolls his eyes, looking to the side as he fights the beginnings of his smile. “Yeah, well, I’m good with that.”

The tension he held minutes ago lessened some, his expression softer as he looked down at you. You lean on your toes and kiss him softly, lingering just over his lips for a few seconds before kissing him once more with a smile as you speak up.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @campingmonkey @agalliasi @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath

Hey bestie , I love what you write . Can you do one with mason , where they are dating and she gets negative comments and like she feels very bad but didn’t tell him . At the end he finds out and he takes her defens .💕💕

thank you for your request :) sorry it took so long x

Summary: Since you and Mason made your relationship public three months ago, you have received negative and abusive messages from fans. But when everything takes a drastic turn, Mason is there to protect you and takes to social media afterwards to shut down all the abuse and threats.

Warnings: Derogatory language

I'll Always Protect You

"Mason deserves better"

"Slut"

"You're not even that pretty"

"What does Mount see in you"

"I wish he'd just hurry up and break up with you"

"Lets be honest, you wouldn't look twice at him if he wasn't who he was"

"You're just with him for the money"

"I know where you live"

"Break up with him, we know where you live"

These were just some of the many Instagram messages I would receive daily. Some were just calling me names or making me out to be a gold-digger and the sorts. But those on the worse end of the spectrum, those threatening me made me feel sick in the stomach. They had started just over three months ago after Mason and I had gone public with our relationship and they hadn't stopped, only gotten worse. I hadn't told Mason about any of them, I mean surely all of the threats were empty, just a series of words strung together to try and scare me. But part of me was scared that if Mason saw them, he'd start to believe them himself.

"What you looking at, baby," Mason asks from beside me on the bed, sounding concerned. I realised that there must've been a shift in my emotions and immediately plastered a smile onto my face.

"Nothing, Mase," I reply, my voice unsteady. I hate lying to him.

"Tell me you're not reading one of those stupid articles about us again," he says, looking at me, a look of sadness on his face. On top of the private messages I had been receiving, there were a few articles online from gossip sites and even big newspaper companies slating our relationship. Of course, Mason knew about those, there was no way to keep them quiet.

"I don't care what they say, I love you," he would affirm every time he saw one or caught me reading one.

Mason had stayed over at my house last night, not yet moved in with each other, but today wasn't one of the days we could have a lazy day. A day spent cuddling up to each other in bed, doing nothing but watch films, or catch up on the latest episode of 'Married at Frist Sight', which Mason would repeatedly remind me he hated (he loved it really). But, unfortunately, Mason did have training on my day off. I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head before the bed dipped beneath me as he started getting ready.

"I'll come and pick you up later and we can go out for a meal or something," he promised as he opened the door thirty minutes later, pecking my lips lightly.

"Sounds good," I smile, "I love you,"

"I love you too," he says before closing the door and making his way to his car.

Tap. Tap. I looked up from the TV to look around for the source of the tapping noise. I noticed it almost straight away and my heart skipped a beat. There was someone outside my window, tapping on the glass, wearing a black balaclava. I froze in my seat, my hands shaking. He continued tapping for a few more seconds before moving to another window and continuing. Then he moved to the door, jiggling the handle in an attempt to open it. At this point, I start to panic, even more, rushing around looking for my phone.

"Where is it..? Where the fuck did I leave it..?" I whisper to myself as I rush upstairs, extremely distressed. I find it on my bedside table in my room and immediately dial Mason. Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring.

"Come on, pick up, pick up, Mase." Ring ring. Ring r-.

"Baby, you can't be missing me that much already, I've only been gone for ten minutes," he jokes light-heartedly.

"Mase..." I say, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Baby, what's wrong? What's happening? Talk to me," he says, concern evident in his voice.

"Someone's outside, they... they were at the window... tapping it. And... And then they... they started trying to open the door. I can hear them shouting through the letterbox and hitting the door. Mase, I don't know what to do," I say, tears streaking down my face.

"Shit... I'm turning around right now, I'll be back as quick as I can, lock yourself in the bathroom or something, just in case they get in. Stay on the phone," I nod, trying to steady my breathing. On my way to the bathroom across the hall, I can hear the abusive muffled shouts. I pray to God that Mason can't hear what is being said through the phone.

I hear Mason's car pull up in the driveway and his car door slam shut. I unlock the bathroom door and race downstairs where I can see him attempting to confront my perpetrator before he runs away. I open the door, tears of terror still staining my cheeks. Mason sees me and runs over, pulling me into a hug

"Hey, hey it's okay, they're gone, I'm here now. I've got you," he comforts, taking me back into the house and sitting me down to calm me down.

"I didn't think they were being serious..." I say under my breath.

"Baby, what are you on about?" I try my best to play it off as nothing, but Mason won't listen.

"It was just a few messages, it doesn't matter,"

"Show me them," I reluctantly pass him my unlocked phone and he scrolls through my message requests.

"Why didn't you tell me..." he says with a frown, clearly upset that I had not confided in him.

"I thought that if you saw them, you'd start to believe what everyone was saying,"

"Oh, baby..." he whispers, pulling me into his chest, "Nothing anyone says will ever change how I feel about you. Go and get yourself a bag packed and you can come to training with me,"

"It has recently come to light the amount of hate, abuse and downright threats have been hurled at my girlfriend, Y/N. And to tell you the truth, I'm disgusted. So, I've come to Instagram to address it.

I was unaware of how much abuse had been projected onto her until earlier today when I read some of the messages she has been receiving on both Instagram and Twitter. Most accounts claimed to be Chelsea fans, but as I'm sure all of my teammates would agree, to verbally abuse one of our partners, someone that I LOVE, does not qualify you as a Chelsea fan.

I had obviously seen all of the news articles, those I could look past, but the threats became very real today. I am sure that those of you who messaged threats like "We know where you live, break up with him," were all just empty words. But today, I had to drive back to Y/N's house after leaving for training after receiving a phone call from her, telling me that someone was tormenting her in her own home. If this happens again, it WILL become a matter that will need to be treated more seriously.

Finally, I would like to say that no online abuse of anyone should be tolerated. People in the public eye have feelings too, they are human too. It is never okay to attack someone for loving who they love. I know that this message will not stomp out all of the abuse, but I hope that the majority of you are mature enough to take what I have said into account and will consider what you say before you send it.

M19" I read aloud to myself when I see that Mason has posted. I feel a pair of arms snake their way around my waist, pulling me closer into his body. Mason.

"Thank you for protecting me today,"

"I'll always protect you,"

Sorry I'm taking ages to write requests, I have been so busy with coursework and homework as of late. That, and posting about 30 things about the match today. So, sorry for the spam, but I hope you enjoyed this request! <33

Jason and Juno

I just want to talk about them. I have so many feelings and I can’t find anyone else that cares about them. But, like, why not?

Because Rick ignored Jason in HoO and I still haven’t got my Roman prequels, that’s why.

I freaking love Jason anyway and I always have. And I admit, reading original PJO, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Hera, but we weren’t really supposed to be I don’t think. But Juno? Nah man, Juno is cool.

Everybody seems to write her off because she’s Hera and we all know Hera sucks, and obviously Percy and Annabeth don’t like Hera so makes sense that we kinda subconsciously take their lead. But Juno is cool - and I will absolutely fight that corner forever. It’s like, Ares was kinda a dick in many regards, but Mars was a good dad to Frank, Mars was cool too.

Juno was one of the only gods interested in actively helping demigods, particularly her favoured ones, sure, but she still tried to help. And she obviously cared about them too. Not just Jason, it was very evident she liked Leo a lot too (and I love that too). And we know - at least from ToA - that she had a soft spot for Frank too (and honestly who can blame her).

But yeah, so I actually dig Juno in HoO. She helped out, she was awesome, she was actively nice at least to Jason.

So that’s the first thing to get over. Hate Hera if you want to - but let me convince you that Juno is better. Re-read the books and look for her being nice and cool. Because it’s there.

On top of that though, the relationship between Juno and Jason just makes me so happy and warm. I love it so much, even though I haven’t seen anyone else that seems to care.

Jupiter was at least as much of a dick as Zeus was - that’s something everyone agrees on I think. And I think a lot of us if not everyone can agree that he was a worse dad to Jason than he was to Thalia. And maybe that’s because he washed his hands of responsibility for him after he gifted Jason to Juno. (Dick move btw.) but either way, he basically ignored Jason his entire life and throughout HoO. He was hands down one of the most distant godly parents of the seven and of a lot of main heroes we’ve followed in the series’. So Jason couldn’t really depend on him for help or guidance an awful lot and basically felt like he didn’t have a father. But at least he had Juno.

Juno was a good patron to him. She helped him where she could. She actively and genuinely cared about him. She tried to make herself available for chats when he needed them as much as she could. Gave him presents (his gladius) and praise when he did well, pep talks for what was ahead. As pseudo foster mothers go, she really wasn’t bad. Closest thing Jason had to a parent, and yeah, he could’ve had worse. He did have worse with his alcoholic slightly off the rails actual mother who gave him away, and had worse in a dad who never spoke to him or saw him or lifted a finger to help him until the very last second and who also gave him away. I kinda gotta figure after that kind of treatment from both your actual parents, getting what he got from his patron was probably very appreciated.

And Juno/Hera is the goddess of marriage and family among other things. Throughout the series it’s pretty much her biggest hang up. And obviously she wasn’t always the best mother (poor Hephaestus) to her actual kids, but she kinda held Olympus together. Stopped them all tearing each other apart. Family was important to her and something she valued. Obviously she hated when her husband cheated on her and had someone else’s kids. Honestly? That’s pretty reasonable to be unhappy about. But she watched the rest of her family, literally forever, having kids willy nilly when they wanted to. Obviously Artemis didn’t, but she didn’t want kids and she had the hunters so that’s fine. For someone that loves family so much, it’s very possible she could’ve been a little envious of everyone else having huge families. She still had her Olympian family, but maybe she would’ve liked to have some demigods of her own, if it didn’t involve cheating which she just won’t do. She favoured original Jason and was his patron too, so she was happy enough to adopt them, but it still wasn’t something she did often. So she didn’t get a lot of mortal kids and might’ve felt like she was missing out. But at least she had Jason.

So, being given another little adopted demigod, hell yeah she probably loved mothering him. He was totally her kid. He didn’t have any parent or family to be there for him, she didn’t have any demigod kids of her own and knew she never will. That’s hella cute that they can adopt each other.

Everyone loves found families lately - well this is basically that. Kinda forced at first but doesn’t mean they wouldn’t grow to love each other. They helped each other, could depend on each other. Juno is literally the patron of Rome as well. So even if Jason hadn’t known from the off that he’d been given to Juno, he’d have still had the sense that she had his back along with the rest of Rome, so he might’ve asked for a little help or guidance before HoO, maybe while he was Praetor too. And Juno being New Rome’s patron would’ve probably kept an eye over Camp Jupiter and especially when Jason rose to Praetor she could’ve been paying more attention to him from then. Watched out for him during the Titan War.

I want to know more about them. Especially if Jason was fully aware that she was his patron the whole time before HoO. I want them to have had some sort of relationship. I want them to like each other at least a little. Nico and Hades got closer eventually. Percy and Poseidon (and honestly a bunch of the gods) got on well. Mars adored Frank. Aphrodite seems pretty cuddly with her kids in general. I don’t think it’d be a terrible stretch for Juno and Jason to have each other’s backs.

I want to know if Jason ever made offerings for her along with Jupiter. Burnt food at CHB for her as well as his dad.

I want to know if Juno ever helped him out on earlier quests at all, whether he knew it or not. If she ever gave him and maybe Reyna too, sort of a Praetor deal, counsel.

I want to see Juno fully lean into having Jason as her favourite, as her chosen hero. I want to see her lend some power to him when he needs it. I want to see Jason with the Blessing of Juno. How many demigods would’ve ever gotten that? That’s unheard of. I want it for him. I want to see him marching on Mount Othrys to take down Krios and topple the throne, not with the blessing of Jupiter (although I would also love to see him with that, that would be so cool!) but with the blessing of Juno, patron of Rome. I wanna see him monologuing Krios into intimidation like he did to the giants: I'm the son of Jupiter, I'm a child of Rome, consul to demigods, praetor of the First Legion. I slew the Trojan sea monster, I have the blessing of Juno: Patron of Rome. And she also happens to be my stepmom, dick.

I talked about it in another post before, him getting her blessing. Supposedly with her Roman counterpart she’s supposed to be militaristic, strategic, etc. A blessing from his dad would be like an explosion of power, don’t get me wrong. It’d be like Thor in Infinity War. Magnificent. He could totally burst into the palace and fry Krios and destroy the throne. But I think it’d also be pretty damn awesome if he got zapped with her blessing and became like the ultimate military leader (kind of like Frank with Mars’ blessing I suppose, but more strategic instead of hitting the protein shakes), leading the troops in the invasion and being a total Praetor before he even became Praetor.

Side note: It’s probably not possible but can you imagine if he got blessings from both of them?? I doubt you can have two at a time, but that would be spectacular if he did. Especially from Jupiter and Juno. He would be incredibly powerful, no wonder the Legion made a big deal out of him in the early part of the series. Always was a little disappointed we never got to see cool Roman Jason. I love Jason, I do, but he wasn’t exactly what we heard about in The Lost Hero and Son of Neptune. It never felt like we saw his full potential. So I’m just gonna sit in my corner and dream it up instead lol.

Anyway, this was purely for me because I have a lot of feelings about these two and I couldn’t find anything about them at all or not anything positive. But if anyone else likes them or has ideas or there is stuff you can point me to, please do, I want to get involved in it and find people that are into this so bad!