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#no one dies in this one

highfunctioningflailgirl · 6 months

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Just A Trick

It’s a fucking joke. A trick. Loki’s at it again.

He’s going to snap out of this any second now, whole and well, definitely not impaled on six inches of rebar right through his back.

Dean palpates his chest, puzzled that it looks fully intact. He must be imagining the pain inside, that eerie feeling of metal grinding against bone, of cartilage and flesh shredded and bleeding.

This cannot be happening.

“AHHH!” he barks, furious, and Sam in front of him flinches.

His little brother looks frozen in shock. Dean told him not to move him, that the stupid piece of rebar that cannot be real is holding him together right now. Sam seems at a loss what to do, and Dean knows he has to take charge.

“Call 911, Sam,” Dean tells him through gritted teeth. “Now.”

At the command, Sam snaps out of his stupor.

“On it.” His fingers fly over the display of his phone.

“Tell- tell them to bring rescue equipment,” Dean rasps through the burning in his chest. There’s a mounting pressure behind his breastbone, and breathing is becoming more difficult. “They’ll have to- to cut me loose.”

Sam nods, and when the operator picks up, Dean hears Sam rattle down the five w’s in quick and coordinated order, emphasizing the fact that Dean is fucking impaled on a fucking metal rod and that there is no time to waste. Thank God the woman on the other end knows her job: In the next few minutes she does her best to keep Sam calm and Dean alive while ensuring them that help will arrive in a matter of minutes.

Hopefully, that’ll be fast enough. Dean’s lungs feel like they’re filling up with sand (although it’s probably blood), and the pain from his injury radiates through his torso in bright-hot rays.

“…him awake,” Dean catches the 911 woman’s voice through the speaker. (Did he zone out for a moment?) “And keep him still.”

Dean almost has to laugh. Keeping still won’t be a problem, pinned as he is, like a fucking butterfly in a glass case. The staying awake part, though, may become a little too much to ask. He’s tired, so very tired, and, really, who wants to be lucid with a metal rod rammed through their insides?!

He feels Sam pet his cheek and hears the urgency in his voice when he tells him to “open your eyes, Dean, stay with me, stay awake, come on, eyes open!”

Nevertheless, he feels his eyelids droop. But as his gaze wanders down, earthbound, he catches sight of one of the bodies strewn on the floor, and-

“Sam!” His consciousness snaps back to red alert. “Shit, Sammy, the- the bodies!”

His brother, eyes wide and fixed on him, shakes his head. “I don’t care, Dean. I don’t care what they’ll think. We’ll figure it out. Doesn’t matter now.”

It’s Dean’s turn to shake his head. Fuck, even that hurts. “Sam!” he urges. “You’ve got to hide- put them into the-“ He tilts his head to indicate the boarded-up stall in the corner of the barn, where the vamps had hidden the children.

Sam looks but doesn’t want to listen.

“No, Dean, it’s no use. And I’m not leaving you.”

Only now does Dean realize that Sam has gripped him under the elbows, supporting him as best as he can. Not that it’s doing much, and it doesn’t have to; the rebar is keeping him upright well enough, and Dean can still feel his legs underneath him, stubbornly holding his weight.

“No, please, you-“ Dean quickly squeezes his eyes shut against a stab of pain. “I’m not surviving this to rot in prison,” he croaks, his fingers digging into Sam’s forearms. “I can’t do it, Sammy. You can’t.”

“But-“

“We’ve gotta try, Sammy!” Dean is desperate, so desperate a stupid joke bubbles up in him. “You look like crap in orange.”

Miraculously, that works. Maybe Sam believes that it’s not as bad as it really is because Dean’s still cracking jokes. In any case, he lets go of Dean’s arms and drags the bodies, cut-off heads and all, into the stall one after the other, and he padlocks it. Then he quickly spreads straw over what little blood there is on the floor - their luck that vampires don’t bleed much, what with not having a heartbeat.

“Okay. Okay.”

A little out of breath and sweating, Sam’s back in front of Dean, back supporting him, and Dean vaguely wonders when his little brother became so strong and fast.

Everything is becoming kind of vague and cottony in his head. Flashes of panic, flashes of pain - it all bounces off a veneer that seems to lay itself between him and the world. He’s running out of time, and it’s a scary thought, and shouldn’t the ambulance be here by now?

“I’m fading- I’m fading pretty quick,” Dean manages to articulate.

Sam’s eyes flare with fear, but dammit if he isn’t trying to be brave about it.

“You’re not,” Sam says stubbornly, his grip on Dean intensifying. “You are not dying on me, you hear me? You are Dean fucking Winchester, you’ve been through worse, and you’re going to make it out of here alive! And when you’re out of the hospital, you’ll hang out in the bunker for a few weeks and watch soap operas while Miracle sheds all over your goddamn sheets, and I’ll be pissed at you for drinking beer in bed. You’re going to pull yourself together now and stay awake, or I’ll have to slap you in the face!”

Dean wants to grin but isn’t sure if it shows on his face. Everything is growing a little numb.

“Easy, tiger,” he says, and it’s barely a whisper, his throat scratchy and tight. “Take it easy on your old-” He has to cough and, Jesus Christ on a stick, it hurts like fucking hell. His ribcage clenches around the rebar, his heart hurtling into a frenzy as the pain starbursts through him. He hasn’t lit up in agony like this since his days in Hell.

Choking helpless coughs, Dean squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ride it out.

“Dean! Breathe! Come on, just breathe!”

Dean latches on to Sam’s voice until his ravaged lungs can pull in enough air again to at least keep him conscious. When the fit is over and reality returns, Dean’s cheeks are wet, and his mouth tastes like copper. Sam’s face is his anchor, his hazel-brown-green-blue eyes searching and holding Dean’s gaze as if he could tie him to this world with the love and the iron will Dean recognizes in them.

“There you go. That’s it,” Sam says firmly. “You’ve got this.”

He’s not got this. “I- hnnngh”

Dean’s legs give out, and pain tears through his chest when the rebar takes his weight like a meat hook. God no, Dean thinks, not this again. Memories of Hell flood him, red-hot and blinding.

“Dean! Hang on!”

Sam is there, ducking under his right arm and pulling it across his shoulders, his other hand on Dean’s belt. It hurts, pulling on everything that’s torn in him, and through his own choked noises of agony he hears Sam’s “I’m sorry, Dean, I’m sorry”, but at least Sam’s manoeuver keeps him from being cut in half.

I’m not going to make it, Dean thinks. And: Cas. Please. Help me!

It doesn’t make sense. Cas is gone, absorbed by the Empty. The angel cannot swoop in to save him this time. Dean’s heart stutters at the memory of his loss, of Cas’ sacrifice. Of Cas’ love for Dean. That stupid, stupid, soft son of a bitch.

“Come on, Dean, stay with me! They’re almost here!”

And Dean hears it: The wail of an approaching ambulance - no, more than one? A cacophony of sirens closes in on them.

“Hey, hey! Dean! Stay with me!”

And somehow, Dean does. He’s wheezing, and his vision is a narrowing tunnel. Blood pools in his mouth and dribbles down his chin. His heart is a piece of burning coal, his whole chest on fire. His legs don’t belong to him anymore.

But he can’t do this to Sam. He won’t do this to Cas. The angel gave his life for him. He’s not going to die like this - a stupid, senseless, idiotic death. It’s not going to happen.

The barn’s bathed in light now, and Dean distantly wonders if Cas has come after all, but then there are voices and uniforms and gloved hands on him. Sam’s warmth leaves his side, and Dean finally loses consciousness to a chorus of questions and medical lingo washing over him.

xxx

It’s not the first time he’s woken up choking on a breathing tube, but it never gets any easier. At least he knows the drill - alarms blaring and people rushing in while he gags and bucks and panics. They put him under again, and the next time he comes to, the wretched tube is out, and he’s left with a nasal cannula and the feeling of a cut-up throat. They’ve draped him on his side, propped up by pillows, and he doesn’t even want to know where all the tubes and wires lead that disappear under his hospital gown. It burns here and itches there, and his chest and back feel like hamburger meat held together by duct tape.

“Dean? Hey…”

Sam untangles his long limbs from where he’s folded himself into a chair by the bed, a blanket slipping to the floor.

“Hey, you’re awake!”

“S- … S’my”

It’s a pathetic attempt at pronouncing his little brother’s name; he sounds like a rusty door hinge. But it seems to be good enough for Sam whose eyes - Jesus, when was the last time he slept - light up in his tired, scruffy face.

“Man, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

Sam reaches for Dean’s hand, carefully, as if he were made of something breakable. But his grip is warm and firm, and Dean doesn’t shrug him off.

“How’re you feeling? If you’re in pain I can call the nurse and she can give you more of the…” He waves at one of Dean’s numerous IVs.

“Peach-... peachy,” Dean croaks, forcing one corner of his mouth into a smirk.

“That can’t be true,” a different voice says from the door, a deeper voice, and Dean almost stops breathing at the sight of the hallucination that walks into his line of vision. It must be a hallucination; it can’t be Castiel, Angel of the Lord, in his rumpled trench coat, tie loose, beardy, with a paper cup of coffee in his hand.

“You’re recovering from complex cardio-thoracic surgery. They had to crack your chest and resuscitate you - twice. You’ve been on a ventilator for eight days. I don’t believe “peachy” is an accurate term to describe your physical condition .”

Dean stares at the angel, uncomprehending. His heart throws a drumroll, for everyone to hear as it beep-beep-beeps in agitated spikes.

“Cas?” His voice cracks.

Castiel hands the coffee to Sam and steps closer until he’s right by the bed, standing there in typical Cas-fashion - a little slouched, arms at his sides, head slightly canted, blue gaze intense and ethereal.

“Hello Dean.”

There’s no saliva in Dean’s mouth. Something twists in his chest, both painfully and warm. His head is swimming with half-bred thoughts, clouded by too many fucking drugs. He doesn’t know what to feel, how to deal with this sudden, bright blue shock of elation.

“How…?” is all he manages.

Sam has risen to his feet, smiling through the exhaustion etched into his features.

“He showed up while you were in surgery. When your heart stopped. We don’t know exactly how, or why. If Jack was involved. We think that maybe it was you who brought him back.”

Dean licks dry lips. “Me?”

“I heard your prayer,” Castiel elaborates. “I wanted to come. But I was stuck. The Empty - it had me pinned down. I couldn’t even move. But when your heart stopped, I felt it, and something - something happened. It shook me loose. I felt a surge of power. And then…” He gestures around the room. “Then I was here. Human. I think you pulled me out.”

It’s all a little too much for Dean. His body is a mess, and his brain is bubble-wrapped. Words want to surface from where Dean tucked them away, rehearsed over and over, certain he’d never get to say them. His throat hurts, his chest tightens, and he is not going to fucking cry.

“I’ll give the two of you a minute,” Sam says, running a hand through his too-long hair. “And I’ll go get your doctor. She’ll be happy to see you awake.”

His brother leaves, and Dean is left with a staring angel and blinking tears away.

He lifts a shaking hand to wipe at his eyes, but the movement is pulling on tubes, and he’s weak as a kitten, so he lets his arm sink again.

“There’s so much-” he starts and stops, sandpaper for vocal chords. He can’t look at Cas anymore; he wants to look at nothing else for the rest of his life. He’s been such a damn fool.

The angel reaches out a hand and gently lays it on Dean’s left shoulder, where it’s always belonged.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he rumbles softly. “We will figure this out when you feel better. You need to rest now. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s the permission Dean needed. Exhausted and overwhelmed, he closes his eyes.

Tomorrow, he thinks, Cas’ hand still warm and safe on his shoulder, tomorrow I’m gonna say it back.

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endusviolence · 2 months

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Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

#transgender #trans history #transsexual #transphobia #Magnus Hirschfeld #holocaust #holocaust denial #book burning #j.k. rowling #jk rowling #just in case you missed what i mean by all this: go fuck yourself anon :)#trans people have always existed #and we will always exist #if you really wanna pick a fight with me over well-documented history then you better bring in some sources to back your shit #queer history #queer #lgbt+#lgbta+#lgbt #lgbt history #edit: i finally got around to those damn image IDs. i am so very sorry for totally forgetting that's my bimbo moment of the month #also real quick i thought about adding an image of the actual building but the only one i can find has a Nazi parade in front of it #it was taken the day of the book burning raid and honestly if i were to include it then i'd add it to the first few paragraphs #and i think the story's better told when you uphold the hope Magnus Hirschfeld and all the researchers he worked with had #also keeps being brought up: yes Hirschfeld was a eugenicist. it was a popular belief set that was only discredited after WW2 #Hirschfeld died in 1935. he literally didn't live long enough to see science turn against those beliefs and practices #considering how he changed his mind on transitions i like to think he would've changed his mind on eugenics too if he'd lived

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lilislegacy · 2 months

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frank: let me get this straight. thalia and jason’s domain is the sky, percy’s domain is water, and hazel and nico’s domain is basically the underground?

annabeth: yes

frank: but… can’t percy also create storms? that have clouds and lightning and thunder?

annabeth: yes

frank: and… and can’t percy also create earthquakes and make volcanoes erupt?

annabeth: yes

frank: so… in a way, doesn’t that mean everywhere is percy’s domain?

annabeth: yes.

annabeth: but don’t tell him. he hasn’t had that realization yet

#and it will be a bad day for his enemies when he finally does #percy is also the only one with healing/regeneration abilities #there is a reason many people say poseidon is more powerful than zeus #zeus is lucky poseidon has no interest in being king #percy be scary #but doesn’t realize it #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #percabeth #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #annabeth chase #lol #jason grace #frank zhang #nico di angelo #dark!percy #seaweed brain

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demigods-posts · 3 months

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i don't know man. but sometimes i think about percy breaking the news to nico that his sister's dead. and nico plummetting into depression, screaming at the boy he once thought of as a hero to die. and percy watching this ten-year-old disappear into the shadows mid sobbing. and percy's shaking and traumatized and exhausted. but he forces that pain down his throat and accepts the role as the prophecy kid so nico has a chance to create a future he wants. while percy's is set in stone. and i don't know man.

#like poor baby #you shouldn't have had to make a sacrifice like that #and poor nico getting the only sense of permanence he had ripped from him in a matter of weeks #and each breath he takes is a reminder of all the ones bianca won't get to #and then i die inside #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #pjo text post #percy jackson #nico di angelo #pjo spoilers

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souldagger · 2 months

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you'll have one joke post complaining abt old misogynistic scifi blow up and years later you'll still get people reblogging it with tags like "why i don't touch scifi." hey. im at your door with a pile of scifi in my hands. i'll lovingly read ursula k le guin or octavia butler to you aloud myself. let me in let me in please please please please hello

#[throws up and dies]#.txt #books #man im really glad that the version of that post that mostly gets spread around these days #is the one with the 'for the love of god not all scifi is like that heres a bunch of scifi reading recs' addition 😭😭😭

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jjcattt · 18 days

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AMPUTEE SAM. I KNOW THIS IN MY HEART. I FEEL IN MY SOUL THAT HE HAS A COOL LOOKING PROSTHETIC ALSO. I REFUSE TO ACCEPT CRITICISM.

#also this means at least one and considering the phrasing very likely all of sam's grandparents died. possibly all around the same time.#this is foreshadowing i know it #tmagp #the magnus protocol #tmagp sam #samama khalid

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decaffeinatedpartymuggoop · 10 days

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The mischaracterization of people from PJO is so funny, but ESPECIALLY from HOO onward like.

“Hazel’s such an innocent little angel. She’s always nice and kind and confused.”

Hazel, who’s always ready to fight in the same way Percy is? Hazel, who made it explicitly clear she probably would’ve rocked Octavian’s shit had he not been blackmailing her? Who gets so angry on behalf of the people she loves, to the point where she doesn’t forgive those who have wronged them? Who Percy described as cursing up a storm in one of their first interactions? Who’s been shown time and time again to be FAST to anger? That Hazel?

Or Nico, who’s “a misunderstood emo. A small bean. Cute like a wet cat and innocent like a bunny.”

Nico, who’s cannonically described by most characters as “scary and unnerving?” Nico, who, for a long time, is one of the angriest characters in the series? Who’s only sassy and sarcastic because it took him FOUR YEARS to mellow out? Who’s described as being one of the most powerful demigods, who a lot of people still consider the scariest? Who’s come into his own as a character from TTC to TSATS? That Nico?

Or Annabeth who’s, “cold and calculating. Doesn’t show emotion or express herself”

Annabeth, who’s the most expressive person in the series? Who cries in EVERY book in the OG series? Whether it be for Luke, or Thalia, or Percy, or Chiron, or a literal DOG? Who expresses passion like no other when it comes to architecture and her other interests? Who’s expressed compassion for people she didn’t know? People who at times posed a threat to her? Who isn’t afraid to be angry, or happy, or snide, or rude, or excited, or scared, or ecstatic? Who’s been unapologetically herself since the moment the series started? That’s who doesn’t show emotion? That’s Annabeth?