everyone says “protect” magnus these days but a lot of it is just infantilising him tbh… which i guess is pretty on par with how white ppl do treat poc irl when it suits them.
yeah i agree; it’s interesting bc of the shift in fandom like when i was first here magnus was frequently disregarded but now that ppl are like…aware that magnus should be accounted for, they’ve moved onto infantalizing him and speaking for him or even over him which is frustrating. it’s still the same racialized behavior, just a different side of it and at the end of the day a lot of it is for ally points–subconsciously or not–rather than any actual care for the characters of color themselves.
anyway, magnus is a complicated character and a complicated individual; he is not a token so people can prove how “woke” they are by posting the occasional outraged “magnus is so terribly mistreated by x white character for *spins wheel* these reasons!!!!” and then they go on to rec popular fanfics that do exactly the same thing they were supposedly criticizing two seconds ago.
Chapter Summary: Ignoring Dean’s obvious dislike of the victim, the two of you keep him safe while Sam takes care of the spirit. Yet, things change during the heat of the moment.
After your Dad was killed, you were shocked to learn all about his hidden life. Deciding to follow in his footsteps, you turn to a life of hunting, surprised at how well you adapted. Then comes along Sam and Dean Winchester, turning your life upside down. You and Dean don’t get along at first, but then things soon start to change.
Author’s Note: Thanks for checking this story out! I’m having a blast writing it, and I’m always open to comments or suggestions.
You rushed over to Derek, not taking the time to see if Dean was behind you. Pulling on Derek’s shirt, you cussed when you couldn’t pry him out of the water. The force holding him down was too strong.
“Y/N, get back!” Dean yelled, and you stepped back just in time for him to shoot at the spirit. You heard an unearthly scream before it vanished, leaving Derek gasping for air. Helping him to his knees, you patted his back to help release some of the water still in his lungs.
The most epic roadtrip ever. We left Texas to drive to Nebraska for our family reunion. Then to South Dakota for Mount Rushmore and Sturgis. Followed by Yellowstone then Salt Lake City and kindig design (aka bitchin rides) then salt flat racing. Finished our tour by seeing the north rim of the Grand Canyon. Followed IH40 back to Texas. 10 states. 3400 miles. 3 brothers, 3 wagons, our dad and our sons! Awesome trip!
Fortunate Son could be heard blaring from a boombox nestled in the turf next to a line of hurdles. The hurdlers were practicing their drills on the turf. The boombox in question belonged to a certain rowdy, lanky boy who so persistently insisted on bringing it to practice every day. He loved to play oldies, and it was both in ironic and unironic fashion that he created the boombox’s playlist. Unfortunately, his sweet symphony of Creedence Clearwater Revival was interrupted by an abrupt clang that could only be identified as aforementioned boy went crashing, hands first, onto the turf. A hurdle lay completely flipped in his wake. Stan, his unamused drill partner, who was clearly vexed, slowed to a jog and then to a stop. He held his hand out as Richie quickly took hold and helped himself to his feet.
“TOZIER!! KEEP YOUR EYES UP AND OFF OF KASPBRAK!” the hurdle coach, Coach Black, reminded him for what seemed like the thousandth time. It was a force of habit. What could he say? He loved staring at the small, freckled boy.