#here come the people telling me i am awful for this but they are privileged enough not to know

[mars-ipan]

this is gonna sound incredibly virtue signal-y i fear but i have been feeling. so fiercely protective of all the transfems i've ever met lately

[tyzias-ennnntykk]

i think the reason i like Vriska as a character despite her being, yaknow, kinda objectively the worst, is because shes like what i woulda become if id given into my traumas.

like if i just resigned myself to them, said "welp this is how fucked the world is, might as well become fucked up myself to cope" as i wanted to in my darkest moments, id probably be right there with vriska. thinking im "helping" people by manipulating them into getting tougher for said fucked up world. basically an abusive trainwreck.

and people can judge, and think im awful for saying that i could have been that, but lemme tell ya, after a certain level of trauma, you'd see it too. you get so fucking exhausted from the fucked up world, you kinda just wanna give into the darkness. there is no special magical goodness in your heart that stops it either. i have goodness in my heart, but in those moments, you dont. the only thing youve got to fight back against it is stubbornness really.

anyways i dont consider vriska a "did nothing wrong" character by any stretch, but i DO think i cant blame her for being the way she is after all she went through. all that separates me from that is a single moment of weakness after all.

[akirathedramaqueen]

Some thoughts on the Western Energy trainwreck

Soo, I've come across that post, and... it made me thinking.

Stolas spent there the whole time, not knowing Blitzø *did*, in fact, send help. He assumed he was all alone, although still had some resemblance of hope, a fragile straw he hang on to piss off Striker, allowing to tear up only when one didn't look at him.

And... hell, I used to see many comments about how Blitzø let him down there... But did he?

Oh course, some think he did, and he surely thinks he did, too. But, although the whole sequence with him and Loona trying to get that S.H.O.T. was a fucking circus and looked like a joke compared to suffers Stolas had to endure and barely survive...

To be honest, these scenes being put together on surface do, in fact, make it think that the whole Stolas being on the verge of death ordeal is a joke to Blitzø and he would rather spend time running around with big needles and stuff.

If to get back to the phone convo between them at the beginning of the episode, Blitzø mentions that it took him 5 years to book that appointment, and it means a lot for him to not miss it. Missing out on that shot meant to put Loona in potential danger, his daughter, and, although we don't know what kind of shots they were talking about, we know for sure what does missing out on a vaccine schedule could mean in the real world - we tend to forget how dangerous polio, for instance, is, as most of us have access to the vaccine and don't get to experience it not even themselves, but in close vicinity as well. For us, vaccines might seem to be some kind of stupid routine, something we got comfortable with in a privileged world, something which surely could be skipped for a day, right? But in Blitzø's one they are luxury.

Despite all of that, I also want to put your attention to the fact that he wasn't going to ignore it. He is speeding up, and I think (although it's not expressed explicitly, but not everything should be, right?), that he already made up his mind that Stolas is a priority.

You are not thinking it's about shots, right? He wasn't that reckless in driving before *that* call.

And! He wasn't even the initiator of Millie and Moxxie going instead of him. *M&M's* were.

And Blitzø trusts them, because why not? They are his employees, they are skilled and capable, and they are his friends as well, they know that shit is important to him (although he isn't willing to admit it himself).

We see also, how Stolas was admitted to the hospital immediately, which already gives a hint on how different their stance in the world is. I wonder sometimes how it would've turned out if Stolas proposed to Blitzø to use the royal influence to get another appointment shortly after Blitzø saves him, but we know he didn't get much time to even think about that. He wasn't even able to finish the sentence before Striker took his phone off him.

To be honest, I don't think the outcome itself would have been much different. I don't think Blitzø would've done a better job at saving Stolas, but, maybe, only maybe, he would've felt better because he was, at least, there for him.

Because you know that shit is going to haunt him till the day he dies. Because it only reassured him that he isn't capable of sticking around for his people.

Because, you know... happened once already.

No wonder he left Stolas's message on "read". Knowing all things before and after, it's not a surprise that he, tending to take all of responsibility for all the wrongs on himself more than he should to, couldn't face the consequence of what he thinks he failed in. He, speaking figuratively, left Fizz on "read" for 15 years, and he kinda sorted it out only because he couldn't run anymore and had to face the trauma as circumstances didn't give him a chance to chicken out.

I wonder what he was trying to tell Stolas. But I don't think we will ever get to learn that.

Aw, crap, I am done here, I am going to go and cry for a little bit. Thanks for coming to my ted talk, see ya in like 5 minutes to experience some Full Moon trauma again, because I can't get over these two. XD

[princessmisery666]

Just Don't Say You Love Me

Summary: Dean believes you have a good thing going. When you tell him your moving on, he realizes he needs to reassess the relationship and his life before it’s too late.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, miscommunication, unrequited love, friends with benefits, implied smut, Dean doesn’t get a happy ending. 

W/C: 4,776.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Jody Mills, Sam Winchester. 

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: Just Please Don’t Say You Love Me by Gabrielle Alpin.

A/N: I tried to fix the angst, but it’s not happening, so the unhappy ending will remain (for now). Special shoutout to @kazsrm67 and @pink-sparkly-witch for helping and offering words/comments of encouragement.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes remain my own. 

Graphics: made by be on canva. Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

You knock on Jody’s door, taking a deep breath to calm yourself, some residual adrenaline still playing havoc with your nerves. It’s been a long and insightful day. 

Dean opens the door with a smile, but it quickly morphs into an appreciative grin as his eyes travel the length of your body. “Wow,” he says, “who knew all that was hiding under that uniform.”

You laugh, stepping through the door, not in the least bit phased by his comment. It's not the first time you’ve been told that. “Yeah, that uniform is like an invisibility cloak. I put it on, and no man sees me. Guess you're no exception,” you explain, turning to look at him again. 

“Well, I see you now,” he says, quickly lifting his focus from your ass to your face. “Um, they’re through there,” he gestures for you to go ahead of him. 

“There she is,” Jody says, embracing you with one arm while she places the huge bowl of salad on the table. “How’re you doing?”

“Guess I’m still a little shell-shocked, but I’m okay.” 

“Well, we’re all here to help you…adjust,” Sam offers with a kind smile.

Discovering monsters are, in fact, very real and not just a Halloween marketing ploy is definitely going to be an adjustment. But what choice do you have? These people have given you an in. They’ve let you into their secret club, and honestly, you feel privileged that they trust you and think you are capable enough to help.

If you weren’t capable, neither Jody nor Dean would be here right now, a fact Sam keeps thanking you for over dinner.

“Thank you for being so cool about this,” he says again, lifting his beer bottle to clink it against yours. 

“I’ll freak out later,” you joke, though you probably will. 

“Seriously, you rushed in there, no hesitation, and you held your own,” Jody adds to Sam’s praise. “You certainly proved I picked the right woman for my team.”

“And I can’t thank you enough for that,” you say, genuinely grateful for the opportunity to work with her.

You’ve had some awful bosses and equally shitty jobs over the years, so it's nice to have found Sheriff Mills. Okay, so you’ll be fighting real-life monsters occasionally, but what’s a little compromise? 

They answer all your questions, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little overwhelming. Dean keeps flashing a tight smile in your direction, and you’re not sure if it's meant to be reassuring or if he’s biting his tongue and trying not to be rude. Regardless of his intention, Jody and the boys’ promises to help you come to grips with it all make it seem manageable.

“Am I going to get to hear the story of how you met those two?” you ask Jody in the kitchen later. 

“Definitely, but not tonight,” she explains, handing you a clean, soapy plate to rinse and dry.

Dean and Sam laugh in the other room, and Jody smiles wistfully. It’s so sweet and motherly it chokes you up a little.  

“The years have not been kind to those boys,” she says, focusing back on the dishes. “They keep their circle small, and I’m grateful that they let me be a part of it, and now you get to join it, too.”

“It’s a damn good-looking circle,” you confess.

Jody chuckles, “Ah, so you noticed Dean as much as he noticed you.” 

“Don’t go all matchmaker on me again,” you warn, “do I need to remind you of the disaster that was Paul?” 

“No, you do not. I’m just making an observation. The circle is indeed good-looking, and Dean has been doing a lot of observing of his own.” 

“Yeah, not sure that’s for the reasons you’re implying,” you say, “Dean doesn’t seem like he wants me to be helping out.”

Dean’s voice startles you, “You saved our asses.” You jump, twisting to look at him, “that’s enough.”

“But if I can do more…”

“The life of a hunter isn’t a life I'd recommend,” he explains, reaching for a beer from the fridge, “ it’s messy and painful and usually ends badly.”

“That’s life in general,” you counter, “and if something is happening and I don’t do anything to help, I’m part of the problem.”

“That’s fine,” he says, throwing his bottle top into the trash. “You’re a bigger part of the problem if you get into a situation you can’t get out of.”

“Dean,” Jody scolds, “take it easy. You said it yourself, she saved our asses today. She’s proven she’s capable.”

“All I’m saying is I’ll help where and if I can,” you explain. “I’m not going to go all Buffy the Vampire Slayer and start patrolling graveyards.”

It’s faint, but a slight quirk tugs his lips, breaking the building tension. 

“Besides, I’m sure our uniform makes us invisible to monsters as well as men.” 

He laughs properly at that, “Not invisible to me anymore,” his tongue sits behind his teeth, and you're suddenly jealous when he wraps his lips around the bottle.

“Good to know,” you say.

You hold each other’s gaze, perhaps a challenge to see who will shy away first. 

“Cool it, you two,” Jody warns, flicking water off the tips of her fingers at you both. 

“Sorry, boss,” you laugh. “And on that note, I’m gonna get going.”

“Need a ride?” Dean asks, a smug smirk in play. 

“I would love one,” you wink, but follow up with, “but it’s a nice night. Think I’m gonna walk, work off some of that wine.” 

“Why don’t you walk her home?” Jody suggests. 

Dean nods, “lead the way.”

When you’d balked, telling Dean you didn’t need an escort, he’d countered, saying he needed the fresh air, but you think it’s more to check up on you and maybe flirt a little more without an audience if your instincts are correct. It’s been nothing but small talk since leaving Jody’s until you're standing on your porch facing one another.

“So how are you really taking all this?” he asks. 

“I had a little freak out before I got to Jody’s,” you answer honestly, “but truthfully, it makes me feel a little better about the world.” 

He huffs a laugh, and his confused frown is adorable. “Okay, that’s a first.” 

“There’s so much evil in the world. It’s scary enough without knowing what I know now,” you explain, adding, “Maybe some of the unexplainable evil that’s all over the news is explainable. Maybe it’s not humans being horrible. Maybe it’s actually something evil.”

“Huh, I never thought of it like that.”

“I’m not saying I’ll remember that the next time a vamp is kicking my ass,” you laugh. 

“Hey,” he scolds, “you agreed, no hunting.” 

You hold your hands up, surrendering. “I won’t go looking for it, but if it comes to Sioux Falls, I’m all over it,” you promise, but your body has other ideas as an overall ache spreads through you as the day's events catch up with you. “Well, maybe in a few days when I’ve recovered from the last one.” Subconsciously, your tongue rolls over the cut on your bottom lip.  

“That hurt?” he asks. 

“I’ve had worse.” You shrug. The way he’s looking at you dulls the sting of the cut, and the tired ache in your bones shifts and reshapes into a simmering itch that needs scratching.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks, pointing over your shoulder toward your door. The implication of you being alone goes unsaid.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, trying not to roll your eyes. “But maybe you want to come in? Have a coffee or something, distract me a little longer so I don’t freak out too much?”

He smiles, wetting his lips. He knows that’s not what you're asking, and you wonder how often the offer of ‘coffee or something’ has been used successfully on him. He looks down at his shuffling feet, heaving a sigh. “I should get back.” 

The hesitation is clear, yet he doesn’t move. A surge of adrenaline spreads through you, and your heart rate increases. When he looks up, catching your eyes, the intensity of the long, loaded pause is enough to make you wonder, if monsters exist, then maybe that electricity everyone talks about is real, too, because it feels like if you touch your hand to Dean’s face, sparks will fly.

“Thanks again for the save today,” he whispers.

“Anytime,” you smile. 

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you're as one, mouths connected, exploring the other’s, hands groping and gripping, and your lip stings for a split second, but then Dean has you pinned against your door, and you forget about it.

He pulls away and kisses your neck, “Maybe,” he says, scraping his teeth against your jaw, “we should take this inside.”

Your arrangement with Dean works. No pressure, no expectations. Summer comes, and winter fades, but your relationship remains mutually beneficial. 

He rolls through Sioux Falls, that charming smile - that you’re not sure he knows quite how charming it is - “passing through,” but he stays a few days. He always claims it’s to catch up with Jody and the girls, but he spends most of his time at your place, and it’s too coincidental that you’re never on shift or scheduled for a few days when Baby pulls up outside.

Jody insists she has nothing to do with it. Yes, she's the sheriff, yes, she’s your boss, and makes the rotas, but “The only thing I swing is that I get to work with you,” she’d promised, winking. And you love her for that. Some of the men are still stuck in the past, and though they don’t say it, you can tell they don’t think women can do the job.

If only they knew. You’ve helped on a few hunts now. There’s no doubt in your mind that your relationship with Dean wouldn’t be what it is if you didn’t know about the real evils of the world. But each hunt ended the same: a dead monster and your body beneath Dean’s. 

You're in your room lacing up your little white summer pumps when the Impala’s engine announces his arrival.

You jump to your feet, quickly check yourself in your mirror, smoothing down the already smooth summer dress, and call out, “It’s open,” when his knock echoes around the house.

“Wow, look at you,” he says, freezing partway over the threshold to admire you as you bounce down the stairs.

You deliver your usual greeting, a swift kiss to his lips, and the unmistakable aroma of leather and cheap motel soap assaults your senses - damn, you’ve missed him - but you won’t say it. Instead, you show it, making the kiss deeper.

He shuffles inside, uses your hips to steady himself as he kicks the door closed, and then wraps his arms around your waist to hold you tightly against him. 

Your phone rings, and you fumble to find it on the table by the door, but as soon as you do, Dean releases you, kissing your neck and collarbone. 

“Hey, hi,” you answer. 

“Hey babe,” your best friend sings, and you know it's because she needs something. “Can you grab some ice on your way over?” 

“Yeah, sure, okay.” 

“You okay?” 

No. Yes.

Dean is kneading your breasts, nibbling on the skin that spills out the top of your sundress. “Yeah, just rushing, I’m running late.” 

“So late,” he mumbles into your skin.

“Well, hurry more,” she says before hanging up.

“Oh fuck, Dean, you gotta stop,” you whine. 

He groans, dulling the sting of his bite with a sweet kiss, and pulls back to look at you. “This a bad time, isn’t it?”

You nod, feeling as disappointed as he looks. “It’s my friend's birthday. She’s having a barbeque.” 

He sighs, leaning his head on your shoulder and mumbling into your neck. “Damn it.” 

“I have to at least show my face,” you say, using your hands on his cheeks to pull his head up to look into his eyes. “But you can stay here, take a shower, watch a movie or something, and maybe in a couple of hours, I get a headache and need to come home.” 

Wetting his lips, he smirks before delivering a brief kiss. “Or,” he draws out the syllable, mild hesitation clear in his eyes, “Maybe I can come with you?”

Since Chuck is no longer an issue, Dean has been making an effort to live in the moment, opening himself up, if only a little. So you try to quell the shock of his suggestion. It quickly evolves to a pleased grin when your mind flashes to your friends' faces when you walk in with the infamous Dean. They will lose their shit. You like spending time with Dean but don’t want to cross any lines or make assumptions. “I’d like that,” you smile, “but you really don’t have to.”

“I’m sure I can survive a couple hours with your friends, and you know I can always eat.”

“Okay,” you nod, smile widening. “If you’re sure.” 

He kisses you again, a simple but effective peck on your lips. “But maybe we both get a headache in a couple of hours.” 

“Deal,” you agree, sealing it with another casual kiss. “Maybe lose a few layers. It’s summer.”

He laughs, shrugging off his jacket. “I’m sure I have a clean Fed shirt in the trunk.”

“Perfect,” you say, grabbing your bag and keys. “Want me to drive?” 

He rolls his eyes, jesting, “Did that kiss fry your brain?” as he follows you out the front door.

He opens the passenger door for you, and before you slip inside, you tell him, “Oh, and whatever my friends say I’ve said about you, it’s all lies.”

He grins smugly, “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

The shower has done wonders for your developing hangover. Your friend's barbecue lasted longer than you had anticipated, but the day couldn’t have gone better. 

Dean fit in well with everyone and crushed it at beer pong. It was a success all around, and when you’d quietly asked if he wanted to leave, he’d said no, that he was having too much fun.

The fun continued when you got home, and Dean is undoubtedly still feeling the effects as well. It’s almost midday, and he’s still sound asleep in your bed when you enter your bedroom in clean sweats and your bra while you towel dry your hair. 

Dean is lying on his stomach, with his face smushed adorably against the pillow he’s hugging, taking advantage of all the space now that you’ve vacated.

You crawl across the bed, leaning over him, and he still doesn’t stir. You put your lips close to his ear and half whisper, “Morning.”

His brow instantly creases, and he squeezes his eyes tighter, groaning, “No, no, you have to go away.” 

“You gotta get up. It’s almost midday.”

“Nuh-uh,” he grumbles, eyes still squeezed shut. “You have to take your horrible talking, talky mouth away from me.” 

“Okay, you asked for it.” You laugh, sitting back and wringing your hair out so the excess water drips on his naked back.

“Ah,” he groans, arching up off the mattress.

You jump off the bed, laughing as you walk to the mirror to start doing your hair. Turning over, he rubs a hand over his face and then both through his hair, causing it to stick up adorably. He catches you staring in the mirror, and you quickly avert your eyes. 

“Damn, your friends can drink,” he says, sitting up against the headboard. 

You laugh, that’s an understatement. “They definitely know how to have fun.” 

“They seem like a good bunch.” 

“They liked you too,” you smile at his reflection, and he grins back. “Laura told me to invite you to her and Chris’ wedding.”

His expression shifts, staring off into the distance for a singular moment as if he’s imagining how that would play out. But as quickly as it appears, it drops when he scrubs a hand down his face to put the mask back on. “That’s cool, but I can’t make that kind of commitment.” He swings his legs off the bed, putting his back to you. “I don’t know where I’ll be.”

You hadn’t expected a solid answer, but the double meaning behind his words settles thick disappointment in your stomach. You’ve never asked for any commitment nor discussed the arrangement between you, but hearing him say it aloud singes the hope you always try to contain.

Dean quickly gets to his feet, swaying at the abruptness. “I’m gonna grab a shower.” He mumbles, avoiding eye contact as he heads to the bathroom.

It’s been less than ten minutes, and you’re sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through your phone, when he finds the courage to face you again. He’s talking to Sam on his phone, obnoxiously loud, as he descends the stairs, trying to make a point of his hasty need to depart.

He appears in the kitchen doorway, jacket in hand, hair dripping onto the shoulders of his henley. You guess you should be grateful he wasn’t cowardly enough to have just shouted goodbye from the door. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about before.” He moves closer to the table, eyeing you as he raps his knuckles on the polished wood. “It’s just that, even with Chuck out of the picture, I’m not sure how things are going to play out. I can’t make any, uh, long-term commitments. Sam and-“

“I get it, Dean.” The last thing you want is any tension between you, so you nip the growing uncomfortableness. “We don’t need to have any awkward conversations.”

He bobs his head, hope swimming in his eyes. “So, we’re good?”

You take your mug to the sink, and once your back is to him, you say, “Yeah, we’re good.”

“You sure?” You didn’t hear him move, but the air shifts behind you, bringing his warmth along with it.

Plastering on a smile, you turn to face him and nod. “Take care of yourself.”

The corner of his mouth curls upward, and he kisses your forehead before heading to the door, “Talk to you soon,” he calls before the door clicks shut.

Fools rush in. Dean is no fool. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel like being one sometimes. Usually, it’s when he’s on the road, heading home from a hunt or supply run, he daydreams about how things could be with you. 

The daydream isn’t much different from how things already are. The sex would just be coupled with more official dates – dinner, movies, watching him, which for some reason turns you on, ‘do his thing’ as you call it when he’s hustling suckers at pool. Hell, even grocery shopping. He’d sneak unhealthy snacks into the cart because you promised Sam you’d take care of him, and you would. Dean knows you’d be good to him, that you are good for him. But he’s lived that life. He doesn’t need a wake-up call to know how it ends.

It’s a nice daydream. It gives him a much-needed boost of serotonin when he’s in short supply. But like the gas that fuels Baby, the thought has vaporized by the time he shuts off the engine.

Chuck isn’t calling the shots anymore, but that doesn’t mean the big bads aren’t still gunning for the Winchester's demise. Sam has it all figured out with Eileen, and Dean wishes he could be as sure about what he wants life to look like now. But he can’t be sure of anything, at least not yet. He’s still working on adjusting to a life not consumed by hunting. Trying to come to terms with the fact that there isn’t something lurking around every corner, that the choices he makes – good and bad – are truly his and not fueled by some life-ending curveball Chuck tosses at them. 

The doubts bore deeper, and as always, when he’s drowning in his own head, he thinks of you.

He remembers how you busted down the door with borrowed equipment from Sioux Falls. You’d looked frantic but still in control. Your mere presence had calmed him, and not because you were there to rescue him. You didn’t waste a breath with a witty comment like he would have. You let off two shots, dropped the ghoul about to take a chunk out of him, and then untied him.

You’d been cool and calm, checked him for injuries, but didn’t believe he was truly okay till he kissed you breathless. That adrenaline-filled, kiss-swollen lips, slightly frantic edge to your eyes, is the picture he conjures whenever he thinks of you. 

It’s been a while since he’s seen you. You’ve exchanged a few calls, but now that his mind is stuck on that picture of you, he has to see you.

He shoots Sam a text, telling him he’ll be in Sioux Falls if Sam needs anything, and then pulls an illegal u-turn to put himself in your direction. 

Dean’s not phased that you aren’t home when he shows up. It’s not like he called ahead. He never does. But now that he’s here, he doesn’t want to waste time tracking you down, so he calls. 

“Hey,” you greet brightly.

The smile in your voice brings out his. “Hey, yourself. I’m at your door.” 

“Shit, sorry, I’m not there.”

He chuckles, “Are you around, or does my timing suck again?” 

“No, no, it’s kinda perfect, actually,” you say. “I was gonna call you later anyway. But I need a half hour or so.”

“I can wait.” 

“Greasy Sal’s?” you offer. 

He smiles, already salivating at the thought of a Greasy Sal’s cheeseburger. “Throw in some curly fries,” he requests.  

“Okay, got it,” You laugh.

Dean sits on the Impala’s hood while he waits, head tilted toward the sun, eyes closed while he catches the day’s last rays. The sound of your car’s engine isn’t as distinct as Baby’s, but he knows it well enough that as soon as he hears it, he opens his eyes and watches you turn onto the street. It’s not until that moment that he realizes how eager he is to see you. Maybe Greasy Sal’s can wait; he has another hunger he needs to sate.

He waits till you shut off the engine to open your door, “such a gentleman,” you quip, taking his offered hand to step onto the sidewalk. “Or are you clambering for food?” 

“Not what I’m hungry for,” he says, guiding you against your car. He presses himself against you, feeling the coolness of the air conditioning on your clothes. He circles the tip of your nose with his own, whispering, “Hey,” against your lips before claiming them as his own. 

Frustratingly, you push a hand into his chest after the first brush of his tongue, and he pulls back to look at you. You're looking up at him from under hooded eyes, and he feels like his heart skips a beat, or maybe he’s just a little out of breath. But he knows that with you gazing up at him like he’s a beautiful sunset, he really has missed you. 

“Maybe we should take this inside.”

“Absolutely,” he says, slightly impatient that he can’t get you naked then and there.

He walks to the trunk to get your shopping bags and follows you up the path. He has a bag packed with his essentials but never brings it inside until the next morning. Something about bringing it in before you’ve had sex seems presumptuous, which is crazy because, as per the arrangement, that’s exactly what he’s here for.

“It’s good to see you,” you say, entering your kitchen with him close on your tail.

“Yeah, you too.” He genuinely means it. It’s like things fall into place when he’s around you. 

“How’s Sam?”

“He’s good,” Dean explains, placing the grocery bags on the countertop. “He’s taken Eileen away for a couple days.” 

“Good for them.” 

You unpack the groceries and take a beer from the fridge; as always, it's his favorite brand. Though he never warns you of his pending arrival there is always a supply cooling in the refrigerator and his favorite snacks in the cupboards. 

He takes the open bottle from you, leaning in to deliver another kiss, but you turn to grab more groceries, and he realizes it's a not-so-stealthy way to give him your cheek.

It seems to be the day of revelations because he’s super aware of how easily you flow around each other in the small kitchen. Dean plates up the burgers, grabbing another beer for you from the fridge, and he’s surprised to see that it’s the only one left. That, coupled with the kiss avoidance, gives him pause. Something’s wrong. 

You sit at the table and take a large gulp of the beer. “You okay?” he asks once you’ve swallowed the beer and the nervousness you're exuding. “You seem a little…off.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, then inhale deeply before adding, “Actually, no, I’m not. We need to talk. And I hate how cliche that sounds, but I don’t know how else to bring it up, and I don’t want to get all emotional on you, but I need to tell you something.”

He feels the panic fizz in his gut. You can’t be pregnant. He's seen you take birth control, and he uses protection every time. So it can only be one thing …you're about to ruin everything.

You're going to utter those three words, and it's going to be the death blow to all the good stuff between you. 

He takes a swig of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Please don’t,” he begs, looking you dead square in the eyes. “What we’ve got going on is good, we’re good…” 

“Dean, I …” you try, but he holds a hand up to cut you off.

“Don’t say it.” he pushes his chair back and rubs his hands on his thighs, palms suddenly sweaty. “I like what we have. It works, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look forward to it or that I don’t miss you. But I just got back a little peace of mind and…” he pauses, clearly searching for the right word, “caring about someone…” he shakes his head, reaching to wrap his hand around his beer bottle. “...Loving me, even with Chuck gone, it doesn’t make it any less of a death sentence. So please don’t say it.”

You reach across the table for his hand, clenched around his beer, but he’s quick to pull back. “Dean,” you choke out, the remorse you feel slipping from your eyes in a single tear. “I’ve met someone.” 

He stares at you, mouth agape, not sure that he heard you correctly. 

“It’s still new,” you continue, rushing to explain as your tears spill. “But it’s going somewhere. Somewhere great, and I don’t want to mess it up.”

Of course, you haven’t been sitting at home waiting for his sporadic visits. You’ve been out living your life as you should be. The possibility of meeting someone else, someone you could say those three words to, and it be a life sentence and not a death sentence, had occurred to him more than once. It poked at him like a swarming gnat, knowing you deserved to find someone better than him, but selfishly, he swatted at it until it went away. 

He’s holding his breath and will get light-headed soon if he doesn’t find the ability to breathe again. 

“Dean,” you coax, “say something.”

He feels as if you’d blindsided him, come out of the left field, and taken his legs out from under him. Now he’s on his back, the wind knocked out of him, and waiting for the feeling in his limbs to return. 

Abruptly he stands. He sees the panic in your eyes and knows what’s coming. As you plead, “Don’t leave,” he says, “I gotta go.”

He strides quickly toward the door. You call his name as he goes, but he doesn’t stop. 

He rushes out your front door, leaves it open, and as he reaches Baby, he has a singular moment of wondering what will hurt the least - holding on or letting go.

“Dean, please,” you call from the door. 

He slides behind the wheel, deciding to let go.

Part 2 - The Right Guy On Paper.

Tags info

/ @alexxavicry / @b3autyfuldisast3r / @deandreamernp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @foxyjwls007 / @jc-winchester / @justagirlinafandomworld / @katbratsupernaturalwhore / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @lyarr24 / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @nancymcl / @shanimallina87 / @stoneyggirl2 / @waywardbaby / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @pank0w / @kmc1989/ @deans-spinster-witch / @spnbaby-67 / @roseblue373

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

[writingreadinglurkingandsmirking]

But I Shine So Bright - Rafe Cameron x Reader

Dear Reader Duology: Part 1, Part 2

Summary: You wake up hungover from the previous night’s party, and are struck with the realization of the conversation you’d had with Rafe prior. You decide that, yes, you should actually have that conversation with him sober like he’d suggested. So, that’s what you two do. Word Count: 5.1k+ TWs/CWs: Adult/profane language, she/her pronouns used for reader, brief descriptions of a hangover, OOC Rafe in that he's only a little crazy and is actually willing to admit he was wrong, unrealistically fast relationship re-establishment, Rafe still wants to kill that guy lol, bad example of a healthy relationship but hi this is Rafe be so for real here, Rafe obviously has pretty privilege Note: Yeah so I just decided to do the part 2 lmao so here she is. And now it has me thinking Thoughts about doing more Dear Reader inspired fics for OBX babes...like a Dear Reader duology collection sounds like a fun little project hehehe

Waking up was more painful than you’d anticipated. When you’d gone out, you never intended to get that drunk. Decidedly, you’d drank more than you had in a long while. A stupid choice all around, but especially stupid considering you didn’t have the built-in protection of…him anymore. Your girlfriends had dutifully tried to slow you down, but you didn’t listen to them.

Fuck’s sake, even his friends had tried to stop you. To be fair, they’d been more successful. Yes, the first memory you woke up to was Topper and Kelce, your ex-boyfriend’s best friends, stopping you from doing a fucking keg stand. And that was just something special considering you knew damn well that you’d been wearing a skirt with nothing underneath. So clearly your night had been just full of good choices.

“God,” you groaned, rolling over on your side. Your eyes landed on a water bottle on the side of your bed. You blinked once, twice, a third time, and then lurched up into a sitting position. “Shit.” While the sudden movement made you nauseous for a moment, you managed to resist the urge to vomit. You scrambled for your phone. It was noon already. Fuck. You saw that a group chat with your friends had blown up and you had a slew of other texts.

Where the hell did you go?

Why did Topper come tell us that fucking RAFE took you home??

Hello?? Girl what the hell are you thinking?

You better call us and tell us that you’re safe.

Dude you better not fucking sleep with him I swear to God I am SO serious.

Be like Dua Lipa and remember the new rules bitch.

Be safe I swear to GOD bestie I’ll fuck you up if you get hurt.

If you fuck him you better not let him hit raw.

BYE don’t let him hit AT ALL.

“Shit,” you hissed.

You’d thought you’d had a dream that Rafe had been the one taking care of you. A pleasant dream minus the blubbering you’d been doing. But no. It turns out you actually had been blubbering on him. On the ex who left you for no reason and with no discernible guilt outwardly shown. This just had to be a joke. It had to be. The pit in your stomach wasn’t from the aggressive hangover, it was literally just the dread that had an iron grip on you. Looking down at your phone again, you saw a text from Kelce of all fucking people too.

Lmao I know you’re gonna be hurting this morning but let me or Top know if Rafe did anything stupid yesterday and we’ll beat the shit out of him fr.

You couldn’t help but let out a high-pitched, borderline hysterical laugh at the very idea. You run a hand down your face, grateful that Rafe had forced you to take the makeup off the night before. You felt sick and awful and still somehow better than you had before. It was pathetic somehow, on some level, that spending even an hour with Rafe had the ability to make you feel so much better and so much worse all at once. So, with trembling hands, you made a move to answer.

First, to your friends.

Not yall acting like you don’t have my location. I got home safe. Nothing happened fuck off.

You then immediately silenced the group chat so you wouldn’t have to deal with it. You looked at Kelce’s and cringed, letting your fingers move.

Yeah definitely got a hellish hungover. Thanks for keeping me from doing a keg stand like a dumbass last night btw? Idk what the fuck that was about. And nah, Rafe didn’t do anything. Even if he did you wouldn’t win that fight, Kelce, be so fr lol.

The response from him came quickly.

Ah, she lives. Well, you didn’t choke on your vomit so that’s good. And hurtful, I could definitely beat him.

You rolled your eyes.

Yeah, maybe if he were tied to a chair bro. But fr, thank you for helping me out. Thank Top too for me btw.

The response took longer this time. And was punctuated by an immediate follow-up.

Course. I’ll let him know. You’re still our friend. We weren’t gonna let you get that messed up.

You should talk to your boy though. Let him know you’re good. Pretty sure he’s worried about you.

You bit your lip. Instead of replying, you instead closed that text thread and looked back to the rest of your messages. But, you were thrown for a loop when you saw Rafe’s name appearing at the top, texting you just now. You weren’t proud of it, but you had to throw yourself from your bed and empty your stomach. You blamed the hangover, but you also knew that the anxiety of facing him after the night before was nerve-wracking enough to be the culprit alone.

Once you finally cleaned yourself up, you felt a bit more human again. Only then did you return to your phone. You stared at it for a few minutes before even daring to pick it up. Then, you stared at your background - still a picture of you and Rafe, one where his smile was so big from a laugh that it crinkled the corners of his eyes and you had buried your face in his neck while also laughing. You hated that you hadn’t changed it yet, but every single time you tried to, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You put the phone down again.

Sighing, you reached over and grabbed the water bottle he had left you. Then you noticed he’d also left out some meds for you to take. Not letting yourself think about it or the way it turned your stomach, you took the pills and drank the water completely before letting yourself even think about your phone again. At least that was the lie you spun yourself, ignoring the way that the stupid piece of technology wove through every thought and every damn breath you took.

In an effort to pretend like that wasn’t true, you walked down to your kitchen and got a Liquid I.V. knowing damn well that Rafe would be telling you to if he were here. And, yeah, even now, the little things he did to show he cared still stuck to your bones. You hated it. Or, at least you hated that he wasn’t actually here. Some days it was hard to tell which was true and which was the lie. You wanted him, you didn’t, you wanted him, you didn’t. You definitely did—that was the truth and you knew it.

Steeling yourself, you eventually went back upstairs and picked your phone back up. Clicking Rafe’s name, you were fully prepared to ignore whatever the message was like you knew you should if you were going to get over him. But somehow, you could feel the familiar love and affection punching you in the gut.

Take the pills I left. Drink some liquid iv or whatever if you have it. Don’t forget to eat.

You inhaled shakily, thinking if you should even respond or not, worrying at your lip and tapping your fingers anxiously against your knee. But, as you did, another text came through from him.

Lmk if you need anything.

Short, sweet, and to the point.

You, your brain supplied unhelpfully. I just fucking need you.

You thought about the night before. About the words he said. About the stark honesty in his voice that you hadn’t heard in months from him. You thought about the simple promise he made. He said that you could talk about it when you were sober if you still wanted to. Did you want to? Yes. So, before you could talk yourself out of it, you clicked his contact to call him and brought the phone to your ear.

“You okay?” were the words that Rafe greeted you with. Not hello. Just concern.

“I…yeah. I’m fine,” you said when your brain finally caught up with you again. “I…thanks for getting me home. You know, and everything else too,” You paused for a moment, finishing with, “You really didn’t have to do all that.”

“Of course I did,” Rafe said, sounding surprisingly serious. “I’d never leave you like that. Ever.”

“I’m sorry I was such a mess,” you said, reflexively apologizing. “And sorry I was like…pawing at you like some animal.”

Rafe let out a dry sort of chuckle that betrayed he was at least slightly amused by some of your antics the night prior. It made your heart flutter, which just felt utterly ridiculous. He made a noncommittal noise. “I just wanted to make sure you, you know, were good.”

“No. Seriously, I can’t imagine how much worse that would’ve gotten without you there. So really, uh, thanks. I was…not thinking last night obviously,” you said. There was a pregnant pause over the phone and you realized how that sounded. “I mean I, like, really don’t drink that much!” You were rushing to clarify, anxious to make sure that Rafe knew you didn’t mean your conversation with him. “I seriously don’t even know how much I drank. I’m lucky I didn’t, like, die in my sleep.”

“I’ve seen you worse,” he said flatly. “You’d have been fine.”

“That’s when I had you, though,” you pointed out before you could stop yourself. You heard Rafe inhale sharply, saying your name but you cut him off. “Did you mean what you said?”

Rafe paused. “What?” he asked cautiously.

“That we can actually talk,” you clarified.

“Are you not too hungover for this?” Rafe asked, sounding tired already.

“No,” you said bluntly. “I want to talk to you.” You huffed out a sigh. “Rafe, I need to talk to you.”

You heard him let out a sigh of his own. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“I want to do it in person,” you said, willing to push your luck here. “I don’t want to do this on the phone. I want to see your face so I know if you’re lying to me.”

Rafe gave a similar sort of dry chuckle to before. “Have never lied to you, Princess, but sure. Fine. Today?” he asked shortly.

“Yes,” you agreed. “Today. I think waiting two months was long enough.” Rafe didn’t rise to the bait, which you were partially glad for and partially disappointed by. “How about we meet at the country club at like…six?”

“You want to do this in front of people?” Rafe asked, surprised.

“No. We’ll go down to the beach. Just easier to meet there,” you said vaguely.

The reality was the country club gave you a way to chicken out last minute that the beach didn’t. At the country club, you could hide in a bathroom. On the beach, unless you were planning on drowning yourself or burying yourself in the sand you were stuck with him.

“Okay, Gorgeous,” he said lazily, the nickname slipping easily from his tongue. “Do you want me to pick you up or…”

“I’m good,” you denied. “I’ll get there.”

“See you later then,” he said.

“Okay. See you,” you said, hurriedly hanging up before you said something stupid like I love you or just tell me now why you left me.

You spent the next few hours panicking about what you’d just done, torn between hating yourself for making that choice and being relieved that it was finally happening. You gave all of your friends in your group chat a short version of your plan. You were met with a mixture of approval and disapproval from everyone—mostly born of a desire to make sure that you were alright. They offered to come and do recon so you’d have an easy out, but you denied the need. Then, they offered to come and slash his truck tires, which you declined just like you had the first hundred times they’d offered over the past two months. After that, they settled and just insisted that you text them an update later to let them know what was going on. It was easy enough to agree to.

You make your way to the country club a little bit before six and were shocked to see Rafe already waiting there. He was sitting at the bar, knee bouncing with anxiety, tapping at an empty glass in front of him. His eyes met yours, and just for a moment, you froze in place. Slowly, you drifted over to his side and were pleasantly surprised to see that he appeared entirely sober.

“Hey,” he greeted when you found words hard to formulate.

“Hi, Rafe,” you replied after a few breaths.

He looked you up and down, an undercurrent of amusement passing through his eyes. “I’d ask if you want a drink but I have a feeling that you’d rather swallow a bucket of sand right now,” he said.

You nodded, grimacing. “Pretty much,” you confirmed. You glanced towards the door. “Wanna…go?”

God, how could this be so fucking awkward? you asked yourself. This was the man you fell in love with and knew like the back of your hand and still somehow this was wildly uncomfortable like you didn’t know each other at all.

Rafe nodded slowly, rising to his feet. He gestured for you to go first, eyes habitually roaming around the room. They landed on the guy who had been touching you the night before at the party, gross hand on your leg as if he had any form of claim to you. Rafe felt his blood boiling for a moment and had to resist the urge to go and pummel the guy’s face in. It was hard for him, at least until the guy looked over, noticing Rafe. Immediately, the creep paled to a near-ghostly white shade. Satisfied by the obvious fear, Rafe offered the guy a condescending smile, with a harsh edge to it, teeth set. He put his hand on the small of your back as you walked, guiding you forward and opening the door for you as he went. As he passed through, his eyes did not separate from the guy’s until you had exited. The message was clear, even though you hadn’t even noticed the interaction at all.

She is Rafe Cameron’s, she is not available.

As you started to walk down to the beach, almost immediately, Rafe began to feel guilty for thinking that. He’d already done enough to hurt you in his eyes. But, then again, he couldn’t deny the part of him that desperately did want a second chance to reach that famous happy end. The kind that he knew only you could give him. The kind that only came with you beside him. No, he couldn’t ignore that part of him. It made up most of him. And he knew that it made up most of you too. And that was the part that made him loathe himself all the more.

On and on down the beach the pair of you walked, alternating between a few feet and barely a few inches between you. The silence continued on until you realized you didn’t even know how to approach this conversation. You sighed, stopping in your trek, evidently having decided you were far enough from other people to have this conversation now. 

“I don’t know how to even start this,” you admitted quietly. “I miss you. I meant that. I meant everything I said last night except that I hate you. I don’t. I wish I could, sometimes. But I don’t. I love you. And…and last night you said that you loved me too, still.”

“I do,” he said, shrugging, then setting his jaw to shut himself up.

“Then why are we doing this? When we love each other and we both want to be together? Why?” you asked, the words simple but desperate.

“You’re better off without me,” Rafe said, staring at the horizon, refusing to look at you.

“I’m not,” you denied. “And you’re not better without me either. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that either.” He’d been spending an egregious amount of his time high or wasted since your break up and it was impossible not to notice. Rafe glanced down at you and then back out over the water. The sky above you was morphing from its crystalline blue to the golden hues that promised night was coming soon. “I think we’re past lying to ourselves about that, don’t you? Or at least we should be.”

“I know that I’m not. But you are,” he reiterated. “I’m…an absolute fuck up. And I am only going to drag you down. That is all that I will ever be good for. You may not get that now. But you will.” He sighed and looked over at you. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, Princess.”

“Well look at that, wrong as usual,” you muttered, shaking your head. “You’re not any of that! You’re not a fuck up. You’re not going to drag me down. You are…” You gesticulated wildly, trying to have your brain magically summon the words to describe how you felt. You settled for shaking your head and gesturing around you. “You’re like a…like a fucking beacon or something.”

Rafe snorted. “Fuck me, if you think I’m some sort of guiding light you’ve lost it, Princess,” he said sharply. “I’m literally the opposite of that. I don’t…I don’t help people. I just hurt them.” He gestured towards you. “Look at my family. Look at my friends. Dragged them all down. And…I mean, just look at you. How could you think that I’m anything good anymore?” He shook his head. “No, just…no. I’m not.”

You groaned. “Stop talking about yourself like you’re some hideous monster that has to hide in the dark,” you insisted, voice growing louder. “You’re not. You’re just a man! That’s it! A fucking stupid man, who I love more than anything…who I hate to see tearing himself apart like he does. An absolutely idiotic man who I miss so much it hurts to wake up in the morning.” You deflated, shoulders slumping, and this time you were the one looking out over the water while Rafe stared intently at you. “I’m not better off without you.” From the corner of your eye, you saw Rafe’s hand run over the bottom half of his face while he shook his head. You saw him bring his hand towards his lips and your head whipped over to look at him. “Don’t bite your damn nails, when was the last time you washed your hands? You’ve touched doors and railings! This is a public beach!”

It was like a bubble of tension cracked at that and Rafe laughed. Honest to God laughed. Laughed like you hadn’t heard in months from him. Laughed in a way that made your heart flutter and your lips turn up. The laugh kept going like he couldn’t stop it, and before you knew it you were chuckling yourself, which morphed into a hysterical laugh. You swatted at his arm in the midst of your laugh, but he caught your hand and held it. After a few moments longer, you both stared at each other, calming down. His easy smile and the crinkle of his eyes disappeared, replaced by a frown and concern.

“You…you should really find another guiding light if that’s what you’re looking for. A real beacon. Someone you can count on,” he said.

“Rafe,” you said seriously, taking a step closer to him. “Look at me.” He sighed but met your eyes. You squeezed your still-joined hands and he looked down as if he’d forgotten you were even touching. “You kept me from making myself look like an idiot last night. You got me home when I actively was trying to make it difficult. You held me until I fell asleep. You owed me nothing and you did that. I didn’t even have to ask you to, fuck I didn’t even want you to be there, but you knew what was good for me. And you left out water and pills and then texted me in the morning.” You let out a short, weak laugh. “I don’t think that I can count on someone else more than you.” He looked at you as if to say your name without having to actually speak it and you rolled your eyes. “Tell me something. How often do you get second chances in life?”

Rafe looked away, tongue running over his cheek, and then he looked back. “More than I deserve,” he said shortly.

Again, you rolled your eyes. “Stop being a self-sacrificial bitch for a second,” you said. He looked at you, scandalized and you had to resist the urge to laugh, soldiering on with your point. “Tell me, without the shit, how often you get second chances in life for something that you really want?” 

“I don’t,” Rafe said after a moment.

“And yet here I am. And I know that you still want to be together. And I am trying to give us a second chance. Why are you trying to refuse it?” you demanded.

“Because you actually are a fucking beacon of light,” he snapped, hand flexing like he was about to squeeze yours but stopped himself. “And I don’t want to…to fucking ruin that. I would never forgive myself if I ruined you. If I…made that fucking light go out? No, I’d never forgive myself. And I don’t want to risk you like that. Ever. And considering I’m this fucking black hole of bullshit…that is definitely risking it.”

His words resonated as if they were a tuning fork that struck and vibrated at the exact frequency of your very soul. He sighed and let go of your hand. In your shock, you let him. He moved away a few steps and paced back and forth. This time, when he brought his nails to his lips, you didn’t speak for a moment. You saw the glint of tears in his eyes and you didn’t know if they were from frustration or from sadness—both most likely.

Your brain caught up with you after a few moments of just staring at him. You walked forward and took his hand away from his mouth, moving your hands to rest behind his neck, forcing him to stop moving. Reflexively, his hands landed on your hips, holding you rather firmly to ground himself. You played with the ends of his hair, waiting for him to measure his breath once more and meet your eyes with his own.

“You’re not a black hole, idiot,” you said fondly. “You are not an irredeemable monster. You’re just scared.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched and he looked away, then back again. “I’m not fucking scared. But if I were, Princess? It’d be for good reason,” he said. “I have a lot to lose if I keep fucking up.”

“Everyone does,” you pointed out. You moved one hand to cup his cheek. “For now, if you think that I’m some mythical fucking beacon of light, then let me do it for both of us…be it.” He shook his head, blinking away tears he didn’t want to fall. “Rafe…I can handle you being stupid. I can handle your fuck ups. I have this long. What I can’t handle is losing you.” He was silent and you shrugged. “Look at me and tell me that if I walked away right now and started dating someone else you’d be okay with that.”

His eyes snapped back to you, visibly disturbed and angry. “Fuck no,” he admitted, practically spitting the words out.

“Exactly,” you said softly. His hands moved slowly to wrap around your waist more, no longer just resting on your waist. “I know that there are things we have to work on. Believe me. But we make sense. We work together. Let’s try again, Rafe.” You took a deep, shaky breath. “If you tell me you don’t love me. If you don’t want this…I’ll walk away. I won’t bring this up…won’t bother you again.”

“No,” Rafe said immediately, more firmly than even the last time. “I do love you, of course I fucking do. And yes I want you.” His voice almost immediately became choked up. “I want us. I just…”

“Are the words you’re looking for ‘am scared?’” you suggested.

“No,” he denied, using what was obviously his new favorite word once more. “Not scared. Just…hesitant to risk hurting you.”

You gave him a flat look. “Rafe, is loving me worth the risk of me hurting you?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I don’t care if you hurt me.”

“So then why can I not feel the same way about you?” you demanded. “It’s worth the risk. So let’s take it.”

“You’re more important than me,” he murmured, leaning your foreheads together, initiating the touch he obviously desperately craved.

The noise that escaped you was somewhere between a scoff and a snort. “That’s the dumbest thing you have ever said to me,” you declared. “And you told me that for two years you didn’t believe that dinosaurs were real.”

Rafe laughed, weak but true and a sweet sound to your ears. As he did so, he pulled back just enough that your eyes were able to meet. “I was a child,” he defended, a tiny smile on his lips.

“You were twelve,” you corrected. “You started high school not believing that dinosaurs existed. You had to take an earth science class to realize that fossils were real.”

Turning his head, Rafe moved one of his hands to your face, holding your cheek, just like you were doing to him. “Can I kiss you to stop you from making fun of me again?” he asked softly, eyes darting down to your lips and then back up. “Or is it too soon to tell you to shut up without being an ass?”

You smirked. “Don’t worry. I know you’re an ass,” you said, leaning forward.

He met you halfway, your lips brushing together. The kiss was soft at first, sweet and featherlight as if trying to ascertain if it was really happening. That didn’t last for very long though. Quickly, Rafe’s grip on you tightened and he pulled you closer and deepened the kiss. You happily let him take the lead, letting your hands travel to the back of his neck again, longing to just sink into his embrace. When you broke apart, you both were breathing unevenly, looking at each other with vulnerable gazes.

“I missed you,” you said, voice strangely shy considering who you were talking to and how well you knew him—not to mention the fact that his tongue had been practically down your throat moments earlier.

“I love you,” Rafe said. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead that lingered, then tipped your chin up to meet his gaze, his other hand keeping you pressed firmly to his body. “You gonna be my girl again, Gorgeous?”

Even though you rolled your eyes, your smile gave you away. “I never really stopped, did I?” you posed.

He hummed, half-frown on his face, and shrugged. “Dunno,” he admitted.

“I didn’t,” you said, wanting to wipe away the insecurity from him in one assurance even though you knew you couldn’t. “I never stopped. And, for the record, I love you too. Even though you’re a jackass.” You paused. “And a little bit on the stupid side.”

Rafe’s lips cracked back into a smile that grew into something far more relaxed. “Well that’s good to know,” he murmured. 

“You just have pretty privilege is all,” you murmured quietly, voice serious despite the words being joking. You looked at him as though you feared he might disappear. 

He stroked your cheek, wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t realized fell, and then reluctantly pulled away from you, forcing his hands into his pockets to keep from touching you. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“We do,” you confirmed. You offered him your hand. “Wanna go get something to eat and actually, you know, do that?”

Immediately, his hand was out of his pocket, and his fingers were laced with yours. “Yeah, Princess, I do,” he agreed. “Let’s go before it gets dark.”

“How could it get dark when I shine so bright as our beacon?” you asked, teasing, grabbing his arm with your free hand and squeezing it in a half-hug.

“Jesus Christ you’re lucky that you’re so damn easy to love,” Rafe said laughing. He pulled you closer, letting go of your hand in favor of throwing his arm over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your temple, lips lingering, his voice going serious this time. “I love you.”

“I know you do,” you assured him. “I love you too.” He nodded, still not moving away yet. “Come on, Cameron. Let’s get a move on here. You’ll be thrilled to know that I didn’t listen to you and drink or eat much of anything today, so I am desperately in need of water or something.”

Rafe groaned. “Of course you didn’t,” he said dryly. “Come on, can’t let my girl stay dehydrated or hungry.”

With that, he started pulling you back up the beach towards the country club. And, in the back of your mind, even with the lingering uncertainty and unsaid words, you felt better than you had in what felt like an eternity. You stared at Rafe’s face—your Rafe, your stupid, sweet, annoying, perfect boyfriend—as the golden hour’s light hit him. The angelic glow that it cast on his infuriatingly perfect face was always breathtaking. But, something about him at this moment, after being so vulnerable and honest, struck you differently. You took your phone out and snapped a picture of him before he could notice or refuse and smiled down at it, ignoring the delayed groan when Rafe realized you’d already captured it.

“Come on, Gorgeous,” he complained.

“Sorry, I just had to capture the day Rafe Cameron admitted he was wrong. It’s a historical event,” you said, grinning, sending the picture to your friend before turning the phone off wanting to focus only on him.

He rolled his eyes at the jab, but you were pleased to see the way that his lips twitched up in an amused smile. The sight lightened your heart and made your lips stretch into a wider version of your own smile you’d already been sporting. And in the slowly fading light of day, there were only two things that you were certain of.

Rafe didn’t give himself nearly enough credit.

You weren’t going to make the same mistake as him.

Taglist: @joselyn001 @caughtinthetides @proactivetypaperson @abbybarnesstuff @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @fangirlfree @antagonize-me-motherfucker

[pintsizemama]

Dickens

Day 8

Summary: You and Draco take your son to the local Dickens Christmas Festival.

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x You, Draco Malfoy x Female Reader (American)

Fandom: Harry Potter AU (no magic)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: language, talk of sex/breeding

Word Count: 799

A/N: This is my first time writing for Draco. I have some ideas for him. Let me know if you want more Draco!

Day 7 Day 9 Christmas Masterlist Main Masterlist AO3 Join my taglist

“It’s so beautiful, Mummy,” Scorpius said in awe. You had just arrived at the town’s Christmas festival. It was Dickens themed, and you felt like you had stepped back in time. Everywhere you looked people were dressed like they had stepped out of Victorian London.

“It’s more English here than in England,” Draco chuckled wryly. This was the first time you had brought your husband and son back to your hometown in America. You met Draco while traveling abroad, fell in love, and stayed in England to be with him. You missed your extended family and wanted to show Draco and Scorpius where you had grown up, so Draco suggested spending Christmas there.

“I’ve always loved this festival,” you told him. “It’s so magical. And you know how much I love all things English.”

“Especially the men,” Draco replied, puffing out his chest slightly. You laughed merrily.

“Yes,” you agreed. “I am lucky enough to live with the two most handsome men in all of England!” Draco smiled and kissed you softly on the lips. He was a cold, calculating man to the rest of the world, but for you and Scorpius he was doting and loving.

“Mummy, can I please have some of that!” Scorpius pleaded, pointing to the booth with hot chocolate.

“Yes, my darling boy,” you said immediately. “That is the perfect way to warm up.” The three of you got in line and you looked around to see what else was near by. “I believe Santa is here somewhere. We’ll have to see if we can find him.”

“Yes!” Scorpius agreed enthusiastically. A few minutes later the three of you had piping hot chocolate. You walked along the booths looking at all the crafts and gifts for sale. When you spent just a little longer than normal looking at a gorgeous pair of earrings Draco insisted on buying them. The man had more money than God and spoiled you rotten.

You turned down the next street and saw a massive kid area set up. There were games and stalls selling junk food, face painting, and a massive inflatable slide.

“Mummy! Daddy!” Scorpius squealed and jumped up and down as he pointed towards the slide.

“Go on, baby,” you encouraged him. “Just remember to take your shoes off!”

“Why on Earth would he take his shoes off?” Draco asked.

“It’s just the policy with inflatables,” you explained. “Bouncy houses and slides. Shoes can damage them.”

“Scorpius, come back here!” Draco called out, but the little boy was already shoeless and climbing the stairs. “That thing is filthy. God knows what diseases he’ll pick up on it.” His face was creased in disgust.

“It’s fine, Draco,” you said with a wave of your hand. “Don’t be such a snob. I used to go on these things all the time, and I turned out fine.”

“Debatable,” Draco teased with a straight face. You playfully smacked his chest. Scorpius had made it to the top and screamed with joy the whole way down. He jumped off and ran over to you, his face beaming with happiness.

“Can I go again?” He asked breathlessly. Draco looked into the blissful eyes of his son, and his face softened.

“Of course,” Draco answered. “You can go on as many times as you want until we tell you it’s time to stop.”

“Really?” Scorpius bounced up and down with excitement.

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “Now get back up there.” Scorpius ran off to slide to his heart’s content. You were so proud of your husband. His upbringing had been privileged, but strict. He had very little fun as a child. It was wonderful to see him break from tradition and allow Scorpius to be a child.

“Have I told you today how much I love you?” You said and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“I believe you did this morning after I woke you up with my head between your—” you clapped your hand over his mouth and cut him off.

“Not around the kids,” you whispered. Draco chuckled against your hand and you removed it.

“Right,” he said. “I’ll just wait until we are back at your parent’s house. I’m sure Grandma would love to bake some cookies with Scorpius so I can spend an hour ravaging my wife.”

“You better not word it that way to my mother!” You gasped. He shrugged.

“Your mother adores me, and she wants more grandchildren,” Draco said simply. “She wouldn’t object to me breeding the fuck out of you all week long.” You felt your face warm and panties dampen at his filthy words.

“Mr. Malfoy, behave,” you said quietly. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulled you in close to his side and nipped your ear.

“Never,” he whispered gruffly.

Day 9

Join my taglist

If you enjoy my blog and would like to support it, you can always buy me a coffee. Not necessary, but always appreciated.

Taglist:

@alexxavicry @amneris21 @awhitewyvern @dreedhudson @harriedandharassed @lizette50 @loompyinaway @mishasminion360 @xocalliexo

[its-pluto2]

A lot of people like to say radical feminists are white women and therefore white supremac*sts and whatnot. Have you not noticed that a lot of radical feminists aren't even white?

We're Mexican. We're Latin American. We're from India, from the Middle East, from Asia. We're from places where it is life and death to be a woman. Where we're targeted as criminals for protesting the injustice we live every day, where one late night might mean we won't return home, where our sex means a difference in how we're treated all our life in every aspect of it. Jobs, socializing, studies. Everything.

Take a look at Iran. At Mexico. At Korea. Do some research before you throw around words like white supremac*st and n*zi around like they mean nothing when you're talking about radical feminists, the women fighting and putting their lives on the line to stop all of this horrible, terrifying violence against us. Literally, google any of these countries next to the word "femicide" and open your eyes a little to the harsh truth (and I must warn you, if you do this, the results will be upsetting).

You guys like to tag radical feminism as this horrible trend that oppresses other movements when in reality, it's a handful of new, "progressive", "liberal" movements that are trying to demerit and oppress feminism and feminists, whether they're aware of it or not.

If your movement has to take away women's rights, you need to revise what it is you're fighting for and how you're doing it.

I am a radical feminist because I am tired of living in fear. I am tired of hearing in the news of another woman whose life was brutally ended simply because she was a woman.

We're not dying out here, we're being murdered. We're being discriminated, we're being denied safety and body autonomy and the right to choose over what happens to our bodies, we're unable to earn the same as a man for doing the same job, we're unable to express a strong character without being called manipulative or hysterical. We have so. much. bullshit to deal with simply because we are women.

And you still think our sole purpose is to target some random movement and some set of pronouns? No, honey, feminists, real feminists, have our priorities very clear.

What we don't like is that now, we have to be reduced to our organs and that we can't even freely call ourselves women because some people will be offended even by that. I cannot fathom how some people still don't realize the slap in the face that is calling women "uterus-havers" just to coddle other people. Use what pronouns you want, but don't take away women's right to call ourselves women - how absurd is that?! I can't call myself a women to not offend certain people!

Are you really telling me that, on top of having to deal with all of the risks that being a woman implies in my life, I have to not call myself a woman and instead use some odd, progressive term just so I don't offend you?

No. Enough is enough.

Women do not deserve to be silenced, on the verge of the year 2023, because other people with very specific needs and wants, want to be coddled by us. Fight for your rights, by all means, but don't try to take away ours just so you can feel better.

Get a grip on what feminism is, what it stands for, and understand that radical feminism only exists because movement after movement tries to crush everything we've fought for and everything we've achieved.

And, if you're a woman and claim to be libfem, or claim to hate feminism, or claim that feminism doesn't represent you, think again. You're only able to have access to a computer or a mobile platform to express your opinion, wear pants, and have access to basic education, among countless other privileges you take for granted, because of feminism.

I mean, come on. A woman wishing for another woman (e.g. "terfs") to be hurt and die? How awful do you have to be to wish that upon another woman? Who's the bad feminist in this scenario?

Women should support and help women before all else, because we're all each other has. You can coddle and favor men all you want, but heaven forbid, if you ever have to deal with sexual harassment, gender violence, anything related, those men you defend won't help you. They will blame you. The men who love women who hate feminism are the men who are most prone to causing harm to a woman for any reason, and you're coddling them by saying "Oh, feminism isn't about me! I believe in not all men! Death to radfems!!"

Think about that if you consider yourself "libfem" - it's a lie. It's a goddamn lie fabricated to coddle and submit to people who feel entitled to our social struggle, people who are so privileged already that they have to find problems and social causes and make up endless terms and pronouns and bullshit to justify it.

Nothing justifies you trying to silence feminism when, all over the world, no matter what country you look into, women are hunted and hurt simply because we are women.

Get that in your heads.

[xotrashratxo]

Nerdy Prudes Must Die Quotebook

Comment any I missed LMAO

⚠️NERDY PRUDES MUST DIE SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT⚠️

“I am only ONE MAN’s girl, and that man is JESUS CHRIST.” Grace Chastity

“SHUT UUUUUUPPPP.” Max Jagerman *Audience cackles* 

“THE ANSWER IS STILL NO….. by the way.” Max Jagerman

“RAAH” Max Jagerman and Grace Chastity

“the fucking BOW TIE KID???” Brenda the Cheerleader

“I know he’s RICH. But money isn’t everything! Looks are. “ Stacy the Cheerleader

“WAIFU MATERIAL” Richie Lipchitz

“SHE’S TOUCHING MEEE!! LUCKYYYY!” Ruth Fleming and Richie Lipchitz

“Woooow…. These toilets aren’t even in stalls! It’s better than I ever imagined!” Ruth Fleming

“Thats some cooool kid privilege right there.” Ruth Fleming OR Richie Lipchitz

“DESTROY HIM.” Grace Chastity

“God you suck, Grace.” Stephanie Lauter

“He’s made ALL OUR LIVES a living HECK.” Grace Chastity

“The most terrifying, HOTTEST bully in Hatchetfield” Grace Chastity

“BE COOL BEANS, KEEP THE BEANS COOL.” Grace Chastity

“We’ll fight sin with sin! Let the games begin!” ‘Nerdy Prudes’

“AM I READING AS GHOST OR LIN MANUEL MIRANDA” Peter Spankofvski

“YOU’RE FUCKING USLESS PETE.” (SO MANY PAUL REFERENCES.) Richie Lipchitz

“Ugh I gotta piss….” Max Jagerman

“Oh SHIT, where’s that creepy music coming from?” Max Jagerman

“Oh shit oh fuck it’s a fucking ghost!!!” Max Jagerman

“He thinks it’s real he’s just really fucking BRAVE.” Richie Lipchitz

“BOO HOO BITCH.” Max Jagerman

“I MAKE THE DEAD RUN IN FEAR! I AM GOD GOOOOO NIGHTHAWKS!” Max Jagerman

“Oh shit oh fuck I didn’t think there’d be a skele’in HERE!” Max Jagerman

“WOW… I uh… I thought you guys hated me. But uh, thanks! This was really great! No no no, this is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me!” Max Jagerman

“That was really special.” *bows* Max Jagerman

“And with MY luck, no one will even BOTHER making me their BITCH.” Ruth Fleming

“It was an act of god!” Grace Chastity

“Oh no she’s snapping again!” Richie Lipchitz

“Oh my asthmas back…” Richie Lipchitz

“I just cut off his nips.” Ruth Fleming FORESHADOWING??? 

“Steph, you can keep it. It would bring down my GPA.” Peter Spankofvski

“I’m tryna feel bad but it’s hard when everything is objectively better.” Peter Spankofvski

“Never thought I could open my locker without the fear running through me.” Richie Lipchitz

“N-IG-HT-AWE AWE- ks!” Everyone

“FUCK clivesdale.” Everyone, repeatedly. 

“FUCK YOU CLIVESDALE WE’LL KILL YOU!” Cheerleaders and Jocks

“Zeke! The fighting nighthawk!” Jason the Football player

“We support and love you, but you fuckin’ stink man!” Jason the Football player

“FUCK CLIVESDALE! FUCK EM STRAIGHT TO HELL!” Richie Lipchitz

“I love being alive!” Richie Lipchitz

“YA BITCH.” Max Jagerman

“Of course not! But you’ve lost everything.” Max Jagerman HIT SO HARD 

“Mama I’m cured!” Grace Chastity

“HWAELL they didn’t say!” Mark Chastity

“Alright ima need the 3 of you to shut the FUDGE up about Max Jagerman.” Grace Chastity

“SHUT. THE FUCK UP. RUTHY.” Stephanie Lauter

“People tell me to die everyday!” Ruth Fleming

“Don’t be ridiculous! Wait-“ Grace Chastity

“DAN!” Angry Adult Mob

“Suddenly the show is real upsetting!” Angry Adult Mob

“Fuckin’ transcendent…..!” Cop Corey

“I wanna remember who I YAAAMmmm…” Trevor, who’s only other credit is Barbecue Monologues Man 2 

“I turned 40 today.” *pours alcohol* Ruth Fleming in Barbecue Monologues

“Oh shit not Clivesdale!” Officer Shapiro

*heavy breathing* “…… thank you.” Peter Spankofvski

“MY DAD sells WOMEN’S SHOES.” Peter Spankofvski

“Dork at the beany’s counter has more balls than you.” Stephanie Lauter

“LEAVE ROOM FOR JESUS” Grace Chastity

“She’s bisexual and dead, where else could she be?” Grace Chastity, also GRACE DONT CALL ME OUT

“I’ve done horrible things! Like touching myself and lying to the police! I called god a son of a b word! Who am iiiiii…..” Grace Chastity

“Don’t comfort her, she’s fucking weird.” Stephanie Lauter

“KYUK KYUK KAH FUCK.” Max Jagerman

“I beg to differ, BITCH.” Max Jagerman

“I’ve got a gun.” Stephanie Lauter

“Are you a woman of god?” “Catholic.” “I’ll take that as a no.” Grace Chastity and Officer Shapiro (as a Catholic this is hilarious.) 

“I have no idea what I’m doing.” Peter Spankofvski (Me too Peter, me too.)

“My phone!” Stephanie Lauter

“WE DONT GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR PHONE.” The Lords in Black

“Or fuck off!” The Lords in Black

“It’s you Steph. I’m into you.” Peter Spankofvski (IM CRYINGGGG)

“I just took a bullet for you bro!” Max Jagerman

“SO YOU DO KNOW THE BIBLE?” Grace Chastity

“But Jesus never threw a football like you Max.” Grace Chastity

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH HOLE SPANKOVSKI. I wanna hear this.” Max Jagerman

“FUCK. YEAH.” Max Jagerman

“GASP. That’s NASTY. I like it.” Max Jagerman

“WHAT. THE FUCK. IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW.” Stephanie Lauter (That’s so me, Steph.)

“GRACE IS HAVING SEX WITH A FUCKING GHOST!” Peter Spankofvski

“I paid the price. Now fuck off!” *Spins* Grace Chastity

“WHAT ARE YOUUU-“ Max Jagerman

“You’re in my world now. Bitch.” One of the Lords in Black (Pokey I think???) 

“I…. Am gonna get some fucking coffee.” Officer Shapiro

“Did you guys know JASON goes to my CHURCH?” Grace Chastity

Total quotes: 85

[officalroyalsofpierreland]

Holyrood Palace Gardens, Edinburgh | Day before the Wedding

Magdalena: I take it we um…googled each other? Magnus: yeah…can I say that what happened to you is just awful! I cannot believe they still have power! Magdalena: They have a lot of control in the government….Mom is working with Dad and Grandpa to change it since this is not the first time they’ve caused harm to a royal. They just about fucked up Dad’s life prior to my birth by attempting to force him into marry my egg donor and stone walling the investigation on the attempt on her life at the same time..

Magdalena: Between them, people at school, and the press it’s just snowballed. Hence why I’m in Pierreland. Magnus: I’m glad that they are taking care of you Magdalena…Anything concerning about me that you found? Magdalena [giggling]: Surprisingly, no! Everything seems normal! I did see pictures of you and young Oliver and they were quite adorable! I…I envy the normalcy.

Magnus: My life is normal all things considered…really the only royal things I do are events like weddings and some ceremonial duties but other than that it’s just the military and charity work. Magdalena: I do like that you work with Pups for Life. It’s always been a special charity to my family, especially my parents. Magnus: I’ve been meaning to ask. By mom, do you mean Crown Princess Minerva?

Magdalena: Yes…she’s been my mom since forever….the woman who gave birth to me [Magdalena softly exhales] I’m only reminded that she contributed when I look in the mirror Magnus: I’m sorry for bringing her up. If it helps, you take after your Mom much more. I had the honor to hear her speak at a Pups for Life event in Pierreland once and it was so inspiring. Magdalena: She does have a knack for it.

Magnus [panicking and stammering]: You do as well! I was inspired to get back into my music due to your studies. If I didn’t have to join the military, I would’ve been a musician. Magdalena: What’s stopping you? Magnus: Duty…the fact I already committed…the fact that it just isn’t done. Magdalena: Oh I fucking hate that excuse. [Magnus laughs] Would you do music professionally? Magnus [chuckling]: I do not have your talents Magdalena…I may stick to doing music privately but I am open to incorporating charities for music education. Magdalena: I can definitely wait till my life becomes nothing but charity work. It seems so…boring Magnus: It is the royal life. Lots of privilege means we must raise awareness of causes.

Magdalena: I get it…it’s just, the microscope feels stifling but then again, [jokes] I guess the press doesn’t find you interesting enough! Magnus [laughing]: Don’t jinx me! I’m sure they’ll take more interest now that Oliver is getting married…or they won’t, who knows! I just take comfort in the fact that I will only be pushed farther down the succession line and that I desire a quiet life. I…I wish…no I want to give you that level of peace. Magdalena: I’d like that

Louis: There she is! What the fuck is she doing with Prince Magnus? Henri: There you are brother. Spying on Maggie is a new low for you.

Louis: I’m not spying Henri: Which is exactly what someone who isn’t spying would say. Louis: I’m just…worried about her… Henri: Really? Well color me shocked! Considering you were ignoring her for the past 2 months after you found out about her boyfriend. Louis: Who is a Prince and didn’t tell her. Henri: And she didn’t say she was a princess they’re even. Now come on.

Louis: He is suspicious…I mean…he’s Oliver’s age! Henri: You do know that Oliver was Maggie’s childhood crush right? Louis: Wait really? Henri: Man…for a best friend, you really don’t know a lot…now we need to get lost before Maggie sees you lurking out here and decides to slap you into next week.

Maria Aisha: There you two are! Mama is looking for you Louis. She wants to talk to you. Louis: About? Maria Aisha: Like I know. She doesn’t tell me shit. Figured you’d be spying on Maggie. You’re predictable and also horrible at spying. Doesn’t PIMA teach you to study your surroundings- Louis: Aisha, watch it Maria Aisha: oooo, I’m so scared. Henri: if you’re gonna spy, get better at it bro.

Katalina: Louis…I take it you know now that Maggie’s boyfriend is Prince Magnus [Louis grumbles] Katalina [annoyed]: What was that, Louis? Honestly, you are 19. I should not have to be asking for basics from you. Louis: I don’t trust him. Katalina: Well Maggie does. And that’s what I’m going to talk to you about—

Louis: What? that I need to trust Maggie more? Katalina: Well yes actually. Perhaps PIMA has taught you some things. Maggie has always been there for you. She’s always given you the benefit of the doubt and she’s even defended you at your dumbest moments [Louis opens his mouth to protest] I’m not finished yet Louis. The fact that you cannot trust her. Trust her judgement. It leaves me speechless. It puts you on the levels of the Lunarian House of-- Louis [defensively]: I am nothing like those old assholes! Katalina [sighing]: Then act like it! Stop giving her the silent treatment. Attempt to get to know Magnus. She’s not just someone you can call when you need her and then push aside, which was evident when you had your dalliance with Eloise. Louis[angrily]: What does Eloise have to do with this? Katalina: Because Maggie had misgivings about the relationship from the start, yet did you hear her telling you them while you both were dating? Did she freeze you out? Louis [mumbling]: No.. Katalina: Exactly. I expect you to do the same. For all of Maggie’s relationships. And it starts now.

Katalina: You will not do anything to cause problems for Oliver and Hortense, do you understand? Louis: But- Katalina: Louis Charles Marc. If you do something, I swear to the Watcher…PIMA will not save you from my wrath. You think your father being angry is scary, you have yet to see angry. [Louis shudders] Do not cause an international incident. Are we clear? Louis: Crystal Mama…

@simsroyallegacy

[timetravellingkitty]

Going Anonymous for security reasons here. So, regarding Kashmir: I am sick and tired of how people on Tumblr (or rather Hindublr tags) really believe that Kashmir is healing when it is still the most armed state in the world. I am horrified of how these people glorifying Army personels, who are no more than paid abusers and rapists and this is coming from a person whose family legacy is that of 'serving in the Army' I am not Kashmiri (And I cannot say I have faced the same shit they faced and I commend their resilience and their spirit) but I've had the chance to visit the 'non tourist' spots and let me tell you, it is fucked up. Even from the perspective of a person who is very privileged in this situation. I've literally seen some of these 'brave sons of India' beat up a seven year old boy just because he was 'being a hindrance in the road' One of my dad's colleague just got a 'warning' even after being a convicted assaulter after he raped two Kashmiri women (And this was back in 2013) and I came to know about this through Twitter out of all things. I remember going through those small towns in Kashmir and it being fucking empty and everything being closed up because they were afraid of the people who were stationed to 'protect' them. I am so sorry for venting out on your inbox like this but I've seen some of these blogs defend the Militarisation in Kashmir and it is awful and inhumane of how these people could even defend that out of all things. And to burst their bubble of delusion, it has gotten worse after the bill was passed. So many Kashmiri Muslims are getting wrongfully evicted out of their homes to 'house' the Pandits (but doing nothing when they were living as refugees and in destitution in Jammu) and the internet ban during the pandemic and people think Kashmir is healing?

And most of all, I wanted to thank you for posting the masterlist about Kashmir. It is very informative and has helped me learn and unlearn a lot of Kashmiri history.

This isn't even the first time the Army has done something like this. The IPKF was responsible for the massacres and rapes of multiple Tamil civilians it's insane how dedicated we are to glorifying the Indian military

[neverenoughmarauders]

Writing without compassion is writing flat characters

If there's one thing that can really grate me, it's fanfiction stories where Snape is just evil and James/Sirius are right in bullying him; stories where James is just an arsehole and a bully; and similar equivalents such as Ron being an absolute jealous git with no love for Harry etc.

It's evident that the author clearly dislikes the character they are writing, but for me it makes the story feel flat. Why did Lily and Snape stay friends for five years if Snape was pure evil? Why did Lily end up with James if he had no good sides to him or didn't grow up (though tbf these stories usually have Lily running back to Snape after James is killed - because that's not disturbing).

These characters, who have such depth in the original story becomes caricatures. The stories become shallow and the internal conflicts our characters might have been facing non-existent. Harry has no reason to miss Ron if he's constantly awful to him; Lily has no internal conflict letting go of a relationship with someone who represented the first introduction to magic to her and was loyal to her (and yes, that's possible while calling her a slur - Snape did eventually give his whole life to Lily's memory) if he has no good sides left in him; James does not have to examine himself and the dissonance between some of his behaviour and his core values if he's not going to change etc.

Personally, it makes me disinterested in the stories and I wished the author had fleshed them out, even if they wanted the story to ultimately have a different ending to that in the canon.

A slight self-plug here: I try to avoid this (though I can't possibly tell if I am successful) - and here's how

Severus, Peter and James aren't characters it comes easy for me to care about, yet they don't go about their fictional day thinking about how to be evil or a bully. Almost everyone thinks they do what they do for the best, or they try to make the best of difficult situations. Severus and Peter I disliked for the obvious reasons of Severus being into the dark arts, becoming a death eater etc; Peter for betraying his friends and becoming a death eater. James for the obvious reason that he's a privileged bullying git.

To make James work, who we also don't know that much about, I had to start by writing him from Sirius and Remus' points of view. This worked well in helping me with the canon interpretation as most of what we learn about James are from these two in any case. I also sought after models in my own life: I've used my childhood bullies as inspiration, I've taken inspiration from being raised by elderly indulgent parents (lucky me), and I've used my husband and his confident, but good nature to be inspiration for the upsides of privilege. This mix of people I love and dislike - people who have caused me joy and harm - allows me, I hope, to not only love James when I write him from Sirius or Remus' POV, but also to hate him when I think about what Severus is going through.

To make Severus work, I have a little bit more canon material, but not an awful lot. The way Sirius and James bullies him is often taken from real or tweaked memories from my own childhood (which mirrors what we see in SWM). Severus' reactions are often similar to my own. While writing from James' or Sirius' POV I can't necessarily portray Severus' pain and humiliation, but I know it's there and it does nevertheless (hopefully) flow through to the page in Severus' reaction if nothing else. Lily and Severus' friendship is also a mirror of a friend I lost over many years to outside influences, and the feeling of fighting hard to protect something that I probably should have let go earlier. I still have regrets here, and stepping back into my childhood shoes, I can hopefully translate some of that wanting the friendship to work, from Lily's POV.

To make Peter work, I've had far more freedom, as we know very little about him, but by now I had learned that the best thing to do, is to pour aspects of myself into the character. It makes it much harder to write him without compassion or not see him as a valued part of the story. So I make Peter lose his father, like me. Unlike me though, he also experiences emotional neglect from his mother, which is again, sadly based on stories I've observed. Witnessing what some of my friends suffered and I am now putting Peter through, makes me want to hug and love him. I also pour some of the sides I really don't like about myself into Peter. His Slytherin traits are sadly mostly based on me, rather than anyone else.

I have no idea if I succeed, but I know when I read a story and it's clear the author hated the person they wrote about, and it breaks my heart. Writing is such a great channel to learn compassion and understanding. I understand more (I hope, I am aware this is also interpretation) why James (and Sirius) are the bullies they are and why Severus and Peter make their choices (up to 1981, I honestly don't understand how Snape continues to bully or Peter continues to hang around wizarding families hoping to deliver Harry to Voldemort). Understanding does not mean endorsing - and it annoys me I have to caveat that.

[piovascosimo]

the blur thing is making me insane, and it is maybe hard for people from the outside to get it. but picture this, a 16 year old starts getting into a band in 97, then goes crazy about them when they release a masterpiece a couple of years later but we were still mostly offline back then, access to things was so limited. my first email is from 98 but back then we didn't have internet at home or even a good computer. i used to listen to music on cds, waiting all day for mtv to show one video, and here in brasil they've always privileged awful american bands like 'faith no more', and 'rhcp', ugh. i was thinking beetlebum, but i am pretty sure it was 'country house' or 'the universal', that first appeared to me late at night at some point, that is why i went and bought blur/blur when it came out in 97. i still remember the store and the act of me buying it, that spark of energy that you could feel back then, oh i think this is for me. when 13 came out i was in love with them enough to not need visuals for it, but i used to buy 4th gen copies of concerts via mail order from a pirating store in são paulo. it was so hard to come by any kind of content. finally by the early aughts we got the early (good) internet, some official dvds, and we could illegally download so many great music, buy on ebay old magazines, and discover every single hidden blur song that they ever made, but what i was really excited about were the new songs, the new album. and then i find out via a shitty webcam that graham was out of the band. i understand now that it was a hard time for everyone, but i couldn't help and really resent them for leaving graham behind. it was so depressing, it felt like getting really into the beatles just as about they were to break up, i picked sides, i was upset, i hated (still resent) that album that sounds nothing like blur (and that hideous banksy cover, barf). it was such a bittersweet feeling, when i finally could get somehow near them, my main reason for me loving the band was cast apart. years went by, every reunion they did felt like a triumph and a step closer to where they were before, i saw them for the first time live in 12, after missing the 09 ones, bc i couldn't afford it. you could feel they wanted to put it right, but often you could tell the wound was still raw. i'm a big fan of the magic whip, the album that graham put together, because he wanted there to be more blur, that think tank wasn't the end. i understand that the way the album was created wasn't 'organic', graham made it happen because he wants to work with damon, he wanted to show they could do it again, and i think he did an amazing job, i think it is a beautiful album. but it was not until now, that i have felt that we've come out at the end of the tunnel, so now i am reading all these interviews of damon talking about their friendship and how important musically it is for graham to be there for blur to be blur. it feels like 23 years later i am getting what i was expecting to get back then. the more i listen to the album, more layers i find about them, their friendship, and it's so fucking nice that damon is finally talking about it too. i guess most people get over their teenage obsessions, i am not 16 anymore, but unlike most bands from that era they've kept growing and growing, they don't want to be stuck to the past anymore than i do (my teenagedooom was the worst). it feels really nice growing up with your favourite band. that is why this feels so joyful, and why i can't stop talking about it. feeling grateful about it.

[onceuponanightmareisawme]

I saw a comment from a few years ago you made on a post about how a happiness has come to you that you never thought you could know. It made me choke up - I hope it kept coming and coming. I hope your life is beautiful.

Greetings wonderful person,

I am currently writing this through misty eyes and a heartfelt grin. I am so grateful for your message. It really means a lot to me. I only come on here once in a while to spill my heart out when the time feels right, and I'm so touched that the comment I happened to make a few years ago made such an impact.

You'll be glad to know that the happiness that has been gifted to me has only continued to grow. There's been some ups and downs as with anything, but I wouldn't trade any of them. The man that has bestowed upon me 'the happiness I never thought I could know' is so amazing, I am in awe every time I have the chance to message him or see him in person.

I made a joke yesterday that his mission in the future was going to be to see how much he could make me blush. His response was, "My mission is to make you feel loved like you’ve never known and what true happiness really means. You are my everything, and I love you so much."

If I were to be told 3 years ago that I would meet the love of my life and be happier than I could ever fathom, I'd have called them crazy and that I didn't believe in true love, it was a spinster's life ahead. Joke's on me.

I found a broken man who had all but given up completely, and I saw myself. It scared and intrigued me enough to stick around. Then, we both began to heal just by talking and realizing how much we have in common (it's like looking in the mirror, a bit creepy at times with the amount there is). We have stuck by one another during the dark days and celebrate when the storms pass.

He recently told me that I helped him find his center again - little does he know that he saved me. I still haven't told him that he saved me from myself. Every time I try to, the words get stuck in my throat, and it never feels like the right time. I have a sense that he knows to some degree, but my soul feels at home when I'm in his presence, and all of my troubles fade away like music on deaf ears.

One day I'll tell him, but for now, I'm more than content with the cheesy grin I always get when he texts and the feeling of our foreheads pressed together as we simply bask in one another's presence.

And you'll be glad to know that we are already planning our forever home. He has children already, and they are such sweethearts, I am so honored that he has given me the chance to meet them and get to know who they are as people. I always loved the idea of having children of my own blood, but alas, it isn't something that I will ever have the privilege of knowing. He's made mention of various things regarding my potential relationship with his children, and I cry every time that he trusts and loves me enough to even utter the words.

Besides that, he is my biggest supporter and advisor, and he makes me feel like an actual person instead of another cog in the machine called Life. Because of him, I wake up every morning excited to be here and grateful that I get to see the sun shine. I am truly happier than I ever thought I could know, and it's only just begun.

[chershare]

People really don't give a shit anymore, huh

This new app thing that takes Ao3 works without consent? It's basically another AI scraping BS thing and that is so disheartening.

Why should I have to opt out of this? Why should I have to take extra steps to stop someone from potentially stealing my shit, when it's not even an app that we - the writers - asked for? Why do I have to give you access to my personal email to make sure you don't use my things, sans consent, in your app I'm never going to use? That people who respect the efforts of fic writers won't use?

Why must I tell you no, explicitly, or you think that means yes? Rather than it be automatically opted out and you have to opt in?

Consent is sexy, guys. What are we doing here? Why have we forgotten that?

Why is this something you - the general you - think is okay?

If it were like, a text to speech add-on thing for Ao3 that I could opt into that would be different. Another box to click because it was added to the website. Why not make something that can be integrated into the site itself that does tts?

I'm not trying to pile on work to the Ao3 team, they are amazing and I salute them, but if there was something as a part of the site that you could use as a registered user to have tts involved I'd totally partake. Why make it something entirely outside of our scope that we only learn about via word of mouth like this?

If I wanted my shit used by a third party that doesn't care about me and my efforts, I'd put them on a third party site.

Just as I was considering unlocking my fics, too. Nope, locked Forever. Goodbye Guest Comments and Kudos.

If shit like this keeps popping up with such frequency... the esama purge of the old days is starting to look mighty enticing. The lack of appreciation for the writing and art that has been shared, without profit to the creators, is really coming to a head. Like, you know we don't have to do this right? We don't have to share the things we make with you?

It's not a right, it's a privilege.

That's not even bringing into light the disrespect it shows for podficcers, which I am not, of course. But the effort and time these people put into recording fic so that people can listen to it? That's hard shit guys. People have podded my own works sometimes - I have a blanket permission for podfic/translations in my profile as long as it's through Ao3 and appropriately linked - and it always feels so awe inspiring that someone liked my fic enough to decide to put in the effort to pod it.

Podficcers are a different breed, and they are so cool you guys. Also terrifying, but like. Super cool.

I don't want to disappear my works. I like sharing my writing, I like seeing kudos in my inbox, I like discussing my stuff with people in my discord server or in the comments section when I have the spoons. I like the increasingly rare but desperately appreciated comments in my inbox that come in.

I just updated something and now I'm worried about how this will effect my future desire to do so, my anxiety hitting the roof. Should I keep posting? Should I just say "fuck it" and yank everything now so I know it might not be stolen in the future because the internet is a fucking cesspit of thievery and entitlement now?

Probably got kind of ranty, but like, come on guys. Why? Why do people think this is okay?

I'm sure more will come to light later, but for now I just wanted to get this off my chest.

[starry-eyed-fag]

Lol acting like you're the only one w food issues here... "I haven't had anything to eat and I'm starving THAT'S why I can't respond to your totally valid criticisms of my piss-poor take! 😞" Just own up to the fact you're a fuckin pussy who can't stand being seen as a man when it comes to taking accountability for your own privilege but still desperately craves the validation of it... You can't have your cake and eat it too, dude.

I challenge you to eat close to nothing for two weeks, then have the spoons and energy to respond perfectly to a bunch of people hating on you. I am human. I can't respond to absolutely everything with perfect wording, and i do not always have the energy to articulate all of my points the way that I want to. I have also responded to nearly every same tired argument that your crowd is using against me in the past.

You think I'm a pussy who can't stand acknowledging my own privilege? Why is it, then, that in cisheteronormative society, I experience misogyny, but I can't speak out about it in more progressive spaces because I am not a woman? I do not have male privilege. I do not pass. I am never seen as a cis man in real life. I simply do not benefit from cis male privilege, and cis women oppress me.

This isn't having my cake and eating it too. It's y'all telling me, after I experienced misogyny for years and continue to experience it, that just because I identify as a man, I have no seat at the table in its discussion. This is erasure. Now, actually go and find my discourse blog, and send your bullshit there instead of making my FOB followers sit through your awful takes.

[mhstark3000]

you say that i'm kinda difficult  ...      an  independent and  selective portrayal  of Morgan Stark  of  the  Marvel Cinematic Universe.  time and universe hopping daughter of Tony Stark and Virginia Potts future head of Stark Industries.  not a hero.  canon compliant(ish) .    narratively paired with my Virginia Potts @vpstark3000 .     ...  but it's always someone else's fault

 an exploration in ...      growing up, the privilege of being privileged, gifted kid burnout phenomenon, self discovery, found family,

low activity,  dark  themes  present. written by  birb. 30+ est. 

                              | carrd |      | memes |    | morgan's tumblr |       

* under construction                     

also found at : @vpstark3000 and @retrocognizantrecreant

MOBILE FRIENDLY RULES

I am over thirty, if you are under eighteen... we are not writing together until that changes.

I am not my muse. She makes choices and has world beliefs that I do not condone. If you cannot separate mun and muse, unfollow me and hard block me.

if you are going to soft block me, don't. hard block me or I will assume that I hit the wrong button and re-follow.

There are so many triggers on this blog. If you need something tagged that i am not already tagging tell me specifically how to tag it for you. my usual format is tw; trigger If you are not comfortable doing so by message, feel free to drop your trigger request anonymously in my inbox.

There are mature themes here. expect thematic elements unsuitable for work and relatives and generally triggering content.

Don't be awful to people out of character. I'm not here for it.

If you're worried about something that might come up in writing, chat with me about it first, short of that, I don't think I have limits. I might. I'll let you know if they come up and I'll gladly respect yours. I don’t write much smut, I don’t think, it’s been a while. With adult Morgan there will be assumed and applied smut and certainly smutty things, but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to be writing it as part of in character interactions.

I am very sick and very stressed, I'm also just very tired. This blog isn't my priority, that being said, you as my friends are a priority in my life, if you want to be able to stay in touch, I have a discord, you can ask for it.

  you can send memes anytime!

Please do not godmod or metagame.

I love shipping however I am very selective with who I will ship Morgan with especially as her teen verse.