shining mirrors

Self Love masterpost for witches

❤ Bath Spells:

ROMANCE MYSELF BATH SPELL - For showing yourself love, care and romance.

SOOTHING BATH SPELL - For calming stresses and anxiety.

LOVEY DOVEY BATH - To draw romantic vibes and fall more in love with yourself.

SELF LOVE BATH - It is important to remember that you are loved.

PEACE BATH SPELL - Turn worrisome thoughts into a peaceful mind.

❤ Simple Spells: 

SELF LOVE SPELL - For realisation of worth.

SELF LOVE AND HEALING SPELL BOTTLE - Heal your heart and make more room for self love to grow.

TO LET YOURSELF LOVE AND BE LOVED - Allow love.

A SPELL TO ALLEVIATE SELF HATRED - Get rid of self-hate.

SPELL FOR EMOTIONAL HEALING AND MOVING FORWARD -  Let go of things that are keeping you fro self love and care.

❤ Banishing Negativity:

SELF LOVE / BANISH NEGATIVITY SPELL - End negative thoughts about yourself.

BANISH NEGATIVE ENERGY SPELL - Send away negativity that is interrupting your self-love.

❤ Glamour Spells:

I AM RADIANT - Boost self love and confidence.

CONFIDENCE AND BEAUTY SPELL  - Feel good about yourself!

FOUNDATION BEAUTY SPELL -  Increase self-esteem and confidence, and let your true inner beauty shine through.

CONFIDENCE MIRROR SPELL - See your beauty and worth when you look at yourself.

❤  Battles/Jars/Sachets:

SELF LOVE SACHET - Long term self love keepsake.

SELF LOVE JAR - Ritual and keepsake.

“SELF LOVE” SPELL JAR - I am lovely, I am divine, I am kind.

Your senior year roommate calls herself Clarity. She’s very small and rumpled and distant, and she goes for long walks in the forest south of campus when she’s frustrated. You aren’t friends, but you coexist peacefully. It’s enough.

The creature on your co-owned Walmart futon isn’t Clarity.

It looks like her. Enough to fool a casual observer, certainly. Enough to fool someone who hasn’t been soldering sterling silver for six hours. But you have, and the truth of silver lingers, and the Thing That Looks Like Clarity is sprouting delicate flowers from the skin of its bare shoulders.

It’s sitting cross-legged and perfectly, terribly still, tracking your eyes as you take all this in. When you sigh and set down your backpack, it says, “Hello, smith. There didn’t seem to be any sense in pretending.”

“Jeweler,” you say, and, “I go by Florence, these days. What should I call you?”

It blinks, languid and slow. “I’m not here to usurp. I’m a… placeholder.”

“It’s still confusing as shit, my guy.”

It considers this at length. Finally, with the air of one who has just solved a great puzzle, it says “Claire. We will know, the two of us.”

“Works for me. Nice meeting you, Claire.”

And that seems to be all there is to say. Your roommate’s been stolen by the Fair Folk, you’re living with a changeling, and there’s not much you can do about either of these things. You scroll through Instagram until it gets tired of watching you and wanders out into the hallway.

So that’s Claire.

Keep reading

A mystery herself

A/N: Heeey so I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted any writing so I’m very nervous about this one. It’s my first Jughead imagine ever, so I hope you like it and if you’d want a part 2, let me know. I already have some idea for a continuation ;)

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.825 


Originally posted by riverrdxle

She walked in like a midsummer breeze, swaying and changing the course of everything under the sun. She perturbed the usually sober times of Riverdale.

And it annoyed Jughead Jones to no end.


(Y/N) didn’t feel good. Her bitter nerves slowly morphed into a nauseous tension which took over her stomach. From the first moment she placed her foot onto the grounds of her new school, the air seemed to change drastically. And she wasn’t the only one who seemed to notice the thick, static-like uneasiness in the air. They all stared at her. Every single pair of eyes fixed her face, supposedly searching for a familiar feature.

Did everybody know everybody in this damn village?

Apparently so.

(Y/N) tried to avoid direct eye contact, although she kept her head high as she walked.

But as she reached the backyard of Riverdale High, her breath hitched in her throat. Releasing a strangled huff as she came to a sudden stop, she gripped the strip of her bag tighter between her long, shaky fingers and replaced it further on her shoulder. A sea of students was laying before her frozen figure, hundreds of eyes piercing her skull and rummaging through her mind.

(Y/N) sighed deeply and swallowed the tight lump in her throat, before urging her unsteady feet to move forward, slicing right through the yard filled with students. She held a confident pace in her step, although the heart burned by a mocking fire threatened to burst out of her chest at any moment.  

It was going to be a long day.


She didn’t expect to find herself into such a place so soon. She didn’t expect to place a single foot inside it at all, actually.

(Y/N) stood in the doorway of what seemed to be a fast food. Pop’s was filled with students which crowded the booths around the powerfully lit dine. Their loud voices travelled across the room, hitting walls and piercing (Y/N)’s ears. It was all too noisy and crowded in there for her liking, and if wasn’t for the frozen water droplets which bit at her exposed skin, she wouldn’t have been there in the first place. Not now, at least. But there was no other choice, was it?

She stole a quick glance outside and felt her eyebrows lower, urging her lids to shield her eyes more than they already had. A sharp breath passed her lips and she adjusted the strip of her bag on her shoulder once again, before scanning the room rapidly.

A mild grimace crossed her features as she acknowledged the only free spot in the entire room. It was an isolated booth, occupied by a boy she recognised briefly. A picture of their eyes connecting during classes flashed through her brain.

Lonely, raven locks hanged loosely across his forehead, narrowed eyes mirrored the shining words written on the screen of his laptop and lips pressed together tightly into a straight line.

And, of course, a grey beanie covered his head, shielding him and making him impossible to ignore at the same time.

Jughead Jones.

(Y/N) was going to sit next to Jughead Jones.

Gathering the last bit of courage in her body, (Y/N) approached his table sheepishly, her hands shoved deeply inside her pockets and her eyes wide with anticipation. Swallowing the bitter lump in her throat, she let the words drift off her tongue.

“Um- excuse me?”

His eyes snapped towards her almost instantly and (Y/N) struggled to keep herself from flinching at the sharp look she received.

“Would you mind if I sit down? It’s all crowded in here, and outside it’s raining, so I can’t actually go-”

“Fine.” he replied shortly, before his stare returned to the screen of his laptop and his fingers began typing vigorously.

(Y/N)’s chest fell as she exhaled with relief and gingerly slid into the seat opposite from the boy.

She quickly took out a pencil, a small notebook and a pair of headphones, which she connected to her phone. Gathering her bag close, she shrunk deeper into the corner near the window and leaned her head against the cold glass. She closed her eyes for a brief second, letting a soft sigh escape her lips and basking in the cool sensation which spread through her temple, before tilting her head and scribbling down a few words on the paper.

Soon enough, the words began flowing inside her head, filling her with a familiar sensation of assurance. The pen left black marks onto the white sheet and while she filled pages after pages with thoughts and drawings, a silvery, rhythmic murmur began dripping from her lips.

With a brief tilt of her head, her eyes slowly travelled towards the raven haired boy. She felt herself freeze when her eyes locked with his.  


He had been watching her all along. From the first damned moment she entered Pop’s, all uncertain and awkward, to when she leaned her head against the window and began bloody singing.

The sound of her silvery voice and the continuous scribbling of her pencil on the paper kept him from his writing.

For a reason he didn’t know, her presence made his chest constrict with a feeling he couldn’t quite describe. Uneasiness seemed a poor choice of words, but it was the closest to what he was experiencing of them all. The nerves bubbled up inside his stomach, probably waiting for the perfect moment to burst.

At first, when she showed up next to him and asked if she could sit down, he thought ignoring her would be easy. But he was so… fucking wrong.

He remembered her. From the moment he caught her Y/E/C eyes, he remembered. Seeing them in every class that day, seeking for them whenever she wasn’t there. He remembered the shy smile she gave when the teacher presented her to the rest of the class. He remembered the gleam in her eyes during Psychology, when they talked about human rights and abstract concepts like love. He remembered the burning passion in her voice and the intelligence which shined through her actions and thoughts.

He remembered all of her, and it seemed like a curse.

Fuck…  

She was probably the most distracting person he’d ever seen in his entire life.

The way she bit her lip in thought, or the way she hummed contently when a phrase she liked came up to her mind. It was all too fascinating for Jughead, a concept he couldn’t understand. The way her hair fell into her face and the way she just didn’t bother to push it away made him boil with the urge to brush it to the side with a gentle touch.

Even though it started with secret glances he stole at her crunched figure, he just found his eyes and brain wanting more, to return to the sight of her face. So, after a while, he just gave up on his tentatives of writing and focused on her entirely.

Jughead stared at her. At how her expressions changed with a flash, at the soft smile which warmed her lips from time to time, followed by a private sigh, and at her piercing, radiating eyes, which stared off into the lonely distance.

It felt… strange. Strange and highly inappropriate, he thought of a better label for his odd interest in the girl.

She was new to this town. That was her first day in a new school, with new people and different surroundings. She was a stranger to him, a girl he’d just seen around for a few hours, before she came to Pop’s, where she sat down in front of him.

Why had he said yes in the first place?

Jughead clenched his jaw and felt his fingers curl in annoyance.

It was an understatement to say he was confused… and pissed. Maybe a little bit at her, because she was so damn captivating and enchanting and just… different from all the girls he’d seen. But mainly at him, for taking such an interest in her, for his sudden change. He felt like the wall of ignorance and cold feelings he managed to build over the years was now crumbling down… because of one person.

(Y/N).

She made his temper falter slightly, just by… existing. And being there, present, sitting next to him, and murmuring so beautifully it made him grimace.

She acted so natural. So… carefree and oblivious. She seemed lost to this world, caught between the walls of her own mind, enchanted into a dance with her own thoughts…

He was still staring. Probably more intently, by now.

Shit…  

Was it even healthy? 

Probably not.   

And that made a crisp, thin feeling of fear creep into his soul, tickling the sides of his shielded heart and sending shivers down his spine.

But a sudden change into his view seemed to snap Jughead out of his trance. 

He found himself staring into (Y/E/C) orbs, which watched back with surprise. He quickly came to acknowledge all of her figure, his gaze shifting from her eyes, and shook his head slightly. 

He returned to the screen of his laptop, a pale blush warming his cheeks, hoping she’d go back to writing just as well. But he could feel her stare piercing through his head and lurking through his mind. He heard a ruffling noise as Y/N changed her position so she was facing him properly.

“You’re blushing” a soft voice rang inside his ears.


(Y/N) couldn’t help it. She didn’t mean to say it out loud, but it just slipped off her tongue.

The sight of the turbulent feelings which swam inside his eyes tickled her interest. They held a blurry surface, like a broken mirror, so no one could see inside.

(Y/N) felt intrigued in an odd way by the boy beside her.

Aside from the fact that he was damn right staring at her, she found it strange that he immediately looked away. She didn’t expect Jughead to be so… sensitive, she might say. Let alone to see him blush.

(Y/N) shifted again, placing her bag down from her lap and leaning forward a little bit to peer at the boy. The sight of his red cheeks and embarrassed expression sent her lips into a smirk.

He continued to stare at the screen of his laptop for a few moments, before finally turning his attention to her.

She smiled tenderly in his direction and he felt something melt inside him.

Shaking her head at his silence, (Y/N) withdrew her hand.

“I’m (Y/N)” she said.

Jughead’s eyes flickered towards her hand suspiciously and his stare narrowed. It took a raise of her eyebrows for him to finally shake her hand.

“Jughead” he shortly introduced himself.

A heavy silence followed their handshake. (Y/N)’s smile faded slowly, her lips pressed now in a tight line. She shielded her eyes, gaze falling to her lap and began fiddling with her fingers in an attempt to calm the fire of her cheeks.

Jughead, though, he continued to watch her with thin eyes and furrowed eyebrows. The corners of his lips twitched slightly at her bashful blushing.

“So…” he cleared his throat, an awkward expression visible on his face.

(Y/N) tilted her head to peer at him with interest.

“Seems like we’re going to stay in here for a while” he gestured to the pouring rain outside.

She absently nodded her head, her gaze drifting off to the window and watched as big drops of water slid down the window.

“You seem to like writing”

She blinked, making Jughead raise an eyebrow.

“Am I right?”

“Actually, yes, I do like writing, but it’s…”

She trailed off, with a look like she said too much, but Jughead just raised his eyebrows with curiosity, urging her to tell him more.

“It’s not a book, or something… They’re just random musings I have during a day, or just scattered thoughts I manage to catch from time to time. This is mainly filled with drawings” she held her notebook up “but, recently, I began writing very much in it”

Jughead’s features shifted with surprise.

“So you’re drawing too?”

“I’m not that good at it… but yeah. I just feel like… anything I describe in words is kind of incomplete without a drawing, and every drawing needs a few feelings on mine scribbled down next to it”  

Jughead opened his mouth to ask a question, but shut it quickly, seeming undecided on what to do.

But (Y/N) looked at him expectantly, arching one eyebrow.

“Can I… possibly take a look? Painters and artists like you intrigue me. I can’t understand how you create such masterpieces with just a crayon”

She seemed to consider his words for a moment, before she reached out to hand him the notebook. His finger brushed against hers and (Y/N) fought a strangled gasp from passing her lips, as an electric wave shot through her body.

Jughead took his time to open the notebook and look at her drawings and writing. He admired every single page. She was indeed talented, not only at drawing, but at writing too. Every single word touched his heart. She knew how to leave an impact on the reader, and take them into her mind, make them feel everything she writes and thinks.

Jughead couldn’t help but be impressed.

As his eyes focused on the next page, he felt his chest constrict. There, on the white paper, was his face, drawn with such precision he thought it was an actual picture of him.

At first, he frowned in disbelief.

“Do you draw people often?”

“Only those who attract me” (Y/N) replied with a distant voice, her nose buried into a book this time.

A wide, soft smile warmed his lips and a strange feeling filled his stomach. Jughead didn’t know how to describe it, but again, it was about (Y/N). She was a mystery herself, for that matter.

He closed the notebook slowly, then placed it on the table, in front of her.

(Y/N)’s eyes snapped up and, closing her book, she carefully focused her attention back to Jughead.

“So, you find me attractive, huh?” he smirked smugly at her, leaning in so he could take a better view at her expression.

She stared at him for a moment, before all the blood drained from her face. Her mouth fell open in horror and a ghostly gasp escaped her lips, but actual words refused to come out.

Jughead spluttered with laughter at the sight of her mortified expression.

Even though she gave him a sour face, (Y/N) quietly decided she wanted to hear him laugh like that again.

“I didn’t realise that was you. It was just an image which was stuck into my head all day, so-”

But she stopped herself short, realising what slipped past her lips. She mentally face palmed for being so stupid.

He smiled at her mistake, biting his lip to keep the laugh from erupting again.

(Y/N) decided to look outside once again, secretly wishing Jughead haven’t seen her embarrassed blush.

She frowned at the sight which took over her view. It wasn’t raining anymore. She could finally go home.

Although… she kind of liked Jughead’s company.

With a sigh, she grabbed her stuff and placed it back into her bag, before turning to Jughead. He was watching her with confused eyes.

“Are you leaving already?”

(Y/N) smiled softly at him, before gesturing to the window.

“The rain stopped. I have to go home”

His face fell with disappointment for a second, before a crooked smile lifted the corers of his mouth.

“Well, I’ll see you at school, then?”

Even though it was supposed to be a statement, it came out more like a question.

“Sure” she replied, placing her bag onto her shoulder and waving at the raven haired boy.

Jughead stood there, chewing on his tongue and watching her head for the door, not wanting to be left alone by someone for the first time in his life. Before any rational thought could stop him, he opened his mouth to yell after the girl.

“You know”

She turned around with raised eyebrows.

“This seat is always free, and I’m here every day after school, so…” he trailed off, unsure how to continue his awkward suggestion.

Her expression immediately warmed and she smiled at him brightly, a rosy tint on her cheeks.

“Are you saying I can bother you every night?”

Jughead smiled back, sensing the humour in her voice.

“Yes”

(Y/N) let out a quiet laugh, before turning on her heels and walking out the door.

“You asked for it, Jones. You can’t get rid of me that easily now. Not here, not at school” she said over her shoulder, making Jughead shake his head with a full smile.

A quiet whisper left his lips as he watched her blurry shape walk away through the foggy window.

“I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to”

“Flat out” -h.s. Part 2

Part 1

—–

—–

Waking up the morning of your birthday, you tried to keep your nerves in check. You expected pancakes and coffee in the least, but nothing too fancy. Instead, you found a quiet flat thanks to a very still asleep Harry. You didn’t blame him for that though, considering you had a pretty early class anyway. Who would want to get up at 6:30am willingly? 

So you made your own coffee and dressed for school. You wouldn’t be on campus much today anyway, but more in the courthouse. Your professor was working a case, a very high profile case, and you had been asked to be his consulting student. You were very excited about it, but due to the nature of the case and the amount of thugs you were sure you’d encounter, you’d yet to tell Harry about it. He could get protective of this kind of thing, and you didn’t want to have to worry about his feelings and the case at the same time. 

Harry was still asleep when you left, smoothing out your dress as you heels clicked down the hall on the way to the elevator. You’d get a ‘Happy Birthday’ text, you were sure. That at the very least. 

Keep reading

Read to me

(A/N): I was just feeling a bit salty when I wrote this so I needed to get my frustrations out so :)

Summary: Bucky loves it when (Y/N) reads to him

Warnings: none?

Tags: @mcuimxgine, @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x, @saradi1018, @holland-toms, @superwholockian309, @fly-f0rever, @capbuckthor


Originally posted by vapidkoala

    (All excerpts are from Ray Bradbury’s The illustrated man. Any words from his story are italicized.)

    (Y/N) lay curled up on their bed, their eyes scanning over the words in front of them as they drank in every word, an almost high coming over them as they did. The story painted such a vivid picture for them that it was hard not to read the entire book in one sitting, something they had done quite frequently but they had promised themself that they’d savor this book, take in every word and sentence until their head ached but nearly 120 pages in and that promise was flying out the window. (Y/N) was so in depth in the book that they could barely here the door creak open when it did, the soft sound of feet on their shabby carpet. In fact it wasn’t until a certain supersoldier laid beside the reading body that (Y/N) snapped out of their book trance, gasping softly. 

   “Bucky!” (Y/N) exclaimed, “You scared me!” Bucky gave them a sleepy little smile as he closed his eyes, humming to himself. 

   “Sorry doll,” He whispered, nuzzling his face against the pillow beside them. “What’re you still doing up? I thought you’d gone to bed ages ago,” (Y/N) smiles at their lover sweetly as they reach out, gently brushing some of his hair away from his eyes. 

   “I’m actually reading,” 

   “Hm…What book?” 

   “It’s called the illustrated man, it’s really good,” 

   “Really?” Bucky cracks an eye open to look at (Y/N), his eyes glazed over with exhaustion. (Y/N) nods, cracking a smile as they glanced at the words a few paragraphs ahead. 

   “It’s really good,” 

   “What’s it about?” Bucky asks as he shifts a little closer to (Y/N), draping an arm over their leg as he pressed a gentle kiss to their hip. 

   “It’s about a illustrated man, he’s covered in tattoos but every night the tattoos will shift and change. These tattoos essentially predict the future-” 

   “Will you-” Bucky yawns a bit, licking his lips afterwards. “Will you read some to me?” (Y/N) smiles as they nod, one hand reaching down to play with Bucky’s hair while the other kept the book upright. 

   “They moved away. Suddenly the floor plates were laced with bone and white skulls that screamed,” Bucky curls against (Y/N) more, resting their head on their warm thigh as they recite the words to him. 

   “The captain did not dare look down, and over the screaming he said ‘Is this where Perse is?’ turning in at a hatch.” Bucky shifts once again, wrapping more of himself around (Y/N). (Y/N) halts in their reading, looking down at Bucky fondly. He looked so sweet like this, all sorts of sleepy and affectionate, his face pressed against (Y/N)’s thigh to the point that it was squishing his cheeks. (Y/N) smiles a bit as they sigh, running their fingers through Bucky’s rather long hair. 

   “Why’d you stop?” He asks, lifting his head up just enough to look at (Y/N) sleepily. 

   “Sorry…you just look really cute like this,” Bucky smiles sleepily, his eyes closing once again. He hums, resting his head back against (Y/N)’s legs. 

   “Well thank you,” (Y/N) gives him a look over, noting the way half his body was curled against them and the other half was not. With a sly little smirk (Y/N) parts their legs, allowing Bucky’s head to fall off their lap. 

   “(Y/N), what are you-” 

   “I want you between my thighs,” Bucky looks up at (Y/N), smirking just a bit. 

   “Doll, I’d love to but I am way too tired to even-” 

   “Not like that you dork,” (Y/N) smiles, shaking their head lightly. “Like when I sit on your lap, I want you to sit on mine,” Bucky eyes them warily, his sleep deprived eyes looking them over a few times. 

   “So you want me to sit in between your legs?” (Y/N) smiles a bit more, nodding. 

   “You’re already half curled up on me, why not just sit here instead?” Bucky looks between (Y/N)’s legs only for a moment before crawling between them, resting his larger body against their chest. His back presses against (Y/N)’s chest and he curls up against them a bit, pulling their sheets over their legs to keep them warm. “You ready?” (Y/N) asks, scratching at Bucky’s head again. The man nods, yawning a bit as he does. (Y/N) smiles as they wrap their arms around his waist, holding the book out in front of them as they attempt to find where they had left off. Finding their spot,  (Y/N) gives the top of his head a quick peck before continuing on with their story. 

   “The captain walked to a port. He smelled of menthol and iodine and green soap on his polished and manicured hands. His white teeth were dentrificed, and his ears scoured to a pinkness, as were his cheeks,” Bucky shifts a bit, turning his head to rub his nose against (Y/N)’s neck, his body nearly going slack against theirs. He inhales deeply and exhales too, his warm breath hitting (Y/N)’s neck softly.

    (Y/N) could tell he was on his way out, he never did last long when (Y/N) would read to him and they were sure their warmth and arms around him wasn’t helping. With a tender smile (Y/N) continues on, resting their chin atop the brunette’s head.

    “His uniform was the color of new salt, and his boots were black mirrors, shining below him. His crisp crew-cut hair smelled of sharp alcohol. Even his breath was sharp and new and clean.” Suddenly Bucky’s breath evens out, a steady in and out against (Y/N)’s neck, his nose bumped right up against (Y/N)’s pulse point; he’d fallen asleep. 

   (Y/N) gingerly sets their book down, settling it down on their bed as they reach over and flicks off their bedside lamp, only shifting enough to get comfortable against their headboard. With a little huff of air (Y/N) reaches down and grabs their sheets, pulling it up to Bucky’s chin to keep him warm. 

   “Goodnight my sweet angel,” (Y/N) whispers, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s head as they close their eyes, allowing their own exhaustion to take over. Bucky shifts once more in his sleep, this time the movement much more subtle, a simple quirk of his lip was all, a simple, sleepy, and all too adorable smile. 

Normal Horoscope

Aries: Clean everything, clean it really well. Dont stop until every surface on the planet shines with a mirror sheen.

Taurus: Cancel your netflix prescription and replace it with organic beef.

Gemini: You are like California grass, flexible, free, and often full of snakes.

Cancer: Cut your credit card into a fine point and use it to hunt small game.

Leo: Be so kind to everyone in your life that your bones snap under the pressure.

Virgo: Cook your favorite meal and then sacrifice it to a nameless god in a pillar of flame. 

Libra: Replace your text notification sound with the noise that surprised anime girls make.

Scorpio: Decide not to plunge a corkscrew into your gut.

Sagittarius: Like a leaf twirling to the ground, you must let the world define your motion for you.

Capricorn: Become a cattle rancher and spend your days under the Midwestern sun.

Aquarius: Get naked and cover yourself in lotion. Burns are worse when they dont hurt.

Pisces: Bury yourself in a pile of fresh laundry and read poetry you find on the internet until you fall asleep, the solution will find you.

Forgive Me

Originally posted by castiel-rising

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x friend!Reader, Cas
Word count: 1,307
Warnings: Angst, death, swearing
A/N: Based on this prompt


Sitting at the simple tombstone that you’d bought for your boyfriend just one year before, your fingers slowly traced his name. Samuel Winchester. It still felt like yesterday, it still ached like you saw the life fade from his eyes moments before, and you had a feeling it always would.

“Thought I’d find you out here.” Came the low voice of Dean. You didn’t even look up, nodding slightly. “I know it still hurts. I’m still so sorry.” He said softly as he crouched next to you.

Finally, you looked up at him, pain and anger shining in your eyes. “I had no choice, Dean.” You reminded him. “I did what you couldn’t.”

Getting up, you walked back towards the bunker, leaves crunching under your feet. It was weird being back. You’d left the bunker a couple months after Sam’s death. You couldn’t be around Dean, you couldn’t sleep in the bed that you’d once shared with Sam, and you couldn’t walk through the halls that reminded you that you would never hear his laughter again.

Dean watched you go for a minute before taking a deep breath and looking at his brother’s tombstone. He’d had a hunter’s funeral, but you insisted he deserved this, too. Dean gave in, and helped you pay for it, both of you agreeing this was the best spot for it.

His green eyes looked around, noticing every little detail. “She hates me, ya know.” He sighed. “I don’t blame her. Not one bit.” Swallowing, he couldn’t believe he was talking to his brother’s ‘grave’. “It’s my fault she had to do what she did, Sammy. I broke her.”

Keep reading

medium.com
4chan: The Skeleton Key to the Rise of Trump
Trump’s younger supporters know he’s an incompetent joke; in fact, that’s why they support him.
By Dale Beran

This article is the absolute gold standard of tracking the evolution of a certain segment of online geek culture as it went from lonely snickering failures to unabashed self-aware Trump supporters.

I cannot praise this work highly enough, or excerpt it shortly enough to accurately encompass its scope and clarity and illumination into what I thought I already knew. I have never seen any examination of the borne-out consequences of 4chan “culture” that was as thoroughly wrought as this. It is brilliant.

It must be read in full to be understood, and it is a long read.

Still, to give you an idea, here are some choice paragraphs to provide an incomplete skeleton of the fully-fleshed work:

And thus the campaign proceeded like the video game it wasn’t. Menus of “target lists” were drawn up, their enemies (mostly women they wanted to harrass) labelled “warriors”. 4chan users pretended a furious amount of mouse clicking and virtual action would somehow translate into a concrete reward appearing in their computer screens, like it does, say, in World of Warcraft.

All that work cracking Skype accounts with wordlists did not yield the tangible reward of evidence of a cabal. The real world behaves differently than a video game. There were shades of grey. It disappointed. What you did and what you got for your efforts were muddled. It was more challenging than the safe spaces of a video game, carefully crafted to accommodate gamers and make them feel — well, the exact opposite of how they felt interacting in the real world — effective. In the fantasy world of the game, actions achieved ends.

It was almost as if all these disaffected young men were waiting for a figure to come along who, having achieved nothing in his life, pretended as though he had achieved everything, who by using the tools of fantasy, could transmute their loserdom (in 4chan parlance, their “fail”), into “win”.

[…]

To younger generations who never had such jobs, who had only the mythology of such jobs (rather a whimsical snapshot of the 1950s frozen in time by America’s ideology) this part of the narrative is clear. America, and perhaps existence itself is a cascade of empty promises and advertisements — that is to say, fantasy worlds, expectations that will never be realized “IRL”, but perhaps consumed briefly in small snatches of commodified pleasure.

Thus these Trump supporters hold a different sort of ideology, not one of “when will my horse come in”, but a trolling self-effacing, “I know my horse will never come in”. That is to say, younger Trump supporters know they are handing their money to someone who will never place their bets — only his own — because, after all, it’s plain as day there was never any other option.

[…]

Trump’s ventures of course, represent this fantasy: this hope that the working man, against the odds dictated by his knowledge, experience, or hard work will one day strike it rich — Trump University, late night real estate schemes, the casinos. Trump himself, who inherited his wealth, represents the classic lucky sap.

But Trump also equally represents the knowledge that all of that is a lie, a scam that’s much older than you are, a fantasy that we can dwell in though it will never become true, like a video game.

Trump, in other words, is a way of owning and celebrating being taken advantage of.

Trump embodies buying the losing bet that will never be placed.

He is both despair and cruel arrogant dismissal, the fantasy of winning and the pain of losing mingled into one potion.

For this reason, the left should stop expecting Trump’s supporters to be upset when he doesn’t fulfill his promises.

Support for Trump is an acknowledgement that the promise is empty.

He is both the “promise” (the labyrinth”, the “alpha”) and the empty center (“the promise betrayed”, the “beta”), in a sublime, hilarious combination that perfectly reflects the worldview of his supporters.

In other words, we can append a third category to the two classically understood division of Trump supporters:

1) Generally older people who naively believe Trump will “make America great again”, that is to say, return it to its 1950s ideal evoked by both Trump and Clinton.

2) The 1 percent, who know this promise is empty, but also know it will be beneficial to short term business interests.

3) Younger members of the 99 percent, like Anon, who also know this promise is empty, but who support Trump as a defiant expression of despair.

And after that, the tone turns there-but-for-the-grace-of-god personal before providing further examination of how the left and its stance on gender fails to help that third pillar.

Excerpting more would only lengthen this post. Suffice to say, the last fifth of the article takes what is already priceless and shines it to a mirror finish. I want to keep it under glass on a velvet cushion.

Oh, and it turns out the author has a Tumblr, too. @daleberan. Go read his work. Read it and learn more about your world.

Lord of Thorns (Chapter Twelve)

This chapter is both beautiful and heartbreaking. I might have teared up a little.

ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS HERE

Enjoy :)
****************

Wade was nervous.
Don’t be nervous.
He was so nervous.
“Did you find him something to wear?”
Of course we did. He will look wonderful. You look wonderful as well, Master. He will be completely enchanted.

“Yeah, I hope so.” Wade smoothed down the lines of his suit carefully, the black material making his light blue eyes look like they were glowing. He had forgone the customary neckerchief, leaving the top few buttons of the shirt undone instead so his thorns were more visible. Peter didn’t hate them, Peter said he loved them, so he wasn’t going to hide them anymore.

He’s ready, Master. It’s time.
*****************
Wade stood anxiously on one side of the split staircase, waiting for Peter to appear on the other side.

He had ordered the grand ballroom reopened and cleaned, the chandeliers lit for the first time since his horrible birthday party so long ago. The ceilings, decorated with painted cherubs and flowers outlined in gold, were sparkling, and the curtains had been pulled back from the huge windows, the balcony doors thrown open to let the night air in. Anything that had managed to bloom in the garden had been brought inside and the corners were filled with the bright flowers and vines. The the floor was polished to a high shine, almost enough to mirror the ceiling above, and–and– he didn’t know what else he could do.

This had to be perfect. It had to be.

Tonight was going to be… everything.

So now he waited for the boy he’d fallen in love with. Waited for the one who had dropped into his life and completely stole his heart. Stood at the top of the stairs with his shaking hands hidden behind his back and his pounding heart clogging his throat and waited for Peter, his Rose.

And oh there he was.

Peter stepped to the top of his side of the stairs with a nervous smile, looking down at his outfit uncertainly. The black pants and a fitted dark blue jacket with gold trim didn’t seem near fancy enough for something like this, but the voices had insisted it was perfect, and the way Wade was staring, Peter supposed they had been right.

Wade started down his half of the stairs and Peter raced down his to catch up, meeting in the middle, and sucking in a quick breath at how good Wade looked in the perfectly tailored black suit, the edges of thorns peeking out from his crisp white shirt making him look wild.

“Oh.” Peter swallowed. “Oh. You look–”

Wade smiled a little, just a slight lift of his lips, and held his hand out for Peter to take, turning him in a circle to see every inch of the black and blue suit.

“Amazing.” Wade’s eyes softened when he saw the sheer panel on the right side of the jacket, the cut out following the curve of the flowers inked onto Peters ribs. “Beautiful.” He put a big hand just there, his thumb rubbing over the lavender bloom slowly and Peter shivered a little, smiling up at him.

“They insisted you would love that.”

“I do. Want to see your flowers all the time.”  Wade cleared his throat and stepped back a proper distance to offer his arm with a flourish. “Shall we dance?” Peter grinned up at him and took his arm, letting Wade lead him down the rest of the stairs and onto the dance floor.

“I don’t know how to dance though.” He reminded him and Wade just shushed him.

“I’ll show you. Music first.” He raised his voice a little and within a few seconds, soft strains of music floated through the ballroom from… somewhere, and Peter raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Don’t question the magic, remember?” Wade teased and bowed low in front of him. Eyes twinkling, Peter did the same, and when he straightened, Wade stepped forward and gripped him tight around the waist.

“Hand on my shoulder Pete, that’s perfect, we’re going to hold hands like this, and ready?” Wade counted off the beat softly and they started moving across the floor, the smile on Peter’s face growing as he caught the rhythm.

“This is so much fun. I can’t believe I’ve never danced before.” He almost stumbled and Wade caught him with a quick smile, keeping them moving.

“I used to dance all the time.” Wade turned them around the floor, leading Peter through the steps with a natural grace. “I miss it. But this is better, dancing with you like this.” He pulled Peter closer in their next turn, until their legs brushed together. “I think everything is better now, with you, Pete.”

Peter’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to reply but Wade shook his head. “Later, hm? We can talk later.” He brushed his lips over Peter’s, thrilling when Peter sighed and leaned closer. “Let’s just dance for now.”

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