white suburban family

First Day of School

Characters: Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

Words: 1500

Tags: @evyiione@fabulouslycassie, @daughters-and-winsisters, @darkestgrungeuniverse, @samanddeanshotsis, @winchesters-favorite-girl

A/N: Decided I wanted to post something more innocent/less angsty after that last fic :)

Originally posted by deanimagines67

Your name: submit What is this?

You and Dean stood outside of the classroom, your hand in Dean’s much larger one. Other kids and their parents poured into the room which walls were dressed in drawings and colorful posters of the alphabet. It was the start of the school year, and unsurprisingly it was also the first day of a new school for the both of you.

”You ready?” Dean asked as he looked down at you, and his green eyes was met by your round ones.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

My mom is a high functioning drug addict, she's been abusively neglectful my whole life, but she's an upstanding member of the community, a volunteer, and girl scout troop leader, a youth group teacher, generally well liked, it makes me wonder why they deserve her love more than I do

I haven’t put any input in on most of these but this one I really relate to because my dad and mom are definitely like that. My dad is an author of multiple books, leader of a really famous group I don’t want to name for the sake of anonymity, and college professor. Plus his work involves religion and stuff. So we’re the perfect little white suburban family in the front of the church all the time. And my dad always has me talk to and meet all his work friends, act like the perfect child for interviewers and everything, I fucking hate it. And if I ever got him in trouble for what he did to me, I would be degrading one of the few male intersectional feminist writers out there, people that I wish were more common. It’s the worst thing that he has an entire book written about feminism and midwifery, but at home I know how fucking racist and sexist and homophobic he really is. And then my mom just has this way of when she’s in public trying to hold up her reputation, and she’ll seem like that stressed out sweet old lady just trying to get by while raising three kids. If my dad ever got in trouble, people would see her as the biggest victim. That’s why I’d so much rather get emancipated than call cps, because now I’ll just be seen as that rebellious teen. And once my dad dies and society progresses to the point that my dad’s name is just like Richard Gere to millennials, I’ll be able to say what he did to me and be valid in society again. Then I can become a politician and live more than 10x his legacy as a feminist, only for me it won’t be artificial.

superamatista replied to your post: Someone got my sister a bottle of wine and my…

“mom culture”? as someone with lots of aunts with kids who’s never them drink outside of parties, I feel it’s more of a specific “suburban white mom” thing

tbh it probably is, considering I’m white and have mostly suburban family members. 

“suburban white mom” culture is pretty concerning, especially when you witness its spread firsthand.

Im loving Block b´s suburban white family christmas portrait

Like we have cool daddy Z, clingy baby Pyo, spoiled private school class president Jaehyo, rebel teenager Ukwon, Bbomb that just graduated college and is already acting all superior, Taeil, the awkward uncle that came for the holidays from his self-finding trips to South America and momma Kyung whos so proud of all his beautiful children

One of the women I interviewed was adopted into just this sort of 1950s “ideal” suburban White middle-class family in 1956. Yet her story was not typical. Samantha (Sam) Bennett was born at a time when little attention was given to the needs of African American and “mixed-race” children in the U.S. adoption system, and the move­ ment for transracial placements had not yet begun. Sam’s placement in a White family was almost certainly due to the uncertainty of her racial identity, both in terms of doubts about the identity of her birth father and the relative lightness of her skin. The connection between racial identity, cultural knowledge, and social institutions is explicit in the origin narrative of Sam Bennett, a biracial woman raised in a White family in a small town in central California. At the time of the interviews she was thirty-nine years old, married to a White man, and living in a racially diverse city in northern California with her husband and their three-year-old daughter.


Sandi: Why don’t we start by you just telling me your story?

Sam: Well, I was five and a half months when I was adopted. And I was living in San Francisco. I was born in San Francisco, and I was in foster care. It was apparently a very bad foster care. They didn’t pick me up ever. I suppose they picked me up to change my diapers. I don’t know, but my mother said that was the story. They never picked me up. I was very pale and kind of washed out, and very stiff when they got me. Anyway, I was the second child that was adopted. My parents adopted a child through a private adoption three years prior to adopting me.

[interruption] Sandi: So your parents are White. 

Sam: My parents are White. 

Sandi: What about the first adoptee? 

Sam: White. My parents are— my mother was German, grew up in   Montana, and my father is I think German and English. So I’m half German, so they matched the German part up. And tried to fake the rest of the part. I was a county adoption.

Sandi: Did your parents know when they got you that you were mixed?

Sam: Well, they knew— They were lied to. They were told by the adoption agency that there was a possibility that I was half Black. It’s really a ridiculous story. Let’s see. My mother was German, and her husband was German, and they had come to San Fran­cisco to study. They were both in the medical profession. They separated. She had an affair. She had an affair with a Black ser­viceman from Louisiana. And on the papers she states that she doesn’t know who the father is. And you get this little print­ out— you can after you’re twenty-one.

Sandi: Nonidentifying information?

Sam: Yeah.

Sandi: I haven’t done that, but people keep talking about it, so I’m going to have to do it.

Sam: Well, actually you don’t get much. I’ll show you mine. I should show you some pictures!

Sandi: Yeah.

Sam: I’ll show you some pictures of my family. Anyway, what they tell you is the age of the parents, the physical description, educa­tion. I don’t think there was age, but I’ll look at it. And that’s it. Then of course, the place of birth or something. The two poten­tial fathers actually were very similar in looks. It was you know, the coloring. Her natural— her real husband was dark with frizzy hair. He was Jewish, she was not. About five foot seven or something. And the man she had an affair with was light-skinned from Louisiana, and about the same height. So, but I’m way too dark to be all German. But anyway, the adoption agency chose to tell my parents that there was a possibility— that they had had these tests done, these anthropological tests, bone tests to determine if I was part Black.

Sandi: What year was this?

Sam: Fifty-six. In those days you’re matching White babies with White parents, and that’s it. And nobody had wanted to adopt me because I was biracial. And because, if I had been all White, they had this long list, and they would have placed me right away. I don’t know if I was turned down by a lot of parents once they saw me. I just know I wasn’t being adopted, and maybe I was deemed “unadoptable.” I’m sure the ladies of the county are long gone by now, so it’s too late to find out.


In 1956 “adoptable” children were healthy White infants—“blue-ribbon babies.” Sam’s belief that her racial identity initially marked her as “un­adoptable” was probably correct. In placing her with White parents the agency stressed only that there was a possibility that she was “half Black.” Sam found out when she was in her twenties and received her “nonidentifying information”—the set of facts the state is legally obliged to provide to adult adoptees, if they request it— that her birth mother had blond hair and blue eyes, making it almost certain that the “Black ser­viceman from Louisiana” was her birth father. As she observed, “I’m way too dark to be all German.”

- from Birthmarks: Transracial Adoption in Contemporary America by Sandra [Sandi] Patton, 2000.

@ehlihr and I have decided that Keith has No Concept of the economy, like… None. He is still only halfway convinced that taxes are real and not a nightmare conjured up to scare white suburban families.

Keith: Of course I don’t pay taxes. I don’t own anything. I don’t even own that shack in the desert, I just found it. What can the government tax me on? My body?? ……… Oh, my god. The government wants my body.

Lance: Ayoooooooo 😏

Keith: Lance, this is no time to make jokes. The government wants my kidneys.

[Her: A Short Story]

Honestly, I’m not insane. I promise you that I’m not. I’m as normal as anyone could possibly be. I was born into quite a normal family. My mother was a stay at home mom, while my father was a businessman at the local sales firm.  I had a bike, played in the yard, and said my prayers every night before bed. Believe me, you could take a picture of us and stick it in a magazine promoting better lifestyles. We perfectly fit the cliche of a normal, white, suburban family.

I live in an apartment complex in the middle of the city, nothing too fancy. It’s a standard, one bedroom apartment containing the average messes of any single man; stained clothes scattered aimlessly throughout the floor, black trash bags filled with day old meat and beer bottles, piles of newspapers resting on the living room. Nothing out of the ordinary, just average. I work at a tax firm called Norm & Al’s Tax Office, across the street from J.J.’s Diner. I order my lunch every day from J.J.’s, a medium rare cheese burger with a side of fries and a Coke. That’s about as average of a lunch as you can possibly get. I have no girlfriend, no wife, no kids. I’m just a single man, living life as normally as I possibly can. I’m no different from anyone else. I love how my life is so normal and I strive to keep it that way. So just exactly how can I insane? My name is Michael Nathaniel Scott.

However I’ll say this again, I’m not crazy. Honestly, I’m really not. But I am in love. I am madly in love with Jennifer Watson. Jennifer works at the same tax firm as I do. They just hired her a few weeks ago as a new accountant. She sits exactly five cubicles down and three to the right from mine. Trust me, I’ve counted, about 521 times to be exact. That’s half the number of times I’ve stared at her from afar. 

I first met Jennifer at J.J.’s Diner. Well, I didn’t actually meet her, she sat exactly two booths away from me. I did, however, watch her for a couple of minutes. I thought it was quite romantic that she orders the same exact meal as I did. She even removes the pickles and places it on a napkin just the way I do.  It was if it was fate for her and I to be together.

Jennifer lives in an apartment complex called the Sani T. Inn, exactly 3.2 miles away from my apartment. It’s located on the corner of Rutherford St. and Dawson Ave. It really is a beautiful building, much nicer than mine. She lives on the 13th floor of her apartment complex, Room 1366.  She really has a wonderful home and her bedroom window overlooks the city skyline. It’s such a beautiful site. It really is. Trust me, I’ve seen it.

I haven’t worked up the courage to talk to Jennifer yet. She doesn’t even know I my name. But she does pass by my cubicle every day, at exactly 2:32 p.m., to go to the restroom. Honestly, I’m not crazy, but Jennifer stares at me whenever she walks by. In the brief five seconds she walks by, she glances at me with lustful eyes.  She must be in love with me as well. We’re two peas in a pod, you know? Her heart must beat for me, as mine does for her.

The time was 2:20p.m., September, 31st 2001, exactly twelve minutes before Jennifer makes her daily routine bathroom break. I had planned to finally confront Jennifer about our romantic tension today. Maybe, her and I can stop playing this staring game and move on to a real relationship. I peek above my cubicle partition to see if she was getting up, but all I could see were the bad hairdos of all my co-workers and the lovely grid pattern of our cubicles. I sat back down in my perfect 6x6 cubicle with its beautifully normal grey walls and the mountains of paperwork to my left. Unlike my apartment, my cubicle is perfectly organized. The cubicle is graced with the aroma of freshly printed documents. Nothing is out of place. The staples are all neatly stored in their box inside the top right drawer. The stapler is placed at a 45 degree, so my hand doesn’t have to struggle when I reach for it. I simply wanted my office space to be the prime example of a normal, working man’s cubicle. It was my own little slice of heaven. Sweet, perfect, normality.

I checked the clock again. All I can think about were the precious seconds Jennifer used to walk passed my cubicle. I haven’t been this nervous in quite a long time. My stomach feels like ribbons, my hands are drenched with sweat, my lips wet from the salivation of excitement. My head pounded with the sound of reverberating drum beats. This is the feeling of love, I just know it. The time is 2:31p.m., just a single minute away from seeing Jennifer’s beautiful figure grace its way through these lovely halls. I peek above my cubicle once more. Drum beats sound in my head once more.

It’s exactly 2:32p.m. and I can see her gorgeous black hair radiate the room. Today is the day, I said. Over and over inside my head like a broken record.

Today was the day.
Today is the day.
Today.

Today, she’ll know just how perfect we are for each other. I’ll expose her love for me. My face clenches up, putting on the best smile it could muster. I check myself in the small mirror to my right. I see an image fit to be her boyfriend. I see her pass by my cubicle taking such small, yet graceful steps. Tremors dance their way throughout my hands and chest.
She briefly turns her head towards me with the same stare she always has. Her eyes meet mine and I knew it was the time. I whispered to myself:

“Get up
Get the fuck up!
PLEASE!
GET UP!
COME ON!
MICHAEL, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

It was too late. I turn around and watched her pass me with a look of sadness on her face. She wanted me to say something. She wanted me to make her my queen.

“GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!!!”

The sound of my voice echoed across the building. I felt every bit of air from my body exit out of my mouth. I was standing in the middle of my cubicle, trying to catch my breath. The office was silent, shocked at my display of frustration. One after another, they rose up out of their seats and turned their heads toward my direction. Each had glancing at me with their hollow judgmental eyes. I wanted to tear their fucking eyes out. All I could see is jealousy radiating from their bodies, they were angry that Jennifer was mine for the taking. Millions of eyes all begin to simultaneously focus their glare towards me. The longer they stare, the faster my heart races. I can hear their whispers and their smirk little comments.

They’re looking at me as if I’m crazy. Honestly, I’m not crazy! More eyes fixate on me. It feels as if my heart is ready to burst through my sternum leaving entrails scattered across the office floor. I’m not crazy, I’m just like all of them. I’m just as normal as all of you. Why do they stare at me like I’m insane?

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT?!”

Their eyes quickly turn away from me. My heart begins to slow down. I’m calm. I’m normal. I’m fine. I sit back down and notice Jennifer exiting the restroom and walking back towards back her cubicle. This time I’ll do it. My face clenches up once more, putting on an even better smile than before. I check myself in the mirror just in case the yelling messed my hair up. Nope, still an image of the perfect, normal boyfriend. Once again, she turns her head towards me and stares into my eyes, smiling and waiting for me to make my move. Come on Michael, you can do it. Move. Say something. You’ll miss your chance. MOVE!

“Jennifer!”

“Yes?” she asked, quickly turning towards me.

The tone of her voice sounded so welcoming, so loving, so accepting. She’s perfect for a normal guy like me. My body felt the need to leap towards her and kiss her so tenderly.

“Would you like to grab some lunch with me in a few minutes? We go to the same place every day and we wouldn’t be so lonely if we’re eating together. Right?”

She looked at me with a face of confusion but she soon realized that this was my way of asking her on a date. A smile emerges from the cracks of her beautiful pale skin.

“Sure.” She said, quickly walking back towards her cubicle.

I can tell she’s smiling right now. Her body must be feeling adrenaline coursing through her veins as well. She’s probably imagining the wonderful evening we’re going to have. How her and I will order the same burger, remove the pickles, and place it on the same napkin. How it will end in a kiss as I walk her towards the office building. How later that night we’re going to make love and proclaim our feelings for each other.

Hours go by and all I can feel is the anxiousness setting in. My knees are shaking, violently rocking my desk up and down. My hands are trembling so quickly that not even vice gripping my leg could stop either of these movements. All I could do was watch the clock tick the irrelevant seconds away. But this is all I could do. Wait. Wait for her to get up and exit the building. That’s it.

She must be feeling this way too, right? Her hands, her knees, her heart must all be nervously dancing to the beat of our future together. I know she can’t wait either, I just know it. Our connection, our normality, our love, they binds our actions and our thoughts. I will wait for you to leave, as any normal man should. I peek over my cubicle and notice Jennifer grabbing her purse. She gets up and makes her way towards the exit. My eyes follow her path, waiting for her to turn to me with her dull, dazzling dark brown eyes and tell me to follow her. She’s only just a few steps away. I stare at her beautiful, pale face once again, waiting for her signal. Two more steps. One.

Jennifer! Look at me! Jennifer! JENNIFER! LOOK AT ME! YOU FUCKING CUNT!

She passes me and makes her way towards the door. She must have forgotten that I was coming along.  I stare at her once again and notice that she fumbled her keys and bent over to pick them up. Was this her signal? Was this her promiscuous way of telling me to follow her? I can tell that the gesture was for me and me alone. This was her way, her method of catching my attention.

I get up and make my way to the door as well, taking quiet steps so Jennifer wouldn’t assume that I’m desperate to be next to her. Just walk normal Michael. Slowly. Just the right distance behind her for her to notice my presence, but not close enough for her to pay it any mind.

I turn my head for a quick second and I notice the J.J.’s across the street. It’s neon blue sign illuminating the place where and I shall speak of our love. I turn back to Jennifer, watching the way her hips move in tiny unnoticeable motions. She’s at the stoplight, not too far ahead of me. I wanted to maintain my distance, so I hid behind the entrance of a coffee shop just a few feet away. I could tell that she knew I was behind her. She started to grip her purse tighter out of anxiousness and excitement. Her breathing became a little faster paced due to the nervousness. I’ll comfort you Jennifer. I’ll take care of you.

I peek my head out of the corner just a little and notice that she was getting on the bus she takes home. She smiles in my direction, right as she boards the bus and proceeds to take her seat at the rear. I knew what this meant. She wanted me to be with her and follow her to her apartment with the beautiful view, into her bedroom with her white satin sheets and soft pillows that I’ve placed my naked body once upon a time. An act that I’ve dreamed of doing simultaneously with Jennifer on plenty of occasions.

I snap myself out of my fantasy and run towards the bus to catch up to her. I pay the fare and still kept my distance. I stood in the front while she rested in the back, enchanting me with her eyes of lust and love. She turns her head in a way to send me a message. A message that’s saying that she can’t contain her emotions. Me too, Jennifer. Soon, we’ll be together alone as any normal couple should be. My eyes are still fixated on Jennifer. Hers are glancing out the window watching the scenery go by. The bus stops a few times letting the insignificant people off. It would have been better if I threw them into on coming traffic. One by one, they stepped off the bus and each time blocking my view of her. I take my eyes off of her for a minute and stare at the rear view mirror that reflected back at me. I smile and fix my tie, dusting off any debris left on me by people passing me by. I wanted to look as nice as possible. I wanted to look as normal as I possibly could for her. I brush my hair off to the side, smile once more and turn back to her.

She was getting up, ready to leave. I noticed her hand she gripping the center bar with such eagerness. She turns back at me once more and quickly exits the bus. I get off a few seconds after and saw her walking faster towards her apartment building. She looked in a hurry, same as I, excited to seal our love with flesh. Her breathing has grew louder, as did mine. Her paces have sped up, as did mine. Her hands shook more and more, as did mine. She constantly turned back with a smile on her face. Her eyes filled with temptation and love. I chased her to heart’s content. She hurried into the building and ran for the elevator, pressing the button to make her way up the building. She turned to me and as I stared directly into her eyes, I froze. For the first time, I froze.


The doors of the elevator shut and I was left standing still. I calmed myself and entered the next elevator. It was probably best that I didn’t get on the elevator with her, things would have started too early. The music elevator music only made me more eager. I’ve lost the patience I’ve been storing within myself. It feels like an eternity, waiting inside this iron cell. Floor after floor passed until finally arriving at the 13th Floor.

The elevator doors slid open and I could see that Jennifer was by her door. I hear the sound of her  heavy heartbeats and she shifted through her purse to get her keys. I waited in the hall corridor, biding my time. I knew that Jennifer noticed me because she was staring right at me. She looked for those keys even faster, alternating her gaze between me and her purse. I could hear her squeals of joy. So I ran. I ran towards her as fast as I could. She was only down the hall not more than twenty steps away.

Her door violently swings open and she runs in. She tried to close the door shut but I managed to force it open. She was such a tease, laughing as I entered the room. Her screams of happiness fill her apartment. I shut the door behind me and chase after her. The adrenaline in my system was too much.

I slammed her back against the wall, wrapping my hands around throat, and started to kiss her passionately. Her arms flailing as I tore her clothes off. Piece by piece. Her muffled screams of ecstasy only grew louder as each article of clothing was sliced off. I swung her light body onto the bed and pinned her arms down. I kissed every portion of her body, squeezing her limbs so she wouldn’t escape from the pleasure I was serving her.

I could tell she couldn’t wait for it anymore. I licked her naked body once more then pierced her flesh. Penetrating the pink matter that rested within her over and over. Each thrust was just another symbol of our love. She screamed more after each thrust. Louder after each movement of my body. The color of her red lipstick dyed my body as she kissed me all over. She gave into the ecstasy and just laid there perfectly still. I was out of breathe. Adrenaline was still pumping through my system.

I stood above her and turned her head towards me. Her body was still warm. Her eyes open, staring directly into mine. I kissed her on the forehead and let her rest. I cleaned up the place while she recovered. I threw her clothes still covered in her red lipstick into the bathroom. I wiped down every area we made love in. I looked at her once more and smiled at her beauty. I stare out her window and admire the view I’ve seen many times alone. But now I can share this view with her with her in the bed, sleeping. Resting her perfect self. I turn and stare at her once more, kiss her now colorless lips and make my way out of her apartment.

Honestly, I’m not insane. I promise you that I’m not. I’m as normal as anyone could possibly be. I was born into the most normal family anyone can imagine. I live in a standard apartment containing the average messes of any single man. I work at a local tax firm called Norm & Al’s Tax Office across the street from J.J.’s Diner, where I always go for my lunch break. I always order a cheeseburger with a side of fries and a Coke. I’m just living life as normal as I possibly can. I’m no different from anyone else. So how can I possibly be insane? My name is Michael Nathaniel Scott.

However, I am in love with named Jennifer Watson and she is in love with me. As I make my way down the elevator, through the crowded lobby, passed the sliding glass door, and out of her building; I think of her beautiful, sleeping body. I take one more glance at her bedroom window, I reach into my pocket, and smile with the knowledge that her heart is now mine.

Forever.

anonymous asked:

Hey I love your blog! Just curious tho what's a WASP?

Thank you!!

WASP stands for White, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant but when most people think of WASPs, they think of rich white suburban families who go to country clubs every Sunday for dinner… which is what I aspire to be.

A photographer has captured the exact moment that Tony Abbott has realised he has tricked a white middle class suburban family into giving him their baby. Their smiling faces were immediately wiped off their faces a second after the photo was taken when Tony absconded with the baby yelling “FOOLS! You thought you could trust me when I said "please give me your baby I promise I will not eat it”! Haven’t you learned that promises don’t mean shit to me? Thanks for the free meal suckers!“ He then ran through the crowd and escaped into the night, calling back ”this is a metaphor for our nation!“ before disappearing entirely.

4/4/2015
  • 5: 30am: I wake up to a text from Brad asking to get drunk at a family laser show event tonight. I enthusiastically accept offer. Why am I awake.
  • 6: 30: Fuck it, I might as well go to the gym while I'm up
  • 7: 00: Somehow I actually make it to the gym
  • 7: 01: Nobody is in the gym. I dance around in the mirror for like 10 minutes before I realize that there are definitely cameras in here. I keep dancing anyway and run at some point.
  • 8: 00: I return home and shower. Sara asks why the cat is sticky. I jest that I ejaculated onto our household pet. Both Sara and household pet are unamused.
  • 8: 20: Dana offers me weed. I reluctantly accept even though I have plans later today- I tell myself that I will only have one hit.
  • 8: 25: Dana calls me a pussy for refusing more weed. My reputation is at stake- I inject more of the marijuana weeds
  • 10: 00: I am now too high to function. I escort myself to bed.
  • 2: 00 Pm: I wake up and take a cab to Brad's house. Cab driver is strangely silent.
  • 5: 30: Brad and I head to stone mountain. We bring a flask of vodka and a bottle of champagne.
  • 6: 00: We purchase an overpriced bottle of coke at the mountain to pour out and replace with champagne. We narrowly avoid discovery by the police patrolling the mountain.
  • 6: 30: We are drunk dancing to early 2000's pop music in the woods. I might or might not have sucked his dick on a particularly romantic looking rock near a creek.
  • 6: 35: I realize that there is no romantic way to suck a dick
  • 8: 00: The lazer show begins. We are surrounded by suburban white families and children, yet somehow start making out. There are fireworks at some point. I feel like an asshole.
  • 8: 30: We try to drive home, but park outside of waffle house instead to sober up. We meet a really nice hobo. Chill ass hobo recieves money.
  • 9: 00: I'm still durnk. I realize that today has been a good ass mothafuckin day