#STUPID CAPITALISM VIBES N JOKES N SHIT

[bunniepaws]

the longer time gets from when i saw the barbie movie the more upset i get abt it……………….

[inkedmyths]

S1: E12 "Faith"

Brought to you by Crepe bribing me with Flight Rising money

[ Kayla asks if it was worth it to sell your soul to capitalism. Crepe said yes. I agree. I may have to endure on but now I have more money for my dragons. This will, unfortunately, always work on me. ]

Cuz you gotta have faith-uh faith-uh faith-uh

Oh we're starting out with the Winchesters? No mysterious deatb if some random person?

[ Kayla interjects with Carry On My Wayward Son. I get flashbacks to playing it on repeat when I initially began this journey. ]

Oooough closeeeet Dean I'm sure you're scared of that

[ Kayla asks Crepe if Dean does any homoeroticism in S1 aside from being too happy about getting pinned to a car. Crepe says no. This does not matter to me, I will make the joke anyways. ]

There are children! Hello children!

Ew what is that

UH Dean buddy that canNOT be healthy

HOSPITAL

HEART ATTACK???

Hi Dean! You look like shit!

:(

Dean you are too chill with your mortality but also Sam is WAY too not chill about it

JOHN WINCHESTER PICK UP YOUR FUCKING PHONE. BITCH

Sam. Sam no

I mean I know Dean is still sround for however many fucking seasons but

DEAN DID YOU BREAK OUT OF THE HOSPITAL. MORON

Why are you both stupid

[ Kayla says this is the parentified child vs child he parentified effect. Which. Yeah fair. ]

Dean: Sam what kinda crazy religion place are you bringing me to

DEAN STOP FLIRTING WITH EVERY LADY YOU MEET. DUMBASS BITCH

[ Kayla says that he's a whore and to leave him alone. That the sluttiest thing a man can do is be an older brother. Kayla is this some kind of kink for you. ]

GOD NO I DIDN'T EVEN GO TO ONE OF THESE KINDS OF CHURCHES BUT. HRGH. HORRIBLE. I want to leave

LMAO CALLED OUT DEAN

LAUGHING im sorry watching Dean get throwm on the spot. Poor dumbass

Go up Dean this is your personal hell now

[ Crepe says no, wrong season. Lovely. ]

Dean having that face that I feel so deeply in my soul whenever someone tries to preacg Christianity to me

FUCKING. HAND AGAINST HIS HEAD poor Dean's face shshshs

UHHH WHAT WAS THAT. WHAT WAS THAT FIGURE

Oh. Oh my god it traded his life for his

O h n o

This is interesting and good but its also so fucking spooky the vibes

Ohhhh something. Something wanted Dean to live.

[ Kayla and Crepe go back and forth about how Supernatural is technically a horror show, though this is dropped somewhat in later seasons. What the fuck did I get myself into. ]

What the fuck is up w/Layla (Leilah?)

Oh :( poor girl

And Dean was the one who got healed so he's :((

"Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?" man

Dean's like 😟

Chick in the woods? Girl whats up?

Girl is abt to die for this old guy

A REAPER?

The music shdhdhdhsh

Thats pretty banger ngl. Whats this song anywas.... Death In The Valley?

NOT ME LOOKING IT UP ON SPOTIFY AND GETTING A PLAYLIST FOR SPN SOUNDTRACK?

DOG LEASH ON A GREAT WHITE

SCREAMS the guy handing out pamphlets "Roy is a fraud"

Dean: Amen brother

Sam: You keep up the good work!

Man: Thank you

God its so interesting storywise but also the vibes are Upsetting

Sam committing breaking and entering all by himself good for him

IS THE CHURCH GUY MURDERING PEOPLE HE DOESN'T LIKE BY SAVING OTHERS

HE IS. HOMOPHOBIC! LITERALLY

GOOOOOD SHIT FUCK nooo i dont wanna watch anymore I don't like confrontation and oough BAD VIBES

Im turning on captions hold on

LAYLA I KNEW IT

Noooooooooooo besties I Cannot

Guys this is UPSETTING

I keep pausing 😭

I'm like stop starting bc I would rather read than hear WHASGSFAFAF

[ Crepe is grinding in Coliseum on Flight Rising to pay me more so I watch more. I can't tell if I'm genius for this or not. ]

Oh the poor guy screaming and Sam being like WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT

Oh I stopped started so much Netflix crashed LMAO

Hrrrgh yeah yeah ok compelling but I want to crawl up a tree

Oh shes still praying

AH YES DEAN GETS TAKEN AWAY. ARRESTED. AGAIN

Ohhh its his wife.... his wife couldn't stand to lose him.... oh.......

"God save us from half the people who think they're doing God's work." hey who gave this show the right

[ Kayla says "Remember when I told you this show was sometimes really good?" I tell her to fuck off. She says I'm only proving her point. I call her a bitch. This has no effect. ]

SAM BESTIE U DID IT TO SAVE DEAN CAN U NOT UNDERSTAND THE CONFLICT HERE

LMAO DEAN JUST YELLS AT THE COPS AND THEY CHASE HIM THATS SO FUNNY

A+ plan buddy

Godddd the vibes are so ick and tragic but man

MAN I LOVE WHEN THINGS TAKE CHRISTIANS AND MAKE THEM FUCKED UP

Dean buddy get ready to run again

"The Lord chose me" NO IT FUCKIN DIDN'T

Sams gonna like smack her huh

Oh that Reaper did NOT like being bound

Something something metaphor for controlling death

Winchester Patented Guilt Complex

Oh she still has faith even when she's got a bad diagnosis :(

GODDAMMIT NO DONT

; - ;

So like Dean Winchester Aetheist Extraordinaire saying "I'm not much of a praying type... but I'll pray for you" is something that can be so personal actually

Don't. Don't touch me go away

Fuck you guys for making me watch this show I'm tearing up I hate you all

-

In conclusion: OKAY DEAN WINCHESTER LIKERS MAYBE I GET IT. But also fuck off fuck all of you I hate it here goddamn you AUGH I WASNT EXPECTING TO TEAR UP OVER THIS FUCK YOOOOOOOU

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 3

A certain redheaded tabloid journalist tracks y/n down at work. Y/n finds out how persistent she is when she makes her an offer she just can’t refuse. 

Trigger warnings: Christianity, stalking, survivor’s guilt

You made it out alive, and that was more than could be said for some. 

Your consolation prize was a ghastly scar on your hand that you kept bandaged up as to not scare small children. You did get some worker’s comp after all; enough to pay for your medical bills and a little extra to make up for the lost workdays. All things considered, you were the lucky one. Four people lost their lives that day and three more were injured far worse than you. You should have felt grateful to be alive.

But somehow that was even worse. You got a couple stitches and some time off. It wasn’t worth four people’s lives. 

Your therapist explained it to you very gently. You were experiencing a phenomenon known as "survivor's guilt". She encouraged you to join a support group, get outside and familiarize yourself with your new experiences. 

This was good advice and all, but yours was the newest, hottest crime. You couldn't go anywhere without being hounded by reporters looking for whatever details you had somehow left out. Dr. Bloom encouraged you to take some time off work until the media circus died down, but you had bills to pay.

"I feel like there should be some rule about re-opening a restaurant within a week of it being an active crime scene." Charissa observed as she wiped down a table. "If anything, it's a health hazard."

"Are you serious?" You scoffed. You'd been tasked with refilling the salt shakers. Appropriate, because there was plenty of salt to go around. "Demand for this place has never been higher. Everyone wants to see if the blood is still on the carpet."

"Hooray for capitalism." She rolled her eyes. "Are you gonna be okay, [F/N]?"

"'Okay' is a very relative term." You forced a laugh. "I think I can make it through the shift if that's what you're asking."

"Aren't you behind the bar all evening?" She asked.

"Yeah, but that means I'm trapped." You folded your arms. "First thing you see when you walk in is the waitress who survived the- what are they calling him?"

"The Baltimore Butcher." She answered with a voice full of vitriol. "Do you think they ever consider the ramifications of giving literal murderers these weird superhero names? Like, no wonder we get copycats, they treat these guys like celebrities."

"Holy shit, right?!" You slammed the salt shaker down on the table. "Y'know, last night on the news, they used the creep's graduation photo and kept saying that he was a good Christian young man with a lot of prospects."

Charissa stuck out her tongue in disgust. "I saw that. And how he was 'corrupted' by crack cocaine. Once again, blaming a drug that was used to villainize poor Black neighborhoods in the 80's as some kind of corrupting agent."

You nodded furiously. "Instead of understanding that Christianity is a violent imperialist religion that lets violent white men absolve themselves of any guilt."

"And they knew it wasn't crack." Charissa added. "I heard that shit was completely uncut. You know he spent a lot on it."

"And I will say this until the day I am put in the goddamn ground," you tensed up. "The only reason the fucker escaped is because he is white."

"Hey y'all." Another waitress walked in for her shift. "What are we talking about?"

"Cocaine." Charissa answered. “Also white privilege.” 

"Great." She said dismissively. "Hey [F/N], can I scoop up that bar shift? I could really use the tips."

"Madison!" Charissa scolded. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What?" Madison shrugged and glanced at you. "I didn't get any paid time off. I need the money."

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Charissa scowled. "Are you seriously joking about her trauma?!"

"It's fine, she can have it." You rolled your eyes, then turned them to Madison. "Just know you're the reason I have survivor's guilt."

"Well now I feel bad." Madison frowned.

"Good." You and Charissa said in unison.

It was sort of comforting to get back to the script. Almost nostalgic. It provided the illusion of normalcy in an incredibly abnormal new reality. 

You approached the first table in Madison’s block, hoping for a new beginning. A young woman with fiery red hair sat alone by the window. 

“Hi!” You greeted, with a smile as genuine as you could muster. “My name is [F/N], I’ll be your waiter tonight.” 

The woman smiled back. “Evening.” 

You couldn’t tell what, but something was off. Perhaps you were trying too hard to force normalcy. Or maybe it was the borderline predatory way the woman was looking at you; like a shark following a trail of blood. Either way, the vibes were rancid. 

“Can I start you off with a drink or is water okay?” You ask. 

“Could I possibly trouble you for a glass of chardonnay?” She asked, lowering her eyebrows. 

“Of course.” You nodded and reached for your pen. 

“Actually,” She corrected herself. “If you could bring a bottle and two glasses, I’m expecting company.” 

“Absolutely.” You scribble the order down on your notepad. “Do you have a preference?” 

She thought for a moment. “Oh, dealer’s choice. Whatever you prefer.” 

You soon returned to her booth with a bottle of your favorite chardonnay and two stemmed glasses. You poured a small bit in one glass to let her taste. 

“You have wonderful tastes.” She complimented, filling her glass. “It’s very delicious.” 

You rocked on your heels. “Would you like to place your order now, or do you want to wait until after your guest arrives?” 

“Actually,” she repeated, filling the other glass. “My guest is already here.” 

She slid the glass across the table and gestured to the other seat. 

You felt stupid, but there was no way to avoid this. You couldn't just not do your job. She cornered you by the confinements of your profession.

"I really can't, I'm on the clock." You said, apologetically. The wine beckoned you. "I'm sorry, maybe another time."

"Oh, bummer." The woman placed her chin in her hand and pouted. "Well, I'm sure there's something that would make your boss look the other way."

She glanced down at your bandaged hand, then met your eyes. "The bandages are a dead giveaway, [F/N] [L/N]."

You then noticed a wire sticking from her pocket. Undoubtedly some kind of recording device. You looked at the ground. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave."

"But who will drink all this wine?" She asked, raising her glass.

"Ma'am." Your voice hardened as you tried to bite back an overwhelming rage. "Please leave the restaurant. I'm not going to ask you again."

Your manager, Matthew, passed by. "What's going on here?"

"This waitress is being very rude." The woman complained. "I ordered chardonnay, and she brought me chablis."

"Chablis is a type of chardonnay." You corrected. Even you found it strange that this was the hill you were willing to die on. "She asked for my preference, and I prefer the unoaked varieties."

Matthew looked confused. "Well, she's right."

You gestured to her pocket and he caught on immediately. He narrowed his eyes. "Ma'am, please leave the premises or I'll be forced to call the police."

The woman stood up, rummaged through her pockets and slapped a handful of bills down on the table. She then proceeded to drink both glasses of wine and walk away.

Matthew looked at you apologetically as he collected the bills. "Are you sure you want to be here tonight? I can call in someone to cover for you."

You shook your head and grabbed the bottle by its neck. "No, it's okay. I appreciate the concern but I really just want things to go back to normal."

"Hey!" A woman from the adjacent table called out. You prepared to immediately recant your statement about not going home.

"We like chablis." The woman said, gesturing to herself and her friend.

Her friend joined in. "And if that nosy reporter lady isn't gonna drink it..."

You glanced at Matthew, who shrugged. "Sure. It's yours."

The women exchanged delighted looks as you placed the bottle on their table. Matthew handed you a couple of clean glasses and you began to pour.

"For this wine, I suggest any of our wonderful seafood dishes." You explained, your cheeks stinging with a smile. "It also pairs quite nicely with chicken and game bird."

"Thank you." One of the women said. "If you don't mind, we'd like to take a look at the menu, please."

"Of course." You nodded. "Just flag me down whenever you're ready."

"This is why I put you behind the bar, by the way." Matthew gently scolded you as you collected the soiled glasses.

"Didn't you hear?" You said. "Madison needs the money because we can't all have paid time off."

"You should have come to me first." He sighed. "She has no right to say those things to you."

"Never stopped her before." You shrugged.

"I'll talk with her after the dinner rush." He said. "Just... try not to get cornered tonight, okay?"

"I'll do my best." You answered, flatly. “Because that’s definitely something I can control.” 

The rest of your shift went smoothly, or, as smoothly as could be expected given the circumstances. The nosy reporter was right, your bandage was a dead giveaway. You had to dodge a couple of questions, but most people had enough decorum to know the wound--metaphorical and literal--was still fresh. 

You said goodbye to Matthew and Charissa, collected your things and walked out to your car. You put the key in the ignition, only to find your gas tank was completely empty. You had just filled it that morning. 

You bit back a scream and fought the urge to slam your head against the steering wheel. Throwing the door open, you mentally prepared yourself to either make a long trek to the nearest gas station, or beat someone up.

“Looking for this?” A smug voice said over the cicadas. 

You turned around and saw the nosy reporter from before holding up a canister. A deep, blistering fury overtook your face as you slammed the car door. “You siphoned my fucking gas?” 

 “It’s not like you left me with much choice, [F/N].” She crossed her arms. “You’ll get it back once you answer my questions.” 

You threw your head back in disbelief. “You’re Freddie Lounds, aren’t you?” 

“I see I’m not the only one who does my research.” She said, looking a bit impressed. “How’d you know?” 

“It’s the first thing that comes up when you search ‘unethical crime journalists Baltimore’.” You answered. “There’s a whole flair dedicated to you on the subreddit for murder survivors.” 

Freddie seemed proud of herself. “Need a ride?” 

“I’d rather drive off a cliff.” You said, honestly, before turning around to leave. 

“Where are you going?” She walked after you. 

“To get more fucking gas, you evil bitch.” You shouted back. “Are you gonna follow me to the BP too?” 

“Look, I heard what you were saying to your friend.” She called out. “About white privilege.”

“Yeah,” You rolled your eyes. “It’s the same privilege that allows you to siphon a stranger’s gas and sit in a parking lot all night without getting arrested.”

“And I agree with you.” She hurried to your side, her chunky platform boots clacking against the asphalt. “They did you dirty and they’re shooting themselves in the foot by not listening to you.” 

You turned around and threw up your arms. “Why didn’t you just lead with that?”

“I invited you to sit down over a bottle of wine, did I not?” Freddie chuckled. 

“Cornering me at work is not a gesture of goodwill.” You huffed. “And I actually do want to put my story out there, but all you’re accomplishing by stalking me is guaranteeing you won’t be the one to do it.” 

“Are you really in a position to be that selective?” Freddie smirked and placed all her weight on one hip. 

You groaned. “What?” 

“The Baltimore Butcher is still out there, and you won’t be the hot new victim forever.” She grinned sadistically. “Soon enough, him or some other psycho is going to strike, and your fifteen minutes of fame are up.” 

“Good. Then I can go back to living my life.” You said. 

“But what if his next victim is a Christian?” Freddie grabbed your shoulder. “What if the next person who narrowly avoids getting their throat slashed decides to go on record and say that he doesn’t represent ‘real Christianity’?” 

You went quiet. You hadn’t considered it, but the thought of anyone downplaying his faith as a motivation made your blood boil. You looked into the man’s eyes and saw a person driven to kill for his god. A god he shared with the crusaders, conquistadors and slavers. 

“...but it does. Christians colonized half the planet for--” 

You stopped yourself when you saw Freddie’s smile. 

“You want to get on your soapbox, now’s your chance.” She bit her lip. “Take control of the conversation while you still can.” 

“Fine.” You spat. “I get off work tomorrow at four.” 

Freddie shoved the gas can into your hands. “I’ll see you then.”