it was still the one that received the hate)

Harassment of Underage Jewish Bloggers

@staff I am tired. I am tired of feeling unsafe on this website, I am tired of the harassment, the antisemitic messages, and the Neo-Nazi blogs. I am tired of having to block one user after another, thinking that one day the number of antisemites on this website right? Wrong. They only seem to grow in number because you all continue to ignore Jewish bloggers begging you to do something about it. Is the antisemitism we experience on here not hateful enough for you? Maybe what happened to me today will change your mind. I received some of the most disgusting hate I have ever seen on this website. 

A user took my photo and defaced it with vile antisemitic images. Even when I blocked them, they STILL managed to reblog my posts and continue harassing me.Now there are now adult men running Neo-Nazi blogs happily reblogging that picture of me, a teenage girl, because YOUR site allows for this type of interaction. And I am not alone. Every single Jewish blogger on this website is tired of dealing with this. We’re tired of you not responding or caring. 

So I’m asking my followers and the rest of the Tumblr community to reblog this. Let @staff that this is not okay, that this isn’t what Tumblr is about, and that you won’t stand for this. Please, show me and the rest of the Jewish community on here that atleast someone is willing to stand up for us because right now @staff refuses to. 

I know this is a stupid nagging thing but I get really tired of that one Gency fic trope where Genji pretty much springs off of the operating table all like “You turned me into a weapon! How dare you! I hate you!” to Angela. Like, for one, Genji was still a skilled and deadly ninja before his cybernetic enhancements, also in Genji’s bio it says his time in Overwatch was spent with him pretty much single-mindedly focused on taking down his family’s criminal empire. Like yeah, his repulsion with his own cyborg body increased over time, but I don’t think that would necessarily translate into resentment towards Angela. 

I feel like the trope is used to address Genji’s agency in the face of receiving the cybernetic enhancements from Angela and Overwatch. Like the bio says Overwatch offered to rebuild his body, that is, bring it back to its original hyper-athletic Ninja specifications. I don’t think the choice was necessarily “help Overwatch or die,” so much as Angela stabilizing him and Jack or Gabe or whoever being like, “help Overwatch and you can be a ninja again oh also you can take revenge on your family–y’know, the people who literally murdered you.” I don’t think Genji came off that operating table hating his body and hating Angela for giving him his body so much as being pretty much completely consumed by his own sense of vengeance and not giving a crap what it took to get it (which he would later very much regret.).

Mercy: Okay it’s going to take several weeks of physical therapy to get you back to your original speed and I’m still working out some kinks with your sternobrachial—

Genji: I don’t have time for that. I need to kick Hanzo’s ass. Put the shuriken in my arm.

100 Ways To Say “I Love You” No. 18

“Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”

Requested  by @queen-icicle-fandom 

[AO3]  Canon divergent, human!Cas, sick!Cas, bunker fluff.


Cas was usually grumpy in the mornings, but nothing could compare it to that morning. The one where Cas shuffled into the kitchen, nose red and tissues spilling out of his hands.

“I hate everything.” He grumbled.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.” Dean quipped from behind his coffee cup.

In return, Dean only received a glare that could smite a hundred people – if Cas were still an angel anyway.

Cas had caught a cold and had been suffering for the past few days but today seemed to be the peak of it.

“Everything hurts, Dean. Is being human supposed to hurt this much?” Dean pursed his lips at Castiel’s words.

No doubt he was achy and out of breath, sore-nosed and sniffly, Dean wasn’t fond on the common cold either.

“It’s just a cold, Cas. It’ll clear up soon.” Dean told him, he filled the kettle and set it to boil before pulling out a cold and flu drink that was sure to help relive him of some of his symptoms.

Soon enough water was boiled and the smell of eucalyptus and blackcurrant filled the small kitchen. He set the steaming mug in front of Castiel and squeezed his shoulder.

“Here, drink this. You’ll you feel better.” He pressed a kiss to Castiel’s temple making a small smile form on Castiel’s lips as he took a tentative sip and breathed in the steam.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Castiel drained his cold and flu drink as soon as it was deemed cool enough to be drinkable and smiled. Already he could breathe better through his nose and wasn’t sneezing every five seconds. His was still achy and felt cold despite the warm clothing he had on.

“Go sit on the couch, we’ll watch a movie.” Dean told him, holding out his hand for Cas to take.

Cas nodded and stood up, letting himself be led by Dean wards their movie room and landed heavily on the couch, joints aching until he found a suitable position.

Dean joined him again moments later, large blanket in hand and an orange.

“Don’t tell Sam, but this blanket is the best thing in this bunker – apart from you of course.”

Castiel blushed a little and Dean sat down on the couch, pulling Cas against him and curling the blanket around them.

The movie started, some old western, and Castiel sighed into Dean’s chest. Dean’s arm tightened around him and they both settled into the film.

Despite still being morning, Cas dropped off to sleep again and Dean could hear Cas’ breath rattle a little in his chest. He was warming up though, which was a good thing. It wasn’t the best start into being human but he’d get Cas through his cold and hopefully back on his feet and possibly hunting again soon before they knew it.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 16, 17, 1819, 20, 23, 26, 28, 30, 31, 32, 36, 37,39, 40, 49, 50, 56, 57, 64,66,70, 75, 82, 83, 84, 85, 89, 92, 93, 97, 9899

Keep reading

I think it’s important to point out that Josie wasn’t just calling out Archie’s male privilege, she was calling out his white male privilege especially. In episode one, we have Archie trying to convince Josie to let him write got them even after she’s said no because other white men have written for WOC at which point she shuts him down again. Episode three has Archie claiming he understands what WOC struggle with because he worked on Josie’s mother’s campaign and witnessed her receiving hate. Josie shuts him down again by telling him that he has no idea how much harder women especially WOC have to work to get to the same positions that are handed to him. We see Archie finally beginning to understand what Josie expects from him. While one of his lyrics eventually makes it into the song, it’s still clear that Josie is going to make him work and grind and prove his worth as a songwriter and not just hand him the opportunity because he thinks he deserves it. And she’s not afraid to tell him when he’s overstepping.

❤️The Valentine’s Day Fic ❤️

Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day, and things go a little differently for Dan

Word Count: 2,057

Warnings: Is extreme fluffiness one? 

Authors Note: I haven’t seen any cute Valentine’s Day fics yet, so here is my take on one! It’s still Valentine’s Day where I live so this counts! I hope this is extremely fluffy and cute and makes everyone day! Happy reading! 

Keep reading

okay, so my heart has quite literally broken, and I know that sounds dramatic, but fuck. it’s been no secret that robin has got some awful comments in the past, and not even just about gotham/nygmobblepot but just aimed at the fact that he’s a gay man (married to another man) and it seems, from what he’s said here, that he receives hate of various kinds and it’s awful. thankfully he has the option to turn off comments on instagram because it means he can still continue to enjoy the platform and continue spreading love and positivity, and bringing awareness to important issues.

I will never, ever understand the kind of hate levelled at robin (or anyone else). they don’t deserve it in any capacity. robin has been nothing but nice and kind, and it’s crazy to me to think that people genuinely send him hate of any kind. 

we need to remember as well that robin doesn’t have the luxury of turning off twitter (yes he can block people, but that’s a one to one thing with no mass result) and I hope this shit stops, and most definitely doesn’t get worse on there. I don’t even know if robin bothers reading through tweets he’s been @ in anymore, perhaps it’s too much. I just don’t know.

either way he’s handled this really maturely, but also he’s clearly angry or upset even if he doesn’t say so (and he’s absolutely right to feel that way) and it breaks my heart because robin is nothing but inspiring and a wonderful person to look up to.

and if you’re someone who has ever sent robin any kind of hate, I don’t care how you justify it, quite frankly, fuck you.


edit/update: something which I wish I put before is that robin’s instagram post was made because of his political posts, however, the fact that he’s now also getting hate for those prompted me to make this post about him getting hate in general and how it’s wrong for him to get the kind of hate he does, at the level he does.

this post isn’t about one specific source of hate, but just the unnecessary hate/negativity being sent his way in general.

I saw the spoilers of the “I love you” scene on my dash on Saturday.

In that moment, I got really angry. I was mad at everyone for making Molly suffer in that way. I thought she didn’t deserve it (I still believe it, though) and I even decided not to watch the episode and start hating the series forever. 

In a rage, I wondered: Why didn’t they choose Irene A. to receive the call? Why didn’t he say ‘I love you’ to her, intead of hurting Molly’s feelings as he always did? Why didn’t they choose her to make that scene, if she’s THE woman??

And yesterday, I realised:

Because The Woman doesn’t love him. Molly does.

Molly is the one with true feelings for him. She is the only one who loved him form the start, no matter how hard it is, no matter how many times Sherlock hurt her, no matter what happens in their lives. 

Euros looked for the woman who adores her brother with her entire life. The woman who actually loves him, because she needed a genuine sentiment for her brother to collapse. And that sentiment is only felt by Molly Hooper and nobody else.

anonymous asked:

Is it strange that I'm trans, pan, and ace, but the only hate or discrimination I've received has been because of my asexuality? I'm probably really lucky because I have a supportive family but still it makes me feel strange that of all the things people have a problem with of my identity it's being ace? I expected the opposite honestly

It’s not strange. That’s exactly my own experience. I’m also trans, pan, and ace, and there’s only one aspect that’s ever caused trouble in my dating world, or amongst friends, or in communities of any sort. The only other part of my identity that’s had anything close to the vitriol I’ve gotten is my Asian face.

I tell random associates that I’m pan, I’ll usually get people saying that they’re bi/gay/pan too. I tell random associates that I’m trans, there might be some awkwardness and fallout, but people usually keep their mouths shut. If I tell people I’m ace, that’s like a seed for an impromptu intervention to ‘fix’ me and convince me that I’m sick or wrong or that I’m harming others and myself.

The difference was highlighted during a political science class I took. Caitlyn Jenner had just become the new hot topic, and the entire class of art students and otherwise ‘liberal’ twenty-year-olds could only describe the events as ‘weird’ while pulling faces. After lunch, we talked about sexual minorities, and someone brought up an internet date they had, who turned out to be ace. The entire class, once again, reacted with disgust and discomfort. That was a great day for me.

- Fae

In case you didn’t know what racism is.

White people in the United States don’t seem to understand what it is to be on the receiving end of racial hatred.

I’m Scottish. I’m from one of the most liberal countries in the world. However, I am part of the one ethnic minority it is still acceptable to hate in my country. Even in my country where, for the most part, racism is dying, it would still be acceptable to call me disgusting names and accuse me of being a criminal. It’s the last racial barrier Scotland needs to overcome.

However, the United States is miles behind having only one racial barrier left. What my fellow Scots and Brits do to me, white Americans do to black people, to Hispanics, to Asians, to Native Americans, and…well, anyone who isn’t white, really.

So let me tell you what racism is.

Racism is hearing the words you know are racial slurs being used as everyday insults. It’s being six years old and hearing your friend say, “You’re such a mink!” to her sister because she put her hands in the mud on their farm.

Racism is being followed in a corner shop at the age of seven because the owners have clocked you’re a traveller and have decided they don’t trust you to pay for the sweets you stopped for on the way back from school. It’s proving you’re honest and still being doubted, just because you’re different.

Racism is being forced by your teacher to say words that feel like dirty swear words because they’re normal words to her, and she doesn’t understand or care that saying them to satisfy her desire to know that you understand what certain animals look like makes you feel sick to your stomach. It’s having your intelligence questioned because even though you can, you don’t want to because it feels so incredibly wrong.

Racism is when you’re nine years old and your mother has picked you up from from football practice, covered head to toe in oil, using the trip to test drive the van she fixed for her dad, and your classmate’s mother sniggers and says, “Your mum looks like a pikey, doesn’t she?!” It’s nobody in the room apart from you, your mother and your brother seeing anything wrong with that statement.

Racism is getting to high school and, at fourteen years of age, having a boy in your year try to break your ribs in ICT class because he hates your culture for no other reason than that it’s so different to his. It’s having your computer chair slammed so hard into the desk that you can’t breathe and you’re convinced your ribs must be in a million little pieces, and you can’t report it because who the hell cares?

Racism is when you’ve reached fifteen years old and the world around you has you scared enough of its judgement that you hide your ethnicity at any opportunity. It’s filling out the NHS consent form and ticking ‘White – Scottish’ instead of ‘Scottish Traveller/Irish Traveller/Gypsy’ because, even though you know that’s exactly what you are, you don’t want that look from the orthodontic nurse when you hand her back your completed form, and you know you’ve made yourself look “normal” enough to get away with it.

Racism is going to study mechanics at college – sixteen years old and one of only three girls – and your tutor telling you to “watch out for the pikeys stealing tools” if you end up in a garage. It’s just being thankful he’s ignorant enough not to realise he’s saying that with a pikey in the room, because you know he’ll never trust you again if he knows.

Racism is working in a garage at eighteen, and your colleagues realising you’re a traveller, and being asked how you turned out so honest, so intelligent, and so obsessed with being clean. It’s being told you’re too smart, too clean, and too honest and hard working to possibly be what you are.

Racism is being nineteen and working in a nursery, and your colleague laughing, “You’re such a wee tink!” as she wipes the food off a two-year-old’s face. It’s knowing your ethnicity is synonymous with being dirty and immoral, despite the fact that you, as a race of people, have strict rules about cleanliness and morality, to the point you won’t wash dishes in still water, and you won’t accept a favour unless you know you can return it.

Racism is when you’re twenty and you’ve gone to Ireland for a year, and the topic of travellers comes up, and your host-aunt’s partner spits out, “Bloody nackers!” and then those words being defended by the fact he was beaten up by a traveller. It’s knowing that you, your brother, your mother – most of one side of your family – have all been attacked at some point by people like him for being a “bloody nacker” but it’s perfectly okay because, well, they’re better than you, right?

Racism is being only twenty-one years of age and seeing the problem everywhere you go. It’s being who you are in the quietest way you can, because you know the chances are that being open about it will cause you no end to problems.

Racism isn’t always deliberate. Sometimes it’s a slip of the tongue, or an instinctive mistrust, or having unintentional double standards, or using the language of racial hatred as a joking insult, or unwittingly associating negative traits with a race of people, or being surprised that the person you know has defied the stereotype of their ethnicity.

The solution to it, on the other hand, must be deliberate. It must be that you question what you’re thinking, and ask yourself why you’re thinking it. It must be that you choose not to use that word, and find another, harmless word to use instead. It must be that you teach your children not to think the way you find yourself thinking, or use the words they’ve heard you use, because you’ve recognised that it’s wrong.

But none of that can happen until the majority listens to the minority. The problem is that the majority will not listen to the minority until it recognises that it has the upper hand, and is prepared to give that privilege up. Yep, I used the word “privilege.” It’s a privilege to not have your race unfairly branded as criminals and as people of no use or worth. White privilege. It exists. And the scary thing is, white Americans don’t want to lose it, even if it means saving the dignity, safety and respect for the minority. If they were prepared to give privilege up in favour of equality, they wouldn’t have elected Donald Trump to be their next President.

The Gift Of Love

Three years ago

I received a package from you

on my hospital bed

wrapped in compassion 

and beauty

along with a letter that read:


“My dearest love

I know you will forever hate me for this

but I give you my heart

literally and figuratively

for this world deserves so much more of you

just know that I love you always

and that I will be with you

as the heartbeat in your chest”


I had awoken from surgery

heart transplant successful

overcome with tears

overcome with the realization

that you were no longer there


you had sacrificed your life

to give me life

the greatest gift I will ever receive

and to this day

I feel you within me

like a rhythm of love

I hum to when times get lonely

because even though I am forever thankful

there’ll always be a part of me

that wishes you had kept it instead

Lovesick

Happy Valentine’s Day, guys !! Hope this Day 3 fanfic lifts up your mood.


One of the things Pidge hated the most was being sick.

It’s been months since she’s shown any signs of gaining anything, so it was a big surprise when she woke up one morning coughing.

Of anything that could go wrong, of course it had to be that.

The rough feeling in her throat has been killing her all day. Luckily on this side of the universe, there was a large improvement in modern medicine. The cough syrup she received early in the morning eased her throat more than any prescription back on Earth, but some of the coughing still remained.

And her throat was still somewhat sore.

Maybe it didn’t help as much as she hoped

Keep reading

If you think that we tianshan shippers bragging about how much our ship is loved is something we can’t do because it somehow offends you then sweetie I have some big news for you because look, you are the one making this into an issue in the first place, you are the one upset about tianshan being popular thus if anyone is “starting” anything or comparing shit is you. And get off of your high horse. We can brag, be happy and say whatever we want about our much popular tianshan became after all the hate it received and still receives to this day, in this damn website. Don’t you dare to order us around and tell us to stop. We are not doing anything wrong. Plus it’s “funny” we never see these same people being offended when tianshan is being both put down and hated by many in this fandom. These “omg lets love both pairings” posts only appearing when tianshan is the one being praised is very telling. Just something for you to think about. :)

anonymous asked:

I'm working backwards through my dash, so only just getting to the hate, but . . . dang. The guy screwed up, he was in the wrong, but he's not some sort of evil monster? It's kind of like "South Park"; it's a humour that sometimes work, sometimes doesn't, and inevitably offends someone at some point, but you just take it in stride. He's still young; he'll learn from his mistake, refine his humour, and grow as a person. Why demonise him for one offensive joke that failed hard?

Oh yeah. The awkward moment when I forget South Park exists. You’re right. All their humor is pushing it hard. It just popped in my mind when they made fun of PETA that they fuck animals. I think Pewds tried something like that, but he’s not South Park which is known for this type of humor. I hate clickbait media so much right now. I didn’t care much about it before, but when someone I like is involved I see why it sucks. It’s like:

Pewdiepie: *points*

Clickbait media: See how much this FASCIST makes a year!!!! (you gotta pay a couple bucks to read it but it’s worth it we prooomise)

2

thank you all for your kind words. I’m glad my words have meant so much to you all. I’m happy to help and it means the world to me that it’s been so well received.

I do find it interesting though, I’ve gotten far fewer mean messages than I expected. like @semisomniac​ said, there’s an expected inevitable backlash of hate that one should get when challenging someone with millions of adoring fans, but…I can count how many nasty messages I got on one hand, two only if you count the replies, but it’s still under 10.

and that’s staggering when you think about it, but it’s a good thing. it means we’re all agreeing. we all recognize that that was bullshit and are refusing to be quiet about it.

and that’s what’s most important.

lmao bye

Hey guys!

I forgot Alfred’s glasses again. Anyway, to put it short, this blog will not be continued. :’^) I originally wanted to end it at the end of summer, where Al and Art will share their first kiss with fireworks booming in the background. T__T I apologize to cut the blog short-

Why? Because I simply lost interest. The story is messy and all over the place, and I’m not receiving much response or asks. Since I make up the plot as I go, I kind of rely on those to continue _(’3/

I created this blog out of whim and depression. It was mainly as a getaway but I realized that it only became more problematic as the hate grew lmao Truth is I’m too lazy to deal with them anyway so it isn’t really a big deal but it is very annoying.

Of course, I’ll still continue with my other askblogs once I have more free time, just not this one aha. Thank you for the support everyone, I had fun while it lasted! :’D byebyee

Harry Styles One Shot Part 4*

*smutty smut is V V smutty

part 1, part 2, part 3

Background: Your friend brought you to a club where you had a very heated encounter with Harry Styles.  However, after one month of him not calling you back and avoiding your texts, you run into him at a friend’s record label party on a rooftop deck of a high-end hotel.  What happens when you’re stuck in a hotel with the man you’re caught between loving and hating?

“Do you think I’m easy, Harry?  Do you think I’d reward you that quickly?” I hissed.  My hand stopped its movements, his cock deprived of the friction it had received from sliding along my clothed center.  I knew he could still feel my wetness through the underwear, hell, he was practically coated in it already, but I was the only one smirking while his eyebrows drew tighter together in frustration.

At this point it was as though my inner fangirl had surpassed hiding away.  She had gone missing and was presumed dead, replaced by a sexier and more demanding alter ego.  Though I couldn’t deny she was seriously tempted to rise up and throw out this erotically confident impersonator due to the fact that Harry Styles, the man she’d endlessly fantasized about with her roommate, was actually naked and at her disposal in a five star hotel she didn’t even have to pay for.

“You’re not easy Y/N,” he strained, voice husky and low.  His eyes quickly looked down to my still hand clutching his length, then back to my maddened eyes, quite possibly contemplating if I was contemplating about ripping it off.  “Actually, in this position, I’d say you’re anything but,” he muttered.  

I was reminded of the flowers and the room he’d prepared in a way that made it look like it was for a freakin honeymoon.  How he’d assumed I’d have sex with him tonight.  As if he expected I’d somehow find him in this giant ass hotel and come crawling back to him like some love-struck puppy.  

How easy had sex been before with other fans and how many had he slept with that it was natural for him to automatically think I was just like them?  It made me sick, but a part of me knew that despite all of that, it didn’t change a thing.  Even if he did have STDs from escapades in the past, if this was the only chance I was going to have with Harry, I was going to take it.  Sad, but true.

That doesn’t mean it didn’t bother me.

“Wrong answer,” I gritted out, simultaneously letting go of his dick.  I took two steps backwards, my eyes scanning over his naked frame, and I watched as his chest rose and fell in anxious pants.  

“Bed. Now,” I demanded. I saw his mouth turn in a half-smile, both astounded and impressed at my forwardness, though after literally grabbing his dick in the hallway I was shocked he’d be surprised at all.  I watched as he obediently walked to the King sized bed and sat down at the very end of it, his body tight and tense, unsure of what my next move was.  Honestly I wasn’t so sure myself, but my poker face was on as I leisurely strolled closer, making sure that the slit on the robe was evident.  I extended my legs in the most elegant way possible and stalked towards a speaker system similar to the one Y/F/N and I had used when we jammed out to ABBA in our hotel room earlier.  The tension could be cut with the knife and the intense gaze on me wasn’t helping.  This quiet was too…intimate.  Even with my back turned while I scrolled through the songs I could feel his desire that, if I could see those emerald eyes, would surely cause the butterflies in my stomach to become unbearable. Chills ran down my arms from the electric energy, and I mentally stomped on those stupid butterflies as hard as I could, taking a deep breath.  I needed to keep it together if I wanted to survive this night in one emotionally stable piece.  

Quickie by Miguel started playing as I turned around, his hungry eyes immediately going to the space between the tops of my thighs.  For a second I was wondering what he was staring at, but then I realized the slit had opened at the bottom to reveal my black satin lingerie.  And he was staring at his goal.  

“Come on then,” he said.  I could tell by the way he was gripping the sheets he was losing patience.

“My terms Harry,” I purred.

I started swaying with the steady slow borderline Jamaican rhythm, the music carrying me to a place where I once again felt confident.  I danced like the night he first saw me - hips slowly rotating, hands running down my body, and hooded eyes that watched him closely before I turned around.  I moved my ass in a slow circle while I danced my fingers along the opening of the robe, undoing the string that was barely holding anything together in the first place and dropping it off one shoulder.  I did the same to the other, and soon the robe had fallen.  I heard Harry’s intake of breath and a smug smile settled on my face.

I don’t want to be loved, I don’t want to be loved

I just want a quickie

I whipped my hair around and bent down to the floor, butt out and back arched when I rose up slowly.  But when I spun around to face him again, my eyes widened and a tingle spread below. Harry was stroking his pulsing member, his big hand engulfing it in long steady strokes.  His breathing was already ragged and he didn’t stop when I turned around, he just looked me in the eyes.  He smirked at my stunned expression, his hand never leaving his hard cock.

No scratches, no hickies

If you can get with that, mommy come get with me

“I didn’t say you could touch yourself Harry,” I scoffed.  Bet you weren’t expecting that response Mr. I Get Every Girl I Want.  I watched as he gulped, his hand stilling its motions, but still wrapped around the base of his dick.

“What are you going to do about it?” he countered.

Knock on this wood, get rocked by this thunder

The music seemed to fade as I stalked closer, pushing him down so he was lying flat against the satin comforter that probably cost more than my college tuition.  I leaned down far enough so his brown waves touched the side of my cheek.

“Relax Harry,” I purred.  My gentle tone contrasted my harsh grip that suddenly assaulted his wrists, throwing them over his head and locking them there with one hand.  I rose slightly, my chest hovering over his while my hips ground themselves onto his dick that was now lying flat against his happy trail. I felt like I was grinding against Mt. fucking Everest, it was certainly hard enough to be rock, but the sharp grunt that escaped his plump lips brought me back from the clouds.

“Fuck Y/N,” he moaned, his head pushed against the bed and he tried bringing his hips up to meet me.  My folds were escaping the confines of the underwear and I know he could feel the new skins contact and the wetness that came with it when his tongue ran along his bottom lip before he bit down.  His hips started jutting against mine even harder in a way that left me panting.  He was trying to restrain himself from moaning any more, but as I continued to grind my hips, applying more pressure at the head, he couldn’t win.

“D-don’t stop,” he finally stuttered.  His eyebrows were pinched together, eyes closed, lips parted where rough pants escaped, and I couldn’t help but feel satisfaction that he was actually close.  This had almost been….easy.

I let go of his hands and lifted my hips off of his.  He glared at me with anger for the first time and I couldn’t help but feel more turned on than I already was.  Angry Harry was hot Harry.

“What the f-”

My lips crashed into his before he could finish his sentence, our tongues dancing a dangerous game.  This one was more sensual than the borderline spiteful attack we’d shared in the hallway.  This time my hands clutched the sides of his face, and the feeling of his strong jaw and rough stubble moving beneath my fingertips was something I thought I would never tire of.  His hands immediately went to my ass, squeezing what had been tormenting him for so long.   Coupled with the slow, deep grinds, Harry’s ass grabbing and his hot tongue exploring every inch of my mouth made a familiar sensation start to creep in. I pulled away, running my open mouth along the edges of his and we breathed each other in.  Our pants. Our desire.  Our need.

Harry couldn’t stand the loss of contact and when he jutted his head to try and capture my lips with his again and I once more pulled away, he grew restless and moved a hand up my back, pressing his torso and his dick even tighter against me.  I almost shuddered when I felt his precum spread across my stomach.  He pressed hot open-mouth kisses along my jaw and I rolled us over so his toned body was now on top.  His mouth never left me and his kisses were leading a trail down my neck to the tops of the lacy bra.

“Why the fuck is this still on,” he grumbled between kisses, now peppering his soft lips over the tops of my breasts.  It only took a second before he expertly unclipped the bra with his large hand. The feeling of his fingers so delicately working against me brought back those memories again and I subconsciously ground against him again, my hips raising in desperate attempts.  He noticed.

“Patience, ‘member love?” I could feel his smirk against my skin as he discarded my bra, his lips instantly attaching themselves to my soft skin.  I felt his teeth sink into the flesh and I cried out at the sensation, before he licked over the mark and moved to my nipples, gently nibbling and causing them to instantly harden.  “God you’re beautiful,” he breathed.

Chills ran over my body and I wasn’t sure if it was from what he said or from what he was doing to me, or perhaps it was both.  He looked up at me from between my breasts and rose closer to kiss me, but my hands wrapped through his hair and halted his movement - pushing him down until he was hovering over the only part of me still covered.

“You missed a spot,” I said, voice sultry and dripping with lust.  His hands latched onto the fabric and were about to tear them off, but my hands stopped him once more.  “Your mouth,” I murmured.

The room increased in temperature for what seemed like the 50th time that night as Harry didn’t hesitate.  He lifted my legs and pressed his face against the inside of my thigh, his stubble scraping against me as he worked his way up with his lips, tasting every inch of me as he teasingly kissed closer to my pussy that was literally dripping for him.  When he pressed a particularly harsh one less than a centimeter from the fabric and then bit down I couldn’t help but whine.

“Stop teasing Harry.”

“You can dish it out, but you can’t take it?” he teased sarcastically. When I felt his hot breath hit my center I jolted and looked down to see him already staring at me with a wicked glint in his eyes.  Those darkened eyes drank in my distraught state as he ghosted his plump lips over the fabric, and he didn’t look away when he licked a hot stripe down the center. Before I could yell at him for being cruel, he got the fabric between his teeth and yanked down so hard it ripped. I heard it land somewhere and it was my turn to glare at him.

“Those were my favorite pair!”

“I’ll buy you another one,” he mumbled.  He didn’t waste any time and he literally buried himself in me, tongue darting in and out before I had the chance to breathe while his large hands gripped my hips and kept me down.

“Harry,” I moaned, hands once more wrapping themselves in his hair.  He hummed in reply and the new vibrations left me mewling, a hot mess in the sheets as his tongue delved further into me, exploring and retreating.  In and out. In, out.  “Fuck, feels so good baby,” I whined.  I felt my cheeks redden at what I’d called him, but he didn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied in the pleasure he was giving me.  I gasped when he suddenly moved his concentration to my clit, already swollen and ready for him, and started sucking.  He brought one hand from my hip up to my mouth and shoved his middle and index finger between my lips.

“Suck,” he commanded.  His mouth was still around my clit and I felt his words, the new tingle it triggered causing me to press my pelvis up so he would continue.  He did, and I sucked.  I ran a hot stripe over his fingers, swirling my tongue over the tops and biting down a little.  He moaned against me and withdrew his hand, dragging them down my lips.  He swiped his wet wingers once over my entrance, lubricating them even further with my arousal before inching them in.  My walls tried to resist him, but soon he was all the way in, prodding and exploring further than his tongue could go, his cool metal rings contrasting my heat and rubbing against my walls in the most delicious way.

“You’re so damn tight,” he growled.  He looked up at me then, green eyes locking with mine.  He saw me.  Hair mussed up, swollen lips parted in ecstasy, and brow furrowed by his ceaseless assault. The slick sounds of my arousal and his fingers constant intrusion seemed to overpower the music.  His fingers didn’t stop and neither did his plump lips, sucking and nibbling on my clit.  When his free hand groped my breasts, harshly kneading and flicking my hard nipples, I lost it.

“O-oh Harry!” I shouted, mind overcome with pleasure alone.

My hands gripped his hair as I shuddered, toes curling as a spread of warmth took over my entire body.  I felt him continue to kiss over my pussy, his tongue gently cleaning and drinking me up while his fingers went on at a slow rhythm, allowing me to ride out my orgasm as much as I could.  But when he ran his mouth up to my clit once more, I lurched at the newfound sensitivity and he slowly retracted his fingers, the tops of them still curled as he dragged down my walls.  My whole person was still tingling and could hardly register that he was kissing up my body, still feeling the lingering effects of the biggest orgasm I’d had in a long while.

A month to be exact.

I sighed as I felt his lips press against my cheek in a gentle kiss. He was supporting himself on his elbows now, hovering over me just as I had to him and I could feel his length over the top of my thigh.  His hot breath hit my ear when he said,

“Now do you remember?”

I let out a light laugh, still euphoric from what I’d just experienced until the meaning behind his words hit me.  He was thinking about the rooftop earlier that night, when I’d obviously lied to both him and Ed freakin Sheeran when I said I didn’t remembered how we’d first met.  That I didn’t remember how he made me feel.  

A smug look settled on my face.  “It may be coming back to me, but my memories still a bit foggy.”

Harry didn’t buy it for a second and he gently nudged my cheek with his nose, “’M sure, after you screaming my name it must be difficult to recollect anything else.”  I scoffed as if I was offended and tried to hit him, but he caught my hand, kissing the inside of it before turning his attention back to my eyes.

“Didn’t know you had a pain kink,” he teased.

“You don’t know me.”  I let that sentence hang there, the truth of it linger as we lay naked before each other. It didn’t feel like we were strangers though, it didn’t feel like that at all.  He clearly knew my body, and it was somehow translating into something more personal.  Was it hormones?  Or was he feeling the same way?

I watched as his eyes dropped from mine, to my lips, lingering there before slowly leaning in, waiting for me to turn away.

I didn’t.

Our lips met and it started slow, the roughness from his stubble and the softness of his lips both moved against me.  His tongue asked for entrance and I gladly accepted, opening my mouth to allow him to deepen the kiss.  And for the third time that night I made out with Harry Styles.  I tried to memorize the way his stubble scraped against me every so often as we moved our heads to the rhythm our lips created.  I suddenly became hyper aware of his raging hard on pressed against me and I could feel a steady pulsing.  Shit.  How could I possibly have forgotten?  

I reached down blindly and wrapped my hand around it, Harry automatically groaning into the kiss.

“Shit baby,” he breathed.  I latched my lips onto his again and in the middle of our passionate kiss, I pulled the head of his dick into my pussy.  Harry immediately stopped kissing me, a choked gasp escaping him.  His eyes searched mine and I couldn’t tell if it was just my imagination or if they darkened even further.  

“Are you sure,” he strained.

“Did you forget who was in charge Harry?” My mocking tone was answer enough and something else took over him.

“I’d watch yourself love.  You’re not the one on top anymore,” he grumbled.  He looked at me behind hooded eyes as he slowly inched in, groaning as my tight walls clung to him like a woman taking her husband after the war.  Through his own noises of pleasure I noted how he was cherishing the sound of my labored breathing as he spread me open.  He was huge.  Huge is an understatement.  He was bigger than Mt. fUCKING Everest and I was not prepared for the hike.  I felt like I was going to be split in two and he was probably only halfway in.  I’d climbed halfway up the mountain and realized I hadn’t brought a water bottle.

Safe to say, I hadn’t been with many guys before and this hurt like hell.

“Ah!” He’d hit a place I didn’t think was meant to be hit.  Ever.  And I couldn’t help but cry out at the pressure.

“Y/N?  You okay?” The concern in his eyes overshadowed his lust, but one hand was gripping the sheet and I could tell a lot of self-control was needed to stop himself from going any further.

“Just do it you pussy,” I mumbled, “Like a band aid r-IGHT OH MY GOD!!”

MT EVEREST HAS SPLIT OPEN MY MEASLY RABBIT’S HOLE I REPEAT-

“Y/N I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

All the blood rushed out of Harry’s face and he pulled back, about to take his mountain with him, but I held his hips close to mine.

“No, it’s fine,” I gritted out, the pain still pulsing from the tender area. “Didn’t know you had it in you Styles,” I joked.

Color filled his cheeks again and I nodded at him to move, hiding my wince in his shoulder as I bit down.  After a while, it didn’t feel like such a vicious attack and Harry’s grunting in my ear sure made it more enjoyable.  His hips started to pick up a steady rhythm and the slapping of our skin together was the only thing I heard.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he panted.

“Thanks, that’s what I hear.”

His motions stilled suddenly, eyebrows drawing together in an angry pout.

“Who tells you that?”  I could literally feel his jealousy. His dick twitched inside me, hitting a new sensitive spot and I let out a moan.  “Y/N.” He wasn’t kidding anymore, and his voice was harder than his cock.

“You know Ed, right?  Nice guy on the bar earlier tonight?  He asked me out to dinner and my GOD those lobsters were delicious.  Did you know you could get them that fresh this time of year?  I sure as hell didn’t- OHH FUCK, HARRY”

I was a whining mess when Harry thrust into me without warning, ramming every ounce of jealousy he could have possibly had into my pussy until I was sure to overflow with it.  

“Did you fuck him?  Did he make you feel this good Y/N?  Huh?”  My eyes were practically rolling to the back of my head the way he was viciously assaulting me, and his words were already making a familiar pressure build in the pits of my stomach.  “I can’t hear you,” he mocked.

He was thrusting into me so hard the inside of my thighs would surely be bruised the next morning and the headboard was banging against the wall with a vengeance so mean I was expecting a hole through the drywall.

“H-harry, I’m c-close!  Fuck right there.  HARRY!”

“Don’t forget it,” he seethed.  He thrust into me for the final time, the pressure finally releasing as a mind-shattering orgasm racked through my body.  His mouth claimed mine in a dominating kiss, quieting my screams as I came undone for the second time that night.  Once he felt it was safe, he broke the kiss, and quickly lifted his hips up so they were hovering over mine.  With one hand supporting himself by my head, the other grasped his dick, only having to stroke it once before he released a giant load all over my stomach. He moaned my name so loud I questioned whether he’d had sex at all, and he let out another groan as he let his forehead rest atop of mine.

We lay there for a while, legs entangled together, his arm snaking around my waist and holding me close.  I swore I would commit the way my name dripped off his lips to memory so God help me. Our panting and the remnants on my stomach were now the only evidence of what occurred.  I felt his fingers trace patterns along my side, and I turned my head slightly to see him already looking at me, a dimple showing on his left cheek.

“What?” I asked.  Despite every ounce of fangirl telling me to stay awake, I was completely spent, and my eyelids felt heavy as I peered up at him.

“Stay with me tonight.” He didn’t say it as the confident singer you see on stage, but he said it quietly and sincerely, like a plead from a schoolboy to his crush.

I didn’t say anything more, but gave him a small smile, letting his arms find their way around my body once more and pull me even closer against his body. With his lips pressed into my hair, I let sleep take me.  I couldn’t even tell you when.

Shit.  

Shit shit shit

The alarm clock was glaring red - 9:45 AM.  My essay was due at noon.

Fuck me.

I glanced at the boy sleeping next to me, so peaceful and unaware, completely vulnerable.  The covers were pulled down his chest, exposing his tattoos and his lips were parted slightly releasing deep, even breaths.  I had to tear myself away otherwise I would seriously risk staying there in his arms forever, but honestly, I couldn’t risk the grade.  Harry Styles was Harry Styles, but I was Y/N Y/L/N and I had a future to plan. Starting with a decent grade on a final paper.

In an expert manner, with borderline ninja talent, I untangled myself from his iron-like grip so he wouldn’t wake up.  Oh my gosh.  I had seriously underestimated the soreness that would be between my legs.  It’s like an angry lumberjack sledgehammered my vagina.

Poor Y/F/N probably thought I’d gotten abducted last night.

I searched around for the clothes that had gotten discarded the night before when I realized something - I hadn’t worn any.  And the only pair of underwear I’d brought had gotten ripped in half.   Well.

I spied a white v-neck lying on a chair and I threw it over myself. Thankfully, it covered enough of my butt that I could make it in a fast walk down the hallway.  

Regretfully, and with so much willpower, I walked out the door.  For a brief stupid naïve moment, I thought I should leave him my number.  You know, just in case.  But then I realized - he already had my number, and he hadn’t called before.  He probably didn’t want me staying any longer than necessary anyways.  He wouldn’t want a clingy hookup to linger.  Why would he?  This was just a one night stand.

And despite the pang in my heart, I was going to be okay with that. I had to be okay with that.

I made it halfway down the hallway in my best “not trying to flash my coochie” fast walk before I heard a hotel door shut.

“Where are you going?!”

The husky British morning voice stopped me in my tracks, and I froze like a deer in the headlights.  I turned to see him in all his morning glory and my heart ached at how adorable he looked. He was squinting and clutching the sheets around his lower half, his hair going every which way.

“Um, well, I have an essay to write.” I muttered, mentally cringing at how lame that sounded.

Even from this distance I saw his face fall.

“Oh,” was all he said.  There was an awkward silence that descended then, and I shifted my weight, once again becoming aware that I was only in a bra and t-shirt.  We finally spoke at the same time:

“Yeah, so goodbye-”

“I have a laptop,” he blurted out.

“What?”  My eyebrows rose at his statement, expecting him to take it back.  Did he actually want me to stay?

“I mean I have a laptop in my room, so, I- I dunno if you need anything else, but, I have wifi.”

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth at how flustered he was.  “Harry, everyone in this hotel has wifi,” I said gently.

Once again his face fell.  “Oh. Right.”  He looked so sad then, I couldn’t stand to tease him anymore.

“I’ll stay, but you can’t distract me.”  It was if I flipped a switch and suddenly it was Christmas morning. He gave me the brightest smile I’d seen in a long while, dimples and all.  “No, seriously Harry, no funny business.  Also because I can barely walk right now, thanks for that.”

He was striding towards me now, still holding the satin sheets with one hand. He held out a hand, expecting me to take it.  “No need to worry about me Y/N, I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

I put my hand in his, suddenly shy in the light of day.  He pulled me towards him and I let out a surprised squeal when he lifted me up bridal style, carrying me to the door of his hotel room.

“My friend’s going to think I died,” I muttered.

“What was that?” he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly.  How was it possible for a human to look this gorgeous?  

“Oh, nothing…but can I use your phone when we get in?”

“Of course,” he said, “I like you in my shirt by the way.”  I heard him mumble klepto under his breath and I gave him a light knock over the head.  It wasn’t until we got to the door that I realized he was holding me with two hands and when I looked down the hallway over his shoulder, I saw a satin sheet discarded in the hallway.  I let out a laugh and didn’t need to look down for clarification, though of course, which sane hormonal woman wouldn’t?

“Harry?” I asked.  He hummed as he held me tighter.  “You know these hallways have video cameras right?”

Maybe I could get copy.  For Y/F/N of course, totally not for my personal collection.  

Because after the night I had, there was no way in hell she was ever going to believe me.

here is my other writing so far !

make a request here :)

HOPEFULLY IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT GUYS xxx

4

“in the end we will all be judged by the courage of our heart”

My fave fours and their most common characterization among the fandom, I don’t know which is the saddest: being reduced to one stereotype despite being one of the most important characters showing different sides of their personality; being so mischaracterized that there are two of him: canon one and fanon one; despite showing to be the bravest among the trainees and struggle with his personality, he’s still the crybaby ‘cause he cried once at the beginning of the story (reacting realistically, let’s be serious); receiving hate because of a ship because of his actions despite those being for humanity’s sake and despite him being the most crucial character without whom most part of this story wouldn’t existed. It’s not like the fandom used these exact words toward them, it’s the way they’re often portrayed in fan art, fanfiction, cosplays and so on. They’re all like ”they’re my favorite character” and than they act like didn’t read the manga at all. There is no black and white in snk, each character has many faces, many sides. Most of the fandom treat them as they treat other people irl: labelling, judging uncaring of their personal stories. but we know their personal stories, so what’s the fucking problem?

P.S. of course I’m not referring to puns and funny comics/FF

Texting (Preferences)

Sam:

When you text him, Sam grins happily and replies quickly, he enjoys hearing from you and often finds himself rereading texts you sent. He’ll hug his phone to his chest while he thinks of how to reply to you. He finds it easy to send short quick texts, although you normally end up have long conversations over the length of his hunts.


If you’re on a hunt with him he use a special code that you developed so that no one can understand what the two of you are talking about.


Dean:

Dean hates texting, he prefers to ring you. He stores all of your texts over a hunt and reads each one before he sleeps or if he’s having a hard time. However if you’re on the hunt with him he sends short texts so that he can stay on top of what you’re doing while he isn’t with you.




Castiel:

Cas still isn’t good with phones so you’ll often receive three or four of the same texts, within seconds of each other, usually long texts which includes his odd way of talking.

Sometimes if he can’t send you a text he’ll pop into the room and read it to you and often gets very excited when you say you liked a text. He boasts to Sam and dean, showing off your texts, which encourages the boys to poke fun at you.




Gabriel:

Gab often sends you short texts and even links in pictures, more than once you’ve opened an attachment that turned into one of the angels pranks. He also likes to pop out of your phone in the guise of a text. Other times he can be very sweet, sending you sickening sweet texts that make you blush deeply.




Kevin:

Kevin sends quick short hand texts even if you’re just in the next room at the bunker. He likes to send you pictures and gifs along with the texts to make a point which often starts a gif war, much to the irritation of Sam who’s the one who pays for everyone’s mobile data.


More Supernatural