shrills

Straight? I think not.

Warning: Smut
Length: 2.6k

Summary:
Dan brags that his blowjobs could turn any guy gay. Unfortunately for him, his friends put this to the test and lock him in a closet…

“My blowjobs are so good, they’d probably turn a straight guy gay!”

That was the comment I had made during gym. It was also the reason I was currently locked in a locker room closet with Phil Lester. Who was, by the way, the school’s straightest heartthrob, and my least favourite classmate. I really needed better friends.

“So you’re telling me that Chris and your other groupies pushed me into this closet so that you could blow me?!”

I winced at Phil’s shrill screech. “If you could not shriek at me, that’d be great. I happen to like my hearing.” I mumbled from my place on the closet floor. “Look, they aren’t going to let us out until we do it, so can we just get it over with so that I can rush home and wash out my mouth?”

He flattened himself to the wall, wide-eyed. “No!”

“What other ideas do you have to get out of here, then?”

“I…” He stopped, a perplexed look overtaking his frantic one. “Are they really not going to unlock the door? Even if we wait?”

“Last month I claimed that I could eat anything. They trapped me inside of my bathroom with a platter of raw worms and crickets, everything completely drenched in hot sauce. I waited for three hours, but they didn’t let me out until I’d licked the plate clean.”

He tried to recoil further, but he was already up against the wall. “You’re not making me want your mouth all over me, Howell. That’s disgusting!”

“You’re telling me!” I groaned, getting pretty tired of fighting. “Just let me take control, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

He clenched his eyes shut, staying silent for several minutes before stepping away from the wall tentatively. “Fine… But you can’t tell everyone about this.” He muttered, watching me warily.

“Noted.” I sighed, closing my eyes and forcing myself into my sexual headspace. Then I reopened them, taking in Phil’s frame. He has nice curves, I decided, licking my lips instinctively as my gaze roamed over his hips. Good legs, too.

I crawled towards him on my hands and knees. He let out a startled squeak as my hands found his hips, pushing them back against the wall. His scent filled my nose, musky and slightly sweaty due to the gym class last period. It was exciting, causing heat to spiral down and in between my legs.

Whining softly, I glided my hands up and down his sides and over his chest, trying to feel every part of him I could reach. Then I pressed my nose to the front of his jeans in search of more of his smell. Phil jumped, gasping harshly when I nuzzled his half-hard length through his clothes.

“Do you want me to do it, or you?” I murmured, playing with the waistband of his jeans. Phil gaped at me, his mouth opening and closing but no sound escaping. Trailing my fingers daintily across his stomach, I leaned against his thigh to look up at him as innocently as I could. “I don’t mind doing it for you.”

“I-I… Um… Sure?” He squeaked. My fingers hooked into his belt loops, pulling them down and searching each bit of newly exposed skin as they slid down his thighs, pooling at his ankles. He kicked them off, glancing my way as if I was going to attack him once he was done. I simply pressed him back against the wall again.

He hissed as his bare legs met the wall, pressing up against my firm grip. “It’s cold!”

“You’ll warm up quickly, don’t you worry,” I chuckled. I focused my gaze on the outline of his semi through his boxers, which clung tightly to his thighs. Below the dark material was a seemingly endless supply of pale, unmarked skin. I decided that a slow buildup would be the best approach.

I pressed open mouthed kisses to the inside of his thighs to test his limits, tasting his skin with my tongue. Phil took a sharp intake of breath, trembling with the strain of keeping himself still. I moved slowly up from his knees to the top of his thighs. Then I took a quick detour to explore his hips, unable to resist digging my teeth into the taut skin there.

“Did you just bite me?” He stared down at me as I traced the blossoming mark with my finger.

“Mmhmm…” I decided that the dark bruises looked nice on his pale skin, so I tugged at the fabric of his boxers. “May I?”

He closed his eyes and nodded, his breathing getting heavier as I removed the last bit of clothing between my mouth and him. Then I moved to decorate the skin with more marks. Each time I bit down, a soft “ha” escaped from his lips.

“H-how am I-ha-going t-to explain these marks tomorrow?” He managed, squirming under my grip. A smirk tugged at my lips as I surveyed my work, pleased that the bruises were scattered both above and below where his gym shorts would be as well as along his v-line.

“Guess you’ll get to tell everyone that you snagged a hot boy…” I snickered quietly as Phil let out an indignant squeak and slapped my arm. “What? I’m hot, admit it!”

“You wish!” He scoffed, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he avoided my eyes. Interesting. I trailed a finger over the various bruises, before rubbing his base teasingly.

“Dan!” He hissed, curling his fingers into fists against the wall as my hand ran up and down his length. I leaned forwards, carefully, and flicked my tongue out to taste the bead of precum gathering at his tip.

Phil keened, bucking his hips forwards suddenly so that my tongue slid along the bottom of his length. As soon as he’d realized what he’d done though, he flushed red and leaned back against the wall.

I just chuckled and used my hands to steady him before wrapping my lips around his tip. I couldn’t help but mewl as the salty flavour spread across my tongue, but it was nothing compared to the loud whimper Phil emitted.

“D-Dan… Stop teasing…” He managed, struggling against where I was holding him from pressing forwards. I pulled off, doing the opposite of what he had asked. Instead, I pressed wet kisses along the side of his length. “Howell!” He spluttered uselessly.

Giggling, I glanced up to his incredibly red face. “Something wrong?” I purred. He just glared down at me, his fingers twitching like he wanted to just grab my head and make me obey him. Heat swirled low in my stomach at the thought.

“You are such a tease.” Phil muttered, and I couldn’t help but notice how much lower and more gravelly his voice had gone. Swallowing roughly, I tried to stay on top of the rushing images in my head.

“I just know how to get you all worked up,” I winked. He spluttered again, beginning to growl something about how annoyingly cocky I was. I cut him off by suddenly lurching forwards and taking him into my mouth.

He swore, loudly, and his hands flew forwards to tangle in my hair. Blunt fingernails scraped my scalp as his fingers curled to grip my brown locks, tugging my mouth forwards. His hips jerked a bit as a moan pushed its way up my throat.

We both paused for breath. Phil panted heavily above me, while I forced myself to breathe through my nose. When I finally glanced up to his face, I couldn’t help the choked whine that escaped.

His head had fallen to the side, bright crimson cheeks underlining his darkened blue eyes as they locked with mine. I was slightly aware of my hands falling from his hips. He must have suddenly realized that I was breathing quite heavily through my nose, because he tugged my hair until I moved my mouth off of him.

I gasped for breath, aware that Phil hadn’t let go of his grip on my curls. If anything, he seemed to have tightened it, as if he was afraid I’d run away.

“J-Jesus, Phil…” I managed, lust and want rushing through my veins. He seemed to decide that I wasn’t mad at him, removing his hands to unbutton his shirt. I watched him quizzically.

“Hot in here,” He stated gruffly, pushing the material off of his shoulders and cautiously pushing his fingers back through my curls. “Is this okay?”

“Mmh…” I mumbled, leaning up into the touch. My jeans felt tight and uncomfortable, and now that he mentioned it, hot and sweaty. “I wanna strip too.”

“Are you asking for permission?”

“Yeah, can I?” He nodded, releasing my hair again so that I could shuffle away a few steps. I made quick work of my shirt, fumbling a bit with my belt before finally kicking off my jeans, leaving my underwear on.

Instantly I scrambled forwards to take him into my mouth again, moaning when he bumped the back of my throat. I was vaguely aware of Phil murmuring praise, each quiet word shooting down my spine to join the jumble of arousal filling my lower body. He slid in and out of my mouth slowly as I relaxed my jaw.

“So pretty like this,” He murmured, tugging my hair to guide me forwards again. I took advantage of his newly exposed skin, using my hands to explore his chest and sides as he controlled the movement of my head.

“Wanna touch myself…” I whined, increasingly aware of the pressure on my length. Phil tutted, glancing down at where I was shifting against the hard tile floor. Immediately I stopped and blushed.

“No, want to see you come untouched like the slut you are.”

My hips jerked at the unexpected command, but I managed to pull myself together with a strangled sounding whine. Phil hummed approvingly. Pulling my hair back, I felt him push in deeper at the new angle, until I was deepthroating his length with my nose pressed against his base. The same musky smell from before filled my nose, and I moaned appreciatively as he pulled back out and repeated the motion.

“Gonna come just from me using your mouth, yeah? Only I get to use you like this?” His voice was a low growl, possessively commanding my thoughts.

“Yes! Please… Use me, I’m… your… toy!” I begged in between thrusts, climbing towards my climax much faster now that he was saying such things like that. Phil huffed out a laugh, clearly amused by how effectively he’d managed to take control.

“Good boy,” He murmured gently, holding my head still as his tip repeatedly hit the back of my throat. It was weird, the way he effortlessly switched from commands and degradation to soft praising whispers, but it seemed that my body reacted strongly to pretty much any talk during such intimate moments.

His heavy breathing brought my eyes back to his face. “I-I’m-” He gasped suddenly, breaking off his sentence and pulling me harshly forwards as he fell over the edge. Hot liquid streaked over my tongue and down my throat, Phil’s breathless moans and praise filling my ears.

Then I was coming suddenly, pleasure spiking in my body as my orgasm racked through me. Mine was much quieter than his, considering that I had a slowly softening length filling my mouth, the last bit of his come disappearing down my throat as I swallowed around my noises.

He pushed my lips off of him wearily as he came down from his high, slumping against the wall and sliding down to sit in front of me. I squirmed in my soiled underwear, not quite sure whether to go to him or not. Thankfully, Phil decided for me by motioning me forwards and allowing me to collapse against his chest.

“Did you actually come from that?” He murmured, pressing his heated palm to my sensitive scalp. I pressed up into the touch.

“Mmh.. maybe…” My voice was raspy, almost hoarse. I blushed as he chuckled. He stayed quiet for a few more minutes, brushing his fingers delicately over my abused curls. Then he turned to look at me with a gentle smile.

“Shower?”

“Please,” I mumbled, a bit embarrassed. He stood and went to the back of the closet, rummaging through a bin of towels while I took the chance to admire his body from behind. Turning, he offered me one to wrap around my waist to conceal the dark patch on my front. Once we were both covered, with his towel hiked a bit higher to cover the bruises, we tried the door. It opened easily. I chose not to think about when Chris had come to unlock it.

Phil ushered me through the locker room, grabbing his bag from a bench nearby and following me to the showers. The spray was warm and inviting, and Phil dropped his towel without much hesitation before stepping in with a content sigh. I followed, kicking off my underwear and throwing my towel to the side.

His eyes roamed over my frame before reaching out and pulling me under the water with him. I collided with his chest, nearly knocking him backwards and causing giggles to bubble up from our throats.

“This is nice,” Phil murmured, reaching for the shampoo and rubbing it into my hair. I hummed, closing my eyes at the blissful feeling of his fingers in my hair.

“Yeah?”

“Mm..” His breath moved to the side of my neck, tingles erupting where his lips barely brushed the skin. I bit my lip as teeth scraped over the same spot, knowing that he was going to leave a mark. I probably deserved it for marking him up so much. He took a deep breath when he was done. “You smell a bit like strawberries.”

I couldn’t help but snort at that. “I’m pretty sure I smell like sex, actually.” He swatted my arm, and I opened my eyes as he giggled, his tongue between his teeth. A smile tugged at my lips. “You have a nice laugh…”

“You have an amazing mouth.” He retorted, smirking despite the blush creeping up the back of his neck. I couldn’t help but wink.

“Oh, I’m sure my mouth can do more than that.” Phil swatted my arm again, pushing me under the spray and causing shampoo to run in rivulets down my face and neck. “Hey!” I squeaked, clenching my eyes shut to avoid getting it in my eyes. The sweet smelling suds had almost disappeared when I felt his hands slide around my waist, tugging me closer.

I’m not sure who kissed who first, but it was sweet and gentle and not at all heated or sexual. He tasted like peaches. Who gave him the right to taste so good? I cringed internally when I realized what I probably tasted like, but he didn’t seem to mind. He pulled back slowly, seemingly trying to catch his breath but leaning back in to press quick pecks to the corners of my mouth before resting his forehead against mine.

“I think I like boys.”

A soft smile tugged at my lips. “You think so?” He pulled me back for another delicate kiss, breathing a word into the tiny gap between our mouths.

“Yeah.”

4

Cassia woke to the sound of a cold, shrill wail. It was a sound that made her skin rise, that made the hairs on the back of her arms stand on end; she scrabbled through the darkness until she found Laurel’s bed, shaking her to find that she was already awake. “Did you hear that?” Cassia asked urgently.

“Yeah,” Laurel croaked, hitting the lights. They waited in silence, listening until they could hear that same low, distraught moan through the walls. It was almost the same sound the wind made during a storm without rain, hollow and howling, as though death was knocking on their front door.

“Isn’t that -,”

“It’s coming from the bathroom! Laurel, move!” Cassia shoved her way past Laurel, panic rising in her throat as she recognised the distinct, birdlike timbre of the sound she’d thought to be the wind. Sprinting down the hall, Cassia tried the bathroom door, only to find it locked. She pounded on it once, twice. “Aspen! Aspen, are you in there?!”

Laurel stood in terror, watching as Cassia threw her shoulder into the door as the horrible wailing rose like a chill wind; she threw herself into that door until the lock splintered and it gave way, letting Cassia tumble into the bathroom with Laurel close at her heels.

“Oh my God,” Cassia breathed, her voice cracking at the sight.

anonymous asked:

I can imagine Kitsune screaming in the middle of a Whitebeard and marines battle "Agjdieniebi! It's Marco the phoenix! I LOVE YOU!!" Before dropping kicking hin.

And then the Whitebeards never let him forget it; 

Keep reading

If I was a better person, I wouldn’t be choking with laughter at the circumstances under which a hug certain folks were hankering for ended up happening.

Oops.

But I do have to say, I honestly - and anyone who has been following me for awhile knows how much, as a Duckling, I detest the imbalanced nature of Emma and Regina’s friendship - liked what they did here.

They had Regina use that shrill, awful tone she usually does before she (usually hypocritically) starts reprimanding or belittling Emma (and others). And I think you can tell, from her face, that thats what Emma is expecting. But then they gave it a pause, and had Regina express genuine joy for Emma and her engagement to Killian. It felt very heartfelt.

I think the pause really was meant to show this off as a moment of growth in their dynamic. I think there’s a long way to go yet, writing wise, to make their friendship palatable for me, and not imbalanced against Emma, but this was good.

And Snow being all excited and emotional, raring to tell Charming and get planning. Henry being all satisfied and wanting the deets on the proposal. Zelena the fangirl. And, of course, Emma’s abundant happiness. Good scene. Very good scene.

i still remember her, you know?

my grandmother, that is. a woman who loved to play shop with me, to feed me her twist on new york style cheesecake, who loved to gift me with dolls from poland and the odd teddy bear or two. i remember her warmth, the slightly shrill voice, the woolen clothes and those brown loafers that she loved so much.

but i also remember how i’d catch a version of her that i wasn’t used to - a woman who looked much older, with ghost-white knuckles, and a hardened face that was far too solemn for someone who gave and gave and gave - for someone who deserved so much more than what she was given. i remember how that version of grandma would speak, too. in a hushed voice, speaking in the mousiest of whispers, as if she were a teenager again, trying not to make a peep as she hid with her whole family under the floorboards of a family friend’s home.

i also remember the tears. how they’d just… appear, from nowhere. sometimes they’d just start falling from her face mid-sentence, other times it was when she was looking forlornly out of the large window in the living room that i’d drawn on as a toddler. they were not the same tears she shed as a teenager, after watching her mother be taken away by men who embodied and reveled in pure evil. they were cracks in the wall that my grandmother had built.

then there were those days where i’d catch her looking at her arm, and the faded numbers that had overstayed their welcome there. it was like black paint on a white canvas only that canvas was a person and that paint had not been spilled accidentally, but tattooed into the arm of a young girl who had lost everything but her humanity - something the man who gave her the tattoo never had.

but worst of all, i remember how she’d frantically run about the kitchen to make me a meal when she learned i hadn’t eaten for a day. i asked her why.

“because, bubula, i know what hunger feels like.” she replied. i didnt quite understand the depth of that back then.

like how i didn’t understand the tremor in her hand when we walked past a group of teenage boys who made a hitler joke. how i didnt understand why she had to pull over on the side of the road to sob when she heard that a fellow holocaust survivor had died on the radio. 

my grandmother was a fighter and a survivor and she was a woman who was strong as steel and as sweet as honey-dew. she was a woman who gave and gave and gave, a woman who deserved all the stars in the sky and pearls in the sea.

my grandmother was ripped from the arms of her family, she thrown into the deepest pit of hell, and she survived the flames. because my grandmother was a survivor of the holocaust.

never forget.

2

There are a number of spooky tales from Louisiana, but one of the most enthralling is that of Manchac Swamp. First of all, Manchac is rumoured to be haunted. It’s also rumoured to be the haunt of Rougarou, the Cajun werewolf. As well as that, it’s said to be haunted by Julia Brown, a once practising voodoo priestess, who put a curse on the entire town the day she died. Legend says that on the day of her funeral in 1915, a deadly hurricane ripped through the town, destroying three villages and killing a number of people. A number of curious visitors to the swamp have reported hearing shrill screams from a disembodied woman.

loverboy-lester  asked:

How are you able to do so many different voices so well? Voice acting is something I think I'd want to pursue, so do you have any tips for doing voices? What is it about a character (for example, Mae) that helps you to choose their voice?

Well the thing is voice acting isn’t really about doing lots of voices, it’s about making a character believable and being able to act out a characters lines like they would if they really existed. 

Most voices I choose for characters is based around how they look or if they have a sound clip that sort of hints at their sound. Like in undertale, most characters had sound bytes for their font that dictated it where as NITW was all about how they looked and what animal they were. Gregg being a Fox meant he had a more shrill barky sound, bea being an alligator meant everything was sort of a growl (and also she looked like a stereotypical goth kid)

There’s lots to it and I’m by no means great at it but I just love the process so much and really love learning more about it. 

Aaron Sorkin’s Letter To His Daughter After Trump’s Victory

Sorkin Girls,

Well the world changed late last night in a way I couldn’t protect us from. That’s a terrible feeling for a father. I won’t sugarcoat it—this is truly horrible. It’s hardly the first time my candidate didn’t win (in fact it’s the sixth time) but it is the first time that a thoroughly incompetent pig with dangerous ideas, a serious psychiatric disorder, no knowledge of the world and no curiosity to learn has.

And it wasn’t just Donald Trump who won last night—it was his supporters too. The Klan won last night. White nationalists. Sexists, racists and buffoons. Angry young white men who think rap music and Cinco de Mayo are a threat to their way of life (or are the reason for their way of life) have been given cause to celebrate. Men who have no right to call themselves that and who think that women who aspire to more than looking hot are shrill, ugly, and otherwise worthy of our scorn rather than our admiration struck a blow for misogynistic shitheads everywhere. Hate was given hope. Abject dumbness was glamorized as being “the fresh voice of an outsider” who’s going to “shake things up.” (Did anyone bother to ask how? Is he going to re-arrange the chairs in the Roosevelt Room?) For the next four years, the President of the United States, the same office held by Washington and Jefferson, Lincoln and Teddy Roosevelt, F.D.R., J.F.K. and Barack Obama, will be held by a man-boy who’ll spend his hours exacting Twitter vengeance against all who criticize him (and those numbers will be legion). We’ve embarrassed ourselves in front of our children and the world.

And the world took no time to react. The Dow futures dropped 7,000 points overnight. Economists are predicting a deep and prolonged recession. Our NATO allies are in a state of legitimate fear. And speaking of fear, Muslim-Americans, Mexican-Americans and African-Americans are shaking in their shoes. And we’d be right to note that many of Donald Trump’s fans are not fans of Jews. On the other hand, there is a party going on at ISIS headquarters. What wouldn’t we give to trade this small fraction of a man for Richard Nixon right now?

So what do we do?

First of all, we remember that we’re not alone. A hundred million people in America and a billion more around the world feel exactly the same way we do.

Second, we get out of bed. The Trumpsters want to see people like us (Jewish, “coastal elites,” educated, socially progressive, Hollywood…) sobbing and wailing and talking about moving to Canada. I won’t give them that and neither will you. Here’s what we’ll do…

…we’ll fucking fight. (Roxy, there’s a time for this kind of language and it’s now.) We’re not powerless and we’re not voiceless. We don’t have majorities in the House or Senate but we do have representatives there. It’s also good to remember that most members of Trump’s own party feel exactly the same way about him that we do. We make sure that the people we sent to Washington—including Kamala Harris—take our strength with them and never take a day off.

We get involved. We do what we can to fight injustice anywhere we see it—whether it’s writing a check or rolling up our sleeves. Our family is fairly insulated from the effects of a Trump presidency so we fight for the families that aren’t. We fight for a woman to keep her right to choose. We fight for the First Amendment and we fight mostly for equality—not for a guarantee of equal outcomes but for equal opportunities. We stand up.

America didn’t stop being America last night and we didn’t stop being Americans and here’s the thing about Americans: Our darkest days have always—always—been followed by our finest hours.

Roxy, I know my predictions have let you down in the past, but personally, I don’t think this guy can make it a year without committing an impeachable crime. If he does manage to be a douche nozzle without breaking the law for four years, we’ll make it through those four years. And three years from now we’ll fight like hell for our candidate and we’ll win and they’ll lose and this time they’ll lose for good. Honey, it’ll be your first vote.

The battle isn’t over, it’s just begun. Grandpa fought in World War II and when he came home this country handed him an opportunity to make a great life for his family. I will not hand his granddaughter a country shaped by hateful and stupid men. Your tears last night woke me up, and I’ll never go to sleep on you again.

Love,

Dad

laughter

aries: loud, convulsive, uncontrollable. they can howl. very contagious 

taurus  ~ witch’s cackle, high pitched 
gemini - catchy, mischevious pixie giggle 

cancer ~ laughing til crying, wheezer, baby cry laugh sometimes embarrassment  
Leo ~ Lion’s Roar, a gaffaw, hands flailing wildly, thighs are slapped, the heart rate increases 
virgo ~ covering their mouths, bursts out, shrill high pitch 

Libra ~ beautiful laugh, melodic, can be an embarrassed giggle. good at the fake laugh 
scorpio - a snicker, good control of facial muscles, but they can find the absolute hilarious in things

sagittarius - belly laugh, a contagious carry on, the eyes widen and smile too
Capricorn ~ a big belly roar, the body is convulsive, the more they try to suppress it the louder and more uncontrollable it becomes. loud, repetitious, like a split personality 

Aquarius - impulsive bursts of laughter, a bit of a cacophony. the sarcastic laugh, ‘ha’. clever enough to master it 

Pisces - a big build up, contagious, begins with a grin and becomes uncontainable, often toward tears. its a stoner laugh, whats so funny, only pisces sees the joke

-C.

I hope some form of vine or snapchat exists in mass effect

turian soldiers doing something stupid for the sake of entertainment like slap whipped cream across a sleeping bunkmate’s face, who responds by doing something wild like pull out a gun and fire it at the ceiling as everyone laughs

some deadpan salarian mocking a rude customer. “What do you mean it’s non refundable bitch what did I just say let it go” before running face first into a wall

A silent set of quarians making glowy eye contact with the camera before turning it to show one of their defense drones repeatedly slamming into a wall. Another approaches it with a broom and all u hear is a shrill scream when it zaps whoever it was

Elcor saying one word but making sure it’s funny like “enthusiastically - titties” before it cuts off

Sorkin Girls,

Well the world changed late last night in a way I couldn’t protect us from. That’s a terrible feeling for a father. I won’t sugarcoat it—this is truly horrible. It’s hardly the first time my candidate didn’t win (in fact it’s the sixth time) but it is the first time that a thoroughly incompetent pig with dangerous ideas, a serious psychiatric disorder, no knowledge of the world and no curiosity to learn has.

And it wasn’t just Donald Trump who won last night—it was his supporters too. The Klan won last night. White nationalists. Sexists, racists and buffoons. Angry young white men who think rap music and Cinco de Mayo are a threat to their way of life (or are the reason for their way of life) have been given cause to celebrate. Men who have no right to call themselves that and who think that women who aspire to more than looking hot are shrill, ugly, and otherwise worthy of our scorn rather than our admiration struck a blow for misogynistic shitheads everywhere. Hate was given hope. Abject dumbness was glamorized as being “the fresh voice of an outsider” who’s going to “shake things up.” (Did anyone bother to ask how? Is he going to re-arrange the chairs in the Roosevelt Room?) For the next four years, the President of the United States, the same office held by Washington and Jefferson, Lincoln and Teddy Roosevelt, F.D.R., J.F.K. and Barack Obama, will be held by a man-boy who’ll spend his hours exacting Twitter vengeance against all who criticize him (and those numbers will be legion). We’ve embarrassed ourselves in front of our children and the world.

And the world took no time to react. The Dow futures dropped 7,000 points overnight. Economists are predicting a deep and prolonged recession. Our NATO allies are in a state of legitimate fear. And speaking of fear, Muslim-Americans, Mexican-Americans and African-Americans are shaking in their shoes. And we’d be right to note that many of Donald Trump’s fans are not fans of Jews. On the other hand, there is a party going on at ISIS headquarters. What wouldn’t we give to trade this small fraction of a man for Richard Nixon right now?

So what do we do?

First of all, we remember that we’re not alone. A hundred million people in America and a billion more around the world feel exactly the same way we do.

Second, we get out of bed. The Trumpsters want to see people like us (Jewish, “coastal elites,” educated, socially progressive, Hollywood…) sobbing and wailing and talking about moving to Canada. I won’t give them that and neither will you. Here’s what we’ll do…

…we’ll fucking fight. (Roxy, there’s a time for this kind of language and it’s now.) We’re not powerless and we’re not voiceless. We don’t have majorities in the House or Senate but we do have representatives there. It’s also good to remember that most members of Trump’s own party feel exactly the same way about him that we do. We make sure that the people we sent to Washington—including Kamala Harris—take our strength with them and never take a day off.

We get involved. We do what we can to fight injustice anywhere we see it—whether it’s writing a check or rolling up our sleeves. Our family is fairly insulated from the effects of a Trump presidency so we fight for the families that aren’t. We fight for a woman to keep her right to choose. We fight for the First Amendment and we fight mostly for equality—not for a guarantee of equal outcomes but for equal opportunities. We stand up.

America didn’t stop being America last night and we didn’t stop being Americans and here’s the thing about Americans: Our darkest days have always—always—been followed by our finest hours.

Roxy, I know my predictions have let you down in the past, but personally, I don’t think this guy can make it a year without committing an impeachable crime. If he does manage to be a douche nozzle without breaking the law for four years, we’ll make it through those four years. And three years from now we’ll fight like hell for our candidate and we’ll win and they’ll lose and this time they’ll lose for good. Honey, it’ll be your first vote.

The battle isn’t over, it’s just begun. Grandpa fought in World War II and when he came home this country handed him an opportunity to make a great life for his family. I will not hand his granddaughter a country shaped by hateful and stupid men. Your tears last night woke me up, and I’ll never go to sleep on you again.

Love,

Dad

settle down | (m)

• pairing: min yoongi x reader, roommate! yoongi
• genre/warnings: smut, angst, fluff, slow buuurrrn, enemies to lovers
• words: 14,930
→summary: An unfortunate event finds you living with the man you practically despise over the summer. However, maybe through a series of fortunate events, you find yourself falling for him…
• note. this is a remastered version of the originally story I wrote called ‘and july’ (found here) that I wrote for suho back when I started this blog, albeit slightly (very?) different.

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me, using a Trader Joe’s® Hand Stretched Rosemary Bread Stick as a faux cigarette: *turns to you in slow motion, eyes nonchalant* oh… hey.. didn’t see you there.. i was too busy using this Trader Joe’s® Hand Stretched Rosemary Bread Stick as a faux cigarette… not like you would know anything about that *i let out a shrill laugh, turning back to high five one of the members of my Clique, a bird steals my bread stick*

In This Light (Part 1)

Summary: Model!Bucky AU with Photographer!Reader. This is your meeting with Bucky, and how your friendship developed into something more.

Pairings: Bucky x Reader (main); Steve x Reader (side)

Word Count: 4,658

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is a re-write of  Dean fic series I never finished. Here’s hoping that I will have motivation to finish this storyline with Buckaroo. Hope you all enjoy! Also, I don’t claim to know how the photography/fashion world works, I’m just… Sorry if there are mistakes. 


“Alright, children, enough chattering!” A large woman with bushy blonde hair and overdone makeup stared down at her sixth-grade Earth and Space science class. She was frowning and it was only the first day of classes. She was already feeling the headache that was sure to make itself known by the end of the week. “Settle down!” she bellowed.

At her shrill voice, silence overcame the room and everyone found empty seats to call their own. She gave them all a wide, forced smile in gratitude. “Welcome to Earth and Space Science! I am Mrs. Paulson and I will not tolerate any unruly conduct in my class. You will be wise to be on your best behavior while you’re in my class. If you aren’t, a detention slip with your name on it will be waiting for you by the end of class. Do I make myself clear?”

A drone of agreements reached her ears and she gave a grin of satisfaction. Some kids thought her wolf-like. She clapped her hands once before picking up a stack of papers, licking her forefinger to separate the sheets. Oblivious to the grimaces of her students as she handed them their syllabus, her voice thundered through the room. “Learn it, live it, love it. I will always abide by the schedule you find there and everything that will be required of you is written on that very sheet. Is that understood? There are no excuses!”

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