stop judging me girl

Gay friends

Them: YOURE GAY ?!
Me: yeah I’m bisexual.
Me: yeah
Them: have you dated both genders?
Me: no
Me: what

Gab Rant #1

It bothers me that the only reason keeping me from getting ninjago merch or enjoying the show/movie in general is the whole, “Are you a boy/ but you’re a girl, why do you like it?"question. Why can’t a girl just watch them ninjas go? I, a 15 year old girl, should not be judged for watching Lego ninjas go.

Will that hot guy ever look at me the way he is looking at my friend?
Will I ever be confident enough to call myself beautiful?
Will I even be good enough to have a boyfriend?
Will I ever be pretty enough for a guy to give me a second look?
Will I ever be able to say out loud that a hit boy is checking me out?
Will I ever be cute enough to not just be called cute but sexy too?
Will any boy ever like me enough to date me?
Will my guy friends ever see me as a girl?
Will people ever stop judging me for being ugly?

Just for once can I be the beautiful one

—  What goes through my head when I am among my friends // JustScribbledWords
Lawful Tease pt.4

Word count: 1951

Author’s note: I managed to finish this! It only needed some small add-ons and checking here and there, so even though I had no time today this afternoon, I still managed to post it in the evening, woohooo!! (And I still have to study, meh.) It probably turned out a bit awkward, haha – also, I think you will hate me juuuust a little bit for the ending. This is more special now, because a sweet Law major Anon has sent me a message here to let me know how much she likes Lawful Tease, and I promised her to try and publish part 4 asap. Here it is, I hope it was worth the long wait c:

Your name: submit What is this?

I have to admit that the last lesson with her was a disaster. She was smart and quirky as always, cute in her own way, looked gorgeous and enticing – too much, even.

Initially, I thought that if I manage to find her and figure out her identity, I’ll be able to finally forget about her.

Oh, how wrong I was.

Now, my mind won’t quit bombarding me with any kind of thought that is relatable to her – and what’s worse, those thoughts now include some which I would much rather ignore for my and her sake.

This is my last lecture for today, and I can’t help perking up whenever that damn door opens or closes and someone either leaves or arrives. It takes me an extra dose of willpower to be able to focus on what I’m talking about. Apparently she’s still giving me hardship teaching, although now my situation has improved so I don’t get bored when there is no one to answer me or come up with a witty response to my questions.

After the class ends, and I explain some things to pupils who come to me to ask about the actual curriculum and not my personal life, I head to the absent professor’s office. I fall into the chair with an exasperated sigh and stare out of the window, which shows the entrance of the building of Faculty of Law.

My eyes wander on the outdoors, scanning the students and secretly wishing she would show up – I haven’t seen her for over a week, and it’s killing me. I’m not the type to leave things unresolved, the tension we have between us just further adding to my frustration. Even if we don’t talk to each other ever again, I still want to explain my demeanour to her. My fingers curl into firm fists as I recall the way my body acted on its own in such a close proximity to her.


Her scent engulfed me, the apparent smoothness of her lips entranced me, the soft noise she made when her butt hit the edge of the desk, the warmth of her body under my palms, the way she stared into my eyes, her pupils dilated, looking just barely scared and more like she was dying for it at least as much as me…

I stand with a groan. I have to keep my thoughts away from her, otherwise I’m going to go nuts.

I snatch my phone from the desk and dial Erica’s number to tell her to give me a heads-up about my agenda. I don’t need it, I know I only have to attend one dinner tonight with the judge and the coroner of my latest case, but I need a freaking distraction.

. o O o .

On Tuesday next week, I deliberately go to the Faculty of Psychology. I’ve been waiting impatiently to finally have a chance to talk to her, not wanting her to think I’m the kind of guy who takes advantage of women. I want – need – her to know that.

During the past days, I made a little research to find out her full name and which semester she’s taking at the moment. There were a total of seven (Y/N)s in the student database of the Psychology department. Thankfully, they have pictures attached to the profiles of the pupils, so it wasn’t hard to find her among the seven records. This way I also have access to her timetable, which makes it a thousand times easier for me to bump into her again accidentally on the corridors of the university. My mind is accusing me on end of stalker behaviour, but I justify it with the fact that I have no other choice if I want to have a last talk with her.

Right now, I’m in the building of her faculty. It doesn’t take too long for me to glimpse her among the sea of people. I start walking towards her, but she notices me, too – and then she turns and hurtles her way through the crowd, heading in the opposite direction, practically escaping from me. It equally hurts and infuriates me.

I accelerate my steps to try and come level with her, but the people around me don’t make it easy for me – especially because a girl stops me by grabbing my arm.

“Are you Derek Hale?” she asks, awed. I’m stretching and craning my neck to find her again, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to spot her. I look back at the girl who made me stop, and judging by the puzzled expression her face morphs into, my fury is showing on my face.

. o O o .

I get to meet her nearly two weeks later. There’s a downpour washing over the town – it’s been raining for about twenty minutes, the water flowing on the streets like shallow rivers, and occasionally the drops are so thick and raging that they look like a waving transparent curtain. I’m on my way out of the institute, about to head home to go through the files of my case once more for tomorrow’s hearing, when I glimpse someone running on the street. I wouldn’t spare two glances at the girl if her figure wasn’t so familiar.

I jerk to a halt with my Camaro.

For several seconds, only the wiper arms commuting back and forth on the windshield are the only things that move in the car, otherwise I feel like time has stopped for me. I shake myself awake, then start my car again, slowly approaching her. I roll down the window on the right so that I can talk to her.

“Hey,” I say, hoping she will hear my voice over the rain. Her walking falters and she turns to see who called out. As soon as her eyes land on me, she continues on her way like she didn’t even see me. However, I don’t budge, and keep following her with the car slowly. “You’re soaking wet.”

“Very perceptive of you,” she spits back. I ignore the disdain in her tone.

“Hop in, I’ll give you a ride home,” I offer. I don’t miss the way her body spasms, contemplating it momentarily. She still refuses, though.

“I’ll deal, but thanks,” she says sternly. I won’t have it.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” I point out, making her stop finally. “And your clothes are see-through now.” Even the tips of her ears go red, and I have to suppress my smile at the sight. I unlock the door for her, and she hops in, letting an exasperated sigh escape from her lips. No wonder why I win all of my cases – I always know what to say.

“Okay, you won,”  she says, avoiding looking at me, presumably because she’s overly self-conscious about her bra being available. I take off from the sidewalk, maintaining a slow pace on the wet pavement. “Thank you,” she says eventually, hardly audible.

“You’re welcome,” I nod, turning to the left towards the crossroads. Once there, I stop at the red lamp. I can’t help but my eyes travel over to her body, skin still flushed with pearls of raindrops flowing down, collecting in the dip under her neck, the tee she’s wearing sticking to her collarbones and general shape, the dripping material leaving nothing to the imagination – it not only allows me to see her navel, but also every single part of the lace that adorns her lingerie. Her heart is beating wildly.

My mouth falls open, and I completely forget about where I am until someone honks behind me impatiently. I clear my throat, taking off from there. Save for the heavy knocking on the exterior of my Camaro, there is silence between us; it’s only broken when I speak up.

“So,” I begin, feeling abruptly awkward. She turns away from the window to look in my general direction, albeit never quite finding my face, not daring to glance higher than my shoulders. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

She nods, then asks, “About?” like she could possibly be clueless of that.

“About what happened after my latest lecture.” Her cheeks heat up once more. “I want you to know that…” I contemplate what to say. I don’t want her to think I find her unattractive or that I want to take advantage of her. How does one convey they temporarily lost control of themselves and just gave in to their desires? So much for the ‘not wanting to take advantage’ part of my speech… I take a deep breath to ground myself. I try again. “I want you to know that I don’t normally do this. I don’t take advantage of women.”

She nods in acknowledgement.

“Okay,” is all she replies with. It tenses me up more, and my knuckles go white as I grip the stirring wheel. She doesn’t push to ask why it happened then, which I’m grateful for.

“You started avoiding me altogether,” I continue.

“Yes, I’ve – I’ve been busy lately,” she explains. To my biggest relief, she asks, “And how are your lectures?”

“Fine,” I answer, easing up a bit, my muscles uncoiling as the rigid tension seeps out of them a tad. “But they are not nearly as interesting compared to the ones where I had someone to talk to.”

She involuntarily smiles at that, lifting my spirits. “What happened to the professor, though? He seems to be absent a lot.”

“He was involved in an accident, and among many bones, even his jaw got broken.”

“Wow,” she says, and I couldn’t agree more.

After a long debate with myself, I end up asking, “May I buy you another hot chocolate?” She gives me an equally surprised and confused look, so I proceed to explain. “You left yours on the desk.”

“Oh,” she bites her lip. Tearing my eyes away from her mouth, I force myself to check the rearview mirror instead. My nervousness wells up in me again as I’m waiting for her answer. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked, maybe it was too much and I ruined all my chances to – “All right,” she says finally. It’s a near call that a wide grin stretches to my face, but I manage to school my features before that could happen.

I’m already opening my mouth to say something else, but my phone goes off. I take my hand away from the clutch to hold it out towards her as I say, “Could you give it to me? It’s in the pocket of my suit.” I hung it on the back of the passenger seat after sitting in – it got a bit wet in the short time between closing my umbrella and jumping in.

(Y/N) moves to feel for the device, then hands it over to me without sparing a glance at the caller ID. Her fingers are still cold when they brush against my skin, making me want to warm her up. I keep watching her as she’s looking through the window on the side, but then I tear my eyes away from her to pay attention to driving. I accept the call.

“Hale,” I say, tone monotone and business-like.

“Did I leave my folder at yours yesterday? I need it for the court in half an hour. Can I go over to get it?”

“Sure,” I answer, ending the call. I look over at (Y/N) again. “I have to go home. Someone left his papers at mine, and he needs them in thirty. That okay?”

(Y/N) nods.

So I’m taking her to my flat, and that’s that. And I’m not freaking out over it.

I need feminism because “you should’ve fought him off harder” isn’t an appropriate response to telling someone about being assaulted.

  • Me: Hey, Julia. What'cha watching?
  • Sister: Japanese Soap Opera...
  • Me: Really?
  • Sister: I know, I know, it's stupid...
  • Me: No, it's fine.
  • Sister: Really?
  • Me: Girl, I watch ponies, okay? I stopped judging people for what they watch a LONG time ago.

anonymous asked:

Is it bad that Ive slept with different guys and didn't stick to one?

Baby, NO! If you wanna pop your pussy severely, bITCH you go ahead & pop that pussy. It ain’t nobody’s business but yours & God’s. AND, If you wanna pop your pussy just for one nigga at a time, BITCH YOU POP THAT PUSSY. That STILL ain’t nobody’s damn business, but YOURS. And, make sure you’re poppin’ that shit good as fuck. Make that nigga crave you every minute of every day. Make that nigga be on you heavy. It’s scientific facts that it’s okay to be sexual. This is facts. Facts I just made. Because, I’m a scientist. So, pop those pussies all you want. Shit.

Lmao, y’all don’t mind me man. Just stop judging girls that choose to ride multiple dicks, they can do what they want.

Bitch, be a thot if you want to. POP THAT PUSSSSSY GIRL.

Just, make sure you visit a doctor & always use protection. We don’t need your lil kitty gettin’ the sniffles.