tailored made

Nobody fucking cares about Native Americans and I am so fucking tired of it.

If your political justice and change for poc doesn’t include justice and change for natives, it is not just and never fucking can be. None of you include natives. I have never seen a single person on this goddamn website that wasn’t Native give a lick of a fuck about us. How dare all of you advocate for change and justice yet ignore a group of people who have been suffering and screaming for it for CENTURIES.

Y'all live on a land stolen from all of us by a literal fucking genocide, and while we still suffer every day centuries later, yall turn the blindest fucking eye you can. I’m sorry, but I am absolutely fucking disgusted at this website that paints itself as inclusive’s treatment of natives. None of y'all are any fucking better than the Canadian government.

Absolutely fuck all of y'all for painting urself with an image of poc inclusivity when you don’t give a fuck about anyone other than certain types of poc meanwhile we’re suffering in silence, a silence forced upon us that can never be broken not because we don’t scream loud enough, but because people ignore our screams. Every. Fucking. Day.

Flint hasn’t had clean water since 2014, a tragedy, sure. But as early as 2016 efforts were being made to end the crisis, it had caught international attention.

The reserve my own family lives on has not had clean water since TWO THOUSAND AND EIGHT, 2008, and it’s almost a decade later. Nothing has been done. Not a single thing has been done, regardless of protests, petitions, etc.

Also, there’s 80+ other reserves without clean water, some without for as long or longer than my rez. Why aren’t these reserves getting clean water despite our country (Canada) having more than enough water and resources to do so? Because the government doesn’t care. Because the majority races don’t care.
Because nobody cares for Native issues other than Natives, and we are fucking dying because of it.

The governmental silence is extending our genocide (which only ended in the 90s with the closing of the last residential school, by the actual fucking way), and the silence of everyone else isn’t fucking helping either.

You say we don’t riot enough. We don’t raise enough of a fuss, it’s our fault for being ignored. To that I, and likely every other Native says: Fuck you and everyone else who’s ever said that, you disgust me.

It is your fault for ignoring us, you being the white people who turn a blind eye, you being the other poc who turn a blind eye, you being the other poc who blame us for not being as successful in their social change as they are, you being anyone who tells us “just get over it”.

It is not the fault of native Americans that we were genocided and apartheid for essentially all of our modern history. It is not the fault that our cultures and communities are still broken from the genocide, that we’re trying to recover in a system tailor made for our failure.

If you want to deny that you’re killing us just as fast as the government by ignoring our cries for help year after year, tragedy after tragedy, that’s fine. But don’t you dare claim to be inclusive if your inclusivity doesn’t include Native Americans, don’t you fucking DARE to claim to care about the welfare of poc when a genocide is still continuing because of your fucking willful ignorance.


Nià:wen.

the-prophet-on-acid  asked:

Right so have you ever played saints row 3? Specifically the opening mission where the saints rob a bank while all dressed as Gat "because who wouldn't wanna be johnny Gat" Cuz I keep thinking of the fakes pulling off a heist when someone (probably Gavin) has suggested they all do it dressed as the vagabond. Hilarity with the pre heist banter and then ridiculous news reports as 5 vagabonds pull of a heist accompanied by a 6th female vagabond

Oh man I haven’t but that is amazing. The Fake’s would be so into it too, the second someone floats the idea they’re all in, sourcing jackets and masks, debating pants, brainstorming the most appropriate heist to debut this beautiful nightmare. Best of all; they don’t tell Ryan. He’s off on some job, and even when he returns they keep their planning on the down low, too hyped up to cover the inevitable sniggers and pointed looks but no matter how creatively Ryan asks no one spills the beans.

When the fateful day finally comes around they let Ryan arrive at the meeting place first so they can truly appreciate the range of his reaction as the rest of the crew shows up one by one, all fully decked out and doing their best menacing Vagabond impersonations, complete with ridiculously puffed chests and comically deep grumbles. Ryan’s not exactly impressed at first, wary surprise moving to confusion then annoyance, flaring into a moment of true anger before crumbling into amusement, Ryan laughing just as hard as anyone else when he realises that the true butt of this particular joke isn’t him at all.

The Los Santos police don’t have a pleasant relationship with any of the Fake AH Crew, but there’s no denying that on any given day the mysterious Mercenary is their greatest antagonist. This is an LSPD who have never seen Ryan’s face, have never managed to catch him at all let alone long enough to rid him of that infernal mask, so of course pinning him down in an alley following his attempt to escape the FAHC’s latest bank heist leaves them thrilled. At least until the Vagabond rips off his skull and hurls it away, leaving nothing but a mess of red, white and black paint smeared across a grinning face, the momentary shock of recognition giving Geoff more than enough time to fight his way free.

To say police reports got hazy and confused from this point on is an understatement. A handful of officers are convinced the Vagabond doesn’t even exist, unknown for so long because he is not an individual at all, simply the alter ego of the Fake’s boss or perhaps even a rotation of their known members. Except then of course yet another Vagabond saunters out of the bank and into the street, mini gun whirring as he peppers the area and forces officers to duck for cover, masked head thrown back and cackling the unmistakable wild laughter of Mogar. 

In the face of that realisation it isn’t hard to identify the next pair to tumble out of the bank and flank Jones, both dwarfed by their jackets in different ways Dooley and Free are visibly thrilled to enter the fray. As the maskless Ramsey reappears and regroups they’re joined by another pair, one sporting the long flaming red-orange hair of the Firebird, the other making liberal use of Pattillo’s distinctive shotgun. Last but not least comes what can only be the true Vagabond, retrospectively unmistakable in direct comparison, all size and strength and seeping menace as he lifts his gun and joins his crew.

The FAHC are surrounded on all sides now, not that you’d know it from the crew’s attitude, audibly laughing and jeering, seemingly having the time of their lives as they swan about the street. They are all referring to each other as Vagabond, all stomping around and shouting vivid threats that would be horrifying if not for the strange inflections and stutters they’ve all adopted. At one point the true Vagabond stops shooting all together to stalk after Free, sending him scuttling behind Ramsey and cutting off a particularly graphic diatribe about being sexually attracted to diet coke of all things. For the most part though Vagabond prime seems to be enjoying the inexplicable farce as much as anyone in the crew, crowing about good looks and superior talents, assuring his team that he understands because honestly, who wouldn’t want to be the Vagabond?

Still, alarmingly playful interactions aside the tide has to turn eventually, pinned in the FAHC are certainly causing brutal damage but faced with wave after wave of LSPD reinforcements their ammo begins to dwindle, their bodies start to tire. Deadly they may be but at the end of the day they are, after all, only human. They can’t last forever.  

Which is, of course, when the final two Vagabond’s make their appearance; a giant, heavily armoured black truck crashing through police barricades like tissue paper, both driver and passenger masked but easy enough to identity for anyone who has spent time studying the FAHC. The driver, with Bragg’s shaggy dip-dyed hair emerging from his black skull, pulls the truck around as the passenger hangs half-way out the window and lays down a spray of covering fire. Collins’ cheerful voice rings out above the chaos, cajoling the Fake’s into the car like a soccer mum gathering her brood, all c’mon kids, say goodbye to the nice officers now it’s time to go home.  

By the time the troop of Vagabonds escape, truck packed like a clown car and busting out as easily as it burst in, only the enormous property damage, relentlessly replayed media footage and a truly staggering number of civilian selfies taken with all nine Vagabonds remain to convince the LSPD that the whole bizarre experience wasn’t a collective fever dream.

Do you ever wonder

Aries:  If one day you’ll just burn out.  How maybe aside from all the work you’ve been putting yourself through, all the times you’ve said you hadn’t had enough time, you’re just empty and you’re desperately trying to find something that fills that void.

Taurus: If maybe they were wrong about you.  That maybe there’s nothing wrong or disgusting about you at all, it’s just that you happen to be different and that feeling of unknowingness actually terrifies them

Gemini: If it was worth it.  If changing a part of your being, cutting off bits of yourself, or masking pieces of soul was worth gaining someone’s approval?

Cancer:  If you’re going to make it out ok?  Not even if you live your dream life and having your dream mansion, just ok.  Content.  Happy.

Leo: If people talk behind your back or judge you as much as you think, if you’re really safe to show your true self to someone without inadvertently showing it to everyone else?

Virgo: If you ever actually mattered to anyone? Because how could anyone notice the single drop of water amidst a hurricane?

Libra: If anyone’s looked at you the way they describe it in the movies, the way time would stop because someone fell so hopelessly, madly, eternally in love with you?

Scorpio: If you still have that child in you, or if you ever were one in the first place? A time before the tears would fall, a time where you weren’t scared to fall because you knew someone would pick you right back up?

Sagittarius:  If you’re simply enough.  if you were stripped of everything everyone thought defined you, someone would still be able to love you and your pain?

Capricorn:  If on the other side of people’s smiles, they genuinely care?  That they could actually give a damn about your happiness and your value?

Aquarius:  If dreams could actually be turned into reality?  If you could actually turn the little universe you’ve created inside your head into something you could see, touch, feel, taste, hear?

Pisces: If soulmates exist, that there is that one person tailor-made for you and you tailor-made for them, that heaven could become a place on earth by holding their hand?

Amerindian signs

The Otter  January 20 - February 18

Originally posted by artyscorner

A little original, adventurous and unorthodox, the Otter is an animal difficult to identify. His methods are perceived as unconventional, and they are often not the first ones chosen by the rest of the community to carry out a task. This is a serious mistake on the part of the others - because even if they are sometimes strange, the ideas of the Otter are actually, in general, rather effective.

Yes, the Otter has an unusual way of seeing things, but it gives humans an extraordinary imagination and brilliant intelligence. Often very intuitive and capable of a great sense of perception, the Otter makes a very good companion, and can be very attentive and loving.
In a positive environment, with love and attention, the Otter is sensitive, sympathetic, courageous and honest. When left out, the Otter may be unscrupulous, rebellious and isolated.

The Wolf  February 19 - March 20

Originally posted by won-der-land89

Deeply emotional and passionate, the Wolf is the animal par excellence of love and passion, both in the physical and spiritual sense of the term. The Wolf knows that love is the greatest of natural forces, and he is entirely capable of supplying it with all his might.
If one considers his desire for freedom and ferocious independence, one realizes that the wolf is full of contradictions. He may be Solitary Wolf, or Mother Wolf, protective and filled with love. The Wolf needs his freedom, but he is also gentle and full of compassion.

In a positive environment, the wolf is intensely passionate, generous, deeply affectionate and gentle. When left out, the wolf may be recalcitrant, obsessed, vindictive and resentful.

The Falcon  March 21 - April 19 

Originally posted by sdzsafaripark

The Falcon is the animal of the born heads. It can always be consulted in order to have a clear and impartial judgment in delicate situations. The Falcon never loses time, knows how to strike / act at the right moment and beat the iron as long as it is warm. When something has to be accomplished, he knows how to realize it and act accordingly.

Very persistent, and endowed with a strong sense of initiative, the Falcon is a born leader and he wants to triumph. He is sometimes considered vain - but he is often right in his opinions, so this little touch of arrogance is understood and accepted by others.

In a positive environment, the Falcon can accomplish great things, and he knows how to feed passion and fire in relationships, while keeping some compassion. When left out, the Hawk may be vain, impolite, intolerant, impatient, and too sensitive.

The Beaver  April 20 - May 20

Originally posted by pakkastassu

Take charge, adapt, to overcome the obstacles … Here is the Castor’s motto. Very talented for trade-related things, the Beaver knows how to do the job with maximum efficiency and plenty of aplomb. Strategic and cunning, the Castor is a force that can be relied on for everything that is business, diplomatic and combat.
You have to think twice about whether you want to challenge the Beaver verbally and play the smartest with him - because his mind and mental acuity are sharp as razor blades. The Beaver seems to have everything for him, but his tendency to want to always do things the way he wants otherwise nothing can get him into trouble.

Yes, the Beaver is clever, but the bearers of this Totem may have to work their sense of tact. In a positive environment, Beaver can be compassionate, generous, helpful and loyal. When left behind, the Beaver may be nervous, cowardly, possessive, and somewhat arrogant.

The Stag/Deer  May 21 - June 20

Originally posted by kryzx

This Totem animal is in a way the muse of the Amerindian zodiac. The Stag inspires, it is filled with life and its spirit turns a hundred per hour. Featuring a “tailor-made” sense of humor, the Deer has a certain amount of talent to make almost anyone laugh. He can speak and speak verbally, and he loves conversations in general.
This, combined with his natural intelligence, makes the stag a guest of choice for parties and dinners, as it will always set the mood and entertain others. He is particularly aware of the things that surround him, and he is also very conscious of his own appearance … Some will say of him that he is a little self-centered. However, they will not blame him because he is very sympathetic and affable, which tilts the balance in his favor.

In a positive environment, the natural joy of life and the sparkling personality of the deer radiate even more around it. It emanates a force of inspiration for all positive and affectionate relationships. Left, the stag can be selfish, impatient, lazy and have mood swings.

The Woodpecker  June 21 - July 21

Originally posted by scientificphilosopher

The Woodpeckers are in principle the most attentive of all Totem animals. They are always listening, with a strong sense of empathy and understanding of others. It is a sign that one must seek when one needs comfort and help.
They make very good parents, friends and partners. They also tend to be naturally frugal, resourceful and organized.

In a positive environment, the Woodpeckers are devoted, loving and very romantic. When left behind, they can become possessive, edgy, jealous and embittered.

The Salmon  July 22 - August 21

Originally posted by wavegrower

Electrical but concentrated, intuitive and intensely creative, Salmon have fishing, to say the least! Their energy is palpable. Naturally motivating, their confidence and enthusiasm is very contagious for others.
Even when their ideas seem too far-fetched to function, they still manage to embark with others. Generous, intelligent and intuitive, it is no wonder that the Salmon have no difficulty in making friends!
This Totem also express a deep need to have a goal to achieve, a function, an objective. And when they embark on adventure, they know how to find volunteers to rally them to their cause!

In a positive environment, the Salmon is stable, calm, sensual and able to give a lot. When left behind, humans born under his sign can become selfish, vulgar and intolerant.

The Bear  August 22 - September 21

Originally posted by mizar113

Pragmatic and methodical, the Bear is the Totem to be called when an inflexible and upright hand is needed. Its practical, placid and weighted aspect makes it an excellent trading partner. It is often the voice of reason, in most scenarios, and it works well in duo with the Owl, which it complements and with which it restores balance. The Bear is also endowed with an enormous heart and unbounded generosity.
However, many do not even realize it because the Bear tends to be very modest, discreet and a little shy.

In a positive and loving environment, this Totem abounds with love and generosity in return. He also has a capacity for patience and a temperate character, which makes him an excellent teacher and mentor. Left behind, the Bear may be skeptical, slow, petty and reclusive.

The Raven  September 22 - October 22

Originally posted by nitratediva

Extremely enthusiastic, naturally enterprising, the raven is a sacred charmer! It seems natural to him. One recognizes in him his energy and his lightness, and one often asks his ideas or his opinions.
It is simply because the Raven is a great idealist, and he knows how to be diplomatic and ingenious and clever.

In a positive environment, the Raven is easy to live, friendly and open, it can be as romantic and sweet. It is endowed with a certain patience and a natural intuition. When left out, the Raven can be inconsistent, demanding, vindictive and corrosive.

The Snake  October 23 - November 22

Originally posted by fencehopping

Most Shamans were born under the sign of the Snake, and it is the fetish animal of those who are devoted to the world of spirits. Those who are guided by the Snake are naturally spiritual and connected to the other worlds. They are easily attracted to ethereal kingdoms, and make excellent spiritual guides. The Snake is also respected for its ability to heal and heal, and it excels in the medicinal and medical field.
The preoccupations of the serpent for the unseen and the untouchable often lead others to find them mysterious, cold and even frightening, for they seem detached from the real world. True, the snake can be secret and have a dark side - it is also extremely sensitive, devoted to others and thoughtful.

In a positive environment, the snake can be passionate, inspiring, humorous, helpful and vigilant. When left out, the Snake may become depressed, violent, and prompt to abnormal mood changes.

The Owl  November 23 - December 21

Originally posted by ofallingstar

Changing and light as the wind, the Owl is difficult to pin down. With a warm, natural, sociable temperament, the Owl seems to be the friend of the world. Those born under his omen are known to throw themselves headlong into life, a hundred miles an hour, and adore adventure.
This can turn against her, for the Owl can be thoughtless, negligent, dizzy or even unconscious. The people guided by her make excellent artists, professors and environmentalists. However, they are extremely adaptable and versatile, allowing them to focus on virtually any field they want.

In a positive environment, the Owl is sensitive, enthusiastic, and has a great ability to listen. The owl may be excessive, too indulgent, and inconsistent.

The Goose  December 22 - January 19

Originally posted by cmdrkitten

If you want something to be done, go to the Goose. Persevering, determined and ambitious, the goose sets goals to accomplish and knows how to achieve it. The Goose is determined to succeed in what it wants to achieve, no matter what the price is - not to have the approval of others, because they are fighting against themselves and their internal enemy.
People born under the auspices of the Goose are naturally inspired and seem driven by an invisible force that drives them to realize things.
When their character is tempered by the loving presence of their family and friends, they can excel with the support of others and achieve virtually everything they undertake.

In a positive environment, the Goose can be very passionate, funny, sociable and even sensual. However, when left out, the goose may fall into obsession or addiction, which can cause its loss.

BTS REACTION: You sing to them while they lay “asleep” on your lap

This took longer to write up than I expected it to but I’m happy with how it came out. Please look at my announcement about reaction requests. I’m going to take a nap now!!~ Here’s a strange mix of angst, fluff, and humor. Thank you for the request  

-Admin Goddessmoony


S E O K J I N:

It’s been months since you’ve seen him. He just came home from their latest world tour. This tour and their win at the BBMAs has led to a massive increase in, not only their fan base, but the popularity of Korean music internationally. He’s been so busy because of this, so it’s nice for him to take some rest even if having his head on your lap limits your movement. Although he’s not really asleep, just enjoying your presence.

However, even with him so close you still feel lonely. You aren’t insecure about your relationship in anyway, it is just very difficult for you to not see him for months at a time. This is not something you will voice as you don’t want to make him feel guilty and no matter what, at the end of it all, he comes home to you. This realization alone fills you with overwhelming affection for the man on your lap. You lightly play with his hair, an adoring smile on your face, and start to sing very softly while looking at his peaceful face.

“A tornado flew around my room before you came

Excuse the mess it made

It usually doesn’t rain

In Southern California, much like Arizona

My eyes don’t shed tears but boy they blowin’”

He manages to successfully keep his expression still.

“I’m thinkin’ ‘bout you

Ooh no, no, no

I been thinkin’ ‘bout you

You know, know, know

I been thinkin’ ‘bout you

Do you think about me still?

Do you, do you?

Or do you not think so far ahead?

‘Cause I been thinkin’ ‘bout forever…”

Quickly, he brings your lips to his and smiles into the kiss because he knows that you are blushing from the realization that he was not asleep.

His head is still on your lap and he has a wide smile when he says, “Marry me.”

“You were supposed to be asleep!…Wait, what!?”

Originally posted by jjilljj

Frank Ocean “Thinkin’ ‘Bout You”

Y O O N G I:

Normally, you wouldn’t mind that he fell asleep on your lap. You know that he’ll fall asleep anywhere, every chance he gets. But you are quite certain you told him you had to get up soon to get ready to go out with your friends. You’re suspicious that he did this on purpose. He knows that you would never wake him up unless you absolutely had to, and going to the club at your single friends’ insistence isn’t really necessary. Especially since you don’t want to go. Clubs have never been your scene and give you a headache more than anything, unless you’re well on your way to getting drunk. You’re in a committed relationship now and it frustrates you that your friends don’t seem to understand your refusal to get shitfaced at a club.

You sigh and chuckle lightly to yourself, he thinks he’s so clever doesn’t he? You start to lightly tug on his hair to encourage his sleep.

He slowly wakes up and has to stop himself from smirking when he feels your hands running through his hair, mission complete. He hears you softly singing so instead of making you aware that he is awake, like he was going to, he pretends to stay asleep.

“…Maybe I know, somewhere

Deep in my soul

That love never lasts

And we’ve go to find other ways

To make it alone

But keep a straight face

And I’ve always lived like this

Keeping a comfortable, distance

And up until now

I had swore to myself that I’m content

With loneliness”

He cannot believe how soft you are for him, not that he is any better. He takes a small peek at you. When he’s sure you are looking away from him he smiles.

“Because none of it was ever worth the risk

But, you are, the only exception

You are, the only exception

You are, the only exception…”

You look back at him and see him giving you his gummy smile. With no hesitance and a deep sigh you simply say, “Fucking Yoongi.”

Originally posted by iechaan

Paramore “The Only Exception”

H O S E O K:

He came to you after his schedule was over, tired but with a large smile when you opened the door. It’s difficult for you to get him to rest when he’s visiting you. It makes him feel like he is putting more effort into his work than he is in your relationship. So maybe it was a little sneaky of you to have him lay his head on your lap and lull him to sleep with gentle hair stroking while you two are supposed to be watching a movie, not that you feel guilty about it. Good thing the control is within reach for you to lower the volume. He can sleep more peacefully that way.

When he starts awakening his first impulse is to complain about how sneaky you are, but stops himself when he hears your soft voice. Are you…rapping?

“…But now the hearts of moonlight hits, and we’ll just watch the stars dance

Attempt to mimic them until our little hearts can’t

Take anymore of that vacant ancient decor

And depart fast, and honestly, you look like Mozart sounds

You’re warm embrace compared to the cold, hard ground

The chicken noodle soup when I’ve been fretting sick in bed

It’s like expecting death and restlessness and then catching a kiss instead

You’re a myth that’s said to hide via love

An angel who was one thought to reside in skies above

You’re the sand between my toes when the high tide comes

Matter of fact, you’re the air that’s inside my lungs…”

You’re startled when he screams to the ceiling while moving his fists by his cheeks cutely, “AHHH!~ Y/N, YOU’RE TOO CUTE WHEN YOU RAAAAP!~” He makes you blush even more by showering you with kisses.

Originally posted by laurenj-hope

Atlas “Sand”

N A M J O O N:

As leader of the group, he feels really stressed whenever the boys mess around too much. Today is one of those days, therefore, you are doing your best to help him unwind. If that means having your butt go numb from the weight of his head and you sitting in a single spot for too long then so be it. He has done the same for you on multiple occasions. The difference being that he usually has a book in hand to entertain himself, meanwhile, your phone is charging in your bedroom and all books are out of reach. You softly play with his hair and can’t help the fond smile on your lips when he sleepily sighs in content. You start singing and completely miss the twitch at the corner of his lips.

“Come on over in my direction

So thankful for that, it’s such a blessing, yeah

Turn every situation into Heaven, yeah

Ooh, you are

My sunrise on the darkest day

Got me feeling some kind of way

Make me wanna savor every moment slowly, slowly

You fit me, tailor-made love, how you put it on

Got the only key, know how to turn it on

The way you nibble on my ear, the only words I wanna hear

Baby take it slow so we can last long”

Now he, like many other people, is tired of this song but hearing you sing it has a much different effect on him.

“Oh tú, tú eres el imán y yo soy el metal

Me voy acercando y voy armando el plan

Solo con pensarlo se acelera el pulso…”

“I didn’t know you could speak Spanish,” he says, giving you a dorky smile.

You stop all movements in shock before pushing him off your lap, “Puto.”

Originally posted by joonie-bts

Leo Fonsi & Daddy Yankee ft. Justin Bieber “Despacito”

J I M I N:

He is sleeping soundly on your lap and as you are stroking his hair your thoughts wander. You know that his insecurities, no matter how much he plays it off, are always present. Especially when it comes to his body. Nowadays he is doing much better but that doesn’t stop you from worrying. When you are around you make sure the boys eat well, however, you can’t do that when they are on tour. You are thankful for ARMYs who discourage him and Suga from going on diets and who are always asking if they have eaten.

You don’t want to think about the ones on the other side. They are not ARMY to you, not that your opinion really matters to them.

Looking at his face, you can’t help but marvel at how handsome he is. You love his jawline just as much as you loved his round face. You love his abs just as much as you loved his tummy. You love him just as much as you always have.

When he comes to awareness the first thing he notices is your soft singing. He opens an eye the tiniest bit to see you focused on him with the most admiring look. He closes it before you can notice, but he is absolutely stupefied by the way you are looking at him. He’s never seen that expression directed toward him before.

“…I’m so addicted to her

She’s the sweetest drug

Just enough…still to much

Say that I’m slippin’ I’m sprung on all the above

I can’t help she makes say

And just can’t think

Than to hear you sing

Baby when we do our thing

Oh baby girl girl you make me say

Sexy love

Girl the things you do

Keep me sprung

Keep me running back to you

Ooh I love

Making love to you”

No longer able to hold himself back, he surprises you by pulling you down for a deep kiss. He ends the kiss by pushing your head back a bit. “I love you,” he says.

You’ve never heard him say anything with such confidence before.

Originally posted by sunglow1004

Ne-Yo “Sexy Love”

T A E H Y U N G:

You two haven’t been dating too long, at least six months doesn’t seem like a particularly long time for you. You have a friend who’s been in a relationship for three years. Even so, you can’t remember the last time you had a relationship where you two got along so easily. In fact, it’s almost too easy. You’re scared that he will get bored of the simplicity, especially in comparison to his exciting life as an idol. Despite this fear, you won’t stop yourself from falling for him more and more everyday.

Looking at his sleeping face, you can definitely feel yourself falling. Just like how he can feel his heartbeat increase as you play with his hair, the fast pace keeping him awake.

“Settle down with me

Cover me up

Cuddle me in”

He’s never heard you sing before and he keeps himself still to hear more of it.

“Lie down with me, yeah

And hold me in your arms

And your heart’s against my chest

Your lips pressed to my neck

I’m falling for your eyes

But they don’t know me yet

And with a feeling I’ll forget”

“I’m in love now,” you both sing while looking into each other’s eyes.

Originally posted by kimtaehyung-gifs

Ed Sheeran “Kiss me”

J U N G K O O K:

Dating an idol is hard. Supposedly, you had known what you were signing up for when you said yes. In theory you were going to be fine, but in practice you are lonely. Still, you won’t ask him to stop following his dreams and you won’t give up just because it’s hard. Due to the difficulty of your relationship, you have learned to appreciate moments like these more. Him resting his head on your lap as you are playing with his hair.

Although you cherish these moments, you still long for the day when he will be yours. You are well aware that you and him are not ready for marriage but that doesn’t stop you from seeing you two getting married in the future.

He is breathing softly and that gives you the impression that he is already asleep when is just dozing off.

“I heard you’re scheming new pyramids

Another big idea to get you rich

Make a plan to love me sometime soon”

Your soft singing encourages his sleep.

“You said you got a foot in the door

You buy and you sell, you buy some more

Make a plan to love me sometime soon

Life’s too short

Death doesn’t ask

It don’t owe you that”

He drifts off more and more.

“Some things you lose

You don’t get back

So just know what you have

And make a plan to love me sometime soon…”

He falls asleep and dreams of a future with you by his side.

Originally posted by mayfifolle

Bright Eyes “Make a Plan to Love Me”


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Just Tattoo of Us

A/N: Well, hello there. It’s been a while. This request has been sitting in my inbox for decades and I’ve only just found the motivation, inspiration, and dedication to write this up. What in damnation. This one… It’s not my favourite, let’s just put it that way. And also, I’ve made Harley seem like such a bimbo in this so I apologise, it was just a writing technique to create a contrast. But anyways, this was fun to write, taking some inspiration from my muse in my RP’s, thank you very much, @thekrazykeke and @i-got-that-smilex my darlings, I love you. So enjoy this one, my loves, and I’ll see you next time x.

Request: Hi! If you’re still doing requests could you do one where the reader is Mr. J’s tattoo artist, the only one he hasn’t killed. Maybe have a jealous Harley in it.

Warning(s): Swearing, slight (sexual) violence i.e. choking, sexual references, light dirty talk, Cheater!Joker, Jealous!Harley

Word count: 2,166

Pairing(s): Joker x Reader / Joker x OC (Original Character) /  Joker x Harley

Originally posted by there-and-always-back-again


          The bell dinged, signifying yet another customer entering the already crowded tattoo studio. Mind you, it was a Saturday at 1:19pm in the middle of a busy city - Gotham; to be exact.

City of Crime.

Has a ring to it.

Even though the dangerous city had quite the crude reputation to be… crooked, let’s say, she loved living in it. It was just something about living life on the edge - never really knowing whether the next day would be her last - that excited her and she couldn’t get enough of the rush that came with it.

Though of course, the perks also came with a few disadvantages, that many would say would be a little too colossal of a problem and would turn them away from moving to the crime-ridden town.

You know, just a tad of a turn-off.

She had run into - well, saw at the corner of a street and then swivelled in the other direction as fast as she could - many a criminal during her occasional strolls through the underworld.

Don’t take a midnight stroll on the wrong side of town, I’m telling you. It’s not a good idea.

There was one special occasion, however.

Meeting the one, the only, the infamous, Joker: Clown Prince of Crime - the ‘Jester of Genocide’, if you will - under the pale moonlight oddly drew her being towards him in some sort of way. Which way that was, she didn’t know herself yet. Maybe curiosity, maybe incredulity, maybe attraction, but she was certainly intrigued by the acid-washed man.

Now, the woman wasn’t an idiot, nor ignorant, at that. She had acknowledged the presence of his partner in crime - his Harley Quinn - nevertheless, she persisted in trying to get into his circle of trust, to be his friend, in an obscure form.

You would think being his tattoo artist wouldn’t get her very far, huh?

She was the only tattoo artist within a 3 mile radius of his unknown location in which he and Harley lived.

I wasn’t kidding when I said the tattoo studio was crowded. How much do you wanna bet getting a micro-sized rose on your ankle is? Joker made sure she was earning as much as your standard lawyer or doctor in the city by taking the liberty to act on some pretty drastic measures.

Basically, he execute every other tattoo artist in the general area, to put it simply.

How sweet.

But as one can imagine, his significant other would be slightly suspicious, and that was to be expected when your man paid special and notable attention to another woman. Yes, jealously wasn’t exactly an aspired trait in a normal relationship. But anyone who knew about them and their past knew that Harley Quinn and her Joker were anything but ordinary.

Jumping into a VAT full of bubbling acid to prove your love for a psychopath who manipulated you?

No thank you.

Although, with saying that, the adrenaline-addicted tattoo artist from a family background was seemingly willing to do anything and everything but.

“I was thinking about a new lip tattoo, whaddya think?” A deep yet velvety voice broke her from her trance and snapped her back to reality where she noticed she had just been staring out of the recently cleaned, sparkling window, wielding a tattoo pen that was still whirring from inscribing her art onto her last customer - she had forgotten to turn the machine off before spacing out.

Quickly switching the it off, she swallowed before looking up at the blindingly green-haired man standing in front of the mirror and pulling at his bottom lip, inspecting.

“Well if you want it to say "P U S S Y”, count me out.“ She retorted with a quick wit, something she never really understood if it was a gift or a curse. Her sharp tongue usually got her into some hefty trouble more than a few times. But hey, she was comical.

Her comment earned a chuckle from him which in turn made her smile to herself. Making him laugh was always a daily mission for her. To see him smile because of what she did or said was always an achievement.

"That’s why I like you, doll. You always have some sarcastic remark. It’s refreshing. Hearing the words "yes, Daddy” and “play with me, Daddy” from Harls everyday gets repetitive over time.“ He sauntered over after checking himself once over in the mirror - vain bastard - and sat on the extended tattoo couch, now level with her, as she had been sitting in her spinny chair, whilst she discarded of her old rubber gloves and put on a new pair, the sound of the material smacking against her skin as she pulled on them.

"Oh, I’m sure it must be very tiring to have kinky sex on the daily, J.” She rolled her eyes as she used his nickname that only certain people were allowed to call him. He normally only allowed others to refer to him as “Joker” or “Mister J”. She snickered at the glare he gave her before continuing, not adhering the warning. “I’m serious! Ya gotta use the handcuffs, the ropes, the ice, the foreplay, the whips… I would imagine fucking your tailor-made girlfriend who obeys your every command would be absolutely tedious.”

His hands were around her throat and squeezing within seconds after she had finished her sentence, making her stand up with him and letting him push her back into the wall with a thump, a constricted grunt of slight pain resounding from her closed throat. Her doe eyes looked up and met his narrowed ones with only a few inches between them.

“I don’t think you want to know just how interesting I can really be with my toys, doll-face, so I suggest you shut up about my sex life unless you want me to prove to you that you’re wrong.” His threat was laced with a presence of sexual tension. The sensation of his fingers around her neck and his breath fanning her face with seducing threats that came with his body mere centimetres away from hers almost made her knees buckle from underneath her and she had to stop herself from releasing an audible moan of desperation and anticipation from thinking about what he could do to her right then and there.

The two of them must’ve stayed in that position - staring each other down with nothing but their laboured breaths filling the room - for a solid five or so minutes until the door to the room slammed wide open and a bustling bleached-blonde skipped in, the sound of her heels tapping against the floorboards jolting the woman held against the wall back to life and she tried pulling away, but to no avail. Keeping his grip tight, but not tight enough to cut off the airways, he continued to gaze intently into her eyes. His glazed over with a fire burning deep inside of him that he didn’t conjure with his girlfriend any longer.

“Puddin’?…” A mixed tone of anger, disappointment, and rejection was detectable from Harley as the nickname for her lover spewed from her red lips. Walking into a secluded room to see the man she loved with a woman she had already been jealous of, in a position she thought was only reserved for her in the bedroom, brung out the worst in her as she felt the rage bubbling up inside at an increasing rate. Ready to pounce at the bitch trying to steal her boyfriend, she was stopped by the voice she had fallen in love with.

“Harley, sweetums, I want you to go home and be ready for me for when I get back, okay? Daddy’s going to get a new tattoo and I was just in the middle of telling our artist here exactly what I want. Detail… by… detail.” The reply had a sickly sweet underlay to it which, to any typical person, could’ve been easily picked up on and scoffed at - something she almost did - but to Harley, blinded by her emotions towards the criminal, it was just another demand for sex which she gladly complied to every time. She looked past everything she had just witnessed only minutes ago after hearing the pet name she had been called, convincing herself that the man dangerously close to a woman that wasn’t her, still loved her in his own way.

“Alright, Daddy, but don’t be long. I’ll be waiting…” An exaggerated grin, accompanied by a giggle, was sent in his direction before she turned on her heel and walked through the doorway, shutting the door with a click after her.

Shoving his body off of her, the trained tattoo artist dramatically gagged and stuck her forefinger inside her mouth. She was amazed yet disgusted at the same time at how submissive a woman could be towards a man. Never in her life did she witness such obedience without question to someone who was clearly not right in the noggin’.

“You’ve messed her up, J. Like real bad. She worships the ground you walk on. She’s just your fucking sex toy and she doesn’t even realise it, thinking you "love” her and shit.“ A rant had been building up inside of her until finally it started to be projected. "I kinda feel sorry for the girl. She was a psychologist, a good one at that, with a Ph.D, and you’ve somehow manipulated her and worked your way into her mind so that now she’d do anything for you. She’d die for you.”

“And that’s how I like it. People in this city respect me, all becau-.”

“That’s not respect! That’s psychological torture and I’ll be damned if I end up like another one of your 'dolls’ you can have fun with one minute and couldn’t give a fuck about the next.” She didn’t notice but she had begun to yell with pent up anger flowing out of her, she didn’t even register entirely what she was saying.

She had wanted to be by his side for as long as she could remember after meeting him, as his companion, his partner, his lover. She had thought she could replace Harley and become his new Queen of Crime. However, after seeing what previous Dr. Harleen Quinzel had now become under his hands, she begun to have second thoughts.

“You think I would treat you just like some random woman I picked up from the club? Oh, no, no, no. You… are one of a kind. You’re unique… You’re mine.” As he spoke  these enticing words in a sultry manner, he came closer. Each step forward he made, resulted in one step backward for her until the back of her knees hit the chair and she fell back into it, now laying down. She watched as he placed his hands either side of her on the arm rests and wedged his knees beside her, crawling up her body until he was hovering above.

Her breath became uneven as she tried to stop herself from giving in and looking down at his crimson lips that looked o so kissable. “I want you. And the things I want, I get, no matter how. I know you’ve been wanting me since the first time you saw me. I know you touch yourself at night at the thought of me doing dirty things to you. When you’re alone in bed and your mind keeps drifting off to think about what I could do with your body. And I know how badly you want to feel full. You want me inside you. Isn’t that right?”

The way he spoke her thoughts aloud without caring who heard him made her cheeks turn a shade of red so deep she didn’t even think it possible and her core slick with want and need. The rough nature of his gravelly voice mixed with the undertones of lust and greed for her, visibly shook her as goosebumps appeared on her skin. Hearing all of these sinful words whispered from the mouth she had tried to resist earlier made her reach up to pull his head down as she just couldn’t take the teasing any longer, connecting their lips together in a heated, passionate kiss.

A growl was released from the depths of his throat as he shifted his body weight onto his elbows either side of her head and pressed his lower half into her, allowing her to feel what she did to him without touching him once. Hands moving to grip his shirt around his torso, she opened her mouth to grant him access to explore with his tongue before moaning gently.

Amongst all the fiery desire and passion the both of them were sharing, she had managed to remember a specific moment that had happened during his visit to the studio earlier before which made her pull away from his hungry lips to add her sarcastic rebuttal, as she always did,

Play with me, Daddy.”

“In that moment she may as well have been sitting there in the clothes she wore to school earlier, that cute patchwork sundress and the matching blue hat, for all the good her mask did to hide her from him. In that moment he saw her. Nothing she did or said from here on out would ever again be the same, because in the span of a few seconds ‘Ladybug’ had vanished forever from his life. And he wasn’t sad. Wouldn’t miss her. Because in her place was someone wonderful and precious and larger than life itself. In her place was Marinette.”

THIS IS HOW YOU WRITE A FKING REVEAL

(i can’t link on mobile but this is from Empty Spaces by speaks on ao3)

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Sentiments Mean Nothing

A/N: Welllll, first Harry Styles fic because, honestly, I’ve been a hardcore fan of his and the boys since literally 2011 and his solo career has been hitting me right in the heart, my baby’s doing so well, I’m such a proud mother. So, have this. This is, by far, the longest shot I’ve written on this blog so let’s hope it doesn’t get too boring and you enjoy it as much as I did writing it x.

Warning(s): Swearing, very slight Daddy kink at the end, suggestive sexual nature throughout

Word count: 4,261

Pairing(s): Harry Styles x Reader / Harry Styles x OC (Original Character)


          You know, it wasn’t so much that she and Harry hated each other, per se, rather it was just that they had both developed a sort of, mutual dislike towards one another that, quite frankly, neither of them knew where it stemmed from. The pair had done nothing wrong to each other to deserve the hostility, but it was there and they both never really knew why. It was very much like an ancient feud between them.

Very Montague vs. Capulet-esque.

However, considering that they’d only had the pleasure of knowing of the other’s existence for about 2 years, the use of the word, ‘ancient’, seems invalid. Nevertheless, from the moment they first met, there seemed to have been an already established tension between the two personalities and needless to say, neither of them cared for the personality of the other.

See, he was a private person, an introvert, you could say; despite being a household name around the world, and preferred to keep himself to himself regarding personal matters but being quite the socialite when it came to public appearances.

She, on the other hand, she was… loud, in Harry’s books. An outgoing and excitable character that wore her heart on her sleeve within the comfort of her inner circle in contrast to the shy, non-talkative woman he had met through a mutual friend during a party.

With him being the one to instigate the conversations the whole time with a drink in his hand and a wide, fake-looking smile that looked practiced for situations like these, she found him pretentious and over-bearing. Talking to her as if she was a little girl who was too immature to talk to strangers.

And with her barely opening her mouth to answer his questions, nodding her head up and down or shaking it from side to side instead as an indicator of her feelings to avoid awkward stutters and embarrassing herself, all the while sipping from her glass and avoiding the glint in his eyes as he talked to her, he found her dismissive and arrogant. As if she didn’t have the time to converse with someone like him.

Despite their feelings towards each other, though, they had wound up spending extended amounts of time together over the course of the 2 years seeing as she had managed to pick up the job of his fashion stylist ever since the band went on a hiatus and he launched his solo career.

Although, the former cold-shoulders and silent treatments as they went on with their own tasks for the day started to dissolve. Their prejudices were still upheld, just shown in a slightly different manner as they became more accepting and comfortable towards their mutual distaste for one another.

During the first year, scornful glances and tight smiles were shared as they conversed briefly as to what Harry would be wearing for his next TV appearance. This was to be replaced during the second year with extra touchy-feely advances to tease and sarcastic remarks followed by cheesy pet-names to piss each other off were exchanged as she took Harry’s new measurements.

“You should buy me dinner ‘fore you get on your knees, sweetheart.” A dirty, but snide, comment was normal from Harry and she had honestly been expecting it from the moment she had started to measure his inseam.

“’S a good thing you pay for dinner then, i'n’t it? Tha’ way you can get on your knees for me.” She spoke in rebuttal before leaning back into a squatting position and standing back up. Her heels adding a good three inches to her height but still not nearly as tall as the 5'11" man in front of her.

She pivoted on her heel to place the measuring tape back in its rightful place before recording the numbers into her little journal of everything important she needed to know about Harry in order to fit him perfectly to his tailor-made, brand-name outfits.

She heard him step off the mini platform at the centre of the room and stalk behind her, his warmth radiating from his body to hers.

Why does he always stand so close, for fuck sake, it’s like he has no spacial awareness.” It was times like these where she thought to herself if there would be any chance in the world, where she could find a genuine bubble she could permanently place Harry in to avoid the close contact every minute, she would.

“Tell me again why we need t’ do these fitting things every six months? Seriously, ’m a grown man, my body doesn’t change tha’ much in tha’ time period.” Harry starting to fiddle with her pen she just used to write with as his minty breath fanned over the right side of her face.

“It does with your irregular fucking diet plans, Styles. Would it kill you t’ stick t’ one regime?” She spun around and leant against the grand table with her arms folded, looking up at the, now short-haired, tattooed man as he shifted to put his hands on the edge of the intricate furniture either side of her body.

“Mm, I think ’s jus’ 'cause you wanna try your hand at seducing me during these sessions.” His voice lowered down to a sultry, deep tone in an attempt to fluster his stylist but she, as always, stands her ground.

“If I wanted t’ seduce you, baby, I would’ve done it by now,” She leant up slightly, the endearing term fell from her mouth without hesitance while their breaths mixed between their parted lips as she continued. “And besides, size 10 feet? Not tha’ impressive.” She smirked subtly as she saw his face fall. He knew what she was indirectly referring to and, judging by the way he reacted, she knew she had hit a nerve in which she also gathered he would to try prove her wrong.

But before he could, however, she slipped out from underneath him and started walking towards the entrance to exit the room, her heels clicking against the expensive marble floors, not bothering to close the chrome door and yelling a, “make sure t’ lock the door when you leave!” to a rigid Harry who let out a sigh and rubbed his ring-clad hands over his face to let out some frustration towards the woman who was trapped in between him and the mahogany table not even thirty seconds ago, before slamming his hand on it and purposely leaving the door wide open in spite.


          “Change.”

Was the only word from the judgmental, but somehow always right, fashion stylist that Harry heard as he did a twirl in his new suit. Having quite the admiration towards the look, if he does say so himself, after inspecting it in the mirror.

“Whyy?” He drew out the word to emphasise his annoyance with the constant change of outfits. He might as well be a marathon runner, he’s breaking a sweat from changing his bloody clothes.

“Because, honey, the shirt doesn’t match the suit at all. That’s why I told yeh t’ wear black, not white, bu’ look who didn’t listen yet again.” She stood there behind him with her pen held in between her front teeth and one arm around her torso to keep her other elbow resting on top, catching his eye through the mirror.

He scans her choice of clothing today and, as per usual, she’s wearing the most stylish and trendy pieces that she matches so well with her heels. Harry’s never really understood how she so effortlessly throws together a look ready for the runway everyday when she comes into work but still manages to keep it light and casual as if it was the first thing she found in her closet earlier in the morning.

He trailed his eyes up her body, tanned and fit, may he add, to her subtly made up face which was glowing. He assumed it was from the highlighter she applied, because why else would he describe her as 'glowing’? That’s disgusting. He doesn’t like her. Not one bit.

“Have you quite finished staring at me, or do I need t’ get the camera for yeh so it’ll last longer?” She allowed the tease to be projected as she approached him, standing on the tiny platform, meaning their bodies were now pressed against each others’ closely before she shrugged off his suit jacket and started unbuttoning his dress shirt.

“'Ey, 'ey, 'ey. You normally need t’ get me drunk first before we can 'ave some fun, darlin’.” He smirked down at her, watching as she aggressively rolled her sparkling eyes at his comment. She continued to pull the shirt off of him and stepped down to grab the black shirt she had wanted him to wear in the first place.

As she turned around, she couldn’t help but notice a slight change in his physical appearance. His back muscles seemed more prominent. His thighs looked even more full than they already were when she last took a good look at them. His arms were bulkier. His torso now adorned with evident bumps of abdominal muscles. Even his cute, little bum seemed rounder and plumper which made her stifle a giggle.

“Awe, babe, have you been working out?” She had to bite her bottom lip to stop her bursting out into laughter when she caught him standing up a bit straighter, looking proud that his work was noticeable.

“Nice t’ know you were checking me out back there. Like wha’ yeh see, angel?” The pet-names were used as a kind of second nature to the pair of them now, but they were far from endearments. No, on the contrary, they were always laced with slight undertones of incivility and cheek. They were both familiar with them by now.

“Oh, most definitely. You been working out jus’ for me? I know ’m the only one you strip down for lately.” She referenced to the multiple outfit decisions they had to endure with every appearance he made in public, which people would be surprised as to how often that is, and she had to make sure that he was not seen repeating a look. God forbid he wore the same trousers twice.

She slowly made her way towards the, still shirtless, male stood in the middle of the high-ceiling-ed chamber, decorated with mirrors, as she ran her hands up and down his back before rubbing at his shoulders. Harry’s head fell back at the sensation of the soothing motions on his shoulders, he had been meaning to go to a masseuse to get the knots out of his joints for a while now. He closed his eyes and let out a content sigh, completely forgetting that she would be the last person on Earth he would want to touch him like this a few days ago but he allowed the action.

“Yeh know I was filming 'Dunkirk’, sweetie, don’t flatter yourself.” He retorted as he pulled her round to his front by her waist and leant his body against hers, his frame towering over her smaller one.

“’S a shame, really. And here I was, about t’ let you have your way with me only if you had jus’ admitted this is all for me.” She fake-pouted as she taunted him, something she has perfected over the years, with her hands resting against his naked chest. There was something about the way her clothed, soft chest was pressed into his bare, hard one that made the both of them lose control of the situation at hand temporarily as they focused on each other in that moment.

“Don’t tempt me, baby.” His voice switched to a low whisper, a threat almost.

“I don’t have to.” She replied with confidence, her eyes flickering to his raspberry-coloured lips that looked so inviting.

It was strange for the both of them, being in this position they’d never thought they’d see themselves in, but here they are. Through all the slight sexual tension covered up by distasteful remarks about each other over the years, clouded by the decision subconsciously made that they had a repulsion towards one another, they had failed to realise that attraction could’ve easily been confused with said repulsion, convincing themselves that it was a fact neither of them liked the other and that was final. Perhaps too afraid to confess and deal with the consequences of their feelings.

Just as they begun to come to terms with the compromising position they were in, and even more conflicting emotions fluttering around the space, the door was pushed open and two flailing bodies broke apart at lightning speed. Harry quickly finding his black shirt and fumbling with the buttons as the flustered stylist violently grabbed her journal and pretended to write in it whilst holding the pen upside down.

Not another word was spoken between the two of them as they complete the fitting session, everyone coming to a conclusion that the black shirt was indefinitely better than the white, much to Harry’s dismay, and their day was done.

The two parted and went their separate ways, however, the mental image of the other never left their minds for the rest of the week until they had to face the music at the next session.


          Harry was fucked.

Royally fucked.

So fucked, in fact, that he decided to wallow in self-pity at how fucked he was then he went out and fucked a random girl whilst thinking of fucking his attractive stylist he had now realised he had already fucked things over with.

If that doesn’t scream, “fucked”, I don’t know what does.

Though what he didn’t know, was that said stylist was also feeling the same way about him and was completely distraught over the idea that she might like Harry Styles. The same Harry that would make her want to rather die than converse with him for more than ten minutes. The same Harry that would tempt her to spit in his food whenever it got delivered during the fittings. The same Harry that would force her to socialise with large groups of people she didn’t know when he knew it made her uncomfortable.

But it was also the same Harry that, when he held her in his arms that other day, made her feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. And it was the same Harry with pink, soft lips that she wanted to kiss so desperately whilst, at the same time, tugging on his curly locks.

Though, more importantly, he was her Harry. He had always been her Harry to tease, to taunt, to tantalise, and to mess with until he’d get all riled up and sometimes push her against the wall (which she didn’t necessarily mind). But now, she wanted to describe him as being her Harry in a different way, and that scared the shit out of her.

She didn’t know what the fuck to do anymore, it’s like her life lost all purpose if she couldn’t make fun of the Cheshire-raised lad, and now all she wanted to do was tell him about her family and cuddle. She had actually begun to suspect she had developed some sort of illness and hoped it would go away like a common cold.

Although, she figured this was not the case the next time she saw him, in all his 5'11" glory, at a party very much like the one they first met at two years ago. Sipping on her alcoholic beverage, she observed him from far away as he mingled, as he always does so flawlessly, with people she had never seen before in her life. The very mere fact that he was in her presence not even ten feet away made her stomach tighten with new feelings she never thought she would associate with the musician and she hated herself for it.

Turning her body away from him towards the bar, she asked for another drink, slipping the rectangular note of currency towards the bartender as he fixed her up yet another glass. She knew she had most likely needed to have stopped drinking so heavily around the 'two hours ago’ mark, but right now, she really couldn’t care less, she just wanted to forget about Harry and if getting her stomach pumped for the first time means achieving her goal then fuck it.

Her motive was short-lived, however, since the charming man that was swimming her mind plopped himself on the stool next to her and gave her a sly smirk.

“Wha’ do we 'ave here?” He questioned, mainly to himself, as he observed the obviously intoxicated woman in front of him.

She rolled her eyes, hopping off the high stool, only to fall face first into Harry’s crotch which made him jerk back at the impact and let out a slight groan before cupping her cheeks and lifting her head up to inspect how far gone she really is.

“Heloooo, handsummm!” She tried her best to imitate a wolf-whistle seeing as she couldn’t actually whistle so instead made a sort of high-pitched, 'whi-woo’, as she trailed her index finger down the curve of his cheek and smiling drunkenly, “I misst yeww…” The slur in her words concerned him, not knowing how much she’s had to drink and she clearly could not stand up without support.

“’M gonna take yeh home, okay, baby girl? You’re alrigh’.” He scooped her up into his arms without any struggle and started to manoeuvre his way out of the clammy air of the bar to the nippy, fresh air of the London streets. He set her down on her feet for a second, leaning her against him to keep her balance, as he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her, knowing that even though his place was only a rough 20 minute walk from the party location, the chilly air would get to her more easily than it would him, she’d always been sensitive to the cold, and at this time of night, it certainly didn’t make the air more humid.

After a solid few minutes of walking to his abode, they finally reached the welcoming front door of his mansion, him fiddling in his pocket to find the right set of keys before twisting the lock and pushing the door open. A gust of warm, fruit-scented air hit the both of them as he stepped inside, laying her down on his extended white sofa in the living room before closing the door.

“Mmm, are yeh gon’ sex me up noww, Daddy?” Her sudden words making him choke on his own spit, as he cautiously walked towards the tiny figure resting on his comfortable seating area.

“No, no, ’m not, baby, not right now, yeh need t’ rest. I’ll get yeh some water and some Advil t’ take then we can go t’ bed, okay?” He spoke in a soft, calming tone that made her suddenly relaxed, only finding the strength in her to nod before he stroked her hair back from her face and made his way to the well-presented, expensive kitchen with more room than he needed.

As a matter of fact, all the rooms in this place were more than he needed, if he was honest, but he just didn’t know what else to use his money on.

Approaching the worn-out female sprawled across his sofa with a glass of fresh water and two pills in his other hand, he set down the glass on the side table whilst reaching his hand out to tilt her head up slightly and sit her up enough so she could swallow comfortably. He pried open her mouth by holding her jaw and placed the pills on the top of her tongue that had traces of alcohol left on it, bringing the liquid up to her lips and telling her to swallow gently. She obeyed and took the medication before slumping back onto the cushiony surface as he sighed, soaking in her beauty, even in this state of mind.

He watched as she closed her eyes and got comfortable, taking it as his cue to leave her to sleep, so kissed her forehead with care, and started to prepare to deal with whatever shit storm that was bound to happen, in the morning. Well, that was until he heard a small whine coming from her calling out for him.

“Harryy?… Stay wit’ meh? I wan’ cuddles.” She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling gently at the sight. She was just so adorable, how could he say no?

“’M right here, poppet, ’m not going anywhere.” He answered her before carefully laying down beside the inebriated girl he had grown fond of these past couple of weeks and tangled their limbs together, letting her rest her head against his chest and wrap herself around him in an attempt to snuggle and use him as her own personal pillow and blanket.

As he listened to her breathing become regular and so quiet he had to strain to listen to it, he knew she had fallen asleep so pressed another tender kiss to the crown of her head and whispered to her in her unconscious state.

“I’d never leave you.”

And it was in that sweet moment that Harry now realised that she had a hold on him, and he intended on not letting go.


          Harsh rays of bright sunlight beamed through white, sheer curtains and hit her face as she stirred from her slumber. It was a Saturday morning and she was definitely not in the comfort of her own home so thought the worst and groaned inwardly in shame at herself for letting herself get so wasted. The first thing she did was just look down at her, what she expected to be, naked body, but instead found herself and the mystery man fully clothed. Confusion overtook her features and something she noticed right away was that her 'pillow’ was breathing and they’re not supposed to do that, right? Or was she still tripping from the after effects of the amounts of alcohol she consumed last night?

A wave of pain radiated throughout her head as she groaned, bringing a palm to her forehead in an unsuccessful attempt to soothe it slightly. Her movements unnoticeably woke up her 'pillow’ and startled her when the familiar deep, raspy, and, dare she say, sexy morning voice sounded from underneath her.

Oh, fuck me, not Harry. Anyone but Harry.” She thought to herself, although not truly meaning it since she found herself absentmindedly wanting the situation to have been more… wild.

“Well, good mornin’, sunshine.” He chuckled lightly at her facial expression following the pet-name he had chosen.

“Wha’ the fuck happened last night?” She asked half-heartedly.

Part of her didn’t really care what happened whilst the other part dreaded what his answer would be.

“You really don’t remember?” His voice was thick with an emotion she couldn’t quite pin-point but she did know that she felt guilty after hearing it, sensing that he was a little disappointed.

She merely shook her head and bit her lip, titling her head up to read his clouded eyes, they always gave away whatever he was thinking, she detected this within the first few months of knowing him.

“It doesn’t matter, now can you get off of me, you’re starting t’ feel like a deadweight. I honestly can’t feel my legs.” His whole demeanour changed in a split second and she was a little surprised but what did she expect, really? He’s just the same old Harry, though she’d be lying if she said it didn’t hurt a little.

“I’m not getting up 'til you tell me exactly wha’ happened, Harry.” She was adamant. She was always the type of person to get answers out of whoever she wanted, he was starting to wonder why she wasn’t a fucking lawyer or something.

“Listen, nothin’ happe-.” He was cut off by her swollen lips pressed against his.

To say he was shocked would be an understatement, he was bloody flat-lining on the inside but he quickly reciprocated the sudden, but passionate, kiss as he wrapped his arms around her waist with her hands coming up to caress his cheeks. Her legs ended up either side of his torso and she pulled away just before he had the chance to poke his tongue in her mouth, just to tease, like normal.

“D'yeh want something t’ happen?…” She questioned him inquisitively, not 100% sure that he shared the same feelings that she had pent up inside of her for, what felt like, decades.

He responded by flipping her so she laid on her back instead and hovered over her, leaning down to peck her lips once more before moving down to her neck and pressing open-mouthed kisses along the skin.

“All ’ve been thinkin’ 'bout for ages, darlin’. Let Daddy make yeh feel good.” He smirked into her skin once he felt her gasp quietly and visibly tense at his words.

“I called you, 'Daddy’, last night, didn’t I?” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment once she heard him chuckle and answer with a muffled, “you did”.

“And it definitely won’t be the last time.” He commented in a sultry voice before raising his head to make eye contact with her and leaning down to connect his lips with hers another time.


He made a promise, and he was damn hell-bent on making sure he kept it.

2
Kuno Hofmann’s childhood was tailor made to create a violent individual. Born in 1931 in Bavaria, Germany, to a violent father and overpowering mother, he was very frequently brutally beaten. When he was just one-year-old, his father shoved him into a sack to be “thrown away.” The beatings were so severe that Kuno lost his hearing and as a result, spent virtually all of his time in isolation, attempting to avoid the wrath of his father. With no education, Kuno turned to a life of crime and spent nine years in mental institutions, escaping a total of twelve times.

Throughout his life, he frequently broke into cemeteries and mortuaries where he would often dig up fresh corpses to mutilate, often hacking their heads off. Moreover, he would often consume the flesh of the deceased he grave robbed and commit sexual acts on the corpses. After his arrest, he would claim he preferred corpses to be as fresh as possible so that he could suck their blood. Soon, these corpses wouldn’t satisfy his blood lust and he began to search for living targets.

On 6 May, 1972, a cemetery warden caught Kuno during the middle of one of his grim acts. Kuno whips a pistol from his pocket and shoots at the warden, injuring him before fleeing into the night. The following day, Kuno sees a young couple sleeping in their car - 18-year-old Ruth Lissy and 24-year-old Markus Adler. The necrophilic vampire, Kuno, creeps up on the couple and shoots them dead. Following their demise, he sucks the blood from their bullet wounds. Days later, after a description provided by the surviving cemetery warden, Kuno is apprehended. He readily confessed to the murders and was sentenced to life imprisonment.

shame on you

I know this is a rant in the void, but just as a reminder - killing anyone on a show like Supernatural, where everyone dies anyway, has zero shock value. And killing a character does not grant you automatic glory and grandness and sense of tragedy - that’s not how writing works. Death, in fiction like in life, can be unremarkable and boring, and the fact those two idiots don’t get it - I shouldn’t take it so personally, perhaps, but if you think how many young writers are out there, desperate to work, and if you look at the love and care Supernatural’s new writers have poured into their work this season - I really don’t get why those two have a job at all. Just - enough.

Eileen’s death, like Charlie’s, was unnecessary and, more importantly, badly written. As usual, Buckleming had to bend past canon and characters’ personalities to even get it to work. Like - last month, Crowley assisted Sam and Dean in dealing with a rogue Hellhound, which makes sense, because we know he’s extremely jealous of this powerful weapon only he can control, and also generally likes the Winchesters (or, well, Dean) and wants to feel included. But this week, out of nowhere, Crowley is giving Hellhounds to Ketch, of all people? And why? What possible strategic advantage could Crowley ever have in collaborating so closely with Hess and the BMoL? WTF? Surely he realizes his life is much easier if the American hunters are a bunch of unconnected drunks, and not a network of trained killers 100% devoted to the same evil organization? But, yeah - as usual, Buckleming don’t understand anything about Crowley, or plotting, or pacing, or keeping anyone in character. As usual, their idea of writing a good story is gunning for anyone who’s ‘different’ - man, they must feel real proud of themselves here - killing a disabled woman, what a catch, plus a creepy I’ll raise this thing as my son storyline (fucking again), badly written mind control, badly written women, and their traditional prurient, almost symptomatic, interest in sex and who’s fucking whom. Like, that whole conversation between Hess and Ketch - what the hell does Hess care about Ketch’s sexual partners? She’s apparently at the helm of a very powerful secret society, surely she’s got other stuff to do than taunt Ketch about all the wild sex he used to have with Toni? But, no - this is Buckleming, who still think sex is automatically this forbidden, tantalizing sin, and so we get a front row seat to it all, as usual, including Crowley’s bizarre comment about Cas being the Winchesters’ ‘love slave’, because why not.

(Too bad their obsession with sex doesn’t stretch to discussing issues of consent, or even acknowledging the inevitable-as-death-and-taxes presence dubcon and noncon in their episodes.)

Seriously - this episode was completely and utterly unredeemable. And, again - I get this is Supernatural and people die - I don’t give a shit about that. Let them die, whatever. But again, if you’re going for pathos and tragedy, killing someone is not enough. That’s not how it works. Eileen’s death was all wrong. It made zero sense for her to come back to the US, the one place where we know for a fact the BMoL are active and dangerous. It made zero sense that the BMoL could track her so easily. It made zero sense that she could not warn the Winchesters on the phone - or are you telling me the BMoL wiretapped every single motel and phone booth in America? It made zero sense for Crowley to give Ketch a Hellhound (also, if all you need to control them are tailor-made dog whistles, doesn’t that have huge consequences on, like, everything?). It was outrageous that they used an invisible monster against a deaf hunter - not because it couldn’t happen ‘IRL’, but because by having the Hellhound kill Eileen they sent a clear message about the ‘limitations’ of disabled people - they suggested, quite clearly, that Eileen had trouble fighting back because she couldn’t hear that thing coming, when in reality we know very well a Hellhound would be too much for almost anyone. And finally, it was beyond humiliating to have the Winchesters examine Eileen’s body - because in order to make sure, they would have checked the wounds, right? and to deny her a hunter’s funeral to boot.

Honestly - this entire episode was so very bad and illogical and very nearly unwatchable, and I don’t get why Supernatural keeps doing that - they’ve got the material, the actors, the writers and the crew to turn this show into a fucking masterpiece, and instead they keep doing this awkward thing - how can the people responsible for Baby, Stuck in the Middle (With You) or Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets accept to even consider filiming such filth? What’s the rationale here? What’s their excuse? It’s like they’re selling boxes of stuffed donuts and Hey, only one of them’s filled with dog shit so why is everyone complaining - don’t they get it? This whole thing they keep doing, how they deal with their audience - it’s beyond insulting. 

Seriously, we need to do something here, because enough is enough.