these women meant everything to me

I was miserable when you left me broken-hearted. I knew I was only temporary but some part of me had hoped that you and I were meant to be. Your words made me feel special but your actions said otherwise. You used these lines on countless other women and I knew this, I knew you were interested in several people but that still didn’t change the fact that I felt wanted for the first time. In the end everything was a lie, you were a fraud and I was the victim. You played me like a chess match and I was powerless to do anything but let you control me. You sacrificed me to save yourself and when you scrapped me, I rose and became a queen of my own. So what do I miss about you? Absolutely nothing. My mind is finally cleared of your poison and everything is crystal clear. I don’t miss your words and I definitely don’t miss you.
—  A queen of my own // S.T.

It’s so interesting that none of these songs are about falling in love. They’re all about being in love and struggling to hold onto it – or stories about things personified as interesting women that seem to have an unresistable lure. All of the women in these songs are literal sirens, whether they’re meant to be sirens for Harry or whoever the character in the story is, while everything that’s personal to him is about struggle and holding it together. (The objects of the song are sirens; I don’t think they’re literal women). Sorry, this is a bit of a mess, but there seems to be one theme here, to me, despite the diversity of songs: the struggle to remain true and hold onto a relationship while you cope with the siren call of fame and its trappings.

{PART 4} I Won’t Stop You // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Originally posted by jengkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut 

Summary; As Jungkook learns more about you and your life, you find yourself wondering what it would be like to date a man of his power - before asking him something you’d never thought he’d say yes to; not in a million years.

{Part 1} {Part 2} {Part 3} {Part 4} {Part 5}

I update this series every Tuesday evening, 9pm-10pm (UK Time)

Keep reading

  • Me, listening to "SLEEPOVER" for about the 70th time: Wow... this is so great, so beautiful, capturing the sapphic/wlw pinning for straight women/unrequited love perfectly
  • my shit brain, banging pots and pans: The scenes in which Hayley Kiyoko is actually seen all alone imply that she's imagining the situations going on with her and her crush, perhaps missing that sleepover with her, but imagine if it actually meant that her crush never did come over and she's just fantasizing the whole affair?
Your Everything

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean and the Reader finally voice their feelings for one another. 

Word Count: 2k-ish

Warnings: Fluff, Suggestive Content, Slight Cursing

Author’s Note: Heyy guys! This is my entry for @impalaimagining‘s “Taylor ‘s 1K Followers Celebration”. I got the song “"Be Your Everything” by Boys like Girls and I got assigned the gif below. I hope you guys like it! Feedback is always welcomed!!

I wasn’t your typical girly-girl.

I didn’t swoon at the movies when the guy would sweep the girl off of her feet. I wouldn’t sing along to those cheesy love songs on the radio whenever I was inside a car. Hell, I never even joined the cheerleading squad when I was in high school.

So when this song came on one night while I was washing the dishes at the Bunker in nothing but shorts and a white tank top, I couldn’t help but close my eyes and start to sway in time with the music.

Keep reading


Okay here it is. I got 2 requests one where the reader had nightmares and one with the readers first time. (Both with Elijah) I have never written smut besides this so please tell me what was good and what i should change. 

There’s about 1.5 k words in this and an overuse of the word “Baby”

Originally posted by klopehybridss

I have never run that fast. My eyes started watering just from me thinking what he could do to me. I ran even faster. The man’s expression didn’t change. He looked murderous. He wanted to kill me. I had to run for my life. I looked over my shoulder to see how far i had gotten, but i couldn’t see him. Before i even knew it i ran into him. I let out a scream struggling against him.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME” i yelled, kicking and screaming to get away from my killer. “LET ME GO”

“I’m gonna kill you.” he said before extending his fangs, and digging into my neck.

I woke up screaming next to Elijah. He quickly got up and turned on the lights. I was breathing quickly, and there were tears streaming down my cheeks. I kept seeing the man following me.

“Y/N. Y/N. HEY HEY RELAX” Elijah yelled over my sobbing and screaming. He put his arm around my trembling body pulling me close to his body. “Hey tell me what happened” he said after i relaxed a little.

“I… i love you Elijah but i’m scared” i cried. I didn’t want to be scared of his vampire side. But what if he one day lost control. I didn’t know how to tell him. How should you tell someone you’re scared of something that’s a part of them. “What if you lose control.” i whispered.

“It could happen. But no matter what i would never hurt you” he whispered. I relaxed a little more. I noticed how we were now laying. Elijah was on his elbow while i was on my back. I leaned up and kissed him lightly, but before i knew it he had his hand behind my head bringing me in again.  

“Elijah…” i whispered but he caught me off with another kiss. I kissed him back rougher than before. I pushed him so i was on top of him. I straddled his waist and started kissing his neck.

“Y/N… Stop.” Elijah said when he realised it had gone too far. I was a virgin and i was actually really uncomfortable about anything regarding sex. Elijah knew i wanted to wait and he knew how i felt about it. He had been so kind telling me that he was fine waiting, and that he was totally okay with whatever i decided to do.

“Elijah i wanna do this” i whispered still slightly uncomfortable. I did and to have sex with Elijah, but i was scared. The man is 1000 years old, he had probably slept with countless of women, and done everything in the book. And here he is with a virgin who knows everything she knows sex ed and like two tumblr posts.

“You sure love. You don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do” he lifted his hand to tuck a piece of hair behind my hear. I smiled knowing he meant what he said. He really did care for me. That alone made me decide i wanted Elijah to be my first time.

“I’m sure.” i said. Elijah flipped me over so that i was on my back, and he was hovering over me. He pulled off his shirt revealing his toned body. I had seen Elijah shirtless before but this was different. It was so intimate. I ran my hand from his shoulder to the waistband of his sweats. Before i could even think to pull them off him Elijah grabbed my hand stopping me. I was about to ask why he did it but when he pulled of my tank top making naked waist up i shut up. I brought my hands up trying to cover my breasts with my hands.

“Don’t. Y/N you are so beautiful you really don’t need to hide anything from me” he said pulling my arms away from my chest. He leaned down and kissed me before starting to kiss my jawline and neck. I moaned slightly when he sucked a hickey on my neck. I blushed embarrassed at the sounds he could get out of me. “Don’t be embarrassed baby” Elijah laughed before returning to my skin.

“I am though. I don’t know why.” i whispered heart flushing to my cheeks. I wanted to cry in that moment. I didn’t even know that having someone kiss my neck would feel good. I felt the tears burning in my eyes and i tried desperately to blink them away so that Elijah didn’t notice.

“Hey what’s wrong. Do you wanna stop” he asked getting up. I pulled the covers over my exposed body before replying.

“I don’t wanna stop it’s just… you have been with so many people and i don’t know… i feel like if we do this and i’m bad, you’ll leave” i said now there were tears streaming down my face. I knew Elijah wouldn’t do something like that, but a part of me was scared he was gonna be disappointed.

“Hey i’ll never leave, and i know you’re gonna be great. And yeah you don’t know anything but you’ll learn. I’ll teach you” he said the last part with a smirk on his face. I dropped the covers and pulled Elijah back on the bed. We started making out again and this time when he started kissing down my body i didn’t stop him. He placed my nipple in his mouth and sucked on it. I moaned again and again i felt embarrassed but i didn’t stop him. Elijah started kissing further down my body until he reached the waistband of my nightshorts. He pulled them down revealing my black panties. He got up and pulled his own sweatpants off. I had never seen Elijah this exposed before.

“You’re so beautiful baby” he whispered while pulling down my panties. I smiled at his sweet words. Nobody could ever make me feel as good as Elijah did. He got up and pulled his own boxers off before reattaching his lips to mine. I kissed him back with passion.

“Elijah, please i’m ready” i whined when i felt his dick rub against me. I wanted him no matter how scared i was. Elijah grabbed my hand and kissed me but this time it was sweet and slow. I felt him at my entrance. He pushed t´just the tip in but i already felt tears in my eyes. It hurt so bad. I tried keeping the tears away but they surfaced.

“Baby do you want to stop” Elijah asked wiping the hears away from my face. I shook my head no and told him to keep going. I could see on him how much he hated hurting me. “Baby you’re hurting” he said trying to pull out again.

“Elijah it’s gonna hurt if we do it now or if we do it 100 years from now. Please” i whispered trying to hold back the tears and pretend like it didn’t hurt that much. He slid back in and this time without stopping.

“Are you okay baby. Tell me when to move” he sighed. The feeling confused me. It hurt but at the same time i felt a bit of pleasure. I nodded my head telling Elijah to move. The first time he did it hurt as much as the first time he entered me. He kept moving and after a while the pain disappeared and i started feeling pleasure. Only pleasure.

“Elijah” i moaned quietly. He smirked and leaned down to kiss my lips again.  I kept moaning his name feeling more confident. Elijah grabbed my legs and put them around his legs and the feeling got way more intense.

“Fuck” i moaned as Elijah picked up his pace. I only realised what i had said when he chuckled. I never curse. I rarely imagined this moment but the few times i did i never imagined cursing. I blushed and tried to hide my face.

“Don’t baby.” he said and pulled my arm away. He quickened his thrusts and i felt an unfamiliar built up in my stomach.

“Elijah” i said unsure of what was happening. He grabbed my hands before whispering in my ear.

“Let go baby.” he told me. I did as he said and felt unbelievable pleasure run through my body. Elijah came quickly after me. He rolled off me and pulled me closer to him. “Are you okay love” he asked and i nodded my head. I had never been more okay than in that moment.

On Her Period Sentence Starters

“You know, if I was pregnant, this wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Am I dying? I feel like I’m dying.”
“At least I know I’m not pregnant…”
“I don’t even want kids! This is stupid.”
“I can eat whatever I want. I deserve it.”
“How have I not passed out from bloodloss? Seriously.”
“I hate everyone. And everything.”
“Why does God hate women?!”
“The government needs to start paying for tampons.”
“I just want to curl up in a ball and die.”
“I don’t want to go to work. Why do I have to go to work?’
"I’m just sick and tired and bloated and gross.”
“I’m so hungry.”
“I hate my life.”
“Where is my heating pad?!”
“People should just stay clear of me during this time in my life.”
“I’m too sensitive. And angry.”
“I’m so horny but I’m so gross.”
“I thought it was only meant to last like 5 days. What is this?”
“ I’m seriously going to kill someone.”
“Oh my god oh my god oh my god I think I’m leaking.”
“Fuck. I just sneezed. Oh, that did NOT feel good.”
“I think it’s creeping up my back, END ME.”
“There is nothing ‘vagical’ about this!”
“I’m on my period. According to society, I’m allowed to be a bitch.”


Title: First

Author: @deanwinchesterxreader

Beta-reader: @eyesxsewnxopenx

Summary: Requested by anonymous for my 500 followers celebration. Dean and the reader have been dating for two years and they haven’t had sex yet. Dean wonders what’s wrong, only to find out she’s a virgin.

Type: one-shot

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word count: 1924

Warnings: swearing, smut.

Tagging: @deanssexyassbutt @sherlock44

Your name: submit What is this?

Keep reading

"Trans women are women" is a lie that is as dangerous to transwomen as it is to women

When I grew up in the seventies and eighties in the north of England, transgender wasn’t a thing. Men were men, and women were women. Heteronormativity was king. In fact it wasn’t just king, it was everything. It didn’t even need a name back then.

Where I grew up, nobody was gay. Faggots, puffters, bum-boys, up-hill gardeners, queers, trannies, gender-benders, dykes, lesbos and their ilk would not have been welcome or tolerated.

These things were shameful. Unacceptable. Wrong. Unnatural.

I’d seen cross dressing on the TV. I’d seen “that perverted faggot” Danny La Rue. I’d seen Kenny Everett’s ‘hilarious’ bearded lady ‘Cupid Stunt’. Being a ‘tranny’ was not a good thing. It was not something I wanted to be. It was something to hide and deny. I lived in fear. I was afraid. I was scared to be a tranny. Society had instilled in me a deep-rooted, intense internalised transphobia.

I lived with this for many years. I lived with opposing forces that tried to tear me apart. On one hand I needed to feel accepted by society. I had to be a ‘man’. I had to appear to meet society’s strict rules of what it is to be a man. On the other hand, I despised male company and pretty much everything it meant to be a man. Why did men have to be strong, authoritative, have ‘presence’ and treat women as sex objects and domestic servants? Why was I told these things? Why did my managers coach me to be ‘more manly’? Because this was what was required to be successful as a man in society.

When I asked questions about the impacts of commercial decisions on the lives of real people I was quickly cut down as being either a “lefty” or for being “such a girl”. So my need to fit in and be accepted, and more importantly, to pay the bills, became the dominant force.

I complied. I adopted a persona. I learnt from my mentors. But I still despised it. I was terrified of exposing my real personality so to protect myself I put up invisible walls. I censored my interactions with others. I found myself unable to interact in a personal or intimate way.

People say life begins at forty. It seems like this is a time when many of us find ourselves able to rediscover ourselves. To become more self-aware. To see the distinction between what society has made us and who we really are. I was about 38 when I started to do this.

The world had changed a lot in those 25 years. Cupid Stunt and La Rue were figures from a bygone age. Gay pride was so big it had become a commercial venture. My god, we even have Internet! People who were formerly isolated could find each other and share experiences.

Guilt and shame were being replaced with compassion and support.

I found online forums where I learnt that “trans women are women”. That we have always been women. We have women’s brains in men’s bodies. Of course! This was it! It made perfect sense. In fact my whole life suddenly started to make sense. It explained why I could never fit in with men. Why I always felt more comfortable in the presence of women. Why I’d always been acutely aware of the misogyny of so many men. Why I preferred women’s clothes. It made complete sense that for some unchosen, unavoidable reason my brain was more female than male.

This would mean it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t need to be ashamed!

I became aware of the concept of transition. Of the things I could do to attempt to eliminate the masculinity I had grown to despise. Hair removal. Hormones. Surgery. These thoughts totally overwhelmed me. They consumed me and debilitated me. I was suffering from the sex dysphoria I had read about.

But I had responsibilities and I desperately needed not to be this. I fought it, and fought it, and wanted it to go away. I NEEDED it to go away. But it doesn’t go away. It never does. It has always been part of me. After a couple of years I became deeply depressed and couldn’t fight any more. I needed professional help.

This was when I encountered the medical profession. I saw an NHS psychosexual counsellor. I was told that the person she saw in front of her (and I presented in male attire) did not seem like a man. She saw a woman. I felt so validated. This was a healthcare professional who sees people with gender issues all the time. She confirmed that I’m a woman. I was so relieved.  

I had lots of counselling and this was aimed at repairing my self-loathing that I had developed. It was to keep me safe. I learnt that there was nothing wrong with me. I did not need to feel shame. I should be proud of who I am. That if anyone had a problem with that, it was their problem not mine. This probably saved my life.

And so I began the process of transition. A difficult decision which I still believe was the least bad option for everyone involved.

So I was set up to face the world armed with “I’m a woman born in the wrong body and if anybody doesn’t like that it’s because of their own issues.” I started to meet other transsexuals through support groups. It seemed the world was a tough place, full of bigots and transphobes. Full of people who thought that if we looked, sounded or acted like males we mustn’t be women. It became so important to pass. The more we looked, sounded and acted like women the less likely we were to get “violently misgendered” by others. I heard tales of transwomen being called “guys” and the transwomen involved being deeply hurt by this. My friends were being hurt all of the time and this took an enormous toll on their validity and their ability to see themselves as worthy members of society. It seemed that those people closest, wives, partners and parents found it the hardest to accept that the person they knew is actually a woman. Being told you’re a man by the people you love hurts the most.

I was told that some people, who were known as TERFs* thought it didn’t matter how much we pass or integrate, it doesn’t make us women. Despite what we’d been told by medical professionals. Despite what it said in official NHS literature. Despite what is said by every trans support group out there. It’s so easy to see why the words “transwomen are not women” are so hurtful and triggering. They cut at the very foundations of everything that has helped to build a level of self-worth and to finally deal with the shame.

I couldn’t understand it. Why would these so called TERFs do this? Why would they think it’s OK to be so hurtful? So, I engaged with these women who think that transwomen aren’t women. I was ready to expect the worst.

I was shocked by what I found. Yes, I found a small handful of people who would instantly shut me down, call me a man and block me but what actually shocked me was the number of intelligent and compassionate women who were being labelled TERFs and receiving abuse after abuse from people claiming the protection of the transgender umbrella. What on earth was happening here?

And so I engaged, and challenged others, and challenged my own beliefs. I listened to the women who were being abused. I listened with open ears and an open heart. And slowly, I started to understand what gender is. We live in a society where we are all constrained by gender.

The rules for what men are allowed to be and what women are allowed to be are reinforced from birth.

These behaviours are rewarded from an early age at home, in school, in what we see all around us on TV, in the shops and so on. Behaviours from the wrong side of this are punished.

To many this is silent, unseen, occult even. Many are not even aware that this is exacerbated by socialisation and truly believe that this is the true natural order of things. I don’t know, but I suspect that even without socialisation there would be innate differences between the distribution curves of some of these traits in the male and female populations. But our socialisation restricts those of us whose traits deviate from the norm for our sex.

So, what does it mean to identify as a woman? I think for many of us it is that the personality traits that we identify with are on the wrong side of the line. They are the ones that we associate with being female. So this further supports our belief that we are actually female.

But this is a lie, it’s a vicious lie that is as dangerous for transwomen as it is for women. It’s a lie that sets us up to be triggered every time we are called he, or “guys” or somebody dares to suggest that we have male biology. Even a cursory glance from a stranger can cut to our very core. The very foundations of our self-worth are fragile.

You see, males don’t naturally all fit on the right hand side of the line, and females don’t naturally all fit on the left hand side of the line. We are all unique valuable human beings.

It’s not *because* we are actually women that makes it OK to be who we are. We are all valid and worthy and perfect however we are regardless of our sex. Our personality, our choices, our empathies and our identities are worthy even if they are on the wrong side of the line. The line is made up. It’s not the natural order. Men can be anything. Women can be anything.

I’ve come to regard myself as a gender non-conforming male. That doesn’t mean I’ve gone back to being what society expects of men. In fact other than the way I understand things and interact with others I haven’t changed. But now my foundations are solid. I’m able to have honest, open respectful conversation and debate about things that are important without taking things as a personal assault on my validity.

I don’t claim to be right. I see things through the filter of my experience. But I desperately want the world to be a better place. I want transwomen, or gender non-conforming males to be happy. To have solid self-worth and self-love. I want women to be respected and listened to. I want women, and men to be free to be whoever they want. There is no need to think transwomen are women for this to be true.

I have found peace and I wish that on others

*I now reject the use of the word TERF. It’s not meaningful and I only ever see it used as a slur, an insult and a silencing tool.

Postscript: I should also add that we have to live, survive and navigate our way in a gendered world and as such I support transition. I support the need to live *as* women as long as we understand and respect our differences. I also support medicalised treatment including surgery to deal with true dysphoria. Whether dysphoria is innate or a result of childhood experiences is irrelevant to the fact that it exists and needs to be treated compassionately.

Please don’t like or reblog this if you think it supports an anti-trans viewpoint.

“Before I was a parent, I was the perfect one. People told me my life would change. People told me I would be tired. That parenthood would be the greatest and hardest thing I would ever do. 

Yeah yeah yeah.
I know. I know.
I knew everything. 

My family would just smile and nod at my ignorance, and I wonder now if they were scared for me.

I recently sat in a friend’s baby shower. I was surrounded by women making light hearted jokes about new parenthood, about sleep depravation, and pregnancy cravings. They exchanged recommendations for swaddle blankets and butt creams. Underneath the small talk and "oohing” and “ahhing” over tiny gifted baby clothes, sat the realness, the hardness of motherhood. I could feel that every mom in the room, behind their sleepless sunken eyes, knew what that meant; they had felt that weight, but they only had the heart to give gifts and hugs and congratulations. I sat there in silence, when all I wanted to do was talk and talk and talk about how new motherhood really can be. To let her in on all the real secrets of being a mother.

I wanted so badly to prepare my friend somehow for the wave that was about to wash over her.

I was there too, belly rounded with life, yesterday. I had the iPhone app, the “Welcome Baby” books, the nursery that I had pinned on my Pinterest. I had the trendy pacifiers, the over packed hospital bag, the pretty dresses my girl would probably never wear. We toured the hospital. I googled birth stories while rounding my hips on a yoga ball. And I learned all about how you breath a baby out of your lady parts.

I remember eating whole pineapples, and choking down giant Evening Primrose Oil pills by the handful to will my baby out of my uterus. 

I was ready.

It took what felt like seven years for her to arrive. More specifically, 41 weeks and 1 day. That extra eight days made me extra prepared. I remember sitting, ecstatic, in the hospital, after the epidural had been administered. I was too giddy to sleep. 

Oh, the time had finally come, and I was so ready.

Then in a blink, she was here. She was tiny and marveling. She was so incredibly beautiful. She was perfect.

But wait.
I am not ready.
This is so hard.
I am so tired.
Why hadn’t anyone prepared me for this?

I. Know. Nothing.

If I was sitting across from that very pregnant, very eager and naive version of myself, I would tell her this:

The love you will feel is nothing like you have felt before. It will be foreign and familiar all at once. It will fill you to the very top of your heart, nearly spilling over. The thing about this kind of love, though, is that it can feel heavy. Disproportional. You may feel like you will nearly break in half from the top-heaviness. You will not be able to tell the difference between exhaustion and depression, and that darkness will rob you from what should be the most tender months of your daughter’s new life. 

Your baby will cry, a lot. Your days will both begin and end with the saddest screams you will ever hear. Your body will respond the way that it is programmed to - with panic. You will google everything from “dissecting baby poo” to “newborn who hates life.” And you will come up short. You will always come up short.

Your baby will only sleep in ten minute increments.
In a plastic rocking chair. (Don’t buy a plastic rocking chair.)
In the bathroom.
With the bath water running. 

You will feel like you are going mad, day after day, alone in that bathroom. Between the sound of the water running and her screams, you may feel like your nerve endings will be permanently frayed. 

At the endless ER trips that you take you will be written off as “The Paranoid New Mom.” (Press on.) They will give you pamphlets on “Colic,” and that just will not cut it. For awhile, nursing will be excruciating, and your baby will fight it, hard. Contrary to the laws of nature, Anabel will not come out knowing how to siphon milk from your body. Also, panic will flood your body when your milk lets down the majority of the time. Yes, breastfeeding induced anxiety attacks are a thing, and it will happen to you. (Hormones are jerks.)

Did I mention how depleted you will feel? 

Eating, and sleeping, and showering are not a part of this season (not often anyway), and right now, in the thick of it, this season will feel never ending. While others’ newborns are napping sweetly in their stylish organic leggings via Instagram, yours is miserable. There are over 2 billion mothers in the world, yet you will feel deeply alone. Compared to everyone else, you are failing. No matter how many hands you have on deck, you will be deserted.  

This love will crush your ego. It will destroy your capability to trust yourself. The fear that creeps in the shadows of this love will paralyze you. Strangers will call your newborn “mean.” Loved ones will say you are giving your baby too much attention. (Neither of those things exist.) You will feel guilty for not measuring up. You will feel guilty for feeling guilty. You will feel guilty for feeling guilty for feeling guilty. You will cry over absurd things, like not being pregnant anymore. And over massive things, like the way your body has transformed because of pregnancy. You may never feel like you will get the hang of carrying this love.

But what if I told you that one day your daughter would smile? That she would even laugh? And so will you. Her intestines will eventually develop and digest food, and she will not scream excessively anymore. You will find answers to everything you questioned. I would even tell you that your doctor will admit that you were right all along. Saying, “you guys owe me an ‘I told you so’ on that one.” That will feel pretty great. 

I would also tell you that it gets better. Oh, how it does. She will learn how to sleep and nurse. And I would even tell you she gets really great at both.  I would tell you to find the hope in your daughter’s eyes. As they lighten, so will that weight. 

Though you may never have parenthood all figured out, there will be a day when you will find a way to wrap that love around yourself, instead of being buried in it. 

And though it is hard to believe, one day you will have a vivacious, smart, and unbelievably happy little girl. A girl that absolutely adores the world. And you will have clean hair, and time to make breakfast for yourself in the morning. 

You will.

Hold on to that truth. There will be a day that you will marvel over the fact that the girl in front of you is the same baby that was so unhappy before.

You will be better. You will grow. You will adjust, and settle, and adjust again. That is what motherhood is, I think. Finding ways through the good heartbreak to fit more love inside of you. There will always be something that stretches your capacity for more. You will learn how to balance the goodness with the heaviness. 

And, I beg you, embrace that things will always feel unfinished. Let unfinished be okay. Let unfinished be enough.

It is enough.
It is enough.
It is enough.

And forget what you see on Instagram,
You are one hell of a mother. 

We spend the early hours of the morning planning our future, in between cups of coffee and toast smeared with butter. We think about what our children will look like, and if we’ll have a dog or a cat or both. Even if I tried, I could never change how I feel about her. She is my morning sunrise, sleepy eyes that remind me forever exists and a home is nothing more than a goodnight kiss and an arm around my waist in the middle of the night. Someone reminded me the other day that people still stare. Their brows crease wondering why we are holding hands or why I lean in to kiss her lips on the escalators. Small children pause in their thinking, speculating whether two women are meant to be in love. But they say each year brings new change, so I will have hope. Maybe next year we will be in Paris or London, maybe even Rome. A few years after that I hope we come home and people won’t stare so much. It’s your choice they will say, it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you and her. I hope we have a family one day, with stars in their eyes and nothing but love in their hearts. Maybe even grandchildren, and they’ll laugh and write poems about how silly the old days used to be.  And yet if nothing changes, and people still stare and our home still holds onto all its fears, it’s not going to change how I feel about her. How she lights up even the darkest of days. Because even if I had nine lives, and you still refused us marriage equality, I would still spend each one loving her.
—  Equal Marriage is still not legal in Australia. 
One Last Time

Originally posted by chrisevas

Part I / Part II

Requested: Yes! By  liziihorta

Prompt: “ Can you write My tutor part 3? Where the guys talk to Y/N and she confesses why she smells like Chris and they say he’s using her to forget about Allison’s mother. She promise that she’s going to end whatever she has with Chris but he doesn’t let her and convinces her he’s not using her but it’s sweet love making because it’s going to be their last time doing it? I love your writing ?? ”

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Character: Chris Argent

Word Count: 2.446

Warnings: The reader is underage and as you know Chris is way older, so don’t read if you have a problem with that. Also, if you feel unconfortavle with smut, don’t even read.

Type: Smut

Author’s Note: I wrote this listening to One Last Time by Ariana Grande, if you guys have never heard it, please do, is really beautiful. 

Keep reading

‘Chapter One. He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion.’ Uh, no, make that: 'He-he romanticized it all out of proportion.’ Yeah. 'To him, no matter what the season was, this was still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin.’ Uh, no, let me start this over…
'Chapter One: He was too romantic about Manhattan, as he was about everything else. He thrived on the hustle bustle of the crowds and the traffic. To him, New York meant beautiful women and street smart guys who seemed to know all the angles.’ Ah, corny, too corny for, you know, my taste. Let me, let me try and make it more profound…
'Chapter One: He adored New York City. To him it was a metaphor for the decay of contemporary culture. The same lack of individual integrity that caused so many people to take the easy way out was rapidly turning the town of his dreams in..’ No, it’s gonna be too preachy, I mean, you know, let’s face it, I wanna sell some books here.
'Chapter One: He adored New York City. Although to him it was a metaphor for the decay of contemporary culture. How hard it was to exist in a society desensitized by drugs, loud music, television, crime, garbage…’ Too angry. I don’t wanna be angry.
'Chapter One. He was as tough and romantic as the city he loved. Behind his black-rimmed glasses was the coiled sexual power of a jungle cat.’ Oh, I love this! 'New York was his town, and it always would be.’

Vanity, a.k.a. D. D. Winters, had worked as a model in her native Ontario and even had a couple of B-movies under her belt—Terror Train and Tanya’s Island, a Robinson Crusoe-ish flick that has since been relegated to T.V. heaven—when she met Prince backstage after one of his concerts in 1981. She introduced herself as a songwriter, but Prince didn’t hear that as much as he noticed her distinct looks—penetrating brown eyes, long, dark hair framing a classically beautiful face, and those legs.
Prince suddenly found the perfect idea for another act. Vanity 6, the act’s debut album also on Warners, featured funk with an edge, with songs like “Drive Me Wild” and the raucous monologue of “If a Girl Answers (Don’t Hang Up).” The group’s first album procuced by the Starr Company scored well in 1982, selling almost 500,000 copies. However, Prince had scored much more than just another record. He and Vanity immediately became an item. For months they did everything together, and Vanity moved into his Minneapolis home. Prince even stopped seeing his share of other women, which his friends took as indication that he was somehow becoming emotionally stable.
“When we saw Vanity’s face around Minneapolis more than just three times, we said,‘Oh shit! The Kid is acting like he’s in love,” said a fellow musician. “It’s not Prince’s way to tell too many people how he feels about a chick, and he didn’t say anything to me, but just that they were spending a lot of time together meant something. Prince is not the kind of cat who lets too many people, man or beast, in his personal life for very long. She’d already made a coup in that respect.”
Living in Prince space, however, meant eating, drinking, living Prince. “Despite his freethinking spirit, those acquainted with Prince during the period still knew him to be pretty conventional when it came to his treatment of lovers. If he wanted to be with the fellas in the band, he was with the fellas in the band; the chick stayed at home or found something else to do—if he considered whatever else she decided to do was cool with him. Control is a big word in this man’s life, so you can imagine what he expects of his girlfriend.” Apparently, though, it takes more than simply donning an apron to please Prince. An observer close to the situation recalled some tough times beween Minneapolis’s new couple.
—  Steven Ivory “Prince”
7 Nights of Got7: Jinyoung

Days at the hotel had proved busy and that was always good for business but most nights it had left Noona unwilling to play and; trying to catch up on sleep. She really needed to hire a assistant manager to help her regulate some things. From the small fire that an elderly woman accidentally started at breakfast, to the toilet on the second floor overflowing into the hall. That Wednesday night she fell into bed, and JB tried to go with her but she nicely explained that him trying to feel on her in the shower when all she wanted to do was rest really wasn’t helping. 

Then there was Mark catching her in the supply room making note that they needed to buy more luxury towels. He snuck up behind her and kissed along her jaw, his hands quickly hiking up her dress. 

“Mark no.” She pushed his hands down, but he gripped her thighs tight, pushing her over the small desk. 

As he continued to kiss her neck, holding her dress up in one hand, the other now between her legs stroking her, he growled his response. “Baby, doesn’t tell me no. You don’t really want that? Do you?” 

Turning her around, he stared into her eyes, his fingers kicking inside of dripping tunnel. He licked at her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. She felt her hands lift and find his belt buckle. Listening to his deep chuckle as he pushed her on. “That’s it, that’s my girl. You want it, there’s no shame. Let me fuck you on this table.”  Her mouth open, head leaned back, she moaned and let herself go. 

As Mark was pulling her dress back down, he grinned kissing her lips. “I won’t tell JB.” 

She narrowed her eyes and gasped. “Don’t you dare, I was tired then and I’m tired now.”

He laughed, opening the door to the supply room, letting her walk ahead of him. “Jinyoung gives great massages, should I tell him you need one?” 

Turning around to face him she shook her head. “Go find something to do, there’s a festival in town. Go check that out with the boys.” 

He blew a kiss at her, probably wandering off to find Jackson. “Whatever you said, Noona.” 

By the time Friday rolled around she was beat, dead tired, and really all she wanted was to rest. BamBam and Yugyeom spent the day following her about. Yugyeom finding subtle ways to grind against her; while BamBam preoccupied her with his lips. Stealing kisses that left her thinking about his mouth throughout the day. After checking on her grandfather she walked down the long path to her home, yawning. She pulled open the fence, to her modest front lawn, and noticed her front door was open. It was nothing to leave it unlocked around here, but she always closed it. Heart racing, she pushed open the burnished brass knob and looked inside. 

White and red rose petals lined the floor making a trail into the bedroom. Small flameless candles on the counters marked the way to a glass of champagne, with a note card next to it. 

Picking up the card the elegant script in Hangul read one brief sentence. 

Take off your panties, leave them on the floor.

She felt a shiver go down her spine, the excitement raced through her womb creating a warmth over her pelvis. She reached under her dress, and removed the satin panties. Moving her thighs together, they pooled at her feet. Stepping out of them she took off her shoes, and grabbed the glass taking a sip. Damn, that was good. Was this JB again? Back to try his hand again with her? It seemed like something he and Youngjae would do, definitely not in Jackson and Mark’s style to be this romantic. It couldn’t be BamBam and Yugy either, they were too young and seductive to pull of something this mature themed. 

Music suddenly came from her room, a sound of American R&B, rich and low, crooning for the love of woman. It had to be Jaebum and Youngjae, she smiled walking back to the room and caught a surprise. 

The dark hair and slender face, his eternal petty smirk . Even the way he leaned back in the chair, robe on showing a bit of his chest was flashy. He knew he served looks, and he wanted her to appreciate that. He knew he was good looking, and from the way she sucked in a breath when he stood up, he was exactly what she wanted. This much Jinyoung knew, it was no secret. 

Originally posted by jypnior

“Mouth still open, I have that effect on people don’t I?” He walked slowly over to her, a glass of champagne in his own hand, he lifted it to his lips taking a sip.

She closed it promptly, waving a dismissive hand at him. “Don’t be so cocky. I actually thought you were someone else.” 

That got his attention, his eyebrow raised he came to stand in front of her. Taller than her, his body framed her own, and she realized he was slowly backing her into a wall. 

“Really? Who? I’d like to know what smarter, more handsome and debonair man, could pull this together, and give you the night of pleasure I’m about to dip you in?” Her back touched the wall, just as his hand enclosed on her chin, lifting her head so her eyes met his. 

She bit her lip, she wasn’t going to say who. It would be rude, Jinyoung hadn’t even crossed her mind though he was the one to first kiss her. The first one to show her the pleasure she could be having. 

He drank the rest of his champagne and looked at her waiting. “Well, Noona? don’t keep me waiting.”

She wrinkled her forehead. “You call me Noona, but you talk to me as though I’m younger, I can hear the inflection in your tone.” 

Saying nothing he brought her glass to her lips, and tipped it. “Drink.” 

Obeying she finished her glass, and he took it setting it on the table next to them. Then he reached down and lifted her, her dress rising, she remembered she had on no panties. She tried to cover herself, only for him to stare into her eyes, looking angry. He shook his head no. He was holding her up, her back against the wall and then she felt what was under his towel. That could not be missed, and now it lay right against her core. Warm and throbbing. The silence couldn’t be more palpable, a ringing in her ears, and a thrum in her soul as he stared at her. 

Saying nothing he looked with Tyrese in the background singing about his sweet lady. 


“Shhh.” He hushed her, not smiling, not frowning, just staring. “You know Mark and BamBam have interesting taste in women.” He moved her, sliding her against his length.

He continued. “They are both very different in what they like, and very different from me. One thing we all agreed on…was you.” 

“Me?” She knew what he meant, they all found her attractive, that much was true, otherwise she wouldn’t be here. 

He moved his hips, letting the tip of his shaft penetrate her a minuscule amount, watching the fine muscles of her face, try not to react to the stimulus. 

“Yes, you. Perfect you, everything I want in one package and you don’t chase after me. You don’t beg for my attention, you aren’t like anyone else. I want you.” His mouth moved against her throat. “But only if you’ll have me.” 

He sunk her body lower onto him, and her hands fell onto forearm muscles that showed their strength. The tight muscle there and her hands skated over his back to the skin there, soft but hard like marble. She gasped at the intrusion of him, the tightness of her channel swallowing him whole as he pressed inside. She wanted to move against him, lift her hips and slam herself back down on the thickness that had her wanting to scream. That she was currently shaking over. Then he was fully in, she could feel his balls seated against her cunt the coolness of them differing from the heat of his member. He moved out, then slammed back in. Her back thumping against the wall, as he did it again. 

“Will you have me?” Jinyoung breathed out. 

Too late for that now, another thrust like that and she was going to squirt all over him. “Yes, just lay me down.” 

“As you’d like.” Palms on her ass, he walked her over to the bed and laid her back. Enclosing one of her hands with his own, the other raised her dress. 

“I can take off-” She started to say, before he covered her mouth with his. 

Jinyoung’s hands under her ass he lifted her and pushed home once more. The squeak of surprise and carnality leaving her mouth, but encased in his own. He pushed himself inside of her, until his hips bones smashed her own. In and out, he lifted her hips for his every thrust, the fabric of her dress rubbing against her skin until it felt raw. She had to take it off, she had to feel his body. Jinyoung’s breathing in her ear, the way his fingers gripped the meat of her ass, that rhythmic pounding that had her gasping for air. Then he stuttered, just as her hands found his ass and held him inside, god she wanted to feel all of him as he came. Every inch of that thick, mushroom tipped glory that he was giving her. Her body exploded from the inside out. 

After a shower, she was laying on her stomach while Jinyoung massaged warm oil into her skin. His hands were firm and he pushed and prodded at her muscles enough to make her feel sleepy. He gathered skin near her shoulder moving it about, left hand to right hand. His fingers pressing into her sides, careful not to tickle. As he got to her lower back, she groaned, as the heel of his palms pressed into the top of her ass. 

“Do that again.” She said sleepily into the covers. 

Smiling, he obeyed, taking both hands moving the flesh of her ass around. 

Noona chuckled. “What are you doing?”

“Your ass is a muscle, I have to massage this as well.” He leaned down biting her ass. Then his hands went somewhere different, in between her legs.

Rubbing the skin there she thought nothing of it, until she noticed that several times now he had brushed against her slit, and was making an effort to carefully open her legs. She said nothing, waiting to see what he would do, then…that was a different feeling. His nose rubbing up the back of her leg, he pushed her legs open, his nose following. 

“You smell so good, Noona. I can’t help myself.” His member brushed her leg, but his tongue ran against her slit.

Again, and again, until she had her ass in the air and he was palming himself, licking greedily, sucking and lapping at her core like a dog dying of thirst. His hands on either side of her ass, Jinyoung shoved his face in, his tongue tapping against her clit. Then he pulled her hips down onto his length, giving her a moment to adjust to him, before lifting his hips and beginning his onslaught again. 

Next Chapter: Bam & Yugy

anonymous asked:

you had... some ... gay moments? DO TELL

oh man buckle in for a journey through my Gay Past.

Ok first up - One of my earliest memories is watching the “Oops I did it again” music video. I don’t remember much about that video but I DEFINITELY remember Britney’s latex red body suit. I wonder why that stuck in my head

Um I also remember very very clearly the first time my parents explained that one of our friends was gay and what that meant. I remember everything i was doing and I remember freezing. My mum was actually explaining it to my brother i just silently sat there and just. absorbed it like a sponge.

My mum took me to a KD Lang concert when i was 8 and I remember wanting to look like a lot of the women there (mostly butch lesbians for those who do not know KD Lang’s main audience)

My Barbies were always single mums and actually lesbians at some point. I claimed it was bc I didn’t have any male barbies but i… i actually did i just didn’t like them I thought they were boring.

Fast forward a coupla years

I never understood the obsession with straight romance films.

I always wanted to be one of the lads.

I used to draw endless pictures of girls. Literally that was all I ever drew. Again I claimed I couldn’t draw men. Not that i ever tried.

Aaaaaand then came all the female celebrity crushes. Like. they just came in waves and i was always like “girlcrush!” like no hun you had like 40 girl crushes thats just being gay.

Year 9 i dated a guy pretty much to hide my gay panic. My compulsory heterosexuality was SO HARDCORE from about y8-y10 like SO hardcore. Like. Oh my god. I knew that I didn’t like these boys but i was actually pretty much consciously denying it? no fuckin wonder depression ate me up like a sponge

inevitably i got a very real life crush on one of my friends and i was like….hmmmmmmm maybe i like the ladies. 

turns out i very much liked the ladies.


Dear Audrey,

I believe in black, black can do no wrong. Black is such a classy statement its timeless, beautiful and makes everyone look slimming. My wardrobe consists of black and i am the happiest girl for that maybe even a bad ass ninja at best. The world is not how u left it, we need more people like you. Nowadays people r calling bullshit for everything as hope leaves there eyes. You have taught me that even a realist believes in miracles and women can be beautiful as well as intellectual. Tomorrow is another day and i’m still figuring out this thing called life but one thing that’s certain is a smile can change a day and Sunday’s is meant for u.

INSTAGRAM: @SleepintheGardn uploaded a photo.

My fourth Mother’s Day and the thrill never wears off. My favorite occupation in this life is not an actress; it’s not a story-teller; it’s being a mother, because I feel like I was put into this world to raise these two beautiful human beings. Motherhood isn’t for everyone and I am in no way stating that all women were only meant to be bearers of children; some of the best women I know have no desire for children and that doesn’t make them any less incredible. Motherhood is a choice. It’s an option and it doesn’t suit everyone.

But it suits /me/.

I’d be nowhere without Phillip Matthew and Sophia Avery. Without my sticky kisses, Disney movie cuddles, baby blues, golden curls, and incessant hogging for the camera, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. They give me strength. They give me love. They give me a reason to fight against everything trying to hold me down. I may have never pictured myself here but I’m so glad this is where I ended up. Thank you to the universe for allowing me to have them and allowing me to love them with every fiber of my being.

Thank you to the mamas out there that inspire me/teach me/advise me when I need a little help. I can’t tag you all but - Lucy Goose, Queen C, Angel face, Benzo Babe, J-Mo, Danielle, Jules, my adoptive mother Mama Allen..I know I’m forgetting to list others but if you’re a mother and if you’re in my life, I admire and respect you so deeply. You’re all raising beautiful little ones and I’m blessed to have them in my own childrens lives.

Thank you to the friends who aren’t mothers but always willing to be the cool aunts and who support me through every insane mothering adventure I have - Cinderella, Bunny, Shay Bae, K-Dawg, Slaydaya..again, names are probably escaping me as I’m trying to type this and keep an eye on the munchkins at the same time but I appreciate you all SO much.

And most importantly.

Thank /you/ for giving them to me and giving me that love and strength in the first place to want them. @keeoone @supitskeegs, you’re the best dad in the whole world and I am so grateful that my family is with you. To infinity and beyond.

Happy Mother’s Day. Even if you don’t have a reason to celebrate this day, I hope it’s filled with love and sunshine regardless. 

❤️ 180k 💬 162


Summary: Reader feels insecure. Dean does everything to make her smile, even if it means having a chick flick moment. 

Pairing: Reader x Dean

Warnings: a lot of fluff 

Words: 757

A/N: this one is for all you insecure women out there. i feel you boo. and i apologise it’s short, but yeah. 


It had been a long, exhausting night full of demolishing werewolves; both Sam and Dean could agree with you on that. After a six hour drive to and from Belle Plaine, Minnesota, and another four hours hunting those wolves, you could almost say that the three of you were the walking dead. The three of your appearances included small cuts and bruises forming in many places, but it seemed like nothing compared to what you’ve been through.

The three of you arrived at the dingy motel around 2am, departing to your rooms. You looked over at Sam whilst Dean was unlocking the door to both your rooms. He smiled your way and nodded before he departed into his own room. Dean placed a hand on your lower back and pushed you forward lightly, breaking you out of your trance.

“Why don’t you head for a shower?” He kissed your temple, “I’ll get our clothes out and ready, and we can have a good night’s sleep for once.”

You didn’t have the energy to reply, so you just nodded and continued on your way to the bathroom. You reached in and turned the shower on, letting it warm up whilst you undressed yourself. You sighed at the sight of the reflection in the mirror, disappointed by your bodies form. You hand ran across the gash across your hip, wincing at the pain that shot through your body.

Fed up with looking at the person in the mirror, you stepped into the shower and under the head, allowing the water to cascade over your body. Your muscles relaxed under the heat of the water, rinsing the dirt that littered your body and blood from your wounds.

Dean felt bad about you coming along with him and Sam to the case. He knew you would’ve argued with him to be able to come along, so he didn’t bother to stop you. But he should’ve. Tonight, he almost lost you. All that ran through his mind was you and your safety but he almost failed at keeping you safe. One of the wolves in the pack had gotten in reach of you and harmed you, nearly killing you on the spot. If it weren’t for Sam helping you, you would’ve been gone. Dean wouldn’t have been able to handle that.

He undressed himself and step into the shower, watching your figure stand under the hot stream of water. Your back was facing him, but even from behind, he found you beautiful.

“You okay, Y/N?” He asked, stepping forward to share the stream of water as you leaned into him, closing your eyes.

“I’m fine, baby,” you whispered.

He placed a gentle kiss to your shoulder before grabbing the soap bar and running it down your arm. He hummed the tune of your favorite song, making a smile appear on your face. He swayed your hips in sync with his, whilst washing your body with care.

“You’re the best friend that I ever had,” he sung quietly into your ear, “I’ve been with you such a long time; you’re my sunshine and I want you to know that my feelings are true. I really love you.”

“You’re my best friend,” you giggled, grinning at his goofy act.

He spun you around to face him, a smile printed on his face. Both your hips were still swaying side to side, with his hand resting on your hip and the other clasping your tiny hand in his. You laughed at the random dancing he pulled you in to. Dean loved the sound of your laugh.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, pulling you closer, “you may not have perfect straight teeth, a thin waist, a flat stomach, or that gap you women obsess over, but you are so beautiful to me.”

You looked up at the love of your life, adoration evident in both your eyes. You were tearing up at the words he spoke; that simple sentence meant the entire world to you. Dean traced the stretch marks that marked your hips and stomach. That was something he loved most about you. Those marks that littered your body were beautiful to him. He knew you weren’t so happy with them, but he was.

He was happy with everything that came with you – your crooked teeth, the acne that still popped up, the belly you had, the stretch marks, the bulky thighs, just everything.

He was so in love with you and your appearance. You were in love with him and the words he spoke.


I took a little break from doing work to check out Light Girls (which, like I guessed, was problematic). While watching, a few of the stories tugged at my heartstrings a bit and I had a flashback. 

When I was in middle school, some of my friends were browner than me. My being lighter than them became something to poke fun at. There was some lighthearted name calling and I went along with that because, y'know, it wasn’t a big deal.

What did bother me was something else they’d do. They’d roll up my sleeves and press their thumbs into my forearms to watch the color in my skin temporarily change. They’d press so hard, repeatedly, that my arms were often sore. I’d go home trying not to bump anything with my arms because of the soreness. At that age, when fitting in meant everything, I didn’t know how to tell them it was painful and that it made me uncomfortable. I just let it happen.

I always feared that they lumped my academic success with my complexion too, and I think that bothered me the most. I felt like I had to prove that I really was smart and talented and kind to combat the consensus that I received opportunities primarily due to colorism.

What is troublesome for me in my adulthood about the conversation of lighter skinned Black women is the pretending that guilt isn’t the bulk of what we feel. We over and under-compensate, deal with or rage against things because of guilt, not oppression. And light skinned guilt isn’t the same as white guilt. Light skinned guilt is knowing that you’re perceived as different from the very womb you were born from solely because your mother is browner. It’s knowing that the privilege you never asked for stems from and perpetuates violence against dark skinned people.

A few years ago my godsister’s dad made a joke about us all being on a plantation. My sister’s mother is very fair and so is her brother. She herself is just a bit lighter than me. Her father is dark. 

According to him they would all “be in the house” (he also mentioned that her brother would probably go and pass as white) and I would be in the field like him. My sister argued that I would be in the house too but he wasn’t backing down. When it first came from his mouth, Emerald would be in the field like me, I almost shouted “NO I WOULDN’T,” but I stopped myself. I feel overwhelming guilt every time I recall the level of offense I felt in that moment. Because what is shameful about being in the field? And why is washing dishes more distinguished than picking cotton? There is no “better n*gger.” The guilt we feel lies in the fallacy of the “better n*gger.” That is the way we have learned to survive.

Considering that, maybe I let them nearly bruise my arms because what amused them was a reflection of my own survival. 

My mom told me that when she shows her co-workers pictures of me they’re always surprised. And sometimes when I go to her job the people I meet are in awe when they see me. I notice them all trying to find me in her. They look back and forth and back and forth at us. Too often people can’t find me in my own mother.

I’ve always felt bad about that.

I will always feel bad about that.