ugly yet beautiful

Harry styles is one of the most humble celebrities and an absolutely phenomenal  singer.


There’s a reason why harry styles is loved by so many ( who admire him ) and also hated upon by a few ( who’re clearly jealous of him ) Go and see any interview of harry styles and you’ll end up smiling due to his adorableness and absolutely cute tactics. Nope,you won’t find any arrogance there. Generally,you see an inflated ego in a hell lot of celebrities and harry could have it too- considering he was the member of the biggest boy band in the world and now is clearly an admirable popstar/Rockstar.

But there’s a difference between those other celebrities and harry, he started from humble beginnings(working as a baker)Even after suddenly getting fame in X factor , he never changed. He remained the same harry that he was 7 years ago ( He just went on becoming more and more handsome with each passing year tho )

He is charming but not egoistic about it.  Even though he has been labeled as the “serial dater”, the “manwhore” , “womanizer” by the media , there’s this childlike innocence of the 16 year old harry still present in him and unfortunately, the media fails to recognize it- being too busy linking him with several models.

Another thing that I love about him is that he doesn’t discuss about his personal life is too much. There’s always speculation about it but rarely are their proper evidences to prove certain media reports. He has nothing but good words for his exes , no matter how much the journalists try to twist the questions so as to make him utter something wrong, something cruel but to their disappointment, that never happens.  That makes him one of the most humble celebrities out there. Despite being brutally scrutinized by the media or for that matter, a few songs by an ex– he has nothing but kind words to say and he has my respect for that.

Changing the direction of your career ( YES I SAID THAT HAH ) in a road less travelled should be applauded. I mean how many “member of the boyband” turned “solo singer” turn into the kind of artistry which might not give them a no.1 song playing on repeat in endless pop stations. In my opinion , as far as current times of popular artists are concerned, only  beyonce does that. Now harry took that as a challenge and created an album full of songs that are not convenient for a smashing no.1 but are still unforgettable. Listen to “Sign of the times” – the epic most talked about ballad from his debut album, it is not a no.1 song on the billboard hot 100 the way “despacito” is,but is still more relevant and beautiful.

Look at “Kiwi” – full of humerous lyrics or for that matter “woman”- the inescapable la la la la la la la la.
The raw, vulnerable and ugly ( figuratively) yet oh so beautiful “From the dining table” , the haunting vocals of “Meet me in the hallway” , the beautiful lyrics of “sweet creature” , the truly old-school “Ever since new York”, the somber piano tune turned  rock “Only angel”, the phenomenally kind of passionate/seductive “Carolina” with the repeated “SHE’S SUCH A GOOD GIRL”  and “SHE FEELS SO GOOD”,  the honest “ two ghosts” – every single song has a different tone exploring varied vocals and different sounds.  

Harry has really created a tapestry of self. He is creating his own narrative rather than doing what everyone does. Taking a kind of risk like this and then getting success in it is the best thing about all of this. There has been so much pressure on him to deliver a smashing album but more than delivering a hit album do you realize what he did ? He created a masterpiece for a debut solo album.  Years later , we will have so many harry solo singles to dwell upon but we still won’t forget the impact “Sign of the times” left on us in its wake and that is why he is an absolutely phenomenal singer.



If you’re trying to write a historical novel and wanna talk about how beautiful someone is, please do it with the styles of beauty that they had back then. Or you can talk about how they’re not considered pretty by making them look like what we might consider beautiful now. Here are some examples of fashion.

-Renaissance Italy, pluck out the hair so her forehead is larger and belladonna in the eyes to make them look sexy and he stays out of the sun to show she doesn’t labor outside, egg whites over the skin the give them the ‘glazed look’ (I’ve never really figured out what that means). Lemon in the hair to make it blond, curly was also considered sexy. Plucked out eyebrows went in and out of fashion. Some weight was good but not being overly fat since being fat mean you did not like to walk or whatnot.


- Heian Japan, pale skin made paler with rice powder. Long hair, shaved eyebrows that then got pained on, blackened teeth, pouty lips, thin nose, and round cheeks. 


-Renaissance England, men padded their legs to look more sexy. Codpiece was made popular though historians think it took off because of the need to have something covering men’s STD medically wrapped dicks (mmmm sexy). Some men used the codpiece to store money. Those big shoes that went in and out of fashion were also supposed to show how sexy the man was under his clothing. Paleish but with a bit of a tan showed that he was nobility in that he did not have to work outside for a living but also that he was athletic and liked to hunt. Being super fat was looked down because that meant you did not hunt or play sports.


- Later 1700s men, less what they looked like but if he was high born and did not have a mistress in many European countries he was looked down upon. Your mistress reflected onto you. George III’s madness was thought to be because he refused to have sex with anyone not this wife. George II had a mistress that he didn’t really care about and most people think they played cards together whenever he went to visit her. His wife had to remind the guy to pay the mistress so that she would look nice and so reflect well onto him.


-Victorian/Edwardian era VS 1920s women. Edwardian era = hourglass figure with tiny little waist and big boobs and butt. Made possible with corsets and padding.With higher classes the paler the better, it was considered good to always look kinda sickly and in fact sometimes relatives of an unmarried woman would talk about how poorly she was because it added an air of mystery to her. Women weren’t supposed to show much enjoyment in eating. 1920s women = no curves. Made possible by binding the chest if you’d been born with big breasts and super loose dresses, though some women instead went for clothing that clinged to their figure if they did not want the ideal in the media but still wanted to be sexy. Going out inside the sun and getting a slightly tanned skin was now popular. Having more of an athletic build also became popular and sickly women weren’t sexy at all. Flappers would also dress in bathing suits and eat pizza outside together as a middle finger to their parents. 

traverse

“Within the perils of his own demons, he came to recognize the purity held within you, and how even the loneliest of creatures have the ability to feel.”

  • Yoongi x Reader
  • Words: 1,829
  • Genre: Angst, Fluff, Supernatural themes

a/n: idek what this is, unedited because it’s 3 am.


He phased into your reality within a flash, unseen to all others passing around him, through him, unaware of the mythical being standing at the corner of twenty second and fifth; irises a mixture of fire and cobalt, a perfect contradiction of his very existence.

He gazed at you from across the narrow road, lined with cars and street vendors that yelled out into the brisk morning. It was easy to spot you, a face all too familiar to him, and rightfully so, after the many years spent by your side, watching and protecting.

Keep reading

Who Will Revere The Black Woman?

Published in the September 1966 issue of Negro Digest                                   By: Abbey Lincoln

Mark Twain said, in effect, that when a country enslaves a people, the first necessary job is to make the world feel that the people to be enslaved are subhuman. The next job is to make his fellow countrymen believe that man is inferior, and, then, the unkindest cut of all is to make that man believe himself inferior.

A good job has been done on the Black people in this country, as far as convincing them of their inferiority is concerned. The general white community has told us in a million different ways and in no uncertain terms that “God” and “nature” made a mistake when it came to the fashioning of us and ours. The whole society, having been thoroughly convinced of the stained, threatening, and evil nature of anything unfortunate enough to be, or to be referred to as, black, as an intended matter of courtesy refers to those of African extraction as “colored” or “Negro.”

The fact that “Negro” is the Spanish word for “black” is hardly understood, it would seem; or it would seem that the word “black” may be intimated or suggested, but never simply stated in good English.

Too many Negroes, if described or referred to as “black,” take it as an affront; and I was once told by a Canadian Irishman that I’d insulted him by referring to my person as a Black woman. He insisted that, in actuality, I was brown, not black; and I felt obliged to tell him he described himself as “white,” and that he wasn’t white either.

The fact that white people readily and proudly call themselves “white,” glorify all that is white, and whitewash all that is glorified, becomes unnatural and bigoted in its intent only when these same whites deny persons of African heritage who are Black the natural and inalienable right to readily and proudly call themselves “black,” glorify all that is black, and blackwash all that is glorified.

Yet, one is forced to conclude that this is not the case at all, that an astonishing proportion of the white population finds it discomforting that Blacks should dare to feel so much glory in being beautifully black. In the face of this kind of “reasoning,” the only conclusion one can logically come to is that there is something wrong with this society and its leadership. “The Man’s” opinion of God is sorry, to put it nicely, and his opinion of himself is simply vague and hazy.

Consider: Swearing his love and devotion to the Omnipotent One on the one hand, yet defying and cursing him with rank impudence on the other; using the crutch of his “inherently” base and callow nature on the one hand, and claiming his godhood on the other; worshipping a Jew as the Son of God on the one hand, yet persecuting all other Jews as enemies of God on the other; historically placing this same Jew on the African continent on the one hand, and describing him as a European in physical appearance on the other (still, one would suppose that it’s tacitly understood by all that “God” couldn’t be anything other than “white,” no matter where He was born); advocating that the Black man is made of inferior stuff on the one hand, yet defying him not to prove his superiority on the other; naming hurricanes for women on the one hand, yet H is for the heart as pure as gold on the other; giving her pet names such as “whore,” “slut,” “bitch,” etc., on the one hand, yet, put them all together and they spell mother, the word “that means the world to me,” on the other.

No wonder the slogan “white is right” could take a whole nation by storm. One could never accuse this society of being rational.

Still, instead of this irrational society warping my delicate little psyche, it only drove me, ultimately, to the conclusion that any Black human being able to survive the horrendous and evil circumstances in which one inevitably finds oneself trapped must be some kind of a giant with great and peculiar abilities, with an armor as resistant as steel yet made of purest gold. My mother is one of the most courageous people I have ever known, with an uncanny will to survive. When she was a young woman, the white folks were much further in the lead than they are now, and their racist rules gave her every disadvantage; yet, she proved herself a queen among women, any women, and as a result will always be one of the great legends for me.

But strange as it is, I’ve heard it echoed by too many Black full-grown males that Black womanhood is the downfall of the Black man in that she (the Black woman) is “evil,” “hard to get along with,” “domineering” “suspicious,” and “narrow-minded.” In short, a black, ugly, evil you-know what.

As time progresses I’ve learned that this description of my mothers, sisters, and partners in crime is used as the basis for the further shoving, by the Black man of his own head into the sand of oblivion. Hence, the Black mother, housewife, and all-round girl Thursday is called upon to suffer both physically and emotionally every, humiliation a woman can suffer and still function.

Her head is more regularly beaten than any other woman’s, and by her own man; she’s the scapegoat for Mr. Charlie; she is forced to stark realism and chided if caught dreaming; her aspirations for her and hers are, for sanity’s sake, stunted; her physical image has been criminally maligned, assaulted, and negated; she’s the first to be called ugly and never yet beautiful, and as a consequence is forced to see her man (an exact copy of her, emotionally and physically), brainwashed and wallowing in self-loathing, pick for his own the physical antithesis of her (the white woman and incubator of his heretofore arch enemy the white man). Then, to add guilt to insult and injury, she (the Black woman) stands accused as the emasculator of the only thing she has ever cared for, her Black man. She is the scapegoat for what white America has made of the “Negro personality.”

Raped and denied the right to cry out in her pain, she has been named the culprit and called “loose,” “hot-blooded,” “wanton,” “sultry,” and “amoral.” She has been used as the white man’s sexual outhouse, and shamefully encouraged by her own ego-less man to persist in this function. Wanting, too, to be carried away by her “Prince Charming,” she must, in all honesty, admit that he has been robbed of his crown by the very assaulter and assassin who has raped her. Still, she looks upon her man as God’s gift to Black womanhood and is further diminished and humiliated and outraged when the feeling is not mutual.

When a white man “likes colored girls,” his woman (the white woman) is the last one he wants to know about it. Yet, seemingly, when a Negro “likes white girls,” his woman (the Black woman) is the first he wants to know about it. White female rejects and social misfits are flagrantly flaunted in our faces as the ultimate in feminine pulchritude. Our women are encouraged by our own men to strive to look and act as much like the white female image as possible, and only those who approach that “goal” in physical appearance and social behavior are acceptable. At best, we are made to feel that we are poor imitations and excuses for white women.

Evil? Evil, you say? The Black woman is hurt, confused, frustrated, angry, resentful, frightened and evil! Who in this hell dares suggest that she should be otherwise? These attitudes only point up her perception of the situation and her healthy rejection of same.

Maybe if our women get evil enough and angry enough, they’ll be moved to some action that will bring our men to their senses. There is one unalterable fact that too many of our men cannot seem to face. And that is, we “black, evil, ugly” women are a perfect and accurate reflection of you “black, evil, ugly” men. Play hide and seek as long as you can and will, but your every rejection and abandonment of us is only a sorry testament of how thoroughly and carefully you have been blinded and brainwashed. And let it further be understood that when we refer to you we mean, ultimately, us. For you are us, and vice versa.

We are the women who were kidnapped and brought to this continent as slaves. We are the women who were raped, are still being raped, and our bastard children snatched from our breasts and scattered to the winds to be lynched, castrated, de-egoed, robbed, burned, and deceived.
We are the women whose strong and beautiful Black bodies were—and are—still being used as a cheap labor force for Miss Anne’s kitchen and Mr. Charlie’s bed, whose rich, black, and warm milk nurtured—and still nurtures—the heir to the racist and evil slavemaster.

We are the women who dwell in the hell-hole ghettos all over the land. We are the women whose bodies are sacrificed, as living cadavers, to experimental surgery in the white man’s hospitals for the sake of white medicine. We are the women who are invisible on the television and movie screens, on the Broadway stage. We are the women who are lusted after, sneered at, leered at, hissed at, yelled at, grabbed at, tracked down by white degenerates in our own pitiable, poverty-stricken, and prideless neighborhoods.

We are the women whose hair is compulsively fried, whose skin is bleached, whose nose is “too big,” whose mouth is “toobig and loud,” whose behind is “too big and broad,” whose feet are “too big and flat,” whose face is “too black and shiny,” and whose suffering and patience is too long and enduring to be believed.

Who’re just too damned much for everybody.

We are the women whose bars and recreation halls are invaded by flagrantly disrespectful, bigoted, simpering, amoral, emotionally unstable, outcast, maladjusted, nymphomaniacal, condescending white women … in desperate and untiring search of the “frothing-at-the-mouth-for-a white-woman, strong backed, sixty-minute hot black.” Our men.

We are the women who, upon protesting this invasion of our privacy and sanctity and sanity, are called “jealous,” and “evil,” and “small-minded,” and “prejudiced.” We are the women whose husbands and fathers and brothers and sons have been plagiarized, imitated, denied, and robbed of the fruits of their genius, and who consequently we see emasculated, jailed, lynched, driven mad, deprived, enraged, and made suicidal. We are the women whom nobody, seemingly, cares about, who are made to feel inadequate, stupid and backward, and who inevitably have the most colossal inferiority complexes to be found.

And who is spreading the propaganda that “the only free people in this country are the white man and the Black woman?” If this be freedom, then Heaven is Hell.

Who will revere the Black woman? Who will keep our neighborhoods safe for Black innocent womanhood? Black womanhood is outraged and humiliated. Black womanhood cries for dignity and restitution and salvation. Black womanhood wants and needs protection, and keeping, and holding. Who will assuage her indignation? Who will keep her precious and pure? Who will glorify and proclaim her beautiful image? To whom will she cry rape?

okay so ya girl has been reading a lot of Hockey RPF because my soul is sin but anyways I’ve been seeing a lot of age regression tropes?? like is that a sports fic thing when people get stressed out they magically transform back into a babby for a few days. because if so then imagine Jack Zimmermann, still in Samwell, turning into his chubby kid self near finals week, very self-conscious over his body image and freaking out because he doesn’t know what’s going on and there are a bunch of adults staring at him like he’s grown a second head

Shitty, of course, along with the rest of the SMH team, still think Jack’s the cutest thing to ever grace the earth. So imagine their shock when Jack starts sniffling over his half-finished plate of chicken tenders and Shitty coaxes it out of Jack that he’s upset because he knows he’s not like his mom or dad and that he has a vague idea that the media thinks he’s ugly, and that he thinks Shitty and everyone else is making fun of him when they call him a “freakin beautiful mothereffer.” 

Honestly I just want the team to give baby Jack a bunch of love, hugs+kisses, and support. Shitty has about 50 photos where it’s just Holster and Ransom coddling Jack and taking him skating, or letting Jack ride on their shoulders. The others are all Bitty baking with him and Bitty is just melting when Jack asks if he can lick the spoon Bitty used to stir the peach filling. Baby Jack is sweet and must be protected. 

Scars.

A/N- This was a personal request from a friend who went through a hard time x I wont post your request up here love but know I think you’re absolutely stunning x

Summary- Reader grew up with acne scars which has affected her lifestyle, and reader feels like she isn’t good for anyone. Let alone, Dean.


The strong distinct smell of coffee was the reason for your awakening as it lingered throughout the entire bunker. You yawned as you stretched your stiff limbs and the sound of your spine cracking echoed in your room. You rubbed your eyes hoping the sleep would magically disappear as well as your grumpy mood. You were staring into an empty space simply basking in the few moments you had alone with your mind however it was interrupted by three loud knocks.

“Y/N?, you up?” Sam’s gruff voice rasped behind the heavy wooden doors, his voice deeper than normal indicating he had just woken up.

“Yeah” Your voice came out hushed and soft so you cleared your throat before throwing the heavy blanket off yourself.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute” You heard a grunt in approval as you heard Sam’s feet take him somewhere else. You raised your arms up higher and released a deeply yet satisfying yawn as you made your way to the inbuilt sink.

 You scratched your head and grabbed the familiar bag on the table beside. Zipping open the bag you were welcomed with your beauty products which you couldn’t live without. As some say you’re exaggerating you simply sigh and look into the mirror, faced with what you and only you see, nobody else.

The prominents dark circles under your eyes, building up as you spend more nights awake with the Winchesters. Your vibrants y/e/c now dull and lifeless as they stared back at you holding no emotion whatsoever. Yet these tiny aspects of your flaws never bothered you the most compared to what has scarred you emotionally and physically. The oddly grouped indents on your cheeks frustrated you and you couldn’t do anything but blame your younger self. You cursed your brain as you failed to treat your acne correctly, when you were 13 you went through a stage every teenager goes through, puberty. Whilst some got the great end of the bargain, you felt you were unfortunate.

The rising red bumps invaded your skin and left their marks behind. Which made you feel as if your skin was anything but perfect. You groaned at your typical negative thoughts and washed your face . You brushed your teeth as well. With droplets of water still on your face, you dried it with a towel and began with your daily routine which took about half an hour to complete.

Time passed and as you finished your makeup off with translucent powder you stepped back and stared at this porcelain face in front of you. You wished this was how you looked all the time but unfortunately life doesn’t work that way. You changed out of your pyjamas and into grey sweatpants and a tank top. You unlocked your door and head out towards the kitchen.

“Morning” You yawned again as you passed by the two brothers sitting on the wooden round table with newspapers in their hands. You made yourself a couple coffee while they mumbled in reply to your greeting.

“Whats on for today?” You grabbed an apple and sat beside Dean but regretting it instantly. You were honestly baffled with how beautiful a person could look in the morning with zero effort whatsoever. You saw how the slight presence of scruff invaded his cheeks which traveled across and down to his prominent cheekbones. His bright pink lips, how they appeared so soft and moist annoyed you the most because you’d often get lost thinking about how they must feel. But what you cherished most about the eldest Winchester was his eyes. The speckles of hazel amongst the green could tame any beast in your opinion. He had seen so much ugly yet his eyes remained beautiful.

“Y/N?” Dean snapped his fingers in front of your face and it occurred to you that you were lost in your thought yet once again. You heard Sam snicker and you glared at him before clearing your throat.

“We were saying we have nothing on today. So Sammy wants to buy some things, wanna come?” You took a sip of your coffee and tucked a piece of hair behind your ears. Sam noticed the way his brother admired Y/N. How he refrained from moving the loose pieces of hair from your face or how your eyes shimmered when he was around. But neither of them made a move, why? Because they were both broken.

“Sure let me get changed” You left the kitchen and walked into your room deciding on what to wear while you were completely unaware of the conversation the winchester boys were having.

“Dean come on, you have to tell her” Dean rolled his eyes at Sam’s desperate tone and he folded the newspaper in his hand.

“I’m not going to say anything especially when she doesn’t feel the same.” Sam grabbed a grape from his plate and threw it at Dean’s head. Dean’s eyes narrowed at his brother while Sam had annoyed expression plastered on his face.

“Are you freaking kidding? She is crazy about you, Dean. I swear you’re so dense you make Cas look like a genius.” Dean smirked at the slight possibility of you returning his feelings but he shook away those thoughts.

“If she did then she’d be more open with me. Sammy, she doesn’t talk to us. Why was she so adamant to get a lock? Why can’t she trust us?”

“She’s human Dean, she’s insecure. Give her time” Dean nodded his head knowing his brother was right. He knew you had personal problems with some things but he wanted to know why you couldn’t trust him. He wanted you, all of you, flaws and all.


“Y/N please make sure Dean doesn’t put any crap in the trolley while I’m not looking. I swear he’s like 8 when it comes to shopping” You giggled as you exited the car. Dean flipped his little brother off as the three of you walked towards a grocery store. Before you met Sam and Dean they barely had money to shop at a legit grocery store where they had fresh produce. When the three of you met you fortunately came into a lot of money as your parents passed away due to a rogue “animal attack.”

You weren’t oblivious to the supernatural world, your father was a hunter and well known infact. So when your parents died 3 years ago, Sam and Dean took you under their wing. Taught you how to survive and in return you insisted to be in charge of home products so they didn’t need to worry about it. You ended up giving your card to Sam since he was the one shopping the most, and you trusted them, the both of them. It didn’t matter since they were family too.

“Shut up Sammy, Lucky Charms are not crap” You saw the two boys bicker and so you decided to buy some personal products while you were here.

“Guys i’ll catch up. Just need to grab a few things” They both mumbled a sure before continuing with their petty argument. You walked down the aisle towards feminine hygiene and looked for the usual product you buy. You kept walking until you bumped into what felt like a rock wall.

“Oops, sorry” you looked up to see the same pair of blue eyes you thought you left behind forever. Liam Asher. Your first boyfriend, your first love and your very first heartbreak.

“Y-Y/N?” In Front of you stood the one man who ruined your self confidence, who tore down your walls and broke your soul. You felt like you couldn’t breathe so you turned around and walked towards where Sam and Dean where.

“Wait! Y/N!” Liam grasped your wrist and you turned around to see his eyes ridden with guilt.

“Liam. Let. Me. Go” Your words laced in venom left him unaffected as his hand was tight around your wrist.

“Please, Y/N. Do you understand how much I’ve missed you baby please” You saw the tears pool in his eyes but you were ahead of him as your cheeks were stained. You panicked knowing your makeup was going to run and Liam noticed, his expression became even guiltier as you touched your cheeks.

“Hey Y/N, Sam won’t let me buy the luc- Is everything okay here?” You heard Dean’s voice behind you. You turned around and he saw your discomfort, immediately he was by your side pulling Liam’s hand away from yours.

“Why don’t you let her go before i fucking kill you” You gasped at Dean’s harsh tone and you gently touched his shoulder to calm him down.

“Listen man I don’t want any trouble. I just wanna talk to my girl” Your head snapped towards LIam and you shoved your finger against his chest.

“You do NOT get to call me your girl. I am nothing to you. You made that quite clear” Liam held your finger while his lips quivered.

“Baby please. I love you so much” You shook your head. You couldn’t believe his lies. You looked behind to see Dean’s pissed off expression, he wanted to tear Liam’s head off and feed to hellhounds but he was calm, for you.

“Liam. You told our entire school I was a quick fuck.” Deans head whipped towards you so quickly, you swore you heard a snap.

“YOU DID WHAT?” He was about to grab Liams collar but you calmed him down once again.

“Dean it’s okay” You whispered before paying your attention back to Liam.
You told everyone that I was so ugly you needed the lights off to have sex with me. You told them about my scars. You told them you were so ashamed to be seen in public with me and I desperately needed makeup. The entire fucking school laughed at me. Do you understand what you’ve done to me? I am constantly afraid someone will see me behind this layer of makeup all because of you. Do I look fucking beautiful now?” you ripped your hand away again and now you were balling. You backed up and you felt Dean’s protective arm on the small of your back. Liam’s head was down the entire time, his once graceful features was now nothing but constant reminder of torment for you. You spent the last year of highschool being bullied every day all because Liam wanted to be popular, he cherished status over you.

“Y/N. I know what i did was wrong. Baby you’ve always been beautiful, I was lost. I’m an idiot, i’m so sorry. But baby, we’ve known eachother for 10 years. I make a mistake and you run to this guy you don’t even know? Your parents wouldn’t be happy” You inhaled a deep sharp of air. Dean tensed behind you and you felt another presence, looking up you saw Sam.

“You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about my parents.” You noticed a group of people gathering, you were causing a scene but you needed closure.

“Y/N. please we can work this out” He stepped closer and Sam and Dean stood in front of you protectively.

“We can never work this out. Do you know for an entire year I was alone?” You moved towards him. “I like someone right now but I’m too afraid to say anything because then he’ll see me without my mask. You have broken me down to a stump, Liam. The names were nothing, it was the physical pain that broke me. People physically hurt me saying you were too good for me. How cliche the popular guy falling for me… That didn’t bother me but the fact that you cared about what other people thought which ruined us. You let it ruin me. I know i’m not beautiful, I know i’m not gorgeous, I know i’ll never be pretty. Yet you knew my darkest fear and used it against me. I can never forgive nor forget that. I loved you, that was before you became a monster.” You turned around and stood in front of the boys. Dean held his keys out before kissing your forehead.

“Go wait in the car, sweetheart. We’ll be right there” you nodded and accepted the keys. You walked by various people who sympathetically smiled at you on your way out. You opened the impala and sat down, thinking about what had just happened. You let the tears fall, knowing it was pointless to keep them in.

You punched the chair in front of you out of anger, it took you three years to be somewhat alright. But all that hard work vanished and you were back to square one. You screamed out in pain, for yourself, for your family for everything. When your parents passed, you felt emotionless. 

The years of torment managed to make you emotionally numb and you didn’t get to mourn. So now you were sitting in a car in the middle of a parking lot, screaming. You calmed down after a while and pulled out your makeup bag. You noticed your mascara was slightly running which wasn’t a problem but your foundation on your cheeks were gone. Every flaw you tried to hide was now visible and you panicked. You began applying and you didn’t notice that the boys had started walking out.

“Sammy we should’ve done more than simply speak to him” Dean grunted as he rubbed his face against his palm. Sam scoffed next to him holding a few plastic bags.

“Dean you scared the crap out of him. Literally. I think when you said “If i ever find you near Y/N then so help me god, I will drag you to hell and burn you myself”. Though I don’t think he actually understands the truth behind it” Dean sighed and he looked up to see you vigorously paint your cheeks.

“Sammy… she’s so damn beautiful. How can she not see that?” Sam shrugged and his eyes were on your bloodshot ones. They were drained and tired.

“You need to show her, Dean.”


The ride back to the bunker was excruciatingly quiet. The boys didn’t ask a single question about Liam which you were thankful for. The last thing you needed was more tears running down your face. When the car came to a halt you were instantly out and into your room. You heard a pair of boots follow in your trail but right now you just wanted to rip apart everything in your sight. You ran into your room and locked the door, you hadn’t realised you began to shed tears since you felt anger, pain, despair and hatred.

“Y/N open up” Dean soft calm voice could be heard while you picked up the lamp and threw it across the room. You pulled your chair out from under your table and threw it at the wall near you.

“Y/N! Please just open this damn door!” When Dean realised you weren’t listen he cursed under his breath.

“Fuckin hell. SAMMY” You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and didn’t recognise the person before you. How did your face manage to ruin who you were? You sat down next to a small pile of broken wood while your head laid on your arms as they were placed on your knees. You heard whispers outside the door, you heard them faintly discuss on breaking the door down so you sighed and got up. You felt terrible as the boys were not meant to blame yet they accepted your broken outburst. You turned off the light and unlocked the door. As you sat down in your previous spot there was a minute of silence until the door handle jiggled and a face came through.

“Y/N?” Deans calming tone brought some form of ease in you. For a while now you wanted to be him but comparing yourself to the women he went home with was far too detrimental towards your health. You saw his hand reach for the light which you stopped

“Please don’t turn the light on. Please” Dean replied with a light okay before mumbling something to Sam who walked away. Dean stepped into the dark room and he could barely see the outline of your hunched body.

“Y/N. I know you’re not okay and I want you to not be okay with me” You sniffled as you felt Dean sit near you. You wiped your cheeks and under your eyes to relieve yourself of some moisture but ultimately failed.

“Why?” You whispered. The room so quiet you could hear his steady breathing.

“Because I care for you, Y/N. So much.” You shook your head back and forth not wanting to believe him.

“You can’t Dean. I can’t be cared for, i’m nothing” You felt a hand grasp yours and Dean was right beside you.

“Don’t you ever say that to me. Y/N. I cant believe what that Liam ass did but i will make him pay for hurting a beautiful person like you” You scoffed and removed your hand from his soft embrace.

“Do you wanna know what the worst part is?” Dean remained quiet, a sign for you to continue.

“I fell in love with him, a naive 16 year old nobody and a popular 17 year old somebody… how cliche. Right? Dean I have scars on my face that ruined my life. I never hated them until Liam used it as a weapon which was used every day for 365 days. The torment, the bullying it was unstoppable Dean. I don’t understand, why did my face have to define me? Is that all I am?” You felt Dean pull you in and you rested your head on his shoulder.

“I told myself that it’s all about the person who i am inside, but what if a began to hate the person I was? Naive, stupid, innocent. I realised that if i hurt my toe or arm i would still be the same person but my face? It has changed who i am and who i want to be. I’m never good enough Dean… i’m never good enough” You sobbed into Dean’s arms and you felt both his arms around you. You felt something wet on the crown of your head and you looked up to see a single tear dripping from his beautiful eyes.

“I don’t think you know how much it hurts to see you like this.” He whispered while he continued to rock you back and forth.

“What Liam did, he will pay for in hell. I’ll personally make sure of that. But Y/N, i don’t think you realise how much beauty i see in you.” You lifted your head as you were about to interrupt him until he dipped his head and your lips met with his. Your eyes widened lie the size of golf balls as you felt his lips move against yours. He pulled away but not fully as his lips lingered on yours.

“Kiss me back Y/N. Let me show you how beautiful you are” He placed his lips on yours again and this time you kissed him back. The salty mix of tears was passed around your tongue yet all you could feel was your heart beating erratically. Dean pulled away and his forehead was pressed against yours.

“Do you not see the light in you? Y/N, you have brought so much happiness into this broken family it’s no longer dark but it’s beautiful… just like you. Y/N… what you make me feel here” Dean brought your hand up to his chest and you felt his heart pumping fast and hard. “Is something no one else has made me feel. Your charming yet graceful personality has me on my knees sometimes. Your angelic smile causes my heart to skip a needed beat. I love coming home knowing youre here safe, do you know how much I love knowing i get to come home to you? Your gorgeous eyes melt my heart with a single blink and even though you’re hiding behind that mask i know that your face is as radiant as the sun. You wanna know how i know that?” You hadn’t realised you stopped crying and your shoulders felt a bit lighter. You nodded your head and he pecked your lips.

“Because I have fallen for you. I have fallen for your heart, your hair, your smile, your fingers, your legs.. i have fallen for the most beautiful person on Earth” You were speechless, never once has anyone made you feel worthy. Never.

“But all those women… Dean i’m nothing like them” He grabbed your face between his hands and he rested his forehead on yours.

“They were a temporary fix but baby, you’re the real deal. Y/N please, let me see all of you. Take off that mask and let me love you the way you deserve to be loved. Trust me please” You contemplated for a minute, this is a huge step but as you stared into his with the slight light from the passage illuminating the dark room, you could see the sincerity. There wasn’t a moment of lies but pure sincerity.

“Okay” You got up and walked to the sink, you turned the tap on and inhaled a shaky breath. You grabbed your makeup removal face wash and scrubbed away the caked foundation. You washed your face and you felt your soft skin free of makeup. You wiped your face with a towel and you heard the light switch flicker. The lights were on and you were exposed.

“It’s okay baby, trust me.” You released a sigh and you felt Dean right behind you. His hands on your waist and his lips next to your ear.

“Let me love all of you” You turned around with your face still in your towel. Dean reached up and touched your trembling cold fingers which grasped the towel tightly. He pulled each of them away from your face until he held the towel. Your hands were now on his biceps and he held the towel against your cheeks.

“I’ve got you babygirl” He pulled away the towel and for the first time ever he saw the real you. His gasped slightly and you freaked out.

“I knew you would hate it, give me the towel back please” Dean threw the towel behind him and he grasped your face tightly.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my entire life. So beautiful, so pure, so hot” As Dean complimented you he kissed your entire face and you slightly giggled at the odd feeling. He chuckled and stared into your gaze before attacking your lips once more. As things began to heat up you moaned which earned a deep groan from Dean.

“Fuck, you’re so hot” Dean loved you like you deserved to be loved that night. He treasured you like you were a gift from god. He treated you like a queen, he made you feel something you hadn’t felt in years.

He made you feel like you, beautiful.

That was until Sam ruined it by congratulating the two of you and claiming he was right with “i told you so.” But nonetheless, you never wore makeup around the boys again, unless it was to make you feel powerful and not a mask for you to hide behind. Because in the end, beauty is how you feel inside which reflects in our eyes and Dean noticed your eyes shimmered more every day.

I wanted to start off this week with a list of some of my all time favorite romance animes and one’s that I think you will all enjoy. If you want a specific list created just send me a message and I will complete it as soon as possible. Have a great week everyone!

Must Watch Romance Animes


1. Clannad
2. Itazura na Kiss
3. Toradora!
4. Kaichou Wa Maid Sama
5. Anohana: The Flower We Saw That Day
6. Karin
7.Chobits
8.Shakugan no Shana
9. Kanon
10. Zero no Tsukaima
11. Kimi Ni Todoke
12. Special A
13. Fruits Basket
14. Rosario Vampire
15.Sword Art Online
16. Vampire knight
18. Boku wa Tomodachi ga Sukunai Next
19. Suzuka Asahina
20. Midori Days
21. Tonari no Kaibutsu-kun
22. Angel Beats
23. Nogizaka Haruka No Himitsu
24. Seto no Hanayome
25. Tayutama - Kiss On My Deity
26. Spice & Wolf
27. Kaze No Stigma
28. IS: Infinite Stratos
29. True Tears
30. Omamori Himari
31. This Ugly Yet Beautiful World
32. Lovely Complex
33. Kobato
34. Mayo Chiki!

The fact is, I perfectly know there’s nothing wrong with me.

I see myself fat but I still realize my weight is just fine.
I see myself ugly yet I recognize the beauty of my being unique.
I see myself as a failure yet I know I’ve achieved many things in my life.
I see myself as a loner yet I’m hardly ever alone.

The fact is, I perfectly know there’s nothing wrong with me.

I know I can write well. I know I have a particular voice when I sing. I know I’m good at listening to people. I know I’m a good talker. I know I’m strong.

The fact is, I perfectly know there’s nothing wrong with me.

I learnt to swim by myself when people considered me too old to do it.
I learnt how to stand for myself after years of mocking from my classmates.
I learnt how to deal with my mental issues.
I learnt that there’s noting wrong with asking for a help.

The fact is, I perfectly know there’s nothing wrong with me.

So why do I feel like the world is falling down every time I open my eyes in the morning? Why does my head feel like exploding from the abnormal amount of thoughts in it? Why do I feel like I worth nothing?

Why am I only surviving when I perfectly know what ‘living’ means?

—  neebe

healthy changeling mare.

fun fact: Changelings are a type of fairy creatures depicted ugly as hell sometimes, yet beautiful too. Changelings have tangled hair and it’s impossible for them to comb it.

in lot’s of cultures, Changelings obtained their name because them being fairy folk were traded with human babies to take their place. Humans and fairies could do this trade willingly or not knowing.

The traded humans were often kept as precious pets, other times the fairy would choose the human because it possessed a natural magical nature. Other reason why faeries would trade their young  would be for their children to live a comfortable human life.