all she had to do was this and i was already in tears

iwasapruneratfaverolles  asked:

PLEASE TELL THE CHILDREN THE STORY OF MS. STUBELS

Grace fuck, why would you invoke her name like that???

Okay, fine, gather round children, buckle up because we’re going on a bumpy ride back to everyone’s collective least favorite place: 7th grade.

Some background: I went to a very small Catholic school. One class per grade (we were the largest with 19 kids), everyone knew each other whether they wanted to or not. Despite basically every teacher and faculty members insistence that we were The Best And Most Special Class In The School and that everyone loved having us, the longstanding 7th grade teacher Mrs. O’Hara decided to retire in the summer of 2008, meaning the school had to find us a new teacher for the upcoming year. This would be like, the first new teacher in the school in a while, and as she was getting the ‘best class’, it was viewed as a Big Deal. Somewhere in like July or August we got a letter announcing Mrs. Stubel, and it came with a list of books to pick for the summer reading, and that was basically all the information we had.

So…the first day of class. She seems nice enough. Very…ditsy, I guess? It was very easy for her to get herself off topic while talking. She constantly paced around the room, never staying in one spot for longer than a second, complaining she has restless leg syndrome. Which like, I’m sure she did, but she was in the middle of introducing herself and then went on a 20 minute tangent about restless leg syndrome without anyone prompting her. It was almost like you could see her scattered thoughts flying around her head.

So anyone, she eventually gives somewhat of an introduction- she had only taught in public schools before, and kept worrying she ‘didn’t know’ how to teach in a Catholic school despite the entire class insisting literally nothing was different, you just teach the curriculum, twice a week we have religion class with Sister Mary King, that’s literally it (she still talked over us in worry), she told us about her kids, she told us about her obsession with Emily Dickinson, stuff like that.

And then she hands us this worksheet.

She’s like, “Oh, these are just some basic questions for you to answer! Just so I can get to know you guys better!” like in lieu of an icebreaker game, which is fine, but…the questions. The questions were all “What is your most haunting fear?”, “What is your deepest regret?”, “Have you ever experienced the pain of loss?”, “What was your worst injury?”, “What was your worst nightmare?”, all questions like that, and then on the back she wanted us to draw a gravestone and write out what we wanted our epitaph to be.

We were twelve year olds, mind you.

Oh my God and one girl missed the first day because of her grandmother’s funeral, so when she came the next day and saw what the teacher was insisting she do for homework, she almost had a panic attack? And the lady still made her do it? Literally who wants to think about death anymore at a time like that omfg.

Okay, so then we get to the summer reading book reports, right? Now, she had given a list of maybe, 20 books that you could pick from, read it, and then present an oral report on it. You had to have notecards and you had to be able to answer questions from the class at the end. All in all, I’ve had worse projects.

So, on this list, she apparently put Madeleine L’Engle’s entire book series on the list…only she did not make it known that this was a series and not multiple stand alone books, so when reports started up it caused mass-panic of kids trying to put together plot points and make connections on what the hell they had read.

I was the only kid in the class who had chosen to read “A Wrinkle In Time”, and that has since lead to a series of events that…really actually scares me, I’m still incredibly freaked out, I’m not going to get into it right now because it’ll take away from the current story, but just know that I’m not above wondering if it only happened because I read the book for Stubel.

Anyway, so like, I got through the report okay. The class asking questions about it was fine, but the teacher kept asking questions that didn’t make sense, like, at all. My friend Angie has always had super neat handwriting and Mrs. Stubel got like, obsessed with her notecards and asked if she could borrow them for something. When we got our grades back a few weeks later, Angie had points taken off for not having notecards.

And then her teaching just…didn’t happen. She’d never stay on a topic, she’d always get herself distracted! We were not learning anything. And like, this wasn’t a class of advanced smart kids that loved to learn. By all accounts we should’ve been thrilled. But it got out of hand. It got to points where we had to start teaching lessons to ourselves, asking teacher from other grades for help, always coming home in tears, complaining constantly to our parents and the principal because this woman wasn’t teaching us anything. There were two kids who asked her multiple times for extra help, and she told them each time to ‘talk to me after school’, but then she’d leave immediately after school so they wouldn’t be able to talk to her. They finally brought up the issue in the middle of class and she had a breakdown, yelling about how nobody ever thinks that maybe the teacher has a lot of work to do, and maybe she’s entitled to taking off early, but when we tried to argue she shouldn’t schedule meetings and then break them off in the name of relaxation, she stormed out of the room and tried to get the principal to give us detention. (Which, like, our school didn’t even do, and she was the only one in the wrong during this situation) We are still in September at this point, and already at least ten kids have parents considering transferring them to another school. (And remember, there was only 19 of us, and most of the class had been together since preschool, so that was a big deal).

Then, she starts coming in with all the weird bruises. All the Moms™ immediately started gossiping that her husband had to be beating her, and that’s why she was so screwy in the head. But the way she talked about her husband made it seem like he *might* be dead, and we actually did witness her fall and smack her head into a doorknob once, so no one really knew what to believe. (Also, I’m not trying to imply that abuse would make someone crazy or ‘damaged’ or anything, this is just what was being said. I think they were trying to turn her into a more sympathetic character, because if you feel sorry for her you don’t have to hate her for frustrating your kids so much, and Hate Is A Bad Emotion.)

Also…this woman and Emily Dickinson.

She talked about Emily Dickinson every chance she could get. None of us knew who Emily Dickinson really was before she got there and you could see in her mind it was a capitol offense. She found out the curriculum didn’t have room to cover her (because like, we had a text book), and was way too upset about it. She started reading her poems whenever she found the time (usually somewhere in history class), and always gave us very detailed accounts about her dressing up as Emily and reading her poetry at the library.

Now, two things to note here:

  1. The library did not hire her to do this. She would literally just get in the mood, put on an Emily Dickinson costume that she made by herself, drive to different libraries, and just read poetry out loud to everyone there until someone eventually asked her to leave.
  2. The way she described these events…her tone, the look on her face, her posture…you could just tell that she was getting some sort of sexual gratification out of this? Like dressing up as Emily Dickinson in public and reading her sad poems is really what got this lady’s jollies rocking? Got her all hot and bothered? Which is…a lot, but why would you tell a bunch of seventh graders about it holy shit. What about that sounds like a good idea! What about that turns you back on!

So anyway, we learned a lot about Emily Dickinson against our will.

One of the Davids™ was reading a book for pleasure- which shouldn’t have been a shocker, a lot of kids always had books on them, but Stubel got really interested and asked if she could borrow it from him. He was like ‘sure, after I finish it?’ but she took it that day. He asked her for it back for like five weeks straight.

And…the strudels.

Okay, so the school was trying some dorky thing to promote ~togetherness~ or some virtue or something, I don’t remember the specifics of why, but each class had to make a huge themed poster and hang it on the wall outside the classroom. Which was like, whatever, not the most thrilling project but at least it allowed us to be productive vs just sitting there as the teacher runs about the room rambling about her family vacation from four years ago. Mrs. Stubel decided we needed a quirky nickname and after like three days of deliberation we were christened “Stubel’s Special Strudels”!

(points for alliteration or whatever, but no one actually voted for that and what exactly do strudels have to do with Catholicism? It became a big running joke amongst the kids)

Also, in case you were wondering, she didn’t explain the assignment correctly to us- so every other class had like these beautiful, artistic, well-themed and put together posters, while ours was just…literally a bunch of shit thrown together on paper. Nothing fit with each other, it was literally embarrassing to look at.

But then…she wouldn’t drop the strudel thing. Like she kept bringing it up. She got really into strudels and would just tell us random shit about them. Finally, someone jokes that we should get strudels one day for a party (like instead of a pizza party), and she’s Freaking Out and On Board. She really wants to buy us strudels and have a breakfast party now. She talked about it for like two days straight.

So like… you know in school when you would have a pizza party, usually the teacher would buy it? That’s how they always happened in my experience (not counting the last day of 10th grade when some kid had pizza delivered to the school for lunch but it didn’t get there until math class lol). But especially in grade school? Like if it wasn’t a PTA made party that’s super organized, the school would buy the food, right? Right?

Yeah, so she was like, if this is happening you guys need to give me the money. Just give me the money and then I’ll pick them up on my way to work!! And after some arguing some kids are on board. Strudels should only cost a couple dollars right?

And she’s like, oh no, I’m gonna get them from this high end bakery near my house so it’ll be special, but they’re not cheap and it’ll be a big order! I’m gonna need like fifteen dollars from each of you!

And at this point I’m just like…lady. Come on. 

But she keeps insisting. She’s not gonna go until every student in class pays up.

And I’m like…I’m poor. I don’t even like strudel.  And some of the less-naïve kids are siding with me.

And then she pulls that “you guys are just spoiling all the fun for your classmates” shit, like the naïve kids who already paid up, so it gets to the point where we just gotta cave and give her the money.

(I ended up stealing it out of my Crazy Bitch Aunt’s wallet so it’s whatever, I guess.)

And then of course, shockingly enough, every morning she was met with “where are the strudels?” and every morning she went wide eyed, slapped her forehead and yelled in embarrassed horror “I totally forgot! Tomorrow, guys, I promise!”

Honestly, with how scatterbrained and confused she always was…like to this day I can’t tell you with 100% certainty whether she hustled us or was just actually forgetting about the damn pastries, I choose to lean towards the hustled us side because that’s just the type of people I’m used to, but if I found out it was innocent forgetfulness I wouldn’t exactly be surprised.

She couldn’t handle more than one person talking at a time. Like, we’d have break periods, or group work, or something and all the talking made her go wide-eyed and batty. She’d look overworked and anxious and would be darting around the room trying to do work or something but she couldn’t focus and she’d yell at anyone who tried to talk to her directly. I remember one time she was using this boys desk for something so he asked “where am I supposed to sit?” and she snapped “Sit on the ceiling for all I care!”. And this kid was the Class Clown™ , so he immediately grabbed a chair in one hand and started climbing the bookcase to try and reach the ceiling. She’s standing right next to this and doesn’t even notice. He got all four chair legs planted on the ceiling and was trying to somehow maneuver his way into the chair (I really don’t know what the plan was exactly- he was really tall and it was a small building, so I think he probably had the idea that if he can get his body upside down and in the chair, and stretch out his arms like a hand-stand to hold onto bookcase, he could arguably sit on the ceiling.) but he slipped. Crashed into my desk and the two desks next to me, knocked over the book case, broke the chair in half and hit the desks with enough force to knock them down lower. It was hilarious. Everyone was loosing their shit cracking up (he was fine) and it still took Stubel like five minutes to notice his lying out across the desks right in front of her eyes. She was pissed but how did she miss any of it in the first place? She was barely being helpful in whatever it was she was trying to do.

This was the year the Phillies were going to the World Series, and all the grades were having a Phillies Rally in the cafeteria so a news crew was coming to the school and each class was supposed to come up with fun little cheers for them to broadcast. Multiple cheer ideas were presented to her and she vetoed all of them, someone even suggested just singing the damn eagles theme song with replaced words and calling it a day but she vetoed that too, she was very adamant that she could come up with a cheer all by herself and it’ll be the best one (whoever had the best cheer was winning like an ice cream day or something idk). And then like…literally five minutes before the rally she just hands us signs with the letters and was like ‘we’re just gonna spell out Phillies it will be cute won’t it my strudels???’. We were the weakest class there, predictably. I think we lost to the kindergarteners. There might still be a video online of me yelling “ i “ passionately at the top of my lungs. It was online bc our cheer was so bland the news crew cut it out of the broadcast.

I literally can’t say enough about how she never taught us anything. She’d be going on some tangent about how she doesn’t understand the science behind skiing, and I’d be like “Okay yes but please can you just tell me where Romania is on a map???” And she’d start fights whenever someone actually wanted to learn. It was so easy to get her angry but so hard for her to stay on topic. Kids started teaching the class themselves! Like seriously, she’d be rambling and one of us would just go up to the podium, open the teacher’s guide textbook and just start reading out loud and talking over her. By the time she noticed we’d be halfway through a lesson. And we understood it better than when she tried! You know something’s wrong when pre-teens are more qualified for a job than an adult who supposedly went to school for this.

We were in the church having run-throughs for our upcoming Confirmation and she almost set the church on fire…fifteen different times. In less than half an hour. How hard is it to hold a candle?

Okay, and here’s when stuff starts kicking up. It was October 28th, a Tuesday, and it was our last day of school that week because they were having parent-teacher conferences the rest of the week. So we were just hanging out, watching movies in class and reading (lord knows we weren’t learning), and Stubel calls me over to her desk.

So like, she had given everyone little bags with candy for Halloween, but I get up there and she hands me an extra one. And she’s like “Molly I know your birthday is tomorrow and I bought you a present but I left it on my coffee table this morning by accident! So just have the candy for now!”

And I’m like….”Ma’am I’m like, the sixth birthday this year. You didn’t give anyone else presents?”

And she goes “Oh, I know but this is a special secret surprise. I just know you’re gonna love it! Do you wanna stop by my house later this week to pick it up or should I just give it to you Monday after school?”

And like…In writing this sounds like a non-threatening exchange, and like, it was, but I felt so uncomfortable holy shit. I’m looking over my shoulder and shooting my friends SOS signals. Something about this felt so weird in my gut omfg. I told her thanks and I’d just see her Monday.

So we flash forward to Wednesday- my 13th birthday, the day the Phillies won the world series, and also the day my mother innocently strolled into the school for her meeting only to be met with screaming, the sound of heavy destruction, and the school secretary Mrs. Daily running at her in a panic, waving her arms and yelling “YOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED YOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED GET IN MY OFFICE NOW!”

So my poor mother, who thought she could handle this whole meeting in a few minutes and barely be an hour late for work, is now barricaded in the front office with the school secretary, as the noises from down the hall get louder and louder. The woman explains that they had gotten so many complaints about Mrs. Stubel that this morning, when she got to the school, the principal Sister Patricia called her in and said “Listen, we need you to be professional and still have the parent conferences, but we have to let you go. We just don’t think you fit in well here, and the kids need to come first and feel comfortable in their school.” and like, I’m paraphrasing because I wasn’t there, but we all know she was very polite and professional about it.

Mrs. Stubel, however…was not.

She flipped her chair and stormed out of the office, and locks herself in the seventh grade classroom. She started wrecking the shit out of that place, screaming obscenities and the top of her lungs, they had to call the cops on her! She was locked in there for almost an hour! And let me just give you a nice little list of everything she did in that classroom:

  • Smashed three windows.
  • Threw everything off her desk and carved swear words all over it.
  • Got cleaning fluid that she knew would damage the chalk boards, smeared it all over.
  • Cracked the chalk boards by repeatedly smashing chairs against them.
  • Wrote swear words all over the walls and on desks
  • Went into students desks, ripped up their books.
  • Stole my glasses. (which were in my desk bc I only used them in class at the time)
  • Threw some desks around.
  • Carved swear words into the boards. (there was so much carving I’m assuming she just had a knife on her person, which has to lead to the question, did she have a knife on her while she was in class with us?)
  • Physically ripped the hooks to hang backpacks on out of the wall.
  • Knocked the closet door off it’s hinges.
  • Ripped up all the books in the bookcases and threw their pages all around the room.
  • Wrote lewd phrases inside student’s desks.
  • Broke multiple chairs.
  • Used her podium as a battering ram against the wall that’s in front of where the backpacks go. (the wall won but Damage Was Inflicted)
  • Set a fire in the trash can.
  • When the principal and other teachers started trying to get in, she tossed her rolling chair at the door to scare them off.
  • She was screaming curse words at the top of her lungs the entire time, and cursing the school and the kids and the principal and the church in general, and the school building was small, so all the parents and the smaller children that had to come to the meetings (who were locked in their respective classrooms in fear) heard everything.
  • So much more? But it’s 4:30 in this morning and this list is already long.

So my mom is in the front office and deadass the

entire police force

shows up, running down the hallway to the classroom yelling at her to stop, and it takes a while for them to get her out holy shit. They knocked down the door and she tried to escape out of one of the broken windows! But they got her and dragged her out.

So of course, in such a small school with very involved parents this shit spread like wildfire. The entire town knew within the day. The poor principal called the newly retired old-seventh grade teacher and was like “So we…need some help” and the lady was like “I already heard I’ll be there Monday” omfg. I remember I got a text from one of my classmates saying “if your birthday wish was for us to be set free from the beast I love you” omfg.

So, we eventually go back to school on Monday and everyone’s buzzing. The principal has us go to the cafeteria and she ‘delicately’ explains the situation, and that the old teacher is coming out of retirement for us, the school has a restraining order against Mrs. Stubel now and that she’s sorry we had to deal with this mess. Our classroom had to go under some heavy reconstruction before we could be let back in there, so for like two weeks we alternated between the cafeteria and the preschooler’s classroom, we had no books or anything, just provided loose-leaf paper and pens. It was like, surreal, but everyone was just so happy to be rid of her and to be in the presence of a competent teacher omfg. We eventually were able to get back into our usual classroom.

  1. It took a while for things to go completely back to normal, though. After the big spectacle she made, for weeks after she was fired we were all very scared of the possibility of Mrs. Stubel returning to the school with a gun in hand. It was always a topic we whispered about at lunch with wide eyes and shivers. Like…genuine nightmare scenario.
  2. About two weeks after she was fired, a boy in the back of the classroom gasped loudly during SSR, and when we all looked at him, he whispered in anger “She never gave us our freakin’ strudels!”
  3. About three months after she was fired, we were lined up at the door to go to Library when a few of us looked through the windows and saw something darting through the trees. It was fast and we couldn’t make anything out, so we let it drop. When the class and teacher returned half and hour later, the book she had borrowed months before from one of the boys was sitting on his desk. It was just laying there, the room was silent, nothing had been disturbed…but I have never seen a book look so threatening. People were freaking out. Someone kept insisting that she turned the book into a bomb. No one figure out how she got in the school, and no one could figure out how she got it on the right desk, as we had switched the seating arrangement since she had last been there.  
  4. A full six months after she had left, it was nearing the end of the school year and our class was dicking around during our last computer class. Someone found a website (that we weren’t allowed to be on) that pulls up any police records attached to whoever’s name you enter, so someone decided to search Mrs. Stubel as a joke. We ended up finding out she had like six DUI’s.

Aaaaand that’s the story of the horrendous teacher I had for two months in 7th grade. One of my favorite party stories but tbh she still haunts me™ .

episode two :: Yuri realizes, suddenly and terribly, he might be a little bit in love.  


Victor doesn’t even try to go to sleep.  He just lays in bed with his laptop, watching the thirty-seven takes of Yuuri trying to get “hi, I’m Yuuri Katsuki, and I’m the Bachelor” out of his mouth.

Don’t they know who I am?” Yuuri slurs on screen.  

Yuuri, you have to put the champagne bottle down, you have to pretend to be sober,” Phichit says off camera, all authority gone from his voice.  He’s trying not to laugh.

Phichit,” Yuuri says, and he takes a big swig from the bottle, bubbles pouring down both sides of his lips. “You can’t tell me what to do.  I’m Yuuri Katsuki, and I’m the motherfucking Bachelor.

Keep reading

Among the Crowd (Soulmate AU)

Summary: Soulmates’ worlds go from black and white to colors when they are in the same room for the first time. Bucky is a famous actor in the middle of a convention, trying to find his soulmate, you.

Word Count: 2,232

A/N: This is a re-write of a Dean W. fic and I hope you all like it :D 

Originally posted by v-writings


Bucky took a swig of water, tightening the cap on the bottle before setting it to the side. His meet-and-greet was about to start. He could hear the bustling of the crowd right outside the door and took a deep breath. Alongside him was Clint, a co-star.

“You doing okay, buddy?” asked Clint, eyes concerned as he placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky smiled. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

After a few minutes, Nat Romanoff and Sam Wilson took their seats next to each other and the writer of the show, Bucky’s oldest friend, Steve Rogers, emerged from behind the black curtain that had been put up behind the actors.

Keep reading

heartbreak chronicles {1} | M

 PT 1 | PT 2ONGOING

Contains: bad crack, smut {fuckboy!jimin}

Words: 10,164

Summary: Park Jimin had it all — good grades, a place as the soccer team’s captain and, more than that, the broken hearts of at least half the campus’ population. Though, one thing he did not have was someone willing to break his heart and, after you were dragged inside a miraculous plan to play that part, the last thing counted on was the preposterous idea that, perhaps, you could fall for him as well.

[img cr]

A/N: I tried out a “lighter” writing style for… whatever this is. Hope you guys like it! | This fic is based on the movie “John Tucker must die” | SUB!BTS COLLAB

The girl’s request echoed on the warm air of your living room, dancing on silence as your body was covered in shock. For an instant, you truly believed you had misheard her words, replacing them for something much more unrealistic. Regardless, as the quietude fell like a blanket over the two of you, you noticed, at last, that your friend could not be more serious. “You want me to do what?” You finally asked, flabbergasted.

The night had started normally — and that was all that you could ever wish for. All that you wanted was to rest after an exhausting week, merely putting your your pajamas and watching shallow TV shows until your tiredness forced you to go to sleep. You wanted to get some pizza and gossip with your roommate about the most frivolous of subjects, allowing for the storm of stress and unfinished projects to disperse from around your head.

However, she had a different idea of how that night would unfold. “We want you to break his heart,” Lisa told you with utter serenity, as if the words that had left her mouth were no more than mundane. “Thought that was quite clear.”

Keep reading

yondu lives: a concept

[this came up mid sobbing with @quicksiluers]

  • peter is crying as yondu frames his face with his hands, realising that the father he’d always wanted had been there all this time, blue and mean, but always there
  • rocket had alerted kraglin already what he’d given to yondu to save peter and their ship was ready and scanning for them to emerge from the planet. they got there in time, just in time
  • after yondu and peter had caught their breath, peter punches yondu in the gut for the stunt he just tried to pull. yondu, still wheezing, says, “ah, come off it boy. I was trying to do something good for once in my stupid life.” peter is still shaking, confronted with the near loss of the only good father figure he has in his life and continues yelling at him anyway.
  • yondu realises what he had said to peter when he thought he was going to die and he and peter stare awkwardly at each other before yondu pats peter gingerly on the shoulder and gets up to head to the cockpit to check on his ship
  • kraglin hugs him embarrassedly when he sees him, before sniffing loudly and walking away. rocket tells him he can’t believe that he has to deal with his emotional ass again
  • peter follows yondu around the ship the next five days, fidgeting and making random small talk until yondu snaps and goes, “boy I’m here, I’m alive, I swear to god!” 
  • the next time peter and rocket argue over who’s the better pilot, yondu stands behind peter, crosses his arms and glares at rocket. “i taught quill everything he knows about flying,” he says with a straight face and a small crease of his eyebrows. rocket falls silent and peter takes over with a small smirk
  • yondu doesn’t know about mantis’ power and doesn’t protest when she touches him, until she starts expounding on how much she loves and protects peter to a bemused group of guardians. the tables are turned when she touches peter, looks at yondu and bursts into tears. peter yells.
And we all talked about the plausibility of assumed misogyny and general inequality in a world without Christianity and 'Original Sin' i.e. Fuck that noise; your home village burned to the ground and every other person you meet wants to kill you, but at least you don't have to deal with that bull shit.

The gnome bard and half-orc warlock (for context they are played by siblings who enjoy trolling the rest of the party on the regular) are the only players still conscious in the dungeon we’ve been trapped in FOR WEEKS  and even short rests always end in tears

Bard: Sooo, we leave them to die?

Warlock: You’re chaotic GOOD

Bard: … GDI

Warlock: Hey, how ‘bout that random magic archway we found that leads to nothing but a storage closet.

This portal turned our knowledge cleric from a male to female, but had no harmful effects.  She reported it was FASCINATING.  The human barbarian immediately began finding excuses to fondle her new assets.

Barbarian’s player: Wait, WHAT?!?!

Bard and Warlock grin wickedly to each other as they drag the barbarian, cleric, and ranger back to the portal.

- Upon waking -

Bard now female:  Sweet, whole new identity.  I can go back and rob all those towns I’m wanted in.

Ranger now female:  I’m an elf, I’ve lived for 300 years as a dude.  I’m ready to mix it up.

Cleric already transformed: FASCINATING, the apparatus seems to provide only a single use to one creature.

Warlock now male: I’m a half-orc in full plate armor, nobody saw me as a woman before anyway.  So this doesn’t really change my identity.

Barbarian now female to the DM: How do I look?

DM: Your life of battle and hard labor is still apparent, your body is heavily muscled and scarred.  You tower over the rest of the party as before. Your armor fits differently, but you judge it is still fit for combat.

Barbarian: But what about my boobs, how are they???

DM: … Uneven.  The left one is bigger than the right.

spaces in between (m)

Pairing: Fratboy!Jung Hoseok x Reader

Summary: When you were maddeningly in love with your best friend/fuck buddy, bringing him as a date to a wedding was probably not the best idea.

Genre/Count: Smut & Fluff [ NC-17 ]   |   11.7k words

Note: alkewrjaer so excited to finally post this after sitting in my drafts for years. meet m’boy fuccboi!hoseok.


It was never a good idea and you should’ve stopped it from the first time, or the first week, the first month, before it went too far. But you didn’t. You were sucked into his world and him into yours. Although your lives were entangled from the very beginning, it was never meant to go this far.

Hoseok pushed himself into you again, feeling the tightness wrapping snugly around him as he released a low groan of pleasure. “Fuck, you feel so good, always so good.” He buried his face in your neck as you twisted your fingers into the soft strands of his chocolate locks. He growled and thrusted into you over and over, bringing you to the edge. “Babe, shit. Goddamn, you’re so tight. Pussy always so good for me. Only for me.” He jerked his hips particularly hard, hitting that delicious spot inside of you. “Tell me.”

“Only for you,” you echoed in a gasp, head thrown back as your body arched off the bed. His mouth captured one of your peaks. The heat a contrast against the cool of his room. His abs, defined and beautiful, were layered by a sheen layer of sweat as he pounded into you. Moans tumbled from both your lips, swallowed by his mouth covering yours.

“So goddamn beautiful,” he muttered, nipping his way down your jaw and your neck. He knew you hated it when he marked you, hated it because everyone could see. What he didn’t know was that you mostly hated it because it made things more real than it actually was. A whine left your lips as he continued to print shades of blue onto the canvas of your skin. “I’m so close, babe, come with me.”

And you would. You always did, after all. Your fingers found purchase on his broad shoulders as he moved faster, pushing into you deeper and harder. The tension coiled in your stomach as the electricity coursed through your veins and straight to the space between your thighs, space filled by, and only by, Hoseok. The orgasm wracked shudders in your body as you let out a cry, the same time Hoseok groaned into your neck. Heavy breaths heaved your chest as Hoseok pulled out with a small grunt and slumped onto the space next to you.

The two of you laid in silence for a few minutes. The deafening emptiness drawing your fears forward. It always happened. No matter how many times you’ve been in bed with him, you’ve regretted every single one. The two of you were stuck in this limbo with too many questions and not a single answer.

Answers you sought and answers he couldn’t give.

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→ all that is gold (m)

Originally posted by chimtae


Sub!BTS collab

pairing → Taehyung x Reader

genre → roommate!au + sugar baby!au, smut, angst

warnings sub!taehyung, skype sex, masturbation, orgasm denial, possessiveness, slight breath play, oral sex, dirty talk, thigh riding, tae ends up sort of a switch? idk

☆ word count → 11.2k

☆ summary → As a college student struggling to make ends meet, Taehyung resorts to a less than ethical method to satisfy his appetite for expensive treats. The last thing he wants is for you to find out how he acquires the Gucci in his closet… however this proves to be difficult when you are his roommate.

or : Taehyung is a sugar baby and somehow thinks he can keep this a secret


☆ a/n → ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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Lachesism! Lance

sooooo this is something me and @moppingleshitoutofyou came up with a while ago, hope yall enjoy!!

you can check out some of my other mini fics here


Lance didn’t really know when it started. There were too many incidents to pinpoint its exact origins. It could have began when he tried to jump out the window when he was six to prove that he could totally fly Marcos. Or when he was nine and ate a bee when Lily said they were dangerous, because how dangerous can a chubby little bumblebee be? It was like it was always there, this little voice urging him to prove his worth through dangerous tasks.

it wasn’t until he was fifteen when the real trouble began. 

Once again, the origins of the power he was given was unknown to him. He sorta just woke up one day and bam, he felt the emotions of everyone in the house. To say it was overwhelming would be an understatement. He could practically taste his mother’s worry and his sister’s sadness and he just wanted to help them you know? Ease their pain, because no one deserved to feel those emotions. Perhaps it was then that he became aware of the feelings his felt since he was a kid. He had a form of lachesism, or at least that’s what the therapist his parents forced him to go to told him.

It took countless hours of research to figure out what the hell lachesism even was, since it wasn’t something that simply popped up in everyday conversations. And the whole emotions things? Yeah, it took a while to figure out how that fit into this mess. 

In fact, he was still trying to figure it all out when he went to the Garrison, which was yet another mess because he could feel all of the students’ emotions too. His family’s emotions were barely a sliver of what he had to endure every day. There was just, just so much sadness here. It was like a new wave hit him every time he moved, encasing him in this bubble of hurt. It was too much at times, causing him to spiral into anxiety attacks when Hunk was asleep. 

Yet, he thrived in the pain he was forced to endure everyday. Maybe it was the fact he was given this power to know what everyone was feeling, but he finally felt like he was worth something. Who else could stand feeling other’s emotions constantly thrown at them, if they were not at least worth something. Call it middle child syndrome, but Lance finally felt like he could make a difference. He could help these people! All he had to do was try to keep them happy and their sadness would begin to melt away. 

Thus, class-clown Lance was born at the age of 16, who was always there to crack a joke. He learned to talk more to make others feel comfortable and laugh loud enough for everyone to feel included. Finally, Lance felt clarity in his mind for the first time in years, and he was able to truly believe he had worth.

However this only solved the problem for a bit, as smiles can only go so far. Soon the sadness returned, albeit weaker than before, but it was still there. This unsettled Lance more than he thought it would. How could he help now? How could he prove he was more than just a cargo pilot? He was already struggling to keep up with Keith and now this? 

It was when Lance was comforting Hunk after a panic attack did he realize just how far his powers could reach. 

The two had been cuddling when Lance felt this pull, this tug towards Hunk’s emotions that he never felt before. He followed it of course and the feeling was indescribable. It was like he drowning in Hunk’s emotions, each feeling circling around him, urging him to touch, to feel. Shakily, he mentally reached out for the anxiety that kept bubbling up and it was like he sinking in this void of emotions that was endless. It wormed itself inside of Lance until it was gone, residing within him rather than Hunk. It was terrifying.

But Hunk’s smile after it was over, his slight laughter as he stated he felt better than he had in years, made it all worth it.


After being swept up in the whirlwind that was Voltron, Lance knew once again that he had worth. It wasn’t in his shooting capabilities or in his powerful bond with his lion or even in the persona he still continued. No, it was in the way he took away Pidge’s worry and soothed it with reassurance, how he slipped into Shiro’s room at night and removed the terror that plagued him to allow him a decent night of rest, and in the way he harbored Allura and Coran’s homesickness for the world they lost and offered them the feeling of family instead. This was his purpose, his way of showing his worth in subtle ways.

It took a toll on Lance though, the emotions he took away finding a home in his chest, weighing him down. He could feel the anxiety in his fingertips, the fear in his bones, and the never ending sadness in his mind. But it was worth it wasn’t it? He was protecting his teammates from the pain of these awful emotions, keeping up the spirits of Voltron through his pain. It was worth it. 

Blue didn’t think so. She’d often lecture Lance on overdoing it and how it truly wasn’t worth it, but couldn’t she see that it was? By him feeling this, surviving through this, he was able to see Pidge laugh freely and Hunk grow into his role as a paladin. Watch as Keith became more open to the group, his previous doubts now backed up with trust in his team. 

Oh cub, can’t you see how it weighs you down, how it tears you apart? She had asked one morning, specifically after a nasty panic attack. Can’t you see you’re worth more than this? That you’re more than just Lance, that you’re my paladin who doesn’t deserve this? Can’t you see?

But in the grand scheme of things, his wellbeing doesn’t matter, only that Voltron can still form. He was simply helping the process and he would be there for his team no matter what.

Despite this, Lance began to close in on himself. He spent hours upon hours with Blue, strengthening his powers so he could become more. He learned to manipulate the emotions, how to expel them onto others, making them feel the pain he suffered through each and everyday. He still went through his daily cleaning, helping each Paladin in whatever form they needed before heading back to his hangar and remaining there till night. The persona Lance built back at the Garrison had begun to crack, but it was fine because he was becoming stronger right? Now he could truly protect his team. He was no longer an emotional dump. He could send those emotions to whoever he pleased. He had worth.

The team began to get worried, however. They noticed how Lance began to close up, disappearing for hours on end. They knew they had to do something about it, but how?

“Maybe we could corner him?” Keith suggested, shrugging. 

“No, no, he wouldn’t tell us what was wrong if we did that. How about we call him up to the bridge?” Hunk replied, glancing at Shiro, who was pacing. 

“I don’t think that’ll work Hunk, you’ve seen Lance. Our best bet might be to go down to his hangar and speak to him there, the Blue Lion might help back us up,” Shiro sighed, looking down the hallway to where the hangars were,”I know he might freeze up but it’s the only option that gives us the backup of a lion.” 

The team nodded, Hunk simply turning silently, before beginning their dissent towards the hangars, nervousness tickling the back of their necks. It wasn’t long until they all stood before the door of the Blue Lion’s hangar. With a quick glance at the team Shiro was about to open it when it opened on its own silently, shocking the team slightly. Blue hummed quietly in the back of their minds before disappearing, allowing the paladins to enter her hangar. 

Hunk almost fainted at what awaited them, the rest gasping at the sight before them. 

There in the middle of the hangar, sat Lance surrounded by a hurricane of black that swirled faster with each passing second. His eyes were squeezed shut, not seeing the paladins, yet they all felt like he just knew. It was when he opened his eyes that all hell broke loose.


Here’s Part Two !

A Lesson in Love (Creative Writing)

Summary: (College!AU) In which you’re assigned to write a story about romance, a subject you know nothing about, and Bucky, a hopeless romantic, offers you his assistance.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,547

A/N: The tag list for this story is officially CLOSED. Also, we’re nearing the end of this series. I’d say there’s 4-5 parts left. 

“A Lesson in Love” Masterlist + Soundtrack

@avengerstories - Forever grateful for your editing assistance.

Originally posted by thoranda

The sun is out as you walk to your Creative Writing class. It’s a sign that winter is really being left behind, only to be replaced by longer days, warmer weather and an abundance of thriving greenery.

As much of a fan that you are of the freezing season, you’re grateful to see it go. The temperamental radiator in your apartment made your nights especially cold and knowing that you don’t have to depend on that for warmth anymore is a big relief.

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Hate That I Love You (M)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Angst and smut.
Word count: 2.3k 

Summary: “I hate you.” You mumbled again as you bit your lip, trying anything to get him to have a fit and storm off, but of course, that wasn’t it — that just got him angrier. 
“I’m gonna get you to take that back.” He said in a low tone, pulling his t-shirt over his head before unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans quickly. 

➸ Song: Hate That I Love You.


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Let Me Protect You - Mitch Rapp

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Mitch Rapp/Reader

Word Count: 11,337

Warnings: WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN? 18+, NSFW, Oral (both receiving), Orgasm Denial, Multiple Orgasms, Daddy Kink, Shower Sex, Wall Sex, Bondage, Mitch’s Scruff, Mitch’s sexy ass arms and muscles and abs and face and MITCH’S ENTIRE BEING

Notes: Holy. Shit. It’s long overdue but THAT WORD COUNT??? I am dying inside from this. I hope you dirty people like this. Please let me know because this literally killed me inside to write. 

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anonymous asked:

prompt: andreil + emergency room visit

(this is a sequel to THIS ‘I think there’s someone in the house’ fic!)

The paramedics hammer on the door, and Neil looks up, teary-eyed, from where his face is pressed into Andrew’s damp hair. He’s feeling for his breath with the back of his hand, waiting moment to moment for Andrew to die in his arms, silently like he does everything else. Urgency keeps stunning Neil all over again, hysterical defibrillators. The EMT’s are calling out through the wall, muffled but calm.

It feels unthinkably wrong, their absolute evenness and ease outside his door when his life is an exposed neck and Andrew’s death is the whirring blade of a saw.

He realizes that he has to get up to let them in, and it seems as impossible as it would be for Andrew to spring up and answer the door himself. He feverishly wants them to crumple the door to splinters and be inside already. 

It’s a herculean effort to ease Andrew to the ground, like he’s gritting his teeth and cutting off his own leg. He touches Andrew’s clammy face briefly but he can’t bring himself to try and slap him awake. He props Andrew’s bare feet up on the rim of the bath so the blood will flood towards his head, at least.

He feels untethered to his body when he stands, a helium balloon with its usual weight passed out on the bathroom floor. He falls into the wall immediately, adrenaline neck and neck with exhaustion.

He finds his way to the front door without his mind’s help. His head is in the bathroom with Andrew, and he knows that no matter what happens it’ll be there for a long, long time.

The next time he blinks, a man in uniform is holding his biceps and peering down at him seriously.

“—sir? Sir, are you hurt at all?”

“No,” Neil says, lips numb. “Bathroom. He’s in the bathroom. He’s bleeding to death.”

He turns, easily slipping the paramedic’s grip. There’s a procession of them, hefting a gurney and a couple of kits, and they’ve brought all the cold from outside in on their heels. They’re such a foreign object in their warm, messy apartment — uniformed, official, and precise.

It’s deadly, walking in and seeing Andrew spread out in his boxers, blood oozing through his t-shirt from his loose stitches, pale enough to match the porcelain. Neil’s seen enough corpses to recognize what they look like. 

He falls heavily to his knees and puts his head directly to his chest, listening, tears slipping hotly over the bridge of his nose.

“Please,” he slurs. His heartbeat is a tentative thud, a knock from an unexpected guest. “Help him. Now, help him now.”

“We’re going to try our best Sir, but you’ve got to get out of the way,” someone says gently.

He topples backwards onto his hands. It’s a cramped space, and he knows it would be easier if he waited outside, but he also knows he’d rather die than leave them alone with him.

The first guy kneels down and takes Andrew’s pulse, and Neil shakes his head. They’re too slow, time is feeding directly into a wide open drain.

“He needs an IV. He’s two litres down, at least. You’ve got to—“ A petite woman puts a hand on his shoulder and he shrugs her off violently. “No! You have to listen to me.”

“We know what we’re doing,” she says. “Are you an MD?” She eyes him doubtfully, gaze flitting from his scars to where her colleagues are taking vitals and cutting through Andrew’s clothes.

“Yes,” Neil says wildly. “And he needs an IV. Possibly two. Large-bore, normal saline. He’s not getting any oxygen, and he’s been like this for as long as it took you to gather your meager response team.”

She purses her lips, but she’s a professional. He can see her repressing her anger and it infuriates him. He feels like he’s crashing, over and over again, and he’s watching someone daintily pump the breaks.

“He’s right,” one of the EMT’s says distractedly. “We’re gonna need to get some fluids started, he’s in hypovolemic shock, sats below 50.”

“You want to tell me what happened?” one of the men asks.

“No,” Neil says as evenly as he can manage, reaching out to graze Andrew’s cold fingers.

“Did you do these stitches?” the woman asks, pulling at Andrew’s skin to get a better look at them. He suddenly sees how they must look to them, sloppy and angry red. Neil bends her arm away without thinking about it.

“Don’t touch him,” he snaps. He could break her arm and it would make him feel better. He drops her, disoriented by his own violence.

“There’s no need to be antagonistic,” the first man says. “We don’t want to have to remove you.”

“You really don’t,” Neil agrees. “You won’t succeed.”

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EXCLUSIVE: The 7 Biggest Secrets From Hook & Emma's 'Once Upon a Time' Wedding: Vows, Honeymoon & Much More!

Source

Wedding bells are officially ringing in Storybrooke!

Once Upon a Time’s highly anticipated musical episode is almost here, which means that we’re just a few days away from witnessing Emma Swan and Killian Jones say “I do” in a breathtaking wedding ceremony. (Trust us. It’s perfect.)

ET had the pleasure of visiting Once Upon a Time’s set in Vancouver, Canada, last month during filming of the musical matrimony, and we sat down with stars Jennifer Morrison and Colin O'Donoghue for an intimate and in-depth interview that focused on each and every aspect of their on-screen wedding.

From their “honest” vows, to Emma’s “timeless” wedding gown, and their dream honeymoon – only ET has all the inside scoop straight from the stars of the series! Plus, we’ve got additional details from executive producers Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis, as well as Once Upon a Time’s head costume designer Eduardo Castro.

So, shall we get started? Or, as O'Donoghue cleverly put it: who’s ready for some “music and dance and some mighty fine romance” at Captain Swan’s wedding?

Just a warning that this is the biggest Once Upon a Time article we’ve ever written, so grab a comfy seat, put your cellphone on silent and get ready to go on an emotional roller coaster of feels. And, as always, please remember to breathe!

1. The Venue: The Once showrunners confessed that they had considered a number of “other places” for Emma and Killian to tie the knot – yes, even Granny’s! – but in the end, they settled on a brand new Storybrooke location for the ceremony. “Without wanting to spoil the episode, there’s a story reason for why it’s on the roof,” Horowitz revealed. “But there’s also something to us that was super romantic about having Storybrooke as the backdrop.”

Emma and Killian will tie the knot in front of a dream-worthy sunset and surrounded by their closest friends and family. “It’s the place where they’ve kind of come together,” Horowitz continued. “Where their love has grown and where both of them as characters have grown, so seeing the whole town kind of beneath and surrounding them felt like a really cool way to do it.”

“I thought it was perfect,” Morrison dished. “We just felt, like, what better way to make it feel extra special than to have [the wedding] also be the musical episode?”

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Only Way To Live - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Reader

Word Count: 4818

Warnings: Kinky Filth, NSFW, 18+, Oral (Female Receiving)

Notes: Honestly, I’m kinda mixed about this entire thing? I don’t think it’s as good as some of the other stuff I’ve written. The idea was so good for this too! I got the idea from an episode of Attack of Titan while I was in my slump. So, please, any feedback ya’ll have would be appreciated.

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Lock and Key (M)

*I am so tired*

Requests: Anon asked “Can you make like a dirty y/n imagine of Jimin please??” + @bangtanofarmys asked “ FUCK FUCK FUCK OMG FINALLY SOMEONE’S REQUEST IS OPEN. Ok I want to request a rough Jimin smut, with daddy kink and stuff BECAUSE IM SO TIRED OF BEING REQUESTED AND NOT REQUEST T-T “ you’re so cute wtf 

Word Count: 10.8k bc I don’t know when to stop


Another mundane day has come to pass, your best friend’s arm slung over your shoulders as you soak up the blinding sunrays on your skin. The sun pressed harsh kisses on your delicate skin, a definite burn accompanied by heavy sweating was just the peak of your day. You could barely remember the words of your professor, zoned out and ready to slump into your couch for two days.

Anthropology was fun when you still had your first year jitters, excited to be in university and getting a degree in something you loved. Now, a few weeks into your second year, you wished the years would just pass by.

Distracted by your internal monologue, you barely caught the bus on time, the driver ready to zoom through traffic and you waved your hand out wildly to catch his attention. You stumbled into a seat, the bus moving no less than a second after you got on.

Mindlessly watching the street signs while numerous people leaving and entering the bus, you get off at the stop near your house. You kick off your shoes, dropping your bag on the shoe rack and you heard a broken sob.

“Mom? Dad?” You went into the kitchen, followed by a set of sniffling before going into the living room. Your father held your mother in a consoling way, her hands clinging onto his red sweater. She grabbed a tissue and blew into it.

“Mom? Why are you crying? What happened?”

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now we dream apart

soulmate au

pairing: jungkook | reader
genre: angst 
word count: 3.291
warnings: none
author’s note: I know I know, another soulmate au, I’m trash. :’) this is just a small story I started working on this afternoon, to get me back on track so I can start working on my bigger projects again. nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!


You don’t know when the dreams begin — but once they do, it feels like they’ve been there since you were born.

The first dream of him revolves around coffee beans. The heavy scent of the morning beverage tangles with the rich shade of chestnut hair and chocolate eyes, turning almost hazel under the glowing sunlight. You can remember a gaze, a nose and full lips turned upwards, but your mind is unable to piece it all together. The face as a whole is blurry in your mind, indistinct, frustratingly vague.

But the memory of those lips moving and pronouncing your name is remarkably sharp, and it almost fools you into believing it is not a dream, but a real memory — that the warmth accompanying his stare existed at some point in your life, that your body did feel the bedsheets tangling around your bare legs as you struggled to move closer to him. That the sound of his voice, rough and mellow, belongs to a living, breathing person and not a figment of your vivid imagination.

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The Things We Fear

This was a lot gayer than I thought it would be. I owe the outline of the first part to @thesickficsideblog, but I kinda ran away with it at the end. I swear, it wasn’t supposed to be Klance, but my hand slipped. I’ll put it on ao3 later.

Summar: Lance gets trapped in a room full of fear gas, and the team can’t do anything but watch.

Implied/referenced torture

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