Harry Wells being jealous of your relationship with Barry and longing to be with you, and telling you his feelings.
••• Requested by Anon •••
Jealousy isn’t a good look on anyone, least of all on Harry Wells. This particular emotion was one that he had no control over - as much as he liked to deny it - but everyone could see it plainly upon his face. Everyone except you.
It was your friendship with the notorious red speedster that had caught his attention. The way you’d wrap Barry into a close embrace you seemed to reserve specially for him after he’d come running back from rescuing a cat stuck up a tree or clapping a couple criminals in handcuffs.
Harry didn’t blame the speedster, though. That would have been illogical and completely selfish. No, he blamed himself.
The way you made his heart race and the blood rush to his cheeks whenever you said his name made him uneasy. You were everything he could have ever hoped for, but he could never find the time nor confidence to admit his feelings for you. But maybe one day you’ll see it for yourself. Maybe you’ll realise why his gaze always lingered on you, why his voice always softened whenever you were around and why he always seemed to have an excuse to stay a little while longer there on Earth One.
i fucking hate the deh fandom im just saying… like zoe was abused by connor can you stop fucking demonizing her? have you even LISTENED to requiem? why in the world would you write off her PLAINLY TOLD feelings of inner turmoil over what she feels vs what she is supposed to feel (she is not sad that her abusive pos brother died vs she should be sad because her brother killed himself) as her being confused by her brothers mental illness and drug use and being unable to cope with how it effected his death?
like, its so fucking transparent that it isnt common fandom thought that connor abused zoe. we get it, you love babying white teenage boys, especially when theres shipping fodder (tree bros anyone?).
I thought about how I eat through apple cores, how my soles are rough from using my feet to climb and run, how I dig with my fingers in the soil, clean things with bleach, spread my body out and feel good about it, expel all my breath and sit with my eyes open underwater.
How I drink poison, how I like chemicals and carefully calibrated equipment, how I don’t wish I was quiet or mysterious anymore.
If you have any original artwork, poems, articles, photos, whatever, that you’d be willing to submit, or would like more information, send me an ask or message
PLEASE TAKE NOTE THAT THE FINAL PRINT WILL BE IN BLACK AND WHITE, BUT ANYTHING YOU SEND CAN BE IN COLOR.
Clarification: I am not stealing your artwork. It will be in a magazine. All things sent in are credited, unless asked not to. I hand these out for free, and make no profit from them. It’s just a fun little diy project I do. When I can, you will either get a copy in the mail, or scans via online. Completely depending on my financial situation.
It would be really amazing if you all could reblog this :) But you don’t have to.
Someone once asked me why I choose people who have hurt me and keep choosing them.
I remember him now, he had the best of intentions and eyes too hard to walk through, eyes I thought I was strong enough to walk through. He hadn’t been hurt yet, not too bad, like a hero on page 63. He told me I was better than what I gave myself. I told him something to distract him.
The people I choose are callous and cold. They’ve hurt me more than the people who tried their hardest to. Sometimes those friends are enemies. That’s the point – that’s why it cuts through your bone – because you don’t expect it to. You let people in and they let you down and you keep them buried deep down in the hollowness of your stomach that looks like a peach pit to them and a black hole to you. They’ve seen the worst of you now and you don’t trust them to see anything else.
I want them to open me up. No, rewind, I want the hero to open me up. I think we’d be blood brothers in another world, in this world, and I think his palms on my bloodied lungs will make them hurt less, so I tell him to grab them and squeeze. I want him to understand how fragile we all are on the inside. I want him to find out with me. I want him to sew me up, do a shit job with the needle and regret ever trying. I want him to keep choosing me even though he knows how badly he hurt me.
Friendship survives everything. Friendship can’t survive anything, hero, you know that. You know that the sutures will come undone and you’ll have to keep putting my lungs back twice, three times, until the fourth time when you’re too busy to pick up my call and I have to find someone else to do it for you. They take your place. Blood only flows for so long. Blood doesn’t stay purple and blue forever. The person who took your place stops returning my calls. I pick up the needle and thread myself.
Are you still the hero if you make a mistake? Are you still the hero if you hurt someone and they won’t call you back? Are you still the hero if you don’t want to be anymore? My voice is gonna keep shaking. My heart is gonna keep beating. No matter how many times the phone doesn’t ring, my blood will still flow through my tired lungs, even if it does so without you.
So, hero, ask me again. Why do you choose people who have hurt you and keep choosing them? Because the ones who love me the most are the ones who scar forever and I can’t fathom the idea of ever being alone.
the hero survives in this one, ver. 2, by windy sharpe
1) The siren loved to listen to the girl sing. She suspected that was the only reason she was still alive.
2) “I think,” the pirate said. “That you’ll help us catch the pretty things, don’t you?”
They felt like chum. A bloodied worm thrashing on the end of a bait hook. Song began to drift around the ship, dark shapes moving in the sea just below their feet.
Even the pirates, with their ear plugs, shifted uneasily as if a cold breeze had swept suddenly over the warm waters.
3) “You’re not going to eat me?”
“You are like an eel. Skinny.”
Now they knew how Hansel and Gretel felt.
4) Fear made meat too bitter, acidic. She stroked her prey’s hair, cooed soothing songs instead of luring ones. Why lure? They had nowhere to go, stranded oarless on the pacific. Poor thing. Sweet thing.
5) “You want to be free,” the woman said to the siren in the tank. “So do I. Perhaps we could work together.
“You don’t seem concerned I’ll eat you.”
“We both know humans don’t actually make the best nor preferred diet for your kind.”
6) The singing haunted her in her sleep. Restless, maddening, beautiful beyond measure. It left her dreams drenched with the sound. But no one was allowed down on the beach and no one else seemed to feel the water calling towards them.
Sometimes we burn the bridges we treasure most because we can’t bare the thought of the other person never choosing to cross it again. The temptation burns a hole in our stomach and we choose to fill it with anger. Anything is better than the destructive power of hope. Anything is better than wanting something we can never have.
L.A.L. || Desperate times call for devastating measures
Here is something to celebrate that I got 1000 followers. Love you all.
As Y/N walked down the streets on her way to school she noticed some people. An old woman with a loose wine red skirt and a white button up. A man with light blonde hair and nerdy glasses. A younger lady with a pair of blue jeans and a band t-shirt. Y/N would never understand that whole “Love at first sight” thing. How could people just see someone and know that they were gonna fall in love with them? To her, it made no sense. Maybe it’s because she had never been in love, maybe because she was a virgin and had only kissed one guy. Not only had she kissed one guy but the kiss was awful. All she knew was all people had told her was bullshit.
The first day of school had always been hell. The day after so long of being free. And it’s not like Y/N didn’t take advantage of being home. She would party. Go out with friends. On a couple of dates. Somehow it all just seemed to make sense when she could do whatever she wanted.
She opened the door for her English class. If only she didn’t have the same teacher as last year. She couldn’t have. He hated her. He was an old, grumpy writer telling Y/N how bad she was, only because she didn’t like writing the genres he liked. Y/N was all about the love aspect of writing. She loved making the story all about the couple, she knew she was good at it too.Since she believed she would never find the kind of love you see in the movies she decided to write about it instead. For some reason, he kept telling her she wasn’t ever gonna be good enough.
Y/N sat down at the back of the classroom, where she always sat. She didn’t want a lot of attention, she just wanted to sit and learn without getting asked too many questions. Her only friend at that entire school walked in, she came and sat right next to Y/N without saying a word. “Hey, Lina. How was the break” Y/N started when she noticed that her friend wasn’t gonna talk. Lina had been with her family to Europe so her and Y/N hadn’t been talking much. “Fine,” she replied annoyed. Y/N looked at Lina with a confused expression on her face, Lina had always been a drama queen but nothing had ever made her not talk to Y/N. “What’s wrong, dude” Y/N said getting her books out of her bag, along with her notebook filled with ideas for new stories. “I have a boyfriend right when we get a hot new teacher” Lina sighed loudly. Her confession got Y/N laughing, in her mind Lina was actually having a problem. “We get a new teacher” Y/N said with hope in her eyes. Maybe this one wouldn’t hate her.
Their conversation was cut short when the principal walked in with a very attractive man walking behind him. Y/N focused on principal Johnson not wanting to get in trouble. The boring gray, frumpy suit hung on his body like every other day. “This is Mr. Raeken, he will be your creative writing teacher for the next semester.” Principal Johnson told the class. She wasn’t paying attention to what he said after that, all she could think about was her hot new teacher. His hair was perfectly styled, the almost blonde yet dark color was thrown to the side like he had just woken up. He had the jacket of his suit swung over his shoulder, and his white button up was tight around his arms. What stood out the most were his eyes, the blue color sucked her in and she couldn’t think about anything but those eyes.
“I’m Mr. Raeken but you can all call me Theo.” He said after Principal Johnson was done talking about their new rules about how if anybody wasn’t gonna take the class seriously they could get out now before it was too late. Y/N lit up at the sound of his voice. He was the person human being and he even liked writing. “NO. God no. They will call you Mr. Raeken we had a teacher in our math class that tried the whole first name basis thing but it made the students lose respect” The principal cut in. Y/N sighed, Theo was such a cute name and she didn’t want to seem disrespectful but she was finally excited about having a teacher who could also be her friend. Give her writing advice and tell her she was doing good. Theo sorry Mr. Raeken nodded his head quickly in understanding. Mr. Raeken pulled out a few books and notebook and files and pens and all the crap a teacher has on their desk. This time tough Y/N didn’t see it as crap. It was charming how prepared he was.
“Okay I wanna start by telling you a little about myself” Mr. Raeken started when the principal left the room. “My names Theo Raeken and I’m 25 years old. I’m from this little town called Beacon Hills and I’m your new creative writing teacher. And just when Johnson isn’t around I would like you all to call me Theo” He finished. Y/N smiled knowing already that he was gonna become her favorite teacher. Mr.Raeken had this thing about him that just made you want to be his friend. He was nice and friendly. “Well since it’s the first day I’m gonna take a different approach than your old teacher” Y/N beamed inside. The old teacher would give them all these boring writing assignments and expect them to make them interesting. “Since you chose this class I figure you like writing which makes me believe that you have at least written one thing this past summer. Continue it. Finish it and then I’ll be able to see what I can help each of you with” He said before sitting down in the big chair behind the desk.
Y/N was snapped out of her trance by Lina poking her arm hard. Y/N turned to Lina with a confused expression on her face. “What” she spat annoyed at the same time her arm flew to her arm to sooth the pain of Lina’s long nails. “I didn’t write anything. You signed up for this class and I thought it would be fun to have a friend in one of my classes” Lina said panic lacing her voice. Y/N let out a low laugh. It was so much like her friend to sign up for a class just for the fact that she could be social. Lina was one of those girls that didn’t really care about grades but still not in an annoying way. “You can have one of my old ones it’s almost done needs an ending” Y/N leaned over and whispered to her friend.
“You two. Anything you want to share” Mr. Raeken said with a smirk on his beautiful lips. Heart rose to Y/N cheeks and she was sure she was as red as a tomato now. What was she supposed to tell him? Oh, i was just giving her an easy pass so she didn’t have to do the work. NO way. “Just talking about how hot you are,” Lina said quickly. Y/N eyes widened and she whipped her head to look at her friend. She must have imagined her saying that there was no way Lina could be that dumb. “Really” Mr. Raeken turned his head to look at Y/N who intestinally shook her head. “I’m hurt.” Mr. Raeken joked before continuing “Well if you aren’t talking about my handsome looks then what” He questioned. Normally Lina would be the one talking but since Mr. Raeken was looking Y/N in the eyes she felt she had to answer his question. “I didn’t write anything this summer” Y/N whispered. She really did want Mr. Raeken to like her but she didn’t want to sell out her friend. Mr. Raeken got up from the seat he had taken on one of the other student’s tables and walked closer to her. “What’s your name,” He asked her. The same smirk as earlier was still on his lips. “Y/N Y/L/N” she replied “see me after class”
Sea cucumbers can eviscerate themselves as a defense mechanism.
When using a microscope to study particularly small organisms, placing a drop of immersion oil on top of the slide cover will focus the light from the microscope and further magnify the specimen.
Rosalind Franklin died of ovarian cancer six years after using x-ray diffraction to identify the physical structure of DNA. Other people were awarded a Nobel Prize for her discovery; there is a very strict rule that a Nobel Prize cannot be given to someone who is dead. It isn’t like the Oscars. Her cancer was probably caused in part by excessive exposure to radiation.
A sound occuring below the frequency of twenty Hertz–the lowest sound usually detectable by the human ear–is referred to as infransound. Infrasonic noises may cause pain in the eardrum, and/or inexplicable feelings of dread.
When trying to identify which chamber of a human heart you are observing, it is helpful to know that the atria have smooth walls, whereas the ventricles’ are textured, and that the walls of the heart are much thicker on the left side than on the right.
Eels have not been observed spawning in nature.
The oldest confirmed wild bird is approximately sixty-six years old; her name is Wisdom and she has flown more than three million miles.
Human beings can also eviscerate themselves as a defense mechanism, but this is often called an Emotional Disturbance.
whatever shit you get yourself into,
no matter how fucked up everything is,
if you’re failing that class (or several),
or your girlfriend is screaming at you from the staircase,
and your brother has stopped answering your texts,
or the answering machine on the other end of the line is just a reminder that you’ll never hear her voice again,
or you’re staring at razor blades or a canister of blow,
or you’re staring at your hands and you don’t remember the last three years,
or you’re sitting alone on a saturday night
while your roommate gets dressed to go out with some friends
and she asks you if she can borrow your boots,
no matter how over it all is,
something starts tomorrow.
it’s the second law of thermodynamics, entropy.
some systems need the chaos, the disorder,
to increase over time,
for there to be a future.
it is the reversibility of natural processes and the account for the asymmetry of the past and the future.
something has to end,
because something starts tomorrow.