i have this planned out perfectly

there’s these posts about these mythical “other writers” that write every day and have everything planned out perfectly, yet from everything i have seen on this site the most relatable thing is always “meanwhile i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing and i wish i could write more than a sentence a week”

unless “other writers” means “professional writers who do this for an actual living” yall should calm down on the self-loathing stuff yeah, it’s not like we’re getting cash for this

I absolutely LOVE people who pay with pennies!

Seriously. 4 years ago, I’m cashiering at a whacky mart on a register that holds all the smokes and alcohol. It’s 10pm and these two young men (early 20s) come up to the counter. They have three random novelty items (I don’t remember they were), but it was strange and unusual to get odd items this late at night. Maybe it was for some fraternity, I don’t know. It’s a college town so I get weird stuff from frats a lot. I scan the items and tell them their total is $22.xx.

Grinning at each other, they reach into their jackets and slam down two gallon zip-lock bags, full of only pennies. I stare them in the eye, but they didn’t even look back at me. Everyone else in line groan and went to other registers. These two kids knew what they were doing, but they didn’t know what they were in for because I prepared for this; I knew this was going to inevitably happen. I grinned with them, because I was gonna get paid during this. These pranksters are here for recreation. This convo occurs between Me, Ringleader (the other guy was silent and awkward), and a friendly coworker of mine.

Me: Is this $22.xx?

Ringleader: …

Me: Did you count it?

Ringleader: Nope.

Me: Are you going to?

Ringleader: Nope.

Me: Is it at least $22.xx?

Ringleader: Don’t know.

Me: Nice.

Coworker: Hey! You guys can use the self checkout. It can take all of your coins at once.

Me: Oh, don’t worry about it Cowor–

Ringleader: Nope, don’t trust them lady.  (Partner laughs)

Coworker: What? Why!?

Ringleader: Doesn’t count all your change right.

Coworker: I’ve used them before. It really works!

Me: (to Coworker) I got this.

I unpacked the ziplocks and threw all the pennies on the counter. It was a beautiful, massive shitstorm of a mess. And I digged in it. I was Frank in a dumpster in ‘It’s Always Sunny’. The two, still averting my gaze, start chuckling as if they were taking away my dignity. They whisper to each other “Dude oh my God,” “Dude yeah,” “Dude, hilarious.” I counted each penny, one by one. My coworker comes up to me.

Coworker: Guess I’ll help you count this.

Me: Don’t worry about it.

(She looks at me confused. Then she puts on her 'get down to busy’ look.)

Coworker: I got your back.

Me: Oh…ok.

We worked up a system where we counted ten, put them in a pile, then with ten stacks of ten pennies we separated them, making $1 piles. We made progress slowly but surely. Some customers came to the line, but we advised them to get to another line. Some of them looked at us confused, but when they saw the counter full of pennies they understood. Some decided to wait, but when they realized it wasn’t going to take just a few minutes they took their leave. Another register in the liquor department opened so it wasn’t too bad for other customers. We get to about $12 (about 10min in) until I “knocked” over the piles.

Coworker: Neontonsil!

Me: Oops. Sorry.

(Coworker looks at my grin. I give her a wink and tilt my head, motioning her to leave)

Coworker: You know what, I think I better let you do this.

Me: Ha, alright.

(Coworker leaves. I look at the two guys. They are absolutely stunned at the fallen piles of pennies.)

Me: (To Ringleader) Yeah, I’m going to have to count all of this again.

Ringleader: ….Ok.

I started from zero. I count slower then ever, and made my way back up. The duo is entirely silent. I get to about $7, when suddenly I say:

Me: Drats. I lost count. I better start all over again.

Ringleader: Really?

Me: Oh yeah man.

Ringleader: Why!?

Me: I lost count, sir. I could be in trouble if my register doesn’t have the right amount of cash, and I don’t want to rip you off.

Ringleader: …

It’s about an hour later. My manager walks past, looks at me. I smile at him, and he looks at the counter. He walks away without a word. I eventually count all the change and surprisingly they had only $18!

Me: Hmm, I think that this is $18.

(The duo has been dead silent. They look done for the night.)

Me: I’ll recount it.

I fucking recounted it.

Me: I think this is actually $19.xx.

(Without a word, the Ringleader whips out a $5)

Me: Seriously? You had cash?

Ringleader: Needed to get rid of my change.

Me. No problem. I’ll just recount this again. I want to make perfectly sure that this is $19, since I counted $18 the first time.

Ringleader: Are you kidding me?

(I shake my head no, completely serious)

He takes out a $20 bill straight out of his pocket and throws it at me. My coworker gives the biggest WHAT THE FUCK face. Internally, I die as well, because they were smart enough to have a backup plan. And the fact that he was touching his cash in his pocket the entire time kinda messed with me. I take the cash, do the transaction, give him his change, thanked him and wished him a good night. The two start to put their pennies back in the ziplock bags and I didn’t help them at all. I watched them just as how they watched me. Lots of pennies dropped to the floor, but they didn’t care to pick them up. It looked like their souls were sucked out of them. It was past midnight and I clocked out way past when I was supposed to. A lot of my coworkers gave me a thumbs up or told me good night. Even my manager told me 'good job,’ the only two words he ever said to me. Went to bed at the dorms after such a great petty penny night and crashed. Strange to say, but I’d love to count pennies again.

TL;DR I recounted 1900 pennies like 5 times. Was it 5 times? I better count again.

I absolutely LOVE people who pay with pennies!

(long story. tl;dr at the end)

Seriously. 4 years ago, I’m cashiering at a whacky mart on a register that holds all the smokes and alcohol. It’s 10pm and these two young men (early 20s) come up to the counter. They have three random novelty items (I don’t remember they were), but it was strange and unusual to get odd items this late at night. Maybe it was for some fraternity, I don’t know. It’s a college town so I get weird stuff from frats a lot. I scan the items and tell them their total is $22.xx.

Grinning at each other, they reach into their jackets and slam down two gallon zip-lock bags, full of only pennies. I stare them in the eye, but they didn’t even look back at me. Everyone else in line groan and went to other registers. These two kids knew what they were doing, but they didn’t know what they were in for because I prepared for this; I knew this was going to inevitably happen. I grinned with them, because I was gonna get paid during this. These pranksters are here for recreation. This convo occurs between Me, Ringleader (the other guy was silent and awkward), and a friendly coworker of mine.

Keep reading

Day One Hundred And Thirty-Eight

-A boy tried the classic tablecloth magic trick when handed his change, yanking the dollar bill smoothly out of my hand. The gesture was pulled off perfectly and with a grand flourish. The single fault in his plan, as he swiftly came to realize, was overlooking the importance of a table element. With nothing to catch them, the coins flew into the sky, resulting in a shimmering finale he could not have planned better if he tried.

-I was interrogated by a woman about our Tennessee policies, as she insisted that we were in Tennessee. The last time that I checked, we were still in Virginia, and I was entirely unaware of our relocation, so I am clearly not the one to be asking anything.

-“This is a brand new card,” a woman told me as her card was rejected. “There can’t be something wrong with it.” She tried once more, only to be shut down again. “This card is not that new,” she admitted quietly. “Something is probably wrong with it.”

-A man grew upset with me when I had to inform him that we did not stock bags big enough to carry his new couch. I am equally upset, as I was deprived the knowledge of what his plan would have been, provided the proper tools.

-A woman expressed her disappointment to me that there were no kid-appropriate birthday cards. Instead, she told me, she had to settle for a more mature and risque Spongebob card.

-A young boy was entirely blown away to see yet another Target employee wearing red. His eyes betrayed that he was finally catching onto a pattern, and that his cork board of Polaroids and news clippings connected with a thick red thread is paying off at last.

-I asked a woman if she had found everything alright. She told me that she did not know, and instead called her daughter from across the store to come over and give me an answer. I appreciate this level of devotion towards getting me the truth.

-A Dumbo Tsum-Tsum gel cling was found at the bottom of my register. Naturally, I relocated it to a prominent position directly in front of my eyes, so as to guarantee the proper levels of joy and child-like happiness it was meant to bring me.

-An elderly woman threw a box of coffee onto the counter, narrowly missing my hand. She informed me that she had not meant to do that. Without hesitation, she threw a second box of coffee, this one not missing, betraying precisely what she had meant in the first place.

-I spotted a woman in a shirt sporting a cat in a baby holster so realistic that I took it at first for the real thing. The day I am able to make this shirt a reality is the day I finally have my life fulfilled.

-A pair of parents struggled to keep their child’s energy under control. The boy was thoroughly hyped up about his Trolls backpack, refusing to let it go even for the briefest moment. His mother remarked on how strange this was, as he was not even in school, while his other mother worked to strap him into his new prized possession.

-I overheard a young boy discuss his plans to own a supermarket wherein he would institute speed restrictions on carts, enforced by locking brakes, with the intent of causing children to go flying when they attempt stunts. I knew that if I waited long enough, I would come face to face with my own Moriarty.

-As I entered the bathroom towards the end of my shift, I was met with a man staring me down from over the wall of the handicap stall, body turned at a right angle to the toilet, standing chin above the wall. He spoke no words with his mouth, but far more than needed with his eyes.

Queen in the North {Pt. 4}

Originally posted by snows-os

Requested: By some very lovely people, and myself, an actual piece of human garbage

Pairings: Robb Stark x Reader

Previously: {Part 1} {Part 2} {Part 3}

Summary: Y/N was sent to live with The Stark family at a young age, and ever since then, she seemed to fit perfectly, maybe even more than she had ever noticed.

Warnings: Injured!Robb

Word Count: 1,858

A/N: Long time, no see. I don’t know how I let this sit on the backburner for so long, as it is certainly one of my favorite things to write. Now that Robb is absent from my Game of Thrones viewing, I have been coping with this, so I hope that you guys enjoy! Feedback is appreciated, as always!

Somehow, Robb had managed to disappear. You’d made plans yesterday to meet in the library before going out for a ride. Although you didn’t accompany them on hunts anymore, you did love racing through the woods with Robb and Grey Wind. Ever since Ned had brought the direwolves back for the children, you had wanted one of your own.

He had brought them back when they were less like wolves and behaved more like puppies, really. You had smiled and laughed along with your family, happy that such a small creature had brought them such joy. But, try as you might, you couldn’t hide your want from Robb.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked, tugging lightly on a bit of rope that you had procured for Grey Wind to play with.

“I was just thinking that I would very much like a dog.” You sighed, stroking your hand over Grey Wind’s fur.

“How many times are we going to have this argument?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.” You laughed, burying your face into Grey Wind’s side.

You knew exactly what he was talking about. 

When you were younger, you had come to Winterfell convinced that their house sigil was a dog. Robb had taken immediate offense, but to his credit, he bit his tongue for as long as possible. He hid his anger for a long time, but after a few days, he felt that he was going to combust if he didn’t correct you. He danced around the subject for days, before gently sitting you down in the library with the big book of house sigils.

At the tender age of four, you had mistakenly read “Wolf” as “Oelf” and Robb had never let you live it down. He brought it up often enough that you knew that one little mistake as a child was not going away anytime soon.

“Oh, Arya!” you called, spotting her hurriedly making her way around the corner. When she didn’t stop, you quickened your pace, easily catching up with her. “Arya, have you seen Robb?”

Arya took your hand, and resumed her earlier pace, explaining between her shallow breaths. “I have been looking for you all morning!” She paused for a moment, meeting your eyes before casting her glance once again to her shoes, tapping quickly on the stone. “Robb is in the infirmary.”

“I was just in the library, wait- what do you mean that Robb is in the infirmary?” You felt your heart beat quickening in your chest. It was your job to get hurt, and it was his job to baby you until you got better, and then do it all over again.

“I mean that Robb was trying to help Bran with his bow work and something went wrong.” Arya took your hand and tried to lead you to the infirmary again, but you were rooted on the spot. Your mind was a blur, you could barely think straight. “Robb is hurt. Robb is hurt. Robb is hurt” ran through your mind, a rather uncomforting mantra that was only making matters worse. 

“Y/N, he’s asking for you,” Arya’s voice was calm, somehow drawing you back to the situation at hand. Robb was hurt, and he was asking for you. Arya took a tentative step toward the infirmary, wanting to make sure that you were with her. You met her eyes, nodded your head, and tried to get yourself together before you got to the Robb.

Arya threw open the door to the infirmary, and you felt yourself holding back a gasp. Arya had insisted that he was barely even hurt, that it practically a scrape, but Robb looked as if he was close to death.

“This is why it does you good to get hurt every once and awhile.” You took a seat on the bed by his side, twining your pinky with his. It was a simple act, something that the two of you had done since you were children, who didn’t want to be made fun of for holding hands. Now, it was something that felt like second nature, even if people smirked when they saw it. He gave you a look, one that you knew meant explain yourself before I wallop you over the head. “Well, Mr. Perfect never gets hurt and now a knick in the side makes you think that you are dying.”

You held your breath, waiting for a response. Jokes in times of crisis could go either way. Robb’s laughter filled the room, and you felt a weight lift off of your shoulders. It definitely wasn’t as serious as you thought that it was if he was willing to laugh at it.

You caught a glimpse of Abigayle over Robb’s head, rolling a bandage and chuckling to herself. At least she was taking your humor in stride. More than a few people had reprimanded you for your particularly unladylike jokes in times of trouble. But they always made your family laugh, and making them laugh was more important to you than being ladylike anyday.

“But you are okay?” You asked in a hushed voice. As much as it hurt you to admit it, he had scared you.

Robb tried to hold back a reaction, but despite himself his mouth quirked to the side in the annoying almost smile that he had developed when the two of you were younger. But you had been though enough with him to notice when he was holding something back.

You hadn’t missed the look that the nurse maid had given the two of you before pointedly laying down her linens and slipping out of the door, taking Arya with her. Robb tried to sit up, holding back a grimace that if you didn’t know him any better, you wouldn’t have been able to notice.

You reached forward to grab him, to help him sit up. But, before you could, his hands came to cradle your face, bringing your forehead to rest against his. If it was any other time, you would have told him to shove off, but after all of the excitement of the last few days, you needed a moment.

A moment to be alone with him, to just breathe, and accept that everything was going to be okay.

“I’m sorry that I worried you.” Robb said, his voice quiet and timid, afraid to break the silence that had taken over the room.

“You should be, it’s my job to worry you.” You said, attempting to muster a laugh. It didn’t sound like a joke, though. Your voice was shaking just the slightest bit, trying to hide the emotion behind it.

“How could I forget? It is your job to fall off of a horse and then immediately walk directly into a wall. The same wall that has been in the same spot for hundreds of years, might I add.” He laughed, a real laugh this time. A laugh that made him throw his head back and made his stomach hurt just a bit, because he really, truly meant it. And after a few moments, you couldn’t help but join him.

“Well, I don’t want to interupt, but I’ve heard that Bran has maimed my eldest.” Catelyn said, letting herself in. You were about to stand, in order to let her have your place at Robb’s side, but she lazily motioned for you to sit down, taking a spot by the fire instead.

“It was really nothing, mother.” Robb said, looping his pinky with yours again. “Bran’s bow work obviously needs a bit more work, but I am going to be good as new.”

You held in a chuckle. Bran needing more bow work was the biggest understatement that you had heard in your life. He would get there eventually, but you knew that this wouldn’t be the last time that someone ended up in the infirmary before he learned to shoot a target. Maybe Arya could help him. She was wonderful with a bow, and even though she was less patient than the boys. Then again, that might be what Bran needed if he was ever going to hit a target. You made a mental note before returning your focus to the situation at hand.

“I’m sure that you will be, after all, it seems that you have an excellent nursemaid with you.” You didn’t miss her glancing down at your hands resting on the bed. You stuck your tongue out at her.

She didn’t reprimand you, knowing that it would only encourage you further.

“Abigayle is wonderful.” you said, eyes shifting to the door that the gray-haired woman had left through a few minutes ago.

Catelyn’s eyebrows arched the slightest bit, and Robb was chuckling to himself.

“I have a feeling that my mother wasn’t talking about Abigayle.” His pinky tightened around yours, not too tightly, but enough to make you understand what he was trying to say.

They were talking about you.

“Well, I haven’t done anything.” You insisted, unsure what they were trying to say.

“We both know that Arya is going to have to drag you out of this room before you leave his side.” Catelyn laughed, standing up from her chair. “Which is why I know that I can take my leave to help Sansa and the girls with their needlepoint.” Catelyn placed a kiss on the top of Robb’s head, and then yours. “I will see you later, my loves. She said, pausing for just a moment in the doorway, before making her way out of the room.

“I don’t see what the fuss is about.” You said, untangling your pinky from his before moving to get a strip of cloth to change Robb’s bandages. Abigayle had given him fresh ones a few hours ago, but with all of the moving around he was sure to need new ones. “I help everyone when they are hurt.”

The look on Robb’s face said that he wanted to say more, and you felt a wave of relief when it seemed that he was going to hold his tongue, for now at least.

You motioned for him to take off his shirt, allowing you a better look at the wound on his side. It was a shallow wound, but it ran the length of his ribcage, jagged and rough against his pale skin. Thankfully, it looked as if it would heal in a few days. Unfortunately, you were left to coddle Robb like a child until he was good as new.

He had a tendency to be clingy when he was hurt. You didn’t honestly know if it was because it truly made him feel better, or if he liked having an excuse to be around you, even more often than usual. Your head said that it was the first option, but it was getting harder as of late to ignore what your heart was saying.

Refocusing on the task at hand, you found that you had been right, and the bandages were nearly soaked through. You made quick work of them, not allowing your fingers to linger any more than was absolutely necessary.

You can read Part Five here!

anonymous asked:

I'm not one of those who blames Harry for what is happening rn, but man, I'm side eyeing the fuck out of Jeff. I dont know what restrictions Harry still has and all that, but this is some terrible shit tbh. Like, all these rumours about premiering his music before Dunkirk... that would be terrible!!! It would so undermine and overshadow his role in Dunkirk. Terrible business decision. And now the timing of this registration... it couldnt be worst tbh. I really hope Jeff knows what he's doing

I agree with you, and also, I’m going to go on a bit of a rant because I can’t not. I just honestly think everything related to Harry’s solo career is absurd right now. Harry has been almost entirely cut off from the fandom pretty much since hiatus began. I think that’s fine, and honestly, and I know we’ve all missed him, but I think Harry (possibly even more than the others) needed that time to himself. I think it gave him time to recover from such a tough schedule with One Direction, I think it gave him a break from the fan service and BS that really seemed to have burned him out, and it gave him time to focus on Dunkirk, which was obviously something outside of his comfort zone that required his full concentration. But Jesus Christ, man. This is beyond ridiculous at this point.

We’ve gotten countless media sources, celebrities, and others in the industry talking about his debut album. And because he’s not talking, all of these people and sources are talking FOR him - and we don’t even know which of the things they’re saying are correct and which are completely false. And blah blah blah yeah, obviously the media is gonna talk about solo Harry regardless, but you’re lying to yourself if you think that his team couldn’t have shut up some of the people who have run their mouths about solo Harry at this point. And if the media is going to always make claims about his future music, both true and false, why wouldn’t he just speak for himself? Why wouldn’t his team speak for him? Why have they allowed this to happen for so fucking long? And don’t even give me that bullshit about oh, they just want to keep anticipation up - because at this point, that tactic doesn’t even make sense. I honestly don’t even know how solo Harries are alive right now considering they get hyped up for his music every two days based on what so-and-so said to the media. It’s fucking EXHAUSTING and it eventually burns people out to be constantly disappointed when they’re promised that something is about to happen and then it doesn’t. I’ve seen a lot of burnout in this fandom in the last week alone on the solo Harry front, and that’s so sad to see because things could have been so different.

If they’re gonna have a dude from Columbia come out here and tell me that an album is nearly done, and then have Grimmy say he was about to hear the album, and then have a touring company registered like a tour is gonna be in the works sometime soon when they haven’t said jack shit about ANYTHING, that’s beyond frustrating to me. You don’t have to give every fucking detail but god, not even a confirmation that the album is coming? NOTHING. Nothing at all.

Louis kept up fan service pretty consistently last year and eventually dropped music. Liam posts updates about his album progress to his social media, and yeah, his album still isn’t out, but there also haven’t been fifty people saying to the press every four days that it’s almost done. Niall was active on social media and kept up fan service last year before dropping his single as a surprise. Harry has done none of that, and I’m not saying that Harry has to do it the way the other boys did, but this is….really yikes. I don’t understand what the fuck his team is playing at, I really don’t. I know that Harry is the most famous in the band and I know that his music is the most anticipated, but he is not some untouchable artist with a shitload of street cred where his album is guaranteed to top at number one. I know this fandom might want to think that’s the case, but it isn’t. He is not Beyonce with numerous successful albums and decades in the industry. He has never put out solo music, and not only that, but we don’t have even the vaguest clue as to what his solo music would SOUND like at this point because again, we’ve heard nothing from his team.

The way this is being executed screams lazy and arrogant to me, and Harry is neither of those things, so I want to know what the deal is. To have this buildup for over a year with everyone else talking about it except for the people whose voices count the most and just expecting fans to be there, still waiting and ready and foaming at the mouth whenever you choose to drop music even though you never bothered to say anything about it….that doesn’t rub me the right way at all, I’m sorry. And listen, knowing this fandom and how much solo Harries have stayed pumped, it might work for them, it, but god, that is just….I don’t understand how people can respect that method of doing things. Us, the fans, as future consumers of his music, as the people who ensured that Harry is in the position he’s in today, deserve better than this. I know that fandom entitlement is a thing and we don’t deserve a lot of things that we think we deserve, but are people really gonna try to act like having confirmation of an album from Harry or his team is asking too much? Wanting some respect, and some clarity, and some basic fucking facts (for example: Are you coming out with an album? When is it coming out?) for Harry’s FIRST SOLO ALBUM EVER after over a year of almost complete silence from him (and silence about his future plans long before that) is perfectly reasonable, especially considering how much we’ve been jerked around about Harry’s solo career for like five years now, and quite frankly, anyone trying to suggest otherwise is fooling themselves. Harry’s team may not be able to control everything the media or other artists do or say about solo Harry, but they can (or at least, you would think they would be able to) control their own behavior, and at least so far, it seems like they’re just letting everybody else do the work for them (and do it messily at that, considering how many lies and ridiculous speculation has been published and passed around over the past year or so).

I’m just really frustrated because I don’t understand why his team is doing this and why they’re giving this impression of not knowing what they’re doing (e.g. the Full Stop website) or just not caring (e.g. [the metric for success] “is just existing”). With a lot of the Louis bullshit, even without knowing the exact details of what’s going on, you can usually figure out quite quickly that a) they’re actively trying to fuck him over and b) why they’re actively trying to fuck him over. The involvement of the stunts tainting everything Louis does also makes the intentions of his team clear (though no less infuriating). But this stuff with Harry? I don’t understand it and can’t even begin to imagine why things are being done this way. I don’t think it’s fair to the fans and I think it’s doing a huge disservice to Harry, his music, and if the rumors about when he’s dropping the music are correct, his acting career. I just really, really hope that there’s a huge change soon because I’m really cringing at what I’m seeing so far. I wish I understood any of this, but I don’t and watching it all happen is exhausting.

Alright, some of my word vomit is out. If people disagree with me, that’s fine, but this is my opinion. And no, I don’t think negatively of Harry or anything like that, I’m just not pleased with how things are being handled by his team (just as I’m not pleased with how Louis’ team is doing things) and I need to voice that.

anonymous asked:

do you have any fluffy peter & tony headcanons or anything tbh because im having a horrible day and im so anxious i feel like im gonna explode

(Okay I told myself I was gonna take a break from writing today but u know what. U deserve Good Tony and Peter Writing so,,,,I’m gonna do my best with that. Hope u feel better soon my friend, and I hope this helps in some way x)



His hands were shaking against the prompt cards he held in an iron-clad grip.


It was stupid, really. Ridiculous. He’d battled monsters and stopped bombs and yet here he was, getting worked up over a damn science presentation.

And there wasn’t even any reason why. He was good at science. Brilliant, if he did say so himself. And the whole school was full of science nerds like him, so it wasn’t as if he was going to get laughed off stage, either.


So why the damn hell did he feel so…awful?


Pull yourself together, Spiderman, he told himself, shaking his head a little and peaking out from behind the wings to watch the speech that was currently being given by another of his classmates. It was a mandatory thing in order for everyone to get a grade. Each of them had to present an idea or a theory to the rest of their year and put points that were for and against it. At the end, other kids asked questions, drilled you, probably started giggling and whispering if you couldn’t answer one of their godawful comments-

Ugh. He felt vaguely sick.


He’d been on edge the whole day just thinking about it. There were, what, a hundred faces, maybe more, in the audience? Including Flash, who was sat at the back, just waiting for Peter to slip up so he could laugh loudly or boo or something.

He could barely even think straight. His mind was all fuzzy and his palms were too sweaty. It felt like his lungs weren’t working properly anymore.

This sucked.


“Hey kid,”


Peter jerked wildly as someone stepped up to his shoulder. God, he’d been so out of it he hadn’t even heard them, what the hell was wrong with him-

“I- uh, hi Mr-” he turned, looking over and expecting to see a teacher. 

“Tony?” he said incredulously, as his brain registered the tinted yellow glasses and carefully sculpted van dyke.

“The one and only,” Tony replied absently, as he peered out through the wings and looked at the boy onstage, “you next?” He asked.

“I…what-you-how?” Peter spluttered, “what are you doing here?”

Tony looked at him, before shrugging. If Peter wasn’t mistaken, he almost looked sheepish. “You mentioned this thing, uh, a few days ago in the labs? I didn’t have anything on, so I though I’d come, show a bit of moral support, you know the drill,” he muttered. “How you feeling? You ready? Nervous?”

Peter opened his mouth, but the assurance failed to come out. He was a notoriously bad liar, after all.
Plus, his vocal cords didn’t really seem to be working very well right now. Which, considering what he was about to go up and do, was Very Very Bad.

Tony looked him up and down, noting the quivering hands, slightly green face and general expression of terror before sighing and pulling the sunglasses off his nose in order to place them on the bridge of Peter’s. “Okay, Peter, today you are not Peter. Today, you are me, and I am about to give a heart-raising, mind-blowing, showstopping speech on…” he peered down, reading the top of Peter’s card, “effective and innovative designs to contribute toward a greener society,” 

Peter just nodded, looking up at Tony through the yellow lenses.

“First thing,” Tony began, raising a hand and wandering backward, before gesturing around the place, “you gotta own the room, kid. Movement is important. Hands, feet, eyes- don’t just stand there like a lemon and read off the prompts. You wanna get a good grade? You engage the audience,” he stepped forward, pointing at Peter’s eye, and then his own, “eye contact. Always do the eye contact. Kinda terrifying, admittedly, but you only need to do it for a second. You’re not gonna stare em down like they’re trying to rob a bank here, okay, you’re just catching their eye. Showing them you’re focused, like you’re talking to them specifically. Keep moving around, look at everyone.”

He stopped. Grabbed Peter’s shoulder. “So, Mr Stark, how do you begin your speech?”

Peter stopped, caught off guard like a rabbit in the headlights. “Uhhhhh-”

“Okay, well for starters, I definitely don’t do that,” Tony shook his head, pushing the glasses a little further up Peter’s nose as they began to slip down. “You wanna begin with something simple. Casual. This isn’t a funeral service. You’re just putting an idea across. ‘hello everybody’ will suffice. I’d say open with a joke, but I don’t think you’re ready for that yet.”

Peter had to agree on that one. He took another look over to the side, and noticed the boy was beginning to wrap up. 

Oh, hell. He was next.

Tony noticed, too, and he let his other hand rest on Peter’s shoulder as well, so that he was gripping Peter between both hands. “Listen, kid. Stick to the basics. Eye contact. Movement. Keep it light, and don’t focus too hard on individuals. It’ll only freak you out. You’re gonna do great, kid. Honestly, you’re definitely the smartest one out there, you got nothing to worry about.”

“People are gonna laugh,” Peter muttered, looking down at his feet. God, Flash- Flash was gonna be a total ass, he could predict it perfectly. Peter would pause, just for a moment, and Flash would do something stupid like laugh or make a stupid noise and then it would throw Peter off-

“No-one’s gonna laugh, Kid,” Tony said, before his eyes narrowed. “Unless there’s someone who’s planning on ruining it for you. Is there?”

“I dunno, Flash said some stuff earlier, but… I dunno,” Peter mumbled, biting his lip. He wished he’d been ill today. Or HYDRA had decided to attack a Macy’s or something. At least that would have been a genuine excuse.

“Flash, huh?” Tony mused quietly, peering out into the audience, “greasy looking pussy at the back, right?”

Peter laughed nervously, nodding. “Uh, yeah, that’s the one.”

Tony pulled a face, and then nodded to himself. “Okay. Okay, cool. Well listen, I’ll make sure Flash isn’t a problem, alright? Don’t worry about him.”


A sudden wave of applause filled the auditorium, and signalled Peter’s turn up. 

“Big breath. Come on, you’ll kick ass. You’re Spiderman. Or you can be me, just for a few minutes, if that’ll make it easier,” Tony assured him, patting his cheek  and smiling.


“-And now, it is my great pleasure to present to you, Peter Parker!” The Principal announced, and another round of applause burst out.

Okay. Showtime.


“Wait, kid, sunglasses!” Tony caught him before he could move, sliding them back off his face with a grin, “they’re a tad too big for you. Don’t want them sliding off whilst you’re deep in the middle of solving the world’s energy crisis.”

Peter huffed out a nervous laugh, and then did as Tony said, taking a long, deep breath before turning away and walking slowly toward the main stage.


He could do this. Tony did it all the time. He could be Tony, just for five and a half minutes, right? Tony had said he could.


His hands were still shaking a little as he stepped in front of everyone, but he felt a little braver. A little prouder. Maybe even confident.


At the back of the hall, he watched Tony slip in through the doors, more inconspicuous than Peter had ever seen him as he wandered toward the back row and grabbed a chair, leaning over the back of it and whispering something into-

Peter sighed, unable to hold back the little grin of satisfaction as Flash’s head turned to look up at him, eyes widening in a hilarious fashion as he realised, yet again, he was being told off by Tony Stark.

It was even more amusing to watch the colour drain from his face as Tony continued to whisper in his ear. He watched as Flash nodded a little jerkily, and then Tony smiled, before stepping back and leaning against the back wall, right in the middle where Peter could see him.


He grinned up when Peter made eye contact, and Peter smiled back.


He could do this.




“You did it!” 


Peter turned, smile on his face as he watched Tony jog up toward him, hands raised in a thumbs-up as he grinned over. Luckily, the presentation had been at the last period, and so Peter was free to get the fuck out and finally relax for the first time that day.

“Yeah- I think it went…well,” Peter admitted happily.

 Tony pulled a face, letting his arm fall across Peter’s shoulders and squeeze. “Uhm, you did more than ‘well’, kid- you totally blew everyone else out of the water.”

“You didn’t even see everyone else, Tony.”

He felt the shrugging gesture Tony made beside him. “I’m gonna go ahead and assume here, kid. You were great. Very Tony Stark-ish. Except with less narcissism and more genuine-ness, y’know? Never would’ve guessed you were nervous.”

Peter grimaced. “I thought I was gonna throw up the entire time.”

“Well then, you are a remarkable actor, Mr Parker,” Tony told him, “hey, how about doing my speech for me this weekend at the charity gala I am being forcibly blackmailed into attending? I have a busy schedule of sleeping and eating and I don’t want it disturbed.”

Peter laughed, giving Tony a shove, “thanks, but if it’s all the same with you, I’m never going to give a speech ever again. That was crazy. Everyone stares at you. What the hell?”

“Yeah, when you’re the only person talking in a huge auditorium, people tend to do that,” Tony huffed, shaking his head, “so damn rude of them.”

“It really is,” Peter agreed, hiking his bag up a little further on to his shoulder before turning to tony, a grin beginning to form on his face. “Hey- what did you tell Flash, by the way?”

Tony tapped his nose secretively. “None of your business.”

“Aw, come on, I see him most, it’s more my business than yours.”

“Hey, maybe I just like him. Maybe I was having a catch up, Peter, huh? You’re not special, I might be secretly mentoring him, too.”

Peter rolled his eyes, shoving Tony playfully and then grabbing his arm before he went careering to the floor. “Whoops- superstrength.”

“That was a threat, wasn’t it? I feel threatened. Again. Physical threats, this time, too- it’s getting worse-”

“Tony,” Peter whined frustratedly, “please tell me.”

Tony stopped, hand half-way to reaching his car door before turning to look back at Peter. “I told him if he made a single sound, I’d hack the school system and turn all his A* into C’s,” he admitted, before adding “is that bad? I don’t know- I tend to threaten both adults and kids alike, what can I say, I’m all about equality,” 

Peter watched, smile on his face as Tony jumped into his car and pulled his shades back on. “You did good, kid. I’ll see you ‘round,” he said, shooting Peter another thumbs up before revving the engine and pulling out of the car park.

Peter watched, shaking his head fondly. He felt kinda exhausted- the day had been stressful as fuck, and it had taken it out of him. But hey- at least it was over. And at least it hadn’t turned into a full-blown panic attack, either. That would’ve just been embarrassing.

“Thanks, Tony,” Peter muttered, waving cheerily over at a still rather horrified looking Flash from across the road before beginning to make his way down the drive.



“Wait. You got a lift?”


Peter turned, watching as Tony reversed back to him and raised an eyebrow at him curiously from the open window.

“Sorry, I don’t get in cars with strangers,” Peter deadpanned, beginning to walk forward again, hiding a fond grin as Tony just rolled forward and followed him.

“Uhh,” Tony made a face, turning around and shuffling in his car for a second before pulling out something. It was a bag of kisses, a few of them already eaten, with the wrappers thrown back in the bag. “I got candy?”

Peter broke his deadpan stare a second later, in order to laugh. Tony was a fucking idiot, honestly. “Right, okay, I’ve been convinced,” he declared, before sliding over the bonnet and opening the door on the other side.

As soon as he’d fallen in, Tony flicked him on the ear. “Ow!” He yelped, looking betrayed.

“Don’t slide your dirty school jeans over my car, you heathen,” Tony scolded, before turning back to the road and stepping on accelerate. “And don’t touch my radio. We’re listening to my music, not yours.”

Peter groaned, “ugh, but your music taste is-”

“Unless you want to get forcibly removed from this vehicle, I suggest you quit running your mouth, boy,” 

Peter looked over to him. There was silence for a stretch, before Peter muttered, “Metallica sucks.”

“RIGHT,” Tony pulled his sunglasses off, chucking them at Peter’s chest and then moving his hand to the dash where all his modified features sat, “that’s it, you’re getting ejected, buh-bye demon child-”

“TONY NO I’M SORRY I DIDN’T M-”

Why Glossaryck was right to abandon Star (and why I’ll never doubt him again)

I just read this great Glossaryck meta by @starfleet-officer-jaya about the scene with him and Star in the void, where she lashes out at him for “betraying her” and he just says, “I’m sorry you saw it that way.” It’s such a dismissive thing to say, but it tells us (or confirms) so much about him and it’s so interesting. So it got me thinking.

We can safely assume that Glossaryck is simply a character who knows everything. From his first appearance predicting the end of Star’s mewberty down to the exact second, to his actions in “By the Book” that looked like he was angry at Star all so he could be in the right place at the right time in a fight days away, to his foresight in destroying a certain spell just before Ludo stole the book. We have so many examples of that. And the fact that Glossaryck is more or less omniscient is so important for understanding what he does.

Glossaryck (if he is only one being- didn’t the Sanctuary decorated with icons of him kind of imply that there are more of him, even if they share the same personality? For the record, I don’t believe he’s dead) is in charge of maintaining the book of spells, knowing it cover to cover, knowing its history, the history of all its owners, and evidently, playing personal trainer to every queen of Mewni. In “Page Turner” he says this to Moon after she interferes with Star’s training:

“You don’t trust me, and what’s worse, you don’t trust Star. My Queen, your training was different because Star is different. You have to have faith in her to make choices that are best for her. And my job… is to train Star to be a queen.”

So it was clear back then that Glossaryck’s approach to mentoring was pretty hands-off and vague when the best way to teach was through experience. He’s not afraid to look like he isn’t doing his job because nobody else knows what he does. He’s not even afraid to look like a traitor if it’s the best way to turn Star into a strong, self-sufficient and competent queen. Again: “I’m sorry you saw it that way.”

My favorite Glossaryck scene is the one that most perfectly spells out that he always has a plan, and everything he does is for a very good reason: the scene where Star tries to rescue Glossaryck through the portal. While impressed with the magic she’s pulling off (”I’ve never seen that before” is Glossaryck speak for “wow, that’s impressive,” right?), he basically tells her no, he won’t go with her and he won’t be helping her with this one. “But I need you!” she says, because he’s her teacher, and she’s supposed to have him because she’s supposed to need him.

And he says, “Maybe this is what you need.”

Maybe this is what she needs to start taking herself seriously. Maybe this is what she needs to start independently learning magic. Maybe this is what she needs to learn how powerful she is, even in hopeless situations where the odds are stacked against her. Glossaryck knew that Star was powerful, but too averse to discipline to be trained normally. She’s the rebel princess who interprets instruction as oppression. When she hears do this, she goes in every other direction, just because.

So if you abandon her, she starts her own spellbook, learns how to deal with her corrupted wand, and returns to Mewni when it’s clear she’s needed to fight the increasing danger. She risks her own life many times over, and would have died in the blast from destroying her wand if her hunch about Toffee being absorbed into it had been wrong. Toffee corrupts almost all of her magic and then leaves her in that space to die. She chases one last piece of her magic into the depths until she almost drowns. And then, when you tell her the totally non-magical soup is boiling hot and shouldn’t be touched, she plunges her arms into the very bottom. With the last dregs of her old magic, Star rebuilds her wand and her body, replenishes her magic, and unleashes enough power to destroy an immortal monster. By herself.

Maybe this is what you need.

When you think about it, how else would she have learned?

Trash

When the property manager of my building wants to communicate with tenants, she prints out a letter and sticks it in the door jamb of every apartment. Mostly her communiques involve the water main being shut off or the garage being cleaned or something that has been broken for three years finally being repaired. 

On Sunday, she sent a note saying that as of Wednesday, all the building’s trash chutes would be closed, and the dumpster would be moved out of the garage into the parking lot. She was very testy and said that despite repeated warnings, too many tenants had ignored the clearly posted trash rules. “You brought this on yourselves,” basically. There was too much trash being strewn on the floor and discarded haphazardly around the dumpster. 

And I cannot say she was wrong. Though I am rarely here, when I am in town, I notice that the hallways always reek of trash and my neighbors are absolute slobs. They are not at all constrained by the spatial limitations of the dumpster. They will leave trash anywhere in the vicinity of the dumpster, or not. If something spills out, they don’t bother to pick it up. It’s all very laissez-faire. I am not a trash saint but I am perfectly capable of putting my trash in the dumpster, where it belongs.

When I read the missive, I was irritated because now, taking the trash out was going to be a real fucking hassle. But hey, the letter stated the new rules so that was that.

Because I have little else to do, I strategized my new trash routine and came up with a plan. I located the new dumpster location, and then I forgot about it because I may not have much of a life but I always have plenty of TV I could be watching.

Today, there was another letter in the door jamb saying that the trash chutes would remain open and the dumpster would remain in it’s current location in the garage because so many tenants had offered feedback (ie, complained). That feedback had been heard, loud and clear. 

I read the letter three times. I did so because I was so stunned that people would complain, that people felt like they could complain and say that they did not want to be inconvenienced in this manner.

And then I wondered why it never crossed my mind to complain about something I actually did want to complain about, why I figured out how to make do with this change in circumstance rather than say something. And certainly, this trash situation was a minor inconvenience but, in truth, I make do with a lot of things in situations where I can and should speak up, but don’t. I should probably work on that. 

🌟 New to pacifiers? Dismayed it’s not like you hoped it would be? About to give up? I’m here to give you advice!

My first experience with a pacifier wasn’t great. It didn’t feel right and I felt awkward with it. Here are a few tips from my journey with pacifiers. I hope it helps other regressors that feel weird using one.

1. Mouth size matters. Some people, like myself, have shallow mouths in which adult pacifiers do not sit comfortably. My tongue bar also effects how it sits, so if you have mouth tongue jewelry it may not sit right.

2. There are different types of nipples. If you only wish to use a pacifier for brief soothing, like me, baby pacifiers are perfectly safe. 6-18+ months. I prefer NUK brand, but don’t be afraid to try a few different ones. Do not use 0-6 months, as the mouth guard and nipple are far too small.

3. If you plan to use a pacifier long term (due to mouth stimming or you find that you regress frequently), do NOT use infant brands. You can push your teeth out of place over long usage. But, just like infant brands, different nipples are available. They tend to be more expensive, so I’m sure it’s not easy to just “buy and try”. Find a shop you trust and message the owner. They can give you tips.

4. Buy baby safe disinfectant pills to soak your pacifier in. Don’t wipe them with home cleaner. Keep it safe for your body.

5. You will drool at times. Expect it. With drooling, be aware of possible issues. I develop mouth sores with excessive usage that I have topical ointment for. Keep your pacis disinfected and brush your teeth before using them to lessen sores or crusties.

6. Laying down to sleep, at first, is a nightmare. The pacifier feels heavy, your jaw hurts if you bit it to keep it in and you will wake up to it lost. Don’t fear! Sucking is a basic instinct and after a few days with your pacifier, you’ll find you naturally suck it to keep it in, like a baby. I hated falling asleep with it at first, now it’s a great destressor. If it falls frequently, try a clip. And disinfect if it falls on the floor.

Hope this helps! Feel free to message me questions! 🌟

🌟 No porn/NSFW/18+ interaction please. Nonsexual age regressors/littles ONLY🌟

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

Don’t let anyone discourage you with statements like “Do you really think you’ll still identify as that when you’re an adult?”. 

Because it doesn’t matter. At all. And here’s why: 

1. There are plenty of lgbt+ adults (and even lgbt+ elderly people!) in the world (If you don’t know any: Hello, it’s me! I’m certainly way too old to be “a confused teenager” or “going through a phase due to puberty hormones” or any of that crap). The idea that people stop being lgbt+ once they’re mature is one that just doesn’t ring true in the real world. 

2. You’ll no doubt learn more about yourself as you grow older. When i was 15, I identified as lesbian because i had a crush on a female singer. I do in fact not identify as that anymore - I learned more about the different labels (and more about myself!) and realized that pan fits me better. Does that mean i went through a “lesbian phase”/am a fake/am a liar? Nope. Now i have a label that fits me perfectly and a really big crush on the woman i date and plan to marry her. You may change the exact label you identify with - and that’s okay!  

3. You deserve to be able to express how you feel right now. So what if it changes one day? What if it is indeed a phase? Then you are still allowed to use a label that feels right right now.  You’re allowed to go through phases. You’re allowed to explore and experiment and discover and try out and play around with your identity. Even if it is a phase, it’ll not ruin your life: You’ll just learn more about yourself. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Mom 

anonymous asked:

i love all of your posts!! is there anyway you could write one about harry finding out that you are pregnant?? xx

When you’ve been dating someone for 3 years and having to be each other’s rocks since day 1, things were always comfortable among the both of you.

Besides comfortable, you were safe — at least you thought you were. This was it for Harry; he reached the climax. Everything was going the way he imagined it to and you couldn’t be happier.

Moments after yours and Harry’s eyes fluttered open, you sat tangled in the bed, you tracing squares on his chest while he ran his fingertips gently up and down your back.

“What are the plans for today?” You asked.

“Grocery shopping. We ran out of sprouts.” He replied, pulling you closer to him.

You scrunched your face in disgust. “No, you ran out of sprouts. I’m perfectly fine.”

He chuckled, “You really have to try what I cook. They taste really good.”

“You sauté them. That’s like eating them raw.” You grimaced.

“No, they a-”

In a second, you pushed yourself up and ran to the bathroom, emptying the little amount of what was still in your stomach.
Harry quickly rushed to your side, putting your hair in a messy bun with the hair tie of yours around his wrist before rubbing your back. You groaned, feeling your throat hurt from not even having anything to throw up because your food was already digested from that healthy meal Harry cooked the night before.

When you felt like you weren’t going to throw up anymore, Harry helped you up, opening the faucet for you and watching you with concern as you brushed your teeth and washed your face.

“Do,” He began, “Sprouts,” He whispered, scared you might throw up again at the mention of the vegetable, “Disgust you that much?”

“I think they do.” You chuckled, patting your face dry with a towel.

“Go to the kitchen and wait for me. I have to use the loo and brush my teeth and I’ll make you something to make you feel better, yeah?” He put his hand on the back of your head, gently stroking your hair.

You nodded before walking out of the bathroom and out of the bedroom. Harry watched you before sighing. Guess he won’t be getting sprouts anytime soon.

That day, you threw up one more time in the afternoon and at night. Harry kept bugging you about taking you to the doctor but you were sure that maybe you had had something bad the night before and,

“Your sprouts did that that me.” You had joked.

What you didn’t expect was for you to get a notification from your period tracker application that your period 15 days late, 2 after you started throwing up as you sat on the bathroom floor after having just finished emptying your stomach as soon as you woke up.

Could you be…?

“Baby, you really need to see a doctor.” Harry said quietly as he tucked you in bed.

You only groaned. Harry smiled sympathetically before pressing a kiss to your forehead.
The next day, Harry had a meeting with Jeff which left you alone, thinking of all the possibilities. Before you even fathom what was happening, you were dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie with your hood on your head, getting a pregnancy test from the store. You were being extra careful with the paps, not wanting anyone to see Harry Styles’ girlfriend getting a pregnancy test. After paying and walking out to your car, you sat a few moments in the car, taking deep breaths with your eyes closed.

“Harry will still love me, right? Right, right.” You breathed out before driving off. The ride was anxiously agonizing. Different scenarios ran through your mind. What if you really were pregnant? Harry’s solo career was just starting and he had so many plans ahead. What will the fans think? What will the management think? Hell, what would your families think?
You parked the car and rushed inside the house, practically running to the bathroom before you ripped the package open and followed the instructions written on the paper inside. You peed on the stick and put it on the sink, just sitting there and waiting. Your nerves were all over the place, finally letting a few tears fall freely.

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone’s timer, telling you that 11 minutes had passed. You shakily turned it off before reaching for the test, releasing a breath before looking down at it. Positive. You choked a sob, “Fuck!”

You don’t remember what else happened except for dragging yourself to the couch in the living room, turning on the TV as an attempt to quiet down your thoughts.

Harry entered, shouting a “Honey, I’m home!” before walking inside. He stopped confusingly when he spotted you curled on the couch, sleeping. He walked towards you, kneeling down. He frowned when he saw your red nose and tear stains, beginning to caress your face. “Y/N? Baby?”

You perked up quickly, seeing it was Harry before sighing and letting your head fall back on the armrest. “What’s wrong, baby? Why were you crying?” Harry cooed.

At this, you closed your eyes when you felt a new wave of tears before whimpers started leaving your lips. “Shhh, you got me, love. I’m here, I’m here.” He kissed your temple, looking at you softly. “Let’s take you upstairs, yeah?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he scooped you in his arms, letting you rest your head on his chest as you cried.

Harry put you in bed, tucking you in. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sniffled, shaking your head. “Not now.”

Harry nodded, beginning to walk away when you held his wrist. “Stay, please.” Only you knew the double meanings of this. You wanted him to stay through all of this or at least stay now and hold you before you break the news.

“I’m just going to take a very quick shower then I’ll come and we’ll cuddle. I’ll be the big spoon.” Harry smiled at you, stroking your hair. You sniffled and nodded, curling into a ball.

Harry leaned down and pecked your forehead before walking into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He didn’t notice it lying on the sink counter first. But after he was done with his 15 minute shower and as he was wrapping his lower half in towel, his eyes glanced quickly at it before taking a double take. His eyes widened as he cautiously took the test in his hand, looking at the little screen. His hand instantly went up to his hair, tugging at it as he closed his eyes.
He looked at it again before a small smile was on his face. Yes, he was nervous. Yes, it was sudden. But he knew one thing; he was happy to have a child with you. And the ring in his suitcase proved it.

Harry walked outside the bathroom, smiling when he saw that you were asleep. He got dressed in nothing but boxers, towel drying his hair before he got in bed behind you, wrapping his arms around you. You stirred, eyes fluttering open as you looked up at him.

“I’m happy. I wouldn’t want this with anyone else.” He whispered, pecking your lips gently.

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw the pregnancy test.” He said quietly with a smile.

“Oh God, I was planning to tell you, I pro-”

“Hey, hey, don’t panic,” Harry pulled you closer. “I just happened to see it. And I’m so fucking happy. We’re going to be the best parents ever.” He grinned.

You let out a sigh of relief, burying your head in his chest. “I was so nervous you’d leave.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “You really thought I’d do that?”

You only shrugged. “Never. I promised you I’ll always be there and I’m keeping that promise till I’m old.”

“I love you.” You mumbled with a sleepy smile.

“I love you and our baby.” Harry replied excitedly, his hand going down to rest on your stomach, “My very own baby.”

5 minutes of silence and Harry blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, “Hey, does that mean I can get sprouts now?”

••
I’m so sorry that was shit. I’m going to write another one when I get my shit together :(❤️❤️x

Apple Pie Life

Title: Apple Pie Life

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 3,858

Warnings: Douchebag boyfriend, Fluff

Summary: The Reader gets stood up by her boyfriend, only to have a cafe worker come out and rescue her, taking her out instead.

A/N: This is my extremely late submission for @ravengirl94 1.5k Challenge. My prompt was “Wait…is this a date?” Feedback is greatly appreciated. Happy Reading!

Oh and… HAPPY AUTUMN!!

x

Your name: submit What is this?

Forty five minutes.

 Forty five whole minutes had passed by and you were still waiting on the corner of the street, your head flicking back, left and right, hoping to see some sign of the man you were waiting for. No call. No text. Just you standing on the corner, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world.

 You had spent an hour getting ready for this date. You had straightened your hair, pulling back a few pieces in the front and pinned it back to give you a different look. You spend hours trying to pick out the perfect outfit to wear, settling on your favourite jeans, a pair of knee high socks and your favourite boots that were perfect for any outdoor event. You had your favourite jacket on that made you look amazing and a flannel underneath. Your makeup was damn near perfect. It was all for nothing.

Keep reading

5

Eric x Reader

Part One


“We all know why we’re here, (Y/N) would you like to explain yourself?” Max asked as he hurried in and sat down, not looking at Eric or Tori.

“Running to Abnegation gave my child the best chance to correctly decide on her faction.” You said seriously and everyone seemed to be taken back.

“So, you were pregnant before you left?” Eric asked through gritted teeth.

“Yes, less than two percent of Dauntless children leave Dauntless I wanted to give my child a chance to experience a faction that had a higher…” Eric shook his head and stood up.

“Are you saying that she wouldn’t have the chance to change factions if I raised her!” Eric snapped and Max motioned for him to sit.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Can I have some good Stephew facts and moments? Thank.

Some good facts:

-Steph made Matt play through the first Portal game to see if he’d make good boyfriend material.

-Steph calls Matt ‘honey’, Matt calls her ‘honey’ and 'darling’.

-Matt’s mom gave Steph a necklace that says 'family’ on it.

-Matt says Stephanie is his number one priority above work, friends, and family.

-Stephanie admitted she gets really emotional around anniversaries.

-Matt used to (and probably still does lbr) sing Stephanie love serenades.

-Every year they argue about the thanksgiving turkey (Matt always wants to buy a huge one, Stephanie points out they can’t eat a massive turkey).

-Matt calls Steph the 'Terror Of The Deep’ due to her love of sushi.

-Stephanie and Matt own matching shirts and occasionally wear them by accident and have to change before the livestreams.

-Matt thinks Steph is cute when she pouts.

-Before they have meetings on Skype with people, they’ll make silly faces together in the webcam.

-When jumpscared, Matt will usually hide behind Stephanie. When there’s an actual threat, he stands in front of her.

-Stephanie has said whenever she went to Matt’s shows, she only ever really paid attention to Matt.

-They’re nerds and share socks.

-Matt has said he has nothing but respect and admiration for Stephanie, not just on a spouse level but a friend level too.

-Stephanie thinks Matt’s brave and admired his courage when it came to never giving up on theatre auditions and putting himself out there.

-Every February 1st, since they first started dating, Matt gives Steph a dozen white roses since they’re her favourite.

-Stephanie has kept every love note Matt gave her.

-Matt regularly compliments Stephanie and admires that she’s a speed reader.

-Stephanie thinks of her engagement ring as her most prized possession.

-In college, Stephanie has basically a thinkgroup with her friends to determine if Matt was gay, and if he wasn’t, if he liked her.

-Matt has said that even before they were dating, even when he was dating someone else, he always liked Stephanie and could always see a future with her (I know I’ve said this one before, but gotdamn do I love this fact).

-By their own admission, over the years Matt has turned Stephanie into a softie.

-Matt said he spent a long time planning his proposal, and the reason it took him so long was because he wanted it to be perfect, and eventually realized it always had been.

-Stephanie loves the 'otters holding hands’ YouTube video because it came out around when they began dating and it makes her think of them.


Here u go! I’d give u some links to Stephew moments, but my computer has been acting up so I can’t link them perfectly to the time and without posting the entire URL. But I think I have a post of some fave moments, and I’ll try and find it and reblog it for you anon!

2

Prompt Credit: x


You’d holed yourself off in the cool darkness of a deserted pantry when it had started. The tile was cool against the flushed skin of your calves and toes. The darkness pressed against your eyes and ears in a comforting manner, making you feel safe. But also, unfortunately, highlighting the very things that had led to you trapping yourself in here in the first place.

Each thud of your heart felt like a dust against your chest. The muscles stretched above your heart to your sternum kept pinching and snarling their pain. You tried to hold your breath, thinking rather irrationally that if you slowed some of the movement the pain might cease. Drinking water hasn’t helped. Neither had lying down. Not really.

And holding your breath?

It only meant that you were no consciously aware that you were breathing. Having to focus on each pull of air into your lungs and mentally cursing that being so conscious of it was rather making the involuntary muscle movements all too voluntary. Each breath just wound your tension more. You couldn’t keep track of the number and what felt like an incredibly fast pulse trying to jump from your neck and chest. You felt like you ought to know though. Your body was screaming with terror, and it felt as if you might overload at any moment.

The floorboards outside the pantry creaked. You told yourself it was just the house settling. The footsteps? You were imagining hallucinatory monsters while in a highly suggestible state.The voices were harder to explain away.

There were only a limited number of people who could be in this house, and you wanted to explain to approximately none of them why you had hidden away in this currently unused storage space. Aside from a few bags of sugar and a container of salt, you were sure the only thing in this place before you shut off the light and closed the door were abandoned cobwebs and dust.

You really, truly hoped no one was so desperate for a cup of sugar they wouldn’t just go to the store on their own.

It wasn’t as if you could very well hide any more than you already were, but you shrank inward the little you could bringing trembling limbs tighter protectively. You pressed your cheek against the chill of the wall and hoped your heartbeat wasn’t as loud to them as it felt to you.

After a few moments, you realized you could discern at least two sets of voices. A Scottish woman’s and a man’s. You didn’t recognize either of them, and didn’t much want to think about what that meant.

“Obviously she’s a tad upset, that’s all. Are you sure you didn’t offend her?”

“Doctor, how would I offend a ship?”

The woman’s voice was further away now, more muffled and indistinct.

“You’d be surprised,” came a mutter far too close for your comfort. Then, worse, came the twist of a doorknob as you pressed yourself against the wall adjacent to the door. Whatever reason these people had for breaking in, you didn’t think they’d be pleased by a witness.

Because you were you, and your luck has always been frankly awful when it matters most, this wasn’t very successful.

“Well hello!” The man exclaimed after he flicked on the light. “This is a surprise!” 

He sounded quite happy, going by the speed of his chatter and the brilliant smile.

 “Have you been in here long? It’s a nice cupboard, bit empty. I’d say you’d do better with some biscuits and a few pillows but - oh! Or is this Sardines? Well, count me in!”

That said, he shut the door firmly once more, his right hand moving to the light switch before pausing with a frown. Sadly, he left the light still on.

You could see him better now though. Tweed jacket, bow tie, and long skinny legs to match. You weren’t sure if you wanted to get a good look at his face or not, but you’d shut your eyes tight against the sudden intrusion of light regardless. His rectangular face was topped with a dark swoop of hair that was clearly as much of a statement as his choice in wardrobe. The chipper attitude kept you balancing the fine line of unease and tentative hope that today wasn’t really going to cause even more problems. He seemed friendly. But the housebreaking implied he may very well just be a friendly psychopath.

The diversion he posed was not enough to break the aching weight that piled on your lungs like sandbags. It didn’t stop the stabbing, dry pain that was still attacking your rib cage. You rubbed at your chest with the heel of a palm as discretely as you could, attempting to deepen each breath by finishing it with your mouth instead of your nose. He wasn’t brandishing a weapon about, so you were tentatively hoping he wasn’t planning on killing you.

You only had to wait an annoyingly painful breath or two before you felt the man’s gaze on you rather than your surroundings.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say you aren’t playing Sardines,” the man said companionably. “Did we scare you? No. No that can’t be it, you’d been in here a while before we arrived, hadn’t you?”

You found yourself nodding your agreement, not entirely sure why you were being honest. Except… that voice from earlier. It had called the person this voice belonged to ‘doctor’. Hadn’t it?

“Are you really a doctor?”

The man sat next to you, smiling brightly as if you were best friends.

“Better. I’m the Doctor,” he told you. 

You weren’t sure if he was cocky or charming.“Do you… do you often break into people’s homes? That’s not part of any residency program I know of. Most would say it’s illegal.”

Your words were accusing, but coated over with a mild sort of politeness that formed from a mixture of respect for medical professions and simple awareness that this man could be dangerously insane.

“Oh that, well I’ve never been big on normal anyway,” the man was terribly sunny. “Although, strictly speaking, didn’t exactly plan this.” His face contorted in a grimace. “I was trying to take my friend home for a surprise visit. We seem to have gotten it a bit wrong.”

That explained the clothes, you supposed.

Apparently, you’d said that out loud, because he practically squawked. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

Nothing. You assured him. They were perfectly professional. A bit outdated in style, perhaps, but you supposed anyone would get tired wearing scrubs and white coats all the time.

He swirled around to face you, pulling a small cylindrical device that lit up and buzzed as he moved it through the air.

You discarded the obvious question of 'what in the Lord’s name is that’ and instead asked through a tight jaw, “What does that tell you, then?”

The man, the doctor, looked to his whirring device then back to you. He peered at your eyes in concern then slowly reached a hand out towards you. Just as slowly, he took one of your wrists.You stared at his pale fingers, ghostlike against your wrist, and abruptly realized he was taking your pulse.

“What has you so scared?” He breathed.

You tried to give him your best challenging look. What sort of question was that, anyway? Particularly from a housebreaker?

“I’m going to ask you a few questions, but while I do, I want you to take some deep breaths for me, can you do that?”

For some stupid reason or habit, you answered honestly.

“Breathing isn’t my favorite thing just now,” you confided with a bit of a grimace.

He squeezed your wrist lightly and stared into your eyes earnestly.

“Do it anyway. Just trust me. I need you to trust me.”

“Because you’re a doctor and you make people better?”

Why not? You thought. If he was a doctor, maybe he could make the pounding and stabbing and.. all of it just stop. Go back to normal.

“Exactly. Inhale, nice and deep." You obliged. After a few moments, he squeezed your wrist again, "And exhale.”

He did this a few more times before finally asking his questions.

“What’s your name?”

You told him, although your breath got a little stuck on it. He didn’t seem disturbed, and only encouraged you more.

“Y/N, what are five things you can see?”

Unlike the first, this question was odd under the best of circumstances, and you gave him a look that told him so. When you didn’t immediately answer, the doctor asked again after a moment.

“Chalk,” you started, still doubtful, but aware of the dusty stains on your fingers from when you’d been playing with your younger siblings and cousins earlier that day. Before you’d come over here to house sit and feed fish that the owners were convinced could possibly get lonely. “Broken spiderwebs.” You weren’t being paid to clean. No way were you inviting that sort of thing to be taken for granted either. “My jacket in the corner. Your bow tie. And your eyes.” You looked at him thoughtfully. “Are you an ER doctor?”

“It’s still my turn to ask the questions, Y/N.” He smiled again and booped you on the nose. “What about four things you can feel?”

“Mild irritation?” You offered, raising an eyebrow when he shook his head.

“No. Not feel with your emotions. Your physical sense of touch. Four things you can perceive through touch.”

“Your hand on my wrist,” you replied after a moment, rubbing your chest again thoughtfully. “Not as overpoweringly warm as I’d have feared. The floor. A slight air through the house from the vents. My shirt.”

He nodded approvingly.

“Good, good. And I do work a lot with emergency cases, not always in one room though. What are three things you can hear?”

That didn’t explain anything, but you figured it was a yes. It would explain his take charge attitude and the look in his eyes.

“Your voice. Your friend running down the stairs. And the fan in the next room over.”

“Very good. Can you tell me two things that you can smell?”

You frowned, having to work harder on this one.

“Dust, I suppose. The kind of musty smell from disuse, you know? The people who live here don’t use this much.” Who’d have guessed? You felt rather embarrassed for saying something so obvious, but he appeared to find it interesting enough. At least, there wasn’t a glimmer of ‘what an idiot’ visible on his face. “And.. a perfume, maybe? It’s faint on you, but I suppose your friend wears it?”

“Ah, yes. She does that. Rassilon knows why. Last question for now. What’s one thing you can taste?”

At first you’d opened your mouth to say you couldn’t very well taste anything. Your mouth was so dry you barely had spit. Before realizing that actually wasn’t the case at all. And you could taste a slight flavor in the air. 

More than just the acrid taste of leftover fear or salt from your skin.

“Is that… bananas?”

“Always take bananas to a party.” He winked at you and brandished a banana in his free hand. Then he offered it to you and released your wrist, surprising you as you realized you’d been breathing just fine on your own. Were still breathing fine. At some point, the agony had stopped.

“But there’s no party here,” you asked doubtfully, hesitantly accepting the mysterious banana.

He just shrugged.“The human race loves parties. I’m sure we’ll find one soon enough. Want to come along?”

You looked down at your outfit then back to him and tried to open your mouth as he opened the door and called for his friend. Who was apparently named Amy.

“What was all that? What happened to me? How did you stop it?" You shook your head, trying to make sense of it all. "It felt like I was dying. Like… like I was the Energizer Bunny on speed in its death throes.”

The doctor gave you an 'ah’ of comprehension.

“Sometimes your brain will send an adrenaline surge through your body and activate your fight or flight responses. And presto, anxiety attack. All better now though. So, what do you say to that party? You already have a banana, why not go all the way?" 

His friend, who was apparently a woman just as pale but with bright red hair, skipped up to him wearing nothing but striped pyjamas.

“I love parties! But we’ll need a change of clothes, Doctor.”

“Right you are, best get that sorted out. Come on, Y/N!” The man winked at you. “Geronimo!”

because of that new interview with lauren and joaquim where they mention klance and such, i know some people will probably stress over this. i’m just popping in to say that i really don’t think you guys have anything to worry about. you have to look at the bigger picture here. you have to take all the knowledge you have about klance and all the knowledge you have about the romance in the show. all the things that have been said in interviews. all the things that we have been given in canon. you have to make sure you put it all together and don’t just focus on ONE thing. don’t just zero in on something you think is negative… look at the handfuls of stuff that supports klance. how it all just makes way too much sense. i still stand by my thoughts on klance being planned from the start. season 1 was obviously already done before they knew how any of the fans would react, i’m pretty sure season 2 was already finished before season 1 was out, as well. season 3 has probably been done for awhile, probably season 4, too. which means all of their moments and how they have developed was done with absolutely no influence from the fandom or the fans. they did it on their own, they planned it completely on their own. “a very natural arc planned between those two…” i’m still sure on them becoming romantically involved. they are the only two who fit the definition of a slow burn relationship perfectly. i know people are still going to stress but i wanted to at least let you all know that i still stand firm on all of this. my thoughts on this interview are that they are trying not to spoil anything. they can’t say too much, i think they’re trying to possibly throw us off a little. the point is, try not to worry. look at everything together. be patient.

My Favorite Person [Connor Murphy x Reader]

Title: My Favorite Person
Pairing: Connor Murphy x Reader
Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen
Requested: by the lovely @rinzix
Summary: College!Friends with benefits | You’re thankful to have a friend like Connor, for more reasons than one, but you’re fun may soon be coming to an end, and Connor isn’t feeling like himself
Warnings: mentions of sex | Connor has a potty mouth | mentions of mental health relapses and recovery | brief allusions to domestic violence | first person reader
A/N: This was such a wonderful, fun prompt and it reeaallly got away from me, so I apologize in advance. Essentially, the summary is I will probably never let Connor Murphy be happy. As always, it’s really rushed and I didn’t proof read. Enjoy?


It never starts the way I expect it to.

Don’t get me wrong–I’m not complaining. It just doesn’t work out the way it does in the movies, ya know? I’ve never gotten a text at eleven pm asking me to sneak across the campus to his conviently empty dorm room, never received anything remotely similar to a booty call. It started on accident, like everything else Connor Murphy does. He doesn’t understand the sort of pull he has on people.

Connor Murphy was an absolute octopus, first off. I woke up early–much earlier than he ever would–underneath a pile of pale, lithe limbs that seemed to tangle around me in a number of places. I was sticky–definitely sweaty from sleeping too close to Connor, who apparently fell asleep on top of me like some kind of animal, but I also felt an uncomfortable squish between my thighs that reminded me of the drastic turn of events that happened last night.

To be perfectly clear, this wasn’t the first time we had done this. The first time had been planned–an accidental mishap that had spiraled out of control, beginning with texts (“Hey, would you mind to model for a piece I’m working on? I can’t find any decent reference poses online.”) and ended with some not so appropriate banter (“Are we sexting? Is this sexting? I mean I’m horny but like it’s gotta be smoother than this, right? Shit, do you have nudes??) that had snowballed into an agreement: we could fool around, platonically, because being in college and being ridiculously horny all the time and balancing a decent relationship was one thing too many.

Still, our first few times had been planned: I’d come over for pizza when Connor’s roommate was out, we’d play video games and watch a movie, and, at some point, Connor would lean over with little to no warning and kiss me much too roughly, taking me off guard–it usually either dissolved into a fit of giggles or ended up with me on my back staring up at the smooth column of his throat, watching his pale adams apple dip briefly as he groaned into my hair.

The sun was up, shining obnoxiously through Connor’s too thin quilted curtains, filtering across our tangled bodies. My shirt was still on, thankfully–I had no idea when his roommate would be back–but Connor was entirely nude (save for a pair of tie-dye tube socks, I can’t believe I slept with him while he was wearing that), sprawled on top of me, all pale skin and angles. From here, I could see the knobs of his spine pressing against the thin, pale skin of his back where my hand rested. One of his hands was fisted tightly in the fabric of my shirt, just over my stomach, and the other was dangling off the edge of the  bed, his thin wrist almost comically looking as if it would snap.

The smell of him was overwhelming, of course, it always was. I could still taste him if I ran my tongue across the backs of my teeth. I’d need a long shower to scrub away the smell if I wanted to think coherently today–Connor was definitely my favorite person, the only real  friend I’d made at school so far, but the very smell of him was going to make my brain short circuit.

We needed to have a discussion, needed to stop doing this every time we hang out. A limit. I sighed, remembering. We were going to have to have a talk anyway.

Reaching up gingerly, I ran my fingers against the knots on his back, tracing the triangles of his scapula and cupping the back of neck to run my fingers through the curls. His hair needed washed, badly, but I didn’t mind, just continued to soothe, feeling him sigh in his sleep against my neck. I grinned, feeling his nose press more firmly against the juncture of my neck and shoulder.

“Why are you awake?” He slurred, lips wet where they brushed my skin. His limbs went taunt, stretching before rolling over off of me, his arms slinging against his eyes.

“Ugh, can you cover up?” I groaned, sitting up and pulling a blanket to pool in my lap, trying to look anywhere but Connor. “It’s daylight now, it’s too vivid.”

He just chuckled, running his hands to scrub at his face in an attempt to wake up, pushing tangled curls out of his eyes, grinning at me. “Sorry, geez. Didn’t hear you complaining last night.” Nonetheless, he yanked the blanket over his lap, rolling over to look at me with a smirk.

“How’d you sleep?” He asked, tapping my forehead with his thumb, before leaning over to kiss me there. He didn’t move away, just hovered over me on an elbow, and surrounded by his scent left me vaguely dizzy. I’d miss it when I left here, I knew.

I scrunched my nose, letting him know that the affection was unnecessary, but he kept leaning over, pressing another kiss to my temple.

“I don’t remember,” I sighed honestly. “You kinda kept me up till two am.”

“What time is it now?”

“One.”

“Christ, sorry,” he laughed, sitting up immediately and pushing his hair back. “Guess I tired you out, huh?”

“Don’t get cocky. We were talking until twelve thirty, you only last half an hour, bucko,” I said, crawling quickly out of the bed and tugging on my panties.

“Ouch! Didn’t hear you complaining,” he chuckled, pulling his hair back into a ponytail holder. He was planning to let me shower first, then.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, and I could tell that was the end of the discussion. We had a habit of skirting the topic during the daylight hours–if we talked about it, then we thought about it, and if we thought about it, then–well, you get the picture. “I’m gonna shower.”

——

By the time I’m out, my hair combed in wet strands sticking to the back of my neck and dressed in a clear pair of panties and one of Connor’s bigger shirts, Connor is sprawled on the bed, fully dressed, staring at a worn copy of T.S. Eliot poems, the green cloth binding fraying between his lithe fingers. The steam from the shower followed me in the room, making it look like a hazy 1970s Polaroid, accompanied by the warm light trying desperately to filter into the room through Connor’s quilted curtains.

He’s brushed his hair, I noticed, and there’s a lingering scent of cologne in an attempt to mask the smell of him–of us, if I’m being entirely honest–without showering. I nearly snorted aloud when I saw what he was wearing.

“That’s my shirt, you know,” I choked out between laughter, unable to believe that Connor fucking Murphy is wearing my tie dye crop top with a pair of ratty grey sweatpants. It was big on him, with a little pink embroidered heart stitched messily over the chest. The sweatpants rode high on his square hips, so all I could see was the slope of his ribs into the flat plain of his stomach, his belly button barely peaking out over the elastic waistband of his boxers, which rode a little higher than the sweats.

He looked up from the book, grinning lethargically, letting me know he was still barely awake. I probably should’ve let him sleep longer, but I needed to leave soon, and I wanted to tell him goodbye.

“I know,” he sighed lazily. “You left it here last time. It’s really soft.”

I bit back my smile, crossing the room to sit beside him. “Fair enough,” I conceded, tucking back a piece of hair that was beginning to slip from his ponytail.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he pointed out, pouting his bottom lip.

“I forgot to bring a clean one,” I lied.

“You know you have extras here,” he said, suddenly frowning and returning to his book. I paused, unsure what had caused the sudden mood shift, and wanted to be careful moving forward in the conversation. “I mean, you can always borrow mine, I don’t care or anything–”

“You don’t want anyone to see me wearing it, I get it, I’ll switch back before I leave,” I said reassuringly, scooting away half an inch to give him space. It was easy to overload Connor–it wasn’t his fault, I really did understand. Sometimes social interaction was too much, especially when I’d spent almost twenty four hours with him, and we’d been so intimate.

“Fuck, I don’t care about that,” he hissed, flipping the pages of his book much too rapidly to be actually reading them. “Do you care about that?”

The second statement was shorter, softer, almost as if he didn’t want me to hear. It made me nervous–Connor had been doing better, a lot better. Throwing himself into school, into art, made him better. He wasn’t recovered–it was hard to tell if he ever would be, and I’d only ever seen a few of his episodes, but any form of relapse that I couldn’t help him control was unwanted.

“Of course I don’t care, Con,” I said softly, reaching up to soothe his hair softly, feeling him stiffen and relax beneath my fingertips. “Jeez, we’re in college. I couldn’t care less what people think.”

He nodded, eyes creased before closing, his lips pressed together in a frown. “Right, right, you’re right, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I muttered, feeling nervous. He certainly wasn’t in any mood to hear my news. Something was on his mind. “You good?”

“Huh? Yeah! Great, don’t sweat it!” He some how managed to morph his deer in the headlights expression into one of enthusiasm.  It was more than concerning, and I hadn’t noticed when he’d developed the ability to swallow back his feelings. I didn’t know why he felt like he needed to. “What’s the plan for today, kiddo? There’s a Clark Gable marathon on TCM tonight, I know you like that black and white crap.”

Shit. I swallowed thickly, realizing I needed to tell him, and now. I was hoping it would wait until at least after we had food in us, or at least until Connor was awake enough to reign in his emotions and think with a level head.

“When’s your roommate getting back?” I asked instead, scratching at the back of my neck and not meeting his gaze. I felt him squint angrily at me, aware of my avoidance. “Don’t want him to walk in on anything unseemly,” I laughed.

Connor was still watching me, I felt it, with a pinched, calculated expression. “We don’t have to fool around tonight,” he said softly. “We can just hang.”

His voice was that soft, melancholy tone again that made my heart constrict. He wasn’t feeling good, I realized. He clearly thought that I was upset with him–I wasn’t, but I realized with a jolt that my news certainly wasn’t going to help his sudden self conscious streak.

I shifted on the bed again, feeling his eyes on me as I delayed, and I could practically see his inner turmoil. I should stay here with him. He wasn’t doing well. But, I’d promised….

“Um,” I mumbled, pushing back my wet hair with my hand. “About that. I, uh, have plans for tonight.”

His eyebrows took a quick hike into his hairline, his slate eyes wide, before he horrified me by neutralizing his expression again before I could read him properly–he gave me a small smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh,” he said hoarsely. “That’s chill. You could’ve just told me that.”

I smiled gratefully back at him, reaching out to rest my hand on his knee. “You’re sure?” I asked softly, tracing a pattern out on the grey cotton knee of the sweatpants. He swatted my hand away, and I felt a sudden dip in my stomach. He was upset.

“Yes, geez,” he grumbled. “I am perfectly capable to spend a day without you, you know. I probably need to check in with my folks, anyway.”

“You’re sure?” I asked again, leaning back, a bit more skeptical. Connor saying he wanted to check in with his parents was the boldest lie I’d heard in a long time.

“Yes, Christ, shut it,” he hissed, flopping onto his back, the crop top riding comically up on his stomach, and, without thinking, I leaned forward quickly to press a wet kiss to the cluster of freckles on his ribcage, earning a loud swear from Connor, followed by a slew of giggles, his thin hands pushing at my hair to pull me away from his ticklish sides.

“Stop it! Stop! Christ–st–” he sat up abruptly and tangled his hands into my hair, yanking me down against him, his bare chest trapped between us, soft against my palms.

What had started as a gentle joke, just a silly peck, escalated as it tended to. It was slow–Connor’s laughter dying quickly in his chest, his breath hitching in the back of his throat instead. I opened my eyes to glance down at him, his eyes closed, his eyelashes flickering against his cheeks. I pulled back, just for a moment, amazed to find his lips parted, head tilted back, obvious that he expected me to move my lips to neck. I just chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the cleft of his chin.

“Not this morning, Con,” I whispered, kissing behind his ear.

“Just kissing,” he whispered, letting out a shuddering breath into my hair. Eyes still closed, his hands tightened in my shirt in an attempt to keep me against him.

“You know it won’t stop there,” I laughed. He pouted beneath me.

“But–I’m not wearing a bra. I’m all ready to fool around!” Connor snorted, hands digging harshly into my sides as he laughed.

I smothered my laugh against his jugular, fighting to control my breathing, before pushing myself up against Connor’s chest.

“Not now,” I sighed sadly, giving him a closed mouth kiss against his lips, watching his eyes fade as he chased me for another kiss.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Sorry, my fault.” Throwing a hand over his eyes, he groaned, tangling his fingers in his pretty, pulled back hair.

“Don’t be sorry,” I mumbled.

“Later,” he smiled against his fist, slate eyes staring up at the ceiling with amusement. “Later. Christ, no one told me my libido would get a second wind after fourteen.”

“You’ve always got your hand,” I reminded with a chuckle, rising from the bed to stretch. Distance, I needed distance to think. He wrinkled his nose in disdain.

“Yeah, no thanks, not the same.”

There was a beat of silence, where I caught Connor watching me from the bed, before turning away with a pinched expression. It triggered an oddly sick feeling in my stomach–I shouldn’t feel guilty. I shouldn’t. This was just fun, Connor was just my friend, nothing more.

“So, uh,” he coughed. “What was your plan for tonight?”

I stiffened, turning around to sit on the edge of the bed with my back to him, beginning to braid my hair. The bed dipped suddenly, and Connor’s leg was flush with mine, the other folded behind my back, and Connor’s fingers wove into my wet hair, beginning to plait it silently.

“I have a date.”

His hands stilled, just briefly, and I felt myself relax when his fingers began again. He hadn’t taken a single breath.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Who with?” Cold. Uninterested. I growled low in my throat.

“Not sure. Some guy my mom set me up with–they’re pissed I don’t have a boyfriend, you know,” I reminded, and Connor just grunted in affirmation.

“You have no idea who he is?” Connor groaned in disgust. 

I shrugged. “He goes to school here–I think his name is Jared? He’s a business major. My mom is very impressed.”

Now, Connor really paused, his fingers abandoning the braid to snap his hands down into his lap.

“You know him?” I asked.

“Jared Kleinman?” Connor hissed, not looking at me.

“I think?” I said skeptically, unsure what about this kid had Connor in such a state.

“He’s an ass,” Connor growled. “An absolute asshole, bully, short-stack, scum bag, and you can’t go out with him. You can’t go out with that jerk off, trust me, okay? As your friend, I forbid you.”

I’d been taking everything Connor said seriously up to that point–it took a lot to make Connor that verbose, let alone that enraged–he’d been working on getting better, he really had–but his final statement made my eyes snap open, throwing my body off the bed.

“You forbid me?” I hissed, spinning with a wicked laugh. “I’m not your girlfriend, Connor. You can’t stop me from doing shit, okay?”

His eyes widened–in shock or shame, I wasn’t sure–sliding back up onto the bed. “I didn’t mean, fuck, I’m just trying to look out for you, okay? He’s bad news. He was–fuck, he was such an ass in highschool, okay?”

“And people can’t change, right?” I laughed crudely, watching the muscle twitch in his jaw. I’d pressed a button. Good. His eyebrows furrowed down over his glare, and I saw his hands clench and unclench in his lap. He’d caught my eyes flickering to them, and immediately looked helpless, wiping them on his jeans.

“I’m not having a fit,” he promised. “I’m not gonna hit you, I fucking swear to–”

“I know,” I lied, softening my posture and  looking away from him. “I know, Con. You’re not gonna hurt me again.”

Truth be told, he might. Relapse was easy–I knew, I’d seen it in teaspoon sized doses, whether be him throwing me against the door with too much force or be it a fist coming to connect on the wall behind my head after I gave a particular nasty comment. Connor had never hit me, not hard, but he almost had, and he’d said a few nasty things, broken some things of mine.

We were friends because I trusted him, because I didn’t want to leave him just because this felt hard. But I wouldn’t let Connor talk to me like that again, I’d promised myself. It meant a time out–no sex, no talking, not until he could calmly apologize and talk through what he was feeling.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, scrubbing his hands over his eyes–he’d forgotten to paint his nails this week, I noticed, but his wrist had flowering patches of indigo and lavender peppered along his arm like blooming bruises–they were just left over from his last art class Friday. He really needed a shower, I realized.

“Don’t be sorry,” I said again, leaning against the bathroom’s doorjamb in lieu of joining him on the bed. If I sat on the bed, I’d want to touch him, and as much as he deserved reassurance, he didn’t need the positive reinforcement. He had to learn I was a finite fixture. “That Jared kid–he said something to you, right? In school. You didn’t like each other.”

Connor laughed mirthlessly, filling my stomach with lead. “Yeah, you could say that. He’s one of those weasely kids, ya know? With just shitty underhanded comments they get out of Mad magazine. Gets under your skin.”

It was too easy to picture, embarrassingly so, I thought, watching Connor now with his eyes downcast and his mouth pursed, I could still see him, just a year ago, and some punk kid whose comment landed on its mark. He probably sent Connor into fits.

I tried too hard not to picture Connor those nights, crying disgustingly in the shower, banging his head too hard against the tile, replaying over and over in his head what that little shit had said to him.

I didn’t want to go out with him. I hadn’t wanted to to begin with. But, I had to. I’d promised.

“I’m really sorry, Con,” I sighed softly, thunking my head against the doorjamb in punishment. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Don’t be,” he laughed bitterly again. “’S over now.” He held his arms open, silently asking me to come back down to him, just to make up. “Just because you’re sucking his cock now–”

He froze, eyes bugging out of his head, staring at something on the ceiling I couldn’t make out from here. My stomach churned uneasily, and the tips of my ears got uncomfortably warm. Connor sat up slowly, bracing himself on his arms, staring at the wall with a horrified expression. He was vaguely green around the collar of my shirt.

“You wanna stop. That’s why you told me. You wanna stop.”

I swallowed thickly. “Con–”

“Christ, kid! What happened to relationships and sex and school are too much? We said–”

“It’s out of my hands!” I gasped, Connor’s glare finally snapping to mine, melting me into the floor. “I don’t want to go out with him–you know my mom expects me to–”

“Fuck, I know, you’re parents want you to be a fucking baby factory with a rich husband, I know, okay?” He groaned, shoving his hands into his hair and dislodging the ponytail holder, his dark hair cascading around his shoulders, his whole expression pinched.

I flinched, shutting my eyes, wishing desperately to be somewhere else. He didn’t mean it, he was angry–it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“It’s just to appease my mom,” I sighed quietly, disgusted to realize how wet and broken my voice sounded. “Just to say I have a boyfriend, to keep her out of my hair. Otherwise she’d be down here every week, and I’d never be able to see you–”

“What if I pretended to be your boyfriend?” He said suddenly, making my gaze snap to his, despite my discomfort. He was staring seriously at me, and I felt sick to realize he was sincere.

“Trust me, Con, you don’t wanna do that.”

To subject him to that kind of scrutiny would be unfair. Connor was my favorite person in the world right now, and, despite coming from a good family, my mother would be less than thrilled to hear I was involved with an art major with a juvenile record.

He snorted. “I know I’m no Jared–”

“Don’t,” I glared. “Don’t. I’m sorry, but yeah, we can’t have sex for awhile, okay?”

“Fuck,” he hissed.

I felt sick–like crying. “I’m sorry if that ruins our friendship for you. I thought you might be able to tolerate spending time with me when I’m not getting you off.”

Connor’s horrified expression let me know he hadn’t actually thought of that, but it didn’t mean he hadn’t known.

“Hey,” he said softly, rolling off the bed to stand, his hands out stretched as if he was scared to spook me. “Hey, that’s not–hey, don’t cry.”

“Fuck off.”

“No,” he growled, coming forward to wrap his arms around me, still wearing that stupid crop top, pressing his face into my neck. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he murmured, his lips brushing my jaw. “You come first, you always come first. I’d rather have you than sex, you know that, right?”

His fingers scraped under my shirt to press against my skin, pulling me tighter to him, his fingertips tripping with friction.

“I know,” I sighed, going limp against him and wrapping my arms around his neck–it felt nice just to be close. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Fair enough.”

He pulled back, reaching up to cup my face, his fingertips burning where they thumbed my cheeks, wiping away the stray tears. He stared down at me so intently, and I realized he was still scared.

“Before your lame ass date, you wanna get some take out?” He asked with a crooked grin, leaning in to kiss my forehead quickly.

“Fine, but you have to change,” I giggled, pulling away despite his protests to grab my purse from his desk.

“I refuse to change–this color looks too good on me.”

——

“I can’t believe you’re gonna wear one of my shirts on your date with that wank,” Connor groaned, watching me button up one of his shirts over my chest, shaking his head. “He’s gonna try to cop a feel–it’s like he’s grabbing my boob, kid. That’s the worst violation of all.”

I rolled my eyes, brushing my hair back from my forehead. “First off, they’re still my boobs, but I promise I’ll bring the shirt back in mint condition. I doubt I’ll be kissing him tonight.”

Connor grinned around a mouthful of rice–he was cute like that, I realized, cheeks full and eyes crinkled with a smile. His mood had flipped swiftly, thank goodness, despite the fact it had started to pour outside, the sky pitch black despite the fact it was still early in the afternoon.

“Maybe he’ll buy you something nice,” Connor grinned. “I’m sure he’s loaded. If he brings a friend, make sure you hit on him.”

I snorted, but pulled on my slightly dirty skinny jeans anyway. “If he brings his friend on a date, I’m walking out and taking you home for thanksgiving.”

Connor grinned again. “God, that’d be rich.”

Thunder pounded through the room, making Connor’s hair products shake on his desk, causing me to jump back onto the bed to be near Connor.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” he teased softly, glancing out the window to see the downpour. “Christ, maybe you should stay in tonight. Last thing you need is to be trapped in some shitty French restaurant with mademoiselle rat face.”

“You’re hilarious,” I said bitterly, watching the leaves paste themselves to the window pane. “But, maybe I should reschedule. That’s not a shitty thing to do, right? It looks awful out there.”

“Nah,” Connor said around another mouthful. “Plus, if you do, we can have one last hoorah–okay, you’re right, sorry.”

I just grinned, hitting him lightly upside the head. “You can finish up in the shower, pretty boy.”

He frowned. “Fine.”

I pursed my lips, glaring out into the storm again. “I should call Jared ask him to reschedule,” I sighed again, feeling only vaguely guilty. I mean, what were the odds Jared even wanted to go on this date? Our parents set us up, for goodness’ sake.

I wondered briefly if Connor had worn this shirt in highschool, if Jared would recognize it.

“I highly recommend standing him up,” Connor said chipperly. “Allow me to hand you your phone–”

Connor froze, still half stretched across the bed, staring at my phone on the nightstand.

“Oh my God.”

“What?” I asked, concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh my God,” Connor said again, this time dissolving into a fit of giggles, yanking my phone off the charger and throwing it on the bed. “I can’t believe this!”

“Connor, if you don’t tell me–”

“He stood you up!”

“What?” I screeched, fumbling for my phone, surprised to see a few missed texts on my home screen.

From: Jared
To: Me

Srry 4 the short notice, do you think we coukd meet some other time? Don’t wanna get caught in the strom

“He can’t even spell,” I muttered in disgust, throwing my phone onto Connor’s bare stomach that shook with laughter.

“This is hilarious, oh my God. It’s so sad, you look so cute and everything! You were gonna put on mascara for that asshole!”

“I’m gonna dump this soy sauce on your shirt, Murphy.”

“Sorry, sorry, geez!”

He put down his plastic fork, reaching across the mattress to stroke his hand across my bare arm. For a minute, I thought he might ask me how I felt, but instead just asked, “Are you up for a round of Battlefront?”

I grinned, beginning to undo pearline buttons of Connor’s nice navy shirt. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

He grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners and his lips cracking with the force of his smile. “I look forward to it.”

anonymous asked:

dont know if you take requests but what if this scenario in which harry tells you like "we should live together" and you agree and then you get into sort of a fight cause you ask when he's moving in and he was like well won't you move in with me? (i mean his place bigger anyway) and she was "well im not gonna move out of my place that's next to my job/friends and move in to yours when you're gone all the time" it's angsty/fluff thingy

Ah I hope you like it! Thanks for sending in a request, have a lovely week x


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