sitting inside one of my favorite coffee shops with one of my favorite people. it’s raining outside, my dream house is right across the street, i have ben howard playing, and i have time to simply d r e a m. it’s been a while since i’ve had the privilege of time to myself.
i’m dreaming of this house right across the street: it’s wood shake siding, brick chimney, big trees surrounding it, warm lights in the attic, and small front yard. it’s secluded while simultaneously being in the middle of the city. i dream of owning a home just like this very one; minneapolis is good at combining city living + lots of trees and lakes, so i’m thankful that that dream isn’t so unrealistic here. i dream of filling the house with a family and lots of food and laughter and love. i dream of slow sundays where the house smells like warm soup and pjs are worn all day. i dream of waking up early and walking across the street to the coffee shop i sit in right now to have a cup of coffee while i read the newspaper. i dream of flower boxes and cozy friday nights and favorite songs floating throughout the house. i dream of quiet, rainy saturday afternoons where we keep the windows open to hear + smell the rain while we read books and soft, classical music plays in the background. i dream of walking our pup through the neighborhood with friends and then having them over for dinner + wine + real conversation out in the front yard under string lights. i dream of you, of you, of you doing all of this alongside me. my heart hurts with how far i feel from you, with how far all of this dream feels. at the same time, though, my heart is hopeful for this. for you.
When it comes to horror movies, the majority of people will think of cult classics, such as the Friday the 13th franchise and its protagnoist and horror movie icon Jason Voorhees. However, even though the Friday the 13th movies are completely fictitious and not exactly based on real life events, it allegedly inspired 18-year-old Mark Branch to commit a crime to honor the legacy of Voorhees. On October 24, 1988 Cheryl Gregory was met by a grisly scene. She found the lifeless body of her twin sister, 19-year-old Sharon Gregory in the bathroom of her family’s home. She had been stabbed repeatedly in the back, face and head. Although there was little to no direct evidence that Mark Branch committed the crime, police immediately suspected him to be responsible for Gregory’s death. One day after the discovery of Gregory’s body, the abandoned car of Branch was found in a nearby town. That and the fact that he hadn’t been seen or heard from since the day the stabbing occured, was an indication that Branch might have been responsible for Gregory’s demise. Authorities believed that he had successfully fled the area and issued a warrant for Branch’s arrest. Friends described Branch as an horror movie enthusiast who particularly favored the Friday the 13th series. They feared that Branch “believed he was Jason”. Others even went so far as to say that he wrote obscene letters to students in high school and threatened girls with a knife. A owner of a video rental store stated that he frequently rented gory horror movies. Newspapers reported that he had been under psychiatric care for his horror movie obsession for several years. Residents of Greenfield, Massachustetts were frightened by the brutal stabbing and, due to the fact that Halloween was near and Branch still at large, a Halloween dance was cancelled. On November 29, 1988 a hunter discovered the partially decomposed body of Branch hanging from a tree in Buckland, Massachusetts, about two miles from the spot where his abandoned car had first been found. It remains a mystery who caused the death of Gregory although evidence highly suggests that Branch was involved in the killing.
We later see Clark actually at work at the Daily Planet offices. Probably pounding out a newspaper article, right? Nope, he’s apparently just Googling Batman, the guy he’s fighting with secretly as Superman. That would be like if you spent most of your work day Facebook-stalking that asshole who started a bar brawl with you last Friday. Clark’s even reading a Daily Planet article, written by someone who’s presumably getting paid the same amount to actually do his job. Even worse, if you pause the movie just before Clark opens the browser, you can see what he’s working on – namely, nothing. He doesn’t even have a goddamn headline yet.
And it’s not like he doesn’t have shit to do. Later, Perry White flips out because Clark blows off writing a sports article to obsessively research Batman instead. (This is a perfectly acceptable excuse here at Cracked, but not at most publications.)
Clark argues that he hasn’t done anything wrong, because the Planet should be writing about Batman.
This is insane for a few reasons. First off, how is a Batman story a substitute for a recap of a local sporting event? Can you imagine checking the paper for a baseball score and getting 1000 words about a crazed vigilante branding sex criminals? Secondly, the Daily Planet has written about Batman, which Clark should know because he was just reading the article. Goddammit, Superman.
A/N: I just can’t seem to stop writing as of late. I guess I have a surge of new blog inspiration. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this slightly angsty, slightly fluffy Remus imagine that I have been working on. I don’t know if I am too keen on the middle bit but I think this is as good as it’s gonna get. Enjoy!
You always enjoyed breakfast. Maybe it was the hot coffee that would warm your hands, or the sweet smell of jam on toast that you’d have every morning. Something about it seemed so refreshing. You loved how you could get up early and make your way down to the Great Hall with a book, or newspaper and read in a little bubble of solitude. No matter what was going on, you always knew that you’d have a little happy moment to enjoy every morning.
Warnings: Angst, swearing, bullying, possible mentions of suicide later on. There could be violence and mentions of death, so please, be careful when proceeding to the other parts!
A/N: I’m working on a taglist!!
Song Of The Chapter: Youth by Daughter (It has nothing to do with the chapter I’m just giving you a good song to listen to.)
You rubbed sleep out of your eyes, dreading the Monday ahead as you realized you’d have to sit those three seats away from Jughead Jones, and possibly face stares coming from easily amused teens who had heard about the little incident on Friday night.
It took the idea of flunking your Pre Calc class and raising suspicion between Jughead and his friends to get you out of bed. You, with a throbbing headache, slipped from underneath your covers and trudged to the bathroom. You chose a pair of ripped black jeans, a white tank top, and a red flannel to bring to the bathroom with you to change into after you shower.
Before the mirror became fogged as the water heated up, you stared at your reflection, sighing. There wasn’t enough tears to be cried in order to fill the lack of self love and confidence that pained you. Your eyes were still puffy, but that didn’t matter. Were you a stalker, or were you just an observant nobody? It wasn’t like you followed people around, that took way too much energy.
All you had to do was get dressed, and you would be in the car, driving over to Riverdale High just a few minutes before the bell rang.
Once you stepped into the halls, it was just the same as any other day. You would slip by unnoticed, head down, books clutched to your chest. That was, until you were accompanied by the beanie-clad boy who embarrassed you in the middle of Pop’s, snatching your pride and joy just to scoff and talk to you in ridicule.
“I’d like to apologize.” You heard him say, moving from beside you to blocking your path in front. His voice reeked of humbleness and you wanted to deny any words of sorry coming from those lips. His expression faltered when you didn’t respond, a sigh escaping his lips. Your stare was cold, distant, it took everything in you to not run away into the bathroom and hide for the rest of the day.
“I shouldn’t have taken your sketchbook, I get carried away with this hunch in which I believe anyone and everyone is a suspect of Jason Blossom’s murder.” He continued, and somehow you mustered up the courage to open your mouth and form the first coherent sentence you’d spoken in two days.
“So carried away that you accuse me of being a stalker?” You question, raising an eyebrow, “Look, things should go back to where you left me alone, I leave you alone. If it means anything, I’ll trash the art too if it bothers you as much as it seems.”
Jughead was taken back by your words, only responding by shaking his head. He truly felt bad, and it was difficult for him to display these emotions outwardly. “You don’t have to do that.” He muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Your art is lovely and I had no right to intrude-”
“Who did you tell? What, did you write about me in your stupid novel? Did you think this was some vital information for your next article in the school newspaper?” You were getting angrier, eyes now on the two of you. You didn’t even notice as it began to feel like just you and Jug in the hallway.
“I didn’t tell anyone.” He whispered, his voice weak, “Not Betty, not Archie, not Veronica, nobody. What happened was wrong, I shouldn’t judge you nor make you feel as if you’re a weirdo. I have zero room to talk.”
“Just stay away, Jughead, you embarrassed me enough on Friday, and deciding to confront me around all these people wasn’t the smartest decision either.” And with that, you walked off, feeling smaller than ever. The rest of the school day, you avoided eye contact, ignored everyone around you except for your teachers. You even paid no attention to the sketchbook in your backpack, even when your hand was just itching to have the pencil meet the page again. You had drained yourself, taking your feelings and forming them into words was just too difficult. The smallest task felt like constructing a pyramid, and anything that seemed to disturb you in the slightest could break down that brick wall and have it crumbling before your eyes.
Jughead, on the other hand, wanted to talk to you even more. He hadn’t heard you speak at all other than on Friday, and today when you had your tame outburst. He found your voice lovely, even when angry or weak with tears. That, accompanied with your talent for art and your beautiful face.
His heart dropped to his stomach at the resentment you had towards him. Of course, he realized it was his fault, you reap what you sow. It was indeed best to keep his distance, but he knew himself better than anyone else, and he just couldn’t help forcing himself into your life.
You refused to make eye contact with Jughead. When he’d turn the corner in the hall, you went the other way, when you felt his eyes on you in class, you kept your gaze forward. It was almost rude of you, to not accept his apology and refuse to even give him the chance to salvage an acquaintanceship. In your eyes, he deserved the ignorance, but in his, he saw it as an invitation.
It was an odd dynamic. A girl who wanted nothing to do with these people whom humiliated her, but illustrated herself as an active participant in their little circle. Then, a boy who left the wrong first impression, but would do anything to grab your attention once more and use his investigative spirit to respectively dive into what made you so intriguing to him.
As if by fate, you two were partnered for an English final. The assignment was in collaboration with the theatre class during that same period. Every class in your grade was required to do the project, and it wasn’t like you could just go to your guidance counselor to request a new course. Although, you were despereate to avoid Jughead at all costs, and switching classes was awfully tempting.
The assignment was simple, write a one act play for a group of theatre students to memorize and perform. The AP English class was small, so the large number of young thespians were divided and evened out. Your grade was simply based on the elements of theatre implemented in the script, the other students had to act it out as you watched and hoped they did your hard work justice. You loved the idea of the assignment, but you hated the idea of spending so much time with Jughead Jones.
…It was as if your blood boiled at the sight of the beanie-clad boy, who scooted three seats closer and plopped a notebook on your desk.
“Between you and I,” Jug whispered, “I kind of asked Ms. Goode to pair us together.”
In this ungodly hour of the night I have insomnia and more gifts in the form of mitjo
submitted by anon:
Jonas would be the first to admit it was weird. Beyond weird. Creepy even. You could be sure he knew that first thing first… that didn’t exactly stop him from keeping the jacket that smelled like Mitch Mueller though. He had been out Saturday night when he saw the teen and his friends barreling down an alley. His former bully helping the other two jump the fence before he hoped over himself. However the hood caught and without a second thought he ditched it. Maybe it had been the sirens close by, or he might tell himself that it was because everyone knew who’d own a jacket with a chicken and cow painting a sign that read ‘eat more dick’ but Jonas unhooked the jacket, shoving it in his backpack and headed home. Sidney was still at space camp for two weeks so he had no idea what to do besides sit in his room and stare at the offensive article of clothing questioning what the hell he was thinking.
can u please write a hs crush stanlon au i’m dehydrated from the lack of stanlonsjdjdjejjej
stan’s having trouble breathing. the classroom is a blur of dimness and shadow, but pale orange sunlight still seeps in through the gaps in blinds, casting bars of brightness across the tiled floors. it strikes the dust in the air, lighting it on fire.
and stan’s having trouble breathing, because the overhead projector is humming through the room, the sounds of murmured conversation is swimming in his ears. every regret was building up, towering like building blocks until they filled his mind.
see, the thing is, he’d completely forgotten about the dance.
a/n: uh y’all asked for this so……here it is…….i tried to be respectful of neymar’s decision while still disagreeing with it……..yikes i hope y’all like it! feel free to tell me what you think :-)
Neymar’s almost half-asleep on his couch, with Poker curled up by his side and TV humming softly in the background, when he hears a hard knock on his door. He checks the clock – 12:37 a.m. He doesn’t know who’s at his door this late, but he hopes it’s no one important because he’s not even wearing a shirt.
He shuffles to the door and peeks through the hole to see who it is. It’s his best friend. It’s not unusual for her to visit him this late – in fact, it’s actually happened more often than not – but she looks mad. And he’s never seen her look this mad.
Neymar opens the door and opens his mouth to say something in a greeting, but she beats him to it.
“Paris?” She spits the world out harshly, like it’s a curse word.
When you were 17 your best friend Henry left home. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going and any reason for his departure was kept secret from you. His mother didn’t want to talk about his leaving. You heard rumours about a birth mum and family that lived in a slum somewhere in Birmingham but nothing else. You didn’t know whether to believe the rumours or not. Surely, you had thought, Henry would have told you if he had a birth mother that wasn’t the mum you knew him to have.