stickers by the yard

Tales of Delicious Revenge from a Recovering Retail Worker

I discovered this sub a while ago and it has breathed new life into my withered soul. Today, it’s time that I return the favor.

These tales of petty revenge all took place over the three long years that I had the misfortune of working retail at a big-box store best known for its red bullseye logo and bitchy middle-class clientele. Enjoy.

I was working in the fitting room one night when this lady bustles in with 3000 different items of clothing that she wanted to try on. Unfortunately my store had just lifted the item limit for the fitting room, so I begrudgingly had to let her take everything back.

She proceeds to make a HUGE mess in the fitting room (leaving clothes inside-out all over the floor, tags ripped off of items, size stickers peeled off and slapped onto the wall… the whole nine yards).

After she leaves, I report the ripped off tags to Assets Protection (per fitting room policy) and, figuring that would be the extent of my revenge, I resigned to cleaning up the mess she left me.

Then I get a call from the manager. He wants me up at the registers to do back up. I had worked the registers before, but it was exceptionally rare for me to get pulled away from the fitting room to do backup. Still, I don’t protest and I head up to the register.

Guess who my first customer is? Yep, the mess-making bitch from the fitting room. The manager has directed her straight to me, and I can tell from the wide-eyed look of horror on her face that she realizes she has just been lead into a trap.

She slowly begins to plop her items onto the conveyerbelt and tries to make nervous small-talk. At first I assume she’s just feeling awkward about the mess that she left… but when I get a better look at her items, I immediately realize there’s something much fishier going on.

Her purchase consists entirely of women’s clothing, and I recognize most of the items as brand new stuff that has recently come in. Stuff that should cost full price. So when I see nearly every single item’s price tag covered with a bright red 70% off clearance sticker, I realize that something’s up. When I look down at the first item from her pile, my suspicions are confirmed: the item I’m holding in my hands is a woman’s Mossimo Black clothing item, but it has a bright blue Circo tag that belongs on infant boy clothes.

Busted! This bitch was switching tags on clothes to get a lower price! Not only that, but she was so brazen (or stupid) that she used tags from the wrong department!

I don’t make it immediately obvious that I’ve figured out her scheme. Instead, I think fast. From my experience in the fitting room, I know every item of clothing has a little white tag on the inside that has a nine-digit item code. So instead of scanning the items, I proceed to type in each and every item manually, using the ACTUAL numbers inside each garment.

The woman watches this all unfold with a nauseous look on her face, as item after item rings up at full price ($19 - $29, compared to the $2 or $4 price tags she had stuck on each item). As her total grows, so does the look of combined hatred and fear on her face.

Finally she stammers something about “coming back later” and runs off towards the exit. The Assets Protection guy watches her walk out, then comes over to me. He reveals that he had been watching this chick before she even went into the fitting room, but he didn’t have enough on camera to approach her. Since I was the only team member working that night who was familiar with the clothing / tags, the manager put me on the register to check her out.. literally!

It’s the week before Christmas and the store is frantic. I’m manning the phones (which are ringing off the hook), and one night I get a call from Bitch Princess, who wants to know if we have any [insert name of whatever animatronic hatching robot dog toy every kid had to have that year].

Now the store’s holiday policy said we could confirm availability over the phone, but we weren’t supposed to put high-demand items (like the barking bird robot thing) on hold for a customer. Regardless, I was still un-jaded enough to like hooking people up (I’m still waiting on that lifetime of good retail karma to kick in…)

I let BP know that this highly-coveted toy has been flying off the shelves for weeks and I’m doubtful that we have any in stock, but I can happily check for her if she’s willing to go on a brief hold. She impatiently agrees to the hold, and I set the phone down.

After being slightly delayed by a customer that ambushed me on the sales floor, I miraculously find ONE of these stupid toys on the shelf. I grab it and head back to my post, excited to tell BP I just saved Christmas, but when I get back I find the phone ringing again. Recognizing the number on the caller ID display, I quickly deduce that Bitch Princess has hung up and is now calling back.

I barely get a chance to recite my scripted greeting before BP cuts me off, yelling that I put her on hold for “30 minutes” (more like 7), that she’s a customer and it’s my job to assist her, some nonsense about her having priority over the customers in the store, blah blah blah. I want to point out that literally NONE of what she’s saying is true, but I keep my lips sealed.

Instead, in a ridiculously pleasant voice, I say: “ma’am, thank you SO MUCH for your patience. I checked the sales floor and couldn’t find [stupid toy], but the computer is telling me that we might have one in the backroom. If you bear with me for another minute here, I can—”

She grumbled that yes, I could check the backroom, but I “better hurry” because she doesn’t have time for this. Smiling gleefully, I put the phone back on hold and proceed to return [stupid toy] to the spot where I found it on the sales floor. I then spend a nice chunk of time helping out ACTUAL customers in the store.

Eventually I remember that BP is still waiting on hold and I return to the phone. “Ma’am, good news… we do have ONE in stock,” I say. BP immediately barks at me to put it on hold, and a devious Grinch-like smile spreads across my face. “I’m so sorry ma’am, but we’re actually unable to put high-demand items on hold at this time. All I can do is confirm that it’s currently available on the sales floor…”

BP unleashes the wrath of a thousand fiery infernos and demands to speak to a manager. I oblige, transferring her to the closing manager (who confirmed the store policy, before promptly being hung up on).

I was pretty pleased with the turn of events, but the cherry on top came a short time later when BP actually shows up at the store, only to discover that the toy had already been purchased by another guest.

It was nearly closing time, and I was tasked with “zoning” (or straightening up) the shoe department for the night. It was nearly impossible for me to get anything done, though, because this obnoxious woman kept making me drop everything to help her shop for shoes for her toddler.

The worst part was that the woman didn’t put anything back where she found it. Instead, she just leaves the shoe boxes strewn throughout the aisle (wtf). She finally leaves, and I drag myself over to the massive mess that she’s left behind.

As I’m returning all of the discarded shoe boxes to their rightful locations, I’m popping them open to make sure the correct shoes are inside. When I open one of the boxes, I discover a very sweet sight indeed: a dirty pair of toddler sneakers.

It’s a scam I’ve seen far too many times: someone swaps out a pair of new shoes with their old dirty shoes. Only this time, instead of getting away, I had caught the crook red-handed (or red-footed?)

I tucked the shoebox under my arm and quickly retraced the woman’s steps. Sure enough, I was able to find her in the grocery section. And sure enough, her toddler was sitting in the cart wearing a pair of brand new cartoon character sneakers.

I approached the mom with a giant shit-eating grin on my face and said: “I’m so glad I caught you! You almost left without these!” I held open the box with the dirty sneakers.

The woman had the nerve to pin the blame on her child, playing it off as if her kid had swapped the sneakers. Smh.  


Holiday shit always gets marked down to clearance the day after a holiday and people tend to get a little worked up about it. One time, this guy calls the store the day after Easter and asks how much the white chocolate Cadbury mini eggs had been discounted. I told him they were marked down 30% (the standard first mark down) and he’s not satisfied with that and hangs up. He proceeds to call back EVERY DAMN DAY to ask for the price, and every time he’s rude and weird about it. When they finally get marked down to 50%, I think he’ll bite… but nope. Still not cheap enough.

Finally at 90% he’s interested and asks me, over the phone, to take every single bag off the sales floor and put them on hold for him. I tell him no (goes against store policy to hold clearance), but since the candy is about to be defected (taken out of inventory), the manager tells me to just do it. So I wheel a cart over to the clearance aisle, and that’s when I hatch a plan.

There are two kinds of candy leftover in clearance: white chocolate Cadbury mini eggs, and white chocolate m&ms. For whatever reason, we have about 50 bags of each. Feeling a spirit of pettiness overtake me, I fill the cart with the m&ms and push it to the front with a 24 hour hold ticket. I wasn’t there when the guy showed up the next morning, but I’d imagine he was pretty livid to discover the wrong candy on hold, and then to realize that the actual candy he wanted had been defected out.

reginaldspektor  asked:

Any ideas for dog enrichment in the middle of summer? Asphalt is scorching and yards are filled with sticker burrs and fire ants about now so we've really slowed down on walks. We do frozen kongs nearly daily and he doesn't like swimming so that's out. Any neat ideas?

Walk at night or early in the morning! Be prepared for all sorts of wildlife or new experiences like the garbage truck. 

Put ice packs under/inside blankets so your dog can lay outside and stay cool. (Moderate how long your dog has access to these, so that there’s no risk of injury or ice pack ingestion). 

Set up a hose to create an upward gentle spray that rains back down, see if the dog is interested in going into it. If so, try training or playing while being misted. 

Set up “find the treat” basic nosework games indoors. 

Create toys that the pup is encouraged to tear apart - stuff boxes with newspaper or other filling and a bone or some treats. Monitor usage to prevent ingestion of the filling. 

Rotate the toys your dog has access to so they’re high-value due to novelty when you bring new ones out. 

Eight Summers

pairing: john laurens x reader modern au
words: 7000 (yeah I got carried away a bit)
warnings: fluff
summary: follow yourself and John through eight summers as you become friends and mAyBe even fall in love.
a/n: I’ve been wanting to do this forever (I can’t believe I haven’t done a John x reader yet) so let’s see how this goes. the second summer contributes nothing whoops 

❇❇❇summer one❇❇❇

You sighed, flopping back onto your front porch. You had been so excited for this summer, and now, midway through June, nothing was happening.

“I’m so bored,” you said to the clear blue sky. As if by magic, your thinking aloud was interrupted by the rumble of a large moving van. Sitting up, you watched as it came down your street, trailed by a blue SUV. Both the vehicles pulled into the driveway of the house across the street and diagonal from yours. The house had been up for sale for the better part of the year, and only recently had a sticker reading “SOLD” been slapped onto the advertisement in the front yard. It was a large, spacious house that edged a forest, and you had often wondered at its slow sale.

The rumble of the two cars had dwindled to a stop, and two men got out of the moving van and proceeded to open the back of the large vehicle. Meanwhile, a couple emerged from the SUV. The woman had brown, curly hair and looked to be in her early thirties. Her husband, or so you supposed, looked to be a few years older and had the same shade of hair as the lady, except his was stick-straight and short. Both of them waved at you, and you waved back with a smile. Under normal circumstances, you would have gone over to say hi, but this was their moving-in time and you didn’t want to distract from that.

I wonder if they have any kids​​, you thought, and your question was soon answered when the back left door of the car opened and a boy stepped out. You couldn’t see very well since his back was to you, but he looked to be about your height and had clearly inherited his mother’s curls. They fell halfway to his shoulders, and you didn’t think you had ever seen a boy with hair quite like that. He exchanged a few words with his parents, and his mom motioned to where you were sitting. He turned around and looked at you before looking back at her, but his hesitation was ended as she pushed him gently. Now he was headed across the street and up your driveway. You stood up.

“Hi! What’s your name?” you asked brightly.

“John,” he answered, biting his lip before looking at you.

“D'you have a last name?” you inquired.

“Doesn’t everyone?” he pronounced the first word as if it contained no s.

“I think so. What’s yours?”

“Laurens. I’m John Laurens.”

“I’m (Y/N) (L/N). Nice to meet you.” You stuck out your hand and he took it with surprising firmness. You looked at him closer as you shook hands.

His curly hair was shiny and soft-looking, and it framed a face with a honeyed caramel tint which was covered with a liberal dusting of freckles. His eyes were a vibrant green, and they met yours with an unwavering gaze. The features on his face were well-shaped and defined, although his cheeks still carried a roundness that hinted at youthful innocence.

“How old are you?” he asked, releasing your hand.

“I’m ten,” you answered proudly.

“So am I!” he exclaimed, his first real show of enthusiasm, and the two of you grinned at each other. His mouth quirked up to one side, bespeaking a hint of mischief that was confirmed by the sparkling in his eyes that matched his bright smile. His whole face transformed when he smiled, illuminating his face and stretching his freckled cheeks adorably.

“But which one of us is older?” you wondered, and you compared birthdays.

“Yes!” John exclaimed triumphantly, pumping his fist in victory when he learned that he was a full two months older than you.

“It’s only two months, though,” you griped, crossing your arms as you felt some of the pride rubbing off.

“Yeah, but I’m older!” he exclaimed. “I’m always one of the youngest in my classes and now I won’t be the very last one!”

“Oh, stop,” you said, cuffing him playfully on the shoulder. “You’d think you won the Olympics or something.”

“Maybe I did,” he retorted playfully. “The being-older-than-your-neighbor event is my thing.”

“Whatever,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“So this is your house?” he asked, looking up at it.

“Uh-huh!” you answered proudly.

“We’ll be almost right across the street from each other, then,” he observed.

“I know! We’ll have lots of fun,” you resolved.

“John!” A voice interrupted your conversation. The man was crossing the street. “Time to go. We need your help moving some boxes.”

“Okay, Dad.” he sighed. “This is (Y/N). She’s our neighbor and she’s my age right now, although I’m two months older.” Mr. Laurens smiled at you.

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N),” he said. “I’m Henry Laurens. Thanks for being so welcoming. I know John was a little nervous that there wouldn’t be any kids his age, but I guess that problem’s solved, right, John?”

“Yeah!” he responded. “Bye, (Y/N)! See you later!”

“Okay! Friends?” you asked.

“Friends.” He smiled at you again before going back with his father. You smiled as you sat back on the porch.

Summer just got a whole lot more interesting.


You didn’t hear the conversation that went on between John and his father. “She’s so nice, Dad, and friendly and pretty!”

“I could tell, son. I’m glad you made a friend.” Henry drew his son close to his side.

“Yeah, me too.”

John couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

❇❇❇summer two❇❇❇

You were lying next to John, your back against the firm wood of his tree house, which was really nothing more than a few planks nailed together to form a floor-like object which was placed in a crook of a tree. It was secured to the branch by nails and was surprisingly very comfortable.

“I can’t believe you haven’t told me about this yet,” you said, turning your head to look at him.

“Yeah. It’s pretty great, isn’t it?”
It was. The tree was a tall one and all sounds of other people faded, giving way to birdsong and the occasional humming insect. It was a hot day, but the heat faded, impeded by the canopy of leaves stretched out above the two of you. The sun would poke through at different times whenever the leaves would drift apart, lifted by the cool breeze wafting through the forest. All was peaceful and you smiled at the calm that filled you as you lay there, John by your side.

“Those leaves over there remind me of your eyes,” you said with all the innocence of an eleven-year-old, pointing over to a part of the forest that was dappled with shade. John hummed in agreement.

That was one thing about John. The two of you could maintain perfect silence without it feeling awkward or strange. You could still understand each other just as well through words than you could through none. He always seemed to know what you were thinking and vice versa, which was one of the things that made him your best friend. He always understood. Even at this young age, you knew that that was important in any close friendship.

John was special and you were glad to know him. He never failed to make you happy and bring a smile to your face. And as you thought of him, a stirring arose in your heart, a new, unfamiliar feeling that wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable.

You didn’t know what it was, but the future was sure to tell.

❇❇❇summer three❇❇❇

“C'mon, John!” you exclaimed, pulling insistently on his arm. John and his parents had come over for dinner, and now the adults were just talking on the back porch which served as an eating area. You wanted no part in it—the fireflies were out tonight, and you had never seen so many.

“Hey, that rhymes!” he quipped, smiling that smile you knew so well.

“Wow, great observation.” You rolled your eyes.

“I know. Aren’t you glad your best friend is brilliant?”

“You’re about as brilliant as—” you paused, trying unsuccessfully to think of something dull— “as, well, never mind. But let’s go, please? Those fireflies are just waiting to be caught.”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming. Hey, Mom!” he called.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Mrs. Laurens replied.

“(Y/N) and I are gonna catch some fireflies.”

“All right. Have fun, you two.” She gave you a sweet smile.

“I’ll get the jars,” you told John. “I’m pretty sure we’ve got two with holes already punched in the top.” You went inside and emerged in a few minutes, carrying a jar in each hand.

“We should make this a competition of who can catch the most,” John said, taking his jar and looking at you mischievously.

“Oh, definitely. You’re on,” you said, matching his grin. “Ready—” you drew out the word.


“Go!” you yelled together, running in opposite directions to spots where the insects illuminated the night with their flashes of light. You found a great spot right away, and you quickly grabbed the small bugs and let them crawl off your fingers into your jar, slamming the lid down when they had entered fully. The bugs tickled as their feet made their way down your fingers, and you giggled at the sensation.

“You’re going down!” you heard John yell from somewhere in the yard.

“Nuh-uh!” you retorted, continuing your mad dash through the grass.


As the two of you ran around the yard, your parents watched you with smiles on their faces.

“They’re such great friends,” your mom said.

“Yeah, they really have a special bond,” agreed Mr. Laurens. “There’s not a day that goes by that John doesn’t talk about (Y/N). There’s always something exciting with those two.”

“He better not steal her heart in a few years,” inserted your dad, jokingly but also with a hint of seriousness.

“Well, I’m afraid (Y/N)’s on her way to doing that with John,” Mrs. Laurens said. “He always tells me how pretty she is, although he’s never hinted at a crush.”

“Well, if I had to choose anyone for my son, it’d be your daughter,” Mr. Laurens told your parents. “She’s really a great girl.”

“We could say the same for John,” your mother replied. “That he’s a wonderful boy and all. Not that he’s a great girl!” The four laughed and turned back to watching you and John.


“Okay, I think that’s enough time,” you called to him, breathing slightly heavier than normal.

“Aw, are you just tired?” he teased, coming over to you.

“No, but I bet you are,” you shot back, trying to suppress your heavy breathing.

“Nope!” he boasted, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. His curls were long enough to be put back in a short ponytail now, and you teased him about it occasionally.

“Okay, well, let’s count the other person’s fireflies, and whoever wins gets the last two cookies,” you said.
“Sounds good,” he replied, and you switched jars and began counting, which was a tricky job since the bugs kept crawling around and many were on the bottom of the lid so you had to tip the jar up to see them.

“Fifty-one,” you said when you had finished. John was just finishing up, his tongue stuck out slightly as he counted.

“You have forty-two which means I won!” he shouted in joy.

“All right, good job,” you said, sticking out a hand.

“A for effort.”

“Effort starts with E, stupid. Now let’s go get your cookies,” you replied, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

“Sounds good to me,” he said, yelling, “I won!” when the two of you reached your parents.

“So he gets the last two cookies,” you explained, giving the prizes to him.

As he contemplated his reward in his hand, he looked up at you. “I’ll give you one,” he conceded. “I could never let my best friend go hungry.”

“I appreciate it,” you said, and sat down on the steps, setting your jar next to you. John sat down as well.

“We should probably let them go,” he said, and you agreed, opening your jar as he did.

The fireflies flew into the night, releasing light as they went, and you watched them go. John glanced over at you, your face illuminated by the soft glow of the bugs, and felt his heart expand inside him.

What a best friend.

❇❇❇summer four ❇❇❇

The August afternoon was drawing on to evening, and a coolness stole into the air, barely noticeable but still there. Fall would come soon, along with school, and you wanted to savor every last second with John.

He lifted his head from his sketchbook as a breeze blew through the trees at the edge of the forest, where the two of you were sitting on an old blanket that John’s parents kept for picnics and outdoor use.

You were still unaware of what he was drawing, and didn’t hear the quick scribbling of his pencil as you looked upward at a few golden-tinged leaves that had fallen due to the wind.

“It’s so pretty out here,” you said, turning back to look at him. He was drawing a long, curving line but that was all you could tell as he had his sketchbook tilted away from you.

“Mhm,” he replied absentmindedly, a look of intense concentration on his face. He had a certain habit when he was drawing—he would bite his lip on one side and poke out his tongue on the other. You never figured out how he did it, and it was one of the endless unique things that made him John. As you watched his pencil move, his eyes flicked upwards to yours and you looked away quickly, your heart racing inexplicably.

You had noticed that you seemed more shy around John. He was still your best friend and closer to you than anyone else, but something was changing. He wasn’t the same boy anymore. His cheeks were still sprinkled with freckles, but they had lost much of their roundness, showing hints of defined cheekbones. His hair had grown out to a bit longer than shoulder length, and was usually tied back in a ponytail. He had grown nearly a foot in the past three years and now stood a full head taller than you, a fact he never failed to tease you about. He’d call you “small one” often, to which you would cross your arms and pout. He was growing up remarkably, and you couldn’t help but think that he was getting handsomer every day. Although you didn’t want to believe it, you could feel yourself becoming attracted to him and hated yourself for it. He’s your best friend, you’d think. What’s wrong with you? But all the berating in the world couldn’t stop your feelings from developing more and more.

“They’re still not right,” you heard him mutter, breaking you out of your thoughts.


“The eyes. They’re not right.” He turned his sketchbook towards you and you gasped.

There on the page were five sketches of your head and upper body in different positions, and they looked as if they could have come from real life. Everything was perfectly proportioned, and you marveled at how he could add such reality to the images with just a few lines of shading.

“John,” you breathed. He looked at you, hopefully, a hint of anxiety in his eyes.

“Do you like them?” he asked, genuinely nervous.

“Oh my god. They’re beyond words,” you said, still looking at them with awe.

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I just couldn’t get your eyes right on this one,” he said, pointing to a sketch of you looking up. “There’s a certain light in them that I just can’t duplicate.” You looked at his face next to you, inches away.

“I think they’re amazing.” He smiled at you, no hint of cockiness or self-assurance, just a warm smile that heated your cheeks.

“Thank you,” he said.

“No, thank you,” you answered. “Wow!”

“Ah, it was nothing, just a few sketches.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he tapped his pencil almost nervously on his leg. “I’m just glad you like them.” Hit with a sudden impetuous desire, you threw your arms around him. He hugged back after a moment, clearly surprised, and you smiled at the feeling, the rightness of it.

“You’re the best,” you whispered.

“No, you are.”

“I’ll fight you.” A laugh, a change in tone.

“Whatever you say, small one.”

❇❇❇summer five❇❇❇

“But it’s so cold,” you complained.

“(Y/N), it’s sixty-three degrees. That hardly qualifies as cold,” John answered you with a shake of his curls.

“It does when it’s summer and there’s no sun. It feels like forty degrees and I don’t care what you say it really is.” You crossed your arms and shivered, even as you were standing on John’s screened-in back porch.

“So you insist on not coming.”

“Not if I’m going to freeze my butt off!”

He sighed. “Fine, wait here. I’ll be right back.” He vanished into the house and you stood there alone, tapping your bare foot on the wooden boards. You heard him coming down the stairs a few moments later and he came out the door with something in hand.

“What’s that for?”

“You. It’s just one of my old sweatshirts you can wear so you’re not as cold. It’s got fleece on the inside, see?” You felt the shirt and agreed to put it on, your heart warming even as your body did. It smelled like John, a hint of lemons swirled in with cotton. It came well to your mid-thigh area and the sleeves enveloped your hands, forcing you to push them up a bit.

“Thanks, John,” you told him.

He was looking at you in his sweatshirt and seemed to snap out of a trance as you spoke. “Oh, yeah, anything for you,” he said, ruffling your hair. “You look nice in it.”

“Yeah, right. As if I look nice in anything,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“You do. Y'know, I almost got you a pair of my sweatpants since you seemed to be the most concerned with freezing your butt off, but somehow I deemed that inappropriate.” The soft look in his eyes was briefly replaced with a hint of their usual roguish gleam.

“Perv. Now let’s go look at the freaking stars because you wanted to.” You bumped him with your shoulder and smiled at him.

“I think you secretly want to look at the stars as well,” he teased, holding the patio door open for you.

“Thank you. And maybe, maybe not. You’ll never know.” (You did.)

The two of you stepped into the night, shivering slightly as you did so. The stars were bright and shed a soft light on John’s wide backyard. You picked a spot and lay down on the grass.

“Ooh, look, the Big Dipper!” you cried softly, pointing at the constellation above you. John smiled at the wonder reflected in your star-lit eyes.

“There’s the North Star,” he replied, and thought that even though he had seen these basic constellations a million times before, they had never been quite so shining and clear as when you were there next to him.

After a few minutes of picking out the images in the sky, you remarked, “I’m still cold.”

“C'mere, then,” John answered, and drew you close. The warmth from his body seeped into yours as fingers of electricity washed over your body at the contact. He felt amazing and right, and you closed your eyes as you leaned against him. ​​​​​His heart was beating; you could hear it, and his chest rose and fell gently.

He looked down at your form and sat there with you, the girl who made the stars shine brighter.

❇❇❇summer six❇❇❇

You looked at John warily. “You want me to ride in this? You literally got your license two days ago.” Your voice was teasing.

“And it was well-deserved. C'mon, (Y/N), just for a bit? It’ll only take a few minutes and the sun will start setting soon anyway.”

“I’m just kidding. Of course I’ll go.”

“Ah, so you do trust me.”

“Shut up and drive, Laurens.”

He made his way to the passenger door and held it open for you, making a sweeping gesture that was coupled with a mock bow. “My lady,” he said.

“Oh, stop.” Your heart was secretly bursting within you at the chivalrous action, however lightly it was meant. John closed the door after you and walked to the driver’s side.

“Are you ready for the time of your life?” he asked you.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you told him, and he turned the key in the ignition.

“Then let’s go.” And with that, he pulled out of his driveway.


​​​​​​There was a road near your neighborhood that was mostly used for drivers’ ed purposes. Since it was nearly school, classes in your community had ended and the road was empty. It was surrounded by trees on both sides and a few faint birds could still be heard deep inside the trees. As John turned onto the road, he looked at you with a smirk before stepping on the gas.

“Oh my god, John!” you screamed as your hair was whipped every which way. “You’re going sixty miles an hour!”

“I know.”

“Just be careful!” you cried, even as a joyous whoop escaped you. John looked over at you again, and his heart flipped over.

You were laughing, mouth wide open, and your hair was blowing around your face, tinted slightly by the now-setting sun. As you turned to look back at him, your cheeks were flushed and your hair was a mess, but John had never seen you look more beautiful. His gaze moved down your face, and he was unable to get enough of you.

“Eyes on the road,” you quipped.

“Ah, yes, right,” he nodded. “But I’d rather look at my beautiful best friend than a black stretch of asphalt.”

“Shut up,” you told him, shocked inwardly at the compliment. “Watching the road will actually keep you alive.”

“Maybe I need you to live as well,” he murmured.



❇❇❇summer seven❇❇❇

Every year, the Mulligans and Motiers, two families in your neighborhood, would get together and have a huge party. They would play music cranked up as loud as possible, and was audible on the other side of the subdivision, where you and John lived. Miraculously, none of the numerous complaints would deter them from their fun, and so the whole neighborhood suffered in unison for one long night.

Tonight was the oh-so-joyful occasion, and you had invited John over, knowing that having him next to you was the only thing that would keep your sanity in one piece. He had had dinner with your family and the two of you were out in your backyard, where an old swingset stood. You were sitting on one, swinging your legs softly back and forth while John sat next to you, listening absentmindedly to the music while catching glimpses of you whenever you weren’t looking.

The current song ended and another began. “I love this song!” you cried, instantly recognizing “I Saw Her Standing There” by the Beatles.

Well, she was just seventeen
You know what I mean
And the way she looked was way beyond compare

“You’re seventeen. Fancy that,” said John. “And I must admit that you do look nice tonight.” You looked down at your old clothes with a skeptical glance.

“Yeah, right.”

“May I have this dance?” He held out a hand to you.

“Of course.”

So how could I dance with another
When I saw her standing there?

You giggled as John twirled you around the yard, slowing when you were out of breath. He stepped with you slowly, your speed rapidly decreasing and then stopping altogether as you looked up at him to see him gazing down at you.

Well she looked at me
And I, I could see
That before too long
I’d fall in love with her
She wouldn’t dance with another
Oh, when I saw her standing there

“(Y/N),” he whispered, softer than you knew anyone could ever speak.


“May I kiss you?”

A shocked silence.

“Of course.” You finally overcame your shock.

He bent down and you felt his breath on your cheek. And with a soft tilt forward, he captured your lips with his and the only thing that existed was him. It was pure and perfect and everything you had imagined and wanted it to be. As you pulled apart, you whispered, “I love you.”

“I think I loved you ever since I saw how adorable you were when you were mad at me being older,” John confessed, rubbing his thumb gently over your bottom lip. You looked into his eyes, saw the love, the pure emotion, and knew you needed him, needed him desperately.

He drew you in again, and the music was forgotten.

❇❇❇summer eight❇❇❇

“I can’t believe this. Summer reading? Especially Shakespeare summer reading?” John lamented.

“Well, some people actually like Romeo and Juliet and consider it a literary masterpiece,” you commented. “And I happen to be one of them.”

“My own girlfriend,” he groaned. After a year of owning that title, it never failed to give you butterflies when hearing it.

The two of you were sitting in a clearing of his forest, and the sun shone in a dappled pattern on your languishing forms.

“You should really get started on it,” you told him.

“I suppose you’re already done.”

“I, for one, do not procrastinate.”

“Well, then, you leave me no choice but to begin.”

“You should read it to me.”

“Anything for you,” he said, cupping the back of your neck and kissing your forehead before lying down and placing his head on your lap. “It’ll be more comfortable this way.” And with that, he began to read, and you listened to the voice you loved best read the classic tale of love.

After the first act, your hands were begging for something to do, and so you gently pulled at his hair tie, releasing his long, bouncy curls which floated freely at their leisure. You wove your fingers through them, feeling their lush softness and kissing his shiny locks every now and then. After a few minutes, you parted his hair into three sections and began braiding, picking a few flowers to finish off the woven hairstyle. He was now at the balcony scene, your favorite part, and he paused.

“You be Juliet. I’ll read Romeo,” he said. You laughed and held the book with him, your fingers entwining. The words were interrupted often for a kiss or two, and he smiled at you, thinking that you were the most beautiful thing to ever walk the earth.

He finished the scene, and sat up slightly, running his fingers along the curves of your neck while you kissed his freckled cheeks.

“How’d I ever get you?” he asked in pure, breathless wonder. You simply smiled before kissing him deeply, eliciting small noises from his throat. The book was pushed aside as he sat up fully, setting you on his lap.

“I love you,” you said.

“And I you.”

And there you were, young and with your lives ahead of you. The future was yet unknown, but you could face it together as long as you were by each other’s side.

You looked into his eyes and both of you thought that you had never felt such perfect happiness. 

When Hillary asked me to be her running mate, what flashed through my mind was I’ve been in politics for 22 years; this is my ninth race. In all the previous eight races, I’ve been the guy with my name on the ballot, my name on the bumper sticker and the yard sign. And I’ve had all these strong women supporting me: campaign managers, Cabinet secretaries, agency heads; the voters that we get are more women than men.

And I remember thinking, “Wow, I’m going to have the chance now to not be the top of the ticket. I’m going to be a strong man supporting the first strong woman to be president of the United States.” And as important as it is to normalize that a woman can be president, it’s also important to normalize that strong men can support a woman as president.

Tim Kaine’s feminism - Vox

I love this. Progressive dudes, you don’t have to be the superhero who saves all the women and other marginalized folks. You can be the sidekick.

Miss Nothing - Miss Everything Sequel - Request

Originally requested by @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester: Dean x reader have been married for years, she gets pregnant, but he doesn’t want it. She leaves but never moves on. He ends up in another relationship and about to marry her. At the altar, he decides he needs to be with reader and their child.
Sequel requested by @winsmut (I need more), @essie1876 (I need to know what happens!!!), @mrs–banner (MOOOREEEEE AHHH), @a-stupid-pretty-girl-u-to-know (Part 2 for Miss Everything please?!?), @thoughtsfromtheam (Miss Everything is… everything… part 2??), anon ( ‘Miss Everything’, do you think that you could do a part2, …), @leoqueen-maha ( OH MY CASTIEL!!! Does he find her? How? When? I NEED A MISS EVERYTHING SEQUEL PLEASE!…)

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word count: 3,951

Warnings: Daddy issues, I guess // I changed the time line a little for the sake of the story, as well. Also, un-edited because this is damn long and I had zero time.

A/N: Call me the angry mother with daddy issues from now on. This was a relief to write.

**Remember this is for the Sequel Friday special. ;)


Originally posted by frozen-delight

|Miss Everything|

It took him months, almost a year, but he finally located (Y/N). His heart skipped a beat when he saw her walking out of her house.

It wasn’t much of a big deal, it was small but it looked cozy and pretty, perfect for a child. Dean noticed a little plastic Barbie car at the front yard and butterfly stickers at one of the windows from the two story house.

She looked great. She had let her hair grow a bit more, and her face kept the youthful shinning he adored so much. She looked like someone who had gained and lost too much weight in a short amount of time, yet she looked gorgeous.

Dean was parked at the other side of the street, admiring her from afar, leaning on his black car. She hadn’t noticed him; she was picking up the toys from the entrance before leaving. Dean noticed a classic ford mustang in a delicious red colour. He remembered her love for classic cars, but was also pleased to see a children seat at the back.

He observed, patiently, dreaming of the minute her eyes connected with his – he had dreamt it ever since he left the Church and began his search for her – how her (Y/E/C) would show her the same heart-warming love and would shed happy tears; and her bright pink lips forming the biggest grin of them all… And how she would run to him, to hold him tightly not wanting to let him go. And Dean would apologize and make her all the kinds of promises he couldn’t do back in the day; and he would meet his child and they would be a family.

Keep reading

I’ve seen a lot of Space Australia and Humans are Weird and ye I’ve become obsessed-
But instead of saying: How would Alien react to Canada/Australia
I’m thinking about how Aliens would react to places like New Mexico
Like, it could be raining without any clouds, it could go from snowing hard to blazing heat in a weak. I’ve actually gotten sunburn and frostbite in the same day. And then there’s cacti, aka the LEGOs of nature. I’ve grown used to stepping on them as long as I don’t put pressure on my foot afterwards, and even then I have to limp across yards upon yards of sand, rock, and more cacti/stickers.
What are stickers? You ask. Well, stickers are basically less intense goatheads. What are goatheads? Basically mini cacti. If you don’t know what cacti are I can’t help you anymore.
Also a lot of our trees (at least where I live) don’t have actual leaves. We have pine trees, and that freaking sap will stick to you like super glue.
So imagine
A teenage human shows the aliens around New Mexico, when suddenly, they step on a cactus (those things are ninjas, man) then sigh dramatically as they carefully sit down to take out the larger needles while the aliens are stunned. “Human, you have been impaled!” They exclaim, horrified. The humans shrugs “’S not too bad.” Another wave of shock. The human finishes taking out the larger and problematic needles, then stands up. “Okay, I have to go pluck the rest of these out of my foot, stay here.” They then walk away, limping slightly, as if nothing happened.

To the supporters of Bernie Sanders:

Reblogging/sharing posts about Bernie Sanders isn’t the definitive way to make sure he succeeds. It helps him succeed, but he needs money from us to promote his campaign too. (He’s not accepting anything from multimillion dollar corporations. Remember that he relies on all of us!) If you have a few spare bucks, please log on to his website and donate any amount of cash that you’re willing to comfortably part with. He has t-shirts, stickers, yard signs, etc for sale if you’d rather buy than donate. It would also help if you followed him on YouTube, Twitter, Facebook, and other social media. Text BERNIE to 82623 to receive free mobile alerts; it will keep you updated on what he’s doing.

“if the systems racist, howd we get a black president???”

you noticed we had a black president, but you didnt notice the following 8 years of complete outrage from people and congressmen? people who normally didnt care about politics came out in force, formed behind ‘the tea party’ and elected in people who ran purely on hating obama. ppl who then refused to let legislation pass and permitted several shut downs, something never seem before, because they fucking hated our black president?

did you miss the birther movement, which trump tried to run on against obama, which claimed he couldnt possibly be a us citizen? or how he was clearly a terrorist because of his “muslim” name? 

that weakass argument only kinda would have worked like the day after he was elected. but even then there was already yard signs going out and bumper stickers being printed calling him the nslur. talkin about how hes gonna ruin the country, because a black man couldnt possibly not.

I keep hearing people talk about the lack of enthusiasm in this election because they don’t see many yard signs or bumper stickers, or that they only see Trump signs.

It’s not a lack of enthusiasm. It’s the opposite.

If you have a Trump sticker, you have to assume your coworkers will probably assume you’re a racist or a misogynist. Whether you are or not. So why risk it.

If you have a Hillary sticker, you have to assume someone will probably vandalize your car. Or pull you aside and threaten your life. So why risk it.

i wanna hear a presidential candidate say in the debates: I’m not asking for your vote or your support, all I ask is this: Don’t vote for these people. If you don’t want to vote for me, that’s great. Don’t vote. But don’t support this rogue’s gallery of crooks, hucksters, and war criminals. Don’t sell your soul to these creatures. Don’t send them your money, don’t put one of their stickers on your car or signs in your yard, don’t make calls for them or answer poll questions about them or participate in focus groups for their benefit, and most importantly don’t cast a vote for them. Ignore them. Forget their names and faces. Deprive them of the limelight which is their very health and wait for them to dry up and blow away. When they give a speech, don’t go. Don’t be in the audience, don’t protest outside, just ignore it. When they’re on tv, turn the channel. Turn it off right now in the middle of this sentence 

A point to make

57% voter turnout.
Do you understand this?
The election is over. Where was all this energy BEFORE? Do people understand what an election is? You work hard BEFORE the election to make sure everybody knows it’s importance and takes part. 43% of eligible voters didn’t care enough one way or the other to participate . If you seriously want things to change, expend the effort to make that change when you have the legitimate opportunity. After the fact, whether you like it or not, most people will see you as poor losers and the minority opinion.
I don’t support Trump. At all. Read my recent posts. But let me say this. I am a truck driver. I go all over this country. Since June I’ve been in 42 states. From May to November I saw a grand total of ONE Hilary/Kaine yard sign. Not one bumper sticker. Not as many Trump signs as you probably assume either. I felt a lot of apathy. THAT was when there should have been this energy. THAT was when people should have really shown that they wouldn’t tolerate a hateful, misogynistic, bigoted and ignorant man as president. Tuesday was the moment to make your voice heard. Leading up to Tuesday was when everyone should have made sure nobody just passively accepted what Trump represents. Now, well now he has been elected. You won’t overthrow the results. We don’t have coups in America. Are you really outraged? Prove it. Two years from now. Mid term elections. Two years to focus and prepare. You want to send a message, take Congress and the Senate out of Republican control. Whether you like it or not, politics doesn’t work on instant gratification. The worst thing you can do, EVER, is assume an election is the end game and goal. If you honestly want to make a better system you have to remain continuously engaged and vigilantly involved. So that next time you can celebrate and not riot on the second Wednesday in November of 2020. And before some troll makes the false assumption, I’m not saying to tolerate hate or accept the actions of Trump followers who think this validates their prejudice. You don’t EVER do that. But Tuesday was a missed opportunity. Don’t miss the next one.