the first time he mentions ~school or something of the sorts

Harvey Weinsten sexually Harassed Lupita Nyong’o

Lupita: “I have been following the news and reading the accounts of women coming forward to talk about being assaulted by Harvey Weinstein and others. I had shelved my experience with Harvey far in the recesses of my mind, joining in the conspiracy of silence that has allowed this predator to prowl for so many years. I had felt very much alone when these things happened, and I had blamed myself for a lot of it, quite like many of the other women who have shared their stories.

But now that this is being discussed openly, I have not been able to avoid the memories resurfacing. I have felt sick in the pit of my stomach. I have felt such a flare of rage that the experience I recount below was not a unique incident with me, but rather part of a sinister pattern of behavior.

I met Harvey Weinstein in 2011 at an awards ceremony in Berlin, while I was still a student at the Yale School of Drama. An intermediary introduced him to me as “the most powerful producer in Hollywood.” As an aspiring actress, I was of course eager to meet people in the industry but cautious about strangers, and the intentions of men in general. So I tried to vet this famous producer by asking my dinner-table companions what they knew of him. A woman who was a producer herself cautiously advised me to “keep Harvey in your corner.” She said: “He is a good man to know in the business, but just be careful around him. He can be a bully.” And so I exchanged contacts with him in the hopes that I would be of consideration for one of his projects. I wanted to keep things professional, so I made a point of referring to him as “Mr. Weinstein.” But he insisted that I call him by his first name. In this first encounter, I found him to be very direct and authoritative, but also charming. He didn’t quite put me at ease, but he didn’t alarm me, either.

Not long after we met in Berlin, Harvey wrote to me inviting me to attend a screening of a film — a competitor’s film similar to one he had produced. He said we would be watching it with his family at his home in Westport, Conn., which was not far away from New Haven, where I was living at the time. He would send a car to pick me up. I accepted the invitation.

The driver and I met Harvey in the little town of Westport, where he informed me that we would be having lunch at a restaurant before getting to his home. I did not think much of this. It was a busy restaurant, and as soon as we sat down he ordered a vodka and diet soda for himself. I asked for a juice. Harvey was unimpressed with my choice and told the waiter to bring me a vodka and diet soda instead. I declined and said I wanted the juice. We went back and forth until finally he turned to the waiter and said, “Get her what I tell you to get her. I’m the one paying the bill.” I smiled and remained silent. The waiter left and returned with a vodka and diet soda for me. He placed it on the table beside my water. I drank the water. Harvey told me that I needed to drink the vodka and diet soda. I informed him that I would not.

“Why not?” I remember him asking. “Because I don’t like vodka, and I don’t like diet soda, and I don’t like them together,” I said. “You are going to drink that,” he insisted. I smiled again and said that I wouldn’t. He gave up and called me stubborn. I said, “I know.” And the meal proceeded without much further ado. In this second encounter with Harvey, I found him to be pushy and idiosyncratic more than anything.

We got to his home after lunch and I met his domestic staff and his young children. He took me on a brief tour of the house before he rounded us all up in the screening room to watch the film. He had just produced a similar film of his own, but everyone was raving about this rival version.

I settled in for the film, but about 15 minutes in, Harvey came for me, saying he wanted to show me something. I protested that I wanted to finish the film first, but he insisted I go with him, laying down the law as though I too was one of his children. I did not want another back-and-forth in front of his kids, so I complied and left the room with him. I explained that I really wanted to see the film. He said we’d go back shortly.

Harvey led me into a bedroom — his bedroom — and announced that he wanted to give me a massage. I thought he was joking at first. He was not. For the first time since I met him, I felt unsafe. I panicked a little and thought quickly to offer to give him one instead: It would allow me to be in control physically, to know exactly where his hands were at all times.

Part of our drama school curriculum at Yale included body work, using massage techniques on one another to understand the connection between body, mind and emotion, and so I felt I could rationalize giving him one and keep a semblance of professionalism in spite of the bizarre circumstance. He agreed to this and lay on the bed. I began to massage his back to buy myself time to figure out how to extricate myself from this undesirable situation. Before long he said he wanted to take off his pants. I told him not to do that and informed him that it would make me extremely uncomfortable. He got up anyway to do so and I headed for the door, saying that I was not at all comfortable with that. “If we’re not going to watch the film, I really should head back to school,” I said.

I opened the door and stood by the frame. He put his shirt on and again mentioned how stubborn I was. I agreed with an easy laugh, trying to get myself out of the situation safely. I was after all on his premises, and the members of his household, the potential witnesses, were all (strategically, it seems to me now) in a soundproof room.

Earlier Harvey had sent the driver to the store to buy a boxed collection of “The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency,” an HBO show that he had produced. This was the project he thought I would be right for, he said. (I later found out that the show had not been on the air for some time.) As I prepared to leave his home, he presented it to me. He wanted me to check it out and let him know what I thought. He would be in touch about it. I left for New Haven with his driver.

I didn’t quite know how to process the massage incident. I reasoned that it had been inappropriate and uncalled-for, but not overtly sexual. I was entering into a business where the intimate is often professional and so the lines are blurred. I was in an educational program where I was giving massages to my classmates and colleagues every day. Though the incident with Harvey had made me uncomfortable, I was able to explain and justify it to myself, and shelve it as an awkward moment. His offer to me to be a part of the HBO show was a very attractive one and I was excited about it, especially as I would be graduating in another year. I didn’t know how to proceed without jeopardizing my future. But I knew I would not be accepting any more visits to private spaces with Harvey Weinstein.

I decided to invite Harvey to come to a production I was in at school. Perhaps that way he would really see what I had to offer, and he would see my colleagues, too. He accepted the invitation, but the night of the production, he sent a message saying he had been caught up in New York and would be unable to attend. He would make it up to me. So when I received an official invitation to a staged reading of his new Broadway show, “Finding Neverland,” I was not surprised. I was still debating whether I should accept his invitation, and so I responded saying I was not certain that I could make it because of my school schedule. He responded with exactly the words I needed to hear: Come with whomever you want to come with. And so I invited two of my trusted male friends.

We attended the reading, and afterward Harvey invited us all to a restaurant for dinner with his comrades and collaborators. He sat me next to him, and another actress sat across from me. He had my friends sit at a different table. The talk was shop the whole time and Harvey held court with ease. He was charming and funny once more, and I felt confused about the discomfort I had previously experienced. I looked at the actress who I was informed had just worked with him on a project, searching her face for any sort of indication that she too had been made to feel uncomfortable by this powerful man, but of course I saw nothing. We did not stay very long because we had to catch a train back to New Haven. My friends had been equally charmed by Harvey. He knew when to turn it on if he wanted something. He was definitely a bully, but he could be really charming, which was disarming and confusing. I left feeling that perhaps he had learned my boundaries and was going to respect them.

A couple of months later, I received an email from Harvey, inviting me again to New York for a screening of “W.E.” After the screening, we would have drinks in TriBeCa. I then received a phone call from one of his male assistants to arrange my transportation. Feeling more confident about the new sense of boundaries that we had established in our last meeting, I attended the screening on my own this time. Afterward, as planned, his male assistant arranged for me to get to the Tribeca Grill, where Harvey would be joining us. I met a female assistant when I arrived there. I was expecting that it would be a group of us, as it had been for the reading, but she informed me it would just be Mr. Weinstein. She would sit with me until he arrived. She seemed on edge, but I could only imagine how stressful it was to work for a man who had so much going on.

Harvey arrived and the assistant immediately disappeared. We ordered drinks and starters. Again he was offended by my nonalcoholic beverage choice but he didn’t fight me on it as hard. Before the starters arrived, he announced: “Let’s cut to the chase. I have a private room upstairs where we can have the rest of our meal.” I was stunned. I told him I preferred to eat in the restaurant. He told me not to be so naïve. If I wanted to be an actress, then I had to be willing to do this sort of thing. He said he had dated Famous Actress X and Y and look where that had gotten them.

I was silent for a while before I mustered up the courage to politely decline his offer. “You have no idea what you are passing up,” he said. “With all due respect, I would not be able to sleep at night if I did what you are asking, so I must pass,” I replied.

His whole demeanor changed at that point. “Then I guess we are two ships passing in the night.” I had never heard that saying before, so I remember asking him what it meant. “It means just that,” he said. “We are two ships going in two different directions.”

“Yes, I guess we are.”

“So we are done here,” he said. “You can leave.”

We got up, having not eaten anything, and he led me out of the restaurant. My heart was beating very fast. A cab was hailed for me. I said I would take the subway (I could not afford a cab at the time), but he handed me some money and told me not to be silly, take the cab. Before I got in, I needed to make sure that I had not awakened a beast that would go on to ruin my name and destroy my chances in the business even before I got there.

“I just want to know that we are good,” I said.

“I don’t know about your career, but you’ll be fine,” he said. It felt like both a threat and a reassurance at the same time; of what, I couldn’t be sure.

I did not see Harvey again until September 2013 when I was in Toronto for the premiere of “12 Years a Slave,” the first feature film I was in. At an after-party, he found me and evicted whoever was sitting next to me to sit beside me. He said he couldn’t believe how fast I had gotten to where I was, and that he had treated me so badly in the past. He was ashamed of his actions and he promised to respect me moving forward. I said thank you and left it at that. But I made a quiet promise to myself to never ever work with Harvey Weinstein.

Not long after I won the Academy Award in 2014, I received an offer to play a role in one of the Weinstein Company’s forthcoming films. I knew I would not do it simply because it was the Weinstein Company, but I did not feel comfortable telling this to anybody. I turned down the role, but Harvey would not take no for an answer. While at Cannes, he insisted on meeting with me in person. I agreed to do it only because my agent would be present. In the meeting, he was honest about intending to persuade me to do his movie. I told him I simply did not feel it was a role I needed to play. He said he was open to making it bigger, more significant, maybe they could add a love scene. He said if I did this one for him, he would do another one for me — basically guaranteeing backing a star-vehicle film for me. I ran out of ways of politely saying no and so did my agent. I was so exasperated by the end that I just kept quiet. Harvey finally accepted my position and expressed that he still wanted to work with me at some point. “Thank you, I hope so,” I lied.

And that was the last of my personal encounters with Harvey Weinstein. I share all of this now because I know now what I did not know then. I was part of a growing community of women who were secretly dealing with harassment by Harvey Weinstein. But I also did not know that there was a world in which anybody would care about my experience with him. You see, I was entering into a community that Harvey Weinstein had been in, and even shaped, long before I got there. He was one of the first people I met in the industry, and he told me, “This is the way it is.” And wherever I looked, everyone seemed to be bracing themselves and dealing with him, unchallenged. I did not know that things could change. I did not know that anybody wanted things to change. So my survival plan was to avoid Harvey and men like him at all costs, and I did not know that I had allies in this.

Fortunately for me, I have not dealt with any such incidents in the business since. And I think it is because all the projects I have been a part of have had women in positions of power, along with men who are feminists in their own right who have not abused their power. What I am most interested in now is combating the shame we go through that keeps us isolated and allows for harm to continue to be done. I wish I had known that there were women in the business I could have talked to. I wish I had known that there were ears to hear me. That justice could be served. There is clearly power in numbers. I thank the women who have spoken up and given me the strength to revisit this unfortunate moment in my past.

Our business is complicated because intimacy is part and parcel of our profession; as actors we are paid to do very intimate things in public. That’s why someone can have the audacity to invite you to their home or hotel and you show up. Precisely because of this we must stay vigilant and ensure that the professional intimacy is not abused. I hope we are in a pivotal moment where a sisterhood — and brotherhood of allies — is being formed in our industry. I hope we can form a community where a woman can speak up about abuse and not suffer another abuse by not being believed and instead being ridiculed. That’s why we don’t speak up — for fear of suffering twice, and for fear of being labeled and characterized by our moment of powerlessness. Though we may have endured powerlessness at the hands of Harvey Weinstein, by speaking up, speaking out and speaking together, we regain that power. And we hopefully ensure that this kind of rampant predatory behavior as an accepted feature of our industry dies here and now.

Now that we are speaking, let us never shut up about this kind of thing. I speak up to make certain that this is not the kind of misconduct that deserves a second chance. I speak up to contribute to the end of the conspiracy of silence.”


I’m so happy Lupita shared her story and I have so much more respect for her and commend her for sticking by her morals. It’s disgusting that Harvey would even try something with her while his kids were in the other room, what a sick bastard

Negotiations

I walked into the room, avoiding direct eye contact with the alien waiting for me. Its huge eyes just looked like a jet black sclera set in a sack of vaguely damp, wrinkled gray leather. If eyes are a window into the soul, this creepy little guy would give satan a run for his money. They just put me on edge, somehow. I’d have to make eye contact anyway, but it could wait.

I strode up to the meeting table, pulled out the chair, and sat down. I shuffled around in my bag for a moment before pulling out a small piece of tech, which I set on the table in front of me.

“Before we begin, I want to be sure of a few things. This device you’ve provided us with, it is 100% effective at understanding and translating languages, correct?”

The alien across from me nodded. It’s a nice little allowance they’ve made for comfort, learning our body language, but its bulbous head threw the whole gesture off. It made me think of one of those old inflatable toys with a weight on the bottom, that would lean too far to the side before bouncing straight back up. Woobles or something. It didn’t really matter.

“Nearly. We occasionally find a race with one or two concepts that it has trouble with, but that’s easily smoothed over.”

I took a deep breath, and waited a moment to compose myself. This whole thing was going to be more trying than not interrupting old man Higgins up the street while he went on about whatever racist sentiment was in his head at the moment.

“One or two…okay. That’s odd.”

The alien blinked. Eyelids came in from not just the top and bottom, but also the sides. That’s just plain creepy. Reminds me of one of those really old movies they threw on the media blacklist pretty much as soon as first contact started. Something in black. Whatever it was, I remember seeing it as a kid, and that guy at the beginning had nothing on this alien’s eyes.

“Have you already found something it can’t translate?”

I nodded, then pulled out my communicator and scrolled through a few documents. I really needed to clean this thing out. Can’t believe I didn’t get around to it before coming to such an important meeting. Imagine the debacle that would result if I opened exactly the wrong thing. Never can know what that might be, honestly.

“Of a sort, yes. Mind humoring me for a few minutes?”

The alien steepled its hands together, and leaned forward. That’s just plain creepy. I wonder how they learned such context specific body language? Not that it really matters, I guess. Not my problem.

“Certainly. After all, it can take years to accept a race into the Federation.”

Nodding again, I pulled up a document on my communicator, then leaned back in my chair as I began. This was going to be more interesting than that time your classmate Jimmy found some old matches somewhere and almost burned the school down by mistake.

“Excellent. This shouldn’t take much time. I mentioned that we found some issues with your device. Allow me to demonstrate: Espionage.”

The little device on the table beeped, and a red light flashed.

“ERROR: NO ANALOGUE FOUND”

I sighed. That one had been an accident. We just had the thing sitting in a conference room while we discussed the implications of the visit when it came up. But, when something that simple for us to understand came up, we had to try for more.

“Reverse Engineering.”

Again, a beep and a flash of red.

“ERROR: NO ANALOGUE FOUND”

“Spycraft.”

And again with the beep. This was going to get irritating if I didn’t speed things up a bit. Too bad we hadn’t managed to find a mute option for that feature.

“ERROR: NO ANALOGUE FO-”

“Overwhelming Force”

“ERROR: NO-”

“Scorched Earth”

“ER-”

“Kamikaze”

“E-”

Blitzkrieg, Stealth, Mutually Assured Destruction, Acceptable Losses, Pyrrhic Victory, Guerilla Warfare, Encirclement, Entrenchment, Siege.”

The device gave off a series of distressed beeps, punctuated by rapid blinking of the little red light. I almost felt sorry for it. Almost.

“TOO MANY ERRORS DETECTED. REBOOTING. RUNNING SELF DIAGNOSTIC. NO DISCREPANCIES FOUND,”

I paused, and glanced across the table at the alien before looking back down at the translator. This was going to hit it harder than a washed up holovid actor with no auditions and less money hits rock bottom.

“Xenocide”

The chair across from me clattered to the ground as the alien practically fell out of its seat. I don’t blame the poor thing. Of all the aggressive, militaristic words we tried, that was one of the ones we least expected to translate. I mean, really. Who has a word for the intentional extermination of an entire sapient species when they don’t even understand fundamental hostile international mechanics like spying?

“Why do you have a word for…what was all that just now?”

I chuckled a bit while motioning for the alien to sit back down. His reaction had been pretty good, perfectly suitable for one of those hammed-up old dramas where the hero realizes they’ve been working with the villain all along.

“We were confused about that too. So we took a look at the information you sent as part of first contact with us. We noticed something interesting. Every single race in your Federation is carnivorous. Why is that?”

The alien seemed smaller somehow as it settled back into a seat. It looked kind of like a balloon slowly losing air, if that balloon was made of moldering gray leather with eyes that made your spinal column decide it wanted a holiday in Fiji.

“First contact has always been made after sapient races make it to multiple worlds. We’ve never found a sapient herbivorous race which failed to destroy themselves in resource wars and aggressive action. We’ve never found herbivores capable of surviving long enough to leave their own world.”

I leaned forward in the chair and smiled while finally making direct eye contact with the alien. I think the poor thing shivered when I did that. Not that I blame it. Imagine your reaction when you start to put the pieces together and realize that your friendly, upstanding next door neighbor might be the world’s most wanted criminal.

“And the races you have found, while commonly using threat displays, do not waste resources on wars they cannot easily win, correct?”

The alien nodded as it slouched a bit in its chair. It looked kind of like it was trying to hide. Who wouldn’t want to hide from the monsters in their closet?

“Wasted resources means decreased likelihood of survival.”

I shrugged. That was true enough, though rather coldly logical. Dispassionate logic like that has never been our strong suit. Then again, that’s why I’m in this situation in the first place, so it evens out.

“And yet herbivores constantly waste resources on aggression, on movement, on having more young than will possibly survive.”

The alien was staring at me. I’m not sure when the last time it blinked was. I wonder if those eyes need some kind of lubrication to keep from drying out. Probably, they looked a bit less creepy than they should’ve. Looked like they were losing their shine.

“And they die for it. That’s exactly why we’ve never encountered spacefaring herbivores. Their inherent aggression is their own demise.”

I held eye contact. I’d almost swear the alien was a weird statue right now. Don’t know who would commission a statue made of old greasy leather, but I’m sure there’s someone with too much money and too little sense who would give it a shot.

“Indeed. Now, back to the subject at hand. I’ll ask you before we continue: what can you offer humans for joining your Federation?”

The alien sputtered as it started moving again. I’d swear it looked offended. Maybe it doesn’t see where this is going. Not that it really matters, I guess. I mean, it probably matters about as much as posting a formal complaint to a new corporate policy, which is to say not at all.

“We’ve already sent the offer. You’ve seen that, I’m sure.”

I nodded, and began to tap out a staccato rhythm on the table with my fingers. I never could remember where I learned this stupid tune. I’ve known it as long as I can remember, and it just moves into my head on occasion and sticks around like that one couchsurfing friend who doesn’t understand the idea of wearing out their welcome.

“And I’m asking, what else do you have to offer?”

The alien just shook its head again, staring at the device. I wonder if it thought we might’ve tampered with it. As if we knew how. That little thing is way beyond our current abilities. We had some scientists pry it open and look inside, just to be sure.

“Nothing. I’m not sure why you’re-”

I raised my hand, cutting him off. Huh. Not sure why that worked. Did they learn that much of our body language? That’s still really creepy, if it’s the case. Or, maybe I just have it on edge. I dunno. I guess it doesn’t matter.

“May I have permission to connect my datapad with my ship’s computers?”

The alien glanced away from me for a moment. I assume it was checking in with superiors somehow. Maybe it was psychic, to an extent. Or maybe they just had an implant of some sort. We’ll find out eventually, I’m sure.

“Yes, if you like.”

I sighed. I guess that makes things easier for us. I don’t think anyone was going to like what I was about to do. This whole thing felt kind of like one of those holovids of an accident, where you know what’s coming and don’t want to keep going, but for some reason you just can’t seem to stop and pull yourself away.

“Computer, show video: Hiroshima”

A screen appeared in the air above my datapad. It started playing back an old, grainy video. Shaky, taken by hand in an aircraft in a firefight. Below, you can barely see a city being blotted out by a massive explosion. A cloud of smoke, fire and debris was rapidly climbing into the sky, billowing, growing, blooming into an eerie and easily recognized mushroom cloud.

“That’s…you’re using weapons of that scale on a population center? How recent was this?”

I shrugged, and closed the video. The screen on my datapad went back to the document I had up earlier. Gotta love how well they managed to predict this whole thing. I made a mental note to recommend a raise for whoever set up that document for me.

“Three centuries ago. Prior to our invention of spaceflight. Part of a much larger conflict. This is a relatively minor example of “overwhelming force”“

“ERROR: NO A-”

“Shut it. Computer, show infosheet: Battle of Stalingrad.”

A series of graphs and diagrams appeared above my datapad. They showed resources, time, maps, battle plans, and death tolls. Images were interspersed throughout, as were annotations on the tactical value of this, the emotional value of that. Prominent among them was a single apartment building, including notes on sniping from the roof and support via tunnels.

“That…what purpose would that…why w-”

Again, I raised my hand to cut him off, before closing the infosheet. Maybe it was both. Nah, couldn’t be. Only way it was both having this guy on edge and our body language is if it somehow had our body language built in. Unsettling thought, but not exactly likely.

“Because Stalingrad was an advantageous location and the people who died there were considered ‘Acceptable losses’“

“ERRO-”

“Computer, show gallery: General Sherman’s March to the Sea.”

A multitude of images appeared over the datapad. Rail lines and roads intentionally broken and destroyed. Farms and fields scoured clean and left to fallow. Buildings and towns razed to the ground. A broken people left to mourn and starve.

“So much waste…that can’t be intentional, can it?”

I glanced at the images, the wanton destruction that campaign caused, and the very orders that caused it. That kind of thing may be considered morally reprehensible now, even a war crime, but it wasn’t always. At the time, the strategy was extolled as one of the reasons the war ended the way it did.

“It was intentional.”

The alien stared at me, its reflective black eyes bigger than I’d ever seen them before. Creepy as all hell, that’s for sure. I’d rather not deal with these kinds of meetings in the future. Maybe after this I could negotiate for some kind of retirement.

“But…why?”

I tapped my datapad and closed the gallery, then leaned back and tossed my feet on the table. May as well relax, I already knew how this was going to end.

“Because it rendered the enemy unable to use resources Sherman couldn’t keep. Computer, assemble and show video grouping: RTS Games”

A large grid of videos came up, showing a huge range of scenes. Largely battle, the settings varied from open space to deep ocean, from early history to the far “future.” Even battles across space and time could be seen.

“The translator can’t have gotten that right. Those are military tactical simulations. Higher level than anything I’ve ever seen or heard of.”

I laughed as I closed out all of the videos and turned back to the alien. Creepy and unsettling as it might be, I’m pretty sure I was terrifying the poor thing. Not that I really felt sorry for it. Not at all.

“No. They aren’t. Those are games. Toys. For. Fun. And they’re a couple hundred years out of date. From what I’ve seen, nearly every human capable of coherent speech is capable of tactically overwhelming your Federation. And since we’re already here, in space, it’s too late for you to say no. So, I’ll ask again:

What do you have to offer us?”

OKAY BUT concept: Lazytown, but it’s meant for teenagers

Okay but- imagine how different Lazytown would be if it were meant for teens while STILL trying to be educational 

Like, it’s a few years into the future, and all the kids are now in middle or high school (depending on age. I like to think Ziggy 13, Stingy and Stephanie 14, and Trixie and Pixel 16) 

Of course, Sportacus, Robbie, and the other adults would all treat the children differently now that they are older. They are open to talk to the kids about more mature and serious topics 

The teens are a really confusing time to be going through, and I’m sure Sportacus would still be just as supportive and willing to save the day…he just does so in different ways now 

The show would cover and educate teens on  issues that teens might go through like 

*Ziggy being self-conscious about his weight to the point where he just- stops eating and Sportacus tells him that how his body FEELS is more important, rather than how it LOOKS (covering body positivity, eating disorders, showing that boys can have that problem too) 

*Stingy developing his very first crush on someone and becoming very clingy and possesive and needing to be taught that people are NOT like things and you can’t just CLAIM a person as yours (covering consent and healthy relationships) 

*Steph getting her period for the first time and she and the Mayor have no idea wtf is going on (cuz lbr, the mayor is kind of dumb) so Sport’s crystal beeps and they’re like “she’s bleeding!” and Sport knows what’s happening but doesn’t know what to do so they actually call Bessie for help. But after that, Sporto starts carrying pads/tampons along with him just in case cuz you gotta stick out for your friends 

*Given the amount of time Pixel spends with computers, I’m sure you can make at least one episode on internet safety with it. Pixel’s crush on Stephanie might be good material for episodes on teenage romance and healthy relationships too 

*Trixie maybe starting to realize that she’s “not like other girls” and doesn’t really pay much attention to boys like they do (covering sexuality) Perhaps she even likes Stephanie a little which could add the element of a love triangle

*Maybe in that same episode, Sport teaches them about gender and sexuality in general and he brings up non-binary gender and Robbie overhears and identifies it with himself, giving us a message that it’s never too late to come out or discover who you are 

*Imagine the drama of an episode where one of the kids gets their hands on a cigarette and Sport catches them just before they’re about to light it and for the very first time EVER, he’s visibly VERY ANGRY at and DISSAPOINTED in the kids, but it’s all out of a place of concern 

*Or an episode where Robbie slips Sport just ONE shot of alcohol in secret and given how sensitive his body is to just SUGAR, Sport instantly gets alcohol poisoning which leads to Robbie freaking out and probably asking the kids for help or something because not even sportscandy is fixing it (teaching kids to be careful around alcohol and also what to do if a friend happens to get sick) 

*Sport shown to actually be overwhelmed with worry about the safety of people in town every once in a while and having anxiety over it, and being confused because he goes outside a lot and eats healthy so WHY is it happening? And Robbie who also dealt with anxiety issues in the past actually telling him that sometimes, that’s not enough and how sometimes, medications and therapy may help (teaching that it’s okay to let people know you aren’t always ok, and that you shouldn’t hide it) 

And of course, Sport would STILL be promoting a healthy lifestyle in general. He’s the cool high school health teacher dad, who’ll talk to the kids about anything they want to know, from puberty to sex to crushes, anything. And Robbie has toned it down on the schemes a bit (since the kids are older and much less guillable now so there’s no point) and has warmed up to the kids a bit now that they are older. But, he’s still the lazy insomniac we know and love. Maybe sometimes, …Robbie might even be a better teacher in terms of MENTAL health than Sportacus even, given all the stuff that he himself has dealt with having 

…Not to mention, an older target audience opens up potential for Sportarobbie to actually be a thing? 

There’s just- so much potential that Lazytown could STILL have, even if it weren’t meant for younger kids

This is just- something that I really really want and like to think about 

EDIT: Some MORE ideas for you since I came up with more 

*Pixel’s crush on Steph just getting bigger and bigger but he has no idea how to talk to girls, so for whatever reason, he asks ROBBIE for advice on how to do that, who ends up bringing out Rottenella for him to practice on 

*That ends up being a bust given that Rottenella can’t talk, so he ends up asking TRIXIE to help him practice and even after realizing that the girl he has an eye on is Stephanie, …she helps him out anyway even if it hurts, because Stephanie and Pixel are her friends and she actually….sacrifices her own feelings for theirs 

*Sport is the one person that Trixie can talk to and vent to about her feelings for Steph, being the one guy she can trust, and then Sport totally hits us with the feels by being like “I understand what you’re going through….the person I like wants me out of town forever.” 

*Robbie going through one of his depressed states during the winter holidays (perhaps seasonal affective disorder? The episode covers depression) and isolating himself around Christmas because his self-esteem is in the gutter and he’s convinced that nobody wants him around, so he’ll spend the holidays alone, and Sport is just heartbroken and like “No, you’re very wrong, we WANT you to come be with us and we love you” and we finally get a translated performance of “Aleinn um Jolin” 

*Robbie reprogrammed Sugar-Pie to act like a normal dog, but one day he stops functioning  and is beyond repair and basically “passes away”, and everyone else is like “??? but it’s a robot, just make another.” But Sport reminds the kids that regardless, this was someone that Robbie was close to and that they should let  him grieve and be there for him (covering loss, death, and the stages of grief, which is something everyone goes through at some point) 

*Bessie becoming the unofficial mom that helps the girls out with the things that Sportacus and the Mayor might lack ability or knowledge to help in (like, bra shopping and shit like that because the idea of momma Busybody is just great, you guys) 

*Being the youngest, Ziggy is just entering high school and the older kids support him and help him get used to the transition from middle school 

*At least one episode with the trope where one of the boys is dealing with their voice cracking due to puberty (Stingy, because he would be the funniest) 

*There is still a Bing Bang at the end of each episode, but each one is different where sometimes, a different character sings it, or the music changes genres or parodies some sort of pop culture reference 

…You can make at least 12 episodes out of all this? That’s like, half a season right there 

ANOTHER EDIT: I’ve noticed how a big handful of you said that you fucking want this? Well, I’m not stopping you? Everyone, be my fucking guest if you wanna contribute to this in any sort of way. 

Actually…it might be kind of fun, making this into a sort of group project (collaborate on art, fics, etc) You guys can like, message me if that sounds cool

bad | 07

  He was the cliché bad boy. He was the guy you couldn’t stand. He was the handsome, hot kid who made girls go weak in the knees. He was a brat. You had never liked him one bit, but you had also never gotten involved with anything concerning him. Until one day, when you were in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Originally posted by mvssmedia

MEMBER: jeon jungkook x reader (ft. kim taehyung)

GENRE: smut, romance, fluff

WORDS: 10 243

WARNINGS: mature & sexual content, profanity, dirty talk & other filth

| 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08coming soon

A/N: please beat my ass for taking over a fucking month with this. hopefully it was worth the wait tho ;). writing this killed me.

Keep reading

FINLAND 1 - 0 - 0 🇫🇮

A QUICK COMPILATION OF ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW - AND WISH YOU NEVER DID.

1. You may call us Finland and Finns, but we call ourselves Suomi and suomalaiset.

2. Altho if you don´t mind, we would rather you did not call us anything ever. Actually if we could both pretend each other doesn´t even exist, that would be just great!

3. Yes we are a notoriously shy and reserved nation with a gigantic inferiority complex - especially when compared to our neighbor Sweden.

4. Who incidentally we loooooove beating in hockey.

5. Saimaannorppa aka Saimaa ringed seal can only be found in Finland and is highly endangered.

According to a count done in 2015, there are only about 320 individuals left, and therefore quite understandably whenever one is found dead in a fisherman´s net or by the hands of a poacher etc., it causes headlines and outrages.

6. 70% of Finland is made up of forests - that´s roughly the size of the entire area of the United Kingdom.

7. Finland was awarded the Summer Olympics for 1940, but then things got all sorts of fucked up thanks to Adolf & co., so those plans were scrapped even tho we had a brand-spanking new Olympic stadium and everything! Dammit!

Oh well, we were compensated in 1952 when we finally got the honor of hosting our only (so far) Olympic games.

8. Those 1952 Olympics were the first time Coca Cola was introduced to Finns.

9. No, we do not have polar bears.

10. We also don´t have KFC, Wendy´s or Dunkin´ Donuts.

11. Yes I am very upset about all those things mentioned above but especially about KFC.

12. Finland was the first country in Europe which gave women the right to vote (1906).

13. The Finnish language does not separate words such as “she” or “he”. We just use a gender-neutral “hän”, which means “that person”.

14. The national bird of Finland is the whooper swan.

15. Helsinki has the world´s most Northern metro system.

16. Savonlinna hosts their annual Opera Festival in a Medieval castle.

17. We are vindictive and petty as HELL. Just ask Silvio Berlusconi.

http://kmp78.tumblr.com/post/155861218049/finland-chronicles-part-14

18. A Finnish person will drink approximately 129 litres of milk a year.

19. Some years ago, the word for mother (”äiti”) was voted the most beautiful word in the Finnish language.

20. Moomins are, as some of you MAY REMEMBER FROM A SPECIFIC DEBACLE FROM EARLIER THIS YEAR, from Finland and were created by OUR Miss Tove Jansson.

21. Unlike many other countries which after gaining independence tore down all statues and other remnants of their history under foreign rule, in Finland we chose to keep ours up as reminders of our past.

For example, on our main square aka the Senate Square you will find Czar Alexander II standing proudly.

22. And speaking of statues, one of the landmarks of Helsinki is Havis Amanda.

It depicts a mermaid who decides to leave the sea and walk on… well, not water.

Each year on April 30th, she is “crowned” with a cap, to represent all those who have graduated from secondary school and earned their caps.

23. As of 2010, internet access has been a legal right in Finland.

24. Do you have one of those cupboard things over your kitchen sink, the kind where you place your dishes to dry?

That was invented by a Finnish woman called Maiju Gebhard in 1945.

25. The longest word in the Finnish language is “epäjärjestelmällistyttämä­ttömyydelläänsäkäänköhän”, which loosely translates to “not even by her lack of organization, do you suppose”.

26. Angry Birds are from here.

27. Finland is also the birth place of the most successful ski jump champions of all time, Matti Nykänen.

28. After his sports career came to an end, Matti has been a permanent fixture in the tabloids with his… issues… involving alcohol abuse, domestic abuse (he even served time in prison for attempting to kill one of his many ex-wives) and an assortment of careers including stripping and now singing. 

He is also responsible for one of our most beloved and useful quotes of all time: back in the 80s when he was still jumping from towers and competing in Canada, he got into some “situations” and was sent back home as punishment. When he arrived at the airport, a journo asked him “Matti, did you drink alcohol?”, to which Matti replied “Maybe I did drink, maybe I didn´t drink”.

All bases covered then!

The man is a fucking genius.

29. There are absolutely ZERO public payphones anywhere in Finland.

30. For a very short period of time back in, Finland had a female president AND a  female Prime Minister. 

Sadly that arrangement came to an abrupt end when the Prime Minister was forced to resign over a scandal involving some sort of Iraq documents which I´m still, a decade later, completely baffled by.

31. As those who come on this blog surely know by now, Yours Truly is a passionate berry picker - and being a berry nut in Finland is easy indeed since a) we have one of the cleanest natures in the world and b) all living things you find in nature, you can keep - within reason, of course.

Usually a good principle is to keep about 100 meters distance from the nearest house. Other than that, you´re good to go!

32. People in in Northern Finland aka Lapland area have a very specific unit of measurement called the “poronkusema” which could be loosely translated to “Reindeer´s piss”. Roughly it means the distance a reindeer can walk before needing to urinate. It´s quite a long distance…

33. Our current President Sauli Niinistö is a survivor of the tragic tsunami which took place in South-East Asia on Dec 26, 2004. Over 200 000 people (including almost 200 Finnish tourists) died in one of the worst natural disasters of our time - Mr. Niinistö and his sons saved their own lives by climbing up a telephone pole and staying there for several hours.

34. In Finland October 13th is National Failure Day which aims to encourage people to share their failures and learn from them rather than hide their heads in shame and pretend all is well.

35. The REAL Santa Claus lives up in Rovaniemi and you can visit his village all year long.

36. Sheldon gave us a good laugh and an ego boost.

37. We like eating Rudolf with lingonberries and mash.

38. On some years we get A LOT of snow, but on others we get practically none. Back in 1997, in Lapland the snow reached up to 190 cm.

Incidentally I am 155 cm.

39. In the Finnish language there is an alphabet called Å which isn´t actually a part of a single Finnish word in the entire Finnish language - it is simply a remnant from our many centuries spent under Swedish rule.

40. Unesco has reported that Finland´s tap water is the cleanest in the world.

41. A handy Finnish saying: “Early bird catches the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese”.

42. For some God forsaken reason, Finland and Estonia have the same national anthem.

43. Sadly accurate these days.

44. Sadly accurate these days.

45. Rosina Heikel (1842 - 1929) was Finland´s and in fact the Nordic countries 1st female doctor.

46. When something is a failure/a dud, the common term in the English language is “a lemon”. Over here, it´s “susi”. Susi also means wolf.

47. And susi should not be confused with sisu! 

48. In Lapland you can spend your vacation in an igloo.

49. Fines for speeding are determined by the offender´s income. Basically if you earn more, you have to pay more. The highest fines have been over 100 000 €. Stay poor, kids!

50. Pamela Anderson´s grandparents were from Finland.

51. Yes we like getting our drinks on, and most of us go abroad to Tallinn to get our drinks on for a lot less €s.

52. In Lapland, the Sun never rises from November to January.

53. In reverse, the Sun never sets from June to July. We call it “The Nightless night”.

54. Finland has exactly 1 Eurovision victory under its belt.

55. In 2018 Saara Aalto will be repping us.

Please vote for us. Please?

56. Nokia became famous for their mobile phones, but originally they manufactured rubber boots.

57. We don´t dub movies or TV shows.

58. We do however sometimes give them ridiculous and extremely SPOILER ALERT-y names. For example, “The Shawshank Redemption” was translated to “Rita Hayworth - Key to escape”.

I mean… C´MOOOOON!

59. Sometimes that´s all you can do.

60. Simo Häyhä aka “White Death” was one of the deadliest snipers of all time. During a 3 month stretch of the Winter War, he shot roughly 200 Russian soldiers before getting shot in the face himself. He survived and lived to be 96.

61. We don´t use the 1 and 2 cent coins. You CAN try paying with them as they of course are legal currency, but there are no guarantees you´ll get very far.

62. Feb 14th may be a day for lovers for the rest of the world, but we know it as “Friend´s Day”.

63. Tipping is not (thankfully) a part of the Finnish culture.

64. The guy longing for Sven in Titanic (the coat dude) was portrayed as a Swede, but was actually a Finn called Jari Kinnunen.

65. Karelian pies with egg butter are the best thing ever.

66. Märket island which is situated between Finland and Sweden had to have the border lines twisted a bit because the Finns who built that lighthouse, accidentally built it on the wrong side…

67. While often named as one of the 5 Scandinavian countries, Finland isn´t technically even a part of Scandinavia: we ARE however a part of the Nordic countries.

68. If you are invited to a Finnish sauna, you are expected to go nude.

69. Finnish armed forces are mandatory for men but voluntary for women.

70. Moomin mugs are peculiarly popular especially among Asian tourists. They can sometimes pay even thousands for rare ones.

71. We never had vikings, but there is one viking tale about a princess called Skjalv, daughter of the Finnish King Froste (those aren´t even Finnish names…), who was stolen as war loot to Sweden but ended up strangling her captor with a gold chain. 

72. Our 4th president was Kyösti Kallio, who was forced to resign from office after the Winter War on December 19th 1940. On that same day he was about to step onto a train to take him back home for retirement, when during his final official ceremony at Helsinki Railway Station, in front of his soldiers and while the orchestra played, he suffered a fatal heart attack and died right there in front of everyone. Legend says he collapsed into the arms of our greatest war hero and later president himself, Marshall C.G.E. Mannerheim (seen in the white hat next to President Kallio).

73. Marshall Mannerheim is the only person in Finnish history who has been rewarded that particular military honor. In fact, he is and forever will remain the only person who has the title “Finland´s Marshall”, an honor bestowed upon him for his services to his home country during Finland´s tumultuous early years of independence.

A few years ago he was voted by the Finns themselves as the most important Finnish person of all time.

74. In June 1942, Adolf Hitler came to Finland to pay his respects to Marshall Mannerheim on his 75th birthday. As a little “souvenir” for future generations, the sneaky Finns recorded a snippet of his and Mannerheim´s private conversation.

It is the only known recording of Hitler speaking with a calm, normal voice, as he was very particular about only being filmed while screaming and ranting his ideologies.

75. Roughly 3 million tourists visit Finland each year and I think at least 2 500 000 of them are always going exactly where I´m going too.

76. We like to make things hard for foreigners.

77. We don´t have any mountains.

78. But we have lakes. We have a shit ton of lakes. 187 888 lakes to be precise.

79. FYI

80. All our days end with -tai (Monday = maanantai, Tuesday = tiistai etc.), except for Wednesday. Wednesday is called keskiviikko.

81. We have a lot of free time.

82. J. R. R. Tolkien used the Finnish national epoch the Kalevala as inspiration for the languages in the Lord of the Rings saga.

83. The St. Louis Arch was designed by a Finn called Eero Saarinen.

84. Every summer we arrange what is called Kaljakellunta aka “Beer float” which pretty much just consists of taking a floatie and a case of beer and… well, that´s about it.

85. If you want to enhance your sauna experience, you can use a birch whisk.

86. The bubble chair was designed by a Finnish man called Eero Aarnio.

87. Thursdays are the “official” pea soup and pancakes day all over Finland.

88. Finns love queuing.

89. Life expectancy for men is 78 years and for women 84 years.

90. In Tornio you can play golf in two countries:

http://kmp78.tumblr.com/post/155901150914/finland-chronicles-part-15

91. Finns invented the so-called Molotov´s cocktail.

92. All people in Finland must pay a TV tax even if they do not they own a TV.

93.  We celebrate Christmas on the 24th of December.

94. Finns love salmiakki aka salty licorice.

I don´t, btw.

95. Finland is one of the few countries in Europe which has not banned sex with animals - and some actually take advantage of that loophole…

http://kmp78.tumblr.com/post/156161829244/finland-chronicles-part-21

http://kmp78.tumblr.com/post/156257574544/finland-chronicles-part-23

96. Armi Kuusela won the 1st ever Miss Universe pageant in 1952.

97. In 2006, Conan O´Brian did a sketch about looking like our then-president Tarja Halonen and it ballooned into a huge movement.

98. Weeeeell…

99. On every Independence day, the current president hosts a party at his residence for about 2 000 dignitaries, celebs, politicians etc. We riff raffers sit at home in our sweatpants and watch it on TV with some nachos and snarky comments.

100. MONTY PYTHON KNOWS. 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SUOMI, AND THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING. 

Despite you reeeeally getting on my nerves SO MUCH and SO OFTEN, I still love you. 💙 💙 💙

Some Strings Attached

Ugh so there was a post going around that I’ve now long since misplaced but it was like “I just saw you go upstairs with someone else and I know we’re only fuck buddies but I’m gonna go punch them in the face” and I was HERE FOR IT. If somebody remembers the post, link me. In the meantime, have some Sterek getting together fluff.

“Just tell Derek you want to date him,” Scott says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Stiles bugs his eyes and flails his hands in wordless frustration, because the correct response to this patently ludicrous advice eludes him. He had come for sympathy, not pie-in-the-sky delusions. “Scott. Bro,” he finally gasps. “How could you even suggest that in good faith? No way! Bad plan!” He slashes his arms in a demonstrative X. “The only reason we’re even hooking up is that I made it super clear I was down to fuck, no strings attached! I’m not ruining a good thing by announcing to Derek Hale that I’m 85% in love with him.”

“Why?” Scott genuinely seems confused, the sweet summer child. After falling into a happy triad with Allison and Isaac after their first semester at UCLA, he doesn’t really understand the definition of “unrequited.”

Stiles turns his attention to a hanging thread on his t-shirt, sourly tugging it loose. “He’s out of my league. I mean, with the baseball, and the smarts, and the sarcasm, and those eyes…” he breaks off with a sigh. The last thing he needs to do is remind himself of how gone he is on Derek. “Just, he’s popular. Dictionary definition of too cool for school. And the three people he actually deigns to hang out with here are all just as cool and good looking as he is. Do I need to remind you I’m not? I’m a gawky, nerdy Sophomore. I’m lucky to even be his fuck-buddy.”

Scott makes a face, incredulous. “I dunno, he must like you well enough if he’s still sleeping with you after all this time. What’s it been, six months? And you guys hang out, too, you’re always telling me about how easy it is to chat with him after you bone. So it’s not just sex.”

Stiles grimaces. “Yeah, but it’s not…”


“… a real relationship,” Derek says into the phone, hearing full well the heavy dejection in his voice. So sue him; the admission is more than a little depressing. “He just wants to be fuck buddies.”

“How do you know?” Laura asks reasonably. “Maybe this Stiles person would be interested in dating you, too. No offence, but you’re not great at reading people. I mean, he’s interested in chilling with you even after you hook up, and clearly he enjoys the physical aspect. Did he actually ever say he wasn’t looking for more?”

Derek heaves a sigh, rolling his eyes even though she can’t see over the phone. “Yep. About two minutes after the first time we slept together he said, ‘no strings attached, obviously.’ So, you know, pretty safe bet that it’s no strings attached.”

“Oh,” Laura says. For once she doesn’t have a snappy comeback.

“Oh,” Derek agrees. Dejectedly.

She gives him a sympathetic little hum, and then asks, “and he’ll definitely be at the sorority barbecue?”

“Yeah.” Stiles and his broad shoulders and his long fingers are definitely going to be at the party.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go,” his sister says softly. “If you really like him, and he’s just looking to get laid…”

Derek groans. Not go, and give up a chance to hook up with Stiles? Smart, maybe, but not something he’s capable of doing.

The problem is, he’s liked Stiles forever. Or at least since he first saw him, laughing uproariously and running around with his friends with an actually broom between his legs, playing “Quidditch.” Derek would have been way too embarrassed to do something like that on the front lawn, but Stiles made it seem like the most effortlessly awesome thing a person could get up to.

No, compared to Stiles, Derek is practically a social recluse, an awkward jock with only about three people who he gets along with at all. Stiles definitely doesn’t want to get saddled with a boyfriend like him. He’s lucky they’re even hooking up after all this time.

“Derek, I mean it,” Laura says. “Look out for yourself for once.”

“I know, I know,” Derek grumbles. “But it’s not my fault he’s…”

Keep reading

Bruises On Another (part three)

Originally posted by nwetss

Prompt: Steve doesn’t know where they come from, and he isn’t exactly sure why they’re there. All he knows is that his body is littered in bruises, and there’s something different about them. They aren’t just bruises, and they certainly didn’t come from a trip in a step or clumsiness. No, Steve knows there’s more behind the marks that litter his body.

THIS IS A SERIES: one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - finale

Pairing: Slow!Burn Steve x Reader, Billy x Reader (it’ll make sense)

Warnings: marks, bruises, pain, physical abuse, etc. I mean no disrespect to anyone or to upset anyone, this story starts off rough but I can say that things will get better.

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. It doesn’t have to be long, I appreciate every single comment I receive and telling me just helps inspire me to write it more frequently.

OH! And just to be clear about a few things, as i’ve mentioned (literally right below this) this is a soulmate AU. I don’t write these often so i’m not sure how they exactly work, but the way i’ve written mine is Steve and the reader aren’t just connected through the marks and bruises but almost like spiritually i guess? When they first meet, something like wells within them. And when Steve sees her with Billy, he doesn’t know why, but he almost feels a sort of jealousy and almost wanting to protect the reader. And later on in the story, you’ll see the reader a bit jealous of Steve as well. That’s because they have a connection, they just don’t know it yet.

P.S. This a soulmate AU.

Tag’s List: @slythergirlimagines - @agentwhlskey - @impulsivesuperrobin - @darlingimawriter - @starshininginthedark - @jxhn-mxrphy - @audreysduvxl - @patronuscas - @ninjacookiegirl - @losers-club-imagines-and-stuff - @evelxn-cruz - @lovatoarchives - @justanothermarvelfan - @hey-margot - @draussen-ist-freiheit - @pennywyatt - @ordinarily-weird - @theloveisgoodbadours - @delicrieux - @burgerrroll - @kingham-writes - @suicidesqwads - @i-hate-the-pie-people - @slightly-depressed-idiot - @winter111502 - @chasestudy - @simplyhollander - @jessie9008 - @poppunkdork - @almusanzug - @babyhollands - @x-ximenas - @sleepylunarwolf - @richierichandthelosers - @wearing-a-wormstache - @dare-to-dream-about-1d - @itssociallyawkwardowl - @raised-by-fandoms - @captain—potter - @straight–on-til-morning - @mellowlandrunaway - @torrentmgc - @jacks-star-pupil - @of-outerspace - @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked - @reddie-stenbrough - @mad-ramblings-of-a-fan - @fanficwriteromega - @fandomsandwriting@aj-was-taken - @pinkcalumh - @lomlwentworth - @jimmyisfab 
Want to be featured on the tag’s list? Message me letting me know!
bolded is who I couldn’t tag!


“Y/N! Just the girl I wanted to see!”

You turned around at the sound of a voice, find none other than; “Billy.” You’d met him yesterday in your social class and because you were the new students, your teacher had paired you together. The boy had seemed nice enough when first speaking to him and he definitely didn’t know how to quit, so you weren’t all that surprised to find him by your side right before lunch.

The mullet haired boy reached your side in record time, squeezing past other students in the hallway. You felt yourself flinch from contact as Billy wound his arm around your waist and pressed you against his side. You tried to ignore the pain that grew as he hit a fresh bruise from the night before and when you glanced at him, you hoped he hadn’t noticed your flinch but you could tell by look on his face he had. “I didn’t mean to upset ya’, darlin’.” He said, staring at you with feigned worry; you just didn’t know it at the time.

“No,” you responded softly, shaking your head. “No it’s fine. I’m just… just a little bit jumpy.”

Billy nodded, as if he understood and leaned back as you both made your way through the halls. You tried to ignore the dark looks you received from other girls as you made your way to your locker. From what you’d heard at your two days in Hawkin’s High School, Billy was the new it guy, everybody wanted to be with him or be him. So the looks made sense, you just didn’t understand why Billy was so fascinated with you. 

“Ignore them darlin’, they’ve got nothing on you.” You glanced over at Billy surprised, feeling your cheeks burn red in shock at his comment. As you glanced at the many girls, you didn’t completely agree with his statement. “Don’t look so shocked.”

“No, it’s just-” you said again, shaking your head. You went to say more but found yourself lost in your thoughts and instead glanced back down at the floor. “Okay.” You submitted. You sighed in relief when you reached your locker and Billy stepped away from your side to instead lean against the locker next to yours. You couldn’t help, though, feel his gaze grazing your body the entire time like a predator would look at it’s pray.

You pulled down the sleeves of your sweater, and focused your entire attention on slipping your textbooks into your locker.

“So, you hear about Tina’s party this Friday?”

How could you not? You might not be very social but that’s all you ever heard when walking in the halls. Of course, even though you’d been given a slip, you made no plan of going considering you knew your father would never allow you. Hell, if your father knew that you were speaking to a boy like Billy now… there’d be a huge price to pay. Still you nodded in response to his question, sensing where it’d lead.

“Wanna go?” It seemed Billy didn’t like to wait long when pursuing the girls he showed interest in. 

You paused after that, knowing that your father would say no, you just didn’t know how to tell Billy that. “I-I’m not too sure… My father-” You were cut off by Billy’s hand reaching out and practically petting your cheek; you froze in surprise from the movement, unsure of how to react to the bold move. 

You met Billy’s eyes and found yourself stuck as he smile sultry at you and leaned in closer. With his hand still on your cheek, you found yourself frozen as you found your father’s eyes in Billy’s. You felt yourself grow petrified and hating the way any man or even woman who threatened even the tiniest bit could grow control over you. It made you feel weak and pathetic, but yet you only continued to stare at Billy. “Come on, Y/N.” Billy mumbled, and you found yourself no longer able to hear the loud crowd of kids around you. “I think you’d look cute in a costume, so what do you say?”

You opened your mouth to say something but another’s cut you off; “is there a problem?”

You moved your gaze over to the newcomer and found none of than the familiar pair of brown eyes you’ve been trying to avoid. It seemed that Steve’s presence was enough to get Billy to step away from you, and soon you found the mullet-haired boy standing in front of you, blocking you slightly from Steve’s eyesight. It was then that you noticed the two girls behind Steve, one you recognized as the girl who’d helped you the day before; Nancy.

“Harrington.” Billy greeted and you could just practically hear the smirk forming on his lips. “Nope, no problem here.”

Steve glared at Billy before you found his eyes on you; “Y/N?”

You paused, shocked that he’d even considered an answer from you. Normally everyone did the talking for you, and you weren’t really allowed to speak for yourself. But before you could respond, Billy spoke up; “I said there’s no problem, Harrington. Why don’t you stay out of other people’s businesses.” 

“I’m sure Y/N can answer for herself.”

Suddenly all eyes were on you, including Billy’s and you swallowed the lump in your throat. You met Billy’s gaze and saw your father, so instead of saying what you should’ve of, you mumbled; “i’m fine.”

You missed the way Steve’s gaze fell and his tense shoulder’s slumped. Pressing a hand against his chest, Billy took a step forward; “see? Everything’s fine.” Steve glanced at you one final time, and it seemed like he was going to say more before Nancy stepped up and grabbed his arm. “Steve, let’s just go.” She whispered to him and you found your eyes stuck on her hand on his arm, your brows furrowing. 

Eventually Steve relented and you watched him step away from both you and Billy, now gripping Nancy’s hand. You barely noticed Billy turn back to you, until his hand softly grasped your chin, and brought your attention towards him. “So? What do you say?”

In your mind, you couldn’t help and think about the way Steve had grasped Nancy’s hand and the feeling that burned within you. Without thinking, you nodded; “sounds great.”


Friday reached sooner than you thought it would and before you knew it, it was the night of the party and you hadn’t even mentioned the idea to your father yet. You were sat in your room, and you’d just made dinner for your father. You knew he’d be in his room for the rest of the night and hopefully wouldn’t come and see you at any point, but knowing him he usually didn’t.

You stared down at your attire, the same thing you always wore and wondered why you hadn’t thought this through further. Not only now did you have to sneak out for the night, through your window, you didn’t have a costume either and you knew Billy would question it when he arrived. You’d even told him that day a different address then your actual house so your father wouldn’t see his headlights.

You’d never snuck out before and honestly you were greatly questioning your decision to say yes. You didn’t really have a decision, thinking about it now,but the thought of sneaking out, and not being there if your father was to come into your room greatly scared you. You’d never hear the end of it or never feel the end of it if he were to catch you, especially if he found out a boy came to pick you up.

You bounced your knee in spot from your position on your bed, glancing at the time every few minutes. You were suppose to meet Billy outside your neighbours house at six thirty and it was now six twenty-five, meaning you should probably start heading out. Ignoring the feeling that welled within your stomach, you slowly and quietly opened your bedroom door and glanced out into the hallway. Where, thankfully, you could see the lights from the tv in your father’s bedroom flashing, meaning he was distracted.

You took one final deep breath, closing the door quietly behind you and heading to the window. You slid open your window, ignoring the fear that welled within you and stepped out onto the the roof. You crawled on top, closing the window just before it fully shut and begun crawling out to the edge of the roof. Carefully you swung your body out so you hung by the roof and dropped onto the grass in front of your house. Once you were safe on solid ground, you gazed up into your bedroom to see if the light had turned on or any indication that your father had noticed you leaving, and sighed out in relief when you saw nothing.

Nodding to yourself, you faintly let a smile slip over your lips at the fact that you’d managed to sneak out and not get caught; yet. Making your way through your tiny front yard, you stopped in front of your neighbours just as Billy’s car appeared. You swallowed the lump in your throat, ignoring the voice in the back of your head that told you this was mistake and made your way to his car.

You slipped into the passengers seat and almost immediately noticed the frown on Billy’s lips when he saw your attire. Pulling at your oversized sweater you frowned; “I don’t have a costume.”

You met Billy’s eye and watched him pause in thought for a moment, and thats when you noticed his costume. Billy wore a leather jacket with no shirt underneath the jacket, paired with black jeans. You hated to admit it and even felt ashamed, but he looked good.

“You got a shirt underneath that sweater?” Bill asked, stunning you for moment. Though, eventually you nodded. “Great. Take the sweater off.”

“W-What?”

“The sweater.” He grinned at you, a hint of lust behind his eyes. “Take it off. I’ve got a plan.” You paused once again, unsure of what you should do. If you took off your sweater, Billy was bound to see the marks on your arms but from the look in his eyes, it seemed he was determined and wasn’t going to let you go in the clothes you wore. Sighing, you slowly pulled off your sweater, handing it to Billy as he threw it in the back and reached for something else.

All you wore underneath was white t-shirt and on your legs, you wore black jeans. Crossing your arms across your chest, you tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that welled within you, and waited for Billy to get whatever he was searching for. Just then he threw a dark coloured jean jacket a top of your lap and smirked your way.

You slipped the jacket over top of yourself, it was much too big but it covered your arms and Billy never managed to see the bruises which was plus. Turning to Billy, you felt yourself smile a little as you saw his gaze.

“There. Now we’re matching.”


Part 4?

Let me know below!

Insecure (Peter Parker x Reader)


Authors note: this was requested by the lovley @signethatsmelol, also I hate myself bc I turned my precious babies against each other for the sake of fiction

Warning(s): some swearing, violence, angst BUT DW BC FLUFF AT THE END

Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. Maybe it was the unusual silence of the school halls after class or the fact that Peter hadn’t come to find you but something was definitely up.

You frowned as you made your way to your locker, your boyfriend of a year nowhere to be seen.  Opening it up, you loaded in your calculus textbook and a few other things before heading your academic decathlon club. You often found yourself looking forward to your team meets as you’d get to spend more time with your boyfriend, Peter and best friend, Flash.

You’d actually met Peter through Flash, when you’d first joined Midtown high. Flash had been your ‘tour’ guide as such, and he was extremely sweet towards you, he’d made you feel comfortable with the move to a new high school and even invited you to the team’s first meet of the year, although he was very flirtatious and you weren’t into that. Peter had joined the meet a little later than it had started because of his Stark internship and it was pretty much love at first sight from then on.

You’d grown to love his little stammer every time he talked to you, and that blush that spread from his cheeks to his neck every time you held his hand in public. You could even say you loved Peter Parker . That’s why you were so worried when he hadn’t come to meet you, the pair of you were inseparable so you knew something was wrong.

You were pulled out of your thoughts as your friend Michelle came running towards you, panic etched across her features. “Michelle?” You asked, turning from your locker to face her, concern stitched into your voice. She was hunched over, hands gripping  her knees as she struggled to catch her breath.

“I-it’s Peter” she began, drawing herself upwards. “He’s gotten into another fight”

Your eyes widened as she spoken, you slammed your locker shut as the curly haired girl lead you towards the fight. Within a matter of minutes, you found yourself behind a large gathering of people, formed into a circle. People were cheering and filming the ordeal. Hurriedly, you pushed your way through the bands of people, trying to get a better look at the scene.

“Excuse me, sorry. Pardon me”

What you saw after weaving your way through the crowds made your heart drop. Your friend, Flash and your boyfriend Peter.

They were currently standing opposite each other, faces swollen and bruised. Flash had clearly gotten the brute end of it, and looked like he was on his last legs. Peter on the other hand looked significantly less injured and you knew in that moment he had been the one to start the fight. You knew Flash had picked on Peter, that’s what made it hard to maintain your friendship with him but you never thought Peter would lash out on him like this.

“Say that again, I dare you” you heard Peter spit, bouncing his fist up and down menacingly. Through the pain, you could see Flash draw his lips into a cruel smirk.

“She doesn’t want you, she never has. She’s only with you to get back at me”

That was all it took for Peter to launch himself at Flash, you covered your eyes and bit your now quivering lip, as you heard the pair’s grunts of pain. You knew know that this wasn’t some stupid spat between boys.

This was about you.

Opening your eyes, you rushed out into the circle, the cheers from the crowd only sky rocketing. At this point, both boys were at either side of the circle, you rushed between them in an attempt to stop the violence. “Stop it!” You yelled breathlessly, looking between them. “Just stop it! You’re hurting each other!”

Both boys fixed their posture before looking at you. You stared Peter down, meeting his gaze with a confused look, you could see the guilt swirling in his eyes. Your attention was stolen, when Flash begun to speak up. “Get outta the way (Y/N), I gotta let this punk have it

Don’t talk to her like that” Peter seethed back. You shook your head, begging yourself not to cry as the two boys you cared about glared and growled at each other. You could see that Peter was tired and could tell that he was feeling guilty.

“Leave it Flash” you called out as he tried to advance. You turned to your boyfriend and grabbed him then by the wrist trying to get him out of there. You pulled him into a guest toilet and locked the door behind you. You sat him down on the lid of the toilet,  grabbing some tissue and running it under some cold water before pressing the compress to his bruised knuckles.

“What the fuck was that Peter?” You said, as you worked in silence. Peter could only watch as you moved about, making more compresses for his cuts before they bruised.

“I’m sorry” the brunette boy whispered, not meeting your eyes as you inspected his face. You paused, looking into his chocolatey orbs, anger swirling in them.

You’re sorry?!” You yelled, your calm facade breaking down. This wasn’t the first time Peter had gotten into a fight over you, in fact, they’d been happening a lot more recently. You’ve never mentioned it to him before, at first you thought he was being over protective, but now you could tell it was much more serious. “Sorry doesn’t cut it Peter! Do you know how many times I’ve had to pull you out of these situations? Do you know how many times I’ve had to save your ass from being beaten into the ground? Do you know how much that scares me? I don’t know what’s going on with you Peter but you need to sort this out.”

Your boyfriend flinched at every word you spoke, as if he was being

sprayed by acid. He knew what you were saying was true, but he couldn’t help it.

“Peter, I love you!” You cried out, as he gazed at you intently. “But you can’t keep fighting people over me! Flash is one of my best friends, and to see you both almost kill each other out there breaks my heart! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but if it keeps happening, I don’t know if I can stay”

This time, Peter’s head snapped up, looking you directly in the eyes. “W-what are you - are you saying?” he whispered, voice low and uneven. He was standing now, and you could see his body shaking.

“I’m saying that maybe…” you sighed, backing away from Peter. “We should…take a break?”

“No!“Peter practically screamed, his voice cracking as he did so.

In the dim light of the bathroom, you could see his eyes glaze over as his body begun to shake. “P-please”

Peter…

“I meant it when I said I was sorry” he tried, his voice betraying him. “I don’t know what came over me, F-flash was just saying these awful things about you, a-about us and I began to doubt myself”

You neared your sobbing boyfriend, immediately feeling guilting for suggesting that you end things. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his head down to rest on your shoulder as he cried. “T-they say I don’t deserve you, all the guys. T-they say you’re too good for me… and it’s true”.

You stroked his hair softly as he let out his emotions. You never knew that he’d felt this way, that this could have ever been the reason for his outbreak. That Peter Parker was insecure.

Baby no” you whispered but he didn’t stop there.

“You’re the kindest and sweetest soul and I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you. You’ve been with me through everything and I-I’m just… Peter” he hiccuped, pulling away from you with bleary eyes. “P-please don’t leave me, you’re everything I have”

“Peter…” you sighed, holding him close until he’d calmed down. “I-I’ll never leave you, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry”. You clung to him, trying to tell him that you were there and that you weren’t ever going to let go, you cursed yourself for being such a terrible girlfriend. When you both pulled away, you looked up at Peter, feeling his love for you radiate off of his body. You stood on your tip toes and slowly pressed your lips to his, the taste of his cherry lip balm invading your tongue. His warm and familiar hands snaked their way around your waste, pulling you closer to him. You gripped the collar of his plaid shirt from under his jumper and tugged him towards you, wanting to be as close to him  as possible, wanting him to feel the love you had for him. All of Peter’s insecurities melted away in that moment, he knew that you would never leave him, he knew that you loved him and that none of the other guys meant anything to you, not even Flash.

When you’d both come up for air, a small smile graced your lips. Peter returned your smile, going to bury his head in the crook of your neck again. “I’m so in love with you” he whispered against the  skin of your neck.

“I love you too Pete”

You both stood in silence, holding each other, the only sounds being made were your giggles as Peter pressed kisses to your neck. “I really am sorry about Flash though, I know how much he means to you” Peter spoke, after a few moments.

You rolled your eyes, before ruffling Peter’s hair. “He was an asshole anyways, you’re all that I care about”

You both laughed before you pressed a quick kiss to Peter’s lips, making him blush. “Now we should probably get out of here before people think we’re up to something” you winked at him playfully , as he shook his head at your antics.

Peter only let out a laugh as you pulled away to unlock  the door. You  grinned back at him, admiring his smile, and the way it reached his eyes. You really loved Peter and god help anyone that tried to make your baby insecure again.

(Zimbits, AU, 3.7K, click “read more” for the whole fic.)


Thanks. You can put it on the counter in the kitchen.”

That had been Jack’s first mistake.

It wasn’t so much the words he said, but rather the fact that he’d said them in French.

However, to Jack’s credit, he had been in the middle of revising a chapter when he’d heard the knock on his door, and the fact that he hadn’t had any caffeine yet due to the broken coffee maker had thrown off his entire morning.

He had been expecting Georgia, the lady he rented the cabin from, to be standing on his door step. However, instead of the landlord, he got a blond guy with wide, brown eyes staring back at him.

There was a sort of gurgle of surprise and a nervous giggle from the other guy for a moment before he blurted, “Hi, I’m your new housekeeper!”

Jack raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything in his confusion. Francine, Georgia’s wife, usually stopped by once every couple of days to tidy up the place, but neither of the two ladies had mentioned anything about a new hire.

Jack must have been lost in thought for a moment too long because the other guy took this as a sign that Jack didn’t speak English. “Uh, you know, cleaning?” He mimed a sweeping action and then pointed at Jack. “Ummm, je… travaille pour Georgia?” he said in a truly horrendous accent.

Jack gave an impatient nod of his head.

Je m’appelle Eric or you can call me Bitty. Actually, je m’appelle Bitty,” he said proudly with his hand out.

There was something about the other guy’s candidness that made Jack pause, or maybe he had been trapped in a cabin for too long, but he reached out and took the handshake.

It’s nice to meet you,” Jack replied in French.

And that had been his second mistake.

Keep reading

Skyline {VI}

Originally posted by tomhollanderr

Warnings: Language, blood mention, panic attack

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: Oh my god you guys!!  I have so much to discuss but first and foremost I want to thank all of you for making this story into what it is.  I started this story two weeks ago and in those two weeks I’ve gained almost 2000 followers and have had success that I never even dreamed of.  Thank you so much for all that you’ve done for me, for this story, and hopefully for stories I write in the future!!! Skyline wouldn’t be what it is today without you guys.  Secondly, there will be a pt. 7!!!  I know I keep saying this, but I really did mean for this to be the last part.  It’s just that there are so many things I want to include and plot points I want to flesh out, and although I feel bad for writing angst chapter after angst chapter, I want to give you guys my all and I don’t want to short change you.  Finally, I would like to thank my friends Zoe and Jen for helping me brainstorm ideas and helping finalize details and plot points.  I love you guys so so much!!  Also, everyone, again, I DO NOT HAVE A TAGS LIST!!! I put this at the beginning of every chapter, it’s in my bio, and I’ve made multiple posts but people keep spamming me about it.  I am truly not trying to be mean, but I do my best to respond to every ask and message I get, and having to sort through a million people asking the same question is hard guys!!!.  Before, I go, one last thing: because everyone has sent me in songs that they listen to that remind them of Skyline, I compiled them into a playlist along with ones I listen to!!  Please give it a listen and try to listen in order, as the songs follow the storyline.  Link is below.  Enjoy everyone!!

skyline: a mixtape

{part i} {part ii} {part iii} {part iv} {part v} 

Waking up the next morning was hard.  Sleep was like temporary amnesia, and when you awoke alone in bed, your hand automatically reached out for the note that Spider-Man always left before he disappeared every night.  Instead of feeling the usual smooth sheet of paper, however, you felt empty sheets that seemed colder than ever before.  It was then that the events of the previous night tumbled into your head, from your request to know Spider-Man’s identity, to him saying I love you for the first time, to you giving him up.

You groaned and rubbed your hand across your face, fatigue taking over.  More than anything, you wanted to fake an illness, stay in bed all day, and wallow in your thoughts, but you knew you had to get up. Although the breakup hurt you (did it count as a breakup if you were never really together in the first place?), you knew you made the right choice.  There was no way a relationship with a superhero would work out if the significant other didn’t know who they were; if you were to fall in love, you would need to be able to fall completely.

Keep reading

Aisles [m]

Aisle Three

Summary: Jungkook was your best friend. You held onto his secrets. And he knew all of yours. Except for one. One that would change your friendship forever. You were in love with him.

Pairing: Reader x Jungkook

Genre: bestfriend!au, college!au, angst, smut

Word Count: 5,802

Originally posted by sugutie

Aisle One Aisle Two Aisle Three

Surprisingly, it was easy for you to lie yourself and to everyone around you. Flashing a smile anytime someone around you asked you how you were doing. The layers of concealer under your eyelids hiding more than the lack of sleep. You tried to keep yourself busying, burying yourself under piles of books and notes to occupy your mind with anything but Jungkook and how he wrinkled his nose when he smiled.

 In a very strange way you found solace in the amount of schoolwork that was piling up in the pages of your planner. Exams, research papers, and presentations were keeping you out of the house and inside the walls of the library. You were regretting your schedule for this semester, but with the MCAT looming you couldn’t afford to take any risks. Medical school was the light at the end of the tunnel, and not even a bunny toothed boy was enough to keep you distracted.

 Hoseok however, had a problem with the fact that you should probably start paying rent to the librarian. He missed you, constantly sending you reminders to eat and drink water during the hours you were studying. You had regretted the night you told him that you hadn’t eaten since 7 in the morning and 45 minutes later a freckled teenager came into the library with the largest bag of Chinese takeout you had ever seen. And your name was scribbled on the front.

Y/N 9:35 PM: Hobi, I appreciate the thought but can you please stop sending me food while I am in the library.

Hoseok 9: 47 PM: I’ll stop sending you food when you actually sleep in your bed, for once

Sighing, you throw your phone back down on the table. He had a point. You hadn’t slept underneath sheets in weeks. By the time you got home from school you were too tired to make it your bedroom. Every morning waking up regretting the fact that you had decided to buy the lumpiest couch known to man. You knew that this wouldn’t last. That eventually you wouldn’t be able to hide behind the excuses of academics to avoid having a life. You were going to burn out.

But two days later you found yourself in the same position.

Keep reading

banora-white-aka-dumbapple  asked:

The minute I saw "That time a bear broke into the house while I was stoned on cold meds." I knew I had to search your family lore tags to see if you mentioned it before. Whenever you're up for it, mind telling about it? I'm actually curious how did you realize it? Were you alone the entire time?

Ok, so it actually happened ON my 16th birthday, so October of 2006, two years after we moved to CO. I was attending the Germ Pit of Public High School, and got sick about a month in.  I was the sort of phenomenally boring child that didn’t have a curfew because I never went anywhere, and we had Cody, the Gentleman Shepherd at the time, so my parents felt it was OK to leave me alone for a few hours while they did errands.  

There’s something up with either the Bipolar or my allergies, but pretty much all respiratory medications make me hallucinate.  Doesn’t matter if it’s benadryl, nyquil or nasal spray, twenty minutes in I’ll be out of my goddamn mind.  But it beats not being able to breathe. So I’m in my bedroom upstairs bedroom, convinced I’m growing an exoskeleton, While Cody sits on the bed next to me, doing the Shepherd Thing where he plants his ass in front of my face and watches all the doors and windows.

I have nearly passed out when I think I hear a weird popping noise outside, but assume that it’s just me developing mandibles, so I don’t think much of it.  Cody, being the Responsible Adult, gets up to investigate.

A moment later, I hear him Barking, and know something is Amiss.  This dog Does Not Bark.  he didn’t bark when we picked him up at the shelter, he doesn’t bark at the door or the foxes or anything, but he is barking now.  I warp myself in the Extra-Soft Rainbow Unicorn Blanket for protection, and stumble downstairs.

For some context, the downstairs has an office, with a large set of sliding glass doors and a concrete porch, then a large wall with a heavy door that leads to a mudroom, which has a shitty little screen door leading to the outside.  It was in this room that we kept the cat food and littler box, because 1. they stank. 2. Cody would occasionally want to play with the cats Too Much and they could hide in there.  

Out on the porch is the Department Of Wildlife sharpshooter, pointing her tranquilizer gun into the Mudroom.  I squint through the haze of dayquil through the heavy door (which has a window) at…

It took me a good minute to realize that was a Bear eating the cat food, because my first thought was “When did we get a shag sofa?”.  Then DOW guy shot him in the ass in the dart, and I watched as a 300lb black bear dove THROUGH the door shitty screen door he’d gotten in through (It was the kind that closes behind you) and run off to the field across the street, pursued by four agents with dogs and bear mace.

The DOW sharpshooter, named Debbie, apparently couldn’t see the wall between us from where she was standing, and was very relived that neither of us had been mauled.   She stayed with me while I called my parents, and even gave me some stickers.  The bear had apparently gone though my whole neighborhood in a fit of hyperphagic madness, chowing down on garbage, cat food, a small vineyard’s worth of grapes and a couple of Mrs. Chin’s goldfish.

They successfully tranquilized the bear, and took him up to Pingree to be hazed and released, where he would hopefully leave people alone.

BTW, if you ever have to call your parents in a situation like this, leaving a voicemail of “Hey mom, I’m okay now, but a bear broke into the house and the Department of Wildlife wants to talk to you.” is not going to help your parents remain calm.

“You Love Me?”

Title: “You Love Me?”

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Reader

Type: Platonic | Romantic | Familial | Other

Warnings: angst, profanity, mentions of aids, mentions of neglectful parents.

Prompt: F13: “you love me?” “You have no idea.”

Never in your life did you dream you’d fall in love with Richie Tozier.

You’d known him since your diaper days - toddling about together, plump thighs and sticky mouths, with both of your parents watching - your’s attentively, Richie’s listlessly, bored, looking as though they wanted to be anywhere other than watching their only child take his first steps.

Growing up, shared rattle toys became shared peanut-butter sandwiches or bright-coloured hairclips pilfered from your mother’s china dish. Richie loved to wear those hairclips, more than even you. He’d stick an assortment of them into his unruly web of dark curls, specks of pink and lime and chrome swathed in a brunette tide.

Richie had always been… spacey, almost. From the first time, in third grade, you could cross the road on your own (“be very careful, Y/n. Remember to look both ways, and stop and listen for any cars, and never, ever cross on a bend.”) Richie’s parents gave no such forewarning, and it was with cheery ignorance he sauntered right into the - albeit, quiet - road on Monday morning.

Your hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar in childish alarm. “What are you doing? We have to look both ways first!”

“Oh yeah,” he returned cheerfully. “I forgot.”

Brushing off your scandalised look, he pointedly craned his neck left, then right, and then took your hand in his and pulled you from the curb with no warning. You shrieked at him all the way over the asphalt, sure a car would come from nowhere and career into you. When you scrambled onto the sidewalk on the opposite side, you ripped your hand from a giggling Richie’s grasp.

“That wasn’t funny!” you said shrilly. “I told you, we have to be careful when we cross a road, else we’ll both be hit by cars!”

“What happens when you get hit by a car?” Richie countered thoughtfully, as the two of you began walking. You paused to think, chewing your lip.

“We end up flat as pancakes, and the police have to peel us off the road,” you eventually returned triumphantly, but if your aim was to deter Richie, it backfired.

“Cool! I want to be a pancake!” declared the boy enthusiastically, but you merely shot him a frosty look and dragged him through the school gates.

You were there when Richie got his glasses, and the teasing started. Sneering jibes of “four-eyes” were brushed off, kids asking how many fingers they were holding up deflected with ease. You worried for Richie, the sensitive soul that you were, but he only ever laughed about it.

You were there when his parents stopped calling when they weren’t going to come home that night. Before, it was apologetic phone calls (“Richard, sweetie, we’re so sorry, the most silly thing - your father enjoyed himself a little too much at the gathering, you know how he likes his currant wine, only we thought it best to stay at the hotel tonight.”)

You found him hunched up by the side-table where the phone stood. The house was dark and cold - the heating wasn’t on. Richie looked like he hadn’t moved in years, a statue gathering dust, huddled against the wood of the table. You flurried around, snapping the lights on, straining to reach the boiler on tiptoe and turning the dial all the way up before scooting over to Richie and crossing your legs anxiously.

“What’s wrong, Richie?” you inquired. “Where are your parents?”

A pure stab of shock flashed through you at his sudden sob. Tears dripped down his screwed-up face, and when he spoke, his voice trembled. “I don’t know.”

Eventually, after a few phone calls, it was discovered that they were in New Jersey for an open evening of his father’s business. Richie stared at you, stricken, as you solemnly recited what the lady on the phone had told you. “But why didn’t they tell me?” he whispered. You didn’t know the answer to that, so you hugged him instead. He smelled of apple suckers and loneliness.

You were there in fourth grade when Richie discarded his mismatched sweaters and jeans for bright eyesores of Hawaiin shirts and jean-shorts and colourful sneakers. He traded his thin, wiry black glasses for thick red ones that made his eyes looked three times their normal size (you noticed what a pretty brown those irises were, then). He was there when your love for rainbow ponchos and ballet skirts and bracelets with bells on them faded in favour of garish maroons and olives and navies, overalls and sandals and short-shorts. He still wore the hairclips, sometimes - the dark red one that was always his favourite. The rest he kept in a small pot under his bed, along with a photo of you and him grinning toothily in first grade, tucked safe under the velvet lid.

You were there when Henry Bowers, held back for the third year running, decked him for the first time. He called Bowers a “son of a motherless whore” - something impressive-sounding he’d overheard on TV - when he saw him laying into the tiny asthmatic kid from world history. It hadn’t ended well, and you ended up wiping the blood from his nose and lips and teeth. He smiled sheepishly as you scolded him, but his apology was real as the blood staining the tissues. And another plus - from that day, you had three new friends. Stuttering Bill and Eddie Spaghetti and Stan the Man. You five were united as outcasts, not exactly a force to be reckoned with but certainly one that required brief consideration before attempting said reckoning - or whatever.

And in fifth grade, Richie hit some sort of tipping point.

He grew louder and more foul-mouthed, more enthusiastic in his spastic movements, and far more inclined to disrupt a class or smoke in the toilets or flunk school entirely. Then the remarks filtered in - intrusive and suggestive, comments on your legs or your chest or your mom. It annoyed you to no end, but you could think of no way to make him stop. Every time you snarked him or socked him on the shoulder, it made him slightly wilder, a shit-eating grin cracking his face in two - until you remembered something you’d seen once on telly. A man and a woman, and the man talked a lot. Whenever he talked too much, the woman would press a big red button that made a loud “BEEP BEEP” sound.

So, when the next remark came - “Hey Y/n - you have any other hobbies, ‘cept for being my own personal bicycle?” - you stared him dead in the eye and countered solemnly, “beep beep, Richie.”

He gaped at you like a fish out of water, speechless for the first time in years. “Did - did you just - beep me?”

From then on, it seemed to work to shut him down.

But it wasn’t until four months ago - when Georgie went missing, and you met Bev and Mike and Ben, and IT chased normalcy from your life did things between you and Richie start to shift.

You wanted to be with him every second - he was the longest-standing memory you had, the boy with hairclips in his curls who watered your head like a flower the first day of second grade. He was the one who poked your cheeks and called you “bubs” and yanked your ponytail and drew obscene images on your hand in permanent marker. He was the one who spent 70% of his time sleeping round your house when the silence of his was unbearable, who held you sombrely when you cried and cursed at the toughest of bullies in your honour. Richie was, to say with a flair for the dramatic, your life - mapped out in dark hair and freckles and lime sneakers, your other half.

The first time you wanted to kiss him was after the blood oath.

You hissed in pain as you wiped your hands absently on your black shorts. Richie walked beside you, gazing at the jagged cut on his palm with avid interest.

“I swear you can get AIDS from doing shit like this,” Richie commented as the both of you reached your bikes discarded in the grass.

You huffed a laugh. “Probably - but don’t go telling Eddie that.”

“Please. He’d convulse and die on the spot,” Richie scoffed, swinging a leg over the leather saddle. “So, where’ll it be, sweetcheeks?”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. “I’m kind of in the mood to not think about anything. You wanna head to the arcade?”

Two hours later, pumped up on blue-raspberry Slushies with fingers cramping from the buttons and levers you’d been busy stabbing and yanking, you and Richie sat in a greasy-spoon café, snacking out of a shared basket of cheesy fries as the sky darkened outside the window.

“What d’you think’ll happen now?” Richie asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?” You swallowed your fries, reaching for your Pepsi to wash it down.

“Now IT’s dead. Kaput, bitch. No more missing kids, no more hallucinations, no more freaky fuckin’ clowns.” Richie heaved a sigh. “Cause I don’t think everything will just magically go back to the way it was.”

“No,” you mused in agreement. “No, you’re probably right.”

“‘Cept for us,” Richie beamed suddenly. “We’re inseparable, right?”

You grinned. “You bet, Tozier. For better or for worse.”

You looked at him - skin illuminated by the softly-glowing neon lights from the sign outside, the contours of his face sharply shadowed, hair a black, untameable mess as ever - and the urge to kiss him took you so fiercely, it almost knocked you off your chair. You swallowed your mouthful of fries too quickly in your shock, and one ended up dislodged in your throat. You choked and wheezed, and Richie unhelpfully thumped you on the back until you’d swallowed the damn thing.

“Jesus Christ,” he commented. “Y/n, if you wanted something to choke on, you could’ve just asked.”

A week ago, the comment would be met with an eye-roll; now it only made a flush climb your face, and you took a long swig of your iced Pepsi to ward off the redness.

The first time you actually kissed Richie Tozier was two months later.

It was midnight, but sleep troubled you not. You sat wide-awake, flat on your back and staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, when a sudden tap like long nails on wood made you start violently. Clambering to your feet, you glanced at your window; sure enough, a second later, a pebble hit the glass pane and bounced off again, and you sighed, picking your way over and opening it wide.

“Throwing pebbles, Romeo?” you called down teasingly. Richie glared up at you.

“Can I come up?”

You jerked your head in affirmation. At this point, your parents were so used to you going to bed alone and coming down in the morning with Richie, you didn’t even have to worry.

You slid the ladder out the window until it touched solid ground, then went back to your bed. A minute later, Richie’s face appeared at your open window, and he hauled himself in with all the grace of a sack of wet concrete.

You frowned as the scents of - was that wine? Wine and perfume - wafted in after him. He was also wearing a suit - a suit - but the illusion of whatever formality he’d been going for ended at his hair; looping black curls in total disarray, a soft tide of dark hair held back by a lone red hairclip.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” you eventually managed to choke out.

“My parents are home,” he answered non-communally. “And they decided to host a fucking mixer at our house tonight. So I was forced to wear this bullshit thing -“ he plucked at the suit in disgust “-and I only just managed to get away.”

“Wow.” Your eyes caught the red hairclip glinting amongst the soft web of dark curls. “I haven’t seen that thing in years.”

His hand skittered up to trace the clip absently. “My final act of defiance,” he chuckled weakly, before sinking down to sit on the carpet with heavy shoulders and clasped hands.

“Why are they such assholes, Y/n?” he asked suddenly. “I don’t know if I mortally offended them as in infant, or some shit like that - but even if I did, I still wouldn’t know, because they don’t talk to me. I don’t get it. Why have a kid if - if you’re not gonna-“ He waved his hands around in frustration, as if he could wring some meaning from the sentence if he hit at it enough.

“I don’t know, Richie,” you sighed, sliding off the bed and scooting closer until you sat toe-to-toe with the despairing boy. “I wish - I wish I could help you.”

Finally, he looked up; the tear tracks on his face glistened faintly as he smiled - not a smirk, or a shit-eating grin - a real smile that tore a hole in his chest and let all the dully-glowing fragments of the real Richie spill out for you to see. “You already have,” he answered softly.

Your breath seemed to catch in your throat. “But there’s gotta be more I can do. Damnit, Richie, I love you, so much and it fucking kills me to see you just - just take this shit.”

Richie stared at you, stricken. “You love me?”

You scoffed lightly, your face softening. “You have no idea.”

“But…” Richie was struggling to finish a coherent sentence. “Do you love me like - like the kid the split your granola bars with in second grade or do you love me like a…” Again with the wild hand gestures. “Y’know?”

A laugh bubbled through your lips. “Who says it can’t be both?”

As he opened his mouth to retort, you covered it with yours.

It was chaste and clumsy, but the chaps on his lips felt just right against the smoothness of yours, and the squeak of surprise he made at the embrace was swallowed. You could feel the heat of his cheeks and the flutter of his eyelashes and the firm beat of his heart all in that one, fleeting moment your lips touched.

And even as you pulled back, you felt him still. He was stammering in a way that’d give Bill a run for his money, but you could only smile.

Never in your life did you dream you’d fall in love with Richie Tozier - but right now was one of the rare, blissful seconds reality was better than dreams.

3

Alright, HERE we go! Awhile ago I had an idea for a MP100/Voltron crossover, and after mentioning it to @x-i-l-verify​ and loooots of brainstorming later, we have…*gestures vaguely* this. These are more or less screenshot redraws just to kind of get across who is who. :) More info, reasonings and musings under the cut, because well…it got long…

Keep reading

splinter (m)

» pairing: jungkook x reader

» genre: angst, non-explicit smut / college au

» word count: 6,518

» description: Perhaps in their last moments together, the pieces won’t seem so broken. That maybe even with their jaded hearts they can salvage some replica of what it all once was. 

» note: there are mentions of cheating in this story

People love to talk about the ‘what ifs.’

What if they had just kept going, what if they had chosen a different path, what if things had just gone the way they had so desperately wanted them to? Humans torture themselves with these thoughts, all while urgently grappling at the threads of their memories that led to the fork in the road where things went awry. They ponder them tirelessly, wondering if they could’ve done something different, only to realize in the end that it didn’t matter because what was done was done. It was that simple, yet again, people still loved to talk, ponder, and torture themselves with the possibility of what if — However, in your personal experience, there was something much worse.

There was a sub-group of sorts to the what-ifs, called the ‘almosts.’ Almosts are burning flames of misery because they tease you by getting so heartbreakingly close to what you wanted. They were in your reach, resting on the tip of your tongue, only to dissipate before you could swallow it down and make it yours.

So yeah, you weren’t a fan of the-almosts. But what you were even less keen on was being in the same room as your almost, the thread of memories making the air thick as it wrapped its way around your throat.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I often have ideas for a scene or a character but there is no plot. How can I expand these ideas into stories? I just don't know what to do with my ideas to get a story out of them. Most plotting tips require that I know at least the beginning and the end of my story. But I don't even have that.

Hi Anonymous,

I’ve heard of other writers having this same problem, so you are not alone! Here are some ideas that come to mind when I think about this.

Coming up with a Plot (from scratch)

First off, you have ideas for characters or scenes, and that’s a starting point, and you probably (I’m assuming, because it wasn’t that long ago) saw my post, What to Outline When Starting a Story, which can give some guidance on what to consider. However, if you have no idea where to even come up with a concept for your plot that post can only be so much help.

Conflict out of Story Elements

Since you have some ideas about character and scene, I’d try building off that. In some cases, you might need to flesh those out a bit more to continue (I don’t know, since I don’t know how much you have those figured out).New York Times best-selling author David Farland points out in his book Million Dollar Outlines that characters grow out of their setting. We are all influenced by our setting–where we live, where we spend our time, what century we’re part of, etc.

Setting –> Character

Farland goes on to say that out of character (and setting) comes conflict:

Setting + Character –> Conflict

Plot obviously comes from some sort of conflict, the character reacting to and trying to solve that conflict or conflicts. But let’s finish out the diagram/equation.

Setting –> Character –> Conflict –> Theme

How conflicts are dealt with in the story create the theme.

It should be noted though that this diagram may not be helpful to everyone, and it’s also possible to work backwards from it. For example, I personally don’t like the idea of starting with the setting–although, realistically, pretty much all stories start there, if only to the most basic degrees (time period, real world vs. fantasy world, Earth vs. space, etc.). I often like to start with character. But as you work on your character, at some point, you are going to be looking back at what kind of life he grew out of and where he came from, and where he is now. Other people may like to start with conflict, and work back into character and setting. So, it doesn’t have to be linear.

But let’s look at the conflict part. You need some form of conflict to have plot. As I mentioned a few weeks ago in my post Are Your Conflicts Significant? the conflict should either be broad (far-reaching) or personal to the character. If it’s not either, it’s probably not that significant. However, it should be noted that you can make almost any conflict broad, or personal.

But how do you even get to that point? If you like Farland’s diagram, what I would suggest would be looking at those characters and setting. Brainstorm conflicts by asking yourself questions.

  • What conflict can come out of this setting?

For example, in some stories, major conflicts come straight out of the setting. Most if not all dystopians, like The Hunger Games fall into this category. You can even look at movies like Interstellar, which deals largely with space travel. The major conflict came out of a setting (Earth will soon be inhabitable). In a fantasy story, conflicts can come out of the world and worldbuilding (setting), whether it’s the magic system or the world itself. In Lord of the Rings, the major conflicts often come from the setting (Frodo has to make it to Mount Doom) and magic (the One Ring is a magical object that must be destroyed). In historical fiction, it can come out of setting–what are some of the conflicts the world was dealing with during WWII?

But what about something more small-scale than Panem, outer space, and Middle-earth? Setting can play a role there too. What kind of conflicts can come out of attending high school in 2017? What conflicts might be present there? What conflicts might come out of trying to start a career as a woman centuries ago? The story doesn’t have to be epic for this sort of brainstorming to work.

Les Miserableis a good example of how setting can play into conflicts, whether it’s being a struggling young mother, a convict, or participating in politics.

  • What conflict can come out of this character?

Once you have your character, you can try brainstorming conflicts for her. Now, there are sort of two ways to approach this.

One, you look at your character–her personality, strengths, weaknesses–and ask yourself, what would this character want? Figuring out what your character wants is often vital to a good story. In some stories, it can be more simple, basic, or straightforward. Maybe your character just wants money. In other cases, it might be bigger. Maybe your character wants to defeat an evil ruler. It can be somewhat philosophical. Maybe your character dreams of ridding the universe of a false god, like in His Dark Materials.

When you know what your character wants, you can start brainstorming conflicts by considering what could stop her from getting what she wants. In Lord of the Rings, Frodo volunteers to destroy the Ring, but there are literal obstacles in his way. Space, for one thing. He has to travel for miles and miles and miles. Then there are other people and creatures: orcs, Shelob, Sauron, even his own companions–these people are in conflict with him. He has to deal with getting hurt, wounded, and fatigued. All these things are keeping Frodo from his goal. And of course, his ultimate want is to return to the Shire, but he has to destroy the Ring first.

If your character wants to be in a relationship with someone, there are obstacles too. Maybe the love interest doesn’t know he exists. Maybe there is a family feud, like in Romeo and Juliet. Maybe there is a love triangle. Whatever your character wants, you start brainstorming what could keep him from getting it.

A second approach to brainstorming conflicts with character is to look at your character and consider what kind of situations would be difficult for them, what would make them grow. In some cases, they might be the reluctant hero. Love him or hate him, as I mentioned a few weeks ago, Edward Cullen is a good example of this sort of thing. He’s a “vegetarian” vampire living his life, and then out of nowhere, a girl shows up that is basically his personal brand of cocaine. How is he supposed to deal with this? Worse. He has feelings for her. Immediately, Edward is in conflict.

Now, you can combine both methods. And in reality, both those examples have both. Sure, Frodo volunteered to take the Ring, but he was basically the only person who could. But look at him. He’s just a humble hobbit. He doesn’t do magic, he doesn’t know warfare, and he knows very little about the world. But he’s thrown into a situation where those characteristics will be tested. Similarly, Edward is thrown into a situation, but he ends up having wants too. He wants to be in a relationship with Bella. But the fact he is a vampire and she has potent blood is a conflict that impedes that.

So you can brainstorm conflicts from setting and character.

Plot out of Conflict Types

Let’s look at this another way.

There are five types of conflict.

Keep reading

Wanted (2)

Steve Harrington x Reader, Billy Hargrove x Reader

Summary: She just wants to be wanted. More specifically, she wants to be wanted by Steve… Until Billy Hargrove weasels his way into her heart.  

Warnings: language, billy’s a jerk, that’s it for noW

Word Count: 1.5k+

PART 1 PART 3

Originally posted by strangersthingsdaily

“Y/n, right?” Billy asks her the following morning before school starts. He’s leaning against the lockers next to hers and she’s grabbing her biology textbook. She glances at him questionably and holds the textbook to her chest. 

“Yeah, who’s askin’?” she bites back, shutting her locker.

Keep reading

He Needs You

- Part 3 of th-e one where you’re in love with him but he likes your best friend

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist linked in bio


“Out!”

It’s the first thing Y/n wakes up to, Savannah’s outraged voice echoing along the walls of Y/n’s bedroom.

Y/n groans, squinting her eyes open at the sudden movement of her bed shaking wildly.

Savannah’s pulling the stranger out of Y/n’s bed, her merciless hands continuously pushing him out the bedroom door. He’s half awake, his slumberous daze making him scramble as he attempts to throw his clothes back on.

“Fuckin’ Jesus” the unknown man grumbles, his eyes still half closed from the immense amount of alcohol he consumed the previous night.

Savannah remains relentless, despite his attempt to get fully dressed. He even falls at one point, when he hops on one foot to get his leg through his jeans, but she doesn’t stop for a second.

You, get out of here!” she demands, her hand giving him one last shove out the door before she slams it shut.

Y/n groans again, her sensitivity to anything other than complete darkness and silence making her throw the duvets over her head and bury her face in her pillow. She’s well aware that she has to embrace the very few seconds she has of total peace and quiet before Savannah begins to lecture her for the irresponsibility she just walked into.

She’s only able to reunite with darkness for a split second before Savannah pulls the covers completely off of her, bringing her back into the horrifying sunlight.

Y/n falls off the bed, letting out a groan as her still slightly intoxicated body makes contact with the wooden floor. Her hungover state is making it nearly impossible to figure out the chaos unraveling in the room; all she can really understand is the pounding in her head and the burning in her eyes every time she exposes them from their lids.

She rolls over onto her back, huffing as her fingers dig into her eyelids. She coughs, her abrupt movements making her stomach flip with every turn she makes. She’s given no time to recover before Savannah rips her arms away from her face, gripping onto her wrists as she pulls Y/n off of the floor.

“What the fuck is going on here, Y/n?!” Savannah yells, eyes glaring at Y/n’s very, very hungover stance.

Y/n nearly trips over her own two feet as she attempts to balance herself after Savannah harshly pulled her up from her collapsed figure. If she had the capability to answer back, she would have, but she’s still fucked up from last night and can barely stomach the sunlight seeping in from the curtains.

“Is this what you’ve been up to?!” Savannah spits, angry laughter tying into her words, “Is this the kind of shit you’ve been doing while cutting everyone off?! Sleeping with random guys?!”

The last thing Savannah expected to see was Y/n in bed with a half-naked man and empty bottles of alcohol scattered across her bedroom floor. It was extremely rare for Y/n to carelessly consume alcohol and have consistent one night stands. Savannah’s witnessed her go through these phases only a handful of times throughout their friendship, all of which stemmed from Y/n’s toxic intolerance of being alone.

She should have seen this coming, though. After finding out she’s been in a relationship with someone Y/n was in love with, the first thing she should have done was check up on her. But there was so much fear holding her back, so much guilt preventing her from confronting her about it.

She wouldn’t know exactly what to say, or how to say it, without making it sound like she was the shittiest friend in the world. She had a feeling Y/n had feelings for Harry, considering she had mentioned him a plethora of times once she met him.

And Savannah still took it upon herself to date Harry, for her own selfish reasons. She never thought that it was the potential reason Y/n was so distant. That thought was the last one in the back of her head, completely throwing her off guard when she found out.

She’s tried to reach out to her multiple times, only to be deliberately ignored and shut down. After a while, she figured all Y/n wanted was space, so she stopped trying for a couple days.

But nothing stopped Harry. He’d spend hours knocking on her front door, on his knees, begging for her to speak to him. He’d call her when he wasn’t near her, because he had driven himself crazy knowing he never told Y/n what he needed to tell her so urgently.

Y/n knew—she knew just how much effort he was putting into seeing her again. She heard him, every day, through her front door, but she never knew what to do. The constant fear that Harry didn’t feel the same way back was all the convincing she needed to never speak to him again.

There’s only so much her heart could break, and she didn’t know how many more times it could before she finally snapped.

Y/n grips her head as she squints her eyes shut, hissing at the throbbing in her head when Savannah’s voice booms throughout the room. The overwhelming migraine taking over Y/n’s head practically forces her to sit on the edge of her bed, the palm of her hands still digging into her eyes.

“Not cutting anyone off,” Y/n mumbles, grumbling when she opens her eyes properly to look at Savannah, “I’m just adjusting.”

It isn’t a lie. Her intention wasn’t to ignore them, not at all. But as time went on, the more her emotions started becoming fragile; one wrong sight would have made her break.

And as stupid as it sounds, having sex was the only time she felt wanted after Harry and Savannah started dating. Even if it was in a drunken state, even if it was just purely for physical pleasure, the hours spent with random men were the only moments she felt purpose.

It was also her biggest distraction. Having one night stands was her emotional outlet, her way of letting out all of her emotions without actually doing so. It sure as hell was better than being alone—anything was.

Savannah sighs, shaking her head softly as she kneels eye level to her. She’d never seen her like this before, so lost and broken. She would have lectured her further if she wanted to because she had every right to smack some sense into her. But after all this time, after all the pain she could only imagine Y/n going through, could she really do that to her? Could she really blame her for doing this to herself?

“Y/n,” she rubs her legs, “I have been the shittiest, most horrible friend to you. I was so selfish and so inconsiderate, and I don’t blame you for not speaking to me these past couple days. But, Y/n, this—” her hands gesture around the horrendous state of her bedroom, “this isn’t adjusting. Having drunk sex isn’t going to rid your feelings for Harry. You’re suppressing your emotions, you’re running away. That’s what you’re doing.”

Y/n’s lips begin to quiver as her eyes well with tears; the first time she’s truly cried since the night she saw Harry at Lexi’s. Savannah feels somewhat relieved when she sees the tears falling from Y/n’s eyes. It isn’t a familiar sight to see, but it shows her that she’s actually accepting what she’s been hiding all along.

“You have to talk to me. I don’t care if you yell at me, Y/n. I don’t care what you do to me, but you have to talk to me. You have to show me something. I can’t be hearing about your feelings from Harry, that’s not fair for anyone.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Y/n whispers, her words breaking beneath cries she so desperately wishes she could stop.

But there’s no going back now. The alcohol is still running in her system and she’s reacting instinctively. There is nothing holding her back, not now.

“How was I supposed to tell him that I was in love with him when I knew he didn’t feel the same way? And how was I supposed to tell you anything about him when I knew this would end up happening anyways?! And what was I supposed to say to the both of you when you both decided to take it upon yourselves to flirt in front of me?!

By now, Y/n’s blood is starting to boil. The words coming out of her mouth are laced with venom, her sudden shift in mood making Savannah swallow thickly. But everything in her is operating a million miles an hour, her words coming out faster than her brain can register. She doesn’t even remember standing up from the bed while she paces around her bedroom, empty bottles rolling around the wooden floor.

“Because no matter what I would have done, it would have ended the same! The way it always does, Savannah! The way it always ends with you getting what I want, even if I want it more—“

“Y/n—"

“Even if I need it! You still get it!”

The harshness in her voice is replaced by violent cries, her words drowned in uncontrollable sobs.

The pain is all over. Everything she’s attempted to numb is now all hitting her at once. All the loneliness, all the anger, all the hurt she’s been burying is now reaching the surface. She can barely breathe, all of the emotions suffocating her, squeezing against her throat.

Savannah is quick to embrace her shaken body, shushing her as her hands rub up and down her back.

A part of her always knew she was the reason Y/n’s love life was barely existent. Although Y/n never admitted it, she drops hints at it every so often. She did notice how all of Y/n’s high school crushes ended up liking her instead, and did notice how whenever Y/n tried to date, she would barely mention them to her. It was as if she was hiding them from her, completely intimidated that Savannah would take away her only chance at a relationship.

And Savannah can’t shake the horrible feeling she has when Y/n admits all of it to her.

Y/n buries her face in her shoulder, her tears soaking through her t-shirt. She wishes she could hold a grudge against Savannah, but she doesn’t have the heart to blame her for anything that’s happened. Everything is because of Y/n, everything happening is because of her fear of emotions and every bit of her has no one else to blame.

“I need him.” Y/n sobs into her shoulder, her hands tugging at the ends of her shirt for some sort of release.

“I need him so much. And I hate it—I hate that I do so m—much.”

“Oh, Y/n.” Savannah kisses her temple, holding her higher against her.

She knows how much Y/n needs him, and knows now more than ever. She was her happiest when she first met him, she was almost an entirely different person. But now, after everything that’s happened, Savannah has never seen her more of a wreck than she is in this moment.

“Let’s sit you down, you need to breathe.”

Y/n whimpers as she’s placed back on the bed, Savannah reminding her to breathe every couple of seconds. She looks at Y/n with sadness in her eyes, comforting her whenever she needs it most.  

“He needs you, too, you know.” Savannah sighs, shaking her head as she takes Y/n’s fidgeting hands into hers.

“I never noticed it until you distanced yourself from us. He didn’t open up to me the way he should have, never talked to me the way he had with you. When I asked him about it—asked him why he wasn’t communicating with me properly, he always mentioned you.”

Y/n flutters her eyes shut, pursing her lips with the slight possibility that Harry may actually feel the same way towards her. There was always a part of her that fully believed the only reason he’s tried so hard to reach her was because he felt guilty for hurting her so much.

But knowing that there’s a chance in Harry reciprocating feelings gives Y/n an overwhelming sensation she’s ever experienced before. It’s the first time in a while there’s a particular type of warmth in her chest, and she swears she begins to tear up from the bit of happiness she’s been missing.

“He would tell me that you were the only one he truly felt comfortable around. Even confessed you were the only one he’d ever be able to talk to, even if we were in a relationship. He was going absolutely mental.”

Savannah sweeps the pad of her thumb under Y/n’s eye, catching the few extra tears that are overflowing. She smiles weakly at her in reassurance, raking her knotted hair between her fingers.

“No matter how much he claimed to like me, he loved you. He’ll always love you. And even when he was completely oblivious, I know now that, deep down, he was always yours. He was never really mine, no matter how much we all thought differently.”

Y/n nods slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips when she hears Savannah’s words. It’s the first sense of hope she’s felt in a while, and it almost completely rids the pain. Almost.

“I’m sorry for ruining your relationship, though. I kind of feel like this is all my fault.”

Savannah laughs softly, finding it almost completely unbelievable that Y/n always finds a way to apologize, even when things aren’t her fault.

“Are you serious, Y/n? Nobody, including me, can love that man half as much as you do. I ruined your relationship. You barely had anything to ruin.”

She runs her hands through Y/n’s hair one last time before patting her shoulder, a smirk growing on her face as she stands up from her kneeling position.

“Now, up you go. I believe you have to talk to someone who’s been dying to see you.”


It’s when Y/n is about to walk out of her door, freshly showered with a new change of clothes, ready to face Harry when she realizes she never, truly said it.

She never fully told Harry she loves him—not when he was conscious, at least. She had felt it for so long. It has taken over her for so long, yet she never told him how she felt. It almost makes her wonder if it’s the reason why he’s been trying so hard for her.

He needs to hear her say it.

“Y/n.” Harry breathes out, springing from his position on the ground up to his feet when he sees her step out to her front porch.

He twitches when he instinctively brings his hand up to reach for her, but he holds himself back. He isn’t quite sure how far she’ll allow him to go, but if it were up to him, every part of her would be against him. 

Every single part.

She sucks in a breath, not expecting to see him waiting on her doorstep, and certainly not expecting him to seem so relieved to see her.

“H—Harry,” she whispers hesitantly, brows furrowed and a small frown on her lips “what are you—“

“I’m sorry!” He stutters, interrupting her before she has a chance to finish asking her question.

“I know how inappropriate it is of me to just sit on your doorstep so unexpectedly but I knew Savannah was coming and I thought—I thought that maybe this would be the only time I’d get to see you. I was going to come in but some guy came running out of here and I didn’t want to get in between your time with Savannah so I just figured I’d wait until you came back out but I wasn’t sure if you ever would so I just figured I'd—“

He stops rambling when he feels Y/n’s hand on his cheek, her eyes looking at him with so much tenderness he swears his heart melts.

“Catch your breath, Harry.” She mumbles, rubbing her thumb along his cheek, “Just take a breath.”

He inhales sharply as he closes his eyes, turning his head so that her hand is against his lips. He kisses her palm softly before she moves it to play with his unbrushed hair.

His eyes flutter shut at her touch, his body almost completely melting into her. He feels his weakest now more than ever, and he’s never been more relieved to be this close to her again.

“Who was he, Y/n?” He whispers.

“The guy, who ran out of here, who was he?”

As much of a coward as it makes him, the thought of her in bed with someone else physically and mentally pains him more so than he’s ever expected. His head swims with thoughts of her naked, trembling, crying as she devotes her love to some other man. And the more he thinks about it, the sicker his stomach feels.

“Have I been trying for nothing? Have I been wasting my time?”

How could you ever doubt my love for you? is the first thought that comes to her. How could you ever question how much I love you?

Instead of saying the words right at the tip of her tongue, her eyes crease inward, slightly shaking her head as she scrapes her fingertips delicately against his scalp.

“I don’t know, Harry.” she whispers honestly, “I don’t know who he is.”

He nods softly, but nothing in her answer reassures him. He knows there is no other explanation for a guy to run out of her house at nine in the morning without a shirt on.

“May I come in? Wanna talk.” He asks tentatively.

Instead of answering, Y/n grips his hand softly in hers as she opens the door wider—allowing him in and insisting he make himself at home.

Silence falls between them as they both claim spots on opposite sides of the room. 

There’s a tension in the room they both can’t seem to shake, an unaddressed barrier between them making it nearly impossible to find an appropriate way to start a conversation.

Harry’s the first one to break the silence, however, after a few minutes past of each of them refusing to make any eye contact with each other. 

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

The question caught Y/n’s attention quickly, her head that was once resting in the palm of her hand now up on its own, a small “hm?” parting past her lips.

She’s acting dumb even though she knows exactly what he’s talking about. She just isn’t prepared to answer him, not in the way he wants her to.

“That you’re in love with me. Were you ever going to tell me?”

She shrugs, her teeth biting her bottom lip as she tears her gaze away from his. She isn’t used to confrontation, especially when it involves her emotions. It’s one of her weaknesses, but there’s absolutely no way around this one. Even if there was, she wouldn’t have the audacity to take it. He deserves to know—everything this time.

“I told you before.”

Harry’s jaw clenches, eyes narrowing as he looks at her from across the room. No, he may have been oblivious about her feelings in the beginning, but he sure as hell would never have forgotten it if she told him how she felt.

“Bullshit!” He scoffs. “You didn’t tell me shit! We wouldn’t be here right now if you had told me!”

She sighs, her cheek laying right back down in the palm of her hand, almost as if shying away from him.

“Well, it’s just—you were sleeping.”

Harry stands from his place on the couch, face scrunching in aggravation as his hands rub up and down his face. Everything about this situation is knawing at his bones and he feels like it’s stranging him. 

“You’re kidding me, right? You have to be fucking kidding me right now!”

His fingers harshly grip the roots of his hair before stomping his way towards her. If he doesn’t get any answers out of her, he swears he’ll lose his goddamn mind even more than he already has. 

His hands grip the sides of her face, squeezing her jaw between his hands as he looks at her bewildered.

“I need answers, Y/n. I don’t think you understand how many fucking answers I need right now.”

He speaks through clenched teeth and a tightened jaw, frustration boiling in his blood as she gives him the outright most ambiguous and outrageous answers he’s ever heard in his life.

Y/n places her hands on top of his, her fingernails digging gently into his skin. Despite the harshness of his stare, this is the first time she’s seen him in weeks, and she still finds him to be the most beautiful sight she’s ever seen.

“It was the night after I drove you back from Lexi’s—when you and Savannah were kind of going through that rough patch.”

He falls to his knees in between her legs, an almost unnoticeable smile tugging at his lips from the memories of that night. Because although Savannah had left him by himself, he had a night with Y/n that changed him forever.

“You fell asleep on me after you told me you were still going to fight for her. That was probably one of the worst things you could have said to me, but you didn’t know, and I was angry at myself for not telling you sooner. I didn’t know how else to tell you unless you were—you were sleeping.”

His hand reaches up to her lips, his thumb tracing along the outlines of her mouth once she’s done speaking. No matter how much she confuses him, and no matter how fucking angry she makes him, he wouldn’t want to be staring at anybody else right now.

“I loved you then, too” he whispers, “I didn’t know it. I didn’t know anything until you left me. I knew you meant everything to me, I knew you were the only one I trusted so deeply. But the second I lost you, I felt empty.”

He presses his forehead against her collarbones, her heart beating quickly against his neck. She sighs, her fingers intertwining with his against her lap as her hips slide more towards the edge, her knees supporting the sides of his chest.

“Didn’t matter that I had Savannah. She was lovely, don’t get me wrong, but she wasn’t you. I tried so hard to make myself believe I was just missing you as a friend, but there was nothing that convinced me.”

His tearful eyes looked into hers, both chuckling slightly at their current state. They’re both crying, both their hearts racing in their chests. If someone were to tell them now that there’s a feeling even remotely close to how beautiful they feel now, together, they wouldn’t have believed it for a second.

Y/n wipes away the loose tears on his cheeks while she sniffles, giggling softly at how stupid they probably look.

“I’ve always loved you, Harry,” she whispers, “there’ll never be a time that I stop. No matter how hard I try, my love for you is stronger.”

It’s when the words fall from her lips that Harry realizes all he needed was for her to hear her say it. Her voice is so sweet as she says it, too, and her eyes leave no trace of doubt when she looks into him.

He tries to hold back the irresistible urge to kiss her, but it’s completely impossible. His lips press softly against hers, both of them releasing moans at just how right it feels to be kissing one another. 

And after a while, their kiss isn’t the slightest bit romantic. It’s harsh, it’s desperate, it’s messy but it’s just what they need.

Harry crawls on top of her, his hands on every part of her they can touch. He groans when he feels her nails scratch down his back, leaving her giggling underneath him.

“Nobody makes me feel the way you do, Y/n. Nobody.