this is the worst nightmare of all of us

TITANS #18
Written by DAN ABNETT
Art and cover by BRETT BOOTH and NORM RAPMUND
Variant cover by DAN MORA
Retailers: This issue will ship with two covers. Please see the order form for details. Includes a code for a free digital download of this issue.
“The Rise of Troia”! Wally West is dead, the Titans are all but beaten and Donna Troy must go toe to toe with her worst nightmare—Troia—a twisted version of herself from the not-so-distant future, bent on destroying her friends and pushing Donna toward her own dark fate. Don’t miss the stunning issue that’s destined to change the Titans forever!
On sale DECEMBER 13 • 32 pg, FC, $3.99 US • RATED T

iwasapruneratfaverolles  asked:

PLEASE TELL THE CHILDREN THE STORY OF MS. STUBELS

Grace fuck, why would you invoke her name like that???

Okay, fine, gather round children, buckle up because we’re going on a bumpy ride back to everyone’s collective least favorite place: 7th grade.

Some background: I went to a very small Catholic school. One class per grade (we were the largest with 19 kids), everyone knew each other whether they wanted to or not. Despite basically every teacher and faculty members insistence that we were The Best And Most Special Class In The School and that everyone loved having us, the longstanding 7th grade teacher Mrs. O’Hara decided to retire in the summer of 2008, meaning the school had to find us a new teacher for the upcoming year. This would be like, the first new teacher in the school in a while, and as she was getting the ‘best class’, it was viewed as a Big Deal. Somewhere in like July or August we got a letter announcing Mrs. Stubel, and it came with a list of books to pick for the summer reading, and that was basically all the information we had.

So…the first day of class. She seems nice enough. Very…ditsy, I guess? It was very easy for her to get herself off topic while talking. She constantly paced around the room, never staying in one spot for longer than a second, complaining she has restless leg syndrome. Which like, I’m sure she did, but she was in the middle of introducing herself and then went on a 20 minute tangent about restless leg syndrome without anyone prompting her. It was almost like you could see her scattered thoughts flying around her head.

So anyone, she eventually gives somewhat of an introduction- she had only taught in public schools before, and kept worrying she ‘didn’t know’ how to teach in a Catholic school despite the entire class insisting literally nothing was different, you just teach the curriculum, twice a week we have religion class with Sister Mary King, that’s literally it (she still talked over us in worry), she told us about her kids, she told us about her obsession with Emily Dickinson, stuff like that.

And then she hands us this worksheet.

She’s like, “Oh, these are just some basic questions for you to answer! Just so I can get to know you guys better!” like in lieu of an icebreaker game, which is fine, but…the questions. The questions were all “What is your most haunting fear?”, “What is your deepest regret?”, “Have you ever experienced the pain of loss?”, “What was your worst injury?”, “What was your worst nightmare?”, all questions like that, and then on the back she wanted us to draw a gravestone and write out what we wanted our epitaph to be.

We were twelve year olds, mind you.

Oh my God and one girl missed the first day because of her grandmother’s funeral, so when she came the next day and saw what the teacher was insisting she do for homework, she almost had a panic attack? And the lady still made her do it? Literally who wants to think about death anymore at a time like that omfg.

Okay, so then we get to the summer reading book reports, right? Now, she had given a list of maybe, 20 books that you could pick from, read it, and then present an oral report on it. You had to have notecards and you had to be able to answer questions from the class at the end. All in all, I’ve had worse projects.

So, on this list, she apparently put Madeleine L’Engle’s entire book series on the list…only she did not make it known that this was a series and not multiple stand alone books, so when reports started up it caused mass-panic of kids trying to put together plot points and make connections on what the hell they had read.

I was the only kid in the class who had chosen to read “A Wrinkle In Time”, and that has since lead to a series of events that…really actually scares me, I’m still incredibly freaked out, I’m not going to get into it right now because it’ll take away from the current story, but just know that I’m not above wondering if it only happened because I read the book for Stubel.

Anyway, so like, I got through the report okay. The class asking questions about it was fine, but the teacher kept asking questions that didn’t make sense, like, at all. My friend Angie has always had super neat handwriting and Mrs. Stubel got like, obsessed with her notecards and asked if she could borrow them for something. When we got our grades back a few weeks later, Angie had points taken off for not having notecards.

And then her teaching just…didn’t happen. She’d never stay on a topic, she’d always get herself distracted! We were not learning anything. And like, this wasn’t a class of advanced smart kids that loved to learn. By all accounts we should’ve been thrilled. But it got out of hand. It got to points where we had to start teaching lessons to ourselves, asking teacher from other grades for help, always coming home in tears, complaining constantly to our parents and the principal because this woman wasn’t teaching us anything. There were two kids who asked her multiple times for extra help, and she told them each time to ‘talk to me after school’, but then she’d leave immediately after school so they wouldn’t be able to talk to her. They finally brought up the issue in the middle of class and she had a breakdown, yelling about how nobody ever thinks that maybe the teacher has a lot of work to do, and maybe she’s entitled to taking off early, but when we tried to argue she shouldn’t schedule meetings and then break them off in the name of relaxation, she stormed out of the room and tried to get the principal to give us detention. (Which, like, our school didn’t even do, and she was the only one in the wrong during this situation) We are still in September at this point, and already at least ten kids have parents considering transferring them to another school. (And remember, there was only 19 of us, and most of the class had been together since preschool, so that was a big deal).

Then, she starts coming in with all the weird bruises. All the Moms™ immediately started gossiping that her husband had to be beating her, and that’s why she was so screwy in the head. But the way she talked about her husband made it seem like he *might* be dead, and we actually did witness her fall and smack her head into a doorknob once, so no one really knew what to believe. (Also, I’m not trying to imply that abuse would make someone crazy or ‘damaged’ or anything, this is just what was being said. I think they were trying to turn her into a more sympathetic character, because if you feel sorry for her you don’t have to hate her for frustrating your kids so much, and Hate Is A Bad Emotion.)

Also…this woman and Emily Dickinson.

She talked about Emily Dickinson every chance she could get. None of us knew who Emily Dickinson really was before she got there and you could see in her mind it was a capitol offense. She found out the curriculum didn’t have room to cover her (because like, we had a text book), and was way too upset about it. She started reading her poems whenever she found the time (usually somewhere in history class), and always gave us very detailed accounts about her dressing up as Emily and reading her poetry at the library.

Now, two things to note here:

  1. The library did not hire her to do this. She would literally just get in the mood, put on an Emily Dickinson costume that she made by herself, drive to different libraries, and just read poetry out loud to everyone there until someone eventually asked her to leave.
  2. The way she described these events…her tone, the look on her face, her posture…you could just tell that she was getting some sort of sexual gratification out of this? Like dressing up as Emily Dickinson in public and reading her sad poems is really what got this lady’s jollies rocking? Got her all hot and bothered? Which is…a lot, but why would you tell a bunch of seventh graders about it holy shit. What about that sounds like a good idea! What about that turns you back on!

So anyway, we learned a lot about Emily Dickinson against our will.

One of the Davids™ was reading a book for pleasure- which shouldn’t have been a shocker, a lot of kids always had books on them, but Stubel got really interested and asked if she could borrow it from him. He was like ‘sure, after I finish it?’ but she took it that day. He asked her for it back for like five weeks straight.

And…the strudels.

Okay, so the school was trying some dorky thing to promote ~togetherness~ or some virtue or something, I don’t remember the specifics of why, but each class had to make a huge themed poster and hang it on the wall outside the classroom. Which was like, whatever, not the most thrilling project but at least it allowed us to be productive vs just sitting there as the teacher runs about the room rambling about her family vacation from four years ago. Mrs. Stubel decided we needed a quirky nickname and after like three days of deliberation we were christened “Stubel’s Special Strudels”!

(points for alliteration or whatever, but no one actually voted for that and what exactly do strudels have to do with Catholicism? It became a big running joke amongst the kids)

Also, in case you were wondering, she didn’t explain the assignment correctly to us- so every other class had like these beautiful, artistic, well-themed and put together posters, while ours was just…literally a bunch of shit thrown together on paper. Nothing fit with each other, it was literally embarrassing to look at.

But then…she wouldn’t drop the strudel thing. Like she kept bringing it up. She got really into strudels and would just tell us random shit about them. Finally, someone jokes that we should get strudels one day for a party (like instead of a pizza party), and she’s Freaking Out and On Board. She really wants to buy us strudels and have a breakfast party now. She talked about it for like two days straight.

So like… you know in school when you would have a pizza party, usually the teacher would buy it? That’s how they always happened in my experience (not counting the last day of 10th grade when some kid had pizza delivered to the school for lunch but it didn’t get there until math class lol). But especially in grade school? Like if it wasn’t a PTA made party that’s super organized, the school would buy the food, right? Right?

Yeah, so she was like, if this is happening you guys need to give me the money. Just give me the money and then I’ll pick them up on my way to work!! And after some arguing some kids are on board. Strudels should only cost a couple dollars right?

And she’s like, oh no, I’m gonna get them from this high end bakery near my house so it’ll be special, but they’re not cheap and it’ll be a big order! I’m gonna need like fifteen dollars from each of you!

And at this point I’m just like…lady. Come on. 

But she keeps insisting. She’s not gonna go until every student in class pays up.

And I’m like…I’m poor. I don’t even like strudel.  And some of the less-naïve kids are siding with me.

And then she pulls that “you guys are just spoiling all the fun for your classmates” shit, like the naïve kids who already paid up, so it gets to the point where we just gotta cave and give her the money.

(I ended up stealing it out of my Crazy Bitch Aunt’s wallet so it’s whatever, I guess.)

And then of course, shockingly enough, every morning she was met with “where are the strudels?” and every morning she went wide eyed, slapped her forehead and yelled in embarrassed horror “I totally forgot! Tomorrow, guys, I promise!”

Honestly, with how scatterbrained and confused she always was…like to this day I can’t tell you with 100% certainty whether she hustled us or was just actually forgetting about the damn pastries, I choose to lean towards the hustled us side because that’s just the type of people I’m used to, but if I found out it was innocent forgetfulness I wouldn’t exactly be surprised.

She couldn’t handle more than one person talking at a time. Like, we’d have break periods, or group work, or something and all the talking made her go wide-eyed and batty. She’d look overworked and anxious and would be darting around the room trying to do work or something but she couldn’t focus and she’d yell at anyone who tried to talk to her directly. I remember one time she was using this boys desk for something so he asked “where am I supposed to sit?” and she snapped “Sit on the ceiling for all I care!”. And this kid was the Class Clown™ , so he immediately grabbed a chair in one hand and started climbing the bookcase to try and reach the ceiling. She’s standing right next to this and doesn’t even notice. He got all four chair legs planted on the ceiling and was trying to somehow maneuver his way into the chair (I really don’t know what the plan was exactly- he was really tall and it was a small building, so I think he probably had the idea that if he can get his body upside down and in the chair, and stretch out his arms like a hand-stand to hold onto bookcase, he could arguably sit on the ceiling.) but he slipped. Crashed into my desk and the two desks next to me, knocked over the book case, broke the chair in half and hit the desks with enough force to knock them down lower. It was hilarious. Everyone was loosing their shit cracking up (he was fine) and it still took Stubel like five minutes to notice his lying out across the desks right in front of her eyes. She was pissed but how did she miss any of it in the first place? She was barely being helpful in whatever it was she was trying to do.

This was the year the Phillies were going to the World Series, and all the grades were having a Phillies Rally in the cafeteria so a news crew was coming to the school and each class was supposed to come up with fun little cheers for them to broadcast. Multiple cheer ideas were presented to her and she vetoed all of them, someone even suggested just singing the damn eagles theme song with replaced words and calling it a day but she vetoed that too, she was very adamant that she could come up with a cheer all by herself and it’ll be the best one (whoever had the best cheer was winning like an ice cream day or something idk). And then like…literally five minutes before the rally she just hands us signs with the letters and was like ‘we’re just gonna spell out Phillies it will be cute won’t it my strudels???’. We were the weakest class there, predictably. I think we lost to the kindergarteners. There might still be a video online of me yelling “ i “ passionately at the top of my lungs. It was online bc our cheer was so bland the news crew cut it out of the broadcast.

I literally can’t say enough about how she never taught us anything. She’d be going on some tangent about how she doesn’t understand the science behind skiing, and I’d be like “Okay yes but please can you just tell me where Romania is on a map???” And she’d start fights whenever someone actually wanted to learn. It was so easy to get her angry but so hard for her to stay on topic. Kids started teaching the class themselves! Like seriously, she’d be rambling and one of us would just go up to the podium, open the teacher’s guide textbook and just start reading out loud and talking over her. By the time she noticed we’d be halfway through a lesson. And we understood it better than when she tried! You know something’s wrong when pre-teens are more qualified for a job than an adult who supposedly went to school for this.

We were in the church having run-throughs for our upcoming Confirmation and she almost set the church on fire…fifteen different times. In less than half an hour. How hard is it to hold a candle?

Okay, and here’s when stuff starts kicking up. It was October 28th, a Tuesday, and it was our last day of school that week because they were having parent-teacher conferences the rest of the week. So we were just hanging out, watching movies in class and reading (lord knows we weren’t learning), and Stubel calls me over to her desk.

So like, she had given everyone little bags with candy for Halloween, but I get up there and she hands me an extra one. And she’s like “Molly I know your birthday is tomorrow and I bought you a present but I left it on my coffee table this morning by accident! So just have the candy for now!”

And I’m like….”Ma’am I’m like, the sixth birthday this year. You didn’t give anyone else presents?”

And she goes “Oh, I know but this is a special secret surprise. I just know you’re gonna love it! Do you wanna stop by my house later this week to pick it up or should I just give it to you Monday after school?”

And like…In writing this sounds like a non-threatening exchange, and like, it was, but I felt so uncomfortable holy shit. I’m looking over my shoulder and shooting my friends SOS signals. Something about this felt so weird in my gut omfg. I told her thanks and I’d just see her Monday.

So we flash forward to Wednesday- my 13th birthday, the day the Phillies won the world series, and also the day my mother innocently strolled into the school for her meeting only to be met with screaming, the sound of heavy destruction, and the school secretary Mrs. Daily running at her in a panic, waving her arms and yelling “YOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED YOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED GET IN MY OFFICE NOW!”

So my poor mother, who thought she could handle this whole meeting in a few minutes and barely be an hour late for work, is now barricaded in the front office with the school secretary, as the noises from down the hall get louder and louder. The woman explains that they had gotten so many complaints about Mrs. Stubel that this morning, when she got to the school, the principal Sister Patricia called her in and said “Listen, we need you to be professional and still have the parent conferences, but we have to let you go. We just don’t think you fit in well here, and the kids need to come first and feel comfortable in their school.” and like, I’m paraphrasing because I wasn’t there, but we all know she was very polite and professional about it.

Mrs. Stubel, however…was not.

She flipped her chair and stormed out of the office, and locks herself in the seventh grade classroom. She started wrecking the shit out of that place, screaming obscenities and the top of her lungs, they had to call the cops on her! She was locked in there for almost an hour! And let me just give you a nice little list of everything she did in that classroom:

  • Smashed three windows.
  • Threw everything off her desk and carved swear words all over it.
  • Got cleaning fluid that she knew would damage the chalk boards, smeared it all over.
  • Cracked the chalk boards by repeatedly smashing chairs against them.
  • Wrote swear words all over the walls and on desks
  • Went into students desks, ripped up their books.
  • Stole my glasses. (which were in my desk bc I only used them in class at the time)
  • Threw some desks around.
  • Carved swear words into the boards. (there was so much carving I’m assuming she just had a knife on her person, which has to lead to the question, did she have a knife on her while she was in class with us?)
  • Physically ripped the hooks to hang backpacks on out of the wall.
  • Knocked the closet door off it’s hinges.
  • Ripped up all the books in the bookcases and threw their pages all around the room.
  • Wrote lewd phrases inside student’s desks.
  • Broke multiple chairs.
  • Used her podium as a battering ram against the wall that’s in front of where the backpacks go. (the wall won but Damage Was Inflicted)
  • Set a fire in the trash can.
  • When the principal and other teachers started trying to get in, she tossed her rolling chair at the door to scare them off.
  • She was screaming curse words at the top of her lungs the entire time, and cursing the school and the kids and the principal and the church in general, and the school building was small, so all the parents and the smaller children that had to come to the meetings (who were locked in their respective classrooms in fear) heard everything.
  • So much more? But it’s 4:30 in this morning and this list is already long.

So my mom is in the front office and deadass the

entire police force

shows up, running down the hallway to the classroom yelling at her to stop, and it takes a while for them to get her out holy shit. They knocked down the door and she tried to escape out of one of the broken windows! But they got her and dragged her out.

So of course, in such a small school with very involved parents this shit spread like wildfire. The entire town knew within the day. The poor principal called the newly retired old-seventh grade teacher and was like “So we…need some help” and the lady was like “I already heard I’ll be there Monday” omfg. I remember I got a text from one of my classmates saying “if your birthday wish was for us to be set free from the beast I love you” omfg.

So, we eventually go back to school on Monday and everyone’s buzzing. The principal has us go to the cafeteria and she ‘delicately’ explains the situation, and that the old teacher is coming out of retirement for us, the school has a restraining order against Mrs. Stubel now and that she’s sorry we had to deal with this mess. Our classroom had to go under some heavy reconstruction before we could be let back in there, so for like two weeks we alternated between the cafeteria and the preschooler’s classroom, we had no books or anything, just provided loose-leaf paper and pens. It was like, surreal, but everyone was just so happy to be rid of her and to be in the presence of a competent teacher omfg. We eventually were able to get back into our usual classroom.

  1. It took a while for things to go completely back to normal, though. After the big spectacle she made, for weeks after she was fired we were all very scared of the possibility of Mrs. Stubel returning to the school with a gun in hand. It was always a topic we whispered about at lunch with wide eyes and shivers. Like…genuine nightmare scenario.
  2. About two weeks after she was fired, a boy in the back of the classroom gasped loudly during SSR, and when we all looked at him, he whispered in anger “She never gave us our freakin’ strudels!”
  3. About three months after she was fired, we were lined up at the door to go to Library when a few of us looked through the windows and saw something darting through the trees. It was fast and we couldn’t make anything out, so we let it drop. When the class and teacher returned half and hour later, the book she had borrowed months before from one of the boys was sitting on his desk. It was just laying there, the room was silent, nothing had been disturbed…but I have never seen a book look so threatening. People were freaking out. Someone kept insisting that she turned the book into a bomb. No one figure out how she got in the school, and no one could figure out how she got it on the right desk, as we had switched the seating arrangement since she had last been there.  
  4. A full six months after she had left, it was nearing the end of the school year and our class was dicking around during our last computer class. Someone found a website (that we weren’t allowed to be on) that pulls up any police records attached to whoever’s name you enter, so someone decided to search Mrs. Stubel as a joke. We ended up finding out she had like six DUI’s.

Aaaaand that’s the story of the horrendous teacher I had for two months in 7th grade. One of my favorite party stories but tbh she still haunts me™ .

R O M A N C E (poem about glamourising mental-health)

• R O M A N C E •


don’t make it sound romantic,
It’s like drowning in the Atlantic,
it’s not a fan-fic,
I can’t stand it,
so now I’m ranting,
and the notion,
of this emotion is rancid,

OCD is a never-solving riddle,
I don’t ‘wash my hands a little’
or put my stationary in the middle,
it’s bigger than an acronym,
it’s not fun, a fad, that’s rad,
it’s telling my mum and dad,
that the kid they had
is sad,
and quietly going mad;

it’s pills and fluoxetine,
being eighteen, nineteen,
quiet screams,
and routines,
than you follow like an order,
clean your phone, your glasses,
your school bag,
your schoolwork goes in the bin,
because you don’t like who touched it
and now you’re failing all of your classes,
time passes,
and this illness harasses
you
like a person on the street
a bully at your feet,
makes you retreat

so you have social anxiety right?
but you’re at a party every Saturday night,
when there’s people who might,
not even go to the store because they’re afraid of the line,

OCD is being constantly indescive
a “where shall I sit?”
when a phobia becomes violent,
and you can’t make up your mind
about where your mind is,

when your body is a canvas and you paint in red,
wear long-sleeves in the summer,
to cover where razors bled,
kissed your skin and fled,
and now you can’t get out of bed
but at least self-harm,
gets you out of your head,

being depressed isn’t being tired
it’s an anchor in your chest,
bulimia isn’t pretty,
it’s sickly,

and imitating false anorexia
doesn’t make you sexier,
but don’t say it’s for boys to text you,

it’s not an attribute
it’s a weapon, a noose,
do you also find knives attractive?

social media is interactive
but it can hold you captive,
don’t adapt to it,

don’t make it glamorous,
your illness is not a model,
it doesn’t pout for cameras,

a panic attack
is a blood curdling scream
that no-one hears,

and I’m not trying to offend,
I just want to comprehend
How my worst nightmare, become my generations trend?

maybe we’re shining a spotlight on this and diluting the stigma,
or maybe the whole thing has just become an enigma,
a balancing act, where no-one can say the right thing, so we all just stay silent,

I’m not an advocate
who wants you to cut,
and please nourish yourself
don’t starve and punish yourself,

it’s not a game, it’s not playground fun,
a trigger isn’t just something on the architecture of a gun,

it is not a small irritation,
frustration,
it’s not an infatuation
you use to impress your generation

I’m tired of these stereotypical claims,
categories and lanes,
young adult novel popularity
where the girl is just something to save
when she’s a slave,
to the way
her mind behaves,

I lost the best years of my life to these chains,
and I refrain from ever falling into that rabbit hole again,
just because tumblr taught me to glorify my pain,
I write poems on there too,
but they’re a helping hand
not a brand,
I wear because it’s cool

the real victims lost their voices,
so you can call this a mouthpiece,
bipolar disorder is not being moody,
it’s not some alternative niche,

I collapsed in my bathroom,
have metal plates in my jaw,

so it’s important to speak while you can,
turn a whisper into a roar.

4

Crippling insecurities and carelessness get the better of us all, even Kings

Harry Fake Dates Kendall but is in Love With You

A/n: This is an updated version of an imagine I’ve previously uploaded. I know Hendall is so 2015. I get it.

Masterlist linked in bio.


The red wine leaves a particular stain on Harry’s lips that he hadn’t noticed until Kendall pointed it out to him.

“It looks like you’re wearing lipstick” she laughs, “I didn’t know you were going to dress up this much for the party.”

They are currently sat at his mum’s kitchen island, drinking red wine while munching on some chips left out for the guests. The house is filled with familiar faces, friends and family all throughout London coming together for Anne’s birthday celebration.

They hosted one every year for as long as Harry could remember, a time of year where nearly every one of his family members, including his step family, would unite. It was their favorite time of year, believe it or not. Despite all the excitement for the holidays, Anne’s birthday celebration was certainly something special.

It was Kendall’s first time attending, considering the fact that Harry had only really talked to her whenever he was assigned to be with her for publicity. It wasn’t always ideal, however, he built a stable friendship with her, so he didn’t mind the extra company with him from time to time.

She was invited last minute, of course, since his management called last night to ask if there was any way for them to be seen together. With Harry’s new movie coming out and his solo album just released a couple weeks ago, it was almost a given for him to be rumored with a girlfriend. That’s how it’s worked all throughout his career.

He normally wouldn’t have minded, however, this was the worst possible date for him to be with Kendall.

Because it’s Anne’s birthday party, this means that it’ll be the first time in one year that he’ll be seeing Y/n. They have been best friends since they were five years old, basically growing up in the same house as they went through school together. But as time went on, and as they both went to their separate ways, it was hard to keep in touch with each other all the time.

She remained in the small towns of London while Harry was traveling world wide, where his name became known everywhere as Y/n’s was only known through people she attended school with. Of course, they still talked, considering they both admitted to having more than friendship feelings, but their lives were busy in their own ways, preventing them from being more than what they wanted to be.

For the past couple months, Harry planned that this would be the day he’d finally move forward with Y/n. Or, at least attempt to. With the loss of her over the past year, it made Harry realize just how much he couldn’t imagine a life without her. It had been so long—too long, and he couldn’t stand how long he’s lived without keeping in touch with her.

But now, everything he planned for the two of them is becoming impossible. He can’t begin to imagine how Y/n would feel knowing he brought Kendall to his mum’s birthday party after they both confessed their love for each other. In all honesty, he wouldn’t blame her for giving up on him. He keeps doing this to her, even if it’s unintentional.

He watches around the kitchen at the guests he hasn’t seen in quite a while. His leg bounces with impatience when each new person walking in to attend the party isn’t Y/n. It’s been nearly an hour and has never been so late to anything before.

And as horrible as it sounds, he almost wishes she doesn’t come, just so that she can avoid the heartbreak that will come when she reunites with Kendall again.

“I’m sorry I’m late!”

Harry’s head whips around when he hears the voice he’s been deprived of for the past year. The first thing he notices are her lips, and the way they move around her words so softly. They’re slightly glazed with a lipgloss, painting her lips with a rosy shade of pink. They look so much fuller to him now, but he knows not a trace of them are artificial.  

His eyes only drift from the shape of her lips when her fingers reach to tuck loose pieces of hair behind her ear. It’s then he notices just how much shorter her hair has gotten. What was once so long and lank is now falling just above the shoulder, set in luscious curls he can only imagine twisting around his fingers.

His jaw goes slack when he sees the pale pink dress she’s wearing. It’s made from silk, the metallic fabric glowing with each step she takes. He gulps when he notices just how much the dress accentuates the curvature of her body and how much of her legs are put on display for him to see, and he can’t help but to wipe the sweat off his palms when he watches her greet his mother with a proper kiss on the cheek.

He notices that his eyes haven’t shut since he’s seen her, but he’s so completely intrigued by how much has changed in her. Something about her seems so much more real—so much more vibrant—and he can’t seem to stop himself from praising how time has done her so goddamn well.

“You never told me she was going to be here.“

His body jerks at Kendall’s sudden appearance, her body slowly occupying the seat next to his at the kitchen island. If it wasn’t for her, he swears he would have caught himself drooling.

“Didn’t think I had to,” he says with a shrug, “she’s been my best friend since we were five. She’s basically apart of this family, she wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

Y/n hasn’t missed a single one of Anne’s birthday celebrations since she’s known Harry. Their bond is irreplaceable—so irreplaceable, in fact, that Anne has been convinced Y/n is a miracle for their family. She was there for them through all the troubled times; helping them through their hardships and family instabilities.

When Anne and her husband first got divorced, Harry and Y/n were seven. Harry didn’t understand much of what was happening, all he knew was that his mum and dad weren’t going to love each other anymore. He was hurting, even when Gemma was there to try and keep him together. He started to believe everything between his parents was a lie.

She understood the whole separation process. Her mum left her at a young age, leaving her alone with her father. They were close, of course, but she always missed having a mother figure in her life. It made her upset to know she could only listen to one voice in the house, but as she grew older, she accepted it more.

By the time she met Harry, he kept bringing her over to his house as the years went on. Anne was the closest she had to mother, and their bond became unbreakable by the time Y/n was a teenager. Nearly seven years of Y/n being like another member of the family, Y/n started buying Anne Mother’s Day cards.

So when Y/n watched her second family fall apart, along with Anne’s heart, and she was determined to patch them back together again. Even at her young age, she’d pick flowers from her garden and give them to Anne everyday after school. Y/n said they represented her, and how she felt being a woman with such love and beauty could die all too quickly. Harry never understood what it meant, but Y/n did, which is why she never stopped until she heard Anne laughing again.

She also started to draw pictures and write her letters, reminding her of how loved she was by everyone. As much as Anne was heartbroken during the time, she took the letters everywhere she went and kept every flower alive for as long as she possibly could. Anne would always tell Harry “That girl came into our lives for a reason, my love. She’s a special one, our little miracle, never let her go. You hear me?”

Harry didn’t understand what it truly meant to let someone go, but he did his best to do anything but that. And now, as Harry sits on his mother’s kitchen island and seeing Y/n for the first time in a year, he feels he’s done just that.

“Guess not.” Kendall mutters, taking her last sip of the red wine left in her glass. “She’s just so strange, I guess. I can barely hold a conversation with her without her making an excuse to leave.”

Kendall and Y/n never really got along, it was extremely noticeable to everyone who held a conversation with the both of them. They just don’t see things in the same light. Y/n is very outgoing and lively; an extreme extrovert that seeks adventure—and Kendall can’t stand it. She thinks Y/n does it for attention, especially because she’s remained a small town girl while being surrounded by well-known celebrities. And even though it may seem like Y/n likes the attention, that’s not her purpose. She gives all her attention to others, never to herself, and it has always been something Harry loved the most.

And when it comes to Y/n, Kendall was that one thing that was constantly in her way of Harry. No matter how many times Harry and Y/n discussed how there was something between them, Kendall always found her way back to haunt her. She was her worst goddamn nightmare. She was perfect for Harry in the public eye, and nothing made Y/n feel worse than knowing she’ll never be her type of perfect, especially when it came to Harry.

But Kendall doesn’t know that. All she knows is that Y/n is extremely stand-offish with her, and she’ll never understand why.

“She’s not used to our lives. It’s extremely difficult for her to understand how we live, you know? She’s normal.”

Kendall scoffs, eyes rolling around the room because she hates that word. She feels so divided, like she’s in a categorization in society and everything about it makes her teeth clench.

“We’re normal, too, you know. I don’t understand why she feels so intimated and feels like she has something to prove.”

Harry’s jaw clenches slightly at the negative connotes Kendall has about Y/n’s life. Something about it makes his stomach twist the wrong way, and he can’t help the underlying growl in between his words.

“We’re not normal. Deep down, you and I both know that. You also don’t know Y/n, so stop making irrational assumptions about her.”

Kendall narrows her eyes at Harry, a gaze full of confusion and disbelief at the undeniable grumble in his tone. Any rational conversation they have about Y/n always end the same—with Harry quick to end the discussion and jump to her defense. It’s times like these Kendall never understood the true extent of Harry and Y/n’s relationship. They always claimed it was platonic but there has always been a sense of something stronger in them, like unaddressed or unchased feelings, or a past they shared that was kept between the two.

Either way, it annoyed the shit out of Kendall because they both were hiding something that she’ll never be able to get answered.

“Fine, whatever.” She sighs dramatically, scooting her chair back until she has room to stand properly. “Want some more wine? Getting some.”

Harry slides his empty wine glass so that it’s in front of her, muttering a small “yeah, thanks” before she’s on her way to the counter across the room, retrieving extra wine and mingling with some of Harry’s family.

Harry sighs while his head rests at the palm of his hand, eyes gazing directly to where Y/n is standing. His lips tug up lightly when he hears her laugh from the living room, his tongue running over his bottom lip ever so slightly as he watches her mouth lift and her eyes squint shut as she catches up with one of his uncles about his grand annual weekend fishing trip.

And as his eyes stay so transfixed on the woman in the other room, he can’t help but imagine seeing that type of perfection every day for the rest of his life.

“And everyone thinks Sweet Creature is about me..”

Harry’s head snaps to Gemma’s figure leaning over the edge of the island, her elbows hitched on the counter as a small smirk plays on her lips. She found it abnormally amusing how he didn’t even acknowledge her presence until she spoke, too invested in hawking over Y/n’s every move.

Harry grumbles, but the smile from Y/n’s laughter is permanent on his lips when he does so. Gemma even notices his cheeks brighten with pink, another hint of confirmation to the words she spoke.

“Shut up, Gem.“

She puts her arms up defensively, “Hey, don’t take it out on me. I’m just making an observation.”

Harry rolls his eyes as Gemma wraps her arm around his neck, hunching over so that her lips are close to his ear and eyes are directed toward Y/n again.

“She has gotten hotter, hasn’t she?”

She has no idea. All Harry can think about is how someone already so beautiful has grown to be so perfect. Everything about her makes Harry want to get down on his knees and worship every inch of her body. He has to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from thinking how much of a wreck he wants to make out of her.

“I don’t know how she did it. You better get her while you still have the chance, I know many, many men who want a taste of her.”

No is the first thing Harry thinks when the words leave from Gemma’s mouth. As hypocritical and selfish as it is, knowing other men have shown an interest in her makes his skin crawl. And he can’t help but feel his throat tighten at the moment Y/n realizes he had brought Kendall to this party.

“Is she—“ he can’t even finish his sentence without his jaw tightening again, hindering the rest of his question from leaving his lips.

“Oh, quit your worrying, H. She’s single, I don’t think she’d ever date someone who isn’t you. Besides, I don’t think you can do much about it with Kendall here.”

Gemma lifts a finger to where Kendall is standing, still in the same spot as she talks to his aunt Leslie. His heart hurts knowing what Y/n will feel when she finds out. He knows that there is always a part of her that feels discouraged whenever there’s a new woman in his life. In between Harry and Y/n’s love for each other was a mix of false hopes and miscommunication, and it always fucked them up whenever anything else was put in their way.

Gemma pats his shoulder before making rounds to her family and friends again, leaving Harry slumped against the counter with not a drop of wine to numb his scrambling mind.

When Y/n finishes catching up with the rest of Harry’s family, she finds that her patience is wearing thin. It’s been a year since she’s seen the love of her life, and knowing that he’s somewhere near her is enough to get her heart racing.

When she sees him sitting alone at the kitchen island, wearing his infamous pink suit and staring down at his fingers, it’s as if her body starts to malfunction. Her legs stop moving and her lips part, eyes glistening with admiration as she sees him for the first time in so long.

He’s as beautiful as ever, his new haircut accentuating his facial structure. His lips seem so much more red, too, which are complimented greatly by that goddamn suit. Everything about him radiates, like he’s developed into a whole other person. She’ll never quite grasp the idea that she’s about to reunite with him; something about it makes her palms sweat.

“Hey, stranger.”

Harry lifts his head up to look at her in all her glory. His heart warms at her presence more than the wine did, and he can’t help but to take a breath of relief when he finally hears her voice again.

“Y/n.” He breathes out, his fingers instinctively reaching up to the ends of her cut hair.

He chokes out a laugh of admiration when he sees her this close to him. She is so much different—so much more perfect than he ever remembers her being and it takes his breath away.

His fingers twist her hair, wrapping them around the digits before letting the strands fall back in place again. He never saw her without her hair down to her waist, and now that he has, he never wants to see her hair past her shoulders again.

“It’s so beautiful” he whispers, “you look so beautiful like this, Y/n. I absolutely love it.”

She blushes, her chin tucking slightly into her neck as if trying to hide how much of a reaction he got out of her. No matter how many years she’s known him, she was never used to the way he spoke to her.

“It was spontaneous. Really wanted a change, and it looks like I’m not the only one.”

Her hands reach to his hair, which is so much shorter compared to the last time she saw him. She remembered she couldn’t keep her hands out of it last year, constantly finding ways to tangle her fingers at the ends. Harry found it hysterical, actually, and thought it was the cutest thing she’s ever done.

“It’s just so soft” she’d say, “it’s like a whole other world in there!”

But now her only option is to tangle her fingers at the roots, and as she does so, her mind drifts to all the other occasions she could have her hands in his hair again.

“It’s so much shorter. Look at that! I can barely tug on it anymore!” She laughs in amusement, her fingers slipping as she pulls too hard.

He smirks up at her, a giggle falling from his lips as he watches her utterly amused reaction. They begin to catch up with the part of their lives they both have missed. Harry talked about his album while Y/n started discussing her new journalism job.

Talking to Y/n is one of the only normal parts of him left, it always gave him a sense of grounding whenever he felt his career was taking off to heights he wasn’t ready for. She is one of the only sense of normality he has left in his life, and it’s another reason as to why he admires her so dearly. She brought out parts of him nobody else could reach, and it’s another reason why he feels so upset he’s barely talked to her.

“Y/n?” he asks hesitantly, reaching his hand over so that his fingertips graze her hand.

Her breath breaks when he touches her, the softness in his voice proving that what is about to be discussed is far more important than their previous conversation. She notices the stress lines in between his forehead and the parting of his wine stained lips when he begins to speak. 

“I’m so sorry I haven’t kept in touch with you. I know how it makes me look, especially after everything that happened between us. With the new album and everything, I’ve just been so busy with—“

“Kendall?”

Harry’s head jumps to where Y/n stares dumbfounded, Kendall holding two glasses of wine in one hand while the other is carrying a plate of chicken wings. She’s looking down at Y/n, too, her eyebrows lifted up in an intimidating manner. There’s a scowl present on her lips as she continues to tower over her.

Y/n feels tears building in her eyes as she takes in the situation at hand. She was so fucking dumb to think that Harry was going to come to Anne’s party alone, especially since his new album just released. This is Kendall’s prime time appearance, when Harry needs a familiar famous face beside him to advertise his solo career.

This isn’t anything new—this isn’t anything unfamiliar, but the pain feels like a fresh wound to her heart. Harry and Y/n are nearly 24, with having known each other and felt something for each other for years, she thought that if anything were going to happen, it was going to happen now. But everything between them has remained stagnant for so long that the last sliver of hope she had for their potential relationship has been completely taken away from her. By Kendall, again.

“W—Wow, I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t know Harry had invited you.”

“Yeah,” Kendall nods, “he invited me last night.”

Last night.

Y/n’s lips purse together, nodding her head as her eyes drift around the kitchen. Anything to avoid Kendall’s eyes—anything to feel as unimportant as she does now.

Harry’s eyes squeeze shut, a small hissing releasing from his tongue at how wrong it all sounds, considering absolutely nothing happened between Harry and Kendall the previous night besides being demanded that the two of them are to be seen together again.

“Right,” Y/n’s voice cracks, “well, I’m sorry to interrupt your time together. I’m going to go to Gemma’s room, got a phone call from my dad a while ago so I should go check up on him. I’ll see you guys around.”

She musters up a pathetic smile before practically running away from them. After everything they both told each other, after all the feelings they’ve had toward each other, how could Harry keep doing this to her? How could he keep being with Kendall when he says he loves Y/n?

She doesn’t even find the strength in her to hold in her tears before she approaches the steps, not daring to look back at them again. She never wants to see them in the same room again, it’ll be too much her heart can handle. 

“You’ve really got to be fucking kidding me, Kendall.” Harry growls.

His hands fist around the wine glass, his knuckles turning white and he’s absolutely shocked it hasn’t shattered into pieces in his hands from all the anger pulsing through his veins.

Jesus, Harry, neither one of you can take a joke. Does she not understand that all of this is for the press? She keeps acting like we’re a couple.”

“Could you really blame her after that? ‘He invited me last night,’ you’re really getting a kick out of making her uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

He grumbles as he takes a long sip of his wine, hoping that the alcohol loosens his muscles enough to restrain himself from doing anything he regrets. He loves his mum too much to start an argument during her birthday party, and as much as Kendall’s shifting Harry’s mood, he still appreciates her as a friend to ruin anything.

“That wasn’t even my fault, you both dug into that way too deep. Last night does not mean while we were fucking. It’s a time of day.”

“It’s the way you said it.”

“Are you being serious, Harry?”

He slams his glass down on the island, grumbling under his breath while he stands up from his chair. No matter how much anger is in him now, the only thoughts swirling in his brain are wondering if Y/n’s okay. She would have never left the party to go into a secluded room, not even if her dad called her.

“You leave her the fuck alone, Kendall. I mean it.”

He storms away from her, desperate to find Y/n because God only knows what’s really happening in that bedroom. Y/n’s emotions and feelings are always positive, always so bright, and he refuses to be the reason they turn upside down. She doesn’t deserve all he keeps doing to her, she doesn’t deserve him.

When Harry nearly swings himself onto the first step, he can already hear the soft murmur of Y/n’s and Anne’s voice, which makes him stop from approaching them any more than he has already.

“Y/n? Y/n, darling?” Anne asks with worry when she sees Y/n climbing up the top step with tears in her eyes, soft cries falling from her throat as her hand attempts to silence them.

She reaches an arm out for her, tugging at the front of Y/n’s dress slightly to get her attention. She’s grateful it was Anne who found her this way instead of any other guest at the party, considering nobody besides her and Harry have seen her with a frown on her face.

“Y/n, baby, what’s going on with you?”

The lights are off in the hallway, with no guests permitted in the area, which gives Y/n the proper time to fully allow her tears to fall down her cheeks.

“I’m so s—sorry, Anne.” Y/n cries.

Anne’s hands rub her shoulders, reassuring her that there’s absolutely nothing for her to apologize for. It also lets her know that she’s willing to listen to her, no matter where or when—she’ll always be there.

“I’m almost 24, Anne, and I’ve put so much of my life on hold for him.”

She knows instantly who Y/n’s talking about. It wasn’t difficult to notice the undying connection between Y/n and her son, especially as the years went on. They have grown so strongly together, there has never been a doubt in Anne’s mind that Y/n is going to be the girl Harry ends up marrying. Everyone in the family called it a destiny waiting to happen, but it has been so long since anything has happened between them, and Anne can’t help but feel heartbroken to know Y/n’s carrying the wrong idea about him and Kendall.

“And I’ve sacrificed so m—much to continue waiting for him, but I don’t think I can keep doing this anymore. We’re nowhere near where we should be, especially when he keeps spending time with Kendall and I just—I just don’t know if I can—“

“Oh, my darling.” Anne sighs, cradling Y/n’s head against her shoulder as she rubs down her back.

She shushes her through her tears, rocking her slightly in an attempt to calm her from her cries. It’s extremely rare for Y/n to feel upset, so when she does so, Anne knows she deserves all the comfort and love she can get.

“I know you so well, and I know my son. I always knew you were a match made in heaven, my dear. I knew from the start you were more than just an ordinary girl. You’re so special, to everyone in our family, but especially to him. He may not have his head screwed on right most of the time, but if I can promise you anything with all my heart, it’s that he loves you. Please, no matter what, never forget that.”

Y/n nods against her shoulder, thanking her through her violent cries before Anne insists she takes some time to herself. And as much as Y/n wanted to refrain from going into Harry’s bedroom, it’ll be the only place that brings her a sense of comfort.

Harry already knows he’s in for a lecture the second he sees his mum coming down the stairs with bewildered eyes. She grips his shoulders, her face tight with frustration.

“Mum—“

“You go over to her and you be the man I taught you to be, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes widen at her words, swallowing thickly at the thought of disappointing another person in his life.

“She loves you and you love her. Stop doing favors for other people and start thinking about you before you ruin both of your lives forever. You hear me?”

Harry nods feverishly, determined and more motivated than ever to fix all that he’s caused. Love comes first, always, and he needs to remember that before he breaks Y/n’s heart completely.

She’s it. She’s all that matters to him.

He barely responds to Anne before he’s racing to his old bedroom, completely clueless as to what he’s going to say, but willing to do anything to get her back.

“Y/n?” Harry calls through the door of his old bedroom. “Y/n, can I come in?” 

He knocks on the door lightly, just using the knuckles of his pointer and middle finger. He hears her feet pad over to the door, opening it to reveal her tear stained cheeks. Her hands are trembling against the knob, her breath broken with soft, gentle cries. Her eyes are widened with sadness, wet and red from tears she barely ever cries.

“Y/n.” He whimpers, tentatively reaching his shaking fingers up to her cheeks. He wipes away the tears from the bottoms of her eyes, sighing upsettingly as her eyes close at his touch. “Never seen you like this. Please talk to me.”

Her lips quiver as another sob rips through her, her hand reaching up to capture his between her fingers. Her saddened and wet eyes looking down at the intertwined hands now resting against her lap.

“I’m so tired, H.” She whimpers, “So tired.”

His lips press against her forehead, “I know, love. I know.”

She wraps her arms around him, her face burying in between his chest as he lets her tears soak in his undershirt.

“I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought I’d finally be alone with you after all this time. I missed being close to you, I wanted to be closer to you and I thought you felt the same about me and I didn’t understand, Harry, I didn’t get it and—“


“Hey, relax for me.” Harry mumbles, his lips grazing tenderly along her cheek.

She takes a deep breath, her fingers fisting the back of his suit tighter in her fists. She rests her chin on the top of his chest, tears still roaming down her face as she lets out an exasperated sigh. Her fingertips trace patterns on his back, her eyes fluttering closed as he pushes some of her hair off of her face, refraining them from sticking to her wet cheeks.

“I didn’t get it,” she whispers, “I was so confused, and when you didn’t answer my calls or texts I thought you didn’t find me important. And I was under no right to be upset about it, because you’re busy and you have priorities. But when I saw you today, I didn’t see you as the Harry I always have, I still can’t tell you what I saw but I wanted every part of you more than I ever have before. But when I saw Kendall I—“

Her cries and words die down when she feels Harry’s tender lips against hers. She’s taken aback at first, and before she has any time to really kiss him back, he’s already pulled away.

“Let me fix this.” He breathes out, “let show you that I only want you.”

His lips press against the side of her mouth, not allowing himself to kiss her the way he wants to until she lets him. They then begin to travel down her neck, along her jaw, around her mouth.

Y/n’s breath is stiff as he does so, embracing the feeling of his mouth against her skin. They’ve only ever kissed a handful of times, none of them being passionate or loving. They’ve shared pecks while saying goodbyes or after confessing their feelings, but none quite like this—none quite like the one anticipating to happen.

His breathing his hard when he continues to kiss along her skin, his fingers moving longly in her hair the more his mouth presses against her.

“Will you let me?” He whispers when his lips are ghosting over hers, “this okay?”

She nods feverishly, hitting the point of desperation when she feels his breath fan over the skin of her face. She’s been needing this for far too long now.

“Yes, please.

His thumb runs over her bottom lip one, two, three times before he finally leans in. Their lips mush together passionately, only breaking apart to move their position before locking again. Their tongues meet in the middle, making the both of them moan at the unfamiliar spark coursing through their veins.

Harry walks toward his bed until Y/n’s knees hit the edge of it, making her back meet the mattress. Their lips haven’t detached once, not daring to break away from the feeling they’ve both been deprived of.

They’re both making out on Harry’s childhood bed, grinding onto each other half naked like two hormonal teenagers. Their clothes thrown across the room, lips swollen from all the suction and nibbling, and hair completely knotted from either of their fingertips, the party below them long forgotten.

“Wait, wait wait wait!” Y/n gasps, lifting herself off of his chest.

Harry’s chest rises and falls rapidly, trying to catch his breath as he looks up at Y/n in confusion. He watches as a smirk lifts from her lips as she peers down at his flushed face, giggling slightly at his complete fucked out appearance.

She notices that his lips remained stained from the red wine—a little faded—but still making her body weak at the sight of it.

“’s the matter?” He croaks.

His voice is thick—an entirely different level of raspy, and Y/n wonders how she’s lived so long without hearing him speak in that way. Between all the kissing, all the touching, all the moaning, his voice has a particular roughness to it that Y/n could feed off of if she had to.

“We shouldn’t do this, right? I mean, we’re about to fuck during your mum’s birthday party. Your entire family and Kendall are downstairs, anybody could walk in at any second, or hear us, and your mum could find that so disrespectful and—“

Her rambling is interrupted by his lips, meeting hers passionately between her words.

There is no way in hell he’s leaving this room tonight. Everything that’s been stagnant between them is finally moving in the right direction, and he can’t find it anywhere in him to walk away from it.

“You think I’m letting you go now?” He whispers, his thumb running along her bottom lip. “I have been waiting for this moment with you since high school, sweetheart.”

His lips reattach to her neck, sucking on spots he hasn’t already left marks on, soaking up every bit of the time he has with her before it’s over. This is the first time they’re going to make love, and he wants to feel and remember every bit of this moment.

“B—But your mum—“ She moans, her fingers nearly tangling at the ends of his hair as she hisses in pleasure from his tongue.

“Every single person downstairs knows about us. This—this happening right now, has been expected to happen since I first brought you home. I guarantee you, nothing will make her more happy than knowing her son and his future wife are finally acting on our feelings instead of pushing them to the side again.”

His words make Y/n blush like no other; her cheeks turning the shade of pink on her dress she wore previously. It’s then he notices just hot fucking pretty she is in pink, how every tint of the color compliments her in ways he can barely wrap his head around.

“Future wife, hm?” She smirks, tapping the pads of her fingers against his bare collarbones.

He kisses her again.

“Thought you knew that, love. Wouldn’t know a single soul I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.” His fingers dig into her hips, “’s always been you.“

Y/n pushes Harry’s back against the mattress again, trailing her fingers down his torso. She giggles when his teeth clench at her touch, finding it almost irresistible to embrace the way he responds to her touch so easily.

“Trust me, I always knew.”

Try to rip people off with shady flipped houses? Watch me flip your bank account.

So I don’t think this is entirely pro, but this just happened and I’m quite pleased with myself. Sorry for how long it is, I’m a wordy person.

Background: my girlfriend and I have been trying to buy a house for a month or two. Housing market where we live is tough, we don’t have a huge income, most houses sell within 24 hours, etc so it’s been a struggle. About a month and a half ago we found a house that was PERFECT. In the neighborhood we wanted, 2 bed 2 bath, at the very top of our price range but still doable, etc etc. Best part is that it’s beautifully renovated, new roof, everything is new and gorgeous! We put in an offer, but get outbid by someone else (which is crushing, if you have yet to experience that).

We mourn and then continue searching for other houses….until we get a call from our agent saying that the other buyers backed out and the seller is offering it to us first before putting it back on the market.

A quick important note here: the seller is the owner, but is also acting as his own real estate agent, and he runs his own business buying foreclosures and flipping them. This is important later.

Keep reading

zimbits au wherein a run in with the lax bros leads to a run in with jack

Eric’s walking down the street, latte in one hand and phone in the other, only a very little bit lost on his spontaneous scenic detour to the library. He’s halfway through composing a tweet when several air-horns blast in his direction at once.

He swears, jumps about a mile out of his skin, and drops both his coffee and his phone.

The coffee, sadly, goes up before it comes down, and manages to splash all over his front before spilling across his shoes too. He quickly retrieves his phone from the pavement before it’s similarly attacked by the travelling coffee, and checks it over for damage. He sighs out when he sees it’s only a little scratched on the side of the case, and presses a palm to his chest to try and calm the furious beating of his heart.

He looks over to the house across the way, out of which several, men—actually, boys, Eric’s going to call them after that stunt—are laughing at him, and high-fiving each other. Eric flushes and screws his lips together, telling himself not to cry in front of them, not to give them the satisfaction.

“Hey! Dickfaces!”

Eric looks behind him to see a moustached man flipping the bird to the boys in the house across the street.

“Fuck off to your basement of inadequacy and wine coolers, you absolute shitfuckers.”

The boys don’t take his advice, but rather, blast their air-horns again which causes Eric to hunch up his shoulders.

“Hey, brah, you alright?” The man walks up to Eric and looks him over. “Shit, dude. They got you good.”

Eric sighs out, trying to keep his composure. “It’s alright. Thanks for telling them off.”

“Fucking LAX bros. I live for telling them off. Come on inside and I’ll help you clean up.”

Keep reading

rescued/escaped hostage starter sentences

“Calm down, calm down. It’s me! You’re not where you think you are, you’re safe with me at home.”
“You need to snap out of it, it’s a flashback. Nobody is going to hurt you anymore, trust me!”
“Help! I need help! Call the police, please. Help me! Don’t let him/her find me! I escaped, but he/she’s after me!”
“Listen, listen. You are going to be okay. He/she is locked away for good, alright?”
”It’s a very strange idea that someone will spend the rest of their life in prison because of what they did to me.”
”I don’t want her/him to go to prison. She/he did it because she/he loved me.”
“Can you please tell me what happened while you were… gone?”
”I never stopped thinking about you.”
”The police told me it would be best to assume you were dead, because of what might be happening to you otherwise… But I could never convince myself.”
“We kept your bedroom the way it always was… I understand if you’d want it changed, but I want you to know that we never lost hope that you’d come back home.”
“Is that– Is that really you? Oh my god! I can’t believe it’s you!”
“How do you feel after your first night home?”
“The police will need to ask you about what happened… but maybe you want to tell us first? You haven’t said a thing since we got you back!”
“We have imagined the worst things that could have happened to you. Please just tell us so we can try to move on and help you.”
“Shh, it was a nightmare. You’re in your own bedroom.”
“If you want to start living your old life, you’re going to have to start putting what happened to you behind you.”
“I can never be who I used to be! I was gone for years! And you expect me to go through some therapy and have my old life back?! That’s never going to happen!”
”Were you scared all the time? Or… or did you get used to it?”
”I’m not even sure what I’d rather hear, that you were always afraid or that you actually liked it there.”
“Nothing happened. I just ran away. I was sick of being here. I just made it up to sound interesting.”
“Will you please come out of your bedroom… I know you’re probably not comfortable with the amount of space after what you’re used to, but please try…”
“I’m here for you. I’ll keep you safe. I’m not going to lose you a second time.”
“Shh, it’s okay! It’s normal to have flashbacks, but you have to try to focus on me now.”
“You can’t go back there! Are you insane? Why do you want to?!”

of huntresses and men [1]

1: Strucker’s Roadhouse

Summary: Hunters weren’t the best kind of company to be in most of the time. || supernatural au || bucky barnes x reader, ft. steve 

Warnings: barnes doesn’t have a filter, smol!steeb, language, i think that’s it for now

Notes: Kudos to the amazing @retroasgardian for looking over my shitty writing. I hope you guys enjoy this! And yes, there is a reason that Steve is tiny lmao. Length of this chapter is a little over 1200 words. This fic is gonna be a sloooooow burn between Buck and the reader. Feedback is greatly appreciated! If you’d like to be removed/added to the tag list, let me know!!

MASTERLIST || PART TWO

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Faster?

Summary: You and your boyfriend break up and you use Bucky to release your pent up frustrations. 

Warnings: Smut (including masturbation and penetration)

Word Count: Almost 3000

A/N: Let me know if you want to be tagged in any Bucky smuts in the future

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Going from living at home with your family to living at school with a stranger is a major major change. I had a very negative roommate experience my freshman year (which I will be making a post about all on its own) and I don’t want any of you to live that so here we go!

  • DON’T ROOM WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND. Obviously, you can take this idea with a grain of salt, but this is advice that’s been passed down to me by many people and I agree with it. If you happen to be going to the same school as your best friend from high school, or your cousin, or someone you’re close to, I recommend against rooming with them. You’re going to college to meet new people and have new experiences; you don’t want to spend your time around the same people you have your whole life. Also, living with someone brings out a different side of them. They might have quirks you hate. Spending so much time with someone can make you sick of each other. You don’t want to enter college besties and leave it enemies, so just be careful. I love my best friends, but I can’t imagine living with them full time because we’re so different!
  • It doesn’t really matter how you find your roommate. Whether you use your school’s facebook page like I did, or choose to go random like many of my friends, it doesn’t matter. Not meeting your roommate until you move in doesn’t put you at a disadvantage. My roommate messaged me on facebook and we talked all summer before move in and didn’t even survive the year. Now that I think about it, all the worst roommate nightmares I’ve heard of were with people who met each other beforehand, and all the people I know who went random were fine. You truly don’t know someone until you live with them; just because you get along great while messaging doesn’t mean you’ll be that way when you’re together almost 24/7. If the deadline for housing is nearing and everyone around you is already paired up, stop stressing and go random. It’s a tossup either way.
  • Accept that you might not be best friends, or even friends, with your roommate. Even if it starts out that way. Again, you don’t really get to know someone as a roommate until you live with them. I went from loving my roommate to not even speaking to her by the time she moved out. You might think the little differences you have don’t matter, but they do. It’s fine though, because you don’t need to be friends with your roommate. You just need to respect each other and get along. It won’t be awkward or uncomfortable if you don’t talk all the time and share hair products. You’ll have plenty of friends you don’t share a room with.
  • Take the roommate agreement seriously. At the beginning of the year, you might just fly through it like it’s a joke, because of course you won’t have any problems! This is untrue. The tiniest thing over time can accumulate in passive aggressive behavior and blow up into a huge conflict. Go over everything and talk about it in detail. Print it out and keep it on hand in case of conflict. Change it if needed. Don’t be afraid of seeming like an overbearing, annoying person because you don’t want your roommate to have the light on after midnight. Be honest and open at the beginning or else it’ll be six months later and way harder to bring it up. Determine who will clean what and when. Determine what is okay to share and what isn’t. Especially determine anything involving other people and your room, which brings me to my next point.
  • DON’T BRING PEOPLE BACK TO THE ROOM WITHOUT ASKING. EVER. This was the thing that ruined me and my roommate. She constantly let guys sleep over without asking me, which was extremely uncomfortable. If one of you wants to bring friends back all the time but the other doesn’t, come to some type of compromise and put it in the roommate agreement. If one of you has a significant other who wants to sleep over, talk about it in length and put it in the roommate agreement. Your room is exactly that; your room. If you want that to be a space for just you and your roommate, the one place on campus you can escape from everyone, that is totally fine. Make sure your roommate knows that. Even if it’s in the agreement that you can bring people over without asking, ASK ANYWAY. It’s common courtesy and respect. A heads up text goes a long way.
  • Communication is key, but escalate if needed. At some point, you’re gonna have some sort of issue, whether it’s big or small, you have to talk about it. If you don’t, it’ll just fester and get worse until you’re pissed at your roommate for something they don’t even know they did. It might seem uncomfortable, but it’s a lot better to squash it immediately than having a full-on fight a few weeks later. If you have a serious issue that’s making it hard to live with your roommate and you’ve talked to them about it and they haven’t fixed it, talk to your RA. They’re there for a reason and you can’t always handle things on your own. When I got to the breaking point with my roommate, I went to my RA. When my RA did nothing, I went to the area coordinator. When they did nothing, I went to the director of housing. You do not have to put up bullshit when you’re paying to live somewhere. You have just as much right to the room as your roommate, so if that’s being compromised, don’t stop until you can find someone to help.

Most people live with a roommate at some point in their life, it’s almost like a rite of passage. It could turn out awful, but it could also turn out to be a really awesome time. I hope for you all that the latter is true! Next post scheduled is advice on college classes and schoolwork, another thing I haven’t had the best of time in. Yay!

Check out my previous advice posts on:

This thing. Whatever it is for me. I don’t want to call it heartbreak because I don’t want to believe I was stupid enough to let you get that much of me. I don’t want to believe that after you cheated and after you did me so bad, that I had the will to let you get that much of me. It reminds me of getting blood taken. You give and give so much, all that is allowed, and after you do, it leaves you nauseas and you knew that it would have a few side effects but you had no idea that it could throw you to the ground after you thought you were stable enough to stand on your own. That’s what happened. That is what is happening. I feel stable one minute. I felt stable enough to go through and delete every picture I had of you which took away the visible memories. I felt stable enough to hide away our pictures that were on my wall so I didn’t have to see them every time I needed to sleep but couldn’t. I don’t think you loved me. I don’t want to think that, but if you were to love me as you say you did, no matter how incredibly wasted you were, I never would’ve had to hear her name. You don’t hurt the people you love in the ways that you hurt me. I wish I could say I don’t miss you. I wish I could trash talk you like ex’s are supposed to do, but no every time I hear a negative thing about you I’m always the first to defend you and I fucking hate that. I wish I could take it all back. Every kiss, every hug, every god damn thing but I can’t. It is there. And it’s on replay for me 24/7 and you can think whatever about me being so bitter about this and whatever. but my night terrors come rarely now and when they come it’s like the dreams I had of us all happy and fucking dandy are my worst nightmares. and that’s what fucks me up the most.
—  The letter I’ll never write you

anonymous asked:

y'know, I never thought I could hate a character more than I hate Umbridge but then Wanda happened. I just... can't. fucking. stand. her. And then it's Clint... and even Natasha who betrayed Tony and I just need a life and friends and hobbies bc I spend all of my time obsessing over Tony and wanting him to be cared and loved and ok and I just... I HATE THEM!!!

Listen… before I get on to the Wonderfully Infuriating Subject of Wanda Maximoff, I’d like to say that I have 99 problems with Civil War, and the characterisations of my Good Boys Clint and Steve make up a good 95 of them. Just be warned, this rant is long and whiny as fuck.

I honestly really disliked Clint in Civil War, which sucks because he’s my Dumpster Son and he deserved better than just being reduced to The Guy With The Arrows, you know? What were his motives??? He was retired, he was spending time with his family, and then he just upped and left because ..what…Cap batted his eyelashes? Like… he had nothing to do with the accords. Nothing. He probably didn’t even read them; I mean Vision asked him to consider what he was doing and he did this Really Cool Eye Flicker™ before just saying ‘yeah lol okai considered bro’ and I mean?? You have children??? 

And then of course, the scene on the Raft. It’s kind of amusing in an infuriating sort of way, because I mean this is basically Clint summed up in a short piece:

Clint: *Breaks Law* For justice :))

Clint: *Is put in jail for breaking law*

Clint: :0 :0 This is UNJUST!!!!

And I mean, he appears to blame 100% of everything that happened on Tony, which I guess one could do when they’re angry and imprisoned and their other friend is standing on the other side of the bars. I can kind of get that from an objective point of view..? But? No? He’s an adult and he broke the law? That is… that’s what happens? 

Of course, when he makes that remark to Tony about Rhodey, all hope I had for his Civil War character immediately burst into an inferno and propelled itself out of the top story window. That was unnecessary and hurtful and untrue, and it made me want to slap the shit out of him.


Now. For Wanda.

If you like her character, then that is completely okay, but I don’t advise reading this.


Because I despise her. 

It’s not really her character, more as the way she was written. She had so much potential, to do so much good. But her origins are F U C K E D up, her attitude is childish (despite the fact that she is an adult guys!!) and her general character is quite frankly that of a whiny bitch.

We first see her in AoU, when she is working for HYDRA, after voluntarily (Voluntarily!! working for a terror organisation you guys!!!) Signing up for experimentation that had killed everyone else before her.
I mean, that alone tells you something about her character and her thought process.

Next, we discover that a missile with Tony’s last name on it tragically killed her parents. This is sad. This is horrible and no child should ever have to go through that.

But then she decides that Tony Stark Personally Aimed, Launched and Fired it, and decides to go on a ten-year murder plot in order to kill him for it, and that’s where the sympathy stops. Right there.

I know this is a common example, but Imma say it again because it’s important. If my parents were shot and killed by a gun that had the word ‘Beretta’ on it, I ain’t gonna go after the fuckin gun company. Why would anyone??? It makes literally no sense at all and just paints her as a villain who’s also lowkey stupid???

She had years to think these actions through, and yet still she did them. It literally does not matter about whether she helped for like the last hour of the Avengers film because the literal entire fucking world was going to be destroyed, and she didn’t want catastrophe on that scale.

You know,,, she just wanted to murder Tony. And obviously, the Avengers are his buddies, so lets try and kill them too for no reason at all!!!

She… I mean… God, she subjected Bruce to his worst nightmare and had him tear through a populated city,,, for the sake of destruction?? She literally just wanted to cause pain??? And you can’t tell me no-one died because of that because… it’s a fucking hulk? She purposely twisted all the team’s minds, and let Tony take the sceptre because she knew he could hurt people with it because of what she’d planted in his head? It’s… it’s disgusting?

You tell me ‘she’s changed’ and ‘she’s just like Tony, she used to be bad but now she’s good’ or whatever the fuck, but let me tell you this: Tony never, ever wreaked destruction for the sake of destruction. He never went out with the sole intention of killing specific innocents. He built weapons to p r o t e c t, which is why as soon as he sees they’re no longer doing that, he shuts that shit down. 

Wanda never seems to learn that lesson. Even when, For God Knows what fucked up reason, they appear to make her some sort of avenger for helping them stop the world ending (that, you know, she helped cause), she still doesn’t understand that her job is now to protect people? Her motives are still… idk selfish I guess?

“i can’t control their fear. Only my own.”

Well bitch u know what. Maybe if u stopped running off and trying to tell everyone that you, an incredibly powerful individual with a past involving terror organisations, are ‘above the law and don’t need the accords’, they’d… u know… stop being scared of u…


Don’t even get me started on what she said to Tony. I’m done with this shit. But yes anon I’m sorry this was so long but essentially, I very much agree. Good day sir.

Let’s be real.
I think the cats are incredibly important for Andrew. Maybe not because he’s emotionally too invested with them, but for his recovery.

Andrew reacts violently if you wake him up with touches. That’s a fact. And all of us know why that’s the case. Because sleeping means you can’t defend yourself and we all know why that is an issue. He was woken up many times when he was a child and the worst nightmares and demons and traumas were the result of that.

Andrew can’t go to bed before Neil. Nora states specifically that he they go to bed at the same time or that Andrew goes to bed later. We know why that is, as well. Because you’re being vulnerable and helpless and when the mattress shifts, that means someone else is there and again, we know which memories that triggers in Andrew.

And now he has cats. Cats just jumping onto the bed. Cats waking you up by laying down on top of you. Cats making noise, cats attacking you out of nowhere. It’s gonna be a constant challenge, but there will be a time Sir or King jumps onto him and he doesn’t jerk awake and tense and almost shiver. There will be a time when his heart doesn’t start racing twice the speed anymore.

There will be a time one of the cats jumps onto him and he’ll sleep on in peace.

Come back... Be here

Dylan O’Brien x Reader

Originally posted by admireforever

(NOT MY GIF)

A/N: I have been wanting to write this for an insane amount of time and yestereday the words just slipped, like it was truthfully meant to be written. I’m hoping you will like this just as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please give me some response, okay? I don’t kill me if you cry. I did too.

A huge thank you to my piggie @dylan-trash-tbh for reading this and telling me to post it. Love ya.

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of sex, alcohol, cursing. that’s all. plus, it has been on Taylor Swift’s song “Come back… Be here”, so if you want to listen while reading… It would be nice. 

Word Count: 4760

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Time and POV in Stuck in the Middle With You 12x12...

“So… tell me a story…” says Mr. Ketch, sitting across from Mary, just after the burning MOL symbol of the season announces…

The narrative is thus framed as told in flashback by Mary to Mr. Ketch.

The first POV we get is therefore Mary’s…

Time card… accompanied by the ticking of a stop watch (which we hear at intervals throughout the episode).

Mary witnesses Dean performing “super-hetero Dean” for Wally, or attempting to, in a diner - doesn’t go so well, with the, “My shy but devastatingly handsome friend,” huh Dean? Although, of course we can all agree Cas IS devastatingly handsome…

Mary is not impressed… (not with her sons bickering either - oh Mary - you ain’t seen nothing yet…)

under the cut as this got super long…


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★*゚‘゚・ Stephen King’s It (1990)

❝ I told you to stay out of this. ❞
❝ Six kids missing or dead is cause for alarm. ❞
❝ There’s something wrong here. ❞
❝ You didn’t have to take this job. We don’t need the money.  ❞
❝ I took the job to be with you.  ❞
❝ Swear to me that if It isn’t dead…we’ll all come back. ❞
❝ Please, ______, tell me a story. ❞
❝ Go bug somebody else, I don’t feel so hot. ❞
❝ Be careful. ❞
❝ Aren’t you gonna say hello? ❞
❝ Don’t you want a balloon?  ❞
❝ I’m not supposed to take stuff from strangers. My dad said so. ❞
❝ There’s cotton candy, rides and all sorts of surprises down here. And balloons, too, all colors. ❞
❝ They float. And when you’re down here with me… you float too! ❞
❝ He didn’t just die. He was…murdered. ❞
❝ Why are you stuttering? ❞
❝ What happened? Tell me. Damn it, talk to me. Let me help. ❞
❝ You’re scaring me. ❞
❝ We live in dangerous times, boys and girls. I want you to be careful. ❞
❝ You’re gonna die! ❞
❝ Elmer Fudd has a lisp. It’s Porky Pig that stutters. ❞
❝ Now don’t insult my intelligence. ❞
❝ You’re doing fine. You can handle this. ❞
❝ Listen to me. There’s been another murder. ❞
❝ I’ll show you how to float down here. They all float down here! ❞
❝ You gotta help me! Somebody, please! ❞
❝ In the basement! There’s a werewolf! ❞
❝ We were lucky we didn ’t get ourselves killed that summer. ❞
❝ I didn’t see a werewolf. Just a clown. ❞
❝ It’s an evil being that can read our minds…and take the shape we’re afraid of. ❞
❝ Couldn’t it be just a guy dressed up in a clown suit?  ❞
❝ I got bones to pick with you, but I’ll let that go for today. ❞
❝ I’ll kill you all! ❞
❝ I’ll drive you crazy and I’ll kill you all! ❞
❝ I’m every nightmare you’ve ever had! I’m your worst dream come true! I’m everything you ever were afraid of! ❞
❝ We gotta do something. ❞
❝ They don’t see what we see. ❞
❝ You grow up, you stop believing. ❞
❝ It kills kids, damn it! ❞
❝ It’s scared of us, you know. I can feel that. I swear to God I can. ❞
❝ I want to kill it. ❞
❝ Help me. Please, help me. Help me. ❞
❝ You promised. ❞
❝ I think this is crazy. ❞
❝ On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country. ❞
❝ …you guys don’t have to do this. ❞
❝ What are you afraid of? ❞
❝ Before you die, I want you to think about every rock you threw…and everything you’ve said. Think about that before you die. ❞
❝ Wake up, hot stuff. That ain’t Daddy. ❞
❝ I am eternal, child. I am the eater of worlds…and of children. And you are next. ❞
❝ It sounded like It was dying. ❞
❝ How could I have forgotten? ❞
❝ I’m not afraid of you.❞
❝ I got a balloon for you. Don’t you want a balloon? ❞
❝ You’re too old to stop me. You’re all too old! ❞
❝ You’re in my mind. Only in my mind. ❞
❝ I wasn’t gonna hurt you. I don’t even know you.  ❞
❝ Reliving your childhood? ❞
❝ Just saying hi to some old ghosts, you know. ❞
❝ Get out of Derry while you still can. ❞
❝ What the hell is happening? I mean, what is going on? ❞
❝ When they pulled him out, his hair was white. He was babbling. About a clown. ❞
❝ Why are we the only ones that can see this? ❞
❝ It’s true what they say. We all float down here. And you will too.  ❞
❝ ______’s dead. ❞
❝ Let’s get the hell out of here. ❞


My Pastel Prince

Summary- Punk!Phil and Pastel!Dan in high school.

Word Count- 5.1k

Fluff- near the end.

TW- Mentions of self harm

A/N- Once again I wrote this on my phone at 1am so I’m sorry for any issues there inevitably are.


Dan Shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and placed it on the hook in his locker switching the books he would no longer need with the ones he would be using for the remainder of his own personal day in  hell, or how others referred to it ‘School’, the very word sends shivers down Dan’s spine. Dan’s head hung low, his eyes focusing in on each speck of the hideous pattered floor, praying to every God and Super Hero alike that he could just blend in to his surroundings, doing everything in his power to draw no attention to himself. But it just so happens that being an openly gay, sixteen year old boy that wears pastel pink sweaters, white jeans, pastel purple high top converse and colour co-ordinated flower crowns in a homophobic, narrow minded school with a bunch of dickhead teenagers you tend to be the target for a lot of bullying; In other words, the ‘Ideal Victim’.

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