twenty-for-seven

The Signs as Dumb One Direction Lyrics

Aries: You never want to know how much you weigh; you still have to squeeze into your jeans.

Taurus: The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed.

Gemini: Oh I just wanna show you off to all of my friends, making them drool down their chinny-chin-chins.

Cancer: I’m walking around with just one shoe; I’m half a heart without you.

Leo: ‘Cause I can’t compete with your boyfriend; he’s got twenty-seven tattoos.

Virgo: The priest thinks it’s the devil, my mum thinks it’s the flu. But girl it’s only you.

Libra: Should I put coffee and granola on a tray in bed and wake you up with all the words that I still haven’t said?

Scorpio: I can make your tears fall down like the showers that are British.

Sagittarius: Don’t even care about the table breaking. We only wanna have a laugh.

Capricorn: Said her name was Georgia Rose, and her daddy was a dentist.

Aquarius: Now she’s feeling so low since she went solo, hole in the middle of my heart like a polo.

Pisces: Driving too fast, moon is breaking through her hair.

( eiza gonzález, female, she/her ) — i’m pretty sure i just saw sofia ramirez entering forks. i bet the twenty seven year old gifted human was drawn here; i wonder why? they keep it pretty under wraps, but they seem to have the ability of aura vision. i’ve heard some people around town saying that they’re cold and blunt, but they are always quick to follow it up by saying that they’re honest and quick witted. most of the time. i’ve seen them around town working as an er nurse and it seems to keep them pretty busy, and they are aware of the supernatural world. 

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how i’m like penny wise:

i too hold such huge grudges that I sleep for twenty seven years, wake up and immediately go back to being an evil bitch

If you want to know double standards, it is Taylor Swift causing uproar for putting her own naked body in her music video but Kanye West being applauded. She is twenty-seven, an empowered female and has every right to her own body whereas Kanye West had no right nor her consent. The general public is outraged by Taylor using a bodysuit and special effects to portray a visual image that goes hand in hand with her art but when Kanye West commissioned a realistic wax work of her naked body, it was acceptable? Why can a woman not use her own body how she wishes? Why can’t she be naked without it being seen as wrong, slutty or negative? Taylor Swift is one hell of a badass woman that, after years of being bodyshamed, is confident. Embrace the empowerment of somebody’s own body rather than encourage the obejctifation by a man.

I want an episode where Gabriel tries to Akumatize Marinette.

As in: “on purpose”. He did it to Nino, he did it to Simon, he did it to Santa, he can do it to anyone.

And so Gabriel meets Marinette, this passionate kid who really loves fashion, pastel pink, and banana-haired young models, as she is visiting Adrien, and he decides to ruin her day, because it should be about as easy as stealing jewelry from teenagers candy from a baby.

Gabriel has mastered ‘unpleasant jerk’, practically has a PHD in it. It’s second nature. When you look up 'ass’ in the dictionary, you find his picture next to a stock photo of a donkey. So he tunes it up to 'extreme ass’, aka ‘his normal’, and destroys Marinette’s hopes and dreams by, I don’t know, telling her she has no future in fashion except maybe as a costume designer for underfunded live action superhero shows.

She is devastated.

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when i was seven the sea-witch cursed me.

she cursed my great-grandfather, actually, who had spat on the hands of the ocean and disrespected the beating heart of the earth - for what else are waves but a pulse - who was silly and violent and who tried to rip from the water what was hers by rights. we were wealthy, before that, a family of merchants. my mother says in her youth she recalls white horses, the gleam of candles, early mornings with bread baked fresh by a horde of servants.

he didn’t ask permission to cross her. that’s what my mother tells me while she spoons porridge with no flavor into the wood of my bowl. he had no faith in superstition, rode with boats that were more decoration than strength, the folly of a man who was cruel and vain and proud of his own gold teeth. the sky had been blue, so regardless of what the village witch said, he would sail that day. and when his boat sank; their lives turned blue like the sky that day.

my mother says she thinks the curse on the men of our family, even if they come in when they marry, is that they will forever be violent, too foolish to see the storm on the horizon. she whispers this to me on the eve of my seventh birthday, while father is his own storm, thundering around the house, looking for her. later, when i am cleaning the cut by her cheek, she tells me the curse is on the women to forever be unhappy, to wane until they are shadows, to walk into the deep like a sinking ship. 

we don’t burn candles often, they are too expensive. she tells me this in the silk of a dark room. the moon kisses her hair. 

in three days, my mother will walk into the ocean, and my father will be my own problem. the curse will pass onto me. 

my father does not believe in superstition, no curse to conquer him. when he is gone, and i am heartbroken, i go to the village witch. i ask her to teach me about magic, and other things, and about how the ocean can be coaxed, and how to save my father’s soul. 

and my hands rot too, keeping a house by myself with things i barely knew. i learn the art of a good scrubbing, keep my mind full of white horses while i endlessly clean, dream of candles in dark while i make the bread that he will not allow me to eat. he keeps me from the ocean, from visiting the place that took my mom, from following in her footsteps where the water makes women undone.

i am sixteen when i see her in the water of a bowl. she scares me so completely that i drop it, and my father comes in with his hands, and the curse, and i almost forget all about it. it isn’t until after that i realize she is beautiful, and young, which surprises me. 

i think about it every evening. her face becomes distorted to me. i can no longer remember the exact shape of it, only the impression of beauty. 

i turn seventeen and wait for the high moon. i pin safety to my vest in little witch herbs and runes. i put naked toes on the sand and slip closer, closer, to the avenue of my family’s doom. i find a little private beach, small and surrounded by rocks, hidden from my father in the event he ever thought to come looking. at high tide, it is barely the span of my body. at low, it feels empty.

the witch of the land has given me what i need to call in the witch of the sea, but i do not use it. it feels wrong, somehow, standing here in the wind and the quiet pulse of the world. i put down the incense and sage and i sit just close enough it feels wild, dangerous - but not close enough to get caught up in thrill. 

when nothing happens, i go home and i make bread that i will not eat.

for months i do this. i climb down to my beach. i learn to do it when the moon is half, and then when the moon is empty. i learn to do it so well that sometimes i go to sleep in my own bed and wake up by the water. i take to sleeping with warding runes to keep me from being pulled in the rip out to the waiting hands of a hungry sea-witch.

i don’t know when i start talking. more often i sing, because singing in my house is not allowed, and something about the way the rocks echo my voice feels comforting. the older i get, the more i can pretend i hear my mother’s voice, answering me, harmonizing gently. i sing songs about sadness and lullabies about curses. when i have exhausted every song i know, i write new ones about fathers who have never learned how to be kind, about the house i work in but do not love, about mothers who left, and about a sea witch.

i see her sometimes. in a puddle, in the drop of rain, in the strangest places. i never expect it, although i always hope. i am never able to see her for more than the length of a wave, breaking, and each time, it does something new to my heart.

at eighteen i am too much of my father’s burden. he tries to unload me onto other men. the land witch helps me with this. i rub hemlock, burn wolfsbane. we arrange so these men have other women to marry. the news of my curse is bad enough to scare most away. my father is not happy.

after a particularly savage night, i wonder how bad it could be. i could marry some boy from the village who didn’t quite bother me. i suppose they’re not ugly. timothy had always been gentle to me. i think about a life, and how i am cursed to be unhappy. my father would finally be proud of me.

i walk to the beach and i tell the waves about him and how i could convince myself it was love if i just never wanted from him. how i could be okay, if not content, how i could be free, how i already had learned life down on knees.

but i go home and i write a rune of warding. and the years pass and i find reasons each suitor is wanting. and the sea witch i see, sometimes, peeking out at me, staying long each time in the water, looking, watching. i see her in mirrors when my father storms against me. it is bad because he mistakes the cause of my smiling. it is better when she is there the next morning.

and i go to the ocean. when i am too sad to speak, it seems like the ocean is whispering for me. i picture my mother’s voice and tell myself i am happy. i am seven again and we are sewing. i am seven again and the curse has not been given to me. i am seven and she came home after she walked to the sea.

i grow silly, brave, unthinking. i leave behind the herbs and i wade deep. i teach myself the art of swimming. i am bad at it, at first, but something about it feels good to me. like the ocean wants to buoy me. in the day i think of it, guilty. what if there was a rip tide, and the water took me? who would care for my father if i stepped off the beach into a long drop? wasn’t i clever enough to know that the ocean is uncaring?

it is not this that does it. i go out after a rain and i slip on the rocks and suddenly i am in water above my head but without the moon i cannot see the up of it. i kick and i thrash and the water surrounds me. the tide pulls on my body and in the cold i feel my body grow weary. water spills into me. it punches through my body, up my nose and into my lungs and some part of me knows this is what mother felt before she was gone.

i kick ground by accident, reorient, drag myself heaving and spitting into the air. i lie there for a long time, half in and half out of death, enjoying the sensation of breathing and of life.

when i look up, i think i see her, watching me, her brows knit with something like worry. but we make eye contact and my heart leaps and then she is gone and i am left alone with nothing but the dawn breaking.

my father is furious when there is no bread. he finds my hair wet, and the salt of the ocean still smelling on me. and that is it. that day he goes out and pays someone to agree to marry me.

this feels right to me, i think. i’m twenty-one, three times seven, a perfect number for a curse to fully come down on me. i will be wed in three weeks.

the land witch comes to visit me. she looks like she’s sorry for me. she gives me a spell and tells me to put it under my pillow; i’ll dream of love and it will soothe me. instead i dream of the seawitch, and how wonderful she is, and the sight of her, out on the water, worried.

even though it is risky, i go down to the beach. i do not bother with protective spells, i have already seen that the water can kill me. fear alone keeps me from wandering. i sit on the beach and in the sand i draw runes for understanding and i make the small magicks i’ve spent years learning and i close my eyes and i ask the ocean “why do you do this to me.”

i fall asleep. i dream that the sea witch talks to me. i dream she is my age, that she is the great-granddaughter of the first to curse my family. i dream she has spent years watching, learning, finding the truth of me. that she just needs to get the courage to come and speak, that she has fallen in love with my singing, that she knows no curse but the one in her heart that brings her back to a human, to a creature of air and not water, to a mistake in the making.

in the dawn i know it is a dream and no more. i make bread. i pour water out before it can make mirrors. i do not look. i do not like the ache that has filled me, as if i’ve been looking for an answer and the answer only leads to longing.

the man i meet - my husband-to-be - is delighted by the house i keep. he believes a woman should keep in her place, and her place should be clean. he hears from neighbors that sometimes i sneak out to the land witch’s house. laughter barks out of him. not going to allow that behavior, not me. he does not believe in curses. he will pack me up and move me from the ocean to somewhere in the mountains, where i know nobody. and i will, he promises, learn to keep my place, and that place clean.

i tell myself i could love him. he is not ugly. he says i’m pretty enough after whiskey. my father mentions i used to sing. i refuse to perform for these men so instead i make them cookies. they laugh and talk about me, even when i am in the room, as if they cannot even see. they shake hands and talk about how useless a woman is for much else than breeding. it’s very funny. the man meets my eyes and promises he’ll put a baby in me. i look down and pretend the thrill i feel is excitement, not fear brewing in me.

the land witch comes by a week before my wedding. she is smaller these days, aging. her apprentice and i get along wonderfully. the two women stand before me, holding something. 

a small box, so tiny and lovely. “break the curse,” the witch whispers, “learn to be happy.”

i smuggle the box, take it everywhere with me. it is days before i have a moment to slip away, to open it by the sea. i take a candle with me, even though my father will notice and be angry.

by the light of fire i read the spell they have left me inside, and then i am so full of gratitude i cannot stop crying.

it must be a full moon, so i must wait. in the meantime, i walk home, and i bake. 

i do not see the seawitch, even though i look for her. maybe i have wounded her, getting married. my father asks why i keep smiling. i tell him it is because i am finally with a man. he grunts and says to stop looking so silly. 

the man kisses me. i let him. we are married on a night with a full moon, and i poison him and my father in the bread i did not eat. i think of how these men were cursed so they could not see a storm coming. i watch them as they lie there, dying, and then i put all of the things i own into a basket for the land witch. i leave it there with a song i wrote for her, a spell i know will make her happy, will stop the aging of her joints, will give her the kind of relief she gave me. 

i go down to the water. i find myself running, even though i am in no hurry. i know the way so well it is like i wake up there, panting. i ask permission first. i lay out the contents of the box, i organize and practice and when the needle and pain comes, i am ready for it. i am used to pain at night. i breathe into it and walk naked into waters that swallowed my mother.

i chew bitter herbs. i swallow fire. i feel myself drown as i change from land witch to sea witch. 

when it is done, i open my eyes in the deep of a moonlit ocean. and i see her. 

this time she does not flicker. this time when i reach for her, she is there, and she is pushing my hair out of my eyes, and we are kissing with the ocean rejoicing around us, and i am laughing, and i hear her voice as clear as bell inside me.

and we live like this, a whole world between us where white horses are the size of pinky fingers and swim with their thin snouts, where i need no candles because i was raised lightless, where we have no servants but the water takes care of us. i show her the magic of land and she unfolds the magic of water. together we are unstoppable. when i come up to the air to sing little girls a promise that they can survive the madness, she sings with me, and we make a beautiful harmony.

Angry Astrology

*use Mars, Sun, and Moon 

Aries: If you have made this sign mad, you probably did not have to try very hard (probably just made one mad by saying that). This sign will do one or both of these two things when angry, yell or punch. Aries is a fire sign, so their anger is very quick with a tiny fuse. Being a Cardinal sign, their expression of anger is often a want for change. Combine these two together, and you have the very expression of red-faced anger.

Taurus: Another sign that is not very difficult to get mad. Taurus, however, will not act as directly as Aries will. Taurus is the epitome of stubbornness, so they will hold a grudge and form bitterness. You will miss out on the love that Taurus is capable of giving, so you will eventually feel worthless over time because you know that you have wronged them in some way. If Taurus is the one who messed up, they will eventually apologize, just give them about six months and twenty-seven gifts. Just kidding, but really. 

Gemini: Oh, shit. You fucked over a Gemini. First of all, they will try to laugh it off. If that is not their first reaction, run like Hell. A Gemini may not fight (but who the hell knows with this fuckers), but they will certainly use their connection with Mercury to berate and belittle you. They will likely bring you to tears and feel no remorse. This sign is also likely to blackmail you. Even if you straighten things out, they will never forget about how you hurt them.

Cancer: I would say their first reaction would be to cry, but it really depends on what kind of relationship you have with them. If you do not have a close relationship, they will be the most cold-hearted bitch you have ever met. Like Aries, they will likely want to get physical. They are ruled by the moon, so their expression of anger can be purely from how they feel, and if they are mad, you’re pretty fucked, I’d say. If you are close to them, they will try to keep off their anger, but once you have crossed that threshold, they will victimize to a point where you are nothing but the bad guy in the whole situation.

Leo: Oh, boo-hoo, you hurt their ego. They will get over it, but their anger will stem from their very weak self-expression. They will see you as a personal attacker, and they will defend themselves in any way possible. This sign can often become vindictive and is known to fight dirty. I have known some Leos to use their “Mr(s). Popularity” to turn people against the person who harmed the Leo. Being a fixed sign, it may take them a bit, but they will get over it.

Virgo: PETTYYYY BITCH. Virgo is the zodiac’s very own perfectionist. Nobody can do it better than them. A Virgo will not stoop down and fight dirty; no, they will do much worse. They will maintain their perfect status and bitch you out in every possible way. Every argument against them is flawed, and they will poke holes in those flaws. Virgo will develop the best argument against you, and when all is said and done, you will admit that you are wrong because you stand in the presence of sheer perfection.

Libra: Oh my dear Jesus have mercy God, you done fucked up, haven’t you? We all know that Libra is the sign of love, beauty, balance, harmony, sugar, rainbows, etc. However, if you have made a Libra mad, you have truly fucked up, and you deserve it. Libra serves justice, being the scales of law. The Libra will begin with the cold shoulder, then, when you least expect it, the exalting Saturn nature of Libra will serve justice. Every bad thing you have done, Libra will remind you about. Being an air sign, Libra’s anger is very powerful and forceful, but not explosive like fire. Libra will take and take and take, and when they finally lose balance, all hell will break loose. Libra is not one to hold a grudge, but if you have pissed them off enough, you may as well kiss every good thing goodbye. 

Scorpio: This is the scariest sign to see truly angry. Pluto and Mars rule this sign, so we have the abyss of the unknown but the pulsing energy of mars as well. Scorpio will, like Cancer, victimize themselves. Secondly, like Gemini, they will pull out all their receipts on you so they can blackmail you. Their anger is so intense that you can feel it radiating from them. If you happen to earn their trust and forgiveness again, you know that their heart belongs to you.

Sagittarius: Okay, this sign can go a lot of different ways, one way is that they will laugh their ass off at your stupidity. You have pissed them off, so prepare to pay the consequences. Their fiery nature will want to fight you. If you get into an argument with them, you will likely lose, so don’t bother trying unless you’re a Virgo. Once they get over it, they will never bring it up again, and honestly, your fights and arguments may bring you two closer together. Now, when they totally ghost you, you may never see them again.

Capricorn: Oh dear, this is not going to be pretty, so prepare yourself for the absolute heartlessness of an infuriated Capricorn. This is kinda the feeling you get when you were a little kid and your parents were upset with you. First of all, the Capricorn will remind you about how disappointed they are in you. Secondly, they will begin this condescending rant about your childishness. Lastly, like Leo, they will try to turn the masses against you. They will not admit they are wrong, and like Libra, they are a pretty chill sign, so if you have angered them, you have truly fucked up.

Aquarius: This sign will start off by hurting your pride in every way possible. Aquarius is about social balance, so they need to bring down their mighty enemy. It is possible that this sign will go out of their way to find things to be mad at people about, so you shouldn’t get super defensive when they come at you with something. However, this is not to say it won’t hurt like hell when they attack you. They will remind you how dumb you are for attacking them, and how “you will be sorry.’ Just get over it yourself, and they will.

Pisces: Okay, first of all, you bitch. Pisces are some of the sweetest people I have met, and if you pissed them off, you probably deserve what is coming to you. They will cry and victimize themselves, probably rightly so. Now, for the scary part, they will leave you feeling completely alone. Every form of anger of every sign falls deep into the soul of Pisces. Good luck earning their favor back!

Table of Contents:

Part One: A New Standard
Part Two: Types of Parents
Part Three: Parents in Literature
Part Four: Parents on the Page
Part Five: Sibling Scenarios
Part Six: Sibling Perception
Part Seven: Writing Siblings
A Diversion: Myths About Writing Close Sibling Relationships
A Diversion: Siblings With Age Differences
A Diversion: Writing Twins
Part Eight: Knowing the Outer Family
Part Nine: Piblings :: The Cool Extended Parents
Part Ten: Qualifying Cousins
Part Eleven: Cousin Appearances
Part Twelve: Writing Cousins
Part Thirteen: The Roots of Friendship
Part Fourteen: The Definition of Friend
Part Fifteen: Layers of Friendship
Part Sixteen: Writing the Best Friend
Part Seventeen: Surely Antagonistic
Part Eighteen: Evil Manifests as Villain
Part Nineteen: Protagonist in the Way
Part Twenty: Conversations with Antagonists
Part Twenty-One: Deepened Friendship
Part Twenty-Two: Influences of Individual History
Part Twenty-Three: Crafting Dates
Part Twenty-Four: Expectations
Part Twenty-Five: Healthy Relationships
Part Twenty-Six: Unhealthy Relationships
Part Twenty-Seven: When Relationships Unravel
Part Twenty-Eight: Mentors, Teachers, and Advisers
Part Twenty-Nine: Wise Old Tropes

(Note from Pear: This series is indefinitely open to new posts. As they are added, this post will be updated. Like always, you can find original content in the posts by pear tag and the table of contents tag for series.)

Lust & Errors 05

Rated: M

Warning: Excessive graphic smut, age gap, recreational drug use, angst, slight dub-con.

Summary: Step brother, fuck buddy… They were one and the same now. But what started out as some mindless fucking game, quickly turns into something much more difficult and complex.

Note: well, well, well…. look what the fuck it is. lol this was over 25k but i removed an entire scene because it completely threw off the flow and i wasn’t happy with it but here’s 19k anyways :))))

Words: 19.7k

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05.



Seven twenty-three.

The clock taunted you, reminding you that this god foresaken party had hours left to go.

Amongst all of the sharp-dressed men and elegant women, you were the only young person in the vincity, no one being under the age of thirty five. It was awkward and boring because you literally had no one to talk to, on a casual-level that was.

Jimin would usually come to the parties just to save you from dying of bordem, but he had other plans tonight. Like almost every teenager on a Friday night, save for your stupid self.

Slowly, you made your way to the staircase and looked around, checking to see if anyone was paying any attention to you so they wouldn’t call out or question your departure. After failing to notice anyone paying attention, you sneakily made your way up the stairs - to your freedom.

On the way up, you couldn’t help but to feel like you were being watched, eyes trained on your back, but you figured it was just paranoia and continued upwards with quick steps.

Tonight your father was hosting one of the parties for his work, which at one point in time used to be glamarous in your eyes. Back when your mother was still alive, you looked forward to the parties because you and her always went shopping for new dresses and got your hair done, pampered yourselves for the special occasion.

Now, they were simply boring and quite honestly inconvenient.

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It Wasn’t Real (part one)

Summary: You’re part of the infamous Loser’s Club, and often asked, what are you afraid of? You reply, nothing, but what your friends don’t know is that your biggest fear is them.

prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - eleven - finale

A/N: So literally i was overwhelmed by the amount of love and support I got for this story. Once again THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! I’m actually so excited to start this series and I have so many ideas bubbling around in my head, so please enjoy.

There’s something’s i need to make clear before we get started. The rest of the story (except for the first part) will happen four years after the events in IT Chapter One. I know that sounds weird but it will get better I promise! This is also sort of an AU mainly because IT will come back sooner than twenty-seven years, which doesn’t happen in the book. So it’s like based off the original story but isn’t at the same time?? It will all make sense! And there will be an Character x Reader ending, but i’ve closed down the poll as of now until we get further into the story! Right now, Richie is leading!

Anyways… I hope you all enjoy this story! Oh! And Henry hasn’t die in my story, as well as his father. Everything else is the same.

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.

Pairing: Loser’s Club x Reader, slight Henry x Reader (you’ll see)

Warnings: force, bullying, depressing and sad tones.

Tag’s List: @chalatea
wanna be featured? message me letting me know!


Originally posted by kingkaspbrak

It wasn’t real.

It seemed that maybe it was. When time passes, friends tend to forget each other. It was an unsaid thing. No friendships last forever, no matter hard you tried to make them. But something in you had always told you that when it came to the Loser’s Club that wasn’t true.

You’d been wrong.

Separated from those you called your family, everyone started drifting apart. Some of them still talked, like Eddie and Richie or Bill and Beverly, but in the end, no one really was as close as they use to.

It was almost as if they’d forgotten, stopped believing in what you all experienced. And you couldn’t understand why. Because while everyone was off moving on, forgetting, you only seemed to remember. You tried. Tried and fought and screamed and yelled for them, but it was like you were standing in the back, watching as their back turns. Watching Richie look away, watching Eddie follow or Bill turn and Beverly distance herself. You saw less and less of Mike, Ben never left the library and Stan… Stan wouldn’t even look at you.

Soon it was just you, just like IT had teased, and you were alone.

So, no, Bill, it was real.

Three Years Later…

You let out a breath of relief as the school bell rung, signalling the end of class. English class today in particular had been boring and repetitive, some idiot decided to back talk the teacher so the majority of the class was spent with Ms. Green lecturing you all. It would’ve been fine, had that not meant that your pile of homework had grown significantly larger in size.

Gathering your binder and books, you quickly stuffed them into your bag. Though when you looked up, you noticed that most of the students were already out and sighed. It meant the hallways were going to be cramped with people, and it was the end of the day.

Knowing it was inevitable either way, you slipped your backpack over your shoulders calmly and pulled the straps. “Have a nice weekend, Ms. Green.” You waved at your teacher. She may have just spent an hour yelling at you all and then the last half talking about what you had to catch up on, but she was nice when she wanted to be.

“You as well, Y/N.” She shortly replied, not sparring you a glance. You hesitated a moment, watching the way her eyes didn’t even move to say goodbye before sighing and making her way out the door. The hallway wasn’t as bad as you expected, which was a breath of relief. Quickly, you made your way down the hall, turned a right and low and behold there stood your locker.

Putting in the combination, you begin organizing what you’d need over the weekend and what you wouldn’t. Though, your moment of peace was quickly interrupted when the door of your locker was slammed to the side. You jumped, letting out a bewildered shock and turned to see who had so rudely disturbed you only to find a face you hadn’t wanted to see.

“Hey, babe.” Henry greeted, smiling down at you. Henry Bowers, the same Henry Bowers who use to bully you and your friends back in middle school. Of course, Henry confessed he doesn’t ever remember doing such a thing. I’d remember a pretty face like yours

Refusing the urge to shiver, you sent a short smile at him; “Jesus, Henry. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” He only shrugged, as if he didn’t care. Smiling through the discomfort, you grabbed your locker door, moving it off of the next one and Henry wasted no time leaning against it.

Henry Bowers had been sent back two years, making him in the exact same grade as you, of course he was eighteen already. Though, that didn’t mean he acted any more mature. 

“So, you coming with us to the pit tonight?” Henry asked, looking lazily over at you. Setting your final textbook in your locker, you shut the door with a soft thud; “us?”

“Belch and me.” He clarified. You hated Belch, all he did was well… belch. And it disgusted you, but it seemed no matter what him and Henry stayed friends. At least some things were the same. “Oh, and I believe Amy will be joining us.” 

“Oh,” you mumbled. “I don’t think I wi-”

“Why not?” Henry interrupted, cutting whatever you’d been about to say off.

You shifted uncomfortably, taking a tentative step back when Henry straightened out. You should probably just go, Henry would back off if you did. But you really did not want to spend the night in some dingy corner of the town with belching Belch and bitchy Amy. “My mom… she wants me home tonight.”

“Your mom?” Henry laughed, as if that was the craziest thing you’d ever said. Leaning down, he didn’t ask when he grabbed your wrist; “your mom never wants you home. Come on, it’ll be fun.” Fun for you, you wanted to say, but knew better. Knowing nothing you could say would allow you to stay home, you let Henry drag you off into the direction of the school doors.

You zoned out whatever he’d been saying, loosing yourself in your mind. At least it was the weekend, you told yourself, after tonight you wouldn’t have to speak to anyone, let alone see anyone. Of course, two days only lasted so long… Weekends use to be filled with adventure back in middle school… of course you were a child then and so was everyone else… but, it had been an adventure.

“Agh…” 

Turning your head, you were pulled from your thoughts as a familiar head walked by. You could almost swear… Time seemed to freeze, as the person’s head floated before you, but then suddenly it was gone. Looking down, you heard the thud as their body smacked against the ground. 

“Watch where you’re going, freak.” Henry laughed, shoving his hand into Belch’s stomach in excitement. You hadn’t even noticed Belch join you…

Looking over at the body, you didn’t move as they slowly moved to their hands and knees. You of course, felt bad, put no part of you wanted to help them. You only stared with a lazy eye, your wrist still in Henry’s grasp. It was only when their head turned up to glare at your boyfriend did you feel an reaction flood through you.

“Eddie…” You whispered, gaining a strange reaction from Henry and Belch. Seeing their gaze, you moved to look away before your eye caught Eddie’s. There laid Eddie, the same Eddie you used to constantly worry over and mother, on his knees, blood pooling from his chin where he’d smacked it against the ground.

His eye met you, but you didn’t do anything. 

Soon he groaned in pain, Henry had kicked him. Henry leaned forward, towering over the boy; “stay down.” And before you knew it, the grasp on your wrist tugged and you were off.


You gripped your jacket sleeves with force, watching as your breath formed before you in the cool evening air. You hated walking home alone, especially at night. It was when you saw things, things that shouldn’t be there but were. But of course, Henry hadn’t wanted to walk you home, so that left only one other option.

You laughed out into the bitter air, when did Henry ever wanna walk you home?

It’d caused many fights before, back when you first started dating. You didn’t want to stay out that later (or go out at all) but of course Henry wanted to, so you did. You’d stay out all night, doing whatever dumb thing him and his friends could think off until the sun had set and you could no longer see past you clearly. You’d beg him to walk you home, but he’d only shove you away and continue hanging with his friends.

Though, you guessed the moment of peace gave you time to think. Think about whatever. It never really was the same.

You let your eyes wander above you, to the night sky, viewing the many stars as you walked the streets of your neighbourhood. You were close, thankfully. It was January, meaning a new year and christmas had just passed. That also meant many houses still had there christmas lights up, too lazy to take them down and you could view the bright colourful lights in peace.

It wasn’t often you saw so much colour in your life nowadays.

Your feet made a crunching noise as you stepped into the snow, a sound you loved very much. There was nothing but colourful lights, empty streets and mindful thoughts.

“Y/N…”

You could see your house now, just before you and that gave you motivation to quicken your step. 

“Y/N.” Gasping, you turned around at the voice. You weren’t sure what you’d expected, but you had expected something. Instead, all you found was nothing. Just the street you’d already walked on a million times and the darkened houses except for the bright christmas lights. Shaking your head, you turned back around. You must’ve been imagining it.

“Y/N.” Okay, that time you hadn’t. You were sure of it.

“Henry?” You called, turning around once again. “Henry is that you?” Of course, nothing. People didn’t really like to reply to you much these days. “Henry, I-I swear to god if this is a prank…” There was nothing there, but you were so sure you’d heard a voice.

“Y/N.” You spun, the voice now much closer behind you. Except when you turned around, there wasn’t anything there.

“Time to play.” You spun again, back around and for a moment you saw what you never thought you’d see again. IT. IT. It’s red fire-y hair and sinister smile. But the next time you blinked, it was gone. “Time to play, Y/N.” You instinctively took a step back as maniacal laughter filled your ears.

Bolting around, you took quick and loud steps to your house, not daring to peer back behind you. You scrambled for your keys, fumbling to get them out of your back but the minute you did, you unlocked your door and swung it open. You wasted no time slamming it behind you, falling to the ground before it as you let out a shaky breaths.

Holding your hand against your chest, you tried to even your breathing. You were never afraid, at least you hadn’t been. Your friends made you stronger and now where were they?

Panting, you let out a little whimper. The second you closed your eyes, IT appeared and you wasted no time in opening your eyes again. Taking a look around your dark and vacant house, you were pulled away from the events that had happened outside and back into reality. “Mom?” You called, “you home?”

You wandered into the kitchen, finding nothing. No note, nothing. She obviously wasn’t home, but it’d be nice if she could at least let you know. Sighing, you dropped your bag on the dining table, taking a seat on one of the chairs. You let your head lean on your hand, staring at the darkened room around you.

“What happened…?”


Part 2?

Let me know what you thought! I hope you all enjoyed!

thank you — p.p.

summary → there has never been a moment where peter’s words haven’t failed him whilst basking in your presence, so why should they form coherent sentences now?

word count → 3.5k

author’s note → did you guys forget that i write because honestly me 2

  Be it totally and completely out of the blue, you awaken one bright, blazing Tuesday morning in early November, brisk chill whipping through the air, and decide that later that night, when you see him somewhere that isn’t so public and academic like, you’re going to kiss Peter Benjamin Parker.  

  You’re not quite sure what brings it on, perhaps you should just leave it to the raging teenage hormones that the doctors and psychologists and guidance counselors blame everything on, but another part of you understands that this longing, yearning, to let yourself fall in love with your best friend is something far from foreign or new. This loving feels familiar to you, like coming back home after vacations far away and far too long, and it’s warmth in the way that burrowing under your blankets when the chill settles into your bones is. Boys like Peter demand to be adored, and they demand to be kissed as if never before. You’d be damned if you let such prime opportunities escape your grasp, or rather, your lips. 

  The hours in school glide by, which was, admittedly, utterly surprising. Typically, when you’re anticipating something later in the day, any hours before the event that is to transpire drag on as if you’re not impatient, as if you can wait all day without a complaint. But suddenly it’s last period, then two-thirty rolls around and you’re bounding over to your locker where your best friend awaits you, rocking slightly on the heels of his feet the way he has a tendency to do when he’s overexcited. This motion is arguably the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. Then again, anything Peter does, the simplest actions that bear no real relevancy, is something that you mark down in your head as the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 

   Peter glances around the halls, unable to see you through the mounds of students rushing hurriedly past him in order to relieve themselves of academia for the day as soon as possible. He pulls down the cuff of his sweater over his hands, then rethinks this and pushes them back up to his elbows. Blue looks nice on him. There are just these little things you tend to notice about him, silly things that only a person in love would pick up, and these tiny details, like the way the light catches in his eyes and the smiles he saves for certain people, make your heart bright and happy and whisper lovingly to him in a voice he can’t hear. The crowd disperses considerably enough, and you manage to fight your way through the remaining throng of people loitering in the hallway for no real reason- beyond frustrating, you think, but then Peter catches your eye and his already happy demeanor increases tenfold. With a beam that practically stretches out and reaches into your heart, seizing it carefully and determinedly, Peter ambles toward you, trying to appear more relaxed than he felt, and pushes himself into your personal space, as usual, by wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him. 

    “You’re in a good mood,” you note, because at this point in your relationship there’s no need for formal greetings, as he parades you out of the building after letting go of you long enough to allow you to gear up for the cold sweeping through the borough outside the walls of Midtown. He casts a glance your way, sideways but still joyous, then shrugs, nonchalant. “You’re just so happy to see me, aren’t you, Pete?” 

   You’re half joking and not expecting much until Peter gives you a little look, head tilted to the side and his eyebrows furrowed slightly like he can’t believe the question is something you don’t know the answer to. He gives your shoulder a squeeze. “You should know the answer to that by now!” He exclaims, mock disappointment in the head shake he gives you. “The answer is yes. We see each other for, like, two seconds at a lunch all day and that’s it. I’m deprived. I miss you.” 

  “We’re together right now,” you laugh, nudging into his side. 

   “Not enough. I see Ned twenty-four-seven, I need both of my best friends with me all day every day if I’m gonna survive the next two and a half years of high school.” Your heart sort of twitches again, your palms feel warm. He has that influence over you. Love is such a strange thing sometimes, impossible to decipher or make sense of, and then other times it feels like the simplest emotion in the world, easy and steady and everything. You’ll never know what to make of it. “I just miss you, okay? Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he jokes, rubbing your shoulder for a second before letting his hand dangle across the edge of your shoulder. You reach up to intertwine your fingers with his, the way you have millions of times before in the same seemingly intimate way, pretending as if you don’t know the sweet grin that the gesture elicits from him, staring adoringly at the profile of your face like he couldn’t possibly get enough of the view. 

   “Aw,” you coo, pinching his cheek with the hand that wasn’t holding his. Peter flinches away, his eyes squeezing shut and his cheeks pink. “I missed you, too, Pete. So, where are we off to today? Can we go traipse around SoHo? We haven’t been in ages and oh! Look, I see the A train, it’s on every corner, let’s go.” Before he realizes it, he’s being dragged down toward the steps of the subway, his complaints about constantly getting lost there falling upon deaf ears. 

   Much more than a mere few hours later, Peter is shaking his head as you laugh hysterically down the block leading to your apartment building. He has a feigned look of annoyance on his face as you talk, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Peter, we didn’t get lost that bad this time. Seriously, we made it to Union Square, which was right by the R train, then we took it to the mall and hopped on the M which we took to the F, ridiculously simple!” You exclaim, taking a sip from your bottle of water. “You’re acting as if we, like, walked around in a  circle for an hour.” 

   “Because that’s exactly what we did!” He replies, playfully punching you in the arm, but with a carefully light touch. Peter is, and has always been ever since it became a pressing issue, terribly aware of his enhanced strength and senses. He’s so nervous about accidentally hurting you when his intentions were to be playful that he does everything with extra caution now, barely letting himself touch you most of the time or even give a gentle squeeze of your hand. “We did walk in a a circle for an hour! And your phone died while you were trying to use Google Maps, it was pouring rain, you got so cold I had to give you my jacket which made me cold-”

  You interrupt him, “No one said you had to give me your jacket!” 

  He continues on his rant, pretending as if you haven’t spoken even though the smirk twitching at the corners of his lips beg to differ- “we couldn’t figure out where we were which is stupid since we’re supposed to be New Yorkers, then finally I said to just keep walking straight, which we did until we found Union Square due to pure dumb luck.” Peter watches you throw your head back and laugh, high in sound and utterly happy, and he shoves his hands deep in his pockets, a stupidly thrilled grin on his face, too. He hated that he couldn’t stop grinning; it was ridiculous and it hurt his cheeks and made his eyes squint so hard they ached once he was finally able to let his mouth rest. Oh, how his heart couldn’t stop hammering! He was so nervous he could hardly think straight. Peter Parker was drowning, suffocating, choking on these emotions that had been so far buried deep, deep within the recesses of his heart that he hardly knew what to do with them now that they were drifting to the surface like leaves on a pond. 

     You can feel his eyes on you, the soft and sweet, carefully watching gaze of Peter, and so you take the moment for your own. You’re standing in front of the door to the apartment building when you whip around toward him, and he goes in for the hug like he knows what you’re planning to do. Instead, you lean up, take his face in your hands and you note how cold his cheeks are as you avoid his surprised gaze. Then, you’re kissing him. You are kissing Peter Parker in the way you’ve never kissed anyone before; it’s hesitant, over too fast like it never even happened, but you kissed him and he knows you’ve just kissed him, but the thoughts flipping through his brain and the way his stomach is clenching doesn’t allow him to form coherent sentences that you can hear and comprehend. 

   Instead of kissing you again, instead of lifting you up in his arms and spinning you around the street and singing like a madman because the person of his dreams seems to want him right back, he stutters for five seconds. The only words that he can manage to say are, “Thank you,” before he turns back around and quite literally sprints down the block to his own apartment. 

   When he gets home he collapses on his bed, grunting a hello to May before he shoves his pillow over his face and screams into it, unabashed screaming that he drags out for two minutes. He pulls back, red cheeked and panting. He immediately rolls over to call Ned, begging him to come over immediately and no, Ned, he doesn’t care about the comic you’re in the middle of reading because this is an emergency damn it! 


   “You said thank you?” Ned says incredulously, thirty minutes later and trying not to burst into hysterics after what his best friend had just relayed to him. He can’t help himself, and as Peter hugs his pillow to his chest with a look similar to that of someone who is experiencing severe indigestion, Ned wheezes out a laugh held in for so long that it just goes on forever. Peter buries his face in the plush, comforting fabric, emitting a groan that continues for as long as Ned cackles. “Dude, you’re a mess. I can’t believe you said thank you. Who says thank you after being kissed? For the first time? By someone you’ve been dying to kiss for the past, like, three years?” Ned is practically crying by the time Peter  launches his pillow at his so called best friend, resting his fists against his cheeks and letting a pout befall his lips. 

   “Ned,” Peter whines, brown eyes pleading. “I need help. I said thank you! I hate myself, I shouldn’t be allowed to be kissed ever again. I’m… I’m so stupid. I said thank you! To Y/N! Y/N! Of all people! Thank you! Thank you.” He repeats the phrase with a sad, small shake of his head and lies back down on his bed. Ned stretches out across the top bunk, Peter can hear the old bed creak, and they both let out a sigh. “What should I do, man? Do you think Y/N hates me?” 

   Ned is quiet for a moment. “Right now? Y/N definitely hates you right now. I’m not even saying that to be mean, I’m saying that as your best friend. You said thank you.”  

  “I know,” he says, miserable and pathetic and contemplating what sort of injuries he might hypothetically sustain if he attempted a backflip off the edge of the Empire State Building. 


   “He said thank you?” Michelle Jones doesn’t even bother to wait, to even offer a dash of fake but well meant sympathy, before she erupts into hysterics, laughing so terribly hard that she nearly rolls off your twin bed. You stare at her, stone faced, unamused, as she continues her awful wheezing laughter that she has no intention of halting any time soon. “Oh my god, oh my god, I have to-” MJ abruptly stands up, stifling her laughter behind her hand as she leaves your bedroom, then closes the door behind her and starts laughing again. It’s loud, practically deafening, mostly because the laughter feels so mocking and smothering in lieu of recent events that had occurred less than an hour ago. You sigh, hugging your pillow even tighter to your chest as you wait for your so called best friend to return from her stint in the hallway. 

   “Oh, are you done now? Thanks,” you snap, shifting over on the bed to make room for her to clamor back on. “I can’t believe you. I’m having a crisis and you leave to go laugh at me in the hallway. What sort of friend are you, MJ?” 

   She shrugs, the ghost of a hilariously mocking grin still playing at her mouth. “The friend who tells it like it is.” 

   You huff, lying down on the bed and staring up at the glow in the dark stars you had stuck up there when you were fourteen, the July before you started high school. You put them up with Peter, and it was late and hot and your palms were sticky with sweat that sometimes wonder was due to the heat of the summer or the boy sitting next to you in your room, on your tiny bed, rambling on about the rings that Jupiter had, because yes Jupiter has rings, and the reasons as to why stars emit light. Peter was always there, never wavering in his loyalties, your most beloved friend, the boy who promised over and over again that he’d be there for you no matter what. He was Peter, and you loved Peter, and if Peter didn’t love you back that would be just fine- you just wanted to know sooner rather than later. “What should I do? Is he, like, repulsed by me? Why would you let me kiss him, Michelle?” 

   “Uh, excuse me, I didn’t even know you were planning on planting a big one on Peter Parker, so any blame cast on me is henceforth cancelled. Got that? Good,” Michelle brushes her hair out of her eyes, that intense look appearing on her already intense face. “First of all, that loser is physically incapable of being repulsed by you. I’m just telling you that right now before you go off on a stupid tangent about whether or not he hates you. That’s final. Next, he’s never been kissed before! He was definitely overwhelmed, probably freaking out inside, didn’t know what to do, and that was the first thing that popped into his head and he ran with it and then he ran away. Understandable. Finally, boys are just stupid. All of them. They’re all complete morons, and-” 

   “Okay, Michelle, the idiotic tendencies of people who identify as a male is a riveting debate that we enjoy quite frequently, but tonight I think I’m done talking boys. I’m going to just… let things happen as they should? If Peter likes me, he’ll tell me, and that’ll be that. I just won’t bring up the kiss. I’ll pretend like it didn’t happen.” With a satisfied nod, MJ pats your head, then, for a split second, snorts under her breath again. 

  She holds her hands up defensively, exclaiming, “He still said thank you! He’s never living this shit down!”


    The next day at school, Peter is prepared and ready for the conversation he anticipates is going to happen. He is ready to be understanding if you yell at him for being a complete and utter ass after you kissed him, he’s ready to spill his bottled up feelings all over the linoleum floor if that’s what it takes for you to believe that the kiss was the best thing he’s ever experienced, ever would experience, and he’s ready for the beginning of everything he’s ever dreamt of, but none of that comes. At least, not immediately, not in the way he expected. 

   The boy has always thought himself a patient person, but in the months that have passed he’s realized that under no circumstances is he okay with waiting. He’s impatient and annoyed at everyone and everything that comes his way that isn’t you, and then he’s annoyed at you for not appearing to him and acknowledging that you kissed him on the front steps of your apartment building with a fervor that could only be identified as the crashing, burning, raging, bursting power of pent up emotion. He knows he has hardly any classes with you, so there’s no conceivable way you could have an in depth discussion of your relationship status as of this very moment, but still. He’d appreciate a gesture of some kind. And then, after this thought pops into his head, he wonders if he should be the one to make the gesture. 

   Prompt with following his instincts, he sets off to find you before you can avoid him at lunch like he knows you will. He stands by your locker, leaning against the cool metal frame, waiting for you to make an appearance. He sees you first, and by now this is simply rote for him. You don’t have time to even attempt to duck out of his way; Peter is determined, stubborn, and he won’t lose out on his chance by allowing you to go on ignoring him. Even if you don’t want a relationship, a decision he’ll respect wholeheartedly, he flat out refuses to even entertain the idea of no longer having you as his best friend, as his other kind of love. He takes your hand, silent begging scrawled across the weakened, anxious smile he gives you. He leads you toward the front of the school, around a bend of empty lockers, and takes a step back. 

   Neither of you really look at each other until he says, unexpectedly, “You kissed me!” It’s almost accusatory, the way he says it, and, affronted, you look back up at him in alarm.  

   “And you said thank you!” You retort, eyes narrowed. “Who says that!” The entire reason you’ve been avoiding him was to avoid this discussion. It was making you feel feverish. Peter had always made you nervous, it was painfully obvious, but this was so much different than just incessant butterflies in your stomach. This was a post-kiss conversation, and you hardly knew what to say to him other than repeating the previous query of, “Seriously, who tells someone thank you after they’ve just kissed you!”

   The question is rhetorical, so he ignores it. That, and because he’s already embarrassed enough by his tactless reply. He waves his hands around aggressively. “I know! I know I did! I didn’t mean to! You scared me!” 

   “Wow, thanks.” 

   “I didn’t mean it like that! You’re not scary, you’re like a baby deer, a fawn, you’re so cute and non-intimidating, I didn’t mean that you were scary I meant that I’ve never been kissed and being kissed by the person you have a crush on is a scary thing especially when it comes out of nowhere so I’m sorry that I said thank you but I just didn’t- my brain doesn’t work sometimes, okay!” Peter runs his hands through his hair. One curl flips down, curling over his forehead in a stupidly cute way.

   “Peter, you literally drive me up the wall, sometimes.” You shake your head, give a sigh, take two steps forward so that you’re so much closer to him than you were before even though two steps shouldn’t feel like you’re closing the widest gap in history. “Should I not have kissed you?” 

   His pretty brown eyes go wide. “Did you not hear the part where I called you cute? And the part where I said I have a crush on you? Do you have selective hearing? Work with me here,” he pleads, taking holding of your shoulders and giving the gentlest shake he can manage. 

   “So, kissing is a yes, then?” You press, just to make sure, just to tease him a little because you can see the way he grows more and more flustered each time you act like you have no idea what he’s talking about. He closes his eyes. There’s a deep inhalation while you stand there waiting for him, and when he kisses you, you’re the one taken by surprise, hands frozen in midair as he lets his lips move from yours in this painfully slow way you’re almost sure he’s taunting you with. You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to the punch. 

  “I swear, if you ruin this moment and say it-” 

  “Thank you, Peter.” 

  “I think we’re going to have to break up before we’re even together. You blew it, Y/N. Good work.” 

  “Aw, c’mon! It’ll be our thing.”

  “No.”

TAGS : @iusethistoreadfanfics @pbpz @skymoonandstardust @lunastarwatcher @warcriminalrogers @brittyblogs @tiny-friggin-human @heartfrost @gentlethunderstorm @fairydustparker @emmaaolsen @xwinterromanxff @idioticnerd24 @ravenclaws-say-caw @buckysmaingirl @pillow223 @quacksontommy @handsomeholland @tomarvelicious @fluffyavengers @wavy-ley @radicalstars @nedslaptop @nedandpeter @starparker @parkerroos @stephie-senpai @spideytattoo @peterplanet @fullwizardstrawberry @yoinkpeter @linnsweatpants @mossyfeet @sophia1644 @itsssmichelleee

INFP Relationship Troubleshooting Guide (Guest Post)

           Being in a relationship with an INFP is probably going to be one of the most rewarding things you have ever done in your life, so, congratulations! They are quirky, romantic, shy, bubbly little introverts who have a capacity for love that is so large, it could very easily be considered a fault. However, although being in a relationship with an INFP will certainly reap many benefits (you’re about to get a book of poetry dedicated to you, songs written about you, little gifts, “I love you” texts…), keep in mind that INFPs are drained very easily. They exert so much effort into loving their significant other, that when they suspect the same amount of effort isn’t being reciprocated, an INFP can easily begin to doubt whether or not there are still mutual feelings. Luckily for you, as one with many INFP friends, I am going to tell you how to better understand, appreciate, and love the INFP in your life.

1.      They love space, but you’re the exception.

It’s true, INFPs are still introverts, despite coming across as extroverts. Normally, on any given day, most INFPs aren’t stimulated (at least, not as much as their sensor-counterparts, ISFPs) by physical touch. Lord knows they would die before they initiated it. However, just because they don’t initiate or respond to a brush against the arm or back, a kiss on the cheek, or a hug in a romantic, swept-off-their-feet sort of way, doesn’t mean they don’t enjoy it. On the contrary, INFPs are passionately affectionate creatures. Unfortunately, they are still also shy. They are constantly worried about their efforts going exactly the way they didn’t plan, so when it comes to romance, it can be safer for them to keep their hands to themselves. Go the extra mile. Put your arm around them. Hold their hand. Brush the hair out of their face. If you’re feeling extra romantic, kiss them.  Once you break the initiation barrier, it will be worth it.

2.      “Do you really mean it?”

A question that doesn’t escape an INFP’s lips often enough, yet is always in the back of their mind. Due to their dominant introverted feeling, remaining true to their character and their values is non-negotiable. However, it also makes them apt to know that not everyone is as honest as they are. INFPs might question, doubt, or even accuse your intentions of being false, or ill-placed. Be patient with your INFP, and remind them often that you do mean well. Words are special, yes, but they won’t believe unless you prove it with your actions. Thankfully, it really doesn’t take much. Even asking them how they’re feeling, or bringing up a story that they shared long ago to remind them that you care, and that you are attentive to their needs and stories. You may notice that they ask often how your day was. That is because they genuinely care for your deepest feelings. They would hold your heart in the palms of their hands and guard it through flood and fire. They have seen the darkness in the world, and have probably succumbed to it at some point in their life. Keeping up with them and making sure that they’re taking care of themselves is one way you can show them that you really do appreciate and love them.

3.      Their spontaneous, impulsive nature is the only predictable thing about them.

Don’t allow your INFP to be apologetic for the quirky things about them. Their auxiliary function, extroverted intuition, is constantly spouting strange ideas, notions, and stories that all somehow connect with what is on their heart (Fi). If one moment, you two are discussing politics and philosophy, and the next minute your INFP expresses a sudden interest in entering a Christmas light competition, don’t take it personally. They most likely weren’t bored of the topic at hand. They don’t merely have one train of thought, they have twenty-seven, and it’s up to you to keep them grounded without judging them. Let them be random. Let them be spontaneous. Let them go on tangents and rabbit trail onto something totally unrelated. If they allow that side of themselves to open up around you (because, believe it or not, most INFPs I’ve met are actually pretty insecure about their childlike spirits), you’re very special to them. Don’t take that for granted or brush it off like they’ll do that for anyone.

4.      Flirting is fun, yes, but INFPs need and crave so much more.

Don’t get me wrong, an INFP who willingly flirts is the world’s most secret, guarded treasure. However, it gets old. It’s tiring. INFPs want more out of a relationship than the physical. They crave connection and genuineness. Ask about their poetry, or music, or whatever hobby it is that they enjoy. Ask about their feelings. Talk about the universe, talk about where you see yourself in ten years, twenty years, sixty years. Throw something flirty in there every now and then, but show your INFP that you love their soul. You won’t regret it. I promise.

           There you go! Four essential tips for keeping your relationship with an INFP healthy. Have fun, be genuine, and remember that nobody is perfect. This isn’t exclusive to INFPs. You can apply those tips to any relationship with any type, but according to my INFP friends, these four are the most important and heartwarming.

It movie 2017 - poem

He thrusts his fists against the post

and still insists he sees the ghost.

His stutter has gotten worse with time

ever since dear Georgie died.

And so it gets even worse still

when his parents harass and ignore poor Bill.

It is when all of his fears take hold,

that bill has a hard time being bold.

But when it comes to his little brother,

the speech that he’ll make won’t utter a stutter.

The bullies don’t care, but his friends sure do.

It’s how they found Betty Ripsom’s shoe

They band together with Bill at the lead.

Killing IT so it will no longer feed,

On the children who’s lives were ripped away.

Slowly forgotten day after day.

They rise in the air, dead as they float.

One of them Georgie Denbrough

We’ll stop the madness, stop the pain.

Swear we’ll come back and end the reign.

Free the people of this dreadful town

From Pennywise, the dancing clown.

In twenty-seven years. So long!

We swore with our blood, what could go wrong?

For Reasons Wretched and Divine

By: indiaalphawhiskey
Art by: @dimpled-halo

Rating: Explicit
Fandom: One Direction (Band)
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Friends to Enemies, Enemis to Friends to Lovers, Bullying, Homophobic Language, Betrayal, Angst
Chapters: ½
Word Count: 40k / ~80k

The Playlist.

Ten years ago, Harry Styles was just a nerdy kid with one friend and a debilitating crush on the captain of his school’s football team. He thought the stars were smiling down on him the day he and Louis Tomlinson were paired for their end-of-term Literature project. But because Harry’s life is decidedly not a fairytale, the budding friendship quickly leads to the least happy ending of all time.

Now, Harry Styles is a household name. Barely twenty-seven with two Grammy nominations to his name, the singer-songwriter is poised to take the music industry by storm with his highly anticipated third album. So, what happens when the best producer in the business is also the only person Harry’s vowed never to speak to again?

An AU in two parts. Two boys, two stories, and hopefully, two chances at love.

Written for @1dreversebang.

Part 2 coming very, very soon.

seven years || s.s

Relationship: Sebastian Stan x AU!Reader

Summary: Sebastian has always been a small part of your life, coming and going every few years. After the countless nights you’d spend together you’d fall more and more for him every time, tonight it no exception. 

Warnings: mild angst, fluff, drinking, age gap (but it’s like a five year one), smut (18+)

Word Count: 2.4k

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