stanley barber

reblog if you agree

syd making brad’s head blow up was so very sexy of her

no thoughts only stanley barber

No one:

The entire IANOWT fandom: stanley barber is the only person that exists bye

Not all men-

You're right. Stanley Barber would NEVER.

stanley still tried to stop brad from spilling syd’s secret even after it came out that the person she liked over him was dina!!!!

stanley barber is the ONLY man to ever exist

in honor of i am not okay with this, here’s a video of wyatt oleff saying “i mean lesbian rights yeah of course”

aka ianowt spoilers w/o context

I Am Not Okay With This 1.1

the chronicles of jodilynn and elias

excuse the title lol its just a placeholder. this ends kinda abruptly cuz i cut it in half (theres more to this and ill post it soon :) )

“Yeah, no way, Eli. That’ll only attract more.” I sighed heavily. Was I just now noticing Jodie’s stubbornness? “Well, then, the only way to get rid of them without hurting them is to catch and release them. Besides, that way we’ll get to examine them.” “Okay, Steve Irwin. How do you suppose we’ll catch two ravenous raccoons?” “Uh…” “Exactly. We should just follow my idea. We lure out the raccoons with old food and scraps until they find another garbage can to eat from.” “Fine. We’ll try that, but if more of them get to the treehouse, it’s on you.”

After a bit of silence, I heard Jodie pipe up. “Hey, do you hear that?” She turned to me. I paused, holding my breath to listen. It sounded like a howling in the distance, but I couldn��t quite tell. Jodie shifted slightly on the train tracks, and I could see worry frame her face. Before I could ask her what was wrong, I started to recognize the sound.

A train whistle.

We’d never had to escape from a train before, because we suspected that the tracks were out of service. I could hear the train chugging closer along the trail, and I scrambled to collect my things. I stepped off the tracks and looked back at Jodie. She was slightly hunched over, her backpack and belongings still strewn about the tracks. She nervously cried out my name, struggling with her shoe.

“Eli! I-I think it’s stuck!” I could see that if Jodie pulled any harder, her foot would come right off. I tossed my stuff on the grassy plain behind me and took Jodie’s belongings off the tracks. We could both hear the train lurking forward, the whistle only getting louder and invading our ears. The sound soon became hazy in my mind, drowned out by my own heartbeat. Both of Jodie’s bootlaces were caught underneath the bolts in the tracks. My fingers slipped on them as I struggled desperately to untie them. I gave up on that and tried to pull her boot off. Jodie whirled around, looking for the train that was still coming closer. My hands trembled. It felt like the more I tried to pull off her boot, the tighter the laces got. They seemed to hiss and snarl like snakes. The train whistle howled, suddenly screaming in my ears. My eyes darted across the tracks, spotting the looming locomotive. The light adorning the front felt blinding, and it stung my eyes to look at it. It was either the light, or the tears stabbing my retinas.

Finally, it felt like the whole world came undone. Everything happened so quickly, I thought I was hallucinating. Jodie’s foot slipped out of her boot in a flash, and my body seemed to do the work for me as I stumbled to the field behind us. Jodie tumbled back with me, both of us panting heavily. Our heartbeats pounded in our heads, unable to speak or really process anything. The train whizzed by, just as it would’ve if Jodie was still caught in the tracks. My lungs burned and my chest throbbed thinking about what could’ve happened.

Jodie turned to me wordlessly, her eyes unreadable yet full of emotion. They said, “Thank you,” but also, “I almost just died,” as well as, “Am I dreaming?” Her pupils broke contact with mine, falling to the ground. I looked at my hands, riddled with strain and soreness. She took my hand is hers and squeezed it - an action that asked for comfort but gave comfort too. Her hands were cold and soft, the opposite of mine. Neither of us could say anything - what do you say after you save your friend from getting run over by a train?

Jodie looked back at her mangled boot in the tracks. “That was my favorite boot,” she murmured. I looked at her feet - one still wearing a black combat boot, the other bare, with just a grey sock. “Here,” I said, reaching down to my sneaker, “I’ll make it even.” I pulled off my left shoe and placed it down next to Jodie’s. She laughed slightly at the sight, and took off her other boot. I did the same.

We began to make our way back to the treehouse. It was nestled in a large oak tree in my backyard. My dad had built it when I was seven, and over the years it grew with me. I made changes internally and externally, and made room for Jodie. We officially met on a field trip in seventh grade, and we started walking home together. Soon enough, I had let her into all of the cool hideouts I’d found. I’ve only ever showed a few people those places, and none of them have stuck with me. Except Jodie. Mom says she’s a keeper - whatever that means.

The treehouse stands all the same. Worn oak wood that has grown darker over time; a window with makeshift shutters; a sturdy hatch in the bottom; walls covered in posters for various movies and indie bands - all of it I'd grown to love more each day. And all of it I shared with Jodie. I remember the first time she came over and I showed her the treehouse. "Wow. I've always wanted a treehouse," she had said. "Well, now it's ours." I had smiled at her, leading her up the ladder and inside the shack. Soon Jodie's visits became more frequent and the treehouse really was ours. We began to call it " ". And soon her presence was the norm, and it was strange if she wasn't over at my house. Jodie had added some of her own things - a painting of hers, pictures of the two of us, string lights, posters of her favorite bands. It was a second home to the both of us. When we were in the treehouse, we didn't have to pretend for anyone. We trusted each other, and didn't have to put on a front. We were as ourselves as we could get. It was such a free feeling - ironic, considering we were confined by the wooden walls. If we needed to vent or cry, we'd come to the treehouse. And anything we didn't want the outside world to hear stayed within those walls. I’d seen the best and the worst of Jodie, and she’s seen all of the sides of me. It’s almost scary; I think I’m closer to her than any of my family members. Regardless, it’s a good thing to have this kind of connection with someone. Someone who won’t judge you for how you’re feeling, and won’t just listen to you, but take all of your words in. Someone who you can agree and disagree with. Someone who you aren’t afraid to talk to and isn’t afraid to talk to you. We’re soulmates, in short.

I know, it’s a bit ridiculous. We’re 15 and 16. They say high school friendships don’t last, but I say ‘they’ don’t know what they’re talking about. ‘They’ also say everything happens for a reason. Was it really vital for me to drop my toothbrush in the toilet last week? ‘They’ also say life is like a box of chocolates - you never know what you’ll get. Who eats a box of chocolates without reading the box or looking at what they’re eating? My point being, ‘they’ don’t know anything. And technically, Jodie and I aren’t a high school friendship. We’ve been friends plenty before high school. I only wonder, is it naive to believe that Jodie and I are ‘meant for each other’? Is it a mistake to attach myself to a person so young, or is this prime time to make these kinds of connections?

the hole in the ceiling

a bit of writing from a while ago. more soon!

The hole had been there since forever. She’d forget now and then how it had gotten there, but Cryer was always quick to remind Her. Cryer loved that story, almost as much as he loved telling it. It went something like this: Cryer’s mother had always loved the moon. She would sit outside with Cryer when he was very young, simply looking out at the moon. Cryer had also grown to love it. So much so that he’d begun to cry whenever they had to go inside. Then the moon would disappear under the horizon, and Cryer had to wait until dusk to see it again. 

Eventually, Cryer’s mother made her departure. And, eventually, Cryer no longer had the time to sit outside and admire the moon. He was always rushing around. So, he decided to make a hole. A hole that would let him see the moon when he could only steal a glance before bed. The hole was quite wide, and was located in the middle of the kitchen ceiling. The hole had its flaws. They had to get rid of the rug because the rain would make it mold. They moved the kitchen over because people would always slip on the wet, hard floor. They had to guide out a countless amount of birds that would mistakenly fly in. But Cryer didn’t care about the problems the hole brought upon them and the house. The hole had filled the one in his heart that arrived when his mother passed. The hole brought a mystical peace. The hole was unique. What other house had a hole in the kitchen ceiling? The hole allowed Cryer and Her to see the moon. She didn’t exactly cherish the view as much as Cryer, but She never knew Mother as well as Cryer did. She and Mother never sat outside to look at the moon. Just Cryer. Cryer and Mother. Cryer and Mother and the moon. Cryer took an eternal interest in the moon and astronomy as he grew older. He never stopped learning about it and its wonders. Cryer still never fully understood that milky glow of a moon that peeked out every night, but he didn’t have to fully understand it to love it. He never fully understood Mother or Her, and he loved them both. Things didn’t have to be perfect to be great. And as long as the hole was there and the moon was there too, Cryer was great. As long as Cryer was feeling great, She was too.

But one night, something was wrong. Very, very wrong. It was all just black. Plain darkness. Not a single star. No moon. And soon, no Cryer. He had gone out searching desperately for it, despite Her pleads for him not to leave. Cryer sought to find one of the few things he had left. But there was no moon.

He suspected it’d been swallowed up by the darkness, or the sun’s light had burnt out and there was no light for the moon to reflect. He thought he’d never see it again. He thought it’d never be okay. Something else seemed even more off. The town was silent about it. No one said anything of the disappearance of the moon, as if Cryer and She were only imagining it. This frightened Cryer to no end, as if he wasn’t already terrified with the absence of the moony aura in the black sky. Cryer felt empty. Emptier than the night sky. Emptier than when Mother left. He held onto Her with his life, fearing She’d leave too, and then Cryer would really have nothing and no one left. He didn’t spend one night without crying after the moon’s vanishing, and he certainly didn’t spend one night without clutching Her to him.

Cryer gave up one night.

The moon wasn’t coming back. It’d never be back. It was as gone as Mother.

Cryer let Her know that he gave up on the moon, and She could hardly suppress the tears burning her eyes. Cryer cherished everything about the moon and the emotions it brought to the home. She’d never expect him to truly give up one day. Cryer got rid of every astronomy book he owned. He got rid of anything remotely related to the stars or the moon.

And the hole in the ceiling was patched. It was Her turn to spend insomniac nights worrying and crying. She had to do something about Cryer and this loss. She had to get the moon back. But how? How do you bring the moon back into the sky when you’ve no clue where or why it has gone?

Cryer awoke to the ear-splitting buzz of a chainsaw. He practically threw himself out of bed and skidded to the source of the sound. There She was, crafting a new hole in the kitchen ceiling. Pieces of ceiling ker-thumped onto the floor, and She coughed away the dust in her throat. She climbed down from the counter, and saw Cryer standing in horror and suppressed anger. She was ruining the kitchen! Who had a hole in their kitchen ceiling?! What did She think she was doing? Cryer was yelling at her. She simply smiled at him, ignoring the words Mother would have Cryer’s head for hurling at Her.

When Cryer was finished and tired himself out, She was still smiling at him. She watched as his face softened, and he began to cry. She was almost impressed at how he still had tears after draining his eyes so often. She embraced Cryer, and they stood there for what felt like hours. The ceiling hole’s edges crumbled a bit. Eventually, Cryer had calmed himself down. And She spoke.

“Would you like to watch for the moon tonight?”

Cryer fought down the teardrops, wanting to spare his eyes for just a few minutes. He had no words. He was afraid that if he spoke, he would choke on his words. So he simply nodded.

So, that night, She and Cryer went out as soon as the sky got dark. Still, not a word from the newspaper or any neighbors. The moon must’ve still been in their skies. At least Cryer could share the loss with someone who felt it too, and understood what it meant to him. They waited so long that She actually felt like sleeping, a drowsiness of which she hadn’t felt so strongly in at least a week. But she forced herself to stay awake. She had to stay awake. For Cryer. For Mother. For the moon. If they ever saw it again.

Cryer also felt like falling asleep. He wasn’t really falling, though, it was more stumbling. He’d stumble in and out of sleep, blinking rapidly and rubbing the fatigue from his eyes to stay alert. They were nodding off to sleep. The longer they tried to stay awake, the harder it became. But then, a flicker of light. Bright white light. Blinding, even.

She elbowed Cryer, who hissed her an “ow!” Then he saw why She did it. The flutter of light exploded into a globe of ivory. It glowed with passion and joy, as if it held every bit of happiness She and Cryer had ever experienced combined. Scattered, small balls of light peppered the dark sky. The stars. They didn’t say a word; they didn’t need to. And they were better off silent. The awe, relief, triumph and glee that washed over the two of them was indescribable. You’d have to feel it yourself to truly understand it. The moon was back. It shined brighter than anything. Brighter than Cryer’s eyes when he spoke about astronomy. Brighter than Her smile when she greeted Cryer in the morning. Brighter than any star Mother had ever seen.

Things weren’t totally perfect, though. They’d still slip on the rain sometimes in the kitchen. They’d still have to help a lost bird every now and then. They’d still have to climb up to the roof where the hole was in a hurry to stop snow from getting in. She and Cryer still fought over small things like siblings did. And Mother was still gone.

But that was all okay. Because things didn’t have to be perfect to be great. And they were certainly great. They contemplated replacing the hole with a skylight, but agreed that they preferred the hole in the ceiling and the problems it brought. She and Cryer also made sure to spend many more nights watching the moon. They’d fall asleep on the kitchen floor, but not before saying goodnight. After the whole ordeal, She had earned a nickname. “Goodnight, Cryer,” she’d say. “Goodnight, Moonie,” he’d respond.

And Mother would smile down at them from her place on the moon. She’d whisper goodnight to them, and while they didn’t hear it, they felt it. It was no longer just Mother, Cryer and the moon. It was Mother, Cryer, the moon, and Moonie. Together.

you don’t wash your hands. they wash themselves.

about me :D

hey hi hello dudes!!! welcome to my blog :) here’s a bit about me

you can call me jules (she/her). i was not born in sweden, though my ethnicity is largely swedish and scandinavian. i am in the process of learning swedish. not easy :,)

i don’t watch a lot of tv and honestly am not into many franchises anymore. but i do enjoy some things! i’m heavily into the good place right now. i also like  steven universe, the loud house, daria, disney’s recess, good omens, and heathers.

my hobbies include writing, reading, drawing (bet youve never heard that before) and i play, like, 5 instruments (drums, electric and acoustic guitar, bass and ukulele) and i sing! woo! 

i like grunge! that shit’s hot dude!! i also adore clowncore and mimecore (sidenote: why are most of my fictional crushes the biggest goofball clowns??? do i have a type??)

uhhh hmmm anything else

i have a beanie collection and a pin collection and i say ‘dude’ and ‘bro’ and ‘rad’

i think that summarizes me

here on my blog i will mainly post writing and sometimes art, and maybe just other thought and feelings :) thanks for checking this out!

check out some of my favorite artists + my spotify!!!

- ac/dc - beabadoobee - beach bunny - beastie boys - bowling for soup - cavetown - chastity belt - conan gray - courtney barnett - darwin deez - dayglow - girlfriend material - gorillaz - hunny - illuminati hotties - insane clown posse - iron maiden - jack stauber - lonely god - lorde - lutalica - mattiel - melanie martinez - metallica - mike krol - modern baseball - mother mother - mxmtoon - new politics - oliver tree - the regrettes - rex orange county - roy blair - soccer mommy - tally hall - umi - wallows

my spotify