#cassie short for casserole

[parrot-parent]

Bunker buddies

[tryharddj]

fostering (maybe adopting) a cat whos entire tail had to be amputated and one of his front legs is fractured so he has to hop around to get places and little dude moves exactly like a rabbit and not having a tail does not help the visual similarities

[mamawasatesttube]

how a kiss should taste

T | 6.8k | anitacassie hair care, internalized homophobia, and tender feelings ♥ | written as a @wlwdcchampionship steal!

“Deal with my hair for me?” Anita wheedles, her voice muffled against Cassie’s T-shirt. “Pleaaaase?” Cassie’s eyes widen. Anita wants her to take care of her hair for her? That’s… whoa. Anita is very particular about her hair. It symbolized her connection to her mom for so long; her mom’s back now, and Anita has her family again—bigger than before, given that her parents have a thing with Agent Maad now—but it’s still incredibly meaningful to her. Most people don’t get to touch it, let alone actually participate in Anita’s careful hair-care routines. Frankly, Anita’s way more likely to walk around in her underwear without caring who looks at her than she is to let just about anyone outside her family or her very closest friends do her hair. Like—Cassie is definitely one of those closest friends, and she’s still surprised Anita’s asking. That’s how loath Anita usually is to let others mess with her hair. “You’re sure?” Cassie asks, a second or two late. “I know you, um, don’t usually like when people touch your hair and stuff, and—” Anita laughs at her, face still smushed into her belly. “Girl, would I be the one approaching you about it if I wasn’t sure?”

It’s a small room, kinda dingy in the way cheap roadside motels always are. But it’s shelter—four walls and a roof, and a bed with pillows and blankets, and with how bone-tired she is, that’s all Cassie can ask for.

Water runs in the bathroom—Anita’s still in the shower, wrangling all the swampmonster goop out of her braids. She’s been at it for half an hour; she’s probably getting close to done, right?

How she has the energy for all of that after the day they’ve had, Cassie doesn’t know. She’s got the strength of gods flowing through her veins, and she’s still ready to conk out; Anita’s gotta be running on sheer willpower at this point. It’s mighty impressive.

Cassie sighs, leaning against the edge of the tiny desk crammed into one corner of the room. She’s half-tempted to stick her shitty corner store TV dinner in the microwave, eat, and crash, poor Anita still in the shower be damned, but she holds herself back. It’d be rude, and Anita’s just as tired as she is. And if Cassie’s asleep, who’s gonna tell Anita there’s a second microwavable casserole in the minifridge for her?

See, yeah, it would be rude and unchivalrous. Cassie pinches the bridge of her nose, then rubs her eyes, and finally rakes her hand through her hair. It still catches her by surprise, how short it is now—she hasn’t had it this short since she was fourteen or fifteen, still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and innocent.

What a joke.

{ read on ao3! }

[sad-and-woeful]

Hi! I decided to make a pinned post, cause you can use dividers and jazz in one :D

So, hi! I'm Cassie, short for Cassandra, casserole, or close air support.

I'm Trans, and my pronouns are [she/her] or [it/it's]

My main interests include tanks and history and stuff, I like reading fanfiction and playing war thunder, and getting pet.

Extraneous things under the tarp

My favorite pie is lemon merengue, my favorite ice cream is chocolate and strawberry mixed, and my favorite curry is panang.

The reason that there aren't any pics if me on this blog is because I haven't voluntarily taken any pics of myself for a few years. Sorry not sorry.

I can swim and knit and paint and cook a little and steer a raft, and some other stuff.

My favorite tank is the leopard 1, my favorite anime is girls und panzer, my favorite character within that is yukari, with nekota as a runner up. My favorite m*a*s*h character is mulcahy

(mulcahy/klinger4life)

If you read all the way down here, neat! I hope u like my blog, and have a good day. :D

[shiverspooky]

for good vibes: my enormous beautiful cat Cassie (short for Casserole) loves to hang out in my parent's pajamas drawer so much that she learned how to open it

Oh my goodness CASSEROLE!!!!!!!!!!!! I love her sooo much thank you for sharing, please tell Cassie I adore her 😭💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

[bongwatershots]

My beautiful baby girl Cassie (Short for Casserole)

[mportal]

oh this is very fun!

“Art, yeah, no. You can’t—” The human stopped themselves mid-sentence and loosed a long breath that Artxik had come to know as a sigh. “Cassie doesn’t know the difference between hull plate gradings. She helps me navigate myself through the ship. She doesn’t help me do my job. I realize you’re light-sensitive but stop color coding things. Please use the stamps with the rising ink, like you were shown. This is important. Especially when we’re in mandatory dark mode for high-speed travel. Not everything needs to be solved with light.”

Cassie, short for the traditional human name Casserole, looked at Artxik with seemingly intelligent eyes. He felt betrayed. “But I explained the plating to her very clearly. I have seen her with you following simple commands. I have seen you communicate with her and understand her vocalizations. I do not understand how this is different.”

“Art, please. Hear what I am saying to you.” Artxik was aware of his human co-worker’s growing frustration. Humans always seemed to describe normal ongoing processes once frustrated. Hear what I’m saying. Use your eyes and look again. Turn on your ears. Ridiculous. Artxik’s ears were always on.

“She doesn’t know hull plates and cannot explain them to me. She can help me move around and avoid obstacles, and she can communicate when she’s hungry, thirsty, playful, content, or scared. That’s it.”

“I have also seen her outsmart ranking officer Stiwtix when she attempted to hide the leftover meat allotment from Cassie in the armory locker.”

“Sure, but that’s different.”

“That locker uses a 17-digit code.”

“Yeah, but Cassie’s food-motivated.” The human shrugged. Artxik considered this new information.

“So, should I have used food when explaining the hull plate gradings to her?”

You are the only human employee at a company staffed by a multitude of alien species. Your colleagues seem to be having a difficult time properly understanding who, or what, your guide dog is.

[punked-rats]

my beautiful daughter cassie, short for casserole,

[parrot-parent]

Watch out. She has a little coat now.

[starwritesficsandstuff]

She’s A Fantasy

====A short story====

I step into the library, and take a deep breath.  The scent of paper and leather fills me, and makes my heart swell.  I wish I could buy a candle that could make my house smell like this.  They don't sell candles at the library, though.  They don't sell anything.  So instead, I wander into the fiction section to pick out a book.

If someone asked me for a description of paradise, my answer would be: surrounded on either side by shelves of books, each packed with stories of magic spells, distant kingdoms, and great beasts.  It's also how I'd describe the fantasy aisle, my home away from home.  They say that you should never judge a book by its cover, but I honestly think looking at the book with the coolest spine design first is a good place to start.  I place my finger along the spines of the books, and run it across them, taking in their appearance.  The colors under my finger tip range from blue to red to gray to cream as I travel along the length of the shelf.  The one I stop on is black, with red letters that read Nightmaringale's Reign.  It's such a strange title that I can't help but pull it from the shelf.

It's written by Christie Ellie, definitely one of my top three authors, though she doesn't beat my all-time favorite, W. Fidley.  Ellie's stories are always absurd, packed with villains that have understandable, yet incredibly stupid, motives, and plots that make-sense-but-barely.  A lot of people I meet on the Fantasy Folk forum think that those traits make her books unreadable, but I adore her writing style.  Evidently, other people do too, since this one won an award.  I waddle out of the fantasy aisle with the book already open as I begin the prolog, narrowly missing running into a man attempting to exit the library as I try to keep my eyes as glued to the page as possible while still being able to see around me.

I find a seat at a table, and plant myself down in the chair.  It's one of those plastic chairs they have at elementary schools, and it's uncomfortable and snags my hair in some unseen clack in the plastic.  However, I find Nightmaringale's Reign to be so immersive that I forget my discomfort.  The book begins with a witch named Nightingale, and if Christie Ellie is sticking to her formula, something insane is about to happen to this poor girl to make her the villain.  If the book continues like this, I'll have no choice but to check it out.

The door chimes, and I'm pulled abruptly away from the page towards the noise.  And right when Talsemen was about to curse Nightingale for her disobedience, I think placing a soft, red book mark between the pages and closing the book.  I look up, and the sorrow that comes with being broken from the spell of reading ebbs away.  She has strawberry blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun, and a freckled face, with round glasses that are barely big enough to hide her eyes completely.  For a moment, I'm mesmerized.

She turns, and now her back is to me.  I stand up, barely feeling the motion, with the intent to follow her.  And then I blink, snapping out of my trance.  I can't follow her, I think to myself, I'd look crazy.  Instead, I watch her walk into the fantasy section.  I feel something deep inside me tug upwards, and suddenly I think I may understand what fish feel like when they've been hooked.  I still have the urge to follow her, but instead I retreat to the other side of the library, into the nonfiction section.

There's nobody else in the nonfiction section today.  In fact, there's hardly anyone in the library today at all.  Two P.M. on a Wednesday is just like that.  Still, I feel like eyes are pressed upon my awkward behavior, scrutinizing it for ammunition to be used against me.  I pick one of the books from the shelf at random.

I flip through a few pages.  I stick out my tongue after scanning a couple paragraphs.  I don't know what words like myriapod and trignatha mean, but there are a plethora of images of centipedes on the page, and the sight of them makes my skin crawl.  I close the book as quickly as I can without making a noise.  I look more carefully at the next book I pick up.  I settle on a biography about Rudolf Telfin, which would round out my top three authors list.  This time, I begin reading from the beginning.

I place a second bookmark, a blue one this time, at the end of chapter one with a smile.  I guess this wasn't a waste of my time, I decide, walking to the front desk with my fantasy novels and the biography.  I freeze when I see the woman again.  Once again, I only see her back, as she is exiting the library.  When she is out of sight, I go to the counter and place my books upon it.

The librarian smiles at me.  "Did you find everything okay today, Willow?" they ask me.

"You know I always find everything okay, Cassie, come on," I tease in reply.

Cassie shrugs.  "I never know for sure until I ask, you know."  They look down at the final book in the stack.  "A biography," they hum, "I told you that you'd enjoy branching out more."

I cross my arms, my lips formed into an anxious grin.  "Don't get used to it.  I doubt it will happen again," I tell them, "And under no circumstances should you expect this to get me to read historical fiction."

"Willow!" Cassie drones out, their voice imbued with the energy of a cartoon fox, "Willow!"

"I won't read it!" I insist, handing them my library card, "It's an abysmal genre!"

"Willow!"

"I refuse!"

Cassie giggles, still sounding like a fox.  They hand me my card back.  "Enjoy those books.  Have 'em back in two weeks, yada yada, you know the drill."

"I'll have them back sooner; you know that," I argue, though it's not the kind of argument that anyone rebuttals.  I take the books from the table as Cassie lets out another one of their fox-like laughs.  I walk out of the library with a wide smile.  As the mid-afternoon sunlight glows against me, my smile changes.  It becomes smaller, thinner, distant.  I can only think of strawberry blonde hair, and a freckled face.

I pause, and let the afterimage of the woman in my brain sharpen into focus, and then fade back into my memory.  What's her name?  What does she sound like?  What color are her eyes?  Will she be back?  What book was she checking out? I think all at once.  I take a deep breath, and hold it for five precious seconds.  When I exhale, the thoughts all dissipate.

Like I had promised, I am back one week later.  I shoved all three books into the return slot before walking in the doors.  "There's no way you read all of those in a week," Cassie scoffs, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah, as if you really thought I couldn't," I chuckle.

"Someday, I'll find a book that will break you," they sigh, "Maybe I'll hand you a Bible.  See if you can get through that in a week."

I laugh.  "Do not."

"Yeah, yeah, no wizards in the Bible, so it's boring," they tease.

I add, "No dragons, either.  Basically unreadable."

If there's one thing that cements Cassie as my absolute best friend, it's their sense of humor.  Anything can make them laugh if you time it right, and currently Cassie was laughing themself to tears.  I wave to them, and they wave back as best as they can in their present state.  I turn to the fiction section of the library, and slip into the fantasy aisle.  Just being here makes me feel at ease, though I hadn't even realized that I've been nervous up until now.  I think to myself, how odd, but I'm not that dumb.  I know it's because I'm still thinking about that woman.

I slide my finger along the spines of the books, as is my routine.  The first one I stop on is black, with red letters that read Shadows.  I scan the back, and find that it's a horror novel that someone had reshelved in the wrong section.  I grimace at the idea of someone reshelving their own book even when Cassie tells us not to, but I let the anger welling up in me go with a sigh, and add the book to the reshelving cart myself.  I return to the fantasy aisle, and begin my routine again.  I land on one that looks particularly beautiful.  It's a deep cerulean color, with the name Lucy written in silver calligraphy on the side.

I pull it off the shelf, and read the summary on the back.  I learn that Lucy is a young girl who is learning to be a witch.  When she finally gets her familiar, he gets stolen away by a serial familiar kidnapper, and Lucy fights to get him back.  That alone is intriguing enough to get me to check the book out, but I still flip to the first page to start reading anyways.  I hear the door chime again, but I try not to let it distract me from the paragraph I'm on.  Only minutes later, I'm torn from the words anyways, as if some cosmic force has yanked my gaze up.  I close the book without bookmarking, since there's no point only two pages in.

A woman has stepped into the fantasy aisle with me.  She has strawberry blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun, and a freckled face, with round glasses that are barely big enough to hide her eyes completely.  I feel my face get all hot, and I reason to myself, Well, it is Summer.  I can't look away from her, though, no matter how warm I feel.  I had always hoped, but now I believe- magic is real, and I feel it when I look at her.  She's looking at the books lined on the shelf, but her head turns, so slight that I might have imagined it.  Even though her glasses are glinting in the lights overhead, I can't help but feel like she's looking at me.

I whirl around and march right into the aisle next to fantasy.  I glance around, but see no one.  I'm alone again.  I pull a book from the shelf, and read the title, Gerald and the Time Machine.  I turn the book around, and read the back cover.

Obviously, the book is about a boy named Gerald, and a time machine his father built.  He plays with it even though his father tells him not to, and ends up in colonial times.  He screws up, accidentally telling the people he meets in his past about history that hasn't happened yet, and kickstarts the American Revolution early.  When he returns to the future, everything has changed, and he and his father must go back in time again to fix the problem.  That doesn't sound half bad! I think to myself.  I open the book, and begin reading.

Before I know it, I'm three and a half chapters in, and I have to force myself to look back up from the page to take my books to the front desk.  I place Lucy and Gerald and the Time Machine on the counter.  Cassie looks down at them, and their eyes widened, with a huge grin to match.  I open my mouth to respond to their strange reaction, but they speak first.  "Oh.  My.  God!" they gasp.

I close my mouth, and stare at them.  Their only reply to my clear confusion is to stare back, smirking at me like, isn't it obvious?

"What?  What is it?" I ask.

They fox-giggled.  "Historical fiction!" they cheer.

I felt shock seize me.  "Histori-  No way!  What's historical about either of these books?"

"Time travel, Willow?  Are you for real?" they laughed, "He's going to the past, you know!  Revolutionary War, and all that jazz?"

I look back at the aisle I'd just come from.  Sure enough, there was a sign that read, "HISTORICAL FICTION."  It was written in big, red letters and everything.  My jaw dropped.  "I- I-" I stammered, "But time-travel is more of a sci-fi concept!"

"I have told you several times that historical fiction can overlap with other genres," Cassie pointed out, "And I also told you that you'd find a historical fiction book that you'd enjoy if you'd just look.  So guess what?  Told ya so!"

I roll my eyes.  "Fine.  Whatever.  Go ahead, take the card," I mumble, handing them my library card.  They're busy checking out my books when someone emerges from one of the aisles.  It's the woman again.  She's amassed a large stack of books, though each of them look rather short.  I go stiff, and my face reddens again.  When Cassie hands me back my card, I snatch it away.

"What's your deal now?  Still sour over the sci-fi historical fiction blend?" they tease.  Then, they follow where my gaze had been to the woman.  The fox-like smile on Cassie's face now is stretched to match the energy of a scheming jester.  "Oh?  Her?" Cassie snickers, keeping their voice low, "You like her?  She comes in often.  She used to come in on Fridays, but I guess something changed, and now she's in on Wednesdays.  Lucky you, right?"

I turn without a word, and walk out the library as quickly as I can.  I can't let the woman see me like this, all flustered and pink.  I also don't want her to hear anything that Cassie might say.  I could only pray that they weren't ruining my chances right now.  Then again, I might be ruining my own chances by not taking any, I think to myself.

The first thing I do after returning my books the following Wednesday is run to the front desk.  I put both hands, palms down, against the top and look directly at Cassie's face, my eyes wide.  "What did you tell that woman?" I asked, my voice quiet and dire.

Cassie looks at me with equal surprise at my behavior.  There's a pause, and all I can hear is the rain tapping against the windows of the library.  Then, Cassie replies, "You're dripping all over my forms."

I lift my hand, and fold them up next to me instead.  "Sorry," I murmur, "I just really want to know what you said to her."

Cassie looks at me with a mixture of disbelief and humor.  "I didn't tell her anything.  But I can tell you her name!"

"N- no," I jump in, "That's…  That's something I can find out myself."

"Well, if there's any way I can help, just let me know.  I won't let your heart break, or my name isn't Casserole Vern!"

"Okay, I will," I laugh, and turn away from the front desk, heading back to the sanctuary of the fantasy aisle.  I wish Cassie would write a comedy; anyone who names themself Casserole is worthy of some kind of writing award in the "funniest person who ever lived'' category.  I scan through the books again.  This time, I land on one with a pastel pink cover.  It's shorter than most books I pick out, but the title is The Worst Curse, and anything that pairs up that title with the softest shade of pink is fascinating.  On the front cover is a beautiful illustration of a princess.  She strikes me as familiar.

After a moment of looking, I realize why.  She's got strawberry blonde hair and a freckled face.  Her hair is long and not pinned up, she doesn't have glasses, and she's wearing a big, fancy ball gown that would be out of place in a library, but she looks just like the woman.  I find myself captivated.  "A princess," I mutter to myself, flipping open the first page.  I get through the first few pages, and the writing is decent at best, and slow and bland at worst, but I chalk it up to exposition pacing weirdness.

"I hope you don't mind me s- saying, ma'am, but I could recommend you a better book th- than that," a soft voice peeps in front of me.  I look up, and fight the urge to freeze.  "S- sorry!  It's just that I saw you with Lucy last week, and with Nightmaringale's Reign before that, and I thought maybe we had similar likes, but if that's really your taste, then-" the woman quickly corrects herself.

"No, you're right.  The pacing is really bad in that one," I agree, slipping the book into a nearby reshelving cart.

She laughs.  "Yeah.  And plot twist, she doesn't even get cursed, or curse anyone.  It's a metaphor for nobody liking her or s- something, but that's probably because she has less personality than a raisin."

Good taste in books, great sense of humor, and up close like this she smells faintly of fresh fruit- I mentally tick off boxes of all the amazing girlfriend-material traits this woman has.  "So, what do you recommend?" I ask.

"Have you read Th- thieve's Blood or the Ivory Claws Chronicles before?" she asks.

"Yeah," I reply, my smile wide, "Have you read The Traveler's Guild?"

She nods, gaining her own smile to equal mine.  "All five of em!"  She's got her head tilted upwards now, looking directly at me instead of from below her lowered head like she was before.  I can see her eyes behind her glasses.  They're green like ivy.

"And when Rekkelon betrayed the guild?"

"I s- started crying!" she answered, placing her hands on her heart, "He and Xenon could have had it all!"

"I so thought Rekxenon was going to be endgame when book three came out!" I cry, "But I should have known that was too fluffy for a W. Fidleys novel."

"Man, Fidley knows how to destroy you with his s- stories," she hummed, "And still somehow gives them s- satisfying endings."

"I love how his books can either end on good or bad things for the characters, but the series always seem to have happy endings."

"Th- that's how you appeal to your readers.  Keep them guessing, but also give th- them payoff for the s- story overall," she praises, "You know what I hate more than a s- sad ending?"

"An ambiguous one?" I guess.

"Yes!  Y- you get this!" she cheers, and then pauses.  After she thinks for a moment, she tells me, "I think I know the perfect s- series for you, but you're going to have to trust me.  It's something kind of different than what you usually read, I th- think, but it hits all the same marks that those oth- other books do.

"Okay, yeah.  I've been branching out lately, anyways," I tell her.  In my head, I add, Thanks to you, though you might not ever know it.

She leads me out of the fantasy aisle into a part of the library I've never been to before.  A raise an eyebrow at the selection here.  It mostly seems to be crates of comic books, all held in protective sleeves.  She moves past them, to a place with larger books, all denoted by numbers on the side.  Some of the numbers impress me with how high they go.  One was marked as volume 66, while another, to my disbelief, was at volume 102.  She pulls one with a spine striped orange and red off the shelf.

When she hands me the book, it's back is facing me.  Or at least, I think it is, but it has the title illustration on it.  Hydra Tamers: Volume One is printed across the top in bold, yellow text, with an image of a young man riding a large, black hydra underneath.  I glance at the other side of the book for a moment, just to check and see if the back really is the title page.  Then, I tentatively open it.  It's like a comic, only it's completely in black and white, unlike the colorful pages of superhero comics I'm familiar with.  I quickly find that, though the illustrations are brilliant, the text is confusing.

"Y- you've heard of manga, right?" she wonders.  I find that, where Cassie sounds like a fox, this woman's voice reminds me of a mouse, soft and timid.

"Not really," I answer, "What's it all about?"

"It's a Japanese graphic n- novel.  You read it from right to left, and th- there's cool drawing and s- stuff.  I know you probably think it's kinda weird, but this one's got so much cool fantasy stuff in it, I figured I could at least show you it," she explains, "It's okay if you don't want it."

I look back at the pages.  Now that I know how to read it, it makes sense to me.  In fact, I find that the flow of the story is perfect to my taste.  I get through several pages in a short time.  I get so absorbed in the story, I forget that she's waiting for me until I notice her staring at me.  I snap the book shut and tell her, "Sorry for making you wait!"

At the same time, she stammers, "S- sorry for staring!"  A blush creeps across her face, and she squeezes her eyes shut.  It's adorable.  I can't help but blush too.

"You don't have to apologize.  What else could you do?" I promise her, "I don't mind anyways.  You're awfully cute."  Wait.  I did not mean to say that last part.

She seems okay with it, though.  "Th- thanks," she squeaks with a tiny smile, "You're cute too."

I wonder how many times cupid can hit someone with his arrows, because this is about the millionth time I've been hit at this point.  "Name?" I ask weakly.

"Lavender," she replies, "You can call me Lav for short if y- you want.  What about you?"

"Willow."

She smiles.  "A tree," she hums, "Another plant."

I laugh at that.  "Yeah!"

"S- so, do you want to check that one out, W- Willow," she offers.  I like the way my name sounds when she says it, all soft and gentle, like if she says it too fast or too loud I might break.

I nod.  "I'm gonna grab the next five or something too," I tell her, half laughing, "I have a feeling I'm going to blow through these real fast."  I place my blue bookmark between the pages of the manga before I close it.

She giggles, a sound that almost causes me to weep with joy when I realize I caused it.  Instead, I take the next few Hydra Tamers volumes.  She walks with me to the front desk.  We don't say anything as we walk- I don't think we have to.  I place the stack of manga on the desk, and hand Cassie my library card.  They don't say anything either, but they look down at the manga in mild surprise, and then flash me a smirk that says You go girl!  I'll tease you about whatever the heck you're getting into now later.  I smirk back.

I take my card back, and pick up my stack of books.  Lav walks me out into the parking lot.  It shocks me how bright it is, but when I look up, I have to shield my eyes from the sun.  I don't see any clouds.  The only sign that clouds had once been overhead are the puddles gleaming on the pavement.

"Um," she peeps, turning my full attention back to her, "Tell me what you think of th- those books next week."

I titter, and then offer, "I'll tell you sooner, if you don't mind giving me your number."

Her eyes widen, and her freckled cheeks turn pink, but she grins.  "Y- yeah, no problem!" she agrees.  I pull out my phone.  She begins to list off the numbers, slow and crisp, trying not to stutter as she does so.  I don't mind her stutter at all- in fact, I think it only makes her more charming- but I don't know how to tell her that without making things awkward.  I give her a thumbs up once I have her number in my phone.  She gives me a thumbs up in return.

"Feel free to call me if y- you want to pick up coffee s- sometime," she mutters, looking at her shoes.

"That will happen," I promise her.

She squeals with delight, and giggles again.  I feel butterflies burst to life in my stomach.  "See you next Wednesday," I hum, breathless, "Maybe sooner."  Definitely sooner.

====Credit to my buddy Colin for helping me properly describe manga because he reads it and I only think about reading it.====

[correctto1quotes]

Yeojeong: I'm gonna name my daughter Casserole so she'll get the nickname Cassie and people will ask her if Cassie is short for Cassandra and then she'll have to explain to them that her name is Casserole.

[sarifel-corrisafid-ilxhel]

How do we know Cassie is short for Cassandra and not some other name like Cassia or Casava or Casanova or Cassowary or Casserole? Cassia is a good name, it means Cinnamon.

Do you know if Cassie ever get called "Cassandra" in cannon, or is that just a popular headcannon? Because it's always bugged me when characters in fanfic call her Cassandra, even though I know it's not actually a big deal. I'm %100 projecting, as someone whose given name is usually a diminutive of a larger name, I'm aware of that, so I'm not out to make a big deal out of it either way, I'm just curious

Nooooo I also have a huge peeve about fic characters (especially Jake) calling her "Cass" or "Cassandra." We never learn her full name in canon, so it could be "Cassandra" or just "Cassie" or anything else. And only Ronnie calls her "Cass."

#54 says "Jake always called me Cassie. Never Cass like Ronnie did." I love that detail. Jake uses people's correct names, never their nicknames — he never uses "Xena" or even "Rach" or other common shortenings. Heck, he'd probably use "Aximili" if Ax didn't introduce himself as "Ax."

Which is why I gnash my teeth over first AniTV, then later the Animorphs Graphix, having Jake use "Cass." It's one of my favorite details from canon that he is so freaking careful about names. He learns people's names and titles and then uses them ("Aunt Naomi," "General Doubledday, sir" #53). It's why he hates being called "prince," because it's not correct, AND HE WOULD NEVER USE "CASS" OR "CASSANDRA" HOW DARE YOU.

[thessalian]

Alisaie: 33, 50, 63. Jallira: 11, 14, 67. Cassie: 10, 13, 15. :D

Alisaie

33. What is their biggest fear? How would they react to having to face it?

Her greatest fear is easy - being tainted by the black shit. Losing her wings, being this terrifying avatar of corruption and probably being obliged in not only hurting those she loves most but revelling in it? Nope. As to how she’d react ... well, she’d call in whatever contingency she could. Something she’s not telling any of you: she had her hair comb from Ava enchanted in a very specific way when she was doing her solo-shopping for Aurilmas. Basically, she had Disintegrate stored in it. If there is literally no way but her death to avoid being tainted by the black shit, and the party can’t or won’t kill her, she activates it and becomes ash, so the black shit doesn’t even have her corpse to defile. She’s pretty calm about death in the face of that fear, since the alternative is so much worse, and she has contingencies so she’s cool. Plus she knows Remi has the means for a True Resurrection if such becomes necessary, so it might not even have to be forever.

50. How would you describe their style of clothing? How would they describe their style of clothing?

I think both she and I would describe her clothes as ‘variable’. For all her wardrobe is kind of minimal at the moment, at least compared to how she’d like it to be, Alisaie likes to dress for location and occasion, and to be noticed. In Egref, she can take that into a sort of interesting cross between cyberpunk and rockabilly - leather trousers, corset, leather jacket. Most everywhere else, she sticks to midriff peasant top, soft but tight trousers or a short loose flowing skirt, sometimes a half-corset sort of linking the two. Fancy dresses are saved for special occasions - like meeting her lover’s parents, for instance. For footwear she prefers soft boots or flats; something that gives her ankles full range of movement (and she avoids high heels because she’s taller than Remi already and likes kissing Remi enough to avoid making that awkward).

63. What is always guaranteed to make them smile? 

Remi smiling. People enjoying themselves (especially if they don’t do it very often). Flying. Dancing. Hearthhome kids being cute.

Jallira

11. If they could make a mark on history, what would they like it to be? 

Technically, Jallira has made her mark on history - treatment for early-stage rakghoul plague and treatment for a bunch of other things - and she’s content enough with that. Even if history forgets her name (hell, especially if history forgets her name; she’s not big on recognition), her work means that people who might otherwise have died can live.

14. What is their favorite food? How often do they get to eat it? 

It took a very long time, but Jallira finally found an absolute favourite. Unfortunately, it’s a Miraluka recipe - a seafood casserole where most of the ingredients are only found on Alpheridies. She refuses to tell anybody this because she worries it’ll get back to Alti and Alti will do something ... well, extreme is a word ... to ensure a regular supply of the necessary ingredients and she doesn’t want to have to deal with the Sene Council on that scale. So she mostly just says ‘waffles’ when asked.

67. Is their bedroom messy? What about their bathroom? Kitchen? Living room? 

Much like her husband, Jallira keeps things orderly, with a place for everything and everything in its place. Given that she’s conventionally blind, this makes her life easier on a lot of levels - not to mention that between doctor and Jedi, she knows the value of order and hygiene. And E-3 has cleaning protocols so even when they get really busy in lab or medbay or wherever, things stay tidy.

Cassie

10. What are some of their talents/skills? 

She’s a pretty good shot for a thirteen year old. She rides reasonably well. She can cook. She can sew and knit, and she was the one who made the plush toys in the household. And then there’s that whole “She has the Sight” thing and a few other literally God-given talents that she’s still in the process of figuring out.

13. What do they do for fun? 

‘Fun’ is kind of a hard one to manage when most of your life involves keeping body and soul together on the farm, but she did used to enjoy playing with her younger siblings. She’ll be watching her mentor and her mentor’s friends for some idea of what ‘fun’ is going to look like from now on, if there’s to be any at all.

15. What was something their parents taught them? 

From her mother, she got gardening tips, cookery tips, needlework skills, and, “Don’t focus so hard on survival that you forget how to live” (this when she made her first awkward plush toy and then felt bad about using up the fabric). From her father? Shooting, riding, more cookery tips and “Never be ashamed of who you are, where you come from and what you can do. All of it just shows that you’re loved and valued - by us and by whatever higher power guided things to this point, anyway, and anyone who feels different’s just stupid”.

[incorrect-rangers-quotes]

horace: imagine if you were called ‘casserole’ instead of cassandra

horace: you’d get the nickname ‘cassie’, and people would be like, “oh, cassie is short for cassandra, right?” and then you’d have to explain to them that your name is casserole

evanlyn:

evanlyn: why

[ephrampettaline]

say uncle | ephram & cassie

The card was delivered by a uniformed young man with hummingbird wings, along with a package of food (a still-warm five-cheese torchio pasta casserole, and a still-cold jar of homemade peach ice cream, kept that way with witch magic), which he solicitously offered to carry inside and put away for Cassie before leaving. Inside the card was a short note:

Missy Britches! News reached us that our nephew’s made his appearance and Freddie insisted on cooking you something so you wouldn’t have to worry about food. I had to convince him the lil beanling didn’t need his entire new wardrobe right away or he would have sent that too. I’ll be over in twenty minutes to see if you need anything. Love, Ephram

True to his word, Ephram turned up twenty minutes after the delivery, bearing a pair of cottony-cushiony house slippers. “Now, you can tell me to get lost and it’ll be totally fine,” he said to Cassie sincerely, “or you can tell me whatever it is you might need and I’ll take care of it for you. Completely your choice.”

@cassiegermaine

[peachybeesplease]

yes I know it says in the tags but I want to show photos this is cassie short for casserole so named because she is the approximate size of a 9x13 baking pan

hey if you have a pet or pets you need to reblog this rn and tell me in the tags what their names are. bonus points for including what kind of animal.