#i hate the cold seasons i buy new stuff every year

[sefynarose]

wondering if i should go out and needlessly spend money bc im bored or if I should rot in bed all day

[1nk-ling]

Sooooo, what if I told you that (having exhausted the pittifuly small amount of tmnt content in all our state libraries + Dailymotion) my sister and I made up a fan itteration together? Yay? Nay?

Okay, prepare for a full two day's worth incoherent concept sketches and ideas.

Firstly Leo:

I know, I know who he looks like. But don't worry, I stole from all itteraions equally. You'll see.

2012 shaped limbs, 2003 white void eyes, Rise shapes and patterns, 1987-esque knee socks on Leo, the lot.

He's a Spotted turtle. They like the cold more than most turtles, so I'm adding that to him, along with being quick with words and also a scrawny stick boy. Next to Mikey, Leon likes wearing clothes the best, and has this gigantic T-shirt that he belts up and feels like a Japanese warrior in.

Raph was a little harder than Leon.

He's a seaturtle, so he likes swimming even more than his brothers. He'll sneak out to the nearest sewer outlet at night and swim in the ocean whenever he can. But unlike Leon he hates being cold, so his swimming season is short and precious.

Mikey was...a nightmare.

I really wanted 'big Mikey', and I had a pretty clear vibe in my head, but putting it down was nearly impossible. He just never looked like a little brother who was actually huge. He looked like a big brother.

Then I got the vibe. Also, look up Western Painted Turtles. They are gorgeous.

Mikey is fascinated by humanity, collecting and wearing bits and pieces of "human Stuff" all the time.

Now Donnie:

Ooooh boy! This guy! The little alien! This is the immage that lept into my mind and started this whole thing. You may be thinking he doesn't look much like a teenager. And you'd be right. You see... >:}

Donnie wasn't mutated at the same time as Splinter and the others. They were the result of an early Kraang esperiment, but Splinter excaped with three little sons. A few years later, the Kraang mutated another turtle with a new mutigin recipy. Donnie was raised by the Kraang untill he was five, being trained and studied in Kraang-y things and ways.

We haven't worked out quite how the whole thing happens, but basically Splinter was out scrounging for food, and accidentally incountered some Kraang talking about moving the mutant turtle to a new lab. Absolutely panicked, he completely wrecked the entire convoy and broke into the truck, only to find that the child inside was NOT one of his sons at all. But of course, he wasn't about to just leave him there for the Kraang to find, so he brought him back and introduced him to his boys. Raph was skeptical at first, and Leon was cautious, but Mikey addopted him instantly and the others quickly followed suit.

Proportions chart. I love shapes.

Okay, turns out I can't draw rats. This Splinter is an artist, though. He makes it out of whatever he can find and sneaks out to sell it with more layers on than the average homeless New Englander. It makes him enough to buy food and some art supplies, but most of it he keeps in case of some emergency.

This ▲ This is the reason I wanted big Mikey. Big enough to purch on. Big enough to give Rise Raph cuddles. Big enough to be awesome big!

Little Donnie can speak fine, but he's generally silent. He has, however, trained himself to read in French and Japanese as well as English. Wouldn't understand a word of spoken French, but reads fluently. (You know the feeling of realizing you're a creator and can do whatever you want, so you make someone a fan of your childhood comics even though only 1 in every 12,000 people even know what they are, let alone liked them? It's great.)

Guy's hear me out. We all love the responsible/stressed/anxiety ridden Leos. But what about a chill Leo? Just a thought.

Congradulations! You just looked at all that. If you made it through the first five inches you're awesome!

We have so many more lore tidbits and so much more to work out and so much more to think about. I haven't even said half the things she and I were giggling about yesterday. But I will probably be thinking abut these guys for a while, so maybe I'll ramble again sometime.

[hellfiresky]

In the drip of the moment

Summary: In a leaky underworld apartment, you and Fox share cup noodles.

Pairing: Fox x GN!Reader Word count: 2633 Warnings: swearing

Illustration: TCW and Cyberpunk 2077

Crack treated seriously based on a chat with @orangez3st. Thanks for the idea, vod!

--------------------------------

It wasn’t rain. Not really.

But here, on the uppermost floor of your apartment building in Gavas-Eclat, a harsh neighbourhood in Level 3215, the underworld’s so-called "rainy season" might as well be a full-blown monsoon. The pipes in the structures overhead groaned and rattled, letting loose a deluge of runoff that hammered your roof. Leaks sprouted like weeds, dripping incessantly into the buckets and pans scattered around your apartment.

"CYARE!" Fox’s voice rang out from the bedroom. "THIS PART IS LEAKING AGAIN. FUCKING HELL, GRAB A BUCKET!"

You sighed, abandoning your attempt to shuffle another set of towels around the already waterlogged floor. The storage closet offered a lone bucket, battered from years of service. You grabbed it and made your way to Fox, whose patience seemed to be hanging by a thread.

"I told you it was going to get worse!" you called as you walked to the bedroom.

"I didn’t think the whole damn level would spring a leak!" Fox stomped into view, a soggy towel thrown over one shoulder and an empty caf mug dangling from his fingers. Half of his black undershirt was drenched, whilst his trousers were rolled up to his knees. “Please tell me you still have the nice caf. I can’t for the life of me go down to your apartment lobby and buy that shitty vending machine caf. Babe, you know how terrible that stuff is. It’s all sugar.”

“First of all, it’s not a leak - it’s a waterfall,” you corrected, pointing to the stream now pouring from the ceiling. "Don’t think a bucket’s gonna cut it. Second, new beans are in the second-to-right drawer in the kitchen. Grind it yourself.”

“Well, what do you want me to do, cyare? Patch the whole damn underworld?” He shoved the bucket under the latest torrent. “I hate this level. I hate it here.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Could be worse. At least this time it’s not raining some gas runoff or—”

“Don’t. Don’t even finish that thought,” he snagged his already-cold caf pot from the counter. “And you’re insane if you think I’m grinding beans in the middle of this fucking waterfall. I should’ve stayed at HQ. At least that place only smells like bantha shit half the time.”

Despite a fresh leak appearing alarmingly close to where he was standing, he poured what little caf remained into his mug, grimacing as he noticed the new wet spot on the ceiling. You were almost certain it was the eighth or ninth cup he’d downed today, but you didn’t have the heart to mention it. Or maybe you just enjoyed watching him spiral into caffeinated madness. “You’re so needy,” you sat on one of the kitchen counters, arguably the driest patch of the room. “Come on, Fox. Where’s that Marshal Commander efficacy? Surely you’ve got a strategy for this.”

“Strategy?” he repeated. “You want a strategy? Here’s my strategy: burn this fucking apartment down and collect the insurance. Problem solved.”

You gasped in horror. “Fox!”

“Oh, come on, like you haven’t thought about it,” he slammed his mug onto the counter with unnecessary force. "Why’d you even pick this shithole anyway? You could’ve at least chosen a level that doesn’t come with its own weather system.”

“It was cheap,” you said with a shrug, opening a jar of biscuits you’d bought from the corner shop run by a nice Ithorian lady in your building. You extended the jar to him, and his eyes lit up as he eagerly grabbed a handful of biscuits. “And I didn’t think my boyfriend would be over here complaining about caf and leaks every other day. Nobody asked you to come down here anyway, cyare.”

Months of dating had made you an expert at reading the man beside you. The way he leaned against the counter, sipping his caf whilst simultaneously munching on at least three biscuits, told you he was no longer upset. Fox was like a tooka, almost. Feed him, give him something to drink, and he’d settle down. It always amused you how much he loathed the Underworld, yet he still made the effort to come down to your apartment every other day. He knew the trek to the surface level was a hassle for you, and though he’d never admit it to you, he cared enough to make it easier. You watched him, an involuntary smile stretched on your face as he stared blankly ahead, a biscuit in one hand and his caf in the other. Just as you found yourself admiring the rare moment of peace, a fresh drip from the ceiling landed squarely on his shoulder. His scowl returned in full force as muttered a string of curses.

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, brushing at the wet spot, “someone’s gotta keep an eye on you before this whole fucking building collapses.”

“Just admit it, babe,” you leaned towards his direction with a playful smirk. “You prefer being down here with me instead of in your sterile private quarters up there. For stars’ sake, the last time I stayed at your place, I thought I woke up in a medbay. Do you even own a single decoration? A plant? A poster? Anything?”

You gave him a light sideways punch to his shoulder, earning a low chuckle from him. It was rare to hear him laugh - most days, he was all work and discipline - but when it happened, it was like seeing the actual sunlight in 3215. “Decorate?” he echoed. “Cyare, I’m a soldier, not a fucking interior designer. What do you expect me to do? String up fairy lights and start collecting throw pillows?”

“Well, a few cushions and maybe a rug wouldn’t kill you. I don’t know, a holo-photo of the boys maybe? Something to make it look like an actual human being lives there.”

He snorted before taking another sip of his caf. “I live there just fine without all that junk. But sure, I’ll pick out a nice floral print just for you, sweetheart.”

“I don’t even like flowers,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. It was cute, really. He knew you hated flowers - they always reminded you of funerals. Instead, in lieu of flowers, Fox had developed a habit of giving you snacks from the Coruscant Guard vending machines. And not just any snacks. It was always the most ridiculous, random thing he could find! Neon-coloured jelly that you swore had some kind of caffeine in it, off-brand dried nerf strips, or those spicy crackers that nobody but him seemed to like. He always acted like it was no big deal, handing them to you every time you went out together or whenever he came down to stay at your place. He’d casually say, “Found this on patrol,” as if he hadn’t gone out of his way to snag them.

You grinned at the thought. “Honestly, I think I’d be more freaked out if you did show up with floral prints. Stick to your weird snacks - make a basket full of them.”

“Like a mini bar situation?” He turned his head towards you. 

“Yeah, maybe with some drinks, and fruits, or whatever,” you shrugged as you grabbed a biscuit from the jar. “You could even paint that bedside table of yours red - it’d be a great pop of colour amidst all that sterile white.”

Fox snorted but looked thoughtful as he pushed off the cabinet and stood in front of you, hands resting on the countertop where you were sitting, right beside your thighs. “Funny you mention that. I actually saw a nice cabinet while I was patrolling around Calocour Heights the other day.”

“Oh yeah?” you raised your eyebrows. “What kind?”

“It was one of those, uh… modular things,” he gestured vaguely with one hand, the other still steady on the counter. “Real sleek, real clean. Bright red, with these glossy panels that fit together like a puzzle. The whole thing looked like it belonged in one of those fancy apartments topside - like it could double as art or something. It had compartments for everything! Drinks, snacks, gear, even these little hidden drawers you could lock. Thought it might actually make my quarters look less like a medbay.”

You tilted your head as you tried to picture it. “Huh. Sleek, red, functional, and versatile? Sounds like your soulmate, Fox.”

He lowered his gaze to the floor, chuckling as he shook his head lightly. “Yeah, well, the romance died when I looked at the price tag.”

“How bad?”

“Let’s just say,” he narrowed his eyes, “if I wanted that thing, I’d have to sell my speeder - which is a Republic property, my armour, and maybe half the Guard’s refectory rations for a month. And even then, I’d still be short.” He paused before facing you with a grin. “Or maybe I could sell Grizzer, and face Hound’s wrath.” 

You laughed, nearly choking on your biscuit. “For a cabinet? Stars, Fox, that’s next-level.”

“Exactly,” he joined your laughter. “Because what I really need in my life is debt over some shiny red furniture.”

“Shame,” you squeezed his cheeks together. “You’d look good with a fancy cabinet. It’d go great with your style.”

“But if it keeps you from staying down here in this death trap of an apartment, I might actually consider it.” He leaned forward to get closer to you. From this distance, you could catch the bitter scent of caf on his breath. You lifted a hand, fingers tousling his curls as you let out a bright smile. “Oh, so that’s it? You’re secretly hoping to bribe me into moving topside?”

“Bribe? I’d call it... strategic persuasion.” He gave you a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m a tactical genius.” 

You laughed as you playfully shoved his shoulder. “That would’ve been a hell of a flex. Commander Fox’s quarters featured in one of those interior design videos on the HoloNet. And the best feature? The overengineered snack holder.” Fox grinned, arms crossed with that smug look you had come to love plastered on his face. “Damn right. ‘State-of-the-art compartments for your snacks and fancy caf beans.’ I’d probably go viral.”

“Oh, for sure,” you joined his sarcasm. “People would flock to see the legendary Commander Fox and his impeccable taste in mid galactic modern design.”

“You’re not wrong. I’ve got fans everywhere.” His grin widened as he added with mock seriousness. “Have you seen those ladies lining up near the Senate Building? They’re all lining up to meet me,”

A belly laugh burst out of you, so sudden and loud you had to clutch your stomach. “Those old ladies?!” you managed between fits of laughter. “You can’t be serious!” Fox crossed his arms. “Dead serious. They’re lining up for me. Every single one of them.”

You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye, still laughing. “Okay, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s part of that Senate Elder Aid program. The Guard’s been running supply deliveries for the retired citizens in that sector. And who do they see when they open their doors? Me. In uniform. Doing my job.” He closed the distance between you again, lifting his caf cup to your lips. You grabbed the cup and took a sip before answering with a teasing grin, “Let me guess. They’re thrilled to see such a dashing young man handling their deliveries.”

He snorted. “They tell me I remind them of their grandsons - or in some cases, their late husbands. One of them even gave me a pie last week.”

That sets you off again, making you laugh so hard. “Oh, stars, Fox. You’re out here breaking hearts and collecting pies.”

“Hey, don’t laugh. Those pies are no joke,” he opened your fridge and groaned when he saw nothing in it. “One of them had so much jogan spread in it, I swear I saw the Force. It was orgasmic.”

You shook your head as you watched him rummage through your kitchen. It struck you then - this wasn’t the same Fox you’d first met. When you started seeing him many moons ago, you had no idea what to expect. He’d always been grumbly, guarded, the kind of man who carried a lot of baggage on his shoulders and refused to let anyone lighten the load. His brothers had even warned you, “It’ll take a few drinks to get him to crack a smile.” But here he was now, standing in your leaky apartment, cracking jokes about orgasmic pies and cursing at the leaks. This side of him, the side that raided your kitchen cabinets and made jokes about burning down your apartment, felt like a secret he shared only with you. Outside, the relentless sound of dripping water finally eased, and the oppressive atmosphere of the leaks seemed to lift with it. “Fucking finally,” you muttered under your breath.

“Yeah, fucking finally, babe,” Fox agreed, looking over his shoulder with a smirk. “Guess we don’t have to burn down your apartment now.” He muttered as he continued raiding your cabinets. “Aha - found it.”

He pulled out two cup noodles, the ones he’d given you last week with a ridiculous backstory about a senator who brought them back from an Outer Rim trip. He tossed one to you before tearing into his own. “You saved these?” he asked in disbelief as he filled the cups with hot water. “I thought you’d have devoured them by now.”

“They’re souvenirs,” you said with a shrug. “Figured I’d save them for a special occasion.”

He chuckled, handing your cup back and settling beside you on the counter. “Well, I’m glad I could be here for the big event.” You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder for a moment. The two of you sat there in the quiet, eating noodles and listening to the last echoes of dripping water fade away. Fox slurped a particularly long noodle, before kissing the top of your head. “I’ll stick to raiding vending machines for you, cyare. Much easier on my wallet.”

“Oh, don’t think this means you’re off the hook. You’re still making me that snack basket.” You elbowed him, and sipped the spicy noodle soup from the flimsi cup. 

“Yes, boss.” He signed dramatically at your request.

“You’re such a baby.” You laughed again, resisting the urge to start a food fight. Fox held out his cup noodle above his head like he just received some kind of award for being a decent partner. “And yet, this baby just saved your apartment and provided dinner. I expect proper gratitude, cyare.”

“Gratitude?” you raised an eyebrow. “I’ll think about it. Maybe after you build that basket.”

He let out a soft chuckle, the sound warming you like the noodles you were eating. Both of you would get back to cleaning up soon, hoping the hot water was still working so you could finally take a shower and wash off the day. You thought about dragging him to The Wharf tomorrow for a quick fix for the ceiling leak - he had mentioned it was his off day. Maybe you’d stop by that little diner he liked on Level 4780, grab a plate of fried dumplings, or finally let him show you the vendor that sold the ridiculous milky gummies he kept sneaking into your cabinets.

But you pushed those thoughts aside for now as you turned your attention to him. His serious expression as he ate his cup noodles made you smile. You decided to stay in the moment. The galaxy outside could wait - its noise, its demands, all the things neither of you could control. For now, it was just the two of you, sitting shoulder to shoulder in your leaky kitchen, sharing a moment of peace that, somehow, felt like it was always meant to be.

[gremlinshatephilosophers]

How Dan (Almost) Stole Christmas

Every Who Down in Who-ville Liked Christmas a lot…

But Daniel Who lived just outside Who-ville Did not!

Dan hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season! He had good reasons why, but no one asked him those reasons Instead they said that his head wasn’t right They told him instead he was being uptight But cynically, he accepted his fate after all That maybe his heart was just too cold and small.

But Whatever the reason That only he knew He looked out his window, hating the Whos Not in a prejudiced way, he thought with a frown As he envied their warm little houses in town He just knew as much as his life was sad and bleak They were buying more things, those capitalist freaks.

“Who still uses stockings?” he asked with a sneer “More last minute shopping when Christmas is already here!” He sat with his long fingers anxiously tapping “If only I could just stop this all from happening…”

For, Tomorrow, he knew…

… All the who girls and boys And nonbinary Whos too, would rush for those gadgets and toys And then! With thinly lined walls Dan’s ears would fill with noise! It was one of many things he despised, that NOISE!

Then the Whos, young and old, would sit down to a banquet While others went starving, without even a blanket With food in the fridge, fine any other day But not for holidays, they threw it away They would feast on Who-candies and Who-snacks Dan couldn’t stand the perspective they lacked!

And then They’d so something So annoying again All the Whos down in Who-ville and all of their friends Would gather at Who-church with crashing loud bells They’d pray to Who-gods and they’d shout and they’d yell.

Which was a personal gripe, that their singing was mid He really didn’t care about the religions they did But the singing was loud and, again, thin walls So he snapped, and he thought “I’ll just end it all! For thirty-three years I’ve been too polite! But only one of us will make it through this night! … alright?”

Then he got an idea! An insane idea Dan Howell Finally thought of a new idea!

“I know what I’ll do!” Dan laughed till he groaned And he grabbed the only red coat that he owned He was out of his mind, inventing wild tricks But squinting, from a distance, he cosplayed an evil Saint Nick!

“Now for a reindeer…” Dan looked all around But obviously there are no such creatures at home to be found But did it stop him from trying? “Of course not,” he said. “Who needs reindeer when you have a pig instead?” He snatched the cursed item, that sentient pig Broken and golden, but good for the gig.

Then He loaded some bags And more bags, and more All that old plastic From every old store.

In the night he crept out in the cold winter air Dan whipped the pig till it started to fly And they sleighed down cracked streets Racing down from the sky.

The windows weren’t dark, they were steaming TV But they were distracted enough that Dan could roam free When he stopped at his first target with nervous glee He looked at the chimneyed roof and decided “enough!” He could just use the back door with all of his stuff.

The Whos were too trusting, doors left unlocked And Dan opened the latch, and paused to take stock It was far too easy to rob these Who-homes blind He almost felt bad, before he made up his mind They were rich, all decked out in fake stuffed stockings And it was their greed all along he should really be mocking.

He tiptoed about, picking what to take first Around the whole room, choosing what would most hurt They were wealthy and shallow and Dan sure wasn’t that And they were landlords who kept raising the price on his flat So he took down the decor, those ornamental stuffed socks He took the iPhones and Switches and even pet rocks.

He threw the bags to the side and checked on the fridge Took the treats and the ice cream and left only a smidge They deserved to eat, but their plate would be bland He was a merely a thief, you must understand.

He was happy to see the wealthy get humbled But when he got to the tree, he quite nearly stumbled.

Had he gone too far, or was he just too lazy to lift it? His thought were confusing and messy and cryptic But before he could decide, footsteps came near It was a Who that was sleepy, lacking all fear.

Dan had been caught by this strange tired man! Should he play off his actions as some obsessive fan? This was Phil, Dan’s favorite Who-tube star “Don’t fans like you think this is a step too far?”

Dan tried to be fast and think on his feet “I’m so sorry,” he said, “I just wanted something to eat.” “Were you eating my tree?” Phil asked, sarcastic “Well if that’s what this is, I’m sure it’s fantastic.” “That’s a terrible lie, but I’ll get you a snack It might as well stop your little Christmas attack.”

Dan stood there, frozen in place An embarrassing blush crept up in his face He’d been caught by this man who was nothing but kind Why had he planned this, was he out of his mind?

He was out of his depth A one man army couldn’t redistribute wealth And he ran out the door, forgoing all stealth He didn’t want stolen goods, he wanted love, friendship, and health.

But the world wasn’t right And still he was angry, his head filled with shame And he took the stockings with him, one last little game.

So He peeked in the window Of other Who-houses.

Careful He took just one thing each Leaving crumbs for the mouses.

The sun had just rose And the Whos were asleep None of them knows What Dan’s done, not a peep So he tied up the pig and got back on the sled Back to that terrible flat, on a hill, in a shed.

So many feet up, to the bleak northern suburbs The presents all rattled and crinked and shuddered “I hate the materialism and I can’t stand the noise! Maybe now they’ll get a taste of life without toys! They’ll wake up in a moment and cry for their gifts They’ll shut up their singing and be sad for a bit And finally the Whos will understand how the rest of us live!”

And Dan added, “I guess, The crying is fine, as Who-noises go,” And he brought his pig-drawn sled to a halt in the snow.

And he did hear a sound, the echo acoustic It wasn’t them crying, but playing that music!

They weren’t upset Though they still sounded bad But they’d gotten his lesson They didn’t sound sad!

He stared down at Who-ville With shock in his eyes His hands nearly shook As he yelped in surprise!

The Whos had no gifts, even what Dan hadn’t yet snatched They just wanted community, no strings attached?

He hadn’t stopped Christmas from coming! It came! Somehow, yet unsurprisingly, it all came the same!

And Dan, with his cursed pet pig glowing golden Thought about how many stupid trinkets he’d stolen “They don’t need their gifts after all, so I must have been right! But then why is their village still a strange happy sight?” He thought and he thought and he thought up some more But then he gave up in the cold when his head got all sore “Maybe I should have just asked them before I stole all their things, what the glitter was for?”

And what happened then? Well, he wished he could say That he got noise-cancelling headphones and went on his way But deep in his core, he wasn’t really a Grinch The Whos shouldn’t have to do holidays in a pinch So he brought back the gifts, and some Who-food too And he…

… he himself… Dan went back to see Phil and spent a merry Christmas with the Whos!

[mynameis-noe-body]

Okay so — time for Stranger Things' Headcanon: dad Jim Hopper edition.

James "Jim" Hopper was born around 1941/42, follow me on this. He went to school with Joyce, same year, right? And we know they are around 40 in Season 1 — it's 1981/82.

Let's say he left for Vietnam right out of high school, he's barely 18, just a boy. But he spends five of the worst years of his life fighting in a foreign country, breathing shit and stuff. He's 22 when he comes back — 1964.

Joyce gets married the same year, to Lonnie. They are definitely not going to be happy, and Jim knows that. They have been friends, good friends years before. So, he's not really surprised to find about his old friend unhappy marriage. They spend and awful lot of time talking about that, but there's nothing she can do, come on — she's a young woman, just married and even though she fights her husband every day she still believes there's something that may be saved. That's when she gets pregnant with Jonathan — 1966.

Jim is 24, he just started into Hawkins Police and damn, the uniform dresses him good. Chicks look at him, and he likes that, he can't deny. At the same time, things for Joyce keep getting harder.

Things go slowly and difficult, and even boring sometimes. Nothing really ever happens in Hawkins. And people talk — better saving the appreance, right?

It's 1967 when, one summer night, Joyce is exhausted. Lonnie hasn't come back yet, and she knows she won't see him before Monday night, that's just how her weekends usually go. She's lonely, and tired, Jonathan is finally sleeping and she need a break. Jim calls to check on her, just to say hi or something. She invites him over. "God, I need a beer and a cig, Jim. You don't know how tired I am."

He comes later, six cold beers and a pack of cigarettes. (Maybe even some weed, for old time sake.)

They drink, and smoke. And laugh. And smoke, and drink. They don't know exactly how it happens, but it happens. They wake up still half naked on the couch next morning and they swear it was just one night, and they'll forget about it. He leaves, and life goes on.

Lonnie comes back home, Jim meets his wife some time later. And when he gets married, they live on the other side of Hawkins for some time, before New York. It's not a big city, and somehow the two of them just slowly becomes... strangers. Up to the point she doesn't even know...

And surely he cannot imagine Joyce's pregnant.

She keeps telling herself the baby's Lonnie's. It cannot be another way around. In 1968, she has a girl.

Jim is 38 when he comes back to Hawkins — it's 1980. He hates to watch the happy family; he knows Joyce isn't happy at all, but that girl. Sarah would have been 9 and Joyce's girl is just a little older, a 12 years old spitfire. Funny little thing, she is. And she hates her father to the guts. Everytime she can, she leaves the house, running into the woods. Her older brother tries to keep her but it's just — she's wild. A little rebel.

When Jim finds her the first time, running all alone in the street, crying an ocean, he immediately recognizes her. Jim takes her to the Benny's Burger, gets her a hot dog and fries, and a coke. She keeps talking, and talking, and talking — about her family, school and all the things no one in her family seem to care about ("Lonnie's fighting with Johnny, and mom's fighting with Lonnie and no one ever see me. This is good, can you buy me more sometime?")

He feel in love that night. He didn't get to be a father to Sarah... but she desperately needs one. So he talks to Joyce and keeps telling her it's alright. "Listen, that's a mess, I can see that. But I'm glad to help. If your daughter needs a safe place... just, you know where to find me."

And she does find him. The girl spends half of her nights at Jim's, mostly when her father comes home drunk enough to take it out on her, too. Jonathan is tough — he really doesn't want to deal with an old Chief, nor to be saved from his own father. But she's just a child.

Jim buys a VHS player. And a second toothbrush. She is small enough to take the couch. He can't cook to save his life, but finds out he's willing to learn — she can't eat pizza every fucking night, for god's sake. He helps her with math homework. Teachers are used to him coming to pick her up at school.

She calls him dad at school, speaking to her classmates. They know her as the Chief's daughter. Joyce doesn't mind explaing, she's done with keeping the appearance. "Jim is my dearest friend" she says, buying grocieres at the store, her youngest running around the shop, showing her the last pack of coloring pencils he wants for his next birthday. "He's always been there for my girl, and she just loves him like a daughter would."

He calls her peach. She's fine with it. And she should be at that age where kids get embarrassed by their own parents, but she jump out of his Hawkins Police pick-up with such pride before entering school — he couldn't be happier about that.

He lectures her about that danger of drugs, and alcohol and boys at the beginning of her first high school year. Now she's embarrassed. "I'd rather talk with mom about that, if you don't mind..." he nods, silently. "But thanks anyway, I love you too, dad."

It's the first time she said that. Jim doesn't get any sleep that night. He hadn't realize just how much he cared about her — it wasn't a matter of blood anymore, she was his daughter. Not Sarah, not a sort of surrogate for his own loss — his kid. She was her own person and he loved her.

He teaches her to drive. But she definetly improves with Jonathan, he can't be really patient about it.

She loves her brothers, really — they are just different. Like, there is something, somewhere... she can't wrap her head around it, but it's there. They are family just not the same family, perhaps. There is Joyce in her eyes, and in her smiles, but nothing of Lonnie. Even though she can see his nose on Jonathan's face, and his lips on Will's. The way he used to walk, bouncing around just like Johnny does. And the way he used to hums rock music, sometimes — just like Will's habits. She does not. None of this. She's quiet, and loves old movies, and checkered shirts, and coffee. No coffee in the Byers house, but tons of it in Jim's trailer.

And it all comes around when she gets a fever. Appendicites. Joyce and Jonathan rushes her to the hospital, they call him from the public phone. "Peach's getting operated right now — please, can you come?"

He's never left the Police station faster. And the doctors say they need blood — "Type 0 is rare. We don't have any bags available at the moment, but she needs a transfusion to recover as quickly as possible" the doctor explains.

Thank god Jim's there because the next day, when she opens her eyes, she asks about him too. He's slept in the hospital room, Joyce says, in case she woke up. But then, the doctor delivers the complete blood tests. They made sure about blood type compatibility and everything else, even though it was predictable — after all, she is his daughter.

And that's where all the knots come home to roost. Jim turns pale. He and Joyce exchange an eloquent look. He swallows. "My daughter — sure, but you mean that I... that we..."

Everything goes back to that 1967 summer night, to those beers, a joint shared on the sofa. Life couldn't get any stranger, right?

[moonlight-tmd]

FRR I HATE HOW EARLY THEY PUT UP CHRISTMAS DECOR

and I love the answer I got! I just team prime acting like a family on holidays X3

YEP IT'S HORRIBLE

and yes, they are defo in their most family feels during holidays; christmas, valentines, halloween, thanksgiving, new years, 4th of july, you name it. (if there's more american holidays that are popular and not named here then sorry, i'm not american)

I'd assume their favorite is christmas- Optimus gets to bake lots of goods for his found-family team. Bulkhead is defo in on decoration, he loves these- he also loves building with snow- he makes Sari a snow castle every year. Ratchet has the excuse to lay back with work and spend time with these fools he loves, heck he may even behave less like a grump and more like a jolly grandpa. Prowl loves how the atmosphere becomes so sparkwarming and welcome. Everywehre you go there's kindness. Sari loves giving them gifts- they themselves try to follow up by making something for her. They don't really need gifts from one another, spending time together like that is enough. Bee's favorite holiday is still halloween, but christmas is close after. It's the time he can openly show his affection and appreciation towards his friends. He's the one that will make gifts for everyone no matter what- he did a painting on their first christmas and everyone loves it. Other gifts are more personalized like little gadgets and funny things he made from scraps- he gave Prowl a makeshift musicbox once and Prowl plays it whenever he's trying to meditate, it has a calm melody in it. Other times he buys them little upgrades or stuff ot decor their rooms/cabins with- like his little fuzz-cubes.

And yeh, i just sounded like a hypocrite to my first sentence with this XD

For clarification- I still love halloween but i hate that they put out decor for sale in september. Like dude, it's literally 4 months away. What are you doing.

Oh and in addition to Bee and christmas- or winter season in general; he defo gets in on charity work n stuff to provite a shelter for homeless and food for the poor. Bulkhead helps and they fix up some unused warehouses to be shelters all year round and not just when it's cold. I like the idea of Bee helping everyone, no matter how mean and sassy he can be most of the time. if he sees someone stuggling while he drives, he'll stop, help them, and carry on with his day.

[lxstfathier]

Serial Killer

Justin McKay x Reader

Headcanons

Summary: just a few fluffy hcs of how it is to spend halloween with Justin.

Warnings: blood mentions and the fact that you’re dating a literal serial killer.

A/N: Justin is one of my favorite characters played by Mark, and i had to do this cuz i really love him a lot and i think that it’s perfect to write some fluff with him for this spooky season. Hope you all like this!! 💗

♡ Justin really loves halloween, it’s his favorite time of the year and one of the few things that actually bring him joy, even more if he spends it with you.

♡ So, as soon as the leaves on the trees start getting that special orange color, you better believe that you’ll be holding his hand while taking short walks every evening to go for a pumpkin spice latte at the local coffe shop.

♡ You both also enjoy going to a lot of stores and buy new decorations for your home, even if you already have a lot, it’s never enough.

♡ Date in the pumpkin patch!! that one is a must and you have done it every year since you started dating. He chooses a nice pumpkin for you, and you choose one for him, carving them immediately once you get back home. You usually carve a silly face, and he does a scary one.

♡ He doesn’t like wearing costumes, just printed hoodies or stuff like that. But if you decide to wear a costume, specially a revealing one, then prepare for him to take a lot of polaroids.

♡ You bake him ghost shaped cookies, and he loves them so much that he eats a bunch even when they’re still hot after coming out of the oven. It doesn’t matter how many times you slap his hands, by the time they’re cold and safe to touch, there’s only one left.

♡ Justin hates horror movies, he says that they’re too fake and that he is a better killer than all of those slashers. That’s why he prefers to have you close to him, snuggled under a cozy blanket while he reads out loud any book from R.L Stine until you fall asleep.

♡ You would agree to adopt a black cat/dog and name it salem.

♡ On halloween night, you both sit on the porch of your house and hand out candy to the kids. And he’s great with them! he compliments their costumes and makes them laugh really easily, and you wonder what it would be like to have a kid together someday.

♡ But, when it gets late, the kids stop coming and you go to sleep, he decides to go celebrate halloween in his own way. So don’t be surprised if he comes back at sunrise with fresh blood all over his hands and clothes… blood that clearly isn’t fake.

[killuwumi]

Snow Days with (some of) the BSD Boys

Snow Days With (some of) The BSD Boys

a/n: idk why but my christmas posts do so well and I want to write again, so here I am. feel free to request I do this for more characters

Warnings: fem implied (? maybe ?) no prns used, dazai SLIGHTLY suggestive

Chuuya:

He is kind of a surprise, because he wants to make you happy. So when it started to get into the winter season, he wants to do all the cheesy Christmas stuff with you. He loves the snow and thinks it is really beautiful, but he HATES the cold. Even with his jacket and constantly having you to cuddle up next to, he is still cold.

So Chuuya really likes to have an inside snow day. He enjoys the fireplace and hot chocolate (wine of course too). He is often found cuddling up with you in a loveseat close to the fire place.

"Hey little lamb, are you enjoying yourself?" "Mhm! Of course I am, Chuuya."

When the cold snow starts falling and covering the ground in a new fresh sheet of snow, Chuuya will always keep you warm in his high rise apartment, looking over the people of Yokohama.

Dazai:

Where do I even start with him. He loves all things winter, and he especially likes people watching. Dazai likes going to the bar and watching everyone chat about their busy holidays back home in Yokohama. It almost reminds him of this time of year when Oda was still around.

Now hear me out, in the spirit of the holiday, Dazai often takes you shopping to stores all around the city. But aside from buying gifts and snacks for you, he wants you to help him pick out gifts for Kenji and Kyouka. And orphans in the local areas. Dazai knows that it's what Oda would do and it gives Dazai a warm sense of accomplishment. He also loves to watch you in awe over all the new toys that come out every year always bigger and better than the last.

He also gets baby fever sometimes because he genuinely loves seeing you interact with the kids and looking at all the baby clothes etc. So sometimes Dazai does flirt and tease you during this season ;).

Atsushi:

Everyone's favorite tiger! He really loves the snow! Especially now that he feels safe in his apartment and has nice warm clothes. Atsushi will absolutely look at you like a begging puppy to go build snowmen with him. Given that he hasn't experienced christmas like most other people, Atsushi will take you out to the fountain and store fronts to look at all of the beautiful lights.

Atsushi is a clumsy romantic, he catches himself staring at the lights reflections in your eyes. Or the way that snowflakes stay in your hair. Don't even get him started on the rosy tint on your cheeks. He definitely grabs your face (gently) and kisses you. (yes he is nervous, but the confidence is hot).

Also! Always making you handmade snowflakes, gifts, cards etc.

Ranpo:

This one is easy, he takes you out for warm drinks. Hot cocoa, coffee and pastries. He might seem selfish but he knows your bakery order by heart and would never make you pay (especially if you don't work at the agency with him). He constantly has candy in his pockets and when kids come up to him for having it, he will give you a reluctant sigh and give them one of his least favorites from his pocket.

Ranpo also really likes to stay in and watch movies with you. Mainly mystery ones, bonus points if they are holiday themed. He likes to watch with lots of snacks and talk to you about how very easy it is for him to see right through the plot of the movie. Sometimes if you are really into the movie you can try and debate with him on what the ending will be or who the villain is. Ranpo will SOMETIMES let you win, but other times it is just bonding for you two. Being close and talking (and snacking).

Fyodor:

Fyodor is absolutely no stranger to snow, but due to him being an enemy of the state essentially he doesn't go out a lot. Especially because he doesn't want to put you in danger. I mean, it is shocking enough that he wanted an s/o, so he isn't going to use you as some kind of bait or parts of his schemes.

I think he is a big fan of watching snow from afar, and not really getting into it. And he'll never admit it but he loves when you steal his warm clothes (just don't stain it). He will cook you warm and delicious meals from back home and light beautiful candles.

You were the first to insist on decorating, but he grew to really enjoy watching you get tangled up in garland and sparkling ornaments. Plus he's tall and enjoys towering over you to help put the topper of your choice on the very tippy top of the tree.

Fyodor also enjoys reading you stories, his voice is smooth and soothing while still keeping you interested in the story. Sometimes he does want you to fall asleep in his lap though.

[sophiethewitch1]

Whispers Of You

Chapter One - Torn From Home

Warnings: Mentions of University. Kinda mean Parents. Self-hate. Yandere stuff. And cult themes for future reference.

=

You stare up at the rain behind your red umbrella, watching the drops fall in torrents. It was a cold and wet day, but you still were outside. You liked the rain, after all. It was a deafening sound, one that quietened the rest of the world. The curtain of water drips down past you, obscuring the rest of the world from view.

 A happy bark sounds beside you, and you look down with a smile.

 A giant white samoyed sits beside you, her body bigger than the umbrella's covered area. Her tail wags back and forth, and her giant pink tongue hangs out. She’s half drenched, but she’s still happy as ever. You wish you could be as stupid as her, never having to worry about anything. Her name was Soup, and she was your best (and only) friend.

 You’d bought her a few years ago, on another one of your buying sprees. Seeing as you had literally no friends, you’d thought a pet would be nice. You’d been right, and for the next few years she accompanied you everywhere. Soup was the reason you thought the phrase ‘money can’t buy happiness’ was bullshit. And also manga, anime, video games… the list goes on.

 Your gloved hand moves to ruffle her fur, and her black eyes close in pure bliss. The two of you are sitting on a small bench at the park, near the lake in your town. Living in an upper-middle class area the park was pristine and beautiful. Near you were some gorgeous purple pink hydrangeas, flourishing in the current rainy season.

 You look up at the cloudy sky again, some rain drops hitting the edge of your chin. The rain falls beside your feet, making your shoes wet. You don’t mind, ignoring the feeling. It was worth it. There was nothing better than the rain. 

 Ah well, not everything, you suppose.

 “Haahh… Soup, I wanna go home and play games…”  you say, your voice barely heard over the torrential downpour. 

 “But Mum’s home, and God-” you cut off your mumbling with a shake of your head, choosing to ignore your rampant thoughts. It was like this every Friday when she got home, and it would be like this till you finally moved out. You didn’t hate Mum, or Dad You just… weren’t good enough. You were always tired, and depressed, and stupid. University sucked, and so did everything at home. Always nagging you to do more studying. Like you even wanted a job...

 You wouldn’t be able to go home and play anything, read anything, watch anything… 

 Your eyelids sag slightly, your body growing sleepy. What time was it anyway? You pull out your phone, opening it up to the home page. 12:03. Ah, good morning dear world. Your thumb slides across the opening screen, tapping in your password with one hand as you hold the umbrella precariously. 

 You click on twitter, scrolling through post after post of mind-rotting stupidity. Some people are talking about the new Genshin update, showing off their characters with pride. You frown slightly, thinking back to the ridiculous amount of money you’d spent on said game. You had your own job, and plus the allowance from your parents, you had gotten quite a bit of cash. You just spent it on manga, anime and… the black-hole that is gacha games. And it was likely you’d be spending even more in the future.

 Another reason to disappoint your parents. You should move out.

 You wonder to yourself if you want to play right now, but decide against it, opening up another dumb gacha game on your phone. Anime boys and girls, the true ichor of your life. The hours pass by with your tapping and playing, wishing you were at home and could play on your pc where it was warm. 

 Eventually the screen before you starts to blur, and your hand sinks into your lap. Vaguely you think you shouldn’t fall asleep here, that it wasn’t safe. But it wasn’t like you’d get any sleep at home...

 Your eyelids slide shut without your consent, and you fall asleep with the rain still pattering above you.

 -

 The sun filters in through your shut eyes, and you squeeze them closed tighter. What time was it? Why hadn’t your alarm started, screaming at you to wake up? It was a Saturday though, right? Ah, but you skipped dinner last night to stay at the park. Wait, didn’t-

 Shit.

 You shoot up, head whipping around in shock. When you don’t see the park, or even your bedroom around you, your heart nearly falls out of your chest. You make a panicked whimpering noise and fall off the surface you were on and onto the cold floor beneath you. Black and white marble tiles break your fall, freaking you out even further. Nowhere in your house did you have these tiles.

 You shuffle backwards on your ass, your back eventually hitting a wall. A bookshelf falls down beside you, and you shriek. Your hands immediately slap to your mouth, and you bring up your knees in front of you, hiding in a fetal position.

 “Bark! Bark!” a familiar barking makes your head whip to the side, and you find Soup sitting beside you. You nearly weep in relief when you see her, your arms wrapping around her into a hug.

 You squeeze yourself as close as possible to her, trying to quell your rising panic. It’s hard, and you almost feel it overcome you, but eventually you let out a quiet gasp as you sink into her side, withstanding the panic attack. You listen to her rhythmic panting beside your ear for a bit longer, slowly letting your rampant heart beat settle down. 

 You curl away from Soup’s side, wide eyes staring around at the room. Were you dreaming? Had you been kidnapped? No, why would someone kidnap you and your dog. That’s insane. Plus, Soup barks when there's a bird less than three blocks away, she’d go insane if someone touched you. ...But this doesn’t feel like a dream, does it?

 “Where the fuck are we, Soup…?” her big white face simply smiles up at you in that same dog-like way, and you press your face into her fur. Once again, you desperately wished you had the ability to be as stupid as her.

 Your eyes move up again, taking in the… strange… scenery around you. You seem to be in an old European room. Littered on desks inside the room is… science... equipment? Bottles and scrolls, aligned with concoctions and tinctures that almost remind you of potions. At the back of the room by the window that is letting in the soft morning light, sits a pin-board full of papers and research notes.

 You get up from the tiled floor, letting Soap carefully down. Her paws quietly pad against the marble tiles, and you slowly move away from her. Your feet move over to the window, and you stare out it, squinting at the bright light.

 The first thing you notice is how old this place is. And then that you’d never seen it before.

 A church bell chimes in the distance as you rub your eyes in shock. The sun shines to your left, cresting over the eastern skyline. It’s gorgeous glow setting the small part of the city you see in a faint light. There’s a small mansion, city walls, various red-roofed houses and… a windmill? Something about this view sparks a memory inside you, but-

 The door behind you creaks open, and you whirl around, slamming your back against the window. Your eyes are wide open when they meet the equally shocked eyes of the man in front of you. His blond hair hangs in his face, half up and half down, but you can still see his startlingly bright aqua blue eyes.

 Your mind stutters for a moment, eyes twitching around you for a moment, desperately looking for a weapon. Eventually, you just dart forward onto your knees, hiding behind Soup.

 “She- she bites! Don- Don’t come any- any closer!” you stammer out the words, dragging you and Soup’s huge body behind one of the desks. 

 “Ah- no, wait! There’s no need to be afraid, I won’t hurt you,” the male’s voice calls out to you, and through your panic you feel a pang of recognition, but the sensation falters under your fear. 

 “I- I said stay back dammit!” you respond, hearing his footsteps clacking against the marble floor. He stops at your words, hesitating for a moment. 

 “...Okay, I’ll bring someone else here. You’ll like her I promise, just… please stay here, Your Excellency,” he says, his voice low and soothing, like you were a scared animal. You were. You totally were.

 Wait, ‘Your Excellency’? Was this guy- well, insane, obviously. You wondered what his delusions were exactly. Did he think you were a princess that he’d saved? Or maybe he was part of a cult. Fucking rich people, they had them in spades.

 You realise the mistake in falling asleep at the park. God, if you are out there, please, I’ll be smarter next time-

 “Ah! Ah! Is she here?! Can Klee really go meet her?!” a kid yells out from the doorway, and you curse under your breath. He’s got kids too? Now you couldn’t just escape with you and Soup-

 A head darts out from around your hiding spot, and for a second your world stops.

 A small girl with blond hair in two pigtails, bright red eyes and pointed ears. She wears a red hat along with a matching red dress, a feather sticking out from the right side of her head. Her smile is wide and excited.

 That’s… that’s Klee. From Genshin Impact.

 That- wait, the guy was Albedo! How did you miss that?! And how did- they looked just like you’d expected, did he use plastic surgery?! Their costumes were absolutely perfect too, looking like real leather and high quality cloth and metals. Could cosplaying fanatics turn out… like this? Was he a pervert or something?! You were so screwed…!

 The little girl in front of you gasps, her hands flying to her face.

 “Oh my gawsh! It really is you!” she darts forward, throwing her arms around your neck. This puts her right next to Soup’s face, who immediately moves forwards and starts licking the fake-Klee.

 You just stare forward, too shocked to move. 

 “What the…” brushes past your lips.

 “It’s so good to see you! Klee really missed you, you know?! Ah- we have to go fish-blasting, and treasure hunting and- and-!” the end of her words becomes a high pitched blur, and you still don’t know what’s going on.

 The pervert rounds the corner, and you immediately hug the girl to your chest, doing your best to protect her. Soup instantly notices the shift in your attitude and moves in front of you, standing guard.

 “Klee, you’re overwhelming her. Calm down,” he says, and fake-Klee nods her head, a small pout on her face.

 You stare up at the man, wondering what he wants. A soft smile sits on his face, and when his eyes meet yours, they dart away. One gloved hand moves upwards, rubbing the back of his neck. Your eyes catch on the tattoo on his chest, a golden star symbol.

 This was bad.

 Soup lets out a quiet growl, and fake-Klee whirls around in your arms. She turns to Soup with a pout on her face and says.

 “Mr. Soup! You can’t treat Albedo like that, he’s very nice!”

 You blink.

 How did she know your dog's name? Was this guy stalking you?

 You slowly move to get your feet, staring the man in the eye. He looks stiff under your gaze, uncertain what to do. What? Did the guy think you’d go along with the kidnapping and freakish dress up?

 Hell no!

 “You… are going to let me and-” your eyes dart down to the girl clinging to your arm. She gives you a bright smile, her eyes squeezing shut. She really thought she was Klee, didn’t she?

 “...Her… go. We are going to leave, or-” you start but the girl cries out.

 “What?! But you just got here! Can you please play with me? Please, please, please?!” she shouts, tugging at your arm and bouncing up and down. Your eyes dart to her ears, flopping up and down with the movement. ...Realistic, all of this feels way too realistic. Like a scene that’d happen in the game.

 You gulp down that impossibility, nodding your head slowly. 

 “...Sure, but first, I’d like to go find your parents! Doesn’t that sound nice? And you’ll let us do that, right?” You move your eyes back to the pervert, distrust shining in them. He looks at you for a moment, sighs and shakes his head, and turns.

 He moves over to one of the tables, grabbing a piece of chalk. He holds it in his hand, his cerulean gaze moving back to you for a second, and then falling back to the chalk.

 And then the chalk shifts.

 You stare in horror as the chalk stretches into the shape of a flower, the refined limestone turning into soft, weeping petals. You blink, once, twice. It doesn’t change back. He watches with quiet eyes, moving forward to you.

 Your muscles tense, and he stops for a moment, analyzing the set of your shoulders. After a second, he takes another step forward.

 His hand extends, the impossible chalk sculpture moving towards you.

 “For you, Your Excellency,” he says, and you feel your mouth open to say something. Anything. Anything would be better than the silence.

 “Ahhhh! Albedo! Gimme the flower! I wanna give it to (Y/n)!” the girl beside you whines, and you notice she says your name.

 You look back up to the pervert- Albedo’s eyes, a worried look in them. He gives you a small smile, tilting his head to the side slightly.

 You think you’re going to faint.

Next Chapter

[thekitschdiet]

my take on the literary masterpiece, the chic diet

Firstly, I am no one. It’s part of my charm. My fifteen minutes of fame was years ago, when I had an instagram niche meme page. I didn’t even take any brand deals! And my posts averaged six thousand likes! Anyhow. I am hardly literate and well hydrated and carry a small sephora-CVS-hybrid worth in my mini tote bag. Here is my guide on how to live like me, the intermediate kitsch-rat, aspiring influencer. But like, in an apathetic, somewhat dissonant, ironic way. I like saying I live by dogmatic principles. But a lot of it, um, is just eating disorder rituals. But that’s not really important. You’re as hot as you say you are, and as much an authority on what you write so long as you say it with, you know, conviction. It’s kind of venerable how fucking delusional I am, actually. Giving any sort of advice like I’m anywhere close to the ritzy ideal of the amphetamine-areyouami label-american. New York, ideally. West Village, preferably. But I guess the kind of guide I can write is better suited to someone living in a suburb, in a house with the twelve-paned windows. I always thought those were so chic. SO quaint, in a somewhat luxe way. Like, Connecticut vibes. My parents used to drive me up there as a child to buy books and ice cream. Nowadays I’d opt for a matcha latte with novelty ice cubes, but I guess at the time it was pretty sweet. 

Because I popped a Vyvanse at like, 10pm, this next little bit could go one of two ways. I will write the most articulate, brilliant piece of literature of my life. Magnum opus, if there was a skinnier word for it. Or, I will get wrapped up doing something like folding all my last-season knits (which is part of my look, okay! I don’t have a job!) and fixating on a paragraph on how a girl’s collarbones are almost as identifying as a fingerprint, or a signature. I’m not a graphologist, but if you write your A’s with the little tail on top (like on a computer), you’re probably a snake. Nothing personal, just an observation. Also, I do have a biology final to study for. Not that I’m super anal, or even particularly committed to academia, but even in my precariously manicured (read that as separate terms; I did a good job on my nail polish, okay? But I happen to also be teetering on the brink of an epiphany or a collapse. Hence the use of the word precarious.) state, I know it’s important enough I can let one of my countless side-quests sit idle for a couple more days. 

The first section seems only natural to be about hydration. And the whole idea of drinking things, really. There was a section in The Chic Diet about Adderall dry-mouth, which deeply resonated with me. Once I bit off a chunk of a Nivea Strawberry Shine (my favorite lip balm, more on that later) and swished it around my mouth. Didn’t help. Really, really didn’t. Anyway, I suppose that even if it served no purpose for combatting my prevacatingly ingenious cottonmouth solution, I was able to milk a sentence or two out of the experience. “Do it for the Vine”, all grown up! And wearing bananapapaya resin hoops too. Side note, that Etsy shop is a parasocial enemy of mine. It stems from jealousy, which sucks, but hating from inside a club I’m adjacent to is much healthier than being a hateful individual towards people I would, you know, interact with. Daily. Or something. I stopped going to therapy because I felt stupid about going and I don’t live in the right kind of town to warrant vacuous $300 hours. Bitching about my well-adjusted parents and how desperately I wished my anxiety would just “go away” was plainly gross, and a waste. Like, pretty sure almost every problem I have could be solved by a couple painful conversations taking place during a hurricane. Such a shame it doesn’t rain much here. Anyhow, I digress. 

Staying hydrated. It is essential to my character, my persona, if you will; to never be without either an elegant metal bottle (I’m loyal to the smooth enamelled S’well ones, printed to look like marble or a semi holographic solid) or a little 16oz tumbler with a metal straw. Hydroflasks were some of the worst things to happen to society. I want to preface this claim with the fact that I wanted one in the same way a teenage girl wants a new iPhone so she can keep up appearances with her dermatologist-dad friends who still have the XR, by the way. But I ended up spending the money on like, a minidress at Brandy Melville before it fled my city. Or maybe a Fresh Sugar tinted lipbalm. For the better, even though the dress has a busted zipper now and the lipbalm tube has inevitably gotten dinged and dented by the other contents of my mini-totebag. Unlike a car, though, a couple scuffs on your laptop or your luxury lipbalm tube looks kind of cool. Like, you’re not someone who values the pristine, unused quality of an item that was ambiguously intended to be used versus displayed on Instagram.  Now, I’m wondering why this paragraph about hydration is so fucking impossible to stay on track for. I literally drink several litres of water a day, and more tea on top of that. And sometimes an almond milk latte if I can budget it in. Not that I’m so anorexic I can’t afford a 45cal latte. They’re just not that important to me. Anyhow. Drinking lukewarm (on the cool side) water is better than ice-cold. Partially because I just get it out of the tap of my ensuite and I can’t be bothered to wait for it to run cold enough every time, and it just seems wasteful. Plus, there is something so.. skinny about drinking water at an “obscure” temperature. Trust me, I want to know why my thought process is like this too. My favorite tea is blueberry tea foraged in a side aisle at my local supermarket. I love a good commercial, high-end steep or fruit infusion as much as the next girl. Maybe more. My pantry is filled with tins labelled with things like “emerald jade organic” and “magic potion”, which is really just currants and butterfly pea flowers. But there is a necessary glamor about drinking dirt-cheap tea on the daily. Seriously, a box of 25 sachets is like, $3. At a higher point with my, um, Adderall problem, I spent like several times that on pills. I didn’t really need to include that, and could have linked the price point to the cost of a drugstore lipbalm, but I wrote it in. And I’m married to it, stubbornly, as all amateur writers should be when they wittle in a somewhat indecorous little joke. This tea is sooo good because it has a strong fruit-reminiscent taste (not as sweet as a fresh blueberry, but who wants that anyway?), it’s zero-calorie, it’s the most GORGEOUS color ever. The latte, the third drink in my little trifecta, is nothing special. But necessary. The trick is to use a milk frother to whip up sugar free syrup with instant coffee and a little bit of hot water in a glass. It’ll make the most luscious foam.. Top it off with almond milk. My dad is a coffee purist, owning both an upstairs keurig AND a downstairs one (among other more analogue methods, but I can’t name-drop, so what’s the point?), so he hates this drink. Now, calling oneself a plebian is so unglamorous and teetering on self-deprecating territory, dangerously close to insecurity. But I can use it here because I am at least posh enough to have a different pair of earrings for every outfit I could possibly come up with, and I only wear Patagonia if I am in a situation where I just have to wear fleece. Like I was saying. It’s such a simple drink, certainly not a delicacy, and… I had a joke about the word plebian but I keep getting up to refill my water and I fear I have forgotten about it. 

Next section; the importance of a good tinted balm

In the intro I alluded to how a girl’s collarbones function essentially as an identifier, the way a signature or fingerprint does. This is a lie, or at least an exaggeration. But one’s ultimate tinted lipbalm is  actually extremely indicative about who you are, as a person, as a member of society, even… 

If you are loyal to Dior Lipglow, I have a couple questions. One; did you shoplift one tube, once, and refill it with cheaper stuff afterwards? I did that. I consider it one of my better-kept secrets, but now you know. Might as well explain the catalyst for my parent’s first separation now, and the horrifying experience that was meeting my dad’s Manhattan sugar baby (?) at the age of thirteen, wearing an overalls dress from, like, Topshop or something else equally embarrassing. .. Kidding. I digress. It’s such a fancy lipbalm, and good too! It smells like thin mints! But I could just never justify cell phone monthly installation payment money on something I will inevitably talk off. I do own three, but two I stole (before I lost the nerve, somewhat unfortunately) and one, a boy(not)friend bought for me. This is not something I feel any remorse about, because his house was easily four thousand square feet and his sisters had a dedicated all-glass room for their shared peloton. Oil money. Ugh!

My personal favorite lip balm, and I have tried a frightening amount, has got to be the Nivea Fruit Shine collection. The frosted one is shit-ugly. Hideous. But the strawberry one is the love of my life. It’s such a pleasant red, looking healthy and rejuvenated and really completes any look. Only downside is it will always, hopefully not always, remind me of Charles. Kissing Charles, specifically. And him asking me what lipbalm it was, because he knew I was somewhat frivolous and definitive and would have a very long answer. But for whatever reason, I simply stated it was from “out of town”. Not really sure why I said that, but it plagues me (minorly) to this day. Of all the things to make up.. .. The peach one is a perfectly demure spring classic shade. Cherry exists too, but the only tube I have ever had the fortune of owning was purchased in Costa Rica and lost somewhere on the way home. Honestly tragic, it was the juiciest shade. Blackberry is perfect too, but I have to layer it with either peach or untinted lipbalm to avoid what I imagine TooPoor would choose if she believed in tinted lipbalm. I don’t mean this hatefully, I think she’s a queen, but super dark, smudgy makeup suits the eyes better in my opinion. Or something. Or something.

Afraid to bore the reader, I have to move on now. Maybe at a later date I will release an addendum on my ultimate lipbalm buying guide. But also, that is so deeply personal (and everyone needs the excuse of “hunting for the perfect staple shade!!”), so it is really not my place to have any authority on something so intimate and subjective. Etcetera. 

Moving on; Decorating your room

Here is a section I lifted out of my memoir document. It fits, because as enigmatic as I hope I am, I am also quite unchanging.

 I just pushed three hangers and two tiny strappy tops with the tags still on, off my bed. Most nights, all, these days, actually; I spend in my large but cluttered bedroom. I have a little ensuite with a jetted tub I’ve never used because I just never get around to it. There’s a plush grey rug, spanning the expanse of the room (covering an ugly cherry wood that doesn’t match the rest of the house; no clue why. I never asked, and the previous owners were eager to sell so they could finally ditch this town and retire in Montreal for the bagels, or Hawaii for the monk seals. Point is, I’ll never know) with loose beads and loose pills and little shards of glass from plier-crushed beads. I vacuum every day. The whole room tells you exactly the kind of person I am; the clutter I possess, the encapsulation of the projects I start, start, start and the hours I don’t sleep for and the clothes I tried on (these to sell, these to cut up with kitchen scissors; thrifted lululemon and aritzia and heaps of knits and plaid fabric..) I would not say the room is a mess. Lived in, maybe. Chopsticks and mugs and gum wrappers. Single dangle earrings. I just finished the last of my Creme Brulee eos lipbalm; disguised as a relic of 2015, I was gifted it Christmas of ‘20. I think my next waxy conquest will be a tinted Burt’s one I palmed a while back, before I lost the nerve. Peering around the room you will see shopping bags strewn about the mouth of my walk-in closet. Every surface has something shiny or colorful stacked up on it. Cluttered, busy, but intentional. Except for the walls, which are bare. Bare and gray and miles-tall when I lie flat on my back, high out of my mind, willing things to change but knowing I’m responsible for a first step I will always be too scared for. Bare, pristine, no gumtack. Empty, Like they’re waiting. I wait around a lot. It makes sense. That was an awful lot of words about my stupid blank walls when truly it does not bother me that much; I really just don’t get around to it. I have other things on the ground to tend to, like post-email nausea, addressing envelopes, marrying wire and bead.  Writing a document I care about because I am determined and I am alive, alive, alive, goddammit. 

Excerpt over. The memoir is coming out when I get famous, or something earth shattering happens. Like I become the world’s least remarkable entrepreneur, and I get retweeted by Colorpop. I don’t want to be the next Elizabeth Wurtzel. I read two of her memoirs one restless night, absorbing it to make up for the nutrients I didn’t that day (you can laugh. I think that is pretty clever), heart breaking a little bit. She writes about her struggles so intrinsically, you either get it, or you don’t. Anyway. She had the books and the fame from it, and she wrote more memoirs than I think a single person should. That is admirable. Aspirational, even. But I do not want to be like her. Where was I? Oh. Yes. Decorating/adorning/filling your room. Your room should serve as the kind of place to watch a movie (if you believe in film. I don’t) and put on ridiculous glittery eye makeup, or smoke an ~artistic cigarette~ or stay up all night on the phone, which is different from staying up all night simply on your phone. Chatting with someone you are tepidly in love with is much more exciting. Not chic as the whole affair is so juvenile, but fun regardless. It’s somewhere to keep your worldly possessions, too. I know I have a lot! Also, it is kind of thrilling to hide things in your room in little crevices only you know about. Now, unfortunately, everyone reading this will know too. But, like, I trust you not to really.. do anything about it. I keep my extra juul pods in the sliding box my apple pencil came in. That box is almost more useful than the pencil itself. I’m somewhat morally opposed to the iPad. Whole culture is so embarrassing! I have a tea tin with an ounce of golden teacher shrums in it. This is tossed in my closet among tins filled with other things, like lace trim and buttons. Which makes it actually a pretty terrible hiding spot, I see now… Anyhow. Keeping benign little secrets like that is so fun. You can tell I don’t have siblings. I sort of wish I did, but it is easier to believe there is something aristocratic about being an only child. Not sure if older-sister me would be egalitarian enough to share things. But that’s prophesying, which is kind of a waste of time. I live in the now, in a room positively cluttered with meaningless things that mean the world to me, chewing on my lip because my mouth is just so dry and 5gum is just not an after-8 indulgence. To live truly kitschly, you have to have somewhat hideous decor. Now, do not confuse dissonant, or incoherent, with what I mean by “hideous decor”. The kitsch room has as many surfaces to look at as possible, while also shying away from too many shelving units. Then you risk your room looking like a storage unit or something. When my mom renovated (re: paid someone to do it) our New York house so we could sell it, all our stuff was stacked up in a Cubesmart self storage. It was sort of horrifying, seeing my childhood home reduced to plastic storage tubs piled what felt like thirty feet high. Anyway. It’s just not an  inviting way to store things; I imagine it makes your room look like your stuff is all trapped in gelatin. The more fussy, tiny things you have out in the open, the better. Nail polish. Earring trees. Bowls full of rings and lighters and water color pans perched on your windowsill. A rack with the tackiest assortment of knits and bucket hats and baguette bags. And so forth.. Quickly surveying someone’s room is so telling. Bonus points if all your books are spine-in, except for your favorite ones, because you don’t want people to get the wrong idea. (that you read). 

[lunaekalenda]

So I have this idea for the longest time now and I would like to see if you can make something out of it 😂

STORY TIME! Marley has something similar to the witches trial going on and witch!reader runs away to Paradis, joining the scouts and she and levi get all lovey dovey. After a while, they discover that she's from Marley and think that she's betraying them, so they make a pact with Zeke to give her back in exchange to leave Paradis alone. Soon everyone realize that she didn't betrayed them and was about to be burned. Fluffy ending where she's saved or angst 😈

wooooow i'm buYING IT!!!!!! i love witch concept omg, i hope you like it!! <3

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❁ levi x witch!reader

❁ mention of death, witches trial, death by burning, stitching :'), mention of con sex, season 4 and manga minor spoilers.

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You were only five when they burned your neighbor in the public place. It was a cold day, your mother's arm around your shoulders, her gaze searching silently the other witches of your coven. They were looking at their friend, their superior, being licked by flames. But she was totally straight, her eyes fixed on the cardenal. He was smiling.

Now you're running out of Marley. The trials are more and more popular. They judged half of your coven. Your mother told you to leave, to use your power to escape. So, after taking something to eat and a cape, you started running. Running until you saw the ocean. You look at both sides, making sure there’s no one around you, before closing your eyes and concentrate in the sound of your crow, possessing it’s body. You start to fly, searching land to stop at. You look around, a little island can be seen some kilometers away. You’re tired oof running, but you think you can arrive there. You keep flying, more and more tired. You’re near, but you can see tents in the beach. There are tents. And people. Your mind starts to panic. Transforming in front of this people will make you suspect. You look to the little forest near the beach. It seems empty. You fly towards there, really really tired. You start to notice how your body gets heavier. And, faster than you thought, your human body was back, making you fall into the ocean. The water enters on your nose and ears, and makes your dress heavier. You swim, but you’re so tired, and your head hurts because of the impact. You let your body connect with the sea, the waves hugging you. 

“Please, take me to that island, mother Ocean.” the salty waves start to rock softly, making you near to the beach little by little. Your eyes start to close, the sweet movement of the sea relaxes you. You’re so tired...

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“It’s a girl, captain.” You hear the voice of a boy near. Also, some people mumbling around. You start to open your eyes, finding a girl pointing you with a gun. The boy who talked, extremely tall, looks at you again. “She’s awake.” There is a lot of people around you. Boys and girls, all dressed in black, are talking about the girl that appeared on the sea.

“Who of you took her out of the ocean?” a deep voice is heard. You stay quiet, the brown-eyed girl keeps pointing her gun at you. A man enters your vision camp. His grey eyes examined you from above. His gaze was serious.

“I did.” a black haired girl talked. “What should we do with her, Captain Levi?”

Levi looks at you, and you keep your eyes on his. His eyebrow raises.

“Should we kill her?” a boy says.

“No! we should interrogate her!” someone says. 

“Tsch, shut up you all.” The man keeps looking at you. His sharp features make him look so attractive... “From where do you come?” he asks. You have to think, or use your powers. It’s highly improbable that they count with another witch on their team, so no one is going to notice how you research a close town. You choose a blonde boy. You concentrate in his brain, searching info. Armin. 19 years. Shinganshina district.

"Shiganshina district." you say. Levi looks at you, trying to know if you’re telling the truth. He clicks his tongue. The blonde boy looks to the girl with a scarf, and she looks to a long-haired boy next to her.

“Do you know her?” Levi asks. The three of them shake their heads, but it was easy to change their opinion. 

Change people’s memories is not that hard for a witch of your level. Just making your face appear in one of them’s memories.

“Oh, I know her!” the long-haired boy talks now. “I think her family lived behind me.”

Levi looked at him, and then back at you.

“Sorry for you, but you can’t go back to Shinganshina. You’ll have to stay here for a bit.” A person with glasses shows behind him.

“Levi, let me talk to her.” they ask. He helps you to get up, but you still feel the gun pointing at your back. “I’m Hange Zöe, the Commander of the Survey Corps. You’re in our camp, near the coast. Since we don’t have information about you, you’ll be held here. You can choose to be helpful for us, either training with our soldiers to help us, or doing some paperwork or cleaning. I’m sure Levi can help you in any way.” The man keeps being on your side. “Then, what do you choose?” They ask, smiling at you.

“I work as a tailor, so I guess I can help with...”

“Oh, so you can sew wounds!” They say.

I wasn’t going to say that... you think for yourself

“Well, I only sewed clothes, but...”

"We need help with that, so you'll stitch the survey clothes and soldiers!" they say. Levi sighed and then reached your back with his hand.

"I'll show you your dorm."

Since a lot of soldiers where living there, as Levi told you, you got a shared room with a couple girls of the military. Sasha Braus and Mikasa Ackerman where your new roommates. Mikasa is really aware around you, just in case you're a traitor. Sasha, in the other hand, is really close to you, although she was the one pointing you with a gun. The first weeks you stayed there, it went really well: Sasha showed you the camp, presented to you the people and sat with you for eating. You tried to not use your powers that much, just in real emergency cases. All this time, you felt gazes on you, curiosity or hate gazes, but one was more heavy than others: a pair of intense grey eyes. Levi Ackerman had his eyes on you since you arrived here, months ago now, maybe because he's a Captain and has to neutralize every single danger he sees. Maybe that's why you feel him when you eat, run or work. He also goes and sits near to you, doing paperwork while you sew someone's coat.

"You're good. I'm sure your stitches won't leave a scar." he says. You keep sewing the coat, this time is Connie's coat. His gaze totally fixed on the letters he has on his hands. He has been looking for you for half a year now. He also has a strange flirty game on going, he likes to get closer to you and look at your body, but then he acts cold for a while. You sigh.

"I don't think so..."

Unfortunately, you had the opportunity to try on him days later, after an attack. His back needed stitches. So, there he was, half undressed and covered on blood, waiting for you to start bounding him. You started to pass the sew. The sensation of the needle trespassing his skin was horrible, but you tried to make your best. He didn't say a thing, with a piece of cloth in his mouth. You felt his jaw bitting the cloth with strength, trying not to move. You thought his endurance of pain is in levels you didn't know a human could reach.

You could have cured him with magic, but if they know it, they'll probably send you back to Marley, if they don't kill you in the moment. Once you finished, he stayed there, sitting, with some saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth after releasing the cloth. He passed his hand fast, cleaning it.

"Try not to move..."

"I got my skin stitched a hundred times and fought five minutes after." he says. "But thank you."

All the hours he spent by your side, doing paperwork and that stuff, you realized you found him attractive. His voice, his grey eyes, the way he looks at his friends. You want to be looked that way.

No, you want more.

Maybe it was a stupid idea. But you felt so attracted to him, like if his aura was calling yours. Your hand reached his back, the way his muscles tense with the touch. He looked at you from above his shoulder. You traced a little drawing on his skin, a no-sense form down his back. Surprisingly, he didn't ask you what the hell where you doing or moved away.

You wanted to know if he was even just a bit interested in you, but using magic will break totally the moment. So you kept moving your hands on his skin. It was warm, almost hot. He sighed. His hands dropped the shirt he was about to put on, and his muscles started to relax. At the same time, you got closer to him. Maybe he needed to unburden. Maybe he has been there for months, in need of a girl like you to help him. Your hands moved to his shoulders, dangerously near his neck. He raises his head, eyes closed. He's enjoying it, no doubt. His bony hands are now on his legs.

"Captain..." you ask quietly. "Are you feeling good?" he hums in answer. His back is totally relaxed now, and his eyes are still closed. The way he has his head, thrown back, lets you see his adam's apple, another attractive point of him. You wanted to kiss the point of his neck where it connects with his shoulders. His lips, always on a inexpressive facade. You wanted him to be a mess, asking for more. You wanted his bony hands marking your waist and his fingers ruining your hair. "Do you want me to stop?" your voice goes out like a whisper. He breathes in, deeply.

"No." His voice is raspy. He looks at you again, his grey gaze shining with... maybe interest? curiosity? desire? Maybe a mix of those three. "I never got someone to massage me after a battle. It feels nice."

Your heart skips a beat when you hear that. Was it your opportunity to tell him you feel attracted to him?

If it wasn't, you didn't care.

"Well, I could do this to you a hundred times, Captain." Your hand goes up and down his back, being careful with his stitched wound. "I was getting kinda confused, Levi..." you say. His back tenses again, but he lets you continue. "Why do you lend closer to me, but then act cold for days? I never got it." He takes a deep breath again.

"I'm a Captain. I'm in charge of a full squad of humans. Really good but kinda dumb humans." he says. "They're my responsibility and my team. I can't get distracted and lose a single one of them." he says. You nod, understanding.

"Wow, that's..." That's exactly how covens work. In Marley, witches are the worst of the worst. And the Island people, demons. You thought maybe you're not that different, after all. "That's amazing, Levi."

His eyes shot open after hearing that. You weren't telling him his sword abilities are amazing or his control of the ODMS. You were telling him his way, his human being, was amazing. But he called you a distraction. You stand up. But his hand reaches your wrist.

"Oi." he calls you. "Come back here."

"I don't want to distract you, I understand your..." his voice interrupts you.

"You asked why I always act cold with you, right? Because if I didn't have to go and kill those damn titans and marleyans I would had kissed you a while ago." he says. So, after all, he does found you interesting, at least.

Your mum always said that a boy only wants a girl because of sex. That's why she obligated you to wear vanila perfume, one that she made. It shows you the true intentions of the people around you. You concentrate on Levi's aura.

You're not going to lie. Levi's aura is a bright red. He finds you attractive, and now he wants you. But even your aura looks like that.

So, two adults that want each other, what could go wrong?

That's why you kissed him. His lips quickly adapting to your pace, owning the kiss. He catches his breath.

"Are you sure about this?" his voice is even lower, his eyes darker. You nod. He caresses your blushed cheek with his thumb. Minutes later, your dress was mixed with his shirt, as well as your breath was mixed with his.

"Your back..." you told him. He was above you, so attractive. His sharp jaw tensed when your bodies touched.

"My back is fine." he says.

His hand traveled down your waist, your hands tangled on his hair, and his name was just a repetition on your mouth.

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Next morning, Levi is still asleep when you wake up. His handsome face is close to yours, and one of his hands rests in your back. You get up silently, dressing fast. You search your necklace, the one with magic properties.

"Searching this?" he asks. Your necklace is on his hand. "Witch." he adds. He gets up, totally undressed, and takes his pants from the floor. Starts to pull them on.

"N-no, you're..."

"We have been in a lot of missions on Marley." he says. "And all the prints in the streets advertised people about women with this necklace." he gets closer to you, really close. His eyes are fixed on yours. "Did you bewitched me?" You shake your head. Twice.

"I didn't"

"I've heard some witches work for Marley's government as spies." he says, looking at your necklace. "Are you also fucking the Marleyan commander?" he asks. He was being mean. "Lucky you, a man is coming later from Marley. Maybe if I give you to them, they will stop attacking us, hm?"

He was angry. He has his reasons.

He wanted to stop talking when he saw the first tears running down your cheeks. He wanted to stop, but he couldn't. He was angry, thinking you bewitched him.

"You slept with me because you witches need a intimate bond to enter on my brain, right?" you shake your head again. He was so wrong, you never wanted to hurt him.

"Levi, I..." he put your necklace on his pocket. You were weak without it.

"Tell that to Zeke."

Zeke Jaeger.

Was him the same Zeke?

Zeke Jaeger never, never, absolves a witch.

"But he's going to kill me." you cry. Levi keeps getting dressed normally. He doesn't say nothing. How could he be so blind? Your necklace was always there, when he was cursing on your neck because of how good you felt. It was there.

But he found it this morning, when he moved and collided with your body.

Zeke landed on Paradis that afternoon. Levi told Sasha to look up for you, and the girl had his gun pointing at you since you came back from Levi's tent. Sasha and Mikasa didn't believe him.

"But if she is a spy, she should have tried to enter the archives or get information from Hange or Armin."

"And she even cured Levi a couple times!" Mikasa says.

Levi thought about it when you were going back to Marley. The pact is done, but, making rewind, you were never a dangerous person. Even Sasha asked you from where you were and she told Levi you were escaping from Marley! He's feeling bad now. He should had listened to you. And, fuck, he had your necklace. You were so easy to kill now. He knows they were going to judge you tomorrow morning. If they're fast enough...

"Damn!" he yells. Hange, sitting on the desk next to him, gets surprised. Levi goes out of the tent without a word, entering the cantina, where Sasha talks with Niccolo, adoration on his eyes, and Mikasa tells Eren to eat more. He searches the crowded table.

"Jean, Mikasa, Sasha. We're going on a mission."

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Moving on Marley at nights is so easy. The amount of drunk people and drunk guards is huge, so entering the prision is quite easy for Paradis' demons. Guided by Levi and his blades, the other ones enter on the prision were you're kept, your arms and legs bonded to a corner. Levi runs on the corridor, searching your cage. He found you easily: your pretty body snuggled on a corner and your low crying sounds making his heart break.

"Y/N!" Sasha says quietly, but with happiness.

"Sasha?" you ask. You see her ponytail bouncing behind her. And also all the other's figures.

They came. For you.

Even Levi is there.

His gaze is low and he's not looking at you in the eyes, as he usually do. Sasha looks around and tells Jean to look to the other corridor. Mikasa and Levi examinate the door.

"It's closed with magic." you whisper. "A witch that works for Marley did it. That's why there's no place for a key." Levi keeps looking at the ground.

"Isn't your magic strong enough to undo it?"

"They made me enter here without my necklace. They know it has all my power inside. Without it, I'm a human."

Levi reaches his pocket quickly, taking out the blue necklace.

"Oh, Captain you have it!" Mikasa says. Levi nods in silence, putting his arm between the bars. You get up and walk towards him. Your hands are really close, but you'll never be close enough to touch him. He swings the collar towards you and you take it, putting it around your neck once again. You feel how magic runs again on your veins.

"Are we going to see how she makes magic?" Jean says, truly amazed.

"Is she going to shine or transform?" Sasha asks at the same time.

"Now you should be able to open." you say. Jean and Sasha look at the other.

"What? Without thunders or lights?"

"Well, she's bleeding." Mikasa says. It's true that unmaking a curse is more tiring than making one, and the ones made to capture are really strong. That's why your nose is bleeding a bit. Once you're out, Levi takes a tissue for you.

"Thanks" you whisper. He also takes out a letter, written with his elegant handwriting. "For Zeke" it prays.

"No one in this door. We can leave." Jean says.

Outside, Levi takes you from your waist, and elevates the two of you with his ODM.

"Sorry." you both say at the same time. You let put a little laugh. "I should have told you the truth."

"You deserved to be listened." he says. His face is buried on your hair. He has you by his side now.

"Tie?" he laughs a bit.

"Tie"

After this, Zeke found the letter, of course. He was there, at Marley, getting angry because of a girl with a dangerous necklace.

Necklace that is stored in a drawer, while your head rests in the Captain's shoulder, back again at Paradis.

[awkward-snake-girl]

Tuca and Bertie Starters

Season 2 episode 9: The Dance

(Feel free to change what you need to fit your muse)

“Oh, (Name) actually hasn’t been here or talked to me in three weeks. We’ve only texted a few times.”

“She’s in a new relationship. She’s busy. Let’s change the subject, okay?”

“No, I don’t want an ugly baby!”

“You annoy me and my subconscious is conflating things!”

“Woah, this place is adorable.”

“I’m cramping (name’s) style anyway.”

“Hmm, that’s a toughie. Magic Therapist Ball says, "Lets unpack that."”

“Nobody hates you, you just need to drink more water, get eight hours of sleep, and invite your best friend to the carnival.”

“Okay, fine! I’m anxious as hell.”

“(Name) says being early is on time and being on time is late.”

“I hate this stupid moss. Why’s it gotta get its slimy slippery mossy self all over everything good?”

“They’re from (name). She gives me a pin every time we have a disagreement.”

“But you hate mild. You don’t even like mild salsa. You bully everyone who gets it at the taco stand!”

“The fish are hungry for balls and they must be fed.”

“We can do our yearly tradition where I win a game and give you the prize.”

“I do like that flirty frog. And that panda in the Hawaiian shirt. Oooh! Cool flamingo!”

“That’s a real red sweater. I guess you can spill all the ketchup you want and no one will notice.”

“(Name), you are so off beat.”

“Great, just what you need. More stuff.”

“Oh, she fully sucks.”

“My insides want to be outsides, but they don’t get to decide. I’m the one who decides.”

“Oh, small talk? Yeah, sure.”

“(Name) is great for me. If anything, she’s way too good for me.”

“You said relationships require comprise and change. So I changed.”

“I want my clothes to convey follow-through.”

“Look, I’m usually too much for people. So, if I can make myself not be too much, then maybe (Name) will keep liking me.”

“Just tell me is she changing for you? Or is it all one-sided?”

“Let’s ride the Ferris Wheel.”

“These rides are so germ-y. You could probably lick the seats to vaccinate yourself.”

“I have a girlfriend and self-respect.”

“That wasn’t what you said three years ago.”

“I like when you’re bossy. I bet your girly likes it too.”

“Well, every relationship is give and get, kiddo. They need to meet you in the middle.”

“It was gross, right? The ride?”

“See, you gotta listen to me. I’m always right!”

“Wait, hold on. You’re breaking up. It’s raining at this ridiculous carnival.”

“Come on! We’ll kiss in the rain like we’re in a romantic movie!”

“(Name)! No! It’s too cold!”

“Okay. Kiss me under this heat lamp!”

“No, no, I’m, I’m happy to leave.”

“What are you doing, weirdo?”

“So…today you made it clear you didn’t want to be here and didn’t care about meeting my friends. It hurt my feelings.”

“We talked about this. I work all night and I’m too exhausted to meet new people. That’s why I wanted to stay home.”

“This carnival is the one thing I’ve wanted to do in weeks and you couldn’t even pretend to enjoy it?”

“Listen I like you. But I can’t add pressure to my life. So let’s just keep things easy. You could move in with me, I can buy you more clothes…”

“We always follow your schedule. We hang out with your friends.You’re leading this dance.”

“I’m not asking for much. Just dance to my rhythm, once in a while.”

“I’m not good at bending. But you mean a lot to me, (Name), and I would never want to hurt you, so thank you for being honest with me.”

“That was just a feeling I had once. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s gone.”

“Don’t I look happy? Are these not the hands of a happy person?”

“(Name) and I talked, and I going to move in with her.”

[sanchoyo]

danny phantom episode 4-7 Thoughts: (under a readmore because, these got kinda long!)

-the outfit danny had to buy for dash's party. CLASSIC 2000S i cannot stop laughing. And also showing up to the party and everyone is dressed like the trio is hilarious. and further proof that everyone looks good dressed goth.

-dash has a closet full of cute lil bear plushies?? LOVE that. adorable. also his response to danny trashing his room fighting a ghost was SO valid if somone BROKE MY BED IN HALF ID BE PISSED TOO.

-technus being like 'oh smart, u should be a tutor!' then later being like 'forget tutor, be a teacher!' :) supportive king <3 I also really like his upgraded suit/design. AND SPOCK CAMEO??? HELLO??

-the music in this show is super. its so funky. I looked it up and the guy who does it, guy moon (awesome name) also did music for other cartoons like fairly odd parents, barnyard, chalkzone, billy & mandy, AND some actual movies like FIGHT CLUB??? the whiplash I got from reading that)

-sam being rich explains a lot about her, actually.

-I know the moral of the episode was supposed to be 'dont ditch your friends for popular people/spend a lot of money on clothes that arent You to Fit In'. but tbh. it wouldve been easy for danny to have been like 'well, okay, ill come but only if my friends can!' but I get. that hes 14. so. not a lot to say there.

-BOX GHOST IS BACK!!!!! also, danny sitting up and wearing the dress/wig/makeup. umm thats how I dress everyday LMFAO. unironically me. (hate the jokes that boil down to 'haha funney man in dress' tho. but this is a look)

-jazz being protective of her brother once again being like NOOO YOU GUYS BETTER NOT STAKE OUT HIS (actually haunted) LOCKER!! shes aware of how people perceive him and she wants to help :( which is also probably why she told dash to invite him to that party even tho she had no interest in going!! she wants to help him out :(

-gotta say im with tucker on the whole 'should danny use his powers to get back at bullies' debate. 100% yes. let him teach kids to fight back. making dash throw his food at paulina out of the blue? no. but when hes actually about to pick on someone? yeah! for self defense? YEAH! if dash and his friends just threw food at him, I think rather than. idk doing sneaky shit with frogs he couldve just threw it back and not pulled punches if they tried to fight. I kNOOWWW its a kids show so they are like 'if u fight back ur just as bad!! violence bad!!' but. theyre HIS POWERS. WHO CARES.

-like my only gripe is that dash really isnt LEARNING ANYTHING WHEN DANNY GETS BACK AT HIM IN THE MOST PETTY INDIRECT WAYS. whatever they had to add a bully psa episode I guess. I hate it and I hate the way cartoons usually handle it because these methods simply Do Not Work. 'aND YouRE USinG YOur poWErs FOR EVill???!' this is Not Evil. even when poindexter takes dannys body, theyre only being 'nice' bc hes stealing soda for them!! bitches deserve what they get (nothing too brutal bc theyre high schoolers but damn, if they pick on danny he doesnt need to be the 'bigger person' he needs to start biting people)

-SAM TRYING TO SMUGGLE FROGS OUT OF THE BIO LAB?? girl in middle school when we had to dissect frogs we could opt out, also, they came to us already dead and preserved...

-sidney's lingo and the fact hes in black and white is sending me. also, danny is a ghost celebrity apparently for being a halfa?? ok. thats interesting to know

-the DENTIST BEING EXCITED ABOUT THE COTTON CANDY FLOOD IS THE FUNNIEST THING SO FAR.

-I LOOOVE the trope of 'wishes gone wrong'. not crazy about the stereotypical genie, or the use of the dreamcatcher looking design. (also, I KNOW theyre scientists but the way theyre handling a cold...are the fentons ANTIVAX)

-the genie. she. whitewished paulina. JKASDFHKJ. (the ghost literally just being hello kitty???? im dying) 'why do i feel that im special and wonderful? because I AM! <3' paulina ilu self worth queen. felt bad for her also getting possessed by (2) boys later who were arguing INSIDE HER. WTF.

-imagine being the guy trapped in his now flying car. he thought danny and tucker were HALUCINATIONS. imagine being trapped in a flying car with two, what you think are imaginary arguing 14 year olds convinced ur gonna die. i WOULD say this dude is gonna need so much therapy, but he seemed totally fine and excited when they landed (I would be happy too if a chicken was on my head. chickens rule) stoner rights

-sam's bat slippers??? iconic. SO cute.

-I think desiree's backstory is so :( do all ghosts have messed up sad backstories?? poindexter's was sad too...cannot imagine box ghost has any kind of fucked up backstory. but what if. his mom got pushed off cliffs by boxes...........a la cruella... anyway her 'no man may lay a hand on me' iconic. ilu

-I know danny has no concept of how much bras cost but my god dont attack tucker with some girls bra. those are so expensive.

-its really. well its not a GOOD THING he went into the portal and got fucked up, but its good danny was the one to do it rather than sam or tucker. because even tho he was being influenced by desiree and kept getting more malicious and it prob wasnt 100% him...he sucked as a ghost like most the people he 'pranked' were innocent ppl just Chillin and he didnt want to help anyone at all. I think danny is the most responsible out of them but also, hes 14 and shouldnt HAVE to feel obligated to fight every ghost. hes a good kid and wants to, but I also feel like he feels like...responsible for the portal turning on?? because his parents did give it up,, but it was an accident and not his fault (if anything, why was the on switch on the inside. why was it that easy. why was there no safety measures. that seems like smth OSHA needs to hear about). like thats my son. hes a good boy. and hes never done anything wrong in his life, ever. if anyone hurts him im killing everyone in this room and then myself. etc.

-danny's curfew is 10PM????? DUDE. when I was 14...shit I couldn't be out that late, I had to be back at like, 8 at the latest, and my parents had to know exactly where and who I was going with, AND i had to call/text them regularly...is this a case of my parents being overbearing, or the fentons sucking??? the only time i could EVER be out that late was if I was at an overnight sleepover or smth...

-the vultures have lil fezes. why do they have fezes...theyre so fuckin funny 'ask him for directions' 'I KNOW WHERE IM GOING' these ghost vultures are my new grandpas. pick them up, put them in the adopt box.

-'I wonder why those guys were trying to waste dad!' THEYRE GHOSTS. YOUR DAD HUNTS GHOSTS. why is that not a conclusion you'd immediately jump to??

-*jazz voice, clearly disgusted* WISCONSIN???

-mrs fenton with the lab coat and leg warmers and PERM. YESSS STYLISH.

-was going to say 'ew billionaire' @vlad but. super valid he used his powers to assumedly steal and cheat to get that money, thats how all billionaires do it! but ew hes a SIMP. and spending your billions on FOOTBALL STUFF?? you are Not Valid overall. I DO respect the fact you have a castle instead of a mansion. in wisconsin. if youre going to be stupidly rich might as well go all out, torches on the wall and all. I DO like his ghost form's little kitty ears. catman. and his cape! every design can benefit from a cape. and how different his forms look, like danny looks the EXACT SAME IN BOTH FORMS ASIDE FROM COLOR CHANGES. vlad's is like,, I could believe they were different people!! also I love the drama. but dude you are fighting a 14 year old. lame. also he was like, telling danny he wanted his mom and him and like, wanted him to renounce his dad?? WHAT ABOUT JAZZ?? bitch. those r MY kids and they are both important and special. I do agree they need better parents but thats not u sir <3

-I thought vlad's 'little badger' nickname for danny came from the football mascot of the packers, but google says they have NO MASCOT?? so now I'm like?? is it because his hair is sometimes black and sometimes white?? I hate to give him props but thats a PERFECT NICKNAME. theyre also tiny and vicious!

-why did I get so excited that Skulker is back!! its been like. 2-3 eps LMAO. AND THE DAIRY KING. ICONIC I LOVE HIM. hes the nicest guy ever :) more nice ghosts please. danny cannot be fighting alone everytime with no ghost buds like every ghost being hostile sucks :(

-mr. fenton knew vlad was controlling him, but a few episodes ago he had no clue danny was doing the same thing...is it something about how malicious the ghost is?? he just seemed to think his memory had gaps the first time, this time he was INSTANTLY LIKE 'GHOST'. then again in this ep when danny did it again he was just slightly confused but not immediately freaking out like he did with vlad possessing him!!

-'my parents will accept ME NO MATTER WHAT' so. so why haven't you come out to them yet, danny?? if you really think that?? if theres no harm, and you're sure??? if vlad is a real problem, wouldnt that make dealing with him easier, to expose him???? SO WHY HAVENT YOU COME OUT YET?? COULD IT BE,, MAYBE YOU HAVE DOUBTS ABOUT WHETHER YOUR PARENTS ACTUALLY WILL ACCEPT YOU??? 🤔 ... 🏳‍🌈 I get why people say He Is Trans. I totally totally get u danny.

-sorta unrelated, but it just occurred to me in one of these eps they go to casper HIGH not casper middle school??? theyre 14?? dont highschools usually do ages 15-18? (I didnt go to hs so I might be wrong, if I am ignore this...) freshmen are usually 14-15, could just be a case of them not turning 15 yet but they will sometime in the school year (I say they because tucker said he was 14 too)? I know the show has 3 seasons, so by the end of it will they be older? thatd be neat but usually cartoon characters stay the same age...I love shows where you can see the characters age and grow up, though...three seasons seems like a long time to spend on like, 1 year...

[sprnklersplashes]

songwriter!janis fic (unrequited crush, no-very-happy-ending) 

also on ao3

It all started because she loved Taylor Swift when she was in middle school. Who is she kidding, she still loves Taylor Swift, but that’s where all this began. A middle school girl’s obsession with Taylor Swift. A confused, sad girl with a broken heart and smudged black eyeliner, finding refuge in lyrics about loneliness and anger and revenge. They became anthems for her, mantras to mutter when the warzone of middle school became too much for her.

“Someday, I’ll be living in a big old city, and all you’re ever gonna be is mean.”

“Cause I knew you were trouble when you walked in.”

“I can still see you, this ain’t the best view.”

It amazes her. It’s honestly as if Taylor Swift has managed to look into her life and given her a bundle of songs for whatever she needs. For when Regina has thrown her one too many snide looks, for when she’s standing at the door of North Shore High on her first day, for when she eats lunch alone, for when her mom is the best mom she could have asked for, for when she and Damian are lying on the grass in her backyard, staring up at the sky, laughing at absolutely nothing. The songs become the soundtrack to her life, the chords and those raw, honest lyrics an emotional outlet she so desperately craves. Taylor, and her songs, become a confidant, almost a close friend who always knows what to say.

With all that in mind, perhaps it was only a matter of time before she asks for a guitar for Christmas. She’s fourteen, braces and a slight lisp, and jumps up and down like a mad woman when she sees it under the tree.

She practices for three days straight, until her fingers bleed, but Should’ve Said No is the first song she learns off by heart. She yells the lyrics with maybe a little too much passion, but her parents applaud her nonetheless.

Like she said, that’s how it all started.

Because that same Christmas, she realises that screaming her feelings while playing guitar actually feels pretty cathartic. And that if it worked for Taylor Swift, it could work for her. So she writes stuff down, plays around with chords and strumming until the beat on the guitar matches the one in her head. She grabs a page and a pencil and writes and re-writes her innermost thoughts and feelings on the page until they sound the way she wants them to. She plays around with rhyme schemes and structure and everything she’s been taught about in English class, and a thrill runs through her as she does so. It’s the same breathless high she feels when she paints or draws, the rush that comes from creating something.

Her parents sit on the other side of her bedroom door, no doubt exchanging worried glances as she repeats the same verse, same chorus, with only a word changed. She watches them when they think she can’t see, peering through the crack in her door. The conclusion they seem to come to is ‘well, as coping mechanisms go, it’s pretty good, and she’s happy, so who are we to stop it?’.

It takes her four days to finish her first song. And it sucks. But she keeps it, writes down the lyrics and chords in one of the few empty notebooks she has, and there’s no going back from it now. She writes, and she writes, and she writes, near enough every day. She likes to think she gets better with each one. She learns more chords, buys a cheap ukulele the summer after freshman year, tries her hand at piano during a particularly difficult few weeks. She doesn’t plan on doing anything with them. They’re just her little pieces to hold on to. Her therapy sessions outside the carpeted office.

No-one knows about it. She has a reputation to keep up, after all. The loner-by-choice, too-cool-for-school, aloof art freak. Everyone has their roles to play in the ecosystem that is high school and, much as she hates the entire system, that is hers to play. And she plays it well, if she may say so. The fact that hardly anyone knows her past that facade suits her just fine. After all, if people think she doesn’t care, she can’t get hurt. No-one needs to know that Janis Sarkisian actually has feelings.

Even less need to know that she writes songs about said feelings.

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time she reaches her junior year, she’s onto her third notebook. She keeps them tucked away in her sock drawer, expertly hidden so only she can find them. Damian teases her about it, calling her “the protagonist of a Disney Channel Original Movie”. She just rolls her eyes and reminds him that “if either of us is gonna be Disney’s first openly gay character, it’ll be you”. He can’t argue with that.

It should be noted that when Janis said that no-one knows about her songwriting, Damian was the obvious exception. He found out just weeks after she started. There’s no keeping secrets from him.

Between all her notebooks, she’s written around forty songs.

Then she meets Cady Heron one day. The human embodiment of a labrador puppy, complete with wide, lost eyes. She likes her instantly, decides to take her under her wing because Lord knows the girl needs it. Cady’s smile is infectious, her laugh like a summer breeze. She has dimples and caramel-coloured hair and really likes maths.

She meets Cady on a Monday.

By that Saturday, song number 41-titled “Dimples and Curls” is more or less complete.

She plays it for Damian, hands only slightly shaking as she changes chords, the strumming short and upbeat, the melody strangely happy for such a bittersweet song.

He applauds her, but the subject of the song hangs in the air even after she’s played the last chord and the music fades. Unsaid, but not unknown. Just like her songwriting, Janis couldn’t keep a crush from Damian if she tried.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, check it out.”

Cady drops onto the seat across from Janis, the whole table shaking as she does so. Like a small meteor just hit Earth. Janis looks up from her lunch, pretending like she had been doing her own thing and not watching the door until Cady came in. Pretending like her stomach doesn’t do little flips at the sight of her crossing the cafeteria. She pulls the flyer towards her and hums in amusement.

“The winter talent show,” she reads before chomping off a carrot stick. “Oh, is it that time of year already?”

“Seems like only yesterday we was welcoming the young’uns into this brave new world during the harvest season,” Damian sighs, putting on a delightfully over the top Southern Belle accent, no doubt influenced by their reading of Streetcar Named Desire in English class. Janis cackles, and nearly chokes on her lunch as she does.

“And now the cold winds of winter are descending upon us,” she replies, her accent equally heavy. She bats her eyes for good measure, because she can and because it makes Cady laugh. “Oh but I pray the children will survive this season, it is often rough for them.”

“I am never showing you two anything winter related ever again,” Cady says.

Janis just shrugs and runs her hand through her hair before her eyes go back to the flyer. Clearly, whatever sophomore they got to design it this year did their best; found the prettiest looking snowflakes on Google Images to put on the cartoon stage, decided to write in some swirling, slanted font rather than the start-studded block lettering they usually went for. It’s still the same as it is every year, meaning just as mockable, but she’ll give them points for tying.

“Well, anyone here going for it?” she asks. She looks from Damian to Cady and back again, a teasing smirk on her lips. “Last year and all that.”

“Not sure I can,” Damian sighs. “I mean, I’m booked up with Spelling Bee rehearsals and spring cabaret auditions happening next semester.” He drums his fingers against his throat. “Gotta give the little vocal chords some rest, you know?”

Janis’ response is to sing the lowest note she possibly can before turning to Cady and giving her a pointed look, the corner of her mouth quirked up.

“Who? Me?” Cady’s cheeks turned crimson and she shakes her head so much that the caramel curls bounced around her shoulders. “No way. Damian can take the stage, I’m fine with my calculators and textbooks.”

“You could always solve equations in front of everyone,” Janis says. “I could call out college-level questions from the audience and you solve them in under 30 seconds.”

“I think I’ll pass,” she giggles. She leans forward slightly, eyes glittering, and Janis does her best not to squirm. The effect Cady Heron’s eyes have on her should be studied by scientists. “What about you, Janis?”

“I don’t know.” She thinks back to when she helped on stage crew last year, as well as helping out (or taking over) with the set design. It had been fun, the kind of challenge she needed to keep her mind off the slowly-going-off-the-rails plan. And she was told it looked good on her college applications, because all people can think about apparently is college, college, college. “Maybe. They might need another genius stage manager.”

“And you’ll step in if they can’t find one?” She digs Damian in the ribs for that comment.

“But not performing?” Cady asks, and Janis freezes. Performing had never even crossed her mind before. She’s used to backstage, hell, she likes backstage. It’s not that she has stage fright or anything, and if she had, her stunt at Ms Norbury’s little healing session would have squished it. She had just never thought about it.

But Cady had, apparently.

“I-No, I-I don’t think so,” she stammers out. “Um, I might do backstage again, but not actually doing something, you know, talent related.” She bites her tongue and clamps her lips shut before anything else can come out.

“Okay then,” Cady replies slowly. She gets up from the table, her little empty water bottle in her hands. “I’m going to go for a refill, save my seat.”

“No problem,” Janis says, but Cady’s already jogging away.

She doesn’t know if it’s good or bad that Cady’s known her too long to think of her as cool, and so this kind of awkward babbling isn’t really surprising to her. Instead of thinking about it, she just sets her head on the table and lets Damian rub her back.

“You were nowhere near as bad as you think you were,” he assures her.

“Title of your sex tape,” comes her murmured reply. Damian chuckles and runs his fingers through her hair, like she’s his pet cat. It helps.

“So you’re definitely not going for the talent show then?” he asks.

Her first instinct is to say no, because of course she isn’t, because she never has before and she sees no point in breaking a three-year streak, but the answer catches in her throat. At the same time, something begins forming in her brain, pieces of a melody she’s already known, words filling in blank spots in her brain, and her fingers twitch involuntarily, playing the chords on an invisible guitar. Without a word, she grabs a notepad and pen from her bag and scribbles the words down before she forgets them, quickly becoming breathless just by sitting there. She forgets, for a moment, everything else, the talent show, Cady, even Damian next to her, and just revels in the task and the quick buzz she gets just from writing. Just like that she has one eye on the clock, itching to get home and put her notes into the rest of the song.

But with those notes came an idea, an idea so completely out of left field she almost laughs at it.

“Janis?” Damian asks, just slightly unnerved by her. If anyone else were at this table, even Cady (especially Cady), she would have had to excuse herself and run to the bathroom, or just hope the words stayed in her head long enough for her to get a quiet moment. “Did the Goddess of Music just possess you again?”

“Maybe,” is her response. He doesn’t know it, but she answered both the questions he asked in the past minute.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She sits on her bed that night, her homework half-done and strewn across the desk, abandoned in favour of the guitar sitting in her lap and notebook open on her bed. She’s been working on his song for the better part of a week, inspiration and motivation seemingly striking and then fading whenever she gets a free moment. Abandoning it has crossed her mind-she’s no stranger to abandoning things that aren’t working-but for some reason she hasn’t quite been able to shake this particular song off.

Maybe it is Euterpe, the Goddess of Music, descending upon her because this song has to be finished, it has to be, Olympus willing it so.

Or maybe it’s because this song is one of the most personal things she’s ever written, a love letter she’ll never send, and the idea of it sitting unfinished drives her crazy.

She plays another chord and sings the line again, changing the ending slightly, and makes the adjustment in her notes.

She’s crazy. This is already crazy, her secret double life as a wannabe T-Swift, but now she’s gone beyond that. Thinking of actually playing it. On a stage. In front of people. She doesn’t care what people think of her, she stopped caring about that a long, long time ago, but holy shit what will people think of her after she does this? Life isn’t like the movies, she knows that much. It won’t be some pretty, softly-lit moment where the crowd sits with teary eyes, Cady runs onstage and kisses her and she’s offered a deal by some big shot producer, and they all live happily ever after the end. What could happen is people think she’s even more of a weirdo than they do now.

Or she gets tomatoes thrown at her head and she’s booed off the stage. That’s a possibility.

She calls Damian, because that’s the only way she sees out of her little thought cul-de-sac. She puts the phone on speaker and props it up against a pillow, keeping her hands free for her guitar and her pen. He picks up on the third ring, just as she’s strumming out a G chord.

“Oh, is someone prepping for her Grammy?” he asks. “You’re still taking me as your date, right?”

“Only if my dog can’t go,” she replies. She taps her nails against the wood, the rhythm too fast and frantic to just be a habit. Yes, she can tell Damian anything, and being nervous in front of him is laughable, but sometimes her body forgets that. “So, I was thinking about the talent show.”

“Oh? You’re going for stage crew again? Cool.”

“No-not exactly.” She knows he can’t see the smile creeping across her face, but she’d wager he can hear it through the phone. A small swarm of butterflies flutters in her chest, leaving her just slightly out of breath. “I… I. think I’m going to try performing in it.”

A burst of laughter comes through the phone, slightly tinged with static, and Janis wishes he were here so she could slap him. Even if it’s not malicious in intent at all, and she’s laughing right along with him. Slapping is kind of a love language for them.

“Okay, okay cool. What’re you going to do?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” she says, and then she plays the opening chords to her latest experiment. She doesn’t add in the lyrics, not yet. Still, she sits back and basks in his applause when she finishes, cackling into her hand. He might be one person, but he’s got enough enthusiasm to match a packed auditorium. “What do you think?”

“I’m into it,” he tells her. “So… that’s the one you’re doing?”

“Think so.” She tosses the pick between her fingers. Like he could feel her smile, she can feel his raised eyebrow through the phone, the elephant in the room poking her with its trunk. “Yes, I know.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought it,” she tells him, and he doesn’t deny it. She looks back over the lyrics she’s written and re-written. Despite some adjustments, it’s still in essence the same. Still about a girl with pretty hair who smells like vanilla and cinnamon, who has a boyfriend and is unknowingly breaking the heart of a girl with black eyeliner and paint stained fingers. Because her boyfriend is pretty and clean and smells like soap and can do math, and how is the poor art girl even meant to compare to that?

“Yes,” she says after a while. “It is about Cady.”

“Aw, my poor lovestruck songstress,” he sighs. He shifts then, and the air shifts with him. “You sure that’s the one you want to sing? I mean you have dozens of other non-Cady related songs. I’m sure Mr Duvall would love to hear Angry Teenage Lesbian Anthem.”

“First off, I gave that one a title, it’s called Shattered,” she reminds him. “And-” She freezes, the rest of her sentence catching in her throat. He’s right. She could perform one of her other songs, that are already finished and therefore removing the pressure to have this one finished, polished and stage-ready. And of course, it would mean she wouldn’t be standing in front of her entire grade and telling them all how badly she’s in love with her best friend. Showing her deepest secret to the people who have already driven her out of school once. It’s a far safer, potentially less traumatic option for her.

But…

“No,” she says. “I know it sounds crazy but I feel like… I feel like I need to do this.” She swallows thickly and picks softly at the guitar strings. “It’s like… like this way at least I’m telling her, you know? Even if she doesn’t know it.”

Of course, Damian gets it.

“That’s beautiful, babe,” he tells her. “So you’re actually doing this?”

“I’m actually doing this,” she replies firmly. “And tomorrow, I need you to make sure I don’t chicken out before I sign up.”

“Got it. I’ll just order you to do it as Senior Co-Chair of the Student Activities Committee.”

“That’s an abuse of power.”

“Then consider yourself abused baby.” He laughs and she laughs with him, and then she hears something on Damian’s end. “I have to go. A certain little sister of mine has a princess costume that needs attending to. See you later.”

“See you later,” she replies before he clicks off the call. She looks down at her paper, then at her guitar, and thinks about what she just committed to. “I’ve got some work to do.”

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The song goes through four rewrites in the weeks leading up to the talent show. The whole first verse is changed, the chorus scrapped and replaced with a new one, then that one is scrapped and she goes back to the old one. She sits hunched on her floor with a pencil in her mouth, wondering if what she’s written is too personal or not personal enough. If it’s too obvious that Cady, smart cookie that she is, will work it out and that’ll lead them down a new, scary path. She cuts some lyrics that give the game away, opting to replace one about love for numbers with love for learning, because that opens up the pool to half their grade. She writes about Cady’s blue eyes rather than specifically those double dimples that make her melt. Maybe she’s compromising her artistic vision, but it might be worth it if it’ll keep her crush a secret. She keeps the old lyrics tucked in the back of her notebook, just to have them.

Meanwhile, she’s also dealing with the fact that people know she has signed up for the talent show. That Miss Too Cool For School Loner Art Freak Janis is actually performing at a school event. And she doesn’t even get extra credit for it. They’re surprised, and curious, and none more so than Cady. The other girl appears at her side almost instantly after first period, skinny little arms wrapped around her bicep and blue eyes alight.

Oh, the things those eyes do to her.

“Janis!” she squeaks. “I saw-on the sign up sheet-your name! Oh my God, is this a joke? Did Damian put you up to it?”

“No, no, I signed up of my own accord,” Janis tells her. That only makes Cady bounce more, ponytail bobbing up and down.

“Oh wow, that’s amazing!” she says. She stops then, her mouth freezing in its place and her cheeks turning pink. Slowly, she comes down to Earth, like a balloon that had the air let out of it. Janis can almost hear the wheeze. “I mean um, it’s pretty cool, I guess.”

“It’s pretty grool,” Janis replies, and just like that Cady bounces back up again.

“Oh my gosh, what are you going to do?” she asks. “Or do you want it to be a surprise?”

“You think I have some secret knife-throwing talent?” she grins. She hesitates for a moment, looking down at Cady’s excited face, because even if this isn’t telling her… it’s telling her. “I’m… I’m going to sing.” She pulls on the strap of her backpack and avoids Cady’s eyes. “Something I wrote.”

“Okay,” Cady says. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“Hey!” she laughs. “I can write stuff. I can be deep.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about it,” Cady says, bumping her arm against Janis’. “But for real, Janis, I can’t wait to see it. I know you’ll be amazing.”

Warmth spreads across her pale cheeks, a pink blush no doubt colouring her face, and she somehow manages to choke out a “thanks” as her brain turns to static. Her only thought is ‘Cady thinks I’m going to be good’, and it’s written in glitter pen across her brain.

“This is going to be great,” she goes on. “Oh, wait until I tell Aaron. He’s got a break in his schedule that week so he’s coming up to see the talent show! Isn’t that great?”

And just like that, Janis’ good mood falls. Her face stays the same, because she’s trained to do it, but everything behind it crumbles.

“Yeah, that’s great,” she replies. Cady squeezes her hand, oblivious, and drags her along the hallway, chatting away about some lion documentary she had watched last night.

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She finishes the song that night. She arrives home with a heavy chest, so full of complicated, messy feelings, and her conversation with Cady still so fresh in her mind, her ears still ringing from the emotional whiplash. Her parents barely get a ‘hello’ as she enters and bolts up to her room, her hands shaking, the thoughts swirling around her brain desperate to be let out.

And let them out she does. She writes so quickly they look more like smudges than words, her fingers flying over rapidly changing chords, her voice broken and panting as she sings. The words almost write themselves, like the song has taken on a life of its own and she’s just along for the ride. She barely remembers to pause, to breathe, so wrapped up in the storm she’s created with just her guitar and pen.

It’s only when she finishes and falls back on her bed that she notices the tears in her eyes. She blinks them away and pulls herself up, her notebook in her hand. It’s done. The perfect blend of her own honest feelings and just enough smokescreen to keep people from knowing who it’s really about.

There’s no backing out now, she thinks. Her stomach drops, like she’s on the top of a roller coaster about to go down. A laugh bubbles up in her throat and leaves her breathless, her head spinning while she’s still laying there.

If holy shit were am adjective, she'd use it to describe how she feels. Because holy shit.

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Being backstage when she’s not on crew is a strange experience. She stands with her guitar slung around her body, in the middle of a current of students moving around her, half with the clunky microphones and walkie-talkies she’s used so many times before. She asks five of them if she can do anything to help-because they’re her people and she needs to do something to occupy her time-until she finally takes the hint and leaves them to it. Stagehands are the most efficient parts of any production, as she told Damian once. They’re a well-oiled machine at this point.

“Yo!” For a second, Janis thinks she imagined the whisper, just one in a jumble of backstage noises, until Damian appears at her side. A tiny ‘shit’ escapes her mouth, her body jerking. Barely anyone bats an eye at her, except him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.”

“Don’t worry. I think at this point a small breeze could knock into me and I’d crumble.”

“The great Janis Sarkisian gets nervous?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“Only when she’s doing something incredibly personal and scary in front of her entire grade,” she whispers back. She swallows past the lump in her throat. “Aside from that I’m a beacon of confidence and unshakable will.”

“Hey.” He taps his knuckles against hers. “Remember how scared you were at Norbury’s assembly?”

“You mean after I had my picture all over the school with the d-slur written underneath it?” she mutters. “Yeah, I was shitting myself.”

“And yet, look what you did there,” he reminds her. “You were amazing. And you’re going to be amazing here too. Once you get on that stage, all those butterflies are going to make you fly, kid.”

She smiles, her heart warm, and pressed her face into the crook of Damian’s neck.

She doesn’t know how she got so lucky to have him, but she knows better than to tempt fate.

“Janis Sarkisian?” She lifts her head to find a freshman girl with a headset around her neck looking at her. “You’re up next.”

“Okay.” It’s only now she becomes aware that the last minute of Fairytale Of New York is playing, the notes will soon fade out, and that’s her cue. She turns to Damian and lets him straighten her black cardigan and fiddle with the collar of her shirt. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it.” He drops a whisper of a kiss to her nose. “But good luck.”

She holds her half-heart necklace as he goes, the twin to the one around his neck. It’s as close as she can get to having him with her. Her chest tightens as she makes her way to the stage and she tries to breathe through it, because the next thign she knows, Mr Duvall is announcing her name, and she’s being greeted by a blinding spotlight that thankfully obscures most of her peers’ faces.

“Uh, hi,” she says into the microphone placed out for her. It’s just people , she reminds herself. Somewhere in that crowd, second row, seat 14, is Damian, and she breathes easier. And next to him is Cady, the girl this song is about, and for some reason that straightens her spine and irons out the shaking in her voice. She takes the pick out of its holder and tosses her hair back. “This is a song I wrote about being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back.” She blinks and hopes no-one sees the tears in her eyes. “So sing along if you get into it, because we all know it’s a shitty ass feeling.”

She plays the first chord, and then any and all doubts she had about this flee her. As cliche as it sounds, the song takes over her, and she blows through the nerves in the first verse. The experience becomes cathartic instead, like releasing a pressure valve on her soul. Even with the little diversions she threw in, she hasn’t felt this open and god damn free since last year, paraded on her peers’ shoulders with both middle fingers up. Except now she’s not flipping anyone off, or proving a point, she’s just finally telling someone how she feels, and holy shit, it’s amazing. Whatever the aftermath of this is, she won’t care, it’s worth it just for this feeling.

As she sings the last word, and that final note rings in the auditorium, her hands are shaking, her cheeks wet with tears and her hair sticky with sweat. She touches beneath her eye and her fingers come away stained black.  She hasn’t cried in front of people since middle school. She doesn’t care.

The cheers of her classmates ring in her ears, Damian’s whooping the loudest of all, and as she takes her bow, she hopes she’ll remember this moment for a long time.

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“Oh my God!” she’s barely into the auditorium when Cady launches herself at her, arms wrapped around her neck and legs circling her waist. Janis nearly topples over, digging her back leg into the ground just in time, and hugs Cady with the same ferocity. “You were amazing!” she yells into her shoulder, the sound muffled by Janis’ hair.

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” She sets Cady down, but the other girl keeps a tight grip on both her arms. Janis wonders if it’s to keep herself from flying away, given the amount of bouncing up and down she’s doing. “I can’t believe you wrote that! It was so good! You need to record it, Jan. Do you have any other songs?”

“Just a few,” she says. “And I don’t know if I’m in the business of making an album any time soon.” She swings her guitar case a little. “This might have been a one-time thing.”

“Well, even if it was, it was awesome,” she says.

“Thank you, Caddy,” Janis replies. “That means a lot.”

Her mouth runs dry as Cady smiles, all baby pink lipgloss and sparkling eyes and full cheeks. If this were a movie, she thinks, this would be the part where they kiss. No need for talking, or an explanation. Because Cady would have just known. The music would turn soft and twinkly, and the lighting would match it and it would look like they’re in a dream and they’d just kiss, and it will fix all of Janis’ problems. Maybe a single tear will run down her cheek. And then they’ll run off into their new lives as the end credits roll.

How sweet that would be.

But her life isn’t a movie. If she wants anything, she has to go for it herself.

And that includes-

“Caddy.” Her name is delicate on her lips, handled with care. Cady looks at her, giving a simple ‘mm-hm’ in response, and Janis’ heart beats out of control. “That song I just sang, it-”

“Hey, guys.”

Also if this was a movie, Cady’s sweet, lovely, nice boyfriend would not be barging in right now. He’d either be a douchebag who she doesn’t feel bad about hurting, or he’d be nonexistent.

Unfortunately, this is not a movie, and Aaron Samuels exists and is the human equivalent of a squishmallow.

“Hey Aaron.” He slings his arm around Cady’s shoulders, and she leans into his touch almost instinctively. “Janis, you were great up there. I didn’t know you wrote songs.”

“It’s a bit of a new hobby,” she says, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat, and finds a bottle of water being handed to-thrown at-her.

“Hydrate those chords,” is Damian’s greeting.

“This is what I get for being friends with a theatre kid,” she sighs before she takes a drink. She hadn’t realised how dry her throat was until now.

“Okay, so we’re all going for pancakes,” Aaron says. “I take it you two are coming?”

“How can I say no to pancakes?” Janis asks. “Uh, you guys go ahead, I have to get my stuff from the green room.”

“Okay, we’ll wait for you,” Cady says. “Aaron brought his car so he can drive us.”

“Grool.” Cady and Aaron turn around together, Aaron spinning his eyes around his finger and Cady lacing her fingers through his, talking about something she can’t hear. It’s like watching them through a sheet of glass.

Not a movie. Not unless it’s one of those really, really sad movies. Sad homophobic movies.

“You okay?” Damian asks. She snorts at the question. Nothing has changed, so of course she’s okay. But then, nothing has changed, so she’s not really okay.

“I did it,” she sighs. “It’s out there. I told her, unofficially. Whether or not she works it out…” She runs her hand through her tangled hair. “That’s something else entirely.” Damian hums in agreement, a sympathetic look on his face that soon morphs into a grin.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks Mom.” They snort, Janis caught between a laugh and a sob, and squeezes Damian’s hand. She’s not optimistic about any romance in her future, at least where Cady is concerned. She and Aaron are still rock-solid and she’s happy for them, whenever she isn’t angsting about it. It’s a weird combination to have.

And at least she’s done this now. Despite a future for her and Cady not being in the cards for now, she’s glad she did it. The secret isn’t out, not entirely. Just written on the walls in invisible ink.

“Come on,” she tells Damian. “I actually do have to get my bag, and you can use this as an opportunity to double check the ghost light is on.”

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Cady and Aaron keep their promise and wait for them, waving off their apologies as they jog across the parking lot. Cady lets Damian take the front seat with Aaron and slides into the back with Janis instead. Janis frowns, confused as to why she isn’t taking her normal seat up front, and Cady rolls her eyes.

“There was a draw on the way here, and we lost,” she explains. “And now Damian has control of the aux chord,” She gestures with her head to the passenger seat, and Janis turns just in time to see him open his Spotify and scroll through his playlists. As the opening notes to Waving Through A Window fill the car, it’s met with three loud groans. Damian only turns it up louder, and adds in his own backing vocals.

“So, that song you sang,” Cady asks, leaning back in the seat. “Was it about anyone in particular?”

Janis looks down, her hands pressed together in her lap. If this is the moment the universe decided to give her, it’s a really terrible moment. Not only is Cady’s whole boyfriend sitting an arm’s length away from her, but she left her nerve back in the auditorium. Clearly, her and fate aren’t on each other’s wavelength.

“You wouldn’t know her,” she says. “She doesn't even go here.”

“Oh,” Cady replies. Her face falls, but she’s not too put out by it. Why would she be? She nudges Janis’ shoulder, a proud smile on her face, and squeezes Janis’ hand. “Well, if she has someone like you into her and she hasn’t taken the chance yet, then she doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Janis only thanks her, and quickly changes the subject.

Someday she might tell her for real, but for now she'll stick to the songs.

[heartshaped-lou]

Tag 9 people to learn more about their interests!

thanks li and laur for tagging me!! 💘 it took me ages to do this but I had fun!! ( @whaleharry @bfjacketmybeloved )

MUSIC

fav genre? ehh indie rock/rock/pop??? i don't know how to categorize this stuff ajxjsb

fav artist? louis

fav song? impossible question. I have a playlist full of those, can't choose only one

most listened song recently? mhhh probably explodir by anavitoria and peace by taylor swift

song currently stuck in your head? woman by harry

5 fav lyrics? *laughs nervously* heh I'm gonna hate this

1. when we collide we come together, if we don't we'll always be apart. i'll take a bruise, i know you're worth it (many of horror - biffy clyro)

2. for every time that they want to count you out, use your voice every single time you open up your mouth (but the whole song, really: SING - my chemical romance)

3. the morning sun is yours to have, put your arms around this house. you don't have to swim forever cause everything is gonna be okay (happy as a larrie - swim deep)

4. I'm full of love i could barely eat + when my times comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth, no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her (work song - hozier) [god, what the fuck, hozier?? how dare you]

5. defenceless, all of it <3

radio or your own playlist | solo artists or bands | pop or indie | loud or silent volume I slow or fast songs | music video or lyrics video | speakers or headset | riding a bus in silence or while listening to music | driving in silence or with radio on

BOOKS (disclaimer: i'm gonna have to count fanfics because i read a lot... just not necessarily books sjxjsj)

fav book genre? essays/fiction/romance/mystery/again, not good with categories wjxjsj

fav writer? don't have one

fav book? you'll never believe this but... pride and prejudice sjxjja and l'arte di essere fragili by alessandro d'avenia (dunno if it's been translated)

fav book series? I haven't read that many, but percy jackson

comfort book? escapade

perfect book to read on a rainy day? uhhh no idea

fav characters? 

5 quotes from your fav book that you know by heart? my memory is very bad, so I don't know any quote by heart ajjssj

hardcover or paperback | buy or rent | standalone novels or book series | ebook or physical copy | reading at night or during the day | reading at home or in nature | listening to music while reading or reading in silence | reading in order or reading the ending first | reliable or unreliable narrator  | realism or fantasy | one or multiple POVS | judging by the covers or by the summary | rereading or reading just once

TV AND MOVIES

fav tv/movie genre? no more letting me choose genres thank you

fav movie? pride (2014)

comfort movie? how to train your dragon, tangled, pride and prejudice

movie you watch every year? love actually

fav tv show? shameless, b99, anne with an e, doctor who

comfort tv show? b99 or new girl

most rewatched tv show? b99 and greys anatomy

ultimate otp? ian/mickey (shameless), jake/amy (b99)

5 fav characters?

1. nick miller (new girl)

2. jake peralta (b99)

3. 10th doctor (doctor who)

4. sawamura daichi (haikyuu)

5. donna noble (doctor who)

tv shows or movies | short seasons (8-13 episodes) or full seasons(22 episodes or more) | one episode a week or binging |one season or multiple seasons | one part or saga | half hour or one hour long episodes | subtitles on or off | rewatching or watching just once | downloads or watches online

tagging @deer @tanktop-lou @longhairlouis-mybeloved @bitnotgood28 @gettingdizzyoh @louisnewera @thosefookinavacados if want to!! sorry if you've done this already, and as always no pressure <3

[ciggylungz]

Rivals

Summary: Y/n and Harry are both CEO’s of their parent’s companies since they inherited the businesses from them, they’ve been rivals since they were kids- now that they’re professional adults how will their rivalry affect them?   2.2k

 -

It’s no secret that growing up with a workaholic parent is hard for a kid, but for Y/n it was amplified due to the fact both her parents owned one of the most famous fashion companies in the world. This meant during most of her childhood she relied on nannies, private drivers, maids and child minders to care for her in absence of her busy working parents.

Of course having absent parents gave her some perks during her teen years, the ability to throw ragers in the absurdly large mansion they’d bought for the three of them –(well, they were hardly in it so mainly just their daughter)- not having to worry about getting caught when she decided to bring people over to get a quick shag in and the plus of having no one to bother her during her angsty middle school years. Those things were nice, yet you really can’t replace the role of your parents with teenage hookups and parties.

If there’s one thing that she absolutely hated about her parents work, it would be their former business partners cunt of a son. Harry Styles. Y/n had been forced to be in the twats life since they were 10 and his father joined stocks in her parents company before investing fully and becoming business partners. For Y/n that meant being forced to be around their son whenever their parents were too busy crushing numbers or out on boozy business trips clogging their noses with high end coke and buying out their competitors.

Harry was always a good-looking boy, and that only made things worse because he was a total prick. He was arrogant, annoying and always got away with being the biggest pain in the ass y/n has ever experienced in her life. He was insanely competitive, cocky and always found a way to weasel into Y/n’s business just to push her buttons. One’s he knew how to push perfectly to make her want to pound his head off a blacktop.

It was almost as if when it came to Y/n he never matured past being a 12-year-old boy, and now he’s a 23 year old powerful business man who still can’t manage to leave her alone.

Y/n had inherited her parents’ company when they decided to retire, two years before the retirement her parents and Harrys father had severed their ties and he’d gone back to his independent company. And just y/n’s luck, the man passed his roll as CEO down to his son, making the two young adults’ owners of two of the most famous fashion and beauty companies to ever exist.

Make no mistake, Y/n was a strong, independent and ruthless business woman so Harry’s subsequent inheritance didn’t threaten her in a business sense it more so made her worried for her blood pressure since the man couldn’t help but come bother her every chance he got. It didn’t help his dad had a single remaining stock left in the shoe portion of their clothing company giving Harry the perfect excuse to come barging into Y/n’s office to get on her nerves. To Y/n Harrys like a cold sore that won’t go away, just keeps coming back every time you think you’ve gotten rid of it.

___

Today was a busy day for Y/n, she had a meeting with her team that worked closely with her managing profit, stock, inventory, sales and all that stuff. Her team was large, with a company with over two thousand distributors worldwide and thirty-five exclusive stores scattered around the globe that’s to be expected. All in all, Y/n was responsible for making sure all one hundred and fifty thousand employees were running a smooth ship and every participating party was doing what they needed to do. It was a stressful job no doubt, but she never backed down from the challenge.

The meetings were always her least favorite part of her job. All the paper work that had to be read, numbers calculated, sales charted and any complaints or incident reports all had to be verbalized and talked about in detail with documentation of all the important things said as well as much more. Today the meeting took a grueling four and a half hours and the day was far from over.

Once she got out of her meeting it was nearing noon, she had to push her lunch off to phone the companies attorneys because one worker was trying to do a fake insurance claim. The man faked a work accident failing to remember every warehouse and factory was littered with security cameras that caught him in the act, so she had to inform them of the situation so they could sort it out. After that she got sucked into looking at new designs her design team had come up with for the next season, explaining that Chanel and Gucci both wanted to work with them to carry a few exclusive items only for that season.

Finally, at half passed two she made it back to her office, sitting down in her desk chair while taking her hair out of the headache inducing ponytail it had been in since she got there at five that morning. She opened her laptop, planning to send off some emails while she put in her order for lunch to her assistant, getting as much done as she could in the little bit of private time she was able to snag.

A knock sounded at the door, she knew it was Morgan coming in with the food she ordered so she didn’t bother to look up from what she was doing very drawn in to the email she was currently formatting. Only her attention was quickly severed when his voice rang out instead of the one she expected.

“I believe you ordered the chop salad, diet coke and fruit for lunch misses Yln.”

That annoying, cocky voice. You can hear his shit eating grin and teasing eyes simply in his tone, you don’t even have to look up at the jerk.

A prolonged sigh blew out of her lips, a grunt of annoyance following as she looked up at him. He looked nice, as always, she added bitterly in her own mind. She hated the fact someone so goddamn irritating was so undeniably attractive. He wore a dark blue suit, white button up with a black tie and yellow accent pocket square. Yet his fashion and handsomeness seemed a bit overshadowed by his personality that had the same affect on the woman as nails on a chalkboard.

“Harry, to what do I owe the displeasure?” Y/n reached her arm across the desk to snatch the paper bag from his ring clad hands, a sarcastic disapproving finger was pointed at her yet she didn’t take his bait opting to give him the death stare instead.

“Sassy today are we?” The man rested himself on the small leather loveseat that was in her office, propping his head on a throw pillow and putting his feet on the armrest. “You act like you’re not happy to see me, I know yeh missed me.” Y/n rolled her eyes, digging her fork into the salad aggressively. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been happy to see you, and I’m certain no one has ever missed your presence either.”

Harry chuckled slightly, loving how easily he could annoy the girl. Over the past thirteen years he’s learned just how to get under her skin, and he enjoyed doing so.

“Bit feisty today aren’t yeh Y/n? playing hard to get I see.” The man folded his hands on top of his chest, completely relaxing into the comfortable furniture, making himself comfortable for the undetermined amount of time he’d be spending there irritating his childhood ‘friend’.

The difference between Harry and Y/n’s perspectives on their rather odd ‘relationship’, if you could really call it that is Harry never hated Y/n. In fact he was always quite fond of her, he enjoys her company even when he’s forcing it on her and using the shared time to annoy the ever loving shit out of her. He and the woman have always been competitive growing up. In sports, card games, classes, and now business and Y/n took things a lot more seriously then he did. she was always wound a bit tight, she gets it from her mother.

Harry and Y/n had an interesting past. They have a love-hate relationship, seeing as even through the perpetual animosity they’ve carried since they were kids they did have their good moments too. And though Y/n would never admit it, there’s a part of her that does actually care about him even if she loathes that part of her deeply. In their teens they were at each other throats a lot, but in between that they would occasionally have their good days where they would refrain from getting into screaming matches and instead would be able to tolerate being together. Y/n chooses to describe it as tolerating him since she’d never admit she sometimes enjoys his company.

Through their formative years whenever Y/n was throwing a party, she wouldn’t protest when her friends would invite Harry as well. Pretending like she didn’t know he was coming and didn’t want him there when she saw him in the crowd, yet he always had a feeling she was anticipating and secretly wanted him to make an appearance. When he’d plan some sort of adventure with their friends he’d do the same, always slightly relieved when she’d show up but he’d put on the irritating act as soon as he got the chance which ruined her mood, every time. and well, it would be a lie to say the two never found themselves hate fucking each other after one of their parties, drunk and pissed at each other only to pretend like it had never happened.

To Harry, the animosity mixed with a hidden sense of fondness and maybe even a hint of attraction.

The woman ignored his comment, chewing her food before taking a swig of the soda looking back at him with a rather unamused expression. “What do you want Harry? And who the hell even let you in here?” she continued eating and wrapping up her email while he formed his reply. “Told Morgan I’d bring it up to yeh, she’s got a bit of a crush on me so she handed it over without much convincing.” Yet another eyeroll from Y/n was delivered. “She’s like 19, don’t manipulate her into worming into my office just because she can’t see that you’re a much bigger prick then the one in your pants will ever be.”

“First of all, 19 is legal so if she wants to eye fuck me I’ll allow it. Second, don’t be rude. This is a professional setting, do you think it’s appropriate to talk about my genitals in the work place? Might have to report you.”

Y/n couldn’t help the small snort she let out at his antics. As much as he annoyed her, sometimes she did find him a bit humorous. “and for the record, I’m very happy with my package and I don’t appreciate that comment.” He pointed a finger at her, a fake angry look on his face. “Just as much as I don’t appreciate you intruding on what was supposed to be my down time to eat, we’re even shrimp dick.”

Harry gasped at the insult, squinting at her slightly. While Harry was skilled in pressing her buttons, she could do it the same. Making comments on his dick size, sex skills, business deals or things of that nature always got him riled up. That 12-year-old boy mentality rearing it’s ugly head any time she makes a comment about his dick being small. Childish he was, absolutely childish.

“Don’t get smart with me, I’ll whip it out right here to prove my point.” His eyebrow raised and she could see him chewing on his cheek in annoyance. She truly found it funny how peeved she could make a grown man by making fun of his penis. He was ridiculous.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t, I didn’t bring my mental scrub brush to work with me today.” When she had finished speaking the woman tossed her now empty salad box into the trash, taking another sip of her drink and finally sending off the painfully long email.

Harry decided it was time for him to head back to his own office, which was right across the street much to Y/n’s displeasure but of course he couldn’t leave without a final childish jab at the woman.

“Just remember, I’ve had you bouncing on my dick more than once. Don’t hold yourself so high and mighty dear, because we both know I’ll have you like that again.”

And with that a Harry with a cheeky smirk on his face left the office, leaving a slightly stunned Y/n in his wake.

 (eek pt.1 lets see how this one goes.)