#no career. living in a state i hate with all my heart. barely surviving money wise. which is everyone rn but

[apathyfairy]

me at 13: by the time im 30 i will probably be married and maybe have a kid but for sure i will be living in my dream city and have my dream job. and also a lot of money

me at almost 30: i think i will treat myself to a corn dog this weekend

[et-lesailes]

title: break point

pairing: ransom drysdale x personalized reader

word count: 3050

summary: when your ex boyfriend’s mom comes to you in need of help for his horrible behavior and attitude during his house arrest, you give in and see what you can do. things definitely do not turn out as planned.

themes: angst, smut

taglist: @evanstush​​, @tanyam93​​, @bval-1​​, @wonderwinchester​​, @patzammit​​, @rohaintahquil​​, @deidrashouseofpain​​, @sammyslonglostshoe​​, @jadedhillon​​, @bohemian-barbie​​, @whysparker​​, @sebastian-i-stan​​, @sebabestianstan101​​, @lille-kattunge​​, @teller258316​​, @peach-acid​​, @allsortsofinterests​​, @xoxabs88xox​​, @heyiamthatbitch​​, @cptn-sgrogers​​, @heyyouwiththeassbutt​​, @bangtan-serendipity​​, @troublermalik​​, @beardburnsupersoldiers​​, @bookish-shristi​​, @kind-sober-fullydressed​​,  @gingerninjaprincess16​​, @straightforwardly​​,  @denisemarieangelina​​,  @frencchfries​​, @xlanawriter​​, @littlemoistcarrot​​, @pottxrwolff​​, @arianatheangelworld​​, @ifuseekamyevans​​, @southerngracela​​, @nsfwsebbie​​, @rororo06​​, @savemesteeb​​, @raveviolet​​,​​ @hurricanerinwrites​​, @captainamerica-is-bae​​, @shaddixlife​​, @tessa-bl​​, @marvelouspottering​​, @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc​​, @thegetawaywriter​​, @dwights-new-plague​​​, @rynabarnesrogers​​​, @fckdeusername​​​,  @doloreschanal​, @ssworldofsw​

notes: thank you so much @capsicleimpala​ for requesting this, i absolutely loved writing it and it was such a creative idea! i really hope you love it :) also, in this story, fran survived lol. i don’t think ransom would be able to only have house arrest for being a direct murderer, even with a rich lawyer hehe *** for anyone interested in commissioning me, please check out this post !

When you hear the television inside as you’re in the process of inserting your key into the lock of your upscale apartment door, you freeze. Last time you checked, you didn’t have a roommate, and you definitely didn’t have a significant other hanging out in there. Your heart starts racing. Should you call the police? Ever since making it big in tennis, competing in all sorts of national and international tournaments, you’ve had a lot of crazy fans vying for your attention. Some do it in sweet ways, and others… not so sweet. However, no one’s actually ever showed up at your home. 

You take a deep breath and twist the lock, pushing the door open anyways. There’s no way the man at the front desk would just let anyone walk right up. Perhaps it’s maintenance?

But no. Instead of seeing a worker dressed in uniform and fixing a leak, you see Linda Drysdale lounging in the armchair of your living room, legs crossed with a naturally unamused demeanor as her blue eyes flicker across the flat screen TV. She glances up at you as if she’s lived there her entire life, eyebrow lifted. “Finally. I didn’t realize tennis practice took so much time, how many methods can possibly be involved in hitting a ball back and forth?”

You look at her in disbelief for a few moments, trying to process that your ex-boyfriend’s mother is inside your home right now despite the fact that you and Ransom broke up three years ago. You aren’t even offended by her words; you’re aware of how blunt and straightforward the seemingly harsh lady can be- she was practically a true mother-in-law to you when you and Ransom were dating. You finally speak. “Linda. What are you doing here? You can’t just- how did you even-”

“The young man in the lobby clearly isn’t getting paid enough. A twenty was all it took. Might want to move somewhere else before he just casually allows a serial killer to walk in.” She rolls her eyes, then mumbles under her breath, “Or my son.”

“What?” you ask, and she shakes her head, looking up with a slight authoritative smile crossing her lips. “We need to talk, Y/N. I’m just going to get straight to the point. My son is ruining his life, as per usual, and I’ve had enough of it. I did everything I could to get him out of this damn lawsuit, to keep him out of jail, and he’s just-- Christ, he’s an ungrateful brat, that’s what he is.” She looks fed up, the sharpness in her eyes seeming as though she’s ready to strangle the man. “Drinking himself to death, fucking a new girl every night, on every single drug you can think of-- he’s a little piece of shit, even without being able to leave the house.”

“And you’re telling me all of this, why…?”

“Because he loves you.” She states simply, and you hate that the words make your heart race. “I know he still loves you, and that you’re the only girl on this planet he’ll ever love. He’ll listen to you, Y/N,” she insists, “and so you need to go see him. Better yet, just date him again. He was a significantly better person when he was with you.”

You look at her shocked, slowly shaking your head as you let out a quiet scoff. “Linda. He tried to kill someone. He’s the reason your father died. How can you ask me to go back to him? Why do you even care what happens to him, after everything he did?” 

“Because he’s my son. And maybe you’ll understand one day, when you have a child of your own. But what I understand is that you could turn him into someone his family can approve of. Or, at least, even tolerate.” She adds with a roll of her eyes before continuing, “He tried to be good for you, Y/N, you know that.”

“Good?” You look at her incredulously, starting to get a little heated. “He told me he didn’t want to be with me anymore just because I was trying to have my own career! He couldn’t stand me putting so much time into tennis. He hated me playing tennis. That’s not what a “good” boyfriend does, okay? It’s not my responsibility to fix him back up when he couldn’t even be a support for me in the first place.” 

She quickly waves her hands, frowning slightly. “Okay, okay. Fine, don’t think about getting back together with him. Just see him, at least. Please.” She sighs deeply, looking down for a moment as she rubs her temples before looking back up at you. “I’m begging you here, Y/N. I can’t just stand here and watch this boy waste all my hard earned money for his own selfish needs. Hell, if I could, I’d just stick him in jail now if I could. He doesn’t deserve this freedom at this point.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as you look away. “What a nurturing mother,” you mumble under her breath, and although she hears you, she doesn’t remark on it. She sighs again instead, looking at you somewhat frustrated and helpless. “Just go over to his house, only for an hour. Talk to him. Convince him to stop being such a prick.” 

You look at her somewhat frustrated, but finally sigh. You are the only one who’s ever been able to get through to Ransom, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t concerned when you heard the news. The Ransom you knew was an asshole, but he certainly wasn’t a murderer. Something clearly changed in him since you broke up with him, and so maybe Linda was right. 

“An hour.” You finally agree, though give her a warning look. “And if he gets disrespectful or crosses any lines, I’m leaving. I’m not a miracle worker, Linda.” She looks relieved nonetheless, immediately nodding her head. “Of course. Thank you, Y/N.” The two of you stand there for a moment before she lifts an eyebrow, looking at you. “Well? Get over there before he gives himself alcohol poisoning.” You blink, about to protest but sigh. You figure it’s best to get this over with anyways- if you don’t, you’ll be up all night stressing about it. “Fine. But you need to leave first, you can’t- you can’t just hang out in my house when I’m not here, you know?”

“Oh, I’m leaving. This place is a shoebox.” Linda looks around somewhat disdainfully before pausing, looking to you with a smile. “But you’ve… decorated it very well.” You roll your eyes, gesturing to the door. “Goodbye, Linda.”

Her smile remains as she nonchalantly waves, heading out the door.

As you come up to Ransom’s door, your heart is racing. You can hear loud music and obnoxious giggling from inside, no doubt Ransom is throwing some kind of get together- or probably more of an intimate gathering featuring scantily clad women who throw themselves at his good looks and money. You glance over at his BMW shining in the driveway, barely scoffing to yourself. Of all the things to keep intact, he would make sure it was his car. You were with him when he bought that car, and it was probably one of the only “girls” he had ever loved in his life.

You being the other one, of course. You know that at one point, Ransom Drysdale loved you. You can’t help but wonder if that’s still the case.

You take a deep breath and ring the doorbell. The talking and laughing doesn’t stop; these girls are clearly unbothered, but you hear footsteps. 

And then he appears, dressed in a t-shirt and perfectly fitting jeans, his brown hair slightly tousled and his cocky smirk across his lips- until his intoxicated brain registers who you are. He blinks in surprise, smile fading from his lips for just a split second- then quickly returns to his normal self, most likely realizing he absolutely must look composed and confident. “Y/N. I knew you’d come crawling back to me eventually. Took you a while, though, I’m kinda busy right now.”

You stare at him for a few moments; you thought you’d be nervous and apprehensive, but now, as if by magic, any feeling of uncertainty slips away. It’s almost impressive how he has this effect on people, but within less than one minute of this conversation, you’ve already had enough.

“Shut the fuck up, Ransom.” You find yourself saying, suddenly pushing right past him and grabbing his arm in the process. “We need to talk.” You practically drag him into the kitchen, ignoring the confused and even irritated looks of the half naked women on his couch clearly having been in the middle of enjoying his attention. It’s surprisingly easy to maneuver him, most likely because he’s a little too drunk. 

“Wow, hellcat. You really missed me, huh? Unable to find anyone who’s a better fuck than me, I take it? Alright, alright, I’ll squeeze you in. I have to say, I definitely missed your tight little-”

He’s cut off by a sharp sting on his cheek when you slap him across the face, his lips parting into a shocked ‘o’ almost immediately as his blue eyes stare at you in complete shock. Even you’re a little shocked upon where this sudden boldness is coming from, but you decide you’re on a roll and that there’s no need to question it. You came here to say something, and you’re going to say it. You don’t even let him respond. Not that he has the words to, anyways.

“Who the fuck are you anymore, huh? Why are you acting like this? And not just a douchebag fuckboy, either, but a full on killer? What the hell is going through your brain?” you practically scream at him, and he blinks in surprise before his features suddenly become defensive.  “What, do you think it has to do with you? Our break up? You think I’m just so tormented, torn apart, that I’m not over you?”

“I- no, when the fuck did I say-”

“Well then why are you here, Y/N? Why do you, of all people, need to be here right now? Who are you to come show your concern and your goddamn disgust when you’re the one who dumped me?!” His voice is just as loud as yours if not louder, the vein in his neck bulging from anger, his eyes practically a shade darker. You throw your hands up in frustration, retorting, “Why does that even matter, Ransom? Can I not be concerned that the former love of my life turned into a goddamn murderer? Am I not allowed to be a little confused that my ex-boyfriend turned into a fucking psychopath?”

“Former, huh?” His voice suddenly gets low, dangerously low. “So that’s it? You found someone else? Some prissy, preppy tennis playing fuck who lets out the same little grunts and groans out on the court, in the bedroom too? That your type, Y/N? A skinny little-”

“You were my type, Ransom!” you practically scream now, glaring up at him in complete fury. “You know what my type was? Confident, funny, manly, someone who wanted me to be safe and someone who was so thoughtful he remembered everything I liked and disliked, who wanted to do everything he could to make my life better because he knew how to be selfless! Do you even know what that word means now?!”

“Well maybe I became this way because you decided to prioritize tennis! You don’t think that’s a little damn selfish?!”

“Are you-- God, you know what? Maybe you’ve always been this fucking ridiculous, and maybe I was blind. Maybe this is all my fault, Ransom, because I trusted the wrong person. I can’t even fucking believe I-”

And then his lips suddenly crash against yours, his hands grabbing your waist and pinning your small frame against the cool counter, a husky growl of frustration escaping his throat as he kisses you. Rough. You gasp, starting to press your hands against his chest, wanting to push him off… until you don’t. You’re kissing him back fiercely, though still angry as ever, moving your hands to grip his muscular biceps as you dig your nails in. “I fucking hate you,” you hiss against his lips, and he scoffs in between kisses, barely groaning from the feeling of your sharp nails leaving indents in his skin. He’s turned on, and you know it. 

“No you fucking don’t.”

There’s no need for foreplay. There’s no time or patience for that. After easily sitting you up on the counter, he pulls your shirt up over your head only to connect your lips again, his teeth pulling on your lower lip roughly as he unhooks your bra and tosses it aside. His hands find your gym shorts and shove them down- he quite literally rips your underwear off, making you let out a muffled squeal of surprise into his open mouth. When you feel his fingers slide up your thigh and rub up against your wet folds, you let out a shaky gasp, moving your hands to grip his shoulder blades through his tee. “O-oh…!”

“You’re fucking soaked for me, cupcake.” His other hand moves up to grip the back of your neck, fingers curling into your brown locks. Despite the distraction of the haze of pleasure rushing through your brain and body, you can’t help but note his fond pet name for you. Every time you got stressed, you’d bake- Ransom would always lovingly make fun of you for this, hence how “cupcake” began. However, he doesn’t give you much time to dwell on this- perhaps on purpose. He’s most likely realized he fucked up, God forbid he show any sign of affection. You let out a short moan when his broad fingers rub your clit, his other hand using the grip on your hair to tilt your head up so your brown eyes are locked firmly onto his blue ones.

“You like that? You see what you’ve left behind for these past few years? You couldn’t possibly have forgetten how good I fuck you, right?” he speaks through husky breaths, panting just as much as you as he rubs. You moan lewdly, though your teeth clench in frustration. “Just fuck me already, Ransom, stop… stop fucking talking…”

He snickers and suddenly stops rubbing, leaving you feeling slightly disappointed despite the fact you asked for it. Hastily unbuckling his belt and pushing down his jeans and briefs, he wraps his fingers around his throbbing length, groaning lowly to himself as he pumps his shaft. Pressing it against your entrance, he wastes no time in thrusting inside you, gripping your hips tightly as a grunt of pleasure escapes his throat.

“Fuck. Fuck. I forgot… how fucking tight… your pussy feels around my cock…” he groans with half shut eyes as he bucks his hips forward, tilting his head back. “God damn!”

“Ransom!” You hear a girl’s voice come from the kitchen doorway, gasping from both surprise and pleasure as you look up- normally, you’d be embarrassed, but right now, you couldn’t care less. You’re still riding the rush of adrenaline from your rage towards this man, but before you can even comment, he sharply yells at her, “Get the fuck out of here, and take your damn bimbo sluts with you- I don’t fucking need any of you anymore!”

She stares at both of you angrily before grunting in annoyance, whirling around. You moan as Ransom thrusts into you even rougher, your hands sliding up under his shirt to feel his skin, nails once again digging in to relieve your tension. “Mm… mm… don’t… fucking stop…!” you cry out as you hitch your legs high up around his waist, letting him get a better angle as he continues fucking you in the middle of his kitchen. Your body is practically being rocked upwards from how powerful he is, your head buried into his neck as you bite and suck desperately only making him groan even more.

“You still on birth control?” he breathes out gruffly into your shoulder as his hands cup your ass, his teeth nipping and biting harshly. “You still getting checked regularly for STDs?” you retort breathlessly, though to be honest, you’re not worried about that despite his recent history. He may treat his things like shit, but he keeps himself well maintained all to uphold his little rich boy image. He’s actually much more hygienic than one would imagine, and has standards with the women he sleeps with despite coming off as such a playboy.

“Yes, just let me fucking know if I can-”

“Yes, yes, I’m on birth control, come inside me,” you whine demandingly, moving your hands up to grip his brown hair tightly, messing it up even more than before. He smirks, grunting louder as he uses his hold on your ass to rock your hips towards his, the sound and feel of skin slapping putting you into overdrive. “Ransom…! Shit, Ransom, I’m close, fuck, I’m coming!” He groans just from hearing you, chest heaving as he keeps going, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. “Come for me, doll, fuck…!”

Your release combined with the sensation of his inside you is euphoric. As much as you hate to admit it, you missed sex like this. You certainly haven’t had it since you broke up. 

He pulls out with heavy breaths, staring at you for a few moments. You swear you catch a glimpse of the old Ransom, the one you fell in love with, the one who would never actually hurt anyone despite coming off as such an asshole.

“Don’t push me away.” You suddenly speak quietly through uneven breaths, slowly wrapping your arms around his neck as you stare up at him.

His hands are still holding your hips, those pacific hues studying every inch of your face with all types of conflict and concern spread across his sharp, handsome features.

“I don’t want to.”

[omoi-no-hoka]

Hey! I saw your blog today and I love it very much!! I see you're an open person so, I also have a question: HOW does one survive studying japanese at uni?? I'm in my first year and only my second (online haha) semester and we started out with Minna no nihongo 1 but we're supposed to finish Minna 2 by the end of this semester, same with Basic Kanji book 1 in the first sem and now Basic Kanji Book 2, all while also learning mostly of Japan's history and others in this semester. Exams will kill me

Hello! I’m glad you’re enjoying my blog! I am open to a fault lol. Let me recount my meandering journey through uni, illustrating my feelings through gifs of Noel Fielding because he is my celebrity crush.

Uni is such a difficult time for so many people, trying to figure out who you are now and who you want to be later. It wasn’t until my senior year that I realized what I wanted to do. I started writing out my university experience and it got super long, so allow me to just summarize my “Lessons Learned” here and you can read the rest if you want to know all the dirty deets lol. I double-majored in Japanese and English, so I think that my experience can perhaps be useful to people who are majoring in things other than Japanese as well. 

Hard-Learned Lessons from Uni

Do not choose a course of study because it is “practical.” Choose it because it is something you love. Seriously. Nothing is more important than this point. Do not choose a major because “I’ll make a lot of money” or “My parents are telling me this is good for me.” 

If you are learning multiple languages at once, you must give your brain time to organize what you learned from one language lesson before moving on to the next. You can do this by waiting a couple hours between lessons, getting up and walking around, studying one language in different space from the other, etc. Otherwise, it all becomes a terrible mess in your head.

It’s okay not to know what you want your career to be. It’s okay not to have a specific plan. Life works out one way or the other.

I know how expensive uni can be. (It’s been six years since I graduated and I’m still making hefty loan payments.) But don’t feel like you have to take a full courseload every single semester and graduated asap, particularly if the classes are hard and/or you are working. I took the maximum credit hours allowed every semester on top of working RIDICULOUS hours and it nearly killed me at one point. I’m not kidding. 

It is not unusual to have an identity crisis and/or mental breakdown. Take care of yourself. Know when you are nearing breaking point. Seek out the help of professionals. Most universities have psychiatrists and therapists that will see you very cheaply. 

Surround yourself with good people and look out for each other. 

Do not rely on substances to ease your suffering because sometimes the remedy becomes the malady. Not saying you should avoid all parties or anything square like that, but just don’t be one of those people that parties every night and gets in over their head. 

Let me preface this by stating that I’m an American, and our universities are stupid because they force us to take a ton of “general education” courses that are irrelevant to our majors, and many students spend their first couple years taking only a couple courses related to their majors and minors, and try to focus on getting those stupid gen eds out of the way. 

Year 1: Oh Shit, This Is Harder Than I Thought It Would Be

I come from a town of less than 2600 people. Our high school prepared its students for the following career paths:

joining the military (boys only)

becoming a farmer (boys only)

welding, carpentry, or other practical jobs (boys only)

becoming a housewife (girls only)

So basically I coasted through high school never having to study anything because it was one great big joke, only I thought I was like super duper smart because I was in the top five of my graduating class of 48. LOLLLLLLLLL

I entered university as a German major, Japanese minor. (Japanese was not offered as a major at my uni). I had never studied German previously, but I studied Spanish and French in high school and I just had this feeling that German and Japanese were the languages for me. 

The first semester, I had Japanese 101 and German 101 back to back, in the EXACT SAME CLASSROOM. I can’t stress enough how much of a mindfuck it was to go from thinking about Japanese for 50 minutes, having a 10 minute break, and then trying to switch your brain to German. IN THE SAME ROOM. It actually gave me headaches to try and make that mental jump. Managed to pull through the year with A’s in both, but German was much more of a challenge to me than Japanese. Which was really unexpected. 

I also flunked several gen eds because I didn’t give a shit about them and skipped them and got placed on academic probation and was nearly kicked out of uni because of my poor grades

Basically, I was such a weeb that I had watched enough anime with subtitles and sung along to enough anime songs that I had absorbed about 90% of the first year’s worth of Japanese vocab and grammar through osmosis. I really did have the power of God and anime on my side.

Year 2: The Year of the Mid-Midlife Crisis and Mental Breakdown

There really is no gif that will encapsulate the level of turmoil I went through that year. I looked really hard for one, trust me.

It became apparent very quickly that I could not keep up with German. I ended up dropping it early in the first semester, which meant I had to choose a new major. Thinking of what would be practical to pair with a Japanese minor, I went for International Business for a semester, took Accounting, and realized that I HATE The Man, corporate bullshit, and also numbers as a concept.

All I knew at this point was that I liked Japanese but couldn’t make it a major. I also knew I didn’t want to transfer universities. So I kept taking gen eds, just barely passing them because to this day I cannot bring myself to put effort into something I do not care about, and also taking more classes related to my Japanese minor. It was the Japanese classes that saved my GPA and kept me from getting kicked out of uni.

At the same time, I took a creative writing course because that’s been a hobby of mine since elementary school, and I kinda thought about an English major, but then was like, “Eww I don’t wanna be forced to read books I don’t give a shit about. And also, what will I do with that degree?”

Also, at the same time, I was working full time, and often getting stuck working from 2 pm to 7 am (Yes, 15-hour shifts, because the overnight dude would call in sick last minute and I’d be begged to cover his shift), and then dragging myself to classes and drooling on the desks because I’d fall asleep.

Also also, I started to have possible hallucinations? To this day I don’t know what was going on, but either I was legitimately going crazy, or there was a demon following me around and being quite rude to me, making light fixtures fall and shatter inches from my head, throwing papers around my room, opening and closing doors, turning lights off and on, coming to me in dreams and doing some really, really traumatic things to me in them, and just standing in corners staring at me at all hours of the night. Had me so scared that towards the end of the school year I was waiting to sleep until sunrise, when it would go away. And no, I was not using any mind-altering substances of any sort. Not even going out and getting drunk. 

So, yeah. Year Two was a hard one that I can’t believe I pushed through. Probably the darkest year of my life, I’d say. What got me through it? An unhealthy amount of energy drinks, friends, and my love of Japanese. Also Aerosmith.

Do I still see that demon? No. He vanished when the school year ended and I moved out of the dorms. Do I believe in the supernatural? Yes, to an extent. Do I think that what I was seeing was actually a demon? I honestly don’t know. I have had actual supernatural experiences verified by multiple witnesses, and a few years before Year 2, several friends and myself had seen an entity similar to what was following me around. But this one in Year 2 only did things when I was alone. So it could have all been in my head, and I will never know. 

Since then, I have been diagnosed with general anxiety and also a form of insomnia that keeps me from sleeping through the night, and I know that my anxiety manifests itself in psychosomatic ways. In other words, my mind will take my anxiety and turn it into a physical symptom that feels real in every way, but is actually not occurring. So far it’s manifested as: sensitivity to sunlight, the symptoms of a stroke or heart attack, half of my face going numb, and headaches in my left eye. Once I realize that the symptom is just my anxiety, I can force myself to ignore and overcome it. But then my anxiety finds a new form to manifest, and the cycle repeats a few months later. It could be that my stress caused me to see this demon for a while.

Should I have consulted a psychiatrist and gotten help? YEP. If you find yourself struggling like that, seek help please. 💕

Year 3: Adrift But Afloat

I moved out of the dorms and into an apartment with my best friend, a Japanese girl I met in the dorms freshman year. I will call her Setsuko. Setsuko is basically the reason I graduated uni. She memorized my class schedules and took copies of exam dates, woke me up, forced me to go classes instead of skipping, forced me to go to the library and study with her, and cooked me dinner most days since she didn’t have to work like I did. I can’t express enough how much she did to improve my life outside of school and work, and how much that improved my mental health. She also acclimated me to lots of subtle things about Japanese culture just by living with her, and this helped me later when I moved to Japan. Thank you, Setsuko. 一生の恩人。

I was still doing those bullshit 15-hour overnight shifts way more than I should have, and also had the maximum courseload.

The Japanese classes got a lot more difficult in Year 3. But I loved them. They were the only classes I never skipped. I took more classes towards the minor like Buddhist Philosophy and Japanese History, which I really enjoyed. While polishing off more gen eds, I thought over what to do with my major. 

My family and friends all told me that I should become an English teacher. I had always been good at words and at explaining things. But I didn’t really like the idea of being a high school teacher. I became an English major, though, because I knew that I didn’t hate English. Took grammar classes and HOLY SHIT did I hit my stride.

I realized that I didn’t like English lit. I liked linguistics. So I focused heavily on all grammar and linguistics courses, taking the bare minimum of literature courses required for the major. My GPA improved substantially. 

Yet I still was consumed with this nagging fear. It was Year 3 and I still had no fucking idea what I wanted to do when I graduated.

Year 4: Clarity At The 11th Hour

Urged on by my “Don’t you dare get one of those stupid arts degrees that won’t get you a paycheck” parents, I decided that the most “practical” degree would not be “English,” but “English Education.” I began taking the English Ed classes with linguistics, grammar, and second language acquisition classes. The goal was to become a qualified English high school teacher who could also do ESL (since I had Spanish and Japanese under my belt more or less). 

At the same time, I entered into Independent Study for Japanese with two other students. We were tasked with reading Izu no Odoriko, a classic short story. Independent study was its own beast. It required a lot more concentration and work on my part, obviously. But because Japanese was my first and foremost passion, I centered my efforts on those courses, and then on the others.

The process of getting certified to be an English teacher was lengthy and expensive in my state. This meant my graduation would be further prolonged, and I was worried about money, because I was already about $50,000 in debt at the time, despite working those fucking overnight shifts all the time that were eating me alive.

Then, during the summer vacation when my 4th year ended, I got a scholarship and went to Japan to study abroad. Education majors had the option to study abroad in several countries, and as luck would have it, one of them was Japan, and it was Setsuko’s HOMETOWN! The study abroad program itself was the first month of summer vacation, and Setsuko said, “Okay, just come stay at my house for the rest of summer vacation!”

Never have I said “yes” quicker in my entire life.

On the train headed from Sapporo to the town where I would be actually staying during my studies, I looked at the lush rice paddies and mountains in the distance and my entire heart just hummed with this “This is where you’re meant to be.” I knew then and there that I would move to Japan upon graduation.

What would I do there? Well, teach English, obviously.

My three months in Japan effectively aligned my entire life. My path had materialized before me. It was a roughly hacked, hard-to-see path through thick underbrush, but I could see it nonetheless. 

Year 5: Let’s Hurry It Up, I’m Ready To Live

Come Year 5, all of my Japanese classmates that had been with me since freshman year were gone and I was alone. My professor taught me Classical Japanese through independent study, and it was the must grueling course I took my entire five years there. But I found it invaluable and am eternally grateful to him for teaching me, because you see Classical Japanese a lot more than you’d think you would in everyday life. Particularly in formal settings. 

I still wanted to get certified to teach English in American high schools, because while I knew I wanted to go to Japan for now, I didn’t know if I wanted to spend my entire life there and I wanted a solid job opportunity when I came back to the states at some point.

However, the more education courses I took, the more I saw that the American education system was just as full of red-tape and The Man’s bullshit as corporate America, something else I rebuke with every fiber of my being. I also realized I’d need to take a 6th year of university, and that just wasn’t financially feasible for me. So I switched to a plain old English major with a heavy focus on linguistics and second language acquisition, and continued classical Japanese. 

I took the remaining 3 gen eds online in the summer, graduated, popped up to Chicago to do a month-long intensive course to get the CELTA (Certificate in Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages issued by Cambridge.) It’s the most widely accepted and revered certification for teaching English as a foreign language.

So in the span of five years, I graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree in English with a focus in linguistics and SLA, and what is technically a major in Japanese Studies. 40 credit hours were required for a major, and I completed 42 credit hours tied to my minor, so while it isn’t listed on my diploma as a major, I did the coursework. I also got a CELTA Pass B, which only 20% of applicants achieve and never expires. The grand total for all of this was roughly $100,000 USD in loans.

Post-Graduation

The week I came back to my hometown from Chicago with my CELTA in hand, I packed my suitcases, threw a going-away party, and then flew to Sapporo, where I began my first job after uni, teaching English to children aged 0-18 at a private English conversation school. I did that for three years before changing careers and becoming a Japanese-English translator/interpreter for a global company. 

So how useful have my choices during university proven to be?

I’m sure I don’t have to explain that studying Japanese helps me tons with translating Japanese to English or living in Japan lol

Studying English grammar, linguistics, sociolinguistics, and second language acquisition has allowed me to recognize minute nuances that can make the difference between a successful and unsuccessful business negotiation when interpretation is necessary.

My background in education also means that I know how to present information clearly, concisely, and in a way that engages the audience. I am known as “The PowerPoint Pro” at work lol. 

I also have a keen eye for performance evaluation, behavior analysis, and improvement action plans. 

I offered English conversation lessons to coworkers for over a year, and now that is being done in other branches across the company! (Well, they were before COVID haha.) 

I DO NOT RECOMMEND WORKING THE HOURS I WORKED WHILE IN SCHOOL. My grades suffered and I wish I had worked less and focused more on classes. However, by working 15-hour shifts and doing full days of classes, I developed a very good tolerance for overtime, which comes in handy in the Japanese workplace. Just last month I had three 15 hour days in the same week. Sweet, sweet overtime pay. 

All of these facets have culminated in me earning a pretty nice promotion to 正社員 seishain back in February, which means I get nice benefits and basically my job is guaranteed until I die or the company goes under.

Should I decide to return to America someday, I will probably not go into the education field. Too much red tape. I will likely continue translation/interpretation for companies, because it isn’t too difficult and pays well. Though ideally I’d love to just make a living sharing cool information about Japanese and stuff, and maybe writing those stories that are bouncing around in my head when I should be working haha.

Do I think the debt is worth it?

Well, I don’t think I had any other option than to take out those loans. I didn’t have the means to learn the things I wanted to learn unless I went to university. 

Unless Japanese work visa requirements have changed, you are required to have a bachelor’s degree in order to obtain my sub-type of work-visa, so I needed a degree of some kind no matter what. 

Frankly, if I hadn’t gone to that university and met my best friend Setsuko, I don’t think I’d be where I am right now, living the life I am now. So just having met her is worth any price to me. 

Paying off all the loans is daunting, especially when yen is weak to the dollar. There were months I had to ask my parents for help, especially early on. But now I’ve got multiple loans paid off, my salary has increased, and the “omg i have money and no supervision so I can buy whatever I want” idiocy has mostly gone away. But I did get a super sweet pair of blindingly silver Converses a couple days ago that I definitely didn’t need

Do I have any regrets regarding my time at university?

I still regret dropping Old English for a stupid English Ed class. Seriously, how cool would that have been? But I still have the textbook, workbook, and I contacted the professor last week and she was kind enough to send me a syllabus. God bless her. So now I’m working on that bit by bit, which is fun.

I wish I hadn’t been such a cocky, naive idiot my first year. Thinking I could just “show up for tests” was the stupidest thing. It messed up my GPA, and my parents forbade me from retaking classes so I couldn’t go back and fix my mistakes. I think I graduated with a 3.4 overall GPA out of 4, but my English major GPA was 3.9 and my Japanese GPA was 4.0. So it’s pretty frustrating to have those gen eds and my dumbfuckery mar my transcript like that.

I really didn’t party at all. Most all of my friends were straight-laced Japanese exchange students, and I was also working ridiculous hours so I just didn’t really have the time. A part of me feels like I missed out on that part of the college experience.

Recently I’ve been putting more effort into improving my creative writing by reading a lot of books on the subject. Not a small part of me wishes that I had gone with a Creative Writing major instead of English major, because I still would have studied all the grammar and linguistics. Then again, I do believe that creative writing can be self-taught.

I wish I hadn’t worked as much as I did. There were a lot of times I couldn’t complete assignments or I missed lectures because I was just so drained. It wasn’t even good money.

Well...I did not intend for this post to become as long as it has. I’ve been cooped up in my apartment with nothing but two goldfish for company for over a month now and I think I’m a bit stir-crazy. Thank you to anyone and everyone who bothered to read all of this and become my therapist for a bit haha. Love you all. Stay safe and well. 💖

[twohearts-hs]

‘Two Past Lovers’ - Shawn Mendes Imagine

Words: 7.4k

Pairing: Shawn Mendes x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Smut, Divorce

Summary: They left each other in tears as they had to become what they want. When she comes back to him seven years later, he doesn’t know what to say when he finds out what kind of man she married. He loves her, she loves him, they’d figure a way to get back together.

|| Masterlist in bio ||

-

Toronto brought so many memories back for her. Her mind went crazy as she watched every street go by in the taxi. Her husband sat next to her, on a phone call with his team back in London and she sighed. What a life she has now? It wasn’t her idea to come back home, her husband, James, wanted to branch out his company to Toronto which meant that she had to move back.

A little piece of her was so happy to be home, but at the same time, she left there with tears in her eyes. Y/N had no choice but to move to England, she had the opportunity of a lifetime to get her dream career and to be in a new city. But, she had no idea that she’d marry a narcissist and live an unhappy life. The buildings past and every corner had a memory.

-

She chuckled, standing up a few steps from him, reaching Shawn’s height finally and planting a kiss on his lips. The street was covered by little townhouses and her life was filled with excitement. Her boyfriend stood in front of her, holding her hips as they chuckle and innocently kiss each other, blinded by love.

“You’re so pretty,” he muttered against her forehead, she moved her head to place it on his shoulder, as he hummed a tune to her.

“Says you,” she mumbled back, they swayed in the moonlight, love covered by them and no worries between the two.

They were just seventeen, two years into their relationship. Secrets were shared and bodies touched. As they said, it was them against the world. The young couple had nothing to worry about, just him becoming a global superstar and his little town girl who has her head in books and cheered for him at the sidelines.

-

Y/N came back to reality, she looked to her left and her husband was now yelling at the intern on his device. She rolled her eyes and continued to lean against the window. They passed the café that she and Shawn use to study at, then the museum where he learnt about her love for art - in which he told her that she was perfect in the exhibit - and eventually they passed the apartment building where they were going to buy a place together, until chaos set in.

Little tears bedded themselves on her cheeks, but she had to shake it off. Its been seven years.

“Bloody Sam fucked up the accounts again, honey,” James said, British accent filling the car and pocketing his phone into his suit pocket. She gave a fake smile.

“I am sorry to hear that, hun,” she replied, looking back at the window.

“Are you excited to be home?” she sighed looking at him.

“My home is Pickering,” she mumbled, her husband gave a glare.

“I understand that hun, but I need to be in a major city. Didn’t you get that teaching job in Pickering though?” he stated. Five years together, so professional to her still.

“Yes, I am teaching biology to high school students,” she was so done with this conversation already. Y/N was at the point at her marriage where she didn’t want anything to do with him.

“That’s great, baby,” he exclaimed, she smiled and continued to look out the window and he picked up the phone once again to call Donna, his assistant.

-

She walked out of the bedroom. Its been a few months since their arrival. The blanket was wrapped around her as her cold feet hit the tile floor in the multimillion-dollar flat. The white, modern aesthetic was definitely not her thing, but as normal, she had no saying in this relationship. Her lost eyes looked at the view of Toronto at little past midnight. The only thing she loved about this place was the big window she was looking at right now. Her little figure sat down, watching the cars drive by, the CN tower changing colour and the stars that are non-exist due to the light pollution. It was cold, she didn’t like having the heat too high and in that winter month, it really did nab her in the ass.

Her husband was gone once again, this time for a few weeks. This wasn’t a marriage, she learnt recently, but she was surviving. Her mind wandered, her broken heart calling out. It might’ve been the alcohol in her veins, but she grabbed her phone and prayed that he had the same number since he was eighteen.

-

He played with her fingers, thumbing them as she watched. It was now or never and she knew she would regret it. But, they were heading two very separate paths.

“The place on ninth was really nice, we could afford that,” he told her, as her head was laid on his chest, and his fingers made their way to her hip, circling the bare skin.

“Shawn–” she tried, but he continued talking. She tried again, but he went on about how she shouldn’t worry about money. Eventually, she moved from lying on him to sitting on the covers of his bed.

“I am moving to London,” she told him. He looked at her, wide-eyed, blinking a few times to take in the information. “Don’t get me wrong, Shawnie-”

“Stop,” he interrupted, but she shook her head.

“Let me finish. I want to be here with you, to live in the small flat with the crappy view, I want to wake up next to you and to be with you. I want to get married, have kids, while you travel the world with your music. I want that life, but it can’t happen. My parents are moving to London, I got accepted into the college there. I am going to be a teacher, I am going to love what I do. You love what you do, you sing and play and you love and that is perfect. That is you, Shawn, but I have to go. We both knew that something would come in the way and this is it. I love you,” she told him, getting up, wiping her hands on her trousers and beginning backing up to the door. “I’ll forever love you, but this is me breaking up with you. We’ll meet again, Shawnie, but right now I need to pull my life together, I need to do what I want to do,” she muttered.

Shawn watched her, slowly backing up from him and he didn’t know how to respond. “Y/N,” he got up, but she shook her head, tears clouding her vision. “We can do long-”

“No!” she yelled, he watched her fall apart, “I can’t do that. I can’t be with you, but not be with you,” she told him, picking her bag up and looked at him.

They were a few feet apart, but it felt like a lifetime. She looked at him, holding her jacket close, her bag slung on her shoulder as they stared.

“Promise me you’ll move on, you’ll do what you love, be with someone you love, sing what you love and be who you love,” she told him, he kept shaking his head as she turned around and walked out.

Karen was in the kitchen as she saw his son run after the love of his life, tears in both of their visions. Broken mumbles and rapid actions. She watched as her son’s life walked out the door.

-

The line went dead. She choked on a sob and threw her phone next to her on the white couch. Y/N looked around, the place was too big for her, too foreign, too empty. Her mind had no idea why she would call him up, maybe it is because she is teaching at their past high school or she drives past his childhood home every day. Maybe it is the craving of human contact or the desire to be loved. The mind boggles.

The hallway was dark as she made her way down it, to grab the expensive whiskey that James told her not to take, but he hasn’t been here for two weeks and he won’t be here for another three. This isn’t a marriage, this is just ownership. Her mind was beginning to wake up and realise what kind of relationship this was.

She sat back down on the couch, wrapping the blanket closer as she took sips from the expensive whiskey. The taste was strong, but definitely not her cup of tea. The silence overtook her as little sobs left her lips, that was until her phone went off.

Shawn. She read the name of who was calling her and she knew that what she did was a mistake, but who cares, who fucking cares anymore.

So, she picked it up, swiped the screen and held it to her ear.

“Hello?” she mumbled, taking another drink.

“Y/N?” his deep voice questioned, she choked again, rubbing her eyes and trying to sober up. “Y/N..are you ok? Are you crying? Y/N, answer me,” there was a worry in his voice.

“I am ok,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t have called you,” she whispered. She knew that Shawn was shaking his head, and trying to form words.

“No, I’ll always be here for you. Talk to me. Tell me about London,” she laughed a little.

“I am in Toronto,” she replied, pulling the blanket closer and biting her lip.

“Where are you? Do you need to be picked up?” she heard his movement and a jiggle of keys.

“I am home, don’t worry, Shawn. I just needed to hear your voice,” the shuffling stopped and she could hear his breathing.

“Do you want me to come over?” she looked at her reflection, what a mess she looked like.

“I don’t know. I don’t look great right now,” she mumbled.

His strong voice was so much more powerful at the moment than hers, “Oh, honey, I don’t care. You’ll always be beautiful to me, no matter looks or personality,” she cried a little more. He was perfect and it hurt her that she chose the wrong man.

“Ok.”

Her little body hasn’t moved when a knock came to the door, she slowly got up, left the bottle next to her and walked towards the big doors. Little paddling of feet was all you could hear as she pulled open the door.

He looked so beautiful was all she could think. His body had grown with him and he was truly a god himself. Perfect ratios, hair, and his eyes were still the classic golden she fell in love with.

“Hi,” he muttered, she looked at him, not knowing how to respond. He smiled, stepping forward, she stepped back and closed the door.

“Do you want a drink?” she asked, he shook his head. She went back to the window, standing and looking at it.

“Nice place,” he told her, staying a few feet back.

“It's my husband’s, I hate it,” she replied. Shawn was in shock as he looked at her hand, a big diamond sitting on it. She turned around, “Don’t worry, I’m probably going to divorce him soon.”

Shawn stepped forward, placing his hands on her shoulders and dragging them down. “How much have you drunk?” she looked at him and he then realised how broken she was.

“I don’t know,” he looked at her. Still so beautiful, so gorgeous, so Y/N, the woman that he still was in love with.

“Lets put you to bed,” she shooked her head. Shawn sighed, sitting down and pulling her in a hug on the couch.

Her body snuggled into him, arms wrapped around each other as she cried. His tattooed hand went to her hair, holding it as she was snuggled into the crook of his neck. It was desperation, a long time sober, but craved for a fix. She was his drug, and he was her’s. They completed each other, relied on and needed one another. 

“Shhh,” he wondered what happened. What happened to such a happy soul? He looked at her, holding him as if he was oxygen and her emotions took over. His hands continued soothing her, rubbing her back and holding her close.

She pulled away, wiping her tears and looked at him. “You are so beautiful,” she muttered, “I made a mistake leaving you.”

“No, baby, shhh, you did what you believed was right,” she got up suddenly, holding the blanket and a few inches apart.

“I’m sorry. I am here all over you, I don’t know if you’re in a relationship, married or what not and I am being so selfish.”

He sighed, patting the spot next to him as she turned on the lights, “Don’t worry. Its all good. You’re the only one in a relationship,” he told her as she sat, holding a water bottle now.

She looked at him, no words can explain the attraction and love she had for him at that moment. A little smile came to her features.

“Tell me about your life? I listen to your music and it is really good,” Y/N said, holding the bottle of water and automatically acting as though she was sobering up.

“Petal, I love how you are so interested in me, but you called me in tears and I want to talk it out and see what I can do to help,” he used the nickname., as he brushed her cheek gently. She stayed stunned.

“Fine,” she turned away and looked back at the view. “My husband is a narcissistic asshole, who doesn’t love me and sees me as an object.”

She was right about that. Shawn was gobsmacked about how her life turned out to be. The only thing that brought a little bit of happiness was her teaching, but otherwise, she was lost and he was too. They were both lost without each other. He listened as she exclaimed how her life turned out to be.

“I was a heart-broken college student and he just used his charm and looks to woo me. I was broke, he was rich, he bought me a drink and I ended up in his bed. James is ten years older, he is a CEO and I knew that just maybe, just a little, I could be what he wanted,” she began, as she looked at the view and he just stared at her, still not believing that she was right in front of them, after all these years.

“Which was?” he asked, hand behind his head and other on his thigh; little space between them.

“A trophy wife...which we both know I could never be,” laughter was shared, she moved closer. He knew that was true, she was too ambitious and dedicated to teaching and learning to sit and do nothing. Head now on his shoulder, as one of his hands, went to her thigh, squeezing it gently.

“But, I thought I fell in love. He asked me to marry him and the moment I said, I do, everything changed. He showed me off like I was his racing horse or perfect creation. He made fun of me, he wanted me to be more like his buddies’ wives, at home, no job, lots of kisses at the door and doing the dishes and wet his dick whenever he wanted. He wanted sex all the time and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand that life,” Shawn cringed at this but shook it off. He couldn’t imagine his girl with someone else like that. “I am no object. I am no housewife. I am a workaholic who wants to teach and learn and to heal. I couldn’t just be looks and a smile, as he flirts with a younger woman,” she rolled her eyes and took a deep breath.

“I missed you,” she mumbled, nuzzling into him. For some odd reason, all the years they spent apart, it was as if they saw each other yesterday.

“I missed you too, petal,” he mumbled, turning to her and moving the hair out of her face. “We need to get you to bed and tomorrow we can talk some more, ok?” she nodded, getting up and walking to the bedroom.

“He’s cheated on me,” she said, continuing to stumble to her bed, “Rebecca, Nancy, Mackenna, you name it.” She rolled her eyes and Shawn couldn’t handle this. Anger boiled and he just wanted to realise it. He should’ve fought harder for her, stay in contact, visited. But, he let her go to be hurt and he’ll forever home that guilt.

The flat seemed as no one lived there, no pictures, no personal items. It was like a hotel. He walked into the bedroom, looking around as there was nothing that screamed out his girl. Shawn felt pity for her, he loved her so much and she was falling apart right in front of him.

He tucked her, placed a kiss on her forehead and was about to leave when she mumbled something. “I love you, Shawnie.”

Shawn took a breath and almost broke there. “I love you too, petal,” he mumbled back. Just like her, he hasn’t had the easiest of years as well. Shawn had women, but they left the moment the sun came up and never seen again; rebound after rebound. He only could think about her. He wrote about her, he cried because of her, he felt her no matter he went. The streets were lined up with memories. He can’t go home without thinking of her slamming the door as she walked out.

His mother knew they were destined for each other and if she was right about them being soulmates, their paths would cross again.

The whiskey bottle was half done and he poured himself a glass and internally screamed as he drank it, cleaned the kitchen a bit, left a note and went home. He knew that he needed to see her again and he laid awake in his boxers all night thinking about her. 

-

Y/N woke up, a little bit of a hangover, but nothing much. She looked around the night came back to her. Shawn was here, he kissed her on the forehead and held her. This couldn’t be a dream?

Her silk nightgown was ruffled as she got out from the covers and headed to the kitchen where she saw a note. She smiled, a blush coming to her cheeks as she read it. “Breakfast on me, call me when you wake. S. x” she did a little happy dance, grabbing her phone and pressing the memorised number.

Two rings and he picked up. “Awake, petal?” she smiled, heading to her room to change. “Where’d you wanna go?” he asked.

“Let’s go the café by the flower shop,” she said, the biggest smile on her face as memories flooded in. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

“Ok, I’ll be there in fifteen.”

-

Y/N walked out of her expensive home to Shawn’s jeep. The ring was left at home due to the fact that she didn’t want Shawn to be reminded that she is married to an ass. She just wanted a day of Shawn and her, like it was before.

“Hey, you!” he smiled, as she settled herself in the familiar vehicle. He handed her a bottle of water and a few pills.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she thanked, taking them as he drove off.

“I know you, hun, but I was thinking of getting take-out from there due to the fact of fans and media,” she frowned a little, it can’t be like old times.

“That’s ok, I totally understand. Plus if I end up in the media, my husband will find out and have a mental breakdown,” she told him as he continued to drive.

They finally ended up at his apartment with their orders that haven’t changed since their teen years. Both laughing from his joke, she looked around and knew that it was such a Shawn home if that made sense. Piano, guitars, music awards and pictures laid everywhere. Her house felt empty to his.

“Ok, so here it is,” he told her, sitting on the couch and handing her a drink and food. She smiled, thanked him and began to eat. It felt so natural between one another. “When is your husband home?” he asked, filling the silence.

“Like in three weeks, he’s really bad at communicating. He just said, end of next month or little before,” she told him, as she ate. It was memory lane for them to go to that small café. In all honesty, the person who owned it recognise the two and believed they were now married, which they awkwardly had to decline. But, she ordered her order from when she was sixteen and she forgot how good the sandwich was.

“Oh, and what does he do?”

“He’s a CEO of like an account management thing, like banking, I don’t know. I don’t do grown-up jobs, I am a teacher and that is hard enough as it is,” she told him.

“My sister told me she saw you when she went back for a alumni thing.”

“Yeah, I teach biology. She said ‘hi’, but I felt like it was really awkward.”

“You were like a sister to her, she wouldn’t feel like that,” he told her, as he leaned back and took a sip from his coffee.

“I know you want to ask about him, so I’ll tell,” she told him, leaning back as well, both homing a food coma.

Shawn listened. That man was awful to her. He treated her like an object and flirted with other girls. He had no respect. Listening to the stories, anger began to fume up in his body and he couldn’t bear the idea of his love being treated like this.

“One time, he wanted a baby, so he pressured, and guilted me. I had to run away that night,” she told me, looking away. “It was the first time he had ever hit me.”

Shawn looked at her, features changing, “No, you’re not going back home, petal. Babe, no,” he began getting up, anxiety creeping up. She looked at him with this look and he broke.

“I want to leave him, but I am just getting the funds. I signed a prenup, so the minute I decide to leave, I won’t have anything except my cash and what is mine,” he kept shaking his head.

“You’re not leaving here, you’re not going back. Fuck, Y/N, I’ll get you a fucking lawyer. Don’t go back,” he told her, running his hands through his hair as he has a little panic attack.

“That’s not even half the story, Shawn. He has done worse. He is an awful being and I am trying to get away,” he walked back and forth.

“Y/N, here is what you’re going to do—”

“I don’t want your money!” she yelled, he shook his head.

“Baby, please, just listen,” he said, sitting down and grabbing her hands, kissing them, “I am going to take you home, you’re going pack everything that is yours and you are going to live with me. I have a spare bedroom. You are going to live with me, ok?” she nodded. “Then, you’re going to get a lawyer. I have an amazing lawyer, he is amazing, take him. If you refuse, pay for half or a third, ok. Then, we are gonna get this divorce finalised, get a restraining order and I am going to take care of you. How does that sound?” she nodded, removing her hands and quickly grabbing him into a hug. She held onto him so tightly.

“Thank you,” she muttered. He smiled, holding her cheeks and smiling.

“It is the least I can do,” he replied, placing a kiss on her forehead. She wished he kissed her on the lips, but baby steps.

-

In the daylight, her place looked empty, a showhouse in a way. Barely anything laid around and he realised there won’t be much to move. She began taking out her clothes, shoes, essentials and placed them into a box. She looked around, taking some art with her.

He laughed at this, “You and your collection of art,” she smiled.

“It is mine. I paint, he let me hang it,” Shawn raised his eyebrows, looking at it again and realised it was definitely her art, recognising the style.

He looked around as she came with two boxes and a few paintings. “All done,” she replied, heading to the door as he took a box from her. There wasn’t much and he was beginning to realise how fucked up her situation is.

They entered his home, with take-out (again) and a few beer cans to share between them. That was something new, legally drinking together. She turned eighteen before him, so she was drinking, but she left him before that was possible.

She placed the take-out down as Shawn carried her boxes in. Y/N looked at him, and she wanted to get used to this.

This was the life she should’ve lived. Shawn and her against the world, as they use to say. She could get used to this life, dinner, living, all that shit with him. It was a new feeling, the happiness that began to accustom her system. He smiled at her and she just bursted with love.

“Ok, what do you want to watch?” she asked, heading to the living room as he followed her with the food and drinks.

He sat with her, dividing food and grabbing a blanket for them. She leaned against his chest, as she laid on the couch. His arms wrapped around her as they popped on the telly and ate in comfortable silence.

It was later into the night when he began kissing her shoulder. They made their way from beers to whiskey and now they were little intoxicated not only on alcohol but on love as well.

“What are you doing?” she asked, throwing her head back for him to have more access to her neck. He mumbled something, as he continued to flood kisses all over her neck, shoulder and jaw.

Y/N moved around so that she was straddling him. The blanket was wrapped around them as they ghosted each other’s lips. She looked up, lips barely touching, her hands were in his hair as his were on her ass. 

“We can’t,” she mumbled, lips touching, but not a kiss.

“You love me, I love you,” he muttered. “If you want to, we can,” he said. She nodded, pushing their lips together.

It was a rough kiss, desperation between them, the feeling of wanting more. It has been so long and they needed to make up the lost time. His hands glided down, kneading her ass as she pulled the hair on the back of his neck. A little groan left his lips as they were fighting for dominance. She moaned when his hands graced her heat. Y/N pulled away, grabbing her sweater and throwing it off as he did the same with his shirt.

He looked at her and kissed her quickly, grabbing her by the hips and flipping them once again and now she was on the bottom. “You are amazing,” he muttered, littering kisses on her jaw as she let little moans fill the room. He continued to do this, hands moving up to her breasts and grabbing them; much bigger and mature since the last time he touched them. Her hands trailed down, grabbing his sweatpants and slowly pushing them down, as he began kissing her chest.

“Bedroom,” she muttered, as he pulled away, ripping his sweats off and grabbing her jeans and pulling them down. Both of them were left with their undergarments.

He looked at her, picking her up as she wrapped her legs around his waist, as he continued to walk to his bedroom. They bumped into a few things, a picture fell and a chuckle escaped their lips as they made out against the wall.

Y/N jumped down, unclasping her bra and throwing it somewhere while kissing his lips. She grabbed his cheeks gently and he walked forward and landing on the queen sized bed. Groans and moans left their lips as they continue to undress one another.

She could feel him, his hardened cock through his underwear. Her hands were gripping his butt as he held her by the hips, kisses are shared, as he tried to push down her underwear.

“I love you,” she told him, pulling his cock out of the underwear and stroking it; a groan flowing out of his mouth. He pulled away, admiring her body - so beautiful, so pretty. She truly grew into a beautiful woman. 

“Love you too, bub,” he said, lining his dick with her entrance. “Do you want this?” he asked, she muttered a ‘yes’. “No offence, hun, but are you, like, clean?” she nodded.

“You?”

“Yeah and you still have the IUD in you?” she nodded, as he pushed it.

It took a second for her to get used to him once again, it has been a hot minute and she hasn’t had sex for a while. A little groan left her lips as he kissed her collarbone. She nodded and he began moving in her, picking up a pace as their hands trailed different body parts upon each other.

Grunt, moans, little groans, and the whispering of names were shared as two past lovers made love with each other. She gripped his butt, something she fell in love with many years ago as he held her hip. Shawn was picking up the pace as she asked for him to go faster. He littered kisses on her as she did the same of him.

“Shawn,” she muttered, looking to his eyes. He smiled, pushing harder and faster. “Yeah?” he asked, holding her hips, but she gave no warning.

With all her might, she pushed them over so that she was now on top. That was the thing about them, they always switch positions. She placed herself back down, as Shawn sat up, grabbing her hips and littering kisses on her bare breasts as she rocked herself back and forth on him, grinding down and rolling; riding her lover. The pleasure was shared between them as they began hitting their high. She grabbed his hair and pulled him up, kissing his chapped lips again as she moaned. He gripped her hard, wanting all her, trying to be as close as possible.

His noises were music to her ears, he moaned her name and she began to get closer. She moaned his and he never felt such sensation before. They kept moving, the slapping of skin was heard as they began to fuck harder.

“‘Bout to cum, hun,” she muttered into his hair and he nodded.

“Together,” he replied, grabbing her and pushing her back down so that he was on top again.

Noises filled the room as they both accomplished their desired feeling. The sexual pressure was released as they rode their highs. They came together, littering kisses and moaning into each other’s ears.

Shawn stopped moving, he came inside her and collapsed on her chest. He used her breasts as a pillow as she rubbed circles on his bare, freckled back. Y/N whsipered sweet nothings as they both panted. He was still inside her and he knew that he needed her more, not in a sexual way, but he needed her to be with him forever. She was going to be his and he will make sure of this.

Eventually, he rolled off her, pushing the blankets and getting both of their naked bodies under the covers as he scootched over to her, setting his head on her chest and gently letting his eyes droop.

“I love you, so much,” he muttered, kissing her breast; nipples hard from the breeze and continued attention.

“I love you too,” she told him, kissing his hair and continued to rub circles.

They fell asleep, she traced his new tattoos and looked at him. Shawn held Y/N so tightly as she played with his hair. He was so beautiful, not just in this state, but in general. She just can’t believe that someone like him is in love with someone like her.

“Go to sleep,” he muttered, she chuckled, moving to turn off the lamp beside them and gently cuddling into Shawn.

“Ok,” she muttered, placing a kiss on his cheek.

-

She hasn’t heard from her husband for a few weeks. Shawn got the lawyers involved and her husband has been served. That morning she awoke abruptly, a ringing sound welcoming them early in the morning. Y/N heard Shawn groan a little, reaching for his phone, but it wasn’t his that was going off.

“Hun,” he mumbled, rolling over towards her.

She grabbed her phone and swiped in, placing it to her ear.

“What the fuck, Y/N,” she groaned, rolling over and placing it on speakerphone. Shawn perked up. “I go back to London for a few weeks and I get served not only a divorce paper, but a restraining order. What the fuck? Also, then I find on the media that you’re fucking this “all-time” celebrity. I can’t believe you’re cheating on me, you whore,” Shawn’s eyes automatically opened, grabbing the phone from her and beginning to yell, as he got up. 

Y/N watched as he paced in his boxers around the room. She watched in awe, the way his muscle contract and the veins were popping due to the stress. It was wrong to say, but she was turned on by his anger, but his love for her. He was truly a masterpiece with his messy curls and big biceps, back muscles on display as well as his abs.

“Listen, man. She served you a restraining order, which means you can’t have any interaction with her. I can report this, ok. So, leave her alone. You’re fucking horrible person to her and I can’t believe you’d this to my girl, so please fuck off. She’s leaving you for a reason,” Shawn yelled, pacing around the room. Y/N laid back and tried to tune everything out, while still admiring him.

James replied, “Your girl? I married her, she is mine,” Shawn laughed.

“She was mine before you, fuck that, she is nobody’s. She is no object. Marrying her doesn’t give you the right to assume that. I was with her before she was with you—”

“Why’d she go to England then?”

“Cause of school. She was going to come back to me and look she did, your loss. See you in court,” Shawn hanged up and threw the phone on the bed and walked off, groaning and rubbing his face with his hands.

“Taking a shower, petal,” he grumped, slamming the door behind him.

Y/N heard the shower beginning and she smiled thinking of him in his natural state. Shawn was stressed, he was all over the divorce, trying to finalise it, sort out terms and all. He just wanted to see that fucker go and get charged with what he deserves. Y/N’s feet hit the wooden floor as she made her way towards the shower. She could hear quiet singing from him as she opened the door.

She pulled her silk nightgown off as she opened the glass door to the shower. He was in his little world as she placed her cold hand on his shoulder. Shawn jumped a bit, turning around and meeting her gaze.

“Stop stressing,” she muttered, getting on her tippy toes and placing a kiss on his lips. He smiled, wrapping his hands around her small waist as she massaged his shoulders.

“I know, bub,” he muttered.

She went under the shower as she got wet, he watched her with such love in his eyes. “Can I wash your hair?” he asked, placing his finger in her wet curls. She nodded, handing him her shampoo.

They switched places, as he grabbed the container and squirted some in his hand. He kept the focus on washing her hair, his little tongue stuck out as he concentrated on doing it. She placed her wet hands on his hips as he shuddered from the cold touch.

“You don’t need to like smother it, hun,” she said, as he smiled and pushed her head back under the shower head to rinse it and continued again with the conditioner.

She looked at him and grabbed his bottle and did the same with him. He held her hips as she began to massage his head with product. “You’re too beautiful for me,” she muttered, kissing him and pushing him gently to the wall, trapping him.

His hands continued to travel under her to her heat, gracing over it slowly as she moaned a little into the kiss. He pulled away and grabbed the soap and placed it in his hands. Shawn then began to rub her body with the formula. His big hands went on her shoulders, down her arms and to her breasts. Paying much attention to them, massaging them while keeping eye contact. Her nipples hardened as he kept eye contact.

“You and my boobs,” she muttered, a chuckle escaping.

“I love them, they are just big and round and like beautiful,” he said, placing a kiss on them, “and they fit in my hands so nicely,” he leaned up to kiss her. “A sign that we are definitely supposed to be together,” he mumbled into her ear. She laughed, slapping him on his arm as he continued his adventure with his hands on her body. She looked at him, placing her hand on his ass and kissed his cheek.

“Stop,” she muttered, rinsing the soap off and switching so he was by the water now.

Y/N placed her hand on his hips, bringing him into a kiss as she slid her hands down to his dick. A little sound escaped his mouth as she gripped gently and began stroking it. Shawn backed up, hitting the wall as she mumbled words in his ear while slowly playing with his erection.

“Y/N,” he muttered, “Petal,” he began and she loved him like this. He was squirming at just her touch.

“Shh,” she muttered, beginning to go down and grabbing his hips.

She placed his member into her mouth. Shawn placed his hands into her hair as she sucked him off. Grabbing his balls and gripping his shaft. She licked the tip and sucked gently. He was over the moon, his head was thrown back and panty moans escaped his lips. She smiled, she knew what drove him insane and this was it. She looked up between her eyelashes, and smirk. He was a mess, panting, making faces and sweat.

“Don’t stop, hun,” she nodded, continuing to go at it. He gripped harder on her hair as she continued to take him all the way. “Fuck, I’m about to,” he let loose. She pulled off with a pop and swallowed what he released. She stood back up, kissing him gently and heading out the shower. He was left, post-orgasm and trying to catch his breath. She was it, she was the one. He knew since he laid his eyes on her, but she made him putty whenever she felt like it.

Shawn exited the shower after a while to find her replying to some emails from her students in the kitchen. She had on one of his t-shirts and her hair was up, glasses on her nose and cup of coffee next to her.

“Hey, beauty,” he said, kissing her shoulder and heading to the kitchen and making himself some breakfast. “Have you eaten?” he asked, which she replied with a ‘no’.

“Some of these students have no idea how to write a lab and it annoys me,” she said, groaning from the mess in front of her. He laughed, coming around and handing her an omelette.

“Can I ask what happened in the shower...like don’t get me wrong, I love it, but like, I’ve never seen that side of you before,” he said, sitting down next to her.

“We’re not seventeen anymore, Shawnie. We can be adventurous. I have given you a blowjob before.”

“Not like that, like that was a whole lot of something...a good something,” she laughed.

“Shawn, we aren’t being shy with sex anymore. We aren’t doing it in your childhood bedroom while your parents are out and praying that they don’t walk into us. We are adults, we live in our own place, we are mature,” she said. “So accept my life changing blowjob,” she muttered, taking a sip from her coffee. “Anyway, I have to head to the school,” she said, getting up and placing a kiss on his lips, “I’ll see you today at three. We got to sign the documents, I want you as the witness.”

-

She pulled up to the now familiar building. Y/N took a breath and looked at herself in the rearview mirror. She grabbed her purse and placed some lipstick on, smacking her lips and staring into her reflection. This was it, this was her time to move on and be with Shawn.

Shawn saw her car. He watched as she made her way to him, a smile upon her beautiful features as he held his hand out. Her small ones fit perfectly in his as they made their way down the halls to the meeting.

“Shawnie,” she said, a few feet away from where she was going to finalise all of this. He looked at her, raised his eyebrows and squeezed her hand. “I don’t know if I can look into his eyes. Don’t know if I can see him,” she muttered, looking into his hazel eyes. A shy smile arose as he squeezed her hand tighter.

“We can do this. You can do this,” he told, placing a kiss onto her head and opening the door.

Y/N walked into the room. The minute she came in, she could feel the heavy stare, the glare. Goosebumps went up her body as she sat next to Shawn’s lawyer and yet to make eye contact with James. Shawn sat next to her, hand on her thigh, squeezing it in reassurance. Eventually, her shy eyes looked up and saw the businessman who hurt her. His dark brown eyes met hers. His hair was perfectly gelled and a smirk laid his features. Just by looking at her, she felt intimidated, she felt controlled, scared even; eyes lusted with evil.

“Hun,” Shawn muttered into her ear. She broke out her trance and looked at him, quickly covering her emotions with a smile.

The meeting began, both lawyers highlighting who had what. But, Shawn learnt that she had to give everything back except her clothes and her phone. He sighed in defeat, but he knew about the prenup and there was nothing to beat that.

“Your Mercedes will go back to Mr Walsh as well,” Jackson, her lawyer said, she nodded. Already knowing that she’d catch a ride home with Shawn and she had her eye on this 2010 yellow Volkswagon Beetle.

Shawn watched her, her leg bounced, she was biting her nails and she tried not to stare at James. He squeezed her thigh once again, as they were beginning to leave the meeting. The divorce was finalised and she was finally free of that asshole.

James got up, brushing his suit and grabbing his case and heading to the door. Y/N stopped, looked at him, handed him a box with her diamond ring and her keys. She smiled, shyly as Shawn stood behind her.

“Have a nice life, asshole,” she said with confidence and walked out of the meeting room.

“You have no idea what you just lost,” Shawn told the Brit and followed his girl.

He caught up with her, placed his hand in hers and kissed her hard, right there in the middle of the hallway. She smiled, kissing him back and leaned her head against him as he wrapped his arm around her.

She laughed at his joke, as he mumbled silent words into her hair. He loved her. Fuck, he really did love her and now they can go off and have the life they dreamed of at eighteen.

- 

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[endymionreads]

So I've never done the Magical Readathon before, but it happened to cross my tl this afternoon on twitter, and I figured, since I'm trying to get back into reading, why not? It was the perfect opportunity!

I will be attempting all of the exams, and whatever I pass will be the N.E.W.T.S. I take if I do that in August! I don’t really know what I want to choose for a career yet, both irl and for the Readathon, so I’ll just be taking the exams and seeing where I end up!

You can view my TBR under the cut!

Ancient Runes → Read a book with a heart on the cover or in the title.

Bring Me Their Hearts by Sara Wolf

Zera is a Heartless – the immortal, unageing soldier of a witch. Bound to the witch Nightsinger ever since she saved her from the bandits who murdered her family, Zera longs for freedom from the woods they hide in. With her heart in a jar under Nightsinger’s control, she serves the witch unquestioningly. Until Nightsinger asks Zera for a Prince’s heart in exchange for her own, with one addendum; if she’s discovered infiltrating the court, Nightsinger will destroy her heart rather than see her tortured by the witch-hating nobles. Crown Prince Lucien d’Malvane hates the royal court as much as it loves him – every tutor too afraid to correct him and every girl jockeying for a place at his darkly handsome side. No one can challenge him – until the arrival of Lady Zera. She’s inelegant, smart-mouthed, carefree, and out for his blood. The Prince’s honor has him quickly aiming for her throat. So begins a game of cat and mouse between a girl with nothing to lose and a boy who has it all. Winner takes the loser’s heart. Literally.

Arithmancy → Read a book outside your favorite genre.

Red, White, & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston

What happens when America's First Son falls in love with the Prince of Wales? When his mother became President of the United States, Alex Claremont-Diaz was promptly cast as the American equivalent of a young royal. Handsome, charismatic, genius—his image is pure millennial-marketing gold for the White House. There's only one problem: Alex has a beef with an actual prince, Henry, across the pond. And when the tabloids get hold of a photo involving an Alex/Henry altercation, U.S./British relations take a turn for the worse. Heads of the family and state and other handlers devise a plan for damage control: Stage a truce between the two rivals. What at first begins as a fake, Instagrammable friendship grows deeper, and more dangerous, than either Alex or Henry could have imagined. Soon Alex finds himself hurtling into a secret romance with a surprisingly unstuffy Henry that could derail the presidential campaign and upend two nations. It raises the question: Can love save the world after all? Where do we find the courage, and the power, to be the people we are meant to ben? And how can we learn to let our true colors shine through? , how will history remember you?

Astronomy → Read the majority of the book at night.

We Rule the Night by Claire Eliza Bertlett

Seventeen-year-old Revna is a factory worker, manufacturing war machines for the Union of the North. When she's caught using illegal magic, she fears being branded a traitor and imprisoned.

Meanwhile, on the front lines, Linne defied her father, a Union general, and disguised herself as a boy to join the army. They're both offered a reprieve from punishment if they use their magic in a special women's military flight unit and undertake terrifying, deadly missions under cover of darkness.

Revna and Linne can hardly stand to be in the same cockpit, but if they can't fly together, and if they can't find a way to fly well, the enemy's superior firepower will destroy them--if they don't destroy each other first.We Rule the Night is a powerful story about sacrifice, complicated friendships, and survival despite impossible odds

Care of Magical Creatures → Read a book with a creature with a beak on the cover.

Spin the Dawn by Elizabeth Lim

Maia Tamarin dreams of becoming the greatest tailor in the land, but as a girl, the best she can hope for is to marry well. When a royal messenger summons her ailing father, once a tailor of renown, to court, Maia poses as a boy and takes his place. She knows her life is forfeit if her secret is discovered, but she'll take that risk to achieve her dream and save her family from ruin. There's just one catch: Maia is one of twelve tailors vying for the job. Backstabbing and lies run rampant as the tailors compete in challenges to prove their artistry and skill. Maia's task is further complicated when she draws the attention of the court magician, Edan, whose piercing eyes seem to see straight through her disguise. And nothing could have prepared her for the final challenge: to sew three magic gowns for the emperor's reluctant bride-to-be, from the laughter of the sun, the tears of the moon, and the blood of stars. With this impossible task before her, she embarks on a journey to the far reaches of the kingdom, seeking the sun, the moon, and the stars, and finding more than she ever could have imagined.

Charms → Read a book that has a white cover.

The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater

It is freezing in the churchyard, even before the dead arrive. Every year, Blue Sargent stands next to her clairvoyant mother as the soon-to-be dead walk past. Blue herself never sees them—not until this year, when a boy emerges from the dark and speaks directly to her. His name is Gansey, and Blue soon discovers that he is a rich student at Aglionby, the local private school. Blue has a policy of staying away from Aglionby boys. Known as Raven Boys, they can only mean trouble. But Blue is drawn to Gansey, in a way she can’t entirely explain. He has it all—family money, good looks, devoted friends—but he’s looking for much more than that. He is on a quest that has encompassed three other Raven Boys: Adam, the scholarship student who resents all the privilege around him; Ronan, the fierce soul who ranges from anger to despair; and Noah, the taciturn watcher of the four, who notices many things but says very little. For as long as she can remember, Blue has been warned that she will cause her true love to die. She never thought this would be a problem. But now, as her life becomes caught up in the strange and sinister world of the Raven Boys, she’s not so sure anymore.

Defense Against the Dark Arts → Read a book set at the sea or on the coast.

Seafire by Natalie C. Parker

After her family is killed by corrupt warlord Aric Athair and his bloodthirsty army of Bullets, Caledonia Styx is left to chart her own course on the dangerous and deadly seas. She captains her ship, the Mors Navis, with a crew of girls and women just like her, who have lost their families and homes because of Aric and his men. The crew has one mission: stay alive, and take down Aric's armed and armored fleet. But when Caledonia's best friend and second-in-command barely survives an attack thanks to help from a Bullet looking to defect, Caledonia finds herself questioning whether to let him join their crew. Is this boy the key to taking down Aric Athair once and for all . . . or will he threaten everything the women of the Mors Navis have worked for?

Divination → Assign numbers to your TBR List, and use a generator to pick the book.

All the Stars and Teeth by Adalyn Grace

Set in a kingdom where danger lurks beneath the sea, mermaids seek vengeance with song, and magic is a choice. She will reign. As princess of the island kingdom Visidia, Amora Montara has spent her entire life training to be High Animancer—the master of souls. The rest of the realm can choose their magic, but for Amora, it’s never been a choice. To secure her place as heir to the throne, she must prove her mastery of the monarchy’s dangerous soul magic. When her demonstration goes awry, Amora is forced to flee. She strikes a deal with Bastian, a mysterious pirate: he’ll help her prove she’s fit to rule, if she’ll help him reclaim his stolen magic. But sailing the kingdom holds more wonder—and more peril—than Amora anticipated. A destructive new magic is on the rise, and if Amora is to conquer it, she’ll need to face legendary monsters, cross paths with vengeful mermaids, and deal with a stow-away she never expected… or risk the fate of Visidia and lose the crown forever. I am the right choice. The only choice. And I will protect my kingdom.

Herbology → Read a book where title starts with an m.

Mirage by Somaiya Daud

In a star system dominated by the brutal Vathek empire, eighteen-year-old Amani is a dreamer. She dreams of what life was like before the occupation; she dreams of writing poetry like the old-world poems she adores; she dreams of receiving a sign from Dihya that one day, she, too, will have adventure, and travel beyond her isolated moon. But when adventure comes for Amani, it is not what she expects: she is kidnapped by the regime and taken in secret to the royal palace, where she discovers that she is nearly identical to the cruel half-Vathek Princess Maram. The princess is so hated by her conquered people that she requires a body double, someone to appear in public as Maram, ready to die in her place. As Amani is forced into her new role, she can’t help but enjoy the palace’s beauty—and her time with the princess’ fiancé, Idris. But the glitter of the royal court belies a world of violence and fear. If Amani ever wishes to see her family again, she must play the princess to perfection...because one wrong move could lead to her death.

History of Magic → Read a book featuring witches and/or wizards

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by JK Rowling

Harry Potter's life is miserable. His parents are dead and he's stuck with his heartless relatives, who force him to live in a tiny closet under the stairs. But his fortune changes when he receives a letter that tells him the truth about himself: he's a wizard. A mysterious visitor rescues him from his relatives and takes him to his new home, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After a lifetime of bottling up his magical powers, Harry finally feels like a normal kid. But even within the Wizarding community, he is special. He is the boy who lived: the only person to have ever survived a killing curse inflicted by the evil Lord Voldemort, who launched a brutal takeover of the Wizarding world, only to vanish after failing to kill Harry. Though Harry's first year at Hogwarts is the best of his life, not everything is perfect. There is a dangerous secret object hidden within the castle walls, and Harry believes it's his responsibility to prevent it from falling into evil hands. But doing so will bring him into contact with forces more terrifying than he ever could have imagined. Full of sympathetic characters, wildly imaginative situations, and countless exciting details, the first installment in the series assembles an unforgettable magical world and sets the stage for many high-stakes adventures to come.

Muggle Studies → Read a contemporary book.

Of Curses and Kisses by Sandhya Menon

Will the princess save the beast? For Princess Jaya Rao, nothing is more important than family. When the loathsome Emerson clan steps up their centuries-old feud to target Jaya’s little sister, nothing will keep Jaya from exacting her revenge. Then Jaya finds out she’ll be attending the same elite boarding school as Grey Emerson, and it feels like the opportunity of a lifetime. She knows what she must do: Make Grey fall in love with her and break his heart. But much to Jaya’s annoyance, Grey’s brooding demeanor and lupine blue eyes have drawn her in. There’s simply no way she and her sworn enemy could find their fairy-tale ending…right? His Lordship Grey Emerson is a misanthrope. Thanks to an ancient curse by a Rao matriarch, Grey knows he’s doomed once he turns eighteen. Sequestered away in the mountains at St. Rosetta’s International Academy, he’s lived an isolated existence—until Jaya Rao bursts into his life, but he can't shake the feeling that she’s hiding something. Something that might just have to do with the rose-shaped ruby pendant around her neck… As the stars conspire to keep them apart, Jaya and Grey grapple with questions of love, loyalty, and whether it’s possible to write your own happy ending.

Potions → Read a  book under 150 pages

Red As Blood And White As Bone by Theodora Goss

Red as Blood and White as Bone by Theodora Goss is a dark fantasy about a kitchen girl obsessed with fairy tales, who upon discovering a ragged woman outside the castle during a storm, takes her in--certain she’s a princess in disguise.

Transfiguration → Read a book or series that includes shapeshifting

Wild Magic by Tamora Pierce

Young Daine's knack with horses gets her a job helping the royal horsemistress drive a herd of ponies to Tortall. Soon it becomes clear that Daine's talent, as much as she struggles to hide it, is downright magical. Horses and other animals not only obey, but listen to her words. Daine, though, will have to learn to trust humans before she can come to terms with her powers, her past, and herself.

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[hozukitofu]

the kids are doing espionage

He would like to preface everything by a singly stated -

It was Qing's idea.

He is only a simple tech boy, a robotic engineering undergrad, someone who just wants to corrupt enough of the capitalistic system and its funds to fund his recycling robot, to delete the littering problems around campus.

The facts that he happens to know like one bad form of martial arts and by virtue of being a robotics student, great with tools and improvised weapon creation, are irrelevant. Besides the point.

But Qing is deep down, within that core of his questionably existing heart, an opportunist - an investor of assets. She sees potential, she invests in it. That's always how it goes.

Zizhen is eating, simply existing, thinking about robots and redeeming himself at a round of chess with uncle Shao when Qing barges into his absolutely mundane life, waving a USB stick in front of his nose, crowing about how she cracked the capitalism code.

Normally he would care.

"That's great, cool, jie, but -" he doesn't even have time to bat the excited blonde away before a proposition is coerced into his food.

"You! Wanna be an anti-government agent?"

Zizhen almost drops his fork.

"I'm sorry," he blinks, not even bothering with his food any longer because his appetite had taken a nose dive out the processing plants by the back of the college. "What. Did you just say?"

Qing was going to elaborate, but he doesn't let her.

"No, it was rhetorical - jie! I'm not becoming your agent for hire! I'm too soft for killing people!" He denies, vehemently, because look at him! He wears clothes that have to oblige by fluffy and big standard, and his hair cannot be let loose outside of the house if it isn’t wavy and bouncy. 

Doctor Wei calls him marshmallow unironically, on top of Romantic Guy, with debatable nuances under the friendly moniker because that’s his life goal, to be as soft and sweet as humanly possible. He is only someone who strives to dismantle the system in the ways he clumsily knows how to, but he always goes back to helping people at the end of the day. 

Becoming a hitman for hire is never something he would consider, or ever would. 

Qing badgered and wheedled, bombarded him with the benefits, the sheer overwhelming scale of everything good and pure tipping and burying onto his side of the balancing plates, to which he avoids, like one would, if a pack of mosquitoes with malaria starts heading your way. He had blended into the crowd. Worn disguises to avoid this woman's hawkish eyesight. Climbed out a window to avoid persecution and inevitable screeching. Legitimately broke into a dead sprint across the canteen as soon as he spotted Song-Xiao Qing looking for him.

One of these days she will catch up to him, and she will skin him alive, but not today. He weaves around busy college students arriving and leaving their lecture halls, his long arms tucked closely to his chest so that nobody snags them off him. It is a laborious chase that she incurred onto his person, and he dreads the reality where she finally hacks into a computer somewhere and puts a tracker onto him so that she can be two steps ahead of him and then she can beat him into the ground on the basis of him avoiding her like she will personally break all of his robots inside and out.

"Ouyang Zizhen!" He hears a death roar, and runs faster.

Gotta put that threefold authentication code into all of his login devices so that the two steps pre-planning stage doesn't happen. Yes. But run first.

-

He’s fallen asleep across a horizontal surface - he’s pretty sure that this is the first horizontal surface his eyes park on and his brain immediately decreed that We’re napping. Now. ASAP pronto LOL.

He comes back to the world of living when he is toed awake by a person, voice vaguely threatening and familiar to his ears -

“Ouyang. Ouyang.”

“Noo,” he whines, thinking it to be his father. “Dad I have the day off.”

“Zizhen. You will wake up or I will walk all over your face. Your choice, sweet guy.”

He sits up, immediately awake.

Look, he’s a coward. He has high sensors in-built to detect approaching danger to his person. It’s how he made it beyond high school to go where he does now. It’s nothing to be proud of - surviving, just barely, in this cutthroat world is a goddamn miracle, if he has to say so himself. So what if he’s a coward. He’s still alive. That’s what matters.

Also he has a feeling that if he had keep on sleeping, he will open his eyes in the next life, as a bug. Because he had been horrifically murdered in this life and that death was so bad that a bug’s body is the only viable and painless reincarnation the gods deem fitting for little poor him.

“I’m up,” he wheezes, vertigo slamming onto his head. “I’m physically with you but my brain had just taken a holiday. Please allow it some time to return.”

“I don’t need your brain for this,” Qing beams at him, mouth spreading in a Joker-ish feral look. “I’ve got a favour to ask.”

I’ve got a favour to ask sounds exactly like those questions that ask you for something but if you deny, you will die on sight. 

The way his upperclassman is smiling at him gives him all the answers he has. 

“What,” he grouses, mouth twisting, pulling his hoodie even more over his forehead and eyes, covering the majority of his freckles. They’re still here despite the lack of hours he spends in active avoidance of the sun and the majority of this goddamn school hates the sight of freckles like they’re something contagious so his instincts mostly had been ‘cover up’.

“Someone took something from me and I need a boy to get it back for Yours Truly,” she smiles, still feral and not the least friendly.

He squints suspiciously at her. “Why a boy. Is this hard even for you, lawbreaker extraordinaire?”

“I need a boy, you stupid robot builder,” she rolls her eyes, throwing a hairband onto the table in front of him. “Because someone from Gusu took my things and on virtue of me being a woman, I can’t enter without the security shooting me on sight.”

He groans out loud and slumps even further onto the table, hoping to become one with the recycled plastic. 

“I don’t even go there. They’ll shoot me on sight too. They have stun guns -”

She cuts him up, retying her space buns. He lets out a huff of hysterical air and rethinks back to every wrong decision he had ever taken in this life. 

“Which they’re not allowed to use on trespassers, chill. Listen, how you get it isn’t my problem. Get me the thing and I’ll squander all the favours you owe me.”

This sparks his interest. A-Qing is stingy. The stingiest person he has the misfortune of ever running across. She studies economics. She lives on cash alone. Just. Cash. She hoards money and favours and then harvests them like produce of her questionable farm.

Ouyang Zizhen owes Qing a lot of money for the completion of his robotics projects and the launch of his career as a junior lab assistant to the research team of the mechanical engineering department. She did all that, knowing that her investments were wise, and she constantly lords the favour over his head.

It sounds great, to get rid of one Song-Xiao Qing infinitely, but he can’t help but wonder if the catch, beyond You’ll die if you trespass Gusu like the absolute moron that you are. This sounds like it’s much more than just a suicide run. It sounds more like...a test? Of sorts? 

“All the favours?” He looks up, hood slipping, his freckles all in glorious sight and judging his upperclassman. “Are you sure?”

Qing-jie grins at him, looking every bit like the crook she is. “Are you?” 

“Heck, yes, why do you even ask. But I feel like you’re betting too much on this. How do you know if I’ll come back for you to squander all your favours for me? Seems fishy.”

“You’ll come back,” she waves him away. “I wouldn’t swear on it if I’m not sure. So, what of it, marshmallow? You want in?”

He can’t say no anyways. “You know I can’t say no,” he scowls, and refuses to shake her hand. “If I don’t come back, tell my father to take all my robots. And burn me paper money.”

Qing cackles right at his face. “You’re exaggerating, kid. It’ll be fine. I swear on it.”

“Your words are all lies anyways! Shut up!”

-

Research on how to get into Gusu? Actually kinda fun.

Actually sneaking into Gusu unscathed? Less fun. Bordering on traumatic.

Technically he knows the blueprints. Technically he knows that the scanning gates at the southern entry can fit an entire person if they just, like, lie down and limbo through the gaps of the plastic closing gates. Technically eight twenty-seven in the night is the time gap that he can safely limbo through without getting zapped by a stun gun. Technically from here he can just jog to the international student’s dorm and scale to the second floor, open the window fourth from the right, slide in, get the thing from under the desk, get out the way he did before, go home, change his name, get plastic surgery, genetically rewrite his fingerprints and DNA makeup, move back to Baling, call it quits.

Technically he knows all of this, but he had just slid through a scanning gate and his heart is trying to punch out of his own ribs. He’s wheezing as if he climbed up a mountain twice for no reason at all. None of this makes sense. Why is he here. He should go home. There’s still time. Father will be tired and disappointed but when is he not. 

No, his brain, traitorous, but also wanting to get rid of the human leech Song-Xiao Qing, mutters. No we will get back that bundle for Her Highness and then leave her presence indefinitely. That’s what we’ll do. 

He swings his feet, nothing short of Spiderman, into the intended room, huffing as it wastes him no effort. 

Too easy. Smells exactly like a trap.

It’s nearly curfew, except that people haven’t been rushing back through the easy way in, because he saw people coming out and they pretended to not see him as he came in. Are they stupid. Are they not going to come back for roll call and suffer the wrath of Lan Qiren? Or worse, He Who Must Not Be Named.

He reaches for the bundle, stuffs it under his hoodie, and prepares for take off, when a door swing open and someone walks in, without turning the lights on. 

His danger alarms not only went off, but into overtime and exhaustive underpaid labour. 

“Ouyang?” He hears, hissed in the dark. 

He should have covered his face, because wow he didn’t think he was that popular outside of his own robotics class for setting off that fire alarm back in first year. But. He is digressing from this imminent danger! This voice. That sounds distinctly similar.

“Do we know each other?” He hisses, crouching back in a Spongebob stance, eyes narrowed at the boy in the cats-covered face mask. He can’t make a run for it here but he can try for the knee caps. 

“Yes. Oh my god, yes,” the person pulls his face mask down and lo and behold, it’s -

“Lan? Lan Jingyi?” He gapes, while sidestepping a stray tennis ball lobbing at his head. “Why are you here?” 

Jingyi shoots back at him - “I go here. Why are you here?”

He throws up one hand, the other preoccupied with the bundle - “Qing-jie!”

“Bad answer, but expected,” Jingyi tuts his tongue, and shoves him out of the way. “You don’t seem the type to engage in trespass and theft.”

“Ha ha, pot calling the kettle black,” he sneers back, tracing back his steps. “Why are you here here. I know you go here, but this isn’t your room. Or anyone else’s room that you are affiliated with. It’s the international student wing. You never answered my question.”

He would not receive any answers because there are footsteps, grave and reverent footsteps, that bring pandemonium outside the corridor and Jingyi, not even thinking twice, shoves him into a wardrobe, finger on his lips.

“Quiet,” the boy hisses. “And when he’s gone, you can scram.”

Zizhen thinks that is the end of it, but somehow his bundle! Had gone missing from under his hoodie! When! And how!

“Lan, give that back!” He hisses, almost lunging and falling out of the closet. Jingyi shushes him even louder, forcing the doors to close in on his nose and shoes.

He grabs onto a wrist, clinging onto the arm stubbornly. Jingyi jostles his shoulder violently like he’s got himself a human-sized limpet that won’t let go and he elects to kicking it back to the depth of the closet, telling him to ‘stay put, come on, don’t make this harder for us’.

Zizhen is shoved back into the darkness of a small enclosed space with hangers falling onto his head and clothes dropping onto his shoulders. The tracking sticker he placed on his fingertip had migrated from him to the inside of Lan Jingyi’s hoodie. Now he waits.

There is a polite knock - because that’s Lans for you, polite even in walking and knocking. 

Jingyi answers the door with a soft - “Hello, uncle.”

For a moment Zizhen thought he actually screwed up and somehow stumbled head first into Lan Qiren of all people on the night he attempted trespass and theft, but he listens some more, waiting for the dulcet tones of disapproval that the Lan Headmaster is so famed for dishing out at his relatives slash pupils.

“Jingyi,” he hears, and. Well.

This is worse than Lan Qiren. Somehow he had messed up even worse than Lan Qiren.

Lan Wangji, the Hanguang-Jun, is in the same room as him. The professor reliable for dishing out punishments at Gusu. The resting disappointed man. Doctor Wei’s long-term crush and object of pursuit. He’s caught. He’s gone. They’re going to string his corpse like a disappointing sight from here so that all across the country, people can see what happens when idiot college boys who sneak into prestigious Gusu get as a punishment. 

He is suddenly religious. He asks for protection from the Buddha to the corner ghost to the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit. 

“I suggest you return to your own dorm,” Lan Wangji gravely - and flatly - informs Lan Jingyi. “Unless you want to introduce me to your friend?”

Lan Jingyi, for someone doing a theatre degree, is woefully awful at lying. He starts laughing hysterically and like a bloody hyena under noise suppression and the target of at least twenty stun guns and he’s lost all sense of control so now his fight or flight response is to laugh. 

Ouyang Zizhen regrets not leaving his father with a dying letter. It’ll be awful and humiliating to find him as a human flag on the top of Gusu’s flagpole. 

“What friend, Uncle Wangji? It’s only me here!” Jingyi hacks out hysterically, as footsteps start heading his way, purposeful and brisk.

There goes living through tonight then. 

“Hmn, what’s in the closet, Jingyi?” Hanguang-Jun asks, as the doors of the wardrobe rattle and -

promptly stop. 

Jingyi, because he’s panicking and somehow is still the greatest and most shocking improvised line under possibly murderous circumstances, blurts out, completely and utterly from nowhere.

“That closet is fine. It has no one in it! Well, not me anymore!”

Zizhen can barely swallow down the wheeze that tries to climb its way out of his nose because what. 

To his credit though, Lan Wangji stops his advance onto his hiding place, and promptly takes Lan Jingyi out of the room, so he hopes that he’s not being thrashed thoroughly for well, being gay, but in keeping it and using it as a distraction tactic on their Hanguang-Jun.

Zizhen quickly kicks the doors open and tumbles out, sliding the window up and climbing out, his watch telling him dimly that he has two more minutes before curfew comes and security tightens. He would check on Lan, but he’ll be fine. Hanguang-Jun isn’t a blind rule follower as the people make him out to be - by people, he meant just Doctor Wei, who went through a period of time in his life actively cursing and mooning over Lan Wangji, and it’s entertaining and just embarrassing to bear witness to. No. Bad memories. Let’s forget that and go back and report to Qing-jie.

He’s going to start breaking ankles the next time Lan Yuan asks for a big hang out.

-

“He took the bundle from you? Without touching you?”

“I snuck in the death place for that stupid bundle and that’s all you cared about?”

“Damn Lan. Anyways, good job, it’s fine, I’m seeing the golden trio in, like, ten hours. We can haggle the bundle back.”

He hears this, but he also has the tracker sticker. Does it work? Does it not work? Unclear. He’s not too sure. He hasn’t been doing this illegal theft and tracking gig for long. He lets Qing-jie and her favours reinstate themselves as constant reminders in his life as he stumbles back to his laptop and kick starts it to see how he’s going to not set a hoodie and a person on fire. 

-

The good news is Lan Jingyi and his Lan Approved Hoodie will not be catching on fire.

The even better news is that he can get rid of Song-Xiao Qing for life now, because he knows where the package is.

The bad news is that the package is in Jin Rulan’s home. His room, to be specific.

Okay, so maybe he met Jin Rulan a few times when he went to archery tournaments to cheer on Lan Yuan, a friend but also practicing archer to become as great as Wen Ning, Olympic-level archer. Maybe he and Jin Rulan had gotten into a few arguments over pointless things in the past, like all stupid middle schoolers do. The point is that since his friend is a friend of Rulan, he has the honour of being flung at, in the face, with the address of his sizable family manor, because Jin Rulan can and will, with no preamble or social niceties, and so now Zizhen knows where he lives.

Not that a simple Google search wouldn’t tell him which place this is, but being reminded with Jin Rulan, a runt then, probably a runt now, he hasn’t seen the kid in like, two years. A-Yuan doesn’t want him to start testing his robots on real life people and everyone who had ever interacted with Zizhen knows who’s first on his list to be humanly pitted (sorry, tested) against his robots. 

He bikes to the manor, easily buzzes his way in with a screwdriver and some tinkling with the system, and strolls right through the front door.

He did do research before this. Everyone’s out. Jin Rulan is out. He’ll just take the bundle and leave, and they don’t have to talk about it anymo -

Lan Jingyi tackles him to the floor from behind the door to Jin Rulan’s room, with a distant bark of a guard dog and Jin Rulan’s dulcet tones shrieking the heavens, hard, so that his dead ancestors can rise as zombies in the night and slap Zizhen back to Baling.

“How is he here?” He can hear Rulan yelling distinctly, as he grapples with Jingyi and rips the sticker cleanly from under his sleeve. 

Jingyi and him get along okay. When A-Yuan wants people to wait for him after guqin recitals, he has Zizhen and Jingyi wait for him, and they play jianzi as they quiz each other on class things they should know, bickering back and forth. They played soccer together a few times, and Jingyi’s good - Jingyi’s training to be in the under 20′s representative Asian Games in a few months. They get along fine. They love literature and art. Zizhen doesn’t want to set a short-circuiting robot onto him. 

Literally there is no reason for Jingyi to wrestle him to the ground like this outside of the context of a soccer match.

“You found us, how,” Jingyi demands, frowning. “Did you put a tracker on me?”

He huffs, bunching up his knees and kicking up, before rolling away with the bundle. “I will neither confirm or deny your accusations. Goodbye.”

Rulan is at the window, slamming it shut, and holding out a hand, snarling rabidly at him. The scuffle he was tackled into had knocked over metal plates and car parts all over the floor, everything looks like it’s a disaster zone, if he was at home then Father would have lost it. The shining mistress of the Jin family snarls at him, forcing him to step away from the window with the sight of his sharp canines alone, eyes narrowing at him and his bundle.

“Give that over,” he frowns. “And then you can scram.”

“I broke into your house to get it back,” he stresses, with hysterical stress. “No.”

“No can’t do, Ouyang,” Jingyi’s voice drifts to him, as his wrist is seized. “We need it.”

“And Qing-jie needs it, but none of y’all are telling me what you need it for -”

The door eases open with a loud creak, like a bow on an erhu string gone wrong, and both boys might as well have screamed in his face because the expressions on their faces are thunderous. 

“Uncle!” Jingyi squeaks. 

“Uncle!” Rulan also yips, stepping away from the window, and coming over to -

Oh my god he needs to scream.

Doctor Wei and Hanguang-Jun are at the door, brows raised in vague interest at the war zone spilling out all over their socked feet, Doctor Wei humming interestedly at their thunderstruck and mutually devastated faces. 

Jin Rulan is almost the same height as his uncle but he’s looking as if somebody ran over his finessed bow. He and Jingyi, who unhands Zizhen quickly, are both standing and arms splaying, kicking and shifting so that the mess of robot parts are somewhat not so obviously sprawling all over the floor.

“A-Zhen!” Doctor Wei beams, and proceeds to squeeze him in a hug until he dies, stuffing his face into a shirtfront with too much Versace sprayed all over it. “You didn’t say you were friends with the kids!”

“We don’t know each other,” he squeezes out, gasping as he’s released.

“Not a friend,” Rulan vehemently denies.

Lan Wangji lifts two unimpressed eyebrows. Rulan swallows back whatever else he was meant to say.

“Occasionally a friend?” Jingyi amends.

He turns and gripes at the Lan boy - “How can someone be occasionally a friend, you lump of spineless potato?”

“His insults are creative,” Doctor Wei notes, half way between an explanation and a praise. “Listen, kids -”

He then gets cut off by Jingyi and Rulan, talking not only over each other, but in synching fragmented sentences. 

Jingyi  “Uncles, we’re going to pack this up, we know you need the house for guests to come over -”

“ - and we will introduce you and acquaint everyone, but this guy needs to hand over his things first and then everyone can go,” Rulan finishes, hand still reaching out to Zizhen and his bundle.

He tries to step away, but two much taller men - Lan Wangji and Doctor Wei, are in his way, benevolently smiling and stoically staring down at him, and he feels his resolve crumbling. In fear, but also they are educators and they’ve perfectly polished the I’m not angry at you, I’m just disappointed and very very sad. 

“Sounds like a party in here,” he hears the dreaded singsong, the sound of the dead coming to collect his soul and putting him through all the levels of hell.

Song-Xiao Qing pokes her head around Lan Wangji’s elbow and beams at him. “Oh you’re here! I thought I had to call for you! You made my job so easy, marshmallow boy.”

“Uh,” he’s still being held captive by Doctor Wei. “Please. Explain.”

Lan Yuan finally emerges, serene, beautiful, refreshing and soft-spoken. 

“Many apologies for my family’s treatment of you, Zizhen-xiong. Would you like some tea?”

-

The gist of it is this -

It was a test. And his gut feelings were correct.

And the test was Would Ouyang Zizhen Make Good Agent. Apparently he passed, because nobody expected him to pursue the bundle all the way to the Jin Manor, along with wrestling with Jingyi so fiercely. 

“You -” he looks at Qing-jie, who is sipping chrysanthemum tea so calmly, as if she hadn’t led him on some wild goose chase. “I actually have no words. That was very clever.”

“I have words,” Jin Rulan, apparently part of whatever the hell this is too, whinges from his post at the arm of Lan Wangji’s chair. “Why him?” 

“What, besides the obvious?” Jingyi looks at his friend. “He held me off, and snuck into Gusu. Like, impressive?”

“The sticker was a nice touch,” Qing-jie notes. “Although we did make it easy on ya.”

“He’s calm,” A-Yuan smiles at him. “You’re very calm, even though you opposed to this vehemently.”

He gestures broadly, to Everyone Present. “I can’t exactly freak out before this peanut gallery. I want to live past 5 pm today. I have an aunt’s dinner I have to go to. I can’t die before that.”

A-Yuan shrugs like that’s a good answer. It is. He knows. He has a few fire-breathing aunts himself.

“So,” someone prompts. “About this -”

“The answer is still no,” he looks over specifically at Qing-jie, who he knows no doubt will be sending him on more of these trips.

“You did good though,” Jingyi notes. “Considering that you improv like, 9 out of 10 things.”

“Well excuse me for being new at this stuff, how am I supposed to -” he stops his snapping tone as a familiar face walks by, blinking widely as the entourage of idiots who may or may not are influencing a youth in joining the forces to lawbreaking. How is Hanguang-Jun in the middle of this, he just wants to talk. He swallows his caustic words, and cautions a wave to the boy. “Hey, A-Song.”

A-Song bows back to everyone. “Zizhen-xiong -”

“Calling me gege is fine, sheesh, this kid -”

“I’ll see you at tutoring, gege,” A-Song, Jin Rusong, literally the sweetest kid ever, smiles back politely, before he retreats back to where he has to go back to, leaving their Idiot Entourage to their own.

“You know my cousin?” Rulan quirks a judgemental eyebrow. 

“Yes,” he replies, tersely. “Can you not pay attention? He said tutoring. I tutor him. Shut up, I’m only mean to you because you’ve an awful personality.”

Nobody is sure who laughed but there is a ripple of a muffled laugh as Rulan screeches that I’ll have your head, Ouyang! 

“Our deal is off,” Qing-jie snaps her fingers before his face. “You can go now.”

“Just like that?” He squints, suspicious. “No forcing?”

“No forcing,” Doctor Wei smiles, the same Jiang-Wei smile that put the cardiac arrest in people’s hearts. People being undergraduates. “We’ll win you over one of these days,” Doctor Wei slaps a fist to a palm. “Our doors are always open for you to join, A-Zhen.”

Lan Wangji levels a stare at him. “Hmn.”

He’s not quite sure how Doctor Wei isn’t freaking out in the presence of his beloved Lan-er gege but he’s not going to ask or go there. He has a dinner to go to.

“Well,” he stands, and bows, because he still has manners. “I’ll be taking my leave?”

“I’ll see you off,” Doctor Wei also stands, turning to the four idiot monkeys first. “Here ya go, kids. Don’t be playing hot potato with that now.”

It’s then that he realises that his bundle is gone, yet again, and Doctor Wei had only hugged him once.

“Shall we go?” The Doctor’s eye glints, and he wants to bolt out the door.

-

“How are you a part of this too?” He hisses to the Good Doctor, the top medical examiner of the goddamn country and youngest biology professor in his college, as he is shown out. 

“I’ll tell you when you join,” is the cryptic answer he gets, as the doors close behind him. 

Tell me, his Kermit brain says. But then you’ll have to join, his rational robotics brain whispers back.

Zizhen elects to just scream at the door and turns on his heels marching out.

The nerve of some people! 

[downstvged]

“ oh. uh... you had your eye on that last laffy taffy, too ? ”   awkward. peyton reaches for the candy anyway. his fingertips close around the treat and nudge it closer to the person beside him. “ go for it. my favorite’s banana anyway. ”

or, alternatively : i have zero restraint & ‘tis i, linc, comin’ atchu w/ my third, peyton pellegrino !! resident senior class treasurer & lacrosse co-captain & theatre techie. he’s a wholesome boy but jeez... is new ham gonna break him. dun dun dunnnnNNNN .  ; )

✔ ┊❝ noah centineo. he/him &. cismale ) eighteen year old peyton pellegrino was listening to “no place like home” by marianas trench when the field trip buses turned around. rumor has it he’s on a missing children’s list in delaware & his dad is actually his childhood kidnapper, but who knows if that’s true? what we do know is that their friends describe them as suave & bona fide, even if they’re known to be a little restless & yielding from time to time.

i’m... not gonna do my long intro format for him bc ain’t nobody got time fo dat! and i’m lazy sfhiefh. but here we go !!

( tw: mentions of kidnapping, false death, anxiety, familial deceit )

AMBER ALERT, MILTON PD, DELAWARE —  MILTON TOWN POLICE HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED EIGHTEEN-MONTH-OLD JAMIE CLAVERTON WAS STOLEN FROM HIS MOTHER’S STROLLER IN BRUMBLEY PARK EARLIER TODAY. SUSPECT WAS NOT IDENTIFIED AT THE SCENE. ANYONE WITH INFORMATION IS ENCOURAGED TO CALL POLICE IMMEDIATELY.

spoiler alert : little jamie claverton never quite found his way home. with no witnesses to the kidnapping ( thanks to his mother’s ignorance... yikes ) ,  matthew pellegrino, age 30, was able to make an easy getaway with the child. in 2010, milton police closed jamie’s case. the clavertons, heavy-hearted, buried an empty casket for their lost boy, unaware that he was alive and well just two states away, living comfortably with his “ father ”  in west ham, connecticut.

peyton pellegrino’s mother abandoned her family shortly after peyton’s first birthday –– she’d struggled with postpartum depression & decided she wasn’t made out to be a mother. despite matthew’s pleas, his wife disappeared into the night. and just like that, it was just father and son. us two against the world, peyton’s father would say. they moved around frequently, spending almost each passing birthday in a different place. new york city, boston, miami, chicago, philly. it wasn’t until peyton’s seventh birthday that they finally settled somewhere long-term: phoenix, arizona. and, by the time his tenth birthday rolled around, they hopped across the country once more.

to west ham, connecticut. a dramatic change of pace. matthew had landed the position of fire chief, his record of improving local fire departments finally recognized. so ten-year-old peyton careened into fifth grade, then middle school. he fit right in. and west ham? west ham ate up the pellegrino family story. nobody suspects a thing.

in a hidden compartment locked under matthew’s desk lies the only record of peyton’s past. duplicated fingerprints. forged social security documents. fake passports, just in case. the key’s hidden somewhere in the house. but it’s the two of them, father and son, them two against the world.

and up until now? peyton hasn’t had the means to discover the truth.

peyton pellegrino, aspiring broadway set/lighting engineer:

inspired by “no place like home” by marianas trench.

peyton moved to west ham when he was 10, so i would love some long-term connections for him. his dad’s the fire chief, so he’s definitely... involvedˆin the smell stuff. more on that in the future.

he’s heavily involved in lacrosse, mock trial, theater, & student gov. he’s the senior class treasurer because freshman year, his pals on the lacrosse team joked he had the only face people wouldn’t be mad to hand class dues to. he’s been voted into position ever since.

will be attending eastern connecticut state university for a degree in theatre & theatre design !! he’s SUCH a techie and very unashamed about it, but he will get bashful if he gushes on too long about the importance of a crisp curtain or how much of a difference fading spots can make. he acts as well ( see his excellent performances in mock trial competitions ) but he’s got such a love for framing the stage, making his performers look good. making the visual effects an extension of the story.

works as a pizza delivery boi for one of the local faves — and you best bet this kid makes amazing tips. in the summers, he techs at a bunch of theatre camps and throws in a gig scooping ice cream just for some extra dough. it’s not that his dad doesn’t make good money as fire chief, but they struck a deal that peyton would foot at least half of the bill for college. so he’s trying to getting a jump on that.

one of those rare breeds that is hella involved and seems really relaxed about it? but... he does have anxiety & struggles with panic attacks from time to time. they were really bad when he was around 8 to 11, but they’ve calmed since being here. it’s one of the reasons why matthew looked for a position in such a small, calm town.

sike !!!!!  west ham ain’t calm no more !!!!

speaking of his dad. they’re fuckin’ best friends, alright? saturday nights are reserved for the pellegrino boys. foosball. ping pong. b-rate game shows.

he’s the kind of dude to go out of his way to help you and say it was no sweat. even if it was all the sweat.

if he loves you, watch him lay out his jacket so you don’t have to step in mud.

has a bad habit of nipping at the edge of pens. it’s one of the anxious ticks he hasn’t quite been able to shake. sometimes his right leg bounces, if he’s forced to sit still in one place for too long.

will likely join the committee on going home, if something like that arises. leadership courses through his veins, but peyton’s not really one to pursue it very much. he’s more content to chip in and help everyone else than sit at the top. but if someone close to him ( cough cough, @cvssndra​, cough ) decides to take the reins, he’ll be right there to support.

he eats his pizza rolled around the crust, like an italian taquito.

notable fashion choices include : leather bracelets, cuffed jeans, lots of solid colored and colorblocked tees. when he dresses up for mock trial, the girls kinda swoon. boy looks dashing in a suit. has a glasses prescription but always wears contacts. his dad says he looks sharper that way ( but it’s actually because, with glasses, he looks too similar to the claverton family. )  beat up chuck taylors, kind of untied on purpose. he’s got that whole loosely kept together, sleep deprived look down pat.

in middle school, he did a social studies project on milk carton kids. his project partner said there was this sketch from delaware that kinda looked like him. they both just laughed it off. young peyton came home and told his dad all about it over dinner. his dad laughed. the next day, peyton tried to find the same webpage, and was met with a notice that it had been permanently disbanded.

catch him longboarding around town like an absolute boss.

his favorite gum flavor is juicyfruit. it reminds him of go kart racing with his dad in arizona.

has functional knowledge of asl. he began learning at his school in chicago, and pursued it a bit further in arizona when he learned their next-door neighbor, patricia, was deaf. young peyton would walk the nice lady’s mail up to her door and learn a few signs from her each day, then practice them at dinner with his dad.

i imagine his dad’s reputation makes him fairly well-known around town. it’s likely peyton knows the owners of most businesses around here, so he’s the dude you stick near if ya want free shit.

he knows his dad’s disappointed he’s not pursuing a career in law enforcement or medicine. but peyton barely survived one day of junior firefighter training.

he actually just went back on anti-anxiety meds recently. so that’s gonna be interesting, when that supply starts going bye-bye.

people always assume he’s from cali, because of his overall vibe. his dad says he was actually born in ohio. peyton did a whitepages search in ohio for kenna pellegrino. the search came up empty.

his pals have a running inside joke where they hand him bottles of san pellegrino mineral water. it’s hilarious. and he hates it.

aight cuttin’ it short so i can hop onto this dash!! as always hmu for plots, bants, and good times !!  xx

[7wanderingpaws]

6: This Is It. (Another Life)

Genre: soulmate/magic AU

Pairing: Jackson x reader

Word count: 2.8K

Song: Bien - Last Man Standing

Synopsis: You are more than happy in relationship with Jackson Wang, the hard-working and successful fencer representing Hong Kong. So what happens when you visit a local witch wanting to know more about your future as a couple?Because you always knew he was the right one for you. Even in another life. But would he really be the one?

((Enjoy! I truly hope you will like it! <3))

*** 1. // 2. // 3. // 4. // 5. // 6. // 7-1. // 7-2. // 8. // 9. // 10. // 11.

- - - This Is It - - -

Hong Kong, 2015

You had a long day at the hospital to say the least. You were rushing from one surgery room to another, running around the labs for the test results just to personally make sure each of your patients was well taken care of. You were still not an independent doctor. You were still supervised by your seniors, still questioned when there was a specific diagnose which meant you underwent lots of stress. 

Jackson might have been joking about you not being constantly at the hospital, but now you could barely find the time to reply to his eager texts. His practices also increased, he was travelling from one fencing or training camp to another, always working hard on himself. 

This was the only time that you didn’t complain about him being away as much as you used to since your home was now the resting room for doctors during shifts.

This particular night you had a night shift at the emergency room which was the one you liked the least. The horrible sights you saw there made you sometimes reconsider your career path but thankfully, you always remembered why you started in the first place. And you did love your job dearly.

“Ms Y/L/N!” you heard an urgent voice when you were checking a patient who was now in a stable condition. “There was a big car accident,” said the nurse and you found yourself rushing to the main entrance, awaiting the ambulances with the injured.

Everything happened in a flash. Once the patients arrived, you’d gotten to see probably your worst ever case as a doctor.

“It’s a young family with two children, both three years old,” said the medical intern as he was rushing them inside. “Children are being checked at the moment, probably nothing serious, but the mother fell out through the rear window.”

The bodies looked just… utterly horrible. Everything was bloody and their skin was coming off, the glass ripping it off of their flesh. You didn’t have time to freeze and throw up as you had to harshly swallow down whatever would come up. 

“We have to take them to the operating room immediately,” you shouted at everyone. “Reschedule whatever surgeries are of smaller importance and prepare it. We are starting right now.” You were already turning around, getting yourself ready as everyone was rushing, doing as they were told.

Right now, you had lives to save.

Hong Kong, 2015

“Y/N, your date literally starts in 10 minutes and you are still here!” shouted Sara as she was running around your apartment. “Here is your dress, change quickly!” She threw the baby-pink dress at your head, leaving you in pinky darkness.

You snatched the glittery textile. “I am not going anywhere,” you stated proudly, sitting down behind your desk. “I have so much work I didn’t get to finish and I am not even interested anymore-”

“What on earth are you talking about?” said Sara as she stood in front of you, her hands on her hips, her face strict but her eyes ever gentle. “I’ll tell you what you are talking about: nothing. You are not saying what you are thinking, honey. You have to go to the date. You have been waiting for this-”

You shook your head frantically, turning on your chair and grabbing whatever paperwork you had there to show Sara that you were, indeed, busy. 

Sara gave out a loud sigh and ran her hand through her blonde hair. “What should I do with you? You are acting like a child, not like a 21-year-old grown woman that I know.”

“Ah, don’t start with this talk,” you whined, not daring to turn to look at her.

“Listen, Y/N. Just hear me out, you don’t have to look me in the face like a well-raised person should,” she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “This meeting doesn’t mean anything. You are not going to get engaged, nor is he going to ask you to marry him - yet -” you snapped your head at her angrily “but you still deserve to have fun and enjoy a bottle of wonderfully sweet red wine.”

“I can’t,” you murmured after a few seconds of silence. “I just really can’t.”

“Is it because-”

You sighed, pushing away from your table. “Yes and no. It has been a year and I still haven’t moved forward with my plan. I’m a penniless loser so that is more of a reason for me to give up on the hope of ever seeing him…”

“You will get to see him,” said Sara, her eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t quite read.

You shook your head once again, your entire body giving up. “No, Sara, I will not. I just don’t want to talk about him or anything that has got to do with him.”

“But you love him!” exclaimed Sara loudly.

Your heart skipped. “And yet you are making me go out with Martin!”

“I just want you to have fun and enjoy your youth.”

“No, I can’t. I can’t and I won’t.”

“You are so stubborn, do you know that?” Sara was now shouting. “You are stubborn. You were not like this before.”

“Before as in the past life huh? Well, Sarita, not many things are the same as they were before. Yes, I learned to admit the fact that I love Jackson and it physically hurts - god, you have no idea how it feels like - but I don’t have a chance. In the past life, I had a better family life and more financial resources. Now, I’m stuck with school work and internship and barely managing to survive on daily basis. So I can’t go out with Doctor Martin just because he has lots of money. I don’t and therefore, I won’t be able to afford the sweet red wine.”

You hated shouting at your best friend but you were desperate. You stopped looking at Jackson’s pictures altogether. But there was still the tiny detail that he was representing the country you both come from and so sometimes you would get triggered when you turned on the TV and he would be there, making everyone laugh with his silly actions… 

Heck, he was even a blond at the moment. Now was the time when you could really see how the previous life and the current life took different directions. He never really changed his hair colour before and now, he was there looking so good, so fine, he had much more muscles than you remembered, he looked expensive and elegant and just so high-class that you wouldn’t be able to see his top even if you bended your head with all the tensed up muscles of yours. He was so out of your reach by now, there was no chance he would recognise you. The worst thing was that even if he got to make an eye contact with you, he wouldn’t have to remember you at all. 

“Sara,” you said, your voice strained. Oh no. Were you going to cry again? “I want to get drunk, but only with you.”

Sara looked at you, her sad smile giving you more of a heads up than her cheerful “yes” did.

So after you cancelled with Martin (who bombarded you with messages), you found yourself sipping the wine that Sara was talking.

“You shouldn’t drink that much, Y/N,” said Sara as she threw a green grape into her mouth. “It’s your birthday soon anyway, you should get smashed there.”

You shrugged. “Please. My birthday was never special, why would this one be any better?”

Sara bit her bottom lip, looking down at the ground. “Well, you should totally get laid to make it more special.”

You laughed out loud. “With Martin?”

Sara nodded, amused.

“I totally should, right?” you said, dumbstruck. “Ah, I think I should start contemplating this option.” 

Sara’s phone beeped with a message and as she was listening to your tipsy blabbers, she checked it and she had to hide her immediate excitement that overtook her.

Unknown Number (22:41): Your ticket confirmation no. 2358 for GOT7: Live in Hong Kong has been processed.

 -

“Oh my, I can’t believe we are actually here,” you said as you were inside the arena, waiting for the concert to begin. There were still not many people inside as you got there too early and you were waiting with a bunch of other fangirls outside of the actual stage. “I don’t know how will I ever be able to repay you.”

Sara was smiling proudly and kept checking her wrist watch. “Don’t thank me yet. Just make sure you will do your job properly,” she said and before you could ask what she was talking about, there was a staff assistant who told you to follow her.

“Y/N,” said Sara cautiously. “Don’t freak out, please.” You turned to her, your eyes in little panic. “This is it. You have to make sure he looks you in the eye.”

“Sara, what are you talking about?”

But just then you appeared in an empty room with a long table covered in black cloth. The staff was giving you directions as to what to do and before you could really burst into pure panic, you saw 7 men enter the room. All the girls hid their breaths while you didn’t even know what air was anymore. Jackson was going inside as the first one, followed by the others. His blond hair was quite eye-catching, nicely pushed up, his tank-top showing off his muscled and veiny arms that you knew so well. And here… you were a stranger to him.

You gulped and Sara gave you a squeeze. “I’ll go before you.” She winked at you.

The little event started and all you had to do was just hi-five. Simple. Nothing serious, you didn’t even have to say anything if you didn’t feel like it. 

Now you didn’t feel like doing anything besides hiding somewhere. Your heart was beating so fast you actually had to scold yourself for feeling this way. You were no teenager anymore, what was this silly behaviour of yours?

The line was going way too fast and soon you knew you had to face him. By that time you became completely desperate with ideas as to how to get him to look at you properly. Soon enough, you were saying your greetings to other members, who were very kind and smiley.

Jackson was the last one. He was enchanting for you. He was grinning at everyone, oh, what a handsome smile he had. You knew all his facial features perfectly, god, you were both so into each other and here all you could do was make a two-second body contact with hands and…

“Hey,” he smiled at Sara who was telling him something quickly which made him giggle. “I hope you’ll enjoy the show!” he told her, his voice raspy and deep.

And then it happened.

His eyes fell on you. His big brown eyes met yours as you gave him a gentle smile. Your hand made a contact with his, your hand not stable enough to make a proper clasp with his. 

It felt like the time stopped. He was staring at you, the smile that Sara created on him still lingering on his lips. 

“Hey, Jackson,” you breathed and it didn’t feel weird at all. It felt as if you finally met him after he was at one of his training camps for months. 

“Hey, enjoy the show,” he said to you as if he was distracted. 

He was following you with his eyes and your throat became dry as tears overcame your sincere eyes. He was there. He was right there. You wanted  to hug him, to hold him in your arms, to call him home so you could finally fall asleep next to him, to feel his warm body around yours, to wake up to his sleepy eyes, to his caring messages.

“Please, move forward quickly!” urged the staff. 

And just like that, it was over.

Sara made you turn around to see him once again but he was paying attention to the other fans, of course.

“Sh, don’t cry,” said Sara and you didn’t even feel the tears running down your cheeks. “It’s alright.”

You covered your mouth as you made your way out on your shaky legs.

Jackson stole a glance at your disappearing figure but you didn’t see that anymore. You also didn’t see how he became suddenly dizzy. But that could have been caused by tiredness. How would we know…

Catania, Sicily, 2016

The water was a beautiful turquoise. The waves were small and friendly, nothing dangerous for your body that lacked the ability to swim. You were always scared of the water for no particular reason. Thankfully, nobody made fun of you for that (because you never told anyone besides Jackson).

After all the hard work you’ve been doing in the hospital, this trip to Italy was more than welcomed. The fact that you were able to follow Jackson to his training camp through half of the world meant a lot to you. Since you’ve been spending so much time in the emergency room, you had countless sleepless nights thinking about patients, Jackson being the only person who could calm you down and lull you to a dreamless sleep. So, naturally, you hated coming home to cold, empty bed, him being away for competitions. This way, you could be with him and still enjoy some vacation.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turned around to see the entire Hong Kong fencing team, Jackson in the lead smiling widely at you. He ran to you, jumping onto you almost making you fall backwards.

“Where have you been, guys?” you asked, laughing as Jackson gave your cheek a wet kiss.

You knew the team so well they were basically considered a big family. Also the other boyfriends and girlfriends of the fencers were there so you didn’t have to feel embarrassed for following Jackson to Sicily.

“Morning training!” wailed Stephan, a year older ginger haired guy. “Which means we are gonna swim to get rid of the tension!” he winked at me.

Jackson giggled as everyone was already taking their sports clothes off.

“I see you were prepared for the swimming session,” you commented, seeing everyone was already dressed in swimming suits.

Jackson pouted at you. “Not me, though. I had to stay longer for-”

“For being sneaky!” chirped in Lena as she grabbed her boyfriend’s arm.

“What? Sneaky?” asked Jackson, shocked. “I didn’t do anything! I was late for personal reasons!”

Oh my. You covered your mouth, deep red blush colouring your cheeks. Everyone gave you a mischievous grin, knowing well you were the reason Jackson was late for the morning training. You wouldn’t let him get out of bed.

“So I’m going to change now and I’ll be right back, okay?” whispered Jackson into your ear, gently touching your skin on your bare hip that was poking out from underneath your red shirt.

You nodded, smiling at him before he took off, his hips handsomely swaying. Everyone was already running into the water and you sighed, sitting down on the blanket you prepared and taking your shirt off.

“Hey, Y/N,” smiled Lena. “You’re not coming? The water’s great.”

You shook your head no kindly. “Sorry, erm, I’m just gonna enjoy the sun for now.” Phew, how much you hated lying. But the fact was that you had zero guts to admit you couldn’t swim when everyone was so good at sports. They were professionals, for God’s sake.

“Oh well, if you don’t want to now, we will just have to do something about it,” said Lena, looking somewhere behind you.

You frowned slightly, not sure what she was on about. Soon enough, you found out when you felt 2 pairs of strong hands grabbing you by your arms and legs.

You shrieked, panic and shocked flooding you. What were they doing?

They were taking you straight into the water. “Guys! Stop being silly, put me down!” you demanded, trying not to sound panicked.

“C'mon, Y/N, have fun with us!” said Lena as she was laughing, and splashed some water at you.

The guys were already in knee deep water. You were squirming, shouting at them to stop, your head spinning around. You were scared of the water. You disliked it and you never wanted to fight your phobia.

“Put me down!” you screamed, panic cutting through your voice. Nobody cared to notice your tears forming in your eyes.

Just when you were about to scream the truth they threw you in, quite far into the deep. Water hit your nostrils and you were choking, unable to catch your breath, sinking, not knowing how to move upwards.

So this is how you and Jackson were supposed to get separated. You would drown.

--- continue ---

[barrykeoghans]

Barry Keoghan Can Do It All

Barry Keoghan returns from the bathroom of a “members only” club on the Lower East Side in New York City and plops down a handful of Dubble Bubble in front of me and his girlfriend, Shona Guerin. “Here’s some gum,” the 25-year-old Irishman says. I grab one—not because I necessarily want any, but because Keoghan seems to be presenting the Dubble Bubble as some kind of ice breaker, and it’d be rude not to join in. But as I start to untwist the wrapper, he quickly interjects: “The question is, do you trust me?”

It’s a pretty fucked up thing to say, considering Keoghan knows I’ve just seen The Killing of a Sacred Deer. In the film, directed by Yorgos Lanthimos (The Lobster, Dogtooth) and costarring Colin Farrell and Nicole Kidman, Keoghan plays a teenage boy named Martin who forces the surgeon who accidentally killed his father (Farrell) to make a dreadful compromise: sacrifice an immediate family member, or else watch each of them go paralyzed, bleed from their eyes, and then slowly die. How Martin is able to set off this agonizing chain of events is never explained; Keoghan plays him with an eerie matter-of-factness, blankly reciting the horrific rules to Farrell’s Steven Murphy like they’re lines from a book report. He uses a similar intonation to suggest that he’s poisoned the Dubble Bubble, clearly relishing the layer of wickedness that starring in Sacred Deer has added to his bright-eyed, innocent-seeming persona.

I put the gum down on the table.

Keoghan has had a remarkable few months: Before Sacred Deer, he played George, a naive, pure-hearted teen in a sweater vest, in Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster World War II epic Dunkirk. It was a small role with a basic function and only a handful of lines, but Keoghan managed to capture a sense of idealism in the character—to the point that his sudden death is genuinely and tragically sad. “I always said, I want to work with good indie filmmakers, and if a blockbuster comes up and the filmmaker is great, I’ll do that,” Keoghan says. “And then I get the best of all that! It’s Chris Nolan! The best director who also makes big films.”

Still, Keoghan’s performance in Dunkirk hardly compares to his turn as the Sacred Deer’s grim reaper in blue jeans and a backpack. Sacred Deer is a movie about responsibility, consequences, and comeuppance, and Keoghan’s Martin is the center of gravity around which all of those themes revolve. Lanthimos, as always when it comes to his films, is the one who crafted the seemingly alternate, near-human universe of Sacred Deer—at once sick and sickly humorous—but Keoghan is his mouthpiece, morphing from a simple, sympathetic kid into a merciless but magnetic exactor of justice over the course of two hours. “His face, his physicality, his whole presence,” Lanthimos tells me, when I ask why he decided to cast Keoghan. “He’s just an interesting human being to watch. It would’ve been easy to create this one-dimensional evil kid, but his mere presence conveys many different things at the same time.”

“To get to play those two roles within the space of a few months, to show my range, that’s a dream,” Keoghan says. “I want people to go, ‘Fuck, that’s him? He’s completely different.’”

Keoghan was born in one of the grittier neighborhoods of Dublin, Ireland. He’s from the north side of the River Liffey, which bisects the city and acts as a socioeconomic dividing line between the underprivileged north and the more affluent south. His mother, who was addicted to heroin, died when he was 5 years old, and he was sent to live in foster care. It’s the only segment of Keoghan’s life he won’t talk about; when I ask him about his childhood he responds, “You’ve probably done your research, haven’t you?” as if to say, “The information’s out there, so let’s move on.” When he was 11, his grandmother took him in. He’s more than happy to tell stories from his adolescence, painting a picture of himself to be just as sneakily sinister as some of the characters he’s played. He got kicked out of his all-boys high school because “they weren’t having my games anymore. The last thing I done was, I threw a coin and it hit a teacher in the head. That was the last straw for them.” He tells the story bashfully, staring down at his feet and suppressing a smile.

It was around that time that Keoghan started acting. “I seen this note in a window that said this small Irish movie Between the Canals, they were looking for actors.” Keoghan, who had never acted before, saw an opportunity. “I took the number down on the sly, because I knew that my friends would take the piss out of me, and I rang it when I went home.”

“Acting? I don’t know—I just see money,” Keoghan says when I ask what made him audition for the movie, an admission that feels honest and understandable. Actors are especially known for treating their profession like a craft they were drawn to by Dionysus himself; to hear one flatly admit that it’s a job is both jarring and refreshing. For much of the beginning of his career, Keoghan played characters similar to the side role he landed in Between the Canals: troubled kids from the streets. In 2013, he appeared in six episodes of the fourth season of Love/Hate, an Irish television series about Dublin’s criminal underbelly; he played a homeless youth in 2016’s Mammal. They weren’t splashy parts (Mammal screened at Sundance), but they were enough to get Keoghan noticed.

As Lanthimos says, Keoghan just has one of those faces. It somehow seems to be in constant flux; one second he looks like a Dior model, the next he looks like if Cillian Murphy got hit with a shovel. Sitting in front of me in a white tee and gray, Superdry sweats, he looks kind, innocent, and young—much younger than 25—but his expression can quickly flip, either because the light hit the scar under his right eye in a funny way or because he wants to tease you about poisoning your food. It’s his greatest weapon, and he knows how to use it.

The Killing of a Sacred Deer is full of disturbingly memorable scenes, but one stands out: About two-thirds through the film, Stephen Murphy’s wife, played by Kidman, confronts Martin in his home and begs him to lift the curse. Martin’s in his boxers and in the middle of eating a plate of spaghetti, which reminds him of a story about his father. As a kid, Martin remembers, he used to marvel at the way his dad ate pasta: so efficient, so brilliant. He demonstrates, twirling some of the pasta around his fork and eating it in one big mouthful. Still chewing, and with sauce covering his face, he continues the story, blankly recalling how devastating it was to grow up and one day realize that the way his father ate pasta is the way everyone eats pasta. The discovery made him feel betrayed, Martin says; as if the man whom he revered so much barely even existed. Meanwhile, Kidman’s character sits across from Martin dumbfounded, realizing how deep the boy’s scars go and perhaps coming to grips with the fact that the person who holds her life and her children’s lives in the balance is a teenager covered in marinara sauce.

It’s an outrageous scene, this kid shoveling spaghetti into his face while spouting an allegory about coming to realize your own insignificance—and Keoghan is unflinching, turning each forkful into a work of art. “You know, sitting in front of Nicole Kidman in your boxers is not an easy thing to do,” Keoghan tells me, hardly interested in talking about his performance or how he’s able to simultaneously capture pain, loss, and bald evil in one fell swoop. “I was just constantly like, ‘Can she see up there?’”

On the day we meet, Keoghan’s particularly giddy because Aaron Paul tweeted about how good he was in Sacred Deer. After six years of toiling away in mostly Irish productions, Keoghan’s performance as Martin has put him in a position where he can not only think about the future of his career, but the next five or 10 years of his life in general. Keoghan says, “It’s all a plan.” When he first signed with his talent agency, WME, this plan was already partially formulated: He had written down a list of directors he wanted to work with. Christopher Nolan and Yorgos Lanthimos were both on it. “I write everything down,” he says. “Directors, movies I want to do, that I want to produce, direct, start my own company, start my own boxing club.” Keoghan takes his roles in Dunkirk and Sacred Deer as proof that the first step to achieving a goal is putting it down on paper (or in his iPhone Notes). “I’m a big fan of the law of attraction,” he proudly states. He won’t show anyone the obsessively curated and growing list, but everything on it can be boiled down to one simple goal: “Have a successful, good career.”

Keoghan seems to know that, at 25, after two prominent roles in the films of two high-profile directors, his plan is coming together. He has two upcoming projects on his slate—an Irish movie starring Hugo Weaving and Jim Broadbent called Black 47, and American Animals, costarring Blake Jenner and Evan Peters—but he wants to ride this momentum even more. “I’m lookin’ for that script,” he says, leaning into the recorder, graveling his voice to sound tougher. “I’m lookin’ for that script!”

His personal life shows a different side of him, one that’s less scrappy and not so firmly tuned to survival mode. You might even call him a romantic. He met his girlfriend, Shona, at a bar she worked in in Kerry. He asked her out on the spot, but not to dinner or anything like that: He suggested they drive out to Dingle, a picturesque peninsula on the west coast of Ireland. “Luckily she had a car. I had no way to get to Dingle,” Keoghan notes. Two weeks later, he returned to Kerry with suitcases. They’ve been living with Shona’s mom since.

“He doesn’t put a lot of thought into things,” Shona tells me, with more admiration than admonishment. “But he’s very caring. He can feel when he’s done something wrong. It hurts him.”

Now Keoghan and Shona want to move to the United States. They don’t know where exactly—he prefers New York City, she prefers L.A.—but the idea of turning ex-pat is thrilling to them. “And we’re looking to get our own dog,” Keoghan adds. “A rescue one. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just love them, don’t I? They just listen.”

“I have to try to be in the moment,” Keoghan says at the end of our interview. “Because these moments we’ve been having lately are great. Everyone is looking at you, and it’s like, you’re totally in control of everything. It’s something that you need to enjoy.”

I pick up the gum again, and Keoghan’s eyes follow me as I put it in my coat pocket. He says nothing this time. Walking away from the table, I pull out the gum and decide to eat it.

By Andrew Gruttadaro

[eyesaremosaics]

A few nights ago, my depression was so severe, that I drove to the Golden Gate Bridge. I sat there in my car for three hours straight. Just sat there quietly in the darkness, thinking, staring at the steering wheel. Feeling nothing. Like an echo would go right through my chest. My eyes focused on the lights from the bridge, my heart hammering in my head, praying for the courage. Silent tears, streaming my face. Barely able to breathe, my chest aches so deeply, like I have a collapsed lung or something. I know I am loved. I know people care. People keep telling me wonderful things. That I'm loved, that I am special, that I'm talented, that I am touched by fire. Yet I can't see it. I can't feel it. There is no getting close to it for me. When someone tells me I am beautiful, my heart breaks with rage. My self hatred is so deep, that compliments infuriate me. I cannot conceive of any of these words attributed to me. It feels surreal, not genuine. Just words. "Why can't other people see me for what I really am?" That's my inner dialogue. How sick is that? Slept through work today. It's a miracle I didn't get fired. Thank god the Healy's are so understanding. Robin is unfailingly kind and compassionate. Yesterday, received word that I've been dragged into a nasty court case. The director of a theatre company I worked for over two years ago, filed me as secretary on the board of directors. He is being sued for fraud, and now that my name is on there, I'm liable for the damages. Have to get a lawyer, which I can't afford. More fun shit to deal with. Can barely afford food right now. My heart is still fucking broken. No hope for the future at all, I wake up every day and feel worse than the day before it. I only have one week left with the boys I have nannied for, we've been together for seven years... Been through so much together... Their mothers death, their grandmothers death of a broken heart less than a month later. Not to mention... Every break up, my dads cancer, Jenny's death... They comforted and loved me through all of it. They feel like my children. I have been their surrogate mother ever since Christy passed away. I can't conceive of my life without them. Letting go... Is the biggest challenge in life for me. I feel like I am literally incapable of doing it. I can't let go. Of anyone, or anything. Ever! I leave claw marks on anything that tries to leave my life. Abandonment issues so strong... They induce borderline psychosis in me. Still haven't found a long term replacement family to take Eric and John's slot. There are no words for how much I am going to miss them. No words. I can't even process it, my brain can't handle the separation at all. Every time I think of it, I start to have a panic attack. I can't breathe. All the air has been squeezed from my lungs, tightness in my chest, vision goes black. It feels like I'm literally dying. Anyone who's had a panic attack, knows how horrible the feeling is. So many endings. All at once. It always happens that way, doesn't it? Self care is paramount right now. Please universe: bring me a warm loving family, that will hire me long term for a lot of money. So I can afford to go back to school, to better market myself professionally and get my career rolling in a positive direction. I am ready to be in the having now universe, not the wanting. I am ready for good things. For a successful artistic career, for inspiring, warm, loving friends I can trust, for a community to immerse myself in, to travel, join a gym, get medication, see my therapist more often, to turn my life around. To meet someone successful, kind, and loving towards me. Who loves me as much as I love them, who I have an amazing sexual intimacy with, who cares about my dreams, who supports me, shares my interests, likes to go out. Someone who wants to be with me, and only me. Not five or six other girls. I want to be enough for someone. More than enough, I want to light up their life with my love. No more possessive, controlling, judgmental, philandering, demoralizing, abusive, negligent, manipulative, trust-less, limiting, unrequited love relationships. Fuck that. I have lived through so many of those, I will not survive it another time. I have no clue what a healthy relationship even looks like. Went out on a date the other day, the guy went to put his arm around me, and I winced involuntarily. How sick is that? When someone is being kind to me, it goes in one ear and out the other. Like I didn't even hear it, or it didn't even happen. My brain can't compute it. It can't register, because it is not used to it. Especially not from men. I am distrusting. My assumption now is: you just want me for sex. You just want to use me for something. So they keep calling after the first few dates, all obsessed with me, and I just stop responding to texts. I just ghost people out. I don't mean to, I just... Can't deal with it. These dates I've been on... There is just no connection there--for me. They seem to find me fascinating, but I am beyond bored. It's unkind for me to continue when I am not feeling it. At this point, I fear men so much that I can't even hate them. I feel like a caged rabbit, and start kicking my legs helplessly when they try to pick me up. Just so very overwhelmed right now. Tired of fighting so hard to exist. Tired of trying so hard, and feeling like nothing is getting better. It feels completely hopeless. What people do not understand about manic depression, is how Fucking hard it is just to make it through each day. Every day, I think about killing myself. Some days, it is all I think about. Everything becomes so black, you cannot conceive of a tomorrow. People who don't wrestle with mental illness, don't understand. One minute you are trotting along, feeling like your higher self. Giving your light in abundance, so that you inspire the best in others. Everything falls into place, magic starts happening for you. You feel strong, vital and beautiful. You feel witty, charming, and full of energy. Like the bubbles in a glass of sparkling champagne. Full of so much life, and passion. You go to bed, and the next morning...it's like the sun has been eclipsed from the sky. The clouds are heavy, and everything fades to gray. Food becomes flavorless, inedible. Your heart sinks like a stone into the river. Your chest begins to flood, until the ribs crack as floorboards under pressure. The ocean spilling through the hull, sinking the ship of your heart. It is violent, this feeling. Like a jolt of electricity coursing through you repeatedly. It feels like being slowly tortured. It is without your control. People say: just get over it. Just move on. Just feel better. Just love yourself. Uh, fuck you, I literally can't. I feel at the mercy of my emotions. They overtake me like a hurricane. Like a storm raging inside me. A war in my mind. People peering in on a private moment from the outside...to them I just come off as annoying. Every day that goes by... I can see myself getting older. My hair is already turning gray, from stress and malnourishment. My mother pointed something out to me earlier on the phone: "it's hard for you to relax, because you live in a constant state of stress. You are stuck on survival mode. Living paycheck to paycheck." Yes. Exactly. Please bring me more money universe. I want to be able to afford to enjoy my life. My whole life we've been poor. At one point, we were grindingly poor. I hate living in this constant energy of starvation, deprivation, of not having. No more. I'm tired of living like that. So fucking exhausting. I'm also tired of loving people more than they love me. I'm tired of being cheated on, treated badly, put down, ignored, unwanted, manipulated, gaslighted, told I'm too much, that I'm crazy, that I'm unloveable. I'm tired of believing that garbage, because I do. I really do. I'm tired of crying, of aching, of feeling not good enough. I hate that I don't feel deserving of love. I'm so sick of hating myself, every second of everyday and wishing I could just die. I'm sick of it. It's so exhausting to go back and fourth With myself as I do. I want to live, I want to die. I'm amazing, I'm worthless. I'm silly and playful, I'm bitter and angry. When I go over the limit with my drinking... God. It's like I channel some demon. A demon comes through me, and it is mean and cruel. Bleeding hearts like mine, are like an open wound to the world. We are 3rd degree burns exposed to steam. Everything hurts. We are a dead star, a black hole, a swallowing cesspool. Left unloved, we die, or disappear. I want to love myself, I really do want to get better. I just don't know where to start. I truly don't see my own value. It is not a cry for attention, or pity party thing, I really don't see anything in me worth loving. How do I change that? I try affirmations, I try exercise, I try listing all my supposed "good" qualities. It just feels empty and meaningless. I force myself to do it, but it doesn't absorb. All this shitty luck is just exacerbating the problem. It is making my suicidal depression ten times worse. I can literally feel the cortisol bubbling inside me. Like a cancer. So creepy. My skin looks aged, I can see the lines forming in my face. I drink to numb out, which of course only makes things worse. Chain smoking, not eating. It's just a mess. Horrible nightmares, making me fearful of sleep. Lack of sleep=deepening depression. Fuck me, I just can't. At the end of my rope here. Trying so hard to change things for the better. There is all this red tape in my way. Money, time, roadblocks. Go to this window, fill out these forms, wait a month to hear back, on hold with elevator music. Fuck. It's like waiting in the cafeteria line for some slop in prison. Trudging along, doing your boring duty, day in and day out. Numb with the monotony of it all. Please universe, please let this difficult time of transition pass without pushing me over the edge. Please bring love and joy to my life. So tired of suffering.

[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Happy Valentine’s Day, Ash

Fandom: Sing 2016

Pairing: Johnny x Ash (Jash)

Rated: T

Chapter Summary: Johnny takes Ash out for Valentine's Day to cheer her up - things go a bit differently than either of them expected.

Fanfiction.net

A03

"You didn't have to do this." Ash reiterated for what may as well have been the thousandth time that night.

"I know, but I wanted to." Johnny answered exactly like he had all those aforementioned times before.

Ash bit her bottom lip in a failed attempt at ignoring the strange glance she'd received from the waitress who had to wait for her to put the glass down before refilling her soda. Once the dark substance reached the brim, Ash reached over; grabbing the cold drink in her hand and taking a long swig of the sweet liquid if only to ignore the look Johnny was giving her over his menu. She adjusted in her seat; plaid red dress itched like fucking crazy and she regretted allowing the guy across from her to convince her to wear it.

Rolling her eyes a bit at his curious glance in reaction to her movement, Ash put aside those notions when she looked at him again. Begrudgingly having to admit he looked very nice if a bit out of place. Bright red button up shirt, black tie and jeans were a far cry from his normal green sweater and signature leather jacket.

Pushing that distracting thought aside, Ash grabbed a roll and began nibbling on the buttery bread as she tried to forget that she was even here and why she even agreed to this at all…

For clarity's sake, today was the most dreaded holiday of all -

Valentine's Day.

Even when she was still with Lance, she hated February 14th almost as much as she hated any other commercial garbage. Suffice to say, her ex was never one to be romantic in the least - didn't buy her cards, flowers, chocolates or any other cliche shit like the cheap asshole he was. The most he ever did for the holiday was reluctantly foot the bill for their cheap dinner at the local fast food joint down the street.

For Ash, Valentine's Day was yet just another day in her hellish life with a boyfriend who never cared for her one bit.

It didn't help in the least having to see all the happy couples smooching and hugging. Girls with their bouquets of flowers and big boxes of candy that constantly surrounded her that day even when Lance would barely hold her hand in public. Mostly walking one step in front of her to assert his idea of dominance and bring the point home, that according to him, she was merely backup.

Of course, it didn't mean she exactly wanted those cheesy things but it would be nice to feel somewhat appreciated at least occasionally - even if it was only one lousy day a year to be treated as more than just his hot little background singer - but that wasn't the case for her.

To make a long story short - Valentine's Day meant jack squat to her.

For some odd reason, she'd been even less happy since post-Lance and post-competition. Ash thought she'd feel more independent and empowered by this point. Treat herself to a nice dinner and buy her own damn box of chocolate to bury her sorrows in but she found herself skirting away from that idea almost as quickly as it infiltrated her subconscious. Ash preferred to sit alone in her apartment like a sad sack; watching anything that didn't have to do with the couple's holiday…

That is until Johnny knocked on her door (in practically a suit mind you) and asked her to join him for dinner.

Ash just stood there blinking at him for a long time until it dawned on her that the gorilla was indeed as serious as a heart attack. Yeah, it wasn't the first time they went out as friends but it being the holiday where couples go out to eat and such rubbed her the wrong way. Suffice it to say, it wasn't as if she didn't think about Johnny in that way - even she'd reluctantly admit, under the threat of death only, that she had a bit of a crush on him.

But that was the thing - Who didn't?

Hell, even their resident powerhouse, Meena, had a blatantly obvious crush on him that Johnny either didn't notice or ignored. Ash believed it was the former even if it was obvious she was like a little sister to him. Point was - everyone's eyes typically lingered a bit too long in most cases when the guy would perform - he drew attention by either singing with that powerful soulful drawl or doing nothing more than being his normal sweet self.

Johnny seemed to have his own gravitational pull.

In the long run, it would be easier to find a person who didn't have a crush on the guy.

Johnny just oozed positivity and gentleness - who wouldn't be completely attracted to that?! He was basically the perfect boyfriend/husband material bundled with good looks and the sweetest demeanor you could ask for.

So, who cared if he made her heart flutter and palms sweat; knees go weak when he was around. Gentle, soothing voice calming her like nothing else could. The way he always had such kind things to say and always worried for her welfare when no one else had given much a crap about her before…

…that didn't mean anything…did it?

Ash would even admit that he was the whole package - handsome, fit, kind, gentle, sweet, and had a gorgeous accent and voice (not to mention a nice ass) to boot but after her prick of an ex made her life a living hell, she wasn't exactly willing to throw herself back in the market again so soon.

Lance's betrayal still felt far too fresh to just jump right back into the dating scene.

Ash decided that she would rather explore who exactly she was first - spend some time on herself and learning to be alone for a change - but sadly, that didn't help either. She found herself depressed within months after their last concert and during the rebuilding; the music and songs she wrote leaning onto much darker subjects and feelings she'd suppressed a lot of during the competition. Betrayal, heartache, and pain she still had to work on getting out but it had gotten to the point where even Buster had noticed this was way beyond her typical teenage angst. Against everything she wanted, he suggested taking a break to "re-evaluate her life" as he called it. That koala was as honest and salty as they came.

The week off was probably the worst idea ever.

Holing herself up in her apartment and being forced to think about the sad state of her emotional status. After her writing and singing "Set It All Free", having a good career and friend's support, and especially and being rid of the toxic bastard for good, she thought she'd be in a better place emotionally.

Yet now she had to deal with the fact that since she wasn't now allowed to go to the theater, she couldn't just ignore all the calls pouring into her phone. Blocking his number didn't even help for now that she was home, Lance started showing up unannounced to her apartment at all hours of the day and night, which was sure to drive anyone up the wall.

It wasn't exactly Lance just being there and knocking like crazy - it was what he began to say through the door that angered her more than anything…

"I know you're in there!"

"Ash, babe, c'mon, I said I was sorry. How many times you gonna make me say it?"

"Let me in - I promise, we'll just talk."

"Give me another chance - I even got rid of Becky for you!"

"You did one freakin' concert! Even if you got your 15 minutes of fame and some decent gigs, you'll still never find anyone better than me…"

That last one killed her yet she never bothered to dignify him with an answer.

Ash abhorrently loathed the certainty and smugness in his voice that made her want to swing open her door and punch his stupid face in. How dare he insinuate that she of all people needed a douche-nozzle like him back in her life…

She reasoned with herself that Lance's latest reappearance yesterday was the only reason she agreed to Johnny today. She desperately clung to that connotation even as she dug out the only red dress (per his request) from her closet. She threw it on without even bothering to put on make-up or wearing a decent pair of shoes all while he waited for her in the living room.

Johnny still didn't seem to care about her lack of trying when she walked out of her bedroom.

Instead, he just smiled at her like normal before taking her to one of the nicest restaurants in town without nary a word on her haggard appearance…

"What are you thinking of ordering?" Johnny's pleasant accent infiltrated her ears, suddenly breaking her out of her inner turmoil.

Ash shrugged.

"I dunno…it's all kinda expensive." Ash finally said - her frugal nature dying a hard death as she stared at the double digits of all the entrees. She had to spend wisely to scrounge by while Lance wasted her hard-earned money. Her ex was like a sponge; forcing her to work menial jobs to get by on rent, bills, etc. Causing her to always be the responsible one; saving every single penny to survive - now here comes Johnny willing to shell out big bucks just to make her feel special on this shitty holiday wasn't making her decision any easier.

"I told you - no looking at the prices. It's my treat." he said and the sugary sweetness leaching out of his mouth made her teeth ache.

Ash just "hmm'ed" in response; re-reading the specials before landing on something she'd been craving for awhile. A dish she used to get when her parents (when they were still married) used to drag her to fancy restaurants like this.

"In that case, I'll get the lobster." she was halfway teasing just to see the horrified expression on his face from the mention of a $40 entree, but it backfired.

Johnny just smiled; his canines on proud display as he nodded at her choice.

"Sounds good."

"...Seriously?" she couldn't help but mutter out, almost choking on a piece of dinner roll in the process.

"Yeah. You should definitely get that. I've never been fond of seafood but lobster is delicious - from what I remember anyway. Only had it once as a lad still living in England." he spoke like he did all the time. Accent airy, light, sweet and always finished with a fabulous smile.

God, this guy drove her freakin' crazy sometimes…

Ash's eyes were wide and shocked but Johnny didn't seem to mind as he went back to glance across the menu. She was about to say something but the waitress returned before she could utter a single syllable.

"How is everything so far?" the waitress asked, giving her a half grin before she purposefully gave a big, sultry smile to Johnny and for a reason unbeknownst to her, that really ticked her off more than it should have.

Ash didn't really care that countless women flirted with Johnny wherever they went…but after awhile, it began to get on her last damn nerve.

Especially considering how damn naive Johnny was to all of it…

No, she didn't exactly have the right to be mad for all intense and purposes, her and Johnny were basically "just friends" but still, when you're out to dinner with someone, especially on Valentine's Day, that should mean something. Like don't fucking make eyes at a man when he's having dinner with another girl, but apparently, this chick didn't get it. Johnny wasn't technically friend-zoned - even if she wasn't crazy about the offer of a candle at dinner or all too aware of the fact she had a chronic condition of resting bitch face - so the damn waitress shouldn't have picked up on that or assumed otherwise…

"It's great." Johnny replied, not even noticing when the employee's green eyes skirted to his body longer than what was necessary.

"Wonderful. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." the woman said with what to Ash sounded like a purposeful innuendo…

Ash was surprised at herself; suddenly shook her head as if to rid herself of her obsessive thoughts, adamant to stay silent for she assumed she was perhaps being overly dramatic or just seeing things. But those thoughts flew out the window when the waitress suddenly caressed a slim paw across Johnny's broad shoulder as slyly as possible - as if she was shooing away a bug or something but Ash knew better.

Biting her tongue, Ash pushed those thoughts back - perhaps there was a reasonable explanation - maybe she just recognized him as the cute British-accented singer from television but the longer the cheetah glared unnecessarily long at Johnny, Ash began to further doubt it.

That look on her face was more of wanting to mount him (or the other way around) than wanting his autograph…

"So…are you ready to order?" the waitress continued with an unnecessary roll of her tongue.

Aw, hell no…

"Hey, how about we get more rolls here first?" Ash asked the tall, slim woman.

Empty bread basket dangling out of her fingers as she stared up at the woman; being sure to give her a less than pleasant smile as she interrupted whatever the flaunting bimbo was about to purr out next.

"Oh. Yes, please." Johnny intervened a lot more polite than the hussy deserved to be addressed but Ash let it go.

"Of course. I-I'll be back to take your orders." the waitress, whose name tag said Savannah, spoke before giving one last lingering glance to Johnny before she disappeared into the back room; thin tail swishing behind her. If Ash wasn't mistaken, her scrawny ass should not have been sauntering that much…

Not even aware of the dirty look she was sending the disappearing waitress til Johnny spoke up.

"Is everything alright, Ash?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah." Ash shrugged off his confused glance with a lazy smile.

Johnny didn't look all too convinced, but as usual, he just accepted it in that laid-back way of his.

"You sure you wanted more bread? You might get full before the meal even arrives."

Of course he was the level-headed reasonable one…

"Nah. I didn't eat much today, "she lied, "I can pack it in when I want to."

Dammit, why did that sound sexual? What the hell was wrong with her brain tonight?

"Alright. Whatever you say." Johnny replied with a deep chuckle tickling his throat as he placed the menu aside to take a drink of his tea. He was not helping the British stereotyping she constantly teased him about…

About to retort with a well-timed quip when Savannah returned; bread basket piled high with more rolls and she placed them gently in the middle of the table.

Ash was careful to sense a bit of irritation reeking of her in waves, yet didn't say anything as the annoyingly elegant and graceful woman pulled back to reach for her notepad.

"What can I get you?" Savannah asked, her almond shaped green eyes flicking over to Johnny.

"Ladies first." Johnny replied, gesturing to Ash and the waitress sent a smile her way even if wasn't half as bright as the one she sent Johnny earlier.

"Of course. My apologies. What may I get for you tonight, ma'am?"

Ash cringed at the moniker but answered anyway.

"I think I'll have the lobster." she requested, slipping closed the leather bound menu with a satisfying thwack. She flinched at the sudden wind in her face; she was far too used to reading off an illuminated menu at a fast food joint. This all still felt so weird…

"Alright. Roasted red potatoes and corn on the cob alright for the sides?" Savannah asked, scratching the pen lightly on her notepad; not really even bothering to spare the porcupine more than a quick glance. Ash felt the sudden desire to kick the woman in the shin.

"Yep." Ash replied, placing the menu back down before taking another languid drink of her soda. Inwardly cursing that she was still not legally old enough to drink alcohol - she'd never been more tempted to break out her fake ID more than ever tonight..

"For you, sir?"

"Um. I think I'll have the sirloin - medium well, please."

"Great choice." the waitress replied and Ash cringed at the not so subtle smile she flashed him. "What sides would you like with that?"

"They all sound so good! What would you suggest?" Johnny asked.

Why did he have to be so damn friendly?

Savannah made a big production of getting closer to him, peering over his wide shoulder before speaking, "My favorites are the garlic mashed potatoes and asparagus." she finished, languidly pointing to the options with her pen as she spoke. Her arm lingered over his a bit too long much to Ash's annoyance.

"That sounds wonderful. Let's do that." Johnny replied while handing her the menu.

Ash carefully noticed the shy smile the waitress sent him and if anything, her blood just boiled further.

"Perfect. I'll get your orders sent back. Anything else you need?"

"For you to kindly fuck off…" Ash muttered internally, the words desperate to escape but she also didn't want this chick spitting in her food or something.

"Nope. Thanks a lot." Johnny was all too accommodating with his bright white smile that the cheetah eagerly returned.

"Of course. I'll be back." she promised before disappearing into the back again.

"...don't bother, lady…" Ash muttered under her breath into another warm buttered roll.

"What?" Johnny asked. The poor naive soul.

"Nothing." Ash replied, wiping her buttery fingers on the cloth napkin atop her crumb-strewn lap. "So…you regret asking me here yet?"

The confusion and surprise on his face was almost comical, "What are you talking about, Ash? Are you not having a nice time?"

"It's alright. Not exactly my scene but-" she trailed off with a shrug and groaned at how her bothersome dress bunched up around her waist when she did so. Not even embarrassed anymore as she made a big production of yanking it down.

"It's not necessarily mine either." Johnny replied with a laugh; nervously adjusting the tie around his neck; if she knew any better, he looked rather uncomfortable in his clothes too. "B-But I thought you deserved to be treated nice today and this fit the bill - also, this was one of the only restaurants in town that still had reservations open."

As sweet as it sounded, it rubbed her the wrong way.

It felt too much like pity since she had been feeling like utter shit lately and Johnny was a good (…great…best) friend who probably picked up on that before anyone…it still didn't make it any less irksome.

"Johnny. I gotta ask you something." Ash stated before her brain could really catch up.

"Of course. Anything." he replied while taking a sip of his drink.

"Why the actual fuck are you doing this?" she asked, holding back a snort when he suddenly spat out a bit of his tea onto the table the second the curse left her lips.

"Excuse me?" he sounded so offended as he wiped off the remainder from his mouth with the white cloth napkin.

"Listen. I appreciate the sentiment, I really do. But who are we trying to kid? Even if we're making decent money now, this isn't for either of us." she said a bit louder than intended, ignoring the sudden stares of their fellow diners.

More happy couples to bother her…just peachy…

"I know that and I told you a dozen times already, I wanted to do this for you." Johnny reiterated as he had all night - displaying the same calmness he always showcased.

"You're still not answering the 'why', Johnny." Ash clarified, leaning back in her chair in hopes the earth would open up and swallow her whole. Why couldn't she just keep her mouth shut for once? She could have just eaten and enjoyed the damn lobster, but no…she had to play twenty questions instead.

"Do I need a reason to want to ask you, my best friend, out for dinner?"

Ash cringed at how he said it but answered anyway.

"'Friends' don't do this for each other. C'mon, Johnny, we've known each other for awhile now... I mean, yeah, I appreciate you trying to drag me out of my funk lately, but I don't know…I just…I don't get it - you could have asked someone else. Someone who might have appreciated it more and you could have had a lot more fun than you're probably having with me, and - " Ash tapered off, hands subconsciously reaching for another roll when Johnny suddenly reached across the table and placed his hand over hers before she even got close to the basket.

"I am having a good time with you - like I always do." he spoke clearly.

Ash froze; eyes wide as she stared at his large hand over hers; fingers enveloping her small paw and his palm felt so wonderfully warm against her slightly chilled skin.

A slightly frustrated sigh left his throat before he began to speak.

"Listen...I-I never wanted to push you, Ash." Johnny spoke; his voice escaping in a hushed whisper and she couldn't help but lock eyes with him across the table.

Ash was sorely tempted to pull her hand away; push those lingering doubts about her real feelings for Johnny aside but for some reason, her hand refused to budge. Fur prickling on the back of her neck when his thumb brushed ever so gently over the back of her hand.

"What are you talking about?" her mouth moved without her permission but the words came before she could stop them.

A part of her was terrified.

For so long, she knew where she and Johnny stood - best friends on the edge of perhaps something greater but never delving off that cliff. Instead, they hung out - going over to each others respective places to watch a movie or bum around, maybe practice a song or two, but she was not at all prepared to think of it further when Johnny suddenly let out another languid breath before continuing.

"Ash…I-I've never really hid how I've felt about you. At least, I tried to be transparent in that sense…" Johnny whispered with the barest hints of a shrug and it was so incredibly boyish that it had her heart accelerating in her chest. Feelings she cared not to ponder long arose in her and Ash bit the inside of her cheek to feel anything other than them.

Ash did not want to have this discussion.

Refused to believe the whole time how many hints Johnny always dropped. Disregarding how he never treated other girls the way he did her; even when it came to going out but she was adamant it was only as friends. Never wanting to get wrapped up into something she had no idea how to handle anymore. She didn't want another repeat of Lance - a cute guy reeling her in hook, line, and sinker. Her ending up falling for it like so many times before for the dude to just cheat on her and use her for his own selfish gain…but one thing always bothered her to acknowledge…

Johnny was not Lance.

"You know I'd never force you into anything you don't want, Ash." Johnny admitted, hand gently squeezing hers as his other scratched nervously at the back of his head. "I never wanted to be too forward or make you uncomfortable with asking you out officially so soon after your breakup. You know that's not who I am. If you want honesty, Ash, the reason I asked you here tonight is because I thought you deserved a nice Valentine's Day…" Johnny explained before his hand was gone.

For some reason, she hated how unbelievably cold she felt now - as if in those few moments she'd felt sun for the first time after a seemingly endless harsh winter…

Ash was left utterly speechless for what had to be the first time in her life.

If Lance had ever showed kindness to her, there was always another motive or he needed/wanted something in return. True unconditional kindness was nothing she was used to - didn't totally know how to handle it when people were just doing something out of the goodness of their heart. Always putting up defenses in fear of being hurt was who she had become - and for now, the walls stayed if only to preserve that part of herself.

"I…I'm sorry if it seems as if I had different intentions. I swear I did not. I didn't want you to think we have to date now or something."

"Yet you showed up at my house in a tux." Ash muttered out.

"...Perhaps I wanted to persuade you to get out of the house for a bit. I hated seeing you cooped in there since Buster banned you from the theater. I-I just wanted you to have a nice time." Johnny wasn't looking at her now, eyes steadfast on the table where he worried the cloth between his thumb and index.

"...So, is that what all those other times were too? You know, the movies, pizza at your place, and even the arcade? I don't recall being down in the dumps then…" she asked and a half-smile formed when instantly, Johnny's face flushed.

Why did he have to be so damn cute when he was embarrassed?

"Like I said before…I never wanted to push you into anything, Ash." Johnny shrugged before meeting her eyes again. "You told me how your ex never treated you right. Always pushing you to the side as if you were better in the background. I hate to say it, but when you told me that, I'd never been angrier at someone before in my entire life ."

Ash's eyes widened in utter shock and her wall began crumbling.

"For that bloody wanker to treat a beautiful lady, such as yourself, so rudely is downright despicable." Johnny spoke with such hardened conviction - even barely concealed anger - and her heart started to beat frantically against her chest when she heard it lacing that normally calm voice.

It only dawned on her now that Lance never called her beautiful - it was always just "Ash", "babe", or the worst one by far, "you're super hot" he coined only when he was really drunk.

Lance never referred her to with such refined terms…

She had little time to contemplate it further when Johnny continued to speak.

"What he did to you wasn't right and a part of why I did this was to show you how you should have been treated… Treasured. So, yes, maybe I had a bit of a selfish motive for wanting to spend this day with you…but…" Johnny tapered off; eyes once again lowering as if ashamed and it broke her fucking heart to pieces. "I-I understand if all of this is just fruitless for me and really, that's perfectly okay. I just want you to be happy, Ash. That's enough for me."

The softness he spoke with. How a true gentlemen spoke and how she never bothered to admit it before. Everything Johnny had done; whether it be calling her up at the most random times just to see how she was feeling, bringing over food or a new movie to watch on weekends. Always spending time with her to cheer her up and she did appreciate having him around her house.

The stifling loneliness actually drifted away during those times…

Now, here he was - baring a heart so pure and leaving it on the table. The ball in her court. To either just accept his friendship - Johnny would never push her for anything further. Or to see beyond the kindness he portrayed; the boy who had been perusing her for awhile without her caring to comprehend it at all. He didn't blatantly ask her for a date or kiss; just was there as a constant friend who was willing to wait for her to realize the amazing opportunity she had right in front of her this whole damn time...

As she sat there and looked at him, it seemed to hit her all in the chest at once…

What the hell was she so afraid of?

Before Ash had any time to really think of what to do, say, or even how to react, apparently her body decided for her. Seeing that sadness on Johnny's face that didn't belong whatsoever, Ash moved; desperate to erase that expression from his face as quickly as possible.

So, in this pretentious, flamboyant restaurant filled with dignified people, Ash suddenly climbed atop the table much to Johnny's (and the fellow customers) shock. Dark soda knocked over and spilling across the pearly white canvas in the process as she made her way over to Johnny.

The sound of the table jostling and glass hitting the table with a thunk caused Johnny to look up. Wide brown eyes lifted to hers in obvious confusion of what exactly was happening yet before Johnny could even utter a word out of that cute mouth of his, Ash shut him up with her own.

The shock of feeling's Johnny's mouth under hers was shocking to say the least - for damn, did it feel a helluva lot better than those previous times the unwarranted thoughts flitted through her brain. Her hands were less than gentle as she grasped onto the fur on his cheeks and tilting her head against his mouth.

Ash became instantly aware of two things in that moment - One, this had to be Johnny's first kiss for he didn't know what the hell he was doing. Two - she didn't care because it felt that amazing.

It was sloppy; his mouth completely unsure as he maneuvered to try and perfectly fit it against hers. Ash couldn't help but smile against his lips and pull him closer out of sheer need to have his warmth closer. Large hands trembled only for a second as they skirted firmly over her hips before grasping lightly onto her sides and back and holding her tight as she grasped onto him.

Ash was so lost in the sensation of his mouth that she didn't even care that her annoying dress again rode up; she was just happy she'd worn leggings.

Her quivering legs gave out after a few more moments; her knees hitting the hard table were ignored as she deepened the kiss. Ash learned yet something else in this small chunk of time - Johnny was a notoriously fast learner. She suspected if he could learn the piano that fast, his kissing skills were no different. He began returning it more intensely - seemingly uncaring they were now essentially making out in front of a group of strangers.

Neither wanted this moment to end but eventually, their kisses ebbed away to soft brushings of mouths and eventually pulling back enough to shyly glance into each others heavily-lidded eyes.

"Ash…?" Johnny muttered breathlessly; his warm breath skirting pleasantly over his face. There was so many questions in just him breathing out her name but she didn't care to answer them right now.

Instead of responding verbally to him, she leaned in to kiss him again - desperate to taste his lips again.

"Just take that as a yes." she spoke once she reluctantly pulled away and the shy smile he gave her had her chest aching in the best way.

"You mean…we can…date?" he asked.

"Would I have kissed you in a packed restaurant if I was going to say 'no'? And if it's any consolation, I never kissed Lance in public."

"I suppose not." he shrugged.

"It's a resounding yes but only on one condition, Johnny."

"Uh. Sure. Of course. What's that?"

"Never bring me here again."

"Heh." the relief that flooded his face was almost comical, "No problem. There's an awesome burger stands an uncle of mine owns that a lot better - won't empty your wallet either." he answered with a chuckle and grimace as he pulled at his tie again, "Best part - no dress code."

"Then what the hell are we doing here? Can't we just leave this stuffy, lame joint and go there?"Ash groaned; feeling now so out of place in the restaurant full of chandeliers and people in clothes that cost more than a few months of her rent. It was only now that they realized that they indeed were not the only two people in the world.

"Heh. You're right." Johnny chuckled and seemed to just now notice every single patron's eyes were still glued on the couple - including the stunned waitress standing by their table with a pitcher of tea.

"Uh… Check please." he timidly continued, face as red as a tomato and Ash couldn't help but laugh.

Walking out of that restaurant felt better than it probably should have.

No, not everything was perfect but it shaped up to be a much better day than either could have anticipated. Ash took a moment to glance up into the gray winter sky as the snowflakes began gently falling to the earth. What seemed so depressing this morning was now calm and rather beautiful to her now. Who would have thought all you needed was a little change in perspective to see the world through a whole new set of eyes?

Ash let out a breath she wasn't aware she was holding when Johnny's hand suddenly moved to grasp hers.

The nip in the air didn't seem as bad when his warm hand enveloped her own. She took a moment to glance up at him; black blazer rather fetching on his frame even if it was a bit too big. Red shirt now had the first few buttons undone and his tie was dangling over his shoulders. She smiled in picturing him rooting through his dad's and uncle's closets just to find something suitable to wear in order to take her out to dinner. More amazingly was how he openly admitted it; so endearing on how much work he'd put into this whole plan of his.

How it ultimately paid off for both parties involved…

"Happy Valentine's Day, Ash…" Johnny spoke; hand gently squeezing hers in a firmer hold. The breath leaving his mouth coiled around his face until it disappeared into the grayness of the cold air. His kind brown eyes crinkling around the edges as he smiled at her and it was now she knew she would never get tired of seeing that smile.

"You too." Ash chuckled before walking closer to his side to rest her head on his forearm.

Smiling beside herself as she took a deep breath of the fresh winter air surrounding them during the slow walk to his uncle's restaurant. A feeling of complete warmth and happiness she hadn't felt for a long time settling permanently in her chest.

Yeah, as cliche as it sounded…perhaps from now on, Valentine's Day (and pretty much every day in between) wouldn't be so bad anymore.

[stillgeekingout]

amazing news! it’s time for another chapter of everyone’s favorite, the ultimate aaron milverton crossover fic, now with extra crossover!

once again it’s longer than any of the other chapters... why do I keep doing this... but it’ll make sense when you read it

tw: a lot of mentions of death (again... it’ll make sense when you read it)

previous chapters as usual:  1 here, 2 here, 3 here, 4 here, 5 here, 6 here, 7 here, 8 here

------

“How do you think it’s going?”

“Alex, you don’t have to whisper, they won’t hear you from the car,” Blair said.

“Oh, right.”

It had been about five minutes since Blair had returned to the van and there was still no sign of Aaron or Chad. Zoe hadn’t really thought this plan through-- would she just leave Aaron there if he didn’t come outside soon? She couldn’t exactly send anyone in after him. If Aaron was making a move, she didn’t want to interrupt. She leaned back in her seat, resigned to waiting it out.

“So, Hera--”

“I’m sorry,” Blair interrupted, “I can’t keep calling her Hera, it’s just too odd for me.” She twisted around to look back at Hera. “Don’t you have an alexname or something?”

“An alexname?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Zoe. “She means a nickname. But you don’t have to change your name for her sake. She’ll get over it.” She shot Blair a look.

“Actually…” Hera said, then stopped. Zoe glanced at her in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were closed in concentration. She opened them, seeming to decide something. “My real name is Rachel. You can just call me that.”

------

Rachel Yorick was not having a great life. For starters, pretty much everyone she cared about outside of her family had been murdered. Then there was the fact that the person she was in love with had been one of the ones doing the killing (...and the being killed). And to top it off, she was stuck living with her parents and working part-time as a cashier at some touristy froyo place. Who knew her dead-end theatre career would be the least of her problems.

Not that she had really tried to pursue acting after her world had totally fallen apart about a year and a half before. She had taken the rest of the semester off, postponing her graduation yet again. Eventually, she finished her degree online without much fanfare. She couldn’t bear the thought of physically going back to Wittenberg. Too many memories. Too many ghosts. (Perhaps literally.)

Speaking of ghosts, she had waited the better part of a year for Hamlet’s to show back up, but to no avail. She couldn’t help but feel hurt all over again. Why had Hamlet visited Ford and not her? Why had she put up the videos so they couldn’t be removed and then disappeared without another trace?

Rachel hadn’t talked to Ford since all the funerals. God, there had been so many funerals. She had thought Hamlet’s would be the hardest, but almost no one was there (she tried not to think about the fact that there would have been more people if they hadn’t all died). No, it turned out facing Marci’s family was much worse. Rachel and Marci had been inseparable since high school; it was like parting with a sister. She felt so numb she could barely muster the energy to cry.

So after the funerals and a few other legal things (Laura’s court case, for example), Rachel hadn’t kept track of Ford’s whereabouts. She assumed he was busy running Elsinore Castle, whether he claimed he wanted to or not. For all she knew, Hamlet’s ghost was still visiting him every day. She hated that the thought almost made her jealous. How sick was it to wish to be haunted by your dead best friend?

And she was haunted, in a way. By the nightmares. Her friends lying on the floor, covered in blood. Hospital rooms. Gunshots. It was all too much.

So she had moved back in with her parents, gotten a therapist, and started working at the froyo shop to get her mind off of things. It was a decent drive from her house but even in her current state, she couldn’t stand the thought of spending all her time at the middle-of-nowhere edge of Kissimmee. And the time passed, and she learned to survive. To push through another day if it meant one day farther from the worst thing that could have ever happened. One day closer to living some semblance of a normal life.

A chime went off above the door. Rachel blinked a few times to clear her head. She was at work, zoning out again. She tended to do that a lot these days. Three people walked in: two strangers followed by someone she had never expected to see again.

Laura O’Ness.

It couldn’t be. Could it?

Rachel craned her head, trying to get a better look.

Laura was in prison. Laura would be in prison for probably 25 years. She wouldn’t be here with some random strangers, sporting a new haircut and casually loading up a giant cup of froyo. Would she?

Rachel was so preoccupied by Laura(???) that she accidentally dropped the froyo she was trying to hand back to the poor girl in front of her.

“Ohhh my god I’m sorry,” she said. She handed the girl some napkins, still distracted. The girl who couldn’t be Laura looked over at her and showed no signs of recognition, just a look of disdain at being stared at by a stranger. Rachel blinked, wondering if she was imagining things. She looked at the girl on whom she had spilled the froyo, realizing she was being a terrible employee.

“Seriously, I’m really sorry about that. I was just, uh.” Distracted by the doppelganger of the girl who killed my best friend? “Startled, I guess.”

“Startled?”

“Well, you know,” she started, realizing ‘startled’ had been the wrong word, “sometimes I see a pretty girl and I make a fool of myself.” Saved by the gay. The girl’s face changed, and Rachel realized maybe that had come across as flirting. Which, to be fair, the girl was very pretty, but Rachel wasn’t exactly in a good place to date anyone.

“Blair has that effect on people sometimes,” the girl said.

“Blair?” So she definitely wasn't Laura. Or she was Laura in disguise. (Why would Laura be in disguise?)

“My friend. I’m Zoe.” Oh no, she was introducing herself. It must’ve seemed like flirting. “I’d shake your hand, but…” Zoe looked down at her skirt, still covered in froyo.

“Hera,” said Rachel. It was a name she had started using with strangers, because her real name was connected to those awful videos that she still couldn’t figure out how to take down and didn’t want anyone to find. It was sort of an anagram of her name, with some letters missing, which made her English-nerd heart happy. Plus, she liked Greek mythology, and the original Hera took no shit from anyone (something Rachel needed to get better at).

Zoe seemed to find the name funny. “What?” Rachel asked.

“Nothing,” said Zoe. “That’s Blair’s mom’s name.” So again, she couldn’t be Laura. Laura’s mom’s name was Laura, and also Laura’s mom was dead. Not really something to laugh about.

Zoe was still talking. “I mean, not that that’s… I haven’t met her mom. I don’t know why I laughed. It’s a pretty name.” She trailed off, looking embarrassed. It was pretty endearing, Rachel had to admit.

“Thanks,” she said, and Zoe went back to her futile skirt-cleaning attempts.

“Is your bathroom back there?” Zoe asked.

“Yeah,” said Rachel. She had been so distracted by Blair-not-Laura that she had almost forgotten about the froyo. As Zoe turned to go, she felt like she should probably do something better to make up for her mistake than pointing to the bathroom. “Hey,” she said, “let me buy you a new dress. I feel badly that yours is so cute and I ruined it.” Then she kicked herself for sounding like she was flirting again.

“Oh, no, it’s fine, I’m sure it’ll wash out,” said Zoe. Phew. But Rachel still wanted to help.

“Please,” she said, “I’ll feel better. At least let me give you some money for it.” She started to reach for her wallet.

“Only if you come with me to pick it out,” Zoe said. Crap. That was definitely flirting. Rachel ran through a mental list of ways to politely turn her down. She had tried going on a few dates over the past year in an attempt to get Hamlet out of her head, but none of them helped and she felt badly for leading those girls on. And Zoe seemed nice; she deserved better.

But she was pretty. And one date wasn’t a commitment, especially when it wasn’t explicitly a date. And it was an excuse to go to Goodwill, which Rachel always loved. Maybe it would cheer her up, help her stop thinking about not-Laura. She took a breath.

“I get off in an hour,” she said. Zoe smiled. Please don’t let me regret this, Rachel thought. From the corner of her eye, she watched not-Laura stand up to get more froyo.

-----

“This is… a really big Goodwill,” Zoe said, her eyes wide.

“Isn’t it great? I get the best stuff here.” Rachel couldn’t help being a little bit bubbly. There was something about ridiculous clothing that still brought her joy even when other things couldn’t. She bounced back to the dresses and grabbed the first thing that popped out at her. “Oh my god, this is hilarious, you have to try it on,” she said, giving it to Zoe.

“There’s no way that will fit me,” said Zoe, “But I guess I’ll try it on.” She glanced skeptically at Rachel before going into the dressing room. (Marci used to give her a similar look. Rachel felt a sudden pang of sadness.)

“Yeah, this definitely doesn’t fit,” Zoe called through the door, snapping Rachel out of her haze.

“That’s fine,” she called back, “I’ll find something else.” She returned to rifling through dresses.

The second dress Zoe tried on was obnoxious in the best way. She didn’t seem to see the appeal, however. “Are you sure about this?” She looked down at the skirt, pulling at it.

“The thing about terrible clothes is that’s what makes them great,” Rachel said. “Trust me, it’s a lifestyle choice.”

“Hmmm,” said Zoe, but she let Rachel hand her a third option without complaint.

“So are you from here?” Rachel asked, while Zoe was changing. She wanted to know if she’d be able to get out of a commitment easily. Maybe Zoe was just a tourist. Most people in that part of  Orlando were.

“Currently, no,” Zoe said. “I’m Floridian but I moved to DC a couple years ago. My friends and I just came down for a convention.” Rachel breathed a sigh of relief.

“Wait, which one?” she asked, feeling safe to have a conversation now that she knew Zoe wouldn’t be expecting anything from her beyond that evening. “I didn’t know there was a con this weekend-- Oh, I love that.” Zoe looked very cute in dresses, Rachel had to hand her that. But Zoe still didn’t seem satisfied, so Rachel handed her another option to try.

“So are you from Orlando then?” Zoe asked through the door once she had closed it again.

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “Pretty much been here my whole life. I went to Wittenberg for school but Winter Park might as well be Orlando. Same with Kissimmee, which is technically where I live now.”

“Oh ok, I don’t know this area super well,” Zoe said. “We basically just come down here for Disney. And I went to Wizarding World once.”

“Nice, have you seen Diagon Alley yet?” Small talk was good. Small talk was safe.

“No, I’ve been meaning to! Is it good?”

“It’s so good. Hogsmeade is great, but it still feels like a theme park, you know? Diagon Alley makes you feel like you’re really there.”

“Yeah, I’ll have to go one of these days.”

Rachel wasn’t sure what to say next. She didn’t really want to ask anything personal. Light conversation was one thing, but she didn’t want to lead Zoe on (even if she was leaving town). Luckily, she didn’t have to come up with anything because Zoe opened the door again, looking unfortunately adorable.

“Seriously, this is the one,” Rachel said. “It looks amazing on you.” Careful, she told herself.

“I don’t know…” said Zoe.

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments!”

“I am not!” Zoe protested. “You just have very… interesting taste.”

“Come on, you have to admit you are rocking that dress.” She was. In fact, it annoyed Rachel how good Zoe looked when she was trying her best not to get attached.

“I rock a lot of dresses,” Zoe said, grinning. “I just don’t know if this is one of them.”

“Fine! Fine! I’ll find something else!” Rachel threw her hands up in mock exasperation.

After several more tries, Zoe finally agreed to one of Rachel’s suggestions. Rachel had the suspicion that she had worn her down. They moved on to looking at jackets-- Rachel’s weakness. The gaudier the better.

She hit the jackpot right away, pulling out matching pink Grease jackets with hand-written logos which she eventually convinced Zoe to buy (though Zoe put back the dress). Rachel pulled the jacket on for the second time as they walked through the parking lot.

“Tell me more, tell me more,” she sang at Zoe, twirling around and fanning out the jacket.

“I told you, I hate Grease!” Zoe said, laughing again. But she put hers on too.

“Me too,” admitted Rachel. “It’s super white and has terrible morals and Rizzo should’ve ended up with Frenchy. But it’s a catchy song.”

Zoe shrugged, then jokingly grabbed Rachel’s arm. “Summer dreams, ripped at the seams…”

Rachel was surprised by how nice Zoe’s singing voice was. “Bu-hut, oh,” she said in her best terrible John Travolta impression, whipping her head around to face Zoe.

“Those su-ummer niiiiiiiights,” they both sang, then laughed.

“I would like the movie better if it was about Steph and Lisa,” Zoe said, gesturing to the name on the front of her jacket.

“Oh, definitely,” Rachel said. “Well, this is my car.” She stopped. She wasn’t sure where Zoe had parked. Zoe looked at her, then looked away, then looked at her again.

“Hey, do you… do you want to get some dinner?”

“Um,” Rachel said. It would be so easy to leave. She could say she had to work early, or she had somewhere to be… or she could be honest and say she wanted to because Zoe was cute and nice but she was still sort of getting over her dead best friend. Maybe without the dead part.

“You don’t have to,” Zoe said, and Rachel realized she had paused too long again.

“I probably shouldn’t,” Rachel said, not giving a reason. “But this has been nice.”

“Yeah!” Zoe said, clearly disappointed but pretty good at faking nonchalance. “Thanks for spilling froyo on me.”

“Any time,” Rachel said. “You know where to find me.”

“Mmhmm,” Zoe said. “Nice meeting you, Hera.” Rachel had already forgotten she told Zoe that name. But she nodded.

“You too,” she said, and smiled. “Bye, Steph.”

“Bye, Lisa.”

There was an awkward moment where Rachel wasn’t sure if they should hug or shake hands or something. Eventually she just waved and got in the car, shutting the door on what might’ve been a great opportunity if Rachel’s life wasn’t such a mess. When she was sure Zoe had walked away, she rested her head on the steering wheel and sighed.

------

The next time Rachel saw her therapist, she mentioned that she was finally ready to talk about her relationship with Hamlet.

Up until that point, she had mostly avoided the subject, choosing instead to focus on all the other trauma that came along with the events of the previous year. She had been telling herself that it was fine, that she needed to work through all of that, but meeting Zoe made her realize she was delaying the inevitable. The truth was, she didn’t want to confront her relationship with Hamlet because she knew it had been unhealthy and a part of her still wasn’t ready to let go.

“Your precious Hamlet.” Ford’s words echoed in her mind every time she thought about it, and she pushed them away. Because, really, how was she supposed to accept that her best friend, the person she was in love with, was “an abusive murderer”? Even after all this time, Rachel couldn’t put Hamlet at fault. She had been put under so much pressure that she cracked. It was Claude to blame, Claude and his manipulation.

But Hamlet had still killed Paul, and Rosa, and Gil, and even Claude, though Rachel couldn’t help but think the last one was deserved. She had still belittled Alex, outed him, and then broadcasted it all online against his will. She had been terrible to him; Rachel could see that even through her jealousy. Why had Hamlet dated him in the first place? Who dates their kid friend? If she had just dated Rachel instead--

And that was where she always ended up. “If Hamlet had just dated me instead, none of this would have happened. Because I would have been there for her. I could have helped her.” As unhealthy as she knew it was, as much as she hated herself for doing it, she still held onto this ideal in which no one died and she and Hamlet lived happily forever. “Your precious Hamlet.”

It was an ideal that she knew would fall apart as soon as she confronted it, which is why she had thus far been unwilling to do so. Better to keep at least one shred of something positive in her mind, even a pointless hypothetical that would never change anything. She had been fully prepared to cling onto it forever.

But then she met Zoe.

Zoe was the first person who made her feel normal again, even for just a few minutes. Because for a moment there, she had pushed her awful life to the side of her brain and let herself just sing in a parking lot with a pretty stranger. There was something freeing about it. Her family was supportive, but it always felt like they were walking on eggshells around her. Zoe had just treated Rachel like anyone else, something she hadn’t really experienced since acquiring a tragic backstory.

Turning her down had been the right thing to do at the time, but it made Rachel realize that she wanted that again. That sense of talking to someone who knew nothing about her life, who only judged her as the girl from the froyo store who loved Goodwill and not someone to be tiptoed around, a fragile spineless bystander who watched the people she loved kill each other and didn’t manage to save them.

And if chasing that feeling meant risking tarnishing her memories of Hamlet, so be it. She was done living in the past.

------

A few months later, Rachel took a day trip to St. Augustine. She needed a breather from her family. Several of her cousins were in town for Thanksgiving and they were all being overly nice to her, which was well-meant but exhausting. So she had taken the day to visit one of her favorite places. It made her inner history nerd happy and it was somewhere she had never been with Hamlet or Marci, so it felt untainted.

In that regard, though, she was doing slightly better. Therapy was helping, as was her resolve to make a tangible effort to move on. Obviously everything wasn’t magically fixed, but she was almost to the point where she might be ready to find some new friends.

All right universe, you gonna send me some new friends? she thought, then laughed to herself a little. Right, because browsing gift shops alone was a great way to make friends. One of these days she would have to actually try being social. But until then, she had plenty of tourists to keep her company.

“You know, I have a pink jacket that would look great with that shirt.”

Rachel turned, sure she had misheard the voice. But no, it really was Zoe standing next to her. She blinked several times, processing. Not what I expected, universe, she thought. But I’ll take it.

If Zoe wasn’t going to act surprised, neither was she. “Is that right? Funny, so do I!”

“What a weird coincidence.” An understatement if she’d ever heard one.

“Yeah,” she said, thinking quickly, “my friend and I have matching ones.” Maybe if she pretended she and Zoe were already friends, Zoe would go along with it and forget that Rachel had rejected her once before. “She wasn’t sold on the idea at first, but I talked her into it.”

“I’m sure she’s glad you did,” Zoe said, and Rachel smiled at the shirt rack she was thumbing through. Success. “It probably reminds her of a fun experience.”

“I hope it does. I know it does for me.”

“Sounds like you two get along well,” Zoe said. How is this happening? Rachel thought.

“Yeah, I don’t get to see her often. She lives in DC, and I live in Orlando, so that’s not really conducive to hanging out.” She was beginning to see Zoe’s long distance status as a positive thing. She could practice normal human interaction for however long Zoe was in town, and she wouldn’t feel too much pressure because it didn’t have to turn into anything long term. “Now that I say that, though, I remember her saying she was Floridian, so it wouldn’t be out of the question for her to visit again. I could even potentially run into her on a day trip to St. Augustine.”

“I’m guessing she grew up right near here and she’s visiting her mom for Thanksgiving,” Zoe said. “I bet she doesn’t know you’re in town. You should ask her out to lunch or something, while you’re here.” She had to admire Zoe’s willingness to forgive her for the strange way she had left things after the Goodwill trip.

Rachel took a deep breath. “Do you think she’d want to do something right now?”

“I think she would love to,” Zoe said. Maybe she also had reason to want a fun day with no strings attached. Rachel didn’t care. All she knew was there was a nice girl with no knowledge of her past who wanted to spend the day with her, and she wasn’t going to waste it.

“I’m sure if you grew up here you’ve seen all the historical sites already, but that’s my favorite thing if you’re willing to see some of them again.” It seemed like a fine time to drop the banter. “If you don’t mind going with an obnoxious history nerd, that is.”

“Honestly, I haven’t been inside the castle since the 4th grade field trip,” Zoe said. “And I’m sure obnoxious history nerds make great tour guides.”

So they went to the Castillo, and Rachel almost didn’t notice her guard slipping. Zoe listened to all of her fun facts and genuinely seemed interested. “I’m sure they told us that in school, but it’s much better when you tell it. You’re my new second-favorite history storyteller.”

“Who’s the first?”

“Lin-Manuel Miranda.”

“Of course.”

They talked about their jobs (Zoe’s PR work in DC put Rachel’s frozen yogurt career to shame), the midterm elections that had just happened, their families, and other safe topics. Rachel made sure not to bring up college or her friends. It was fine, though, Zoe didn’t really talk much about her friends either. Maybe she’s got some kind of dark secret too, Rachel joked to herself. Can’t possibly be as weird as mine.

When they left the castle, they stood around for a while, just talking. It was surprisingly easy to talk to Zoe, now that she was allowing herself to. She knew at some point they’d have to end their little date (was it a date?) but she wasn’t ready for that yet. That would mean returning to her real life. She was just contemplating asking Zoe to dinner when someone she didn’t recognize ran up to them, shouting.

“Zoe! We did a bad thing!”

The following conversation (including another boy who ran up behind Zoe’s friend) made absolutely no sense to Rachel. She tried to follow along in Zoe’s attempts to calm down her friend, but there were too many references to events she didn’t know about. She hoped whatever this situation was wouldn’t cut their date(?) short.

She was almost maybe starting to catch up to speed when not-Laura showed up. Great. She had somehow forgotten about Zoe’s friend Blair and her uncanny familiarity. She also didn’t realize they were good enough friends that she would come with her on Thanksgiving vacation. Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea after all. How could she continue to act normally with this girl standing right there?

“I should maybe… go…” she cut in, as Zoe and her friends continued their confusing conversation.

“No!” Zoe said forcefully. Good, maybe she would shoo everyone off and Rachel could ask her to dinner after all. “I mean, I can explain. Please don’t go.” She gave Rachel a pleading look. Rachel didn’t want an explanation, she wanted to hang out with Zoe alone. But Zoe was already introducing everyone. “Um, you’ve met Aaron, and these are my friends Blair and Alex.”

“I remember you,” she told Blair. Or Laura, if it really was her in disguise. (She hadn’t totally ruled it out.) “Nice to meet you, Alex.”

Zoe coughed, and Rachel realized for the first time that maybe she was jealous. After all, Rachel had explained away staring at Blair by saying she was attracted to her. But there was no way to explain the truth to Zoe, so she kept quiet. “Anyway, so…” Zoe said, clearly intent on explaining the situation. “Blair started a charity organization a few years ago and Aaron is one of the members.” Wow, if only Laura was so nice. Clearly Rachel was being unfair projecting her dislike of Laura onto this girl. But how could she not?

“Religion,” Blair said. “And I didn’t start it, Chad did.” And just like that, Rachel lost track of the conversation again.

After a few minutes, Zoe came to the conclusion that the only way to solve whatever the heck was going on was to take a group road trip to Miami, right then. Well, that was unexpected. But then, everything so far with Zoe had been unexpected.

“Sorry about this,” Zoe said to her, as they walked towards her car. “I wish we could keep hanging out.” This was the moment for Rachel to leave, she knew. But she didn’t want to go back to her family, and she didn’t want to stop talking to Zoe. Besides, she was kind of intrigued by the whole quest. Zoe had made the first move three times now. It was her turn to be adventurous, even if she would regret it later.

“I mean, I’m down for a road trip,” she said. Zoe turned towards her, surprised. She had gone too far. What kind of person asks to go on a several hour road trip with a girl they barely know and her friends? “If you don’t mind, of course.”

But Zoe surprised her again. “Not at all,” she said, and kept walking towards her car as if nothing was off. Rachel wondered if she had these kinds of adventures often. She was starting to get excited, when--

She stopped in her tracks. “This is your car?” Zoe’s minivan was identical to Marci’s. Of course it was. What was it with this girl? She was the one person who could distract Rachel from her past, and yet she was surrounded by things that brought it back up again.

Zoe started trying to defend herself, which made Rachel realize she was being rude again. It must have seemed like she was judging Zoe for her choice of car.

“No, no, I like it,” she said. She was intent on having this adventure, damn it, and she wasn’t going to let Laura’s secret twin or Marci’s car duplicate stop her. She would get over it, help some nice people commit an act of matchmaking or whatever they were doing, and most importantly, not put a stop to what had been her first truly relaxing day in recent memory.

She had been planning on using the time to talk to Zoe, but it wasn’t meant to be. Not-Laura (Blair, she had to start thinking of her as Blair) insisted on shotgun. That’s ok, she told herself through her disappointment. I said I wanted more friends. These other people seem nice too, I’ll just talk to them.

Most of the trip was spent listening to music. Zoe sang along to everything, and her voice was amazing. She shared Rachel’s love of Hamilton and Halsey, though she liked Taylor Swift a little too much for Rachel’s taste. Then she started on Disney soundtracks, and Rachel was nervous she would have to ask her not to play The Lion King. Luckily, though, it didn’t come up. Alex sang every song, loudly and not very well. Blair was mostly quiet, but got very enthusiastic about Hercules. Just seeing the back of her head, Rachel could almost forget about the whole Laura thing.

At one point, while Zoe and her friends were caught up in singing, Rachel had a conversation with Aaron in the backseat. “So, if I’m understanding this situation,” she said, feeling sure she wasn’t, “you like this guy but he thinks he can’t date you because of your religion?”

“Kind of, yeah,” said Aaron. “Honestly, I don’t even know if he likes me. We might get all the way there and figure out he didn’t want to date me even if he was allowed to. I don’t even know for sure that he’s not straight.” He seemed distraught, and Rachel could tell this wasn’t the sort of crush he would get over easily.

“That’s rough, buddy,” she said, and he laughed.

“I mean either way it’s better than my last relationship. At least I know he likes me as a friend. My ex didn’t even like me, she was just using me for information.”

“Yikes,” Rachel said. “What kind of information?”

“Something to do with a case. She was a detective or something, and my cousin was into blackmail. Well, I guess she’s probably still a detective.”

“And your cousin?”

“Dead,” he said matter-of-factly. She could tell by how he talked that he hadn’t liked his cousin, so she decided not to offer sympathy. From experience, she figured he had probably gotten enough of that already.

“Well, I hope this boy likes you. You seem pretty cool to me.”

“Thanks, Hera,” he said sincerely, and she cringed. In the scheme of life, she thought, a cross-state road trip with people who didn’t know her real name probably wasn’t the best idea. What if something happened and they needed to identify her? But she didn’t know how to bring it up, and besides, there was still the matter of the videos. These were her new, no-backstory-required friends. They existed in some kind of magical bubble where her old life couldn’t get to her. So she said nothing.

She tried to tell herself again that it wasn’t worth getting attached to these people who would only leave her once the trip was over. But Aaron lived in Orlando. And Zoe might just be the type of person who was worth staying in touch with long distance.

For the past year and a half, Rachel’s life had felt pretty pointless. Why put work into anything when everything could just fall apart in a moment? But looking around the car at this weird little group, she realized she had finally found something that felt worth the effort again.

[thejunkelemental]

Communication

It came down to communication, didn’t it? I always felt like there was a growing barrier between us.  I could not find the right way to talk to you.  Every conversation I grew nervous.  What mistake would I make?  What trigger would I trip?  I ran simulations in my head of what I thought you would say or what I thought you would do and they were always incorrect. Somehow, you forgot I loved you when we argued.  The words ‘We need to talk’ would fly from my lips and your guard would raise.  Slowly you’d extend your claws and rock back on your heels.  What demand would I make?  What misinterpretation had I made about your behavior?  What insecurity was triggered by something you had done? You felt like you could never be enough for me, like you were trying to perform or reach some kind of standard I had set.  You could never be clean enough, polite enough, on time enough, dedicated enough, sexual enough for me and the weight of that expectation drove you into despair and stole your creativity.  There, you would perhaps think (as I imagine), here he will tell me I am a disappointment again.  I try as hard as I am able and I am never enough.  I have given all that I am and it is never enough.  Maybe he does not want me at all...he wants some version of me that is not me. It must have been heavy, the weight of those thoughts.  Day after day you held them.  Day after day you worried I would ask for more while you were already at wits end.  Trying your best to console me, feeling alone and abandoned yourself.  You drew yourself into thinner and thinner strings till you finally snapped. But it came back to communication, didn’t it? If we had more time.  Maybe started sooner, can you imagine what it could have  been?  We wouldn’t fight as much.  Our passionate arguments would fold into each other.  We would learn to laugh and let things go.  To take the moments as they were. I know I am hypothesizing, but I can see it clearly. We used to be able to do that a bit, you know?  Perhaps you forgot or maybe lost sight of it, but it was not always this bad.  It really wasn’t.  Our arguments had common cause.  We both feared abandonment by the other and were so frightened we would not be enough or make the expectation. If I could talk to you from the past for a moment. You are enough. The words I should have said every time you suggested you were not.  Life is a journey and when you are married, it is a journey you share together.  We took on so much on ourselves, afraid that if we tried to put any on our partner we would break them. But how many times could I have come to bed earlier if I had just asked you to help me finish a few chores?  If we had just done them when we got home?  How many times could we have ended fights if I had just listened to you when you asked me to come to bed?  How many times could you have just said you weren’t in the mood and we could just lay together in bed and kiss and tickle and wrestle? If I had a wish it would be another night with you.  One without tension and fear.  A night to watch shows together, build another fort (with my help this time).  We would not talk of sadder things but hide away from the world itself. I cannot change your thoughts.  You are a proud woman.  You are a strong woman, snapdragon.  You have always stood brave even when you felt weak and alone.  I cannot imagine how hard things must be for you...and how much effort it takes to not reach out. Perhaps it is easier every day. We are different people and I loved that about us.  I should have better embraced your differences as learning opportunities to expand myself.  What if I had taken your strength and defended myself more readily?  What if I had challenged my perceptions and tried newer things?  What if I had embraced silence and confidence that you would always, as you said, come back to me? Communication.  I know some would disagree, but others see our problems as fairly easy (on paper) to navigate.  We did not beat each other.  We did not have substance abuse.  We did not have deep money troubles.  As far as married couples go, we had the beginnings of what could be a good life.  But we fought so much and the tension was so thick. I did not turn to therapy soon enough to see the results that would have alleviated your stress and we did not do enough marriage therapy to circle even the activities in the back of the book. I thought the vision of a perfect relationship between us, the list we wrote together, was a lovely one...and one I could strive for.  One I could accomplish had I been given the chance. We both have things to work on in ourselves.  Was it so selfish to hope we could work on them together and in support with each other?  I felt like...love like ours so was so strong.  We found each other through such chance and what we had was so magical and wonderful.  Was it truly worth discarding? I do not want to own you.  I do not want a parent.  I want a partner who will be on my team and tackle issues together.  I want a strong voice and one I am not afraid to be strong back to.  If we could have worked on it, that submissive fear in me would have vanished.  I was only ever araid that revealing my fears and thoughts would cause you to abandon me. They did.  It happened directly after I revealed them. Maybe that’s why I am so afraid of you...I aways knew in my heart that you might wake up one day and fall out of love with me, break the spell that was on you and leave.  I could not stop it. All I could do was ask.  Please.  Please reconsider.  Please remember all the wonderful times we had and our life together. Please don’t discard us. But that was then and this is now. Communication. It must feel heavy that I am in the state I am now.  Our world turned upside down as the entire world turned upside down.  I lost my employment, botched my interviews, lost consistent connection to my friends all at the same time.  A complete destruction of my life. I told our friend that if I survived this, I could likely survive anything life threw at me.  But we both know how deeply I plummeted and how hard it is to escape from there.  In my heart, I think the others are right.  You will not return for a long time and next I speak to you...I will not recognize you.  You will not speak to me the same way.  There will be so many new walls.  You will hide away portions of your life and double check all your actions to make sure I won’t read into them. What kind of a relationship is that? No.  Better to abandon me entirely.  Remove me from your life. Block me completely and cut me out.  I am just another ex of yours that you cannot afford to have in your life...not because I will threaten you, but because I won’t stop loving you. Why would I? There is so much in us that was worth saving.  I never asked to be apart from you.  I never sought escape.  The times before we were married?  Immaturity.  Now? The longer I partake in therapy the more I realize that I am someone who does not easily give up on people.  I do not have the same skill you do for cutting people off.  I never learned that skill and instead pushed for reconciliation and repair.  I saved many relationships this way...and also locked myself in abusive ones or got myself hurt. Pluses and negatives to all sides. I await you taking the last of your things.  And then I will do us both the favor of disappearing from your life.  When you are finally done with me and the last of it is over...I will remove myself from your sight. Should I not?  What would you gain by befriending me?  What could you get from me you couldn’t from anyone else?  Are you not popular?  Are you not beautifuul and passionate and talented?  You will never lack for friends and those who want to get close to you. Lose yourself in a new life and forget me. Be free, yes? What will become of me?  I don’t know.  I have not decided.  I have lost all vision of the future and so wherever friends try to drag me just seems like more emptiness.  My creativity is gone.  My passion is gone.  I barely subsist and continue to deteriorate. “You must not pursue” the therapists say, “She will only put more distance between you.” “What is the point,” I answer, “She has already put the distance there.  I have no way back.” “Live for yourself” they say. “Why bother,” I answer, “Consider.  I have led myself into a career path I hated.  I spent twelve years in two relationships that left me more fucked up than when I began them.  I exhibit narcissistic abusive tendancies, I worry my friends, I terrifyi my already controlling parents.  I am manipulative.  I am weak.  I have lost almost everything I sink my value into.  Now, as the world collapses around me?  I collapse faster.  I toy with suicide and people have begun to believe I was never serious.” Honestly.  Just because I save spiders from being flung from the windshield into the highway?  Harldy a trait worth preserving. You are not the lynchpin of my life, but you delivered a devestating blow directly during a time I was perhaps most vulnerable before Ia time I would be made much more vulnerable by a global pandemic.  It was a bad time for it to happen )(Although no good time existed). It did give me the opportunity to discover all the opinions our extended friend group had about you though.  They range from “Likely cheated on you for six or so months before this moment” to “She is a hero”. I imagine my reputation is similarly mottled, were you to poll.

Ah...what a contentious bunch they all can be.  My crowning accomplishment, bringing them together as a safe space...what a farce. Liz called me a narcissitic abuser.  A monster.  I wrestled with that ever since.  Now I see where she must have seen it.  I see where you should see it as well.  You could not see a future in which we were able to grow together and be happy.  You lost faith in us and nothing could convince you to reignite it.  My greatest failing will always be that I could not show you the us I saw and how to get there. That I left too much damage in the relationship unresolved...I had thought...hoped even, that I had been able to address it and have your forgivness.

Perhaps I never could.

Maybe you really should cut me out entirely.   If you are biding your time, waiting to tell me in person that if we are to be friends it won’t be for a long long time, maybe a year or so.  You might as well block me off everything and communicate through friends to get the remainder of your things. It would be much less cruel then making me wait. I know you did this for us.  I will always be grateful to you for the time you spent convincing me that our marriage was safe space, that I could always come back here for love and support.  It was the happiest four years of my life...even with the circumstances.  Because I remember each and every one of our adventures and good times much better than any fight we ever had.  I could always buy you presents when I was upset at you.  My love was always stronger than my fear or my frustration or my sorrow. Once you told me all you wanted me to say is that I wanted you to come home and to be with me. I know that is not the case now. But all I want is for you to come home.  Watch a show with me cuddled up on the couch in blankets.  I want you to play Animal Crossing so I can make silly voices for the villagers.  I want to talk move universes with you, theories.  I want you to put makeup on me so we can see how it will look, I want to cram into an awkward bath with you.  I want to wrestle with you and piggyback walk you outside. I want to save worms from puddles with you.  I want to pick flowers with you. I want you to sit me down and teach me to craft and marvel at my terrible work. I want to learn to play the guitar while you practice on the uke. I want to dance in our living room. I will never love someone like you again.  You were a brilliant sunspot in my life.  You made things better and taught me to believe in myself and see beauty in myself. I wish I could have done as much for you...perhaps then this would not be thrown away. This was never a gamble to me.  This will never be a bump in the road. I cannot change the past, but I want to change the future.  If you believed in me once, maybe you could again someday. I miss you.  I miss talking to you. But I will delete myself from your life to save you from having to deal with me. Just a little more time. Just a little more time to hope, and then I’ll be gone.

[viralhottopics]

Your moms are taking over Facebook, and they’re using it to fight Trump

Protesters chant as they arrive in Trafalgar Square during the Women's March on January 21, 2017 in London, England.

Image: Jack Taylor/Stringer/Getty

In the past few months, Facebook has transformed from the platform we love to hate to the platform we still love to hate but unfortunately find useful.

And while millennials poke fun of their parents’ social media navet (sorry, dad), the charge appears to be led, in part, by red-state parents and otherwise non-traditional protesters who now are posting constantly and organizing rapidly under the group Indivisible.

Members of the GOP might label this “tea party of the left” as “radical,” “left-wing,” “anarchist” or “paid protesters,” but these members know who they are: librarians. Teachers. Veterans. Nurses. Your moms.

SEE ALSO: What to do when you’re so overwhelmed by the Trump presidency you can barely move

There’s a stereotype about the modern protester that’s proven hard to shake: the whiney, internet-savvy highly educated socialist coastal liberal who wants nothing more than to destroy capitalism and replace it with Lena Dunham.

The current face of the resistance to the Donald Trump administration and its policies, however, is more diverse (and largely female-led) than some GOP senators would have you believe.

“I’ve never protested anything before,” Liz P., an Indivisible member in Alabama says.

Indivisible, the coalition of 5,802 anti-Trump grassroots groups that rapidly organized after the election, gave her a platform.

“I’m from Alabama. We never even talked about politics around here before, it’s kind of a social survival thing.”

Overwhelmed by Trump and the daily barrage of threats they feel he poses to the American democracy, these “violent paid protesters” got together on platforms millennials thought their parents didn’t understand Facebook, Slack, and Twitter and did something about it.

They’d like people to know they’re not quite the radical left-wing extremists Marco Rubio and others say they are. And they definitely aren’t paid to protest.

They come from deep red states

Sara Anderson of West Viriginia

Image: Sara Anderson

Americans love nothing more than dividing themselves into a FiveThirtyEight map: red or blue, Clinton or Trump, facts or alternative facts.

Some of the loudest voices of the resistance aren’t from blue states at all, but from places like West Virginia, which Trump won by a margin so large we’ll just hyperlink it.

Sara Anderson lives in Morgantown, West Virginia, a blue speck in the heart of Trump country. Since she since started organizing after the election, first on Pantsuit Nation West Virginia and then on Indivisible, she’s started to see members pop up from everywhere.

“We’ve had women from Pocahontas County, a beautiful, rural, Trump county, drive hours to Charleston to make it to a meeting. They connected on the Indivisible page. They’re doing what they can to find each other.”

Users sometimes take advantage of the Indivisible map to discover grassroots groups in their state. All the way over in Northwest Arkansas, a Muslim woman in a red state, whose name we’ve abbreviated to A.P., was thankful to connect to anti-Trump neighbors she didn’t even know existed.

“I got involved shortly after inauguration when I heard of the Indivisible groups popping up all over the nation. I live in the South in a very red state so I doubted there was one near me,” A.P. says. “As a Muslim American, I felt more lonely than ever. But ,lo and behold, thank goodness, there was one nearby.”

A.P. admitted that she’s nervous to share some of her story, as a Muslim woman living in a Trump-friendly state. But she’s glad she doesn’t have to experience this administration alone.

They could otherwise be confused for a Trump voter

It’s no surprise that A.P. thought she wouldn’t find allies in her state. If you read the post-election hot takes, Trump supporters, we came to understand, were white, married, working-class, highly religious, and liked to eat their steak well done.

The Women’s March itself, the largest protest in U.S. history by some tallies, was led by women of color (after significant backlash). Many of the “paid protesters” showing up at these town halls, however, look like they’d fit in one of the typical Trump voter categories.

Kim Holmes from Huntsville, Alabama, checks off all of these boxes: She’s a married, white heterosexual woman from a deep red state with three kids and a job in marketing. But she also has a gay son, who helped to make her aware of people whose life experiences were dramatically different from her own. She wants her children to be involved in politics so that “they will be comfortable with it as adults.”

“I think I used an Obama Presidency as my safety net, so I didn’t feel the need to be super active in the political sphere. But now the safety net for marginalized communities is gone and I suddenly feel the weight of my privilege as a white women in a heterosexual marriage with middle class means,” Holmes says.

Kim Holmes (Center) and two of her kids in Huntsville, Alabama

Image: kim holmes

Holmes alone doesn’t change the data of who voted this election, and which candidate they voted for. But she’s actively looking to find “non-traditional” protesters even former Trump voters and get them involved in the cause.

They’re addicted to Facebook, they’re blowing up on Twitter, and they even like Slack

Kim and others like her stressed that they’re dependent on Facebook for their organizing, as much they sometimes resist it. Kristin Moline, another Indivisible organizer and nurse and a veteran, didn’t want to get on Facebook or Twitter. She barely even maintained her accounts. Now, Moline says, “she’s fomenting the resistance from my cellphone,” and had to buy a new computer to help her organize post-election.

Moline didn’t think much of social media until she started organizing after Trump’s election. When she learned that her congressperson was holding his town hall across the state (400 miles away from their district’s largest population center), she drove 12 hours round trip and filmed her experience for Twitter, where it quickly blew up and made headlines.

@Scout_Finch http://pic.twitter.com/4sFKafyAja

kristin moline (@sisterresister1) February 14, 2017

“I only got on Facebook six months ago, I only started to use Twitter three weeks ago and my life is going off right now,” Moline said, who now manages a group of over 3,000 members. “I’m able to take a leadership role because of Twitter.”

Indivisible reports that the page has already received 17.23 million page views in just two months alone.

Nothing (besides everything they’re fighting against) makes them madder than being called ‘paid protesters’

Though their concerns were diverse, from protecting the Affordable Care Act to investigating Trump’s potential ties to the Kremlin, nothing unified these women more than their resentment as being dismissed as “paid protesters.”

“I’m a stay at home mom and I’m doing this out of my own time and effort,” Leigh Altman, organizer of one of the Indivisible chapters in North Carolina, says. “Without exception, these are hardworking ordinary citizens. The paid protester thing is a testament to how desperate [the opposition] are. They’ll come up with any face-saving lie to try and explain a spontaneous groundswell from the people that we’ve never seen before.”

Leigh Altman organized a town hall when her own Senator, Thom Thillis, wouldn’t show up to one

Image: Leigh altman

While there are some people who are paid to organize, not “protest for pay,” all of these women strenuously asserted that they had little to gain financially by organizing.

Lorena Johnson, a citizen and formerly undocumented immigrant from Mexico, is truly embarrassed that her representatives allege that she’s motivated by money. She’d like her senators to know she’s here for a different reason.

Lorena Johnson and her family

Image: lorena johnson

“I’m here because I remember what it was like to be an undocumented immigrant. I knew how people feel. You are are always scared you will be caught [and] deported. You’re hiding. I lived here for a year without documents and I remember what it’s like to suffer … So I’m speaking up because I have to tell this story. Now.”

Note: Names in this piece are abbreviated to protect the subject’s identity, per their requests.

WATCH: Here’s a clip of Kellyanne Conway’s previous (and mercifully brief) career in stand-up comedy

Read more: http://on.mash.to/2nfLOD5

from Your moms are taking over Facebook, and they’re using it to fight Trump

[braced-music]

“I have no opinion on what other people think about me” - Anton Newcombe 

Originally published on Drowned In Sound, 12th January 2017

Most artists promoting a new album probably wouldn't take the time to instead speak about how the world seems to be teetering precariously on the brink of war, or talk about their somewhat unflattering portrayal in a cult documentary released 13 years ago. Thankfully the Brian Jonestown Massacre’s Anton Newcombe is not most artists.

Speaking to Anton from his Berlin home about the Brian Jonestown Massacre’s latest album, Third World Pyramid, just before the US election result, his train of thought is racing far beyond Hilary and Donald’s impending doom. During the hour-long interview he barely pauses, careering fitfully from one subject to the next, apart from to occasionally say an ever so slightly intimidating, ‘Do you see what I’m saying?”

He talks in hurried detail about why geopolitics, a hemmed in Russia, and an expansionist China are marching us towards conflict. To cope with these unstable times he’s reached a “very Zen realisation” of being more accepting in his own life. Third World Pyramid, a record partially inspired by the current climate, he shockingly reveals is not the band’s best record and will be eclipsed by the forthcoming release of an “indefinable” double album entitled Don't Get Lost. However if you’re a Q reviewer, don’t expect a copy in the post any time soon.

Still keen to set the record straight on Dig!, Anton stresses how the producers “fucked up” and had to re-edit the original Sundance Film Festival cut for a less libelous and more compelling narrative centred around his flammable persona. As to whether he has any regrets about the excess around that time he’s characteristically defiant, joking that if he’d continued down this needle and bottle strewn path he’d be living with a Ferragamo model in Connecticut right now.

Instead these days he’s busy in his Berlin studio creating a soundtrack for a new Philip Johns’ film, looking forward to working with Melody’s Echo Chamber, and completing a documentary shot on the Brian Jonestown Massacre’s last UK tour about one of his roadies. Thank God for sobriety.

---

On Twitter you’ve frequently used the hashtag #fuckwar. Do you truly believe a world war is going to happen?

Anton Newcombe: What I think is this has been a long time coming for several different reasons. I was talking to my friend from Israel about the things that have been going on even since 2000 and people just continuously block those things out - it’s like mass hypnosis has taken effect. He said, ‘it’s a survival mechanism’ and it made so much sense.

If you go back even farther to the seventies and eighties, Brzezinski talked about the grand chess game with Russia, this is during the Soviet time, and how they’d ultimately defeat them by squeezing them in. There was the whole thing where Papa Bush talked about the New World Order, basically making everything a federalist system like the EU and having business and trade supercede all the old conflicts and shortcomings.

Do you think it’s a worldwide conspiracy?

No, it’s not a conspiracy. Nato’s moved aggressively all the way up to the edge of Russia, China has captured the whole of the south China sea and claimed it as their own – it is not a conspiracy. The United States owes more money to China alone than it can ever possibly pay as a debt and the whole system is based on debt. International financial services are overextended to such an extent it can never be undone. Post 9/11, with the neo-con strategy, set into course a series of events [where] there is no reverse.

The more you look at the events with Russia the more you know it’s not a conspiracy...I understand Syria’s fake revolution was started in London by a Thinktank with people behind the scenes: they’re not hiding out in Alepo, they’re certainly not in Damascus, it’s people in London and it’s non-governmental organisations' people who’ve kicked this off. It’s ironic that this whole thing started from one person getting shot for not being able to protest.

We’re still fighting like crazy in Iraq decades on and Afghanistan, we’ve been there since the seventies. This is like misadventure on a grand scale and I’m not against war specifically but this is geopolitics. The thing is now Russia understands they’re fully surrounded and they have major commitments to China and their alignments with Iran and it’s at a serious point.

As a father how does this make you feel about your children’s future? The current situation makes it seem like we’re doomed.

Penny Rimbaud used to be part of the Crass organisation and commune. I had the observation where at one point he was so involved with Crass’ records and the commune, label, libraries, and publications during the Thatcher times educating people on how you can be your own government. Now he’s on Twitter and he’s being like this Zen guy non-stop and it lead me to a realisation in my own life.

If you understand psychologically a lot of times in life people hate things because they’re not able to interact with them and they love them because they are. It’s that simple, a certain type of love and a certain type of hate. It’s led me to a very Zen realisation because the bottom line is that I care very much so I have to refocus to that and I have to be accepting. In this life and these times it forces me to focus on my art.

The album is called Third World Pyramid. Is it in reference to the current social and political situation?

It’s multi-leveled because I'm abstract. On one level I thought it was quite interesting the peaks of regions and time periods, whether it’s mass America or the Egyptian or even the pyramids in Babylon, the Ziggurats - all of these places are in the third world now.

I thought that was interesting, but then there’s also the human pyramid. If you don’t understand, on the back of the dollar bill there’s a pyramid. Here we have this Christian nation yet all the iconography is this Roman shit and this Egyptian shit. None of it is Jesus on a cross. None of it is a picture of a church someplace or a fish, it’s something else they’re talking about and it’s another God.

In this pyramid with the eye it’s a representation of the human pyramid and each block could be a cell, like a station. Your civil servants could be in one block and all these different people going all the way up; society answering to the next group or club above them and all of them working together becomes the all seeing eye.

The interesting thing about it is the foundation of the pyramid sees nothing. The foundation of the pyramid is below the sand: doesn’t see the sky, never seen the stars, it’s never seen a cloud, it’s just holding up the pyramid.

The tone of the album has a sense of melancholic desperation, but then seems quite hopeful. What was your mindset when you were writing it?

Well, the interesting thing is I wrote in a full spectrum of human emotion. There’s another album coming out [Don't Get Lost] and it has this almost kraut-rocky, PiL Limited steel box, dubby, dystopian...it just changes style every single song and it covers so much ground you can’t imagine from track-to-track - it’s a double record.

I just split the songs into two different categories and this album [Third World Pyramid] I wanted to be more understandable, as far as a pre-conceived notion that many people have of what we probably are as far as vaguely influenced by the sixties, shamelessly wearing our hearts on our sleeves. It’s going to hark it back to that repeatedly.

The other record will be indefinable, like something I’ve discovered. Like a UFO I’ve discovered and I’ve walked inside and start pressing buttons to work out how to fly it. I knew I was going to take the heat about this record because I don’t think it’s the best album, specifically that wasn’t my goal.

It’s a rare thing to hear someone say about their own album.

I’m going to qualify that statement - the thing is I split the songs in half. I didn’t specifically go: “Well, I’m going to put these ten great songs together”. I made two albums that work cohesively in this bizarre way – one short record and one double record – but they’re two totally different albums.

When I started sharing these privately, to Simone from Primal Scream or something, I was like: “No, no, no you have to listen to the first album first and then listen to the second album and then you’re going to understand something strange”. What you’re going to understand is that I just made 45 songs at a time and that’s how quick my brain works in a week and that’s how diverse it is. This isn’t me being: “Here’s a record I want to become this album” or: “Oh, there was a band in the 80s called Jesus And The Mary Chain, let’s fucking buy a leather jacket and sound like this – can I borrow your distortion pedal?”

With such a prolific output how do you even decide what makes it onto the final album?

Some friends helped me. Either it’s absolutely clear to me in this way that there’s like an invisible chord that connects everything...As one song gives way to the next it becomes harmonious with the previous one and the one that’s about to come. You can manipulate the listener’s experience that way just by the arrangement of the songs and the pacing. Sometimes it’s an awareness on a level that cannot be studied or premeditated, but it’s harmonious in your own workings of your mind.

The opening track ‘Good Mourning’ is sung by your wife and is about your son. However, it’s very sombre.

She asked me to write a song and I wrote one for her. It just happens, like some people can do that [laughs]. Ultimately, in a large body of work, it’s ok to reflect a full spectrum of emotions.

Would you ever consider being overtly political in your lyrics?

Only if it was true to exactly what I was feeling with the comments. I wrote a song called ‘Take It From The Man’ a long time ago and it basically breaks down what I was thinking and what I was feeling about splitting, about knowing and my awareness of everything - just calling it like you see it in a classic motif or whatever.

There’s no reason because what I’m going to explain to you is you can’t want for other people what they don’t want for themselves. That’s precisely why I’m not at Oxford station passing out socialist literature. On many levels people have got it the way they want it.

I always think when you go to the ‘90s when you first started and artists had the time, space, and money to grow and live cheaply. Do you think as a band you could start out now in the same way you did back then?

We had to fight. We were already in an economically expensive environment in San Francisco - an environment now that’s the most expensive in America. We had to fight principles of collective socialism in the arts where you share a rehearsal space, you borrow a car, you borrow amps, you do whatever you have to do. Because we had to rent out Masonic Temples to play we would do our own promotion, so we had to step completely out of the system. That’s the only advice I’d have for anyone else to fully understand that.

At that time everyone was against us, you’d have other bands tearing down our flyers - we were such a threat to everyone. I could never understand that, obviously none of those people have bands any more. People are so competitive and you really can’t look at other things in that light; you need to foster an eco-system to support yourself whether it’s the record store or the venue. A lot of people don’t understand that, you have no competition as a band.

A lot of new bands starting out who admire Brian Jonestown sometimes take more interest in the rock n roll element, like the drugs...

They fucked up Dig. I don’t want to dwell on it, but they didn’t have an ending so they had to compile a story out of the footage. A few things get in there but they’re not backed-up, they’re not qualified - you don’t really hear me speak. My responses [in this interview] have been over 25 words, with syntax, and everything works right? You can understand what I’m trying to say and what I’m saying. There’s no example of that in the movie...it’s fucking scary listening to me from the very beginning, if you don’t share my viewpoint it’s fucking scary talking to me.

Anyway, the first thing that I say is: “We’re going to start a revolution and we’re going to teach you how to do it” and that was because I was navigating all the record companies in the world. Everybody was trying to go: “You’re the next Kurt Cobain and this is what we want from you”. I would say “no” and my band is going: “Fuck you! We’re starving to death, what are you doing? They’re buying us $6000 meals!”

I wanted to show people an example of how you could make your thing work and that alone would propel you to a greater level of success than the people who didn’t know how to market you and create something.

Do you think artists have greater control in the current landscape?

We’re fucked. It’s fucked because everybody is asleep. Here you had the opportunity with Al Gore talking about the internet and how great it would be and all this shit, this gift to humanity, and then you had Facebook completely usurp everybody and thinking that’s the way to market your stuff. Without paying Facebook your posts get suppressed.

Going backwards, what I wanted to do at the start of the movie, my only goal was to enter the popular lexicon. Basically be understood as this person who did this type of thing, for this reason. It’s really odd because Jimi Hendrix, when he entered the popular lexicon as being this free spirited electric guitar player one of kind, right? You can’t be Jimi Hendrix. There’s no clues that he left us of how to be him. Paul McCartney going on and on his whole life talking [Paul McCartney voice]: “Well, you know we had a lot of fun” There’s nothing that guy's ever said that can help you ever be him.

So, you’re saying you can’t be imitated?

There’s something really amazing about full reality, that if I leave enough clues and you try and emulate me what you ultimately become is you. Johnny Rotten did the same thing in this really odd way. The only thing when you copy Sid Vicious is you could become a derelict, but when you copy Johnny Rotten you couldn’t be Johnny Rotten but the thing was you became yourself.

The point I was trying to make is I never wanted permission from anybody or validation to do anything. My mom is a psychologist so she was like: “You’re going to fucking end up in a mental hospital or prison, because you are so belligerent." I had a job as a plumber’s apprentice when I was 16 or 17 and they were like: “Anton, we love you, we want to buy you your own truck, you’ll have a really good future with us”...and I was like: “Fuck that”. Could you imagine? Me being a plumber to some rich white people in Newport beach?

Do you ever feel like you’re imprisoned by your characterisation in Dig? You tweeted reviews of Third World Pyramid saying ‘They think they know me’.

No, that’s what they tried to say about this record...anybody who tries to critique me like a Q writer when they reviewed the recording. First of all, they didn’t even comment that I covered the ‘Assignment Song’ by Jane & Lorraine and that also Nina Simone did it; it’s a fucking epic song that nobody knows about, just attempting to do a 10 minute song like that is amazing. Now, what did I see in it that Nina Simone saw in it? I’m obviously not an idiot because then she wasn’t an idiot. I knew when they didn’t comment on that they didn’t listen to it.

I know they’re going to eat their words, because the next record isn’t like any of that shit - I hope they don’t bother to review it. The ironic thing in passing any mentions of the last song [‘The Sun Ship’] is it got to fucking number five in the UK.

I wasn’t fairly portrayed [in Dig!] and there were a lot of things that happened. The movie people saw entitled ‘Dig’ wasn’t the movie that won Sundance. The movie that won Sundance had all the spy camera footage of me dealing with all the record deals, the lawyers and those guys threatening – they’re basically the mafia. A lot of the people talking, the A&R people, are basically hookers with cocaine that they sent to try and talk us into it; the drug parties and all the shit that went down. None of those people signed off and I had it signed off. What they got is something less than that, they had to go back to the drawing board when it won and they sold the rights and they had to edit another movie.

It was always clear in my mind that that wasn’t the story, I was never a failure, I’ve always been friends with the Dandy Warhols and all this other shit.

Do you ever watch Dig!?

Never, I never watched it. I watched one version of the movie.

Now you’re sober do you have any regrets about your drug use at that time, especially as you’re creatively so prolific now?

I was always prolific. I did six records in 18 months in 1995 – six 18-song records – I’ve always written every day under every circumstance. I only got into smack the last two years of the decade, so we were actually filming before then. I mean I only got like, “This is a problem”. It’s a problem to start with. After that I started drinking to get rid of the smack and that took while to get rid of.

If I have hundreds of songs it really doesn’t matter either way. What can I say? I used to have a Ferragamo model as a girlfriend and I pretty much lost her as I was doing smack. Like, what, would I have her and live in Connecticut? It’s really hard to quantify. It took me until the mid-2000s to leave America for good and it never occurred to me to do that. If I had done that in the nineties in my late teens or twenties if I possible could have figured that out, would I even have a group?

You wrote the soundtrack for the film Moon Dogs released in the summer. Have you got any plans to work on other soundtracks?

I know this is going to be stupid and people always tell me to focus, but I’ve come up with two really good concepts for movies and two of my friends who are screenwriters have both said they’d help me do that in a second and Phillip Johns [Moon Dogs’ Director] said, “I’m in any time”. But then Phillip Johns has come up with another movie and presented the concept to me, which would be pretty cool; another Scottish film that would be pretty badass with Dean Cavanar writing it. I said I would do that.

Some people in Los Angeles sent me a synopsis about some fucking DMT duality thing. I want to record with Melody’s Echo Chamber, I want to do some work with some Belgium artists and I’ve been working with a Danish woman. There’s so much stuff I want to do, I’m recording a band from Germany right now.

I read you were going to make a film about a roadie on your last UK tour. Did that happen?

Yeah, I’m just worried my filmmaker friend didn’t do it the way I wanted it to be done. The problem is I couldn’t be the guy filming because the whole premise of the film is I’ve known the guy in the film for 26 years, but I don’t know anything about him and he’s really interesting guy...

We did film it and it looks spectacular I’m just worried we didn’t get enough of him in a very odd way. I want to make the whole thing in French subtitles, so it has to be a little bit weird enough to make absolutely no sense - it can’t be campy or weird. The concept is bananas because we’re playing to like 4,000 people in this old place and you’re only seeing it from behind. It’s all shot in this Anton Corbin black and white, ultra gloss, HD like crazy.

You’re often referred to as interview gold. Do you enjoy interviews?

I just try to listen to what’s being said and I answer honestly and I never worry about it too much. It turns out very consistently over the years. I’ve always had an interesting take on society and the motivations of people and where it’s going. An authority on all the stuff. I’ve always been counter culture...I have no opinion on what other people think about me or the way I behave [laughs].

Third World Pyramid is out now via A Recordings. Don’t Get Lost is released on 24 February 2017. Marie Wood