#senior quote even if swearing was allowed

[angerygoomba]

affirm i will not quote a line from mr morale and the big steppers for my senior quote just because im listening to it at 1 am in the dark of my living room with my doggy as a questioning amab

[cherryrikis]

BETTER LUCK TOMORROW - introduction ! senior project

pairing : nishimura riki x reader

synopsis : after being in the wrong place at the wrong time, you (as well as your friends), were framed for the death of your brother and disappearance of your boyfriend. you all had no hope. no job, no money, none of you were even allowed to graduate. at least, until a stubborn kid on a dance scholarship suddenly acts as your savior, riki helps clear your name all for the sake of a school project.

this episode contains the following : 1.3k wc, brief swearing, mentions of death & mentions of murder/killing, lots of dialogue

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“as you all know, you have a major senior project due by the end of the year for part of your college interviews. this will be worth 90% of your grade and is not optional. any questions to far?” riki’s english teacher read off the whiteboard, before turning to face the class.

she cleared her throat loudly before continuing.

“late work will not be accepted, because you have until may 25 to get this project submitted. everyone should know which college they plan on attending, or applying to by now. a google slides format must be be at least 25 slides, and a word doc should be at least 10 pages.”

jungwon quoted the teacher, explaining to riki what’s expected of them after he realized riki hadn’t been paying attention.

“how the hell did you remember all she said? and- why are you even here.. you’re like, a freshman in college.” riki noticed, with a visible look of confusion on his face.

“sophomore, actually. and i’m here for volunteer work! we have finals too you know. i was telling you and sunoo about this last week, but it’s for my social thought class!-” jungwon explained with a smile, only for it to drop as he was cut off .“yeah yeah okay. so what kind of topic am i supposed to pick?” riki asked before crumpling up a random paper into a ball, tossing it in jungwons direction.

jungwon let out a sigh. “riki, you really need to do better. if you can’t improve how you act, that impact will show on my grade as well. and that won’t be good for either of us.” he said as he took the paper ball, unfolding it to reveal riki’s report card from last quarter. it wasn’t too bad really, mainly straight a and b minuses. but the biggest issue, was behavior and participation.

“how would your grade tanking be bad on me? i still have until fall before i start going to ucla.”

“i really don’t know how you got in.” jungwon shook his head.

“dance scholarship. duh.” “nishimura riki! you have 7 more minutes to determine your main topic. i recommend that you use your time more wisely.” the teacher called out from her desk.

“okay seriously, now we have to focus. what topics are you interested in?” jungwon asked, as he pulled his notebook out.

“well, i like dancing. i can research the history on different dance styles.” riki shrugged, loosely putting an idea out there.

“that’s actually not that bad, especially as a dance major. let’s sit on that idea for a bit in case anything else comes up. what else do you like?” jungwon hummed while briefly scribbling a few notes in.

“i don’t even get why i still have to do this stupid assignment when i already heard back from ucla. if anything it’s a waste of my time, because this only benefits the kids who haven’t heard back yet.” riki complained.

“well,” jungwon chuckled. “the start of the fall semester is still a while from now, anything can change by then. they’re still gonna be looking at your final report card and all that. this is just to determine that your slot in that school is ensured. i think the you from freshman year would be proud to see you improve.”

but of course, he wasn’t listening. riki was hyper focused on his computer. at least until the last sentence stuck out to him.

“say that again?” riki questioned, making sure he heard jungwon right.

“the you from three years ago would be proud if you improved?” he repeated an improvised version, with a raised brow.

riki chewed on the bottom of his pen, before hastily writing something down on jungwon’s notebook.

“you.. you want to solve heeseung and jay’s case..?” jungwon stuttered as he read the notes. “how is this even related to what i said? is it because you were a freshman when it happened?”

“do you really believe yn was capable of killing them? i mean honestly, won. we grew up with her. she was heeseung’s little sister.” riki insisted, ignoring jungwon’s previous questions.

“i couldn’t believe it either, because there was no way it could’ve been her. but there was a lot of evidence that said otherwise.” jungwon informed, moving the notebook back onto his desk.

“also, don’t get mad when i say this. but, do you think the reason why you’ve been so fixated on yn being innocent is because you never got over your crush on her from middle school?”

“hey! shut the fuck up dude.” riki hissed, slapping the older boy on the back of his head. “and she was someone we were close to, a 17 year old at the time. it just isn’t likely.”

“age doesn’t mean anything. 35% of murders in america were committed by people ranging between 17 and 21. and, 28% of murders are committed by a relative or acquaintance. chances are low but not zero.” a girl butt in from behind the them. riki whipped his head back to see who it was, only to wish he never turned around.

minji kim. a pain in the original friend groups ass since elementary school.

the two stared at her with two completely different expressions. riki looked minji up and down with a frown, while jungwon just blinked slowly with wide eyes.

“what? do you seriously not remember me?” she scoffed.

“no trust me, we do, minji.” riki huffed before turning back around.

“we’re just wondering how you know that, is all.” jungwon hummed.

“my brother is a police officer now. i’m sure if you didn’t know who he was, one of your other friends might.” she snickered.

minjae kim. he is minji’s brother and one of the officers who handled the heeseung-jay case, aka one of the officers responsible for the arrests of yn and a few others. riki would know, because he attended the court hearing.

“minji, what topic have you selected?” the teacher asked as she briefly looked up from the computer screen.

“i will be making a slideshow on the history of ballet.” she answered with a proud smile. oh how riki just wanted to wipe that look off her face.

“and.. finally. riki and jungwon?”

"me and jungwon will investigate the lee siblings case, from 3 years ago." and the teachers face fell.

"riki, i don't know if this is a good topic write on. you still have time to change your mind-"

"no. this is what i want to do. i want to solve the murder of heeseung lee, and the disappearance of jay park." riki cut off the teacher with determination.

and the class went silent.

"there's nothing to solve! yn lee killed her own brother, and her own boyfriend. case closed." minji said. but remember, her brother was one of the officers who testified against yn. of course, her opinion on the topic was just as biased as riki’s or jungwon’s could be.

"shut up minji, your brother got demoted for a reason. and, you didn't know yn." jungwon waved off.

"you may have known heeseung but that doesn't mean you know her. and i know enough about yn lee to see that shes a cold hearted killer." "enough!" the teacher interrupted.

"fine. riki and jungwon, you may pursue this case. but we have to set some boundaries. first off, you may use any public sources or personal connections. secondly, when contacting any sources like publishers or officers, do not push the limit. if they say certain answers to questions are confidential, then respect that. third and foremost, absolutely do NOT contact the lees or the parks. leave any involved families out of this, especially now that miss yn lee is out of juvie."

she teacher sighed in slight relief as she saw jungwon and riki nodding in agreement.

but what she didn’t see, was how their fingers were crossed behind their backs.

taglist ! @jiiyen @prettiestgirlontheplanet @hannicorpse @wonsboo @murazbae @stilesks @soobinbunnie5 @blvengene @r1kification @gyuvision @goldenmellow @ariluvssssss100 @who-tf-soddhi @mmurazz @jaemified @strawberrieswithchocolateo3o @heartheejake @hoonsdrnkdzd

not proofread

[rancidpancakebatter]

tasm!peter parker

like honestly i’m not sure how to exactly set this up, but like a mini series of like a friends to lovers but the reader already has been in a relationship for like three years or something and she finally realizes that her partner isn’t really fulfilling the role of her partner in the relationship and seeks out help from peter and gwen ? idk i just thought this quote from my favorite movie would fit that, like she should try to make her relationship work or just end it ? idk you know i love you so we’ll see what happens next, i’ll love any direction you’d want to approach it with ! 😊💗🫶🏼🫶🏼

🎥: before we go

brooke dalton:
it’s possible, isn't it? it’s possible that you could meet somebody who's perfect for you even though you're committed to somebody else.

nick vaughan:
no, no, see, i think if you're committed to somebody, you don't allow yourself to find perfection in someone else.

Another Way to Fly-[P.P.] | Chapter One

Pairing: TASM!college!Peter Parker x female!college!reader

 Summary: You've been dating Harry Osborne for three years. You love him...but maybe not as much as you once did. Maybe not enough.

AU Where Norman isn’t as sick- he’s just an asshole- and Gwen doesn’t go to Oxford. Harry is functioning as an apprentice at Oscorp (He graduated with a master's in two years because of his studying abroad). You, Peter, and Gwen are all seniors at ESU. Because Norman isn’t dying the whole “Goblin” thing is scratched from the record so Peter and Harry are besties.

Word Count: 3.8k

Content Warnings: Swearing, Drinking (Of age), Skeezy men, Blatant objectification of reader, Norman Osborne (I dunno if that's really a warning but like he's gross and a terrible father so I'm listing it)

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A/N: So sorry this took so long @scorpiolystoned! I got caught up in a lot of stuff and it took a second but the first chapter is FINALLY HERE! I'm having fun with this one :))

You were at yet another fundraiser in yet another gown that cost more than your monthly rent, talking to yet another stuffy old man who felt the need to make his opinion known. You smiled politely as he continued to tell you how your generation's greatest issue was a lack of work ethic, which was rich coming from a man who inherited his ten-million-dollar mansion upstate. You were on your third glass of champagne and considering getting a brandy instead. Anything that might make this conversation less painful. 

Normally you would have no issue telling him off- rattling off about the lies sold to the working class by the privileged elite- but alas, you were here with your boyfriend, and you couldn’t taint his reputation. Harry would be inheriting Oscorp one day and would need these men to like him to keep it running. So you bit your tongue and plastered on a fake smile. 

You said nothing about how insane they all sounded. You said nothing about the racist comments they made about their housekeepers. You said nothing about the skeezy comments they would make about you. You said nothing, because here: women are trophies, not people. 

You hated going to these events but you loved Harry. You knew he didn’t like them much either, constantly having to defend his capability and intelligence to men who claim he’s just an idiot boy with a well-respected father.

He asked you to come to keep him sane. However, he was nowhere to be seen. There was no one to save you from this creepy man asking if college was really the right move because it would be better to settle down, “it would be a shame to waste all that beauty.” 

You politely excused yourself and made your way to the bar. One benefit of snobby, elitist parties: open bars. You ordered something top-shelf and strong while you fished your phone from your clutch. You sent out a text to Harry letting him know where you were and asking him to come back to your side. You sat there for an hour, nursing your second drink, until he came back. 

“Hey babe, sorry about that. My dad reintroduced me to some shareholders and I couldn’t get away.” He gave you a peck on the lips and he sat down next to you. 

You rested your head on his shoulder and his arm draped over the back of your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you’re more than ready to leave.” You told him you were and he nodded. 

As he looked at his watch he sucked his teeth. “If we leave now it’ll be too soon. Can you hang in another hour?” 

You pouted at him and he leaned into you, “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

You shivered as he kissed just below your ear. He placed his hands in yours as his kisses started trailing lower. 

“Okay, okay. You win.” A smile stretched across his face and you swatched his chest. “But you better not abandon me again. I mean it, Osborn.”

He playfully winces as he stands from his chair, “Ooh, last name. She’s serious.”

He gave you another peck on the lips, “I promise.” 

And with that, you let him lead you back into the horde. 

You made small talk and you played the role of a doting, hype man. To be fair, you didn’t really have to fake that. You loved Harry. It wasn’t hard to gush about his accomplishments, you were immensely proud of him. However you had to format your adoration differently for this crowd, and you hated that. 

An hour turned into two, which turned into three. Eventually, you pulled him aside and told him you were ready to go. You felt gross and emotionally exhausted. Harry said he still couldn’t leave but looking at your face he knew you were done.

He called you a cab and told you he would see you later. You hated leaving without him but understood. After a shower, you got ready for bed. You tried to stay up for him but the drinks you had made your eyes heavy and soon you were drifting off to sleep. 

You woke up the next morning in an empty bed. You checked your phone to see Harry had texted you. 

“I went home with my father last night. Have a good day of classes.” You pushed away the sadness you felt and sent him a text saying you would, asking if you would see him today. 

You got up and ready and made your way to a cafe just off campus. Every Monday, you went to Cafè Luna and met up with your friends before class. It was a lovely tradition that began about a year ago when you all discussed how abhorrent you found Mondays. This was a good way to make sure everyone started off on a good note. 

You pulled at the glass door and were greeted by the smell of cocoa, butter, sugar, bread, and coffee. A mix that always made you happy. You got in line, pondering what kind of breakfast you wanted today. You could go for the classic breakfast sandwich, or possibly a sweet treat would brighten your mood more. You decided on both, knowing Gwen would split whatever confectionary you got. 

As you got to the counter, you gave the cashier your order and handed her Harry’s card. You grabbed a table while you waited for your order to be called out. Just then, two of your three favourite people walked in. You smiled as Gwen waved, rushing towards you to wrap you in a hug. She kissed you on the cheek before separating. Peter beamed at you as well and enveloped you in a firm hug.

You would never tell anyone, but he was the best hugger in the group by far. He always hugged with just enough strength to make you feel warm and safe but not enough to hurt or feel trapped. 

Once in your unofficial seating chart, Peter looks around the shop. “Where’s Harry?” 

You force a smile, trying not to let your own disappointment show. “He’s at his dad’s. I’m not sure he’s gonna make it today.”

Peter huffed, letting his lips flap together at the end. “Bummer, I was hoping to see ole Harr-Harr.”

You nodded in understanding, wishing for the same. You couldn’t get too lost in your thoughts as you heard your name called from across the cafe. 

You stood from your chair, “Sorry guys, I already ordered. I was pretty hungry.”

They both reassured you that it was fine. Peter stood from the table as well. “I’ll go get in line.” 

He kissed Gwen on the forehead before walking across the store with you. You grabbed your food and headed back to the table. You placed your cinnamon roll between you and Gwen and passed her a fork.

She feigned innocence, claiming she couldn’t possibly take your food, but eventually gave in when you pointed out how big it was. This was a local shop, and they made all their baked goods in huge sizes. The cinnamon roll between you was almost as big as your hand. 

Peter soon returned with his and Gwen’s orders. Gwen thanked him with a kiss on the cheek as Peter casually draped his arm around her. You smiled at the couple and the domesticity they displayed. It was sweet. 

“So,” Gwen asked pulling you from your thoughts, “How was your weekend?” 

You told her about how you spent most of it preparing for Oscorp's last fundraiser. Norman did a fundraiser once a month, cycling through different organizations and causes.

Last night was for Cerebral Palsy. There was a giant check for a cool million dollars on display in the Osborn name. You hated that charity was thrown around in this way, as a power grab, but you guess there are worst things they could do with their money. 

Because of Harry’s absence this morning your friends could sympathise with you openly. 

“Yikes, I don’t miss those.”

“How many guys commented on your dress?”

You chuckled, “Yeah Pete, you’re real lucky and only two men commented on my dress. However, three commented on my hips, and six on how beautiful I was.”

Gwen grimaced while Peter looked between the two of you, confused. “I don’t understand. Being called beautiful is bad?” He looked directly at Gwen, “Should I not call you that anymore?”

She chuckles and places a hand over his heart. You watch Peter physically calm at the act. “No, but there’s a certain way in which some men say that doesn’t really mean ‘you’re beautiful.’”

“It means, ‘I see you as a sex object and I am imagining having sex with you right now as we are talking.’” You helpfully supplied. 

Gwen raised a finger and pointed it at you with a look of “she’s right.” Peter scrunched up his face in disgust. 

“Ew, men are pigs.” You both hummed in agreeance as you tore into your breakfast sandwich. 

They told you of their weekend: Dinner at Mays and a nice night in. You tried not to be jealous. You wished that you could do that sort of stuff with Harry. He always wanted to go out, spend money, be seen. You wished that your attention was enough. 

You almost got lost in your conversation about work when you caught a glimpse of your phone on the table. You usually kept it in your purse, but you were hoping to get a message from Harry. 

“Oh shit! Sorry, I gotta run or I’ll be late for class.” You gathered your stuff and hugged your friends goodbye. 

This was a nice tradition, you thought. Your Monday definitely felt a lot better. 

You walked out of your last class and sent another text to Harry. He still hadn’t replied to your earlier one from this morning. 

“Hey! Missed you at Luna’s today. I’m on my way home.”

You didn’t officially live with Harry, but you might as well. For the past four months, you spent almost every night there. He had made space for you and your things. You had your products in the bathroom and your snacks in the cupboard. Really you only went home for more clothes or if he was busy with work. You knew he appreciated his space when he was working. 

As you sat on the subway, you tapped your foot to the beat of the music pumping in your headphones while considering what you would make for dinner tonight, what Harry would want to eat. You scrolled through Pinterest to form ideas. 

When you got to the lobby, the doorman greeted you as always. You had given Harry a key to your place ages ago, and in return, he added you to his “list”.

Harr lived in a very expensive Manhatten penthouse, and with its security and staff, you couldn’t enter without him. He didn’t really use a key because he had a private elevator. So instead, he registered you with the building so you could come and go as you please. 

When you exited the elevator you called out for him, but it seemed he wasn’t home. You dropped off your stuff and took shower. You loved his shower. The water pressure was amazing and the water never got cold.

As you stepped out you wrapped yourself in his robe and reapplied your makeup in the mirror. Your hair was still wrapped in product, being shaped just right, when you started getting dressed.

Harry still hadn’t texted you back but that wasn’t unheard of. He often got caught up in his work. You knew it could be stressful for him though and you wanted him to come back home to no worries. You put on his favourite lingerie set and one of his dress shirts. You twirled and posed in the mirror, feeling quite good about yourself. 

He would be home in about three hours which gave you time to make something for dessert too. You rummage around the fridge and decide on homemade gnocchi, served with a white cheese sauce, asparagus, and buttered scallops. For dessert, you think, a simple fruit tart.

You get to work juggling various doughs and many burners. When you had a minute, you set the table and picked out a red wine that you thought would pair well with the dish. You wanted to arrange flowers for the table, but unfortunately, you didn’t have any, and you didn’t want to risk losing time getting dressed and running down the block. 

The penthouse smelled fantastic, and you were proud of your work. You had been dancing around a playlist comprised of “American Standards”. Your hips swayed to the likes of Etta James, Nat King Cole, Bobby Darin, and Doris Day as you made sure everything looked perfect. You missed Harry today and hoped this would put him in a good mood. 

You heard your name being called into the space and your feet carried you to the source. Your smile was grand as you jumped onto your toes to throw your arms around his neck. You buried your face into him, conscious of your makeup. 

“Hey, Harr-Bear! I missed you!” His arms slowly wrapped around you, but the hold felt foreign. 

“Uh, yeah, me too.” He stepped away from you, and his brow furrowed as he looked you over.

“What are you wearing?” Your fingers fiddled with the hem of the shirt, suddenly feeling small. 

“I…I know you like it when I wear your clothes, and I- I just thought that maybe you had a hard day, so I wanted to- to surprise you.” Harry looked more than stressed, he looked scared. 

He opened his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. His hand came up to his hair as he looked around. 

“(Y/n), I need you to-”

The elevator door opened, and it was too late. The warning he tried to give you was futile as you saw an all too familiar face walk into the room. 

Oh shit.

His dad. 

He wore a smile you hesitate to call forced. To force a smile, you must put effort into it, but in Norman’s endless quest to evade age- death, really- he had gotten a lot of work done. This resulted in a permanent crooked smile, and brows that looked just a little too high. You had no issue with people getting cosmetic surgery; whatever makes you feel more comfortable, ya know?

But you did have a problem with Norman Osborn. And you had a huge issue with him seeing you in your current state. Panic. Full blown panic. All you can think is “hide!” So you do.

“The scallops!” You ran back to the kitchen as the smell of them roasting wafted through the air. 

As you hastily flip them, you look down at your “outfit”. The shirt you picked was thin, almost sheer, making the black set you wore underneath entirely obvious. You might as well be running around naked.

The only way to get to Harry’s room is to cross the living room and run up the stairs, but that means you would have to pass Norman, who is no doubt, doing his surveillance of Harry’s space- being sure to throw in as many passive aggressive comments about his son’s life and design choices. 

“Smells delicious in here. Did you cook, Harold?” You hate when he calls him that, and so does Harry. It’s just another reminder that he will never be his own achievements, only his name. 

You look across the stove. There isn’t enough there for three. You wished Harry had mentioned bringing his father back with him. You would have prepared better.

You considered, for a moment, ducking into the pantry and just waiting for him to leave. He would never need to know you were here. But he probably heard your exclamation and saw you run. Hiding wasn’t much of an option. 

“Oh, well hello (L/n).” You felt your blood run cold. 

Slowly you turned to see Norman just in the threshold of the kitchen. His forced smile is now a smirk that makes you nauseous as his eyes trail over your body. 

“Dr Osborn.” You try to sound respectful, but it comes out curter than you intended. 

Harry is standing behind him, always in his shadow. His eyes were wide, full of shock and horror. 

“Is that what you’re planning to wear for dinner?” He still had yet to make eye contact, and it took all of your strength not to curl up in a ball and hide from his gaze. 

“I-No, I uh. I’m sorry I wasn’t expecting you. I was just about to change, but I didn’t want anything to burn.” You try to smile as you start pulling things off the burners. 

“Harrold, man the stove so your girlfriend can change into something that doesn’t look like it was made for a costume in an adult film.”

Only then does Harry jump into action to save you. He awkwardly enters behind his father, who doesn’t move to let him by, and grabs the tongs from your hand.

Your feet carry you quickly across the polished hardwood, and once on the stairs, you can feel Norman’s eyes on you. You pull the shirt down, a feeble attempt to cover your ass, but it doesn’t do much. When you finally close the door behind you, you feel like crying. This was so humiliating. 

You hate Norman. He’s so gross and has no problem ogling you (in anything you wear) while talking down to you. He was never much of a fan of yours.

You didn’t come from money, going up poor in Brooklyn. You weren’t a super genius. You weren’t even interested in science. When you first met Harry, you didn’t even know who he was, but obviously, you only liked him for his money. Norman had more than once commented on the idea of a prenup. 

The first time Harry introduced you to his father, it felt more like an interrogation. He grilled you on your studies and your prospects, and your past. Any answer you gave left him with his scowl well in place. Harry didn’t offer much comfort, but you quickly realised that Norman also made Harry upset, just in a very different way.

He held a lot of contempt for his father. He told you about how he shipped him off for school and never reached out. He didn’t like him, that was for sure, but he ran the chequebook. He ran the business Harry thought was his birthright, but Norman is a calloused narcissist, and Harry knows if he pisses him off too much, he’ll give the company to someone else, just out of spite. 

You put on an agreeable dress Harry had bought for occasions such as these. Dating Harry came with its own culture, in a way. Most of it revolves around a walk-in closet. This was a casual dinner, but in respect for the calibre of the guest you have to dress up a bit. But not too much. Additionally, it's an evening affair, so a certain colour pallet is in order.

This was a black sundress from some Italian import you couldn’t pronounce. Dainty straps rested on your shoulders, and the hem fell just above your knees. It had a modest V cut, and Harry had instructed you to always wear it with jewellery lest you look bare. You selected a thin gold chain with a small heart pendant, a gift for your first anniversary, and subtle hoops to match. You threw half of your hair up in a clip, and slipped on some black heels to go with it, the stark red on the tread peeking out with every step you took. 

As you made your way back downstairs, they were deep in conversation. You nervously joined Harry’s side, and he wrapped an arm around your waist. Norman commented on how you “clean up nice,” and you had to swallow the bile creeping up your throat to thank him. 

Norman made a comment in regards to what a terrible host you were, “I’ve been here nearly thirty minutes, and no one’s offered me a drink.”

While he said “no one”, which could be either you or Harry, you knew he meant you. You hadn’t served him yet. Harry tenses at the comment, and you quickly try to correct the mistake. You step away to the bar cart to fix Norman a whiskey with one large ice cube and make the same for Harr. Only Harry thanks you as you bring them back.

You all move to the seating area as they continue to talk business. You learned very quickly that you were not allowed to chime in on these discussions. You nodded attentively and sat by Harry. After a bit, you suggested they sit at the table for dinner.

You nervously plate the gnocchi and scallops, deciding you will take significantly less than Norman and Harry. You can’t always make something later. You just have to survive this. 

You set the plates in front of them and grabbed the wine, knowing you were served last. As you poured Norman’s glass, he cleared his throat. You looked up, and he pointed at his plate with an unmistakably fake smile. 

“Is this pasta?” You slowly nodded your head.

“I have celiac. This will wreak havoc on my body.” Harry immediately started apologising, throwing you under the bus, as Norman “kindly” explained that he couldn’t have gluten. 

You gripped the wine bottle dangerously in your hands. “I can have a steak ready for you in ten minutes.”

That seemed to placate the man as you filled Harry’s glass and took his plate back to the kitchen. You turned on the oven and put in your serving of asparagus before pulling a steak out of the fridge.

You practised the breathing exercises your therapist had taught you while the steak seared. Honestly, it could be worse. At least being in the kitchen gave you time away. 

You nuked the plate you had taken from Norman and plated the steak, throwing on the asparagus and putting the sauce in a little bowl on the side.

You replaced Harry’s plate with the warm one and presented Norman with his. Then pour yourself a hearty glass of wine, ignoring Norman’s stare, before sitting down with your cold plate of gnocchi. 

They talked about their days, occasionally asking for comments from you. You tried your best to answer and pay attention, but all you could think about was how your homemade pasta was cold. About how this was supposed to be a pleasant night with Harry, and now, you were dealing with this.

Taglist: @andrews-lovr, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @preciousbabypeter, @princesskittycatofmeowland, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3

[thepermanentscowl]

shakespeare is very jelli, jelli of you being punnier than him too. omg gossip yes. perfect way to bond. i have tons of gossip about people from school (my sources are top notch), you’ll enjoy listening to their sins being spilled. looking forward to that lecture, plus points if some ai wrote it. 

much cute very fun. the look on those 10th graders’ faces? priceless. you’re right, it’s exactly like that. and people looking good with a certain kind of frame- you know how long i took to find a frame i looked decent in? 5 years. i got glasses when i was in 4th grade (it was genetic okay and definitely not because i watched a lot of tv. at least i did better than my dad, who got his when he was in class two.) and till 9th i used to wear these stupid frames that looked downright terrible. they were literally purple. who tf wears purple frames. why doesn’t anyone hold us back when we make horrible life decisions when we’re younger.

hey atleast give her some appreciation for asking you that with so much confidence- i’m joking, i’m joking. are you allowed to carry belans to school? you need them to keep away weirdos, middle school girls and 9th graders who harrass you. bro all that she was on about- acceptance and backlash and shit- looks like someone is reading a lot of fruity YA fiction. girl why do you want to know if the senior you’re creeping out has had a boyfriend. do you want to pay their going out expenses. she sounds like she’s been spying on you two. christ. and wtf a 13 yo is talking about subs??? and all that other creepy stuff too ew. somebody teach her circle theorems to get her nose out of these things and others’ business. kids these days have no respect for their elders. in the name of shipping they’ll go to any lengths. heck, shipping shouldn’t even be done for people irl. wait she wasn’t even his friend what- damn. and if she had a crush on him, she should, like, not have good feelings towards you right? practically speaking, the guy she likes is better friends with you so you’d expect her to not be friendly towards you. why is she behaving like this. “i swear i don’t know why drama follows me” coz you’re special. you don’t love the drama, the drama loves you. 

(you would? ok bestie *clutches heart and hides tears*). no. they’re different. fish tail is done with way thinner strands. and french braid begins from more above. (i’m sorry i’m really finnicky about hair-) eh but i don’t want game (; you get flustered only in front of air hostesses. that works. you didn’t get flustered when girls from your class told you how unbelievably hot you looked with glasses right. that’s good. ofc you are a completely innocent person with no experience in totally morally ethically correct things. tips from your friend yes that’d be cool. 

very good, finally the people of this world are upto good things. huh. hugging girls is awkward? that’s new. you put your hands on the...back? like in a normal hug? boobs are weird. why can only boys feel them when they hug girls and not girls when they hug each other? huh. you pat them on their head? that isn't weird? yes, don't overthink, go for the hug and feel the boob. "flirt so bad they fall for you bad amirite" very right this is another quote that needs national recognition.

finally found a reason to not cut my hair

impossible :0

what is it? scaring people on elevators? letting your friends braid it so you can bOnD? can i braid your hair? like the mom/grandma does in those hair oil ads pfft

ooh will you dye your hair?? if you did, what colour would you go for?

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Cassandra Jackson Character Bio

Basics

Full Name: Cassandra Jackson

Superhero Alias: N/A

Age: 30 during Daredevil, Season 1

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Powers: Can see into the future, proficient is other minor forms of magic relying on potions and elixirs as well as use of her staff

Appearance

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Skin Tone: Pale with freckles along her nose

Eye Color: Brown

Hair Color: Blonde

Hairstyle: Long and wildly curly

Makeup: Generally natural, but likes to have fun with eyeshadow

Build: Still fit, but on the curvy side

Height: 5’3”

Style: Has a love of big sweaters, skirts, and leggings; hardly ever seen in jeans unless it’s really cold outside

Personality

General Personality Traits: Loving, Practical, Melancholic

Strengths: Tenacious, Charming, Sensitive

Flaws: Stubborn, Insecure, Overprotective

Habits And Mannerisms: Always says her please and thank yous, doesn’t really swear, never leaves the house without her special bag

Secrets: Ellie’s father being a demon

Regrets: Not bothering to ask where her family’s power truly came from when she was younger.

Skills/Talents: Flexible with a strong sense of balance, cooking, has a good eye for fashion

Likes: Sunsets, Strong coffee, A crackling fire

Dislikes: The rain, Bro country, Rats

Sense of Humor: Kinda dark and sometimes childish

Guilty Pleasure: Erotic novels she keeps hidden under her bed

Defining Moment: Running away from her family with her daughter.

Relationships

Friends: Claire Temple, Matt Murdock, Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, Danny Rand, Wong, Stephen Strange

Family: Ellie Jackson (daughter)

Affiliation: The Defenders

Enemies: Damien, The Hand, most other demons from other dimensions

Lovers: Damien (formally), Stephen Strange (eventually)

Relationship Status: It’s complicated

Reputation: Very easy to like, but hard to get close to

Miscellaneous

Current Residence: Hell’s Kitchen, New York, New York

Collections: Assortment of different potion bottles and ingredients

Accent: Standard American, for the most part, but some of her Louisiana accent comes through on occasion

Voice: Sweet and smooth

Signature Quote: TBA

Song: Season of the Witch by Lana Del Rey

Backstory

Cassandra was born to an affluent and powerful magical family in the south. Magical gifts had been passed down through the generations with each member having their own specialty while still having proficiency in general magic. Cassandra developed the gift of prophecy when she was twelve, allowing her brief glimpses into the future at a whim.

She never questioned where her family got her powers or how they maintained it. She just knew her family prayed to a different deity than those of her classmates. She was taught to keep it a family matter and if someone new in town went missing…well, they were probably just passing through. Even when she got older, and the reality of who her family was became more obvious, she willfully turned a blind eye. She wasn’t doing anything wrong after all.

With in her family, she was highly praised for her gifts and was given vigorous study from an early age while balancing a formal education. She was by all accounts a golden child, until her senior year of highschool.

She met Damien, the new transfer student, on the first day after summer break and was instantly smitten. He was effortlessly charming, intelligent, and with a bad boy persona that made her swoon. He was all a romantic seventeen-year-old could dream of and he seemed just as taken with her too. They started dating not long after, keeping it hidden from her parents as she assumed they would never approve. She was completely in love by spring break and by graduation, she discovered she was pregnant.

To her shock, when she told her parents, they were nothing but supportive. Even after they met Damien, they promised to stick by her. Damien swore he’d stick around as well and he did, all through the length of her pregnancy. It was only when she finally gave birth did she realize the truth; Damien wasn’t human.

Damien was a demon. Her parents had made a deal, offering her as a vessel for his child, one that would bring hell on Earth.

Upon learning the truth, Cassandra made a run for it, but was quickly caught and locked away, separating her from new born daughter. She was convinced they would kill her, now she had achieved her purpose. It was her only thought when Damien came into her room with a knife in his hands.

Instead of killing her, he cut her bonds telling her to go. He told her he did love her and he would not allow her parents to find her or their daughter.

Cassandra wasn’t sure if she believed him, but did as he asked. She took her daughter and ran all the way to New York.

She named her daughter Ellie and for twelve years they lived quietly in the big city, just trying to get by. Cassandra opened a small fortune telling business/novelty shop, reading tarot cards and palms to whoever asked and eventually finding a home in the small magical community.

Nobody else knew about Ellie’s father, not even her. Whenever she’d ask Cassandra, she’d just say her father was complicated and a far away.

It was good, for a time. But on Ellie’s twelfth birthday her powers began to emerge and trouble found them once again.

[heyheydidjaknow]

Chapter 11

Guess who's back? Back again. Back three hours late, but back nonetheless. I'd feel more sorry if I was more sorry. This is officially the longest chapter as of now, so, yay. Someone challenged me to not swear for a chapter, and I believe I fulfilled that requirement. I'm just gonna go sleep.

Update: APPARENTLY, TUMBLR DOES THE TRANSFER FORMATTING THING ON LAPTOPS AND I HATE EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE RIGHT NOW SO MUCH. I usually do all my editing on my phone, so I knew no such luxury. I have never been more pissed. That is a lie, but my anger is still very genuine.

Chapter 11

“Where were you?”

The younger brother looks up at his senior. “Huh?”

“You were gone all night.” Leonardo leans against the door, crossing his arms. ��Don’t look so surprised; I started getting up early to meditate.”

He shrugs in feigned nonchalance, already dreading the ensuing conversation. “Out.”

“And where’s ‘Out’?”

Donnie slides out of his chair, deciding his straining eyes need a break. “Just went to check on Y/N is all.” He rubs them with his arm, quietly noting the sounds of fighting in the dojo were starting to cease as he sits on the couch. His rounds of sparring with Leonardo were finished a little over an hour ago; a part of him is grateful it took him this long to corner him.

This got a raised brow. “You were checking on her for hours?”

He does not look him in the eye. “It’s not impossible.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“It wasn’t that late,” he argues.

“Donnie,” he presses, “you didn’t get home until five in the morning. Where were you?”

He feels his face heat up. “I said.”

Leo leans down to look his brother in the eye. “Final answer?”

He swallows a yawn. “Look, I know it was stupid—”

“I didn’t say it was stupid.”

“No,” he snips, mildly irritable from a lack of sleep. “You implied it.”

The doors to the dojo slide open, the disgruntled look on Raphael’s face all the evidence the other two need to know who won.

Mikey dives onto the couch, sprawling out next to his slightly older brother. “Did you ask yet?”

“I did.” He glances at the disgruntled boy. “Donnie was, apparently, at Y/N’s all night.”

The reaction is immediate.

“Details!” The small victor sits up, leaning forward on his knees in usual attentiveness. “Was she good?”

“What did you—shut up, Mikey.” Raph’s attention snaps back to his tallest brother. “What did you do to her? Did you—”

“Wait, hold on!” Donnie’s face feels uncomfortably hot. “N-Nothing happened!”

“Yeah, sure.” The second eldest rolls his eyes. “You think we fell off the truck yesterday? Who stays with a girl all night in her room without something happening? Nobody,” he cuts him off before he can defend himself.

The youngest’s voice rises over his brother’s before he can continue. “Dude, big picture!” He gestures to his brown-eyed brother. “He got with a girl first! He has valid info or whatever he says and stuff!”

“What are you two even talking about?” He wrings his hands. “Look, nothing happened!”

“Then what were you doing at her house,” Raphael eggs. “You weren’t just sitting there, right?”

“… no.”

“Then what were you doing there?”

He pauses, the two excitable boys waiting on bated breath. “She wanted me to spend the night,” he explains carefully, “because she was having bad nightmares and didn’t want to sleep alone.” He leans back, tossing his hands in the air. “That’s all.”

Silence falls.

“So,” clarifies Raphael, “you spent however many hours in her room, in her bed, and you didn’t make a move?”

“I—look!” The conversation is taking a shift for the worse. “I was trying to be nice! The last thing she needed was me doing whatever you’re insinuating!”

“He has a point,” Michelangelo nods knowingly. “Brownie points are key.”

“When did I say I was doing this for brownie points?”

“Look,” the eldest interjects. “Regardless of whether or not he was doing the ‘smart’ thing—” air quotes, “my bigger concern is that you didn’t bother calling to let us know where you were. You could’ve—Raph, do you have something to say?”

He rolls his eyes. “Are you really gonna act like you wouldn’t do the exact same thing if it were you?”

The leader pauses. “Would you like to take this somewhere more private?”

“Sure.” A venomous smile curls Raph’s lips. “Dojo?”

“Bring it.”

As the two leave, Donnie looks back over at Mikey. “Okay,” he sighs, “did I miss something?”

A shrug. “Man," he grins brazenly, "bold of you to assume I follow half of the things you guys say.”

He pulls his T-Phone from his utility belt. “Do you think I did the right thing? Honestly?”

Another shrug. “I dunno.” He looks over his older brother’s shoulder, reading the text on the screen curiously. “Can’t have gone too bad, though, if you two’ve been textin’ all day.

He pushes his head away with his free hand. “It hasn’t been all day,” he corrects. “She just filled me in on this week’s episode and we just kept talking after that.” He smiles faintly. “Although, she did check to see if I got home alright.”

“Hey, that’s totally progress!” He grins encouragingly. “I mean, the bed thing was bigger progress, but this is also progress.”

You push through the turnstile with a bit of difficulty, hopping on your good leg as you pull the walker over the divider using your free hand with an embarrassing clatter. “Sorry,” you wince, feeling your face heat up as you slide down the railing. “I’m still getting used to—”

“Holy—are you alright?” The distress is apparent in the youngest’s voice as he sees you for the first time in a month. “You look like you—”

“I’m aware,” you cut him off dryly, holding a paper bag as you stumble over to the couch. “Whatever you’re about to say, I’m aware.” You put it down in Donnie’s lap. “Here.”

He blinks, picking it up as you regain your bearings. “What is it?”

“Not poison or snakes. Open it.”

“Yo,” Mikey interrupts, pointing at your banged-up leg, “can I draw on your white thing?”

It takes you a second to figure out what he is referring to. “Oh, you mean—yeah.” You lean your head back against the back of the couch. “Just know that I’ll take white-out to anything that could get me kicked out of school.”

“Deal!” He runs off to your room as his brother pulls the bag open, pulling the pastry from its confinement.

“What is it,” he repeats, icing already on his fingers.

“Cupcake.”

He fingers the wrapper, his brick stare seeming almost to dissect it. “What is it for?”

“Besides being messy?” You smile gently as you watch him try to figure it out, feeling your heart swell. “It’s food.”

“How much of it is edible?”

“Everything except the paper bit.”

He peels the liner back. “And how do you eat it, exactly?”

You lean forward on your arms. “The goal is to eat the frosting and the cake part at the same time, so however you accomplish that.”

He smiles sheepishly, eyes softening as he looks back at you. “Is it possible to eat it without the frosting getting on your face?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

He tentatively holds eye contact with you as he takes a bite, unsurprisingly getting icing sticking to the space around his upper lip. You wait tentatively as he licks the excess off, blinking in delighted surprise. “What’s in this, exactly?”

You feel yourself beam at his tone. “It’s nothing too special,” you shrug nonchalantly, bubbling with excitement. “It’s a personal favorite; red velvet with cream cheese frosting.”

He takes another bite. “Do you have more? Follow-up question,” you note his speech quickening, “can you make more?”

“Totally,” you nod in agreement. “I wanted to make you something as thanks for—”

“Back!”

Donnie shoves the rest of it in his mouth as soon as you two hear him.

“Sorry for the wait; I couldn’t find my stuff.” He plops down with a cardboard box filled with various discarded art supplies. “I’d use spray paint, but he—” he nods to his brother, currently trying to choke the rest of the cupcake down—“said I’m not allowed because of fumes or somethin’, so.”

“Fair.” You allow him to drape your calf over his legs, digging into the cardboard box he was carrying and pulling out a pencil. “Got any plans?”

“You’ll see,” he grins, starting to sketch shapes out.

The taller of the two wipes the excess frosting off his fingers. “Oh,” he snaps his fingers, “when you two are done with that, Y/N, I still gotta do that physical.”

“Physical?”

He clears his throat in preparation for a very redundant explanation. “A physical,” he explains calmly to his over-excited brother, “as in a physical examination, not whatever you’re thinking of.”

He blinks. “Like a doctor’s visit?”

“Donnie was asking about my recovery time,” you add helpfully. “Apparently, it’s weirdly long, but I don’t have any weird medical problems, so he wanted to see what the deal was.”

“That, and your comment about how ‘insanely high’ we jump, apparently.”

“Do not air quote that!” You lean your head back to look at him, hair falling onto his lap. “Not when you guys put high jumping to shame.”

He adamantly avoids eye contact, face warming. “It’s not that high,” he mumbles. “Especially if we’re bringing a sport like high jumping into this.”

“I respectfully disagree.” You lay your head down properly, looking up at him from his thighs. “Considering your falling form, it is a miracle you still have working hips.”

“What’s wrong with my form?”

“It doesn’t include a parachute.”

“Okay,” Mikey interjects, “it may not last unless you cover it with something. Just, FYI.”

You lean your head up to look at him. “Noted,” you nod. “I’ll pick up varnish or something on my way home.”

He nods. “Oh,” he asks innocently, “mind turning over? I have to get the other side and I don’t want to hurt you.”

For some inexplicable reason, the boy you are currently laying on looks as though someone has put a gun to his head.

You do as asked with a bit of difficulty, bringing your knee closer to your chest as it is now closest to the back of the couch. “Like that?”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

You look up at Donnie. “Let me know if you need me to move,” you smile. “If your thighs go numb or anything.”

His voice is oddly tight. “You’re good.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Sure? You sound very uncomfortable.”

“Never better.”

“He’s alright,” Mikey reassures you, shooting a thumbs up at his brother behind your back.

“...Alright.” Your eyes focus absentmindedly on what you thought was a couch cushion; upon further inspection, it appears to be a repurposed training mat. You bring the arm not currently pinned to your side under your head, humming an earworm softly.

The boy currently under you is silently panicking as your fingers squeeze gently around his knee, making a conscious effort to stare at the television and only at the television with his hands hovering awkwardly over you. Surprisingly enough, out of the corner of his eye, he does not catch his younger brother trying to stare at you weirdly, sincerely focused on drawing.

You feel him, eventually, resting his hands down, one resting in between your shoulder blades, the other in your hair, twisting a lock of it around his fingers gently. “Still alright,” you ask.

His voice is almost airy, now. “Mhm.”

‘This is nice.’ You trace little designs into the mat as your mind begins to wander, the boys starting to talk about something you struggle to pay attention to. This is not the closest you have been to him physically, but it is nice not to be crying this time around. "Domestic, almost, even if he doesn't think so.’

‘I should learn how to braid.’ Braiding is not something he has necessarily needed to know how to do in the past, but as he wraps the fibers around themselves, curious about the texture, he wishes that he knew; using your hair as a material of sorts would certainly be interesting, and he knows he has the dexterity for it. Admittedly, the conversation is less of a conversation and more of a speech on his brother’s part, but he tries to pay attention.

“So,” Mikey continues, digging into the box and pulling out a pencil sharpener, “he’s watching this guy all stealth-like, right? The guy’s out here, giving out his plans like they’re candy or whatever, and he’s just kinda recording it on one of those little tape recorders you used for that one thing a couple weeks ago-- you know the ones, and-- you don’t mind spoilers-- long story short, the guy gets caught, and when the crew got there, he was totally messed up.”

“Sounds like Batman,” you mumble sleepily-- ‘He really is warm.’

“Huh?”

“Your story.” You hoist yourself up, looking over your shoulder back at him. “Sounds like this Batman cartoon.”

“Batman?”

“Universe…” you stifle a yawn. “My universe has this thing called Batman, and there's a crossover thing in a different iteration of this universe. I guess you wouldn’t know about that, would you?”

“Different iteration?” Donatello looks down at your head in his lap, desperately in need of a cold shower.

You feel Michelangelo bend your leg forward. You nod in confirmation, trying to will yourself awake. “Didn’t I… did I?” You lay your head back down properly. “You guys are, like… mega-famous down-- back-- there.”

“I’m not sure if you did.”

“Well,” you giggle sleepily, “you are.” You try to count on your fingers. “You’ve got the original comic, the old cartoon, the two-thousand three animated show, the CGI movie, this one, the two live-action movies, the twenty-eighteen animated one-- gorgeous animation by the by that I have to show you later, Mikey-- that crossover movie with Batman, the live-action show, the other, older live-action movie, the IDW comic series, that weird one with the hats-- there’s a ton.”

“Dude, that is sick!” The resident artist grins. “I bet they were awesome.”

You consider telling him about the IDW comic. You quickly decide against it.

“How long have we-- as a property-- existed, exactly?”

“I dunno.” You shrug. “The first animated show was the eighties, I think.”

“...huh.”

You notice him fiddling with your hair, finally. You don’t mind.

“It’s been too long.”

You freeze, suddenly very awake and painfully aware of your current position.

One of the few good things about having your own apartment: you seem to have forgotten the fear of being walked in on.

“Please, relax.” You hear his smile. It does not help matters. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

The other two, astonishingly, do not seem nearly as anxious as you are.

You look up at him from your spot on his son’s lap. “You look as healthy as ever.” ‘I miss my grandpa. Is Grandma okay?’ You were unable to find your relatives on your father’s side through social media-- they could be dead for all you know.

“No thanks to my diet,” he chuckles. Yoshi walks out of your field of view. “Don’t mind me; how long have they been in the dojo?”

“Half an hour?” You hear the jostling of the box and the snap of an uncapped pen.

You hear him sigh. “Let’s just hope nobody’s died,” he mutters, walking into the dojo.

The three of you strain your ears to-- unsuccessfully-- hear what is going on. The door snaps open as the two brothers leave together in heated silence.

Mikey shakes what you can now identify as a paint pen. “Who won?”

“Nobody.” Leo’s voice, snippy. “Is she out?”

“She is not.” You turn your arm awkwardly to wave back at him.

“Then,” he shrugs, “nice to see you.”

“Likewise.”

“So,” Raph interjects, apparently very interested in the current situation, “can someone please explain what, exactly, is going on here?”

“I’m painting her white thing.”

“Of course. Donnie?”

The mortification would be apparent if you were looking at him.

“Nothin? Okay then.” You shut your eyes as he sits down on the other side of you. “You look terrible. Nice scar.”

“I am too close to very sensitive areas for you to give me a hard time, Raphael,” you warn.

“Whatever.”

“I’m heading out.” Leo nonchalantly bounds the steps, hopping over a divider.

“Tell her I say hi,” you call back. “Remember, consent is key, yellow roses lead to friendzoning, and to always use a condom.”

“... No comment.” He runs off.

“I have so many questions.”

“Ask me later.”

It takes him about twenty more minutes to finish covering the entirety of your cast in brightly colored characters and objects; if you have to describe it, you will say that the style is contemporary pop illustration with composition reminiscent of the renaissance period if the single art class you have taken is serving you right.

“This,” you smile, a little misty-eyed for some reason, “is absolutely gorgeous. Thanks, Mikey.”

He beams. “You’re totally welcome! If you ever get more white things, I’ll draw on those too, if you want.”

“Dude, for sure.” You nod in agreement, looking back at Donnie. “Isn’t it cool?”

Donatello has been quietly jabbed at for the past twenty minutes and is mostly desensitized to the quality of his brother’s art; frankly, it is not his area, and he cannot judge it one way or the other. Despite this, he gives his brother a thumbs up. “Very.”

“Don’t stroke his ego so much,” teases their older brother. “Donnie’ll get jealous.”

“Hate to steal her from you all,” he interrupts, “but I still have a physical to do, so if you would be so kind as to shut up, that would be great.”

‘Green with envy. Is that racist? No clue. Pretty colors.’ Donnie is talking to you. “Huh?”

“I asked if you were still on board.”

You nod. “Mind grabbing my walker?”

He shoots his snickering brother a glare. “Want me to just carry you to the lab?”

Panic. Immediate panic. “You sure you can carry me?”

He shrugs, smiling. “It’s only a few feet. Besides,” he points out, “aren’t you the one always going on about how strong we are by normal standards?”

You do not have a rational way to explain why the idea of being off of solid ground, held up by someone who can potentially drop you, is distressing. You also do not want to insult him in any shape, way, or form. “Promise you won’t drop me?” Your stomach turns.

“Swear it.”

“Can I paint your walker while you guys are doing that?”

“Of all the things you could've chosen--”

“Lay off.” He offers his arms. “You can trust me, I promise.”

You pause. The statement is entirely true, but your gut is screaming at you not to do that. The same gut told you that slamming your body into the person driving the car you were tied up in was a good idea.

You latch your arms around his neck, burying your eyes in the crook of his neck as to not see when and in what direction he is moving you. “Please,” you mumble, trying not to blatantly beg, “do not drop me.”

He does not exactly understand why you are clinging to him so tightly, but he is hardly one to complain. He slides an arm under your knees, picking you up.

Raphael is heckling you. You are more concerned with your body inaccurately telling you that you are going to die from this. Tears prick your eyes as you try to breathe.

He looks down at you, mind wandering as he walks away from his brothers. You look so sweet to him, shaking like a leaf in his arms. Cute. He had thought the same thing when you had started clinging to him during that movie forever ago, when you held his hand last night and pulled him back onto the bed with you. You are not normally openly vulnerable and, although he is hardly one to talk about vulnerability, it is always a sight to behold.

“Please don’t drop me.” He is not exactly sure if you are aware of your own, almost silent begging as you repeat the phrase over and over. ‘You trust me.’ His heart melts.

It takes no time to get you to his lab. He sets you down on a chair, but you do not seem to understand that as you still cling tightly to his neck.

He chuckles nervously. “I need my body to perform the physical, Y/N.”

You were not aware he had put you down. Your eyes snap open as you let your shaking, iron grip relax. “Sorry,” you mumble, face going a gorgeous shade of pink.

“No prob.” ‘Prob?’ His face changes color to match yours.

“So.” He claps his hands together just a bit too hard, slamming the door closed when he hears his brothers’ snickering. “Let’s get started.”

--

You sit on your couch, applying another coat of varnish to your cast as you listen to a cooking show because something something exposure therapy. Also, listening to people scream at one another about food textures is soothing.

Your results were not surprising to you; by the standards of humans in this universe, you are a walking talking coma patient. It was a bit funny, watching him freak out about a blood pressure that you knew-- through the help of google-- was completely normal. You are fine for the most part, if he was using the tools given correctly, and so, you are currently preoccupied with making sure the gorgeous painting on your fiberglass prison is going to stay gorgeous. The only thing he had insisted on, really, was that you not cook, after seeing your crudely applied bandages on your fingers.

You lean back into an actual couch, pulling out your phone and scrolling through pictures of gloves again. You are determined to find a good pair; the deep scars on your hands are not fading any time soon.

You can hear the window slide open. “If you’re planning on killing me--” you stop when you look up to see the look on Donnie’s face. “Something up?”

He says absolutely nothing, leaning his staff against the wall, closing the window in a daze and he stands next to the sofa. “Are you busy?”

“No.”

“Good.” His eyes glance at the space next to you. “Can I stay here for a bit?”

“As long as you like.”

He lays his head on your lap as he sits down, staring blankly at the television screen. He immediately understands why you like this-- your thighs are incredibly soft.

You immediately understand why he was awkward. You have no idea where to put your hands, but you eventually settle on his head as you turn the volume down. “What’s up?”

He takes a deep breath, licking his teeth as he sighs. “I,” he explains, “just realized what my reality is right now and I-- okay, I know this sounds stupid--”

“Not at all.”

“It does,” he insists. “I know it sounds stupid because I realized it did when I was working it out, but I just-- hear me out, okay?” His voice oozes exhaustion.

“I’m hearing you.” You listen to him, laying your phone face down on the coffee table. “Hit me.”

He takes another breath. “I just fought a giant… thing.” He rolls over, looking up at you. “Mikey called it Jacob or something, and it was about twenty feet tall and it looked like something out of a monster movie and it destroyed us in a fight.” You hear his voice rising, and you just nod along, letting him talk. “It wiped the floor with us. And the only reason it existed was that Leo, apparently, got a girlfriend named Karai-- you know her?”

“Hot alt chick with the wicked eyeshadow and eyeliner that could kill?” You nod. “Yeah, I’m familiar.”

“Her-- wait, should I…?” He trails off, shakes his head. “Another time.” He covers the side of his face with his hand, gesturing animatedly with his other. “Anyways, apparently he met this girl because she wanted to do a heist with him-- this girl, working for the Foot, of all people-- sixteen or whatever-- she goes and just touches a button to mix the DNAs of all the creatures an alien race could find on Earth, and then bails.” He realizes he is shouting, lowers his voice. “The alien creatures, in case you forgot, that look like brains and waddle around on tentacles which, by the way, makes no evolutionary sense whatsoever, decided to create a button that mixes the entirety of their samples of DNA together in a smorgasbord of wrong, okay?”

“Uhuh.” You nod along. You know what he means, even if the word he used was technically not correct.

“This thing,” he continues, officially ranting, “destroyed a building! It set the whole thing on fire, which was probably only Kraang, but also maybe had normal people in it, which is concerning.” He rubs his eyes aggressively. “So, to recap, an alienish creature named Jason or whatever got created by Leo’s crush and destroyed a building and that was just what happened today!” He raises his hands in the air, almost accidentally hitting you in the face. “I didn’t bat an eye at this!”

“Man, I feel you.”

“And I understand,” he continues, “the irony of telling you this, considering I am a giant, talking turtle created by the very same mutagen that created Justin or whatever its stupid name was, was taught ninjutsu by my ninja master father who is also a rat, and that you have already previously died--”

“All very bizarre things,” you agree.

“-- but this is just…” he sighs. “My life is getting so… weird? It was already weird, I know, but more so than I thought it reasonably should be.”

You wipe a bit of oil you notice on his cheek off with your thumb. “This world is a weird one,” you admit.

His voice is lower now as he follows your hand with his eyes. “I…” He takes breath. “I just wish we were more normal, you know? That our lives were more normal, that our existences made more sense, you know?”

You cup his face in your hand gently, remembering how your mother used to do the same for you. “I do.”

You feel him leaning into your touch. “I wish,” he mumbles, almost to himself, “that I was a normal, human teenager who went to school and didn’t know how to use a bo staff and had three, normal brothers who could try to get girlfriends without worrying about whether or not they wanted to kill them.”

You sigh, running your thumbs along the edge of his eye socket, feeling the soft skin shift under you. “You’re very well adjusted for a teenager trained in the art of assassination,” you joke softly.

He chuckles dryly, closing his eyes. “My mother is an empty canister in a locked cabinet in the kitchen.” He exhales slowly. “My stepmom was murdered by a man now actively trying to murder me and my entire family because of a decades long feud. Well adjusted is probably the highest compliment you could give me.”

“I’ve given you higher.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” You glance up at the television screen, then back at him. “You’re holding up better than I am, and you’ve been fearing for your life since you were real little.”

“Apples and oranges.” He rests his hand on yours.

“Look,” you shrug, “the way I see it, life is a series of events that all string together to the present.”

“Butterfly effect.”

“Exactly.” You smile down at him. “And if things didn’t happen exactly as they did, we never would’ve met, the world would be totally screwed, and we would be missing out on one of the greatest minds on the planet.”

He looks to see if you are being serious.

You are.

“You also wouldn’t have a broken leg and messed up hands,” he points out ruefully.

“Meeting you was worth it.”

He reaches up, running his fingers along the scar on your face. “I disagree.”

“It’s my body, and my physical detriment. It doesn’t matter if you’re stupid enough to think it wasn’t worth it.”

You feel his body relax

You two shut up for a bit, watching the show absentmindedly.

After a while, he pipes up. “It’s alright if you say no,” he starts tentatively, “but is it alright if I stay here again tonight?”

“Will your brothers mind?”

“They don’t care so long as I’m home before sunrise,” he shrugs. “I just like it here. Smells better.”

You smile brightly. “Sure,” you agree easily. “I sleep better with you here, anyways; I don’t worry about people sneaking in through the window.” You check the varnish. “I just have to wait for this to dry the rest of the way, first. You’re free to go to bed without me, though.”

In all honesty, you’re just happy not to be alone.

He nods, standing up and drawing the curtains. He sits down on the bed, untying the mask behind his head. ‘I could get used to this.’ He smiles slightly, slipping a hand into his utility belt and texting his brothers where he was to avoid his brother’s scolding in the morning. He slips that off too, dropping both onto the side of the bed and starting on the wraps on his feet and hands; he had learned his lesson when he had gotten up morning before, having gotten a few hours sleep at home, to large, noticeable indentations in his flesh where the foreign objects had been.

You glance over. “Do those go in the wash?”

He looks back. “Not usually, no.”

“Do you want me to wash them?”

‘You are too considerate.’ He shakes his head. “It’s alright.”

You shrug, putting your hands up. “Suit yourself.” You cross your hands across your stomach, staring absentmindedly back at the screen. “You can use the shower in the morning, but please do not use all of the hot water. Fridge is open if you need breakfast.”

“Nah,” he sighs, slipping the clothes into his utility belt. “I’ll eat at home.”

You nod in acknowledgement.

It occurs to him as he sets his knee and elbow pads with the rest of his things that, technically, he is stripping in front of you, and you are not batting an eye. As soon as that clocks, it also dawns on him that you are showing the most skin he has ever seen-- an A-shirt and gym shorts-- which had not even registered until he was laying in your bed. You are relaxed and in your warm apartment, watching a television program with him in your bed. You are awake and absolutely gorgeous and you feel safer with him of all people.

His heart swells as he slides under the blankets, the sound of the television white noise at this point.

You glance back at him, the phrase “Snug as a bug in a rug," coming to mind as you look over at him, struggling to keep his eyes open. “You gonna fall asleep?”

His face warms. He nods. "It's been a really long day," he admits.

“Then goodnight,” you smile. “Sweet dreams.”

He smiles sleepily. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he shuts his eyes.

You swallow.

You forgot how much you missed this.

Table of Contents

Chapter 10

Chapter 12

[ummadum]

Why José Mourinho is problematic

I’m not a fan of José Mourinho and whilst I can come around to his tactics, I really doubt I will ever like him as a person.

Football is a very misogynistic, homophobic, racist and generally disrespectful place where people, especially powerful people, are not held accountable for their actions and words. This post is an accumulation of some of the very worrying things Jose has said and done over the years, that he has never acknowledged nor apologised for. I think that it’s important to keep these things in mind especially now, because the “José is a great person” idea is on the rise again. Whilst someone like Sergè, who also said some really disrespectful things, but someone who apologised for them and was willing to learn from his mistake, has his mistakes constantly brought up again, we are ignoring and burying all the things that are really wrong with our manager. 

And if the club have asked Sergé to acknowledge and apologise for his statements (the right move), then we should do the same with Mourinho, who was much older when he said those things and had and has a lot more power and reach. 

Homophobic

In 2012, as Real Madrid manager, Mourinho was caught on camera using “marocones” (which means faggot in English) to refer to the referees pre champion league match agains CSKA Moscow. 

This is a link to the video [x]  it’s about 20 seconds in.

The European Gay and Lesbian Sports Federation (EGLSF) released a statement [x] calling for action, which includes this:

Louise Englefield, Co-president of the EGLSF, an organisation representing over 17,000 lesbian gay bisexual and trans (LGBT) athletes across Europe, said: “Homophobia is unacceptable from anyone in football, much less from one of the game’s most senior figures. We are deeply disappointed that Mr Mourinho is casually using homophobic terms of abuse in his workplace. It is especially sad that these comments have been made during the International Football v Homophobia campaign week. This is a time during which the European football community should be joining forces to tackle discrimination and prejudice against lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people . As long-standing partners of the FARE network, we call on UEFA to take action and impose appropriate sanctions.”

And yet nothing ever happened, no apology, no acknowledgment and no sanctions.

Racist

Josés stance on racism is an interesting one, because he has publicly stated that he is opposed to direct racism, yet does apparently not believe that there is an underlying structural racism problem in the world and in football.

About coaching opportiunities for black coaches

In 2014, when questioned whether football needs a Rooney rule, which in the NFL ensures that ethnic minority candidates are adequately represented in the interview process for head coaching positions, he said this: 

When asked if he felt football was doing enough to bring in black managers and whether he felt a quota should be introduced, Mourinho said: “There is no racism in football. If you are good, you are good. If you are good, you get the job.” “If you are good, you prove that you deserve the job. Football is not stupid to close the doors to top people. If you are top, you are top.” [x]

At the moment of publication of this article, only two of 92 clubs in the top four divisions in English football had a black manager. And only four black managers have ever worked in the premier league. 

His statement warranted this lengthy response from the then FIFA Vice-President Jeffrey Webb. [x] Who points to a much larger problem of lack of enthnic people in power in football in general.

About Hair

“I want to push the young players on my team to have a proper haircut, not the Rastafarian or the others they have.”

I don't have the exact source but it’s mentioned in multiple “best of José quotes articles [x]  [x]

Misogyny

Dr. Carniero

The most obvious place to start talking about Mourinho and his issues with misogyny is his treatment of Dr. Eva Carneiro who was the Chelsea first team doctor from 2009 until september 2015. During the first Game of the 15/16 season against Swansea Dr. Carneiro and chief physiotherapist Jon Fearn were called into the pitch by the referee to attend to Eden Hazard who had gone down. It was towards the end of the match and Chelsea had already had Courtois sent off and were therefore down to 9 men. Under the laws of the game, the medical staff is only allowed on the pitch if the referee summons them and once they have been summoned it's their duty to attend to the player. Mourinho took an issue with both of them rushing onto the field, because it left his team temporarily with 8 outfield players and so he allegedly called Dr. Carniero “filha da puta” which translates to “daughter of a bitch/whore”. He says he didn’t use the female version, but that he said “filho da puta”  and that “swearing is a part of football”. This then led to a lot of discourse about whether it was actually abusive language towards a woman or not. 

The more damning thing happened later in the press conference. 

“I wasn't happy with my medical staff because even if you are a medical doctor or secretary on the bench, you have to understand the game.If you go to the pitch to assist a player, then you must be sure that a player has a serious problem. I was sure that Eden didn't have a serious problem. He had a knock and was very tired.My medical department left me with eight fit outfield players in a counter attack after a set piece and we were worried we didn't have enough players left.”

“You have to understand the game”, especially when aimed at a woman already comes with enough negative and misogynistic connotations. And there was no lack of “understanding of the game” in this instance, it was their duty to attend to the player according to the rules. Maybe he should have had a word with Eden Hazard about not feigning injuries instead.

But this is not where this ends. Following this incidence, Fearn (a Man) was removed from first team matches and Dr. Carniero was removed from all first team duties such as training sessions, matches and even entering the team hotel. And as Duncan Castles, one of Josés mouthpieces in the british press then reported: 

Mourinho is said to have held reservations about Carneiro’s role within the first-team squad since at least last year. While there is no question about her professional abilities, the Portuguese coach was concerned that the dressing room dynamic was affected by the presence of a female. According to a source, some players had expressed misgivings to the coaching staff about the set-up, arguing that it forced them to alter their usual behavior in a team environment.  [x]

The same women that had worked with Chelsea's first team for 6 years and under 4 different managers just suddenly became a problem with Josés arrival. Maybe there were some players that complained about her, but José should have told them to get over it. Sadly, I can’t link you to the original source of these quotes because the website does not exist anymore but here are some more articles referring to the same quotes. [x] [x]

Her dismissal went to court and she and Chelsea ended up settling the case. 

This whole thing ties into the larger issue of misogyny in football, this is an interesting article about how 2/3 s of the women in football face sexist discrimination. [x]

Montse Benitez

Rafael Benitez’ wife Montse Benitez made a joke, in 2015, about Rafa cleaning up Josés messes because Rafa just got the Real Madrid Job and she said “we tidy up his messes”, but afterwards added that it was understandable because there are only so many top clubs out there. 

The first part of his response is very much ok:

“The lady is a bit confused, with all respect. The only club where her husband [directly] replaced me was at Inter Milan, where in six months he destroyed the best team in Europe at the time.”

The second part however wasn’t:

“And for her to think about me and to speak about me, I think she needs to occupy her time — and if she takes care of her husband’s diet, she will have less time to speak about me.”

He told her to get back into the kitchen and that is such a backwards thing to say to women.  [x]

Generally Women 

In 2013, whilst complaining about Arsenal players complaining to the officials he said

“ you know they like to cry” and then added “Football is for men, or for women with fantastic attitude.”

José mourinho used being a woman as an insult to emasculate Arsenal players. Which is incredibly sexist. 

His post match tirade also includes some lovely xenophobia for good measure, which is a bit hypocritical coming from José. (I want to remind all Spurs fans that there was massive outrage after the United match, when similar criticism was aimed at Lamela)

"You know, they like to cry," Mourinho said. "That's tradition. But I prefer to say, and I was telling it to the fourth official, that English people – Frank Lampard, for example – would never provoke a situation like that. "Players from other countries, especially some countries, have that in their blood. So, if there is contact or an opponent is aggressive, they don't keep going. But this is English football. Foreign players are bringing lots of good things. They come here because they are talented. But I prefer English blood in football. English blood in this situation is: 'Come on, let's go.' Mikel's tackle is hard and aggressive but football is for men or for women with fantastic attitude. It's true."

[x]

Generally problematic things he has said

Him calling Wenger a voyeur is not included but he did end up actually apologising for that. 

2006: "Sometimes you see beautiful people with no brains. Sometimes you have ugly people who are intelligent, like scientists," [x]

Me being a scientist probably makes me even more annoyed with this statement, but honestly can we get rid of this stupid idea.

 2005: “Ricardo Carvalho seems to have problems understanding things, maybe he should have an IQ test, or go to a mental hospital or something.” [x] 

Statements against him that he took to court

A journalist for spanish newspaper Marca wrote about José during his time at chelsea:

“the type of person who would flee after knocking someone down"

A letter from Mourinho's lawyers then read:

"In our eyes this phrase is... degrading and was used in a manner which was completely unnecessary in the critique."

Chelsea also took action against a former Barcelona director after he posted the following on twitter during a match against Manchester City.

"It's lamentable the psychopath celebrating goals as if he was a player." 

[x]

Which is utterly ironic when taking all the things he has said about others into account.

A lot of these quotes are older, but judging from his recent choice of words, the constant emasculation of his players also shown in a documentary meant to make him look good, he might not be saying these things publicly anymore but the subtext and undertones still remain, therefore not really making it look like he has learned from his past mistakes and has become a better person in the slightest. Also, these quotes are just the tip of the iceberg of what kind of a human being José Mourinho really is. He is an incredibly manipulative individual that chooses all of his words, especially those to the press, really carefully and if these quotes are things that he chose to say deliberately, then I’m worried about what other opinions he has that he does not voice to the public. But if someone treats him like he does others he has an issue with it.

He can be an interesting individual to watch and his amount of arrogance can be fairly entertaining, but his general lack of respect for his players and staff shouldn't be overlooked especially in a world which is trying to move towards the future. And a footballing world at least saying that they are trying to remove discrimination from the game. 

I don’t want him to be sacked, but I would really like to remind people of the kind of person he is and for him to acknowledge these statements and apologise for it. But because this is football and Agueros actions with the lines-woman were dismissed because he is “a good person” I doubt that that will ever happen. 

[mecharlie-fox]

Summoner OC/Quotes

If my summoners were units..... I swear I'll update this once I have every drawing available. Might even put them on layout.

Left to right

(Warning - this is gonna be long)

"The Lady in the Dream, Iris"

Summoned

"Hello there, call me Iris. I am what we call... one of the senior members within the Summoner ranks. Perhaps we have met once in your dreams, do you remember?"

Home

"Time became non-existent for me. I was mostly in slumber, looking after Summoners such as yourself through dreams."

"Oh I'm a non-combatant Summoner. Alfonse never really allows me in the front lines. It's too dangerous, even for me."

"It is strange being summoned here by another Summoner. Why am I consider a Hero in this world?"

"You have a role to play, Summoner. We are all bound by duty."

"Are you busy? Mind if you help me make some refreshments in the kitchen?"

"My name is Iris. I was sent by Friend to give this to you. Hm? I look familiar to you? Perhaps we've already met, once upon a dream." (Greeting from friend)

"Believe it or not, I'm supposed to be dead. My Askr is no more, you see. Not a single soul walks in that world and I still blame myself for it. I had the power to stop it, but I was so consumed by fear that I failed them... Anna, Sharena... Even Alfonse. I'm only alive because fate wants me alive. And I'm bound to you now, my friend. My commander. My Summoner. I will follow you until the end."" (Upon reaching level 40)

Info Screen

"Now, now... Every Summoner must know when to rest."

"You're different from the other Summoners, tell me, are you also a non-combatant?"

"When I first met Alfonse, he was already older than... Well, your Alfonse."

"I'd rather be a lost soul without a purpose than to be Hel's slave."

"Careful now, we don't want to get lost out here, now do we?"

"Oh Alfonse, why did you do it?"

"Valen, please. Learn how to rest. Sigh, this child..."

Map

"Come on."

"Lead and I'll follow."

"Hmmm."

Level Up

"I haven't felt this power in a long time." (5-6 stats up)

"Thank you for the blessing." (3-4 stats up)

"Close enough, I'll do better next time." (1-2 stats up)

"I will use your gift wisely, my friend." (New skill learned)

Critical/Skill

"Fight me!"

"Never underestimate me!"

"You face a child of Frey!"

"So be it."

Defeat

"Alfonse... Please..."

"Hel's Executioner, Ragnar"

Summoned

"Great, not again... Let's get this over with, I'm Ragnar, Hel's Grand General."

Home

"Me? A Summoner? Ah, you've been talking to Iris. Don't listen to that old woman, she's full of nonsense."

"Yes, this is Sharena's lance... I could tell by your eyes you already know what happened to her in my world."

"Just say the word and I'll do it."

"You're no Valen, but you've earned my respect. Maybe one day you and I can fight together in the front lines. You do know how to fight, right?"

"Lìf is nice, he'll get around eventually. You have my word."

"I'm Friend's Grand General, just take the gift so I can go already." (Greeting from friend)

"I'm old enough to know that a longer life isn't a better one. Believe it or not, my Askr was at peace with Embla. I had the chance to go home but I stayed, met a wonderful woman and promises that we will spend the rest of our lives together... But the other thing happened. I miss her, yes. I still love her. But if I dedicate my life on bringing her back, it'll be nothing more than a goose chase. I accepted the fact that she's gone. And we shouldn't tamper with the dead. We lose love ones, that's part of life. Sharena would want me to live, Summoner. Not waste my life on impossible dreams. I fight for her memory, that's all I could do. And maybe one day, we'll be reunited in death." (Upon reaching level 40)

Info Screen

"You're slacking around? Want me to join you?"

"This Askr mirrors my own. Will you believe me if I say that I was also a non-combatant?"

"Yes, yes, I was a Summoner. Happy?"

"It was Zacharias who taught me how to wield a lance, actually. With a little help from Sharena, of course."

"I was a singer before becoming a Summoner. Though... I've been out of practice for centuries."

"Other weapons? Yeah, the Commander made me pick up an Axe once. Broke the wall with it and Alfonse got furious."

"I have my own opinions on other Summoners. But we all have one goal, peace. Hopefully, you share the same feelings."

Map

"Let's go."

"Bring it."

"I'm following."

Level Up

"Never thought I'd learn something new, thank you." (5-6 stats up)

"This makes me feel alive again." (3-4 stats up)

"Really? Zacharias must me laughing in his grave by now." (1-2 stats up)

"I'll do my best to meet your expectations." (New skill learned)

Critical/Skill

"So uncivilized."

"GAAAH!"

"There's more to that!"

"I'm not a boy anymore!"

Defeat

"My time... Has come..."

"The Undaunted Queen, Valen"

Summoned

"I am Valen, daughter of Aric. Have the tides of destiny wash me here with you, Summoner?"

Home

"My role was to serve and support, until my brother disappeared, I suddenly found myself in center stage. It is strange, what destiny has offered me."

"When I was young, my father thought me divine and my mother thought me weak. Which am I, Summoner? Weak or divine?

"You are my general, I will follow you no matter what."

"I was once a Summoner of Askr myself. Until duty demanded my return to Vanaheim. Perhaps the tides of destiny brought me here for a purpose."

"I didn't know you were such a slacker, Summoner."

"I am Valen, daughter of Aric. I bring blessings from Friend." (Greeting from friend)

"I believed that my destiny was to simply lead soldiers into a battlefield as a general, and a general alone. I never dreamed of carrying the burden of the crown until the awful reality that... My brother will never come home finally made me realize, that destiny can be cruel. My father died bravely on the battlefield, maybe I will share the same fate as him. They're waiting for me, you know... My family. I will see them again, but not yet. Not until this war is over, and when when enough men have died, perhaps I will finally have peace upon my soul. My life is yours Summoner, from this day until my last day." (Upon reaching level 40)

Info Screen

"I am Valen... To the people of Vanir, I was named the Undaunted Queen."

"Haha! Your Alfonse mirrors my own, and yet they're two very different people. Strange isn't it? The endless possibilities of different realities."

"I always make sure that the Order's funds are sufficient for a whole year supply, even if that means tricking the commander into seeing a different number than what was actually left for the month. Don't tell her I said that."

"Oh! Summoner! You surprised me there. Say, aren't you scheduled to do your rounds? Mind if I join you?"

"Alfonse is my other half. I will do anything to make sure he's safe."

"Oh, my Sharena? She's my shopping buddy, or at least that's what she calls herself."

"What kind of a Summoner are you? I'm rather curious."

Map

"Forward."

"Yes."

"I'll take your command."

Level Up

"For Vanir." (5-6 stats up)

"Strength and honor!" (3-4 stats up)

"I'll do better next time, I promise." (1-2 stats up)

"I will not waste this knowledge you bestowed upon me." (New skill learned)

Critical/Skill

"Surrender now, or die!"

"Fool!"

"Shield up!"

"Violence it is."

Defeat

"I curse you..."

"The Worthy Prince, Ingmar."

Summoned

"I am Ingmar, Prince of Vanir. I will fight for you no matter what."

Home

"I was called Summoner Isaiah. I didn't want them to know my real name at the time. The library is a frightening place, and I did not wish anyone to know my future... Or even my past."

"As crown prince it was my duty to make sure that I was prepared to succeed my father, until I found myself summoned in Askr... Twice. Or maybe this is the third?"

"Valen was once a curious child, always smiling. Now she's well... Always frowning."

"Haha! I feel fine, Summoner, not to worry. I just always feel sleepy for some reason."

"You're curious about my clothes? Oh! Is it because it's Nifl clothing? Haha! Funny story, well not really..."

"I'm Ingmar! I bring greetings from Friend! Say, you haven't seen my sister, have you?" (Greeting from friend)

"It's odd that the next time I saw my sister she was... well, all grown up. She was nothing more than a child when I last saw her, barely even ten. I worry for her safety, but I know she could handle it. I'm also worried for you. Being a Summoner takes a lot of effort, and because of me wanting to go home, I never thought of the consequences... What would happen if I went home. I wanted to see my family again, I didn't know how it would affect Alfonse or Zacharias. But I promise you one thing, I will never leave you." (Upon reaching level 40)

Info Screen

"Don't tell the commander that my finance report is fake, the real one is with Alfonse. Don't worry! We'll survive through the month."

"Give Valen your paperwork and she'll finish it within three hours."

"I have a special talent for linguistics."

"The people chose Valen to be Queen, that alone is enough proof that Vanir is in good hands."

"You want to learn how to hold a sword? Sure! I'd be happy to help you!"

"The Commander? She's convinced that I'm an idiot... Well, my commander Anna anyway."

"I don't have the same sense of tactics as my sister. I'm more of a front liner."

Map

"Yes."

"Try me."

"Forward!"

Level Up

"All in a day's work." (5-6 stats up)

"Hey, your training helped!" (3-4 stats up)

"Father would have been disappointed." (1-2 stats up)

"I'll use it well but, are you sure it's alright?" (New skill learned)

Critical/Skill

"In the name of Vanir!"

"I dare you!"

"Challenge me!"

"Move it!"

Defeat

"No, please no!"

"The Silent Maid, Largertha"

Summoned

"... I am Largertha. Once a Summoner for Embla."

Home

"I... Have nothing to offer you."

"My eyes? Oh... Before I tell you, I hope you didn't eat anything heavy..."

"Magic helps me move around. Though, Ragnar always made sure I was accompanied by him when I'm up and about."

"Embla... was my home. And Hel took it from me."

"Oh! I'm sorry, Summoner. I thought you were Ragnar."

"I am Largertha. I come with a message from Friend." (Greeting from friend)

"My death went without apology. I hated myself for allowing it to happen, I wanted Veronica back, I wanted Bruno back. But Ragnar was with me and reminded me that they wouldn't want me to suffer so much over their deaths. Hel was my enemy and she forced me into her service. Now I serve you. I will use all of my power to make sure you don't suffer as we did." (Upon reaching level 40)

Info Screen

"My eyes? No need to worry, I am fine."

"Ragnar was useless in the battlefield. He didn't even know how to do strategy."

"Bruno always treated me with kindness. And I cherish every moment I had with him."

"Since the day I became Hel's Grand General, I refused to speak to the witch. Ragnar did most of the communicating."

"All I want is freedom. Not eternity. You cannot find peace in eternity."

"Lìf and Thrasir... This poor unfortunate souls..."

"You remind me a lot of... Ragnar."

Map

"No worries."

"I'm moving."

"Expect nothing less."

Level Up

"Bless your soul." (5-6 stats up)

"Thank you for the opportunity." (3-4 stats up)

"I'm sorry it wasn't enough." (1-2 stats up)

"I'll show you my worth. You won't regret it. (New skill learned)

Critical/Skill

"Submit!"

"I am your living nightmare."

"What is it you fear?"

"I welcome you to death!"

Defeat

"Finally..."

[justalittlelitnerd]

Angry God by L.J. Shen

Man this book was a wild ride from start to finish. I knew from Pretty Reckless and Broken Knight that Vaughn had issues that were borderline sociopathic (all of the main characters in the previous books comment on his weird habits and lack of emotions) but nothing prepared me for his almost psychotic behavior. 

The book starts with the history of Vaughn and Lenora’s relationship which began on a family trip where he killed jellyfish and they bonded over a brownie. It then continued to them both attending a summer art program at Lenora’s father’s academy in London when they were preteens and Lenora witnesses Vaughn in a compromising position. A 13-year-old Vaughn breaks into Lenora’s room, darkly threatening her if she breathes a word of what she saw. 

Five years later, they haven’t seen each other since that night, Lenora’s mom has died, her father and sister have moved to the US to they very place where Vaughn attends high school, and prior to her senior year they convince her to join them. Neither of them are the same, both darker and damaged by their teenage years. Lenora swears she won’t let Vaughn rattle her even as he makes it his mission to make her life a living hell. Between stalking her, breaking into her house, making her stitch him up when he’s been low-key (I say low-key because it wasn’t fully intentional) stabbed, drawing the wrath of all the mean girls to her, and a million other things that are absolutely insane they keep getting drawn together by a sort of unhealthy possessiveness & obsession.

This book was by far my least favorite of the three and that was in part to the lack of a clear trigger warning. I knew based on the previous books that the family dynamics would be complex and the characters would have an unexpected darkness to them. But nothing prepared me for the violence, the public sex acts (though it was mentioned in the previous novels), the BLOOD PLAY (just really not my thing), and the graphic sexual assault/molestation. I had a feeling going into this book that something happened to Vaughn when he was younger to create his issues with sex and intimacy, but I was by no means expecting it to be graphicly depicted. Talking about the psychological effects of molestation is one thing (it still needs a trigger warning, but it’s important to discuss) but actually showing the acts is completely another. As soon as I realized what was happening I skimmed the retelling because it was just too hard to read and I couldn’t imagine how someone would feel if they had similar experiences. 

So basically approach this book with caution.     

Keep reading for my favorite quotes from this crazy novel.

Ars Longa, Vita Brevis. Art is long, life is short. The message was clear: the only way to immortality was through art. Mediocrity was profanity. It was a dog-eat-dog world, and we were leashed upon each other, hungry, desperate, and blindly idealistic.

We had the talent, the status, the money, and the opportunity. But if we were silver, Vaughn Spencer was gold. If we were good, he was brilliant. And when we shone? He gleamed with the force of a thousand suns, charring everything around him. It was like God had carved him differently, paid extra attention to detail while creating him. His cheekbones were sharper than scalpel blades, his eyes the palest shade of blue in nature, his hair the inkiest black. He was so white I could see the veins under his skin,  but his mouth was red as fresh blood—warm, alive, and deceiving.

Lenora didn’t strike me as a party girl. She had the strange gene, the one that made her stick out like a sore thumb wherever she went, even without the Maleficent wardrobe. I could tell because I had it, too. We were weeds, rising from the concrete, ruining the generic landscape of this yacht club town.

Watching her react to me was like feeling the first rays of sun after a long winter.

“Y’all gonna slow-dance to a Billy Joel song? If so, don’t forget to leave room for Jesus. And Moses. And Muhammad. And also Post Malone, because hey, he’s kind of a religion now, too.”

My heart accelerated to a dangerous speed, fireflies bursting forth as though escaping a Mason jar. Kissing him was like standing on the edge of a cliff. Nice view, but you knew it was deadly. Still, a stupid, irrational, dangerously alive part of you still wanted to hurl yourself down to meet your own demise. I felt his lips on more than just my lips. I felt them in my fingertips, all the way down to my toes. I felt them when my skin broke into goosebumps.

Heartbreak was a mystical, double-edged sword from where I was standing. And I had no desire to experience the full range of emotions in a car crash of feelings. Not ever going there.

“I don’t believe you, but I’ll still catch you,” he said. “I will always catch you, the fucking dumbass that I am.” “What do you mean?” “You soften me.” “Why?” “Because I don’t want to fucking kill you! You’re too fun to fuck with. Now Get. The. Hell. Down.”

There was nothing more beautiful than watching Vaughn Spencer let go.

I said nothing, not really in the mood to correct her and tell her I hadn’t asked whether she believed in ghosts or not because I knew the answer already. It was what made her presence bearable. When we were in a room together, all our ghosts were waiting on the other side of the door. I could hear them.

Strong words, but time, I found, had two opposite effects. Either it made the pain dull and evaporated the anger or it allowed you to stew in your fury, multiplying your rage.

"Don’t take this the wrong way, but you are a bit unhinged.” He said “a bit” for the sake of civility. Truth was, you couldn’t be a bit unhinged, just like you couldn’t be “a bit” dead. Being crazy demanded commitment, which I certainly showed.

He came to her room every night. Not that I was keeping tabs or anything. I was just in the neighborhood when it happened. And by in “the neighborhood,” I mean in her hallway, lurking. And by “in her hallway, lurking,” I mean clearly I needed professional help, an intervention, and a fucking life. I found myself standing behind a Louise Bourgeois statue for hours daily, waiting like some kind of a rabid Belieber.

I pushed the door open, hoping to find her working or reading or converting to a religion where she could only have sex with people named Vaughn Spencer.

I knew Vaughn was incapable of falling in love, but I wanted to steal pieces of him. His time. His talent. His words. His smiles. And yes, his virginity, too. I was a thief of everything Vaughn Spencer. 

“I am hell bound, and you are heaven sent. You’re the first girl I ever looked at and thought…I want to kiss her. I want to own her. I wanted you to look at me the way you look at your fantasy book—with a mixture of awe, anticipation, and warmth. I gave you a brownie, hoping you’d remember me sweetly, praying the sugar rush would spin a positive feel around that vacation. I remember how you looked at me when you saw me killing jellyfish. I never wanted you to look at me like that ever again.”

At nineteen, I no longer had a beating heart. I wore a death mask everywhere I went, and I was thirsty for revenge. For his blood. There was just one, tiny problem that did not occur to me beforehand. Namely, his niece, Lenora, who’d shoved a heart back into my chest. Now that it was beating again, I didn’t know what to do.

We were an unfinished business, personal and always walking the tightrope between love and hate. But we were always something, Len. We will always be something. You might move on and marry someone else, have his children and get your happily ever after, but you will never be completely done with me. And that’s the small chunk of mirth I allow myself. That’s my half of the brownie. That’s my one, perfect summer moment in the South of France, watching the face of the girl I will love forever for the very first time. Because, Lenora Astalis, this is love. It’s always been love. Love with many masquerade masks, twisted turns, and ugly truths. I don’t know where I’ll go from here, but I’ll be wishing you were there...It is worthy and beautiful, just like you. I wish I were strong enough not to do what I need to do. I wish I could get the girl. Because, Len, you are her. You are that girl. My safe place. My asymmetric happiness. My Edgar Allan Poe poem. You are my Smiths, and my favorite fantasy book, my brownie, and summer vacations in lush places. There will never be anyone else like you. And that’s exactly why you deserve someone better than me. Love, Vaughn

He just hung in the pregnant air, suspended by strings of cruel hope and tragic impossibility. Heartbreak had a taste, and it exploded in my mouth every time I tried to smile.

“You saw what I wanted you to see. I think I always had this idea that you should be my savior, but naturally, the stubborn ass that I am, I didn’t understand it. Now I do. I want you to save me today, and tomorrow, and in a month, and in a year, and in a decade. Save me. Give me your best and your worst and everything in between. I’ve always watched my dad loving my mom and thought he was stuck in a state of insanity. But he wasn’t. Turns out, love really can be that fucking intense.”

[disappearinginq]

The Electric Boogaloo

This is a very rare political (sort of) post for me, so feel free to scroll on by. I don’t know how many people in the US know what the phrase “electric boogaloo”, but it’s a reference to an expected (and some believe impending) civil war. It’s kinda terrifying, but I am a dark humor sort of person, and I must share with people who may not be keeping up on the current state of affairs with our military versus our president. 

Here’s the deal: everyone knows that the President of the US in the head honcho of the military. What most people don’t know is that there is a serious rift growing between the US Navy and the federal government, and it reads like a goddamn soap opera, and I must share because it’s my former ship leading the charge and I am so proud of those little shits. 

Set the stage: COVID-19 has disabled a huge chunk of the world. It’s not a secret, every news cast is about how more people are sick and more people are dead and the general seagull death spiral of society on a whole. Reports are in about how the Theodore Roosevelt has cases onboard, and they’re docking in Guam. No secrets, public knowledge. 

Several days go by and a letter from the CO, Captain Crozier, is shown to the media openly begging for Big Navy to do something in support or sailors will die unnecessarily. It reveals nothing of things that aren’t already widely known. He asks that the sick be allowed to get off the boat to do an actual quarantine in the empty hotels on the island so that they limit the spread of the virus because on a Navy vessel, you’re lucky to have six inches of personal space, never mind the 6 feet. These ships can have up to 5000 people on them, with three doctors (and that’s pushing it). There are no beds in medical. You serve sick time in your own bed, surrounded by 50 of your shipmates at any given time. Big Navy has decided to take their sweet ass time with a rapidly spreading virus, and basically tells him “we’re looking into available options” and then crickets. 

Thanks to the media getting a hold of it, Big Navy is shamed into providing aid. In less than a day after the letter finds it’s way to the media and the American people, POOF. The sick are offloaded, quarantined, and given medical help. The majority of the crew remains onboard. 

Cue the Electric Boogaloo lead in: First reports are Big Navy (the bureaucratic long arm of the Navy that decides morale is low and therefore forbids sailors to grow beards, and discharges anyone with a skin condition that prevents them from shaving every day, but separate issue) says that while they were unhappy that Crozier went outside the chain of command, likely nothing will happen to him. Next thing we know, Crozier is relieved of duty, in the dead of night. Every crew member onboard the boat meets him as he is departing, some in uniform, some in civvies, all standing at attention until he departs the boat, where he is saluted off and literally cheered by hundreds of men and women while they chant his name. This video also makes it’s way on to social media. Social media is trending with #IstandwithCaptainCrozier. Big Navy sends a fucking Admiral to the boat to take over - this is 1) either that Admiral done fucked up hard or 2) they need that level of pull to hush everything up and Big Navy things extra stars = more obedience. 

So now the shit show really begins. The Secretary of the Navy - SECNAV - is a newly appointed Trump crony who has a whopping total of 7 years in the Navy back in the 80′s and has literally been a pencil pusher since then. He flied alllll the way down to Guam to deliver an absolutely inspiring speech where he basically calls all the sailors onboard a bunch of whiny bitches, curses them out multiple times, and calls Crozier - remember, their beloved CO - too naive or too stupid to be in charge of a carrier. If you would like to listen to it, here is the link (I love listening to the crew’s reactions). 

https://taskandpurpose.com/news/modly-theodore-roosevelt-audio

The SECNAV stayed on the boat for less than 30 minutes, 15 of which was spent reaming out the crew, and then left without addressing a single concern. 

Shocker of shockers, the audio gets uploaded to the media. The outcry is amazing. Anyone who defended him before is stunned into silence that this man, who looks like the villain from Billy Madison, has the balls to go to a warship and bitch them out  - not about violating OPSEC - but for embarrassing him. The awkward position they put him in having to actually do his job. Congress and Senate members comment “I’ll be surprised if he lasts the night” - I have no idea if they meant he was gonna get lynched (which, to be honest, I would not have been surprised at) or fired. 

The course of Monday and the SECNAV’s defense is better told in bullet points: 

- “I stand by every word, even the swears”

- “I didn’t call him stupid or naive, I meant he purposely leaked the letter”

- “I have the highest regard for Captain Crozier, am I am sorry for the hurt that my words have caused”

- “Please stop sending death threats”

- “I quit”

Yo, this bitch was straight up online bullied into quitting and he was supposed to be charge of one of the largest military branches the United States has. 

Now, one might think this is the end of it. Nope! So here’s the shit leading up to this - the secretary of defense retires - a man named Mad Dog Mattis, who’s famously quoted “be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everyone you meet” (amongst others) left his position with a public letter denouncing Trump’s treatment of our long standing allies. Yeah. The guy who talked about having plans to kill people quits over morality. The SECNAV before Modly (guy who just got bullied out by online harassment and public calls for his death) was fired because he refused to back Trump’s order to pardon the war criminal Eddie Gallagher, a former SEAL who was turned in by his own guys and called ‘evil’. 

So this is fun now, right? Modly fires Crozier because he’s mad that he was embarrassed in front of the President and the country (Trump says he wouldn’t have fired Modly if he hadn’t resigned, because he didn’t think he was in the wrong), going against the Navy’s Top Brass (the top Admiral Gilday who is the CNO, and miltary’s top general, Milley, chairman of JCOS). Trump’s administration overturns the Navy’s conviction of Gallagher because “he’s a good guy”. 

“Mr. Modly has become a vehicle for the president. He basically has completely undermined, throughout the TR [the Theodore Roosevelt] situation, the uniformed leadership of the Navy and military leadership in general.” - Admiral Milley in a NYT article concerning Modly’s address to the crew.

The article concludes with “The Trump Administration’s handling of the crisis aboard the Roosevelt reflects a growing divide between senior uniformed commanders and their civilian bosses.”

The conclusion I draw in this HYAH!SHITSHOW: I can’t believe the lynchpin for the revolution is my old goddamn boat, and I miss it by a scant few years. 

And, just in case you don’t believe me about the Billy Madison comparison: 

[magnoliasinbloom]

Lullaby

AO3 :: Previously

Chapter 15

The baby would be due in mid-August, give or take a couple of weeks, Dr. Raymond had said. Almost a month had passed since I’d found out it was a girl. I had spent most of that time dreaming of pastel colors and lavender baby outfits. Mum was in seventh heaven, already planning to redecorate my tiny room to accommodate the baby.

I was in school struggling to finish out the semester as best I could. The days dragged on endlessly, and I was falling asleep in every one of my classes. I desperately wanted to finish my senior year and enroll in nursing school.

I was getting heavy for my frame. May was unseasonably hot—unseasonable for Glasgow, anyway. Humid rain pattered down every other day, and the heat was making me miserable. I never thought I’d see the day when I would miss the cold rainy weather of a Glaswegian spring.

Jamie came by often, helping me out with applications and taking the edge off my mood swings and the weather. I didn’t think he did anything but spend time at my house, studying beside me, or helping out around the house. I asked him about that.

“Jamie, doesn’t Ellen miss you? You hardly seem to spend time at Lallybroch at all lately, except maybe breakfast. And Sunday nights.”

He shrugged and looked at his shoes. “Mam kens I like to be here.”

I tried to catch his eye again, but he wouldn’t look up. “Jamie—”

“It’s alright, Sassenach, really.” He gave me a crooked smile. “Right now, I want to spend time with my best friend, and my niece.”

I blushed, and dropped the subject.

~ ~ ~

I walked slowly to the Argyle Street metro station. I hoisted my backpack a little higher on my back to distribute the weight. I dragged myself slowly down the steps. One more month and I wouldn’t be allowed back at work, on maternity leave of sorts. I fanned myself with a sheaf of school handouts I carried; it wasn’t even that hot really, but in my very pregnant state, it felt scorching underground.

I plugged headphones into my mobile, starting up a playlist. I bopped my head along, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard plastic seat. The mobile rang, managing to cut through the volume, annoying in its insistency. It was an unknown number with a strange area code.

“Hello?”

“Claire.” I froze and my breath caught in my throat. Frank. There was silence on the other end as well, and then he tried again. “Claire, it’s me. Frank.”

Four months after he left, after I’d waited for his call, after I’d cried myself to sleep. All I could manage was a strangled, indeterminate noise while I gripped the hem of my shirt.

“Please, don’t hang up. I just… I called to see how you’ve been.” His voice sounded rushed, pleading. I wondered if that’s what I’d sounded like to him, when I’d asked for his support.

“Oh.” My tone was flat and emotionless. I crossed my arms, cradling the phone to my face. An icy wave flooded my stomach, half anger, half something else.

“Listen, I know it’s been awhile—”

“No, you listen,” I hissed. “You’re the one that left, like the coward you are, without a call, a text, nothing. I owe you nothing. So don’t just call and expect things to be fine between us, ‘cause they’re not.” My voice rose from a venomous whisper until I was practically shouting on the phone. People were trying not to stare, but utterly failing. I was beyond caring.

“I just thought… well, I don’t know what I thought. I wanted to call,” he said lamely.

“You know nothing, Frank Randall. You’re an ass.” My hands were shaking. There was no love here, it had disappeared. I felt stupid for ever thinking it had existed, at least on his part. Perhaps a fraction, the part that would inevitably be my daughter’s, would remain. A useless part, unnecessary.

Frank inhaled sharply. “What about the baby, Claire? Are you still pregnant?”

“Oh, please, like you give a bleeding fuck. You didn’t care then, you sure as shit don’t care now. Whatever lets you sleep at night, Frank. Pretend I miscarried, that I had an abortion, like you wanted.” I spoke through gritted teeth, realizing everyone in the car was listening. “You would have no claim on the child, ever.” I didn’t answer his question directly.

“But then—you mean…” he trailed off.

“I don’t need you, Frank. Don’t think about coming to see me. Forget it. Delete my number. Don’t you ever call me again, is that understood? Never.” I ended the call and hurled the mobile against the floor of the train. I hoped it broke. I wished it had been Frank’s face.

I rested my head in my hands. My breathing was heavy and forced. I had to calm down, calm down for the baby. I didn’t feel like crying; I was past that. At length, an elderly gentleman picked up my mobile from the floor. He held it out to me with a soft, “Here, lass.” The screen hadn’t even cracked. I thanked him and pocketed the phone. All I wanted to do was talk to Jamie.

~ ~ ~

“Okay, so this was a tad upsetting.” I sat cross-legged on the living room sofa—or as cross-legged as my belly would allow. I caressed it gently, ready to relive the conversation with Frank for Jamie.

“Ye’re scaring me, Sassenach. What is it?” Jamie sat next to me, peering into my face.

“Alright. Well. Um. I took the tube home, right, and then my mobile rang. It was… Frank.” I was talking mostly to my stomach, unable to look him in the eyes.

I didn’t register Jamie’s reaction for a moment. Then I noticed his hands clenched into tight fists, and he jumped from his seat.

“Jamie, please.” I tried to hold his hand, but he paced away from me, his back turned.

“What did he want? What could he possibly have to say to ye after all this time?” He ran his hands through his hair, his jaw tense. When Jamie finally looked back at me, he found me with my arm reaching out to him, trying to calm him down.

“I’m sorry.” Jamie immediately sat back down. I put my hand on his broad shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I dinna even ken why I’m so angry, when it’s you that’s probably pissed off right now.” He attempted a weak smile.

“I’m not really anything at him. I was,” I amended, seeing the expression on his face. “But anger is an emotion, and I don’t feel anything for him, not anymore.” It was true; I felt only a faint measure of regret for what could have been. But I didn’t think Jamie believed me.

“I have half a mind to get on a plane tonight and beat the shite out of him, I swear. I could kill him, I really could.” Jamie ran his hands through his hair again, rumpling it completely. It stood out in wild red licks that rivaled my own untamed curls.

“Don’t, Jamie.” I smoothed his hair for him, and he stilled at my touch.

“Don’t what?”

“He’s not worth it,” I said softly. “I appreciate the sentiment, I do. But there’s no point. What’s done is done; he doesn’t deserve a single thought from me or you.” I struggled to rise from the couch, and Jamie caught my arm and helped me up. I huffed, embarrassed, but he only smiled.

“Come on. Stay for dinner.” As we walked towards the kitchen, Jamie wrapped his arm around my non-existent waist. An old book quote popped into my mind:

Those who really love, love in silence, with deeds and not in words.

[t4tieflings]

More thoughts on the Gusu House Arrest Au!

Part one seen here

-Okay so I’m not exactly sure how old Lan Jingyi would be at the time of WWX being put in timeout in Gusu but you know our resident chicken boy would the number one Wangxian shipper behind LXC. When he first gets told the tale of the Lan Sect founder he instantly asks, “So like Senior Wei and Han Guang Jun?” And LQR chokes.

-Lan Jingyi ends up being LXC’s little assistant towards innocently setting up romantic coincidences for our two idiots. If he needs some prop or excuse, LJY is already there and waiting.

-Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui definitely have the “Why does Lan sect let you have two dads?” Argument.

-Jin Ling was a firm non-believer in the original idea that LWJ was in love with his Uncle and Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi set out to prove him wrong. They end up badly trying to shadow WWX and LWJ to gather evidence. “We’ve got to get closer! We can’t hear what they’re saying!” “With your loudmouth if we got any closer they’d definitely hear us.” “You want to fight me princess??” “Who are you calling princess?!” “Shh guys please. Just duck down in the bush and be quiet. They’re playing a duet together”

-Jiang Cheng catches them stalking and his soul physically leaves his body when he figures out the reason why. Jin Ling feels vindicated when his uncle also doesn’t believe they’re together, but when the little Lans start listing out their list of evidence Jiang Cheng starts to doubt.

-“There’s no way....but then....that would explain the Archery competition....and the his insistence on taking WWX to Gusu....and the whole weird flower flirting thing they had going on....” “UNCLE DON’T LET THEM CORRUPT YOU.”

-They settle on the stance that they might be flirting but arguments over if they are already together breaks out. Jiang Cheng questions why he’s spending his time debating with children.

-WWX in the mean time has been adapting to life at Lan Sect as well as to be expected. He’s been debating either climbing up the Lan Sect rule wall to add his own rules or find a way to get rid of it because if someone quotes another rule at him he may just drown himself in Emperor’s Smile

-WWX wonders if he should ask for Lan Sect Robes because honestly he sticks out like a sore thumb in his black and red amongst all this white. LXC obliges him one day and LWJ nearly drops dead upon seeing him, and freezes up. WWX of course mistakenly takes it as LWJ disliking him taking the robes when he’s not an official sect member and goes back to his trade mark look. LXC swears he finds more grey hairs in his comb everyday because of these two.

-Originally the relationship between LWJ and WWX in Gusu starts off pretty rocky. WWX is still coming down from constant paranoia from having everyone against him up till now and slowly losing control of his demonic cultivation. Thus, at first, he views LWJ as some kind of monitor or baby sitter because nobody trusts him. WWX lashes out verbally a few times at LWJ but he always comes back.

-Slowly WWX notices how much effort LWJ is putting into making sure WWX is at least comfortable in Gusu. On top of that in front of WWX LWJ actually defends him against another Lan Sect member. Their relationship starts to heal from then on and they get on rather well. Although, WWX is still a bit miffed that LWJ refuses to let him sneak in alcohol. “It’s not like it’s against my probation or whatever.” “Part 24, section 5.” “Wait, they actually wrote in I can’t have alcohol?! This is discrimination!”

-WWX may not be allowed to have alcohol but his spicy cooking becomes a legend among Lan sect members. One younger member asks to his face if he used it as a torture method during The Sunshot Campaign. WWX has never been more offended.

-WWX starts to have his own suspicions about his relationship with LWJ. Especially because he learns about the meaning of the ribbon way earlier in this au. Since he’s hanging out around Lan members all the time and LSZ is being taught the Lan rules, he’s bound to learn by accident what it actually means. Cue internal crisis and awkwardly trying to get LXC’s advice on how to make it up to LWJ without revealing the reason why.

-Do you guys think this should be far enough back in the story that Wen Qing and Wen Ning also get sent along to Gusu with WWX? Like can you imagine how cute it would be to see LSZ running up to Wen Qing calling her Auntie and Wen Ning being a zombie playground for the kids. Once they get over how scary he is, there is not a moment in the day when at least three kids are hanging off of him. WWX and the Wen siblings becoming even closer of friends as its them against the world in Gusu. Wen Qing joining LXC in getting grey hairs over Wangxian, and bonding over taking care of their socially inept little brothers. LXC BEING NICE TO WEN NING? The friendship between those two soft boys could be so good.

[blueymoons]

#2: It Reminded Me Of You

I’ve decided to continue the One Hundred Ways To Say ‘I Love You’ prompt list. I plan to do them randomly, but if there’s one you’d like to see soonish, leave me a message here or on AO3, where you can find me as RoseNoble9. 😊

“Nick? Can you take the apple crumble out of the oven for me please?”

“Right.” Nick Herbert muttered to himself as he searched in vain for the oven mitts. They were no where to be seen in the kitchen. “I can. Absolutely,” he responded to the shouted request from his wife, Ilsa, “Only…where are the mitts?”

He heard a muffled curse but wasn’t sure if it was a response meant for him and so, he was bent over, rummaging through a drawer full of tea towels when Ilsa came bustling into the kitchen, muttering curses under her breath and carrying the mitts with her. He guessed she must have carried them into the bedroom with her without realizing it.  

“I swear, I don’t know why I’m so nervous Nick.” She slid the mitts on and opened the oven, “We’ve had them over for dinner countless times before.”

As he watched her settle the desert on the hob to cool he smiled. His Ilsa had a heart of gold, a mind sharp as a knife and the soul of a complete romantic. He never looked at her without feeling fortunate that she’d fallen just as hard for him as he had for her when their mutual best friend Cormoran, had introduced them at his and Nick’s shared eighteenth birthday party. She completed him in ways he hadn’t fully understood, even then.

But at the moment she was brimming with nervous energy. Bubbling over with anxiety and worry. He reached out and took her hand as she removed the mitts and yanked her to him, cradling her lush curves against his lanky frame. He hummed along with James Morrison’s You Give Me as he guided her into a slow dance, pressing his cheek against her temple.

She relaxed into his arms immediately, laying her cheek against his shoulder and sighing. “I just want it to be perfect Nicky. It needs to be perfect.”

He squeezed her tightly before drawing her back so he could look into her eyes, “Ilsa, I know we want them to realize they’re perfect for each other, but we can only do so much.” She opened her mouth to protest but he cut across her gently, “No one loves Oggy more than me. He’s the only reason I have you. But he has to come to the decision to make a move on Robin on his own.”

“Robin is just as capable of making a move herself,” Ilsa insisted.

“Of course she is. But she may not feel comfortable doing so Ilsa. Remember, she’s only ever been with Twatthew and Cormoran is her senior partner.” He squeezed her hand and sent her into a delicate twirl under his arm, still swaying to the music drifting from the lounge. “She’s the second strongest woman I know, but she’d need more courage than Neville Longbottom to make a pass at Oggy. Especially if he’s so damnably closed off with her all the time as he is when he’s with us.”

Ilsa huffed in what he knew was aggravation but nodded her agreement.

The song ended, and Nick released her with a gentle kiss, “What can I do to help you now?”

She looked around the kitchen and with a small sigh said, “I think everything is set and ready. They just need to get here.”

“Great.” He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of chardonnay he’d picked up for this evening. He uncapped it and poured her a small glass and held out his hand to pass it to her. As she reached for it however, he pulled it out of her reach and teased, “You have to pay your tab first.”

He loved seeing her eyes sparkle at his mischief. “And what’s the price?” she asked with a knowing grin.

“For now, I’ll settle for a proper snog. But the prices go up the later it gets.” Her lips were still curved in a grin as they met his. They stood in their kitchen, kissing and murmuring to each other, sipping wine and laughing until finally the front doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” he whispered to her before kissing the tip of her nose, leaving her giggling behind him.

His smile was huge and genuine as he opened the door to find both Robin and Cormoran on the front step. “Good evening! How are you Robin?” He bent to peck her cheek as she answered with a smile and a quick “I’m great!” He stepped back to allow them through the door, before clapping Cormoran on the back with a mumbled, “Oggy.”

Cormoran instantly moved to help Robin remove her jacket, hanging it and the scarf she handed him on the pegs next to the front door beside his.

“Where’s Ilsa?” Robin asked.

“Go on through. She was in the kitchen drinking all the wine when I came to let you in.”

“I heard that,” came the droll response from his wife as she met Robin in the lounge and gathered her into a hug before swatting at Nick as he and Cormoran, who stooped to plant a kiss on her cheek, passed beside them on their way to the kitchen to obtain drinks. “Oh, I love this blouse Robin. Where did you get it?”

Robin brushed her hands down the front of her grey silk blouse and replied, “I’ve had this for ages. I can’t remember where I picked it up.” She shrugged. “But you’re welcome to borrow it if you like.”

“Hmmm.” Ilsa continued to eye the blouse, “I just might.”

Cormoran handed Robin a glass of the chardonnay as he took a deep swig of the beer Nick had poured him. He made a show of glancing around the room, “Where are the wee beasties?”

“Ricky and Ossie, if you must know, are at the vets this weekend,” Ilsa answered while making a face at her old friend.

Robin grabbed her arm, clearly worried, “Are they OK?”

“Oh yes, they’re fine…It was just time for their…well…” Ilsa trailed off with a significant raise of her eyebrows.

“Ahhhh!” Robin nodded before turning to Cormoran and grinning, “Looks like you’re safe.” She laughed heartily at his narrowed eyed glance and muttered, “Cheeky.”

Ilsa took Robin’s hand and tugged her toward the dining table, “I hope you two are hungry. I couldn’t stop myself from doing a roast and Corm, before you ask, yes, I made apple crumble.”

“You’re an angel Ils,” Cormoran replied. “I’d get down on my knees and bow to you if I could.”

“No need to worship at my feet.” Ilsa waved off his chicanery with a graceful wave of her hand. “Just continue to send me referrals and I’ll consider the debt paid.” The entire party dissolved into laughter as they took their seats at the table and started passing dishes.

They laughed and joked their way through dinner, with Nick and Cormoran ribbing each other about football, Robin and Cormoran sharing humorous encounters with clients and subjects they were tailing and Ilsa and Robin snickering over Ilsa’s stories about Nick’s attempts to train the cats.

As Ilsa brought the apple crumble to the table, passing it first to Cormoran, she said, “I have something for the two of you. It reminded me of you.”

She turned and lifted an envelope from the breakfront next to the dining table. “Nick agreed with me that it was the perfect thing for you both,” she said as she handed the envelope to Robin.

Robin opened the flap and pulled out two tickets to, “A murder mystery dinner play?” She glanced at Cormoran with raised eyebrows, obviously surprised.

“Yes. One of my paralegals is involved in community theater and they put on this show every year, with different mysteries of course, as a fundraiser. She asked me if Nick and I might be interested in going this year, but we already have plans for that day. But then I thought of you two and I thought you’d probably both enjoy it.”

“I don’t understand what it is though…is it a play?” Robin was genuinely confused.

“Well, from what I understand, you and the other attendees arrive, dressed for the theater,” she pointed to the dress code, listed as “black tie”, on the tickets and you’ll each be given an envelope with further instructions for how the evening will go. You’ll socialize and mingle with the other guests only none of you will know who the other guests are and who the actors are.” She paused as she noted that both Robin’s and Cormoran’s eyes were starting to light up.

“At some point in the evening, early I’d guess, someone will be ‘killed’,” she moved her fingers in air quotes. “And the investigation will ensue. Someone will turn out to be the murderer but everyone attending will help figure out the mystery.” Ilsa could barely contain her glee as Robin and Cormoran exchanged glances filled with excited curiosity. “What do you think? Does it sound fun?”

“Robin?” Cormoran asked, clearly willing to take a cue from his partner.

“It does. It actually sounds really fun.”

“What day is it? Do we have anything scheduled that evening?” Cormoran replied.

Robin glanced down at the tickets, flushed, and then glanced back up at him, “It’s on February 14th.”

He looked at her, nonplussed.

“Comoran, that’s Valentines Day. Don’t you have a date?” Robin laughed, but Nick could see that the laugh didn’t quite reach her eyes. Cormoran remained silent for a few moments, watching his partner, then glancing over at Nick, before responding.

“No. Actually. I don’t.” His voice was soft.

“You don’t?” Robin whispered.

“No. I’m not really seeing anyone right now. You?” Nick saw Cormoran’s hand tighten to a fist, where it rested on his leg under the table, out of Robin’s eyeline.

“I’m not. I haven’t really been interested in anyone. You know…Since the divorce.” Robin’s eyes went back to the tickets still grasped in her hand.

Ilsa was quieter than he’d ever seen her. Nick was almost certain she wasn’t even breathing. He knew he wasn’t interested in doing anything that would distract Cormoran and Robin from each other. Ilsa’s eyes found his and he could see her hope, excitement, and yearning in them. It was their fondest wish to see their friends become a couple and it felt as though the four of them were standing on a ledge, waiting to bungee jump, and Robin and Cormoran were taking forever to make the jump.

Nick winked at Ilsa as Cormoran reached over and laid his hand over Robin’s. “Do you want to go? To this?” He indicated the tickets. “With me?”

Robin grinned up at Cormoran, though her head was still tilted down, toward the tickets, “Sure. I really would.”

Cormoran squeezed her hand and with a nod replied, “It’s a date.”

Nick could see Ilsa struggling to keep her composure. He knew she was bursting with the need to scream with joy. So, he saved her by asking, “Great! Glad that’s settled. Robin? Do you want ice cream with your crumble?”

Robin chuckled at Nick’s deflection and nodded, while tucking the tickets back into their envelope and handing them to Cormoran to stow in his jacket pocket. “I’d love some. Thank you.”

 Later, after desert had been cleared away, coffee and after dinner cocktails had been had, hugs and kisses were exchanged and Cormoran and Robin left for the evening. As they turned to walk to the Tube station that would take them back to their individual homes, Cormoran nudged Robin’s arm. She glanced up at him and he nodded his head in the direction of the front windows of the Herbert’s house.

Through the window they could see, and hear, Ilsa scream, “FINALLY!!!! OH MY GOD!!! FUCKING FINALLY!!!” as she jumped into Nick’s arms, joyfully covering his face in exuberant kisses.

Robin turned back to Cormoran and started giggling. He shook his head and chuckled before tossing his arm around Robin’s shoulders and pulling her into his side as they continued the trek to their station.

[ourfavcanadianshawn]

No Feelings Allowed|S.M|Chapter One {let the games begin}

Masterlist|Next Chapter>>

A/n: So I took a couple days off so I could start this series and make sure it was to it’s fullest potential! I hope you enjoy this series, thank you guys! Also a big thanks to @i-see-you-mendes for creating an amazing quote for this whole series.

word count: 2505

prompt: shawn and y/n have some unfinished business that they decide to…tend to

“Why do we keep playing this game like there are no feelings involved, when in the end that’s all there’s ever been?” { @i-see-you-mendes }

She walked into the party just a little after eight, still tired from her shift at the hospital. She wasn’t sure if she was fashionably late, or fashionably early. All she knows is that tomorrow is the weekend which means it’s a great time for her to get wasted. She was ready to feel like an actual college student again instead of some forty-five year old doctor.

A sea of bodies gathered in the living room, grinding and making out with each other. People were seated on the couch to participate in a game of truth or dare, each antagonizing each other when one of the players picked truth instead of dare. People lined the walls, either making out or trying to maintain their balance, or both.

She instantly got an uneasy feeling in her stomach, saying that it was a bad idea to show up here after so many years.

Her eyes scanned the room, hoping to land on someone familiar. Perhaps the person who actually invited her.

Her narrowed eyes landed on the other side of the room, a fiery redhead talking to a dark haired brunette. The uneasy feeling evened out after she found the host of the party, Brian.

“Well well well. If it isn’t little miss Y/n. Surprised you put down the stethoscope for once.” Brian spoke up as he saw her approaching him. A playful grin appeared on his lips. “Good to see you too, Brian.” She rolled her eyes at him, joining him and his friend. “Hey Y/n, how are you?” Matt, the dark brunette greeted with a big smile glued to his face. He inclined down to her to hug her after years of not seeing each other.

“Hey Matt! I’m good, how are you guys?” She gestured between the two men after the hug. “Nothing much. Just having fun with life.” Brian answered for the two of them. She finally noticed how different the two looked. Matt had longer hair than back in high school and seemed much taller. Brian well was still Brian.

“Can I get you a drink?” Brian lifted an eyebrow at her, pointing to his own drink. “Yeah, totally. A beer is fine!” She smiled at his nice gesture. He nodded for her to follow him.

He led her into the kitchen and brought her by the fridge. “How has Uni of Toronto been treating you?” Brian tried to make small talk as he dipped down into the fridge to retrieve her a beer. “Good. It’s an amazing school.” She shrugged, not really wanting to talk about school tonight. Brian closed the fridge and handed her a cold one. “I wish I would have went when I got the chance to.” He frowned, taking a gulp of his drink. “Why didn’t you?” She tilted her head to the side.

“My dad. He’s always wanted me to take over his business so I had to stay closer to his work in order to learn how the ropes work.” Brian crossed his arms, leaning against the fridge. “I’m sorry, Brian.” One of her hands found his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

“It okay. I really enjoy it actually.” He pushes off the fridge after a few seconds and gave her a smile. “That’s great!” She opened the beer can, smiling over at him.

“Yeah, my dad-“ “Brian, can you grab me a Moosehead?” Brian was cut off by another male’s voice. A little bit of a too familiar voice.

Brian and her turned their heads to source of the voice to see a very old friend of theirs. Her jaw mentally dropped, she didn’t even think he was in town. She thought he would be too busy dancing around a stage somewhere, far from here.

“Of course, Shawn.” Brian dipped back down into the fridge, grabbing a beer for the old friend of theirs. He looked a lot different from the last time she saw him. Her eyes traveled quickly down his body before anyone could notice. Long brown ringlets hung over his forehead, somehow making him look more older than he was. And a tight white teeshirt, defining his muscles perfectly. He had really bulked up since high school. And maybe he was a few inches taller than back then as well. But to sum it all up, Shawn had gotten hot. Sure he was cute and adorable in high school, but he looked like a Calvin Klein model now.

She felt as she was staring to long because it seemed like he finally felt it, causing his head to turn in her direction. She flushed pink and forced her eyes to stare down at her feet. She felt his eyes going up and down on her, checking her out.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Little miss Y/n finally stepped away from the operation table.” She heard him humorously remark, making her look up at him. “I think it’s my eyes that are deceiving me. Mr. Hollywood hotshot not standing behind a microphone, fascinating.” She fired back sarcastically.

“Touché, Y/l/n.” He let out the same angelic laugh as he had back in senior year. Brian handed Shawn his beer and joined in on the laughter. “You haven’t changed one bit, have you?” Shawn added on, opening his beer with one bang onto the counter top. His golden orbs sparkling at her, making the hairs on the back of her neck stick up.

“That’s for you to be the judge of.” She winked, her eyes staying trained on Shawn. Her eye contact became intense with him, both creating a tension in the air. She simply cut it off by turning on her converse sneaker and walking back to the living room.

“You invite her?” Shawn questioned Brian after she had left the room. Knowing anyone could have invited her. “Yep.” Brian chuckled, sipping on his beverage.

“Good call.”

“Alright, beer pong! Who wants to play?” Ian’s voice rang through the entire house. She stood at the other side of the ping pong table, palms flat on the table ready to begin. “I’ll play.” Matt ran up to the table with a bottle of beer in his hand. “We need another person.” Ian called out, looking around for a potential player.

She scanned the room, hoping to find someone good at this game. No one really seemed to want to play.

“It’s okay. I can take on the two of you.” She smirked, starting to line up the cups on her side.

“No, no. You need a-“ “I’ll play.” A hand shot up in the crowd, which belonged to the voice that had cut Ian off.

People started to move for the volunteer to come forward, and out of the crowd came one Mr. Shawn Mendes.

“Okay, cool you can be Y/n’s partner.” Matt smiled pointing over at her. “Gladly.” Shawn’s eyes stared at her as she lined up the cups as straight as possible. “Great. So I’m gonna lose.” She coldly remarked, turning to meet Shawn’s gaze.

“I wouldn’t be to sure about that, Y/l/n.” He smirked at her, making his way to her side of the table. She glared up at him, rolling her eyes, “Oh give me a break.”

“Okay so the dynamic duo, Y/n and Shawn back at it again versus Ian and Matt, the non-dynamic duo.” Brian called out, hesitating on Matt and Ian’s part.

“Hmmm, dynamic duo? I like that.” Shawn kept smirking down at Y/n. His hand stayed flat on the table, helping him lean onto it.

“Too bad I don’t.” She shook her head in disapproval, slapping his hand away from the table. “Hey!” He backed his hand away from the table.

“Alright Y/n call it heads or tails.” Brian pointed over at her, with a coin in hand.

“Ta-“ “Heads.” Shawn cut her off, and whispered in her ear, “Isn’t that right…partner?”

“Eat a dick.” She rolled her eyes and watched the coin flip.

“Heads.” Brian called out, “The dynamic duo will go first.”

Brian bounced them a ping ball each, Shawn grabbed both balls before they could even bounce a second time.

“Hey!” She called out after not being able to catch her ball. “Oh you want this.” He teasingly waved the ball in her face. She scowled up at him, clearly pissed.

“Hey, if you want the ball all you have to do is—CHRIST!” He yelled, dropping the ball in her hand after she kicked him in the thigh. “Try again bitch.” She chuckled lightly before turning to make a shot. “You have not changed since high school, I swear. Still very competitive.” He grinned down at her. She stuck her tongue out at him and made the ball into the center cup of the opponents.

“And you love it.” She grinned back up at him.

The party was pretty much over now. The left over people were gathered on the sofas in the living room, playing truth or dare. There was no more music, just a faint Drake song playing in the background. Solo cups were thrown all over the apartment, one was even somehow stuck to the ceiling.

“Truth or dare, Brian?” Shawn called out from beside her. “Dare all the way.” Brian hollered out, leaning forward on his knees.

“I dare you to, call McDonalds and ask if they’re open.” Shawn frowned at his lame dare. “You really were not meant for this game.” Y/n chuckled from next him. He looked over at her like a lost puppy. His eyes staring deep into hers, she just smiled and shoved him playfully. Everyone else in the room noticed the small interaction.

“Fine.” Brian sighed, getting out his phone to call McDonalds.

His call resulted in him sounding like a complete idiot to the worker, what’s new?

“Y/n, truth or dare?” Brian asked from across the coffee table. He gave her puppy dog eyes, puppy dog eyes pleading her to pick dare.

“….truth.”

“Ugh….what’s your best party trick?” His head fell back, annoyed from her picking truth. Everyone watched from around the coffee table as the gears in her mind tried to shift around. “I’m good with games?” She asked more than stated. Everyone had a confused expression painted on their faces. “Like what?” Ian smirked at her as she took a sip of her drink.

“Okay. Shawn, lets play fire truck.” Her head turned towards the slim boy right beside her. His eyes immediately switching to nervousness, “What’s that?”

“Just tell me when to stop.” She placed her hand on his knee, slowly making her way to his mid area. His breathe hitched as she was just a couple inches away from his crouch. His Adams-apple kept sliding up and down at a rapid speed.

He inhaled, watching her hand slide its way up his thigh, “Stop.”

Everyone around burst into laughter, Shawn still not catching on to the game.

Her hand left his leg and went to cover her mouth from laughter.

“What?” He knitted his eyebrows together, squaring his shoulders slightly.

“Fire trucks don’t stop, dumbass.” She breathed out, trying to control her laughter. “Yes they do.” He argued. “When?” She cocked her head to side, confused at his statement. “…when…when there are cars in the way.” He managed out, trying to sound smart but failing miserably.

“Jesus! You’re really the life of the party aren’t yah?” She squinted her eyes, calling him out sarcastically.

“I remember you used to do that to Geoff all the damn time in high school.” Ian breathed out, still trying to compose his laughter. “Oh yeah. I think I still have that picture of his face when you did it to him for the first time.” Brian hopped in on the conversation. “No way!” Her eyes shined more brighter than they already were. “Yeah. I’ll go grab it…the box of memories I go.” Brian stood up from the couch and marched his way down the hallway that leads to his bedroom.

“So that’s your party trick huh?” Shawn whispered over to her, putting an arm around her like old times. He leaned further back onto the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “Why yes it is.” She leaned into him and crossed her legs. “Interesting.” He smiled down at her, he smiled even wider when he noticed how close they were. Everyone was in there own conversation. There was only four other people there including Brian besides them. She was the only girl besides Matt’s girlfriend who was currently sleeping on his shoulder.

“Okay, okay here it is.” Brian squeaked, skipping into the room. He set a large bin on the table and unlocked it. “Every high school memory of mine is in this box.” Brian began digging into the box.

“Ahh. Here it…” His voice trailed off. “Did you find it?” She cocked her head away from Shawn’s shoulder. “Yeah…and this.” He held up a small piece of paper with a (the letter your first name starts with) and a S. “That’s not what I think it is, is it?” Her mouth began to hang low.

“Yeah, it is.” Brian nodded after unfolding the paper and scanning though it. “It’s the contract…” He added.

“I thought I burned that shit.” Shawn’s eyebrows became knitted together, confusion striking his face.

“No…I kept it.” Brian handed Shawn the contract. Shawn snatched the contract and skimmed over it.

I, Shawn Mendes and I, Y/n Y/l/n do not have feelings for each other and therefore will not show any signs of feelings for that matter. If one of us does admit to having feelings for the other for whatever reason, the last one standing shall win something of their choosing.

Signed, Y/n and Shawn

This was it. The contract that was made senior year but never fulfilled due to them going their separate ways.

“Holy shit.” Shawn mumbled, still not believing the contract still existed. The whole room filled with silence. Everyone just staring at the two idiots who agreed to the contract.

“What if we renew the contract?” Ian mentioned, smirking at the two once best friends. The both of them looked at each other and then back at Ian. “No, dude that’s stupid. We don’t have feelings for each other.” Shawn snapped at him. “Really?” Ian pointed to Shawn’s arm around Y/n. “Shut up.” Shawn rolled his eyes, still keeping his arm around her. “So you up for the challenge?” Ian cocked a eyebrow at the two.

“Just sign by your name.” Matt gave Y/n and Shawn a pen. “You sure about this?” Y/n leaned over the paper, staring up at Shawn. “We don’t feelings for each other, right?” Shawn raised his eyebrows checking with his old best friend. “Of course.”

Both of them signed their names at the bottom of the contract and turned to each other. “All the same rules apply.” She added.

“Bet.” He held out a hand. She hesitated grabbing it. She blinked slowly up at him before grasping his hand in hers.

“Bet.”

[youngcosmo]

Oct.20, 3:53 P.M.

How do I start this? There are so many little things that I’m eager to talk about, but for this to all make sense, I need to give you some context:  I have no idea what I’m doing.

I heard this quote from a professor who spoke at a graduation, stating “do one thing everyday that scares you”. Comfort is a great feeling, and so are fear and anxiety. These are two powerful emotions (which have such a bad rep) that can guide you to new, rich lessons/experiences, but only if you treat them right.

Truly, to have a “well-lived- life” is to have a good balance of both comfort and anxiety. Anxiety can lead to comfort, again and again and again, if allowed. Yes, feeling fearful and anxious sucks, but this attacking feeling helps to highlight every-other-moment where you feel more at peace. Evermore, feeling anxious can give a drive and motive to either solve it or to just feel what it means to be alive. If you only felt comfortable for the rest of your life, do you think, with the knowledge you have now, that you would enjoy that?

I’m slowly learning that everything in life comes with a lesson and a purpose, whether you like it or not. You’re only getting stronger as things get harder, and it’s nothing you can’t handle. I swear I have to remind myself of this, more often than not, which I guess is why I’m writing this piece to begin with, but anyways; let’s talk about what’s going on with me…

As I’m writing this, I am sitting in my Beauty 101at 9:00 in the morning, completely putting everything my teacher is saying on auto-pilot. So much is swirling around my mind right now, I can’t even attempt to focus on listening. Acting as if he has my full attention is a plan for disaster, for I’ve never been good at that; my eyes tell all. My life has been moving at full throttle. It's been hard to keep up, and I’m sure writing this during class isn’t helping that issue at all.

My name is Kassandra, I go by “Kass”, and I am 18 years old attending MUD in New York for the Masters course, meaning I will take every class they offer. This ranges from bridal makeup, runway makeup, creating SFX esthetics, and photoshoots. I’ve already completed a cosmetology course, and received my NJ state license, during my junior and senior year in highschool. I’m not going to college as of now. I live in Brooklyn and I’m paying for my rent + utilities, with a little help from my family and all the savings I have.

The “career path” I’ve chosen is a lot different than my classmates and my family, so I have no true source to ask for advice, besides the professionals and the students here. Sure, I have people currently that I can talk to regarding this career, why they chose this school, etc., but before the first day of school, I had no one. I had to prepare for the unknown and to adjust to whatever comes my way, willingly, while not knowing how to even “prepare” for the unknown. However, I must say that I’m proud of the progress I’ve made so far (even though on most days, it can be hard to be patient with myself), granted I still have no idea what I’m doing/if I’m doing the right things.

I spent hours upon hours researching this school and the experiences students have had there. Videos on top of articles and even some Tik Tok things, just to gain some knowledge and insight on if this is what I desired to do. It’s hard to remind yourself of what passions you truly have when the world around you is shouting that those passions won’t get you anywhere. Or that this career choice isn’t even a career, but rather a hobby, and that it’s a shot in the dark to be consistently-successful as a makeup artist. Regardless, I’ve learned to let those opinions come and go and just listened to the voice inside of me. Sure, a 9-5 desk job may sound appealing to some, but I couldn’t imagine ignoring the amount of creative vision that was built into my bones; it would feel superbly unnatural.

This blog will be my outlet to share my experiences and thoughts on what I’ll soon encounter, as well as learn, so use this as a source if you are in the same boat as me. Or if deep down, you too want to pursue a career that’s advertised as more of a fantasy, than a reality. Or if you are also a teenager trying to understand how to balance life, purpose, passion, and all the preachings you’ve heard. Or if you just stumbled across this webpage and became slightly curious as to what I have to say. Either way, I hope you enjoy.

[mychaoticdiary]

January, 6th, 2021

Dear Diary,

I’ve taken an edible so I can’t remember what happened first thing this morning. But my sweet senior girl looks worse than ever, her eyes are sunk in, she can’t stand for long, her meows get the attention of my other cat even though they never had in the past...I think she’s crying for help. My mom comes to me to tell me what I already know, we need to put her down. I agree, it breaks my heart. She calls the vet to get an exact quote on how much it’ll cost we were told around $200 the other night by the vet but now we’re greeted with a new number $446. My stomach falls, that’s just too high. We decline and we both just try not to cry. We call around all the quotes are $350 and up, it would leave us with no money for my other cat in case she also needs to be put down. What a nightmare. We call the Humane Society where we adopted her and just hope maybe they’ll have an answer on where to go, it turns out they do what they call ‘End Of Life Services’ it’s only $50 and we could get her ashes and a paw print for $150, it’s a life saver.  How Ironic. I still hate Alanis Morissette. But they offer something else they hear our story out and offer instead for us to surrender her, they have a vet on board that can give her all the treatment she needs, they’ve got staff to keep her company, they’ve got everything. But everything that’s too good to be true has a catch. We don’t get to know what happens, we surrender her and sign a contract that says we won’t attempt to seek her out in the future and we understand that we can never adopt her again. We both cry as we agree.  We both feel like failures but we know it’s the best option for our sweet senior girl, she could still have a few more years of life in her if she receives the right treatment, she could turn back into that happy purr machine I love so much...but I’ll never know. I’ll never be allowed to know. A selfish part of me wants her to just end with me so I can know but I shove that ugly part deep, deep down. She deserves a life if she can get one...even if I’m not in it.  It happens tomorrow, we can’t chance waiting too much longer even till tomorrow seems risky.  Me and my mom talk in circles, repeating the same words: This is the right thing to do. We’re making the right choice. This is the best option.  It seems like we’re hoping if we say it enough we can beat down the ugly part of our minds that tell us we’re failures.  She heads to work early, she needs to distract herself, I wish I had a job to do that with.  Me and my friend talk, today seems to be filled with circles. We say the same things to each other: Sorry I can’t do anything to help. I love you. Your feelings are valid. I’m here no matter what. I love you.  We both cry, we’re both so emotionally high strung, our minds can’t form any more words but we’re there for each other and we know it. We’ll make it. We always do. We have too. My good friend messages me, she’s had enough of heart break from her best friend of over a decade, she’s done with feeling ignored and pushed aside, she sends me what she wants to send her and asks me what I think. It’s angry and I see a lot of my own anger I’ve got at my own best friend in her words. It’s solid, it’s honest, it’s angry but it’s fair so I tell her to remove the swear words so her friend can’t write her off as ‘overly emotional’ and send it, she thanks me and does.  My best friend messages me, she’s ready for the phone call that’ll explain everything that’s been happening. Part of me wants to say to her what my other friend has said to her best friend, I’m ready to be angry...but I just don’t want to be, I don’t want that to be us. I call her and it starts clunky, there’s tears as I explain what’s going on and I offer her a chance to say goodbye to my sweet senior cat. She helped take care of her when I worked nights, she’d come and feed her, play with her, it only seems fair though I mainly expect to hear a ‘no’ she says ‘I’m on my way’ and it feels like the best friend I once knew.  I decide to shower, I smell and this is a good a reason as any to actually do something about that. I get in and start it only to hear a tiny thunk behind me I look over and see my senior cat, she has been in the bathtub recently for reasons unknown, I wonder if she just wants to be close and doesn’t notice that the shower is running but she walks over to the pooling water. Maybe she’s that thirsty? But she doesn’t lick up any water. I don’t want her to get wet and then get cold and get even sicker so I gently coo at her as I lift her up and out of the tub and try to start my shower again. Another soft thunk and she’s right back where she was before so I just watch and she comes back over to the pooling water and to my shock sits down and goes to lay down but I just can’t let her get that wet. I pick her back up and put her back out of the tub, I move the shower curtains to the outside to try and discourage her but it’s to no avail. I have to take her out of the bathroom and close the door, my heart breaks as I listen to her cry outside of the bathroom she just doesn’t understand but none of my soap is pet friendly and I just don’t want her to get any more hurt than she already is. The second I open the door back up she’s back in the tub, I lay down a towel and let her be, if it makes her content and comfortable I don’t want to argue with it. My best friend arrives, sometimes I forget she has a key to my apartment. Again the hello is a little clunky, we’re both a little off. But it’s good to see her none the less. We talk about the obvious and a mirage of sorry’s leave her mouth. I tell her about my friend and how she feels about her best friend, I open up and instead of approaching it angrily I simply tell her that I feel like we’re been drifting apart like that and I desperately don’t ever want to feel that way, I don’t ever want to write her an angry letter saying my heart is broken because of her and I don’t want her to write me one either. For the first time in months we open up. Both of us have been bottling things up this past year, trying not to bother the other, trying to keep things light during a heavy year. We talk about how the past month has just beaten us down and sat on us, we’re unable to get up as life laughs like a school yard bully. She had a pregnancy scare, her cyst got so bad she couldn’t go to work, two of her mice suddenly died both unfortunately violently, her boyfriends nana and cousin died days apart from each other, her bank account was empty. In short depression had eaten us both alive but we didn’t want to tell one another because we both just wanted things to be ‘good’ so bad when we saw each other. This talk feels like us. This talk is open and no guards are up. I try to find a speckle of sunshine from the darkness that is my cat leaving, at least it brought this up, at least I don’t have to lose my best friend too. I don’t like saying that but I have to find a positive in all this negative and this is a positive.  Some things are going better for her, she finally got her vacation pay after 3 years, I don’t have the heart to tell her she’s been ripped off and it wouldn’t serve a purpose so I tell her I’m just glad she got it instead of scrutinizing the amount. She says it’s okay to ask for money if I need and I ask for a $100, she’s my best friend and money has never been weird between us, she knows I’d never ask for that much if I didn’t feel like I needed it. There’s no guilt she just agrees.  She brought some art supplies for us to play with, it’s water colour brush pens. I’ve never been good at water colours but I love watching her, I make sure to shower her in praise, art should always be praised. I give it a shot after she encourages me. It’s fun and for once this is exactly what I want, this is how water colouring should be. I draw a jellyfish, a bumble bee and a koi fish. I’m going to buy myself this and I let her know, I don’t want to lie to her about where her money might go. She’s happy I like it so much and is okay with seeing her money go somewhere that makes me happy.  The visit is good, surprisingly light hearted even with the important talks, nothing gets heated it’s all just soft sincere words of love. This is what I want for this year and I tell her that, she agrees. We’ll work together on being more open with one another again. She heads home and my chest feels tight, my asthma decides it time to act up even though everything went well. I’d rip out my lungs if I could, I hate my asthma.  The rest of the night is much like the last, my heart breaks watching my senior cat struggle and I have to remind myself I’m making the best choice for her tomorrow. It’s hard to find a way to bond with her when I want to the most right now, she’s distant and usually I’d give her treats to make her happy but right now she can’t eat not even chicken can get her body to try. I settle with pats, her purrs are no longer boisterous and loud but quiet and eventually she leaves to visit her new found love of the bathtub.  My mom gets home late, I know she’s having a hard time but I still try to talk to her to help her unwind she tells me she got so mad at work she threw things and then went on break, I feel horrible, I wish she didn’t feel like she had to bottle it up and I tell her that but it’s just the way she deals with death. It’s hard on her. There’s been so much death lately. Her longtime boyfriend died 3 years ago, our neighbors wife died a few months ago, her niece and my cousin hung herself less than three months ago, her friend had a miscarriage. It’s a lot.  I do the only thing I can and just tell her I love her and that I think her best is more than good enough, I tell her I’m thankful for her. I mention my best friend’s sister gave her edibles to give to me as a sorry for everything that’s happening. I always offer her some but she never has any but tonight she says okay, it’s a small dose only 25 but I bite off 90% of it and give her 10 since she’s not used to it, she’s in bed within minutes. I want to be in bed but I told myself I’d do this so here I am at 2 AM...less then 12 hours away from handing over my sweet senior girl...this sucks but it’s the right thing to do. I realize after talking with my best friend and mom that I think I’m suffering from auditory hallucinations, I’ve always had them a little bit just when I’m trying to sleep. I sometimes think I heard a band or footsteps but I never paid much attention I just thought it was weird brain activity but the past 4 months have been more intense and this past week has been almost constant. I think I hear my mom call my name, I hear footsteps, I hear my cats meowing, I hear the tinking of their metal bowls, I hear noises beside my bed it always shocks me awake only to find out that the noises were never there. I’m going to ask my therapist if she knows what this is called and if she can point me in the right direction to get medicine for it.  God, so much happens tomorrow...today now...I don’t know how I feel, I don’t know how I’ll react. I don’t feel much typing this but a small sinking feeling in my chest. Maybe I’ll take another edible.