#sorry one of my favorite gags is when they know a spanish translation and how much funnier it is if they dont explain it

[blood-gulch]

it's that time of the year again

[p1nkwitch]

Hello if I can still ask for the ask game 175 and 200?

Yes! You can still ask!!

175. Favorite video game?

There are many that i love! But the one that i always end up replaying and having just as much fun as the first time is The curse of Moneky Island 3!! I love graphic adventure games, my brother got me them when i was a kid, the humor and the weird solutions to problems always make me laugh. Honorable mentions are Deponia and Sam and Max hit the Road. Wonderful games that i love to go back to every once in a while.

Now favourite games to play with friends, that would be dont starve together, the amount of times we fucked up with my group of friends while trying to survive was delightful. i always end up setting things on fire by accident.

200. Tell something about yourself most people don’t know.

Mm, Im fairly open with my things, i guess irl would be the fact that im ace? Like only a few of my friends and my oldest sister know. Er perhaps i question a little bit my own tastes from time to time, im still trying to figure things out.

I hated english for awhile because my teacher was an asshole when i was young, but i liked reading fanfiction a lot. Eventually i realized that there were more fics in english than spanish while browsing fanfiction.net, so my twelve year old mind went- read them in english and profit. I ended up learning how to read english better than in school by forcing myself to read short fics everyday.

Finally I was a rather lonely child so i spent a lot of time watching cartoons on my own, thing is back then they were all translated from Venezuela which meant the spanish words they used were different, so because i didnt socialize much, i spoke like that all the time. My family didnt thought it was bad, only weird, so they played along. One day i was in the bank with my mom and a lady in the line heard me talk and asked my mom when did i come back from Venezuela.

Apparently they though i was from there from the way i spoke and just recently came to live here. I got better when i got in first grade and had to adapt, because the other kids said i spoke weird. To this day i still sometimes use words like that, i did not realize until my best friend pointed it out, so now its more like a running gag.

Sorry for rambling but those were the ones at the top of my head. Yes i was a very odd child.

[louisapennyfeather2021]

Newsies Teen Wolf AU, but as scenes from different seasons that I find slightly hilarious even though they have zero context.

1) Anchors, season 3 episode 13. This is the first episode of 3b, or the second half of the season.

Brief: Basically Jack, Sarah, and Race are seeing things now and are being haunted by nightmares because of a ritual they did to save their family. Race has night terrors, Jack's werewolf abilities are acting up, and Sarah sees her dead older brother.

Warnings: Mentions of death, PTSD, panic

___

"Okay, so what happens to a person who has a near-death experience and comes out of it seeing things?" Jack sighs as he sits across from Albert and next to Race, Sarah and Katherine filling in seats to the bench they sit at during lunch.

"And is unable to tell what's real or not." Race mutters, shoving a pretzel in his mouth and tapping his foot anxiously.

"And sees dead relatives." Sarah stares at the table of the bench, a far off look on her face.

"They're all locked up because they're insane." Katherine doesn't flinch at the unappreciative looks she gets.

"Can you at least try to be helpful, please?" Race doesn't withhold any of the sarcasm he's known for. He stares Katherine in the eye, neither backing down.

"For half my childhood, I was locked in a freezer, so, being helpful is kind of a new thing for me." Katherine offers Race am equally sarcastic smile, her arms crossed on the table.

"Alright, come on, are we seriously still milking that?" Race huffs. Katherine stares at him like he's grown a second head, the other three teenagers at the table trying not to laugh or scold Race.

"Yes, we're still milking that." Katherine deadpans. Everyone is so invested in the pending argument between Race and Katherine, they don't notice that they've been joined until the newcomer sits down next to Jack.

"It's Bardo." Everyone jumps as Davey sits next to Jack and across from Sarah, receiving a panicked look from his twin. Jack tenses, knowing Davey is only just now accepting Jack as an acquaintance. "It means In Between, quite literally between life and death."

"David, I'm sorry-"

"Save it, nothing surprises me anymore." Davey offers Sarah an understanding expression, making the girl immediately relax. "But if you ever hide something like this from me again, I'm taking back my copy of the Avatar movie."

"Hey, wait a second-"

"So do you mean Bardo in Tibetan Buddhism or Indian?" Albert interrupts Sarah before she can start an argument with her brother.

"Either, but everything you guys were talking about happens in Bardo. There are different progressive states that range from seeing things, hearing things, and even being visited by peaceful and wrathful deities." Davey shrugs like it's the most commonly known thing. Jack stares wide eyed, knowing the only other person at the table who might know about this is Albert. Is this what Davey learned while he was homeschooled last year? No wonder Sarah wanted to go to public school.

"Wrathful deities?" Katherine inquires, glancing to Sarah in concern.

"Demons, essentially." Davey matches Katherine's expression, although his moves around the table to Race and Jack. Jack's neck heats up as Davey looks at him, although he quickly frowns when he doesn't understand why.

"Demons. Why not?" Race runs a hand down his face.

Just when they thought they could catch a break from all the excessively crazy supernatural stuff.

____

2) More Bad Than Good, season 3 episode 14. This is the second episode of 3b.

Brief: Spot and Oscar have been kidnapped by hunters while in Mexico. That's about it.

Warnings: Torture and maybe a bad word. Mentions of death

Notes: Oscar is Spot's older cousin who he has a strong hate/tolerate relationship with. Spot is two years older than Jack and Race, making him nineteen. Also note, I'm interpreting the spanish used from my years taking Spanish and from how the show translated it, please correct me if I'm wrong so I can fix it!!!

____

"Why are you looking at me like this is my fault?" Oscar borderline whines as Spot glares at him.

"Because it is your fault." Spot pants, his body hanging almost limply as his wrists stay tied above him to the chain link fence. A switch flips and Spot's entire body seizes, pained grunts passing his lips as electricity travels through his body. Oscar is not different, both boys arching their bodies away from the fence that the electricity courses through. After what feels like an eternity, but was only five seconds, they both slump against the fence, catching their breath as their bodies twitch uncontrollably.

"Yeah. You're probably right." Oscar breathes heavily, his muscles spasming. Suddenly there's another switch and Spot can't hold back a scream from the pain that courses through his body, his wrists straining against the cuffs holding him to the fence. It's gone as soon as it comes, but the pain seems to only increase once Spot can feel his body again as it heals itself. Oscar is all but hanging from his wrists now, hardly supporting himself.

"I've seen some crack their teeth. Others, they just shake and shake even after their heart stops. Sometimes we don't even know they're dead." Spot and Oscar both groan, recognize the voice as the man who had been torturing them for the last two days. And all over some dumb myth. "But nobody wants to play a guessing game. So, why don't you just tell us? Where is El Lobo?"

"We don't know where El Lobo is." Spot strains to look the man in the eyes, his body heavy like lead.

"Maybe you need a different method of persuasion? Maybe we cut one of you in half, the other talks?" The man smirks. Spot clenches his jaw, thinking of any way possible to get out of his current situation. Of course, his smart mouth of a cousin has to start talking.

"I would love to volunteer, but we really don't know what you're talking about. And honestly, isn't bisecting people with a broad sword a little medieval?" Oscar squints at the man. Spot knows Oscar's only going to get them killed if he doesn't shut up, although he also knows his cousin's ability to mouth off while simultaneously not dying is almost a superpower.

"A broad sword? We're not savages." Spot glances nervously over to Oscar as the man winks at them, although Oscar seems pretty happy with himself.

Until a chainsaw whirls.

It takes every fiber in Spot not to use all his power to break his restraints and strangle Oscar. Even if he could escape, there are far better things he could do than waste his time on his sorry excuse of a relative.

"Boys." A new voice makes both boys chained to the fence drop their shoulders and the man with the chainsaw to turn it off and step back. An older woman walks closer and starts saying something in Spanish.

"No hablo español." Spot pants, he body still recovering from the electric shocks.

"Tu hablas muchos idiomas, Sean Conlon. You know exactly what I'm saying. And you know who we want. Where is The Wolf?" The woman glares at Spot. Spot shakes his head in defeat, having had this conversation countless times in the past two days.

"We don't know any Wolf." Spot looks the woman in the eyes, hoping in vain that this time she'll actually believe him.

"I know you won't talk, lobito. But this one? This one loves the sound of his own voice." The woman steps in front of Oscar, a calculating look on her face.

"You should hear me sing." Oscar grins. Spot clenches his jaw, knowing Oscar could very well have just signed their death certificate.

"We want to hear you scream." The woman's grin is wide.

"No one ever wants to hear me sing." Oscar mock pouts, receiving a wide eyed glare from Spot.

"What could we do to persuade you? Where is The Wolf?" The woman seems to ponder the thought and Spot notices her hands moving behind her back. Suddenly she moves and not even two seconds later, Oscar is screaming. Spot wants to gag when he sees what appears to be a finger on the ground.

"Think about it. I'll only ask nine more times." Spot watches her leave, eyes still wide and brows furrowed. He watches the woman exchange a look with the man and the man smirks at him whole Oscar pants heavily next to him, occasionally whimpering.

The man reaches for the dial.

And everything flashes white.

____

Hey all! So these are just some of my favorite scenes from Season 3b of Teen Wolf. They aren't necessarily funny by any means and they probably don't make sense if you haven't seen the show, but I hope these were enjoyable to read.

Please send me any scenes you want to see or any recommendations you have! I'm open to anything!

[mellicose]

That Woman Over There - Chapter 3

A You Me and Him Fix-it Fic

Rating: Teen, for language

Word count: 2924

Warnings: none

Summary: ~ Set after the birth of Monty, Olivia’s baby ~ A dear friend of Olivia comes to visit for a week, and she disturbs the fragile peace between her, Alex, and John.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Chapter 3

They spent a nice morning in, since Olivia was still on her extended pregnancy leave. Connie reveled in their domestic rhythms, and it made her wistful. She missed it. The unhurried affection, the unspoken knowledge of each other’s habits.

After breakfast, they sat around chatting again, but before lunch, Connie was yawning and rubbing her eyes.

“You’re still jetlagged,” Olivia said, picking up Monty from the play seat on the floor “You should have a little nap before lunch.”

“I dunno,” she said. “Then I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

“I’ll wake you in an hour. Monty’s looking like he needs a nap too,” she said, and kissed his sticky cheek. “It’s been a busy morning.”

She leaned over and poked Monty’s belly. “What up, friend,” she whispered. “We’re nap buddies.” He yawned, then gave her a grin. She looked up at Olivia. “Yeah, I think I could use a sueñito.”

Olivia smiled. “A little sleep, si?” she said.

“Precisamente,” Connie said. Olivia had loved their Spanish lessons back in the day. And she had been a very, very good student.

“Hasta luego,” she said, waving Monty’s hand at her. “Until later, Aunt Connie. Bye bye…” she said softly, then walked out.

She got comfortable on the giant sofa and pulled a woven blanket over herself. The sun warmed her feet, making the burns sting a bit. She tucked them in the blanket.

Aunt Connie, she thought, and closed her eyes. I like the sound of that.

Slow, pulsing pink. 

Her cheeks burned with sunlight. She turned to her side and it was dark again. Singing, soft, and in an unfamiliar cadence, kept her from sinking back into unconsciousness. It was sweet, and vaguely reminded her of late nights in her childhood, when her father sat by her bed after coming back from parts unknown, still smelling of good tobacco and bay rum. He sang to her to let her know he was there, hoping it would sift through to her dreams and comfort her.

She missed her papa. But he had gone to a place she would not follow.

She sniffled, and her closed eyes filled with tears. One of them finally dripped to the batik pillow.

“Ye okay?” John said, voice gentle with concern. She opened an eye. He was sitting on the floor, in front of the coffee table. Her ball of necklaces was now neatly organized on the table by metal type and length. He smiled at her, thrusting his bearded chin at his handiwork. “Brilliant, right?”

“Don’t touch my things,” she said. She leaned forward to grab her necklaces, and clumsily slid off the sofa.

He took her hand before she got a messy fistful and tangled them again. “I’m sorry about this morning. I was trying to be funny, and failed miserably. You’re beautiful. Really,” he said, his brows knitting with sincerity. She yanked her hand away and crawled back onto the sofa.

“I don’t need your approval. Just leave my stuff alone,” she said, turning her back to him. He tried not to stare at her bum, but her jean shorts left little to the imagination. It was a very nice bum. She groaned and threw the blanket over herself, although her legs were still exposed. He wrapped a string of coral beads around his wrist and sat at the end of the sofa. His fingers ghosted over the fading red of the burns.

“You should put more aloe on those,” he said. She kicked at him, but lightly. “Where’d you put the other aloe leaf I gave you?” He went to the kitchen. It was shriveling on the sill of the window facing his back yard.

Interesting.

He peeled it and sat back down beside her. She was still and her breathing was deep, miming sleep.

He smiled. “You know you snore like a ploughman, right?” he said.

She grunted and flipped him off. “Go home, Juan.”

“One what?” he said. She turned to scowl at him, and he held up the slimy leaf. “Do you mind if I…” he pointed at her legs.

She sat up and tried to take the leaf from him, but it slid out of her fingers to the carpet. Her wavy hair stuck up in the back, and it was thoroughly charming. He stared at her a beat too long, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“You go to bed with women, but I doubt you see them wake up much,” she said. It was petty, but she was irritated. And embarrassed. Did she snore that loud?

“I was married for 13 years. I saw bedhead enough,” he said. “And dealt with morning mouth. And popping back pimples. And the gun-loud sleep farts? Fuck, I’d wake up thinking she finally shot me,” he said.

She snorted and put her hand over her mouth, but refused to laugh outwardly. She knew all about those. Ella had startled her many times with her vegan wind.

He  winked. ”Made you laugh.”

“No you didn’t,” she said. “It was a yawn.”

“Sure,” he said, and picked up the aloe. It was covered with dust bunnies. “Ugh. I’ll get you more.”

“Don’t worry about it-” she said, and out of habit, put her hand over his. He gave her a look that made her walk in front of the window to scrutinize him. He was a misogynist ass. Completely. A mouth-breathing nerd trying too hard to be a dudebro. But still, her stomach did a flip. “Gimme my necklace back. My mom gave it to me.”

He pulled it carefully from around his wrist, where the coral looked like prayer beads. She was loathe to admit they looked good on him.

“It’s coral, right?” he said, holding it up to the light with long, delicate fingers. “Medusa’s blood.”

She leaned against the windowsill. “What?”

“In greek mythology, when Perseus finally succeeded in cutting off Medusa’s head, the blood dripped to the sea and formed red coral.”

She loved mythology, and for a second, she forgot herself and sat by him. “I don’t remember that,” she said. He took her hand and dropped the beads in the cup of her palm, where they clicked and pooled like blood. “My dad used to read mythology to me when I was little. In Spanish, though.”

“I didn’t get to school much when I was wee, so I read a lot. I loved reading about Hercules and Perseus and Odysseus. Big, brawny, brave men.”

“Why not?” she asked.

He patted his back. “The brace made it … difficult for me to do certain things on my own when I was a little, so my mum home schooled me. Later, in high school, I was able to go often enough to graduate. Lucky me,” he said, but a shadow crossed his eyes. She noticed immediately because, ordinarily, they gleamed with good humor.

“Oh,” she said, nodding. “Was it that bad?”

He pooched his lips and rolled his eyes. “A boy need a proper backbone to deal with all the shite the world throws at ‘im,” he said. He used a heavier brogue that wasn’t his own. “You oughtta quit whinging and straighten up, lad. I’m starting to you’re using that contraption as an excuse to linger ‘round yer ma’s skirts.”

He smiled, but it was bitter.

“Fuck,” she said softly. She thought back on last night. After coming back into the house, she was rinsing out her coffee cup and saw movement in his yard. He did a series of stretches, reaching up to the moon, exhaling until his ribcage was visible through his stained t-shirt, then twisting slowly from side to side, hands on his waist.

She hadn’t meant to stare, but she did. There was graceful deliberation to his actions that made her feel herself in a way she had not in months. She rarely saw men who moved like that except dancers, and they were mostly gay. In any case, she knew he wasn’t trying to impress anyone with the movements - he didn’t know he was being watched.

“I wish I was homeschooled,” she said, finally.

“Oi?” he said, distracted.

“Home schooled. I went to a fancy school, but so much for good breeding - the teachers were as vicious as the students,” she said, putting the coral beads around her neck.

“Oh yeah?”

“It was running gag. Whenever I said something, they would pretend they couldn’t understand. They would make a face and say ‘No understando’ or ‘someone get the maid to translate’. Or my dubious favorite, ‘Shakespeare might be too hard for you. You should just stick with Cantinflas,’”she said, and sniffed.”That shit got old the first day, but it went on for years. The fact that my father is a diplomat made it worse.”

“Who is Cantinflas?” he said.

“A really popular Mexican comedian who did a bunch of movies in the 40’s and 50’s. His thing was playing poor country bumpkins, but he turned the trope on its head. He did broke but clever. He was a cultural icon, really.”

“So, not as much an insult as they thought,” he said. “Some kids are assholes. I didn’t grow up anywhere near rich, so… it was all ketosis-breathed gobshites.”

She giggled. “Gobshites,” she said.

“Cockwombles. Numpties,” he said. She started to laugh.

“That’s hilarious,” she said. “Hijos de la gran puta. Pendejos de la vela, toditos se pueden ir al carajo.*”`

“Those sound dirty,” he said. “I recognized puta.”

“You would, bitch,” she said. He gave her a mock hurt look. She winked.

“You’re getting along famously,” Olivia said loudly. “How wonderful.”

Connie jumped up and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Pfft. He was stalking me while I slept.”

“I was untangling your horrible ball of necklaces,” he said, pointing to the coffee table.

“Did you hear her snoring? She’s like a bear,” Olivia said, giggling.

Connie’s mouth dropped open. “Olivia!”

“My vote’s for ploughman,” John said, scrunching up his nose.

Olivia sat down on the sofa. “When we had sleepovers, I got in the habit of listening to my Discman so I could get some rest,” she said.

“You said you couldn’t sleep without music,” Connie said. “Dirty liar.”

“It wasn’t all a lie. Without music, I couldn’t sleep … with you.”

“You guys suck,” she said, and stomped into the kitchen.

“I love you too,” Olivia yelled after her.

Olivia pointed at the organized jewelry. “Did you really do all that?”

“Yeah. Seeing it was setting my teeth on edge,” he said. He picked up the pearls. “Did you really give her these?”

“Yes. Those are the pearls I was wearing the day we met,” she said.

“How sentimental,” John said in a sibilant falsetto.

“Totally gay,” Olivia said. “Where’s Alex? I fell asleep with Monty and she disappeared.”

“She went to the shops to buy ingredients for dinner. Her famous spag bol.”

“Ooh, yummy,” Olivia said, clapping her hands.

John shrugged. “Don’t know why you can’t just get it out of a can.”

“She makes it with homemade tomato sauce and italian sausage. You can’t get that out of a can.”

He shrugged and worked the pearls like prayer beads. Their smooth coolness was exquisite. He wondered why men didn’t wear them.

“Oh, about tonight. I’ve been meaning to tell you some news.”

“Really. You’re not moving, are you?”

“You wish. Nah. But it’s big. I think you’ll be proud.”

“You’re going to rid of your deep v t-shirt collection?” Olivia said, in fine form. She wished Alex was there to hear it.

“Never,” he said. He resisted the urge to tap a pearl against his teeth.“Her snoring. It’s not that bad, is it?” he said softly.

“Nah. You get used to it.”

“Did you?” he asked. 

She wasn’t expecting the question. “I suppose,” she said. “I didn’t care at the time. And we didn’t do much sleeping anyway.”

John hooted.

“Get your head out of the gutter.”

“But that’s where it lives,” he said.

“We would listen to music, read to each other, and talk for hours and hours. I would help her with her pronunciation, and she would help me with my French and Spanish.”

“She knows French too?” he said.

Olivia smiled. “Her mum’s french. You know, like, Paris French.”

“Insufferable,” John said, but he tilted his head to try and get a glimpse of her in the kitchen.

“She’s got a good heart. She’s one of the warmest people I’ve ever known.”

“And yet I’m freezing my lads off,” he said, making a face.

“Well, she’s angry at you.”

“Why? I heard what you said last night, about her not blaming me individually. What did you mean by that? I didn’t know her from Eve two days ago.”

“Eavesdropper,” she said. Olivia gave the dramatic sigh she always did before a story. He leaned back and crossed his legs.

“A little more than a year ago, her father filed for divorce from her mother after almost 37 years of marriage. She took it really, really hard.”

“But what does that have to do with me?” he said.

“It came as a huge surprise to everyone, including her mum. She thought everything was business as usual. But during the course of the proceedings, certain facts started to come to light that proved that it had been a long time coming, for him.”

John looked lost. Olivia leaned forward and grabbed his wrist.

“He said he was done with the increasingly misandrist tilt of the world he lived in, and declared that he is now part of MGTOW.”

John’s heart began to sink again, as he knew exactly what it stood for. At one point not too long ago, he felt the same way.

“Men going their own way,” he said softly. “Fuck.”

Olivia nodded.

“He exposed aspects of his relationship with his wife with which he was very displeased, and said he was tired to lugging her dead weight, citing her re-occurring depression and substance abuse problem as intolerable. In short, he was convinced he could do better. Furthermore, he brought proof of instances of verbal and emotional abuse due to the substance use before the court, and he nearly got everything. Her mum went from an Upper West Side brownstone to a one-bedroom flat in Flatbush, since she refuses to move in with Connie. She’s deeply humiliated.”

He was afraid to ask the question. As far as he knew, politicians and diplomats didn’t frequent his humble site - it was mostly insecure college guys and bitter divorced men.

“But why me, Olivia?”

“He mentioned your site as the catalyst that helped to make up his mind. ‘Thousands of men speaking the truth to power about women in a safe space, free from judgment.’ He said he felt solidarity. He said you were a saint and a hero for refusing to be a white knight to screeching misandrists.” Olivia rolled her eyes.

“Fuck,” John said again, more vehemently. “So he mentioned Mannism? And my name?”

She nodded. “I got a screaming phone call, since I had already told her about you and Alex. She was hysterical. It took me hours to talk her out of flying over her to castrate you.” Olivia hugged herself. “What she failed to realize is that it put me between a rock and a hard place. You were the father of-” she nodded quickly, “-the damage was done. But honestly, I hated you. Not only for her, but for everything else. For a while.”

“And you kept that to yourself for all this time?” he said, genuinely surprised.

“What could I do? I fucked up, then Alex fucked up and you fucked up...” she pointed at him. “Everything was fucked. And I didn’t have much sympathy left for her at the time.”

Olivia didn’t usually swear like that.

“We didn’t talk until right after the baby was born, and still, it hurt that she wasn’t going to make it to the birth. We promised each other as girls that we would be present at the birth of our first born. But-” she hiccuped, “she said if I insisted you be there, even after what happened with Alex-” she sniffled, and fat tears dripped down her cheeks.

“Damn it, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because at the time, you were important to Alex, and since Alex was the most important thing in the world to me…”

John stood up slowly. He shook his head. “I didn’t know.”

“Now you do,” Connie said from the doorway, wiping her eyes.

Olivia wept on the sofa, her hands palm up on her knees. Connie ran to her, already crying.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, falling to her knees in front of Olivia and hugging her waist. “I was a selfish, stubborn, unfair, foolish bitch,” she said, and buried her head in Olivia’s chest. Olivia hugged her back, whooping with emotion.

“I missed you,” she said, hiccuping. “I missed you being there…”

Connie’s body trembled. “I didn’t see Monty ... being born …” she clung even harder to Olivia. “Your little baby…”

They wept passionately in each other’s arms. At any other time, their wailing might almost border on comical, but not now.

He knew it was because of him. It was all because of him.

He walked out the back door quietly and let them make it up alone.

Read Chapter 4

*Sons of bitches. Bunch of dumbasses. They can all go to fucking hell.

[ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult]

Talk Norwegian to Me-Chris Schistad Imagine

Requested: No

Warnings: Mostly fluff, some sensuality

A/N: I just finished the first season of Skam and I love it. Vilde is the most adorable thing ever! Anyway, if you like this imagine, don’t hesitate to request more Skam imagines!

Mitt navn er= My name is

Hva heter du= What is your name?

Gratulerer, du vet noe norsk= Congratulations, you know some Norwegian

Takk skal du ha= Thank you

Og så kom hun opp til ham og slo ham= And then she slapped him

Foran alle= In front of everyone

Vel, han burde ikke ha hatt sex med henne og henne= Well, he shouldn’t have had sex with her or her...

Du ser veldig bra ut, Chris= You look very good, Chris

Nå vet jeg at du er full= Now I know you’re drunk

    As I sat outside the headmaster’s office, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the possibilities as to why I was sitting there. In my entire academic career, I had never been in trouble, not once. Back in America, I had perfect attendance, straight As, and I had an active social life thanks to volleyball and theater. I had only been attending Hartvig Nissen for about a month now and the only thing I had done was join Eva, Vilde, Noora, and Sana’s Russ Bus and that only got me into a tiny amount of trouble. 

    My heart stopped beating for a second.

    Maybe that’s why I was here. The headmaster found out I had been drinking and dancing at The Penetrators’ party. 

    Was that going to get me expelled?     “What are you doing here, Yankee?” Chris teased as he slid into the seat next to me.

     Ever since I transferred to Hartvig Nissen, it seemed as though Chris Schistad’s mission in life was to annoy me to death. He was always teasing me about how American I was and made sure to comment every time I would pass him with my friends. He was like an annoying toddler combined with a douchebag and I had no idea why so many girls liked him.

      “Not that it’s any of your business, but the headmaster asked to see me before classes start. Why are you here? Did someone finally catch you smoking on school property?” I shot back.

      Chris smirked that crow eating grin that got under my skin. “I don’t know, could be for anything really.” 

     I felt Chris’ beady eyes roam over my body and hugged my thick gray Burberry sweater tighter around my waist. “Stop staring at me like that.”

    “Can’t help it, you look hot in that sweater. Makes me wonder if you look this good with it on---”

    “Stop it,” I hissed.

    “...how good you would look with it off?”

    Before I could respond, the headmaster stepped out of his office. “Good morning, Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Schistad.”

    I stood immediately and shook the older man’s hand. “Good morning, Headmaster.”

   “Morgen,” Chris said.

   We followed the headmaster into his office and sat down in the two seats in front of his desk. Then, the headmaster sat down and leaned forward on his desk.

    “Y/N, you have shown great academic performance even though you just came here from America,” he said in a thick Norwegian accent. 

    “Thank you, Headmaster,” I said with a smile.

    “However, I think it would be much better for you to be in classes with the other Norwegian students here.”

     I blinked. “But, all of those classes are taught in Norwegian, besides foreign language classes.”

    “Which is why I’ve asked Mr. Schistad here as well. He is one of the only students who is nearly as proficient in English as he is in Norwegian.”

    It felt like the ground had fallen out from underneath me. Chris Schistad was going to tutor me. Had I fallen into some sort of Twilight Zone? I was doing just fine with the mini translator device I brought to classes and the girls in my bus helped me in the classes that we had together.

    “Noora also knows good English, headmaster, couldn’t she help me?”

    “While that is true, she does not have as extensive of a record as Mr. Schistad.” The headmaster cast a glance in Chris’ direction and all he could do was smirk in return. “You will practice every day after school but when and where are entirely up to you two. Any questions?”

    I shook my head, grabbed my bag, and wandered out of the office. How was this happening to me?    “Well, it looks like we’ll be spending more time together, Yankee.”

    “My name is Y/N,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m free at five o’clock, or, seventeen o’clock your time. We’ll meet at a cafe or something.”

    “Can’t at five, I have plans.” Chris smiled suggestively and I nearly gagged.

    “Cancel your booty call, this is more important. You better not make me sound like an idiot.”     “Never,” Chris said. “I’ll text you.”

    I nodded and hurried off to my first class. Unfortunately, the news of having Chris Schistad, the school f--kboy as my Norwegian tutor threw me for such a loop that I couldn’t really pay attention to European History, and it was one of my favorite classes. I shouldn’t let anyone, let alone Chris Schistad, stand in the way of my academic career, but I couldn’t seem to get him out of my head.

    “What?” Noora, Sana, Eva, Vilde, and Chris exclaimed.

   We were sitting in the cafe for lunch and I had just told them the news. They all had the same look of shock on their faces and I nodded.

   “Why couldn’t one of us teach you?” Noor asked.

   “Because the headmaster wants to help Chris be a better person I guess,” I said, picking at the sandwich on my plate.

   “I could teach you,” Chris said slowly.

   “You barely speak Norwegian, Chris, and most of the English you know is from music,” Eva teased.

    Chris rolled her eyes and took a big bite out of her croissant and muttered something in Norwegian.

    “But, this meeting won’t interfere with the Russ bus, right?” Vilde asked nervously.

    I shrugged. “I’m supposed to meet him today at five so I have no idea.” 

   Vilde sighed and burst into some anxious Norwegian before being hushed by Sana ad Noora. 

   “What did she say?”

   Noora shook her head. “Nothing, she’s just freaking out about the bus.” Noora leaned forward. “Anyway, having Chris as a tutor might not be that bad.”    “Might not be that bad? He tricked me into drinking a bottle of pickle juice after I already had several shots of vodka at the party last Friday.”

   Chris burst out laughing while everyone else tried to hold in their laughs.

   “He was only messing with you,” Eva said.

    “In America, that’s borderline bullying,” I argued. “He’s making me lose my appetite.”

   I set the plate at my feet and groaned. The worst part was I was really looking forward to lunch that day. 

   “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of Norwegian in no time,” Noora said.

   “Now that’s a load of bs if I ever heard it.”

   The other girls burst into laughter and we started talking about something else. However, I couldn’t help but dread working with Chris later that day. I hoped that something would happen between my journey to school and the cafe we were supposed to meet at that would delay this process. Unfortunately, everything went smoothly and before I knew it, I was sitting in a booth in a cafe, hot chocolate set in front of me, scanning over the Norwegian language books I had gotten from the library.

    “Look at you, such a diligent student.” Chris slid into the seat across from me and I glanced up at him.

   “We both have to do our parts,” I muttered. “So, what is the first lesson?”

   “We’ll just go over the basics. Repeat after me, Mitt navn er.”

    It rolled perfectly off his tongue but seemed to get all jumbled up in my own.

   “Try again, Yankee.”

    “Mish nav er?”

    Chris burst out laughing and I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, it’s just, I’ve never heard someone sound so bad at Norwegian before.”    “If I do, it’s because I have a bad teacher.”

   Chris arched an eyebrow. “Look who has claws. Fine, let’s sound it out: Meet.”

    “Meet.”

    “Nav.”

     “Nav.”

    “Er.”

    “Er.”

    “Now, just put it together,” Chris said.

    “Mitt navn er.”

    “Perfect.”

    “What does it mean?”

   “My name is. Hva heter du?” 

    “Mitt navn er Y/N.”

    “You sound almost native.”     “Bull.”

    “You caught me.”

     I couldn’t help myself but laugh before sipping some hot chocolate.

    “Am I going crazy or did I just make you laugh?”

    “It was a cough.” Chris kept giving me that knowing look that unnerved me and I averted my attention to the books. “Shouldn’t we be going over tenses and irregulars?”     “We will not be using books as long as I am your tutor. You just need to practice with me, it is the best way to learn.”     “But, that’s how I learned Spanish back in America.”

    “Really, say something in Spanish right now.”

    I hesitated before saying, “Gracias....para ayudame, uh, apprender su lenguaje.”

    “It took you awhile didn’t it? That’s the problem with Americans: you worry more about learning grammar than the actual language. Don’t worry about it so much.”

    As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I would have to loosen up if I was ever going to learn Norwegian and end these lessons. Chris taught me a few more basic phrases before we decided to call it a night. 

   “Your homework will be to work these phrases into every day conversation,” Chris said.

    “Fine, Mr. Schistad,” I said.

    I began packing up my books when Chris stopped me, “We’re having another party Saturday. You should come, practice more.”     “I’ll think about it.”

     The lessons for the next few months seemed to go the same as that: Chris would teach me phrases and make me practice them. I got homework every day but I practiced as much as I could. Eva, Noora, Vilde, Sana, and Chris noticed that I was getting slightly better after a while.

    “Gratulerer, du vet noe norsk,” Sana praised.

    “Takk skal du ha,” I replied. 

    “Chris is not a bad tutor,” Eva noted.

    We were sitting in the cafe for our Russ meeting and the conversation quickly switched from the budget to my Norwegian lessons.

    “No, it’s kind of weird how good he is.”

    “Do you get a prize when you are good student?” Chris teased.

    I rolled my eyes. “No.”

    “He is being nicer to you, Y/N,” Noora said. “And I see him staring at you when you aren’t looking.”

     I shook my head. Noora couldn’t possibly mean that Chris liked me, could she? I was only a first year, an international first year at that. Wouldn’t Chris prefer a girl in his own year, from his own country?

    “He’s probably looking at something else,” I said.

    “Please, he undresses you with his eyes every chance he gets,” Sana blurted. 

    “No, it’s sweeter than that, Sana. He likes you, Y/N, really likes you,” Vilde said.

    “Stop lying. He’s just being nicer to me because we hang out more and he probably isn’t looking at me the way you all are thinking.”

   “Whatever you say, Y/N,” Eva sang.

   I rolled my eyes again as my friends dissolved into laughter. They were crazy for thinking Chris liked me. If anything, we had become friendly associates who occasionally partied together. However, I had noticed that he wasn’t hooking up with girls at parties like he used to, but maybe he was sick of being with the same kind of girls at parties.

    An hour after the meeting, Chris and I were sitting in his room, talking solely in Norwegian.

    “Og så kom hun opp til ham og slo ham!” Chris exclaimed.

    “Foran alle?”     “Ja!”

    I burst out laughing at Chris’ story and shook my head. “Vel, han burde ikke ha hatt sex med henne og henne, um, henne.”

    Chris leaned towards me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Relax, Y/N, don’t sweat it, it’s just me.”

     “Henne...oh forget it!” I folded my arms across my shoulders. “Two months of tutoring every day and I forget the simplest term in Norwegian. There’s no way I’m gonna pass that proficiency test.”

     I buried my face in my hands and sighed. The bed shifted underneath me and I heard some rustling around.

    “You’re doing so well for someone who came into this country not knowing any Norwegian. And you’re the smartest girl I know so some stupid proficiency test isn’t going to hold you back,” Chris said.

    When I looked up, he had a bottle of vodka in his hand. “Thanks, Chris, but what is that for?”

    “To help you relax.”

    My eyes widened. “No, we shouldn’t.”

    “It’s fine, it’s legal here. The more relaxed you are, the better you’ll be.”

    He did have a good point, but how wrong was it for me to be drinking with a known player in his room when his parents weren’t home? Wasn’t it a bit dangerous and crazy? On the other hand, if I did drink, it was solely for the purpose of getting better at practicing Norwegian.

    “This is just for practice,” I said.

    “Of course.” Chris handed me the bottle and I took a swig, wincing a little at the burning sensation and bitter taste. “Why do you people like vodka so much?”

    “No idea,” he said as he took a swig.

     I quickly lost count of how much I had to drink. The room looked a little hazy and everything Chris said seemed to make me laugh. Plus, he suddenly looked really good with his playful dark eyes, chiseled jaw, and fantastic brown hair. 

    “Du ser veldig bra ut, Chris,” I chuckled out.

    “Nå vet jeg at du er full,” Chris said with a laugh.

    “No, I mean it, you’re actually really attractive when you’re not trying to hook up with girls or tease me,” I said.

    “Thanks, Y/N.” 

    The bad thing about my being inebriated is that I said anything and everything that was on my mind and I couldn’t stop thinking about how all my friends thought Chris had a thing for me. 

    “You wanna hear something funny?”

    “Sure.”

    “Noora, Eva, Sana, Vilde, and Girl Chris think you like me because you look at me a lot. Are they right?”

    Chris stopped smiling and looked serious for a second. “I thought you were the prettiest girl in school when I first saw you. I just teased you because you aren’t like all the other girls. You’re serious and you don’t take anything from anyone. Plus, you’re the smartest girl I know. I’m actually glad that headmaster put us together.”

    “But do you like me?”

    “Do you like me?”     I paused for a moment. “I mean, I’ve thought you were a jerk since we first met, but, now I know you’re actually kind of nice and still every bit as cool as everyone thinks you are. And you’re smarter than you let on.” I smiled. “Plus, you are super hot, I just didn’t like you because you tease me all the time.”

   “And now?”

   “Now, I like you.”

   Chris smirked for a moment. “Are you ready for a new phrase, Y/N?”

   “Always.”

   “Kyss meg.”

   “Kyss meg.”

   A second later, Chris’ lips were on mine and i didn’t know whether it was the vodka or not, but he was really good at it. Almost immediately after, I kissed him back, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He pulled me into his lap and we quickly began making out. Soon enough, I was lying ontop of him, but our tongues were involved now. Usually, I avoided tongue kisses because it was always so sloppy and slobbery. But with Chris, it didn’t feel that way at all, it was smooth and nice.

  All I can say is that the next morning, I woke up with a headache and in Chris’ bed. I jerked up in the bed and almost immediately regretted it since it just made my head hurt worse.

   “Ow,” I said.

   “Sleeping Beauty is finally awake.” Chris walked into the room and handed me a cup of coffee.

    “Did we, you know----”

    “No, we didn’t, I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that ever.”

    His words sounded sincere and I nodded.

   “I’m so sorry about last night. Must’ve been the vodka.”

   “Really, because it seemed like you actually liked me.”

    “Alcohol does that to you.” I took a long swig of the coffee, praying that it would dull my headache. 

    Fortunately, my dad was in Paris for a business trip and my mom had gone to Geneva to visit one of my cousins. I could only imagine what they would’ve thought if I hadn’t come home today. Plus, I couldn’t believe that I had drunkenly made out with Chris. 

    “Do you remember anything else from last night?” Chris asked, looking dejected.

   “Kind of, you said that Noora and the other girls were right about you liking me, but you were pretty drunk too.”

   “What is that saying: a drunken mouth speaks sober thoughts?”

    “Something like that.” I crawled out of his bed and continued sipping coffee. “I should probably go.”

    Chris nodded and I began gathering my things. It was awful how awkward it was and I could only hope that it wouldn’t interfere with our future lessons. Before I could leave, Chris grabbed my arm and I turned to him. “I meant everything I said last night, Y/N, drunken or not and if you need me to repeat myself, I will: Y/N, I thought you were the most beautiful girl when I first saw you and I think you’re one of the smartest, cleverest, and kindest person I’ve ever met. You’re also way out of my league but you can’t blame me for trying, so yeah, I like you a lot.”

    “That’s so sweet, Chris, I...I don’t know what to say.”

    “Say if you like me back. Tell me the truth.”

    “What can I say? We’ve gotten close over the past couple months and I suppose I like you in some way.”

    Chris shook his head. “No, we both know this goes deeper than that.”

   “Chris---”

   “I’ll see you Monday.”

   As I walked away, I couldn’t help but feel dejected. On one hand, I had one of the most desired guys at school liking me and on the other hand, I had no idea if I liked him. For three months, I have detested him and thanks to some alcohol, I made out with him and told him I liked him. This was all much too confusing and it was making my headache worse the more I thought about it. However, I couldn’t help but wonder if that saying “Drunken mouths speak sober truths” had any truth to it.