#why can’t i study math and get a degree without all this bullshit

[straightlightyagami]

I want to kill whomever it was that came up with the “bright” idea of making physics a fucking mandatory class. do not take this as an actionable threat

[cocobutnochanel]

Roommates | 18+

Genre: slight fluff, smut, roommate!Chanyeol

Main Characters: Park Chanyeol x Reader (oc: fem)

Summary: Your brother's bestfriend, the wrong pill and empty threats could never be good news. Your life turns 180 degrees around when you drink medicine impulsively.

Warning: profanity, sex scene, drug intake

Kink List: unprotected sex, bondage, restraints, drug intake, verbal degradation, creampie, aftercare, daddy kink, daddy!Chanyeol, dom!Chanyeol

Word count: 3.3k+ words

You wanted to bang your head against the wall. Integral calculus was so goddamn hard to learn and you hated how it's included in your courses when you majored in political science. It didn't make sense and the book in front of you didn't too.

You let out a huff and try to comprehend it since you aimed for a perfect GPA this semester.

The door swings open "Hey, dumbface." A familiar voice disrupts you. "What do you need, frat boy?" You hiss, not even bothering to turn around to look at him. Even his presence alone annoys you.

"Stay out tonight." He snickers, shutting the door behind him. "Can you not have sex while exams are going on? I'm trying to study." You whip your head and glare at his smirking face.

"Don't test me, I can tell eomma you're dating someone in uni." He was threatening you with bullshit like this again. What more, you know your mom loves him so much and she'll believe him.

You roll your eyes at him. "Eomma? She's my mother, Chanyeol, not yours. I'll tell her you're fucking with the entire population of Seoul instead." You look at him incredulously while he smiles with amusement in his eyes. He loved pissing you off, you had no idea why your oppa and eomma let you share a dorm room with him.

"You wouldn't do that to your oppa." He cooed at you mockingly. "Oppa? You? Fuck off, Yeollie." You flip him the finger while he cringed. He hates his childhood nickname.

He finally heads out of your shared dorm room and you return to reading the book. Park Chanyeol was a rodent who never left your family alone ever since he met your big brother, Jongin, in pre-school. Like Jongin who was his best friend, he loves pissing you off too. He even has his own room in your house and calls your mother 'eomma'.

You finally resumed studying after he heads out. After a few hours of reviewing calculus over and over again, you decide to sleep for your last day of exam tomorrow.

-

You wake up and notice Chanyeol's top bunk empty and unslept in. He must be with his whores, you assume. You hurriedly get ready and head to your first exam of the day.

The day passed by idly, occupying you with three exams and integral calculus being the last. The moment you got out of the classroom, your head ached. Fuck math, honestly.

You get back to your dorm room and see that Chanyeol still wasn't home despite it being 2 in the afternoon already. You shrug that thought off and text him instead. Your headache bothered you more than your brother's manwhore best friend not coming home.

'frat boy do u have tylenol ?' You text him.

'aww, uri dongsaeng is sick xx' He responded in a heartbeat, dying to tease you since exams were over.

'fuck you where are ur meds' You reply as your vision blurs even more. You couldn't afford to deal with his bullshit. Your head was killing you now.

'my nightstand. be home in a sec w/ food' He finally texted you back. You groan as another pang hits your head, telling you to let go of your phone. You curse integral calculus for giving you this pain.

You pull the drawer in his nightstand. You see condoms of different variations and that disgusted you to the core. Safe sex should be practiced but to need this amount of condoms? He sure does love sleeping around.

You see a white bottle with a red label in the far corner. You couldn't read the label but your head throbbed even more, making you grab that bottle out of impulse. You take it and drink a glass of water.

The sound of the door opening reached your ears as you laid on your bed, trying to rest. "Hey, you okay?" Chanyeol's voice was worried but the pain you were feeling made you snap at him. "Don't talk to me. I'm about to die." He laughs about what you just said and teases you with "That's good news."

A few minutes later, you were expecting the drowsy feeling to take over but unfortunately, it didn't. Your head was still in pain and it wasn't letting you sleep. You wince at an intense pang again.

"Are you sure you took Tylenol? You should be knocked out right now." He comments when he sees you still suffering. "I don't know anymore, fuck. All I know is that the pain is going away." You groan but now, the pain was slowly diminishing.

Few more minutes again, the throbbing stopped but you felt kind of hot. "Holy shit." You hear him mutter.

"What now?" You ask him with a grimace, fanning yourself. Heat now taking over the pain you felt earlier. "You took the wrong bottle! You're so fucking dumb, I swear." He shrieks. You never saw him freak out before which is why I was alarmed.

He holds up a bottle and you cover your mouth as soon as you saw it clearly. "It was my horny pills, you dumbfuck." He said with a flabbergasted face. Well, that explains the heat.

You didn't know why or how but you were aroused when he called you 'dumbfuck'. It wasn't the first time hearing this insult from him but it set you on fire right now. The pill made you feel things you don't feel when you're not having raging hormones.

"B-But, w-why do you even have them?!" You tried to distract yourself from the feeling but it only heightened. This was wrong on all angles. He was your brother's best friend! There was a reason why your mother trusted him to be your roommate! You weren't supposed to feel things like these!

You feel yourself get wet down there. "Fuck." You breathed out, his eyes glued on you while you lay in your bed with a defeated face. He sat across you with knitted eyebrows and an angry face.

"Yeol, get out!" You scream at him before you lost your sanity. You were getting wetter by the minute. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay?" Even his concerned voice sent you over the edge.

Without thinking, you stand up and sit on top of him. "N-No.. Jongin's gonna kill me." His voice was raspy and sitting on top of him made you feel the growing bulge between his legs.

"What happened to the brave frat boy?" You whispered against his ear, your hormones getting the better of you. You start dry humping on his thigh as he closed his eyes in frustration. "Y/N, you know we can't do this." Desperation dripping in his voice.

You roll your eyes at what he just said. "Yeollie, be responsible. This was your fault." You purred, the libido inside you growing. He bit his lip in response.

"God knows how much I want to but Jongin will kill me. You know that, Y/N." He pleaded but you knew he couldn't resist seeing you like this, like a thirsty bitch for him. "Please don't make this harder tha-" You cut him off with a hungry kiss.

He was stunned and he couldn't move but your hands travelled down to the hem of his shirt. You took it off, your lips still on his. He was defenseless under your kiss. Soon, he kissed you back gently too.

His tongue ran down on your bottom lip and you moan his name. His erection was now as hard as a rock and you liked it like that. Especially when it was between your legs too.

His mouth hungrily darted down your neck. You knew he was leaving marks but you couldn't care less. He was finally returning the passion you were feeling. This was his fault, all along.

Your hands held onto his locks as he devoured you on top of him. He couldn't meet your eye. He knew he wanted you but it was wrong. Jongin was your brother and he was his best friend. It was wrong but it only made the two of you want it even more.

His hand clutched your thigh as he nibbles on the sensitive skin of your collarbones. "Yeol." You call out to him, desperately wanting for more. You take off the pullover you had on and he couldn't help but stare in awe.

"Beautiful." He breathes out, his face meeting your hot chest. He unclasps the bra from your back and as it fell to the floor, his hands immediately replaced that warmth.

He massaged your sensitive breasts as he let his mouth play with your chest. You could only moan in agreement.

He managed to slip hand inside your miniskirt. His fingers found your wetness, your back arching at the contact. "Yeol!" You scream in surprise the moment he slipped a digit in. "Wet enough.." He whispers.

He gets up and throws you on the bed. He pulls his belt out of the skinny jeans he was wearing. You gasp when he ties your hand above your head, tightening the belt around it.

You were left in your skirt and that turned him on. You and you were good girl ways, he thought. He pulls your soaked panties down with a satisfied grin, his eyes never leaving yours.

He goes down on you, his hot breath on your pussy. You writhe under his warmth as you buck your hips forward to meet his lips. "Nah-uh. Wait." He whispers breathily.

You exhale in frustration. He felt your desperation and flipped you around, positioning your knees on the bed. "I said wait." He growls as you feel his palm smack your buttcheek.

You bite your lip as the impact made you wetter. You were sure you were dripping down there and the pill you took didn't help either.

Another smack hits your bottom and the sting it inflicted made you moan out loud.

"Jesus, Chanyeol, put it in already." You begged desperately. He puts two digits inside which made you hungrier.

You feel your insides clench around his fingers as he scissors his way in. He was a cruel fucker and you loved how he likes you at his mercy.

"Beg for it." He bellowed above you, fisting a handful of your hair.

Pride wasn't your priority right now. Your priority was your need for him inside you. "Please, daddy, put it in." You sigh, letting all your pride go down the  drain. You hated him but now, you're begging while calling him daddy.

You turn your head around to see him but his erection was now out and it tensed at your nickname for him. It was itching to be inside you too.

He finally pulls out his teasing fingers. Positioning his 9-inch cock on your entrance, you moan audibly. "Daddy, please." You beg once again.

He slides it in as you felt your insides stretch at his size. Tears welled up in your eyes as pain intensified down there. “I’m not even fully inside. Wipe your tears, slut.” He hisses, his fingers diving into the sides of your hips out of frustration.

“So fucking tight.” He comments, feeling up every inch inside you. You could only groan in response as the belt on your wrists restrained you from moving.

He pulls out a bit and starts thrusting in a rhythm. “Yeollie.” You moan out loud as he took you from behind. “What did you just call me?” He spat, thrusting stops abruptly.

“I-I’m sorry, daddy.” Your voice was powerless. Just like how you are right now, kneeling as you call your brother’s best friend ‘daddy’.

“Good.” He starts ramming it inside you again. Your eyes deliriously rolled as he thrusts into your G-spot again.

You weren’t a virgin but you didn’t sleep around as well. You only had sex with the guys you were in a relationship with, hence, why you were so tight. Despite lacking experience that Chanyeol had, it was a no-brainer that this was your best fuck.

After simultaneously hitting your spot, you notice his pace quicken. He was about to come. “D-Daddy!” You screech as his hot liquid filled you to the brim, your own juice gushing out of you too.

You were weak as you slump back on the bed. He wipes you down there, making sure you were clean. He was a monster while doing the deed yet he was so domestic when it was over.

He took his belt off your wrists as you lay on your back, bare and sore. He plants a soft kiss on your lips as if it’d make up for how he tired you out today.

You thought you were through but another wave of heat hit you again 10 minutes later. He plops on your side after that and tries to cuddle you but that only ignited your desires once again.

“Yeol...” You moan into his ear as his arm drapes over your bare waist. “Do you want to go at it again?” He asks like a puppy as if he hadn’t made you beg a while ago.

“How long does it wear off?” You ask, referring to the pill. “I don’t know but usually half a day, I guess?” He shrugs, still cuddling you.

“Are you serious?! Does it mean I’m gonna be like this for twelve fucking hours?!” You grit your teeth. “Relax, I’m willing to help as long as you let me. Also, I’m sorry for that earlier..” He says with sincerity dripping from his voice.

“It was the first time I was ever like that. I just got carried away cause it’s you, I guess.” He looks at you with puppy eyes while his hands inch down towards your pussy that was now wet again. For him.

“What do you mean cause it’s me?” You ask him with a shaky voice, feeling his middle finger against your clit now. “You know you’re attractive. I just didn’t make a move cause I know Jongin would kill me.” He chuckles.

“Hmmm.” You hum which makes him look at you. “I guess I’m flattered, daddy.” You mischievously grin as he bites his lip at the nickname.

-

You wake up with sore thighs and a cooking Chanyeol. You lost count of how many rounds you had with him and he had the guts to look like a husband the next morning. He looked so domestic in a plain white shirt and an apron. He didn't look like the frat boy that he was and it was the first time you saw him in that light.

You get up and he whips his head around. "Good morning.." He greets you with a bright smile as if he wasn't the reason you could barely walk now.

Your feet meet your dorm room's cold hard floor and you walk to the dining table. He serves the breakfast he prepared: fried eggs, pancakes and bacon.

"You look so domestic, it's disgusting." You comment on his bright toothy smile when he placed the food in front of you as if he was some husband serving his wife. "You wish. As if you didn’t beg last night to be cuddled." He winks at you, pulling the chair across.

"There's the frat boy I know." You roll your eyes at his laughing figure. "By the way, eomma texted me the train schedule for today. You have to get ready by 9." He reminds you, his mouth full of pancakes.

You only nod at him, sipping the coffee he prepared for you too. You two finish breakfast while bantering about little things. You wanted to ask him about last night but then, you were afraid it'd make things awkward.

You dismiss that thought and get ready for your trip back countryside. Exams were over which meant it was already summer. Suncheon was only 3 hours away from Seoul but you only went home during school breaks.

You change into comfortable travelling clothes. Chanyeol has a designer hoodie on as if he was some idol in airport fashion. "You picking up girls from the train too?" You snicker judgementally.

He lets out a hoarse laugh. "You jealous?" He smirks and runs a hand through his blonde hair. "You wish." You glare at him and head out of your dorm room with a luggage in hand.

He follows you, his luggage with him too. You two head out to the train station nearby and buy a ticket to Suncheon.

You settle in beside him and sleep for the rest of your 3-hour ride. Last night's strenuous activities tired you out. Drowsiness took over you as Chanyeol leaned his head on your shoulders, slowly getting addicted to your natural scent.

-

You wake up to Chanyeol drooling on your shoulder. You were now near so you decide to wake him up. You were reminded of your question earlier too.

"Yeollie, you’re drooling." You tease him but he only hummed in response, trying to rub his eyes. But suddenly, you wanted to ask him about last night. Were you just an easy fuck? Or were you dating him like how you did with your exes? You weren’t really one to sleep around, you remind yourself.

"W-What does last night mean? Should we act like it never happened?" You ask with a thumping heart. You were scared that he'd say you were just another fuck. Despite your denial of ‘liking him’, rejection scared you.

"We're here." He grabs your hand and lets you up when the train comes to a stop. "Wait, Yeol. Answer me." You say in a weak voice while he dragged you out. Instead, it looks like he just shrugs your question off.

You spot your eomma and oppa waving. Jongin was smiling when he saw you and his best friend. You had no idea he was gonna be here but you were happy. You haven't seen him in so long.

"We missed you!" Your eomma runs to you and Chanyeol, hugging you two. You only smile at her and Jongin who was behind him too.

"Dude!" Jongin greeted Chanyeol with a man-hug. You roll your eyes at their bromance. "Dumbass." Jongin ruffled your hair while you only whine in response. “Oppa, cut it out!” You shriek at him.

"Did you eat already?" Your mom asks the two of you, linking her arms around yours. "Nope." You answer timidly, still not over the fact that Chanyeol dodged your question earlier.

"Let's go to Kyungsoo's place! He opened a new pizzeria." Jongin chimes in. Chanyeol could only nod. Did he lose his energy because you asked him that? Was it wrong to clarify whatever it was between you two?

You sensed the tension in the air when you saw Chanyeol walk so stiffly behind you.

"How's my sister in Seoul? Did her dumbass get a boyfriend, no?" Jongin sneers. He knew you had minimum experience in dating and he loved teasing you about it. Chanyeol clears his throat. "She's seeing someone." You and your mom stop walking the moment he announced this. Suddenly, you were reminded of the empty threat he made when you refused to leave for his hook-up. Were you two back at that again? Just.... roommates?

"What? Her? Are you joking?" Jongin laughs at you and you wanted to smack him in the face but you were too busy overthinking. "Yeol, if this is about the threat you made-" You assumed this was about that night but he cut you off with a bold statement.

"She's seeing me." You let out an audible gasp. Your eomma covered her mouth in surprise. "What did you say?" Jongin sounded like he was challenging his own best friend. The danger in his voice scared you but it didn't affect Chanyeol in any way. Instead, he confirms it again.

"Dude, I said she's seeing me." Before you could deny it, your oppa lunged forward and tackled Chanyeol to the floor.

[julemmaes]

Let Me In - October 2nd

Nesta Archeron x Cassian

Prompt sent by @noorismee (I’m sorry Tumblr kinda sucks and deleted the ask, I hope it’s just a one-time thing cause I could go insane)

“I didn’t get soaked wet through walking to your house for you to say no to pizza. I have beer too. I know you’re sad, so let me in.”

A/N: This was so cute to write and I really really miss my friends right now, cause I’ve just started uni and I don’t understand how many things works so I haven’t seen them in a very long time and writing about them is always kinda emotional. I hope y’all enjoy!

p.s. yesterday I made a mistake, cause I put the acotar general tag list instead of the tog one, so, sorry for the ones who found themselves there eheh

Word count: 2,587

Nesta wanted to cry. She wanted to cry so bad.

She had tried to take this exam four times in the last year. Twice in the winter session and twice in the summer one. Everyone had reassured her that the fifth time would be the good one, that this time she would be able to pass it with full marks.

"I'm sure you'll be the best in the class." Elain had told her only the day before.

So when she had arrived home, today, and had opened the email with the rankings and saw that she had failed again, she had screamed in frustration.

She grunted and dropped her head on the table, banging her forehead hard enough on the wood to make a loud thump. She rubbed her hands over her eyes, yawning and jerking when a flash of lightning lit the room as if it were daytime. She put her hands over her ears, waiting for the thunder and staring at the raindrops racing on the window glass, and when the noise stopped, she started reading one of the billions of theorems she had been studying for months.

She turned the pages until she found the chapter on the Fourier series and started to rewrite everything she needed to assimilate every little connotation of the theory so that she could apply it in practice.

She had been flipping through the book for hours, writing things and doing calculations that she knew by heart now. How was it possible that she knew everything so perfectly when she was at home and when she found herself in front of the test sheet, she forgot the logic behind it?

She picked up the phone to see the time and saw that it was ten forty-nine. She would not go to sleep until she had solved all the problems in the book.

A message appeared on the screen just as she was about to turn it off and she raised an eyebrow seeing who the sender was.

She had immediately informed him when she knew that she had failed the exam again, but then she hadn't waited for an answer and had put her phone aside.

Scrolling through the dozens of notifications - most of them from her best friend - she saw messages from her classmates asking her if she had passed.

When she got to the bottom of the list, she grimaced.

‘Did you eat?’

And a few minutes later, ‘Nesta?’

‘If you don't answer me within an hour and a half, I'm coming to your place.’

And then, exactly ninety minutes later, he had sent another message saying: ‘You asked for it. I'll be at your's in twenty minutes, half an hour max.’ followed by a strangely threatening text, ‘I'm pissed.’

Nesta grinned, muttering to herself, "Joke's on you, I won't open the door." and returned without too much thought to her math book.

Five minutes passed before she heard someone aggressively knocking on the door. She sighed, lifting her eyes from the numbers and pondering whether it was better to let him in or let him die outside in the cold and frost. She was about to get up, tell him that he should leave, when Cassian knocked harder on the door. She frowned.

"Arche! Open the fucking door, I'm freezing out here!" shouted the boy. Nesta laughed, looking at him through the peephole and leaning her hip against the wall.

She spoke loudly enough so that Cassian could hear her through the door, "And don't you think you should have asked my permission before coming here and busting my balls?"

She heard him snort and could imagine him closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, "Nesta, please," he seemed exasperated, "open this door and let me feed you."

Nesta raised an eyebrow, chuckling, "Feed me? What am I? A dog?"

"No, you idiot." he laughed on the other side, then, in a more serious tone he asked, "Have you eaten something?"

Nesta hesitated, "Sure."

"I can hear the bullshit from here." a little pause, "Come on, open up."

She opened the door slightly, watching him step forward and Nesta closed the door ajar, shaking her head, "Cassian I have to study." if she had let him in she wouldn't have been able to do anything.

His hair was damp and his usually dark-grey jacket was now black.

"Cassian," he repeated in a mocking tone and making a disgusted face, "what? Are you mad?"

She shook her head puffing, tapping her foot on the ground repeatedly. He followed the movement with his eyes. Looking back at her face, he said, "Even if you were, you wouldn't have the right to. I'm not the one who ignored his best friend all day." he put one hand on the door and pushed it, holding the pizza with the other.

When Nesta struggled to keep it closed again, Cassian laughed. They both knew very well that if he wanted to force his way into her apartment, he would have no problem doing so.

He took one look at her and made what she called whipped-dog-eyes, "I didn't get soaked wet through walking to your house for you to say no to pizza. I have beer too. I know you're sad, so let me in." She noticed only in that moment the bag hanging from his fingers. She leaned forward to help him hold it. She hated plastic bags so much, they always stretched out to cut off her hands when she had to carry them around.

Then she metabolized his words and opened her eyes wide, "Did you come on foot?"

She opened the door, stepped aside and let him in. Cassian trotted into the apartment, shaking his jacket off and passing the pizza to her, who moved so as not to get wet, "Are you crazy? It's four degrees outside and it's pouring."

He looked so pleased to finally be inside the house that he didn't seem to hear her.

Nesta placed the food and beer on the kitchen table, careful not to wet the books. She hurried to put everything aside and when Cassian came in and saw what she was doing she tightened her jaw. Nesta noticed.

"What?" she asked abruptly, "Everyone has their problems. You are a fool for leaving the house at ten o'clock without an umbrella and walking for half an hour in the middle of a storm and I am trying to make sure I have a future by studying, and if I have to do it in the evening, that's not going to stop me".

Cassian shrugged, "Az stole my umbrella and my mom needed the car."

A twinge of pain tightened her heart.

She shook her head, "Wait here, I'll go get you a dry sweatshirt, I should have one of yours."

He nodded and Nesta saw him as he started cutting the pizza, taking what necessary and setting the table. When he came back he was shirtless and was rattling his hair, squeezing it into the sink.

She froze on the kitchen door, admiring how the muscles on his back tensed with every slightest movement. It was not the first time she saw him without clothes, there had been many occasions, but it was rare for him to undress in front of her in such intimate surroundings. She cleared her voice, drawing Cassian's attention.

He turned towards her, smiling at her and Nesta thought she was going to die. It wasn't the usual cocky smile he usually gave everyone, it was sweet and sincere. She handed him the sweatshirt without saying anything and sat down.

The first bite of pizza - although it was gummy and cold - was an explosion of happiness in her stomach. She closed his eyes, moaning and took another bite out of the slice. Cassian sniggered, watching her as she finished her first slice.

"Geez, it's so good," said Nesta, with her mouth full of food. Cassian had an amused expression on his face. He nodded his head to the cartoon, "Have some more."

Nesta didn't hesitate and threw herself on the pizza, filling her plate. They ate in silence, enjoying each other's company. She thanked him only when she had cleaned the plate with the last crumb. He had belittled the whole thing by waving his hand mid-air, just saying that she didn't need to thank him, that it was his job to make sure she survived through this exam session.

When Cassian leaned forward on the table to grab a bottle of beer, Nesta stood up, grabbed the bottle opener and handed it to him. He was about to open the second one, when Nesta stopped him, "I'm not going to drink Cass, as soon as you leave I'll go back to studying and you know what alcohol does to me."

Cassian laughed and opened it anyway, pushing it towards her, "Come on Arche," she did not move and looked him in the eyes more serious than ever, "if you put it like that," he took back the beer and the smile died on his lips. He moved his gaze toward the window, "But I'm not leaving".

She moaned, "What the fuck, Cass." she put her hand in her hair, raising one leg and putting her foot on the chair, leaning her chin against her knee.

"I'm not leaving and I don't want to hear your lame excuses about why I can't stay" he looked at her and the worry in his features made Nesta stand at attention.

His tone became more gentle, "What happened today?"

She wiggled her head for the millionth time, frowning, "What do you mean? Nothing happened," and before he could answer her, she added, "except that I failed the mathematical analysis exam for the fifth time."

"Nes..." he passed his hand through his hair, unwinding it and dropping little water left and right. His eyes never left her face, looking for any sign that would give away her apparent calm.

"Cass." she repeated with the same tone. How could he be so good at reading through the lines? Lines that she hadn't even written, considering how good she had been at ignoring him all day long. She figured, that was also a clear sign that something was wrong.

Not even Tomas, her boyfriend, could understand that something was wrong and she had explicitly texted him "I don't feel very well, I'd rather be alone for today" to which he replied with a simple "Ok, talk to you tomorrow".

Maybe he didn't even care what was bothering his girlfriend so much. Surely he would have been angry, though, when he found out that Cassian had spent the night on her couch.

Cassian sighed, also putting down his beer, "You know, you need to talk about anything, I'm always here."

Nesta felt a lump forming in her throat, so she nodded weakly, not trusting her voice.

He looked into her eyes for a few more seconds and when she could no longer hold his gaze, she turned to her books, staring at the sheets of paper that came out of the pages.

"So," said Cassian, changing the subject for her sake, "what don't you understand about mathematical analysis?

She turned to him in surprise, "These aren't things you would understand."

She wasn't trying to insult him or make him feel less intelligent than she were, but the subjects that were studied in the third year of a math degree course required a broad knowledge of previous subjects. Subjects that Cassian would never have even approached while studying foreign languages and literatures.

"Oh, I know, I don't have a sufficiently developed brain for those things, but you need to be distracted and since you want to study so much, maybe you could repeat it to me." he smiled at her, getting up and standing in front of her, pointing to the living room with a nod of his chin, "Couch?

Nesta stared at him, wondering how it was possible that Cassian was her friend. She nodded, following him into the living room and sitting in front of him, her legs bent under her.

The second she opened the book, the black letters on the white pages seemed to cross over. They seemed to dance, not allowing her to read. She would have been able to explain it without reading, but fatigue was taking over. She closed the book, staring at the cover.

"Everything okay?" he asked with a hint of concern in his tone.

Nesta closed her eyes, carrying a hand over her eyes. Her breath started to tremble. She did not want to cry.

She felt Cassian move on the couch and then he hugged her, "Sweetheart?" he stroked her hair, while Nesta took the book out from among them and dropped it on the floor. She clutched to his chest and took a deep breath. The warmth of him seemed to relax her little or nothing and Nesta only wanted to stop feeling this icy cold that seemed to have been poured into her bones.

"I miss my mom," she whispered.

She heard Cassian swallowing, "I figured," he said in an equally silent tone, holding her tighter, "It's normal Arche, her anniversary is approaching."

Right. The anniversary of Amanda Archeron's death would be in a couple of weeks.

Nesta was convinced that Tomas couldn't even remember the month of her mother's death.

"She was so good. She graduated on time. She did everything perfectly. And I'm here and I can't pass this stupid exam," she said against his chest. Her mother went to the same university, she attended classes in the same halls. She had graduated with the highest grades.

Cassian moved slightly, placing his hand on one of her cheeks, caressing her just under the eye. He had a determined look in his eyes and when he spoke, Nesta knew she wouldn't be able to talk back.

"You managed to get this far for a reason. You are not stupid and the test you are trying to take is not easy. Your mother was a genius, it's true, and I understand that you think you are expected to do the same, but no one is going to use such a thing against you," he reassured her. "We are all on your side. The only one who doesn't believe in you, it seems, is also the only one who should." he smiled sweetly at her.

Nesta moved, fleeing that touch so familiar, so comforting.

"I'm sorry." she murmured.

Cassian was still hugging her, "For what?"

"For making you worry, I should have called you and told you right away. You wouldn't have had to come all the way here." she looked him in the face and found an amused expression there.

"I would have come anyway, Nes. Only sooner."

She smiled at him and hugged him again.

They watched an action movie until two in the morning, hugging on her couch. They didn't go to class the next day, staying locked in the house, eating all the junk they had managed to buy on their little trip to the mini market down the street.

Cassian had also managed to convince her not to touch the books for the day and it had taken a while for her to accept.

She just needed her person.

Looking to her right, she stretched her feet over his lap and he smiled at her.

She was kinda screwed.

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[the1nightowl]

Diary post 1/25/20

So right now I’m high as fuck laying in bed listening to a Spotify radio based off landslide by Fleetwood Mac I’m pretty sure. The past few days have been shit to be honest, and I’m not entirely sure why. It’s true that I was sober for those few days but I don’t think that can explain the deep depression that I was put into. It was indescribable tbh I just honestly felt like I couldn’t do anything, like I was better off just sitting in my car turned off after achool feeling how hot it got cause it felt amazing even when I started to sweat. It honestly scared me a lot and I had to go home and break my promise to my friend not to smoke anymore. This was after about staying in my car depressed for about an hour before I was able to force myself to drive home, but even then I didn’t turn on the radio like I usually do and I was aware of these things but I just didn’t care and it was just... it honestly scared me a lot and I know this sounds like a cowardly type post like I’m not really sturggling type thing but idk. It was genuine emptiness or deep sadness I couldn’t tell the difference. I got high and even for about 40 minutes in I didn’t feel much but then it kicked in and I was at least able to relax and not let that deep feeling control me completely. Later though I went to my dads girlfriends house for dinner and as I was eating I brought up the pro life thing my religion teacher made us all watch and how funny it was how awkward a few of us were though I didn’t say it like that I said it like most of us were pro choice and were uncomfortable. Then my dad got mad and started trying to get preachy and I was like oh my god please don’t do this I do not care. Which sounds really shitty to say but that’s just... how it is I guess. But he shut up and his girlfriend kept trying to get him to talk again but I was like nah I don’t wanna hear it. Then he asked me how I would feel if i had been aborted and I was like it would probably have been for the better as I remembered a lot of places In my life where my presence in this world made someone’s life worse, how my mother sacrificed years of her life to me only for me to throw it away over a girl, how I’m nothing but a burden to my father, how many expectations everyone has on me to be the one to succeed because I’m the smartest. I don’t want to succeed to that degree I just want to live and be happy. But everyone expects me to go out and do great things but that’s not what I want I just want to go off and live somewhere and be happy doing something enjoyable that makes me think and be able to go home and play games or read something. I don’t want to live in luxury I don’t feel the need to be the best I know my intelligence I don’t feel the need to prove it to anyone, I pass every single one of my classes with a’s and b’s never bothering to open the books unless it’s in class or for homework, I never studied for a single test and I’ve never failed so long as I bothered to pay attention in class where once again I’ve never taken notes except for math where we genuinely need a copy of the equations. I get 1300’s on the psat’s never bothering to study before hand I don’t need to prove anything to anyone else and I don’t feel the need to go to a big name university I just want to get out of here. I take ap classes so that it can feel even slightly like I’m learning at a normal pace and I like it I feel like I’m an average student in a class even without studying or taking notes and stuff. I’m good at this I don’t need to try hard like everyone wants me to, I don’t want anything big in life. I just want a home that’s mine, a job I love, and maybe a dog and a girlfriend if I find anyone. And that’s not in a superior tone it’s just I get a lot of anxiety when it comes to actually doing things I want to do so I can’t ask a girl out out of fear. This is actually the first time I’m admitting this to myself out loud. I’m a coward and I don’t know why. I remember large parts of my childhood where I was completely empty like this too. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Probably trauma.

I’m not sure what that trauma would be granted but I actually don’t remember large portions of my childhood while I can remember others with some clarity. So maybe, probably, there’s something hurried in there I’m honestly scared of chasing down. Anyways I’m pretty sure we just mixed by the 55 minute mark, or at least my comparative, for the benefits of therapy, which I guess this is. I love psychology but idk about pursuing it as a career largely due to the over saturation of the market that I don’t really want to get into. But other than that I don’t know what I want to do. I’m largely lost to the world and I don’t know where I’m going to go. I’m a junior in highschool and I can’t help but feel like I should at least be thinking about desires or something to do with myself because I have to have a semi answer by the end of the year basically. But I guess I’m not gonna find the answer to all my problems just like that. I do feel like I’m wasting my life a bit but I don’t feel anything better to spend it on. Nothing really interests me and that’s a problem. I genuinely don’t feel interested by anything. There’s just things I have to do and things I want to do because they seem like fun which I guess is an interest but they don’t seem like genuine interests. I feel like I always have a responsibility driving me forward and making me do things but what will I do when large parts of that responsibility is gone. I guess life just feels meaningless mostly. I need something to drive towards but there either doesn’t seem to be any landmarks on the map or I can’t read it somehow. Granted there’s no landmarks when I jump out the car to look around but still. Nothing out there is for me it seems. And I’m not sure if it’s me saying that to myself. I’ve never spoken about the feeling I have of lack of goodwill towards myself. I genuinely don’t think I’m good at anything, I’m not a good person, and I don’t know anything about myself. A bit of a parodox yes but that’s where my mind is. I have no faith in myself I don’t think I’m that great at anything but when I do I feel the need to talk about it too much so my feeling of being an arrogant asshole just increases over my pride. And yet I’m always smiling or being kind or at least trying to. But I don’t know if that’s me or just me asking for attention. I just don’t care about anything I own or that’s mine I guess. I just don’t really care about anything actually I guess. I don’t know my motivations I just am. I don’t feel any motivation I feel obligation. And I fear that if I post this I’ll get a sort of relief from it and want to post it again and again in different ways saying it from every point of view and annoy anyone who looks or just be ignored. See that is a fear that has been with me since the beginning. There are many things I have to get over in my life I think. I just don’t really know where to begin. Or maybe I do and I’m just telling myself I don’t for some stupid self hatred bullshit. Honestly I have no idea. Life is meaningless I suppose. And I don’t remember when I started believing that. It’s been a part of me now, or at least connected tightly long enough to make me scared to leave it behind. I don’t know who I am and I’m not sure if I’ve ever known who I am. I specifically remember saying this when I was like 7 or 8. Or being dramatic and standing out in the rain because it actually genuinely felt good. I don’t know and I’m scared of continuing this thought. I’m scared of pushing beyond this. But that’s just the cowardly part of me talking. Why am I scared. What’s the worst that can happen iF life is meaningless. If I truly believe that why do I fear my actions? There’s no reason for it. I don’t need to be scared. I need to stop looking back. It’s holding me back from being better than I am. I can believe happiness is out there. It’s something worth believing it’s not a stupid Idea. I am good enough to feel good. I do deserve happiness. This isn’t my mind playing tricks on me it’s my depression playing tricks on me.

At the same time thought it doesn’t get all the credit. There are definitely things about myself I can fix. And I’m capable of fixing them. I deserve to be a better person, I’m worthy of love if I can stop hating myself. No one can fix me but me and that means I can fix me. It’s a backward thought but backward thoughts can hold truths never seen from the front. Things aren’t as bad as they seem, when i tell depressing jokes they aren’t jokes so why do I laugh. I need to stop normalizing these thoughts, both to myself and to others. It’s not a normal thing to be depressed it’s a sad thing. I need to get out of this hole I trapped myself in. I dug it and stepped in, so I can’t expect anyone to come along and dig me out but myself. It will be hard to dig out of a 20 foot hole but it will be easier that it was to dig myself into it. Maybe it will be easy maybe it won’t. I don’t need it to be easy I need to get up and work on it. That’s what the problem has been, I don’t get up and try I just feel like it’s not worth trying so I don’t do it. How do I break out of this thinking. No I need to stop asking and start coming up with anaswers. I need to break out of this so I will. I need to stop wasting my time watching YouTube and Netflix, but what else will I spend my time on? I don’t need to study we’ve been over that, I have homework but I don’t want to do that in this state or right now. That is a type of thought that will hold me back if I let it. What should I do though. I have no gas but I could spend all my money on that but then what would I do. I could go hang out with friends but I would feel annoying. But should I? There’s so much I could do right now but I can’t do it right now. Could I just get up right now and go? I could get up and get ready but I don’t really want too. But that’s what I have to do to get better. And I don’t want to do it right now, but this is the most normal and excited I’ve felt in a while. What would we do? No money, not much gas. It’s not warm enough to go to a lake or something obviously haha. I’m not sure if this feeling is due to the high or if I genuinely broke myself out of it but I don’t know it feels like a weight has been mostly lifted off me, but it should be completely gone if I don’t let it in. It needs to stay away so I will force it away. This bad thought isn’t controlling me I give it the power. Making a mistake doesn’t mean I’m useless. This isn’t me trying to preach about something this is genuinely what I’m thinking at the moment. I need to stop looking to see if others are enjoying themselves in order to enjoy something. I can feel things myself, I need to start celebrating my victories again. I need to take pride in my work, and be happy for myself not seek happiness in other people’s happiness. That isn’t a great things that makes a person a saint, any person who’s a saint would have to feel some sort of meaning outside of happiness to make someone else happy. There has to be happiness for happinesses sake before I focus on happiness for others sakes. I always put others before myself seeking happiness from service but I need to find happiness in other ways, service will only get you so far. I need a purpose and my purpose will be to find happiness for myself. Take joy in what I do. Enjoy the things I watch instead of looking for a distraction. I need to care about things not just notice them. I’m allowed to care about things and it’s fucking reccomended I care about things, it doesn’t make me any better to not enjoy things. I’m allowed to enjoy what I like and no one can take them away from me. So you know what fuck everything else I said in this post. Fuck all of it I don’t need to find the why for why I feel this I have to stop letting it take over me. It’s not who I am it’s a disease, something which is holding me back. I need to get back to work. J need to go to track again I need to stop letting myself get dragged back by caution and fear. I don’t care but I do.

I need to stop allowing it to take over who I am. I’m more than the sadness I feel I’m the joy I should be seeking. The things I enjoy aren’t stupid they’re what I enjoy. Enjoying the music in my headphones is important. I tell everyone else what they say is important but how can j believe that if I don’t think what I care about is important. I can care for things others don’t care about it genuinely doesn’t matter. Why do I think it matters??? It’s highschool not life. I don’t like dances so I won’t go to them. I’ll enjoy my video games, i love my music and I’ll enjoy them whether others think I should or not. I don’t need to be productive all the time but the things I do between shouldn’t just be distractions they should be things I enjoy. So yes I’m writing what has basically become an essay but you know what? I’m better that what is at the beginning of it all, but it is a part of me which will go away as I focus on improving my enjoyment kf life. If I enjoy my life again I will find direction. That is the secret. It’s not about distractions it’s about doing things I enjoy. Fuck everything else happiness is work and you have to work at it not give up in the face of difficulty. I’m better than feeling bad about everything I do fuck that I’m worth it I’m happy doing what I want to do. It’s not bad to do that and I’m allowed to say it. Fuck I love playing video games they can be difficult but they make you think and provide a sense of victory and accomplishment which can’t be found anywhere else. Or it can be found anywhere else, I can feel that accomplishment at track. Feeling myself improve is a good thing, worth the pain that comes along with it. The pain isn’t a completely bad thing it’s what proves you’re getting better which isn’t just an excuse people say it’s how it should feel. Pain isn’t to be avoided at all costs. Pain is a good thing sometimes. I am worth something people can be missing out on something if they don’t talk to me fuck that I’m worth something. This has been my diary post for today. Or at least right now but you know what it’s okay either way. I’m gonna go ahead and enjoy something right now. I’m gonna to open all the blinds in the house and let the light shine in.. I’ll make some warm drinks and put on warm clothes and enjoy the light instead of embracing the darkness that I ran towards. Fuck staying in the darkness of my mind anymore I can open the blinds and enjoy the natural light. So I’m gonna go do that. Thank you for making it this far, I’ll post an update or sometjing eventually. But I need to go and put my money where my mouth is. This took me about an hour to write btw. And that’s something to be proud of. So I am.

[gotatext]

          whats up ! its ur local feral goblin nora ( 23, she/her, gmt ) bringing u yet another baby i dug out of the trash and vomited onto the dashboard. a fake psychic slash rodeo bull sensation studying at hendrix but born in marfa, texas. luvs wearing gingham print dresses and cowboy boots n always in loads of rings and necklaces w flowers in her hair. very into art and pornography, and particularly the combination of the two. wants to do a PHD on gender studies and female autonomy in porn (yeehaw!). this is a pinterest board. without further ado, here’s frida !

hendrix template.

( cis-female ) haven’t seen FRIDA CALHOUN around in a while. the ELIZA SCANLEN lookalike has been known to be (+) SCHOLASTIC & (+) PLUCKY, but SHE can also be (-) DOGMATIC & (-) SINGLE-MINDED. The 18 year old is a FRESHMAN majoring in GENDER STUDIES & VISUAL ART. I believe they’re living in AUDAX, but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( nora. 22. cowboy time. she/her. ) 

 aesthetics.

a red gingham print dress from your childhood that tugs at the seams and hitches at your thighs. brown cowboy boots still thick with the dirt of a marfa desert. stripper heels decorated with hello kitty stickers. a crystal ball you bought for a dollar from a one-eyed woman at a thrift store. dead flowers clinging to the braids of your hair. a rucksack permanently packed for the move. a streak of red across your lips. roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens. smiling with a mouthful of blood. the female orgasm cut and pasted from pornhub and superimposed onto renaissance art. sweet wrappers scattered over the vinyl seats of an older man’s car. also this pic here is a big frida mood

connection to eva & did they choose her name during the watershed?

study abroad mentor. when frida moved to the netherlands to study, she was assigned a mentor to help her settle into campus life, since she was not of dutch heritage. eva was her mentor for her first few weeks of study, though they weren’t really friends. occasionally they hung out if they saw each other out at night, but they weren’t like... super close.

ok,.... so first up ! despite going to uni in amsterdam, this gal was born and raised in the ole’ U.S of A. she’s from marfa, texas. it’s a very arty place. she was surrounded by art wankers as a child and it kind of educated her to a lot of shit, but also meant she grew up p fast?? like she learned about sex and death and violence from all these art people who thot they were Freeing her Superego n makin a genius child bt rlly.... they shd hav just let her play with dirt rather than showin her artistic representations of the inside of a dead bird.

 BACKSTORY TIME.. her mother was from the wrong side of the tracks, wanted 2 go to art school and started working as an erotic dancer to pay for college but then jst.... ended up staying there. one of those girls u see in the documentaries who had Big Plans but ultimately never got to pursue them n jst got.... sucked in by the money

 frida was raised in dressing rooms surrounded by sparkly costumes and nipple pasties and leotards and the like. as a kid she’d try to trot about in her moms heels n yearned for the day she’d be able to be on stage. 

if you’ve seen pretty baby its a bit similar to tht..... her mom works in a brothel n has her quite young n the expectation is her daughter will probs end up working at the brothel too when she's old enough. no1 really expected frida to get into a good uni or anythin

frida was p much raised by the town, to be honest. most of her youth was spent scurrying about half naked in cowboy boots and glasses too big for her face. a smol feral child

as a kid used to lie about being able to see dead people bcos she thought it’d make her seem cool and interesting to other kids n it got the attention of the girls her mom worked with. but when her mom realised people were willing to actually believe a 7 year old had seen their dead scorned lover, she saw it as an opportunity to swindle some extra cash and registered her as a child psychic n started putting adds out in local papers for palm readings and tarot predictions. 

when her mom hit 30s she couldn't hack being a sex worker any more, so she set up her own fortune telling business and hired a load of the girls from the club to be fake psychics. it was sort of a fortune telling parlour slash brothel, bt they kept tht very under wraps. palm reading upstairs, handjobs downstairs. the reason why some of the women from the strip club agreed to work there was because it was a business actually run by a woman who got what was going on, n not jst someone trying to make quick cash out of old men wanking

as a child, frida was on a few tv shows in the netherlands  making psychic predictions in front of live tv audiences and attempting to reach out to the spirits of their loved ones. this con continued into her teenage years, she even did youtube videos n had minor success, though she was accused of being a cheap horoscope predicter and packed it in shortly after a twitter backlash. 

if pressed, frida still claims to have a gift, but that it's not as simple as switching a light on and off, it comes when it comes, you can't summon it, and that's how she gets out of being labelled a fraud if anyone who recognises her demands a reading.

ws street smart, but also did super well at school? quite charming as a kid and good at winning adults over because of a life growing up basically conning rich white women out of their money just by telling them stuff they wanted to hear. was moved up a grade in junior high and graduated early. attended a summer school, before choosing to study in amsterdam because of the appeal of the red light district. very interested in the lives of sex workers and the way they express themselves. is only a freshman but, is like, 50% through her degree already jst cos she’s..... super passionate about her subject getting recognised as a legitimate brand of academia

she wanted to study gender performativity in the lives of sex workers and plans to do her thesis on the porn industry. it might be because of her childhood, growing up surrounded by sex workers, but she's obsessed with it, looks at mathematical structures and symbols in porn through a lens of politics and art history. very interested in visual art.

some ?mildly amusing? facts

owns 4 tarot decks and a crystal ball she bought frm an old lady with one eye

favourite drink is cherry coke

part of a burlesque collective at hendrix university who run speakeasy nights. is trying to set up her own small-scale grassroots burlesque group in one of the more mainstream clubs along the strip bcos there’s so much money and female tourists go wild 4 it

sells nudes on twitter. whenever she gets low on cash she contacts one of the seedy old men who used to visit her mom's club to venmo her $500 in return for pictures

that girl who’s always harping on about body positivity on instagram while wearing cute underwear and looking absolutely bomb 

really good at rodeo bull riding. the club in marfa had one so as a youth she got really good at it bcos she was constantly tryin to outdo her friends on who could stay on for the longest. a video of her staying on one for like 4 minutes after downing several jager bombs went viral once.

smol baby. 5′4. wears a lot of cute summer dresses n big boots. gingham is her usual dress style, or like red plaid, n then she’ll either have big white cowboy boots with spokes on the back or the really long doc martens. also owns a lot of abba-esque gogo boots and 90s creepers. flats?? who are they. has her hair in braids a lot, and usually has flowers or feathers threaded through it to add to her whole “mystic” vibe

micro-doses acid for mild depression bcos she didn’t believe in “that CBT bullshit”, thought that therapists, like her, were jst con artists so always a bit spaced out

her flirting technique is absolutely offering to read your palm. she used to do it all the time at school its how she met most of her eighth grade boyfriends. 

volunteers at one of the local galleries but mostly just rants to old white dutch men about how cis white men have dominated art for years :/ is one of those SJW-types but only?? when it comes to art?? 

has a pet rat called popeye

takes photographs of dead animals to use in her art and often posts them side-by-side with stills of women in porn to show the shelf-life of female sex workers in a patriarchal-dominated industry or some bullshit idk

big into spoken word poetry, even if its shit. likes savage depictions of femininity

wrote a thesis on art as an act of masturbation that got published 

big into capitalism and commodity culture. loves it.

wanted plots, fucker

ppl who are also studying @ hendrix but speak english !! bcos frida finished her exams a year early at like 17 n just up and left to amsterdam cos she knew if she got in-state tuition she’d never leave texas, she came to the netherlands with like, 40 dollars and a phrase book. eva was kind of her study-abroad mentor to help her settle into amsterdam campus life

ppl she met at an inter-school maths championship competition or something really fuckin nerdy like that. she probably got entered in a spelling bee or two, she was her high school’s pride and joy until people started calling her a slut in toilet door grafiti 

hook-ups !! frida does not do relationships, she had several girlfriends as a kid but she enjoyed the thrill of the chase more than being with one person. pan, but not about befriending straight men. very much fuck-em-and-chuck-em wham-bam-thankyou-ma’am when it comes to guys. that said, if u think ur character cld get under her skin n try n change that by all means be my guest

other ppl who wld be in burlesque with her. also she goes to strip clubs n peep shows like every day, thats basically research for her, so if ur characters would be into strip clubs they might see her there

she volunteers at a few galleries, tht is also a possible place where they cld kno each other from

i feel like she’d be on student council if they had one of those. shes that kind of bitch, turning up like elle woods with a big feather pen or a light-up heart marker, slamming down some truths before upping and leaving to go for her 11am chai latte break

mayb someone she’s trying to coach into being more body confident through self-expression in burlesque.

som1 who attended the art institute in marfa for a summer n maybe knew her when she was a bit younger ??? idk

drama. angst/ horror. someone accuse her of being a fake psychic and she’ll predict your horrific untimely death

nice bike rides in amsterdam please

yea like this if u a) want to plot or b) think the self is as undefinable social construct and i will slide in ur dms to further discus ruckus  x x

[phanfictrashalex]

01:00

The day finally came that Dan was waking up to an alarm again. It was his first day back to school since winter break. Going back was something that he hadn't been looking forward to since he got out.

He knew that he could probably get a better job with a school degree, but sometimes he was to the point where he wanted to completely drop out of school and find some shit job.

Dan liked to learn, that wasn't the problem. The problem was the people in his school the teachers and the students. He liked school up until high school started.

He always had people that he could talk to and hang out with, but when high school started that all changed. People started to change they began finding new friend groups and altogether ditched Dan. They probably had something going on in their lives, or that's what he told himself not wanting to dwell on it too much.

Dan wasn't too introverted. He didn't have to always be alone, but to mentally be able to handle a large crowd of people he had to have space for a few days so he didn't go completely insane.

High school became one of his worst nightmares whenever his dad left, he felt as if it was his fault.

-

It was 7 that morning, and his mother was yelling at him to get out of bed reminding him that he had school.

He finally got out of bed after 5 minutes of her poking at him to get up. He finds what clothes he is going to wear, a white t-shirt, black skinny jeans, his black converse, and a leather jacket to go over his shirt.

Dan gets out of the house by 7:30. He had to walk to school, but he wouldn't count it as the worst part of his day. Getting there was. Having to hear whatever drama went on over winter break, and their teachers yelling at them for whatever reason they can think of. It was the worst at times, and this is the reason that Dan didn't want to go back.

He puts on music as he tries to drown out the world around him for as long as he can before getting to school. After a 10 minute walk, he finally gets there.

It wasn't the fact that he was popular he wouldn't change that for the world. It was the fact that he didn't have any real friends. Most people came and stayed for his fame and popularity.

He was glad that it wasn't like his elementary school days. Those were the days when he got bullied the most. Anymore he was the one who was known to kick someone's ass if they tried to pick on him. People would make fun of his height, his hair, and his dimples. Anything they could think of they would use as an insult. It was quite tiring so he was glad when he did move.

The goal when he did move was to get on everyone's good side, the teacher's, the kid's, and become the popular kid. At this point, Dan started to straighten his hair because he didn't like his naturally curly hair.

-

This was another reason he didn't like going to school. He had to put on a character, be someone that he wasn't. He had to always get good grades, dress nice, straighten his hair, be this person who did all of these things. When in reality, all he wanted to do was go home and look on tumblr and stop having to put on an act for people to like him.

If putting on an act meant that he didn't get called a faggot every day, he was okay with it. The thing was, he wasn't even gay! He had never had a homosexual thought in his life. He didn't know where people were ever getting the assumption that he was gay to begin with.

-

It was time for class to start. Everyone gathered into a room and got taught the same thing one class after the other. It wasn't that he didn't like learning, it was the fact that he didn't like learning the same thing over and over again.

The teacher started speaking, Dan not really paying attention, all he wanted to know is what they were doing so he could get it over with. He didn't care that it was the day after winter break and everyone was probably exhausted.

Finally, after 20 minutes of lecturing them about getting more sleep and behaving, they got their assignments. This happened in every class that day, even getting lectured before lunch and reminded the rules.

"Hey what's up?" Chris turned to Dan and asked him.

It was currently lunch, everyone was talking at the top of their lungs to hear one another.

He shrugged at Chris, "Nothing much, would rather be at home though,"

Everyone in their group laughed at that and agreed. "I'm sure everyone wants to go home right now. The amount of times they've repeated the same thing over and over again is getting annoying."

Someone new caught Dan's eye, they were a boy with blue eyes, black hair, very pale skin, and about the same height as Dan. He had to be new, Dan had never seen him before in his life.

"Do you know who that is?" Dan said, pointing in the boy's direction.

Chris and Pj turned around to look at him. "Yeah, he's in my English class," Pj said. "His name is Phil."

"He looks like he belongs in a garden or something; not in this hell hole," Louise replied with. Dan knew that she wasn't wrong, there was no way that he was going to last a day without getting attacked.

"Yeah, I think he'll find his way around though," Dan sighs, "He seems to be getting along with a few people anyway."

It was nearing the end of lunch, preparing to go to his last few classes of the day.

He got to his sixth-period class, and Phil was one of his classmates in that class. Their teacher gave them another lecture and told them that tomorrow they would be paired up for a project that they'd have to do.

Dan always hated projects like these, he was the one who did all of the work for the person to still get full credit for it when they did nothing to help. This was something that he was going to have to mentally prepare for all night, doing a whole project by himself that was probably going to be due at the end of the week on top of whatever other bullshit the teachers gave him.

By the end of that class period, he decided that Phil was too innocent to be in this school with these people. He was a grade ahead of Dan, taking some classes that he didn't take at his old school so he could get caught up and graduate.

When Dan got out of class, he was heading to his locker when someone stopped him.

Dan turned around to see that it was Phil, who might as well be called plant boy, standing in front of him.

"Hi- sorry, do you know where the health room is?" Phil nervously asked.

"Yeah, it's down the hall third door on your right." Dan thought he might as well be nice to him, he didn't seem like a complete dick.

After stopping at his locker; he made his way to his last class of the day, which was math. This was the only class that he had with Chris and Louise.

He saw them as soon as he stepped foot into the classroom. They were lucky enough to be able to sit by each other because they never would talk when the teacher was trying to talk.

They got yet another lecture, he was sick of them after the first two he got at the start of the day. He knew enough about the rules to not have to hear this for the seventh time that day.

When they finally got dismissed from class, he talked to Chris, Pj, Louise, and Cat for a little bit before waving his goodbyes and saying that he'd see them tomorrow. Dan then began his walk home. This was the time when he could breathe and think about everything that had gone on in school the previous few hours.

-

He finally got home, looking out of the window for a bit before starting on his homework that he had to do for the night. When he was looking out of his window, he saw that plant boy was walking into the house next door. So, they were neighbours, he knew that the house was for sale but didn't expect for anyone with kids around Dan's age to move into it.

This was going to be a fun few months, Dan thought. From that second on, it became Dan's task to avoid Phil as much as he could.

He sent a message in the group chat that he and his friends were in, 'You will never believe who my new neighbour is,'

'omg who is it?' Chis replied.

'You know plant boy or whatever his name is?'

'... You can't be serious'

'I, unfortunately, am being serious,'

Dan fell onto his bed, he knew that he had to get up in a little bit and do some of his homework, but the realisation that this boy is his neighbour for some reason scared him more than anything.

His mother came up, telling him that the food was ready. After eating, he went back upstairs and started on his hours of homework that he had to do. This was something that he was sadly used to, being in advanced classes was the worst at times.

Dan put some music on and started right away on his work. After about three hours he finally finished it and decided that it was time for him to get some sleep.

He looked out of the window for a little bit, looking at the stars and the moon. This was one of the things that really interested him, space. Everyone knew that he was like a genius when it came to be anything space-related.

These types of things normally relaxed him, taking his mind off of the world and everything going on around him. He could sit and just relax, not have to worry about homework or people at school.

He then finally laid down and went to sleep after a few hours of twisting and turning, even if he seemed like he was always hyper and had enough sleep, most of the time he never got enough sleep unless he was on break. Dan was always studying and trying to figure out his life, that's why on break he didn't want to see anyone for a few days. Needing the time to mentally recover from everything.

-

It was the next day, getting up and doing the same thing that morning as he did the last. Today he was finding out who his partner was for the project, Dan could only hope for someone who would actually help him work on it rather than sit around and do literally none of it.

He got to school and went on with his day as normal. What was unusual is, he saw Phil staring at him whenever he got the chance. It wasn't like they had many classes together, but whenever they passed by each other or saw each other in the halls he always caught him staring.

Dan found it rather intimidating, he wasn't gay. He wouldn't understand why anyone who is anything but straight would like him, a heterosexual, boy.

Even if Dan was gay no one would know that, but he's not. He had a record for sleeping around with girls before his ex-girlfriend. There were a few boys that he found kind of cute, but no one that he would date or sleep around with.

Although there was nothing wrong with being gay, he really didn't want Phil to be staring at him the way he did.

Phil just looked kind of.. soft. Dan knew that he was going to be screwed over for the rest of the school year, and he was going to have to talk to someone about it. For all of his upper elementary and middle school years he was always called "gay" and "fag," This was something that he was glad that changed when he moved schools at the start of high school.

He knew the person he could go to is Louise, she was always like a sibling or mother to him, and she always knew how to handle these types of situations. Dan messaged her to meet up at lunch, somewhere they wouldn't be overheard.

-

At lunch Dan was so happy to see Louise, this was something that was eating at him since he saw Phil the day prior.

Plus, it wasn't even like he knew Phil that well, he could be a serial killer for all he knew. He really just wanted to be friends with him, nothing else, that was something that he was positive of.

"What's wrong? You seem worried about something," Louise asked Dan when she saw him.

"We have to go somewhere else to talk about this, I'm not talking about it where other people can hear,"

They walk outside, to the side of the building where no one goes to. This is a place that they agreed would be the safest.

"I don't know what these feelings are," Dan sighed, starting to explaining everything. "It's almost like I want to smile every time I see this plant boy, and there's always this weird feeling in my stomach?"

"Dan, could you possibly have a crush on him?"

"No," Dan said, anger starting to boil up. "There's no way because I'm not gay," He knew that he shouldn't lash out at Louise, she's always so supportive of him and helps with anything she can.

"Alright, do you think you want to try and get to know him a bit better, and maybe be his friend?"

Dan nodded, "I think that might be for the best."

They went back inside before the lunch period ended to find Pj, Chris, and Cat at the table they normally sat at.

"Where were you two? We thought you were skipping the rest of the school day or something." Cat said, concern filling her voice.

Dan looked over at Louise and back at Cat, "We had to talk about something, I was having a bit of a crisis as usual."

She nodded, "Right," She didn't want to take that as an excuse, but she didn't want to bother him over it.

-

The next period was the one he had with Phil, and the one he was getting assigned partners with for a project.

"Right, so I've picked your partners for you." The teacher began to speak, most of the time Dan would ignore her but he didn't want to be paired up with some rude kid this time.

The last time he was paired up with someone he had to do all of the work himself and the kid never even showed up to help with any of it.

"Phil, you're paired up with Dan," He heard and looked over at Phil. Great, this next week or two was going to be wonderful for Dan.

Even if he wanted to get to know Phil, he didn't want it to be because they had to do some stupid project together. Plus, when it came to school work, Dan was an overachiever. Always wanting everything to go his way and he wanted everything to be perfect.

After the class ended, Phil found Dan and they started to plan out when they wanted to start on it.

"Right, here's my mobile number we can figure out times to do it after school or whenever if you want." Phil softly said to Dan.

Dan nodded and walked on to his next class, trying to get Phil out of his mind. He was straight for god's sake, for all he knew Phil could want to kill him.

[officialthiamlibrary]

Hello! Hello! So excited to share another fantastic creator this time on BTS. Thanks to everyone who’s given this series love and interest. It’s because of you that we keep highlighting the lovely talent in this fandom and today, is no exception. The writer of Compared to the Moon, Six/Seven, and more, parttimehuman, somehow stumbled into our ship and we’re damn happy she’s decided to stay haha. Read on to learn more about her.

Mercy! Ayyy, thanks for letting me besiege you with questions lol. Since the Thiam fandom is quite familiar with one another by now, any facts about you or your life that we’d be surprised to know?

I have a bachelor degree in financial mathematics. (Although I’m not sure how surprising that is.)

That’s wild, mostly because I can’t imagine beasting through an entire degree of math alone. Completely random, but I doubt I’ll have a chance to ask this again. In Shows/Movies, when the characters are in Math class and answering questions on the board, have you ever looked at their solution and thought, “wrong.” I always wondered if those were accurate.

Bold of you to assume that I still know high school math just because I’ve studied the more advanced stuff. Still, it has happened, yeah.

Ahh, touche, touche. Why don’t we actually talk about Teen Wolf and Thiam now lol. How did you find your way to the Thiam fandom? What about them drew you in?

It was a long and not very easy way, to be honest. I think I didn’t get beyond the pilot episode of Teen Wolf until the third try. I had over a month of free time after I graduated from uni, so naturally, I was bored. I finally watched all seasons. Thiam as a ship? Yeah, I’m not going to pretend like it was anything other than Cody Christian’s sexy ass that made that happen. And Theo’s heart-eyes for Liam in 6b of course. I wrote two fics, didn’t mean to stick around for long, and then I was invited to a certain Discord…

What do you think changed between your first time watching and your third?

You want me to be really honest? I had more time, was a little more bored out, had less other options. That’s about it.

Alol nothing but the truth here. Well, now that you’ve fully accepted the TW lifestyle, how would you put your own touches on a Season 7 spin off. What would be your very first scene and very last scene of the pilot episode? As an artist, how would you put your personal touch on those two scenes?

The first scene would be a steamy face-punching/make-out session between Liam and Theo. With proper lighting. Brett would be alive. Liam would look exactly like Dylan Sprayberry does. The last scene would be Theo falling asleep in an actual bed. With Liam’s arms wrapped around him. And forehead kisses. There would be a fist bump somewhere in that episode. And probably a lacrosse game. It would basically be an AU where it never gets dark because we all deserve to see properly after 6 seasons of TW.

“Proper Lighting,” *Slow Clap.* Honestly, we are owed that at this point. As a creator, do you only write Thiam? Any other fandoms or Pairings? Novels or Stories with Original Characters?

No. Actually, I believe these days I write slightly more for other pairings from Teen Wolf. I also have a longfic for another fandom in the works (The Raven Cycle). I will probably write a novel one day, I have quite a collection with abandoned attempts, actually. Apart from that, just like I do in the Thiam pack, I like to write my friends from real life little stories. I guess none of my characters are truly original, strictly speaking, because they’re always either borrowed from a fandom or I insert people I personally know in my stories.

Yessss! Just started the Raven Thieves and it’s my everything. Of all your stories, what’s been your favorite(s) to write or reread thus far?

Compared to the Moon. If I were to make a list here, the 26 chapters of Compared would be the first 26 points on it. After that I’d put My Sister’s Keeper, although it had me crying like a baby. As for smut, I’d say The Hot Cop Showdown, which is about Theo and Liam both turning up at a bachelor party in a police uniform, only that one of them’s an actual police officer, and one’s a stripper. The fun in that was that I wrote it live for a bunch of people who were guessing who was who, and I made my decision completely spontaneously.

Yass let’s definitely talk Compared to the Moon quickly because the worldbuilding is quite intriguing. First, for anyone unfamiliar could you offer a quick summary? How did you come up with what colors corresponds with an emotion? On an average day, what would your color undertone be?

Compared to the Moon is a High School AU where everyone is human, with the little bonus that people show their emotions as colors beneath their skin. While Liam, captain of the lacrosse team, bears a quite prominent red mark in his neck and back and is generally unable to control his colors, Theo, who’s new in school and the lacrosse team, doesn’t have any. They get off on the wrong foot, become roommates, fall in love. There’s a whole lot of drama. And a happy ending, but they do have to work a lot for it.

The idea to that fic came from a drunken conversation with my best friend who doesn’t give a single shit about Teen Wolf or my fics, but the thought had stuck with me. I did a bit of research on the meaning of different colors, but as I continued writing it, I more and more decided to not pay too much attention to that. One of the messages I wanted to convey was to not judge a book by its cover, which, of course, happens a lot in a world where people carry their emotions right under their skin. But the point is that you still never know. What exactly does Liam’s red stand for? Anger? Aggression? Pain? Blood? Or maybe passion? Leadership? Courage? Love?

And what does it mean that Theo doesn’t show them? Is he any less of a human being because of that? Does he not feel?

By the time I got towards the ending of the story, I’d realized that I didn’t want to answer any of these questions. And even if I had wanted to, I couldn’t have.

As for me, I feel like I’d be a little more blue and a little more yellow than I’d be other colors, for reasons I cannot explain.

That’s honestly lovely, especially since each color has a myriad of hues and therefore meanings. Including Compared to the Moon, would you say there’s one trope weaving your stories together?

Probably some form of bed sharing/sleeping together/cuddling. One of them watching the other. Someone who’s usually kept awake by nightmares finally getting some rest. Lazy mornings in bed together. Hand holding. Eskimo kisses. Innocent touches. Just a whole lot of vulnerability and trust and softness.

And I remember reading way back when (like Truth or Chimera haha) days that you write all of your stories by hand. Can you go into your writing process a little? Do you still keep everything you’ve written?

I don’t do that anymore. I write my notes per hand, also sometimes a few lines or ideas, but that’s about it. I’ve published around 600k words in the last year, so at some point I gave it up with the handwriting. I still have all my notes, though, among them the letter Theo wrote to Liam in Compared to the Moon. I’m a notebook hoarder, and I find that there’s a certain aesthetic to handwritten things, but now I mostly just sit in bed with my laptop and a kitty when I write.

Whatttt, live writing!?! How does it feel to write openly like that? Do you think it’s changed the way you create?

I mostly write my smut live. It’s amazing because the people who are following it can throw in their own ideas and make wishes. Many times that’s resulted in me taking a story into directions I wouldn’t have thought of myself. It’s a challenge, because you have to let go of the idea of changing something you’ve already written. Ultimately, I do it because the pressure of people literally waiting for the next sentence gets me to actually sit my ass down and type words.

I think it’s made me more spontaneous and more open to the idea of going into unknown directions. Most of the time, I have no idea what I want to write when I start writing it. But I’ve definitely learned not to stress myself about that. Some of the best things happen while live writing. By the way, almost all of Six and Seven has been written live.

Ok, it’s got to be asked lol. Six and Seven. How?! How do you write such steamy scenes and still retain the essence of the characters. Any writing wisdom to impart for writers who want to improve their smut skills?

This is a tough question, because if I’m being honest, I think the least about what I’m doing when I’m writing smut. I just go with it. I think a few good things to keep in mind are these: Call a dick a dick. Please and thank you. Consent is sexy, safe sex is sexy. There is no such thing as too much lube. Bananas and sex should never be combined. Communication is key. Literally. Dirty talk is the absolute best thing a smut writer can do, if you ask me. Them talking about their likes and preferences? Hot! One of them making the other ask for what they need? Hot! A nickname, a “Sir”, a praise, some begging? Hot, hot, hot, hot.

Other than that, one thing I really want to say here: Forget about who tops and bottoms. That is literally the least important decision to make. It doesn’t even cross my mind when I start writing a story. It also doesn’t have anything to do with who’s the taller or stronger one, or who’s the dominant one, or more experienced. That’s all bullshit.

Apart from that, your kinks are valid. Write the fucking hell out of them, seriously.

Everything. Everything about this is the best. I’m so tempted to say, “Introducing Behind the Screen with parttimehuman!” without the wrap of questions because of how helpful your advice is lol. I suppose, one final random question before we close up: If you were in a Breakfast Club detention situation with five characters from Teen Wolf, who would give you the wildest, most satisfying day. Who would be your teacher? And what’s one thing the six of you would end up doing?

I feel like Liam and Theo would be there, probably because they started punching each other in the middle of class. Stiles seems like the most likely one to have annoyed a teacher into giving him detention. Malia is there for skipping maths too many times. And Isaac. Nobody knows how exactly he ended up there, but everyone’s pretty appreciative of his sarcastic comments. We’d pass the time discussing conspiracy theories about what the hell is wrong with Beacon Hills. Coach Bobby Finstock would let us go early, because remember, Stiles is canonically like a son to him. And Daddy Finstock just can’t say no to his chaotic favorite boy.

Hahaha, Daddy Finstock. Finally, what’s next for you? In life or fandom or both?

In life? If only I knew. I might leave my home town (again) and go to uni (again), but I generally enjoy having no plan.

In fandom? A fucking lot. The Big Bang is getting closer and I am thrilled. I’m working on a whole list of other things, as always. Then there’s a special project that is for now a secret, a couple of awesome people will celebrate their birthdays soon, and Christmas presents are in the works. The Snow White AU will finally break some hearts soon. In case anybody reading this is still waiting for something, I swear that if I made you a promise, then I have it on a sticky note somewhere. Don’t give up on me! Prompts are always welcome (just don’t make me write angst).

And anything else you’d like to share?

If there’s anything I’d like to share, then it’s encouragement. From one introverted fandom lunatic to all the others out there. Never feel weird for loving something. Never feel ashamed of being passionate about what you love. Never let anybody stop you from obsessing over a character, or a ship, or a show, or whatever thing. Write that fic you think nobody will want to read. Draw the thing that’s been in your head forever. Share your love. There are more people out there waiting for exactly that thing to exist than you think. Write that comment, share your obsessions, never feel afraid to reach out. As for the Thiam fandom, some of the kindest people you will ever meet are in there.

My inbox is always open. For anybody.

On a proper cyclical endnote, Behind the Screens presents Mercy to you! You know what I’m going to say: the conversation doesn’t stop here. Meet her at these places:

Main Tumblr: flyde

Inbox/Ask: flyde  ask

AO3: parttimehuman 

Thank you for letting us get to know more about you! And thank you all for reading and requesting her. As always, if you have a Thiam Creator that you fan over, send us their names. Likewise, if you as the creator, would like to be a part of the Behind the Screens series, give us a shout too! We’d love to get to know you, as well.

@flyde

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

1940′s Magic

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Nurse!Reader Summary: Bucky takes a hit out in the field and reverts to his suave, lady-killing 1940′s self. As the RN for the team, it’s your job to run the preliminary scans to try and discover what happened. Warnings: None Word Count: ~2,459 A/N: One Shot! IW didn’t happen. We’re ignoring the canon. *plugs fingers in ears* lalalalalala everything is fine lalalalala In case it’s not horribly apparent, I don’t have a medical degree. This is 90% bullshit and 100% fluff. Don’t worry about the math there. I checked it myself.

Masterlist

“Incoming quinjet, Nurse (Y/L/N).”

You glanced up from your small mountain of paperwork, eyes fixed at a random point in the wall. “Wounded, FRI?” you asked the AI, fingers frozen in the middle of writing a sentence.

“That is correct, Nurse (Y/L/N). Your presence will be needed in the medical bay as soon as the plane lands,” FRIDAY informed you in her Irish brogue.

“Got it, FRI. Any details?” you asked, already a whirlwind of activity as you prepped for dealing with any wounded Avengers. They rarely received any injuries that needed more than a few stitches and, because FRIDAY was paging you first, it seemed this time would be no different.

“Captain Rogers received a wound to his arm and Sergeant Barnes has suffered head trauma.”

You frowned up at the ceiling and tried to calm your heart which had sped up at the mention of Bucky. “Head trauma? Shouldn’t we bring Cho in for that?” you asked, already walking briskly towards the med bay. The walk from your small office to the high-tech medical rooms in the Avengers base was thankfully a short one.

“According to Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff the trauma was not acute enough to warrant bringing in Doctor Cho.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t trust those two’s opinions on medical matters. They’re both too stubborn for their own good. I know Steve’s tried to hide a gunshot wound from me more than once and Natasha will try to hide her limp when she’s hurt. Buncha idiots, the lot of ‘em,” you bitched lovingly.

“Yeah, you should try workin’ with ‘em in the field.”

You turned around and smiled widely at Sam. “Hey there, handsome,” you said, winking playfully. “Mission go alright minus Bucky catching fists with his face and Steve doing stupid stuff that gets him hurt?”

Sam nodded, wide toothy smile showing off his adorable gap. “Yeah, we got it done. They’ll be in in a minute. Nat’s makin’ sure Steve can get Bucky here in one piece.”

You frowned, not liking the way he said that. “Why, what’s wrong? Is it the head wound? Should I get Helen?” you asked, trying to keep your calm professional(-ish) attitude even though the thought of Bucky being really hurt sent your mind into overdrive.

Sam threw his hands up helplessly. “Nah, I ain’t dealin’ with this one. I couldn’t explain it if I tried.” Without any further ado he walked past you and towards the elevators.

You had less than a minute to wonder at his words before Steve, Natasha, and Bucky trundled through the double doors, Bucky draped between the two blonds.

You rushed to open the door to the nearest exam room and Natasha gave you a distracted nod of appreciation before she and Steve hauled Bucky bodily into the room.

It was only once you were in the tiny confined space with him that you realized he was talking. A lot.

“That plane was crazy, Stevie! They finally gave us something that doesn’t feel like it’s made out of paper. We’ll blow Hydra’s sorry ass to dust.”

Steve looked even more lost and confused than usual, staring at Bucky helplessly. “Yeah... yeah, Buck...” he murmured quietly.

Bucky frowned and whacked the back of Steve’s chest with the back of his hand. “What’s got you so down in the dumps, punk? There’s a pretty dame in the room and she hasn’t run screamin’ from you yet,” he said playfully

Natasha threw up her hands in annoyed surrender. “I can’t deal with him like this. This is your problem, (Y/N). Rogers.”

And just like that she was sweeping out of the room, leaving you and Steve a gaping mess in her wake.

You turned your hard stare at the blond wall of a man. “Steve.”

He flinched and turned his guilty face on you, looking cowed for such a strong-willed man.

“What happened?” you grit out, staring hard at him. This behavior was so supremely un-Bucky-like that you would have thought it was a different person if it weren’t the fact that it was undoubtedly Bucky sitting in your exam room just then, vibranium arm and all.

Before he could say anything, though, Bucky’s slightly unfocused gaze shifted to you and he broke out into the largest grin you’d ever seen on the ex-Soviet assassin’s face.

“Hey there, Sugar. You rationed?” he asked, all tooth, swagger, and sparkling blue eyes.

You gaped at him for a moment, heart thunderous in your chest. You turned to glare at Steve. “Explain!” you demanded, pointing helpfully to Bucky’s still grinning form.

Steve winced and self-consciously shoved his bangs from his face. “Well, he kinda got hit with something when we were out in the field. It was an energy blast of some sort. No wounds or anything we could see, but he...”

“C’mon, Doll. Don’t be like that. Stevie’s stuck on some dame, but I’ll take you out dancin’ any night if you’d let me,” he said smoothly, voice as dark as sin. Steve just gestured to him with a single, defeated arm.

You felt heat flood your cheeks, embarrassed that even his outdated pickup lines were working on you. It was truly unfair how attractive this man was.

“Alright, fine, whatever Steve. I’ll run some tests on him and see if I can’t pinpoint what the issue is. If I can’t figure it out in the next hour, though, we’re calling Helen, Wanda or Shuri. No buts.”

Steve heaved out a sigh and nodded. “Yeah, that’s fair. Thanks, (Y/N).”

You glared good-naturedly at him. “That’s Nurse (Y/N) to you, Captain Rogers. Now get out of my room so I can treat my patient.” You turned back to Bucky only to freeze at the flirty look on his face. “On second thought, Steve...” you murmured, suddenly feeling very much like a rabbit cornered by a fox (it shouldn’t have excited you as much as it did).

“Nah, Stevie can go. I’m nothin’ if not a gentleman,” he said, easily reading your discomfort. “I won’t do nothin’ you don’t ask me to do,” he said with a wink and smirk.

You could hear Steve sigh behind you. “You’ll be fine with him. Bucky may have gone out with half the girls in Brooklyn when we were younger, but he was always a gentleman ahead of his time.”

You both ignored Bucky’s offended correction of, “Half the girls in New York.”

You felt your shoulders droop a fraction. “If you say so...” you murmured, turning your attention back to Bucky as Steve made a hasty retreat out of the room.

You looked back to Bucky, trepidation lining your features as you studied the anomaly before you. It was Bucky, but it wasn’t. You were used to the cold, quiet assassin who never spoke more than a polite “hello” to you.

“You know, I really should be the one starin’.”

His voice snapped you out of your confused daze and you shook your head in an attempt to focus, frown wrinkling your brow. “Sorry?”

Bucky just smiled his thousand watt smile. “Y’know, cause you’re the prettiest thing I ever saw.”

You felt heat rush all the way up your neck to your ears. “Yes, well, I need to run some tests, Sergeant Barnes, so if-”

“Bucky,” he said, oozing that confidence you only ever saw from him on the battlefield.

“What?” you asked, once again thrown off balance by this new (old?) Bucky.

“Call me Bucky. What’s your name? I heard Steve call you (Y/N) earlier,” he said mischievously.

You nodded quickly. “Yes, that’s (Y/N)- I mean me- I mean-” you took a deep breath. “Yes, my name’s (Y/N),” you said quickly, embarrassment approaching critical mass.

“That’s such a pretty name,” Bucky said with such sincerity that your heart nearly melted.

You fiddled uselessly with your clipboards and scrounged up what was left of your dignity. “Yes, well, Ser- Bucky. If you’ll just follow me, and we can get these tests underway so you can get out of here as soon as possible.”

Bucky just smiled sweetly as he stood and focused his gaze on you. “Well, hopefully not too soon.”

You tsked loudly at the pile of readouts. Every test you could think to give Bucky and still, nothing. No sign as to what was wrong. His brain scans looked exactly like they always did.

“Somethin’ wrong, Doll?” the man himself asked, eyeing you coyly from on top of the exam bed.

You heaved out a huge sigh and hung your head in defeat. “I can’t figure it out, Bucky. I’ve tried everything I can with the equipment we have- and we have a lot of equipment- but I can’t find a reason for why you’re-” you gestured vaguely to his entire body, not quite knowing how to phrase what you were trying to say.

Bucky raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth quirked upward playfully. “Why I’m... so devilishly handsome?” he asked waggling his eyebrows at you.

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “You are, but that’s not what I mean! God, we’re going to have to go to Doctor Cho’s office first, then see Wanda if Cho can’t help. I want to avoid having to go all the way to Wakanda if I can help it and-” You froze when a cold hand placed itself gently on your arm and quickly looked up, surprised to find Bucky standing directly in front of you, taking up most of your view.

“You think I’m handsome?” he murmured, eyes searching yours questioningly.

Your eyes widened when you realized what you said in the middle of your scatterbrained rambling and sputtered, eventually getting out something resembling a “yes” although it was nothing more than a tiny squeak of a noise.

Bucky smiled down at you, but it wasn’t the thousand watt smile you’d been looking at for the last hour. It was quieter, more subdued, more Bucky. He looked almost penitent a moment later, ducking his head and glancing up at you through his eyelashes. “I’m sorry. I shoulda dropped the act earlier. The effects of that blast wore off pretty soon after we touched down here, but...” he glanced away nervously and went to remove his hand from your arm, but you wrapped your fingers around the metal digits before he could get very far.

“But?” you prompted breathlessly, curiosity overtaking the sense of self preservation you usually had around Bucky. You liked him, of course. You liked him a lot.

But you learned early on that he didn’t like you, so you kept your distance and hoped your feelings would vanish.

They hadn’t.

Bucky looked like a trapped animal but he held his ground resolutely, blue eyes burning with determination. “But it was easy to talk to you when I was like that... and I didn’t want to stop,” he admitted quietly.

Well, whatever you’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. “So... you’ve been yourself for almost an hour now?” you asked, eyes narrowed and assessing.

His eyes flicked away guiltily for a split second before returning to you. The only answer you got was a stiff nod.

“And you were flirting with me that whole time?”

Another nod.

“Why?” you breathed, heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

Bucky shifted nervously, dragging his lip between his teeth and looking anywhere but you while he gathered his courage.

Finally, he set his jaw and looked at you and you felt your breath catch in your throat. “Because I like you. And I normally can’t work up the courage to talk to you, so I wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.” As soon as he was done speaking, his gaze dropped to the ground and didn’t lift back up again.

Your breath left you in an almighty whoosh that nearly had you seeing stars.

Bucky... liked you? He was... shy?

Oh god, you were a fool. A big, dumb idiot of the highest proportions.

“I like you too, Bucky,” you said, tentative smile creeping across your face.

Bucky’s gaze snapped up to yours, disbelief etched in every feature. “What?” he asked, fingers tightening imperceptibly against yours.

You smiled widely at him and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I like you, too. I have for a long time, but I thought you didn’t like me at all, so...” You shrugged helplessly.

Bucky’s hopeful smile sent butterflies aflutter in your stomach and you couldn’t help the giddy smile on your face. “Really?”

“Really, really,” you confirmed, nearly giggling at how unfairly adorable he was.

“Hey, Doll?” he whispered, closing the distance between the two of you until he was close enough that his breath fanned your face.

“Yeah, Bucky?” you breathed back, heart hammering in your chest.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, eyes darting to your lips. That sinful tongue of his had the audacity to sneak out across his lips and you nearly swooned at the sight.

“Thought you’d never ask, Buck.”

And just like that his lips were on yours. The entire world fell away until there was only Bucky and how he felt pressed up against you. You dropped his hand and immediately your arms went around his neck, your fingers buried in his long brown hair. His arms slipped around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest. The contrasting temperatures gave you pleasant chills all over. A slight tug to his hair made him gasp and you smiled against his lips.

Eventually, though, you had to break apart for air, both of you smiling like the couple of dopes you were and you stared happily at each other.

“Hey, Bucky?”

“Yeah, Doll?”

“Two things,” you said, giving him the hardest stare you could muster at the moment (it must not have been much because Bucky didn’t look the least bit nervous).

“And those are?” he asked, eyes roaming your face up and down seriously as though he was trying to memorize every single detail.

“I can’t be your nurse anymore. Conflicting interests and all that.”

Bucky looked a little sad, but nodded. It was a worthy sacrifice in his books. “And the other thing?”

You tried to glare at him but it failed by and large and you ended up looking a bit like a pouty child. “I’m so mad that you made me run all those tests on you! I was driving myself insane trying to figure it out!” you grumped, head falling heavily against his right shoulder.

He let out a low, rumbling chuckle that had you thinking very, very indecent thoughts. “I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

You peeked up at him, smile dancing on your lips. “I’ll hold you to that, Bucky.” 

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[castcharmperson]

Taakitz: Crossover

What up!! It’s November!! Literally my only note to myself when writing this story was, and this is a direct copy-paste from my google doc, “For the love of god i gotta keep this one short or I’ll lose my mind.” AND NOW I HAVE 9k+ WORDS SO???

A thousand thank you’s to the folks behind @taakitzweek - participating was a joy and a privilege and gifted me this AU that I’m pretty sure will live in my heart forever. To be posted in six parts over the course of the next week. Please enjoy part one of Speed Trap, a b99 styled, white collar inspired, non-magical modern au where Taako does a crime and Kravitz absolutely does not get paid enough to deal with it. Warning for a paraphrase of the ‘tentacle your dick’ quote.

It wasn’t Taako’s fault that he got fired. The product was damaged, some kid was clumsy in the back of the shop, so the manager told Taako to throw out it. Sure, the eyeshadow palette was cracked, but other than that it was perfectly fine. Some pigment from the blue crossed into the green, but honestly, Taako had several outfits that would be amazing with that unique shade of teal. So the product was supposed to go in the trash, instead it ended up in Taako’s pocket. There was almost no difference between the two, especially when he changed out of his work uniform and into his black skinny jeans that were all but threadbare.

But then he was in the parking lot, sitting on the hood of his car and nowhere near the store, when his manager thought it’d be a great time to remind him that smoking would be the death of him. Seriously, Taako was off the clock and even if he wasn’t, his manager wasn’t his mom, don’t tell him what to do.

“Hey, why do you have one of our palettes in your pocket?”

So now Taako didn’t have a job. Again. He’d been lucky to score that easy gig, to have some sort of start at paying off his loans, but now he was blacklisted from the entire mall. And it wasn’t like he could work in any of the restaurants nearby because his asshole ex-boyfriend had literally soured every contact they had in the food industry.

Taako had three degrees to his name. He was an engineer and a chef, but even before his credibility was destroyed, the only thing his fancy education brought him was a bank account perpetually in the red.

“Hey Koko, you’re home early.” Lup shrugged off her uniform jacket and went directly to the fridge. Living with his sister was the best thing to happen to him since coming back from the nightmare Paris had turned into. She had a steady job, a dangerous one, but she was never late to pay rent like he always seemed to be. She was so patient with him, it almost felt unfair. She really should have kicked him out by now; instead, she constantly reminded him that his luck would change any day now. He’d catch his break, or there was always a job for him at the station.

He appreciated her offer, he really did, but Taako he knew he wouldn’t survive a day being a police officer. The idea of him being in uniform and competently saving lives was laughable. He barely managed to handle the stress of knowing his sister was putting her life on the line for this shitty city.

“Uh, yeah.” And he could not handle the stress of her knowing he got fired again.

“Everything okay? I know you’re manager’s a jerk but maybe-“

“They actually got fired today.” What? No, stop. He was not lying to his sister, she’d see right through him. Instead, Lup turned around grinning. “Yeah and um, I’m the new manager. Regional position, actually, pretty nice.”

“Taako!” She was hugging him and he felt sick. “That’s amazing! I told you things would turn around!” What happened to twin telepathy? Why did she believe him? Why was he lying to her??

She said something about a date with Barry, but Taako was barely listening. Now that he was thinking about it, it wasn’t surprising that she believed him; they didn’t keep things from each other, she had no reason to suspect anything.

Home alone again, the smart thing to do would be to tell her the truth. Text her. It would maybe ruin her date, but at least the fall out would be buffered until she got back home. Besides, date night with Barry meant the two of them were shopping for Mr. and Mrs. suitcase sets or some other gross couple-y nonsense. There wasn’t much to ruin. She’d be mad, but in time, everything would be fine.

Just sitting on the couch, phone in hand as he hovered over the digital keyboard, he was already nauseous from her imagined anger. Getting fired again was bad enough, but lying to her? Why did he say that?

The smart thing to do would be telling the truth. But the Taako thing to do would be to make the truth. He said he got promoted, new job, new hours, new money. All he had to do was find that job.

Next morning, he was out of the house before she even woke up. Note on the fridge, something vague about new hours for manager training and a breakfast pastry waiting for her, and she wouldn’t suspect a thing. Taako wasn’t sure where he was going to find this new truth of a job, but it had to be out there. The mall by the house wasn’t an option, but there were other malls and he had gas to burn after swiping that seemingly unlimited gift card off of some rich asshole a few months back.

Speeding down the highway, Taako forced himself to be hopeful. It was the tail end of fall, places would be hiring. The kids to help with the summer rush all had classes again and stores wanted to start preparing for the holiday rush. Lup was right, even if she didn’t know the whole picture. His luck was turning.

But maybe that luck was taking a smoke break as he heard sirens behind him. Glancing in the mirror, a cop car tailed him down the freeway. “Bullshit,” Taako cursed as he pulled over. Everyone sped down this stretch, why was he being pulled over?

He rolled down his window and was treated to someone glaring at him through a large pair of aviators. “Sir, do you know how fast you were going?” Ridiculous sunglasses matched with an equally ridiculous accent. No way that was real.

Taako couldn’t help himself, losing the fight against the grin taking over his face. “Blimey, officer, I ain’t sure.” It’d been over a decade since his and Lup’s high school stardom in a rather strange retelling of Oliver Twist but Taako’s accent was still more believable than the officer’s.

The officer’s brow twitched and then the glasses came off as though Taako’s joke might have somehow been a trick of his lenses. “Excuse me?” The accent was faltering worse now, but without the glasses, Taako was able to fully appreciate the man’s face.

“Oh wow, if all the cops were as handsome as you, I’d maybe be tempted to follow all the laws.”

The handsome man’s face twisted further in confusion. “What is wrong with you? I’m giving you a speeding ticket and you’re hitting on me?”

Taako just shrugged, but then the threat of a ticket finally sunk in. “Wait, shit, a ticket? Come on, I couldn’t have been going that fast.”

“I’ve certainly seen faster on this street, but eighty in a fifty five still isn’t great.”

Taako did the math real quick, facts and figures from Lup’s studying for the academy still fresh in his mind even though she’d graduated years ago. There was no way he could afford a ticket for going that high over the limit. “Okay hold on, hot stuff. Can’t you cut me a break? First time offense and all?”

“Not five seconds ago, you admitted to me that the lack of attractive police force was contribution to your history of crime.” His tone was turning amused now, seeming to enjoy the way the conversation had slipped back into his control. His smile was unfairly charming, even if the accent was still disastrous.

Taako couldn’t afford to be distracted though. “I’m not a criminal! Dude, come on, I will give you everything in my wallet if you don't ticket me.”

“Bribing an officer? I do not want to deal with the paperwork for that. Just stay here.” He started back to his squad car and Taako leaned out the window to holler after him.

“Come on, hot stuff, don’t be like this! At least lemme get that name, I’m about to suck your dick for free if I can’t do it to get out of a ticket!”

The officer ignored him, coming back to throw a slip of paper through Taako’s window. His sunglasses were back on, covering some of his face but not enough to hide the blush from what Taako had been shouting at him. “Do me a favor, Mr. Taako? Be a criminal in some other district because I would love to never ticket you again.”

At least the piece of paper gave Taako a name: K. Queen. Not that it meant anything with one of the most common last names in the city. Besides, Taako couldn’t exactly try to hook up with someone if he got arrested for overdue fines. Long after the officer drove off, Taako sat in his own car on the side of the highway. The price mocked him from the piece of paper, like it knew he’d never afford it and rent at the same time.

Another car zoomed past him, easily going over the eighty Taako had been caught for. If only he could pull over that guy, charge him in order to pay off his own ticket. It’d be fair- there were drunk drivers and reckless assholes all over this stupid city. They should be getting ticketed, not him!

Wait… That wasn’t a bad idea.

[Part Two]

Please come scream at me in my ask box about this AU because even after I post all of this fic I might write little bonuses for it. And thanks so much for reading! I know I am well past the taakitz week deadline for posting this. If you want to, check out my charmedwords tag for more taz fics!

[looselucy]

February

Every single time we sat in a lecture looking at a power-point presentation, one that was available for free online, I mentally kicked myself for paying the thousands of pounds that I was for the pleasure. Nothing made me more bitter.

To be honest, I didn’t feel like I was learning much at university, at all. It felt like a lot of stress, which resulted in a degree and the slight chance I would look better in a job interview, rather than actually learning. I didn’t regret going, I wasn’t considering dropping out or anything, but sometimes the whole thing just seemed to be one more step up the ladder, so maybe I could land a job where I could finally start paying back the debts I owed from going to university in the first place. It was on days like that Tuesday, in our first lecture back, where all I could see for myself was a dull future. Working a 9 - 5 and owning some average car with an average husband and feeling unfulfilled. I definitely shouldn’t have been on that course. At least if I was studying photography, I would be one step closer to being in a job I actually wanted, but I couldn’t imagine my current course getting me somewhere where I could feel satisfied with my life. They were deep thoughts to be having on a Tuesday morning, and they exhausted me, even ignoring the blissful night’s sleep I’d had, Harry cuddled behind me the entire time. “Hey, guess what?” Ed whispered as I jotted notes. “I did some maths, and it turns out we’re paying around one-hundred and thirty-six pounds per lecture. So that’s the money we’re down today, for reading a fucking power-point.” Ed’s thoughts were along the same track as mine, but Ed was thinking more along the money side, the here and now. I guess maybe it was because it was a Tuesday, and were used to having insightful talks and arguments in those lectures, rather than sitting down and taking notes. It felt like a massive slap in the face, and it wasn’t really what we wanted on our first day back. “That’s a disgusting amount of money.” I huffed. “Right?” “I wish you hadn’t told me.” “Knowledge is power.” He smirked. “Silence is golden.” I smirked back. He stuck his tongue out at me like a child before going back to writing. It was bitterly cold that day. I was awaiting Spring, which was just round the corner, knowing it would still be cold, but at least those arctic temperatures would be a thing of the past, and the near future. “You never told me how your week with Harry was.” Ed whispered next. ”If there’s one thing I hate doing, it’s admitting I was wrong.” I sighed. “But Harry Styles... although it pains me to say it, is a really decent lad. Heart of gold.” Without any reason for us to be sharing a bed in the first place, I had awoken with my limbs locked and tangled and lost between his, our alarms ringing at the same time, Harry’s bobble having fallen out in his sleep at some point, curls poking all over the show, lips swollen as though I had been biting and kissing at them all evening, though they hadn’t had a second meeting with my own. Harry was nice to wake up to. “I told you!” Ed tried and failed in his attempt not to raise his voice. “Did you meet Niall?” “YES!” I cried, failing too. “Loved him!” “I think I love Niall even more than I love Harry.” “Well, duh! Niall is a king.” “ED SHEERAN. PIPPA PAYNE!” Our lecturer shouted from down at the front. “Must you always be the loudest people in here?” “I’m paying enough.” Ed scoffed. “You’re not the only one paying to be here, Mr Sheeran, so you might want to tone it down a bit. Other people are trying to work.” Ed rolled his eyes as a way of protest, but we pretty much kept shtum for the rest of the lecture, actually doing as we were told, which was boring and tedious but it had to be done. When 1pm hit it was finally over, and we both skipped happily out of the hall and began walking towards our flats like we did every Tuesday. I figured it would probably be best to go and do some more reading, since I had fallen asleep during my attempts the evening before, but the thought of terrible daytime TV distracted me. Also, the thought of going out that night lingered in my mind. It was likely we would, knowing the lot of us, and I couldn’t decide if I was excited or dreading the evening to come. “Hey, I hear you met Ronnie!” Ed chirped. I furrowed my brows, a little confused by what or who he was talking about until it clicked. The girl I had walked home with that night after Thimble, with the nice voice and the gorgeous dark skin, who had held my hand and called me her friend. “Oh shit!” I whelped. “Yeah. Yeah, she said she lived in your building.” “Well I’d seen her around but never spoke to her, and then yesterday she came bounding up to me talking about you and how nice you are and stuff. Said you met when you were drunk.” “Yeah! She seems lovely. I should text her, really.” I smiled. “Oh, and the quiet girl in my flat, Ringo? She needs your help.” “My help?” He baffled. “She has this exam coming up and she’s playing a piece on the violin, and I told her your feedback would be better than mine.” “Oh. Okay. Thanks, I guess.” “We’ll have to set a time at some point. I’ll ask her later.” Sooner than I had hoped, the point where our paths parted arrived. Ed gave me a hug and cheery goodbye, before tucking his hands into his giant trench coat and scuttling off in the right direction. Fuck, it was freezing; the sooner I was inside and watching Judge Rinder or some other form of utter crap, the better. I also had a microwavable pizza just waiting for me. My building was in sight, and I was close to running to just to feel warm again, but just as I turned the corner to get into my home I screamed, a body meeting mine and wrapping tight around me within seconds. But I didn’t care. Because it was Zayn. “HOLY SHIT!” I squealed, wrapping my arms around him too. “Holy shit, you’re home!” “I missed you so much!” He squeezed. “I thought you weren’t back til tonight?” We began swaying back and forth. “I came back a little early!” I ignored how cold I was and we probably hugged for a good couple of minutes. I knew I had missed him a lot, but it was only seeing him that seemed to reconfirm it. Zayn was my best friend there, without a doubt. Luckily, being with Harry, I had been distracted enough to not think about it too much, but if I had been at home, bored, how much I missed Zayn would have been a near constant thought. It’s easy to spot things, living with people, being around them constantly. You grow used to everything about them, the good and the bad. There isn’t any bullshit. From day one, everything is how it should be, nobody puts up much a front because, why bother? You live with those people. You’re going to see them warts and all. Thanks to that, me and Zayn had been able to see, clearly, that we were a match made in heaven, friendship wise. He unhooked himself, eventually, shivering and burring as he did. “I forgot how bloody cold this country is.” He shook. “Can we go in?” His arm threw itself around my shoulder as we wandered inside. I wrapped one of my arms around his waist and tucked in as close to him as I physically could, grateful to have him back. We got into the lift and Zayn pressed the button to go back up. He looked happy. His skin had darkened a little more thanks to his week away, and I could see in his eyes that even pressing that button to go upwards felt so familiar and comforting to him. “How was Barcelona?” I asked, still latched to the side of him. “Amazing.” He grinned, kissing the top of my head. “Warm. Lovely. Such a cool city. We’ll go one day.” “We should.” I smiled. University friendships were for life, my mother had told me in the months leading up to me leaving, and I couldn’t help but smile at the amount of years me and Zayn had to do things like that; to go on holiday, if we wanted. “Feels so good being back though.” He sighed, head falling back. “I know! Didn’t realise I was going to miss this place!” “How was your week?” He asked as we got to the top floor. “Just been talking to Harry about it. He said he had a good time.” “Good. Yeah it was good. Fun.” “Best thing that could have happened for me. You two are finally mates. I can’t wait to go look round that house tomorrow.” “I hope it’s nice. We could probably do with putting the deposit down. The more people I speak to, it seems like everyone has it sorted.” I said as we stepped out. “Have you broke the news to Tally yet?” “No. She has her boyfriend here so I haven’t even spoke to her yet.” “Tally has a boyfriend?” Zayn put his key in the door. “Apparently! I don’t really know.” We went inside and went down to the kitchen, and I smiled like a mad woman when I saw Harry in there, three cups of tea on the table and his two dimples in his cheeks. “I made tea!” He beamed, feet on the table again. “I bet it’s shit!” I huffed. “No arguing, you two!” Zayn pointed his finger between the two of us. “I want nothing but blissful friendship from here on out.” I sat in one of the camp chairs as Zayn sat down next to Harry, who quickly tucked Mr Malik under his arm. They rested their heads together sweetly as I rolled my eyes and shook my head at them. But it was nice. For the first time, I wasn’t worried about their friendship, worried about Harry taking Zayn away from me. For once, it was actually nice to see. Being friends with Harry was taking many of the stresses in my life away. Everything felt really good. “So, this house situation.” Zayn sighed. “Are we happy? Us three living together?” “Definitely.” Harry replied, winking at me, in a friendly manner. “Pip?” “Yeah it’s good. Really good, actually.” “The only things I need to ask then, is if Ed has someone to live with?” Zayn asked me. “Yeah. He’s got a flat with someone next year.” I replied. “And Tally?” “I’m not living with fucking Tally.” Harry scoffed. I kind of got where he was coming from. His and Tally’s friendship had ended before it even had the chance to start, and I completely understood that he didn’t want to live in the atmosphere for any longer than he needed to, I just didn’t like how bitter he seemed about it, almost like it was her fault. I choked over it, ignoring him. “I’ll speak to her. She hasn’t even mentioned the living situation next year, so hopefully it’ll be okay.” I couldn’t help but feel like I was talking out of my arse. I didn’t think she would be okay with it, at all, but I didn’t want to live with someone just because I felt sorry for them. It was nice having her there and she was a good friend, but now we were at the stage where we could choose who we wanted to live with, she didn’t quite make the mental cut. I didn’t feel good about it though. “Okay.” Zayn leaned forward to grab his mug. “I just wanted to make sure you were both happy with us three living together next year. I kind of jumped on the chance whilst it was there, before you start bloody hating each other again.” “I can’t see that happening.” Harry concluded. “Okay, good. Good stuff.” Harry then grabbed his tea and practically downed the whole thing in one swoop, and I could tell once he was done, how pleasantly surprised he was by the aftertaste. Tea was not the kind of drink Harry was used to downing. “Right, I better shoot.” He said, getting up on his feet. “Going to my lecture a little early to talk about the changes that’re being made thanks to me. Me. The amazing course changer, Harry Styles.” Zayn kicked him further towards the door, laughing at the idiot, as I sat still shaking my head. I couldn’t help but get a little excited about the year to come, living with those two would be fun. (Also, my friends from home would probably die looking at how gorgeous my two roomies were.) “Good luck!” I wished upon him. “We out tonight?” He asked, backing out of the door. “Nooooo! I tell you every week, I’m in at nine on Wednesdays. Do you know how many Wednesday lectures I’ve missed?” “How many?” Zayn inquired. “I don’t know! LOADS!” I cried. “So, I’ll take that as a yes?” Harry grinned. “NO!” I tried once more. “Alright, good stuff. I’ll pick you both up some booze.” He ignored me. Without giving me the chance to fight once again, Harry skipped down the corridor and out the front door. My opinion and my schedule meant absolutely nothing at that point. We were going out. Zayn knew it too, that’s probably why his grin was so wide and mischievous. + + + Tally’s boyfriend was an arsehole. I might have come to that conclusion pretty quickly. I mean, within like, two words from him, but you know me well enough by now and this was not the first time I had come to a snap conclusion about someone. Myself and Zayn had knocked happily on her bedroom door to invite her to accompany us on the night out, and when she answered, I scowled almost automatically. He had her tucked into his side, possessively so, eyeing both me and Zayn up with a filthy look, like he hated us. We asked them to join us, and Tally’s face lit up for a second before he answered on both their behalf. “Nah, we’re good, tar.” Without saying anything else he slammed the door shut on us. Yeah, total prick. So there we stood, in Thimble, one person down, but still pretty happy. Of course, once again, we were at the bar as Zayn got the shots in, and I could see it whirring in his mind which challenge he would think up for us this time, as Mike continued to yell in my ear so I could hear him. “... and I’m not saying that I don’t appreciate wine and everything it stands for, I just feel like whenever I have wine, it makes me sad on the inside.” “Right.” I groaned my reply. “All I’m saying, really, is that other drinks make me happy on the inside. Others make me numb on the inside. I’ve had to learn which ones do which in my few years of drinking. Happy drinks include beer, and cider. Sad drinks include wine, and vodka. NUMB drinks, include sambuca and whiskey.” “Right.” I said again. “There are some drinks, I’ve yet to establish what they do to me. Those include-” ”Okay, Mike, I think we’re done for the evening.” I smiled. He put his finger against his lips, realising he had been talking complete nonsense for the past five minutes, finally shutting the hell up. Harry rushed over to us from the bathroom, running his tongue over his gum a few times and then handing the tiny, clear bag over to Zayn, a small amount of white powder still left in the bottom. Zayn thanked him as the shots were all finally placed down in front of us, three each, as usual. I figured Zayn was spending the percentage of his student loan on shots. “Okay, so the challenge tonight goes like this.” Zayn began, shoving the bag into his pocket. “Ummm... Okay guys, I’m gunna be honest... I can’t think of anything.” “What happened to you?” Harry exhaled. “Well maybe we could just drink shots like normal people, for once. That can the challenge this time.” I smiled. “That’s a terrible challenge, Pippa.” Zayn grunted back. “Well that’s what we’re doing.” We all picked up the first shot, Zayn trailing behind a little bit, rolling his eyes and tutting and huffing and generally just being really disappointed in himself for not thinking up another bizarre way for us to drink our shots. I was actually quite happy. I was terrible with shots at the best of times, never mind with the rules Zayn thought up for us. Once the third shot was down, my head was swimming and my stomach churning, and I just knew I was due to throw up, because it hadn’t happened for a while, and it was me. ”Right, let’s go. I’ve got on my dancing shoes and I’m a sexy little swine.” Mike chirped. We wandered over to the dancefloor after picking up our pints, and I noticed Zayn tuck the little bag Harry had given him deeper into his pocket in the hope of not losing it, patting Harry on the back and then yelling into his ear, but I couldn’t quite make out what he had said. Whatever it was made Harry grin, a lot. Some chart song came on in the background and we danced for a few minutes, before Mike yelled, loud enough for all of us to hear. Mike was even louder than me! “Have you pulled anyone yet?” “What?” I quizzed. “To get over Louis?” He continued. “There’s a lad staring at your arse behind you, and I think he would be up for it.” Zayn and Harry glanced over my shoulder to see who Mike was talking about. I couldn’t help but spot the casual look on Zayn’s face compared to the angry, offended look on Harry’s as they stared at the boy I didn’t turn around to see. ”I’m already over Louis.” I told Mike. “I don’t need some perv to achieve that.” Suddenly that angry look on Harry’s face turned into a smug one, eyes low and one dimple digging into his face. I did feel like I was over Louis, too. I still thought he was pretty and everything, how could I not? And I was still furious with him for what he had done, so maybe I wasn’t entirely over it, but I definitely didn’t want him anymore. I guess I was also just happy I hadn’t seen him. If Louis was to walk into Thimble in that exact moment, I would definitely be running to the bar to down a drink and shaking and avoiding him like the plague. I felt that was a relatively normal reaction though. Mike grabbed one hand and we started dancing dramatically together, like ballroom dancing as he placed a hand on my shoulder and I put mine on his waist. We did a spin, and Mike looked at the boy who had been eyeing me up. “LIKE WHAT YOU SEE, PERV?” He yelled. I loved Mike. I really, really did. He was such an idiot, such a classic fool, but I would miss living with him so much, because Mike never failed to make me laugh. He was always funny, always witty and always on point. I would miss having him around all the time. It was almost like he was never in a bad mood, unless he was drunk and infatuated with a girl. Mike was sunshine, and I didn’t want to start living in the dark. Zayn and Harry were clutching at their stomachs as the boy stared at us all like we were total idiots, Mike still looking at him, my hand over my mouth as I tried to hide how funny I had found the whole thing. Harry was practically bent over. The mystery boy turned to face away from us with an alarmed look on his face, and after that we danced even harder, all of us even happier. But, as always, it wasn’t too long until Zayn needed a smoke, so we all followed him outside, Harry pulling out his own packet of cigarettes that he had purchased for the evening rather than stealing Zayn’s. We got outside and the two of them sparked up. Mike’s arm was around me but he was checking out a girl near the door. “Go talk to her!” I shoved. “She’s too good for me!” “No one is too good for you.” He gave me a peck on the forehead before going over to her. Once my concentration was back on the boys, I noticed Zayn rubbing the powder into his gums, his face twitching as he did. I stood watching, rather uncomfortable, not quite able to believe that was something I had done myself only a few nights previous. Harry smiled over my head, so I turned to see what had caught his eye, and saw two lads very openly kissing one another. That’s when I thought, maybe things I had seen in Harry previously, I had seen them for something they weren’t. If the situation still stood the way it did just over a week before, I would have said Harry was smirking at them, trying not to laugh at them, being a complete dick. But by then, I knew him so much better, I knew why seeing something like that would make him happy. Of course it would. I wondered what else I had misconstrued before. Zayn took a long drag on his cigarette once he was done rubbing his gums, closing his eyes, his shoulders shaking, and as always, it seemed what he had taken had hit him straight away. “How you feeling, man?” Harry smirked, again, as always. “Good man.” Zayn sighed out the words. “I wanna kiss someone. We need to find some girls, bro. I need girls.” “We can’t leave Pip on her own!” Harry replied. “Pip can be our wing-woman. Right, Pip?” I gulped hard, because the thought of seeing Harry with someone else was... weird. I didn’t know if it would upset me, anger me, or if I wouldn’t feel anything, but I didn’t want to experience it to find out. It still felt like I hadn’t quite washed the feel of his lips off me yet. I could still feel his hands and fingertips searching over my body, still feel his breath on my neck. I hadn’t been cleansed of the touch of him yet. I didn’t want that to belong to anyone else. Not quite yet. It was all still brand new to me. “I’m not a very good wing-woman.” I shrugged. “Why not?” Zayn scowled. “She’s too pretty. It’s intimidating.” Harry said confidently. I swear my stomach flipped, and I wanted to punch it just to stop it from ever doing that again over bloody Harry Styles saying I was pretty. Zayn darted his eyes between the two of us, brows low. “You two being nice to each other is messing with my head.” He cringed. “Call her ugly or something.” Harry’s head dropped down to the floor, another big smile on his face. But before we could say anything else on the matter, we were interrupted. I was glad of that, because I had no clue what to say back, but the interruption itself was not so good. “OI, FAGGOTS!” A lad stood near to Harry shouted. “NO ONE WANTS TO SEE THAT SHIT! QUIT IT!” My bottom jaw was on the fucking floor as I turned to the two boys we had seen kissing a few moments before, both of them having stopped what they were doing and looking at the idiot who had just shouted that at them. They both looked completely broken. I wanted to cry. Without looking his way, because I was still gazing with a heavy heart at the two boys, who were subconsciously distancing themselves, I heard Harry speak, his voice low and deathly. “Oi, mate...” I turned around, because I wanted to see what was going on. I wasn’t the only one, it seemed within seconds everyone in the smoking area had turned to look at Harry. “Fucking disgusting.” The random boy groaned to himself. “OI!” Harry moved his hand and clicked twice right in his face, making sure that there was no way he wouldn’t have his attention. The look on both their faces was one of fury. “What?” He spat. “You don’t fucking call them that.” Harry seethed. “What?” “You do not, fucking call them that.” “Are you serious, man?” The idiot scoffed. “Why the fuck do you care? You gay?” Harry moved so he was stood right ahead of him, towering over him. It was enough to make any boy tremble with fear, but whoever this guy was, he was putting up a good act, staring up to Harry and pretending he wasn’t intimidated. “So what if I was?” Harry shrugged, his whole body tense. “Look, man, whatever, just do it in your own time. I don’t want to come on a night out and see that. It’s awful.” “And I don’t want to come on a night out, and hear some arrogant, narrow-minded little fuck, preaching like he’s above everyone else.” Harry’s voice raised. Zayn grabbed at his arm, quietly asking him to leave it be and just back off, but that wasn’t in Harry’s nature. If anything, he took a step closer, his fists clenched by his side.The boy noticed, and shoved at his chest. “Back off, faggot!” He scorned. That was it for Harry. Without another word he swung, his fist in the boy’s face, knocking him out cold in zero seconds flat. It was just like the first time I had seen Harry fight. Basically, it wasn’t even a fight. Harry had swung and the other lad was on the floor completely lifeless before they even stood a chance. Harry cracked his neck and rolled his eyes, obviously completely done with the situation as he stormed back inside, leaving everyone looking at the body on the floor, all our throats tight and heads fucked. His mates were down at his side as soon as they were over the shock, and it didn’t take long for him to come back around, his nose bleeding as soon as he managed to sit upright, a bruise already appearing under his left eye. He was dazed and woozy, like he didn’t really know where he was, what had happened. We had all watched in silence as he came back to life, until I finally turned back to the boys who had been kissing, who were once again close to one another. “I’m sorry.” I mumbled. I wasn’t sure why I was apologising, really. I imagined they would have loved to whack him themselves, they just never would. Even though it felt silly giving them an apology, they didn’t dismiss it, they just looked twice as confused, trying to figure out something to say, but falling flat. “Fuck.” Zayn ran his hand through his hair. “Let’s just go and find Harry.” I tried not to laugh as Zayn stepped over the boys legs, barely acknowledging him as he did, and walking inside. Mike joined us as we went indoors. We split. Zayn searched the toilets, Mike looked by the bar, and I wandered round the dance-floor, trying my best to spot the tall boy in the crowd, but he couldn’t be found. We met by the front door, and we had all been unsuccessful in our search. “Let’s go back.” Mike sighed. + + + Mike and Zayn went into the kitchen as soon as we were home, and usually if that happened after a night out, it usually meant we would more than likely carrying on drinking. But this time was different. Harry having gotten into another fight, had once again, left a bitter taste in our mouths. Carrying on drinking wasn’t something we wanted to do. Out of the three fights I had seen Harry in, this one had clearly bothered me the least. I wasn’t angry or upset about what he had done, but it never perked anyone up, it never put anyone in a good mood. “Shall I go speak to him?” Zayn whispered to me. “I’ll go.” “You sure?” “Yeah. If he’s even here.” Zayn nodded, a very solemn look on his face as he squeezed my shoulder, Mike already falling asleep on the sofa. I knocked on Harry’s door, but heard no reply. I didn’t even know if he had come back, we had just been hoping he was there. I tugged on the handle, and it was unlocked. I cracked the door open, and the gentle sounds of ‘Gold Dust Woman’ played quietly, filling the room. Harry was on his bed, staring longingly at the ceiling. “Can I come in?” I mumbled. “I’m high as fuck, Pip-Squeak.” I took the lack of no, as a yes, stepping to his room and letting the door shut slowly behind me. I lingered next to it, not really sure if I should approach him, completely dumbfounded by what I should do or say. “Are you okay?” I asked worriedly. “I’m high. I hate just being in my room and doing nothing when I’m high.” “Well, you shouldn’t have left.” “I wasn’t going to stay there with him, was I? I either walk out or they kick me out. If I walk, at least I’ll be allowed in next time we’re out. Fucking hell, Pip-Squeak, just think!” He was snapping at me. Maybe it was a mix of things, the fight, the unfulfilling high he was experiencing... The fact it was me? I knew we had been getting on pretty well, but the fact of the matter still stood, that there had to be a lot of things about me that annoyed him. I looked down to the floor, trying to pretend I wasn’t bothered by Harry acting the way he had acted with me through most of our time knowing each other. “I-I just wanted to check that you were okay.” “I’m fine.” “That guy was a dick.” I spurted. “I know that, Pip-Squeak.” It wasn’t even worth the effort. His words were leaving his mouth and slipping into mine, then jamming right in my throat, making me feel like I was going to throw up or cry or something along those lines. “You’re miserable.” I sighed. “Goodnight, Harry.” He didn’t say anything else, so I just rolled my eyes and backed out again. Zayn was stood in the kitchen doorway just waiting for me, to see what had happened, what had been said. “So?” “Leave him.” I groaned. “He’s an arse. I’m going to bed.” The only good thing that had come from Harry punching that guy, was the fact that I no longer felt like this was the night I was going to throw up. I was past that stage, and thanks to Harry being such a dick, I was feeling soberer by the second. I waddled into my room before Zayn could say anything, getting undressed and getting into bed. I looked up to the ceiling, not really saying or thinking anything, just gazing, breathing. I guess the reason I wasn’t thinking was because I didn’t want to think. I would start reading into things too much, which was bad in most scenarios, never mind if I was drunk. I just wanted to sleep. I rolled onto my side and tucked the sheet up a little tighter, closing my eyes and deciding that it was a good idea for me to get some sleep. A little while earlier, I had heard Zayn and Mike retreat to their rooms, and I figured if I got to sleep then, there was a chance I could actually get up in time for my lecture. But before I could even begin my attempts, I heard some knocking. It confused me, immediately widening my eyes, glancing at the door even though I was sure that wasn’t where the knocking had come from. I shook it off. Just as I was about to close my eyes, it happened again, three gentles knocks. I knew then. They were coming from the wall blocking my rooms from Harry’s. Suddenly my breath was coming out in hot, fast beats, staring at the wall and just waiting to see if it happened again. Knock. Knock. Knock. They were so slow and drawn out, like he was crying out to me. I got out of bed steadily, my bare body shaking as I tiptoed towards the wall that blocked us from each other, and in the same kind of fashion, I knocked back. I leaned forward, letting my forehead press against the structure, taking a deep breath in, kind of endeared when I heard just the one knock back. After that, I couldn’t help myself; it was like I had this need to go into his room, to be with him, to just be around him and breathe him in and just... wallow in him. I really hated feeling that way, but sharing a bed with Harry had made me warm and comfortable for a good number of nights, more so than I had been for months. If I had the opportunity to feel that again, I wasn’t going to pass it up. I threw on some shorts and a crop top, quietly opening my door and checking the corridor up and down once to make sure it was empty before I ran from my room, speedily into his, locking the door behind myself. I turned to face his bed, and saw him there waiting, expecting me, shuffled to the far side of his bed, holding the sheet high so that I could clamber in next to him, a small, gorgeous smile on his face. I didn’t hesitate. Once we were tucked in, Harry wrapped his arm around me and made sure I moulded into his body, his chest wheezing against my back and his nose buried in my hair. “Sorry for being a dick.” He whispered. “I’m used to it.” I smirked. “Fuck you!” He chuckled, nipping my waist. Once again, it was just a case of falling asleep, nothing more. But we held one another so close we were practically the same person, our bodies enchanted and combined together, and it felt just as good as it had the night before. And the night before. And the night before...

[astroprojections101]

The Signs as Characters from ‘BRIDESMAIDS’

Annie Walker - Taurus

Bridesmaids is a hilarious and groundbreaking female-driven comedy about addiction and friendship, two things Tauruses know how to do very well. They are loyal and committed people whose reputation as the most boring sign of the zodiac is forgiven for also being the best friends you will ever find on this fucking planet, and they KNOW this dammit!! They wear their friendships like purple hearts, but it also means they can easily get stuck in a rut and indulge in self-destructive habits like fucking terrible people and matching red shoes with red nail polish when the waves get rough. Not to mention it could take years (or a very messy rock bottom) before these bulls get the wake up call they need to make a positive change in their lives, as evidenced by Annie failing to do any of this until Melissa McCarthy literally bites her in the ass while watching Castaway, a movie I am SURE she has seen at least five times. 

They can also be territorial and possessive. While Annie may seem like that down-to-earth, low-maintenance girl who side eyes women that wear $8,000 evening gowns to an afternoon engagement party, on the inside she is a red-faced toddler crossing her arms and stamping her feet because Mom won’t let her play with the iPad. Or, in this case, because her best friend since CHILDHOOD (seriously, who still has friends from childhood? TAURUSES, bitches! + people from the Midwest) is getting married and has, like many grown ass adults sometimes do, ~made another friend~. Suddenly, Annie is forced to, without prior knowledge or consent, confront the bull’s biggest fear: change. Which is a big fat scary no no for a masochistic Taurus who would rather pursue subpar fucks than make baked goods with an emotionally literate Scottish bae. Tauruses like Things As They Are even when they don’t, and Annie Walker is no exception. We stan a true Taurus queen. 

Sorry, Libras. Branding the antagonist of the movie as one may seem counterintuitive for a sign whose entire identity revolves being nice and fair to EVERYONE and liking EVERYONE and getting along with EVERYONE, but that’s exactly why Helen Harris III wins the coveted title of Passive Aggressive Shithead Who Reminds You of 30% Of Your High School: everyone loves her, everyone wants to be her, and who can blame them? As a wise Jeff Winger once said, nerds go to space to impress the people who wore leather jackets in high school. 

And Helen Harris is beautiful. She can pull off wearing an $8,000 evening gown to an afternoon engagement party (almost) without coming off like an asshole. Helen Harris can book spontaneous bridal salon fittings. Helen Harris could eat that fucking cookie (Annie could never). Even if it means gaslighting a woman out of a wedding party, getting bullied by bratty white kids or marrying David Wallace, Libras don’t know who they are without the bliss of knowing their personal brand of outward bullshit is loved and admired by all, even if that means suppressing their true feelings until their next tennis sesh at the Milwaukee country club. Helen proves this when she ugly cries to a woman she socially tormented for the better part of a year, and also proves this when she arranges for Annie’s emotionally literate Scottish bae to pick her up after the wedding. You can’t convince me otherwise. 

Lillian - Virgo 

It’s easy to put Virgos in that Friends Who Have Their Shit Together box, even if underneath that facade they are literally dying inside. But this is what I love about Lillian, who is yes, obviously a Virgo. Lillian is getting married to the man she loves. She curated a bridal party that genuinely knows and loves her. She gets someone like Helen to simp for her. So yes, she is that classic Virgo who doesn’t judge you for not having your shit together but also would never, ever forgive herself for sinking that low. 

But Lillian also manages to laugh when she comes out wearing that Abominable Snowman of a wedding dress. She shits on the street and lives to tell the tale. She is able to make hard choices and set boundaries with her best friend. Lillian doesn’t judge people out of insecurity, because she knows who she is and accepts it. 

I’d like to think there is a Virgo out there, punishing herself because she applied to three jobs instead of two that day, who sees a Lillian and realizes there is a future where she can be a #BossBitch without committing her entire life to proving it to herself and others. I’d like to think there’s a Virgo out there who sees Lillian and realizes she doesn’t have to let her friend copy her homework answers for the fourth consecutive math test because no, she isn’t responsible for her lazy friend’s inability to study ahead of time. Lillian is the representation Virgos desperately need - not just because she is a badass woman, but because she is happy. She is a role model for all of us, and you can’t get more Virgo than that. 

Megan - Aries

This was a hard one. On the one hand, Megan is weird. But let’s be real, an Aquarius could never be entrusted with the codes to every nuke buried underneath the United States. They would take those codes and use it to yeet Mark Zuckerberg out of his 100 million dollar Palo Alto estate within the first hour of signing their W-2 form. No, Megan may be unapologetically Megan as shit, but it’s not because she’s an Aquarius. She’s bold, and forward, and unapologetically Aries. 

Which is odd, considering that an Aries and a Taurus together is, well... an unlikely friendship combo. Both signs are strong-willed and stubborn as hell, but in a way that makes them want to declare war on each other’s egos, not inspire the other into becoming better people. But then again, maybe that’s why their friendship works. Where Annie throws an empty compliment at an overdressed woman she’s already decided she hates, Megan expresses a desire to climb a man five minutes upon meeting Annie. Where Annie sits on a couch watching Castaway instead of addressing her issues the way 35 year old women probably should have learned to do by now, Megan bites ass and reminds her of this this. Where Annie HOLDS IN VOMIT UNTIL SHE HAS DRIVEN MILES AWAY FROM A BRIDAL SALON, Megan shits right into that refurbished marble sink without a second thought. Get where I’m going with this? Megan does what Annie doesn’t, which sometimes is exactly what a Taurus needs to get out of their rut of self-pity. But of course, Megan doesn’t just exist to provide emotional labor to lazy Earth signs. She is an individual truly living her best life, and we love for her for it. Aries women slap like no other.

Rita - Scorpio

Brutally honest and a sexual goddess. What more can you expect from an unhappily married Scorpio? Rita is bold, sexy, and dramatic, who knows how to pack the punches so quick and dirty she can turn a Disney-obsessed woman child into a drunken bisexual as she sips her martini on a first class ticket she bought with her asshole of a husband’s tax fraud money. After all, who else besides a Scorpio would tell a woman she hasn’t seen since high school that her very own flesh and blood masturbated a blanket into oblivion? Scorpios are dark, brooding, and know when they are being taken for granted. Nowhere is this better exemplified than when Rita spills the piping hot tea on her shitty family that can’t see her for the goddess she truly is. Rita, you deserve better. 

Becca - Pisces

Erin Kemper has a long history of playing maladaptively naive characters, but I will bet my next unemployment check that Erin based her performance of Becca entirely off a Pisces description she found on Cafeastrology.com. Because there is literally nothing more Pisces than Becca. The hair, the clothes, the willingness to go through hospital levels of self-sanitization for her husband so that she can finally bone? Trying to convince herself she’s also too tired so that she doesn’t have to admit to herself that her husband is an emotionally and sexually unavailable failure of a man who can’t give her what she needs until she experiences a sexual awakening 2,000 miles up in the air with her Scorpio biffle??? Yup. Pisces to a P. 

Rhodes - Cancer

Aww, Rhodes. So sweet. So awkward. Why did they have to make you a cop?

Can we talk about why it is that almost every leading man who is emotionally mature and secure in his masculinity ALWAYS seems to elicit Cancerous vibes, even if they’re clearly not a Cancer? Actual Cancer men, take note. Rhodes  pursues respectfully. He calls, even after Annie doesn’t call back. Rhodes attempts exposure therapy on a woman he has had sex with once. Rhodes WOULD get ghosted by 80% of the women he meets on dating apps (including Annie, let’s be real), and we love him for it. Because cancers are just that loving and loyal! So yes, we can excuse him for getting a stick up his butt sometimes when someone drops a perfectly biodegradable vegetable on the ground. He more than makes up for it. 

Annie’s mom - Gemini 

Geminis are either terrible or the best people you’ll ever meet, and Annie’s mom is one of the rare few that falls into that in-between category of chaotic good, adorable Gemini doing her best not to drive everyone she’s ever loved away with what little self-awareness she has about her Gemininess. Annie’s mom is bubbly, chatty, and queen of the chisme. She uses logic to justify calling her ex husband’s wife a whore, and talks like she has a doctorate degree in the unsolicited advice she offers her daughter. Until at least, she’s introduced to a sweet man, and all that logic and wordiness melts away into a gooey puddle of all those emotions she likes to think she’s above. 

Bryn - Aquarius

There are a lot of stand out heroines in this movie, but none of them beat the comedic genius that is Bryn, an incestuous roommate Annie probably dug up from Craiglist’s seventh circle of hell. Aquari are trail blazing, unconventional, and friendly enough to distract you from the fact that their brain cells came from aliens. Bryn is no exception. Even an impulsive Aries would look at the opportunity to get an offensively tacky tattoo in the back of a van and think, “I’ll get Starbucks instead.” But an Aquarius thrives on making people uncomfortable with their Society Has To Catch Up To Me complex, and Bryn is no exception. After all, if they’re not scandalizing their depressed roommate with xenophobic tattoos and baths with their brother, then who even are they? A sheep, that’s who. 

13 year old - Sagittarius 

This specific breed of popular mean girl is either a Gemini or Sagittarius. I have nothing to back up this claim, but watching that horrible girl verbally spar her way into getting a 35 year old woman fired from a jewelry store is enough to turn me into a believer. That’s why it was so hard to pinpoint a sign for her. On one hand, this girl is probably responsible for the social anxiety of at least a dozen ex-BFFs. She also clearly knows how to use words to make someone wish they had never been born, so I can accept that this insecure adult’s worst nightmare has a few placements of mercurial badassery in her chart. 

But the truth hurts, and no one knows how to finesse the truth like a Sag, who either doesn’t know what they’re doing when they tell a customer service rep they have no boobs, or they know exactly. Anyway, don’t project your friendship drama onto an undeveloped Sagittarius child, Annie. Or tell them they’re going to be pregnant at their prom (yikes). You do not know what you’re getting yourself into. 

Annie’s Mystery Man - Capricorn

The sports jacket. The pipe. The vibes. This guy probably cured cancer back in the day and still hated himself for not figuring it out until he was 30. You could also totally tell he was sizing Annie up to see if she met his expectations of People Worth His Time (she didn’t). Capricorn man, you are right. None of us deserve you. RIP Hugh Dane.

[wannabanauthor]

Seven Shades of Shit Book Review with Caitlyn Lynch: Chapter 5

Welcome to the Chapter 5 book review of Seven Brothers of Sin by Cassandra Dee.

I will try to do this one sober.

Don’t forget that the lovely @caitlynlynch​ is reviewing this book as well!  It will be linked here!

Here is the masterpost she created.

Now onto reading this piece of garbage that calls itself art.  The fifth chapter is from the POV of Smith, one of the brothers.  Honestly, I don’t even remember all their names, so I’m guessing this is a new POV being introduced.

First of all, every driver knows road rage is real.  It’s a universal experience amongst drivers, you idiotic dipshit.  Second of all, you lost credibility the moment you mentioned Maserati.  Isn’t that the official sports car of douchebag frat boys who live off their trust funds?

Poor rich white boy has to wear grown up clothes at work.  (sarcasm) I have so much sadness in my heart right now.  A tide in the other direction?  You mean low tide?  Then just say low tide!

Two things.  The first paragraph directly contradicts the previous paragraph.  You’re either worried about money with your dad’s bills, or you aren’t because you’re making even more money now.  Second thing, building any extra wing just so your dad can get the best treatment, is the very definition of rich white male privilege.  Do you understand how fucked up our healthcare system is right now? Even with the Affordable Care Act, people still can’t access medical treatment without paying out of pocket. I have clients who have insurance but have almost a $1,000 deductible!  Do you fucking understand how fucking awful it is to need medical treatment but it meant that you wouldn’t be able to eat or pay rent?

I am literally shaking in anger right now because this is just fucking bragging and classist privilege. This character isn’t relatable at all, and that is a huge error on the author’s part.  Hell, if he had wanted to build a wing so that other people could have access to the same level of healthcare as his old rich white father, then I would understand and relate better.  But no, this asshat just wants to show off how much money his family makes.

One more thing to add to my rant:  The entire fucking family is rich, and you expect me to believe that they have to pay for the father’s medical bills?  Rich people typically have excellent health insurance, so there is no way in the world that the family is picking up the tab.  And since the father is rich, I guarantee you that he is already getting the best care possible.

I fucking hate this character.  I fucking hate this character.  I fucking hate this character.

Does this weak limp noodle expect me to believe his rich ass doesn’t have suits tailored?  If the suit is so tight, why not buy a larger suit? Or maybe have one tailor-made to fit you?  Dumb ass motherfuc—did he just compare his tie to a noose?  Did this rich white straight able-bodied man just compare his tie to a motherfucking noose?

Excuse me while I…

I feel better now.

An oversized shirt would hide her curves, boobs do not bounce when a woman is stationary, and sperm does not boil.  However, if you would like your sperm to boil, I have a nice stove with gas flames that I am more than happy to hold your testicles over.  Trust me, it would be my pleasure.

Also, kittens don’t have lips, you dumb ass chicken nugget.

I bet you $20 that he is too far away to know all these details about Macy.

Contrary to popular belief, girls just don’t fall onto dick.  If you’re not lifting a finger to help, then what good are you?  At least make sure she’s wet before she sits on it!

I did not know that the Morgan brothers were capable of teleportation.

Level-two gangbang? You know what, I don’t even want to know.

When it comes to sharing, a line has to be drawn somewhere.  Why would you subject one woman to seven dicks?  That’s just cruel.

That’s rape.  You raped those women.

Well, I’m just going to, uh…

Just for a few minutes before I address the post.

So let me get back to the post:

So they want an impressionable eighteen year old girl to carry their baby.  A girl who just recently became recognized as an adult.  Was a surrogate not available?  Why choose a random teenager that is probably still too young to be having babies?  Surrogates are a much better option, you want to know why?  The initial mandatory requirement is that they’ve had to have a successful pregnancy.  Then, they go through extensive medical, psychological, and background examinations to see if they are fit for carrying someone else’s child and giving that child up once it’s born. You know who doesn’t have all that? An eighteen-year-old girl!

As for the brothers’ logic for having one child, let me explain in detail how utter fucking stupid it is.  First, there’s nothing wrong with having one child, but if these brothers want a legacy, then they are utterly fucked if they only have one child.  There’s this age-old concept of “the heir and the spare”, and if your intention is to pass something down, you want to adhere to this rule. You know why?  Because kids die.  It’s a horrible truth that no one wants to think about, but it happens.  Seven grown ass men are putting their future in the hands of one child?  Good luck with that, tell me how it works out for you.

One more thing: Are they millionaires or billionaires? The author can’t seem to make up her mind.

Yet, you want to fuck her and force her to have your kid.  After reading this, my head automatically turned to look at my fridge where I have my favorite wine.  I’ve lasted this long, and I can stay strong.

I agree with the first three sentences, and as for the last one, it’s a nightmare.  Definitely a nightmare.

Why do men like to refer to women as horses?  Is there some bestiality fetish these brothers are into?  And, personal cream-puff?  Full of juices and creamy goodness?  There’s no juice in a cream-puff, and did you just imply that you and your brothers would eat the semen out of her?  I’m pretty sure that ventures into incest territory.

FYI, if a girl closes her eyes, stands still, and takes a deep breath, she is not enjoying it.  She’s tensing up and hoping that it ends soon. That is a defensive stance, and I do not want anybody getting the wrong idea with that description.

You sir, are fucking disgusting.  She is practically a child!  My 26 year old ass stays the fuck away from any more than a couple years younger than me. Even 21 is an iffy age to me.

Say “the female” one more fucking time.  I fucking dare you.

Ah, child molestation and rape tend to go hand in hand.  Good to know age is not a dealbreaker.  Excuse me, Brother Morgans? R. Kelly is on Line 1 for you.

Anyone who has been to college knows that it’s a hell-hole.  College students hate college.  They go into debt that they’ll never be able to pay off just so they can have a chance at finding a job. Then there’s the added stress of demanding classes, bills, and personal tragedies.  I went to three funerals during my junior year at university.  My friends dealt with being sexually assaulted, losing family members, being broke and possibly losing their apartment because they couldn’t pay rent, and mental health issues on top of that.  I call bullshit on your college degree.

I’m going to spare you the descriptions, but Smith touches Macy while asking her what she’s going to school for.

Macy admitted in a previous chapter that she’s not good at math, but she wants to become a chef. Man, is she in for a rude awakening.

Squirting comes from G-spot stimulation, you dumbass.  She’s peeing.

Spoken like a true rich white boy.  Try telling that to employers.  They’ll laugh you out the room while picking up the resume of someone who has a college degree.

Oh honey, you need to know how to do math for that to happen.  You need to know how to research, study the market, graphic design, outsourcing based on your time/money value system, and you need to know to market.  All things that you would learn in college.

So, the brothers are just as stupid as Macy is.  They all are business men, so they should know what she needs in order to help her with her business.  Even if they are dark web cocaine dealers, that requires smarts and skills!  You need to know how to create the product, advertise and sell it to your clients without getting caught by the police, paying your taxes via money laundering because the IRS don’t play when it comes to getting their money.

I am convinced that they are all just living off mom and dad and are only fantasizing about running a company and being successful.

Do I even need to explain this gif?

I’m finally done with the chapter, and I just want to go home, drink my juice, curl up with my blanket, and go the fuck to sleep.  I managed to get through this sober.

In a monotone voice: Yay.

Cream/creamy mentions: 2

Alpha mentions: 0

[my-nameless-bliss]

Nykeigh Im starting my last year of college and I don't know if I'm gonna make it. Im so burnt out and exhausted. Im a perfectionist and have gotten good grades the last 3 years. Im worried im gonna fuck this last year up. I have so much anxiety about this year and the classes are going to be harder. All my friends are excited about almost being done and I can't relate.

Hi, anon! I have some very good news for you, and I want you to hear this, and think about it, and really let it sink in: You don’t have to do well this year! Seriously! 

Trust me, I know exactly how difficult it is to hear something like that and actually believe it. I grew up with my entire identity tied into my performance in school. I was very smart as a child, and that unfortunately translated to me feeling like I needed to be incredibly smart for the rest of my school career. I needed to get perfect grades, get scholarships to an amazing school, and graduate summa cum laude. That was my only option for my life. I decided that when I was six years old, and I never wavered.

And then I got to my first semester of college. And I had a complete breakdown. The stress and anxiety completely destroyed me, and I had a full-scale breakdown. As a result, I failed two classes (and withdrew from a third, which affected my GPA the same as failing would have). My grades that semester were W, F, F, and B-. I had been at a 4.0 GPA my entire life. And that semester, my GPA dropped to 0.09. That’s right, my entire GPA was less than one-tenth of a point. 

And you know what happened because of that?

Nothing.

My GPA never got up to 4.0 again. I worked my ass off, and got great grades (not perfect grades all the time, but definitely an A average with only a few problem classes), and had a flawed academic record that I could still be proud of. And even with all that work, I didn’t get back to 4.0, and I didn’t graduate summa cum laude. 

But I graduated. And out in the world after college, my less-than-perfect college experience has affected literally nothing. My resume has my college degree, and no one has ever said “Okay but why did you fail those classes, huh??????” I have a two-year degree from a community college (that it took me four years to get), and guess what? I’m happy. I have an awesome life. 

And those later years of college, after I completely broke and had to face the fact that I would never get a perfect record back, I was happy. I worked hard in all of my classes, and treasured every good grade I got, but I was also able to accept grades that I’d previously thought were unacceptable. I did work that I was proud of, regardless of what it did to my transcript. I worked as hard as I was capable of working.

I’m gonna say that again, so you really have to read it:

I worked as hard as I was capable of working.

And sometimes that meant that I had to prioritize one assignment over another, and something fell through the cracks. Sometimes I turned in half-finished assignments, or skipped small worksheets altogether, or took a test without studying as much as I should have, or studied as much as I possibly could and still did poorly. I got a lot of A grades that I damn well knew I deserved. And I also got some C grades that I also knew I deserved, based on the work I was able to put in, or a general lack of confidence or comprehension in the material. And I accepted all of that. I worked as hard as I was capable of working, and took pride in what that hard work did for me.

I am a perfectionist, and I always have been. And I used to be a perfectionist with no acceptance of failure, particularly when it came to academics. And unfortunately, it took a really horrible, really mentally unhealthy semester of failure for me to break out of that. But please believe me, I am so much happier now. I know we’re taught from birth that our grades are the only things that matter about school, but I promise you - as someone who’s had to go through hell to get to this point - that school is about learning. Your mental health is so much more important than your grades. And your grades are not the be-all-end-all of your life. I had to fight so hard to understand that, and accept it, and my life is so much better for having done so. I want you to be able to accept it without having to go through what I did. 

I know those bullshit memes of “Einstein failed math and he still blah blah blah” aren’t helpful at all when you’re facing down a new semester with a transcript to maintain. But hopefully you can believe me, as someone who just went through this a few years ago, and has come out of it with an average college career and a truly happy life. I’m not telling you to give up, or stop caring about academics altogether. I just want you to understand that you are so much more than your grades. Work your ass off this semester, but understand that you have limits, and respect them when you reach them. Learn as much as you can, and do your best, and be proud of every single one of your accomplishments, because you’ve damn well earned them.

But you are allowed to fail. The first one is always the hardest. Trust me, I know. But failure isn’t going to ruin your life, and I know that too. From experience. If you can accept that, you will be so much happier. I’m not a school person, so I can’t really say ~Enjoy college it’s the best years of your life!!!!!~ because that’s just not the type of person I am. But you shouldn’t have to think back on college as a time of stress and misery, either. Do work that you can be proud of, but realize that your best isn’t always going to be perfect, and that’s still awesome. You don’t have to be perfect. You are allowed to fail. 

Do your best this semester. Always do your best. But please, please try to understand that ‘Your Best’ isn’t always ‘Perfection’. And that’s okay. I promise, that’s okay. Work hard, and learn as much as you can. Don’t worry about comparing your experience to your friends’. Don’t worry about the classes you’ve already taken and the grades you’ve already gotten. And, while I know exactly how impossible this feels, please try your best to not worry about your grade. Worry about doing your best, because that’s what matters. I promise you that your best is what matters. You are what matters. Please remember that, and enjoy this year as much as you possibly can. 💜💜💜

[moltenart]

The Hollow Spot

“So you wanna tell me why?”

My head jerks up. The therapist is leaning forward, his dark blue-gray eyes peering at me from under his unkempt, curly hair with a non-threatening, quizzical gaze. His thumb absentmindedly clicks his pen in his lap, and his spiral notebook sits beside him, open but for the moment neglected.

I shift my position in the armchair like I’m going to respond, and he softly raises his eyebrows in anticipation. I study him for a moment. He’s young, with a chiseled, clean-shaven jaw. His cluttered desk and rumpled button-down tell me he’s probably fresh out of school. What’s he doing counseling? I fiddle with the zipper on my jacket and he waits expectantly. Finally, I look him in the eye.

“No.”

He exhales and leans back on the couch, the cushion depressing under his weight. “Look,” he says, with no detectable emotion. “Your school said this is totally unlike you, so they sent you here on the condition that you would talk. No suspension, no community service, nothing. All you have to do is talk. We can drag it out or we can get it over with and move on with our lives.” He runs his fingers through his wild curls. “It’s not like you have to worry about implicating yourself. They found the pills in your locker. I’m not asking you to make some empty promise that you’ll never do it again. All I’m asking is why.”

My eyes flicker to my jacket zipper. I could say I thought it’d be fun. I could say they were all for my sinus infection. I could say that they were a friend’s. I could say that I’d felt closed off from the world and that this was a cry for help or something. I could say anything but the truth. “I…..” Desperately I try to scramble for something plausible. The syllable hangs in the air with the floral scent of the air freshener.

“Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”

Oh, but it can. 

“It’s just….it’s not really….” I stumble over the words like untied shoelaces. “You just….you wouldn’t understand.”

“You never know. I might.” his voice is earnest.

That gets me. I stare at his impeccably-decorated, modern East Side office. His pressed khakis. His framed psychology degree on the wall. He probably went to NYU. He probably came from rich parents who helped him with his homework as a kid and never fought with each other. His father probably never brought home a bagful of prescription meds from Walgreens and used them as the main course for his dinner at 1:00am with a side of Lager, and he certainly never had to get rid of the evidence when his mom back from her business trip.

I, on the other hand.

I glare at him. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that.”

He furrows his soft eyebrows. “Like what?”

“That you might. Understand.”

“Well, why wouldn’t I?”

I shake my head.

He pulls his fingers through his hair again, making a few stray curls stick out. “You’ve gotta help me out here.”

The springs beneath the upholstery screech as I sit forward in the armchair. “Help you?”

“Yeah, come on. Help me understand what’s going on here.”

My fists clench. “See. That’s what I’m talking about. You say things like that, but they’re just lines. When you say them, it’s never you that needs help. Right? It’s some troubled kid that never had the privileged, upper-class bullshit you grew up on and who desperately needs the wisdom your infallible intellect can provide.” I lean back into the chair again.

For a moment, we are both silent.

He takes a deep breath. “I can promise you my life hasn’t been full of upper-class bullshit, but we’re not really here to talk about me.”

I don’t back down. “Well as far as I’m concerned, we don’t need to talk about me, either.”

“Fine by me. Take the suspension.” He eyes me, trying to call my bluff.

I bite my lip and change the subject. “How long am I supposed to be here?”

He starts to glance at the clock on the wall above the coffee table, but suddenly changes his mind. “Tell you what. Come back next week.”

I’m confused. “What? The school said I only had to go once.”

“I know.” he clicks the pen and scribbles something onto the spiral notebook. "But we’re not going to get anywhere today. If you come back next Tuesday at three, I’ll tell your school you were perfectly cooperative and they’ve got nothing to worry about. If you don’t show, I’ll have to come up with something a bit more realistic.“

I scowl at the top of his head. This unbelievable piece of- 

He raises his head from the notebook and offers me a challenge with cloudy blue-gray eyes. "What do you say?”

I give a non-committal nod, calmly rise from the armchair, and walk straight out of the office. By the time I step off the elevator and exit into the dim drizzle, I am in a clearer frame of mind. A week. That’s plenty of time to think up a convincing excuse.

The 17 Kroniker bus deposits me at our apartment building at 6:50, and armed with an unreadable expression, I climb the stairs to the fifth floor and stride into the house like every other day.

“Where you been?” My father growls from the corner of the living room. His words are clear, the spaces between them sharp and discernible. I relax a little. He’s sober. The growl is just a way of gauging my reaction. If I act like I have nothing to hide, he’ll give up and return to his episode of Family Guy.

“Bus was late- the weather. I’ve got homework to do.” With that, I confidently stride across the living room and head towards my bedroom. Satisfied, my father settles into the recliner. I don’t bother picking up any of the trash scattered on the floor. When my mother gets here, she’ll see to that. I simply grab my math notebook, stick some earbuds into my ears, and sit cross-legged on my bed. Only 45 minutes before the thunderstorm begins outside my door.

Soon, I faintly hear my mother’s soft voice during the break between songs. She’s attempting to coax my father out of the recliner. Their conversation is all but inaudible as I finish my math homework and start on biology. I am midway through my English outline when the yelling starts. I look at my watch. 9:30. I turn my music up.

By 10:00, they’ve taken their screaming match to the fire escape. It’s now or never.

With routine quickness, I tug my arms into my black zip-up jacket. Quietly turning the doorknob, I walk silently and swiftly through the house, never taking my eyes off the front door except to grab a plastic shopping bag from the kitchen counter. At the end of the fifth-floor hallway are the communal recycling bins. I kneel in front of bin 502, piled high with my father’s empty Lager bottles. Quietly, I stuff each one into the bag. Eighteen bottles. The bag’s handles cut into my fingers as I rise, plastic stretching with the weight of the glass clinking inside.

I jog down the five flights of stairs. Our storage unit is never locked. The only thing not caked in dust is my faded, rust-colored mountain bike. I wheel it onto the sidewalk and take off.

The traffic lights of New York City whip past my face as the last remnants of the afternoon’s shower sprinkle my face and hands. Three blocks, and the inky darkness of the Central Park looms ahead. I speed up, the bulging plastic bag knocking against the handlebars as I pedal down one of the jogging trails. Lone orange streetlights illuminate spots of shimmering pavement, turning it gold against the wet blackness that blankets the rest of the park. I pedal faster. The chilly breeze hits my eyes and makes them tear.

I am rounding the final corner when I am surprised by a jogger in the orange gleam of the last streetlight. With a gasp, I jerk the handlebars sideways, narrowly evading the figure in a dark green jogging suit. The bag swings wildly and two bottles slip from the top of the bag. Glass hits concrete with loud, hollow clinks. I pump my feet on the pedals and don’t look back.

Fifty more yards and I reach the end of the path. The clump of trees is scarcely visible in the thick, wet darkness ahead. Breathing hard, I dump my bike and head for the huge oak tree, my converse squeaking on the grass.  When I am about ten feet away from the tree, I drop the bag. For a moment, I do nothing but stare at the trunk, with its bare spot in the middle from my many visits. Then I reach down and take out the first bottle. I heft the cold roundness in my hand and chuck it at the tree. The glass shatters against the wood, fragmenting into tiny, sharp pieces that scatter from the trunk and glint faintly as they fall into the grass. I breathe a small sigh of satisfaction and pick up the next one.

Lift, throw, shatter. Lift, throw, shatter. Mechanically, I hurl each sour-smelling bottle at the tree and watch as the glass breaks against the worn bark, forming a small, glimmering pile at the base of the trunk. With each bottle, the tight ache in my gut gradually dissolves. With each shattering of glass, a piece of evidence is gone. The bottles will disappear. Neighbors can’t stare at our recycling bin, and school counselors can’t gape at my locker, because all the evidence will be gone.

I am reaching down for the seventh bottle when I hear a crash from the tree. I look up to see the last remnants of a glass bottle falling to the ground. Whipping around, I am faced with a head of curly hair, barely visible in the gloom. There, in a dark green jogging suit, holding the other fallen bottle in his hand, is my therapist.

For a full twenty seconds, I am speechless. I simply stare, eyes wide, my cheeks glistening with sweat and a single tear I didn’t know was there. He, too, is silent, gripping the bottle in his palm. Suddenly, I notice he looks exhausted. His shoulders sag and his blue-gray eyes are void of gleam, rimmed with dark circles.  He lifts the bottle and throws it. I hear it smash against the tree behind me, but my gaze is frozen to his worn, haggard face. He watches the glass fall and then looks at me. “You got any more of those?”

I stare at him, shocked. Then I nod. Without a word, he approaches, stoops to the bag, and picks up another bottle. After a moment, I hurl Bottle Number Seven. It shatters. He throws his. We reach into the bag again. I throw. He throws. Again and again, we reach into the plastic bag and one by one, we shatter every single remnant of evidence. Every story I tell my neighbors, every excuse I tell my teachers, every lie I tell myself gets thrown against the trunk and broken into a thousand sharp fragments.

At last, the eighteenth bottle falls, in jagged bits, to the grass. We stare at the shimmering pile on the ground. Then he breaks the silence. “So did you drink all those?”

I pick up the empty bag and speak for the first time. “No.”

He nods. I glance over at him, but he’s still looking at the tree, his brow furrowed in thought. He stares blankly at the glistening bits of glass for a long time, and the thought occurs to me that he’s only vaguely aware of my presence. Finally, he breathes a long, tired sigh. “Well, you tell whoever did, I’ve got their record beat.”

After another moment, he turns and walks away into the darkness. I watch him go. I stare at the tree for a long time. I stare at the exposed spot in the middle. Then I walk back to my bike and pedal home.

It was that night I realized that everyone is like that tree. We all have a bare, hollow spot in the middle that we shatter things against.

[a-woman-apart]

Release the Outcome

Yesterday, I applied for a full-time job working for the library system of the city that I live in (my other job is one city over). I probably won’t hear back from them until after August 2nd, because that is when the posting comes down. This works perfectly for me, though, because I really do not want to leave my current position until the new people are more settled. It could be a long shot; I applied to library jobs in my city before and have never been selected for an interview. I also know that I limit my opportunities by only applying for jobs in one section (out of 6) of the city, but my only other economically reasonable option is also applying at the downtown branch and I cannot see my anxiety-ridden self making that drive daily.

My main goal right now is to just keep pursuing opportunities while remaining detached from the outcome. I am tentatively looking into more volunteer opportunities, but nothing is jumping out at me. Sometimes, I think about the types of volunteer positions that would look better on a resume, or help to give me “marketable skills  or “build identity capital” but my boyfriend scolded me about that and encouraged me to just volunteer for whatever I care about, regardless of whether it will benefit me in the workplace. He is right. I have been so caught up in the hustle culture (albeit more focused on academics) that I have started to lose sight of what is important. We need to be able to strike a balance between working to survive and achieve things we genuinely want and being work-obsessed.

I realize that in my position, even as a neurodivergent and marginalized person, I hold incredible privilege. Friends and family have helped support me financially, and although it will be going away in a few years (or very soon, depending on my income), I receive assistance from the government in the form of my SSDI.  It is both temporary and not nearly enough by itself to survive on in a city like this, but it provides something to fall back on, and has enabled me to work part-time while pursuing my education.

As far as education goes, I know that my original goal to complete my COREs (gaining my Associate in the Arts in the process) can still be completed next year, but I am going to just observe myself and how I am feeling. It is likely that I will be working full-time by then, and if that happens, goodbye SSDI. That is ultimately the goal—and there would be a way to restart benefits if I fell into a rough patch—but that would mean keeping a decent job would take even higher priority than before. I was a part-time—sometimes full-time—student before and a part-time worker, but then I would be a full-time worker and part-time student. My disability does not allow me to go to both work and attend school full-time; many healthy people can’t even manage that, and it is not recommended by instructors.

Ultimately, though, these plans are very tentative. I have really been reevaluating what I want and why I want it. I have always loved writing. To me, turning what I loved into a career seemed like a no-brainer, but now, I can see that I always hesitated. I took a detour and went to school for music instead of just getting an Associate in the Arts (with the goal of transferring to a university to get my BA in English). Do you know what studying music for four years did for my passion for learning about and creating music? It utterly killed it. I had all the knowledge, but now I had no drive to create. I am only now starting to record little demos and play with concepts over a year later.

I can see now that I have been afraid of getting similarly burned out on writing. Yes, there is some element of being afraid that I am not a good enough writer to make a career in editing, publishing, and writing. Those fears are rather faint and distant; I am mostly confident in my writing ability. What I am seeing now, is that we live in a society that encourages us to monetize our passions, and that might not be healthy. On Adventures in Roommating, Meghan Tonjes and Keith Battista talked about being careful about making the thing you love into the thing you depend on to survive. I used to be perplexed about my youngest sister’s decision not to pursue culinary arts as a career, even though she loved it so much, but I can see that maybe she had a lot more wisdom than I do. Maybe we should hold our passions a little more sacred to ourselves. Maybe 2+ years of reading boring 1800s literature and churning out essay after soulless essay for picky English teachers just so I can have an English degree is not what I need to be doing. It doesn’t mean that I’ve “given up on my dreams”. Capitalism will extract value from you in any way that it can, but you can say, “No, this is mine.”

So many amazing writers majored in things other than English. So many English majors started off in other fields. Po Bronson, author of What Should I Do with My Life?, was told by teachers that his writing was so poor that he would never succeed as a writer. His proficiencies were in math and science. My own English teacher— one of the best teachers I have ever had—started off as a pharmacy tech.

My “back-up” plan if I was not able to succeed in writing, editing, publishing, or journalism, was to go to school and get my Master’s in Library Science. Working in libraries is a happy medium for me. It is not my absolute favorite thing to do, but I like it enough that I would not mind working in or around libraries for the foreseeable future. Some people say that the library field is shrinking, but that is not the whole truth; libraries are evolving, and the people that work in them are needing to be more flexible and to have greater variety in their skillset. Being a school librarian also means being adept with media; a reference librarian might also assist with writing grants, ordering books, or budgeting. Jobs are largely becoming more automated, but people who work in libraries are often required to supervise these systems and make sure that everything is working smoothly.

Maybe that “back-up plan” would be a lot better as a “main plan.” There are plenty of library jobs that just require a Bachelor’s. There is great flexibility in what my Bachelor’s degree can be, so now I have to be like “what would complement my Master’s the most, but still be a ton of fun?” I might as well enjoy whatever I am studying, and to be honest, I do not always enjoy English classes. If you have a great teacher, the hard work always feels worthwhile, but a persnickety, nit-picking teacher can turn the experience into a living hell. I do not want to see my love for writing turn into hatred. Yes, it would be great to “be a writer”, but I already am. I do not need a degree to confer that title on to me. I would also just love to explore writing conventions on my own, take independent classes, and continue blogging. I want to network with other writers and see if we can spark off some new ideas.

I could even just be undeclared for a while (AUDIBLE GASP) and just see what speaks to me. I could go to a smaller school that is closer to me. Once the time comes, I can move where I want to move without feeling under pressure to move closer to campus. I can take my sweet time with classes. In fact, if I get a good enough job, they may just pay for me to get my Master’s and that would be lovely.

You can have it all and still be miserable; I think we millennials, who are wrought with anxiety, student debt, and underemployment understand that more than others. We have been fed this lie about working hard and “making it”, and we are utterly disenchanted with the status quo. We are always questioning our identities. We ask ourselves “Is this it?” and we are always looking for meaning and purpose in our lives.

My 20s are almost at a close, so my “quarter-life crisis” is going to need to wrap up soon. If I learned anything from my 20s, it is that so much can change, and that a lot of the things you worry about now will be non-issues down the line. Relationships of all types come and go and people and situations evolve and shift. In fact, you probably experience the most changes in your life in your 20s, and you are laying the foundation for who you will be down the line. Your brain is not even fully developed out of adolescence until you are 25. So, while you are considered an adult in the eyes of the law, there is a reason why you still engaged in a lot of childish bullshit in your early twenties. Not to mention that if you have a mental illness or experienced trauma as a child, you can become “developmentally arrested” (I don’t have a good specific source on this one sorry, but look up “arrested development psychology” and there will be lots of interesting articles.).

Look, growing up, or as we say, “adulting”, is very difficult. As more of us are staying home and/or still financially dependent on our parents or other family members, it is hard to truly feel like we own our own lives. Ultimately, though, we never know how things will change. We just need to keep exploring new opportunities. Don Estell said, “If it doesn’t work, try something different.” It may feel like you have tried everything, but the only other alternative is to give up. Don’t do that. Don’t relentlessly pursue achievement at the expense of your mental health, but do not lose hope. Take a break, dust yourself off, then get back out there.

You will find a way, I promise.

[sturlsons]

How did u go about choosing your school/ going to France to study? There are just so many options it's kind of overwhelming, especially if u don't actually know what u wanna do.

this answer isn’t going to make u happy: trial and error.

see, i started off junior high with the firm conviction that i’m going to be an engineer. (yep.) i’d ALWAYS been the bookworm kid who loved reading and writing and everything literature, but growing up in india it was treated only as a passion and not a viable career option. i internalised it without realising and focused my academic skills elsewhere. fortunately -- or unfortunately -- i was somewhat of a prodigy, and the sciences posed no issue to me even though my heart was in the arts. i basically aced any subject i set my mind to, whether it was literature, biology, economics or math. it made me one cocky motherfucker, but worse, it confused the shit out of me.

my biggest mistake, that i beg you not to make if you’re still in high school and choosing your subjects, was confusing my ability to study a subject with actual interest in it. that shit kept me in the trap of engineering, theoretical physics and advanced mathematics for four, FOUR hellish years of my life. i hated physics. i hated math. but GOD was i good at it, and so the only natural path to follow was to keep doing it. trouble was, i was basically good at everything. which meant that my rebellious, adolescent brain with the concentration span of a fucking gnat, kept flitting from career to career, country to country, college to college. in eighth grade i was convinced i’d go to stanford and be a chemical engineer. in ninth grade i was going to go to wellesley and study literature. tenth grade cambridge scores came in, i aced everything, it was back to the sciences. 

it took me until the tail end of eleventh grade -- by which time half my college applications had been sent out, i’d taken about a million SAT’s and AP’s, i’d considered every career from law to psychology to fucking industrial chemistry, disappointed roughly 54 professors, my father, obama, my boyfriend, and that dude on the street there selling hot dogs. it took me until the tail end of eleventh grade, almost until midway through twelfth grade -- by which point it was almost too late -- to realise that that one shitty french elective that my father had made me take a year ago had actually won my heart. now mind you, at this point i’d ALREADY dropped physics, switched to standard instead of advanced chemistry, switched to advanced instead of standard history and business&management, horrified all my science teachers (”we’re losing such a good student”), been horrified that it was too late to drop advanced mathematics and i was basically stuck with it for all of high school, applied to oxford and gotten rejected from oxford, AND broken up with my boyfriend, fucked up most of my friendships, fallen into a pit of depression the likes of which has actually blocked out most of the details of high school for me.

after ALL this bullshit that i’d pulled, i had the audacity to go home from school and tell my parents, “actually, i’m going to france.” 

and then that’s what i did.

 my advice for you? depending on the kind of person you are, don’t do as i did -- or do as i did. explore everything. take aptitude tests. be real with yourself about what you can and cannot afford -- financially, physically, emotionally. look up course requirements; it’s never too early. look at your scores. look at your interests. take all those bullshit quizzes online like what career should you go into because if nothing, they might introduce you to a career you’d never considered. think in the long-term, but also think about your happiness. it’s time to be real -- no one’s saying that you can’t find something that you like studying and that will bring you money, but it’s up to you to find that balance, see if you need to find that balance -- if you don’t, that’s fantastic for you, no snark! 

tell yourself, “what if i wanted to be a lawyer?”. look up law courses. what do you need to be admitted? where do you want to study? what do they need? “what if i wanted to be a journalist? a teacher? a physicist? a carpenter? a locksmith? a diplomat?” you gotta start looking somewhere. the options are overwhelming but exhilarating too. there’s so much you can do, you just have to do it. 

remember -- college is more lax about choices than high school. within reasonable bounds, you can always change your major, minor, electives, reorient yourself completely. but it’s not a perfect world. the ability to do these things comes when you establish a safety net for yourself, and take things logically. i can’t guarantee you that you’ll get to do what you want if you change your mind midway through a literature degree and say you want to do statistical mathematics instead. there’s a whole backlog that comes with it, which is why it’s good to start making up your mind as early as possible. the smarter you work and the more logically you build your base, the better flexibility you’ll have in the future. the best decision is one that can be changed easily. i took advanced math, chemistry and physics at the beginning of eleventh grade -- but i also took advanced english. so when i switched directions completely and took out chemistry/physics for history and business&management, they sat well with my advanced english. see what i mean?

of course, this depends on your academic ability/skill -- another thing to be real with yourself about. bro, i barely passed math once i gave up on it. IB subjects are scored out of 7 points -- i got 2 for math. at this point i’ve completely lost my ability to think in that direction and even basic math stumps me -- and to think that at one point i was the top math student of my school; advanced calculus was child’s play. be real with yourself. what are you capable of? what aren’t you capable of? how much can you push yourself before you break?

find that breaking point and then push that motherfucker. the world’s out there waiting for you -- but not with arms as open as you might think. you gotta pry them open a little. then it’s all yours. earn it with your wits. earn it with a plan. make a fantastic plan, and then wing it. you won’t have any regrets that way.