school of resentment

3dspacejesus  asked:

[Prompt]: A fantasy world is so used to human children arriving to go on quests and learn moral lessons that they've set up a whole bureaucracy to deal with it.


“Trudy C-”

“Is that a nickname?  I need your full name.”

“…Gertrude Chau.”

“Favorite mythical creature?”


“…do you have a second favorite?”


“I can get you mermaids.  What were you doing before you - how did you say you got here?”

“I looked under my bed for monsters and fell.”

Scribble scribble.  “Before that, what were you doing?”

“We just moved and -”

“Hang on -”  Papers rustle.  “Which of the following best describes your attitude: excitement about your new opportunities, apprehension about your new school or neighborhood, resentment at loss of old friends and familiar settings, or other?”

“….what does resentment mean?”

“It means you’re mad that they were taken away.”

“That one.”

“Okay.  And, fingerprints here in case you take longer on your quest than you’re supposed to and we need to do a locator spell; and would you like a dagger, magic wand, animal companion, or bow and arrows?”

“I only get one?”

“You can combine the animal companion with another option if you fill out form 37-J -”

“I’ll just take the magic wand.”

“There’s a bin of them by the door; take one and then recite this fairy-summoning chant to call a guide fairy and be led to your destination.”  Stamp, check, peeling of carbon paper.  “This is your copy.  Next!”

Stay Alive For Me (Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader) Part 11

Originally posted by thedivorcecrockpot

Pairing: Lin-Manuel Miranda x Teenaged!Reader

Requested?: No

Prompt: Lin finds a teenage girl unconscious at his doorstep and decides to nurse her back to health. As her stay is extended, Lin finds himself attached to the troubled teen that captured his heart.

Words: 3800+

Warnings: Dad Lin, Bullying, Physical Violence, Angst


/ Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six
/ Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Twelve /


Monday, January 26 (Two Days Later)~~

School starts up today.

Winter break was over.

You were so busy with getting kidnapped and in motion to be adopted by Lin to remember that school was starting up again. You forgot about tests and homework that was due. You were just too busy escaping from abuse and moving in with someone who will treat you well and raise you correctly.  

The last couple of days of your break were of you and Lin just lounging on the couch and watching Disney movies. This was your way of bonding with Lin, who was going to be your legal dad soon. You’d lay with your head on his chest while he held you protectively, stroking your hair soothingly. Lin would hum a Spanish tune into your ears. It was a soothing lullaby; a nice melody full of words that meant nothing to you but meant worlds to Lin.  

“What song is that…?” You asked in a hushed voice, not taking your eyes from the movie that was playing, which was The Little Mermaid.

Lin mumbled another Spanish phrase into your ear in a lulling voice, one you had grown to know was comforting and safe.  

Something about Lin made you truly feel wanted in this world. His acts of kindness always keep you going, it was like having a true parent, something you’ve longed for your entire life. You believed you’d get this feeling from your mother but you have now realized that this feeling wasn’t going to come from that woman. She shoved you away for so long that when she tried to keep you to herself, she wasn’t who you wanted to be raised by. She wasn’t the loving and laid back mom you loved years ago. That woman was too independent and lost the motherly aura so long ago. You didn’t want her anymore. Now, you had Lin. He was the parent you always wanted and you were certain he will love and support you the way you always needed to be.

And now, here you were.

On the subway with Lin on an early Monday morning.

He was taking you to school.

Keep reading

Adults frequently like to remind you that going to school every day for eight hours straight disciplines you for life, but I think it’s more that having to learn to deal with nonsensical rules prepares you for an unfair world. As the Ghost of High School Past, I’m here to tell you that, no, you do not look back at high school and say, “I am grateful for the discipline that that learning environment instilled in me.” You look back and groan because high school is logistically the worst, yet it just keeps happening. You have to get up before the sun rises to make it to class before the first bell; between classes you have, like, fewer than five minutes to move from room to room (those kids who manage to make out in between classes have amazing time-management skills), where you then have to sit among dozens of your peers, most of whom you probably don’t even get along with; AND, you have to ask to go pee! One time in the cafeteria I tried to get two Dixie cups of salad with my pizza, and the lunch lady yelled at me because I was only allowed to get one, thus officially making it the Time I Got in Trouble for Trying to Eat Extra Vegetables. (OK maybe I was wrong—I have done some disobedient things in my life!)

Acting out by, like, skipping class offers instant gratification in a mostly unfair place like high school, and I’m not frowning at it. But outsmarting your teachers, or your classmates, can be its own form of rebellion, and one that has the potential to get you further ahead in the long run. When I started high school, I was feeling generally resentful of school and got lazy about my grades. I started neglecting short reading assignments, like, “Read one act of Hamlet tonight,” and then messing up on quizzes. English was the one subject that I reliably did well in, but that semester, I got my first B. That is NOT A BAD GRADE, but it still made realize that luxuriating in how bothersome school could sometimes be wasn’t helping me at all.

My future felt like it was in the hands of a power structure built on bathroom passes and arbitrary protocol, true. But I could either let it destroy me, by resenting and avoiding it and the work that came with it, or I could destroy it. Now, I don’t mean burning the building down by starting a fire with a cigarette in the girls’ bathroom, though that does sound like a glamorous way to commit arson. I mean destroying school by being as good as I could be at it, so that when the time came I could hightail it out of there to places that were better and cooler, and, ideally, that would let me take as much salad I wanted without being reprimanded.

When I look back at high school, I don’t think about how I managed to get decent grades, or how I got into college and did, in fact, get out of my not-that-bad suburban town and move to a major city. I think about how I’m relieved that I had the foresight to be able to be like, OK, I can hate this place and just do poorly, or I can try to make things a bit easier for future me.

—  Needed this so much this week
Thanks: rookiemag 💕

“Anne,” he said hurriedly, “look here. Can’t we be good friends? I’m awfully sorry I made fun of your hair that time. I didn’t mean to vex you and I only meant it for a joke. Besides, it’s so long ago. I think your hair is awfully pretty now–honest I do. Let’s be friends.

For a moment Anne hesitated. She had an odd, newly awakened consciousness under all her outraged dignity that the half-shy, half-eager expression in Gilbert’s hazel eyes was something that was very good to see. Her heart gave a quick, queer little beat. But the bitterness of her old grievance promptly stiffened up her wavering determination. That scene of two years before flashed back into her recollection as vividly as if it had taken place yesterday. Gilbert had called her “carrots” and had brought about her disgrace before the whole school. Her resentment, which to other and older people might be as laughable as its cause, was in no whit allayed and softened by time seemingly. She hated Gilbert Blythe! She would never forgive him! (Anne of Green Gables)

In another life, he and the kid would have never met.

He thinks about that sometimes watching his boy walk from one end of the Sanctuary to the other, maintaining order among the Saviors as he’s been doing since he took his place at Negan’s right hand, Lucille as a warning over his shoulder. Kid would’ve grown up in Atlanta, or wherever the fuck his family’s from. Gone to the public schools there and briefly resented his dad for being a police officer, tried out for soccer or some other generic sport his thin waif of a body could handle. One of the only things Negan knows about Carl’s mom, now, still, three months into knowing him, is that she was the only one adamant about his hair being cut, so it’s entirely probable he wouldn’t have the tail, either. Top in all his classes. Whip-smart kid like him, except for that rebellious teenage phase they all go through. Taken a girl to prom, flower in his jacket, big smiles for the camera. Meanwhile Negan would’ve stayed up here, in Virginia, with his wife and any children they might’ve had if the fucking—if what happened hadn’t happened, and coached baseball to those ungrateful shits at the high school, and never known Carl at all.

It wouldn’t have mattered to him, had the apocalypse not happened. He wouldn’t have even known some kid named Carl Grimes existed. But here they are, now, together, and Negan hasn’t felt lucky about anything in a long damn time—

But how great a life would that other one have been, really, with the fucking paycheck and the car note and Carl living over two hundred fucking miles away?

As though sensing he’s being thought of Carl shifts in Negan’s arms, waking. It’s the earliest hours of the morning, no one’s up yet except Negan, who doesn’t sleep much as it is, and probably fuckin’ Fat Joseph, who for whatever reason still lives on pre-apocalypse all-nighter-video-game time. The sky outside the window has just started to lighten and in the soft lilacs and lavenders Negan can just see Carl’s face as he rolls over, opening his eye for a brief moment like he’s checking something before shutting it again and burrowing down against Negan’s chest and into his neck. Small soft lithe perfect thing that he is.

Negan tightens his fingers on the small of Carl’s back. Closes his eyes. It’s rough out there, fucking impossible to live without constantly looking over your shoulder, fucking impossible to trust anyone anymore, but even so he’ll be damned before he’ll ever let this go.

Film Analysis 101: Nelson v Murdock

I handed in my dissertation yesterday. I’m in film studies and you’d think I’d grow tired of analysing Daredevil after writing a 4k chapter about it but here I am, the day after handing it in, writing meta.

This is sort of an introduction to film analysis as well and I hope it might give you a bit of an insight into film studies if that’s something you’re interested in.

When you’re analysing a film or a TV show, there are so many layers you can look at. I usually stay on a narrative level and analyse the representation of something, often through the lens of gender and sexuality. (My dissertation is about masculinity and male friendship in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Go figure.) But you can just as well look at cinematography, sound, editing, colour, music, acting. Not to mention all the theoretical approaches you can use: feminist, psychoanalytic, structuralist, post-structuralist, semiotic, etc. Anything goes basically.

As an example, I’ll show you something I noticed about Nelson v Murdock that didn’t make it into my dissertation. Quite often, the narrative of an episode will not stand alone. Other factors will help tell the story, enhance it, comment on it. This post is abut how I think cinematography, editing and colour underline the narrative of Nelson v Murdock.

Keep reading

We didn’t sleep too well last night. The guys are currently kinda sprawled on me, attempting to wake up and I feel a bit guilty ^^;

I had a really weird dream. It’s kinda fading but I remember it had this gang of people in it who just wouldn’t leave me alone, they followed me around saying and doing horrible things, just… wearing me down until I was dreading even leaving the house because I knew they’d be waiting.

Honestly, that’s how things used to be when I was a lot younger than I am now, but these days I’d happily tell anyone like that to take a long walk off a short cliff so… We WERE chatting about school days and stuff yesterday (we’re reading Harry Potter xD The guys wanted to know what my own school days were like as a result ^^) so maybe it was a subconscious thing. (For the record, I HATED school - I still resent the time I was forced to spend with a bunch of fuckwits I had NOTHING in common with, or indeed any interest in xD)

AJ: Perhaps we should not eat pizza so late in future, my heart xD

Pfft, that’s probably a good idea… xD

Fred Weasley Imagine Ghost

You sat in the astronomy tower, looking out onto the school grounds. It was quiet, due to it being the holidays. There were no students or teachers. Only you and the other ghosts who roamed the school. It was nice, finally having it quiet, considering how loud it was when the students were there.

“Who are you?” You jumped at the voice and looked around, seeing a boy, who you remembered. He went to Hogwarts and he’d played numerous pranks on Umbridge. His antics with his twin had brightened up your days.

“(Y/N). Who are you?”

“Fred.” You nodded softly, thinking about how the name suited him. 

“It’s nice to finally meet the infamous prankster. I’ve enjoyed your pranks over the years.” You admitted and you felt Fred move closer to you. It felt weird to be close to someone, after so long of isolating yourself.

“I never saw you, when I was here. And I thought I’d met all the ghosts.” Fred pointed out and you shook your head.

“No. I keep to myself. I don’t want anyone to see me, especially not Slytherin’s. They probably behave exactly like they did when I was alive.” Fred’s eyes widened at your admission. 

“I was killed by the Basilisk when Tom Riddle opened the Chamber of Secrets. They never found my body and I’ve been stuck here ever since. Nobody knows about me. I’ve not had a real friend in years.” You replied and Fred nodded. he sat next to you. He gently took your hand.

“I’ll be your friend.”

“Race you to the Great Hall.” Fred challenged and you grinned. The two of you took positions, but you shot away before Fred had finished counting down. You giggled, as he raced after you.

“You cheater!” Fred exclaimed, but his beaming smile showed his true emotions. You stopped in the Great Hall and hid behind the door. Fred rushed in and looked around for you.


“Ah!” You laughed loudly, as Fred jumped at the sound of your voice. You hugged yourself, feeling happier than you’d felt in a long time. Fred calmed down and shook his head, but was still smiling.

“You’re not the only one who can pull a good prank Weasley.” You joked and Fred’s face became unreadable. He stood close to you, wrapping his arms around you. The two of you hugged for a long time, not wanting to leave each others arms.

“They’re coming back.” You noted, seeing the students walking into the school. Part of you resented it, how they had their whole lives ahead of them and they wouldn’t have to fight in a war. 

“Good luck to them. I wouldn’t go back.” Fred muttered and you looked at him in surprise. He’d told you so many stories of his family and friends and what life was like for him. He always seemed so enamoured with the past.

“Why not? I thought you’d jump at the chance to be there again and be with George. All of those things you never experienced.” You mumbled and Fred took your hand again.

“I can’t go back, there’s no way. But if I could, I don’t know if I could do it.”

“But why?”

“Because I don’t know if I could leave you.” You looked at him in surprise, before leaning in to kiss him. Fred’s lips met yours and you smiled against them. Fred pulled away and wrapped an arm around you.

“I don’t think I could leave you either.” You admitted. But it didn’t matter, because you could spend eternity together.

Requests are open


like when i say i’m bad at school and whatnot like, a) i am not actually that bad at school b) maybe part of that is Sexist Socialization that causes women to self deprecate but maybe c) part of that is just like, me actively trying to reject the  idea that doing well in school is some kind of all important thing, which i.. don’t? (this is very In A Different Voice i guess) i don’t like, hate people who like school or resent them at all as individuals, but i think people who don’t really care about it much and care about other stuff are generally more fun and cool in terms of my subjective judgement, and like, i don’t see why i have to feel guilty about that! 

anonymous asked:

Hi Petals, do you have some more of these check please headcanons? They make me, like, really happy and this week is not going well.

Oh boy - I’m so sorry to hear your week isn’t going well. Ah! I am working on the ice crew au instead of HCs lately but would you like to hear my initial thoughts on Whiskey?

Imma tell you about Whiskey (hope this is happy enough for you!)

  • So, when I first read Whiskey, I was a little… underwhelmed? He didn’t pop for me as much as the other characters did (like we don’t need another Nursey up in this business) but THEN, I got to thinking and I decided that Whiskey is the Ultimate Big Brother.
  • What I mean by this: Whiskey was the only child of two very loving parents, so loving in fact that they decided to open their home to foster children.
  • So, at age 7, Whiskey became a big brother. To two adorable little girls who were five and three and who were very small and a little bit annoying to his seven year old brain and he had to be very careful when playing with them because they were frightened of loud noises for some reason that his mother never fully explained and he was not sure what to do with them, really, but then one day they left (”to go live with their grandmother, isn’t that nice?” his mother told him) and he found he missed them. Even though they were always messing up his legos. 
  • The house was too empty without them but before long, a little boy by the name of Steve came and it was only a week that Steve stayed with them but his mother said there would be more soon and–
  • And so that is how it went. Whiskey would gain siblings and then some would stay for months and months, some would stay for only a few days until another relative was found; some would write to them afterwards; some would leave only to come back for bursts of time later; some would end up moving out of state. Whiskey learned to accept people immediately and to welcome them without question and to hold onto the knowledge that it might not be for forever but to love them anyway. Because usually they needed it. 
  • It did change Whiskey, but not in a bad way. Because Whiskey also learned that sometimes his mother had to ignore him to deal with Sally, who was having a panic attack; sometimes his father had to miss one of his games to go testify in court; sometimes both his parents had to put their attention elsewhere because elsewhere meant more kids coming to his house and being safe and while Shitty learned about privilege largely through academics, Whiskey learned it through experience. Through realizing that even if they didn’t always have time, his parents loved him very much. 
  • Really, he is damn proud of them. Sure, there were times in middle school where he resented them a little because their house was always full of children (they’d maxed out at 8 once, and that was 8 not including Whiskey) and sometimes his parents were out dealing with social workers and Whiskey was put in charge of making sure everyone got an after school snack but even in his worst moments, all Whiskey has to do is remember the kids that come to his house bruised and he calms himself down and remembers that
  • Whiskey’s parents forget to pick him up after practice once. It is only three miles, so he realizes what had happened and walks home and then when he gets there, the house is in disarray because the Thomspon toddlers are screaming and Bethany has failed her science test and is crying because she’d actually studied and still no one notices that he’s walked home, but he grabs a toddler and calms him down and– “How did you get home?” his mother asks him in the middle of the night. He blinks, confused and certain that this is a dream and she asks again, more desperate this time “I didn’t pick you up, sweetie, and your father just told me he didn’t either and how did you get home?” “I walked, Mom,” Whiskey says, shrugging. His mother lets out a little gasp that might be a sob. “Mom, it’s okay. Really.” “I- I’m so sorry,” she says and he’s fifteen and his mother is crying and– “Maybe- maybe this is too much. Maybe we should–” “No,” Whiskey says. “No, really, I’m okay. I like this. Don’t feel guilty. You’re doing great. I’m happy.”

Keep reading


Remarkable Women in History by Country: Chile

Gabriela Mistral

She was the first person from Latin America to win the Nobel Prize for literature. Working as a teacher in the early twentieth century, she started publishing poetry. She strove to give children of all social classes the opportunity to go to school. Her quick promotions caused resentment and she therefore went to Mexico and assisted the Minister of Education in reforming schools and libraries.

When she became more famous, she toured the world and served as consul in several nations.

In 1945, she received her Nobel Prize. After her death in 1957, three days of national mourning were declared in Chile. Her face appears on the 5,000 peso bank note.

Masterlist of Countries: remarkable women in history

My opinion on education

Throughout my life, I have always been told that if I wanted to live a happy life, than I had to get good grades, go to a good school, then get a good job. I grew up with a family that put education as their top priority and from the moment I started preschool, college had always been the hot topic. I remember coming home from my first day of second grade, I had just gotten an A on my first spelling test and I came home smiling. “Look mom!” I exclaimed, “I got an A on my spelling test!”. She saw me and smiled, hugging me as I jumped up from excitement. “Good job!” she exclaimed, “You’ll be going to Harvard in no time!”. I kept on smiling, mostly because I didn’t even know what Harvard was, and frankly I didn’t really care. Fast forward, ten years and I’m a sophomore. I’m quite content with my life, I have a nice home, an encouraging family, and I go to a very good school. It’s Friday morning and I’m exhausted, mainly because I had been studying for my AP world test until 3 am, and I had to get up at 5 am to finish. “I hate school” my friend sighed, as we walked in the crowded hallways on the way to homeroom. I laughed and agreed, telling her how late I had been up the previous night. We then separated into our respective homerooms and I continued on with the rest of my day. At the end of the day, I come home to see my mom, smiling ear to ear, as she holds up my report card. A 9.65 GPA. I smile along and hug her, all while she exclaimed how proud she was of me. To anyone, this would have been a perfect moment, it was a perfect moment, but something didn’t feel right. I kept telling myself that it was because I was just tired, and that if I just took a nap, I would feel better. I spent the rest of the evening doing the massive amounts of homework that I had been assigned to that day. My friend whom I haven’t hung out with since summer asked if we could hang out this weekend. I declined. I had to study for my chemistry test. Throughout the week, I continued my daily routine. Wake up, go to school, go home, do homework, sleep, repeat. Why was I feeling so empty? I had a great life, I had a loving family, great friends, and got good grades, what’s more to want? But the more I grew up, the more I realized I had slowly been becoming a drone towards society. Before I get any responses saying how I don’t appreciate my life and that I don’t appreciate the opportunities that I have been given, I just want to clarify that I am very happy with my life, and thankful for everything that I have. However, the point that I want to share is not about me. It is about something bigger, something better that has been on this earth for thousands of years, but we have been neglecting lately: education. Please understand, I love education. I love the idea that education is the window to discovery, a place where we can escape, thrive, and learn new ideas. However, I realize that education has changed a lot throughout the years, both positively and negatively. I have begun to realize that school for me has become a chore. I study and get good grades, not because I love school, which many people assume, but because I want to be successful, and I want to live a happy life. The fact that I have started to resent school scares me.. a lot. Later that night, I go online to see a recent interview of Malala, a young Pakistani girl who stood against the Taliban for women rights and education. Throughout the interview I was moved. How could a young girl love education so much, to the point where  she would risk her own life, to give education to the girls of Pakistan. The interview than points out how she is much better than his sons, who complain about school every day, much like how my friend had done this morning. I frown, feeling the all too familiarity of what he was saying. I scolded myself for thinking that my life was so hard while this girl was fighting for her life in order to go to school. But why do I feel like this? Why do so many kids not want to go to school at 6 am in the morning? Is it because we’re immature and don’t appreciate how lucky we are to actually go to school? These points may be true, but I think the issue is much bigger than this. What makes me, an American high school student, different from Malala? The difference was how we perceived education. For me, education was all about memorizing notes, than filling in bubbles on a scantron, hoping that I got an 85 or above. For her, education was beautiful. In her book, Malala frequently describes her undying love for education, and how that going to school makes her so happy, nothing could compare. I was moved, and astonished. How could this girl have so much love for education, and more importantly, why didn’t I feel like that? I felt myself becoming completely absorbed into an ideology that if you didn’t compete and beat others, you will never make it to the top, whether that be by school, sports, music, you name it. I realized that my tiredness was not from lack of sleep, but it was coming from somewhere deeper than that. I am tired. I am tired of competing to be the best. I don’t even want to be the best. I don’t want to spend everyday for the rest of my life in a small classroom or office for 7-8 hours. I want to experience new things. I want to meet new people and learn about their cultures. I just want to learn. I realize that school is a mold. If you are not organized, meticulous, or good at taking tests, you will typically not succeed as well. DO NOT think that if you do not get good grades that you are dumb or not “as smart” as the girl next to you who got a 95 on the last math test. You are so much more than that, and a number on a sheet of paper should not define who you are and your self worth. Kids that excel at school are not smarter than kids who do not, they just happen to fit into that ‘mold’ better than other kids. Education has had a bad reputation, but its not education that is the problem. It’s the schooling that is promoting that education in such a negative light. I love school, and I love that it’s a place where people can learn together, but I do not love the effect and anxiety that some people get when they don’t get the score or grade they want. The fact that we are so concerned about numbers and tests takes away the true essence and beauty of education. I just want to be like my eight year old self again. The girl who came home from school, because she loved it, not because she could get into Harvard, I don’t expect anyone to read this, put I feel a sense of relief writing everything that I had been bottling up for a long time. Education is not something you can measure or compete for. It is a beautiful thing that drives humanity and makes you grow as a person. (P.S. i’m going to add random tags to try and spread the message)

Drabble: Jealousy

Jonathan sat with his back across his headboard, headphones laying motionless around his neck instead of over his ears, while his hoodie lay forgotten at the floor of his bed. Currently, what with his parents being gone for work, he took this chance to be able to speak to his demon without using hushed whispers so he wouldn’t catch his mom or dad’s attention.

Sock was sitting at the foot of his bed, adorned in his usual clothing, with his legs crossed as he babbled on and on about the most useless of subjects, most of them having to do with how to decapitate a squirrel correctly or where the most blood comes from in a bunny.

Truthfully, the subject was disgusting to Jonathan, but it was more interesting than the normal talk he had with so few mutuals at school before they resented him for being ‘crazy’. Well, in all reality, it was just Sock, but he wasn’t about to tell them that and confirm their theory that he was mental.

“…and you can most likely learn this in a short period of two weeks,” Sock finished his story, a large smile on his face.

“Mmhm,” Jon’s deadpan tone didn’t faze Sock, because Sock loved being the one talking for once and Jonathan listening(or half listening), even though this is usual between the demon and apathetic teen.

“I should be heading out soon…” Sock’s voice trailed off as he squinted toward the alarm clock on Jon’s nightstand, but it was a bit hard to read it when there was several crumpled pieces of paper, empty soda cans, and dirty socks piled on it. “Meph will be expecting me soon.”

“Meph?” Jonathan perked up a bit. “Who’s Meph?”

“Mephistopheles is the full name, but it’s a real mouthful, so I just call him Meph or Mephi. He doesn’t like the nicknames very much, but he only prefers them if I use them when he isn’t around.”

“You still haven’t explained who he is.”

“He’s my boss!” Sock suddenly smiled again, scooting forward as if ready to tell another tale. “He’s really, really tall and he’s got these wicked sideburns and a suit. He’s not the typical Satan that you see in pictures at that place you go on Sundays-”

“You mean church?”

“Sure, whatever. He looks more human, honestly. But he’s really, really cool for a boss,” Sock’s eyes sparkled with a large grin, his pointy teeth revealed to his human counterpart. “He actually loves to listen to my knife stories and he doesn’t mention my suicide either. He’s just…awesome!”

Jonathan frowned a bit, eye twitching. “Oh, really?” He paused and looked away. “Sounds alright to me, but it’s not really something to drop your boxers for.” He reached for his headphones to shove them on, but Sock was too quick to respond to him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You talk about him as if he’s some kind of hero or something,” Jonathan glared. “But he just sounds like your everday person, so I don’t see the appeal.”

“You’ve never even met the guy, Jon!” Sock protested, eyebrow raised. “What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Really, so if I continued to talk about Meph, you wouldn’t be grumpy? Not that you aren’t always.”

“Look, I just don’t see what’s so great about the guy.”

Sock scoffed and stayed silent, not knowing why he, himself, was upset, before he perked up with a sudden thought, as far out as it was.

“Jonathan, are you…are you jealous?”


“Are you jealous of Meph?” Sock rephrased, suddenly smirking.

“Wha-? Of your boss? Are you kidding me?” Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Keep dreaming, Sock.”

“Hm…I think you are jealous,” Sock whispered, crawling close to Jon, much to the boy’s discomfort. “You don’t like that I admire him.”

“Personal space, Sock,” Jonathan warned. “And I’m not jealous!”

Sock snickered and moved even closer, close enough for their noses to touch. “It’s fine that you’re jealous, but…you don’t know that I talk to Meph in the same way when I mention you.”

He pecked the boy’s nose, who quietly yelped in a very uncharacteristic way. “You’ll always be my favorite.”

so i have a headcanon that the kid mermaids live closer to the surface, and then the trolls live further down descending by blood color and somewhere waaaay down near the furthest reaches are the horrorterrors, giant cephalopods that wont hesitate to feast on anyone who passes by. the tyrian blooded mers are charged with keeping them from rising from the deeps and devouring the schools. Most either fear or resent these creatures, and one foolish rose lalonde, chose of her own violation to live among them to tangle with their hordes to learn their unfathomable knowledge. During her descent her body began to adapt to the depths and she met one kanaya maryam, and they proceeded to be the flightiest of broads and it was great and everything was wonderful. the end.  

Can’t Keep Secrets

Originally posted by shami1412

Requested: Yes 

Writer: Athena

Pairing: Stiles x reader Pack x Reader 

Warnings: slight bullying 

A/N: i don’t really know how to be a bully so my insults are weak… i guess thats a good thing lol

I Pushed through the heavy metal doors of the school resenting what was to come during the day, I knew that Emily and her awful friends were going to try and tear me down. Most of the time it didn’t bother me but ever once in a while it got to me and today was one of those days i woke up not feeling very confident in the first place so Emily’s mean words are not going to make my day any better.

First period was over so i found my way to my locker, getting the correct books i needed closing my locker. Walking to my next class as i rounded a corner i bumped into someone. “sorry” we both said at the same time looking up i saw that it was Isaac, right as i was about to say something Emily walked up pushing her finger into my shoulder. “Did dumbo here forget how to walk.” Honestly she wasn’t even that mean and this didn’t even get to me, she only got to me when she would talk about my friends, when she talked about Scott and Stiles thats what really got to me. I was super mama bear about those two even though Scott can take care of himself i still felt like i needed to. “Yup.” i said pushing past her and walking down the hall.

I heard Isaacs footsteps behind me before i heard his voice. “(Y/N)! wait.” he said jogging up my side. “Yeah?” i said turning my head to look at him. “What was that about with Emily?” i shook my head “Nothing why?” i continued walking until Isaac grabbed my arm making me face him “What?” i asked looking up at his tall frame. He had this look on his face that made me cave in and tell him. “Fine she’s been mean to me ever sense 4 grade when I became friends with Stiles and Scott, i think its because she likes one of them, i don’t know and i don’t care.” Isaac just looked down at me. “What, stop looking at me like that!.” “Okay but I have to tell Scott, you know that right?” “NO, don’t tell him please he’s got much bigger problems!” Isaac just furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. “Fine.” was all he said before walking away.

I was walking to Stiles car when i heard a familiar voice call my name out. I turned around right as Stiles came up behind me. “Hi” i said smiling up to him. “Hey, beautiful.” he said as his hand went behind my back pulling me in closer for a kiss, he gave me a sweet kiss before Scott cleared his throat make me and Stiles pull away from each other. “Pack meeting on the field.” he said grabbing my hand, pretty much pulling me with him. Stiles looked at me confused, i gave him the I have no idea look as Scott pulled me along. Once we got to the fields i saw that everyone was there sitting on the bleachers. “Whats this about?” I said looking at Scott. “It’s about how Emily is bulling you.” he said looking over to me. “WHAT?” everyone said in unison, I looked over to Isaac who was sitting down. “Really?” i mouthed to him. “Can’t keep secrets.” he shrugged i just rolled my eyes. “Okay, guys it doesn’t even bother me, she’s really not that mean it doesn’t bother me it’s just annoying sometimes.” “No it’s not okay!” Malia said standing up, she started walking away. “Where are you going?” i asked. “To teach that Emily bitch a lesson.” Before I could run after he someone grabbed my arm, it was Stiles he had a hurt expression on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said “Because it didn’t really get to me, she really only hurt my feelings once when she started talking bad about you and Scott.” “you still should have told me, you can tell me anything, okay.” “Okay.” i said nodding my head. 

I heard a loud scream, looking over my shoulder i saw Emily running away from something, that something being Malia. A few moments later i saw her appear from around the corner with a smirk on her face. We all chuckled a little “I don’t think she’ll be messing with you anytime soon again.” She said walking up to me putting her arm around me. “What did you do?” “OH nothing.” she smiled innocently. “How about we go out to get some food.” i heard Scott say. “Oh please i’m starving!” Malia said be dramatic. “How about some dear?” i said jokingly. “Can we actually though?” We all laughed making our way to our cars. 

Black Hauteur

A Harry Styles Imagine

*In which Harry is from a male boarding house and you are from a female boarding house, and this is a little pathetic but please bear it.*

*** *** ***

The truth of the matter is that you’re supremely unremarkable. You are young, you are ordinary. You do not have eyes that are bright and metaphorical to otherworldly things, or a face significantly worth remembering. You have no terminal life-threatening illness, or a brushed adventure that you can accidentally spill on an insensate twilight. Behind your facade there are no magicians who cast your spells, no suitors to lay claim to the mess you are. And your words, perhaps your words are not beautiful, but they are yours, and within them, there’s a growing urge, a mere manifestation to create something beautiful, and even stronger urge to tell him, despite the blooming inclination, that you are waiting for him to listen.

But like most miseries, your story begins with apparent happiness. It begins with words and heads that sway, with Valentines Day and roses and the beginning of your first year at Med school & your absolute resentment, because you are young, and pitifully ordinary, and boys don’t like pitifully ordinary girls with non-metaphorical eyes and unmemorable faces.

You don’t really know what to do. This arranged boy-girl interaction means an awful lot of stutters and shame and pink cheeks and embarrassment if you are not pretty enough to be picked by a boy. But you try anyway; you dab a little rouge on your ordinary lips, wing-line your non-metaphorical eyes, and make a little card which you think is really silly. It’s black with a little of your poetry because there’s no way anyone would know that you write too many words to talk about a feeling that can be described in one: insignificant.

By the end of the night you’re supposed to slip your card underneath the door of the boy you favored most without signing your name to it. Yours, as dull as it is, reads like this:

“Come find me when your bones are rickety,  

And your breaths are labored,

When you’ve killed the night with the touch of your lips,

And you’re all but tipsy from these vinous conundrums.”

So it begins. It’s 21:00 on a Friday and you awkwardly wait around for the night to end as you watch the other beautiful girls with champagne in their glasses being charmed out of their wits by dashing young men in suits. You try not to cry; because in all honesty, you knew that this would happen. You know that boys like pretty, extraordinary girls, girls that are not you. You remind yourself that your worth is more than a boy wanting to talk to you, is more than a few awkward conversations and graceless dances and a kiss to bid you goodnight. Still, the shame in knowing that you’re undesirable is stinging, and painful.

“It’s absolutely pathetic, isn’t it?” A deep male voice booms next to your ear, and you have to stifle that gasp of surprise. You turn around, and seated behind your row is a tall boy with hair that cascades, and chartreuse eyes that gleam with mischief and hedonism. And he’s caught your eye since the beginning, but he’s too beautiful and all the girls fawn over him and there’s no possible way he’d talk to you. But here he is.

*** *** ***

So it begins. There are some words that lodge in your throat when he looks at the luminous skyline, a cigarette between pink lips. He’s your best friend now, but he doesn’t talk to you everyday, because he knows that oft times, you like to be alone with your thoughts and your books and your insignificant words. Harry’s terribly jolly, and you’re awfully sad, and what a marvelous pair you are.

He takes your hands in his tonight, unaware that your heart beats are erratic, and the winter remains static as he blows hot air into your hands. The way he says your name leaves you breathless, but you cannot ask him for more than this.

“You’re so lovely,” he says, when you offer him some tea. “ so lovely.”

And in the quiet night, the words resonate in the air. But it’s difficult, because there’s always someone else and you’re pretty sure he came to talk about her to you tonight. Harry doesn’t say anything, but simply stares at you until your face is smoldering, and you can’t seem to breath.

“Don’t do that.”

He laughs, and puts his hands up as if to say ‘I’m not doing anything.’ “Do what?” He says.

“Don’t look at me as if you’re assessing me. It’s odd, and it’s disconcerting.”

“You’re so lovely, you know that?”

“As you’ve said every time I’ve given you tea, Harry.”

“Yes, but your loveliness is not conduced by giving me tea.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.” He should never have said that, because now you know that you are so deeply in love with him that it chokes you. It burns you. It touches you between your legs and deep within your midsection. It kisses you on your neck and down your chest and asks you why you blush so violently when the weather is so mild.

“How was your date?” You ask. You’re pretty sure that once you hear the gory details of it, you’ll identify the causal associations of his pathological jolliness. 

“It was so lovely. We watched the musical and I realized that her eyes seem so surreal. I don’t think I will ever forget. And they speak of wonderful things. They speak of the gold eyes of the sunset, of a brown that bleeds its own godly sunsets long after the sun has said its promising goodbye.”

And you have to be silent as it settles in. He barely integrates subliminal metaphors when he describes things as meager as dates. 

“I know, it’s silly of me to think of it that way, right?” He shakes his head a little and flicks the cigarette so that you’re watching the ashes sway through the wind. 

“No, no. I think it’s very pretty and poetic. Not many people see brown eyes that way. It’s so pure.”

You say that, but something archaic and barbarous assaults you, because you’re suddenly green with envy. You often wish anyone would talk about you with such charming words and euphoric stares into far and deep distances, and this confession strikes that tender chord of insignificance that you feel all the time.

But he smiles tenderly at you then, something with fervent admiration and you remember that he’s your best friend and you can’t possibly expect him to know that you’re irrevocably in love with every fiber of his being, and you’d much rather be absolutely revered by him than be remembered as the jealous best friend. And it easily feels okay again.

The evening progresses, and he tells you about the play and the art and the insignificant things, and pretty soon you’re muffling your laughs into his chest and breathing in cologne and masculinity and nicotine and the wine you’re both sipping on feels tingly and exquisite in your veins. You could never really handle liquor, and wine isn’t supposed to affect anybody, but you haven’t eaten at all and your head feels wonderfully light.

“May I ask you a question?” You absent-mindedly play with the buttons on his shirt, and in your drunken stupor, the heat emanating from him is making you feel uncharacteristically carnal. “Actually, I don’t need your permission. Why do you keep taunting me?” 

“What are you talking about?”

“You keep taunting me. You’re so beautiful and I’m a mess and you look like something tempestuous and forbidden and you’re lithe and sinewy and your body is carved from sin and desire. every time I close my eyes I see us and tangled bed sheets and poetry and the stars painted across the black canvas of night that keep reminding me of you and Harry I cannot want you or love you as much as I do and so I keep trying to move away from this complexity but you keep saying these beautiful deep things and they keep touching me in places I didn’t think I had and I have to keep escaping you because around you I can’t breathe and I can’t think and I’m trying so desperately but your eyes keep looking me with something incomprehensible and I try not feel so hurt when you’re around her and I’m reduced to nothingness once more and Harry I want to breathe again.”

 And you only stop because you literally cannot breathe at all and it only gets worse when you realize the intensity of his alarm and the idiocy of your inebriated confession. 

“Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry. I’m sosososo sorry. Please excuse me.”

You stand up too quickly, and you’re ready to run; you’re ready to tuck the night into a paperless envelope and set it aflame. You’re walking too quickly and too disjointedly and you’re a stumbling drunken mess before you reach the table and you lean against it, breathing deeply. You realize you have nowhere else to go; this is your room after all. You’re willing yourself not to cry even though you may have potentially lost your best and only dear friend.

But your thoughts are short-lived, because just as quickly as you leaned on that table, you’re now seated on it, Harry clutching the back of your neck and forcing you to look at him through your winded breathing. There’s a volatile, fervent pleading in his gaze, and that too is short-lived, because he leans and whispers in his voice as ichorous as liquid and as tempting as sin. 

“I’d promise you a thousand tangled bed sheets with us between them if you want me to.” And then you’re both kissing deeply and his hands roam amorously. He’s poised and learned and gentlemanly as ever and you’re all but a mess and mangle of limbs and thoughts and a smoldering body. He’s said so little but his kisses promise you a study of your contours and your tongue tracing his tattoos and heated neck kisses and whispered “I love you”’s and kisses to break through the days you feel gloomy and sad and alone. He moans ever so softly against your neck when you thread your fingers through his clipped hair. All the while, it feels like you’ve come home to slender fingers and muscled arms and a beating heart encased by a chest with two sparrows on either side and pretty green eyes.

 And then you remember her, and you may be terribly ugly and pitifully ordinary, but your heart is pure and eternally laden with guilt and you’re not going to reach for entitlement for a man that doesn’t belong to you. You’re not going to wreck something glorious and wonderful for an innocent girl simply because of what you want. You’re not that selfish. So you push him away a little, and then a lot, and he remembers too.

And then you’re no longer kissing, and he can’t get away fast enough. “Love,” He breathes, “I’m so terribly sorry. I can’t do this to her. I’m sorry.” 

He says it all with conviction, but his eyes search yours with confusion, and now you’re tearing up and he can’t watch you break down because of him.

“I-I need to go.”

*** *** ***

Author’s note:

This is really rushed and really bad and really lengthy and I’m emotionally unwell and the female lead seems reckless and is everything I didn’t want her to be. But I can’t help it, the ink in my veins have been encroaching my fingertips for the longest time and even though it’s absolutely ghastly and pathetic, it’s all I have to give. 

Hope you enjoy this mess.

Please let me know what I should do next.