#because his mum taught him english from birth

[zuzukuu]

hc that you have to know atleast four languages to graduate underground from UA, so while hizashi only knows japanes and english (& a little duolingo french but does that even count), shouta had to learn korean, russian, english, and mandarin, although he can't write in mandarin anymore because it doesent need to be used in hero work as much.

[shawolsos]

So here's my backstory for Noel's mum in my Korean!Noel headcanon

@thursdaybluez

This boy is long... Sorry

Kwon Yoona was born during the early 80s in Mokpo, in the Jeolla Province of South Korea.

In the early 2000s, Yoona left Korea to start College at the University of Toronto where she majored in PR Managment.

It was here that she met Economics major, Joseph Gruber.

The two of them became friends and eventually they began a relationship.

Shortly after Yoona graduated and shortly before Joseph was due to graduate, she fell pregnant.

Joseph's parents, being heavily religious, insisted that they get married and there was a shotgun wedding.

Yoona didn't take her husband's surname as that's not the tradition in Korea.

Joseph dropped out and moved his new wife and unborn child to his hometown of Uranium, Saskatchewan.

Joseph had enough qualifications to get an office job, so he picked up a 9 to 5.

He would always be resentful of his wife and child, blaming them for his apparent failure in life.

Later the next year, Yoona gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

Yoona wanted her son to fit in as much as possible in their new town so she asked Joseph to pick out an English name.

Joseph decided to name the baby after his father and he was christened Noel Kwon-Gruber

But Yoona didn't want her son to grow up entirely disconnected from his Korean heritage, so, she did everything she could to make sure he embraced and was proud of his roots.

She normally only cooked for the two of them, since her husband worked late most nights, so they ate traditional Korean food almost every night.

She made sure that he could at the very least hold a conversation in Korean.

She always celebrated Korean holidays like Chuseok with him. Even if they just did something small. She still did something to mark the occasion.

She made sure that he was familiar with Korean music, modern and traditional.

She even gave him a Korean name that she called him at home.

She picked a name that had been picked out for her future son since she was in Middle School.

She chose the name Seungmin. Which means clever and quick-witted. She had no idea how well that name would come to fit him.

Joseph was distant as a father so Yoona always tried to be exactly the opposite as a mother.

Given that he was naturally closer with his mother, Noel actually learned to answer to his Korean name way before he did his English name.

Because his mother taught him Korean, he speaks it with a strong Mokpo accent and dialect.

Yoona figured out pretty quickly that her child wasn't going to be cishet and accepting that was a no-brainer.

She pretty much raised Noel on 1st Gen K-Pop, not Sechskies though, NEVER Sechskies. H.O.T 4 Life

There's a video of toddler Noel vibing to Dreams Come True by S.E.S in his mum's kitchen which she may or may not use as blackmail.

When Noel was little, Yoona's nickname for him was "Tokki" (Korean for Rabbit) because he had chubby cheeks and buck teeth that stuck out slightly.

When his son was around 10, Joseph began an affair with a coworker and by the time he was 11, had run off with her.

After the divorce, Joseph neglected to pay his child support and Yoona took up a job as a sales rep.

They struggle for a bit but eventually get back on their feet to an extent.

In his adolescence, Noel discovers the absolute wonder that is 2nd and 3rd Gen K-Pop

(More on that later)

When he's a little older, and more confident and comfortable in his genderfluidity, Yoona, encourages Noel to try out some feminine names.

He takes a liking to Eunbi because Eun can mean either "silver" or "graceful" and Bi means "rain" which he thought was poetic and deep.

Yoona loves her boy and would do anything to protect him.

And she loves the simple little life they've built for themselves.

[ae0nx]

FRUITS BASKET S3 EPISODE 8 RECAP AKA THE KYORU CHRONICLES PART 2 (plus a quick recap of eps 3-7)

aaaaaaAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!! I gotta get it out of me otherwise I won't be able to concentrate on work and I will be scrolling through the tag till the day I die. Everything from episode 3 of Season 3 literally hit me like an avalanche - literally cos I marathoned 3-7 over the weekend which I wouldn't advise unless you want an accelerated heartbeat - and I'm starting to realise... maybe I just wasn't ready for season 3. Despite asking for it, haha. Not gonna put as many screencaps for this one cos tumblr editing bay be trippin and I just don't have time nor emotional energy to be fighting with the picture uploads, sorry lol

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Episodes 3 - 7

I spoke before about how (despite my feelings about the characters) the English dub VAs for Akito and Shigure pair up really well audibly. And I think I feel the same way about both Yuki and Machi's English VAs! They both have the same soft spoken yet scratchy element to their voices almost like they are holding slightly back. Although, I'd argue that Yuki has been losing the element of slightly holding back as the anime has gone on which I wonder if the same would be included for Machi's performance?

I really like the presentation of Machi's trauma through her family's expectations to be perfect and how physical it is? How Yuki kind of encourages her to let it out in a healthy way? (Btw the whole chalk breaking scene in the meeting was SO FUCKING SMOOTH. YUKI IS A NERD BUT HE IS SO EFFORTLESSLY COOL A LOT OF THE TIME)

The age gap between Isuzu and Haru for sure isn't the worst age gap in this anime/manga but it's still a bit... hmm...

Episode 4:

In all seriousness, I know Akito deserves some sympathy but it doesn't change the fact that I still see her as a villain. Hurt people hurt people but it doesn't mean they should get away with it, I was honestly pleased Haru got that big confrontation with Akito to tell her WHAT'S WHAT but it was also somewhat... merciful?

Hiro's growth has been so beautiful to see, him realising there are bigger things than him from the event with Rin to his relationship with Kisa to then the birth of his little sister.

Kureno choosing to get his hands a little dirtier and paying the ultimate price for it (as far as we know so far in the anime lol) was great, he is the moon side of Tohru's sunshine.

Shigure... I still don't really get him and Akito's relationship. It's clear he's waiting for Akito to grow the fuck up but at the same time he's not creating an environment for her to grow and develop. He's decided to go with the 'tough love' route which I'm still deciding whether I like it or not tbh. Sometimes it feels necessary, at other times it feels shitty. I respect that he knows he's a scumbag and I don't deny that there are people out there who take revelry in the fact that they are awful but at the same time, him remaining unchanging despite everything feels... unrealistic. But considering throughout this story he doesn't seem affected by trauma, it's understandable, I guess?

Also... that scene where Shigure ponders about whether he should've been with Tohru is THE creepiest creeper shit he's EVER done in this series. No. 🙅🏾‍♀️

Momiji is best bunny boi regardless of how tall and 'manly' he becomes. 🐰His scene with Akito was so authentically him and he really did that shit. We love him. <3

I love the way that the curse breaking should (on surface) be a happy event considering all the trauma the zodiac went through because of it but it's presented mostly as loss as well as happiness. It's the realness of getting out of a bad relationship

Shigure basically laying it out to Tohru how Kyo means nothing in a very taunting way was an excellently painful scene and I choose violence. It was heartbreaking seeing how worthless they all saw Kyo compared to how Tohru saw him but... by this point I was just living in the pain so 🤷🏾‍♀️

The story visually showing how Isuzu is more willing to be soft after her whole ordeal through her fashion choices (e.g. the pastels, the cardigans) was really nice. And Haru being happy about Isuzu making friends with Tohru was cute!

It was nice we saw that Kazuma was still wary about whether Tohru loved Kyo for the right reasons, you'd assume after everything Kazuma would love Tohru as a match for Kyo but he's so emotionally intelligent and also just a protective Dad! Yay, good parenting!

Tohru's confession to loving Kyo was amazing however I still adore Kyo's confession a little bit more. Just a bit. Lol. However, if you add the moment later in episode 8 it trumps it completely. Ethereal goddess.

Kyo and Tohru's grandfather having a scene together was great and nice

Now that I think about it, I wish there was more a visual link in the story between Tohru adapting her speech to imitate her Dad and Momiji adopting his Mum's German accent. Albeit for slightly different reasons, it just adds to the unique connection Tohru and Momiji have. In short, I'm seeing this ship with my third eye now. I get it lol

I don't wanna screencap the scene where Kyo is haunted by both his deceased mother and deceased Kyoko and potentially deceased Tohru because it's the stuff of nightmares. But, it was a wonderfully done scene. You definitely understand fully and clearly why Kyo buried all of that trauma under his hatred for Yuki (I CAN'T WAIT FOR EPISODE 9, YOU GUISE!)

If Akito is a villain, Ren is the final boss. Although, with her type of villainy... I feel like I can kind of enjoy a bit more. She reminds me of a Greek God in the ways she master manipulates people and her desperation for control and power (I just read 'Mythos' by Stephen Fry, it's a great read lol)

It lowkey feels like every female character who's comfortable in expressing their sexuality in this story is punished in some way for it... this is an incomplete thought

Shigure as a child feeling like they should all be pitied is so... mature... I feel like I need more of an explanation for why Shigure is the way he is

Akito's ego death with Kureno? Amazing. I loved that she was at least aware enough to realise how Kureno had been coddling her all this time but again... doesn't excuse her crimes

But anyways...

EPISODE 8

Honestly? I really don't have much to say about this episode besides 3-5 points I wanna get out of my head. It's not a bad thing at all, it's just that there's still a lot left to play out from this 'arc' and this season in general that I wanna complete my thoughts on.

But I'll start with this:

Lol, isn't it funny?! Isn't it heart-wrenchingly funny how the relationship between Kyo and Tohru has kinda reverted back to how they were at the start of the series? The coldness of Kyo at the beginning of this episode (and throughout) was a bit of a gut punch considering all the light and fluffy moments that we've gotten between the two since the True Form arc.

Talking about the True Form arc, I feel like this episode is somewhat a repeat of the same emotions, same trials of the True Form arc. Kyo still 'runs away like he always has' but this time we get him being the most honest and confrontational with his own emotions and trauma than he ever has been during the course of this whole story. While trusting someone (Tohru specifically) for the first time with the whole truth of his story! He always seems to move one step forward and then three steps backwards and while it's a tad bit frustrating, it feels very... real. I'll probably complete my feelings how this arc reflects the True Form arc when we finish this section of the story in future episode(s).

Considering the fact that 80% of this episode is Jerry Jewell monologuing as Kyo and I never got bored really just sells his performance. Kyo was being incredibly cold this episode and yet the range of emotions through his performance made it feel understandable enough for you to empathise with it.

BrattyKid!Kyo to lighten the mood 😹I still wish he and Hiro had more of a relationship, I feel like they could have taught each other a lot. Well... mostly Kyo teaching Hiro tbh

Kyo rejecting Kyoka for her honesty and kindness and then later rejecting Tohru? Oh... kid...

Wow, I felt so good about that whole episode of Kid!Yuki helping Kid!Tohru get home and then it's slightly soured knowing KID!KYO was running about the streets alllll night into the morning?!?! I really did feel Kyo's frustration at not getting that win to actually do something right. And the irony of that being linked to him being unable to save Kyoka from the oncoming car?

Honestly, I don't know what my feelings are on Kyo being unable to save Kyoka. I don't even know what my feelings are on Tohru pretty much pushing that aside in favour of her feelings for Kyo. It's... complicated and I've been mulling it over in my head for the last 10+ years hahah However, if I was in Tohru's position I think I'd eventually come to a point where it feels like it's too late to really do anything about how bad I'd feel about it. Kyo's intentions weren't horrid, if anything he was just being a scared kid and he's allowed to be that. I just wish Tohru had a bit more time to evaluate it but considering she knew her mother well and assumes that wouldn't have been the full scope of what she had said, I don't have much of a problem with it in general

Lol, I love when Tohru gets a 'FUCK YOU, I LOVE YOU' moment with Kyo. 😂Another reflected scene from the True Form arc... only thing is that this time... it doesn't quite work. 😕

(Again, I love how all of these reflections are resolved in later occurences in response to the duality but I'll get to it next week when it shows hopefully)

Laura Bailey only had a few sentences in this episode but she killed it as always. Comparing her performance in 2001 to now is just... growth!

Ok, so Yuki automatically gets Best Boi in this episode for meddling and chasing after KYO of all people. Showing how he's personally done with hating Kyo. Realising Kyo is pretty much the only person who'll make his mother happy. I think he also lowkey wants to understand Kyo? But, we'll get to that next week.

....Oh yeah, Akito is there.

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In total, I liked this episode even though it has me anxious for the next one. We finally get the full picture of why Kyo is the way he is! Ahhhh - a weight off all our chests, I'm sure. I kinda don't like that they put the ending theme at the end of these episodes - the joyfulness doesn't really match up with the intense theme? But, that's just a minor gripe. And hey, maybe they just want the audience to know... it's all gonna be okay :)

See you next week!!!

[rosesnink]

The Viscountess, Chapter 3: Top of The Noble Game

Author’s Notes: 

*English is not my first language, so please pardon any typos/ grammar mistakes 

*All the characters minus my three OCs, Nicole, Anne and Isabelle, belong to Pixelberry studios. 

*If this is the first time you stumble upon the series and are intrigued about this AU, feel free to check out the fic’s masterlist and my general masterlist 

Summary: Nicole receives a call that determines a new change on hers and Anne’s life, and her comeback to a privileged life. 

Rating: PG-13 

It was early in Monday when Nicole’s phone rang, making her wake up from her morning routine of preparing Anne for school. 

“Don’t worry, Mama,” Anne said “I can adjust the skirt by myself. It looks important.” 

She ruffled her hair before getting the phone “Yes?” 

“Ah, Nicole, darling, so glad to hear from you!” 

“Dad!” She whispered to Anne who was the caller and she beamed “something happened at Edgewater?” 

“No, but it might,” he said, a teasing tone on his lips “remember the Fair Season for aspiring heiresses when you were young?” 

“I do, though they weren’t my favorite events, if I may confess.” 

He chuckled “Neither they were mine. You’re wondering why I bring this up, don’t you?” 

She realized it before he could finish the sentence and hushed “Isn’t she too young for a debut? I made mine at 11 and she’s eight, Father. Eight!” 

“I know, but we’re a bit tight right now and debuts means charities, which leads to money. I presume you have chosen her other five names?” 

“I wanted to do so when she was born, but my husband died before I could even think about it.” She spitted, now her cheeks growing red. She could feel her father wince. He knew she was right. It was too soon and these nobles weren’t dumb. “It’s too much and I haven’t prepared her! You know it takes years to prepare her!” 

“I know, and I am sorry, but we’re short of time. You’re intelligent, Nic, you’ll figure it out.” 

“How much do I have?” 

“…Five weeks.” 

During those five weeks, Nicole kind of drifted apart from what seemed her new life, preparing her daughter for her debut. She taught her history, English, French, math, and religion. She called her brothers to stay over to teach her biology and other subjects she wasn’t good as them. After the lessons, she’d teach her the antics of the First Debut: How to walk, the basics of ballet, to the sing-a thing that Anne exceeded due to sing in the shower- to have a polite conversation and to maintain her balance. They also went shopping, though they needed company for London was now different, so Hamid stooped in gladly. They walked now over the streets as Hamid tried to talk to her without flirting with her in front of Anne, for it’d be uncomfortable to her. Though some glances and smiles were stolen. He dared not mention yet the other night. It wasn’t the time, Nicole had too much on her plate to think of what to make of a one-night-stand. 

“So, what else should buy?” 

“Her debutante dress. Though I adore my Summer Queen’s dress, I do not think Anne appreciates the 90s fashion.” 

“Hm, I much prefer the 80s, indeed.” He teased, both chuckling. 

“I do not want a dress, Mama!” Anne complained. 

“No? But everyone will be wearing a dress. What is wrong with dresses?” She asked, genuinely curious. Of course, she’d respect her decision and support her, but it’d cause quite a stir on the debut “Would you like perhaps a skirt?” 

“No. I mean, they are pretty and I like them, but they’re not made for me. I don’t have your marvelous legs.” She pouted “I have chicken’s legs!”

Hamid knelt “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Anne! Your legs are great, chicken’s shape or not. I, too, had chicken legs, until I grew up, and look at me now!” He posed, making Anne giggle “Absolutely flawless. Besides, dresses are for everybody, not just girls.” 

“Really?” She asked, curious. 

“Indeed! In my culture, some men wear a kind of dress and they’re just as manly as the ones in a suit. We call them kaftans.” 

“How cool!” She beamed “But I still don’t want a dress. Grandpa wants me to look perfect and I want to make Grandpa happy. He always looks so distant and sad…” 

Nicole looked at Hamid, who winked at her and she smiled “Well, it is your debut… and your body, so… what do you want to wear?” 

They snooped over shops until she heard Anne gasp with delight. She looked at a Victorian model of a suit, with the seal of the crown carefully sewed and made of navy blue and bits of red and a Russian winter hat. Nicole looked for her size and the price, but when she saw it… she frowned. 

Hamid, who wasn’t trailing too far behind her, looked at her and asked “Something wrong?” 

She showed him the price and he did seem surprised, but not as her “It’ll break her heart when I tell her that—.” 

“No need to, I will take it and you can pay me later.” 

Her eyes went wide at him and gasped “I could never ask that of you…” 

“I’m offering. Anything to make her smile…” he whispered at her ear, really low “and to please you, perhaps win you. But especially to make that beautiful girl smile.” 

She chuckled with surprise before giving in, insisting that she’d pay him back. He beamed before buying it. When Anne started talking and talking, without barely noticing them, he kissed her knuckles and smiled at her. 

“Are you trying to win me over for a second date? Because it’s working.” 

He smiled “Good.” 

After more shopping –Anne’s first make-up tools (just some mascara and lipstick for little girls and a small nude palette—they went back to Nicole’s house. 

“You go in, kid, I have to talk to Hamid.” 

She nodded, too happy to pay attention to her mother’s gaze and she turned to Hamid. 

“So… how about if we hang out after the debut and you stay over for dinner at my secret flat back in the village?” 

“You have a secret flat?” 

“To invite over guys like you without calling too much attention, especially in the night.” She whispered a mischievous tone in her voice, making Hamid lean and smirk. 

“Oooh, your special flat for rendezvous. I like it.” 

“You see, being a single, widowed mum can be difficult. Especially when your grandmother wants you to remarry so your daughter doesn’t miss out ‘a father’s love’.” 

“…What time do you want us to meet?” 

“Let’s say 02 am when even the maids are asleep? Those crones are easy to lull to sleep, especially when my sister-in-law Theresa starts talking and talking and talking…” 

They both chuckled before they said goodbye. 

The night before the debut, at Ernest Sinclaire’s townhouse. 

“I think she should wear pink. I wore pink at my debut!” Roselyn mused as Isabelle tried not to roll her eyes. Ernest was aware that Isabelle wasn’t at all fond of these events, but she was his only child and everyone was pressuring him, even his ex, to get her out of society—he had neglected her for too long now, and Richards’s snide remarks weren’t helping. 

“Roselyn, while I appreciate the idea, all of the girls will be wearing their house’s color. It is only fair she wears sapphire blue, red, and gold. It’s what the tradition says, remember?”

“She could wear all of them in different accessories! I can picture it now: red dress, golden earrings, blue make-up…” 

“Dad, can you neglect my debut, like, when I’m eighteen?” 

“Tempting, but no,” He lowered his voice as Roselyn kept musing and wondering “besides, I wouldn’t let you out in society until you were at least thirty.” 

She whispered back “Make it sixty when I’m all old and grey.” 

He chuckled “I highly doubt I’ll be alive by then but that can be arranged.” 

“I hope you both aren’t trying to escape yet again for the debut!” Roselyn said, her voice raised and rather annoyed. 

They both cleared their throat and Ernest said “We were not! I was telling her that she should wear a blue dress, red earrings, and golden heels.” 

“Dad, please!” She begged with her puppy eyes dog, but Roselyn kicked him out of the room before he could even breathe. 

“That’s it, I’m planning it on my own!” 

“But—.” 

Too late, for his ex-wife slammed the door shut in front of his face.

At Edgewater, that night. 

“Look, Grandpa!” Anne beamed. 

Vincent looked up with his attentive eyes to widen when he saw his granddaughter in her attire. 

“Sweetheart, you look positively regal, but—.”

“No buts, I like it and that’s what I’m wearing!” 

Dominique stormed into the room carrying too many dresses to drop them out of surprise. Anne smiled and twirled around “Look, Granny!” 

“My goodness, what do you have on?” She asked, horrified. 

“The debut’s attire!” She beamed. 

“I…I…I… NICOLE MARIANNE EMMA ELIZABETH FOREDALE, COME HERE!” She called, now clearly angry. 

“Yes, Grandmother?” 

“What the hell is my great-granddaughter wearing?!” 

“A suit.” She said, unbothered. 

“Says who?” She crossed her arms. 

“Let me see… Ah, yes, Armani’s British Royalty collection.” 

“Don’t you sass me now, young woman! This is serious! It’s her debut and she—.”

“…Is comfortable and looking glamorous, that with the fact that the one who should have the last saying in my daughter, who I gave birth to eight years ago, is wearing. That and Dad approves and it’s all approbation I need and seek.” 

“But…but…” 

“You can help me choose the dress for the debut as long as you leave my daughter alone.” 

“…Very well. Seems like I won’t change anyone’s mind about it, will I? Thank goodness we have hope next year with Harry and Theresa’s boy, Laurence, not to mention in two years with Edmund’s girl.” 

At the debut 

“May I present Lady Anne Elizabeth Matilda Florence Foredale, Lady and heiress of Edgewater and her mother, Nicole Marianne Emma Elizabeth Foredale, escorted by our esteemed Earl of Edgewater, Vincent Fitzwilliam Edward Rupert Foredale and the Dowager Countess, Dominique Mary Elizabeth Katerina Foredale?” Arthur announced as everyone clapped. 

Nicole heard too many gasps at Anne’s attire, not paying attention at her off-shoulder and teasing low-cut burgundy dress she wore. She could see Annabelle, Sinclaire, Hamid, and Luke clapping, beaming at Anne and with pride in their eyes. 

She finally saw Ernest’s girl, with a beautiful blue sapphire dress, beautiful and rather expensive red earrings, and golden heels that seemed to be killing her feet. Ah, to be her age again…  

She greeted every single family and each member “Mr. Sinclaire, Mrs. Richards, Miss Sinclaire.” 

They all shook hands “So you’re the famous Nicole Donovan!” Mrs. Richards “Pleasure to meet you, I’m Roselyn, Isabelle’s mother.” 

They greeted each other before her attention drew to Isabelle, who she smiled “My, you look just like your father.” 

She smiled “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

Ernest smiled, looking proud of his girl, rubbing her shoulders “We are proud of the woman she is becoming, indeed.” He said. 

“Aren’t you overwhelmed by being surrounded by so many women?” Nicole teased and he chuckled. 

“Not at all. My darling girl is a blessing.” 

“Besides,” Roselyn said “I do not live with them anymore. I live in London with my husband Tristan and our son, Percival.” 

“Oh! How old is he?” 

As Roselyn showed off her rather old husband –he wasn’t older than her father—Ernest and Isabelle both looked uncomfortable as Nicole gawked at how adorable that baby boy was. She congratulated her on such a beautiful boy and wished her all the best in her marriage, ever the polite and proper woman. 

“By the way, I trust Isabelle will be dancing The Nutcracker with my Anne?” Nicole asked. 

“Yep!” Isabelle replied “I’m so excited! I’ve talked some times with Anne and she looks just like you and she is very kind to me.” 

“Then I’m looking forward to a good friendship between our houses.” 

Ernest didn’t seem to complain “Our families go way back, and from what I’ve seen, your girl sounds like a delightful kid.” 

She smiled widely “Thank you, sir. I do my best for her to reach her potential in everything.” 

He looked at her, now with genuine interest and was about to say something when a piece of waltz music started playing and Roselyn excused herself to go find her husband and Isabelle promised her nephew Laurence a dance and she was about to do the same when she caught the sight of Anne and her father dancing, giggling and enjoying themselves. 

“May I have this dance, Mrs. Donovan?” Ernest asked. 

She spun around abruptly, shocked by his request. 

“Of course.” She took his hand and they both went to the center where his steps were graceful and elegant like he has done this a thousand times before. 

His touch was warm, almost welcoming as they spun and moved around the dancefloor, his piercing blue eyes on her dark brown, unwavering, and almost intense. She gulped, suddenly nervous and a bit sweaty, feeling his warmth and his rather big hands moving her with superb elegance around the floor, his eyes never wavering from her. At the end of the song, he dipped her low, his eyes now on her collarbone and her eyes closed. She swore she heard him inhale sharply. 

Everyone clapped and she took that as a hint to say goodbye. He nodded her goodbye before disappearing into the rather big ballroom. 

“May I have the honor of having this dance?” She spun around again to find the familiar bright smile of Hamid. 

She smiled back and nodded, both starting to dance the famous Russian waltz. Though Hamid’s movements were graceful and with impressive flourishing, it wasn’t just the same. She took that thought off her head and enjoyed the waltz anyways. 

“…and then, just like that, the Marquess just threw his bourbon to his face, just because he made a wee comment about the shape of the dress’s cleavage! Everyone left afterward, simply scandalized by the jealous displays of the Marquess to the Marquis!” Theresa kept talking, much to Nicole’s chagrin. 

The children were already in bed and her father and grandmother retired to bed, their old age showing. Nicole faked a flawless yawn, one of her acquired accomplishments she got long ago. 

“I don’t know about you ladies, but with all the champagne and dancing, I’m just beat. See you tomorrow at tea, though?” 

They all nodded and between air kisses exchanged and goodbyes, she went to her bedroom and turned off the light and took off her party clothes… to then skilfully change into the same-color lingerie and tight pants and an elegant shirt that had a teasing low cleavage and took off the sleeping doll that she bought when she was just 18 to sneak off to spend some hours with Alaric to return half an hour before the staff woke up. Of course, Briar sometimes caught her sneaking off, but so did she so they kind of saved the other’s secret. 

It was past midnight and she opened the secret door that existed ever since the Renaissance and caught her way downstairs, to the backyard and caught her discreet, large black coat and her anti-paparazzi sunglasses that would put in question who was marching towards the village at this hour of the night. She walked as she did, not making any noise so she wouldn’t be noticed. 

She grabbed the keys behind the pot and opened the door to then lock it and awaited by the window to see Hamid, who she sneaked a discreet note of where they’d see each other. 

She waited for fifteen minutes before she heard three sharp knocks. She got up and asked, “Who’s calling?” 

“It’s me, Nic.” It was the code she asked him to use. 

She opened the door and hurried him in and he observed the small flat: rustic, with romantic flowers and aphrodisiac food, scented candles that were confirmed it could feelings and then, behind a closed door, there was a room only illuminated by an old-fashioned lamp, probably by the early 1900s. 

There was no signal of modern technology: it’s as if he traveled to a 19th-century small house. There was a small cabinet with curious diaries, old tomes no one could miss, and even a phonograph. All the desks were wooden and there was a small bathroom beside the bedroom. Nicole took care that everything would be unregistered and there was no trace of this whatsoever like they came here to disappear from a few hours. Like he traveled to another reality that she invented for them both. There were an ancient tea set and a small couch for two people only. 

“It’s beautiful here, Nicole.” 

His eyes widened with surprise when she grabbed the lapels of his shirt and kissed him while driving him to the bedroom to then throw him to the bed “If you want to frequent this, there are some rules: one, you do not speak of this room. Second, no photos or videos here. Third: no one leaves until both of us are satisfied. And fourth: you never leave this house after 10 am, for the staff is already awake and they could recognize any of us, is that clear?” 

He nodded, eager to have her all to himself in such a beautiful place. She kissed him and he let himself melt into the scene and the beautiful woman in his arms, enjoying himself for a few hours. 

The night after the debut, Nicole heard a sharp knock on the main parlor, where she was teaching Anne how to take her tea when she was older enough to interact with the Queen. They all looked up to see Roselyn and an eager Isabelle, who greeted Anne and made a polite bow to Nicole. 

“I’m not saying I’m not pleased, but what brings you here today?” Nicole asked. 

“We were wondering if we could stay to persuade you on one thing.” Roselyn smiled. 

“And what thing is that?” Anne asked, just as curious as to her mother or more. 

“For Anne to stay over our humble house in London next weekend!” Isabelle beamed. 

“We could be talked into it,” Anne said, trying to tame the talent to keep people on their toes. 

“Very well. Come in, make yourselves comfortable.” Nicole said. 

They chatted for a bit, laughing at their jokes and Isabelle played the piano as Anne sang, her melodic voice leaving Mrs. Richards in awe, her eyes wide, and a delighted smile on her face. This time, Nicole observed her better: she was really beautiful; deep light blue eyes, golden hair with rich locks, a nice body, and shiny skin, and her lips were quite small but tempting. She seemed petite, but beautiful nevertheless. She was indeed a beautiful woman. She couldn’t blame Ernest for falling for her long ago. 

“Bravo, ma chérie! Marvelous!” She turned her attention to Nicole “Your daughter is a prodigy, Nicole. You must be proud,” 

“I am. Every day of my life.” She smiled. 

“Maman, may I show Anne my collection on my iPad?” Isabelle asked politely to her mother. 

“Of course, mon trésor. Go ahead,” She smiled at her. Then, she turned around and smiled at her “You see, Ernest has been talking about you for some time and I just had to meet you! All he does is sing praises of you,” 

“Does he now?” 

“Not everyone intrigues my hus—my ex-husband that way and in short notice.” 

“I am… nothing out of this world.” 

“Are you quite sure? Beautiful widow of an even more beautiful daughter who drifted away from nobility and then coming back after the death of your husband? You can’t blame us for being intrigued.” 

Nicole felt her ears hot and cleared her throat “So, um, tell me more about you! I’m not the kind of woman who talks about herself all the time,” 

“Modest! I like it. Well, I am thirty years old, and my children are Isabelle and Percival, as you know. I married five years ago my dear husband Tristan Richards after realizing that… while my marriage with Ernest wasn’t unhappy, it didn’t just work, and then Richards appeared and he thankfully understood that we weren’t meant for each other. I am French but England has been my home for fifteen years now. I got married young, like you, though my wedding didn’t have much fuss as yours. It was cute while it lasted. And now my Percival just turned six! Already a big boy!” 

“An adorable one, I’m sure,” Nicole said, as polite and proper as always. 

“But why are we talking about this poor old woman’s romantic woes! We came here to persuade you to let our girls sleepover together!” 

Nicole mulled over the thought before she pulled Anne aside and asked her “Do you feel comfortable around Isabelle?” She nodded “And do you think you can trust her?” She nodded again “Do you feel ready for a sleepover with someone outside of the family?” She nodded for the third time “If you are… my darling girl, growing up so quickly. Your father would be proud of you and how brave you are pushing past horizons,” 

“You think so?” 

Nicole smiled at her daughter, kissing her head gently “I do. With all my heart.” She turned around the expectant women “Very well. We buy it. Give me your number and we will talk it over if you’d like.” 

Roselyn beamed as Isabelle smiled contentedly and said “This will be the beginning of a beautiful friendship!” 

“I hope so.” 

[mikauzoran]

Ask Game: Mikau’s Headcanons - This Should Be a Drinking Game

Anonymous asked:

5&6

Thank you for the ask! ^.^

(The questions are from this list. So far I’ve done five, six, eleven, and fifteen.)

5. What’s your favorite headcanon you use in fics?

Oh my gosh. There are so many headcanons. XD I was actually just thinking last night that I needed to compile a list and turn it into a drinking game or something. 

Take a sip of tea every time:

1. Félix is Adrien’s older brother (eight years older). He left home at sixteen, married Marinette’s cousin Bridgette, and now lives in Marseille where he’s a homicide detective. Bri runs her own bakery. They have a daughter named Noëlle and a son on the way. Fé used to play the violin competitively growing up, and Adrien learned to play Danse Macabre and the first movement of Beethoven’s Kreutzer Sonata from him.

2. Émilie was a stage actress, and Adrien used to do the child roles in whatever production she was in, so he grew up backstage and going to the theatre to see his mum a lot. Her signature role was Viola in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. When Gabriel and Émilie met going to high school in Marseille, she was performing Viola and dragged him into being on the costume crew for the school play once she discovered he was an aspiring fashion designer.

3. Adrien decides to pursue a career in acting. He misses performing from when he did it with his mum when he was a kid, and it makes him feel connected to her. He likes getting to portray all kinds of different people and experiencing what it’s like to be someone else. It’s a safe space for him to experience emotions since expressing emotions was frowned upon in his home growing up. The roles he really wants to play are Jean Valjean from Les Mis, the Phantom from Phantom of the Opera, Elphaba from Wicked, and Viola from Twelfth Night.

4. Adrien is originally left-handed but has learned to be ambidextrous. This is my hill to die on, and you can fight me over it. ^w^ It’s probably just production error/the creators not really caring, but I’ve noticed several times in canon where Adrien has been shown doing things left-handed. (I mean, he uses his right hand for things too, but...) In Origins, when he’s walking to class and signing autographs left and right, he does so with his left hand. In Marchand de Sable/Sandman when he’s doing homework in his room, his writing supplies are on his left side. (I just want some left-handed representation. Is that too much to ask? ;-;)

5. Adrien is biromantic asexual. Even when I pair him with Marinette, he’s never not bi. I don’t always write him as ace; sometimes he’s bisexual in my works, but I could see canon Adrien as ace.

6. Adrien’s comfort foods are mint tea and salad. When he was little, when he or  Émilie had a bad day, she would kick the kitchen staff out of the kitchen, and they would make a big salad and some mint tea and enjoy it together. Now that she’s gone, he has mint tea and/or salad when he’s feeling down, and it’s comforting because it reminds him of his mother.

7. Adrien is a total anime nerd. He grew up relatively isolated from the outside world, so he learned about life and “normal”/“acceptable” human behaviour from Disney movies and anime. He’s always wanted to be a Disney princess and a magical girl. He was really inspired by Disney and anime protagonists who overcame the difficulties in their lives to achieve their dreams and find happiness and love. He has a lot of strong, female role models, starting with his mum, so he tends to identify with female characters more strongly than male characters.

8. Adrien is a polyglot. Obviously, he knows French, and he’s learned English because it’s required. Chinese lessons are canonical. He taught himself Japanese so that he could read manga and watch anime in the original (and pass it off as “studying”). He also speaks Russian (see “9″ below). He doesn’t speak Italian, but he has a passing familiarity with the language. He knows some phrases from opera from watching it himself and his mum’s career. He has some of his favourite portions memorized. He can insult someone’s sartorial choices in Italian from listening to his father do so on trips to Milan for business, and he knows survival phrases, but he can’t actually construct sentences or have conversations. He just hasn’t invested himself in it.

9. Adrien’s bodyguard’s name is Victor (really Viktor, but he uses the French spelling to fit in). He’s originally from Russia and still has family there. The reason why he doesn’t speak is because, even though he understands French just fine, he’s self-conscious about speaking it because of his accent. He’s also afraid to make mistakes, especially in front of Gabriel who is not a patient or tolerant man. Victor taught Adrien Russian, so now they can speak together, and no one knows what they’re saying. (Nathalie has picked up a little bit here and there, but not enough to have conversations.) Victor calls Adrien Adrianka. (It’s the Russian diminutive.)

10. Nathalie speaks a little bit of Mandarin Chinese. Her tones are so-so, but she can get her point across. She learned from listening in on Adrien’s lessons so that she could make sure he stayed on top of his curriculum. When Adrien has to miss Chinese lessons on short notice, Adrien’s teacher works with Nathalie instead.

11. Luka loves all music, not just rock or punk like we’ve seen on the show. I mean, the guy is portrayed as music being his whole life, right? He came to music through rock and roll because that’s what he was exposed to through his mother and her music career, but if you dig into the music and look at its history, where it came from, what inspired it, you start wandering back through time until you get to the big names of classical concert music. Luka is an inquisitive, thoughtful guy. I can see him digging into the roots of the music he grew up with and finding all sorts of cool influences. I can see him learning about and experimenting with different types/genres of music.

12. In university, Luka studies Literature with an emphasis on nineteenth and twentieth century Russia. Why? Below is excerpted from my response to a comment asking about this point.

Especially in the nineteenth century during the height of Romanticism, a lot of literary elements and themes made their way into classical music. Program music uses literary texts as a base and illustrates the story with music. Composers drew from the Russian literary tradition as well, particularly in opera. Tchaikovsky's The Queen of Spades is based on Pushkin's short story, and I just found out a month ago that Shostakovich turned Gogol's short story The Nose into an opera. In the arts, one thing always leads to another. It's like looking up something on Wikipedia. Two hours later you've become an expert on botany or Balkan folk dance. I think Luka would dig into the sources of inspiration for the music he was consuming in order to better understand the works and as a means of getting inspiration himself.

So that's why Russian Literature. I think he'd eventually find his way to it through music. Then, once you find Tolstoy or Dostoyevsky, you really get sucked in. For me, those two have such a way of depicting real human beings and what it means to be human. They really get at deeper human truths. Anna Karenina, Crime and Punishment, and The Idiot really capture that essence for me. (War and Peace too to some extent, but not as much as the other three.) I think Luka would really be drawn to Russian literature too and come to love it for itself apart from the musical inspiration he was able to derive from it.

13. In his teens, Luka takes more of an interesting in the piano and falls in love with the violin. He adds piano and violin performance majors halfway through university and ends up becoming a professional solo pianist as well as a first violin with the Orchestre de Paris.

14. Luka wears reading glasses. I don’t think I’ve used this one much. Actually, I can’t find where I’ve used this at all. :/ Well. I suppose there will be no tea drinking at this time for this headcanon. ^.^;

15. Luka has tattoos. I don’t think I’ve gotten around to this one yet either. Adrien and Luka talk about possible tattoo ideas in Chapter Four of Nachtmusik, but... At any rate, the full extent of the tattoos would be a stylized snake on his pelvis, Odin’s raven’s on his shoulder blades, a stylized snake bracelet under his regular bracelets, and a Chat Noir paw print under his ring. So far the paw print is the only one that I’m one hundred percent positive that will happen. The stylized snake on the pelvis is pretty up there too because in the Jabberwocky/Daisy universe I was going to have Adrien and Marinette squabbling over Luka, and Adrien was going to say that he bet Marinette hadn’t seen Luka’s snake tattoo. When Marinette asks Luka where he has a snake tattoo and learns how low on Luka’s stomach it is, she’s left wondering what’s going on between Adrien and Luka. I’m undecided about the ravens and the snake bracelet.

16. The children are always named Hugo, Louis, and Emma, but the birth order depends upon the pairing. Lukadrienette have Hugo (biologically Luka’s), Emma (Adrien’s), and then Louis (Adrien’s). Lukadrien have Emma (Luka and Rose’s), Louis (Adrien and Rose’s), and then Hugo (Adrien and Juleka’s). Adrienette have Louis, Hugo, and then Emma.

Which is your favourite of my headcanons? Which one would you like to see more of? Did I miss any? ^.^;

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze Pt.2/25

Previous

Triss Merigold was bloody exhausted. The start of the school term was always the worst. She had barely had a break for the whole of the first two weeks. She flopped onto the sofa in the staffroom with a dramatic sigh. She loved the kids. She hated the parents. Already she’d been caught up on the phone with parents from the younger tutor forms just calling in to check up on their little darlings. No matter how many times she or the other teachers assured them that the school would notify them of any problems. The parents of the older kids were just as bad, blaming the teachers for their bad parenting skills and insisting that all their children should have been top of the class.

“It’s not that bad Triss.” Istredd Gynvael from the Feainnewedd tutor group hummed.

Istredd was the history teacher for the secondary school children and looked after one of the year ten forms. Overall he was well liked by most of the students, he wasn’t a strict teacher but Triss knew the students sometimes found his classes on the dull side. Not that Triss would ever tell him that. No, that little tidbit was between her and Yennefer alone, maybe Tissaia…

She’d never tell the Headmaster, Stregobor, at least.

“You don’t have to talk to the parents until parents’ evening, Is.” Triss moaned. “I have to deal with them all year round. They all think their angels can do no wrong.”

“We become teachers for the children. The parents are an unfortunate side effect.” Istredd sighed.

There was a murmur of agreement from across the staffroom.

“Sabrina’s mum called me a disgrace and failed artist last year.” Tissaia sighed as she turned a page in her book. “Apparently, they weren’t happy that I gave their daughter some constructive criticism on the use of lighting in her portraits. I’m not going to just throw compliments at every student. They’d never learn otherwise.”

Tissaia de Vries was the school’s art teacher. She was also the form teacher of Forget-Me-Nots, one of the year six classes. She’d been the person to encourage Yennefer’s career as an artist ever since she’d been a student at the school. It had been because of Tissaia that Yennefer had started teaching in the first place.

“Oh hang on!” Jaskier perked up from where he was scribbling in his notebook. “I happen to like the parents of my class.”

Triss rolled her eyes. Jaskier had dropped by her desk at reception at the end of the first day to ask for all the parents’ contact details so he could write his weekly emails. He’d been particularly interested in Ciri’s dad. Of course, Ciri was an interest to all the teachers at the school. She’d already been through hell and she was only six years old. The young girl didn’t seem all that bothered on the surface about her sudden change in circumstances. It was all a bit peculiar.

“That’s because you are a bit of a freak, Julian.” Mr Marx drawled from his corner of the staffroom.

Jaskier’s face turned to thunder and slammed his notebook shut.

Jaskier and Valdo Marx had known each other since before Jaskier started at the school. Their rivalry was legendary amongst the staff. No one was entirely sure of the details behind their feud. From what Triss could tell they had been at University together, both studying music at Oxenfurt. They had had some kind of falling out at some point. No one was really sure what about but last Solstice things had flared up when Valdo had had an affair with Jaskier’s partner. It was also Valdo that had told Stregobor and the rest of the staff that Jaskier’s birth name was Julian, something that her friend seemed to despise. Valdo refused to call Jaskier by his chosen name which never ceased to end in an argument between them.

This time was no different as Jaskier coiled up like a spring, ready to pounce on the other teacher.

“Call me that again one more time and I’m putting in a grievance. Wally.” Jaskier sneered. “Some of us actually care about the children we teach, and that means taking an interest in their home life and working out the best way to teach each child individually.”

“Name calling, Julian. How original.” Mr Marx smirked and patted Jaskier on the head as he moved to leave the room.

“Oh fuck you!” Jaskier called after him. “He’s just bitter because all the year twos wish they were Buttercups and not Foxgloves.” He muttered.

“He’s just bitter because he doesn’t get to talk to Mr Rivia at parents evening.” Triss sighed wistfully. “I would climb him like a tree.”

Jaskier’s scowled faded into a blissed out smile. “Oh he is dreamy isn’t he? Those eyes, like molten amber and that voice. Gods, it’s like sex personified.”

Triss giggled. “I knew it!”

Jaskier went wide eyed and slammed his hands over his mouth. “I said that out loud didn’t I?”

“Must you all be so dramatic?” Istredd called over Triss’s squeals of joy. “I’m trying to mark homework.”

“I think we’ve all earned a break, Istredd, if you want to mark in peace go back to your desk.” Tissaia hummed with eye roll.

Istredd sighed. “Just keep it down, maybe try and remain professional.”

“Oh come on, Is. You’ve not seen him. Geralt Rivia is hot!” Triss nudged her friend.

“Geralt? Yen’s ex?” Istredd put down his marking with a sudden scowl.

“No no no!” Jaskier whined. “Please tell me, I’m not competing with Yennefer Vengerberg!”

“Don’t worry Jaskier, that ship has long sailed. Isn’t that right, Is?” Triss winked at the history teacher. Istredd’s fingers gripped tighter around his pen and he muttered something under his breath before burying his nose back into the sheets of paper in front of him.

“Alright!” Jaskier called. “How many people here have had a crush on Yennefer Vengerberg? Hands up!”

“We’re not your kids, Jaskier.” Tissaia rolled her eyes at the younger teacher’s antics.

“True.” He admitted. “But humour me.”

Triss unashamedly put her hand up. Istredd was next. Chireadan was next and a handful of the other staff. Overall, just over half the staff in the room had their hands up.

Jaskier was not one of them.

“Not your type, Jask? I thought everyone was your type?” Triss teased.

Jaskier gasped and put his hand on his heart. “Triss! Just because I’m bisexual does not mean everyone is my type! She’s hot. I can admit that, but she fucking terrifies me.”

“And Geralt doesn’t?” Triss asked with a roll of her eyes, deciding not to point out that she was pansexual and already knew the myths of their sexualities were not true. “He could probably snap you like a twig.”

Jaskier beamed. “Oh I know!”

“Do we need to chaperone parents’ evening, Jaskier?” Tissaia asked cooly but her eyes were twinkling with amusement.

“I’ll have you know I am a professional!” He gasped in mock outrage. “But yes absolutely. I have no idea how I managed to talk to him on the first day. Gods, he looked at me and I wanted to melt. I could write ballads about those eyes.”

“Please don’t” Istredd sighed. “Geralt’s not that great.”

“Oh come on, Is, you just don’t like the fact he used to date Yennefer.”

“Yenna is better than him.” Istredd scowled.

“Oh ho ho!” Jaskier laughed. “Are you going to finally ask her out then?”

“Shut up, Julian.” Istredd hissed.

“Jaskier’s got a point, Is.” Triss gave Istredd a pointed look as Jaskier visibly bristled at the name. “But what about you and Geralt?”

Jaskier grumbled as he moved to retrieve his notebook. “Nothing. There’s nothing about me and Geralt. He’s a parent and I am a professional.”

Istredd sighed loudly and gathered up his belongings and left the room. Tissaia chuckled as she sipped her tea and continued to read her book, but seemed to be content with the gossip that was rife in the staffroom. Other teachers were beginning to file out as the lunch break was ending.

“But you fancy him.” Triss persisted as she checked the time on her phone. She didn’t need to be back at the front desk for another ten minutes and she didn’t have to worry about lesson planning like the other teachers. Her job did have some perks.

“So do you.” Jaskier shot back. “I am simply appreciating that Mr Rivia is a good-looking man but his daughter’s in my class and you know me, I fall in love with everyone I meet.”

“Except Yennefer.” Triss pointed out.

Jaskier paled at the memory. “I have met Yennefer once and I genuinely thought I was going to die a terrible and painful death.”

“Oh it wasn’t that bad.” Triss giggled.

_________

Yennefer didn’t come back to school very often when she was in town but occasionally she would pick Triss up if they were going to the pub after school finished. Sometimes Yennefer would glide through the halls of her old haunt to reminisce over her days as a teacher, popping in to say hello to her old colleagues. The first time she’d visited after Jaskier had started teaching she’d visited her old classroom, the classroom that Jaskier now occupied.

“What the fuck has happened to my door?” Yennefer glared at the bright yellow monstrosity that stood at the entrance to her old classroom. During Yennefer’s time at school the door had been painted lilac with elegant black silhouettes of flowers.

Jaskier had rather a different approach. His door was so bright you almost needed sunglasses to look at it and his class had drawn their own buttercups to cover the door. Their teaching style was completely different too.

Yennefer luckily had been in charge of an older class and mostly taught English Literature and Language to the Secondary school children. Yennefer was firm, and at times strict, she demanded respect from her students and many of them ended up in detention for missing out on homework or mucking about in class. Yennefer’s theory was that by messing about it was both a waste of her time and theirs. Yennefer was not a lover of wasted time. Every action she took was planned down to the letter. She knew what she wanted and how to get there. Her writing was very much the same.

The scripts she wrote for the school plays were intricate and beautiful. Every line, every stage direction, every detail in the costumes had some hidden meaning that would be revealed later on in the play. As a director she was fierce and many of the older students were scared shitless after their time in the theatre but many also went on to attend drama schools. Yennefer could have become an award winning author, actor or director but that wasn’t where her passion lay.

Yennefer Vengerberg loved art.

She always had ever since she’d studied at the school under Ms de Vries. She was a remarkably talented painter but her real skill was in her reviews and critiques of others art. Her analysis was unparalleled and her wit and sarcasm had drawn in a wide audience from all across the Art world.

As soon as she’d been able to earn enough money from her work at a critic she’d flown from the school, much to the delight of her poor students.

Jaskier on the other hand was a ray of sunshine. He was the sun to Yennefer’s moon. The kids adored him and almost everyone on the staff fancied him, not to mention the parents. His charm could have melted the heart of the ice queen herself and had to got him out of many a bad situation in the past, of course it had gotten him into just as many tight spots as well. Where Yennefer was unwaveringly focussed and unrelenting in her teaching, Jaskier was easily distracted and flitted from one topic to another like a whirlwind. He was kindhearted and nurturing to the children, playing his guitar almost every day and encouraging the kids to be the best they could be. He was entertaining and fun, and every child wanted to be in Buttercups.

The layout of the building had changed a lot since Yennefer’s time and this section of the school now housed the primary school classes which was why Jaskier’s class was now in the old English room.

Yennefer burst through the door, Triss trailing behind her. “Seriously! What the fuck?”

Jaskier jumped up from behind his desk, knocking his paper work all over the floor. “Bollocks! Shit! I mean… oh cock!” His travel mug tipped over as he scrambled after the the sheets of maths homework. Coffee poured everywhere, including down his teal floral shirt.

“Triss!” Yennefer snapped. “Why is there a child teaching in my classroom?”

Triss sighed and walked over to help Jaskier save his marking from the coffee that was now leaking onto the floor. “Yen, this is Jaskier Pankratz. Our new year two teacher.”

“What are you, twelve?” Yen asked raising her eyebrow at the young brunet.

“I’m twenty-six!” Jaskier pouted. “I just have good genes and quite frankly a fabulous skincare routine. Did you want a copy?”

“Are you saying I look old?” Yennefer smirked at Jaskier who visibly started to panic.

“Oh no. No no no. You look very radiant, ethereal! Eternally youthful. Please don’t kill me?” He fell backwards in a fluffy of maths homework.

“Oh dear god.” Yennefer covered her face with her hand. “I thought this place couldn’t get any worse. Come on Triss, there’s a couple of bottles of wine with our names on it. See you around, Buttercup.”

“See you on Monday, Jaskier!” Triss passed him a handful of sheets she had managed to salvage from the coffee.

“Holy mother of…” Jaskier breathed as he stared after the hurricane that was Yennefer Vengerberg.

_______________

Triss giggled at the memory. It had been just under three years ago, back when Yennefer and Geralt were still going through their off and on again stage. Jaskier had looked like a deer stuck in headlights in the fierce presence of Yennefer. Triss knew her friend could be quite intimidating but underneath it all was a loyal friend. A lot of her scary demeanour was just a mask to hide her insecurities. Yennefer wanted everything in life, a family, a career, fame, money, power. She wanted it all.

But she was so terrified that she would never be enough, never deserve the things that she desired. Her relationship with Geralt hadn’t help. They burned brighter than the sun on their good days but their fights could have risen the Gods from their slumber. They pulled and pushed at each others souls, tearing each other apart. Triss had never met Geralt before Ciri had started at the school but she’d been there for Yennefer every time he broke her heart.

“It absolutely was that bad.” Jaskier pouted. “I ruined my favourite shirt and made a complete fool of myself. She was looking at me with murder eyes!”

Triss patted his arm sympathetically. “If Yennefer wanted you dead, Jaskier, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

Jaskier staggered back and stomped over to pick up his guitar case and satchel. “Wow. Thanks Triss. That is… so comforting.”

The bell chimed in the corridors, signalling the end of lunch.

“Bollocks!” Jaskier cursed and scampered out of the room. “This is all your fault Triss Merigold.”

Triss smirked after him. “You love it, Buttercup!”

_____________

Triss pulled her thick wooden green coat around her. It was surprisingly cold for the end of September and she’d forgotten to bring gloves. She was on home time duty this week which mostly involved waiting in the playground with the kids for the parents who had yet to learn how to read a damn clock. She stuffed her hands in her pockets in a poor attempt to keep them warm. At least her hair was long and thick enough to keep her ears warm. She daydreamed happily about a warm bath and a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and whipped cream.

“Ms Merigold?” A small voice broke through her daydream and she felt hands tugging at her coat. She looked down at Ciri who was staring back at her with tears in her eyes. “Where’s Coën?”

Triss glanced down at her watch and bite her tongue to stop herself from swearing. Ciri’s babysitter was over thirty minutes late. It was unheard of. He was normally waiting at the gates as soon as the bells rang to signify the end of the day, but today Ciri was the last kid left.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Come on, let’s go inside and I’ll give Geralt a call.” Triss took the young girl’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. Ciri clung on to her tightly and sniffed, wiping her eyes with her free hand.

“What if he’s hurt?” Ciri asked quietly.

“I’m sure he’ll be alright.” Triss reassured her, wishing that she could believe her own words.

The pair of them hurried back inside and out of the cold. Triss let go of Ciri’s hand so she could search her desk for the file where she kept the emergency contact details.

“Mr Jaskier!!” Ciri cried and flew off down the corridor.

Triss looked up to see a very confused primary school teacher, guitar case slung haphazardly over his shoulder, struggling with an armful of small child. His leather satchel had dropped to the floor, books spilling out with a clatter.

“Ciri?” He stammered before he regained his composure and met Triss’s gaze with a worried look.

“Coën’s in trouble!” Ciri cried. “He’s going to leave me! Everyone always leaves me!”

“Oh Ciri.” Jaskier returned the girl’s clinging hug as she sobbed against his chest. “Ms Merigold is going to call your dad. We’ll figure this out together.”

Ciri sniffed loudly but nodded. “‘Kay.”

Triss found Geralt Rivia’s number with ease and dialled, praying that he would answer. She made a mental note to get Coën’s number too, he picked up Ciri most evenings during the week, depending on Geralt’s shift pattern, it was foolish that the young man hadn’t provided his contact details.

The phone rang three times before Geralt’s gruff voice answered.

“Geralt.” He grunted.

“Geralt, Hi. This is Ms Merigold, from Ciri’s school.” Triss started.

“Fuck. What’s happened?”

“Coën didn’t show at pick up today. Mr Pankratz is here with Ciri but she’s not taking it well.” Triss explained in a rush. She glanced over at Ciri and Jaskier. He’d sat down on the floor with her and seemed to be distracting her with a story. She still looked shaken but had calmed down and appeared to be completely captivated by the stories he was weaving.

“I’m on my way.”

Triss didn’t get a chance to reply as Geralt hung up the phone and the line went dead. She strolled over to Jaskier and Ciri, sitting down beside them. Jaskier glanced up at her without pausing his tale of knights and bards and princesses, and she nodded.

Ciri wasn’t an idiot though. She cut Jaskier off mid-sentence. “Is my dad coming to pick me up?”

“Yeah. We’ll wait here until he arrives yeah?” Triss suggested. “No point staying in the cold.”

“Is Mr Jaskier staying?” Ciri asked with wide eyes.

“As if I would leave you here!” Jaskier gasped and placed a hand over his heart, dramatic as always. “You are one of my Buttercups and we stick together!”

Jaskier pulled out his guitar whilst they waited for Geralt Rivia to arrive. Triss always enjoyed watching Jaskier play. She didn’t often get the chance. She knew he played for his class but her job kept her at her desk for the majority of the school day and they didn’t socialise that much outside of work. Occasionally, a handful of the teachers would head to the pub on a Friday evening but it wasn’t exactly the place to start playing acoustic guitar. Usually she’d only get to see him play quietly in the corner of the staffroom if he was working on a new song, or occasionally at a school event.

This was different though, it was intimate like a lullaby being sang in the dead of night. Triss was completely enchanted by her friend and was really starting to wonder how he wasn’t a famous musician. She’d expected him to play something uplifting to distract the young girl but Jaskier seemed to have other ideas. He played a song about heartbreak that was so full of yearning that even Triss could feel the telltale prick of tears in her eyes, and it seemed to do the trick. Ciri cried too but it wasn’t the chaotic full-bodied sobs from before. Tears rolled down her freckled cheeks quietly and Triss suddenly understood.

Jaskier was allowing the young girl to grieve.

He was telling her, through his music, that it was ok to be scared. It was ok to have these feelings and to cry. The teachers had all been concerned that Ciri didn’t seem to have processed the trauma of her young life very well and here was Jaskier, drawing out those emotions that the young girl had kept tucked away. Coën not turning up had triggered something in Ciri, some fear of abandonment that no one had realised had developed.

Triss smiled as she wiped a tear from her eyes. The young teacher had more depth than she’d realised. She’d underestimated him, perhaps they all had.

“Ciri!” Geralt came rushing through the doors, shattering the moment into a thousand shards of shimmering glass.

The girl in question squealed and flung her tiny body towards Geralt. Jaskier almost dropped his guitar in surprise and even Triss jumped a little at the sudden rush of movement.

“Dad!” Ciri cried as she wrapped her arms around her father.

“I’m here, Princess. I’m here.” Geralt reassured her in a low voice.

“Where’s Coën?” Ciri asked wide-eyed.

“Flu. He text me but it didn’t come through until I left work. I’m sorry.” Geralt explained as he kissed her hair. The silver-haired man then looked up to face Triss and Jaskier. “I am so sorry. What do I owe you?”

“Owe us?” Jaskier spluttered. “Geralt.”

Jaskier said the other man’s name like a prayer, fervently and full of adoration.

“You would have been home over an hour ago if it weren’t for me.” Geralt insisted.

Triss noticed with barely hidden glee that Geralt was focussed almost completely on Jaskier. Triss was certain that she could have slipped away and back to her car, and Geralt wouldn’t have noticed. So it seemed that Jaskier’s little crush wasn’t quite an unrequited as he thought.

“Geralt, it’s our job to ensure the children are safe. It was simply an unfortunate and completely unforeseen event. This is not your fault, nor is it Ciri’s or Coën’s. You owe us nothing.” Jaskier insisted.

“Hmm.” Geralt hummed but continued to watch Jaskier intently as the younger man packed up his guitar. “Thank you.”

“That’s quite alright, Geralt. We’re happy to help, right Triss?” Jaskier blushed and looked towards her.

Triss smirked. “Delighted, Mr Rivia, but try not to let it happen again, or I’ll have to inform Yennefer.” Triss teased.

Geralt scowled but Ciri perked up at the name. “Auntie Yennefer?!” She squealed in delight.

“An old dear friend of mine, Ciri.” Triss nodded, throwing a smile at the young girl.

“Please don’t tell Yen.” Geralt groaned.

“Yeah, Ms Merigold. No need to get Yennefer involved.” Jaskier mumbled, glancing down at his feet and then back up at Geralt.

Geralt peered at the brunet. “I thought you only met her once.”

“A story for another time I think.” Jaskier blushed and sent her a warning glare.

Triss rolled her eyes. “Ask Yen next time you call her.”

“Dad.” Ciri tugged Geralt’s arm. “I’m hungry.”

Geralt growled. “Right. Time to go. Thank you for keeping her safe, Ms Merigold. Jaskier.”

“Anytime!” Jaskier replied brightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ciri! See you, Geralt.”

“Have a good evening you two.” Triss waved them off.

Once they’d left the building, Jaskier sank to his knees and groaned.

“Alright there, Jaskier?” Triss teased with a laugh.

“Fuck me, he’s gorgeous.” Jaskier buried his face in his hands. “This year is going to destroy me.”

“Wouldn’t you rather Geralt destroy you?” Triss giggled as she pulled him to his feet and linked their arms.

“Triss Merigold!” Jaskier gasped. “No, no. You’re right. Oh good lord!”

“Ask him out.” Triss suggested.

Jaskier laughed weakly. “Not gonna happen. Stregobor would have me quartered.”

“Coward.”

“Absolutely! Come on, I think we deserve a drink! To the pub!” Jaskier announced loudly and together they finally left building for the evening.

______

Next

[floralguccistyles]

two: a ravenclaw and a slytherin walk into a bar

I was crying over a comic book.

This wasn’t a weird occurrence. I often cried when I was overwhelmed by how good something was. I cried the first time I read Lord of the Rings and the first time I had seen Lilo and Stitch. Jeremiah and Veronica had walked in on me crying too many times to count. My mother told me I had always been a big crier, but I was taught that it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Then I had gone to school with pricks and had to reign in tears for four years. The second I graduated secondary school, the wall I’d carefully built up had come crashing down and I continued to cry at everything. It was like those four years had made my crying worse. Like how when you’re told you can’t do something, it only makes doing that thing ten times better. Crying was cathartic.

I was also a little overwhelmed.

Stuart Immonen had come into the studio yesterday. He was the illustrator of the 2015 Captain America comic series All-New Captain America. That alone had me overwhelmed, because there I was, talking to someone who had illustrated a Marvel comic. But then he had given me a personal copy of the comic and after Jeremiah and I edited the podcast and we had gone home, I curled up in my flat and devoured it. The kind of devour that kept me up until six in the morning because I had to read it more than once. And as the sun came up, I felt the tears on my face.

I had been born in Holmes Chapel, but my parents hadn’t been. They had been born in Cuba and had moved to Holmes Chapel with a work visa. My father had been hired to help with renovations of Church View B&B and the two churches that surrounded it. My father wasn’t a famous contractor by any means, but his local newspaper in Santa Clara had written an article when he helped build a new Catholic church on the main strip of the city. We weren’t Catholic, but my father always believed in the power of religion. If someone wanted to believe in a God, he used to tell me, who were we to tell them otherwise? Our personal favorite gods were the ones in Roman and Greek mythology. 

My mother had stayed in Santa Clara at first. But when weeks turned into months and the renovations still weren’t completed, she eventually followed my father to the UK. With one addition, of course, since she had been seven weeks pregnant with me. The team of contractors finished the job in about three months, and the original plan was to return to Santa Clara and give birth to me there, surrounded by the community they’d grown up in. But my father had looked so proud of the work he had done in the little Cheshire town and my mother didn’t have the heart to drag him away. Without planning, without a schedule, they had applied for citizenship.

It was a struggle. I was born that summer, and while caring for their new baby girl, they also had to perfect their English. They had a basic knowledge of the English language and could speak it pretty well, but they weren’t experts. They raised me in an English household, and we learned alongside each other. That was my biggest regret, if I looked back. I wish they had immersed me in both languages, that way I could get a glimpse into the culture I was born into. I knew enough Spanish to get my by, but not nearly as much as I wanted to. 

In five years, they had gotten their citizenship and I had never even seen pictures of Cuba.

I knew they weren’t ashamed of their heritage. They were just excited for this new life, a life in a city that praised my father for the work he’d done. But my mother traded in vaca frita for Shepherd’s pie, and her guayabera dress was put in the back of her closet. Maybe I resented them a little bit for not teaching me about Cuba, but I could never tell them that. They would be heartbroken, especially after all the work they put into becoming citizens of the UK.

But it made reading the comic book even more emotional.

I knew superheroes of color existed. Black Panther, Luke Cage, and Ms. Marvel were among the few I could list. There was something about seeing Sam Wilson, a man of color, being Captain America that made my eyes misty as I read. Captain America, who was supposed to be a symbol of freedom and bravery, was a black man. It reminded me of my parents, traveling thousands of miles to live in a city they weren’t familiar with.

I wished it reminded me of myself.

There was a box of tissues I kept by my bedside for moments exactly like these. I grabbed one, wiping underneath my eyes and sniffling as I closed the comic book for the third time and put it on my nightstand next to my bed. I had fallen asleep after my second time with the comic book and had been able to get a couple of hours before I had woken up, grabbed a bowl of cereal, and opened it up to read it for a third time. 

I knew what I was really doing. I was avoiding the email that sat in my inbox, untouched since the previous week, when it had been sent.

The email from Harry (or, what I assumed was Harry. I still wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not) had been on the back of my mind all week. His email had mentioned that he would be in town in two weeks time, and that had been last week. I had six days, seven hours, and about forty-two minutes before the whirlwind that was Harry Styles came back to London. Briefly, I wondered if he would make a stop in Holmes Chapel. I knew his mum and sister were close to him, and as far as I was aware, they both still lived in Holmes Chapel. And if he stopped by there, would he run into his old buddies that tormented me? Would he tell them about how he made Petra Gallego fall for his sweet email and make me the butt of his jokes?

I hadn’t emailed him back. What was I going to say? That I would love to catch up with him? That was an absolute lie. I would be perfectly content if I never had to see Harry Styles again. In the back of my mind, I knew he probably hadn’t meant the things he’d done when he was sixteen. Boys were supposed to be stupid at that age, right? That’s what my parents told me. But when I talked to Melody about it— the only one I had confided in about the popstar— she had told me in very colorful language that that logic was bullshit. Sixteen was perfectly old enough to know right from wrong, she reminded me. If there was one phrase Melody hated more than anything, it was the expression “boys will be boys.”

He hadn’t bothered to send another email. He probably knew that I was more than likely not going to reply to the first one. If he had any shred of kindness in his shriveled up little heart, he would respect that he had been a dick and that he didn’t deserve my forgiveness. He would recognize that asking me to meet for dinner or a drink in the casual way he had, as if nothing had happened between us, was absolutely terrible.

Maybe he wanted to apologize in person. I didn’t know. I didn’t care.

But damn it if I wasn’t curious.

However, I didn’t have time to be curious. I was due to meet Melody at La Violetta in an hour and I still wasn’t dressed. My hair was pretty much unsaveable, but if I threw it up in a ponytail it wouldn’t matter. There was a pretty tan, long-sleeved dress that I had in the back of my closet with the tags still on it, so I decided tonight was as good a time as any to wear it out. I paired it with some brown ankle boots that were just tall enough to hide the fact that I was wearing Star Wars socks. 

My phone rang as I was struggling to apply mascara in my tiny bathroom. I absentmindedly slid my finger across the screen, not bothering to look at who was calling me.

“Hello?”

“Has Jeremiah called you yet?”

I raised a brow at Veronica’s voice. “Veronica? What are you calling me for? Isn’t it your anniversary with Bailey tonight?” Actually, I knew it was her anniversary, because she hadn’t been at the studio last night. She wanted to get a decent night of beauty rest because she had planned a surprise day trip for the two of them to celebrate five years. I thought it was so cute that I forgot to be upset she wouldn’t be there in the studio while we recorded. 

“Oh shit he hasn’t called you yet. Fuck, I knew I should have texted him before I called you.”

“What?” I asked, horribly confused. I heard shuffling in the background and could only guess it was Bailey. “Hi Bailey! How’s the anniversary going?” I called.

I heard Bailey laugh. “Hi Petra. It’s going really well. Hope you didn’t miss Veronica too badly yesterday.”

“You know, Jeremiah and I barely even noticed she wasn’t there. It was a nice, kind of serene quiet. You’ll have to have anniversaries more often.”

Bailey laughed but Veronica scoffed. “Whatever. Jeremiah’s calling you soon. Ignore this call I guess.”

Before I could ask what the hell was going on, she hung up. I stared at my phone for a couple of seconds in confusion, as if it would give me the answers I sought. I almost expected it to light up, informing me that Jeremiah was calling. When two minutes passed with no sign of my ringtone, I sighed and got back to work on applying my mascara without getting it all over my face. I didn’t wear makeup often. Not because I didn’t like wearing makeup, or because I thought I was above wearing makeup. Most of the time, I was quite honestly too lazy to do it. I showed up to Outset in pajamas most weeks, and I never really went anywhere else, so it wasn’t a surprise my makeup sat mostly untouched. 

Once my face was sufficiently covered under a good layer of makeup, I still had about fifteen minutes before I had to leave. I wondered if I could get a big chunk of the Sam Wilson comic read in the remaining fifteen minutes, but decided against it because I’d probably start crying again. Instead, I decided to check plane ticket prices to Cuba, like I always did. I knew I could probably afford them. AC did well enough and my book was in the final stages of editing before it would be published. I wasn’t worried about the money it would cost. I was worried that if I went, I would be betraying my parents. 

Still, I longed to see Havana at night. I wanted to see the fire festival in Santiago de Cuba. And I wanted to walk the streets of Santa Clara at night and imagine that I was my mother, waiting for my father to return from Cheshire so we could get ready for the baby girl on the way. I wanted to stand in the same place my mother had stood when she found out she was pregnant with me.

I closed the safari webpage on my phone. I wouldn’t lose the information. It was bookmarked. But looking at it brought the same kind of sadness the Sam Wilson comic had, and I could feel the tears working their way from my dry throat to my eyes, and I truly didn’t want to ruin the mascara I’d put on. Not after I’d nearly poked my eye out with the wand and had spent five minutes getting the smudge of black gone from underneath my lower lash line. 

Have you left yet? Knowing you, you’re still reading that comic.

Melody knew me too well. I sent back a quick text that I was on my way before tossing my phone into the small clutch I was bringing to La Violetta. My clutch had already been packed with my taser and pepper spray, so I had to shuffle a bit for my phone to fit, but one could never be too safe. Another lesson my parents had instilled in me. They preferred when I carried both but would settle for knowing I had either one in my vicinity. My father had once almost been jumped when he lived in Santa Clara after he had gotten into an argument at a bar. He said he didn’t care if the men thought it was sneaky that he used a taser instead of his fists. They were all on the ground in seconds.

Locking the door of my flat behind me, I turned to meet with the Uber I had ordered. I would usually walk to the restaurant, since it wasn’t too far away, but I was wearing ankle boots that had a heel and I knew walking in heels was asking for blisters and sore feet. My landlady was standing outside, getting ready to go into her own flat when she spotted me. She sent me a quick smile.

“Evening, Petra. How’s that little alien show you do?”

“Doing great, Ms. Wilcox. How’s your new grandbaby?”

“Oh, he’s adorable. But they’ve gone and named him Archibald. Who in the bloody hell names their kid Archibald?”

“I don’t know. But Archie’s a cute nickname, don’t you think?”

She hmphed in a tone that let me know the nickname Archie wasn’t enough justification for naming a child Archibald. I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t even register anyone named Archibald as ever having been a baby. They were born with names like Liam or Jake and then evolved into Archibalds when they started working, like a human Pokémon. I waved to her as my Uber pulled up, a ugly orange color that I would never be caught dead driving in, especially in the streets of London. Still, Carter (my driver) had a car and I didn’t, so I suppose he was better off than I was. 

It only took about five minutes to get to the restaurant, and I tipped Carter for the short ride before getting out of his ugly orange car. Inside, I spotted Melody right away. She was sitting at one of the tables in the back, the one we usually sat in, and sipping on something that looked like lemonade but probably had alcohol in it. She waved me over when she caught my eye.

“Okay, we can have the margherita pizza or the barbeque chicken pizza. They have dinner specials on those tonight. They also have five dollar drinks, so I already ordered you a Long Island iced tea. If you don’t like those, fuck it, I’ll drink that too.”

I laughed. “Long Islands are fine with me. How was work?”

Sometimes, I couldn’t tell if Melody loved or hated her job. I didn’t know enough about what data analysts had to do. Obviously I knew they analyzed data and The Associates Global was a sales company, but other than that, I had no clue. I expected the world of how podcasts work was just as unknown to her. But the difference between us was that it was impossible to wonder if I hated my job. I wasn’t even sure if Melody knew whether or not she liked her job.

“Tiring. Trennan pitched their numbers today and they’re atrocious, Petra. It made me want to cry. Hence, the fact that I am on my second drink of the night.” She held up her lemonade-looking drink and took a long sip. “Anyway, I know that Stuart guy gave you the comic. How many times have you read it?”

“Three,” I replied honestly. Maybe Melody’s philosophy of oversharing had been passed onto me, or maybe it was because I was comfortable with her, but I never felt bad about myself when I told her about how I spent my days. She never judged, and I liked that about her. “It’s so beautifully illustrated and the story is so good.”

“Plus Anthony Mackie is extremely easy on the eyes,” Melody supplied helpfully.

I clinked the glass of my cup to the glass of hers, agreeing silently. We both took drinks. “I really hope he’s the route they go with at the end of Endgame. I hypothesized with Stuart that Steve’s going to die so they’re going to get a new Captain America. It’s either gonna be Bucky or Sam, but I’m really rooting for Sam.”

“I’m just excited for Captain Marvel,” Melody mentioned. “I bought our tickets for the opening night screening and watched the trailer twice today when I was pretending to listen to Trennan fuck up our numbers. It looks epic.”

It did look epic. I was excited for it. And had already guessed on Alien Crossing that she’d be a big help in defeating Thanos when Endgame came out in April. Before Melody and I could discuss anything more, the waiter came over and took our order. La Violetta sold baby pizzas meant for an individual, and since Melody’s margherita didn’t sound like it would hit the spot tonight, I ordered the barbeque chicken. He took our menus and left us alone once more.

“Did you hear anything more from that raging twat?”

Here’s the thing. When the name Harry Styles was brought up in public, someone would inevitably turn their head. Whether it was an early twenty-something who had grown up with him in One Direction or an older generation who liked rock music and adored his new album, someone always looked over. And it was pretty hard to have a cathartic shit-talking session when someone was hanging on every word you said about said popstar. To make up for this fact, Melody had given to calling him raging twat. It avoided the looks and also made me feel a little better.

“Nope. Just the one email. I’m just not going to respond.” I didn’t know when I had decided this, but the words sounded true enough coming out of my mouth. “He made my life a living hell. Things got so unbelievably easy when he left Holmes Chapel. Sure, his friends were still dicks, but without the raging twat near they left me alone for the most part. Why would I accept his apology anyway?”

“That’s even if he was emailing about apologizing. He might have just ignored the fact that he fucked up your secondary experience and just wanted to get drinks. Hence, he’s a raging twat.”

“I keep thinking about that. What if it’s all a joke and he’d just going to have a laugh at me? And the email didn’t mention anything about what an arse he was. Don’t you think that if you had tormented someone for four years of my life, you would want to apologize?”

Melody gave me a deadpan look. “I apologize to Nemo when I leave the light on.”

Nemo was Melody’s new fish. Dr. Thorne had suggested that she keep Nemo at her flat so that whenever her roommates were driving her mad and my flat wasn’t available, she’d have someone to talk to. The two of us had spent three hours trying to pick out the perfect fish for her and an additional hour and a half trying to decide on a name. Nemo didn’t look anything like his namesake, but it was too cute an opportunity to pass up.

“Point is, if I apologize to my fish for something as small as forgetting to turn his light off, the raging twat should apologize for all the nasty things he’s said to you. But, since you’re definitely not replying, you don’t have to worry about it. London’s a big city. I doubt he’ll come to Outset and stalk you.”

Feeling a lot better about the situation now that I’d had time to actually sit down and discuss the situation with Melody, I was able to relax. I enjoyed my Long Island and ordered another one when the first one ran out. I ate all of my pizza and wiped the barbeque sauce from my lips without a care in the world. And when Melody and I were done at La Violetta, we made our way to The William Morris Pub because neither of us wanted the night to be over.

Melody told me more about her coworkers. I hadn’t actually met any of them, but Trennan was her immediate boss and was an absolute idiot. Melody ended up doing most of his work for him. He was nice enough, Melody admitted after I’d questioned whether or not he was rude, just oblivious to how the real world worked. I told her about Veronica’s weird phone call, but that she and Bailey were enjoying their five-year anniversary. We bet on how long it would take Veronica to propose, since Veronica was definitely the one that would be proposing. Bailey was just too shy. We talked about Jeremiah and how Zach was still driving him around whenever Jeremiah asked. Melody felt a strange kinship with Zach, considering she’d once been the younger sister that had to be the designated driver for her siblings.

It was nice. Though I loved Alien Crossing with all my heart and was proud of what I’d accomplished, it was always nice to take a step back. Sometimes I had tunnel-vision and the view at the end of the tunnel was my podcast. I had to work on reminding myself that I had a life outside of AC. I had friends and family who loved and cared about me. When was the last time I had called my parents? I guiltily thought back to about three weeks ago. I’d have to apologize, but they’d forgive me easily, like they always did. They were glad that I was taking advantage of something I genuinely loved to do.

This was the reason I didn’t answer Jeremiah’s first call. But when he called again, which was unlike him, I excused myself for a moment to step out of the bar and answer his call.

“Jeremiah? What’s up?”

“Did Veronica call you?”

I sighed. “Yes, she did. And she left whatever she needed to say to you. Said to ignore the fact she even called.”

“Fucking coward, she is. Okay, so I’m not sure how to say this.”

“Is everything alright? Are you or Zach hurt?” My thoughts immediately went to Jeremiah’s younger brother. He drove all the time. Had he gotten behind the wheel drunk?

“Everything’s fine, Pet. Collin Sandeke’s mother just passed away. He’s flying out to America and staying there for the next week and a half to help with funeral arrangements. He can’t make next week.”

Collin Sandeke worked on his own sci-fi podcast in South Africa, where he had been living for the past three years. He was a nerd like me, and I had been really excited about him being on the show. We’d been in contact for the past two years, and it was the first time our schedules worked out. I felt my heart go out to him. “Shit, that’s rough.” I ran my hand through my ponytail, probably messing it up. “Shit!”

“I know. He called the studio earlier and Tim asked me to relay the message. We’re down a guest, Pet.”

I wouldn’t be upset. It wasn’t Collin’s fault his mother had passed away. And I would definitely send him an email later, and maybe get the address he was staying at in America so I could send some flowers. I wouldn’t be upset, I reminded myself, even when my throat closed suddenly and I felt like screaming. It took months to get guests lined up. Understandably, schedules were very busy. The short notice put a wrench in things.

“Thanks for telling me, Jer. I’ll figure something out and get back to you, yeah?”

“Sounds good. Sorry for ruining your night, Pet.”

“You didn’t. Get some sleep, it’s late.”

I hung up the phone feeling dejected and defeated. When I walked back into William Morris, Melody picked up on my dejected expression immediately. “What’s wrong, Petra?”

“Collin Sandeke, our guest for next week, is in America. His mother passed away. He can’t make it to AC next week.”

“Shit. Sorry, Petra.”

I shrugged, because again, I wouldn’t be upset. “I’ll figure something out. If all else fails, we just won’t have a guest. I can keep people occupied by myself for an hour if I have to.”

But I didn’t want to. I liked having guests. It made the entire podcast feel more personal, somehow. I wracked my brain as Melody and I parted for the night and I Uber’d back to my flat. There really wasn’t anyone else I could ask. Not at the last minute like this. 

I kicked off my shoes when I got into my flat and sighed, leaning against my front door for a minute before I made my way to the living room. I opened up my laptop, ready to investigate and see if I could get someone, when the email from Harry popped up. Last time I had my laptop opened, I had looked at the email and read it twice, just to make sure it hadn’t been a dream and that Harry Styles was actually emailing me. I must have left it open.

I’ll be in your area in two weeks.

A lightbulb went off.

I bit my lip as the idea imbedded itself into my head. I hated Harry Styles. He was a dick. But didn’t I love my fellow nerds more than I hated him? Didn’t I owe it to them to have an awesome guest on the show? I mean, I didn’t think he was awesome at all, but other people obviously did.

I decided the question came down to whether or not it was worth it for me to bring up all those feelings of negativity and self-consciousness.

Letting out a sigh, I begun to type out an email.

~

There had been five main people in secondary school who made me want to curl behind a rock and hide.

One was obviously Harry, with his cruel words. The second was a kid named Oliver, who I’d been in school with since kindergarten. He hadn’t always been rude, but I imagine being popular had made him act differently. The third was a girl named Emma, who was the antithesis of me in every way possible. While my skin was tanned and stuck out in a class full of pale students, hers was the color of coffee creamer. She usually made jabs based on my appearance, and so her insults hurt the least. I always thought that if someone insulted another’s appearance, it was because they were insecure about their own. Emma was a very beautiful girl, so that was her problem to deal with. The fourth was Emma’s on-again, off-again boyfriend named George. He was a bit of an idiot, so I never took anything he said to heart.

Perhaps the one person I hated more than Harry Styles was the fifth and final member of my own personal gang of tormentors. Nathan Penrose was a physical and emotional bully. He’d been the one person to actually bother making fun of me after Harry had left for the X-Factor. Like Harry, he commented on how my head was up in the clouds and I would never amount to much. Unlike Harry, he also commented on my Cuban background.

Since school, I had grown into my own skin. The things I shied away from when I was teased, I now embraced. People listened to Alien Crossing and liked that I was so involved with the topics I discussed. The people I invited to be guests were like icing on the cake, made to give their expertise and opinions on whatever we were discussing.

I didn’t want Harry Styles to be a guest on my show.

The show was my safe space. It was what I had turned to my first month of uni when I still had no friends besides my weird roommate who I hadn’t heard from since our third year. Inviting Harry had been a mistake, that I knew. I was inviting him back in to tease and ridicule. But I read the comments when I posted on AC’s official Instagram account that Harry would be a surprise, last-minute guest this week and they had been overwhelmingly positive and excited.

And so, I needed Harry Styles to be a guest on my show.

I had agreed, stupidly, to meet him an hour before we were supposed to head over to Outset just so I could give him a rundown on what we would be discussing and he wasn’t thrown in blindly. Podcasts weren’t like interviews. Interviews were the barest of glimpses into Harry’s life. In my podcast, we’d delve deep into the topic and the details. So while I hadn’t wanted to meet him beforehand, if I wanted this episode of AC to be a success, I knew I had to coach Harry on how the entire process was going to go.

I hadn’t told Melody about this little arrangement. Mostly because I was a little embarrassed. We’d spent our night out at La Violetta discussing what a raging twat Harry was, and that I was going to be stubborn and not reply to his email. I didn’t want her to be disappointed in me for asking him to be a guest. Because I knew she would be. She would tell me that I couldn’t let people get away with treating me like that, and she was right. It made me a pretty self-deprecating person if I was willing to put myself back in Harry’s line of fire. 

Since I didn’t want to give Harry any reasons to make me the butt of his jokes, I hadn’t worn my pajamas like I usually did, which already set me on edge. I’d be uncomfortable in my jeans while we recorded. I blamed Harry. I also wasn’t wearing my comfortable slippers, but instead the same ankle boots I’d worn for my night out with Melody. I blamed him (and any heel pain) for that too. My hair was actually done considering I’d slept in curlers the night before in nervous anticipation for Harry’s arrival. I’ll be there around six in the evening and meet you at that twenty-four hour diner at half past eleven, he’d emailed me when I asked what time he was arriving earlier this morning. I wondered where he was going in the five and a half hours he had free. Probably telling all our schoolmates that he had a wicked plan up his sleeve and was going to drop pig’s blood on me like Carrie.

He had offered to pick me up since we were going to the same place afterwards, but I immediately refused his offer. For once, I didn’t care about my carbon footprint. I didn’t care if I had to take seven bloody separate vehicles. I was not riding with Harry Styles. I wouldn’t put myself purposefully in close proximity to him without a goal in mind. The goal for the dinner was to coach. The goal for the podcast was so I’d have a fairly impressive guest to leave my listeners satisfied. Beyond that, he was useless to me.

My phone pinged. I knew it wasn’t Harry because I hadn’t given him my number and I didn’t have alerts set up for my emails. It was Jeremiah.

We can just tell the listeners that you’re sick. If you don’t want him there, he doesn’t have to be there.

I appreciated Jeremiah’s loyalty, but unfortunately, it was much too late to do anything about my decision. I typed out a quick response. Thanks for the solidarity. We’ll both be there at one.

My Uber for the night wasn’t an ugly car like when I had gone out with Melody. This was a nice Kia, pearl in color with an older gentleman behind the wheel. My phone said his name was Norman. He said I looked nice when I got in the car and asked if I was meeting a boyfriend for dinner. I told him I was meeting someone I hated and wanted to show them that their presence didn’t affect me in the slightest. Norman got rather quiet after that.

There weren’t any expensive looking cars when I got to Wine & Love so I assumed Harry wasn’t there yet. I had only been here once before and I remembered not being very fond of it. Naturally, I had suggested we go there when we met for dinner. I didn’t want him invading in the restaurants I did like. Though I did send a wistful look to William Morris Pub across the way (since everything in Merton was basically walking distance), I ignored my longing to walk inside the pub and instead made my way inside the dimly lit winery.

I didn’t bother going to sit at one of the tables. I had figured Harry wouldn’t be here on time, and I wasn’t going to look like a loser sitting at a table by myself. I sat in the main foyer of the winery, taking out my phone and playing some game Veronica had downloaded on my phone. Only about a minute passed before someone’s shadow blocked the light of my phone. I looked up, expecting to see Harry, but instead saw someone that worked there. “Hi, I’m just waiting for someone.”

“Yeah, Harry Styles. He’s already here,” the waiter said, pointing behind him and into the back of the restaurant. “He told me to keep a lookout for you because he didn’t think you’d see your table in the back. Petra, right?”

“Um… yeah.” I grabbed my purse from where I had set it down next to me and dazedly stood from my seat. The waiter led me to the back of the restaurant, back to a table I’m sure Harry requested because it was behind a giant potted fern that hid him pretty well. In fact, I didn’t completely see him until we turned the corner and there he was, smiling politely.

He was the same and yet so different all at once. Gone were the floppy curls I’m sure fangirls would have paid millions for and instead his hair was in disarray, in that “I woke up like this” style that rockstars seemed to always have. He had a little bit of stubble lining his face, but still had those dimples that the girls at school had written love poems about. They were deep as craters now, as he grinned up at me like we were the best of friends. He was wearing an atrocious floral print shirt that actually resembled a pair of pajama pants I owned and tight jeans that would take me hours to shimmy my hips out of.

“Thanks, Richard,” Harry mentioned to the waiter, and the deep baritone voice was strange. It didn’t sound the same as the voice that had told me to get my head out of my ass and grow up. I imagined hearing that same sentiment from this voice would strangely hurt even more. Richard moved to go take care of the other patrons of the winery and suddenly those green eyes were on me. “Hi, Petra,” he said softly, like I was a scared animal that would run off.

I said nothing, simply slammed my purse down on the booth seat and plopped my body down in a similar fashion. I immediately lifted the drink menu, figuring I wasn’t getting through this dinner without some alcohol in my system. I decided on a sophisticated red wine that I couldn’t properly pronounce the name of and only then did I lower the menu and meet Harry’s gaze.

He was smiling shyly and patiently. “You look great.”

“Surprised?” I questioned, raising a brow.

“Not really,” he mentioned offhandedly, shrugging his shoulders. 

I hmphed with the fervor of Ms. Wilcox finding out her new grandson’s name was Archibald. “Right.”

We stared at each other for a few moments, his eyes so wide and green that it felt like I was looking into an oil painting. I wasn’t sure what he saw when he looked at me, but a pissed off expression probably wasn’t a far off guess. “So, what gives? Why’d you want to meet?”

“I could ask the same thing. Why’d you ask me to be on your podcast?”

“Because Collin Sandeke’s mother died and he couldn’t make it. You were a last resort. Don’t flatter yourself thinking there’d be any other reason.”

He flinched, as if my words were actually painful for him. “I deserved that.”

“You deserve much more. I’m holding back, believe me.” Richard interrupted us then, asked us for our drink order, and I ordered a bottle of red wine under the reasoning that Harry would be paying for this meal whether he liked it or not. I hoped the wine was expensive.

When Richard left again, Harry let out a sigh. “I asked to meet because you haven’t been in Holmes Chapel since 2012 and I had no idea where you lived. I knew you went to college in London, but I didn’t want to invade your privacy and find out where. It wasn’t until I heard Alien Crossing a couple of months ago that I figured out you were in Merton.”

It was so weird to hear the title of my podcast coming out of his mouth. “Why did you even bother looking for me?”

He looked baffled. “I needed to apologize. I was… I was an absolute asshole.”

“Yeah, I know. I was there. Problem is, I don’t really want or care about your apology. You were an asshole and I came home from school crying everyday. When you fucked off to X-Factor, it was the best day of my life. The only reason we’re even sitting here right now is because I needed a last minute substitution for the guest tonight.”

His eyes went wide and incredibly soft at the same time. “I didn’t know you went home crying.”

Scoffing, I crossed my arms over my chest. “It wouldn’t be a hard guess. I was the butt of all your jokes. Why wouldn’t I have cried?”

“You just seemed so...confident. Sure of yourself. Like the words I was saying didn’t even pierce you.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to have said them!” I hissed out, unable to keep the venom out of my voice. He had the decency to look like he was the gum underneath someone’s shoe. “I left Holmes Chapel the second I could because you and your group of friends made me hate the things I once loved. And as a result, made me hate myself. So forgive me if I don’t accept your apology, Harry.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. Gemma found out shortly after I left, how I was treating you. She gave me a bloody nose. My mum cried. She sent your parents an edible arrangement.”

I didn’t want to hear that his sister and mother were horrified at the way he’d treated me. His mum could send all the edible arrangements she wanted. His sister could bruise every inch of his skin. It still didn’t change the fact that I had left Holmes Chapel the most depressed I’d ever been. “I don’t want to hear about your mum and sister, Harry. You should have taken responsibility for your own actions. They shouldn’t have had to.”

“No, they shouldn’t have,” he whispered, shaking his head as if he couldn’t fathom that he’d once treated me the way he had.

Richard brought our wine and took our orders for food. I didn’t even look at the name of the entree I eventually decided on, just checked to make sure it was the most expensive thing on the menu. 

We sat in silence for approximately ten minutes before I finally sighed. “As hard as it is to believe, I didn’t agree to this dinner so I could yell at you. I came to explain how the recording will work tonight and what to expect. Just because you were a last minute add-in doesn’t mean this episode can be lackluster. I’ve worked too hard on this to have my emotions ruin it.”

“What do I have to do?” He asked, eagerly leaning forward like I was about to impart some Galadriel level wisdom.

“This episode has to flow. We’ve changed the topic to something you’ll be more comfortable with. We’ll be discussing the importance of music scores in big movies. Have you seen The Lord of the Rings?” At his sheepish look, I sighed. “Right. Have you at least seen Harry Potter?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. So Jeremiah, our sound guy, will probably play some of the big music from the series. I’ll give a brief overview of the scene it’s used in just in case you don’t remember, and you’ve just got to talk about why that particular music made the scene even more profound. I figure you can bullshit something considering you create music for a living.”

“Sounds easy enough,” he mentioned, nodding his head seriously.

“It’s not easy,” I argued, narrowing my eyes. “People tune in to listen to this because it’s a safe space for them. I created an environment in which people like me can openly talk about the things they love. I want to make every episode special for them.”

How dare he call the work I was doing easy? Sure, it wasn’t as complicated as most jobs, but it still meant something. I was a beacon of hope for people like me. A sign that a nerdy girl could make a living talking passionately about something she loved. It wasn’t as nuanced as being an actress or a musician, but it was still important. I saw his mouth twitch, like he was going to respond, but Richard appeared like a guardian angel with our food. I angrily stabbed my knife into the steak placed in front of me, imagining it was Harry’s thigh.

“I really am sorry, Petra,” he whispered when I poured myself a glass of wine, with extreme vigor.

I didn’t want to hear his apology now. I wanted to hear them when I was sixteen, crying in my room and tearing down all of my Star Wars posters from the wall. I wanted to hear it when I had my first appointment with Dr. Thorne, when I had insisted that I was over my schoolmates’ judgement and she had stared at me like she didn’t believe a word I was saying. I wanted it my first day at Outset, when I felt like an outsider and would have given anything for a friendly face.

The words meant nothing to me now.

“I’m sorry your apology isn’t enough.”

[everyonesawhoregrace]

FIRE & ICE II (41)

40

I had awoken with the severe pain of aftershock. I was in a pale white room in nothing but a thin bedsheet covering me. I sigh of relief because this is the first time I've woken up knowing I've made it out alive and I'm a hospital. I feel a shiver roll my up body, I couldn't move my arms or legs.

Move! I commanded by body, and still. Nothing.

My eyes moved down towards to my fingers that rested at my sides. I shut my eyes, took a deep breath and tried again. I compelled my finger to move, but it didn't obey.

"Jade," He whispered, his voice a wicked hiss that had me whimpering for hell.

The paralyzed state I was in couldn't help me as Oliver's tall figure had emerged from the white walls. His dark figure, looming over me. He had that sick smirk on his face as he slowly approached me, baring his knife.

"Finally, Jade." He laughs, throwing his head back before stopping all at once. "All to myself!" He runs his fingers over the blade of the knife and gathers a glob of blood before popping his finger into his mouth and licking it clean.

I screamed, a powerful force from within allowed me to cry out in fear, rage, anger, sadness. I can't piece together exactly what it was. All I know is that once I screamed, I woke up from my nightmare.

"Jade!" Thomas shouted, his voice so frail I feel as though it might break. He's got his hands on my shoulders, forcing me down as he shouts my name. "It's okay, Jade, it's only a nightmare. You're here, love. You're safe."

Once I realize I'm home, with my husband, I feel the weight lift off of me. I realize two things, that I'm covered in sweat, and that I've frightened Tommy.

My eyes widen at the sight of Tommy on top of me, straddling me. Hair falls over his dashing face, the worry leaves his features. When was the last time any of this happened? And I know, it's not the time or place for such thoughts to arise. But I've missed my husband.

"Thomas-" I grab his wrist as he peals himself off of me.

My eyes soften as he does lays beside me. Lightening breaks the sky, and thunder follows startling. I haven't noticed it was still dark out until now, I guess haven't slept long before this happened.

"Jade, it's alright, I've got you." He reassures me, kissing my cheek. "Just try to get some sleep."

I wrap his arm around me like a blanket as he rests his head in my neck. Tommy exhales, and melts against me as I feel my eyes get heavy and a deep sleep take over. And in his arms, I feel safe.

In the morning, I manage to bathe by all myself. I used to be able to do the basics, but now I can clean every part of me.

I let Tommy sleep in, which was something I used to be able to do.

It felt good, the freedom of bathing by myself. I couldn't even look at myself a month or two ago. The woman, Caroline, used to help clean myself. She would be so kind to my aching heart.

She would help me bathe during times like this, times when Tommy was no where to be seen. I hated being debilitated, I hated how weak I was. How I couldn't even put my arms over my head without crying out in pain.

Caroline used to talk to me only when she braided my hair. She didn't speak much English, but I would teach her in exchange for assisting me.

"Mrs. Shelby?" She never started a conversation without saying my name. Her voice was squeaky, she had crystal blue eyes and bright yellow hair. Caroline was from a place called Norway. She was a little older than me, she had two children from a ruined marriage. Mikel and Lilly, they lived in Norway with her mother, she made the money here only to send it back home.

"Yes, Caroline?" I couldn't move my head much, especially with her braiding my hair.

"Mr. Shelby tells me tomorrow is a celebratory day for you."

I smile, looking down at my lap.

I hadn't worn my wedding ring since the surgeon had taken it off of me. Tommy's put it in a gold chain and wears it around everywhere he goes. He still wears his wedding ring of course, but carry's mine around with him as well. I should take back from him, I want it on my finger now. Especially since I've gotten the OK to no more surgeries.

"Yes, tomorrow is my birthday, Caroline."

"Birth-day?" She repeats after me, "Mrs. Shelby, how old will you be?"

"Yes, birthday. And I'll be twenty-nine." The thought makes me feel so old. Mum had died earlier than then, I'm sure. And Jacob, I let out a shaky breath at the memory of my brother. I could almost hear his voice, Fuck a birthday! Every days our birthday Jade!

"It's a sad day for you, Mrs. Shelby?" She tilts her head, looking down at me.

I swallow, "Yes. Remember Jacob, my brother who died?"

"Your twin." I had taught her that word a week ago. Caroline called me unique for that, and I giggled.

"Yes."

Caroline gasped, "Oh, you share the same birth-day!" She wrapped her arms around me and held me close. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Shelby!"

The memory of Caroline makes me so happy. She was such a beautiful light during such a fucking dark time. She made me feel happy. She shielded me from my insecurities and promised I would feel better. And I did.

Tommy knocks on the bathroom door and creaks open the door. He covers his eyes with his hand, respecting my privacy. It's funny, the fact that I used to flaunt my body to anyone, and for months I couldn't even show my husband my bruised and battered body.

"May I come in?" He asks.

"Yes!" I rest my head on the side of the tub and study my husband. He's topless, in a pair of simple trousers, it's bunched up at his calves, exposing his sexy legs. His hair is a mess, a favourite look of mine.

He enters the bathroom and peaks through his fingers to see me. Tommy smirks, shutting the bathroom door. "Why are you so cute?" He asks, his voice raspy.

"Why are you so handsome?" I ask, biting my bottom lip. I stick out my hand and curl my fingers. "Come here."

"Oh ya?" He asks, pulling off his pants.

"Mmmhmm." I grin.

[awestedevelopment]

name: kieran luthor.

alias(es): kj, tba.

age: 17 years old.

faceclaim: tom holland.

birthday: october 3rd.

spoken languages: english, irish ( lena taught him some ).

sexuality: asexual.

marital status: single.

positive: intelligent, goofy, structured. negative: distracted, gullible, tunnel visioned.          

          kieran was adopted by lena luthor when he was just three years old after his parents were killed in a robbery gone wrong. lena had been visiting the children’s hospital that she owns on the day he was brought in and, curious about there not being any family whatsoever with him, she was told that his parents were dead and that he had no other known family. on a whim, much like most of her personal decisions, she decided to offer her home up as a refuge for the little boy until other arrangements could be made. two and a half days later, she had started the fostering process. after a year, the adoption was made official.

          it’s a sheer and utter coincidence that his birth name was kieran ( his full birth name was kieran jonathan aimes ) yet it almost felt like fate. lena waited until he was ten years old to tell him about his true parents and the circumstances that led to his adoption. out of respect of his biological mum and dad and the lives they had lost, she had kept his name as aimes. it was his choice to become a luthor with jonathan and aimes now serving as his two middle names. 

          he’s been tapped to go to mit when he graduates high school, though he has doubts about going because he’s never been that far from lena since she took him in. he once went to summer camp when he was twelve and had to be brought home on day three because he couldn’t handle sharing a cabin with five other people. he likes his own space and to be able to do things on his own terms, and summer camp never offered him that. since then, he’s mostly just spent his summers and other holidays working alongside lena and learning anything and everything that he can. he plans to focus on engineering at mit.

          when kieran focuses it’s extremely hard to break his concentration. he’s been known to not come out of his room for days after school projects have been given until he’s completely finished. there’s an upside and a downside to this. the upside being he almost always finishes his work on time and generally gets high marks for everything that he does. on the downside, he hyper focuses so much that his other needs and appointments are ignored. for example, one year lena got him the harry potter castle lego set for his christmas. he was not seen for five and a half hours because he was determined to build it immediately. the lego set, and the sets that would then follow, are still built and are displayed on a table in his room. he’s extremely proud of it.

          dad jokes are his favourite type of humour.

          he can recite the periodic table from start to finish without hesitation; he also knows the symbols and letters of each. similarly, he can also do this with pokemon. he’s probably one of the few left that can be found wandering around national city trying to catch the creatures on his pokemon go app.

          he’s obsessed with supergirl and has a watch with the ‘s’ insignia on it’s clock face. he wears it constantly and it’s his pride and joy. kara thinks this is hilarious ( she was the one who got him the watch ), the others not so much.

[heroprogeny]

Mobile Bio: Francis

GENERAL

Name: Francis Bernard Barton

Alias: Barton, Hawkeye

Date of Birth: 23 August

Age: 14-16

Species: Human

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Family: Clinton Francis Barton & Barbara Morse (parents)

Pets: In some verses, Francis has a corgi as an emotional support dog. His name is Taco. Hey, don’t judge!

APPEARANCE

Height: 155 (5′1″) - 173 cm (5'8")

Body shape: Fit, but on the skinny side.

Eye colour: Blue

Hair colour: Blond

Face Claim: Kenton Duty

SPECIFIC

Personality in short:  Stubborn, street smart, flirty, can sometimes appear a little immature and selfish, fiercely loyal, jokester, secretly very caring and a good leader.

Fears: People finding out his weaknesses, being abandoned, causing the death of those he cares about, reading in front of people.

Interests: Exploring, pranking friends, archery, video games.

Education: No formal education (main), barely any formal education (most other verses)

Spoken language: American English and ASL.

Other: Francis is dyslexic (though in most verses he doesn’t know there’s a name for his problems) and would probably be diagnosed with ADHD if he could get evaluated.

VERSES

Main: Francis Barton, aka Hawkeye, grew up in Machine City (sometimes also called Ultron City) with his dad Clint, who was the leader of a resistance group called Scavengers. His dad told him they were the last Avengers alive, though that turned out to be wrong. Kids of the other Avengers had survived with the help of Tony Stark, hidden away where Ultron couldn’t find them. After his dad died, Francis took over his role as the resistance leader, despite still being a kid. His life has not been easy, but he is not one to give up. Someone have to fight for humanity against Ultron and his robots. .

616/MCU*: During his time with the Carnies, Clint once met a girl. Or met might not be the right word, she came to work at the circus as a contortionist and they had a short but steamy relationship. Not long after she found out she was pregnant, she also realised what the circus was doing on the side and wanting nothing to do with it, she left. While she was pregnant, she obviously couldn’t work as a contortionist and managed to find a job as a waitress instead. Once Francis was born, she did consider going back to the performance industry again, but decided to stay despite not earning much, though they did end up moving a couple of times. Life was still pretty good for little Francis and his mum, who used to tell him stories about his dad, stories that may or may not be fully true. All could have turned out well if his mother hadn’t been killed by a drunk driver when he was six. Unable to find any relatives (his mum had created a new identity for herself and they didn't exactly want to dig too deep, that would be an effort, to try and find out who she might have been born as), Francis was put into the system and like with most kids in his situation, his life became difficult. At the age of twelve, after more foster parents than he cared to count, Francis ran away. Remembering the stories his mum had told about his dad and knowing that his name was Clint, but also Francis since he’d been named after him, he decided to try and find him. How many guys with the names Clint and Francis could there be in the US? Plus he knew his dad had worked at a circus as an archer and acrobat. So how hard could it be to find him? After nearly two years, he still haven’t found his dad, but he hasn’t given up yet. His search for this Clint Francis has also made him into a rather skilled thief, since he has to get money and food in some way. Though that might also lead to his downfall… or maybe to the discovery of his dad. He’s usually 14 in this verse (and 5′4″ if that’s important to know) and call himself Trickshot (Nightjar will be used if he ever becomes a hero) when he don’t want to tell his name, since it was one of the few names he remember from his mother’s stories. When he do, he just use Barton. He doesn’t have a middle name in this verse. *) If you happen to be a Bobbi  who wants to interact, then the above can easily be changed and make her Francis mother in the 616/MCU verse. I will write a specific 616 verse for this in the future/if I find a Bobbi who wants to be Francis mum.

Beak & Claws: (Main): Same as main verse except Clint got caught by a group of not so friendly humans. Not all surviving humans are nice, some take what they want and do what they want and both Francis and his dad tried to stop those kind of people. Once caught, they blinded him, because a Hawkeye without his eyes is nothing and they left him to die. Thankfully he was found and miraculously survived, but he was now completely blind. Refusing to give up, he taught himself to use his other senses to fight, even if he could never be the skilled archer he’d been. He can still shoot accurately with some guidance and using his hearing, but unlike before, he now can miss. Instead he has become a very good hand-to-hand fighter, especially in close quarters.  This Francis has a darker and a bit more broken personality (although with the right help that can, of course, change). (616/MCU 1): Same as ‘main’ 616/MCU verse except that Francis has an accident that leaves him blind (he can see shadowy shapes in certain lights). The blindness happened due to head trauma. This happened before he found Clint, so he will still be a street kid, still a thief, although it took some getting used to before he reached a good enough level again. He use his blindness to his advantage, either by gaining people’s sympathy or by making them uncomfortable and look away when he need them too. His hearing is very keen, but not superhuman. Francis can still accurately hit something if told where to aim. he also have an own-made stick he can use as a weapon when needed. (616/MCU 2): In this verse, he finds Clint first and is later blinded during either a mission or when being kidnapped by people wanting his dad.

Circus: (DC, 616/MCU) After Francis mum dies, when he’s just two years old, social services manage to find his dad, who is still working at the circus as an acrobat and archer. It might not be the best place for a kid to grow up, but social services are more than happy to leave him there since he then won’t be their problem anymore. Unfortunately, the circus has some rather unpleasant extracurricular activities: heists. At the age of six, Francis gets dragged into their criminal activities. The boy doesn't want to, but if he goes against the Ringmaster’s wishes, he’ll hurt his dad. As time goes by, Francis gets more and more advanced tasks until he is their main man after Clint gets severely injured in an ‘accident’ and slips into a coma. Francis still doesn't want to do the heists, but as long as he uses his skills for whatever the Ringmaster wants him to, he pays for the care of Clint. Francis is 14 in this verse. (Vers. 1): Clint isn’t actually in a coma, he woke up after a couple of weeks, but is kept imprisoned so that the Ringmaster can keep using him as leverage to Francis. (Vers. 2): After three months in a comatose state, Clint dies, but the Ringmaster doesn't tell Francis that, knowing that without the leverage, Francis might rebel. (Vers. 3): Clint dies during the fall and since Francis sees it, he knows his dad is dead and the Ringleader can’t lie to him about it. Unfortunately, this means Francis has to enter the foster care system and he doesn’t have the best of luck and runs away at the age of twelve, surviving by using the skills he has to steal and do other dirty work for money.

[takemeawaytocamelot]

Bashful Beauchamp - Teenage AU

Finally! We got to see Jamie over for dinner with Claire and Lambert. Now we get to see Claire meeting the Fraser clan! How will she do? Will they treat her kindly? Read on to find out! 

Shout out to @diversemediums for helping me edit this and @outlandishchridhe for helping me with a new title!

Catch up on Jamie’s dinner in Flustered Fraser

Jamie had worn his kilt when he’d come to dinner with me and my uncle. Now it’s my turn to impress his family. So I’m standing in front of my wardrobe, trying to decide what a sensible English girl would wear. Uncle Lamb is in the living room, waiting for me to dress so we can leave.

I have my red dress, a black dress, and a blue dress all laid out on my small bed.

“Uncle Lamb!” I cry, my voice sounding frantic to my own ears.

After a moment, I hear him come down the hall to my room. He knocks and walks in.

“What is it, Claire Bear?”

“I’m having a girl moment,” I tell him. “I don’t know what to wear!”

Uncle Lamb takes a long, deep breath and looks at what I have.

“Wear the blue one.”

“Should I put on makeup?”

“No, darling,” he says with a soft smile. “Your Scot likes you the way you are.”

I nod and put the other dresses away.

“Thanks Uncle Lamb.”

“Your parents would be proud of you.”

I stare at him in shock. He never talks about my parents and I rarely ask. It’s still painful for both of us.

“You think so?”

“Maybe not proud of you getting caught snogging in the cupboard, but yes. Your Scot seems to be a very kind young man.”

“Thanks,” I say softly, trying to keep from crying.

I’m not wearing makeup, but crying will flush my face and my nose will start running.

Lamb leaves and I dress quickly. I decide to pin my hair back, but leave most of it down. I’ll keep it from falling in front of my face, but the curl was too nice to hide away. I grab my coat and walk out to where Lamb waits. We follow the directions Jamie texted me until we reach Lallybroch, the Fraser estate.

It’s a cute house, I think, and it looks old. But it’s a fully functional farm and it looks well used. Jamie is waiting for me on the front steps, which he descends when he sees us pull up.

“Ye made it! I was worriet,” he says, beaming at me.

“We did. Uncle Lamb only had to turn around once.”

We stare at each other awkwardly before Lamb clears his throat.

“Aye! Sorry. Would ye like to come in for a moment, Mr. Lamb?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble. I won’t stay long,” he says when I give him a pleading look. “But I’d like to meet your parents.”

Jamie hops nimbly up the stairs and holds the door open. As I walk past him, he grabs my hand and squeezes it briefly before leading us further into the house. His home is incredible. Everything looks like it belongs in a museum, but it’s all obviously in use.

“My God!” Lamb squeaks behind me. “Is that an eighteenth century pistol?”

“Aye,” Jamie says. “We’ve kept a few artifacts o’er the years. Perhaps ye and Miss Beauchamp should come back out here and let Da show ye around. He loves to talk about the Fraser history.”

Uncle Lamb stares longingly at the pistol before getting a hold of himself.

“Perhaps we shall.”

Jamie stops by a doorway and motions us inside.

“I’ll introduce ye to Mam and go find Da.”

I come around the corner and see exactly where Jamie gets his looks. The woman, who’s pregnant belly is huge, is a mirror image of him. She struggles a little to sit up and Jamie rushes to her side.

“Careful, Mam. Ye’ve yer appointment in a few days.”

“I ken that, love. But I need to get a good look at this lass ye canna stop talkin’ about.”

The tips of Jamie’s ears turn deep red and he hastily looks at the floor.

“Mam, this is Claire Beauchamp and her Uncle Lambert. Miss Beauchamp, Mr. Lambert, this is my mother, Ellen Fraser.”

Ellen puts her hand out to shake and, after a moment, Lamb steps forward to greet her.

“Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Fraser.”

“I’m sorry I canna get up just now. Gettin’ down the stairs is hard enough and Brian, my husband, would be verra cross wi’ me if I strained myself.”

“Of course, of course.”

Ellen’s beautiful eyes turn to me.

“Come here into light, love. Let me see ye.”

I do as she asks and she smiles.

“I think Jamie’s got the right of it,” she says sweetly. “You are verra beautiful indeed. Just as he described.”

“Mam!”

“Hush, lad. Take yer lass to the kitchen to meet Jenny and Willie, please. I’d like to speak wi’ Mr. Lambert for a bit. And call yer Da, please love.”

Jamie offers his arm to me and I take it, casting a worried glance over to my uncle. As we weave through the halls, Jamie pulls out his cell phone and punches a number.

“Da? Mam’s in the sittin’ room wi’ Claire’s uncle. She’s askin’ for ye.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Aye. I’m takin’ her to meet Jenny and Willie.”

He slips the phone back into his pocket and turns to me.

“I’m glad ye’re here, Claire.”

“Me too.”

“I ken you’re probably a wee bit scairt. But ye dinna need to fear anyone here, especially when I’m wi’ ye.”

I shake my head.

“I’m not scared.”

He smiled and cups my cheek in his broad hand.

“Everything ye think and feel is written across yer face, mo nighean donn. It’s okay. No one will question your bravery in coming.”

He licks his lips and looks around quickly before leaning in to kiss me. I’m rather proud that I haven’t bitten him (on accident at least) in some time. We don’t let it go too long, not with my uncle and his mother only a few feet away.

“Isn’t that how we got into this mess, Mr. Fraser,” I ask quietly, smiling up at him.

“Aye. But I havena kissed ye in several days. I need to be sure ye dinna forget me.”

Taking his arm again, I lean on him a little while we walk. In the kitchen, a few people bustle around, one of them very obviously related to Jamie.

“Jenny, Willie, I’d like ye to meet my girlfriend Claire Beauchamp.”

Two faces turn to look at me and I take a step back, into Jamie’s body. The one I knew was related to Jamie is as tall and broad as he is. The other is a bit shorter than her brothers, but I can see a bit of them both in her face. She doesn’t have Ellen’s bright red curls, but rather seems to take after her father with dark, straight hair.

“H-hello,” I say, taking a deep breath and hoping my hair isn’t sticking out funny.

“Ooohhh,” says Willie.

I’m surprised that his voice is so much deeper than Jamie’s.

“This is her, then?” Jenny asks.

“Aye,” Jamie says, giving my hand a squeeze. “Be nice to her, aye?”

“Of course we will, mo bhràthair!” Willie says. “You’ve never brought a girl home before!”

Not knowing what else to do, I stay quiet.

“It’s lovely to meet ye, Claire,” Jenny says, giving me a polite smile. “Ye’ll have to excuse me. I’ve got to help finish gettin’ our dinner ready.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I offer, needing to do something.

“Oh! Weel,” Jenny looks around the kitchen. “If ye wouldna mind cleaning the lettuce and preparing the salad, I’d appreciate it.”

I smile and wash my hands before getting to work. Jamie stares at me for a moment before joining me.

“I don’t mind at all. I do most of the cooking at home. Uncle Lamb almost burned our flat down trying to boil water.”

Jenny, Willie, and Jamie all laugh.

“Willie’s no’ verra good wi’ the cooking either,” Jenny says. “Claims it’s women’s work. But I taught Jamie better before Willie could corrupt him. My wee brother is a fair hand when he wants to be.”

“I’m no’ your wee brother anymore, Janet. I’m taller than you.”

“Aye,” Jenny says, pulling a tray of rolls from the oven. “But I’m still older than ye.”

We subside into giggles as Jenny and Jamie exchange good-natured insults. I always hate being an orphan. Not only because I no longer have my mum and dad around, but because I’ll never have siblings. I’ll never have a sister upset with me for borrowing her clothes or a brother to scare off boyfriends. But instead of allowing myself to drown in the sadness, I decide to enjoy the family Jamie invited me to join.

“Claire?”

I stop laughing, hearing my Uncle’s voice.

“Uncle Lamb? I’m in the kitchen with the others.”

My hands are full of veggies to put in the salad, or I would go out to him. Lamb finds his way into the kitchen and smiles at me.

“Ah, I should have known I’d find you elbow deep in something. I’m popping off now. Call me when you’re ready to come home. No later than nine.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

A strange expression comes across his face, something I don’t recognize. He walks around the large wooden table in the middle of the kitchen and hugs me.

“Have fun, lovie,” he whispers in my ear.

My breath catches when he uses that word. He told me, when I was younger, that ‘lovie’ was what my mother had always called me, something she’d picked up from her own mother. Whenever he used it, he did so to include my parents in my life.

“Thanks Uncle Lamb.”

He straightens up and looks Jamie in the eye.

“You take care of her.”

“Yessir.”

Then my Uncle is gone. Jenny and Willie go about their duties, getting dinner ready. Jamie and I keep nudging each other while we prepare the salad.

“Alright you two,” Jenny says with a smirk. “Go on and take that out to the table. Mam and Da should be ready by now.”

I follow Jamie out to the dining room but we both stop when we hear quiet voices.

“Dinna fash, my love. I’m doing everything the doctor said.”

“I ken that, mo nighean ruaidh.”

I don’t eavesdrop on people. It’s rude and intrusive. But I can’t help but peek around Jamie to see what he’s staring at. Brian is sitting in a chair beside his wife, one hand caressing her stomach while the other is rubbing her shoulder.

“If I got through gi’ing birth to that giant ye call a son, this one will turn out fine. Just have faith.”

Brian takes a deep breath and kisses his wife’s cheek.

“Ye better keep fighting, then. Ye’ve been a Fraser long enough to be as stubborn as the rest of us.”

“Aye, and so I have. I promise I’ll keep fighting for me and for our bairn.”

Jamie takes a step back, out of sight and takes a long breath. I follow him, waiting for him to pull himself together. I know how worried he is about his mother, he’s told me more than once. But this isn’t the time or place for him to talk about it, so he goes into the room and I follow.

“Ah! James Fraser!” Ellen scolds, her eyes wide and mouth tight. “Tell me ye didna force this sweet lass into workin’ in the kitchen!”

“No, Mrs. Fraser,” I smile at her. “I offered. I hate just standing around. But Jenny’s kicked us out, so I expect there’s not much more to do.”

“Aye, probably not. Come here and sit so we can talk. Your Uncle is a very lively man.”

I sit down in the seat to her left, Jamie taking the empty one beside me.

“Yes, he’s quite a character, my Uncle.”

“I want ye to ken ye have an open invitation to join us for dinner at any time,” Ellen says. “And I suspect your Uncle will also want a grand tour of the estate.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“He’s an anthropology professor, so he’s a little obsessed with historical artifacts.”

“A little?” says Brian before Ellen swats him.

Before I can say anything else, Jenny, Willie, and another woman I wasn’t introduced to, come out with dinner.

Unlike the dinner with my Uncle, the Fraser family doesn’t interrogate me. Rather, they seem more interested in telling the most embarrassing stories about Jamie. His face is flushed red all through the meal.

“No!” I say as everyone sits back in their chairs after dessert. “That’s not how it happened at all!”

“Weel that’s what he told us,” Ellen said. “He said it was the worst presentation he’s ever given.”

I shake my head at Jamie in disbelief.

“Not at all. I think it was the best of the whole group. And I thought that before he asked me out.”

The table chuckles and Jamie gives me a small smile.

“Claire, darling,” Ellen says gently. “Ye should call yer uncle soon, I dinna want ye to be late for curfew.”

I glance down at my watch and gasp. Talking with the Frasers had completely distracted me from watching the time.

“Excuse me. This has been a lovely evening.”

I get up and move away from the table, calling my Uncle as I did.

“I was about to call you,” he answers after the second ring. “Ready to come home?”

“Yes,” I say. “It’s been great fun. They said I could come back any time.”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it on the ride home. I’ll be there soon.”

I hang up and turn to see Jamie waiting for me.

“They like ye,” he says quietly.

“I like them too.”

“I think Mam wants to adopt ye. But I’m glad ye got to meet everyone.”

Jamie steps forward and wraps me in a warm, solid hug. He smells clean and a little of the outdoors.

“My Uncle is on his way. I should go and make my goodbyes before he gets here.”

Jamie takes my hand and leads me back to the dining room where Willie is beginning to gather plates.

“My Uncle will be here soon,” I tell everyone. “This has been… This has been absolutely wonderful. Thank you so much for having me over.”

Ellen, hands folded over her belly, gives me a sweet smile.

“It’s been a pleasure to meet ye, Claire. I meant what I said. Ye can come back any time ye like. We’d love to have ye again.”

“I’d like that very much.”

Jamie walks with me to the front door where we can watch the drive. The rest of the family decided to give us these few minutes, which I appreciated.

“Are ye alright, a nighean?”

“Yes, I’m okay. It’s just… It’s hard, sometimes. I’ve never had a family like this.”

“Aye, I ken it must be difficult.”

I shrug.

“But it’s beautiful. You’ve got such a lovely family, Jamie. It’s wonderful to see.”

“I hope ye take Mam up on her invitation. Willie will go back to uni soon, but I’d like to have ye back.”

“I’ll talk to my Uncle.”

Lights draw my attention and I see my Uncle’s car pulling down the long drive.

“Do I get a kiss goodnight?” I ask, biting my bottom lip.

He smiles and leans down to do as I asked, his mouth still tasting strongly of the dark chocolate from dessert. Our kiss comes to a slow, happy end just as my Uncle gets out of the car. Jamie presses his lips to my ear.

“I forgot to tell ye how beautiful ye looked tonight, Sassenach. Took my breath away when I saw ye.”

“Like you took my breath in your kilt.”

Uncle Lamb knocks on the door. Jamie opens it and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank ye for a lovely evening, Miss Beauchamp,” he says, giving me that same bow he had when he’d come to dinner at my flat.

“Thank you, Mister Fraser,” I say, offering a slight curtsey.

I follow my Uncle out to his car and collapse into the front seat.

“Did you have a good time then, Claire Bear?”

I sigh, smiling as I wave back at Jamie.

“Uncle Lamb… I think I’m in love.”

[elonedion-blog]

Meet Nigerian M.C who speaks eight languages

Nigeria, despite her many challenges, parades incredible talents in all spheres of life. One of the shining lights is Adedeji Odulesi, a Warri born son of an Ijebu man, who mesmerizes his audience with eight languages at corporate events as Master of Ceremonies. His vast knowledge of languages and cultures helps him pronounce names most appropriately to give everyone, irrespective of ethnic background, a great sense of belonging. He is endowed with good command of British English, Hausa, Igbo, Yoruba (Ijebu dialect inclusive) French, German, and Spanish languages. The linguist, master of ceremonies extraordinaire, and Church minister tells his story in this interview with P.M.NEWS’ TAIWO OKANLAWON AND MICHEAL ADESINA. Excerpts: How has 2019 been so far for you? 2019 has been fantastic for me as a person, career wise because, I have been an MC since 2006 really. Recognition of what I do began in 2019. Odulesi entertaining guests at a public function. How did you discover that this is what you want to do? I am very passionate about learning languages. So in 2006, someone wanted to wed, so they asked me to come and anchor it. I said no, I don’t know how to really anchor an event but they said no I must do it for them, anyhow I do it. So I went ahead with trepidation and I did it. Even though, I didn’t know the rules of anchoring, I just did whatever I taught I saw people do in wedding and I gave the language flair. That time I could speak Hausa, Igbo, Yoruba, French and English, and in the hall, people began to clap and clap and that gave me a motivation. So I thought is like I can do this thing, it’s like people like this thing. Right from there people started to book me for events, but it was free and I was too glad too. That was how I started. Who is Adedeji Odulesi? Adedeji Odulesi is a hundred percent Yoruba man by birth, Ijebu to be precise, my dad is from Iperu in Ogun State while my mum is from Poka in Lagos State. Odulesi with the Minister of State, Niger Delta, Barrister Festus Keyamo at a public event. Can you take us through the journey of how you became a Polyglot? I was born in Warri, Delta State and I did my primary school there. Warri is a town where you have so many nationalities, you have Isoko, Itshekiri, Ijaw, Urobo. Then the variances of Ibo like Kwalian as other Nigerians that are all there. So what I could just pick there was Pidgin English but we have Ibo neighbours and they used to abuse me using their language like Onyeosi, Onyeara but I could not understand beyond that. So, there was that early childhood desire to know what other things they were saying about me. That was how I had desire to learn Igbo but I learnt Pidgin there, I learnt normal English and I learnt. My father was a civil servant in Warri, working as a teacher at Federal Government College, Warri. Eventually, he was transferred from there to Sokoto State. At Sokoto, I now made Hausa people my friends intentionally to learn the Hausa language and I enjoyed leaning the language. Actually, the Hausa language is a very simple language to learn and the people too would want to teach you the language, so I quickly learnt the language. I was in the North for ten years. All of my primary four to six and JSS1 to SS3 years were in the North. Then I came back to the North for my Youth Service in Kaduna. Nine years in Sokoto and one year in Kaduna. So I was able to, more or less, perfect the Hausa language. I went to Federal Government Sokoto for my Secondary school, while I was there, we did French in Junior class and in JSS3, I was like the best student in French but you know those childhood dreams of I want to be a doctor, I want to be engineer and so on, I went to Science class and I did Further Mathematics. So I couldn’t do French because there are some subjects you must combine together, so I had to drop French, it was painful. The pride of ‘I am a Further Mathematician’ robbed me of learning French in Secondary school. At that point, my parents had been transferred to the East, Owerri to be precise. So I joined them after finishing Secondary school in 1991. There, I started learning the Igbo language. I knew I had a short time because the plan was to study Agriculture in the West. So after Secondary school, I was thinking of becoming a medical doctor. So, I was taking JAMBs but could not meet up with cut off marks. Hence, I just aligned myself to my passion which is Agriculture. I like Agriculture, so I choose the course. While I was in the East, I stayed at home to learn and attend prep courses to prepare for JAMB. So, I didn’t really have the opportunity of mixing much with Igbo people but what I did was that, the church I attended they do interpretation there, so I when go to church, I go with an Igbo Bible and when they are reading in English, I am reading in Igbo even when I don’t understand, eventually when the interpreter reads, I would understand better. So I was doing that for about two to three years in the East. It was like I was in a language class and I also listen to radio a lot while I was in the East. There was Ibo Broadcasting Cooperation which had a lot of good music that I could flow with, so with that I was able to get the basics of Ibo language. From there I got admission into the Federal University of Agriculture, Abeokuta in 1992. I have passion for Agriculture and that is why I went there. So while I was in university, I picked up the French again. I ran into a friend whose uncle came back from abroad and came with cassette and book in French and German. I heard the German was a difficult language, so I put it aside and faced French. The book is titled ‘French in Three Months’. I copied the cassette and book and I started to use it. It was a fantastic experience for me and the secret was to do thirty minutes every day. There were some foreign students I interacted with too and before I left the school, the school had recognized somebody who could speak French and started using me for school activities when they had international programs and things like that. So I graduated as the best graduating student in General Studies and you know GNS is Art. When I go to library to read, I read about different cultures in the world and I was very good and came out as the best student in General Studies with my passion for Agriculture and up till date I still practice my Agriculture but the language side has kept coming up. So, by 2006 people saw in me somebody with qualities of an MC but I never saw myself, and when I was invited for that wedding, it was fantastic. Thereafter, I started getting invitations which I was attending for free before people started giving me two thousand naira, and two thousand naira meant a lot to me then, later it was increased to five thousand naira. How many languages do you speak at the moment? Right now I speak the three major languages in Nigeria, Hausa, Igbo and Yoruba. Then I speak English naturally. If you count Pidgin, because it’s a language, at BBC, there is a station for Pidgin entirely. They pay people to broadcast in Pidgin. Then I do speak French, German and Spanish. That’s eight languages and of course I understand my local dialect too which is Ijebu. Adedeji Odulesi in BBC How did you later learn German and Spanish? For German, in 2016, an organization called me to come and anchor an event for them at Ilorin, so I went there and still did the language stuff and people were fascinated. Then, somebody walked up to me and spoke German to me and I didn’t understand anything but I felt that the language looks a bit like English so I told the person that the next time we meet I will be speaking the language. So that 2016, I met a corps member who was attending GOETHE institute. She told me about the institute and by September 2016, I started attending afternoon and evening classes for German. When we finished the first three months I was the best in my class and I was offered a scholarship to proceed to the next level. Those exams are A1 and A2 Beginner, B1 and B2 Intermediate and C1 and C2 Advanced. So I did A1 on scholarship and somebody else took A2 and I now did B1 which means my German is at Intermediate level. For Spanish, I didn’t really find any place to study. I study online and I have books. This one is called ‘Beginner Spanish’. I also learn by watching YouTube videos. Then, another secret of my learning is that I have a bible in every language that I speak. At any point in time I pick up any bible. So when I go to church, people are looking at me, you know at times, you look at the Bible in your friend’s hand and you don’t understand anything. So all those things helped me to improve on the languages. Have you looked beyond MC, like going into academics? Yes, it is really a futuristic plan because many people have approached me that I need to open an institution. I don’t really need to teach but I can get good hands and can easily monitor them because, I know what the language is all about. Do you have relationship with others in the industry? Sure, we must work hand in hand. If there is an evening program like a Gala Night, a comedian will be needed aside from the MC who will pilot the program to come and give five minutes jokes, we call them just like we will call cultural group to come and dance. So, there is a role for each person to play. What would you say is the best part about being a Polyglot? A Polyglot is someone who understands many languages, is that not so? So anywhere I go to, I find it easy to blend and to be spotted out because as I come across people, it may be by somebody’s intonation, I can easily tell, this person is an Ibo or this person is a Hausa. So the ability to interact is there, and then, it is very rewarding, people will want to relate with you because once you can speak someone’s language, the person will assume you are the same with him, so he accepts you. Hence, I have so many friends and have accessibility. I have eaten different kinds of foods and I have been to different places. You have 8 languages at your disposal that you speak, which other languages are you planning to learning? I am planning to learn Portuguese because it is very similar to Spanish, which means if a Portuguese is speaking I seem to get what they’re saying. It is just like someone speaking Egba and I am Ijebu, I seem to get what he’s saying. Then, I also want to learn Arabic and Swahili because they’re languages spoken in vast area in Africa. The whole of Eastern block of Africa speaks Swahili and the whole of the Northern block of Africa speaks Arabic, so those are the languages I want to learn and I like the way the languages sound too, It is not just that I want to learn them, there must be something that keys you to the language. A language might be spoken by the whole world and you don’t like the way it is spoken so you are not interested. Do you have any one you can refer to as key influence to your success? There is someone who has been very influential. Who has been like a mentor, a young man like me. Not that he makes me go to events, rather what he does is that anytime I have an event, I go to him that how do I anchor this kind of event and he says do it this way. So he’s been a generous mentor but a reserved person not wanting publicity. He is a senior colleague in the same industry. What are those challenges you have faced? You see, the languages themselves don’t come easy. Learning Hausa for instance, I found it so easy. Learning German for instance, I found it so difficult even though I was the best in the class and I got scholarship. I ran away from it at first but because of that challenge I got in 2016, I picked it up because I like challenges. Another challenge is Spanish. I hardly come across a Spanish speaker in Nigeria, unlike French. I meet French people all around, you even come across it being spoken on radio. And for German, you don’t too often meet German speakers, but at least, you know that GOETHE institute is here and when you go there you see people speaking German. But Spanish, though a simple language and easy to learn, you hardly come across people to speak it to in Nigeria. Then, another challenge is that people think those who speak many languages are 419. So you’re a corporate MC and passionate about Agriculture. What else do you do? Aside those two, I’m a minister, a pastor, a committed Christian and a gentleman (laugh). Do your wife and children speak more than one language as well? Interestingly, my wife is French teacher. We met basically via French learning. I went to a French speaking church. We had a French session, so I went there to improve my French and that’s where I met my wife. So we do French together. I also speak French and German with my two children, Chioma and Chinedu, at home, whether they understand or they don’t. Why Ibo names? Well, if you watch my video, I ended it by saying I am detribalized. It is another secret of learning languages. A real Polyglot is detribalized, he does not hate any tribe, and he does not claim any tribe. He relates freely with all cultures. He just happened to have been born in a particular culture. I could have even married an Ibo woman but I could not find but I married the one I saw that could also speak French. So I love the Ibos like I love the Hausas. So, my first child happens to be a girl and I named her Chioma Oluwademilade Odulesi and it’s in the birth certificate. She’s actually Jumaih in Hausa because she was born on Friday. She’s a complete Wazobia. My son is Adebola Chinedu Odulesi, the Chinedu is in the birth certificate too. What advice do you have for this generation or people who also want to learn more languages? Age is no barrier for learning a language, let that be gotten clear. It is how you plan your time and in fact as a mature adult, you have the ability to even learn better because there are gadgets all around you that you can use, YouTube, subtitle of movies. A child cannot do that. Why children learn fast is because they are unbiased and unashamed. Even the English they speak when they make mistake and you correct them they keep speaking it but we adults, we tend to be shy, if I make mistake people will laugh at me and you watch what you say. So age is not a barrier. There are many Apps you can download to learn the languages. What I will say to this generation is that, parents in particular, open your minds, do not say because the child is learning Yoruba, his English will be affected, no, if he is learning Yoruba at home, his English will be better because the brain now has capacity to accept more, the brain is like boxes. So parents should encourage their children. And when they travel for vacation, why do you keep going to English speaking countries? Go to France, Belgium or Spain for vacations. You can even go to Togo, Benin here or even the North if you can’t afford to travel abroad. So don’t be born in Oyo, primary school, Oyo, secondary school, Oyo, university, UI and get married there (laugh), they won’t even come to Lagos, everything about them is Oyo. So, broaden the mind, the mind has capacity to learn and then, it gives added advantage for employments.

COPIED!

[salutethepig]

My Dad's pigs

Well, strictly, there weren’t his.

OK, I’d better give you some more background hadn’t I? There’s already some words on my Mum in this blog from earlier, so it seems only right that he also gets a fair crack of the narrative whip in my ongoing pig tales. And I’m actually more than a little surprised that I’ve not got around to talking that much about them — except in passing — until now, some years after the blog was started. So, sorry to you both! I love you; it wasn’t a deliberate slight 🙂

But first, here’s a shot of the (in-)Famous Five. Not sure where this was taken but I’m the one on the right in the back row. By the way, you will note that my pristine discriminate suss vis a vis clothes, hair-cuts and general hard-core posing, has always been with me…

Dad had an interesting, varied life. He’d been a merchant sailor on the Russian Convoys in WWII. He’d graduated from the Royal College of Music as a pianist and, initially at least, taught piano, but after he’d met my Mum (met up again that is; they’d split up and gone their separate ways, until Mum went down to Devon and, so her version goes, “dragged him back to Oxford and away from that other woman”), five children came along in rapid succession and it was soon apparent that the measly pay offered a music teacher wasn’t enough to support us all. Taking a cue from his own Dad, he re-trained as an accountant and started working for firms up & down the country. We moved. A lot. By the first 10 years of my life, I think we’d had 4 or 5 different places we called home.

And a couple of early shots of them attending someone elses’ wedding and, in the second, their own.

[I’ve even recently attempted to map some of the houses — it’s available here as The Bulow Clan homes for any of you stalkers out there — and, using Street-view, took a look at how they’re doing now. It’s quite surprising quite how much hasn’t changed from my memories of them, memories in some cases, from over 40 years ago]

Whilst it meant that we were forever making & then saying good-bye to short-lived friendships (at first those children next door, or just along the road, then later, those at primary school), it also resulted in us becoming a superbly well-tuned and tight-knit fighting unit, skilled at packing up one day and then efficiently moving these 7 people, their dog and their furniture to a new location, the very next day. I think I said before that my Mum could easily have organised the Normandy landings — her grasp of logistics was that good. We were the civvie equivalent of the Royal Engineers, moving men, vehicles & supplies through a devastated wasteland.

Here’s a later retirement shot — from the back garden in their nice, newly built, modern house. Finally, my Mum got to have a house that she didn’t have to look after all the time. Didn’t stop her still doing so, mind you…

And then, just like that, Dad gave up the life of an accountant and became a pig farmer. Well, in my memory, it was like that. In all likelihood, it took probably a few weeks or months — at least — to convince my Mum that this wasn’t the most insane idea he’d ever had. Dad was bright (and funny and kind), but sometimes you wouldn’t know it. He also could (and did) drink. And that was a problem at times. I recall being driven by him (in retrospect, a very pissed him) at high-speed around Bournemouth, where we were visiting his parents and after he’d had a row with Mum. He was often pretty useless with money; rather surprising for an accountant and I recall Mum keeping separate little pots for each bill and, once or twice we kids and Mum had to hide silently under the bed and pretend that we weren’t in, when the milkman (or similar dunned debtor) came a’ knockin’.

But become a pig farmer he did. There were, I’m sure, some sharply hissed, unkind words from behind the closed bedroom door or from the front-room, as they discussed it, but again, in my memory, we just effortlessly and calmly segued into our new lives on farms. Dad had always loved pigs, working with them in Devon, so, whilst an unexpected change of tack — at least to us — maybe not a total bombshell for my Mum. Who knows now? But there we were. Living in farm cottages as Dad never owned his own farm; he was always a tenant farmer. But one big advantage of this was that the job came complete with a large house. I’m sure the wages were pretty crap but at least they didn’t have to find rent money and were able to have separate bed-rooms for (most) of us!

Here’s the place at Kingsdown, in Kent. We moved here when I was just 11, from the previous farm in Essex. This was the last one he worked at and it specialised in careful, highly skilled breeding programmes. Now. this pristine, white house is divided into two properties but when we were there, it was all ours. Complete with nests of rats under the garden shed. An endless source of fun for us and the family and farm dogs. Corn fields behind. Bluebell woods on the horizon. And an old Royal Marine training ground  further along the farm road — dangerous as all hell, full of collapsing tunnels, hidden drops and unstable sandy banks, so therefore irresistible to us.

And here, the farm buildings that housed the pigs, now looking almost deserted (and a likely asbestos health & safety nightmare), but these were where Dad worked, where we all ‘helped’ him and, from the concrete jetties, where the animals were loaded and off-loaded. The grain store and chute, at the back, was another treasure trove of rats for hunting. Oh, and it also had a large oil-drum sized tub of black molasses given to the pigs to supplement their diet. Scooping a fistful out when no one was looking, was a treat for all of us kids.

And so, as I said therefore, not his pigs. But as far as the porkers and we were concerned, they may as well have been. He loved them. He cared for them. He bedded them down when they were ill, supervised their births, farrowing, feeding, growth and deaths.  As a breeding experimental site, we had quite tight access controls (for that time); and the occasional foot & mouth outbreaks nearby meant we often went into lock-down and once — luckily only the once — we had to watch as all the animals there had to be killed and burnt. An horrific sight, sounds and a smell that lingered in the air and clothes and even the hedgerows for days afterward. A lot of us cried that day. Including my Dad.

An earlier farm was also the cause of more than one or two nightmares for me. The pig manure was swept into huge underground pits (using what were, in effect, giant rubberised Squeegee mops) from where it was rather (to me) ingeniously pumped out, through a network of pipes either onto the nearby fields or into tankers for disposal elsewhere. Leaning over the manhole covers, seeing the churning, stinking dark, seething mass below, made me wake screaming in the night as I ‘watched’ Dad slip into it and get sucked away.

Gentle reader? Of course, it never happened. For which I for one am profoundly grateful. He went on to live for another 30 years or so.

But “what about the pigs”, I hear you cry? “Tell us more about them”?

Despite (or rather because of) the intensive breeding attempts, these weren’t anything special — certainly not rare breed types, just pink & large — except in their ability to grow quickly to weight, to be low in fat, to produce large litters. You know, the same as everyone else, the same as almost the entire rest of the world was looking for. We (Dad and his fellow pig-herds) were ‘guilty’ of the crimes I’ve previously excoriated the English farmer for. I suppose we could claim that this was a different time and that we “knew no better”, and in all honesty, I think that’s pretty much the case. I don’t recall anyone then extolling the benefits of the old style pigs — hardier, tastier, able to live outside — whilst calling for them to be retained. The dash for profit was headlong and Dad’s employers weren’t immune to that siren call. So these ones weren’t kept outside; they lived in inside sties. The floors were concrete (although they had huge quantities of fresh straw changed twice daily to move around on, root round in, dig for their food in). Food was generally high-energy pellets. They got given some fruit on occasions. But precisely because this was a breeding farm and the owner was paranoid about infections or diseases from outside, pigs weren’t allowed the scraps and swill from school canteens that we saw used on the earlier farms.

Ideal? No. Unfeeling? Yes, pretty much I guess. The sows had large-ish farrowing crates even then, so the natural bonding that should occur was less likely to happen. We docked tails. We de-tusked the boars. They didn’t get to run around outside, to root, to dig, to play in the way that this most sociable of animals needs to. And whilst I never saw anyone treating them cruelly or unkindly, still, this was a processing operation. I’m not happy looking back at the lives these animals led because of us.  I’m unsure how to end this piece. For the time and place, they had a better life than some and Dad was uniformly caring of them. I suppose that’s the best I can say. Somehow though, it doesn’t seem a fitting epitaph for all the work and care and effort that he put into his animals. We never really spoke about this or how welfare for animals had changed when we’d both got older. And I regret that. And I miss him. Of course. But I think he’d have approved of my coming back to write about these lovely creatures. Thanks Bernie. For everything.

Oh, and one last thing? As far as I know, we’re not related to this branch of the extended Bulow Clan. We visited there whilst living in Florida. A beautiful place, calm, green, verdant. And yet. And yet. The stench of slavery — like burning pork — doesn’t wash away, even in the torrential Florida rains…

In 1821, Major Charles Wilhelm Bulow acquired 4,675 acres of wilderness bordering a tidal creek that would later bear his name. Using slave labor, he cleared 2,200 acres and planted sugar cane, cotton, rice and indigo. Major Bulow died in 1823, leaving the newly established plantation to his seventeen year old son, John Joachim Bulow.

After completing his education in Paris, John Bulow returned to the Territory of Florida to manage the plantation. Young Bulow proved to be very capable. John James Audubon, the famous naturalist, was a guest at the plantation during Christmas week 1831. In a letter to a patron, Audubon wrote:

“Mr. J.J. Bulow, a rich planter, at whose home myself and party have been for a whole week under the most hospitable and welcome treatment is now erecting some extensive buildings for a sugar house.” Bulowville, Florida December 31, 1831.

Bulow’s sugar mill, constructed of local “coquina” rock, was the largest mill in East Florida. At the boat slips, flatboats were loaded with barrels of raw sugar and molasses and floated down Bulow Creek to be shipped north. This frontier industry came to an abrupt end at the outbreak of the Second Seminole War. In January 1836, a band of raiding Seminole Indians, resisting removal to the West, looted and burned the plantation. It would never recover. Bulow returned to Paris where he died the same year.

Today, the coquina walls and chimneys of the sugar mill remain standing as a monument to the rise and fall of the sugar plantations of East Florida.

  My Dad’s pigs was originally published on Salute The Pig

[kennedyldoran-blog]

     hey all ! it’s andy back for more. here’s a little lot (yall this is long af just read the tldr thing and the extra shit) about this dumb muse under the cut. also trigger warnings for suicide & death:

          When Delia Williams and Beatrice Doran met, it was love at first sight – well almost. The two young women had so much in common that their love stemmed from every aspect of their personalities and interests. It did not take the two long to start dating each other and after a year of dating, with their parent’s permission, the two of them got married at the young age of twenty-three years old. Although some would have said that they should have waited to get married, they knew it would work out in the end. The two women decided that they wanted to explore the world and wait to settle down when they finished travelling. With the little money that they had saved up, Delia and Beatrice went off to visit places all over the world. They left no stone unturned, going to as many places as they could go to on their budget. Delia and Beatrice were as happy as they could be. After six years of travelling, Delia’s father became ill and the two decided to retreat to Oxford where the Williams family lived. Only six months after arriving in Oxford, Delia’s father passed away, leaving the young couple alone in a drafty old mansion and a lot of money.

          At first, the two did not know what to do with the small fortune they had inherited, but after deciding that they wanted to stay in Oxford, Delia and Beatrice made the decision to have a child. For Delia, children were always a want on the back of her mind. When she and Beatrice first met, the one thing they could never agree on were children. Beatrice had always grown up thinking that she would never have children, and with her mother being absent most of her childhood, Beatrice did not want to raise a child in the same manner she had been raised; that was until she met Delia. However, Delia’s family, despite being wealthy, had always been close and therefore when the prospect of a child came up, Delia’s family gladly gave her the money to have a child. The two decided that they would find an anonymous donor and Delia would carry their first child. Nine months later, Kennedy Loren Doran was born. He was named after both his grandfathers. Although his mothers had enough money to spoil him, Kennedy grew up with only the bare minimum of things in his life. His parents wanted him to realize that material possessions were not as important as the people around him.

          Kennedy’s younger years were filled with happiness, although it did not last long. Soon after his fifth birthday, he came home from playing with his neighbor, to find that Delia had collapsed on the floor of their library. The small family rushed her to the hospital, only to find out that she was deathly ill and probably would not survive through the winter. Beatrice broke down, but Kennedy had no idea exactly what death meant. Delia was moved back to the family’s house, hoping that might make her final days a bit more comfortable. Of course, Kennedy had no idea just what was happening. He would check on her every night, bringing Delia small trinkets he found outside. Kennedy was at his mother’s side when she finally passed away, his mother slipped into unconsciousness and never woke again. A few days later, Delia Williams Doran was buried beside her parents. Kennedy, too young to understand what exactly death meant, did understand that he would never see her again.

          The death of his mother made Kennedy more of an outcast among the people in his small neighborhood. The neighborhood children did not understand how harsh their words were, but even so, Kennedy kept a bright smile on his face through it all. There was nothing a smile could not fix in his humble opinion. The next few years were difficult on the Doran family. Beatrice slipped into a depressive state – she could hardly get out of bed anymore, not even her son was able to pull her out of the sadness she felt. Beatrice started to feel bitter towards the boy as well. It was not as if Delia’s death was his fault, but he was alive and she was not. Kennedy reminded of her in almost every way – it was difficult for her to deal with that. However, the young boy kept a smile on his face at every second, choosing to ignore the chirps of the people around him, no matter how cruel they were.

          When Kennedy turned eight, Beatrice could not stand the pain of being alone anymore and tried to take her own life. Hospitalized until she could get better, Beatrice’s brother, Patrick, moved in to care for Kennedy. Uncle Patty was an eccentric man that did not care what others thought about him. An avid bird watcher, he taught Kennedy about animals and was perhaps one of the first few kind people in the young boy’s life. Beatrice came back when a year later, but was very different. Uncle Patty made the decision to stay with the family just to keep an eye out on his younger sister and her son. Kennedy had seen more tragedy than most people his age, but he turned a blind eye to it all. Through all of his childhood, he had one thing that kept him occupied: books. As long as he had a book in his hand he was happy. Few would look at Kennedy’s life and see happiness, however, he himself had no care for all the tragedy in his life. He not only looked at the positive in his life, but with books and his best friend, he felt he had everything he needed in his life. 

PERSONALITY.

          People call Kennedy a walking travesty because for some reason luck never seems to be on his side. He is oblivious to people’s negativity, always seeing the best in any situation. His positive attitude can be a bit jarring to someone who has not spent time with him. Kennedy can twist even the most negative experience into something positive, and often does. He is quite bookish and spends a lot of time in the library doing his school work, but that does not mean that he does not have his own fun. He is a social creature by nature, loving to be around others, even if he does not need words to communicate with someone – merely being in the presence of another is often good enough for him. When not found in the library, procrastinating doing an essay, he can be found bird watching outside – or lazily studying the owls in the Owlery, depending on the weather. Picking up the habit from his uncle, Kennedy finds great fascination in birds and flying creatures, though he himself has no interest in flying. Despite growing up rich, Kennedy comes off as frugal to most of his peers. He finds spending lots of money on useless items a bad way to spend money and only buys the minimumal amount of things he needs. Kennedy likes his house, but sometimes finds himself an outcast among his Ravenclaw peers. One of Kennedy’s biggest flaws is his inability to pick up on social cues. He never seems to pick up on if someone does not want to talk to him, by their responses or body language. Once he sets his mind to something, it is very difficult for him to change his mind, which is another huge flaw of his. Although, he will not take on challenges from others if he feels he will be unsuccessful at them. Kennedy has to make up his own mind, rather than being challenged by another person.

let’s be real tldr; 

- he’s a fucking loser that likes birds - he has a dead mother and a mentally ill mum - he’s s o f t af and will cry if you’re mean to him - if birds were people, he’d marry them - he has a nasty case of vertigo and can’t fly on a broom because of that / his hand eye coordination is shit - so feel free to literally throw shit at him b/c it’ll hit him  - he’s socially awkward af - is actually a trash person 

BASIC INFORMATION

♚┋FULL NAME: kennedy loren doran ♚┋OCCUPATION: student ♚┋AGE: seventeen ♚┋DATE OF BIRTH: 25 deccember  ♚┋GENDER: cis male ♚┋PRONOUNS: he/him ♚┋ORIENTATION: homosexual homoromantic  ♚┋NATIONALITY: irish ♚┋RELIGION: agnostic

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

♚┋FACE CLAIM: tyler young ♚┋DOMINANT HAND: right ♚┋HEIGHT: 5′ 5″ ♚┋TATTOOS: N/A ♚┋SCARS: no noticable ones ♚┋PIERCINGS: none

BACKGROUND INFORMATION

♚┋HOMETOWN: oxford, england ♚┋CURRENT: hogwarts ♚┋LANGUAGE(S): english ♚┋SOCIAL CLASS: upper class ♚┋SUBJECT(S): care of magical creatures -- one day he will own a pheonix ♚┋PARENT #1: delia doran ( birth mother ) ♚┋PARENT #2: beatrice doran ( mum ) ♚┋PARENT #3: patrick doran ( uncle ) ♚┋PARENT #4: ??? ( biological father ) --- who the fuck is that ?  ♚┋SIBLING(S): none ♚┋RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single ♚┋CHILDREN: none ♚┋PET(S): pet owl named corriane

VICES / HABITS

♚┋SMOKES? no ♚┋DRINKS? no ♚┋DOES DRUGS? no ♚┋HAS AN ADDICTION? if birds count as an addiction, yes no ♚┋IS SELF-DESTRUCTIVE? yes

MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION

♚┋HOUSE: ravenclaw ♚┋VICE: sloth ♚┋VIRTUE: kindness ♚┋ELEMENT: air

[netflixanthrothings-blog]

Born A Crime- Dorcas Yeoh

Born a crime is a memoir written by Trevor Noah about his own personal life and experiences living in South Africa as an illegal child. Trevor Noah was born in the time where the ‘Immorality Act 1927’ still existed in South Africa, a law where Europeans and natives are strictly prohibited to have carnal intercourse or they will be punished to five years of imprisonment. Therefore, Noah was born an illegal baby, due to the fact that he had a white Swiss father and a black Xhosa mother. The overall theme of his book is his life living in South Africa as a biracial child, especially the hardships he and his mother faced. Noah uses many real life examples to explain the situations he and his family struggled with racial discrimination. He addressed the events that happened during the Apartheid and the effects of it on the people living in South Africa. This book also explores the relations between colonialism and culture in South Africa. For example, it talks about how the Dutch colonialism affected South Africa as a whole. Colonialism relates to culture because coloured children were brought up differently and not solely by parents of the same ethnic group. Thus, in this essay we will look into how Dutch colonialism resulted into Apartheid and racism between the blacks and the whites in South Africa.

Culture plays a huge role in every person’s life. Culture can also shape a person’s identity as they discover who they are and where they belong. “A person’s understanding of their own and other’s identities develops from birth and is shaped by the values and attitudes prevalent at home and in the surrounding community” (Common ground, 2018). To Noah, it is a different story. As mentioned in the paragraph above, Noah is a biracial ‘criminal’ from birth due to the laws that were imposed in South Africa. Noah struggled to relate to his peers and to the people around him as he was mixed. During the Apartheid, Noah did not know at first if he belonged to the blacks, the whites, or the coloured. He never had to choose. After attending H.A. Jack Primary government school, he found out that he was black because he felt comfortable hanging out with the black kids and he felt a sense of belonging with them. For example, Noah volunteered to be in the black classroom instead of the white classroom. However, his teacher tried to persuade him to not change his class even though he insisted to he felt belonged to the blacks. Her reason was that there were no smart kids in that class and that the blacks will hold him back. She also warned him that his decision would affect his opportunities in the future, but Noah had already made up his mind. One reason could be because everyone else around him were blacks, especially the person who played the most significant role in his life: his mother. Besides, the black kids embraced him. His white father used to bring him to white church for sunday school but he felt he did not belong to the whites. He found himself more comfortable to the black culture and he preferred being friends with the blacks as he grew up black (p.59).

Colonialism is “the practice by which a powerful country directly controls less powerful countries and uses their resources to increase its own power and wealth” (Collins, 2018). Noah highlights the impact of colonialism on South Africa by explaining how when the Dutch colonised South Africa, they met the Khoisans, known as the native Americans of South Africa. Throughout the process of colonisation, the natives interbred with the Dutch and the slaves from West Africa, Madagascar and the East Indies that were brought in by the Dutch. Mixed babies were produced and they have special features. However, the Dutch took freedom from the Khoisans and slowly, the Khoisans became ‘extinct’ due to poor living conditions. Coloured people have more than one ethnic group, so they have no specific place or heritage to go back to. “If they trace their lineage back far enough, at a certain point it splits into white and native and a tangled web of “other”. Since their native mothers are gone, their strongest affinity has always been their white fathers, the Afrikaners.”(p.115) Therefore, there was a huge change in their culture to be more prone to the whites and not their native language. Everything that shaped the culture and perception of the coloured people came from the Afrikaners. The Afrikaners were usually better educated and lived a better quality life. However, they were selfish as they did not want the blacks to be educated properly because they wanted the Apartheid to work. The blacks who were once educated formally were forced into Bantu schools that taught only metrics and agriculture (p.61-62). The government treated the blacks as primitive people who will not understand science and history so they shut down the mission schools. The blacks were then forced to attend Bantu schools who had barely literate teachers to teach them. Therefore, most blacks were not well educated (p.61-62).

The Apartheid was a real, serious racial segregation that happened to the whole of South Africa and Noah’s narration of his childhood gave me a clear picture of the reality that was happening. Fortunately, Noah was a polyglot, as he could speak in many languages, and this gave him a big advantage and a better social status compared to the blacks. He could understand Zulu, Xhosa and a few other languages. Adding on, he had fair skin. When the black kids who thought he was white wanted to pick on him, he could understand them completely and he knew what they wanted to do. His ability to speak English fluently granted him a better social status and gave him better access to things. I could feel the guilt in him when people (excluding his mother) treated him better than his peers and his cousins all because he had fair skin. For example, his grandmother only punished his cousins for the same mistakes he made at home because she insisted that a white boy should not be beaten. However, this only made Noah an outsider wherever he lived.

In conclusion,  Born A Crime provides a very subjective perspective as it is written in the perspective of Noah (by Noah himself) towards the Apartheid and the way his mum brought him up to be who he is. He includes many of his thoughts and ideas about his experience and his actions, as mentioned in the book. Noah perfectly gave the readers a good picture of the life in South Africa during that time as a mixed child, especially how he experienced situational negotiation of identity. As a reader, I was emotionally affected by his sufferings and his personal stories and encounters truly amazes me. This book is worth reading and I definitely enjoyed reading this book as it made me laugh so much throughout the process of reading it. It also helps non-South Africans understand a bit more about the life living under the Apartheid. It made me realise living as a mixed child in South Africa during the Apartheid is tough as Noah struggled to belong as he searched for his own identity. As it is written by Noah’s own point of view, I finally managed to get a better picture of the reality and hardships the blacks and the coloured had to face living in an unjust community. Not forgetting Noah’s mother, the woman who once again reminded me that a mother’s love for her child/children is unconditional. I was deeply touched by his mother’s wise actions, her bravery and her sacrifice for her family. My favourite quote from her from the book would be “Even if he never leaves the ghetto, he will know that the ghetto is not the world. If that is all I accomplish, I’ve done enough.” (pg.74) Such wise words coming out from a black woman who is uneducated is simply amazing. For her to go through life’s struggles alone and to sacrifice for her own family is really tough. She could give up anytime, but her courage and determination moved her forward. The most astonishing thing is that she went through it without complaining and gave Noah the security he needed although he did not have his father beside him. She is now one of the few great women I admire, a woman who never stops providing for the family throughout her whole life yet without a single complaint. This is something truly inspiring for me and a valuable lesson to be learnt. It gave me the motivation to strive harder and not give up easily by the challenges that I face. Noah would not be this successful if it was not for this woman. This book deserves to be treasured and shared to others so that people can benefit from the valuable life lessons.

[the-little-prophet]

CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE: CHARLIE LITTLE 

ORIGINS & FAMILY: Name: Charles Boon-Mee Kai Little   Nickname: Charlie, Kai (Kai is Charlie’s chu len-- or Thai nickname.) Reason for name: Charles’ father wanted Charlie to have an English name first and foremost and named Charlie after himself. Boon-Mee is Charlie’s Thai name which means “good fortune.” Kai was the nickname that his mother chose because he was born early and was very small. Kai means chicken. ;) Age: 19 Gender: Male Place of birth: Swynlake, England Places lived since: Nowhere! Number of siblings: Charlie has one stepbrother from his mother’s second marriage. He usually only sees them when he visits his mother-- usually twice a year, hardly ever more. 

Relationship with family (close? estranged?): Dad–Charles “Buck” Little used to be a pro baseball player from Los Angeles California, but an injury early on in his career benched him and ended that career. Instead, Charles “Buck” Little became an insurance agent and got a job working at InterPride until Taka Lyons took over and fired half his department. That was four years ago. Now Buck gets disability insurance and works at Pride U in their IT department.

Mum- Dr. Phailin Dilsworth, formerly Little, formerly Chaisurivirat. First-generation American, became a college professor and found a job teaching at Pride University where she had her first child, Charlie. She was NOT into the magick-friendly thing as much as Charles was and wanted to move for a long time. She blamed Swynlake as a big part as to why Charlie had his chronic sleeping disorder. Eventually she got a job teaching in a school down in Bournemouth and left Charlie and Buck when he was 9 years old. She remarried when he was 10 and moved with her husband, who was also a professor, to Toronto. Charlie talks to his mom on the phone every month or so and sees her for a few weeks in the summer/every other Christmas.

Sylvester Dilsworth- Charlie’s stepbrother-- same age-- who thinks Charlie is a #freak for growing up in Swynlake, aka England’s great failed experiment. Wants to go into Psychology like his dad (thinks Charlie is #crazy). Charlie does not like Syl.

PHYSICAL Height: 5’6 (teeny) Weight: 125 ish idk height Build: Charlie has always been very short since he was a child and grew very slowly. He’s kinda still hoping he’ll put on another inch or two before he’s done growing but… looking pretty hopeless Nationality: English Disabilities (physical or mental, including mental illnesses): Charlie has severe astigmatism in his eyes. He’s severely sleep-deprived and suffers from dissociative episodes. Complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birth marks): Olive-toned skin, and a few moles on his face and neck. Often times cuts himself shaving (does it like every few days) and so he’ll have tiny nicks here and there. Also misses lil hairs all the time, look he’s trying Distinguishing facial features: His very big thick glasses lmao and he’s got quite pretty eyes in my opinion, even if they are hidden behind his messy fringe and big, thick glasses.  Round cherub cheeks.

Hair color: Black. Usual hair style: Messy and long-- Charlie never has time to brush his hair in the morning   Eye color: Dark brown Glasses? Contacts?: yes to both though contacts bother his eyes.

Style of dress/typical outfit(s): Charlie comes from a middle-class family and dresses like a typical Brit-- sweaters over collared shirts, that kind of thing. He leans toward hipster-esque if only because he likes comfy sweaters because it’s easiest to fall asleep in haha, and he’s often seen around in pajama pants and zip up jumpers if he slept past his alarm and had no time to change. I would call his style “frumpy nerd chic.” Typical style of shoes: He wears a lot of Toms because they are comfy and easy to slip on, so you know, better than sandals. Health (is this person usually sick? or very resilient?): Chronically sleep-deprived, Charlie also suffers from migraines. He’s noticed that if he has bad migraines one day, he’ll probably have a night terror. Which stresses him out. And makes the migraine worse. Otherwise, Charlie is a relatively healthy young boy, with pollen allergies in the spring but no other sensitivities.   

Grooming (does she/he wear makeup? shower daily? wear only clean clothes? pluck her eyebrows?): NGL this could be better but it’s not his fault he’s just very tired. He does take a shower nearly every day (cold showers to wake him up) and does his own laundry so he had clean clothes. But he often does not brush his hair and wears hats to make up for it. Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: None thus far! He does wear a watch. Accent?: Typical brit Unique mannerisms/physical habits: He rubs his eyes a lot and toys with his hair. He cleans his glasses both as a compulsion and because a lot of the time when he tries to rub his eyes he will hit his glasses and need to clean them from all the finger smears.   Athletic?: He’s pretty fast and limber due to yoga and many years spent running from disasters, whether real or imagined. But Charlie won’t be beating anybody up lol INTELLECT Level of education: Completed a nurse’s assistantship and has a pheblotomist’s license. Taking uni courses on the side, hopes to one day be a proper doctor/surgeon. Level of self esteem: Medium-low. Charlie feels like a burden to his father and a freak to other people even though he knows he can’t help his condition. Years of therapy mean he’s pretty in touch with his sense of self though so while he beats himself up, he does have coping mechanisms. He also knows he is trying his best !! Gifts/talents: An excellent drawer, a pretty great cook, and a hard worker. He also has a lot of practical life skills. He’s a practical guy. Shortcomings: He can struggle to concentrate because of his health issues, he’s pretty cowardly and paranoid, he overreacts, he’s a bit socially awkward (not in a shy kind of way-- Charlie is actually outgoing ish but because he doesn’t have many friends he doesn’t understand a lot of the social cues. His desperation for friendship is also Not Attractive). Style of speech (loud, mumbler, articulate, etc.): Nervous talker for sure. Doesn’t stammer, just goes on and on and on. Definitely overshares when nervous. “Left brain” or “right brain” thinker?: Left-brained.Charlie is deductive, rational, and wants to be a doctor someday. His secondary -claw is super strong and he craves an explanation for things and hates that he doesn’t have one for his night terrors. The fact that it could be magic also doesn’t comfort him but scares him, despite growing up in Swynlake (hey he thought he was a Mundus all the time ok!) beccause he doesn’t uNDeRstanD and can’t conTrol it. Artistic?: Yes, uses charcoal and pastels. Mathematical?: Yes, he’s p good at math. Languages? Just English. He once spoke in Tongues during one of his Doomer episodes but that was probably a glitch haha. His mother never taught him any Thai.

Makes decisions based mostly on emotions, or on logic?: Logic, always logic.

Neuroses: Thinks World Is Ending At All Times

Life philosophy: uh don’t die? Do the good you can with the tools you have. Be Prepared-- Two is one, and one is none (aka hvae two of everything; its a prepper mantra). 

Religious stance:  Is starting to explore aspects of buddhism which is tied to his Thai culture (something he’s very distanced from especially because his mother no longer lives with him and she was pretty removed from it too) and hopes will help him with his night terrors.

Cautious or daring?:  Cautious Optimist or pessimist?: Pessimist- the world is literally always ending.

Extrovert or introvert?: Ambivert, leaning to introversion. If Charlie had friends, he’d probably prefer smaller get togethers and that kind of thing but he would totally socialize and likes talking to people and working together in group projects charlie it is so sad that school is your main form of interaction.   Level of comfort with technology: Very comfortable. True millennial. Instagram, Twitter, FB, blog. He depends on his phone and computer a lot for his social life/coping mechanisms. He definitely has internet friends who are doomers like him.

RELATIONSHIPS Current marital/relationship status: Single Sexual orientation: Bi. Charlie doesn’t really think about romance that much because he’s mostly preoccupied with Death but he had a crush his bff as a smol boy (who was also a smol boy) and also has crushed on girls from afar (and tbh probably kinda crushes on Minnie a bit because she’s so pretty and kind to him). He never really questioned it and so its a nonissue for him. He would like to have a romantic life one day but kinda thinks its impossible like who would like him he’s CRAZY. He can’t even sleep a whole night thru let alone with another person in the bed.

Past relationships: As a boy, he had a crush on his bff at the time--Nate. Nate’s family moved away following one of Swynlake’s disasters bc they weren’t gonna fuck with that shit.

A social person? (popular, loner, some close friends, makes friends and then quickly drops them): Charlie is not afraid to strike up conversation and sort of accepts his reputation as a Crazy Person so that helps deal with any social anxiety (he’s too busy with his generalized anxiety thanks hahahah.) He has a few people in his classes who are willing to work with him on projects and stuff, a few internet friends-- but otherwise he considers a lot of the patients at the hospital his friends… problematic charlie ur friends r gonna die

Most comfortable around (person): His...cat? SECRETS Life goals: Charlie has always wanted to be a doctor. He wants to be able to respond to medical emergencies like the ones that he’s seen, so he’s thinking of trauma surgery but is open to other paths (he’s also pretty interested in neuro because of his own disorder; he also loves kids, so pediatrics). Just as long as he can help people.   Dreams: it would be nice to have a normal one whats that like   Greatest fears: Death, dying, disaster. And that he’ll be helpless in the face of all that and can’t save the ones that he loves. Also that he’s gonna be a lowkey embarrassment to his father for the rest of his life. Most ashamed of: His night terrors and the fact that he drove his mom away (he didn’t). Compulsions: Snacking. He snacks a lot during the night and when he watches tv. Obsessions: Watching the Golden Girls a lot, also the impending apocalypse which he had been prepping for since he was small.   Secret hobbies: ...being a prepper…. Is that a hobby…astronomy also thats more normal !! Secret skills:... prepping… Crimes committed (and was he/she caught? charged?): none thank god What he/she most wants to change about his/her current life: Find a cure for his illness/curse What he/she most wants to change about his/her physical appearance: Charlie would really like to be TALL. His dad is very tall and he got none of those genes and he feels like a pipsqueak and kind of helpless and he sort of is. So number one: TALL. Then he’d like to not have glasses and one day wants to get laser eye surgery to correct his vision, especially if he wants to be a surgeon.

DETAILS/QUIRKS Night owl or early bird?: Night Owl bc he’s terrified of sleeping. Light or heavy sleeper?: heavy sleeper. When he is sleeping, nothing can wake up but like, his dreams or his father shaking and yelling at him. He sleeps like he’s dead lmao Favorite food: Spicy food is his fave. Loves sushi, also loves chips and potato crisps and snack foods in general. When he’s too tired to cook, he’ll just eat an entire bag of crisps.   Least favorite food: Charlie isn’t a fan of a lot of red meats, like burgers and stuff. Favorite book: uhhhh mmmmm charlie isnt a big reader, he’s usually watching television. If he’s reading, he’s reading medical cases and articles.   Least favorite book:  horror story books Favorite movie: old musicals, honestly-- Hello Dolly, Pajama Game, that kind of thing. Very soothing. Probably LOVES It’s A Wonderful Life. Least favorite movie: horror movies leave him alone Favorite song: gosh idk Least favorite song: idk eIETHER probably does not metal Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?: crunchy Lefty or righty?: leftY Favorite color: green or brown Cusser?: er, a bit, normal youngin. He doesn’t curse in front of adults though he’s pretty good about that. Smoker? Drinker? Drug user?: Charlie has had a few drinks here and there a social drinker if anything. Though he does wonder if drinking a lot could squash the dreams though this is a bad path for him to wander down. He has also thought the same about #drugs but is kind of a wimp and so he hasn’t tried any...yet Biggest regret: Charlie feels like he was a big part of the wedge that drove his mother to divorce his father because they had diff ways of dealing with charlie’s condition aka-- his mother wanted to deal with it and his father didn’t. This isnt really true, just another thing the two disagreed on. Pets?: A cat that his mom left behind! She’s old and fat and grey and her name is Emily