#memorised for english class

[charbroiledchicken]

memoria praeteritorum bonorum

the sisyphean desire for a perfect life 

There are two things I constantly tell myself. Two things I believe to be absolute truths, or at least things I try to convince myself are. They’re affirmations…of a sort. Though of a different breed to the ones my friends had stumbled upon and quickly became enamoured with - sayings such as “I am calm”, “I am confident”, “My imperfections will soon be nullified” wrapped in pixelated tulle and gaudy fonts. Call me cynical, I thought they were useless. Mere repetition, absent deliberate action, will never reify them. To me, it seemed like a sisyphean process - watering barren soil day in and day out, thinking that it’s working because you see small green offshoots from a nearby plant, reflected in your growing puddle.

Perhaps ‘reminders’ is a more appropriate word for what I say. 

I have a very creative mind. 

At times it is a very loud, disruptive, “want to smash my head against the wall because why can’t I get that one song out of my head” kind of mind, but an imaginative one nonetheless. I am a prolific creator - the garden of my mind is a plentiful one, rich in offerings. In it, I plant seeds of poetry I scribbled down in the car or on a walk, hoping that, maybe, if I left it undisturbed for long enough, it could grow into something beautiful without assistance. Like one of those self-sufficient house-plants. I have fifty drafts of unfinished novels hanging from trees, adorned in highlights and aggressive edits, both capitalised and underlined for maximum efficiency. Any remaining time flowers with auditions, rehearsals, and performances.

I am a creature of dramatism and creation, sustained by my own home-grown landscape. And thus, my entire life is governed by my pilgrimage towards perfection. By my ability to draft and redraft, prune and rehearse my identity, until I am performance ready and captivating. Is the way I walk, the way I behave, and the past that journeys with me, enough to prove I’m acceptable to be around? The world around me reciprocates what I give it, so my gifts must be great.

My obsession with creating the perfect version of myself permeates every aspect of my life. My garden is thought out and gorgeous - sweetly perfumed buds and vibrant leaves to distract from shallow roots. 

Which brings me to my next reminder…

I can separate fiction from reality. 

A while back, when I was neck deep in an internet wormhole, brightness dimmed to make it seem like I was sleeping, I stumbled upon something interesting. A latin phrase: memoria praeteritorum bonorum - the past is always well remembered. Curious, I continued my search, and found that this saying was closely linked to a psychological phenomenon called ‘rosy retrospection’. The idea that nostalgia and a pursuit of greatness can cloud our perception of the past and cast everything in a rose-tinted light, blurring the lines between reality and what is aggrandised for effect. A reciprocal relationship between ourselves and the world around us - our belief in one warping the other. Green offshoots in a puddle. Through this phenomenon, our memory can change our past to appear more psychologically satisfying: weeding away imperfections like pesky plants, so beautiful flowers are able to be exhibited instead. 

When I first read about it, I scoffed. Before the hypocrisy comments - to alter the portrayal of yourself is one thing, to completely change your perception of reality was entirely another. I have pruned and redrafted my exterior, but I was still completely true to myself. 

There’s a park near my house that I remember to be beautiful. The flowers are rich in scent when I break them between my fingers, and leaves drape from trees in icicle shapes, freezing the world in a perpetual, green, winter. The winding river was clean and crisp, like Monet’s ‘Water Lilies’. 

I went there recently, hoping to bask in the same greatness. It was nothing like my memory of it. It was simple, imperfect. Branches littered the ground, and the river water was murky and leaf-filled. It was ruined. It was a shadow of its old self (if that ever existed at all). And yet, it was still beautiful. A reprieve, a small gap of perfectly imperfect reality - its organic self. 

I am Sisyphus, determined to push my boulder up, told that it was prettier up there, and forgetting the beauty at the base. This rock is heavy. 

[some-other-number]

screenshotted because I didn't want to derail the post this was on but time for another edition of 'george gets upset with his experience in school!!'

fun fact my english education must've really fucking sucked prior to literal university (excluding the writing class I took in grade twelve) because ah. I took english. they were more concerned about teaching us how to identify basic concepts until grade seven, in which year english was lumped in with history and geography, so basically the entire time dedicated to english was spent really slowly reading two books. no discussion about the themes one of which I think was only included because it was ~inspirational~. grade eight was better ig but it too was mostly really slowly going through a piece of media. I guess writing our own thing in a genre would theoretically get us to think about how the genre works, but it doesn't work in practice. the first time I had the opportunity to write that I didn't like something was when I was in grade fucking ten and my teacher got so mad at me she marked everything else I did that year down, told my m*ther I wouldn't graduate, and other such bullshit. I would've killed for an english class where being able to discuss why you didn't like something actually happened man

[odairmultiverse]

Francis forever - Mitski

➜ Yoon Sieun x reader

"Suho was in a coma. He had to change schools. Would he lose you too?"

Low-key hating this shot, but anyway, here it is. English is not my first language, so im sorry for any grammar mistakes. Enjoy!!!

You were walking next to him, coming back from visiting suho at the hospital.

It became a routine to visit him. You would enter the room where he was, make sure he was fine and comfortable.

But sieun stayed still at the door, he didn't want to enter, you understood him, so while you checked on Suho, Sieun sat on a bench outside the room.

"Hey, trouble maker, it's me again." You sat on a chair next to him, placing softly your bag next to you."You will not open your eyes today either, huh?" You talked as if he was sleep, like taking a nap like he used to do. You talked to him like if he was listening to you.

Carefully, you grabbed his hand, letting soft patterns on it.

"Sieun is outside, I hope you're not angry at him for not coming in" Your voice was sweet, soft, scared to sound too loud, the ambience inside the room was completely silence, and as a reflex your voice came out the same way.

"Im trying my best to let him know that this isn't something permamet, that eventually you'll wake up, teasing us again and taking us to visit places like we used to do after class" A nostalgic smile was on your face, but you still didn't look at him, your eyesight on his hand.

"Okay, I know you dont like it when I become all emotional, so now I know you're fine. im going to place this there and get going. " You left a heavy breath, stood from where you were, and took from your bag the small bouquet of flowers that you always let him.

You placed the bouquet carefully on their pot, taking out the ones from last week and replacing it with the new ones.

Before leaving, you give him a soft kiss on his forehead and adjust the sheets around him.

When you opened the door to came out, Sieun was there, waiting for you as always, with a weak smile you said.

"We can go now"

In response, he only nodded.

Now stepping outside the hospital, the ambience had shifted, the day ahead you was bright, warm, a signal that summer was coming.

You were used to walking with him. It was always a comfortable silence that relaxed you.

There wasn't need to speak.

"I think we need to finish this." He spoke for the first time since coming out the hospital

You stopped walking, looking at him confused

"You mean visiting Suho?"

"I mean seeing each other"

His voice was in the same tone as usual, but if you didn't know him, you wouldn't notice how his breath is a little heavier now, how tense his body is and the way his hand are clenching.

You were more confused now. What was he talking about?

"Sieun, I don't understand"

"Im exchanging school, now I will live with my mother, it's not possible for us to see each other"

You were speechless, he came out with this all of sudden.

Obviously, you knew that he was starting a new life away from here, but you didn't imagine that it would come with him leaving you like this.

Your mind was quiet, but your heart? Your heart was racing.

"I don't know what this is coming from, but you better stop it now." You tried to speak with the same tone as him, but you failed when your voice came out shaking and low

He didn't say anything, just watched you, like always, nonetheless you felt this time it was far from the usual.

His eyes traced your features, memorising every part of you, something on the way he was looking at you telled he really didn't want to do this, but here he is anyway.

"This is the better for the both of us"

"No." You stopped him from saying any more words."Dont say that because it won't be the case for me"

"You're being stubborn"

"And you're being an idiot"

He didn't say something back, but you continued.

"You're wrong if you think I will let you go off of me that easily, and don't ever think of something like that ever again." You burst to him. How dare he say such thing with his normal being.

Now you looked at him, eyes still with hints of anger and a little hurt, yet you walked ahead of him.

Sieun didn't move. I just watched you

"Why are you standing there? Don't embarrass me, and let's eat" You turned at him angry, crossing your arms.

He followed you.

The truth was that he was also scared to leave you. The only thing that he had left and the idea of losing you had made a home inside his mind.

He had everything calculated, how he would tell you and each word, even the possible reaction, but when the moment comes, it end up like this.

You are still beside him, and Sieun is unable to put an end with you.

[cusimmrbrightside]

I have always liked the idea of the school for mutants being very literally a school, and I know yes it is but I mean in the sense of if you want to be an X-men, you have to be a teacher. They have exams at the end of years, they have Ofsted checks (for those who don’t know what they are, it’s essentially people coming to check that the school is good at being a school) and they have teachers for every subject, which brings me to my next point;

“I’m Right You’re Wrong, Here’s What The X-Men (‘97 specifically) Would Teach As Subjects”.

(Also this is based off of UK school system but I use American terms like “seniors” and “AP” and “Midterms”)

Maths Teacher Gambit is surprising, for a guy most assume to not being entirely smart, an idiot goof off who’s the comedic relief. But you need to know numbers to gamble, and that he does with being very well versed in mathematics way past an AP level. He’s made the promise for every senior class that he will teach them to play blackjack on the final day, and has only ever lost once. Which is when the rule of “no betting real money” came into place.

English teacher Jean reminds me of the kind of teacher who would let the social outcasts into her class for their lunch breaks. The kids more likely to be bullied and she will fight tooth and nail to make sure those kids bullies don’t come into that classroom. they’re loud and shout and shouldn’t really be in there but no one has to know and she certainly won’t be telling them to leave any time soon.

Physics teacher Magneto is very specific to my highschool experience I’ll be honest. I had a physics teacher who was an actual Dr with a PHD and he hated being there. His classroom has (well, had since the building was knocked down about 5 years ago now) this one cabinet that was never fully shut, it was always open just about an inch or two, and he’d stand with his foot hovering just above it and then slam down on it whenever we got too loud so the noise would shut us up. That’s very magneto coded. Erik Lehnsherr would purposefully make the cabinet always a little open so he can do that.

Biology teacher morph is just a funny concept, a person whose physical form and change and morph into just about anything. They are considered one of the “fun” teachers, you could easily convince them to let you watch a movie all class as long as it was biology centred, but with classics like Osmosis Jones, you’re not stuck watching a documentary about animals giving birth.

Chemistry teacher Storm does not fuck about with children’s education. She is not strict by any means whatsoever, she just will not bend to someone saying they want to watch a film or should do a practical instead of theory. She has a set curriculum. She knows what she will be doing by the first week of the summer holidays and already has the room set up all pretty and organised.

Geography teacher Scott has the unfortunate job of telling his students that, they just won’t be looking at memorising country flags and politics. But hey!! Rocks are cool!! Beach shores are cool! Lake formations are cool! He’s the vice principal and designated nerd teacher. He once beat the elite four for a student on their copy of Pokémon Red because the student promised they’d do well in their midterms. Yes, he was in his 30s when the game came out, he doesn’t care.

History teacher Logan is a walking fun facts book. He’s exhausted, goes on smoke breaks on every gap of time he has, dislikes his job and will randomly get passionate about one specific topic, and will then dedicate his next 4 classes to that topic. Having been through a lot of modern history with personal experiences, he’s able to bring a lot of souvenirs to show his classes. Bullets, helmets, clothes he once wore hundreds of years ago, his personal memories of basic inventions like the vaccine.

PE (physical education) teacher Rogue is full of fun sports games, you can join any kind of sports team you can imagine and if you ask nicely enough, she’ll put Just Dance on a projector in the sports hall so you can just play that instead of actually play an actual sport. As long as you leave her class exhausted and without time to have a shower before your next class then she’s succeeded in making whoever your next teacher is absolutely miserable (bonus points if it’s Logan with his enhanced sense of smell).

Art teacher jubilee does believe that there is a right way to critique art. And she can be a little in your face about it. She does think you can have wrong opinions especially when it comes to your own art. If she overhears you saying you didn’t something wrong, she’ll scream into a megaphone “adapt, improvise, overcome!”. There are no mistakes! She’s eccentric, bubbly, creative and brilliant, the only one suited for the job.

It wouldn’t be a school without budget cuts. That’s why Nightcrawler is both the languages and religions teacher and he’s beloved at both. He comes up with roleplay scenarios the students can play to help learn their chosen languages, he has varied religious texts in his room and when he says to the students “I’ll pray for toy during exam season” he’s not actually joking.

(I forgot about Hank I’m actually going to cry he’s one of my favourites and I forgot about him. He’ll be in pt two or smth.)

[woso-dreamzzz]

Icy II

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Teen!Reader

Summary: You think about your life

When you first moved from Norway and your childhood team of SK Brann, you weren't quite sure what to expect.

You were nervous and anxious and that didn't settle at all even as you headed out of the airport to meet up with Ingrid.

You'd like to think you knew Ingrid fairly well, or at least well enough that she was letting you take her spare room. You'd been called up for the past three Norway camps, though you hadn't actually set foot on the pitch.

You'd come up through Brann's Academy, the top assister in the under-nineteen team and had even been called up to the first team on occasion.

That's where you think Barcelona heard of you because suddenly the La Masia version of your youth team was making the long trek to cold Norway in the height of winter to play a friendly.

They completely demolished your team but you had been serving perfect assists into the box those scant few times you had possession of the ball.

It wasn't even a week later that they were offering you a contract. You'd assumed it was for the B team but clearly the club saw something in you because the contract was for the first team and soon you were flying over to Spain to move in with Ingrid.

She wasn't alone as you approached her car, talking to a woman you recognised as Mapi León.

You didn't speak Spanish, that much was always obvious. You only spoke passable English as well so communication with your new teammates was something that was at the front of your mind.

But Mapi just smiled at you and sounded out a sentence she had clearly memorised in Norwegian to help settle you.

You liked Mapi, you decided in the instant and decided that you would actually try hard in your Spanish lessons so you could communicate with her properly without Ingrid as the go between.

You had a day or two to settle in your new home but ultimately meeting your new teammates had come along too quickly for your liking.

You knew Ingrid, of course. You kind of knew Mapi.

You knew Caro as well. You usual position was hers so you had worked closely at Norway camp together.

She'd come out to meet you, Ingrid and Mapi in the car park.

Caro existed on your wavelength. You were both quiet and a little socially awkward. You both played the same position. You understood each other.

You weren't huggers though. You had never really received a lot of affection as a kid, just a quick head pat when you exceeded your parents' already high expectation for you.

You weren't a hugger. Caro wasn't a hugger but the way her arm rested over your shoulders was support enough.

Meeting the team was something that sent you into a bit of a tailspin. All those world class players and you.

If Ingrid hadn't been behind you, a gentle hand pushing you forward, you were sure that you would have bolted.

She was a steady presence then and now as she lays in bed with you.

You think she feels bad about yelling at you. You think she also feels bad about not getting a hold of your parents until hours after the incident. If you hadn't been in unimaginable pain, you would have warned Ingrid that your parents rarely answered if it wasn't a formal email.

Ingrid's been stuck to you since you woke up, waiting hand and foot on you. You feel bad about that. It's just a broken wrist. It was just a little surgery. You don't need her to cater to your every need. You don't want to bother her like that.

"Have the painkillers kicked in yet?"

With your wrist still strapped up, you couldn't feel much pain apart from when it moved so Ingrid had dosed you up on as much medication as possible.

She'd done the same with Mapi an hour ago so her girlfriend was currently asleep in bed while Ingrid waits for the same to happen to you.

"Mmm," You grunt.

"That's not an answer," She teases," Have they kicked in yet?"

You try to tilt your wrist, a little hard to do in your cast but you still try. "Mostly. A little twinge."

You can feel Ingrid nod behind you.

"I think it's naptime."

"I'm not a baby."

"Mapi's napping. Is she a baby?"

You don't even have to think. "Yes."

Ingrid laughs behind you, hands untangling the knots in your hair. "The doctor said that a nap would probably help."

You huff.

You've never been much of a napper. You always liked to be doing something even if that something was cleaning up your room or reading a book.

"Fine."

You roll over on your side to lay your head against Ingrid's chest as her arm comes up around you to keep you close.

The door opens and Mapi limps in, laying her crutches on the ground to crawl into bed on Ingrid's other side.

She yawns.

"You didn't tell me we were having a sleepover," She complains sleepily, pulling some of the blankets away from you.

"We weren't." The painkillers have fully kicked in now so you're drowsy as well.

You know you and Mapi are talking but it's all jumbled up in your brain.

Ingrid feels the moment you go to sleep, the steady train of nonsense coming out of your mouth slows down and you go completely limp.

Mapi falls asleep soon after as well, her yapping coming to a close mid sentence as you both snooze comfortably on her chest.

This wasn't quite the plan.

Get Mapi to sleep.

Get you to sleep.

Then make dinner.

That was the plan but you're both crowded around Ingrid's body on your little bed that barely fits you all and Ingrid doesn't want to move and wake you.

Bagheera jumps onto the bed.

"Don't," Ingrid laughs but Bagheera ignores her.

She settles comfortably in Ingrid's stomach and falls asleep too, leaving Ingrid well and truly pinned down.

It's fine, she decides.

Both you and Mapi are out of hospital.

You can just order food when everyone's awake.

[thelunaticself]

SPOILED SUMMER

simon riley x reader

student life doesn't suit you well. simon is here to scratch that itch. not that it helps.

a/n: @ebodebo @sceletaflores this is my submission :)

cw: eating disorder (very little), age gap, mention of stalking, excuse my bad english :(

You are a darling. 

Not the kind that makes heads sway nor have your name on top of the class list. The kind that gives back spotless reports every month to your parents, good enough to make decent friends, never goes past your curfew, head down, silent. 

But not silent enough.

Your mother doesn’t know her sweet fawn curses and thrashes, items haphazardly thrown in a fit of anger, the secretive jerk of the hand, nails digging painfully when your father tells your mother to wash the dish, iron his shirt. A poor attempt to drown the repressed rage. Itching and suffocating. That is where the problem lies: too much trust. So much so that when she sent you off to half a country away, all sad and wrinkled smile, the only reminder you got was to get enough rest and call the family back.

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Ultimately, you’ve reached a point in your life that you have to ask: “Is this how I live the rest of my life?” One meal a day, never slack off in class, never bother to drink. Clutching the dress in your hand, voices overlapping one another in your head, telling you to get past it, do something for once good grief. The dam finally broke. With a heavy heart and makeup, that night, you finally end up in a corner of a dingy bar with your friends, hyper aware of how tight your grip is on the glass, almost as tight as your smile, praying tomorrow you won’t wake up to a strange bed and an equally strange face when the alcohol does its thing. After all, your parents and you didn’t work hard to finally earn that scholarship, flew half the world away, only for you to hit different kinds of low. 

Well, shit.

The only thing that you manage to learn and memorise real good after half a year away from home is how good it feels to have big burly arms wrapped around your waist, puffs of hot breathes on your neck, the satisfying scratch of stubble on the side of your cheek, never this gentle, never this bare. You should be freaking out, make a call, speed away. Instead, you find yourself sinking deeper to the pillows beneath, digging your cold toes into his warm thighs and biting the inside of your lips. Silent. You feel like if he wakes up, somehow, the very bed you are on would dissipate and you’re back to your cramped bedroom, a rude and blunt end of a dream. 

Eventually, he does wake up. The only way you know that is because of the rumble of his chest on your back followed by a guttural grunt into your neck like a bear getting up from hibernation, and you still refuse to look at him, acknowledge your own doing. Contrary to your belief, the bed did not collapse. All you get is this confusingly long stare of his boring into your face before finally muttering a “mornin ’.” and disappearing into the bathroom. The nonchalance of it all is eating at you alive. It comes as natural as waking up to your husband and not this military guy you were too eager to trail your hands over his tattooed biceps last night in a hot stuffy bar.

Too eager, both of you.

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“What else did he say?”

You frustratingly press the phone closer to your ear if that is even possible by now. The cooling fan did little to sooth the humid summer heat. 

“Nothing much. Kept askin’ for your number.”

You only answer with a thoughtful hum, pretending to be unaffected when there’s nothing you want to do more than right now is to shove your damn address into his old phone. Poor thing. You wonder if his contact list is long enough to make a swipe down, how your name would look like written in it. Would he stay up at night, in his bed, exhausted after work, trying to fight off sleep and typing in your name on a random app, hopefully catching a glimpse of the forbidden fruit. Down bad like how you like it. 

“Think you’ll come see him after summer break?”

There it is. The question you have been asking yourself even when stepping into the airport. Toss a bone and run maybe.

“You think I should?”

“Honestly, I was about to pity the guy whenever I went there for a drink. He always asks the same thing. Phone number, which university, stuff like that.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so worked up that morning, you would have noticed the empty paper coffee cup from the shop you work part-time perched proudly on the coffee table. 

⌯⌲ buy me a coffee?

[leeril]

Routine

Tobias Rogers x reader

Short and sweet, not proofread

Banner credit- @cafekitsune

Her schedule was ingrained in my mind, from how long it took her to brush her teeth in the morning, to the late night cram sessions in the library. I knew she woke up extra early every Wednesday before class, the exact bus route she took just to miss the early morning traffic on her way back from the gym. I had her days down to the minute.

I could always tell the exact mood she was in from the small pin in her hair, each colour a different emotion. A small gateway into her mind.

I had her coffee order memorised like I was the barista who worked the till from 08:12 to 08:17. I knew the exact amount of syrup pumps, whether she wanted it iced or hot, or when she had that yellow pin in her hair- with extra sweet foam.

She was perfect, truly. She was perfect for me.

So why did she have to go and ruin our routine? Why did you ruin it?

Did I not pay you enough attention? I even stood closer to you in the grocery store. Slightly too close in the parking lot. But I was there wasn’t I? You knew I was.

It started with those extra 5 minutes while you were in bed. That wasn’t part of the schedule. You were running into your sleep. Was it him you were texting? Or something else? The once gorgeous and open smile you held, was now tainted. Did you direct it at him? Did he make you smile?

My favourite times together were always the ones where it felt like you saw me. Really saw me. Not just the dark shadow in the corner of your yard.

You needed me. It was so much easier to love you, cause I knew, I knew you needed me. Did you need him?

Those extra 5 minutes really were the turning point for us, weren’t they? After that you changed even more.

How dare you coil around my bleeding heart, squeezing and squeezing. And fucking squeezing. Till the last drop painted your perfect lips. My hand can still feel the wetness. Was it my blood that night? Was it yours? Did we meld together? Did you taste how sweet you really fucking were? Was mine copper? Was it bitter? Did you feel the love?

Those late night cram sessions quickly just became an excuse to sit on your phone, laptop idly staring at you, screen completely black. It gave me the perfect chance to observe you. I’m sure you didn’t see me- you were too busy of course. Still on that goddamn phone. Our reflections looked so perfect together, if only you had just lifted your head.

I remember the first night vividly, your pink pin in your hair, that yellow worn out cardigan on your shoulders, preparing for an English literature exam. But you just couldn’t keep your eyes on your notes, could you? Every few minutes, your eyes, your wandering eyes, they kept drifting to your phone. Was it his notification you were hoping for?

You really made me sick that night.

I forgive you now. It’s in the past after all. I know you won’t do it again. You’re perfect.

Thursday was always our day. The late lie in bed. The slow pace of you reaching for your phone, laughing at whatever was on it. It was your friends, right? Katie and issy? Your face entirely relaxed, hair slightly messy, curtain open just enough for me to savour how the sun shined against your skin. French toast with an excessive amount of powdered sugar, a cup of earl grey with honey, if it was raining- chai.

He doesn’t bring you flowers you know. I do. Amaranthus, daisies and anemones. They make a beautiful bouquet. I’m sure you think so too. I deliver them on our day. Do you like them? Do you see how much I still care?

You always did have a floral scent. The smell of rot doesn’t suit you. But I still bear it. Because I love you.

I loved the sound of your laughter, how it always seemed to cling to my skin. You had a way of filling any uncomfortable silence with ease. Are you laughing now?

I remember the last look you gave me. There was no fear. No surprise. It was like you anticipated this all along. Like you carefully shifted the routine to fit me in. Made all the correct advances for weeks just to feel the cold blades imbed your bones. You didn’t fight it. You didn’t scream. You just looked at me with that innocent smile. Those knowing eyes. And they told me all I needed. You loved me too.

Now as you lay there a few feet away from me, smell disguised by the flowers, I’m telling you about my day. You’re finally there to listen. The game of cat and mouse is finally over. Do you forgive me too?

[liyaauhr]

SBG RANDOM HEADCANONS 🎀🔥

— When Tyler first saw Ashlyn’s hair he had a mini HEART ATTACK and not because the girl had the audacity to just blindly used a KNIFE to cut all her hair off without even thinking but also because of how fugly and uneven it turned out to be. The following day he brought a pair of cutting sheers to the bus and fixed her hair up while scolding and rambling on at her like a pissed off mother in Spanish. Ashlyn was just confused because her Spanish weren’t sufficient to keep up with Tyler’s speed but she was smart enough to know everything Tyler was saying was probably to be repeated to Lily…but he also made a point of smacking her hand away every Ashlyn got impatient and tried doing it herself.

(She started paying more attention to Spanish classes after that).

— Taylor and Aiden are not trusted to do ANYTHING together by themselves. Tyler is the worst Aiden enabler ever, if he has a dumb idea she will try to talk it out of him for 2 minutes MAX and then give up and join him instead (if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em). This once lead to them destroying a whole supermarket aisle while trying ride down their trolleys as fast as possible and then the second incident ensued them getting lost for 3 hours at a theme park (the only reason the rest of the gang found them in the end because Aiden somehow managed to sneak into the theme parks control room and use the mic).

— More Taylor and Aiden (because not enough people talk about these two!!!): They’re banned from playing music in the car. Aiden plays the same songs repeatedly on full blast and Taylor's song choices always end up starting a fight.

— Out of all of the gang the ones who get the best grades are Tyler, Logan and Aiden in that order. Logan and Tyler actually try really hard in class which is why they usually get A’s but while the STEM side of Logan’s grades are shining, the English side? Not so much. He’s working on it though! Somehow Aiden gets As and Bs while paying 0 attention in class. Taylor usually gets Bs with the occasional A, Ben usually gets B’s and Ashlyn’s grades have been slipping because of all the stress in the phantom realm, she used to get Bs and As but now she’s been seeing a lot more Cs and even D’s.

— Tyler and Ashlyn get forced to hold hands every time they argue until they apologise. Takes a damn long time for that to happen because it’s Taylor and Ashlyn. Why not just stop holding hands, you ask? Turns out Taylor Hernandez can be a REAL BITCH sometimes.

— Ben is an observer, sometimes when the group hangs out and something interesting happens, he’d sketch it out on his notepad and finish it at home. He also has sketches of all his friends but doesn’t like to show anyone because he’s a perfectionist lol.

— Even though Aiden’s house is the biggest, it’s actually Ashlyn’s house they mainly hang around with because of one thing: her parents. The Banners ended up becoming second parents to literally all of the kids and actually enjoy having them around.

— Adding onto the previous headcanon, Ashlyn’s parents have little details of the kid’s memorised. Like Logan’s peanut allergy, the way the Hernandez twins always linger around to try and help out someway,

— Aiden and Ben have separate rooms but more often than not Aiden usually ends up having spontaneous sleepovers in Ben’s room. Ben doesn’t mind and enjoys the company and Aiden dislikes the memories associated with his room.

— Taylor loves Taylor Swift, Ashlyn hates her for it (if she has to hear love story one more time she will sell Taylor to a phantom).

— Every time they hang out at Aiden’s house Taylor somehow always gets lost.

— They all make a point to show up for eachothers’ personal events e.g Tyler’s baseball games, Ashlyn’s ballet performances, help out at Logan’s greenhouse etc.

— Tyler is a secret romcom lover.

— Logan and Aiden are the resident horror enthusiasts.

[luvs4haechan]

Ooh can you write a fic about haechan and the reader in a college au, where she's like some kind of humanities major? And his petname for her is like "sunshine" or something cute like that? Kicking my feet and squealing thinking abt it

sunshine

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: fluff!!!!

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: haechan x fem!reader

𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵/𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: college au, use of y/n, the fr***h 🇫🇷

𝘸𝘤: 1,7k

masterlist

"hi sunshine," you heard, despite being focused on reading the progress of the french revolution. it was moments like these where you began to regret taking so many classes - evidently history, english literature, and religious studies were kicking your ass. exam season meant your head burried in as many textbooks as you could carry to the library. it also mean your very sweet boyfriend being a little extra clingy; he explaied it as not being able to see you as often. it made you wonder how he had the time to pester you, as he himself was taking a very difficult computer engineering course. although you were always happy to see him, it didn't mean you had the time to - which led to many nights of him laying in your dorm, scrolling endlessly through tiktok, and every once in a while asking when you'd be done studying.

"hi hyuck," you replied, not taking your eyes of the page. you had almost memorised all the key dates you were struggling with. despite your lack of attention, your boyfriend pressed a kiss to the top of your head and made himself comfortable on your bed.

"what's keeping you from me today, sunshine?" he asked, playing with the stuffed teddy (that he actually bought you for your first anniversary). donghyuck was very understanding of your busy schedule, he'd often say your course was way harder than his, although you always disagreed. whenever he'd find you in the library at odd hours of the night, he would either bring you a snack and a red bull or bother you enough that you would give up and agree to go rest. donghyuck had always been attentive, even when you were just friends. he always made sure you were taken care of, whether that meant driving you home from a party or picking up pads when you were on your period. he often claimed that his love language was acts of service, however you said it was definitely physical touch.

"the french revolution," you replied, still engrossed in the, now unreadable, notes you took during your lectures.

"oh not the french," he rolled his eyes dramatically, even though you couldn't see him. your boyfriend heaved a sigh, hoping to catch at least some of your attention. luckily, you had braced for this moment and knew you could take a small break when he finally showed up.

"i know, the french are so dramatic," you played along with his antics, standing up and moving onto the bed with him. you placed your hand on his cheek, as he nuzzled further into it, enjoying your tentative touch. your hand moved up to brush some hair from his forehead, taking a good look at him. donghyuck's arms wrapped around your frame, bringing you to lay down almost on top of him. he placed his own hand on your jaw, tilting your head to meet his lips in a soft kiss.

"hi," he whispered, pulling away with a smile on his face.

"hi baby," you whispered back, a smiliar love struck smile adorning your face. your own arms wrapped around him, feeling his warm and comforting embrace. donghyuck's hand moved to brush through your hair as you settled further into his arms.

"how you feeling? still got a lot to do?" he said, glancing at the clock. it was only 3pm, so he knew you probably planned to study for a lot longer.

"i'm fine, a little tired, but fine. i really want to get this revolution under control before tomorrow," you sighed, closing your eyes.

"oh yeah, this revolution has to be stopped y/n. i believe you can do it, but in less than one day? that's a strech even for you," your boyfriend's playful words making you laugh softly, although his tone was totally serious.

"i think i can do it," you said with a small smile, eyes still closed. donghyuck looked down at you in his arms, a smile spreading across his face too.

"i think you can do anything, you're literally wonder woman," he emphasised his words by squeezing your frame slightly. his words caused another laugh to bubble out of you.

"sure, hyuck," you patted his chest, as if he were a child and you had no choice but to agree with his crazy beliefs.

"no i'm serious right now. sunshine, you can literally do anything you put your mind to. i've seen it too. you're incredible y/n," donghyuck said, no playfulness in his tone now. the words warmed your heart, butterflies swarming your stomach. it sometimes amazed you, that after so much time with donghyuck he still managed to charm you every time he opened his mouth. well...maybe not every time, but most times. your boyfriend fully believed that you would never undertand the capacity in which he loves and cares for you. you are always his first thought in the morning, and his last just before he fell asleep. he belived his sole purpose was to make someone as perfect as you happy. donghyuck's favourite times were spent by your side, making you laugh, smile, and (hopefully) feel cared for. all he ever wanted was for you to be happy, as long as he achieved that nothing else mattered to him.

"thank you," you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. the both of you layed in your dorm bed for a little while longer, before you began to get up causing donghyuck to whine.

"sunshine come on," he drew out his words, clinging onto you. "you can study some other time, i won't always be here," the brunette whined, as you untangled yourself from him.

"are you saying you'll break up with me?" you raised your eyebrows, stilling your movements.

"yes," he deadpanned, knowing his words couldn't be further from the truth. you rolled your eyes at his usual antics, detaching yourself further from him and moving to sit at your desk.

"you're so annoying," you say, not looking at him and opening your textbooks again.

"yeah, but you love me," the smile on his face could be heard as he said the words. his smugness caused you to shake your head.

"unfortunately," you mumbled, focusing on the words written on the pages. no more words were exchanged, as donghyuck knew you were keen to study some more - although he did love trying to grab your attention in numerous ways.

a few hours passed, of you studying with a couple of breaks, and donghyuck trying and failing to catch your attention. you were almost satisfied with your knowledge of history, at least for today - tomorrow was probably another day of looming over textbooks and crashing out over minor details you needed to remember in order to pass.

"wanna go to the beach?" the joy of living in a beach city. as the days were warming, you often found yourself sitting at the familiar beach. the sound of the waves always managed to calm your racing mind and tune out any nerves you seemed to have. your boyfriend found himself almost hanging off your bed, the boredom getting the better of him.

"yes," you said, closing your text book as you read the last line of the topic. you turned around, stood up and pressed a kiss to his upside-down lips. donghyuck raised his eyebrows, as this wasn't the outcome he expected when he asked the question. most times, when he bothered you while you were revising, his words went unnoticed. nevertheless, he was happy with your answer, and watched as you put on some warmer clothes. even though the sun was shining, and the air smelled like spring you knew better than to dress as if it was already summer.

soon the both of you found yourselves sitting on a blanket, an arrangement of snacks spread in front of you. donghyuck sat behind you, as you made yourself comfortable inbetween his legs, your back against his firm chest. your boyfriend's arms quickly found their way around you, keeping you warm and cozy.

"the sunset is so pretty," you commented, looking ahead at the horizon. pinks and oranges were melting into one as the sun hid behind the still water of the sea. sunsets at the beach were some of the best memories you'd made at university. whether it was parties that streched into the early hours of the morning, or simple, quiet dates with your boyfriend. it was times like these were you found yourself most at peace; the quiet hum of the waves crashing against the shore, the sun casting an orange glow over your fading tan from last summer, and donghyuck's body providing you with warmth as his arms wrapped tighter around you.

"not as pretty as you," donghyuck said, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, pressing a soft kiss on the exposed skin. his words caused you to laugh, he always managed to make you smile.

"you're so corny," you craned your neck to look up at him.

"no, you just can't take a compliment," he said, stealing a quick kiss from your lips. donghyuck pulled back with a wide grin. "i love being here with you, sunshine," he pressed another, longer, kiss to your lips - as if he was sealing his love.

"i wouldn't want to be anywhere else," you returned his smile, yours wider if that was possible. "i'd go anywhere, as long as it's with you," you laced your fingers with him, moving to look at the beautiful sunset again.

"i love you, sunshine," donghyuck rested his head on top of yours. "and i totally believe you can still stop that revolution, by the way."

𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘺𝘢𝘱𝘴!

thank u anon!!! this kind of felt rushed im so sorry lmk what you think 😚😚 also very hard to write since im a STEM girl but hope i got it all semi-right 💔 pls send more requests i have so much more time now to write 😋😋

[robin-evry]

Hi, I love your headcanons, is there any way for a Kaibyo! Yuu?

Glad you enjoyed it, ask and you shall receive

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐁𝐘𝐎 😺👻

Kaibyō (怪猫, "strange cat") are supernatural cats in Japanese folklore. Examples include bakeneko, a yōkai (or supernatural entity) commonly characterized as having the ability to shapeshift into human form; maneki-neko, usually depicted as a figurine often believed to bring good luck to the owner; and nekomata, referring either to a type of yōkai that lives in mountain areas or domestic cats that have grown old and transformed into yōkai.

( English is not my first language )

Day 2 : kaibyo!yuu

The entrance ceremony goes exactly the same, waking up in a coffin,grim sets the fire to the school and acatera. Originally kaibyo!yuu thought that grim was the same kin, mystical cats able to manipulate blue flame and are capable of human speech, before the blue flame can spread kaibyo!yuu use their magic to stop it, for compensation kaibyo!yuu ask Crowley to allow grim to enter the school as another student.Crowley unfortunately has no choice ( literally )

Since the mirror said that kaibyo!yuu but they display some abilities to control fire and shape shift. So Crowley still allowed them to attend the school. When Crowley presents the ramshackle dorm to kaibyo!yuu, he swears they send him the most disgusted glared in the world. He swears when he was sleeping, he felt someone was watching and is cursing him. After being unable to take it any longer he fixed the dorms and that allowed him to sleep peacefully... For now.

Kaibyo!yuu as a student likes to sleep during class, when Mr trein asks them a question about a subject, they answer correctly, when a test happens they always get good grades and manage to stay on top of class and during a portion project they always get it perfect.

Technically kaibyo!yuu is 12 years old since in mythology if cats live more than 7 years or turn 12 years, they are able to turn into a kaibyo or bakeneko. So technically kaibyo!yuu is 12 years old but in cat years they would be 64 years old.

Kaibyo!yuu has the ability to manipulate blue flames as well to shape shift and are able to create illusion but it's not as realistic as kitsune!yuu. They are able to cast but they do need a piece of paper to cast them. By writing fire and throwing it or something touch it, it will summon a fire it's similar to glyph magic from the owl house.

Not to mention kaibyo!yuu have incredible stamina, flexibility, and speed as well to quick reaction speed. Since Kaibyo!Yuu have the ability to shape shift to a human disguise, but they usually aren't in this form either. Because it takes too much energy, so they fused both their human form and yokai form into one. In this form they have their feline features around their body but with a human body including their cat ears and a tail. Their body is covered in a thin layer of fur. As well a bonus to be immune to poison.

kaibyo!yuu is pretty laid-back but also quite blunt without realizing it. They are incredibly brutally honest but showing this side for those who are not close to them, only acting nice for those who are around their circle.

In this situation, when kaibyo!yuu was standing in the middle of a room too busy paying attention, someone stepped on their tale as a joke, let's just say the person ended up living with a multiple bloodied cat scratches on their body and face. rook is incredibly infatuated about them wanting to learn more about there physiology, so he went straight ahead and ask them let me tell you, kaibyo!yuu send this dude the most deadass glare in the world and that didn't work on him cause he keeps asking and every time when they tried to scratch he managed to dodge. Vil practically sees kaibyo!yuu as a potential to be a model or an actress due to their pretty appearance as well as there talent of memorising something quickly and perfectly, but their personality is a total downgrade.

Their main diets are usually poison. During lunch they will bring a snake, they hunt from the woods and eat it there, this certainly scares the vice warden of scarabia. After hearing their immunity to poison Jamil will ask for kaibyo!yuu to taste the food for kalim and if they like it, it means it's poisonous. This allowed kalim to eat food more freely as well Jamil not risking his lives.

Idia first impression on kaibyo!yuu was cute, behind the tablet he really wanted to pet them but after a few chapters. Idia is now afraid of kaibyo!yuu feeling they would judge him and send him a glare towards his way. He would just die.

Also after kaibyo!yuu have a cellphone given by Crowley. Carter introduced them into gaming and now they're hooked.

Kaibyo!yuu would not bid fairly in the octanaville chapter due to it taking place at water and they hate getting wet, because they feel heavy. And how long their fur can dry up, PS : they also mention having a sibling who is a nekomata.

[samflir]

Similarities between Toki Pona and Lojban

Toki Pona and Lojban are two engineered constructed languages with speaking communities and very different goals. Toki Pona is a minimalist language based on simplifying your thoughts to fit the vocabulary of 140 words. Its grammar is similarly minimalistic. It has a simple sentence structure, not many particles and no affixes at all. Lojban is a logical language, one designed to express logical statements in its grammar and lack structural ambiguity. It is not at all minimalist, having over 3.5 times more particles than Toki Pona has words in total. It has particles for just about any grammatical function or marking you can think of.

So you may be surprised to learn that, having learned both languages, I consider them to be strikingly similar. They both have traits in common that English lacks for what I think are similar reasons.

Overall character

These are the big picture similarities. They are the cause of the specific similarities discussed later.

One class of root words

Both languages throw root words into one class, with usage determining their interpretation as a noun, verb or modifier. Both achieve this slightly differently.

Toki Pona's contentives

Most Toki Pona words cover broad semantic categories and have interpretations as nouns, verbs and modifiers relating to these categories in some way. For example, the definition of "moku" is:

eat, drink, consume, swallow, ingest; food, edible thing

These all relate to food and eating in some way. A very frequently cited example of Toki Pona's ambiguity is "mi moku" meaning "I eat" or "I am food", as Toki Pona doesn't have a copula. Note that it's not possible to predict how the meaning of a word changes between noun and verb usage and this must be memorised with each word.

Lojban's verbs

Lojban's only class of root word is verbs. These are defined in an unusual way, resembling sentences with blank spots given numbered Xs for nouns. For example, klama means:

x1 goes to x2 from x3 by route x4 with means/vehicle x5

"klama" is about as complex as verbs get, having 5 blank spots (arguments). Most have fewer than this! The blank spots are how Lojban creates nouns. The articles (lo/le) in Lojban select the first place of a verb and turn it into a noun. This avoids the need to memorise unpredictable changes in meaning for different words. For example, "lo citka" can only ever mean "an eater", it cannot mean "a food", which would be "lo cidja".

Concepts that are nouns in English are verbs in Lojban that include their copula. For example "cidja" means:

x1 is food for x2

This is as much as a verb to Lojban's grammar as the entire rest of its root word dictionary. The exact same grammar that works with "klama" works with "cidja". In other words, Lojban makes no distinction between being and doing. This also means that while Lojban does have a copula, it is barely ever used. Verbs contain "to be" in their definition.

Greedy phrases

In English you mostly know where a noun phrase ends because a lexically defined noun appears at the end of a string of lexically defined adjectives. Context and word order alone are usually sufficient to know how an English sentence is structured. Toki Pona and Lojban both take a different approach, because zero-deriving modifiers from contentives and verbs means that phrases are "greedy", they keep expanding unless explicitly separated.

Toki Pona phrases

Modifier phrases are the main way that Toki Pona stays expressive with only 140 words. Toki Pona has noun-modifier order. "jan pona" literally means "person good" but actually translates as "good person", since English is an adjective-noun language. You can keep adding root words onto phrases indefinitely and every following word modifies the whole phrase to its left:

small red car tomo tawa lili loje ((room move) small) red

Lojban tanru

Lojban's "tanru" are phrases just like Toki Pona's, where one word modifies another through juxtaposition. Lojban's order is backwards from Toki Pona, with the verb determining the place structure (and therefore most of the meaning) occurring last rather than first. However, Lojban still groups modifiers to the left. Just like in Toki Pona, root words can be added onto the end indefinitely since all are in the same category and they cannot, on their own, indicate the end of a noun phrase or start of a predicate.

intensely-red type of car kandi xunre karce ((intense) red) car

Keeping open question words in place

English fronts question words. This means that when asking a question, the syntax of the sentence is shuffled in some way that brings the wh-word to the start of the sentence. "You want what?" becomes "What do you want?". This is not the case in Toki Pona or Lojban, which prefer to keep question words unmoved.

Toki Pona's seme

The question word in Toki Pona is "seme" and it can go in the noun or verb positions of a sentence.

This is/does what? ni li seme?

This is good for who/what? ni li pona tawa seme?

Lojban's ma and mo

Lojban has different question words for every possible type of question. It has many more than just "ma" and "mo" which are noun and verb questions respectively. But those are the question words that most directly correspond with "seme" and just like it, don't require any change in word order.

This is/does what? .i ti mo

This is good for who/what? .i ti xamgu ma

Word order

Both Toki Pona and Lojban are similar to each other but also English in word order. Toki Pona has subject-verb-object word order and also tends to move preposition phrases to the end of sentences. While Lojban's word order is flexible, it defaults to a very Englishy order of putting the verb second, after a single noun and then putting all other nouns after the verb.

I give a book to you at the library.

mi pana e lipu, tawa sina, lon tomo lipu. I give a book, to you, at building book.

.i mi dunda lo cukta do bu'u le ckusro I give a book you at the library.

Specific similarities

As a result of the similarities in overall character, Lojban and Toki Pona have some very similar grammar.

Predicate markers

English doesn't have a predicate marker because it doesn't need one, not usually anyway. A predicate marker tells you where the verb in a sentence starts. This seemed like such an obviously artificial feature to me (having only seen it in Toki Pona and Lojban) that I assumed it was something that only existed in conlangs for a good while. I've since learned that Tok Pisin has a predicate marker. Natural languages are always stranger than I expect!

Toki Pona's li

The word "li" in Toki Pona separates third-person subjects from their predicates. It is essential to Toki Pona's grammar to allow for speakers to stop adding description to the subject and start the verb.

A big cat wants a fish. soweli suli li wile e kala.

Toki Pona allows for a subject to have multiple predicates attached to it by repeating "li".

A hunter sells food and goes to a house. jan alasa li esun e moku li kama, tawa tomo.

Lojban's cu

The word "cu" in Lojban terminates any nouns before the predicate of a sentence or clause. This is very similar to "li" and when Toki Pona speakers learn Lojban, it's very useful to be able to say "remember 'li'? it works like that".

A fish eats a person. .i lo finpe cu citka lo prenu

However, it is never actually obligatory in Lojban. It is usually used when the noun before the verb is one that uses an article, as opposed to a single-word pronoun. This is because pronouns self-terminate and don't start a greedy tanru phrase.

I run. .i mi bajra

Lojban only permits one "cu" per clause. This is a very helpful rule for certain deeply-nested sentence structures. Attaching multiple predicates to a single subject is still possible, but requires conjunctions.

A hunter sells a food and goes to a house. .i lo kalte cu vecnu lo cidja gi'e klama lo zdani

Phrase bracket particles

The default way that both languages group together modifiers in phrases means that it's impossible for multi-word phrases on the right to modify single words to the left. A phrase with the structure "A B C D" will always group together as "((A B) C) D" when what you want may be "(A B) (C D)". Both languages have words for this exact purpose of regrouping modifiers, a type of particle that has no direct counterpart in English.

Toki Pona's pi

Toki Pona's particle "pi" is used to override Toki Pona's default left grouping. An example is "tomo telo nasa", which translates to "crazy restroom" because "tomo telo" groups together and is finally modified by "nasa".

crazy restroom (tomo telo) nasa (room water) crazy

Putting a "pi" after "tomo" allows for "telo nasa" (alcohol) to modify "tomo", creating the meaning of "bar". These two very different meanings are only distinguished by the grouping of modifiers.

bar tomo pi (telo nasa) room (water crazy)

Using multiple "pi" in one phrase is ambiguous and considered bad style. It is unclear whether both pi phrases apply equally to the head of the phrase (flat pi) or the second pi phrase applies only to the contents of the pi phrase it follows (nested pi). The example given in sona pona is "lipu pi sona mute pi toki Inli". Is it a book of much knowledge of English, or a book of much knowledge and English?

Lojban's ke-ke'e

Lojban's particle "ke" does pretty much the exact same thing as "pi", but appears in opposite situations from "pi" due to the opposite word order of tanru compared to Toki Pona phrases.

catcher of big dogs barda gerku kavbu (big dog) catcher

The meaning of the phrase without pi in Toki Pona has to use "ke" to get the brackets on the right of the phrase.

a catcher of dogs, who is big barda ke gerku kavbu big (dog catcher)

Unlike Toki Pona, mulitple "ke" particles unambiguously nest into each other. Conjunctions are needed to achieve the "flat pi" meaning from Toki Pona.

small school for girls which is beautiful melbi ke cmalu ke nixli ckule pretty (small (girl school))

Unlike Toki Pona, a terminating particle "ke'e" closes the opening bracket created by "ke". Sometimes, the entire "ke-ke'e" structure may be replaced with "bo" as this marks a gap between two verbs to be interpreted as grouping together first before the usual left-grouping rule is applied.

small catcher of big dogs cmalu ke barda gerku ke'e kavbu cmalu barda bo gerku kavbu small (big dog) catcher

Analysis

Toki Pona is vague, not ambiguous

With a few small exceptions such as preverbs, prepositions and nested pi, the structure of a Toki Pona sentence is usually not ambiguous because of very un-englishy particles tagging parts of sentences such as "li" and "e". Most of Toki Pona's multiple interpretations come from its words covering board "semantic spaces", fuzzy clouds of meaning that are clarified through the addition of modifiers and context.

Toki Pona and Lojban both solve ambiguity in similar ways

Both being SVO isolating languages with greedy phrases, both languages use similar very obvious solutions for terminating phrases. Lojban has terminators, articles, prepositions and the predicate marker "cu". Toki Pona has "en", "li", "e" and prepositions marking the starts of phrases in sentences. The biggest overlap is predicate marking, but both languages also have particles exclusively for regrouping modifiers.

[ahathena-andherwriting]

Sweet like candy

Summary: No plot just omega Gale getting eaten out like he deserves!!! Its just 3k of him getting eaten out that is the whole plot.

(NSFW warning. obviously)

Word count: 2.8k

Based on This post from @buckpregnant

“You want to do this here?” 

Gale’s voice—tight-lipped, reluctant, pressed between the jagged angles of lust and his good sense—spilled out into the dark. It wasn’t quite a protest, no, but it tried its best to sound like one.

John didn’t answer with words. He never did when hunger had already bloomed inside him, when his hands were full of Gale’s hips; possessive, grounding, almost cruel in their grip as he turned him, step by coaxed step, backward against the wall. 

The wooden panel bit coldly through Gale’s shirt, a shock that stole a breath from his lips and made his spine ripple. John reached behind and shut the door with a click; conspirator's kiss. Then, with the quiet smirk of one unbothered by boundaries, he slid forward, filling the space between them with his heat and bulk.

“Like you said,” John murmured, close now, voice already low with thrill. “Nobody comes out here but you.” His grin widened as he dropped, knees to the dusty floor, and added, like a joke, like a dare, like he knew how to goad Gale into giving in. “You can be as loud as you want.”

And yet it wasn’t so simple. The truth of it was: no one came out here unless a class was in session. And, right now, it wasn’t. It was too close to curfew. Gale taught those classes, taught them well—maths, English, law, decorum. But what rules governed him now? What precedent, what statute, could excuse this: the closet, the dark, the obscene scent of want woven like incense into old timber and dust?

The privy room—converted, unused, hidden by accident more than design—was narrow and secret, and reeked of dust, of wet wood and cleaning supplies the way all closets do. The sort of place one might store old chalk, or forbidden books, or trembling bodies caught between instinct and inhibition. There was something almost sacred in how small it was, as if divinity itself demanded closeness, bodies brushing, scent and sensibility forced to crowd and erode together as one.

And, still, Gale hesitated.

Even now, with John's broad shoulders crouched low, obscenely reverent before him like some ancient beast genuflecting to a lesser god, Gale hesitated. His hearing twitched to phantom patrols, to boots on stone, to the imagined rasp of a voice saying; What are you doing in there, Cleven? 

Yeah. What indeed.

Gale knew the patrols by heart, had them memorised like catechism—but what if? What if—the worst of phrases. What if someone heard? What if someone smelled them, this musk of slick and sweat and nerves that clung to the air like powdered sulfur, volatile, dangerous?

Gale was thinking of all that when John kissed him between his legs, heavy and open-mouthed and unrepentant. Gale gasped, half in shock, half in reflex, his fingers already buried in John’s hair, tugging, not in refusal, but in frivolous betrayal.

“You smell good,” John said, muffled, like a dog with its snout deep in warm earth. His face pressed, rubbed, mouthed through fabric like he might eat his way into Gale’s body, fabric and all. Like he might excavate him from the inside out. Devour was too civilised a word. There was no civilisation here.

Gale’s fingers twitched on the buckle of his belt. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” He said, gruff with shame, and hands that trembled—not from cold, though it was cold, yes, the Stalag was always cold—but from some more internal frost. An ache of being seen. He unclasped, peeled open, and offered; not gracefully, not entirely willingly, but with the guilty compulsion of a man who wanted his needs met.

John was swift, greedy. He kissed and licked at every inch of exposed skin as it was delivered to him. He helped strip the rest, dragging down the pants with brusque patience, wrestling them past one boot until only one leg remained dressed. Gale’s naked thigh prickled in the air, his skin lifting with gooseflesh not from chill, but from exposure, from being watched, even if by only one pair of eyes.

He tipped his head back. Stared upward, into the pitch. It was black above him, a blankness too thick to read. Maybe he liked it better that way. Less to see, less to think about.

And then John was parting him.

With those large, callused thumbs, he spread Gale open, reverent as an archivist unfolding a precious manuscript. The cold kissed his cunt, and Gale, traitorous in his shame, felt it flutter, twitch, pulse. A maddening reaction. Worse still, John noticed.

“You’re getting wet already,” He said, and his voice—God, that voice—was pleased. Smug. Not unkind, but victorious. “A little attention from me is enough to get you soaked, that it? Flattering, Buck.”

Gale burned. Not only his face, but his chest, his scalp, his very marrow. It flushed through him like fever. “Are you going to talk the whole time or are you actually going to do something?”

And oh, John smiled at that. Not with his mouth alone, but with his entire being. As if Gale’s annoyance were some triumph of his own; a victory prize. John was under Gale’s skin and he knew it. As if the bristle of resistance was just a velveted cue for obedience.

He bent in. He bowed, prostrated, and then buried himself between Gale’s legs with the focus of a dying man reaching for water. No preamble. No artifice. Just need—his tongue thick and eager, already pushing, parting, pressing. Thumbs held Gale open and allowed John to go straight for his entrance, straight to the sweet source of slick Gale was dribbling down his thighs.

Gale pressed the back of his skull to the wall and let out a breath that wasn’t a breath. His fist balled tight in John’s hair, grounding him, perhaps. Or grounding himself.

And the noise—oh the noise—was obscene. John moaned into him. Moaned like he was the one being touched, like Gale was the one on his knees, like John was sinking hot and heavy into his mouth instead. His fingers clasped Gale’s thighs. Not to spread, just to hold. Just to anchor how John, who was too big for the small space, bowed and bent and twisted his head to get more.

“You—” Gale began, but didn’t finish.

How could he?

John’s moustache, that irritating, abrasive thing, scraped exquisitely across Gale’s clit, a torture and a balm all at once. He licked slow, then fast, then slow again, the rhythm maddeningly perfect; an old familiar pattern they had fallen into so many times before, but somehow never like this. Never quite so filthy. Never quite so public.

Gale covered his mouth with one hand. He couldn’t trust his own sounds.

John nosed at his clit again—slow, lingering, almost ceremonial—then kissed it: kissed it as though it were a mouth capable of response, of reciprocation, of yes. And maybe Gale’s body did answer, twitching against those lover-like lips. With lips parted, breath hot and heavy on tender flesh, John waited until Gale whined from the hovering before he took Gale’s clit between his lips to suck on. Licked, pointed, grinned when Gale’s thighs trembled. 

Gale could feel it against him, the smug bastard. He considered kneeing John in the head.

From the weeping heat of his hole to the throb at its crest, John wrote his hunger in slow, sinuous cursive, a language older than grammar, older than war. Gale, for his part, could only read it in the shudder of his spine and the fire curling low in his gut.

He ground down, helpless and wanton, because how could any omega not yield under such reverence? What creature of heat and blood could remain unmoved, untouched, unstained by this worship? Because that’s what it was; a communion, and John was the acolyte, the penitent, the starving boy-child at the altar rail.

And oh, John lived for this.

It was not rare that he begged for it, no, that was common enough; pitiful and endearing in its persistence. He would whimper like a cur in the kitchen, all promise and posture. One more taste, just a little lick, he would be good, so good, would finish all of his chores and fold all of the damn sheets if Gale would just let him have another taste. 

And sometimes, most times, Gale gave in. Not from the begging alone but for the look on him: all that alpha muscle and male bravado unraveling at the seams. Gale melted. Every time. Like candle wax before a match. Otherwise he worried John may begin to weep from the lost chance at tasting him.

And now—now that he had been granted indulgence—John ate like he meant to live by it. Ate like he might be punished for leaving anything behind. Every droplet mattered. Every stroke of that broad, perfect tongue, was put to perfect use. John’s tongue delved and curled, raked and worshipped, a heat-slick instrument of ruin, obscene in its insistence. 

The sound of it—wet, low, gulping, echoing in their little room of hidden indulgence—was a thing of embarrassment, and yet Gale could not close his legs. Could not stop the tremble. Could not deny it.

When John drew back (just a moment, cruelly brief), Gale felt the mess between his thighs cling and break like sugar glass. He didn’t have to look, he knew John’s face would be drenched. Knew he would be grinning like he had won some grand prize; mouth slick, eyes glowing with the wet shine of desire, panting like a damn dog.

“God, Buck, you taste good.” John was breathless. His lips clicked when he talked. “I wish you’d let me do this more often.”

Then came the hand—large, warm, firm—slipping beneath Gale’s knee, lifting, spreading, anchoring his leg over the broad slope of John’s shoulder. The balance was precarious, absurd. Gale’s knees were unreliable at the moment. But he didn’t protest. He leaned in, let it happen. Planted the heel of his boot between John’s shoulder blades, and pressed. Gave permission and command all at once.

“Get on with it.”

And John, like the obedient dog he could be, responded by diving back in with renewed fervour.

His tongue drove into Gale’s cunt, dipped low enough to suck the slick straight from the source. It put Gale on his nose and, oh, how content he was to grind against the strong arch; dragging slick across that blessed ridge. Gale loved that nose, loved it with a certain sinful fondness. Not just for aesthetics—though, he did hope that their children might inherit it—but for utility: its perfect angle, its broad bridge, the way it fit so precisely against his clit like some anatomical key. 

But Gale was aware of his own weight. He knew how to hold himself. Knew the edges of balance and when to pull back. But John, John encouraged him with some imperious, arrogant need. He grabbed Gale’s hips and dragged him down, insisted with his body that Gale take all of him. That Gale sit—fully, dangerously, possessively—on his mouth, on his face.

John, who wasn’t exactly known for thinking ahead, didn’t seem to worry about his nose bridge breaking or neck strain or even his own breathing. He licked as if death would be a fine price for the taste. He did not suffer under Gale’s weight, he worshipped it. Pushed into it. Pulled it down harder. Broad palms and stronger fingers that encouraged Gale to rock his hips, to take what he so clearly wanted.

And when Gale groaned—something raw, shamed, half-swallowed— clit rutting into the thick bone, John groaned louder. A rumble, low and basal, the kind of noise that crawled under the skin. A noise that meant something. An alpha’s purr. A sound John only made when he was locked deep inside, buried to the hilt, knotted and helpless and singing through his teeth. 

But now, he made it with Gale straddling his face.

The vibration of it, the sound of that pleasure, rattled through Gale’s cunt and shot electric through his belly. He almost came, right then. Nearly let go from instinct alone.

“John,” He breathed, quiet, strangled, his voice fraying like old silk. “John, I’m—”

But John didn’t answer, not in language. He answered with his mouth.

He sucked Gale’s clit between his lips, hard. Pulled and tongued and lapped, and oh, the noise—a sickening, beautiful squelch, the kind that no decent soul could pretend not to hear. If anyone had passed the door, they would have known. They would have smelled the heat and want and filth radiating through old pine and dust.

Gale bit the inside of his cheek until it blossomed copper. He didn’t want to finish like this. Not with a whimper. Not with his back slipping against the wall behind him, his knee trembling atop John’s shoulder, his fingers clawing through thick hair like a drowning man grasping kelp. 

But John—God, John—was relentless. Determined. A dog with a bone and the tongue of a sinner.

It wasn’t just the mouth. It was the obedience in it.

The way John had knelt; unasked, unspoken. The way his big hands held him open, reverent, as if Gale’s cunt was worth the possibility of being caught. The way he licked like his life depended on it—because it did, didn’t it? Gale had made him need like this. Had let that primal alpha instinct rise and then bent it, twisted it, until John wanted to serve instead of take.

And still, Gale held the reins.

Even with his thighs shaking, his mouth parted around a breathless moan, he decided. He could end this now—pull away, demand John fuck him instead. He could say no. He always could. John would hate that, not making him finish, not being the one to please Gale. He would suffer far more from it than Gale ever would. That was the quiet rule of their dance.

But he didn’t.

Gale tightened his grip on John’s hair instead, both hands cradling that strong head to hold him, to make use of him. Ground harder. Lowered his boot from John’s back to the floor and stood, both feet planted now, so he could ride it, really ride it, grinding up against John's mouth like he had more to give, like he had a cock to sink down John's throat. One long breath. One low groan. One blinding, pulsing, shattering wave.

It was something golden, to finish like that; silent, breath catching in his throat, whole body going stiff then slack. Gale’s fingers curled, then uncurled, then clenched again. It hurt, a little. The way the orgasm pulled him inside out. The way it made him open, exposed. Seen. Slick spilled hot and heavy over John’s mouth and, still, John didn’t let up. Suckled through it, nuzzled into it, drew it out with delicate, obscene precision. Filled his mouth and gulped it down.

Gale panted above him. His body went slack against the wall. The smell was everywhere now—sweet, pungent, feral. Still, John drank him dry. Still, he lapped up every droplet until Gale had to physically push his head away.

Finally, finally, John pulled away. Kissed his clit on the way like some departing lover. His face was ruined; chin glistening, moustache dark, mouth open in something close to a dazed grin. He looked up at Gale the way a boy might look at a firework he had just set off: dazzled, entranced, eyes blown wide in the dark.

“It’s like you said.” John whispered hoarsely, licking his bottom lip slow, lazy. “Nobody comes out here but you.”

Gale closed his eyes and breathed deep. The silence of the old building swallowed them whole. The floor creaked beneath their shifting weight; the walls held their secrets.

Gale didn't thank him. 

He never did.

That was part of it, too, the unspoken deal. Gale gave. John worshipped. And they both walked away pretending it hadn’t happened. A secret folded into the dusty corners of the world, between lesson plans and patrols, between alpha instinct and omega control. Later, he might let John sink into him. Or maybe he would deny him—if only for his stupid joke alone.

[pompadourpink]

It's a new beginning!

Hello children,

September is coming, school too for some of you - often a great moment for a bit of decluttering and a few new good resolutions. Here am I, offering myself as one of them!

As you hopefully know, I started this blog in 2016 and have been a private tutor since the beginning of the pandemic. I have room at the moment for several new students, so here is what I offer:

Classes, obviously - the typical schedule is one hour a week, sometimes one and a half, or one every two weeks, or two every two weeks; typically same day same time (I'm always happy to make adjustments if you work shifts)

Homework, if you can make the time for it. I typically prefer it to be finished by the middle of the week so that I have time to take a look and correct it, giving you the opportunity to give it a second try before class!

Depending on your preferences, either just a few activities so we can take our time, especially if you are a beginner, or something a bit more dynamic consisting in five to ten minute long activities to keep you motivated and alert (which seems to be a crowd's favourite as most of my students are neurodivergent).

Talking activities are typically answering series of questions I share from my Notion, talking about your week, summarising a book or a movie, making me guess a word or a person, or a concept I call "alien talk" where you explain something (like a vaccine or insurance) from scratch to a little red man.

Writing activities are often fictional (I have students create a little character on a website and we write an update about their life regularly), they can also be an overview of your month, a letter to quit your horrible job or convince Snoop Dog to marry you because you are a gold digger.

Transcribing activities, especially at the beginning, are either me reading very easy sentences so you can write them down and memorise the way things sound, then it's episodes from young children's shows, extracts from very famous movies, then we hit harder and turn to gameshows or podcasts.

Translating activities, from one language to another, are a written translation of the first page of a novel (I did the Secret History recently), or a newspapers article (we are working on this one at the moment); or an oral translation of songs lyrics, fairytales, children's books, muted captioned playthroughs of your favourite games on Youtube, etc.

Finally, a few games: silly quizzes, crosswords, Wordle and even Quordle, hangman, and sometimes we even sing if you're comfortable with that.

Here is the link of my website where you will find reviews and a list of what to send me to get the process started. A few things to know:

I try to make the activities fit your preferences: get me a list of what you like and that is what we will work on. If your first language is not English, I am happy to include it, I'm always eager to learn (I've been reviewing my Spanish this way!)

I work without cameras. I don't need to see your face, I just need a voice and a good Internet connection. All students are welcome, no matter if you have an accent, a stutter, or disabilities. Do not be afraid of being judged, there is none of that here.

I ask for your contact information to be able to do my billing, no one else sees it and no one will know if you give me the address of a building in your area if you feel more comfortable this way. If you prefer to have a lesson first and decide that you want to continue before sending me your info, that's also an option.

I have a student and a regular rate, depending on what you can afford, and we can make different arrangements if your country's rate makes it too difficult, I've done it before.

Please comment if you have a question!

Much love,

Rose

[snapcracklepop-myjoints]

do u have a reccomendation for what form of shorthand to learn first. deeply interested-- i saw ur reply on that one post and then u seem cool so i just followed u and figured i would ask here

hello !!! thank you for asking !!!!!!!!!! and im so sorry this is so long lol

If you want my biased personal recommendation, I would suggest Pitman New Era. That's what I use, and I think its the best balance of efficiency vs difficulty to learn, and I like that the learning curve is such that, as you learn, you apply more rules that simplify the writing process more (meaning that earlier practice is still legible, if far less efficient). This compared to other forms (like Gregg) where, as you learn, youre just kind of generally suffering and trying to get your brain to memorise things and differentiate very similar looking strokes. I find Pitman also lends itself well to using in conjunction with other "standard" writing styles so you can take notes that are enough in "standard" writing to be skimmable while using enough shorthand to be much faster to write, basically maninmising writeing AND reading speed. [example below]

You can skip to the end for resources for Pitman and shorthand in general if this answer is sufficient :)

If you want a horrifically long, massively autistic answer that breaks down the three most popular/common styles, then thats what the rest of the post is !! It is so fucking long I am so sorry

Horrifically Long Answer:

I'm answering on the assumption that you would be learning for use with english. If you want to learn shorthand for another language there are a variety of options however I am less versed in them :( I'm also assuming you're asking out of personal interest rather than vocational, since certain jobs will recommend or require you learn certain styles of shorthand and it would be best to defer to that.

The most popular methods are Gregg, the various forms of Pitman (this is what I use), and Teeline. Gregg and Pitman are phonemic while Teeline is alphabetical. There are also a huge number of other, less popular forms of shorthand (as well as shorthand systems which are popular in/made for other languages). If you're interested in learning about these, check out the subreddit listed at the end of this post under "resources".

Teeline:

I know much less about Teeline, so I'll go into it less, but basically it is a "spelling-based" shorthand system -- that is, it is based off the standard spelling of words. It replaces latin letters which different forms that are faster to write and can be connected more efficiently, while removing extraneous letters from words. It is simpler to learn, in part because it is spelling-based, and also because it has fewer rules which further consolidate and shorten word forms. Due to this, it is ultimately much slower to write than the other two systems mentioned here (although you can still get up to good speeds !!). Like the other shorthand systems, you can learn to a more basic extent, or learn more advanced theory to maximise its capability and speed. Teeline is very standard for journalism and overall quite popular for professional use, however it is still in copyright and so there are far fewer resources available online. If you are interested in taking classes, however, I would assume those are available.

Teeline TL;DR: alphabetical, simplest to learn but less efficient, popular, still in copyright so fewer resources.

examples of Teeline:

[images sourced from wiki]

Pitman and Gregg: Phonemic Systems and Regional Accents:

As mentioned, Gregg and Pitman are phonemic. If you dont have any practice with phonemic writing systems, you might have luck starting out with shavian just to practice. also because shavian is fun :) (its one of the writing systems in my header !) Im saying this partly because I want more people to learn shavian and partly because I learned Shavian long before I learned Pitman and found that having that practice was helpful. In particular, if you have any accent other than RP, its helpful for figuring out either which vowel sounds and phonetic spellings are relevant to your accent and your pronunciation, or, should you choose to go a "standard" (RP) route, how certain words should be spelled despite how you may pronounce them. Using a "standard" RP approach can be helpful if you want people to more easily be able to read your writing or want to "match" the dictionary, but someone well versed in shorthand should be able to figure it out no matter what, and if its just for your personal use I'd suggest just going by your own regional pronunciations.

Pitman:

Pitman was an early shorthand system developed in the early to mid 1800s. It used to be the most popular shorthand system, however nowadays has been eclipsed in popularity by Teeline and/or Gregg, depending on the country and occupational context. However, it remains popular among enthusiasts and there are significant amount of resources available for learners and practitioners.

The main thing to know with Pitman is that words are built using different strokes for each consonant sound, and symbols attached to these consonants to mark vowels. These consonant sounds are differentiated by shape as well as line thickness. Voiced and unvoiced pairs of consonants (eg., T and D, C and G, S and Z, etc.) are designated using the same strokes, with the voiced consonant of the pair being thicker than the other. This line variation is something which is normally achieved with a pencil, though I mostly use fountain pens to write and so I use flex nibs to achieve the same effect.

Vowels are marked with certain dots or dashes placed along corresponding consonant markings, For increased writing speed, most vowel markings can also be left off in Pitman, and instead where on the line the first stroke begins serves to signal the first vowel.

Pitman uses short forms (also called "logograms" or "grammalogues," depending on the version and book you use) which are abbreviated forms of commonly used words (see picture below for a few examples). Different versions of Pitman have different numbers of grammalogues.

With Pitman, efficiency is increased through a combination of memorising various short forms and implementing rules which simplify strokes. (Examples of these can be seen in the picture below. probably need to click to be able to actually see anything rip) This allows you to have certain "levels" of complexity, where as you learn more complex rules you increase in efficiency, but you can also eschew some of those rules if they are too complex for you without sacrificing legibility to you or proficient practitioners. Probably someone somewhere on reddit has something to say about that but tbh who gives a fuck. You can do whatever you want forever. Its known to be very common for people to come up with their own personal shortcuts and variations in whatever shorthand system they use, and imo sometimes that just means looking at a rule and going "well thats stupid👍" and ignoring it. Pitman can seem really intimidating, however just remember that you can ignore rules for as long as you want until they are less intimidating to learn and apply.

There are 3 "main" versions of Pitman: the original system, Pitman New Era, and Pitman 2000. New Era has the most complex system of rules and abbreviations, while 2000 simplified many of these and got rid of most of the abbreviations. I personally use New Era, in part because I was able to access more resources for this, but largely because I found the increased number of rules and abbreviations to be better in the long run. If you are willing to invest more time and effort into learning a more complicated system, with the tradeoff that it will be faster and easier once you are proficient, you should learn New Era. The main benefit of 2000 is that the rules are simplified. I would say, however, that the downsizing of the list of abbreviations is not a benefit. While it in theory requires you to memorise more individual symbols, in practice these abbreviations are commonly used enough that they can become automatic with very little practice. If you decide to learn 2000, I would suggest taking he time to go through the list of abbreviations from New Era and, if not learning all of them, picking out the ones you think you are likely to use with semi-regularity. If you compile them into a cheat sheet and hand it next to your desk, they should be easy to practice using and become memorised really quickly. I myself dont have every abbreviation memorised, but instead focused on ones i use regularly, and often go through the list again to pick out new ones to learn and add to my lexicon as I think they may be used.

Pitman TL;DR: phonemic, differentiates strokes through line thickness, rules can be applied or discarded as best suits your practice without sacrificing readability. Increased speed and efficiency is achieved through extra short forms for commonly used words, and rules which simplify strokes.

examples of Pitman:

[first image mine, other two images sourced from Long Live Pitman's (website, linked below), and wiki]

Gregg:

Gregg is a very popular form of shorthand which utilises round, smooth strokes with the intent of increasing writing efficiency and legibility.

Where Pitman uses variation in line thickness to differentiate between strokes, Gregg uses line length. Both consonants and vowels are marked with designated strokes (compared to Teeline, which has vowel strokes but tends to omit them where possible, and Pitman, which adds vowel marking to consonant strokes or signals vowels through figure placement), and vowels are largely kept in-line. With Gregg, efficiency is achieved through the use of short forms, prefixes, and suffixes; "phrasing", (wherein certain phrases, such as "I may be," "one of the most," "by the," etc. are combined into a single stroke); as well as through the more efficient way in which strokes are joined together into words.

Left-handed people sometimes write Gregg from right to left.

Like Pitman, there are a number of different versions of Gregg, however Gregg seems to have significantly more versions and significantly less consensus around which version is best or why. I am not the best person to give advice on which one is best or information on the different types, so if you decide to go with Gregg I'd suggest checking out the subreddit or some of the other resources linked below for information on that.

examples of Gregg:

[Images sourced from wiki and gregg-shorthand.com]

Comparisons:

I would say that one of the main things to consider if choosing between Gregg and Pitman is which you think is more intuitive to read and write for you. Which sounds obvious lol but like. as an example. I struggle with spatial awareness and stuff like estimating lengths so for me Gregg is not a good option since it differentiates certain consonants through their length and I would have a hard time writing those consistently or easily reading them. Pitman is easier for me in that regard, as well as since it is more "choppy" (for lack of better word) which makes it much easier for me to recognise certain words without having to break them down, as well as making it easier for me to break them down to read them should I need to. On the other hand, some people find Gregg to be easier since its much "smoother" and flowier to write, which can be much faster and more intuitive for some.

Compared to Pitman, Gregg has significantly fewer rules to learn, making it in theory simpler, however, due to the way it is written, it requires significantly more practice to be able to consistently properly write and tell apart certain letters, words, and phrases. Once you are proficient in this, it is by far more efficient, however Gregg is very difficult to use while you are still figuring it out. Pitman, on the other hand, has significantly more rules, however you can continue to easily use it as you learn these rules and add them into your practice. The downside of this is that once you are fully proficient, it is less efficient than full proficiency Gregg. Essentially, the main difficulty with learning Gregg is telling apart different strokes and writing them so that they can be differentiated, while the main difficulty with Pitman is in learning the rules.

I havent talked much about Teeline because honestly I know far less about it, because it is so much harder to find resources on, and honestly because I'm a bit of an old man and personally prefer the older styles lol. Its popular for a reason, though !

I know it probably sounds like I'm shilling a lot for Pitman, however thats just because its what I use and know the most about, as well as because it is what works best for my unique considerations. Most people would probably be more likely to recommend Gregg (for a number of very good reasons !), however when I was first deciding which shorthand system to learn I saw very few people making the points that were most relevant to me (eg, that pitman can be used AS you learn, whereas Gregg is more of a "its useless until you actually have it down" situation, that Gregg is really difficult if you struggle with differentiating lengths, etc) so I feel the need to mention them

TL;DR: Everything:

Ultimately you should use whatever you think is best for you :) I'd say Teeline is your best bet if you are in journalism, or want something easier. Gregg is best if you want something popular, smoother to write, and extremely fast, and are willing and able to put in significant amounts of consistent work and practice to master it. Pitman is best if you want something you can use as you learn, and that's somewhere in between Teeline and Gregg in terms of difficulty and efficiency. If you wanted, you could probably learn Teeline as well as either Pitman or Gregg, but learning both Pitman and Gregg would be much more difficult.

Other:

I take all my notes by hand, generally using a mix of palmer method cursive and pitman shorthand to do so, however, I also have to write a lot of papers, and when I do, I get frustrated at having to type out whole words I normally write in shorthand. This is kind of the curse of shorthand, you get really annoyed having to type out "because". To deal with this, while typing in a word processor, I use an alphabetic shorthand I've come up with over time. I basically input a bunch of auto-replacements into my spellcheck, so that I can have shortcuts for commonly used words set up. so basically i can write: "here, . cnstrctn ` ntnl idntty served to lgtmse the ntn stte" and it will autocorrect to "here, the construction of national identity served to legitimise the nation state". Highly recommend this if you do a lot of writing, especially if a lot of the same topics and words come up a lot. Use whatever shortened versions feel intuitive for you, instead of something you've consciously + intentionally constructed, otherwise youre more likely to forget them or have them get mixed up.

Resources:

stenophile.com has a huge number of shorthand resources linked, particularly for Gregg and Pitman. If you end up choosing either of these I'd suggest starting here to find instruction books.

this website can transliterate into Pitman and Gregg, DEK and Stolze-Schrey (two German shorthand systems), and Sütterlinschrift (a historical German script)(also in my header !)

r/fastwriting is run by a very nice very dedicated man who posts a huge amount of content and resources on various shorthand methods, including lesser known ones. If you decide you want to learn/learn about a different shorthand system, he's the guy to talk to. This subreddit differs from r/shorthand or system-specific subreddits like r/greggshorthand, as those are more discussion-based for learners and practitioners, while r/fastwriting is better for research and being autistic. R/shorthand does have a number of resources listed for more popular shorthand systems, and is a good place to go for advice while learning.

Teeline:

blog with a few free resources

Pitman:

Pitman New Era Instructor and Dictionary. These are what I largely used to learn.

Long Live Pitman's: a website dedicated to Pitman, full of good information for beginning learners.

if you learn Pitman, as mentioned the line variation can be accomplished with a pencil, however if you want to get a bit fancy with it while staying on a budget, Fountain Pen Revolution carries a number of cheap yet reliable fountain pens with flex nibs, such as the FPR Indus or Himalaya. I'd suggest the steel flex rather than the ultra-flex for shorthand unless you have a lighter hand or have practiced with a flex pen before. I've also heard good things about the Noodler's Ahab pen but honestly find its very temperamental, needs tweaking (not ideal if youre a fp beginner) and just not as good. Both FPR and Noodler's pens are made of bioresin and must be kept away from solvents like isopropyl alcohol !!!

Gregg:

Gregg Phrasebook. Short guide to phraseology for Gregg

Gregg-shorthand.com: seems like a good place to start for learning Gregg. Answers some beginner's questions, and provides learning aids and reading material (transliterated into Gregg)

r/greggshorthand

greggshorthand.gibhub.io: a more in depth website with a number of book pdfs and lessons for various forms of Gregg.

[enbysiriusblack]

marauder characters as jobs i've had:

intern at a law firm- emmeline (fancy, i just sat there & did practically nothing all day, office dress code which she'd love, also just sitting in on random court cases)

fish shop worker- mary (she's middle class to me but if she wasn't i can very much see her working in one & just constantly chatting to customers & coworkers & she'd love refilling the condiments)

night shift big tescos stocker- sirius (he's a big tescos boy, i know this in my heart. but also i specifically stocked the alcohol aisles & had a coworker in those with me & we'd constantly be talking about heavy metal..)

pier cleaner- james (this is mostly because of a vision i have of him not working & just sauvely leaning against the side as he tries to flirt with people. also we had lots of ppl fishing & he'd make puns.. he'd make so many puns)

house cleaner- marlene (this is the one that works the least in my head but. the main house i cleaned for had a dog that followed me around & marlene would love that)

carboot sale seller-peter (he hikes prices, he pretends broken things aren't broken, he pressures ppl into buying things they don't want... the man would excel at this fr)

school library assistant- dorcas (she just sits at a desk reading a book & occasionally putting books away when she feels like it. as she should.)

english tutor- remus (takes it very seriously. loves it. is very very good at it. like. idk this is an obvious choice)

exam invigilator- lily (she'd be SO good at it swear. all the naughty students listen to her & she's so quiet walking round the room so she doesn't disturb anyone & she can read the seating plan in a second, memorise it all, & immediately set up every desk perfectly)

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (23) Apology

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter23)

Summary: Rosie shares a surprise with her parents and uncle. All of them have different thoughts about this unexpected development, and silent negotiations are carried out.

Twenty-Three Years Old

I knew that Papa not fully understood my reason for studying international politics and data, but to his credit he didn’t for one second try to convince me to give it another thought and opt for something science related instead. Dad was just relieved that I’d finally had found a path to walk, after several failed attempts. Uncle Myc, well he tried to hide how utterly pleased he was with my choice, but by now I knew him well enough to read the signs. Truth be told, said signs weren’t that subtle.

“Bien choisi ma chérie,” he beamed at me, while Papa scowled at him.

“Merci oncle,” I retorted. “I can’t wait to start this and go to Paris.”

The three-year BA degree was taught by The University of London Institute in Paris. We would be taught in English, but if we had an A level in French, we could also take French courses. I’d learned French in school for years, and uncle Myc and I often conversed in French when uncle Greg wasn’t around.

I think it’s needless to say that my security and comfort in France was well taken care of. Papa and uncle Myc had a conversation using their eyes only when I spilled the beans. Dad knew exactly what was going on and went to make tea while negotiations were carried out. Once the brothers were satisfied, uncle Myc took out his phone and sent several texts or emails. By now, I knew it’ll be futile to pester any of them of what was going on. I was just relieved that no one had tried to talk me out of it, making me feel uncertain or guilty for leaving the country; actually, moving out of my childhood home.

My reasons for choosing this subject were multifaceted. I’d always enjoyed learning facts, obscure and otherwise, about different countries and cultures. Having had a relatively unorthodox upbringing, containing all sorts of people, played a big part too. The cherry on top was that the school was abroad. Nana’s tales of her experiences overseas and how educating it is to have lived some time in another country and society, had always seemed enticing to me.

***

The university was situated close to the Invalides and the Seine, while my lodgings were in the Charonne area in the 11th arrondissement on a cosy cobble street, with a nearby metro station. My landlady, Marguerite Vachon was one of uncle Myc’s acquaintances, from where, I still have no idea. 

Marguerite preferred that I used her given name instead of the formal, Madame Vachon.

“Je ne suis pas ancient,” was her favourite line and reminded me quite a lot of Nana.

“I am not ancient, dear,” was a statement Nana had used every so often.

Marguerite was a petite and elegant woman. Her hair was cut in a bob, coloured black with a few red stripes. I never saw her without lipstick or makeup. She always wore bespoke dresses and high heeled shoes. I deduced that she was far more than a landlady. When I left for school in the morning, I could hear her sing or talk on the phone, and when I returned, she always opened her door and inquired about my day.

“She’s clearly spying for Mycroft,” Papa’s voice told me.

And there was something about her, which I couldn’t put my finger on. Something mysterious, secret, perhaps even dangerous. 

***

It seemed like Marguerite had my schedule memorised. Not that I’d given her the information, but when she slipped, I got my suspicions confirmed. To be fair, it wasn’t slipping per se. She couldn’t have known that class was dismissed early that day.

Luckily, I spotted her and was able to hide behind a wall before she saw me. I’d almost missed her, because she wasn’t wearing her normal dress and high heels, but red trousers, a white and blue-striped jumper, and white trainers. Instead of one of her posh handbags, she had a dark blue canvas bag diagonally draped over her chest.

Papa had taught me a few tricks when it came to the fine art of following people without being discovered. I’ve never had much use of them obviously, but now I saw an opportunity. How I would explain this and apologise if I was caught, never crossed my mind.

I was sceptical when Marguerite walked to the metro station, but I was able to get into the same carriage as her, and it seemed that she had no idea she was being followed. She got off three stops later and walked in the direction of the big Père-Lachaise cemetery.

A fitting location for obscure and shady affairs.

Marguerite knew where she was going, walking briskly but not hurried. I had walked the premises several times before and knew where she was headed when I saw the grand tomb of Sir Richard Wallace, the British baronet who contributed millions to the Parisian poor during the Siege of Paris in the early 1870s.

This reeked of another posh Brit I knew.

When Marguerite had placed a folder by the tomb and another woman picked it up five minutes later, I had a hard time keeping myself composed. The woman picking up the folder was the French equivalent of Anthea.

I sent uncle Myc a text when both women were out of sight.

Thanks for keeping track on me, but this thing is like being part of a French noir film. You can tell Papa I think you’re both growing sentimental, and I demand an apology!

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