#or any non native speaker for that matter

[steviesbicrisis]

Eddie and half Italian Steve, Valentine's day edition

Steve: *reading a magazine, minding his own business*

Eddie: *jumps on his lap out of nowhere* BUON SAN VALLENTINO AMORRRI

Steve: *screams and pushes him off of his lap* who taught you that???

Eddie: *looking at him from the floor*... did I say a bad word?

Steve: yES

Eddie: mi dispiaci

Steve: *screeches*

Eddie: *out of italian words* carbonara?

Steve: ma cosa cazz-

["Buon San Valentino amore" just means happy Valentine's day, love. Steve is dramatic because he can't handle Eddie speaking Italian to him. Eddie knows, he asks Robin to teach him words because he loves to see Steve all flustered.]

[I made this just cause @hairstevington told me buon San Valentino today. I'm weak for people who talk in Italian to me okay????]

[rileyslibrary]

No, soldier, no.

Synopsis: You have been transferred to a British military base to work with Ghost on a new mission. As a non-native English speaker, you are not very keen on British slang/culture and need some time to pick up on things. Ghost tries to help you navigate through your language barriers and finds it rather amusing in the process. 

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1,287

Notes: 

Dedicated to all the non-native English speakers like myself who are trying their best and to the native English-speaking friends who teach us without judgment.

I’m not good at writing combat and action scenes yet, so I gave them another sedentary job once again.

You voted fluff; I give you something similar—a cute crackfic.To those who voted angst, I’ll give it to you next time, promise.

WARNING: Swearing. Again.

Want more?

———————————————————————

“And this,” you point at the spread map on the table, “is the enemy’s safe house.”

He looks at the pinpoint with furrowed eyebrows, giving small and repeated nods. 

“Did we get clearance on what time to strike?” He asks, his eyes fixed on the mark as if he’s conversing with that little red pin. 

“No sir, not yet,” you reply, “the Captain will come shortly to brief us on that matter.”  

 He stands up straight. His focus is still fixed on the map, trailing with his eyes along the road you marked. “Who’s coming with us?” He asks.

“Captain left some files on your desk, sir,” you explain, “he said that we should go through them together and choose the right recruits for the job.”

“Together?” he turns at you with the same expression he was looking at the pinpoint.

“Yes, sir, together.” 

“I can do that on my own, soldier.”

“Of course, you can,” you say, “but this is a joint mission, and I get to have some saying as well, no?”

“No.” He states.

“No?”

“No.” He repeats. “I’ll lead them, so I’m the one who gets to choose the right people for my team,” he claims, walking to his desk to check on the new recruits’ files. 

You clear your throat. “And my side has to have a saying to that, sir.” You reply with as much authority as you can. 

He gives you a side eye, opens a file and begins to read, ignoring your statement. 

You knew he was difficult; they told you that much. Simon “Ghost” Riley likes to work alone, they said. And when you asked them what this so-called Ghost does when he’s on a joint mission with other forces, they replied with the same statement; that he’s being difficult. 

But you have worked with difficult people before. Most of them are like that in the force, especially regarding hierarchy. Little did he know that you had the upper hand in this situation. Difficult people hate having to deal with other difficult people.

“No problem,” you say, acting agreeable, “I just want to warn you that some of the people in those files are not very obedient and don’t like to be ordered around.”

“There’s no such thing in the army, soldier.”

“Oh, but there is, lieutenant,” you say, hiding a smile, “especially if they’re the Captain’s godson or the General’s nephew; they tend to slack a lot.”

“Fucking bastards,” he swears and rolls his eyes. He leaves the file before him and picks the rest of the pile, swearing profanities. He begins shuffling through the papers with eagerness. You speculate he’s trying to find the people you’re referring to. A sign that indicates a blood relation with the General, birth certificates, notes that specify who baptised who, perhaps. Of course, he can’t find anything, and he gives up. 

“Which of these fuckers are they?” he finally asks, throwing the papers on his desk.

“May I approach your desk to show you, Lieutenant?” You ask out of politeness.

“Oh, no, no need to do that, Y/N,” he replies sarcastically. He looks at the mess he created with the scattered papers, “just point them to me telepathically, and I’ll discard them.”

You stare at him, and he meets your gaze. You didn’t get any definite answer from him, so you are waiting for a clear answer, just like they taught you to do ever so obediently. Unfortunately, he misunderstands your stance.

“Please tell me you’re not actually trying to send me information via brainwaves, soldier,” he comments with a desperate tone.

“I was just waiting for an answer, Lieutenant.” You explain. 

He keeps staring at you before he lets another exhale and rubs his eyes. 

“Yes, Y/N,” he says, opening his arms wide, almost theatrically. “You may approach my desk and pinpoint those brats at me, just like you did with that checkmark before on the map.”

You nod and do as you are told. You sit opposite Ghost’s desk and start sorting out the messy papers. “Apologies, sir,” you say, “sometimes it’s tough to understand when you’re being sarcastic.”

He looks at you dumbfounded. “At what point did you think I wasn’t being sarcastic when referring to telepathy?” He asks.

“Well, it was between sarcastic or angry, sir,” you explain, looking embarrassed, “and I didn’t want to take my chances.” 

He rubs his forehead and stays still for a while. You peak at him from the corner of your eye; he looks like he’s calming down, contemplating. As if he’s reflecting on his actions.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, “I sometimes forget we have a language barrier.”

“And cultural.” You add.

“And cultural.” He agrees.

You both begin to collaborate on the recruits’ profiles. You discard the ones you know are not fit for the job (i.e. the ones that will clash with Ghost and his personality) and hand him the shortlisted ones. He begins muttering something about “CROW bags”, and you look at him like a puppy trying to understand the “sit” command. He patiently explains that “CROW bags” stand for “Combat Recruit Of War”, which, in the British army, is a soldier fresh out of training, a newbie, and therefore not fit for the job. When you ask him what the “bag” means, he shrugs and says he doesn’t know. You shortlist five profiles you’re both happy with and agree to wrap them up. You lean on the desk and stand up.

“Sir,” you say, still leaning on the table, “you need to change your desk.”

“What’s wrong with it?” He asks.

“It’s wanky, sir.”

You’ve never seen him turn with such force to look at you. He shakes his head vigorously like he’s forcing thoughts to travel from his brain to his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he says, trying to suppress a laugh, “my desk is what?”

“Wanky,” you repeat with confidence, “all this time that we’ve been going back and forth with the files, the table was wanking.”

“The table was…” he leans back in his chair and covers his already concealed mouth with his gloved hand.

“…wanking, sir,” you complete his sentence, “here, look,” and proceed to shake the unsteady desk.

“You need to either get a new desk or screw this one better, sir.” You advise him, now examining the desk’s legs. He pinches his nose’s bridge and murmurs something like “table, you fucking wanker” under his breath before finally gathering the courage to explain.

“No, soldier, it’s not—“

But as he speaks, Captain Price interrupts your conversation and walks into the office. He looks at Ghost, who is almost teary-eyed from the suppressed laugh and then at you.

“What are you two up to?” He asks with a smile, holding his tactical vest with his thumbs in its pockets. Ghost gestures for him to stop talking.

“I was just telling the lieutenant—” you begin, but Ghost interrupts you.

“The table is wonky, or rather wobbly, and I need to tighten the bolts.” He says and gives you a meaningful look. Epiphany strikes you, and you widen your eyes.

Price shakes the desk and looks at you both. “Look at that,” he says, “you’re right, Y/N”, and shoots you one of his signature smiles, only to be met by the red hue that has spread across your face from embarrassment and eyes threatening to bolt from your head. You lower your head in response. Price moves his gaze from you to Ghost in confusion.

“We managed to shortlist a few, Capt,” he says to Price changing the conversation.

“Very well,” Price says. “Any good?”

“Yes,” you reply, “only the good ones—no CROW bars.”

“It’s bags, kid,” Ghost whispers, and Price chuckles slightly, “CROW bags.”

———————————————————————

[awkward-imaginations]

| First Impressions |

tetsuro kuroo x f!reader

The first time Kuroo saw you was when he noticed you sitting with Kenma, happily playing video games together. Intrigued by how close you and Kenma seemed, Kuroo asked about you on their walk home. Kenma described you as a fellow gamer and new student at Nekoma High. Kuroo's curiosity grew so he decided to introduce himself.

warnings/notes: highschool romance, fluff (maybe suggestive?), slight angst, I do NOT write fanfictions or storys normally, this is a first, so I am generally sorry for everything. CRINGE. def will be cringe in some parts. I'm a big sucker for Kuroo, him and Kenma may be ooc but I don't care this is my story and I just need to get it out of my head so I can finally write my Master's Thesis in peace. Also, english is not my first language. This has been "proofread" by my friends (who are also non-native speakers, lmao). If you find any mistakes, you can keep them.

word count: 1784

masterlist | next chapter

The first time Kuroo saw you was when he walked past your classroom. You were sitting across from Kenma at his table, happily chatting and playing on some sort of portable console. Your laughter was soft but infectious, causing Kenma to occasionally glance up from his game with a rare smile.

"She must be the new student Kenma was talking about," Kuroo thought as he paused to watch for a moment. He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t surprised when Kenma mentioned he had made a friend on the first day of the new school year. Kenma didn’t share much about you, but Kuroo knew you had transferred to Nekoma High in the second year because your father had a new job, prompting your family to move to Tokyo. He also knew you liked video games and were a bit of a recluse at times. However, discovering you were a pretty girl was news to him.

Naturally, he brought it up with Kenma on their way home. “So, why didn’t you tell me your new classmate is a girl?” Kuroo asked, intrigued. Kenma looked at him, puzzled. “Does it matter? Besides, I had a feeling you'd be annoying about it.” Kuroo feigned shock, placing a hand dramatically on his chest. “What? Me? Annoying?!” Kenma rolled his eyes. “You're exaggerating.” Kuroo couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, you think so?”

They continued walking but were suddenly startled by the sound of a ringing bell. Kuroo turned around to see you riding past them on a bicycle. “See you tomorrow, Kenma!” you called out with a beaming smile, waving to him. Kenma raised his hand briefly and nodded. “See you tomorrow,” he said quietly in return.

Kuroo watched you with growing curiosity as you rode away. He couldn’t help but stare a bit. Your hair blew gently in the wind, and you seemed to be in your own little bubble of happiness.

“Looks like she’s really nice,” he remarked, still looking after you. Kenma shrugged. “Yeah, she’s all right. Someone who loves games as much as she does can’t be too bad.” Kuroo grinned mischievously. “Oh, is that so? Maybe I should talk to her sometime.” Kenma sighed. “Do what you want but remember she’s new. She might need some time to adjust to everything.” Kuroo nodded with a smirk. “Sure, I’ll be nice.”

 “Ah, not too hot and not too cold,” you said as you sank down next to Kenma on the bench outside the next day. He grinned and held out a bottle of green iced tea from the vending machine. “Yeah.” You thanked him and took a sip before returning to your Chemistry Book. “I really don't know why you're still doing school stuff during break,” Kenma remarked, switching on his console. “My dad bagged my PSP last night because I was playing for too long. Sorry, dad, but time travel is basically cheating, and I didn't want to miss an event.” Kenma had to stifle his laughter while you looked at him with an offended pout.

For a while, you sat next to each other in silence, reading, playing and occasionally taking a sip of iced tea. After a few minutes, the conversations in the schoolyard became a vague background noise. The letters blurred before your eyes as you began to lose yourself in your thoughts. Since the end of school yesterday, you couldn't stop thinking about the student Kenma shared the walk home with. Even in the brief moment you passed the two of them, you realized how incredibly familiar they seemed with each other (an how attractive Kenmas friend was), why didn't they spend time together during breaks? Was Kenma just hanging out with you out of pity because you were the new girl?

Before your thoughts could spiral any further into a negative direction, they were interrupted by Kenma's voice. “Is everything alright?” You turned your head directly in his direction, his gaze fixed on the screen of his PSP. He noticed you not saying anything and continued, “I haven't heard you turn a page for a while and thought you might need some help.“ You blinked a few times into space. “Um, yeah. No. Actually... I must've spaced out; I wasn't really thinking about anything.” Except your cute friend. Disbelieving, Kenma looked up from his console briefly. You felt your cheeks heat up at the lie you just told and quickly returned to staring at your book, which you lifted a little to hide your face. “Right,” Kenma finally said and returned to his game.

Not sharing your thoughts just caused them to stir up in your head again. You felt the need to express them verbally, otherwise you wouldn't be able to concentrate all day. But before you could breathe in enough air (and courage) to ask Kenma about his friend, he came running towards you, grinning broadly. “Oy, Kenma, why haven't you introduced me to your new friend yet?”

While Kenma didn’t seem bothered to look up from his game at all, you turned your gaze to Kuroo. Your eyes met for a second, but before he could say anything else when he came to a halt in front of you, Kenma sighed and answered, “Because you spend way too much time on your university prep courses, nerd.” Kuroo gripped the back of his neck with one hand and put on an apologetic look before shifting his attention back to you, “I’m Kuroo Tetsuro,” he said his voice deep and smooth.

You noticed that your heart was beating a little faster and for an uncomfortably long second you couldn't get a sensible sentence together in your head. “I'm L/N Y/N, nice to meet you”, you finally brought forth, still looking at him. Your first impression wasn't wrong, he looked really good. Tall, broad shoulders with an athletic posture, dark, messy hair with piercing eyes. Had Kenma really just called him a nerd? Him?

Kuroo's smile widened as he noticed your lingering gaze. “Likewise. I’ve heard you’re quite the gamer,” he said, trying to keep the conversation light. You shrugged. “I dabble. Although my father has just banned me from it so that I can concentrate better on school.” 

“Ah, I see,” Kuroo remarked. “No wonder you two befriended each other rather quickly.” Kenma, still focused on his game, muttered, “Yes, but now Y/N reads boring text books during breaks and I have to take on the bosses alone.“ You laughed nervously, the sound drawing Kuroo’s attention even more. “I'm sure I'll get my PSP back soon if I get better grades this school year”, you said, your confidence evident.

„If it’s nothing else, maybe I can help you with that?“ Kuroo asked, leaning in a little further towards you. It was then you noticed his uniform, which he wore in a laid-back, effortless style. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, and his sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows. He had even ditched the blazer altogether, giving him a relaxed and approachable look. Your face must’ve given away, that you had no idea what he was getting at.

“By tutoring, of course,” Kuroo added with a playful smile, leaning back slightly as if to give you some space again to process his offer. You blinked, feeling a mix of surprise and curiosity. “You would help me with my studies?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “Of course,” Kuroo replied smoothly. “Anything to help a friend of Kenma's.“

Kenma, still immersed in his game, shot Kuroo a quick, knowing glance but didn’t comment. You looked at Kenma, seeking some sort of silent approval or encouragement, but he remained focused on his screen. “Um, that would be great, actually,” you said, a small smile forming on your lips. “I could definitely use some help with chemistry.”

“Perfect,” Kuroo said, his grin widening. “We can start tomorrow after school, if that works for you.”

“Sure, that sounds good,” you agreed, feeling a flutter of nervous excitement. “Thank you, Kuroo.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, waving off your thanks. “I’ll make sure you get your PSP back in no time.”

Kenma finally looked up from his game, giving you both a thoughtful look. “Just don’t let him distract you too much,” he muttered, though there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

You laughed softly, feeling a bit more at ease. “I’ll try my best.”

As the bell rang, signaling the end of the break, you gathered your things and stood up. Kuroo and Kenma followed suit, and the three of you started walking back to the school building together.

“By the way,” Kuroo said, falling into step beside you, “have you joined any clubs yet?” You shook your head. “Not yet. I’m still getting settled in and figuring out what I want to do. Why are you asking? Did you want to advertise yours?“ Kuroo noticed your teasing tone, but ignored it for now. “No, well, maybe a little. I’m the captain of the volleyball team. You should come watch us practice sometime.“

You hesitated for a moment, you knew volleyball from you friends at you former highschool, but their team wasn’t very good. To be precise, "good" was never a word you would think of in connection with their team to begin with. That's why the sport has remained uninteresting to you so far but the idea of watching Kuroo during practice was too tempting to resist. The thought of seeing him a little sweaty and worn out from training made your heart race. You could already picture his shirt clinging to his toned body, hair damp and falling into his eyes. The image made your cheeks heat up, but you quickly pushed the thought away, trying to stay focused on the conversation.

You nodded frantically. “Sounds interesting. Maybe I will check out your team.” Kuroo looked at you, smiling, he porbably noticed your little mental excursion. “Great! From next week on we practice after school every day. Just drop by the gym anytime.”

“Just be prepared for Kuroo to show off,” Kenma added and Kuroo chuckled. “I don’t show off, Kenma. I demonstrate. There’s a difference.”

As you reached your classroom, Kenma turned to Kuroo. “See you after school?”

“Yeah, see you,” he said, giving both of you a small wave before he added with a wink, „Ah, Y/N-Chan! Don’t forget about our study date tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you promised, watching him go with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. As you settled back into your seat, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe there was also a good side to your father taking your console.

[and-her-saints]

Hey sorry idk if you'd know this but I quite literally don't know where to turn about this so I'm sending this ask to every queer+catholic blog I can find

Are there *any* resources out there for queer/trans Catholics that go beyond affirmation and show how to pursue a religious life that goes beyond the laity (e.g. priesthood, joining a convent/monastery, something similar) without having to brush your queerness aside. I feel like if I don't find something soon I might go insane

years ago, i attended a Zoom event with Fr. James Alison as a keynote speaker, and something he said has been glued to my brain ever since. he said it in Spanish, so i'll try to remember, paraphrase and translate: "while they try to get us to stop being queer, what we must try to do is to be better queers."

i love what you said about "beyond affirmation" and that is precisely why i got reminded of the quote and WHY this quote resonated with me to begin with.

imho, there is a fundamental issue with a lot of queer theology and it's that it doesn't go beyond apologetics. it's not pragmatic nor does it seem to engage critically with the material conditions that work with or against queerness. and it's truly such a shame, because living "religiously" to me, as a queer catholic, it's infinitely more a matter of coherence, love, devotion and solidarity, than learning how to "reconcile" gayness/transness with the Bible.

it's a journey, of course. the apologetics were and are necessary for many of us to unlearn the hatred that might've been instilled in us through religious education and upbringing. however, here are some resources that, in my opinion, show how to pursue queer-religious-life.

💌 catholic/christian resources:

[book] The Reckless Way of Love: Notes on Following Jesus by Dorothy Day. Unlike larger collections and biographies, which cover her radical views, exceptional deeds, and amazing life story, this book focuses on a more personal dimension of her life: Where did she receive strength to stay true to her God-given calling despite her own doubts and inadequacies and the demands of an activist life? What was the unquenchable wellspring of her deep faith and her love for humanity?

[book & account] Black Liturgies: Prayers, Poems, and Meditations for Staying Human by Cole Arthur Riley. Black Liturgies is a digital project that connects spiritual practice with Black emotion, Black memory, and the Black body. In this book, she brings together hundreds of new prayers, along with letters, poems, meditation questions, breath practices, scriptures, and the writings of Black literary ancestors to offer forty-three liturgies that can be practiced individually or as a community.

[book] Cry of the Earth, Cry of the Poor by Leonardo Boff. Focusing on the threated Amazon of his native Brazil, Boff traces the economic and metaphysical ties that bind the fate of the rain forests with the fate of the indigenous peoples and the poor of the land. He shows how liberation theology must join with ecology in reclaiming the dignity of the earth and our sense of a common community, part of God's creation. To illustrate the possibilities, Boff turns to resources in Christian spirituality both ancient and modern, from the vision of St. Francis of Assisi to cosmic christology.

[book] Undoing Theology: Life Stories from Non-normative Christians by Chris Greenough. The fundamental issue with ‘queer’ research is it cannot exist in any definable form, as the purpose of queer is to disrupt and disturb. Undoing Doing generates a process of ‘undoing’ as central to queer research enquiries. Aiming to engage in a process which breaks free from traditional academic norms, the text explores three life stories

[podcast] The Magnificast. "A weekly podcast about Christianity and leftist politics. The Magnificast is hosted by Dean Dettloff and Matt Bernico. Each week's episode focuses on a unique or under-realized aspect of territory between Christianity and politics that no one taught you about in sunday school."

💌 non-christian but still excellent resources:

[book] Hijab Butch Blues by Lamya H. A memoir by a butch hijabi that follows the experiences of the author through stories and figures from the Qur'an.

[book] Lean on Me: A Politics of Radical Care by Lynne Segal. Questions of care, intimacy, education, meaningful work, and social engagement lie at the core of our ability to understand the world and its possibilities for human flourishing. In Lean On Me feminist thinker Lynne Segal goes in search of hope in her own life and in the world around her. She finds it entwined in our intimate commitments to each other and our shared collective endeavours.

i don't think these are precisely what you were looking for. but i hope these resources bring you as much peace and hope as they have brought me.

[little-acts-of-gratitude]

Hello, Tumblr! I am incredibly excited to announce the start of my biggest project so far: Little Acts of Gratitude! It's a post-WW AU fancomic that follows a Ganondorf redemption-ish story set on the Great Sea, in which Link decides to defy fate right before the final duel and bring his sworn enemy back to the surface. But why? The comic explores the Triforce Trio and the world around them, in an attempt to solve the ancient mysteries and tie the loose ends. Suffice it to say, I have big, big plans for this story >:^з.

If you have access to desktop Tumblr, I recommend reading the comic that way, as you’ll be able to see a fancy blog theme with a comfy pagination and a banner for each chapter! But if not, there'll also be a dedicated pagination system for mobile users, like this:

(Page 0) next > last ▷

And now, FAQ/Disclaimer/whatever:

There’s no upload schedule planned as of now. I’ll try my best to aim for monthly updates and have at least a little backlog whenever possible, but more often than not I’ll probably upload the pages as soon as I am done with them. Also I’ll make sure to announce any major hiatuses if for some reason updates will take more time than planned. Just please don’t send any asks/DMs regarding this matter.

As a non-native English speaker, I’d greatly appreciate it if you guys pointed out any grammar mistakes I might make! This goes double for the instances of me using ASL for Link, as I don’t have any kind of experience with sign languages.

You may see the artifacts on the pages - this is the result of me Glazing them, just to see how that pans out. I'll... probably think of an option to show you guys the clean hi-res pages eventually.

For now, the comic will stay a Tumblr exclusive — but I am thinking of potentially crossposting it on other webcomic-hosting platforms! Once I amass a decent amount of pages and decide where exactly to upload them, I will provide links. As for the social media presence, I... don't really have anything other than Tumblr (except, well, iykyk), so no promises there.

And for, uh, legal purposes: the Legend of Zelda series belongs to Nintendo; I am not affiliated with them and do not claim ownership on anything other than the artwork itself. Not that they're currently going for fancomics, thankfully.

And... Thanks for taking time to read this! My lack of work ethics is my lifelong nemesis, but I hope that, despite everything, this comic will see the light of day, that I won’t stop working on it until I’m done, and that you will have a great time reading my silly little AU for a silly little vidyagame ✨!

[homunculus-argument]

I don’t think native english-speakers in non-european countries really grasp how everyday needing to speak a second or a third language is in Europe. Languages are a school subject as much as biology and math, nobody really just goes out of their way to independently decide “hmm, I must learn a second language” and just goes on to download duolingo and be self-taught in spanish (okay, some people do, but that’s not the usual and standard way that people learn). The town I live in is historically bilingual - used to be majority swedish-speakers but now it’s about 50-50 as far as I know, and a generation ago you couldn’t really get by without speaking both. The books at the local library are mixed into the shelves, finnish and swedish ones on the same shelves, and sometimes there’s no copy of some book in both languages because it’s assumed that everyone speaks both on a passable level, at least enough to understand a book they really want to read.

 I’ve had natively swedish-speaking schoolmates in nursing school who have struggled to write essays in finnish because despite of being fluently bilingual in speech, their whole education until this point has been in swedish, and they’ve never really needed to write proper written finnish - which is a distinct different type of finnish than spoken finnish.

 The only native finns under 30 that I know that personally say they don’t speak any other language than finnish usually mean that they understand swedish and english badly, and aren’t confident in speaking it. Usually someone only speaking finnish is a clue that they’ve got some language-related learning disability. “I don’t speak english” is a similar statement as “I can’t do math”. There’s a problem of young chronically online finns losing vocabulary in finnish because they use english so much online that they’re not as practised in their native language.

 I didn’t go out of my way to become a polyglot who Speaks Six Languages, I picked french, russian and spanish in school because languages were easier for me than STEM subjects, and I’ve already forgotten most of what I learned. If I were to go out of my way to decide to start learning a non-germanic, non-latin language now, without school, I’d have no idea where to start nor would I ever become fluent in them. As a matter of fact, all I know how to say in any other ones than finnish, swedish or english are “I don’t speak [language] very well, I only understand it poorly.” It’s a school subject I learned and have forgotten most about.

[trashfangirlsworld]

I've been ia for a while because of how lowkey hostile this community has become lately, and I will probably continue to be so until there's a proper resolution, whatever it may be. However, I've seen some stuff that has been said by some of the ex qsmp admins in the midst of them recounting their experiences that I cannot help but be greatly bothered by, and, as a non english speaker, is important for me to say.

The way that they have been bashing quackity for making statements in spanish, his native language, and for streaming in the time zone he lives in, is not okay. I've said in another post about how disgusting I think these kind of comments are, and being an affected party in the admin situation does not make you an exception in my opinion.

The admins have every right to talk about what they went through, their feelings are valid and they absolutely deserve compensation for their work, because they were treated horribly, there's no doubt about that, but they are not immune to criticism, especially if it's about casual xenophobia. This does not stop at lèa's interview, as lumi also didn't have a spanish translation for her document, something that prior to the interview, I didn't think about too much, but now, I can't stop thinking about. Mind you, when it comes to xenophobia, there is absolutely no denying what the french and brazillian communties went through, but you do not fight xenophobia with xenophobia.

I completely understand that it's not easy to be the one to speak about any type of abuse they suffered, I said before that because of how shitty this situation is, that all sides would make mistakes and choices that people would not like, and for me this is one of them. As stressful as it must be for them, the ex admins have a lot of eyes on them right now, and saying these kind of things have consequences; I have seen way too much xenophobia towards the hispanic community and it's actively horrible to see because, unlike other times, the other communities are seemingly ignoring it. A twitter post saying that you do not condone harrasment does not erase what you publicly said previously.

I'm gonna be honest there's more that I did not like about that interview, the way that lèa talked about the admins that are still on the team, her response to the fact that she leaks stuff... I just... didn't like it, but I wanted to talk about the whole "quackity spoke spanish" thing because it's something that I feel really strongly about. It is NOT easy to make any statements in a language that you do not natevely speak, let alone very important ones, no matter how good you are at it, to write all of this it took me two hours and I probably still made mistakes or misspoke somewhere.

I do not how to end this post, I'm just frustrated that this fandom now goes at each other throats at littlest things without question or critical thinking and that xenophobia is now so normalized. I just... expected better I guess

[morablackbird]

I’ve had time to think, and I want to make something clear to all.

Now more than ever we should go out and vote, not just for who’s gonna run this bitch but for seats and for government. Look into your local polling places to see what the next election is on and vote

Because it was never democrats vs republicans, it had always been democracy vs autocracy, freedom vs fascism. I’m not mad about republicans voting in their best interests, or hell if their had been just about any other sensible republican candidate, nor am I upset about those who question our democracy and its ability to give us the representation we want.

My hope is that democracy lives on past these four years, even if we the people lose our rights and our freedoms, we must never give up and never give in to hate and lies. Because if democracy survives we can always bring it back.

Do not lie down and die, do not let them win. It is time we come together as American citizens both Democrat and true republicans cause I know you are still out there, to fight like hell. Do not hurt yourselves that is what they want, if you are so beyond the point of no return then keep living, do not die because they won, die because you fought back, die gloriously! Die with purpose! Fight what battles you can at home and do what you must beyond the home, protect each other, especially our children who shall suffer the most.

And speaking of which, if you are a woman, cis or otherwise, non-binary born female, or a trans male that has yet to fully transition. It’s time to use their tactics against them. They want a nation of Christian ideals? This whole ‘your body my choice?’ Then it’s time to be maliciously compliant. Let us all take up a oath to never lie with another cis male. Let us become saints of virtue and celibacy. Let us be pure and free of the ‘sin’ that is sex then.

No more sex, no more babies, no more shall we give them factory workers and no more shall we give our bodies to them. We are choosing to be pure in the eyes of ‘their’ god then.

I don’t know about you but irl cis men are really unattractive to me right now, and if I really want kids I can adopt.

And for those of you who are LGBTQ and so on. Fear not for I believe in the promise of a better tomorrow. I believe in it, and we have fought for many years to get this far. If you are a adult you understand these hardships and hiding has never been easy but we managed. The kids however need us more than ever, they need to know we are there for them and we should protect them even at the cost of our own personal freedoms.

To all my friends with immigrant parents, who were born here and raised up under the ideal of freedom of choice. We have failed you and we shall never forgive ourselves for it. This nation was built by immigrants for immigrants, and it should continue to be so. Yet we choose to blame you for our problems.

My grandpa used to tell a joke, that was less of a joke and more of a upsetting truth.

There is a room in which three men live

In this room is a feast fit for several

One man is a businessman

One is you

One is a immigrant

The businessman looks at the feast and scoots the majority of it to his side of the table and begins to eat while the other two starve

But being ‘generous’ he tosses you a leg of the smallest fowl and says

‘Better grab it quick, lest the enemy take it from you’

As he point to the immigrant with none.

So you hold on to your scraps in fear of having none when in reality it’s not the enemy coming from elsewhere, but the liars who tell you it is so.

Immigrants were never your enemy and they never should’ve been, because unless you are 100% purely Native American I don’t want to hear it, cause not even I am.

I come from a long line of preachers and speakers, I come from a ancestry of natives and pilgrims, I come from two sides of the same coin when it comes to the civil war, I come from many Puritans, Catholics, Christians, and so on, and no matter what their stance was in our government there was one thing they all clearly desired.

Freedom

Liberty

The pursuits of happiness

Democracy

Do not let them win, do not give up, do not lie down and die because they say you should.

Fight to live another day, keep going even when shit sucks, don’t give them what they desire,

never give up!

Do you hear me?

NEVER GIVE UP!!

Sincerely

Dove

[max1461]

I have a lot of thoughts about epistemology and the nature of procedural knowledge. Studying linguistics really impresses upon you just the sheer amount of human knowledge that is procedural and implicit. Languages are these huge, ridiculously complex systems, and even when it comes to the most thoroughly documented language in human history (English), you can still make an entire career documenting as-yet-unknown minutiae of some corner of a corner of the system. It's very difficult to impress upon non-linguists just how big and ill-understood languages are.

There is no book which explains the whole of English grammar. No one on earth knows the complete rule-set of English grammar. Not even for one dialect, not even for one single speaker. No one on earth could write a comprehensive treatise on English pronunciation. We do not know how English works. We do not know how any language works.

And yet, these systems are, in their entirety, already stored in the mind of every native speaker.

When it comes to synchronic information, I literally already know everything there is to know about my dialect of English. I know the timing of every articulation, the exact rules for verb and auxiliary and quantifier placement, the phonology, semantics, syntax, the lexical variation, the registers, all of it. I can deploy it effortlessly while I am thinking about something else. I can form reams of perfectly grammatical English sentences without a second thought. I can deploy the most arcane rules of wh-movement and quantifier raising and whatever else. With no effort at all.

Tens of thousands of people having been making careers trying to document these things, not for my exact dialect but for varieties essentially the same as mine, for 60 years in earnest. And they aren't close to done. And I already know it all. And so do they! They already know it too! The hard part is accessing it, putting it down on paper. That requires experimentation, systematic empirical investigation—science.

So what this has really impressed on me is how much of human knowledge is procedural. How much of it is known only in the doing. I'd wager that's the significant majority of what we know.

This is related to two thoughts that I have.

The first is about the value of unbroken lines of cultural inheritance. With language, the difference between native speakers and second language learners is stark. I think it's safe to say, per current research, that someone who learns a language in adulthood will simply never have the same command of it as someone who learned it in childhood. There are a variety of tests which consistently distinguish native from non-native speakers. You can get very good at a language as an adult learner, good enough for basically all practical needs (except being a spy), but there's a bar your brain just cannot meet.

The unfortunate fact about language is this: if the line of native-speaker-to-child transmission is ever broken, that language is lost. You can try to revive... something, if you want. Like was done with Hebrew in Israel. But it will not be the same language. And not just in the sense that, by the passing of time, all languages inherently change. In a much stronger sense than that. No matter how big a text corpus you have, no matter how well documented the language is, there is an immense body of implicit, undocumented, procedural knowledge that dies when the last native speaker does. And you cannot ever get it back.

I think, often, about the fact that so much human knowledge is procedural, is used and understood and passed on in illegible, difficult to codify ways. I think about the effect that a rapidly changing world has on this body of knowledge. Is it going to be essential for human prosperity? Probably not. But that doesn't mean that losing it will harmless. Certainly I expect much of it to be missed.

The second thought is about an epistemic distinction that I've had in my head for a long time, a distinction I'd like to refer to as that between a science and an art.

An art is any endeavor for which there is an established methodology, an established set of procedures and rules. These rules can be explicit and codified, like the rules of a game, or implicit, like the grammar of a language. They can be absolute or they can be mere guidelines. But in essence, an art is anything you can get good at. Math is quintessentially an art. Football is an art. Ballet is an art. Painting is an art. An art is any endeavor in which procedural knowledge is acquired and channeled and refined and passed on.

Art contrasts with science. A science is any endeavor in which one is shooting blind. Science is the domain of guesswork and trial-and-error. Sciences are those domains that do not lend themself to practice, because... what would you practice at? You cannot get better at science, because science is not about skill. Science is about exploration. It necessarily involves forging your own path, working with odd and faulty tools and odd and faulty ideas, trying to get them to work. Science only exists at the frontiers; when a path is well-tread enough that a body of procedure becomes known and practiced, that path is now art and no longer science.

This distinction is not a taxonomy. Everything we do involves a little bit of art and a little bit of science. Everything involves both a refinement of known skills and an exploration of new avenues. Of course there's a little bit of science in painting, there's quite a lot of science in painting. Every modern and contemporary art museum is full of it! And there's science in math, every once in a while. And there's art in biology and chemistry. Art and science are two modes of engagement, and different endeavors demand them of you in different ways.

Perhaps science is like a glider (you know, from Conway's game of life?), traveling ever outward, and with enough passes over the same area leaving art in its wake. And I think in some sense that all real human knowledge exists as art, that all endeavors capable of producing true insight are either arts or sciences buttressed by a great many supporting arts. Although maybe I'm wrong about this.

I think history is mostly science, and in large part history as a field seems to be on quite solid epistemic footing. So I don't want to convey the idea that science is inherently dubious; clearly from the above description that can't be my position. Nor is art inherently trustworthy—for instance I think jurisprudence is primarily an art, including religious jurisprudence, which of course I don't place any stock in. But I do think I'm getting at something with the idea that there are a range of epistemic benefits to working within an art that one lacks access to in a totally unconstrained science. This is also closely related to my ideas about abstraction and concretization schemes.

Language is an art, one of the oldest arts, but modern linguistics is more or less a science. Like any good science, linguistics has certain arts unique to itself—fieldwork and the comparative method come to mind—but the most vibrant parts of the field at present are science through-and-through. It's a science whose objects of study are arts, and I think maybe that's part of why I've become so aware of this distinction. Or, language is the ur-example of an art, the art from which (if I were to conjecture wildly) I think the cognitive machinery for very many other arts has been borrowed. But I don't really know.

Anyway, those are my thoughts.

[ephemerallovesong]

Rooftop [HSR Blade x Reader headcanons]

Sometimes life gets so hard that you want to end it all. It seems as if the world around is losing all its colors. But he knows what it's like to wish for death. And he won't let you leave him. Pairing: Blade x gn!reader

CW/TW: heavy topics, reader is really depressed and suicidal, attempt to end life. Do NOT interact if this can trigger you.

A/n: I'm in a depressive episode again and can't visit my psychotherapist right now, so here some comforting HCs. Please, talk with a specialist if you have problems with mental health, you are strong and everything's going to be alright. Not proofread, as a non-native english speaker I'm sorry for any mistakes.

◈ You have always been a ray of sunshine in Blade's life ever since you both met. Even if he didn't talk about it openly. Your care for him made him feel something warm again other than an all-consuming emptiness inside. ◈ But sometimes even the brightest sunny day can be overshadowed by clouds. ◈ You were especially cheerful that evening. So much so that it became suspicious. Especially when Blade noticed how empty and tired your eyes were despite your smile. ◈ You tried not to talk about your depression with other people. Jokes here and there, nothing more. Although Blade still noticed it. And he was worried. Although it was hard to tell from his cold and neutral expression. ◈ "Blade, promise me something? Promise that you can find something good in this life, no matter what." you said with a warm, yet slightly sad smile. ◈ But he has already found it. You. ◈ He just looked at you silently for a while before simply nodding. Your phrase was even more suspicious than your behavior. ◈ And then you left. ◈ But intuition told Blade that something was clearly wrong. He hesitated for a while before following you. Quiet, like a cat on the hunt. ◈ You went up to the roof. ◈ At first it looked like simple stargazing. You stood there and looked up at the dark sky. A light breeze gently ruffled your hair. ◈ "I am so sorry. I'm really sorry. I can't take it anymore." you mumbled to yourself. And there was silence. ◈ But as you confidently walked towards the edge of the roof with a heavy sigh, Blade broke this silence and rushed towards you. He understood what exactly you wanted to do. And he couldn't let that happen. ◈ You barely got your foot over the edge when he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to him. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest. ◈ "Wh... What?" there was so much confusion and despair in your voice as you were pressed against his chest. "No! No! Let me go! Let me go!" ◈ You've already made up your mind and you can't back out. But Blade held you tightly in his arms. ◈ You cried and screamed and tried to break free from his grip, but it was useless. Your own heart felt like it was about to jump out of your chest. ◈ "I can't let you go." Blade's voice is barely above a whisper. "Not now. Never." ◈ He tightly held your waist with one hand while he stroked your head with the other. You trembled and sobbed and tried to fight. ◈ As soon as you start to sink to the floor Blade dropped down with you. You cried and he held you in his arms as tightly as he could. The thoughts in his head raced at the speed of light. It felt like it wasn't really happening. He could lose you. No. This cannot happen. ◈ With every minute your crying became quieter, and the struggle was weaker. Until you finally go limp in his arms, breathing heavily. ◈ "I'm here. I'm with you. Everything will be all right." his voice was still quiet, he continued to stroke your hair. "I understand how you feel. Like no one else. But (Y/N), I won't let you leave me." ◈ He should have noticed earlier that something was wrong with you. So that it doesn't get to this point. ◈ But he was glad that he listened to his intuition and got here in time. ◈ "You told me to find something good in this life. But I almost lost it. I almost lost you, (Y/N). You are the most valuable thing in my life." ◈ You fell completly silent as you listened to his words. ◈ "Please, I can't lose you. I do not want to lose you."

[writingquestionsanswered]

I have trouble with writing in general. Can you help me? English isn't my first language, but I really want to write a story in English someday. However, both I and my English teacher have noticed a problem. He says he can tell I haven't cheated on my assignments because I write like I speak. That comment broke my heart a bit and made me feel pressured because there's a recurring joke in fanfiction that all stories starting with "English is not my mother tongue / I'm not fluent in English" are masterpieces, haha. I'm very disappointed in myself because I don't feel as good as other non-native speakers. Do you have any tips for improving my writing?

Improving Writing as Non-Native Speaker

First, I'm so sorry that your English teacher or anyone else has ever made you (or anyone) feel bad about your speaking or writing. Anyone who tries to learn a language other than their native language should be commended, no matter the skill level they reach. Many people who have the ability and access to learn another language never even bother, so kudos to you for learning. If it helps, I wouldn't have known you were a non-native speaker if you hadn't told me.

Any time you want to learn to write stories in a non-native language, there are four things you can do to improve your skills:

1 - Watch movies, TV shows, videos, and listen to audiobooks and podcasts in that language. Not dubbed or with captions in that language... movies, TV shows, and videos where the people are actually speaking the language you want to learn. This type of immersion can really help you get a feel for how native speakers actually sound, which can help you with writing and with creating authentic dialogue.

2 - Read stories, books, magazines, blogs, poems, and posts in that language. Again, nothing that has been translated into that language, but things that were originally written in the language you want to learn. This helps to reinforce the visual of the language in your mind's eye as you write, and quite often, seeing things in text can stick out more to you than they do when only hearing them. Also, some people just learn better one way over the other, so both hearing and seeing the language makes sure you're covering both bases.

3 - Practice speaking in that language. Even if speaking isn't your issue, it's still helpful to practice speaking the language, because it helps to reinforce it in your mind. Try reading news articles, stories, chapters of books, and social media posts out loud. It can also be helpful to look up movie and play scripts and speak the lines out loud.

4 - Practice writing in that language. If you wanted to learn a concerto for a piano recital, you might practice by watching other people play it, listening to it, reading the sheet music over and over, and practicing the tune with your voice, but nothing would help you improve more than actually playing the song over and over again yourself. You would get better with each performance, and writing works the same way. The number one thing you can do to improve your writing in another language is to write a lot of stories in that language. It's okay if you're not perfect. Even native speakers don't write perfect stories without practice. ♥

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[bruh-anator3000]

CAT-astrophic

~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~

A/n: *pushes rock I live under over and peeks out of the black abyss* Hey, have you guys seen a Car Wash Miguel fic anywhere? I don't know what happened to it but it's no longer here. Might've escaped... anyways, watch this cat for me while I look? Thanks. And don't mind the hot homeless dude who talks to him, they're bonding. *returns into the depths of the void*

Summary: A hot dude won't stop talking to your cat, it's kind of freaking you out.

WC: 1.7k, edited by google docs...

Pairing: Miguel x GN!Reader

Warnings: crack fic, Spider-cat's real name is Sir Jeffords bc i said so, clueless reader, pro outdoor cat (i'm not actually, keep ur cats safe pls), future-ish?, accidentally snuck in some world building, in Lyla we trust 🙏, Miguel in tight clothing bc I also said so, and wait wtf are you doing with a dead rat miguel, AND WTF IS THIS WHITE STUFF DUDE?!

Also no Spanish bc I've done some research and those who do speak it have asked non-native speaker to avoid it, to prevent bad google translations and maintain respect!

Okay, enjoy~

~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~

You were about to head in for the night when you were not tripped by your cat for his dinner. After a quick search around your apartment, you sighed upon realizing he was still outside. Shrugging on a coat, mismatched slippers, and grabbing a flashlight, you went out to look for him.

Plenty of people told you to keep your cat inside. That it was vital to their health to keep them safe indoors. There were plenty of articles stating the cons of letting a domesticated cat roam freely outside with no supervision. They were also written 80 years ago. The world has changed since then, drastically.

Sure, it would still be smart to keep Sir Jeffords inside. Less late night searches for him, no more worrying if that scratch on his right paw was from running too fast along pavement or something worse. But he came from the life of an alley cat, and no matter what you tried, he had to be out there for a few hours a day. Last time you tried to stop him, he went under your radar for three days. You had a panic attack, worried he didn't love you anymore, but he did eventually come back. Chipper and eager, and he made sure you left his cat door unlocked.

The streets were cleaner than 80 years ago. The people were kinder. The city more accommodating to everyone, even stray animals. Sir Jeffords was mirco chipped, and even if it didn't work for tracking half the time, the shelter folks could scan his neck and drop him back home.

There were no pounds or pest controls anymore, just volunteers who helped poor animals stay warm. And find whoever left them in the streets. It was a crime to leave them now, resulting in 6 months of detention if caught dumping your animal friend into the alleys.

Jeffords was a smart cat. He knew what he was doing. You trusted him. In the event of something bad happening, you made him swore he would come find you right away. Though he couldn't speak, his tail wrapping around your pinky seemed solid enough.

You called out his name, followed by a few 'pspspsps's to really seal the deal. Your flashlight shining in the darker corners of the streets he may be hiding in. Cats and their dark, unreachable corners, Sir Jeffords fell victim to any cozy spot he could barely tuck himself into.

It wasn't until a few blocks away, a little past the bank, when you heard a meow. Very similar to his, you quietly sped your pace, wanting to grab your kitty and go home. The closer you got, it seemed more like he was responding to someone else more than you.

"-and your service is always appreciated." You heard a deep voice whisper. Their voice a grumble echoing through the alley they hid in. "You're one of our best." Your brows pinching together, you turned the corner of the bank, flashlight illuminating your fluffy orange cat. Who was rubbing up against the shin of a random man.

He looked up at you, eyes darkened as he blocked your flashlight with his large hand. They almost seemed red as he stayed squatted, Sir Jeffords head butting his knee. His face pure sharp angles, with a scowl permanently in place. His black shirt a tight, compressing fit. Clinging to each muscle and vein in his arm, stopping halfway down his bicep. His calves just as impressive. His shorts doing nothing but making him look even hotter.

Wait, no. This was a random man, he wasn't hot.

You lowered the light and gave an awkward smile. Seemingly unimpressed, his hardened gaze turned back to your cat. "He's yours?" He asked, voice rumbling low in his chest. With a nod, he added, "He's... cute."

Okay, maybe he was a little hot.

"Right?" Your smile smoothed into something more natural. "He's the cutest cat to ever exist." You lowered yourself down onto your knees with a soft baby call. Sir Jeffords trotting into your lap happily, orange fur swaying with his steps.

Your hand ran through his silky fur. Tension easing from you as you held him close again. Though his three day disappearance had yet to happen again, you still worried. He was your precious baby, after all. The one you shared everything with, and he never once judged.

Your fingers caught on something sticky, stopping short of his lower back. Pulling your hand away, strings of white followed, sticking to your fingertips. The feeling moist and far too clingy for comfort. A disgusted shiver ran up your spine at the horrible sensory.

The man stood then, tossing a tissue at you as he did. His gaze stayed on your cat, never faltering. He pushed his dark hair away from his face, still scowling.

Glancing between your hand and the man that now towered over you, you almost gagged. This wasn't... his, right?

"It was the rat." Like he read your mind, the mysterious stranger held out his other hand. A dead rat laid in his palm.

"That... doesn't make me feel much better." You suppressed another full body shake, quickly wiping your hand off. This guy may be extremely attractive to look at but the longer you stayed there, the more uncomfortable you got. "How would a mouse... And what is this?" You felt yourself getting sick as you held the tissue out, the white stuff now sticking to the paper instead

"Webs. And, it's a rat." He stated with a straight face. More angry at your confusion than anything. "Chased him through some spider webs."

You let out a soft 'oh.' But that didn't explain why he was holding onto the dead rat.

And he let it stay that way. Instead of reading your mind like he had been this entire time, he just... walked off. With a dead animal in his grasp. Without a word.

Your confused gaze turned to your cat, knees beginning to ache from the pressure of concrete beneath. Sir Jeffords purred into your stomach loudly.

"You're not allowed to hang out with that guy, ever again."

...

"Christ!" Miguel tossed the rat at the wall, hearing him curse. The small animal glitched into a grown adult, body morphing sickly. "That..." The villain panted, rubbing at his neck. Bruises from how tightly he was held already forming there. "... was not what I was expecting."

Miguel squatted back down, balancing on his toes as the hologram of regular clothes shifted back into his suit. "You chose to become a rat, in a world whose Spider-Man is a cat." He slammed down a disk, red netting encasing the fool. "That was your own fault."

"It was the only way I could get into the bank!" The villain squeaked. Miguel tuned out almost immediately, eyes turning to his watch. Setting the portal to his universe, and making sure he wasn't needed elsewhere. He entertained the villain in a tacky grey suit with distant hums and 'oh, yeah, uh-huh's. It was best to just let them get it out of their system then try to shut them up.

"And I would've gotten away with it, too! If it weren't for you and your cat!" The shape shifter writhed in the nets.

"Sound like a damn Scooby-Doo villain." Miguel stood up with a huff. He would never admit it, but Hobie used the term so often, he had to look up what he was referencing. Only to end up watching the first few seasons. He had to stop around the third season, a sick sense of deja vu hitting him with a bat. The cartoons reminded him too much of the daughter he never really had.

With a sigh, "Lyla," He called.

The AI appeared before him, wearing a shit eating smirk. He opened his mouth to command something else when she beat him to it. "You should've asked for their number."

"What?" Miguel's head snapped up, eyes wide.

"They were cute, should've asked them on a date." She glitched to his side with a teasing laugh.

"Lyla, I... no." He grumbled, flicking at his watch.

"Oh, you know?" Miguel tried to smack her away, only for her to reappear on his left shoulder. "You should go back, then."

Miguel glared at her, ignoring how the tips of his ears began to burn. "I can't, its-"

"Not a canon event." They said at the same time. Lyla rolling her eyes behind her heart-shaped glasses, Miguel focusing on creating a portal. "You're such a loser, you know that?" She huffed and puffed, spawning with her back turned to him.

He tried to reach out with a heavy breath, but she moved further away. This time sitting with her arms crossed and pouting.

"They were cute." The villain nodded from his fetal position on the ground. Earning a glare from the two. Shrinking further into himself, the shape-shifter apologized.

Miguel thrust his forearms forward, his mantis blades catching on the fabric of time. Ripping them apart with a grunt. Orange and purple twisted in front of him, and he grabbed a hold of the red netting the anomaly was in.

"Meet me back at HQ," He spoke to his AI with a nod. Foot already in the portal, he turned to cast a menacing glance at Lyla. "And do not try anything."

She held up her hands in defense, watching the portal close behind him. It wasn't like she even had to do anything - not anymore. She already slipped his multiversal number into the collar of Spider-Cat. All that needed to happen was you either found it, or it fell out. Lyla just had to wait to see which option would be canon.

~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~

Check out my Masterlist!

[mandos-mind-trick]

The Wolf Pup

Summary: It’s no secret within the 104th that the stern Commander is soft for the Pack’s so-called Wolf Pup. After a close call on a combined mission with the 501st, Wolffe takes it upon himself to remind her they'll always be there for her, no matter what.

Pairing: Wolffe & Padawan!OC (entirely platonic)

Warnings: Substantial injuries, violence, blood, panic attacks, fluff, soft!Wolffe, whump cause I like torturing my characters.

A/N: So this was originally going to be part of a whump series that I was going to write and never got around to. I was actually going to post something else with these characters but then I was like...wait. Y'all have no clue who Lexa is so I'm posting this one first.

Some background:

Lexa is Plo Koon's padawan. She's a Twi'lek, around 16 years old when this happens in the timeline. She's a year or two older than Ahsoka, and of course they're like BFFs naturally. Lexa is a shortened version of her name cause she has a traditional Twi'leki name that's very hard for non-native speakers to pronounce so she goes by Lexa. She has light purple skin (Cause I can) with darker purple spots (like think Kit Fisto's spots in the CW show but all over her body) and our girl is tall. Like she almost be looking the clones in the eyes. (I swear I'm going to learn how to draw eventually so I can properly portray my OCs.)

MASTERLIST

Her body aches. 

It’s the first thing she notices when she wakes. 

She feels like she’s been hit by a speeder. Her head is throbbing, something trickling down the side of her face. Her arm is throbbing, a deep painful throb that only means one thing. It’s likely broken. She opens her eyes, fear beginning to well inside her. 

She can’t see. 

She presses her hand to her face, not feeling anything covering it. She still can’t see anything. She reaches for her hip, feeling along her side until she hits her belt. She trails her fingers along it until she hits metal. She breaths a short sigh of relief, wrapping her hand around her lightsaber. She ignites it, glad to see its familiar green glow in the light of the cave. 

It is a cave she’s in. She can’t see anything but darkness above her. No sign of daylight. The only other explanation could be that it’s nighttime, but she doesn’t think she’s been unconscious that long. 

It had been morning when they’d attacked. 

They were trying to prevent a droid battalion from setting up a base on this remote planet. If they got their communication tower online, it would cut off one half the Republic Army from the other. 

Master Plo and Master Skywalker had taken half the army one way, and she and Ahsoka had led the other half the other way. Things had looked like they were going well, until something had caused the ground to shake and it had opened practically under her and Ahsoka’s feet. 

Ahsoka. 

She pushes herself to stand, breathing through the pain. She does a quick scan with the force, feeling every bruise, nick, and cut. Her left arm is broken, likely from her landing. She disengages her lightsaber, engaging the com in her vambrace. 

“Master Plo?” Her voice is weak and shaky, her heart thrumming in her chest. 

Nothing but static. 

She tries again, getting the same result. 

Had their mission failed and the droids powered up the communication tower? Or had the fall damaged her comm? It was possible, as she had landed on her left side. 

Ahsoka was her only hope, that her comm was still working. 

“Ahsoka?” She calls into the darkness, hearing nothing but her own voice echoing. 

She reaches out with the force, feeling for Ahsoka as she shines her lightsaber along the ground. She shouldn’t be too far. They were close enough they both were swallowed up by the crack in the ground. 

She feels something, a weak pulse in the force a few feet ahead of her. She moves carefully, not wanting to trip over any rocks. That must be why she hurts. The ground is very uneven with many large rocks sticking out. 

The air leaves her lungs when she finds Ahsoka. 

She’s fallen on a small pile of rocks, her body bent over the beak. She’s still, having been knocked unconscious in the fall. For a moment Lexa thinks she’s dead, but she can feel the weak force signature still. She can heal her. Lexa was always good at using the Force to heal. 

First, she needs to get her down though. 

Lexa’s left arm is throbbing painfully. She’d need to fix that before she can help Ahsoka. She focuses the force, knitting the bone back together. She nearly passes out when she’s done, both from the pain and the exertion. She forces herself onward, though, knowing she needs to help Ahsoka. 

She uses the force, carefully lifting her body from the rocks, lowering her down to the small divot where she’s standing. She kneels next to Ahsoka, looking over her with the light of her saber. She doesn’t look hurt, but she knows she could be fatally wounded internally. 

She grabs Ahsoka’s comm, calling out to her master once more. 

Again, nothing but static. 

“Master Skywalker?” She tries, getting nothing but static again. “Wolffe?” She whimpers, panic beginning to settle in as realization dawns on her. “Captain Rex?” 

Nothing but static. 

Tears run down her cheeks as she begins to panic. She tugs at her lekku, a nervous habit she had yet to break. They’re entirely alone in this huge cavern with no discernable way out, and no way of contacting anyone. They at least knew they were missing above. Someone had to see them fall. This cave system could be huge. How were they going to find them? 

She’s hyperventilating, losing herself to her panic as she shines her lightsaber in both directions. The light disappears into darkness both ways. Which way would she even go? She can’t carry Ahsoka. 

She curses, slamming her fist against one of the rocks. 

She needs to get a hold of herself. 

First she needs to check Ahsoka, and try to heal as much as she can. Then she can worry about trying to find a way out. She’s not going to let Ahsoka die. Ahsoka is like a sister to her, and she’s not going to let anything happen to her. She had promised Master Plo. 

Lexa closes her eyes, taking deep breaths. She centers herself in the force, pushing down the fear and the panic threatening to take over. She can do this. She can be stronger than her fear. 

She puts a hand on Ahsoka’s stomach, focusing the force through her. She holds on as long as she can, healing as much as she can. 

She nearly blacks out, her body falling limp from exhaustion. There’s a headache thumping in her forehead, slowly getting stronger. She’s overdone it, but at least Ahsoka won’t die from her injuries. 

She wraps an arm around the young Togruta, pulling her close. She needs a nap. Just a short one. Maybe she’d wake up and they’d be rescued already. 

**

She wakes in the cave. It’s cold, her body already shivering. She curses, scooting closer to Ahsoka. She wraps her arms around the Togruta, holding her close to try and share any warmth they have left. She reaches for the comm, calling out again but once more, there’s nothing but static. 

She grabs her lightsaber, igniting it. The ground glitters with frost, her breath visible in the darkness, and so is Ahsoka’s. She’s shivering as well. It’s cold. Very cold. It must be night now, or at least close to it. She doesn’t want to think about it getting colder. Neither of them will make it. 

Lexa closes her eyes, reaching out in the force, trying to feel anything that might be close. She doesn’t get far, already feeling the exhaustion pulling at her once more. She can’t exhaust herself completely. Ahsoka needs her, and she couldn’t possibly get them out of here if she’s too exhausted to move. 

Lexa forces herself awake, trying to keep them from freezing to death, too. 

It’s a long and miserable night. 

Lexa is starting to feel the effects of her hunger and thirst by morning. She hasn’t eaten in almost a full day, and she’s beginning to feel it. Expending her energy using the force isn’t helping either, but she has to keep healing Ahsoka. Even if it’s foolish, she refuses to let her die when there is a chance. 

She also continues trying to reach someone on the comms, but she has no luck. 

Until that luck changes. 

It’s a garbled signal, barely audible but she hears it. 

“Master Plo?” She asks, listening to the static. 

More broken voices. It’s not her master. Those are clone voices. 

“Wolffe?” She asks. “Anyone? Can you hear me?” 

It’s quiet for a few moments and she rises to her feet. Maybe if she moved somewhere else in the cave, she’d get a better signal. 

She uses her lightsaber as she walks, pausing every time she hears a sound other than static from the comm. 

“Ahsoka, come in.” 

Master Skywalker. She’s never been so happy to hear another voice, pressing the button on the comm to reply when something swoops down out of the sky, hitting her. The comm link drops from her hand, her body falling back against the rocks. 

She gasps as the air is knocked from her lungs, the attack taking her by surprise. She pushes herself to her feet, shining her lightsaber to try and see what it was. Something swoops at her again, but she ducks just barely getting grazed by it. Whatever it is, it’s very big. 

She’s panicking again. What if there’s more than one? What if they find Ahsoka? Why were they now just attacking? 

She doesn't see it until it’s right on her, talons sinking into her chest as she’s lifted off her feet. She just manages to hold onto her lightsaber as she’s lifted into the air. She can feel skin tearing as the creature holds onto her, blood soaking her robes. She swings her lightsaber at it, catching one of its wings. It hisses out a horrible scream and she readjusts, slicing its feet with her saber. 

It’s a good move, until she’s falling. 

She braces herself for impact once more, only to hit water. It’s shockingly cold, almost stealing the breath from her lungs. She pushes herself to the surface, choking in a breath. Something glides along the water and she ducks down, holding herself under as the creature passes overhead. She keeps herself under until her lungs scream, pushing herself to the top. 

She takes in a big gulp of air, looking around. There’s no sign of the creature. She hopes it’s not because it’s found Ahsoka. 

She drags herself out of the water. She’s shivering, the water icy cold. She’s not going to survive another night with wet clothes. 

She also doesn’t know where Ahsoka is. 

“Help!” She screams, uncaring if it draws the creature, or more of them to her. She’s desperate. She’s lost Ahsoka, she’s soaking wet, and she's going to freeze to death. They both were, if she doesn’t get help. 

She continues screaming until her voice is hoarse, walking around the cavern in the direction she thinks Ahsoka is. She finally finds her again, dropping to her knees on the rocks. This is it. She’s going to die. They both are. She’s failed Ahsoka, and she’s failed her master. 

There’s a loud sound from somewhere above, rocks falling from the roof, clattering on the ground. Bright light suddenly fills the cavern, Lexa holding her arm up at the painful intrusion. 

“Help!” She screams again, putting everything she can into it. She falls back, nearly crying as clone troopers begin dropping into the hole using jetpacks. “We did it.” She breathes, huddling next to Ahsoka. “We’re saved.”

She does begin crying as Wolffe runs up to her, falling to his knees next to her. 

“Wolffe.” She whimpers, squeezing her eyes closed as his fingers prod at the wounds on her chest.

“Easy, ad’ika.” He says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get you two out of here.” 

****

Lexa can’t sleep. She’d been freed from the med bay a few hours ago. Ahsoka was alright, making a full recovery thanks to her. Master Skywalker had already expressed his gratitude for what Lexa had done. Master Plo was proud of her and her bravery, even if she didn’t quite feel like she deserved it. 

She wanders the halls, something she does when she can’t sleep. She’d tried meditating already, but her mind is loud with memories of the last couple days. She holds the ends of her lekku in her hands as she walks, tugging on them absentmindedly. It’s a bad habit, it really is, but she’s never been able to break it. 

She nearly walks into a body, a hand reaching out to steady her. She blinks up at Wolffe, meeting the Commander’s naturally stern stare. It softens just a bit as he looks at her, his hand falling from her shoulder. “Sorry, Wolffe.” She says, dropping her hands from her lekku. 

“Careful, ad’ika.” He says. “You just got out of the med bay. Hate to see you have to go back.” 

She makes a face, scrunching her nose. “I hate that place. It smells bad.” 

A small smile tugs at the corners of Wolffe’s mouth. “What are you doing up so late?” 

“Just walking.” She answers simply. 

“Just walking.” He repeats, raising his eyebrows. He’s known her long enough to know when she’s hiding something. She’s good at hiding her emotions from her voice and her words, but her body language gave everything away if you knew what to look for. The subtle shake of her lekku, the little frown pinched between her brows, the tenseness in her shoulders, the way her hands can’t stay still. Wolffe can read her like a holonovel. 

“Well, it’s been a long couple days...” She shrugs, avoiding his gaze. Another sign something’s up. “Lots to think about.” 

“It has been a long couple days.” He says. “You should be resting.”

“Easier said than done.” She murmurs. 

“Come on.” He puts a hand on her back, starting to walk her back towards the barracks. 

It’s no secret within the 104th that the stern Commander is soft for the Pack’s so-called Wolf Pup. She’d wormed her way into their ranks and their hearts not long after the General allowed her to accompany them on missions. She already knew some of their names, and the others she learned quickly. She’s just as kind and caring as her master, and was not afraid to jump in to save one of them on the battlefield if she could. 

The boys loved their little pup as much as they loved their General. The absolute fear they’d felt when they’d been helpless to watch both her and Ahsoka disappear during the earthquake. Boost had been smart to mark the area as they marched on, forced to leave the two padawans behind. They had to get to the base before it could begin broadcasting, and that meant leaving the two padawans and hope they survived long enough for them to return. 

Wolffe had been terrified of what they might find when they finally broke through the thick crust of the planet. It was a long drop into the cave, and he’d thought the worst until he’d heard her screaming. It had broken his heart, how scared she looked, how much blood she had been covered in. Both padawans had lived, thanks to his little pup’s bravery and determination. 

He steers her towards his own barracks, her mind so distracted she doesn’t even notice until the door opens. He’s glad the others are still mostly dressed, not having thought that through very well. He nudges her inside, the others greeting her. Boost and Sinker squish her between them in a hug, their normal greeting for her outside of more formal instances. 

Her muffled voice sounds from between them and they release her, letting her take a deep breath in. The others greet her, despite having seen her only a couple hours ago upon her release from the med bay. 

“Boys,” Wolffe addresses them, setting his helmet on someone’s bed. “I think our ad’ika needs a cuddle pile.” 

They share looks before they all begin moving, grabbing blankets and pillows. Wolffe steers Lexa to the open space against the far wall, sitting down on the floor. He catches a pillow tossed at him, setting it in his lap before tugging her down. She rests her head against the pillow, the others arranging blankets and pillows around them. They all settle in, surrounding their pup with warmth and comfort. 

Wolffe gently massages the space between her lekku, her body practically melting into the floor. He’s not good with comforting words, not like the General, but he can offer her this kind of comfort. Remind her she’s not alone, that they would always be there for her. They would never leave her behind, no matter the odds. He can imagine the kind of fear she had felt, and he hates he couldn’t be there to protect her from it. 

All he can do now is remind her that it’s over, that she’s tucked in safely with her pack.

Taglist: (I know more of you have asked to be on my everything taglist but I was dumb and forgot to mark people so if I have forgotten you please let me know 🫣)

@bobaprint, @star-trekker-0013, @rosechi

[nocturnal-desolation]

Hello sorry for tagging. I am very sick, my asthma is at its maximum level, my nose freezes, I have no medicine or food. I am in bad shape financially, I am a black disabled, who uses multiple medications, I pay for my food and lodging

Unfortunately I do not have all the resources to keep me safe, that is why I need your help, whatever you can contribute to me will be of great help.

Would you look at that… I have a prime example of how to spot a scam in my asks. It's not very well done, just well enough that some people might fall for it - and some have even reblogged it. You've been redirected to the Fraud Detection Unit, which will take it from here. (actually it's still just me, I'm the fraud detection unit, we have "Fachkräftemangel" in Germany, sorry, jk)

Seriously though… First of all, I'd like to address the fact that it's incredibly sad to play with people's emotions like this. You should be ashamed of yourself, but I'm sure you're not. It's the same with scams asking for help and donations for people and families in Gaza, which has come up a lot recently and is even more despicable because there are actual fundraisers going on (which are official) and these people are in a terrible situation. So to exploit that worldwide sympathy or solidarity and use the inhumane circumstances of these or other people for your scams is disgusting to the core.

But back to this particular ask and blog… The text itself makes no sense. Like, not at all. For example, a " freezing nose" is not a typical symptom of asthma. I've never had asthma, but I'm pretty sure your nose doesn't freeze up when you have asthma. What are you trying to tell me? That you got asthma in the middle of a blizzard? Sorry, I can't help you with that. "Get out of the blizzard!" is all I can tell you. And what is the "maximum level" of asthma? Is that some kind of asthma end boss? Sounds more like you need an ambulance, not money...

That's why it's important to be fluent in English if you want to pretend to be a native speaker. I can't help you there either. I can barely speak my own language, let alone English.

Some other things everyone should notice or look for when getting messages like this:

blog was created fairly recently, no consistency, just reblogged some random things (like posts from 'tumblr staff' lol - no offense) to have something on it at all + obviously otherwise empty blogs that are just begging for money or reblogging other similar posts all the time are even more suspicious

something I haven't seen before either is "Black Lives Matter" being used as bait to appeal to those involved in the movement

randomly generated usernames (what is "toosaladgarden"? I've never had a salad that was too garden, so I don't know - not too important, but in this case it doesn't help to be convincing)

no bio, no age, no country (usually not important, but in this case it is)

non-transparent fundraiser, no one knows why this exact amount of money is needed (I think it even went from $1700 to $1900 since yesterday if I saw that correctly lol) and how the supposed current donations came about (you could put any number in there)

randomly contacted

scammers often use tactics such as emotional manipulation and urgency to evoke sympathy and to prompt a quick response

lack of details, very vague in general, limited information about specific circumstances

But that made me curious and I wanted to know more. You (the scammers) were "smart" enough to use a profile picture that can't be easily traced back to the original source, I'll give you that. But that's a problem for you, because it seems to be the only picture you have of this person with this child, so you had to use it everywhere…

And that's why I was able to trace your picture back to a Twitter / X account that goes by the name "Aska" and the handle askafarao… which also engages in very, very obviously fraudulent requests for money. Every few days or weeks since August 2023, this "X" account posts nothing but new "reasons" why the money is needed. And it's quite funny how little effort they put into it, because the reasons are not creative and half of them don't even add up. But most importantly, somehow there are a couple of different email addresses for different paypal accounts with different names on them. I think we can all agree that unless you're trying to hide something, you don't need more than one name… right? Unless Paypal is going to close your accounts all the time, or you're afraid they will because they're detecting fraudulent activity, you don't need more than one account, right?

TL:DR Let's make this part short and sweet: If you get a message like this, or see a similar post, be aware that it's a scam. Don't reblog it and don't be like, "But what if it's true…" It's obviously not, and when I saw the X account, I actually had a good laugh because this account is a complete mess, even for a scammer.

[zeldaelmo]

🧩

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

Several things:

The author obviously doesn't care about their own work. Red flags are no formatting at all, no sentence structure, deliberate/lazy abuse of grammar rules (no capitalization after a period, things like that). Either you care enough to make it readable or I don't read it. Non native English speaker mistakes obviously excluded.

Everything that is AI written. You don't care about the fic and so don't I.

Sex scenes that overly use weird words. I know, I know, writing good sex scenes is hard, so I'm letting slide a lot if the overall vibe is okay.

Sex that comes out of nowhere. Sorry, I'm aware it's a pet peeve, but I don't deal with things that don't have a proper build up. I don't mean porn without plot, I mean things where they go from, "I think he doesn't even like me" to five orgasms in three different positions in a matter of a couple of paragraphs. Do you homework, guys. Sex is a pay off for the hard emotional work the characters have been doing. Or any other plot device, there's a lot more. Things can get hot and heavy quickly but it has to make sense.

Fics where an OC steals the limelight. It's just not my thing, sorry.

Pointless violence and overly gory scenes. If it's a long fic I enjoy, I skip the scene.

If a fic is just telling and no showing in the first chapter.

Only for BotW: of the memories are in the wrong order. And by that mean the completely wrong order with the don't follow me memory at the end or something like that. Another pet peeve, I know.

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

Not to stress people out but if you’re telling a story, a single odd word choice can really colour someone’s enjoyment of your whole thing, especially with non-native speakers

this brought to you by my realisation (after a FULL YEAR) that by “a continent under a mountain range”, Murph did not, in fact, mean a whole continent underneath a mountain range. But a continent bordered by a mountain range.

I. I feel so dumb I listened to this whole thing twice, and both times thought what an odd world building choice that was, how confusing (and mysteriously unexplained!) it made any mention of weather and how anticlimactic it made all the extended cave and mine sequences because they were in a cave the whole time???

so uh. yeah I should have realised this eventually but word choice matters unfortunately 🙈