#so when i started hearing different accents i actually had to teach myself to understand them

[idon-twannabeperceived]

Every day i wake up and cry because i am reminded that school, movies, shows and the internet made me learn the MOST FLAVORLESS AND BORING ENGLISH ACCENT MOTHER WHY.

Every time i hear nigerian/jamaican/scotish English accents it makes me want to scream until my insides bleed bc WHY DID EVERYTHING HAVE TO SOUND USAMERICAN BACK IN SCHOOL GOD KILL ME🙏

[yjhariani]

imagine Ghost x bilingual reader who speaks Arabic and it’s her mother tongue. I’m in a brain rot over this idea omg😭

Also ur writing is so amazing !!!

شكرا جزيلا لك! لكن أنا أدرس الفصحى فقط. والمصرية قليلة. ليس بعد أتخرج.

So, I hope this would suffice and, please, let me know if I’m off grammatically, pragmatically, or just off in general.

Sometimes, it was like your hands were part of your mouth. Sometimes. However, they often contradicted your mouth because they would be rather aggressive whilst your mouth was saying stuff that was actually quite poetic.

When Simon asked you to teach him a little bit of your mother tongue, he could see the excitement in your eyes. You gladly teach him what he might need for his work.

“What you’re teaching me is the formal one, yeah?” Simon asked in the middle of it.

“Yes,” you confirmed.

“To be honest, I need the street lingo, love,” Simon clarified.

“Then, you’ll have to tell me where you’re going because every Arabic speaking country has their own street lingo that some other country might not understand,” you explained. “It’s like you and your friend, habibi.”

Simon loved it more than a lot of things in this world when you called him habibi. It could be the sound of the language, the soft H that crawled out of your throat at the beginning of that word. It could be the way you said the word.

Nothing more he loved, probably except for when you told him you loved him in Arabic. Again, it could be the soft H or it was just simply you.

“So, it’s an accent thing?” Simon replied.

“Well, there’s an accent thing, too, but it’s, uh… dialects,” you said. “Some have different pronunciation of certain letters, some add something into their words, some use their own words for stuff.”

“But they’ll understand me if I speak the formal one?” Simon said.

“They will,” you nodded. “There’s no guarantee you’ll understand them, but practice makes you better.”

Simon fixed his eyes on you for some time.

“Alright. I’ll try again,” Simon decided. “Yusammuni Ghost. Ash-shabah.”

You nodded, telling him to keep going. He nailed the soft H.

“Ajibni wa lan indana mushkila,” Simon continued.

“No, you have to commit to the sound or else you’ll be speaking nonsense or worse. ‘indana, it has to come from here,” you touched the top of his throat that connected with the underside of his head.

“Indana?” Simon tried to say, but he was still not there yet so you shook your head.

Simon tried to say it a few times, but he ended up gagging. You smiled at him.

“God,” Simon sighed. “‘indana.”

“Yes! Like that!” you cheered upon hearing him saying it right at last.

“Ajibni wa lan ‘indana mushkila,” Simon repeated.

You nodded before saying, “Aren’t you supposed to be more aggressive than that to start an interrogation?”

“No, you start softly,” Simon said.

You only looked at him, reminded that he knew how to interrogate someone and had done it probably numerous times before.

“Oka—okay,” you said.

“Now, how do I tell people they’re a piece of shit?” Simon asked.

Your smile returned to your face.

“I think it’s enough for the day?” you replied. “You need to make sure what you learned isn’t going anywhere.”

“So, I’ll just be introducing myself and telling you to answer me else we’ll have a problem for the rest of the day?” Simon concluded.

“Na’am, habibi, “ you confirmed. “More tomorrow.”

[jamesmydeer]

I just read extravert introvert hcs with remus lupin! I loved it so much. Would you like to do hcs for remus falling for an american transfer who is a quidditch star but is also incredibly intelligent? I'm sorry I'm not a very articulate person. Have a nice day, stay safe and drink some water!

awww this made me pour myself a glass of water 🥺 i hope you have a great day too lovie!thank you so much, of course i woul love to! (this turned out really long :)))

also, hello my deers, i’m back!!!!! i’ve missed you all! <3

masterlist

remus x ilvermorny transfer

- transferring from one school to another is a nerve racking thing

- especially when your new school is in a completely different country

- your first day at hogwarts would be pretty strange

- because it’s a whole new atmosphere

- since everyone had known eachother for the past five years, they already had someone to sit with in classes

- you, on the other hand, did not

- so, you sat in the back at an empty desk

- given that the students of hogwarts are keen to gossip, all eyes had already been on you since you walked through the doors

- it didn’t help when professor mcgonagall called on you out of nowhere

- it was a hard question, and no one raised their hand when she asked

- usually, that meant she would ask remus

- however, this question had stumped even him, who had answered with a soft “i don’t know, professor.”

- to your dismay, mcgonagall followed up with “miss l/n, do you know the answer?”

- if every pair of eyes in the class hadn’t been on you before, they definitely were now

- swallowing your nerves, you held your head high and answered the question

- correctly, might i add

- look at you, you’re so smart !!

- mcgonagall smiled, as if she knew you would get it

- “5 points to y/h”

- the rest of the class turned back to their professor, but one student lingered a little longer than necessary

- “you’ve got some competition, moony” sirius pulled him out of his trance

- “very funny sirius”

- remus did not find it very funny, but he did find you very intriguing

- and pretty

- by the time quidditch tryouts rolled around, the marauders had already learned about remus’ infatuation

- when they saw your name on the quidditch sign up sheet, they ran to tell him as fast as possible

- of course they all planned to watch your tryout, all for different reasons of course

- james and sirius wanted to scout out the competition, remus wanted to watch you, and peter didn’t want to sit alone in their dorm

- as the tryout went on, they all came to the same realization

- you were good

- like, really good

- james and sirius pretended not to be a little worried, but remus saw right through them

- “you’ve got some competition, twats.”

- when tryouts were over, james, sirius, and peter told remus they were going to go talk to the y/h captain

- after 20 minutes, it dawned on him that they weren’t coming back

- so, he made his way to the gryffindor common room

- not before bumping into you first

- you started a small awkward conversation over everyday things; the weather, classes, quidditch

- you both said your goodbyes and started to leave

- but then you walked in the same direction

- after turning down the same hallways twice, you both laughed and remus volunteered to walk you to your common room

- thus, a beautiful friendship was formed

- and after you found a piece of paper in one of your books from him asking you out, relationship

i’m so sorry, i always get carried away with backstory

- now onto the actual dating

- remus loves to imitate your accent

- you’ll say a word that sounds funny to him, and he will smile and repeat it back to you in the worst american accent ever

- you pretend to hate it, but the smile on his face when he does makes your heart melt

- you do it back to him one day after he says water and he immediately understands why you don’t get mad when he does it

- he thinks you’re the cutest

- he goes to all your quidditch matches

- when you’re playing gryffindor, he joins sirius and james in smack talk the days leading up to the game

- but when it actually comes, he cheers for you when you do something good, despite the dirty looks he receives from his housemates

- and minnie

- *shivers*

- you always give eachother proud little glances when you get a good grade or a question right in a class you share

- he lets you in on all the secrets of hogwarts, despite the groaning of the other marauders

- your relationship is full of little harmless pranks

- like the time he convinced you that they don’t celebrate christmas in wizarding england

- and the time you told him that the white house wasn’t actually white

- in true marauder fashion, you have to be given a nickname

- they settle for merry

- you know, like america, merry

- sirius thought it was quite clever, for your information

- he’s always the first to greet you after a match with a big squeeze and a forehead kiss

- which you tell him not to do, because you’re gross and sweaty

- but nothing could stop a love struck remus lupin

- definitely teaches you british slang to call the other marauders

- his heart swells when you call james a “clueless wanker”

- anytime he hears someone gossiping about “the american” or pestering you with questions, he sends them an annoyed glare and drags you the other way

- that being said, sirius pesters you with question after question about america

- sometime you spend hours talking to him about what ilvermorny and america were like

- it doesn’t bother remus under these circumstances though, since he usually has his head in your lap the whole time anyways

- because he loves when you play with his hair

- he just adores you so much, ya know

- he thinks you’re neat

- he doesn’t know what he would do if you hadn’t have transferred

[readersperspective]

Writing Advice Bilingual Characters

As some of you (who read my reviews) already might have noticed, I am bilingual myself. Sadly, multilingual people do not get represented well a lot in media, so yeah... some advice for writing them. It will certainly not capture every aspect of being bilingual, but it might give you a first idea.

There are different ways to be multilingual.

People who grew up with more than one native language will almost certainly speak all of them fluently. Most of them have two (their parents’ language and their country’s language, or the language of one parent and of the other) but I also know a family where the children grew up with four native languages (the mother speaks Portuguese, the father Italian, they talk to each other in English, and live in Germany, where the children grew up)

Some people speak two or more languages, but cannot write all of them - especially when the alphabets are not the same, for example English and Russian or Arabic. This affects mostly children of immigrants.

Some people can read and write a language quite well, but are not good at speaking or listening comprehension. Those people often learned the language at school with a bad teacher or by themselves with books and apps.

Some people, again mostly children and grandchildren of immigrants, can read and understand a language, but don’t speak it. Mostly, the parents decided to not teach the child the language, and they learned it themselves by listening to their parents talk to relatives.

Confidence can play a big role in this. I understand the dialect of my grandparents without a problem, but I would never try to speak it. I can’t even imagine forming those words with my mouth, and it would sound terrible.

People who learnt a language at school can reach completely different levels of that language. I started learning English at age 6 and am completely fluent by now. Other people in my class barely understand more than easy conversations in English.

Most people will do their very best to hide their accents.

If the person is not a native speaker, but fluent in a language, their accent will be a mix of whatever they can find at the moment. Media is a big influence in that.

Since I watch more British than American TV, my accent sounds a bit british, too. When I watched “Call the Midwife”, I often even unconciously copy the accent of Laura Main. I don’t know why her, but my brain just liked it, I guess.

Also, we will use words, phrases and sentence structures from so many different sources.

People who learnt English through the internet (aka most of the younger generation) will have problems to not use swear words when actually being in Great Britain or America. They just do not have the weight for us, since on the internet they get used all the time.

I have never in my whole live heard a multilingual person switch languages mid-sentence on accident.

We will do it on purpose, though, if the other part of the conversation understands both languages.

Also, we will maybe say the word in another language if we forget the meaning.

Multilingual people that are not natives in the language they usually use in their day-to-day life (immigrants, for example) will often count and calculate in their native language. For example at a restaurant where they calculate the price in their head, they will probably do it in their native language.

Conversations with multiple multilingual people can be very different.

If one person only understands one language, they will probably try to include that person by speaking the language they share. I can say from experience, though, that if eight native Germans that have varying levels of English language skills will sit together with one introverted Turkish person with medium English language skills, they will go back to German quite often. It’s not nice, but sadly natural.

In general, people will try to speak in their native language if possible. You can take two people that share a native language and also both speak English and let them walk around in London - they will probably speak their native language, no matter how well they speak English.

Multilingual people that share multiple languages will switch on purpose when they feel like they can express their thoughts better in the other language.

Many languages have taken words from English.

Especially young people take a lot of English filler words and phrases (or insults) and put them into their native language. “Help, mein Deutschlehrer überfordert uns mit Hausaufgaben, like, what the fuck, glaubt der wir haben nichts besseres zu tun?” Is a sentence you would absolutely hear from a German student.

Many young people that don’t live in Great Britain or America will not use these words and phrases around their parents. First of all, our parents often do not speak English as well as we do, but more importantly, our parents do not like us using English instead of ur native language.

Many professions nowadays have an English name, I don’t know why. What used to be a Hausmeister is now a Facility Manager. The longer the English phrase for your profession, the more likely you will not be taken serious by older people.

Once you have more than one native language, you learn new languages more easily, for some reason. I know a girl that speaks 7 languages, at age 20, 5 of them fluently.

"You speak English quite well” or phrases like that said by a native speaker can be the best compliment ever, or more uncomfortable than nice.

When you are translating for your family and hear that sentence, it is super nice.

When you are only speaking English, that sentence indicates that your accent is still heavy. You do not pass as a native speaker.

When you are a native speaker, that sentence is just weird.

You can indentify the people that learnt a language through reading by giving them words that are pronounced untypically.

For years I thought “precious” (a word that is heavily used on the internet, especially in fan communities, but not that much in school) was pronounces pree-ci-ous. I was shocked when I heard it for the first time.

There are situations where even quite fluent non-native speakers will not be able to understand or talk in their second language.

The first few minutes after standing up (although that can change when the person is really fluent)

When they are in great pain

When they are in great fear

When they are under great stress

Sometimes even when they did not use that language in the last few days

Translating in realtime is terribly hard and will fuck your head. When I was on holiday with my parents, I often had to read the information signs in museums or at sights for them and translate. It’s easier when you first read the text and then summarise it in another language, but trying to translate it sentence by sentence is painful and you will question your abilities in both languages.

This gets just more horrible when under pressure. While we were in England, a visibly stressed young woman came to us and asked us if we had 5 pounds, she had lost some money she needed to take the train back home. I repeated her sentence to my father. In English.

Also sorry to the poor worker at McDonalds who I talked English to while speaking German to my English exchange student.

People abroad will absolutely become friends with every person that they hear speaking their language. While being in London, we overheard a man talking to his son in German about taking a photo, and I immediately asked (in German) if I should take a photo of both of them together. We talked for fifteen minutes after that, even though we had never met before.

On that note, in tourist citys the people that try to sell things to tourists usually speak a lot of languages enough to say things like “Oh, I speak a bit of [language], too, but not well. Didn’t pay enough attention in school. You look like nice people.” Makes it so easy to sell things.

Idioms are literally hell. Best example has been in the news currently, with Greta Thunberg literally translating a Swedish idiom in a tweet not realising that “putting someone against a wall” means something totally different in English. 

Idioms will be hell for you as a writer, too, though, as long as you do not fluently speak both of the languages or at least one of them is fictional, because it’s quite easy to mess up if you use idioms that jus aren’t normally used by people speaking that language.

Bilingual puns are amazing, but sadly rare.

Those are the things I thought of first... Maybe you can find some ideas or inspiration there for your characters, too. The best thing of course is to let someone proof-read your character if you are uncertain, but this hopefully already helped you a bit!

[amariaamaris]

Of Changes and Revelations

I got this idea from the other Marvel and TVD crossover that I did, it is going to be (hopefully) very different. I hope it comes out well and that I do it justice... I’m already working on a second part, I felt that this was getting a little to long! Please let me know what you think and if there are any grammar/spelling/punctuation things that need fixing. Constructive criticism is always welcome. This took me forever, there were so many roadblocks and questioning myself on if I actually wanted to write this. Thanks to my sister pushing me and my imagination running wild with promises of what I can do in the future with this... I decided to go through with it... so enjoy!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

After it’s all said it done; after Esther failing in killing her children, Bonnie’s mother being turned to break the link, Abby bailing (again), Klaus forcing Bonnie to break the spell Esther did... The expulsion of magic that resulted inadvertently saved Finn’s life, knocking out the scooby gang in the process (including most everyone in the town). While also setting fire to anything flammable within the radius of the town (leaving only a select few homes and buildings untouched). It’s safe to say all the white oak is gone... along with multiple buildings.... (oops?) The poor trees are all fried, though luckily they have strong bark, so they’ll survive (it also helps that Bonnie helped to heal them).

All of it coalesces and brings Bonnie to locking herself up in her grams house for as long as she pleases with no acknowledgement of the outside world. She had methodically gone through the house and unplugged the internet, tv’s, shut down her phone, and all other electronics. She just wants to be left alone, Bonnie is exhausted; she’s tired of being used, abused, and taken for granted.

She had found a boundary spell in one of the grimoires to keep those with ill or selfish intent off her property and the fu- away from her (especially certain vampires). In the middle of the week Bonnie left her grams house and went to the school. At the beginning of the week she set up this time to test out of high school.

Bonnie made sure to blend in with the crowd to not be spotted by her “friends”; they may have not seen her, but she definitely saw them. She took the test within three and a half class periods and got the hell out of there. Bonnie drove away like a bat out of hell and made it back to her grams house as fast as she possibly could. She had completely moved into her grams house throughout the one after another of the supernatural shit show that she now calls her life (or rather did call her life). Not like her father was ever around for her to bother staying in his house.

The plus side of testing out of high school is that she can go and get whatever she needs without being worried about being ambushed by her “friends” or the Mikaelson's. Bonnie has also decided that she is going to take all the time that she needs to spend on self-love, working with her magic to learn, and embrace it joyfully. She also has been spending time in meditation and speaking with all of her ancestors. For once in her life, Bonnie Shelia Bennett has finally decided to be selfish and damn the consequences.

Little did she know that her new change would go right along with a huge change that will flip her world on its axis and bring up deeply buried memories.

————

Rudy Bennett knew that this day would come, he knew that eventually they would hunt him down. After all, he did abandon his post, he cut off all contact and went rogue. In doing so, also kept his child away from her culture and her people. He knows that if they find out about her and his lack of parenting, that would sign his fate.

Rudy couldn’t hide his shaking hands as he poured himself a drink and promptly chugged what was in his glass. He did decide that he wouldn’t run or hide, he was going to wait for them to come. He just got done pouring his second one when the lights flickered off; causing a shiver of fear to run down his spine, he could also feel sweat on the back of his neck.

When the lights flickered on, there were two Dora Milaje standing on the other side of his desk. Still as stone holding their vibranium spears, with the king and his cousin standing in between them. Both in different black panther suits (armor?), causing Rudy to gulp. Rudy could feel more sweat break out on his skin as he warily stared at his king.

“D’Kadi Dzube, you’ve been missing a long time.” Rudy or rather D’Kadi watched as both the men tapped on their collars and watched as the mask melted away and showed their faces. Rudy could hear his blood rushing to his ears as he felt himself pale a little. “You were once my father’s most trusted war dog. Then one day, you disappeared without a trace. Just a few months ago we found you... we also found some very interesting information. D’Kadi Dzube you have a daughter that you hid from your people. From my understanding you have been neglecting her as well.”

Rudy could hear ringing in his ears and the blood rushing through his body, he could imagine that he looked white as a sheet. Everything was blurring and before he knew it his eyes were rolling and he fell into darkness.

————

Bonnie could feel something coming to the depths of her bones, it would cause her to pause as her hair would stand up on its ends. Which would lead her to looking out the windows, but there was nothing there. It got to the point where Bonnie decided to add an extra warding to the house rather than the property. Evidently to keep anyone away from the structure of the home, while still being able to enter the yard (only if they pass the wards on the property that is).

Bonnie had started a cute little herbal and vegetable/fruit garden in her backyard, along with some landscaping spanning around the whole house. Along with flowers on both sides of the pathway walking up to the house. Bonnie has never before felt this free and happy. That doesn’t change the fact that she still feels a phantom twinge of pain when she thinks of how her friends haven’t even tried to come visit her. Not. A. Single. One.

Hell! Even Klaus showed up! Not that he could get on the property and it’s not like he was checking up on her... but still! Bonnie lets out an annoyed huff and shakes her head as she focuses back on her plants at the front of the house. She tries to work through her agitation; at her friends, the Mikaelson’s, the Salvatore’s, her parents, her grams for not teaching her from the beginning, at herself for not being smarter and wiser, and Bonnie might as well add the world to the list to. 

She very quickly finds herself falling into a flow of taking care of the plants as everything washes away. Bonnie has found that in many instances doing something like this puts her in a meditative trance that helps to center her. Two hours pass with Bonnie working on her plants, when she hears a car drive up and park on the curb.

Bonnie allows herself to slow down in her landscaping work, but doesn’t turn around - even as she hears the car doors open and shut. She can also hear strangely accented voices talking, both male... but she can sense more people with them. Hearing them coming closer makes Bonnie glad that she chose to wear a wide brimmed straw hat that belonged to her grams (she’s rather not have people recognize her before she can tell whether or not they are threats). 

“Excuse me? Are you the daughter of Rudy Bennett and Abby Bennett....” She freezes, but gives no answer. Bonnie can already feel her magic gathering, ready to motus the hell out of all of the people behind her. Receiving no answer, the people behind her exchange looks, “Granddaughter to Shelia Bennett?” Bonnie feels her agitation spike, causing her to rip off her dirty gardening gloves and throw them to the ground.

Bonnie turns around to look at them, noticing two men that look like cousins, two bald women that have what look to be tribal tattoos on their heads, and a random white man wearing clothing far heavy for how warm it is. Bonnie can practically feel her magic crackling at her fingertips and through her hair. “That depends on who is asking and why...?”

One of the cousins move to step forward, but upon seeing the look on her face, thinks better of it. Though, that didn’t stop him from kindly smiling at her, “My name is T’Challa, this is my cousin N’Jadaka, these two women are Okoye and Ayo, and this is James Barnes. I would like to speak to you about your father.”

Bonnie studies all of them and then flicks her eyes back to T’Challa, before she can respond with something biting, she hears whispers upon the wind. She allows herself to slightly tilt her head to listen better. After a few seconds Bonnie focuses back on T’Challa and the people he brought with him. “I’m not interested in talking about the sperm donor that calls himself my father. I could care less what type of underground cultish mafia he got himself into. If he owes you anything make Rudy deal with it, his problem’s aren’t mine to deal with.”

Bonnie quickly makes her way onto the porch of the house - without turning her back on them (she doesn’t have a death wish) - already knowing that whoever these people are, they aren’t going to let her off easily. N’Jadaka, the man with weird bumps all over his extremely musc- no! Bonnie quickly mentally shakes herself as he snickers with a smirk on his face. “I don’t think I have ever heard someone call people from Wakanda a cult or mafia. The little kitten does have a point cousin.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, “She should be wary, she knows nothing about her father’s history. “

“N’Jadaka...” T’Challa gives him a sharp warning look, not noticing Bonnie moving to open the front door to slip inside. “Where do you think you’re going kitten? We said we wanted to talk that’s what you’re going to let us do!” He moves to go onto the porch, but feels like he hit a brick wall, N’Jadaka also gets a nasty zap throughout his entire body. Causing him to hiss slightly in pain as the group takes notice of the wind picking up and hissing whispers upon the wind (not that they could make out what they were saying). They do notice how Bonnie seems to understand exactly what is being said upon her head whipping around to face the road. All of them watched as she ripped off her hat and lightly tossed it onto the porch swing, they heard the sharp angry hiss escape from her as her green eyes darkened.

The group from Wakanda evenly spaced themselves out as they turned upon hearing a car door slam, they all watch as a long blonde haired young woman walked around the car and onto the property. “Bonnie! Where have you been? We have all been trying to get a hold of you, you haven’t been at school, you haven’t been answering your phone or showing up to practice! We’ve been worried! Honestly Bonnie Bennett you better have a good reason for completely cutting all of us out of your life... who are these people?!” Bonnie stares at Caroline for a few seconds realizing that her chest no longer hurts when thinking of her ex-friends. In fact Bonnie realizes with sudden clarity that there isn’t pain when she thinks of her friends, only white hot fiery fury and looking at Caroline only makes her annoyance and fury rise at the audacity that she had to show up to her grams house unannounced at her house, at her sanctuary.

“Who they are is none of your business Caroline, in fact they were just leaving, like you will be. I’m not particularly in the mood to talk to people that ruined my perfectly peaceful day by arriving unannounced.” Turning her attention to the curious onlookers Bonnie continues “I don’t care to talk about Rudy and whatever shit show he’s gotten himself into,” looking to Caroline “and I don’t want to be forced to listen to lies! I’m well aware that none of you have noticed my absence up until a couple days ago. I’m also aware that none of you actually care for me, all of you just see me as some weapon to be used. Well I’m done being your sword and shield. I want all of you the hell off of my grams property. Do whatever you want with Rudy, it’s not my problem and I want nothing to do with it. Caroline you and the rest of those assholes can shove your lies and demands up your asses. I’m not going to be your quick fix to problems you brought on yourselves. Grow the fuck up and deal with them yourself! Now get the fuck off of my property!”

The front door slams viciously behind Bonnie, whose screaming voice still echoed in the air with whispers following it, the group from Wakanda all had their eyebrows almost to their hairlines. While Caroline’s jaw was dropped almost to the ground in shock and hurt. “You should leave Care-o-line, you’re no friend of hers.” N’Jadaka’s voice quickly pulls her out of it and brings up her misplaced righteous fury. “Oh, really, I am her friend. Who the hell are you? From the way it was looking none of you are friends of Bonnie’s! I’m her best friend!! You had to have done something to upset her, she would have never said something like that or treated me that way! All of you are the ones who should leave!”

N’Jadaka moves to step forward, but James puts his hidden vibranium arm in front of him and says only one thing in a harsh warning tone. “Erik...” Causing Erik to suck on his teeth for a second then back down. While T’Challa steps forward with his hands up in the universal sign of peace. “Miss...” Caroline huffs out her answer to his silent question, “Caroline Forbes!” He immediately gives a soft smile, “Miss Forbes, I believe all of us need to leave Bonnie alone for the time being. If it makes you feel better we will get into our car first, but we will only be leaving after you drive away. She is important to our people and I will not risk something happening.” Caroline works her jaw as the gogs in her brain slowly turn, her eyes sharpen for a few seconds, but she quickly gives in and slowly, dejectedly nods.

None of them notice the whispers on the wind that one small young Bennett witch listens too as they all drive away, with a contemplating look in her eyes.

————

The next day has Bonnie working in the backyard harvesting the herbs, vegetables, and fruits that she needs. Bonnie gives absolutely no reaction to N’Jadaka’s presence as he walks around the back of the house. “You know it’s seen as extremely rude to not only invite yourself to someone’s house, especially not knocking on the front door.” She has to hide her slight smile upon hearing him huff out a laugh, “I’d love to knock on your front door kitten, the only problem is... I couldn’t seem to get on the first step.” Bonnie can sense the question in his words, but chooses to ignore it and continue her work. She can feel him watching her and gets quickly fed up witch a harsh huff Bonnie stops what she is doing, stands up, and turns to face him.

She has to give herself a few seconds to get accustomed to the height difference between the two of them, to put it simply... he dwarfs her. Not only in height, but in sheer muscle mass, she averts her eyes to try and hide the affect he’s having on her. Bonnie decides to chalk it up to the fact that she hasn’t had any direct human contact for a while. “Look N’Jadaka...” “Erik” His interruption causes her to blink, “What?” Erik let’s out a quiet huff while a smirk plays along his lips. “My colonizer name kitten, is Erik. I’d rather go by it than N’Jadaka... has a lot more pride in it than my other name does.”

Bonnie quietly mouths colonizer with a confused look, but decides that they can come back to that later. “Fine! Erik... just...” Bonnie let’s out breath and frowns as her eyes play across the plains of his face and the outdoors. “I don’t know why... but my ancestors like you and they say that I can trust you. Now I’m going to do something that I never do... I’m going to trust my ancestors.” She allows herself to walk up to him and look him directly in the eyes “and if you ever... and I mean ever break that trust. I will personally find a way to kill you, slowly, painfully, and only when your begging for mercy will I kill you... got it?” While she was talking her finger was poking him in the chest to help emphasize her words with a sickly sweet smile upon her face.

Erik gives a slow smile knowing that he shouldn’t find himself turned on by her threat, but he is. He allows himself to carefully grab the hand she was poking him with and holds onto it. Erik chooses to ignore the quiet gasp that escapes her lips... for the moment “You got it kitten, would you like me to explain what you were very unwilling to talk about yesterday with my cousin?” He watches completely fascinated as her eyelashes shadow her eyes while she thinks it over, when she looks up and focuses back on him, she gives a hesitant nod. “Okay, but your helping me with my garden... if we have to talk about something that I would rather never have to think about again, your going to be useful and help.” Her words pull a sharp laugh out of Erik, as he grins and gives a nod in acceptance.

Once she quickly shows him what do to and what to look for, they start working. As they work he explains everything to her, everything hidden from her, everything that her father has done... everything. It completely shatters her, it obliterates everything she thought she knew about her father and his side of the family, everything she thought she knew and understood about herself; it sends her completely into orbit. She doesn’t even realize that she is crying, nor does she realize that she is raging at Erik and upon his body. Her fists swinging to hit his chest as her magic angrily swirls around them. Bonnie feels as though she is shattered into a trillion shimmering atoms being carried away upon the wind. She can’t tell if she will ever find herself... how can she? Bonnie doesn’t think that she can gather the exploded pieces... how can she find them? They have scattered to the wind getting caught in the trees, falling to the streams of water to be carried and caught elsewhere. Bonnie can’t even feel Erik tightly holding her as he somehow carries her inside of her grans house. And eventually, much later into the night, he helps to pull her back together, but for now. He try’s to help hold together what little is left of Bonnie Shelia Bennett.

As her true name echoes through her entire being...

Ahnika...

————————————————————

I hope you enjoyed it, please let me know what you think. The second part is on its way! Peace, love, and joy!

[fanfiction-funtime]

Spritefather and Selene Interaction

A fan drabble for @clouds-rambles, I hope I characterized Selene right

Without much prompting it's a tad hard to write like this, but I hope it works.

Also I hope you don't mind me mentioning Cael amnesia anon.

(Selene was hanging out with Cael when Venti makes trouble, bringing the night to a close)

(Selene pov)

Yet again, I had to drag Cael's boyfriend out of the bar. This time because he thought someone was insulting his father and punched them, but he was just talking about some mythological person called 'Spritefather'.

I haven't thought about that story in a long time, not since I was a kid. Something about him being able to "use all elements" or something and how he "taught Barbados about freedom", maybe I'll ask Lisa about it.

"Excuse me madam, my father needs to speak to that man you're carrying. Please, hand him to me." I heard a voice from behind me say, the accent was a thick Schneznayan one.

I turned around to meet the person, a woman in an outfit that wouldn't look out of place in a family portrait of old Schneznayan nobility, they also held a vision.

A cryo vision.

I three Venti into a hay pile and summoned my spear, "your a pretty bad liar, LA SIGNORA!"

"No wait! You've got it all w-" I jabbed at her with my spear, using conduct to increase it's power, "I said wait!-"

"I don't bargain with people who hurt my friends!" Hehe, that was a cool line, nice one Selene.

"W-WHAT!? HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE THAT I WOULD HURT MY OWN BROTHER!" The woman gasped and pointed behind me.

I looked back and saw an abyss mage sneaking away with Venti.

"HEY! THAT'S MY BROTHER/BEST FRIEND'S BOYFRIEND!"

The mage noticed and bolted away. We chased it all the way to star conch cliff, where it threw Venti over the edge.

"Haha! Do your worst human! I have already completed my mission! Now without your precious archon, mondstadt will-!"

A tornado of water sprouted up from the sea, then froze in place. From the newly formed spiral of ice rose a cloaked man, and around him were 6 wisps of every element but cryo.

The mage turned around, and were it not for the dendro tendril crushing it's windpipe they would have screamed in horror.

"First you threaten to kill my son," the cloaked man stepped off the spire, the air polarizing itself with electro to form a step, "then you kidnap him while my daughter is trying to retrieve him," another step, this time the air simply pushes him up to form a step, "and now you have followed through on that threat. It tried to," the man took one last, powerful step, to which a geo platform met his feet and lifted him to the hanging abyss mage, "how truly foolish must you be."

He man then lit the tendril on fire, burning the mage like a furby in a campfire.

The man lowered himself down, Venti in his arms, and said, "I'm sorry Barbados, I should have gone to get you myself. Viktoria, what happened?"

Then he noticed me.

"EEEEP!" He shouted as he dropped Venti with a thud.

_____________________

(3rd person limited, Spritefather pov)

'Oh celestia, a person! No no, keep it together. You love interacting with humans in a controlled manner. This is just as controlled, just...a suprise.' Spritefather thought.

"By Barbados' hairy nostrils! You're the Spritefather!" The human Selene shouted.

Spritefather straightened himself out and cleared his throat, "y-yes, I am. But I am not 'the' Spritefather, I'm just Spritefather. Saying 'the Spritefather' is like calling you 'the Selene'. But now isn't the time for such trivial bickerings," Spritefather gave a gentlemanly bow, "thank you for attempting to rescue my eldest child, and for taking him home everytime he indulges a bit to much on vices."

Viktoria facepalmed, "dad! They aren't supposed to know that!"

"Well why not? They're friends with him, and best friends with his boyfriend. Which by the way I STILL need to meet-" he noticed Selene was seeming kind if pale, "you ok?"

*thud*

"Oh dear."

_____________________

(3rd person omniscient pov)

(There's no good point to explain this, but they're in a serenitea pot)

Selene woke up in a very confused state, and on a cloaked woman's lap.

"Please do not be alarmed, neither me nor my daughter did anything to you." The woman said.

Selene, in response, punched the woman and scrambled away, "who the abyss are you!?"

"Well I'm not particularly loved by celestia but I'd hardly say I'm abyssal.."

"Father, people here are not as accustomed to the divine as Liyue or Inazuma." The woman from before, who Selene thought was La Signora, said as she approached them with some tea.

"Wait, fa-no, no. Don't do that Selene, it's rude."

The cloaked woman shook her hands to dismiss Selene's concern, "it's fine, however I thank you for your accepting nature. Though it is to be excepted given your personal identity."

"How do you know me?"

"Heh, have you forgotten already? Though I suppose the change in form is not common among you humans. And nonexistent in the way me and the wisps can do."

The woman got up and started twirling, then surrounded themself in elemental power, and when it cleared stood the cloaked man Selene saw in her dream...

*wait*

"That wasn't a dream...holy shit that wasn't a dream! You're the Spritefather-I mean-you're Spritefather! Your real!"

"Indeed I am. I would think everyone in mondstadt believes I'm real, but atleast that leaves less for that misconception."

"What misconception?"

"Ask Barbados, shouldn't be too hard since you two are close."

"Barba-wait Venti is actually Barbados!?

"Oh dear I'm making this worse."

The still unnamed woman sighed and shook her head, "how about we focus on why my dad decided to be a woman? Surely that would be a far more easy thing to understand."

"It's because she likes women, and I don't blame her. World cold and hard, titty warm and soft."

"Dad who taught you that!?"

"You do realize I can hear the lives of all in my home yes?"

"I guess I'm at fault." Selene laughed.

"I will have my revenge upon you for this." The woman responded.

Spritefather chuckled, "oh? And how about you get your revenge over a date. Anastasia."

"F-FATHER!"

"What? She's single, friends to someone who can teach her proper tea ceremonies, and uh....they have....hmmm..." Spritefather was trying to think if what he could say to convince his daughter, "look I just want to see grand kids!"

"FATHER"

"K-KIDS!?"

"Look I'm pushing fifty million! If one of you doesn't get me kids in the next ten million years I'm going to grow grey hair!"

Anastasia starts forming an ice throwing knife, "REBEL'S-"

"Papa, what happen?" Came a childish voice.

Selene gasped, they were looking at probably the cutest thing EVER!

"Oh my ARCHONS! IS THAT A PYROSPRITE!?"

"Yes that's my child Flameo-"

Selene, already having picked up the the baby, "they're so CUTE!"

They hugged the little flame close to their face and nuzzled them, to which Flameo quickly responded to with their own.

"Smell like..." they thought for a moment, "big Bro Bardos!" They flew around Selene excitedly, "friend!"

Spritefather sighed, "Oh dear, now the rest will be coming out. And I just got them to sleep aswell."

It wasn't long before Selene was surrounded by six Sprites.

The Electrosprite landed on her vision and started vibrating happily.

The Geosprite asked, "are you strong!? I think I could be you!"

"Oh I'm sure you could." Selene said to appease the little Sprite as she chuckled chuckled.

The Anemosprite and Pyrosprite flew around her head like children.

The Hydrosprite was inspecting her clothes, "how utterly bourgeois, has my Brother and father been teaching you how to dress? Honestly, the people of mondstadt should learn from the reconnaissance captain of the knights. Now there's a woman who knows how to dress."

"Oh you mean Eula?"

"You know her?"

"Oh yeah, she's invites me to tea every now and then."

"SHE...invites....YOU...out for TEA!?-"

Anastasia puts her hand over the Hydrosprite and tries to hold her back

"Sorry about that," the woman replied, "kids and their crushes."

(Agua, muffled: I'M SIXTEENTH HUNDRED YEARS OLD!)

"Ha-haaa...."

Selene couldn't respond to that as they felt a prick in her spine, causing them to yelp.

A Dendrodsprite slinkied up her back and put it's head on her shoulder, "just sampling...never seen blood like yours...so intertwined with the...divine....yet so distan-"

Spritefather picked up his child, "please forgive Leafy, they're in their...adventurous stage. And their adventure is to learn things. Often things that involve pins and needles."

This was going to be a looong night

_____________________

The next day, Vanessa's tree

Selene yawns and falls on the statue, Venti doing the same. The difference between them is one is hungover and waiting for his boyfriend to take him home after the fifth assassination attempt this week, the other has to deal with the consequences of being loved by children and being there to try and stop the most recent assassination

"Holy shit....this hang over....I thought Decrabain's hailstorms were bad..."

"You shouldn't try watching after Leafy.....but I think half the pains are from Agua's jealousy bites......"

"You think that's bad?.....you should have seen them when they realized Cael and I....were dating....."

"...archons I hope I was never like that as a kid...."

"Oh cherry up you two!" Spritefather said, a bit too loud for the two, "it's a new day and-"

Venti hit his father with a clump of grass using anemo

"YOUNG MAN!-

"Ohheythere'sCaelgottagobye!" The archon said as he ran off.

Spritefather sighed, "he's always like that, running from responsibilities. But he always means up when it counts, so I can only say I'm proud of the man he's become," he thought for a moment, "except for when he turns into a woman for whatever reason, then I'm proud of the woman she's become...you know, after being around single form life for so long stuff like that feels so strange. I mean you humans are born with one form and cant naturally change it. But if you feel it's wrong you'll go through so much trouble just to get close to what us shape changers can get. While to humans it is inspiring purely because of the person's determination to take the form they so deserve, that they were truly meant to have. But for me it's so much more! The human spirit and will is oh so inspiring, but the amount humans go through! So much money, so much time, and in many places simply enduring life! Why even I couldn't get the...uh...transphobia is it?...out of Inazuma!Terribly sorry human language changes so much. Oh and on language! To think that I was there when the first cave man was trying to mimic the grunts of the gods, only to make something so much superior to them to the point that the gods copied THEM! And speaking of copies have you ever heard of the time Dainsleif-" he paused as he saw Selene's bored face, "sorry. One little thing and I start ranting and rave...no, it's info dumping. And I should thank you humans for making that term, and all the other wonder words you've made, and the medical advances. They've helped me understand myself....ah but look at me, rambling on again. You know what? For entertaining my kids the whole night, and listening to an old man's ramblings, I'll give you a boon. Anything you want, if I can get it you shall have it."

Selene thought for a moment. She thought about asking him to bring back her father, but they knew he couldn't raise the dead. She even thought...of her mother, to see her again, but they knew that it wouldn't help. A selfish part of her even wanted someway to reignite her's and Rosaria's relationship, after all that part of her life was, but she knew it would be wrong and that they both agree they just didn't work.

Perhaps just ask for mora? She did need some for a good night's rest, but that felt wasteful. What was one night's rest for what could be a lifetime of amazing power. But maybe it would be wrong to ask for something like power. Ah! She's got it!

"How about a spear? A really powerful one that compliments my powers perfectly! Oh! And make it look really cool!"

Spritefather blinked, then laughed, "well, that's rather simple isn't it? So amazing you humans. You expect them to make something big and/or selfish, like taking control of a country, or killing someone. Yet never once has one of my boons been used for anything bad. Even when they're selfish. Like one time I met a very selfish person who I granted a boon, and all he did with it was ask me to make sure the kids of Inazuma were never hungry. Ah, now that. That was ranting, sorry." Spritefather walked over to the statue's base and knocked three times, "hello Vanessa. It's been a while since I last called you, but I was hoping you could give me a hand? And perhaps a very sturdy branch off your tree?"

"Uhhh-"

A light shown down from the heavens and the ground shook, causing a skeletal hand to rise from the depths.

Selene would have screeched if she weren't so tired, "I'd prefer my weapon to be less...body part-sy."

"Nonsense! Everyone knows that bones make the best weapons! You know why it's called a prototype rancor?! BECAUSE NOONE WANTS TO ACCEPT THAT THE PERFECTED VERSION I, THE INVENTOR, MADE INCLUDES THE SHINBONES OF MITSCHURLS! YOU EVER SEEN A-*ahem*-sorry, rambling."

As he was ranting, a branch handed Spritefather a sturdy branch from the tree.

"Perfect, now a bit of magic and-" the two items blew up in Spritefather's face before reforming into a purple and black spear that ended in a feathery sleeve like pattern that was attached to a sharp blade that looked very much like a hand made into a spear blade. Mainly because it was.

A brilliant light shone down on the Spritefather as he floated up and presented the spear to Selene(mumbled: thanks Venessa)

"SELENE OF MONDSTADT!"

His voice became that of s god's, filled with power and compassion, booming across windrise.

"YOU HAVE SPOKEN YOUR WISH, AND BY MY HONOR AS THE ENTERNAL FATHER, I AM DUTY BOUND TO GRANT IT!"

He leans imup to Selene and whispered to her, "do you like the eternal father moniker? I thought it up myself."

"Oh yeah, 10/10, really keeping with the Inazuman background."

"Thanks."

"TAKE YOUR GRAND BLADE, AND GO FORTH TO CARVE THROWS DESTINY AND TILL YOUR OWN FUTURE!"

Selene took the spear, "uh...thanks?"

"Oh your very welcome. By the way how was that delivery? I've been working on the whole 'I am a powerful being' delivery for a few centuries."

"A bit hard to understand, but overall gets the vibe across. Maybe 8/10? Low seven probably."

"Yeah, I kind of expected that. Wonder how else I could get that effect, you know without the whole can't understand thing."

"Well, I've got teo other immortals to meet. Ones I need to question."

"Ah yes, I'm sure Cael and Barbados have much to answer for to you."

"Yes they do. I don't suppose 'see you around' would be appropriate here?"

"On a sense? It's appropriate. After all I'm your friend now aswell, and I prefer a life without isolation. So...see you round?"

"Sure, see you around."

_____________________

Admittedly didn't know how to end this. I like it but I'm a tad worried I made it to focused on my character and didn't give Selene enough attention.

Regardless I hope you enjoyed it cloud! I really tried to get Selene right. And sorry it took so long, sleep kept getting messed up, and then covid shot+forgetting to hydrate kicked my ass.

(Tagging: @storytravelled, @golden-wingseos, and @clouds-rambles)

[psychedellic-phase]

Fifteen (pt 3)

A/N: Thank you so much for the support so far! This is the first fic I’ve posted anywhere in a long time. I’m totally down to do any requests! There are some season 6 spoilers in this part so SPOILER Alert!! xoxo R

tw: none! just more fluffiness

word count: 2444

(part 1) (part 2) 

masterlist

The third envelope, which was labeled #2, was much thicker than the first two. Spencer held it in his hands for a while, just tracing over where you wrote #2. He always made fun of you for writing it like a kindergarten teacher. 

“Adults make a two with the loop at the bottom,” He would joke any time you had to write it. 

“Good thing I’m not an adult,” You’d reply. 

He smiled at the memory. That’s one of the reasons he fell in love with you. You were so incredibly intelligent but also so clueless at the same time. You were definitely book smart. But common knowledge and sense? Not much of that in your pretty head. He liked that though; it meant you didn’t take yourself too seriously. You were down to Earth and kept him there with you, a trait he had to learn as he grew older. He didn’t even realize you taught him so much; he was always too busy trying to teach you. 

Ripping open #2 he started to read, a warm fuzzy feeling filling his chest: 

“Item 2 is a ticket to the Korean Film festival we went to together. So take it out and admire how bent and worn it is. I was so nervous that day I folded it into tiny pieces in my pocket just so my hands had something to do.”

He took it out of the plastic bag you put it in. It really was bent and worn, so much so you could barely read the name and date, July 7. 

“That was our first official date, though we had a lot of time to bond between November 17 and that day. Emily died. Well, not really, but we thought she did. We’d take turns crying on the other’s shoulder. Some days I’d show up at yours and you’d immediately know that I just needed you to be strong for me. I’d often return the favor. We were still just friends then, but our pain bonded us in ways no one else really understood. We get each other, Spence, or at one point in our lives we did. I’m not so sure I understand you anymore, at least not like I used to.  Sometimes I’d come over and we wouldn’t cry. You’d teach me chess and card games. But usually we would cry, and that was okay. 

That was the start of our platonic sleepovers. Do you remember our first one? The night I cried myself to sleep on your couch and instead of kicking me out you put a blanket over me. You thought I was out cold, but I felt you tuck it around me, your hands lingering for a second too long. For the next few weeks we did that when we didn’t have cases. We’d talk about Em and life and everything and cry, and one of us would crash on the other’s couch. Then, if Hotch didn’t send the bat signal for us, we’d get coffee and pancakes the following morning at IHOP. It became a sweet tradition, born out of one of the darkest times in my life. You always took me at my most vulnerable, loved me, and kept me safe. I don’t think I ever really thanked you for that. So, thank you. 

Everyone else didn’t think they were platonic. I mean if I were them I wouldn’t have thought we were ‘just friends’ either. The fact that we started carpooling together after our sleepovers probably didn’t help our case. I remember one time I brought you to work with me after an IHOP blueberry pancake breakfast. Rossi ran into us in the elevator and commented that you had on the same exact suit as the day before and that we had been coming to work together a lot lately. We both blushed profusely; we knew what his side eye meant.  It’s funny how everyone else knew we loved each other except us. Some profilers we are. 

Okay so back to the ticket. Emily’s loss made me look at life differently. Before she died, I confided in her how I felt. She’s the closest thing to a best friend I ever had. Being her usual supportive self, she told me to go for it. That you felt the same about me. That we’d be perfect for each other. That you adored me. I desperately wanted her to be right, so I selfishly believed her. 

When she left, I realized how quickly we can lose each other. And her support of us told me what I needed to do. In some weird way it felt like I was doing her justice by pursuing you. I decided I wasn’t going to wait and risk losing you too. So I bought tickets to the Korean film festival in Georgetown you talked about for weeks, even though I know zero Korean. I walked up to you and flashed two tickets. The look on your face is one I’ll never forget. Your eyes lit up and you smiled bigger than I had seen in months. You (thankfully) agreed to go with me. 

“I didn’t know you knew Korean,” You said as I drove us there. (I sneakily put on Stacy’s Mom then too, but I don’t think you realized)”

He chuckled. He most definitely did notice that, but what you didn’t notice was how he looked at you as you mumbled the lyrics to yourself. It was dusk and the street lights illuminated your face just so. It occurred to him then that he’d never seen anyone more beautiful than you in that moment, and probably never would again. 

Spencer put the ticket and letter down on the table and got up to pace again. He knows exactly how this story ends; he wrote it with you. And in this story he’s the villain. 

His stomach twisted up in knots. He rushed back to the table to grab the letter, but his eyes were too bleary with tears to read any of the words. Truthfully, he didn’t want to read them. He wasn’t ready to relive it yet. He wasn’t ready to feel it, because up until now he still got to see you and talk to you. He was able to protect you, just like he had all those nights when you cried in his arms. 

He blinked forcefully a few times, forcing his vision to clear enough to keep going.  

“I told you I didn’t know Korean. All I know is enough Spanish to get myself through cases. You smiled at that. 

“Then why did you want to come?” You asked me. 

“Because you wanted to come.” My answer was honest. I love so many things I never thought I would because of you, Spence. You didn’t answer me; the smile on your face was answer enough. Naturally, I got even more nervous. 

“So since there are no subtitles will you translate for me as it happens?” I asked; you nodded. 

We were strolling around the park the festival was at. It was warm out but you still had on pants and a dress shirt. I don’t know how you did that. I had on a dress and was still sweating. We got there early and were waiting for the first movie to start. 

“You know, (Y/N), 1.2 million Americans speak Korean. Korean culture is becoming a vibrant subculture in America. The success of things like anime, Korean Dramas and Korean pop music are just going to add to that number.”

That’s when I looked at you. Your hair had gotten a little longer, but it was cute. Looking back, every hair you’ve ever had was cute. I miss running my hands through it to mess it up. Your eyes were trained on the people milling around us, and mine were on you. I love when you spew out stats. Contrary to popular belief, smart IS sexy. But anyways, your eyes looked so brown and reflected the lights so beautifully. I’ll miss staring into them and getting lost. I once told you I never liked the color brown until I saw your eyes. That’s still true. 

“But like 50 million speak Spanish. So I think my tenth grade skills are more applicable,” I joked. 

“It’s actually 41 million and I agree. Spanish is a very important language to know. But only a tenth grade level? Say something in Spanish.”

“Tú y yo va a ver una película,” I said in the worst Spanish accent ever. You laughed and said some beautiful Korean like it was nothing. I grabbed your hand. You flinched and looked at me confused. I gave it a reassuring squeeze and ran my thumb across the parts of your hand I could reach. That’s when you realized this was a “date” date and not a friend date. I could almost immediately see the red creep up your cheeks. 

We found a place to sit and the movie started. It was called The Housemaid. And true to your word you translated the whole thing for me, much to the dismay of everyone around us. I found myself nestled into your side with your arm around me. You were whispering everything in my ear. Your breath tickled my neck and sent a chill down my spine. Truthfully, I missed half of what you said because I was too focused on not losing my shit. Here you were, the guy I was in love with, arm around me whispering sweet foreign words in my ear. Anyone would melt instantly. 

We got through two and a half movies that night. I don’t remember the other two—“

“Sisters on the Road and A Frozen Flower!” Spencer spoke out loud then, as if you could hear him. When he realized you definitely couldn’t hear him because you were in Seattle, and definitely not in his apartment, he groaned and kept reading. 

“We had already watched like four hours of movies and I was getting hungry. So, we stopped and got ice cream. I scolded you for getting a large when we both know you can’t have dairy, to which you just shrugged and said, “Dairy allergies are the most common in the world. 65% of the population has issues with lactose. You can’t expect 4,485,000,000 people to not eat ice cream, especially when it’s delicious.” 

I rolled my eyes, “Well don’t come crying to me when your tummy hurts later.”

“Oh I most definitely will be coming and crying to you.”

We walked like that for a while, hand in hand, until the chill of the night got to us. We made our way back to my car and you opened the door for me like a gentleman. I wanted to invite you back to my place, but I thought that might give the wrong impression for a first date. So instead I drove you home and you didn’t invite me in. I was a little hurt, honestly. I have been in your apartment more times than I can count, so what was one more? It’s okay though. You made up for it. Remember? 

We were sitting on the side of the street and you didn’t get out of the car yet. The windows were down and the radio was off. We listened to the sound of crickets and passing cars as we enjoyed each other’s company in a different way than we ever had before. 

“It’s almost midnight, get some sleep. Your brain needs rest after all that translating.” 

“Your brain doesn’t rest when you sleep, your body does,” You said and turned to me. Our faces were probably only six inches apart. Your breath was hot on my cheeks and you kept doing that damn tongue thing. 

“But you need some sleep (Y/N). You don’t sleep well.”

“I sleep well on your couch,” I said and you smiled. The space between us had gotten much much smaller. 

I put my hand on your cheek and felt the slight stubble there. You made the first move Spence. All I did was hold your face, you’re the one who closed the gap. 

That was one of the best kisses of my life. It lasted maybe ten seconds, but it was ten seconds that took years to get to. It was all that longing and pining and pent up feelings released at once. Nothing in the world is as special as kissing you, Spencer Reid. 

That next Monday we got shit from the team. Garcia is such a blabbermouth. Derek and Rossi made fun of us like middle schoolers. Hotch gave us that big bad ‘one of you will have to leave speech’. Deep down they were all happy for us. We all needed something to be happy about. And we were happy Spence, so so happy. Until we weren’t. 

So take this bent up ticket and admire it again before placing the memory of our first date on a shelf in the corner of your mind that will get dusty. I hope someday you’ll brush it off and relive it. 

There’s a Korean proverb I learned from you, that means: ‘At the end of hardship comes happiness.’ 

I hope that’s true.

xo,

YN”

Spencer put the letter down and picked up the ticket. He walked across the living room to a corkboard on the wall. There he took a pushpin and fastened the ticket to the board. It was surrounded by pictures of everyone he loves. Group pictures, his mom, Henry, pictures of the two of you. But in the center of it all was that ticket that had been so bent up because of how nervous you were for your date. He never told you how nervous he was then too. He had to make sure he wasn’t stuttering through the translations. Your close proximity to him, the smell of your perfume, and warmth of your body pressed against him made it hard to think. He held your hand so tightly that night because he thought that maybe you wouldn’t notice how badly they were shaking. He only got up the nerve to kiss you because when you weren’t looking he texted Derek, and he told him he had to. He remembered how his heart felt like it was leaping out of his chest when he closed the gap, how you sighed into him, how you sucked on his lower lip ever so slightly. You were right, nothing is quite like kissing the love of your life. It’s like every kiss you ever had before that kiss, the kiss, didn’t count. It’s the only kiss that matters. 

He admired the ticket one last time, before reaching in to grab envelope #3. 

Part 4!

tags: @l0ve-0f-my-life​

- if you would like to be added to the tag list just let me know! 

[thelatelockdownlist]

A Series on Series 04: Deborah Harkness’ All Souls Trilogy: A Discovery of Witches/Season 1

Hi! I’m Alex, a YouTube Newbie and this is The Late Lockdown List where I talk about the list of things I’ve got on my mind since the lockdown started. 

Today, on the fourth episode of A Series on Series, I’ll be talking about Deborah Harkness’ All Souls Trilogy, starting with the first book,  A Discovery of Witches

and the basis of the season 1 of the TV series. 

Let’s dive a little bit into it. 

Why is it called the ‘All Souls Trilogy’?

I could do research, but having read the entire series, I think it’s because the male lead, Matthew Clairmont or Matthew de Clermont, in the book belongs to the All Souls College at Oxford University.  

A bit of trivia: All Souls College does not have undergraduate members, and it’s unique in the sense that all members automatically become fellows -- full members of the college’s governing body. The examination for the fellowship has once been described as ‘the hardest exam in the world.” 

If you’re not familiar with the book or the TV series, just know that there are going to be a lot of spoilers. With that out of the way, first a primer:

The two main characters here are Diana Bishop 

-- a Yale historian, visiting scholar at Oxford (where she also got her PhD) and reluctant witch. 

She’s the daughter of two very powerful witches, 

but due to the tragic death of her parents she’s shied away from witchcraft and very seldom uses her power, if at all. After her parents’ death, she was raised by her maternal aunt Sarah and her partner Emily who are both witches. 

They tried to teach her, but Diana’s grief at her parents’ death caused her to all but reject magic. 

Then we have Matthew Clairmont (aka Matthew de Clermont of the powerful vampire de Clermont family, aka Matthew Roydon), a geneticist, All Souls College fellow and 1,500-year-old vampire.

There are creatures in this series: daemons, vampires and witches. They’re not HUMAN. That’s why they call themselves ‘creatures’ -- to differentiate themselves from us. Daemons 

are blessed with creativity and cursed with madness. 

Vampires

are -- well, the usual kind that we’re familiar with. Here, though, they mate for life, like wolves. 

Witches

have magic -- different kinds like time walking, precognition, flight, transmogrification, telekinesis, witchwind, witchfire, witchwater, and manipulation of the elements.

Basically, if you’re familiar with Harry Potter and Twilight, then you know what witches and vampires are. Speaking of the whole Harry Potter and Twilight thing, The New York Times calls this the ‘Harry Potter for grownups’ 

and NPR calls it ‘Twilight for the intellectually restless.’ 

Make of that what you will.

For me, I don’t compare this with the other two. I think it stands very separately from those. Since this is written by an historian, the approach is markedly different. It’s well-researched -- as are most historical romance novels -- because it does deal with a certain time period.  

What I love about this -- and you’ll be hearing this from me a lot -- is the world building. I judge a book by the world it creates for me. I have to be able to LIVE in that world. And in most cases, I have to WANT to live in that world.

This is a world inhabited by creatures I’ve been fascinated with my entire life -- except for daemons. I did my first thesis on vampires -- let’s not talk about why it didn’t get accepted. It’s still a sore point for me even after so many years later. And as for witches, well… family tradition has it that my maternal great grandmother was a witch. In fact, growing up, I’d heard

whispers of her supplementing her income by being a ‘healer.’ I’m not sure how much of that is true but I like to believe that it is.

So vampires and witches, I’m sold. I can tolerate the daemons.

Another thing I love about this are the well-written characters. While I can’t actually relate to Diana Bishop, I don’t have to for me to like her. She just needs to be alive for me in the book. And she is very much so. I envy her graduate degrees -- I wish I had the discipline to obtain a PhD. And spending time at the Bodleian. *sigh*

Anyway, I can understand her rejection of magic. After all, in a way it’s what took her parents away from her. But I like how she was able to adjust when she realizes that she’s got this power -- which is far stronger than anyone thought it would be. 

As for Matthew -- *sigh* -- I’m a sucker for vampires. Yes, I went there. I love him. He’s a scientist and he’s good with his hands. By that, I mean he used to be a stone mason so he can build things. What? I like a guy who’s handy.

I also like the love story. Matthew and Diana are equals -- in the sense that they are partners in the relationship. Of course, with Matthew having been alive for more than a millennia -- plus vampire, plus a guy, he has a tendency to be domineering, convinced that he’s doing all things to protect Diana. However, Diana is a POWERFUL witch. She’s a scholar, too. She can take care of herself. Matthew may be physically stronger, but Diana is a POWER. And as she grows into that, Matthew struggles to keep up as well curb his tendency to be overprotective. For the most part, they do keep this balance. 

On to the differences of the book from the show:

Overall, the TV series was faithful to the book. Most of the scenes in TV series are in the book. The show is gorgeous. I love the architecture and just the overall mood. I think Teresa Palmer makes a good Diana, but I love Matthew Goode. Period. But he is very, very good as Matthew Clairmont. 

I know Teresa Palmer is Australian and Diana Bishop is American so I’m not sure if it’s just me, but I do hear Teresa’s native accent here and there. It’s not distracting, but since I know that the one she uses for her character is not her original accent, I can’t help but hear the Australian one. Matthew Goode, on the other hand, is British, and Matthew Clairmont is as well. Well, for the last couple of centuries he is, but he’s originally French. But overall, I have no problem believing they’re really Diana and Matthew. 

As for Gillian Chamberlain,

the other witch at Oxford who in the TV series is sort of Diana’s friend… in the book, they’re merely acquaintances. She’s played by Louise Brealey aka Molly Hooper in Sherlock. 

I love the actress and I love that I found Gillian both slightly annoying and a bit pathetic. Because in the book, she is. So I love that that’s how she’s also played in the series.

Then we have Aunt Sarah. When I saw Alex Kingston, my first thought was, “River!” If you don’t know, Alex Kingston played ‘River Song’ in Doctor Who. 

And I loved her in that. So I knew I’d love her here, too. I do have the same ‘thing’ with her as with Teresa. Alex Kingston is British and here she plays an American. I can hear the accent. It’s not distracting, but it’s there.

And then there’s Peter Knox. 

In the book, I found him arrogant, condescending and just a generally irritating person. In the series, he is more so. And the actor who plays him played Ser Alliser Thorne in ‘Game of Thrones.’ 

He was one of the Night’s Watch who tormented and had a hand, literally, in killing Jon Snow. But he got his comeuppance when he was hanged with the rest of the traitors. He was very convincing as a conniving SOB in GOT. And he is here, as well. In fact, he’s equal parts menacing and irritating. Which is a terrifying combination because if he’s just irritating, you can swat him away like a gnat. But because he’s menacing, you know you have to watch your back.

Satu Jarvinen 

in the show is exactly how I thought she would look like when I read her in the book. In fact, the actress Malin Buska, infuses her with a somewhat edgy, emo attitude that really works. You can see why Satu and Peter work well because they seem to have something missing inside them that they think the other one has. It’s not a romantic connection -- more that of villains who don’t think they’re bad people.

And Ysabeau de Clermont. 

Lindsay Duncan plays her, who also played Lady Smallwood in Sherlock. 

She does have the whole ‘lady of the manor’ aura -- both regal and frightening. I really liked how she snobbishly said how modern day witches are so uneducated -- all because Diana even with her post graduate degrees didn’t speak Occitan.

FAVORITE SCENES:

The rowing scenes: 

This is very self-serving because I like rowing. I haven’t had a lot of chances to row in the water. I bought a rowing machine at the start of the pandemic and actually did a few months of rowing for 20 minutes three times a week. Then I stopped. I can’t remember why. But I love the scenes of Diana rowing -- which she does to rid herself of excess energy caused by her power -- because I imagine rowing along the Thames myself. 

Any time they’re in the Bodleian: I love libraries. I’ve loved them since I was a child. I loved them when I was in college. I was actually really excited that my university decided to extend the library hours on Fridays just so I could stay there and read to my heart’s content. Also, whenever I go to a foreign country, I always go to the national library.

This isn’t in the show, but in the book, but I love how everyone at the Bodleian scrambled to cater to Matthew when he went to the library. I liked how irritated Diana was that this guy took her spot… that they gave it to him solely on the basis of his being an All Souls fellow. In the TV series, they don’t really emphasize how much of a big shot Matthew is at Oxford. 

I like how Matthew, when he was talking to his daemon friend, Hamish Osborne, was self-aware enough not to immediately think that Diana had the same feelings for him as he did for her. Since he’s a 1,500-year-old vampire who knew Charles Darwin, of course he’s a great resource for a history of science researcher. 

I love that part when Diana was trying to guess how old Matthew was and she asked, “Survived the fall of Carthage?” and he says, “Which fall of Carthage?” It was a playful exchange, and you can see that he was showing off a bit.

Sept-Tours: 

literally ‘Seven Towers’ and is the current family home of the de Clermonts. It must be hell to heat, but as most of the residents are vampires, it shouldn’t be a problem. It’s beautiful and like Matthew, I would probably claim my own tower as well. 

While it’s not my favorite scene, I think they did the part of Satu torturing Diana 

-- in the pretext of trying to ‘open her up’ to see what her power is -- was done well. When I read that scene, I was wondering how much of it they were going to put in the book. So it was heartening to see that ‘horrifying’ scene there.

I’m not sure how I feel about the ‘instalove.’ You know that thing that sometimes happens where the leads just fall in love at first sight? In the series, it feels like it’s instalove. Diana and Matthew first meet at the Bodleian -- the day after Diana experiences the magic in Ashmole 782. It’s a book all creatures have been trying to find. Matthew, in particular, has been searching for it for more than a century. It’s thought to explain the origins of all creatures. Matthew is initially drawn to Diana because she is able to “call” the book. 

Anyway, going back to the idea of ‘instalove,’ I mean, sure there was chemistry… but...  In the books, their connection was fostered both by the time they spent with each other and their curiosity about Ashmole 782. I was more convinced in the book about that part than in the TV series. Or maybe it’s my deep-seated and sometimes difficult to conceal bias FOR the book versus its live action adaptation.

~

The Congregation: Secret island! 

It’s actually on an island in Venice, concealed from humans. It has nine members, 3 from each supernatural race. And since the de Clermont patriarch established it, one of the rules is to always have a de Clermont on the Congregation. It was created during the Crusades as a self-regulating body for the creatures. Because most of the creatures abused their powers and abilities to influence outcomes during the Crusades, they attracted unwanted attention from humans. Ostensibly to keep the creatures safe from humans, the congregation agreed to several covenants: the main ones being that they must not interfere in human politics and religion and for creatures not to mix together, especially in terms of romantic relationships. 

This is the covenant Diana and Matthew break. In fairness to Diana, she had no idea. She didn’t even know about the existence of The Congregation, much less the covenant. And so Matthew does this whole ‘noble idiot’ thing where he denies his feelings for her… but of course, in the end, they end up together.

Moving on, the first book ends with Diana and Matthew going back to New York to Aunt Sarah’s and Aunt Em’s house. The original plan was for Diana to learn more about her magic from her witch aunts. The problem is that Diana’s magic isn’t the same as theirs. And they need someone to teach her so she can call the book again -- this time intentionally.

They’re joined by married daemons, Sophie and Nathaniel; two vampires: Marcus, Matthew’s vampire son, and Miriam, an ally of the de Clermonts and Matthew’s  colleague at the lab, and Hamish. As there are now 3 witches (Sarah, Em and Diana), 3 vampires (including Matthew) and 3 demons, this is in effect a ‘coventicle’ -- this will be important later in the books.

They’re all gathered there for different reasons: Sophie, because she’s meant to give Diana something that has been passed down in her family for generations (and one that’s needed for the timewalk, the vampires to update Matthew regarding their research (and I guess for moral support as well), and Hamish both because he’s Matthew’s best friend and lawyer (real world legalities must be observed before one undertakes a timewalk). 

They leave for Sept Tour, which Matthew volunteered as their HQ of sorts, on Halloween. That night, Matthew and Diana are going to timewalk. And seconds before they could do so, Gerbert de Aurillac, Peter Knox and Satu Jarvinen arrive to stop them. 

Of course, they don’t and we see our couple land somewhat shakily in 1590 London…

And the season ends there, setting us up for the next one and The Book of Shadows.

FINAL NOTE:

I LOVE IT!

Like I said earlier, it’s faithful to the book in the sense that I didn’t find anything that was off.

If you loved the books, I’m sure you’ll love the TV adaptation as well.

I was a little nervous that I wouldn’t love it as much. I’d been burned before, you see. (I’m looking at you, American Gods. Even Ian McShane and Orlando Jones’ Mr. Nancy couldn’t keep me hooked.)

However, I wasn’t disappointed in this one. There’s a lot to love here and I’m glad that there’s a second season -- and now they’re even done filming the third.

So that’s it for the first book and Season 1. Catch you in the next episode for The Book of Shadows and Season 2. Bye!

[iluxia]

Unsolicited writing advice???

A ton of you have commented with such kind and complimentary words about my Naruto fic Hiding in the Leaves and its characterization through the shifting POVs. Thank you all! I’m gratified to hear that you’re enjoying it. Some are asking how I shift perspectives and still manage to keep the characters in line. Actually, a fair number of readers have asked for actual advice, so here we go. This is a lot of writing babble, I hope it makes sense but feel free to drop me an ask if anything is unclear! 

(1) I read a lot. I read all the time. Easily a book a day, maybe two days. And when I do, I practice critical reading—or as they say, reading like an editor, so I can pick at techniques other writers use. Writing is an art you learn largely by example. A lot of what I read influences what and how I write, so when I need to change my tone or voice to fit a different character, I usually read something that matches what I want my prose to sound like, on top of using techniques like changing tenses and playing with vocabulary choices. 

I recently had the chance to flex these writing muscles because I went from writing two very distinct human voices (Tony Stark & Stephen Strange) to writing an alien voice (Loki). It was fucking hard; those in the Marvel fandom might know what I mean. Tony and Stephen are both human, born and raised in America, with specific life experiences that inform their daily decisions and personalities. Loki, on the other hand, is an alien: raised in Asgard, stolen from Jotunheim, well-traveled throughout the Nine Realms, and moreover raised as a prince. Just stop and think about that. When your characters do not have the same experiences that you do, they’re bound to not have the same earthbound concerns that you do. Anthropomorphizing non-human (or even non-living) beings is an age-old practice, but to be faithful to his character, I tried my best to twist my writing voice into a different shape—a shape that more befits the prince of a realm that is somewhat humanoid but very different from what we know on Earth. And in order to do that, I did four things: 

I changed my prose from past to present tense; it sounds more immediate and assertive

I read three books, written in present tense, where the prose mimics what I imagine Loki would sound like in his own head

I made a huge spread of everything about Loki (both canon and my own orginal additions) that would inform his motivations, internal concerns, emotional responses, and decision-making processes

I drowned myself in Loki fanwork

Immersion is key! If you saturate your brain in a specific type of rhetoric or style, that’s what’s likeliest to come out of your productive process at the end. So controlling what you read/watch/listen to will help control your writing style too.

 (2) This further breaks down what I just said in the third bullet point above. Before I start writing from a specific character’s perspective, I’ll take the time to brainstorm and build that character from the ground up. This might take a day or two and includes a staggering amount of detail—just as much detail as mine or your life might comprise. Silly little things like favorite colors and foods, hobbies, dislikes. Oftentimes, if you’re a fic writer, this is easier because canon gives it to you. Those amazing wiki-pages exist to make your life easier in this regard. (Bless.) What canon doesn’t give you is where you can dig in. Go deeper. Pin your character down. Think about more serious considerations like emotional triggers, conscious motivations, subconscious motivations, coping and defense mechanisms. When hurt or under stress, are they the type to lash out or curl in? Are they the type to hold on to a grudge, or do they prefer to forgive and forget? Do they get hurt easily or do they have a thick skin? I imagine the character’s relationships in life, I rank them and network them in my head. Who do they run to when they need advice? Who do they like hanging out with when they’re happy? Who annoys them, who inspires them, who scares them, who do they want to be like? Even if these questions aren’t necessarily things you might discuss in your fic, it helps inform this person you’re writing about, so it helps you keep a clearer and more consistent mental picture of them as you go.

But most critical of all, I sit and imagine myself in their shoes and think of how they perceive themselves. That is a major factor when writing, because that’s what their head-voice will sound like. And if the story is written from their perspective, then that means you, writer, are writing in that head-voice!

Here’s a more HITL-specific example (I’ll try not to spoil too much lol):

Sasuke

How he sees himself:

Ordinary; not very impressive as a shinobi, but not absolutely terrible either – just ordinary

Average looking

A slow, impatient learner

Awkward with people, but polite and with good intentions

Emotionally stable

A good reader and listener

How he actually is from someone else’s POV:

Incredibly skilled for his age and level as a shinobi

Actually quite handsome

An intuitive learner, very tenacious and will keep at a task forever until he gets it just right; perfectionist much

Quiet, polite, notices a lot about how others act

Absolutely does not handle emotions well

Selective listener; sometimes only hears what he wants to hear

Rationales:

He’s surrounded by a clan of perfectionists and overachievers who constantly laud his aniki for being a genius while paying him no attention. Of course he thinks he’s ordinary.

No one ever compliments him for his looks in the clan compound, and what he sees in the mirror looks just like a younger version of everyone around him. Of course he thinks he’s average, even though he actually has looks.

Because he’s largely self-taught (except for when Obaa-sama teaches him), he thinks he’s slow. (Ever learned a new skill or maybe even a new language by yourself? I have. I can tell you that my perception of how much time I spent learning ‘basics’ was skewed.) He also holds himself to a higher than normal standard because that’s what gets him positive attention (or attention at all) within his family. Add the fact that Itachi was there blazing through everything before him, and it’s suddenly easy to understand why Sasuke thinks the worst of himself as a student. But he (and Naruto) are actually fast learners—we see this even in canon—and both of them boast high levels of natural intuition, or as I (the neuroscientist) likes to call it, pattern recognition. Some people are naturally better at this than others; there have been extensive tests done to show it. But we also know intuition can be trained, so the more Sasuke works at something, the better he gets, and the faster he learns the next skill—as long as the learning is patterned. Which is why Orochimaru, who has picked up on this trait, walks them through learning each jutsu in a stepwise manner every time.

Sasuke doesn’t have a lot of social interaction outside of his family. The Uchiha clan in this fic is very segregated from the rest of the village, so if you’re not active as a shinobi, you probably don’t get out of the compound much. Interacting with people probably intimidates Sasuke a lot so he feels awkward about it and reverts back to habits of politeness and silence that he was taught from childhood. That doesn’t mean that he’s not paying attention, however; Sasuke is naturally observant and remembers a lot about how people act (and not so much what they say). I have a theory about this related to the Sharingan but I won’t go into too much here because it would be a straight-up spoiler, sorry. :D

He thinks he’s emotionally stable because he doesn’t remember many incidents of severe emotional upheaval in his life. That’s because he hasn’t had them; apart from the whole thing with Itachi, he’s been fairly sheltered his whole life. But he actually doesn’t handle emotions well—something he’s about to find out soon enough—and for the same reason! He hasn’t been exposed to an extensive range of it.

Because he’s largely self-taught, he has confidence in his reading skills. He also remembers all of Obaa-sama’s stories so he thinks he’s a good listener. Well, he is—to an extent. If he wants to listen, he will. If he doesn’t, he’s just as proficient as Naruto at pigheadedness. (I think it’s an Uchiha trait too lmao.)

That was a lot, right? But you can see that if I’m writing from Sasuke’s POV, I have to keep a different set of pointers than if I’m writing from Naruto’s POV about Sasuke. The way I think of it is like changing lenses or shades depending on the light outside.

A few more techniques/guidelines I use:

Stay consistent with vocabulary. Orochimaru is far more verbose than the rest of them, Shikamaru right behind him, and Naruto uses shorter, simpler words. You can even assign particular words to a character, a word only they would use when referring to something. This applies to how your character addresses other people too, i.e. Orochimaru calls them ‘little ones’; Shikamaru calls his dad ‘oyaji’ in front of his peers but ‘otou-san’ in front of his sensei; Naruto is quick to give people nicknames and most of the time it sticks.

Watch the adjectives; different people describe things differently. Orochimaru uses more nuanced words that can mean different things depending on the situation and mood; Naruto thinks in terms of emotions, a lot of how does this make me feel; Sasuke is very visual and notices a lot of colors.

Use speech habits wisely; how your character talks should reflect their life. Just like accents, speech habits can tell a lot about a person. Sasuke always speaks politely because it’s how he’s supposed to talk at home, otherwise there’d be trouble. Naruto grew up in a poorer district and had no one to really teach him how to talk politely, so he’s very casual. Shikamaru cusses at age eleven because his parents and family are incredibly laissez-faire and honest around him, so he thinks it’s acceptable and normal (and he was never reprimanded for it).

Play with your tenses. Writing in past tense sounds and feels very different from writing in present tense. Depending on your character, one or the other might sound more appropriate. There are some expressions and figures of speech that sound fine when written in past tense but awkward when written in present tense, so that will end up inadvertently changing your prose a bit, which can be useful.

Read your work out loud. Cardinal rule of prose-writing. What looks good on paper doesn’t always sound good when read out loud. If you read it and it doesn’t sound like how your character talks, time for a vibe check. You might need to change a few words and move sentences around, or you might need a complete overhaul… an editor (and I mean an editor, not just a beta-reader) can usually help you out.

 A note about editors vs beta-readers:

There is a cardinal difference! A beta-reader is usually not professionally trained but should be experienced enough to point out things that aren’t right. In fandom, I’ve found that beta-readers mostly focus on a story’s general feel, flow and readability, sometimes character consistency, sometimes they point out typos and mistakes. An editor goes further than that. I’m fortunate to have Tria (aventria) who has edited my work for, gosh, 14 years now, fuck, we’re old! I call her my editor because when she goes through a piece, she will fix everything and make my draft bleed and I love it. (I actually get a little upset when she doesn’t fix anything, even if that means everything was good.) As an editor, she does a vibe check and looks for typos/errors, yes, but she also critiques the prose extensively. She can rearrange phrases or entire paragraphs for better flow. She will cut out entire scenes or make me rewrite them if they’re that bad. Like a copy editor, she looks at stylistic inconsistencies, grammar errors, and iffy word use. She’ll usually suggest or replace the offending word altogether. She has a lot of freedom with the work and can actually kick a piece to the curb if it’s really that shitty. She also questions plot progression, character development, and the relevance of a scene. (She’s made me cut out many, many scenes.) – That all being said, it’s not easy finding an editor, much less a good one. It also has to be someone you trust to have this much power over your work. It’s worth it, however, and my writing has gotten so much better because of the help.

If you’ve read this far, wow, thanks! You’re also probably thinking, “Shit, she takes this too seriously. It’s just a fic.”

I have… gotten into fights in the past before because of this. I feel strongly about the stuff I write. Just because it’s fanfiction doesn’t mean it isn’t a labor of love. I’m a perfectionist by nature, so that’s why I put so much time and effort into what amounts to ‘just a fic.’ And you know what? At the end of the day, writing it gives me satisfaction and happiness, so I will keep pouring into it as much as I can. It’s just a bonus to hear that other people are enjoying it too. (Yes, I’m one of those weirdos who intensely enjoy reading my own work…)

 Aaand the final point:

(3) I double-majored in psychology for undergrad and have by now accumulated thousands of hours of clinical hours spent using the theories and techniques I learned from those classes on real people. I’m also specializing in neuroscience, so a portion of my time is spent in psychiatry. Characterization was actually not one of my writing strengths at first, but I definitely noticed leaps in improvement after my clinical rotation started. People skills are just that: skills which are honed with practice. It’s amazing how much you learn about how people think and what make them tick when you interact with a whole spectrum of examples: from your neurotypical everyday well-adjusted person, to high-functioning neurotics and obsessives, to patients who have suffered complex stroke syndromes, to encephalitic brains burning under septic fevers, to druggies stoned so high they’ve breached the atmosphere, to patients whose brains are growing insidious tumors, to schizophrenics and catatonics and the depressed. My job also allows me the rare opportunity to interact with people from all walks of life. All I need to do if I wanted insight about how life is for soldiers who served in an active warzone, for example, is to hit up Bill at the ICU and ask for stories about Korea and the Gulf and Vietnam. Or if I wanted to know about how to survive the Rwandan genocide, I could sit down with Amida, who survived it as a barely-teenager with her brother and sister in tow while only “losing my innocence and an eye.” Or I could talk to Heather, who is building a life with her husband and two rambunctious children, for a perspective on the daily concerns and delights of a ‘perfectly normal and ordinary’ working mother. (Her words, not mine; Heather is amazing even if she eats the doctor’s lounge out of Tita Annabel’s cookies.) Anyway, you get my point. When I write, I almost always write about people, so it makes sense that a lot of my inspiration comes from people too. A lot of my original characters—and even some that are not—often speak with the voices and inflections of people I know in real life. You probably have people with interesting stories to tell in your life; you just have to work up the courage to ask and take the time to listen. You’d be surprised at what you learn!

A few helpful writing resources: (most of these are classics)

The Elements of Style by Strunk & White

The First Five Pages by Noah Lukeman

How to Read a Book by Mortimer Adler and Charles van Doren

And more books that helped me get into people’s heads:

Hallucinations by Dr. Oliver Sacks

The Noonday Demon by Andrew Solomon

Far From the Tree by Andrew Solomon

The Lucifer Effect by Philip Zimbardo

Admirable Evasions by Theodore Dalrymple

I hope you got something out of that. Again, feel free to drop me an ask if you have any questions or want to chat!

[brella-boi]

for the write a fic post: chili goes to therapy

Ya'll are just not gonna leave my son alone are you

Title: Doctor’s Home Tags: Cursing, bad english, bad therapist, Chili, Tai. Words: 1500

For weeks a certain someone decided to start making an effort to make amends. He would come every couple days with a pizza or a movie, hang out, and let his sister roam around while he fell asleep halfway through. In a way it was interesting to see someone you’d consider an asshole suddenly show a change of heart, but on the other hand Tai was curious of any ulterior motives that inkling had bubbling underneath the surface.

For one, Tai never trusted Chili. Not one bit. Not after seeing how he treated Mint. Several times, in fact. Though, he gave him the benefit of the doubt. Tai came over to his home a few times, tried to learn different things from the inkling. Granted, he did learn a few things that Mint was no help with, like which neighbourhoods to avoid, using the splatting weapons in turf wars, and general paperwork. Although it was a grueling process. Not only because the inkling held a heavy accent Tai found hard to understand at times, but also because he was so forceful and rude about everything. How did Mint find any part of that inkling appealing or tolerable is beyond him. To Tai, Chili was simply an asshole. An interesting asshole.

He quickly noticed how differently he acted around the vicinity of Mint, and immediately took interest in that.

Now, Tai may not know much about psychology, but he is well versed in the medical field. That’s close enough, isn’t it?

The next time Chili decided to show up at their apartment Tai was prepared. So prepared in fact, that he made sure Mint was still out and about in town and the two of them could get some private alone time. So when he finally knocked on the door, Tai was ready to answer with a smile.

“Hello Chili. I was waiting.”

The inkling grunted as a way to greet the octoling, focused on finding the other twin he was hoping to meet instead. “Mint’s stuck in traffic or what’s up?”

Tai tapped the wooden door rhythmically as he closed it behind Chili. “Hm. Yes.” They weren’t, but Tai wouldn’t pass the opportunity of an excuse like that.

“‘Aight. Ya won’t mind if I snag the couch for myself then.” He didn’t need an invitation, or a denial, he did as he pleased regardless of the answer he received.

“No. You can sit down.”

But the inkling stopped halfway, his eyes grazing across the living room. He wasn’t an idiot. Hearing Tai agree with anything, or say how he was waiting set his suspicions off. Something wasn’t right.

“Nah. Actually I’ll stand.” He watched Tai stalk towards the small island separating the living room and kitchen, and continued his tapping against its stone surface.

“I think you want have a seat.”

The two boys squinted at each other, neither of them budging from their place in the staring contest.

“‘Aight, I’ll bite. What do ya want from me? More teaching? Money? A beating?” Tai slowly approached the inkling as he continued talking. His height became more apparent with each step he took. “Silent treatment, eh? Or is my vocab too advanced for ya to understand? Damn, if only Mint was here to help ya out and translate like a good kind sibling.” By now the octoling stared down Chili from how close they were, and Chili felt himself leaning backwards and away from Tai who only continued to press forward. This was awkward. “The fuck ya want dude.”

“Hm. You want to be good boy, yes? For Mint? Sit.” He straightened up again, and let the inkling fall backwards into the couch with a dumbfounded expression.

Be good? A good boy? Him? Chili? He didn’t know what to say at the clear display of not-giving-a-fuck. There were times where this strange octopus would get into a specific mood. A mood that is both creepy, intimidating, unsettling, but also weird as fuck to deal with. When he does you cannot reason with him at all. Mint called those moods as a ‘crazy-scientist awakening’. Chili feared this was one of those moments.

“Good.” Tai flashed a faint smile as he himself took a seat on a chair across from Chili. He leaned back and inspected the tense inkling eyeing him suspiciously.

“I know what you play.” Chili raised an eyebrow and Tai continued. “Why?”

“Why what.”

“Why so nice beside Mint? You are jealous?”

Chili folded his arms with a bored expression. “Of what? There ain’t nothing Mint has I don’t.”

“Hm. Yes. A big home, good job, many friends... A boyfriend.” His eyes averted. One mental checkmark to Tai’s list of theories. “You are jealous.”

“Whatever ya think it is, Mr. Know It All, yer wrong. Newsflash, I’m also friends with Hiraeth and the system, and I don’t need a huge home or fulfilling work. So whatever’s brewin’ in yer head, stop it.”

“You sure? Why no talk with Mint for.. Hm. Weeks? But you talk with system. It make no sense.” Tai paused to think, his fingers tapping against the arm of the chair in thought before returning to waving around as he spoke again. “Unless… Halcyon say you are close to Pensacola. Very. And you ask me to slap you, like he. So,” he grinned toothily at Chili, excited to see the reaction to his theorie’s consensus, “You was scared of Mint because you like them, and Hiraeth was faster, so you run away. But now because he and Pensacola is gone, you come back. No threat, no worry. Yes~?”

Chili stared incredulously at the octoling who single handedly deciphered his entire motivation towards Mint in the most broken inklish he’s ever heard. It almost felt like an insult. This guy he knew for less than five months somehow found himself digging so deep inside him it was embarrassing. Has he really been hiding it that bad all this time? No, others never found out. So what gives Tai the right to know?

“Ha! Ya must be out of yer god damned mind. I’m done here. Have fun interviewing some other sucker that easily falls into your trap.” He stood up from the seat and took a step towards the door before a sudden sharp pain knocked into his neck.

He whipped around to face the smug octoling still sitting in the chair, but now brandishing a nerf gun in his hands aimed towards Chili. Before he could speak again another bullet smacked him in the eye and he doubled backwards from the sudden shock of it.

“Sit down.”

“What the FUCK is yer problem?” Shot again. “Stop it! Agh-! Fine!” He sat down into the seat once again with arms raised above his face to shield from any more oncoming bullets.

“Am I right or wrong.”

“You’re fucking stupid. OW-”

“Wrong answer.” Tai loaded another few rubber bullets into the gun. “I ask again. You like Mint?”

Chili stuck his middle fingers out at Tai through the shield and felt another three bullets pelt him in the stomach. “AgH- I ain’t gonna fuckin’ tell ya!”

“So yes. Okay.” He whistled at the hiding inkling who now sported a faint blush. “I won’t tell. But you are asshole.”

Chili groaned, “What’s new.”

“No. You are idiot. You pretend like you are good.”

“I’m trying real fuckin’ hard, so thanks.”

“You are happy to pretend? Only pretend? You are lying. Lies will bring death.”

Chili felt like his words got lost in translation. It was probably some octarian analogy. But he understood what he meant regardless. “Yer not a therapist Tai, ye don’t get a voice in this.”

“I am doctor. I have experience.” He did not, in fact, have experience in the mental health department. Ask him to stop bleeding? Place stitches? Sure. Ask him about depression? Anxiety? Relationship advice? Maybe not the best idea.

Chili huffed. He didn’t know about any of his prior experience, but he didn’t deny his medical knowledge was extensive. “I don’t need another therapist. So shut up and mind yer own fuckn’ business.”

Negotiating with Chili was brutal. Nothing goes into his head without going in one ear and out the other. Neither did he have the nerves or stamina to punch him like his friend to bring him to his senses, and he felt like he wasn’t being taken seriously either. What was he to do? The nerf gun would only get him so far, and three more shots did nothing but prompt more cursing.

“Stop lying to Mint. Is all I ask.” Tai stood up with a frown. “You are lost up here-” he tapped his own head as he headed towards the door, ”-and you are bad to me and you friends. You need understand what you are wanting before you lie again. Go. Think about it.”

Tai held the door open for Chili who looked like he was about murder Tai with his gaze alone. Red in the face and hands curled into fists. But, he stood up and wordlessly stepped outside the door as instructed. The octoling watched him with a solemn face and slowly shut it once he disappeared beneath the stairs.

“Ayayayay… So stuck up his own ass it’s impossible to get it out.”

[voleurdesoleil-archive]

Rub a dub

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles

Pairing: Nate x gender neutral detective

word count: 4.6k

read on ao3

It was late afternoon, judging by the warm rays of sunlight still coming through the high windows of the library where I had spent the whole day with Nate. The sunrays  were creating halos in which dust was slowly floating around, as if Time had slowed dramatically in the library to let us enjoy each other’s presence a bit longer.

This book-filled day had started with me telling the vampire about wanting to improve my Spanish, which we did at first. And to be fair, he was an excellent teacher. I could now see why Farah was so proud of him. But we had stopped long ago, favoring reading instead, although Nate had insisted on me reading a Spanish book. It will help you with your vocabulary, he said, flashing me a soft smile.  

But Spanish was far from our minds in this instant.

At some point during our reading, Nate had switched positions and was now lying comfortably in my laps. I had discarded my book to the side as I couldn’t focus on what I was reading with him in such close proximity. So I listened to his gentle voice as he was reading some Spanish novel, the words flowing out like a river of the sweetest honey. I watched his face closely, looking at every micro expressions he would make, such as the slight twitch of his mouth when something amusing came on in the book or the gentle frown that would settle in between his eyebrows as something not as loving was happening.

The sunlight made his eyes come alive, and the emotions he held in them were much more visible. Their color reminded me of the dark, varnished, most definitely antique furniture he had here, in his small sanctuary. His glossy hair was a little messy from moving around in my lap and I just couldn’t help myself but start gently playing with it, which I could notice awoke an immediate reaction within him.

Nate’s whole body relaxed as I raked my fingers through his beautiful hair. His reading came to a stop but I only noticed because his previously closed eyes were now peering into my own, curiously, studying my features, just like I did with him a moment before, in silent wonder. His deep gaze swept over my face slowly, like he was memorizing every feature of my face in fear that I would disappear.

My body reacted before my mind could comprehend what it was doing. I reached out a hand towards his face slowly, careful not to burst the bubble we had put ourselves into. With a breath stuck in my throat, I leaned closer and followed closely what they were doing. His skin was so incredibly soft and warm making my lips tingle at the thought of kissing him there. I enjoyed how he seemed to melt into my touch, his expression so open and welcome, making me wonder about confessing my feelings for him. Surely he would know already but there’s something about actually saying those words out loud that makes it much more real.

I was pulled out of my thoughts when a warm hand took mine and the softest pair of lips kissed my palm. My train of thought crashed through the front of my head and disappeared outside and suddenly any rational thought looked like a far away dream. The mischievous glint in his eyes tells me he knows exactly how this affected me and that he is very much pleased with it, like he was counting on it.

In a futile attempt to regain my composure I spoke up, my voice almost cracking with every word. “Rebecca said most of these books belong to you, do you have any favorites?”

Nate’s eyes lit up, our bubble bursting as he immediately stood up. “I do! I have a lot of favorites actually!” The vampire started walking around the room excitedly, like a kid in a toy shop during Christmas season, meticulously pulling out books of the many shelves as if he knew exactly where each one would be. Disappearing for a moment, he kept on rambling, his voice sometimes barely audible as he was moving away through the rows of bookshelves. “Being able to read in multiple languages is an absolute gift when it comes to books, first of all, it just gives me more books to read, because a lot of foreign books aren’t being translated into English, except for classics, but mostly because those translations are awful!” When he reappeared, he was holding a pile of books taller than him, and I couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at how cute and overjoyed Nate looked. He carefully set the wobbling pile down on the coffee table before sitting back on the sofa next to me.

The pile was composed of mostly classics; Songs of Innocence, Leaves of Grass, Songs and Sonnets and a couple more collections of poetry. Authors such as Jane Austen, Edgar Allan Poe or Ernest Hemingway. The Catcher in the Rye, Wuthering Heights, The picture of Dorian Grey, A Midsummer Night’s Dream and many more, but one in particular caught my attention.

“A book about burning books, really?” I said, holding up Fahrenheit 451. I could understand why it was one of his favorites as it was also one of mines but, seeing how much he cared for his books, I couldn’t help but tease him.

To my utmost surprise, I could spot a few more contemporary books in there too.

“Percy Jackson?”

He started scratching the back of his neck, as I was pulling the series towards me. He owned the most beautiful edition I had ever seen. “Well I wouldn’t say it’s a favorite quite yet, but if I had to be completely honest, I’ve really enjoyed them and the whole universe, and this guy is actually one of the few to get his myths right, so it’s really close to being a favorite if that makes sense.” He gave me a sheepish smile.

“I can’t really blame you on that. I’ve read them way too many times not to have them as part of my own favorites.” I admitted with a laugh.

He was now sorting the books by languages in different piles. One pile in particular caught my eye and I leaned forward to read the spines. Les faux-monnayeurs, L’Oeuvre, La Peste, Parle-leur de batailles, de rois et d’éléphants, or Les Contemplations. I had to admit that seeing some of those titles had stirred in me a feeling I would have never expected: Nostalgia. Some of those books were part of my own collection, although mines did look a bit more worn out, as I had studied them back in High school, whereas Nate’s were in pristine condition, but some of them also held a special place in my heart. Just like the French language did.

“French books,” Nate said as he noticed where my focus had shifted.

His voice took me out of my trance. “You speak French?” I blurted out. “I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised because Farah did say you knew a lot of languages, but I never would’ve guessed French would be one of them.”

“Well…” his voice trailed off as he was pulling the pile closer to him. “French is actually one of my favorite languages…” He admitted almost in a whisper.

On hearing that, my mind quickly drifted away again and, ignoring the romantic thoughts that immediately started blinking in there like neon signs outside of a bar, I wondered if Farah had told him I was French.

I spent a couple minutes thinking of a way I could figure out if Farah had told him or not. A sheepish smile grew on my face as the answer was making its way into my mind. I was either the stupidest idiot or a genius.

“Will you teach me French?” I asked.

He looked at me, with a confused look. “You want me to teach you French?”

Oh god, Farah told him, I thought, but I still tried to play along with it and my smile turned into a smirk. “Of course! I’ve wanted to learn French for so long, and I bet you would be the perfect teacher!”

He seemed to think about it for a while and I couldn’t tell if it was because Farah had told him and he was wondering why I was lying, or if it was because he really didn’t know and was actually considering it. I chose to go with the latter when he agreed to teach me and asked if I knew any French words already.

“Well I do know some basic ones like ‘bonjour’, ‘mon ami’, ‘baguette’ and ‘croissant’”  I was trying so hard to fake my worst French accent, and Nate’s amused chuckle told me I was doing a good job. I tried to push my luck a bit more with my next move.

Trying to keep my voice as naive as possible, I asked: “There’s that one song I know that has some French in it but I don’t know what it means…”

“Tell me what it is and I’ll tell you!”

Trying to suppress a smile, I took a short breath. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

Nate instantly choked on the tea he was sipping, almost spilling the whole cup on himself. He slowly put down the cup, his eyes wide and his cheeks beet red as I was trying to keep my lips tight not to let out a chuckle, but that didn’t quite work as I couldn’t help but smile at his expression.

The vampire cleared his throat “Well, it simply means that hmm…” He stopped for a bit, not sure where to look. Then his embarrassed gaze landed on me, and he managed to turn an even brighter shade of red. That’s when I bursted out laughing.

“Oh honey…” I let out in between giggles. “I know what it means already, I’m just messing with you!”

“You knew!? You knew and you didn’t tell me?!” He pointed an accusing finger in my direction which made me giggle even more. “You just sat there and basked in my embarrassment! You’re evil!"

My smile fell a bit as I saw a pout forming on his lips. “I know another word in French…” my voice trailed off as I tried to think of a way to comfort him. Once again faking my worst accent, I said: “Tu es très beau.”

His long lashes flickered quickly as he processed what I had just said. "Wh-what did you just say?” he stuttered.

I reached out to gently cup his cheek in my hand. “Oh Natey, French really does put you in one hell of a state…” I stated jokingly, but I had to admit that the effect French had on him was quite impressive, if all it took me to break him was a simple compliment. I took my hand off Nate’s cheek, the tips of my fingers slowly brushing against his jaw as I did.

But before I could fully pull away, Nate grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers together. “You’re very pretty too.”

My heart skipped a beat at his words, his voice sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. The way his eyes slowly glided over my face before finally setting onto mine. My breath hitched and immediately I was sucked into his deep gaze. It felt like I was drowning in the endless pool of brown that were his eyes, the warmth in them strangely making me feel at ease, like I had finally found my long lost home.

I slowly leaned closer and his gaze now rested on my lips. Giving him a small smile I brushed our noses together and leaned my forehead onto his. I heard him sigh in relief, almost as if me being away was physically painful for him. We stayed like that for a while, basking into each other’s presence and enjoying the quiet bubble we wrapped ourselves in.

___

A few hours later, after a heavy dinner that Nate had prepared for us, we were laying in the peaceful quiet of his room. The silence rarely broken by the other vampires living at the warehouse. I was laying in Nate’s arms, his usual dazzling smile plastered on his face as he was stroking my hair.

“Why do you love French so much?” The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I mean, it’s a rather difficult language to learn.”

“I know, but it’s still a beautiful language. I could talk for hours about how harmonious French sounds, but I’ll spare you that discussion.” He rolled over a little to face me. “It’s one of the first languages I’ve learned, and ever since, it has always had that resonance in me that most languages don’t have. It may sound a little silly, but I feel like it carries way more feelings than any other language I speak, and I’m not gonna lie…” A smirk had replaced his warm smile. He leaned closer, his breath tingling on my neck, to eventually whisper: “French is sexy.”

I almost choked on hearing that, rolling on my back and faking a cough to hide my mortified expression, but judging by the grin that Nate was giving me, my reaction was far from unnoticed. I couldn’t have possibly decipher if he was serious or just teasing me.

To spare myself further embarrassment, I quickly changed the subject and Nate was nothing less than eager to comply. Looked like he decided to have mercy on my poor soul. We talked until a word couldn’t come out of my mouth due to my tiredness and I fell asleep to the rhythm of Nate’s beating heart.

___

Nate was on his knees, crying for help as a blurred figure struck another blow. He barely had strength to lift his arms to protect his face. The chill of the rain was burning my face and seeping through my clothes as I tried to run towards him, but my legs gave in and I fell on my knees.

“Please stop! Stop hurting him!” I tried to yell but only a deformed wail came out of mouth. It was as if I was trapped in my own body. Unable to move. Unable to save him. My throat clenched as I tried to suppress a sob, but that didn’t keep the tears from rolling down my cheeks.

Nate took another punch, but this one seemed to be the last his bloody figure could take and I watched helpless as he collapsed on the floor. The aggressor was on him before he could even try to get up.

Now that the other vampire had slowed down, I could distinguish his features a bit more and a shiver ran down my spine as I managed to recognize Murphy.

I tried to get to Nate once again as he took a syringe out of his coat.

“Leave him alone!” Although desperate the words managed to come out of my mouth properly this time, but it barely got me a glance from Murphy whose sole focus was on Nate.

“It’s me you want! Take me! I’ll do whatever you want!” I pleaded. “But let him go… You don’t need him!”

This time it seemed like I had managed to catch the vampire’s attention. “You’re right detective… I don’t need him.” He said as he plunged the needle in Nate’s neck.

___

“Agh!” I woke with a start and immediately rolled over to search for Nate, but I was only met with cold sheets on the other side of the bed.

Panic seizing me, I fought to get out of the tangled sheets. “Nate?” I called in a whisper, afraid something would come out of the dark to attack me. I flinched with a shriek as the plushed rabbit from the Carnival fell at my feet, a folded piece of paper next to it.

Crouching on my knees, I grabbed both of the items. Immediately calming down as I recognized Nate’s fancy handwriting spread on the paper. “Went on a mission, will be back soon”, I read out loud. Clutching the little rabbit in my arms, I was surprised to notice that it smelled like Nate and without noticing it, I held it a bit tighter against my chest. A smile grew on my face as I read what was written inside the note.

“Nineteen Eighty-Four, page 124”. The vampire had drawn a little heart next to that sentence and I knew the exact line he was referring to.    

“I love you too” I whispered. The plushed rabbit being the only witness of that sudden confession.

Our discussion from earlier this afternoon came back to my mind and the idea of confessing my love to him resurfaced.

I settled behind Nate’s mahogany desk, set the note and rabbit before me and grabbed some paper to finally put down in words how I felt towards the vampire.

___

After a couple of hours, the sun was slowly rising on the horizon, peaking weakly through the tree crown. I stretched as I contemplated my finished love declaration.

I folded the sheet of paper and slid it along with Nate’s note in the pocket of my coat. “Time to go back to sleep” I mumbled to myself as I grabbed the plushy.

___

It felt like a couple of minutes had passed when I was woken up again by my phone buzzing manically on the bedside table.

Thinking it was a phone call, I brought the phone to my ear, my eyes still half closed. “Hello?” The only answer I got was a buzz. Bringing the phone back in front of my face, blinking painfully at the bright light, I managed to decipher the last text Farah had sent me, lost in a sea of question marks and my name in caps.

“Didn’t you say you were French?”

“I am”

“Then why did Nate say he taught you French yesterday?”

Fear gripped me as I threw off the bed sheets and jolted up out of bed. Furiously typing, I ran out of the room, barely managing to stop myself from bumping into Adam.

“Detective? Is there something wrong?” He asked, actual worry in his voice.

“Not yet!” I answered already running away. Halfway through the corridor I came to a stop and turned around. Adam was still standing in front of Nate’s door, looking at me with a confused look on his face. “Adam?”

The leader slightly shook his head. “Yes?”

“Do you happen to know where Nate and Farah are?”

“The kitchen I think. Nate said he would cook breakfast for you, before you woke up.” He threw me a grin. “I guess his plan kind of failed.”

“Thanks Adam!” I answered, running off. I waved at him when I turned at the corner.

When I finally made it to the kitchen, I stopped before the door, taking a moment to catch my breath. I ran my hand over my hair and lifted my phone to check myself in the reflection on my screen. I plastered a calm smile of my face before pushing open the door to the kitchen.

Farah was sprawled over a chair, as was her habit, and Nate was cooking, his back turned to me. He hadn’t noticed my entrance yet. Glaring at Farah, I mouthed the words: “Did you tell him?” to which she answered with a shake of her head. I let out a sigh of relief and that’s when Nate turned around.

His smile immediately grew. I walked to him and casually grabbed a cup in the cupboard above his shoulder, reducing the space between us to almost nothing.

“Comment va l’homme le plus sexy du monde?” I asked, turning away to hide the grin on my face as he dropped the spoon he was holding. I didn’t give him time to reply and kissed his cheek.

[ How’s the sexiest man in the world doing? ]

Grabbing the kettle and pouring water in my cup as if nothing happened, I tried to remember what I had written down during the night. “Tu sais, il y a ce garçon, tu devrais le voir, il ressemble à un dieu Grec, qui a ce sourire magnifique et à qui je pense énormément ces derniers temps. D’ailleurs, ça fait plusieurs jours que j’essaie de trouver comment lui avouer ce que je ressens.”

[ You know, there is that guy, you should see him he looks like a Greek God, who has that dazzling smile and whom I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. As a matter of fact, I’ve been trying to find a way to tell him how I feel for a few days now. ]

I leaned against the counter now facing Farah. The young vampire was sitting on the edge of her seat, almost gripping the table so hard that I was afraid she might break it from excitement. She was staring at me with her mouth wide open. Morgan was also now sitting beside her, caring enough to have forgotten to lit up her cigarette and Adam was entering the room.

I returned my attention to Nate. “Et hier, comme par miracle, il m’annonce qu’il parle français. Alors depuis j’ai bien réfléchi à ce que je pourrais bien lui dire; j’y ai même passé toute la nuit. Maintenant, je pense avoir trouvé.”

[ And yesterday, miraculously, he announces that he speaks French. So, ever since, I’ve thought a lot about what I could possibly say to him; I’ve even thought about it all night. Now, I think I’ve finally found the answer. ]

I could hear Farah gasp and say something along the lines of “I love foreign movies, Morgan please grab the popcorn and Adam do the subtitles.” Glancing at them, I could see Adam rolling his eyes, but he still, reluctantly sat next to Farah, still trying to understand what was happening.

Nate was now a confused mess, his usual smile had been replaced by tomato red cheeks and the food in his pan was starting to burn. I turned off the gas and sat on the counter, pulling Nate in front of me to be face to face with him.

“Alors voilà, je pensais lui dire à quel point je le trouve mignon, et qu’à chaque fois qu’il sourit, mon coeur se met à battre la chamade; mais ça, je pense qu’il le sait déjà.” I smiled to the vampire.

[ So here goes, I was thinking of telling him how cute I think he is, and that every time he smiles, my heart starts to pound wildly; but I think he already knows that. ]

In the corner of my eye, I could see Adam, finally understanding what was happening, standing up and grabbing both Morgan and Farah by their collar and dragging them out of the kitchen. Adam had the biggest smile I’d ever seen him with plastered on his face as he closed the door.

I knew from the noise outside that the stern vampire was probably guarding the door as Farah was trying to listen through it.

Putting my hands on the waist of a still speechless Nate. I softened my voice, making my confession more intimate as the words flowed out of my mouth. “Je voulais aussi lui dire que depuis que j’étais enfant, j’avais toujours rêvé d’apprendre à danser la valse avec mon âme soeur et que s’il voulait bien, on pourrait peut-être apprendre à la danser tout les deux. Que j’aimerais beaucoup passer mes après-midi avec lui dans son endroit préféré, la bibliothèque à l’étage du dessous, et qu’on pourrait lire nos bouquins préférés ensemble.

[ I also wanted to tell him that ever since I was a kid, I had always dreamt of learning how to waltz with my soulmate and that if he was willing to, maybe we could learn how to waltz together. That I’d very much like to spend all my afternoons with him in his favorite place, the library downstairs, and that we could read our favorite books together. ]

My hand reached up to cup Nate’s cheek. Still a flustered mess, his confusion had gone away and a wide smile started to grow on his soft face. He leaned in the touch.

“Et je voulais aussi qu’il sache que s’il le fallait, pour gagner son coeur, je lui dédierai tous mes écrits. Que chacun des mots que j’écrirai, à partir d’aujourd’hui et jusqu’à la fin de ma vie, seraient pour lui, et lui seul. Maintenant, je sais très bien qu’il pourrait trouver mieux que moi, mais que s’il le voulait on pourrait se lancer. Parce que moi je pense que ça peut donner quelque chose de beau, parce qu’après tout…” I leaned closer, to whisper in his ear. “Je l’aime…” My voice trailed off as Nate’s hands to came to rest on my waist and that his head came to rest in the crook of my neck. I could feel his tears crashing on my skin.

[ And I also wanted him to know that if it was necessary, to win his heart, I’d dedicate all of my writings to him. That every single word I would write, from today until the day I die, would be dedicated to him, and him only. Now, I know fairly well that he could find someone better than me, but that if he was willing to we could try. Because I think it could end up being something beautiful, because after all… I love him. ]

“And what’s the name of this guy?” he eventually whispered.

“His name is Nathaniel Sewell, but he prefers Nate.”

After a few moments that actually felt like an eternity, Nate lifted me off the counter to pull me in a tight embrace, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. “Did you fake not knowing French?”

I nodded. “I’m French silly…”

“You are?!” He almost dropped me. “Sorry…” he said as he let me down on the counter again.

“I am. I was surprised to discover Farah hadn’t told you as soon as I told her to be honest.”

“Farah knew?”

“Yes, it came up when she visited me at the station last time. Sorry I didn’t tell you.” I gave him a sheepish smile “And I’m sorry I lied to you yesterday, but when I realized you had no idea, I thought it would perhaps be a good idea to confess like that…” I glance around the kitchen and let out a chuckle. “Well that’s not exactly how I had planned it, but I panicked when Farah texted me this morning, I was hoping it would be more romantic… Gosh I’m rambling…”

“I don’t mind…” he said as he leaned closer. Our lips were a couple centimeters apart, but he didn’t move closer, as if he was waiting for the permission to kiss me. I leaned forward and captured his lips and it seemed that right in this moment, time itself stopped. The kiss was everything I have hoped it would be. It set my whole being on fire, making my body tingle all over with happiness. His lips were the sweetest thing I had ever tasted in this world, making me addicted and never wanting to let go of him.

I pulled him closer by his belt loops, wanting, needing him to be closer. The kiss was so soft it made me feel like I was floating to the sky to gently lay on those fluffy clouds. It made me feel whole and happy. Nate made me happy.

And I hoped I made him happy too.

[languagelearningcorner]

30 Days of Learning Persian

I started my langblr about three years ago as a side blog with no real aim (other than the fantasy of magically becoming fluent in my three targets). I'd kind of been coasting through, having bursts of studious diligence followed by long droughts that withered away all the knowledge I'd previously soaked up. So, during the early stages of the pandemic, I came up with a rigorous study plan for each target. The only problem was, I was getting too much information for too many different things. I also became so overwhelmed with studying so much that I ended up anxiously thinking about studying but not actually studying. Learning three languages at once at the same intensity was not possible for me, especially with everything else going in my life. It was a hard decision because I was (still am) afraid of regression in my other two targets. I also felt like everyone in the langblr community is effortlessly juggling two languages if not three at the same time. I had to let go of some of my pride and accept that I might experience regression in my other two. I made the decision to focus almost exclusively on one language for 6 months so I could really immerse myself, stay consistent and see proportional progress to the amount of time and effort I'm putting in before switching. I chose Persian because I felt it would be the one to suffer the most if I put it on the back burner. I know I’m only 1/6 of the way so far but I wanted to share my thoughts on my first month regarding all skills of language starting from where I feel like I've made the most progress to the least.   Before we get into it, though, I want to thank everyone who has been super supportive here on tumblr, both native speakers and language learners (either learning Persian or not), my tutor, and people in my life who know me and know that I love to learn languages. I started these “learning persian” posts for myself as a way to track my progress and hold myself accountable. However, they have turned into much more than just that and I’m really grateful to everyone who I’ve met through these posts. 🥰

Speaking (tot. ~30-40mins)

This has been night and day. Before my 30 days, I had met with my tutor a couple of times and I simply did not speak to her in Persian.  I was not ashamed of my accent but I was terrified of my grammar. Not having control, not sounding "intelligent" because I had (have, let's be honest) the sentence structure of a drunk 4 year old was really my biggest block to starting to speak. I think having a tutor really really helped in the long run. Though it took a while, it's been nice to have a model and someone who will just listen and instantly correct and teach. I am still very slow and often wrong but I know I will try and have a better idea of what I'm doing than before. 

Writing (tot. ~2hrs) 

My writing has always been fairly strong, especially in terms of orthography. Since I've gotten better at expressing myself, I've gotten much better at it in writing as well. I'm much more comfortable writing and writing longer, and comparatively more complex sentences on my own. I can definitely create much more complex thoughts and ideas with writing than when speaking. The only reason I didn't put this category first is that in comparison to before the 30 days I don't think that the difference is as much as with speaking.  

Reading (tot. ~10hrs)

Similar to writing, reading's always been an easier task. Over the 30 days, I have certainly felt an increase in fluidity and easier understanding (despite not knowing absolutely all the words). I'm increasingly able to use context clues to determine the meaning of words and overall meaning of the sentence. I used to see texts in Persian and feel my brain sort of glaze over it because I had a hard time registering the letters as words I could read (even though I could!). Now I can occasionally automatically lift certain words and even some simple phrases as I would when glancing at a page in latin script in a language I know.  

Listening (tot. ~23hrs)

I think I have a problem because this is probably the skill I spend the most time on but feel like I have made the least progress in. It's incredibly valuable and has definitely contributed to boosting all of my other skills except the skill itself. I struggle to fully grasp what I just heard, even "simple" things. Part of the issue is I do a lot of passive-ish listening. A lot of the material I consume does not have subtitles. A lot of the times, I spend a whole hour back to back just listening and it can be quite draining especially when I'm straining to understand  so I tend to lose focus quickly. Sometimes I also feel guilty because I hear an English cognate and can situate myself or I make use of the visuals to understand better. It makes me think that the only reason I could understand was because I “cheated”.

Overall, I know I have made so so much progress as compared to the last year I spent dabbling in Persian here and there. Sure, on paper, my level was a little bit higher; I could complete a lot of grammar exercises and knew how to form basically any tense. But using those concepts spontaneously and correctly when it mattered? Not a chance.  I still have a very long way to go and hope to continue to see progress over the next five months.  I will definitely be keeping some sort of updates on tumblr, hopefully in a more quantifiable manner and I also hope to transition to making or helping to make more resources. 

Thank you and happy studying!

[sinningismywinning]

Do As You Please - 5

   You weren’t as use to Thomas as you had thought. His small gestures of grazing your back, or slipping his finger into yours, gave your nerves an edge. No one treated you this way. Especially strangers. Strangers didn’t treat you this way.

   Inside the Garrison, John and Arthur sat in a booth discussing something intimate. Their expressions were intense, but you couldn’t make out their words. There was a man seated between them. “That’s my cousin, Michael,” Thomas whispered holding the door open. 

   “There’s a whole lot of you? Yeah?” You questioned with a disbelieving laugh. He could only shrug in response. “There’s two more you haven’t met, yet.” He paused. “Actually three, if you include my aunt,” Your eyes went wide. That’s a lot of mouths to feed. Where did they keep them all? You pictured him as a big brother to many. Maybe even a little brother. You never learned the specifics.

   You knew what it was like to barely afford candles. You couldn’t figure out how his family could feed 7, including himself. You wanted to believe he was born into wealth, but his mannerisms gave it away. He must have been self-made. Either that, or inheritance from a distant relative who he never got to meet.

   For a moment, his words slipped your mind. ‘That you haven’t met, yet.’ Did he want you to take your rounds through the Shelby lineage? Not that it’d be something you were against, he was just a lot to handle by himself. The same went for his hardy group of brothers. “James will teach you how to pour drinks,” He gestured behind the bar. “He’ll tell you who has open tabs, and you’ll be under his wing for a while,” The man behind the bar nodded to his words.

   This was much to take in. How would Alfie feel about you working in a bar? Dealing with drunk men? You shook the thought from your mind. You’d deal with it when necessary. “If you have any problems, let me know,” He touched the back of your arm. His sternness made you comfortable. You knew he’d handle whatever it was that came your way. You didn’t like having to rely on people, but he seemed stable enough for the task. “Yeah,” the words barely made a noise coming out. 

   He gave you a small smile before nodding you off to go behind the bar. He slid into the booth, and accompanied his relatives. You looked up at the beams. All wood, nice trimming. No one would ever see that, considering how fucking dim the place was.

   This was a place where alcoholics came to cry. Not spend their money and enjoy themselves. That became apparent to you. You moved behind the bar and pushed your sleeves back up as they slipped past your elbows. “Ever worked in a bar?” James questioned. You could only think about your drunken stupor from a few nights prior. How embarrassing.

   “I use to make drinks for my dad and his friends,” You spoke coyly. “Well consider it basically the same,” He politely smiled. “We don’t have a big list of drinks. We aren’t like the pubs down in London, with their garnishes and what not,” he insinuated. Obviously this place wasn’t like a pub in London. Your father had taken you downtown for a birthday, and you were able to witness the chandeliers and red glows from within the vicinity. 

   This place was a wreck in comparison, but surely some work and a set of new eyes would do it good. “No worries,” you nodded along. You gazed around. The wall paper was peeling. Paint was chipping from the bar, and some of the booths had tears.

   The smell of puke wasn’t as pungent, since there wasn’t many people to hurl their guts out. Then again, the scent of tobacco covered it up, as it drifted throughout the room. James went through procedure for cleaning mugs, and wiping down the bar. None of this seemed as bad as the tailor shop. “Mr. Shelby takes a quarter of the tips,” he remarked. “So don’t hide anything from him cause’ he’ll know.” His tone made it seem like this was a previous altercation he took part in.

   Your eyebrows furrowed. Taking tips? You looked over your shoulder. Thomas was in the booth smoking a cigarette. His conversation seemed fascinating, by how focused he was on Johns words. He still managed to momentarily look at you and catch your eyes. It made you could and you averted your eyes. You turned to face James once more.

   “What a dick,” you remarked. James pursed his lips. He was trying to not show that he agreed with you, but it was apparent. “Your words, not mine,” he laughed. “I’m not sure if the whole share of tips works with me,” you mumbled shaking your head. James could only nod in unison. You decided to take a stab at cleaning mugs. Wasn’t as difficult as he had made it seem, but it was certainly gross.

   As time went on, more people came into the bar. “That’s her?” Michael leaned to Tommy. “The one who spilled her drink?” You were a tall tale within the Blinders household, you just weren’t aware of it. “Aye,” Thomas said watching you keep up with traffic from behind the bar. “She’s a looker, hm?” Michael said keeping his eyes on you. “Pain in the ass too,” Tom said with a daring glance.

   You always kept your eyes on the door. A habit instilled by your father. A tall slender woman walked in, and attention was drawn towards her. You couldn’t help but eye her sleek frame. She didn’t seem fit for a place like this. Then again, you didn’t either. You looked back to your patrons sitting in front of you. James let you pour your own drinks. It wasn’t a difficult job considering there were about four things the bar would serve.

   When you looked back up, you saw her scoot in to sit next to Thomas. Was that his Aunt? You looked over, a little too intently. His arm draped behind her and she pressed a more-than-passionate kiss to his cheek. Aunts don’t do that.

   You felt uneasy, but brushed it off. His cousin Michael walked up to the bar. “I’d like a mug please,” his accent differed from the rest. “Sure thing,” you said filling up a glass for him. God knew how dirty the drafts were. Your eyes went back to Tommy’s booth. The woman had her hand on his thigh, but no one else could see that. Her hand was moving, rubbing his inner leg. You narrowed your eyes in disbelief. 

   “You’re prettier than what my cousin described you as,” Michael pulled your thoughts away. You blinked not understanding what he was getting at, “Oh, thank you..” What else did you have to respond with? You slid him his mug. You figured enough that he drank for free, yet he still slid you money over the bar. “That’s for you, not the register.” He winked.

   He was dressed sharply, and appeared closer to your age. He had an average, yet attractive face. His eyes were intense like the rest. “Thank you,” you spoke once more, tucking the cash into a pocket on your dress.

   “I’m Michael,” God dammit he was getting too comfortable. “Y/N,” You hummed, cleaning a glass. You had to look at Tommy again. Sure as hell, there she was. Hands all over him, and he allowed it. Michael must’ve noticed. He saw the decrease in your productivity. “I’ve heard many things about you,” he said trying to divert your attention. “Yeah? Like what?” You shook your head. 

   “Heard you got a mouth like a sailor,” he smiled. “Apparently you give Tom a lotta’ shit.” The grin never left. He was more charming than the rest. “I suppose I do,” a small huff left your lips. You knew you were a handful at times, but not once did you ask for Thomas’ charity. He pushed it on you.

   He was daft. Holding your hand in the streets, taking care of the head seamstress, the constant walks too and from your home. Were you in over your head? Obviously you assumed he had taken a liking towards you. Apparently you were wrong. “Don’t be so grim Y/N,” Your name rolled softly off his tongue. You didn’t have time to be charmed by every member of this family. 

   “You’re too real for a man like Thomas,” he said looking over his shoulder and back to you. He sipped his mug. “What are you getting at?” You set down the glass you were cleaning. He struck a nerve. “I see how you’re looking at him, how you’re looking at Lizzie,” He spoke lowly. “Don’t think too highly of him,” You were surprised to hear his own blood speak of him this way.

   You didn’t know much about either of them, but Michael was being brutally honest. “I don’t think highly of him,” Yes you did “And he could fuck whoever he wants.” You felt your eyes roll from your own words.

   Michael shrugged. “I mean, who wouldn’t fuck their own wife.” His statement floated in front of your face. You couldn’t help but laugh. You looked to Thomas. A ring glistened on Lizzie’s finger. His arm remained draped over her shoulder. Your eyes caught his, and he let a small smirk pass. You looked away.

   He was married. The bastard was married. 

   Anyone would be upset, or distraught in a situation like this. Bothered, to say the least. But you kept it down. Held it in. At least you knew about this sooner, rather than later. “Whatever my boss does with his wife, my boss does with his wife.” You retorted. Michael felt the heat coming off of you. Your enunciation of the word wife made it all too obvious. He saw the red of your ears and knew you’d lean more towards him than you would to Thomas.

   He was manipulative. He told people what they wanted to hear, in order to get what he desired most. It was a trait he genetically learned from his mother. You didn’t get to see Thomas remove Lizzie’s hand from his leg, and you also didn’t pay attention to when he slid away from her.

   James walked back and forth from behind the bar. Giving rounds of drinks to those seated in the booths and at the tables. He slid behind you to refill glasses. “Like I said Y/N,” You looked up so he could have your attention. You wanted to leave. Start your shift over in the morning. “You’re too real of a prize for a man like Tommy to handle,” His gaze draped down your figure. “Don’t limit yourself to just him,” This was too much for you. “How about I limit myself to nobody? Hm?” You pushed with a false smile.

   Who did he think he was? Dropping a bomb like that just so he could glue your pieces together. He wanted you for himself. You wouldn’t take any part of it. He picked up his mug, “That’d be a shame love, I know many men including myself don’t get to stare at a beauty such as yours,” Now you wanted to swing.

    “Many men including yourself?” He didn’t seem to be a man. More-so a boy playing dress up in his fathers clothes. “I’m not the only woman in Birmingham who doesn’t take shit from people, so look harder. Maybe you’ll find one for yourself that isn’t me.” You had to remove yourself from his end of the bar. You didn’t want your tongue to get you in trouble.

   The nerve of these men. You’ve never seen anything like it. Thomas watched the exchange from afar. He was able to see the disdain on Michael’s face as you walked away. That a girl.    

     Michael regrouped himself. Now he knew first hand what it was like to be in your line of spite. No one has handed him his ass like that in awhile. Women didn’t usually reject him. Thomas and Arthur had told him before that you had no knowledge of their history. Michael walked back to the booth. It would be a shame if he was the one to inform you.

   The night went by faster than expected. You helped James put chairs on top of the bar. You swept the dirt from beneath the counter. Lizzie left hours prior. So did John and Arthur. Michael and Thomas stayed in their section. Talking away, and drinking their own supply.

   You knew why the place was so grimy. James did a shit job at cleaning. “Here, give me that,” you said taking the mop from him. You washed the old floor, noticing the amount of muck that surfaced in the bucket. He’s married. How long has he been married? Any children? You were sick. Did she know he was this way? He kept popping up in your brain. Didn’t help he was six-feet away from you, either.

   Michael watched you mop. Confidence ran through his blood, just like the whiskey. Smoke rolled out from his lips. James walked over to their table and laid his tip money out. You stopped to peer over. You four were the only ones in the bar.

   Thomas sorted through it, half cigarette pressed between his lips. He tucked some money into his suit pocket, and gave the rest back to James. “I wanna see the books tomorrow evening.” James nodded in response. “Make sure we’re not being stiffed,” Thomas sighed. You finished your mediocre job of mopping, and set everything back in place.

   Your back was killing you. Did he expect you to put your money down on the table? James looked at you, suggesting you do the same. “You can leave James,” Thomas politely dismissed. “Goodnight Mr. Shelby,” he said leaving through the doors.

   “I’m sure James told you about-” “About my money, yes. He did,” You said with more of an attitude than usual. You took your money out of your dress and handed it to him. You didn’t want to put up a fight. “I’m sorry, is there a problem?” Thomas lowly threatened with authority. “No.” You bit your lip and looked at the floor. Asshole. Bastard.

   “Hold up that pretty face of yours,” Michael remarked. “Hate to see ya’ look so glum,” You shook your head. Don’t respond. Thomas handed you back your money. He disregarded his cousins remark. You didn’t care if it was a rude gesture or not, you counted your money in front of him.

   “You took more than twenty five percent,” You met his eyes. “I’ll take however much I want,” he quipped instantly. His expression was daring. He wanted you to snap back at him. He wanted you to give his cousin a show of the renounced mouth you have to display. Michael watched the interaction with amusement. This bar brought out the worst in you. Whether you were drunk, or not. 

   “I understand, probably have to buy your wife another flashy dress-” Oh you’ve fuckin’ done it now. “Excuse me?” Thomas tilted his head. He looked over to Michael. He was the only one who spoke to you during your shift. Thomas was sure of it. His eyes never left you for long. Michael was the one who spoke about his marriage. “Nothing,” You knew you fucked up.

   “No, if you can say it once, I’m sure you can say it again.” His voice dropped an octave and he threatened to stand up. You couldn’t read his expression. “I insinuated, that you would use the majority of my tip money,” you paused “to buy your wife elegant dresses.” Poor Alfie might get dragged out of the house to confirm your body. You dug your grave, now step in.

   He laughed low and hard. “Hm.. I guess I will then.” You were in unsafe territory. You knew that. “What do you say Michael? Think’ Lizzie needs new dresses?” Now he was taunting you. All you could think of was the food Alfie had waiting for you at home. You didn’t want this. You didn’t need this.

   Michael shrugged, “I think she has plenty.” He remarked. “Maybe spend the money on Y/N,” He suggested as if you weren’t there. Assholes. Both of them. 

   Thomas didn’t feel the need to clarify what his relationship with Lizzie was. They weren’t necessarily together, but by law they were married. You didn’t need to know that. He found it nice to see your annoyance over it. Showed that you cared. Showed that you had a jealous bone in your body. He watched your face and saw the hurt lying underneath it. He pursed his lips. “Here,” he spoke softly and handed you back the rest of your money. You took it, feeling his pity weigh on you. “I have my own money to buy my wife dresses. I don’t need yours.”

   You couldn’t muster up a sentence. You were embarrassed, annoyed, and felt like a fool. You nodded with the anger still bubbling inside you. Let it go. “Can I go home now.” You said looking at the floor. He didn’t dismiss you so easily. He watched you stand there. Basking in embarrassment. His eyes moved over you. He hated the pang you put in his chest. “Yeah, I’ll take you home..” His voice spoke soothingly. “Arthur brought the car.” He stood up. You knew better to interject. You could feel the routine beginning to form. Michael rose up as well. You were all going to pack in.

   Tommy escorted you out, with Michael close behind. You wanted to rip his hand from you, but you knew he was simply being a gentleman at this point. Or was he? Was he trying to taunt you? Push it more? Michael threw his cigarette to the floor. His foot aligned and put out the ember. “Not good to do that, birds will eat it,” you chastised Michael. He shook his head. “That’s their fuckin’ problem. Not mine.” So much for compassion.

   Thomas opened your door. You wanted nothing to do with him. Michael went into the back seat. Alfie use to drive you around. He was the only person in your life with enough money to afford one. He’d take days off of work to drive around with you. He knew how much you loved it.

   The drive to your house was quicker than the walk. You rubbed your jaw in anticipation of laying in your bed. He lead you on. He made you think you were enough for him. You wanted to get over it. You caught yourself looking at his side profile. A sick part of you wanted to kiss him. But the stronger part of you wanted to jump out of the moving car.

   Thomas pulled in front of your house. You saw a light shining from the window. Alfie probably forgot to turn the bulb off. “Michael move to my seat,” Thomas said getting out of the car. Michael followed his orders and watched as Tommy opened the passenger door for you. “Goodnight Y/N,” Michael called out. It made you uneasy. “Goodnight Michael..” The drop from the car to the pavement was more than what you bargained. Thomas was there to help you out of the car.

   His hands burned you wherever they landed. The small of your back, behind your arm, anywhere. He wanted you, but you knew he couldn’t have you. You both walked up to your doorstep. “I’d appreciate it if,” spit it out “If you didn’t lead me on.” You finished. Thomas watched you speak. Intrigue dancing across his face. He wasn’t going to argue, or fight. “I’m not leading you on,” His words cut the air.

   Did you misread everything? Was he an overly friendly person? If you knew better, you’d understand that Thomas Shelby was nothing of the sorts. What he meant was, ‘I’m not leading you on, this is all real.’ Yet what you took it as, was ‘I don’t know what would give you the impression I feel that way.’

   You swallowed the knot in your throat. Silence settled over the both of you. “Friends?” Your voice grew timid. You weren’t afraid of him, but you knew to not push it. He gave you one of his small, rare smiles. He never considered himself to have many friends. He only had family, and enemies. You were a nice mediator. “Friends,” he nodded with the word feeling foreign on his tongue. 

   You took a step back and unlocked your door. “Goodnight Tommy,” God he felt his heart bounce. You haven’t called him that before. He wanted to reach out and pulled you into him. Move his lips against yours and-

   “Goodnight Y/N,” he whispered back. He rubbed his lower lip with his thumb. “I’ll see you tomorrow at 9, yeah?” He suggested as you opened your door. “Sure thing,” you nodded, assuming it was for work. Getting to the pub on time wouldn’t be a hassle. You were use to being at the tailor shop by 8.

   “I’ll pick you up then,” he said turning on his heels to walk down your front-steps. “It’s a date,” He called out. The words smacked you as you shut the door.

   Friends don’t go on dates. He wanted to change that. You felt a weight lifted from your shoulders. You rubbed your face with confusion, but more than anything, exhaustion. Alfie was asleep on the couch. A bowl of pasta on the floor. You didn’t get to eat dinner with him. You made your way inside of the house and peered as he snored. You grabbed the blanket draped off the end of the sofa, and pulled it over him. He was always a heavy sleeper.

   What would you wear? What did he fucking want from you? You figured it best to just sleep this off. Put up with it in the morning. A small part of you didn’t want to give in to the notion that he felt something towards you. Yet, you couldn’t choke down the small amount of excitement emanating from your chest. 

   There was an inconvenience though. A bump in the road. It was a shame that Michael had other plans in mind for you. Obviously he didn’t want to see you waste away over Tommy. You have so much potential, so much charisma. Why would he watch Thomas ruin you, when instead, he could have you for himself?

   This was only the beginning of your devious interactions with Michael Grey. The worst part of it all, was that he now knew, where you lived.

@captivatedbycillianmurphy​ @amirahiddleston​ @kac-peakyblinders​ @urbansaint​ @parochialism​ @hereticpriest​ @eternallyvenus​ @csigeoblue​ @mortalflower​ @a-dorky-book-keeper​ @stressedandbandobessed7771​ @patdsinner33​ @1heartstillbeating1​

[avellanas-nutty-empire]

Covid has really been hitting people hard, but today, as a University student in her third term, I'd like to talk about schools spesifically

I remember last year in my second term when classes got moved online. I had an anxiety attack week one because I just couldent do it. I just cant do school things while I'm at home - I cant even read for leasure (something I really enjoy doing) at home. Theres too many House things to do at home, that's why I designated spesific things to do elsewhere. But now I cant leave my house except for work.

My english teacher too, told me of the day it was announced the whole college was going online, that he saw teachers crying in the hallway. If I were teaching that year it would have been me aswell. But instead, I took the 2020 fall term off, picking up more hours at my essential worker job with my terrible boss who somehow hadn't gotten fired yet. I took the term off, hoping to avoid the chaos of online learning while it was at its worse. But I couldent avoid online school forever, if I skipped a second term in a row i would have to re-enroll; an unnecessary spending of 50$.

This 2021 spring term, I was talking with my counselor about the due date to drop classes; he said the final day to drop without getting marked down for it AND fined for a late fee was feb 17th, a good 3 or 4 weeks after classes start. Great. Except today I got an email saying a 3% late fee would be applied by the first of February.

That was 17 days of class I could have spent figuring out if I had too much on my plate or not. I was already prity confidant I would keep astronomy and psychology, but Spanish Film became a big issue today. The teacher was sick the first 2 days, so today was our first real lecture. Her native language is spanish, and thus she has an accent. An accent I just cant understand (none of which is her fault).

It's hard enough paying attention to the zoom lectures, but now I dont even know what the teacher is saying? How am I supposed to deal with that. I tell my mom and shes completely unremorsful - saying I should just turn up the volume (I have sensitive ears and would like to actually be able to hear when I'm her age so hard pass - it also genuinely just does not work for me, I did try it) or I should just drop the class. But then I start wondering what if this spanish film is the one class for its UCORE requirement I can actually pass? What if the other options are harder and I make things worse by dropping it? What if - what if - what if -

And I feel myself start to spiral. But I dont - I cant have another anxiety attack over online school. This is only the beginning of the term, I barely made it though the last 4 weeks of last years term. Pull yourself together and just email her

I finally gather enough courage to press send on the email I typed up asking her to see if she can figure out how to add CC to help me pay attention and focus (and also just genuinely know what the fuck she is talking about cause I was so lost today). A few hours after I send that email, she posts the next film and assignment along with graphic scene warnings for the film. I cant even read the warning sentence without almost getting triggered.

At first I thought telling her about it would be out of the question, considering she still hadent responded to my previous email - that would be asking for help twice in one day on 2 different subjects. But as I keep thinking about it, weighing my options, I cant stand it anymore. The warning sentence alone was too triggering - and if I watched the scene I would surely get worse and worse symptoms of my irrational fear. I cant watch that scene. So I email her again telling her as much, asking for an alternate film to watch (as she stated she would do if students needed one) or if I should just try to skip past the scene and watch the rest of the film.

She emails back rather quickly, saying not to worry and I dont have to watch it. But she doesnt say anything about an alternative and still hasnt responded to my other email. I start to worry again. How bad of a student must I be to ask for help/special circumstances on 2 completely different areas of the class to put me on an equal playing field in less that 12 hours. Now I'm that student that's always asking for special things to help me. What if it turns out I'm lying about needing them and I'm just doing it to be lazy and get out of extensive work? How terrible of a student must I be then?

No. I remember in 8th grade my math teacher told us about 2 students he used to have that raised their hands and asked a lot of questions every day in class, and one day they came up to him and said 'we must be your worst students, huh' and he was all 'on the contrary, you are my best students'

They asked questions. They asked for help when they were confused, and they learned a lot more by asking than doing otherwise - I'm sure a few other students learned at least a bit from their questions too.

So no, I am not the worst student for asking for accommodations. I'm a responcible adult who genuinely wants to learn from that class and not fail or need to drop it. I want to be successful. And if that teacher wont help me, it's not worth taking her class.

So go forth, and ask your teachers questions with the youth of a 6 year old asking random off topic questions just for fun!

Tl;dr you arent the worst student ever for asking for help no matter what kind of help or how much you ask for - it just makes you a better student, and better than the teacher if they refuse to help you :)

[findingarcadia]

Made For Him

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26818468/chapters/65446303

Chapter 2: As You Were

Looking at Aizawa, my eyes felt the burn of those black eyes waiting for me to continue. Out loud I opted for, “I gave the bike back. And Sousuke barely even minded.” I had the nerve to sound sheepish, I do however doubt that Sousuke would be inviting me to anything anytime soon.

Aizawa furrowed his brow, the hint of laughter falling away from his features. “Are you interested in this boy?” Despite the fact that he made a good impression of an overprotective pit bull, I’d lived under his rules long enough to realize that his concern wasn’t just for me or my heart. It was something deeper, something I have not been included in.

“I have no interest in provoking interspecies aggression.” I said, silently laughing at my own joke. Sousuke was just that a species of male that thought with what’s in their pants and not with what’s in their skull.” And trust me when I say, if I did have interest, it wouldn’t be for a guy who wouldn’t let me drive.”

I spent enough time resisting testosterone-driven dominance maneuvers in my day-to-day life. The males in my ’family’ all seemed to find themselves high and mighty and a select few made themselves out to be big bad tough guys. The last thing I need was a boyfriend who wanted me to play the submissive house wife, a simpering miss. No I would not bend to a man who did not see me as an equal.

Aizawa’s demeanor changed and he stiffened slightly at the idea of my dating anyone, even if it was just an idea, an inkling of a thought. I have noticed that the larger males in my ‘family’ all seemed to be protective of the females and the smaller males, which so happens to be me. A small, feminine looking male. And though I wasn’t truly anyone’s actual son or brother or - God forbid – boyfriend, Aizawa has metaphorically dug his claws into me when he adopted me to show he was my father, he was my parent. While in any other world that probably would have made me his ‘property’ of sorts, it made me his child. A problem child, as he so affectionately liked to call me. As a result, everyone that was ‘family’ or close to this family that lived on the land somehow owed me their protection, their concern, and in some weird way that made me theirs too. I know the others that are my age constantly referred to me as theirs. I should just get a tattoo that says OWNED.

I just loved the idea of being owned.

NOT.

“Izuku, I don’t like the idea of you and motorcycles.” He said with concern. “You could get hurt.”

I was not inclined to respond to that particular concern.

“I ask that you don’t do that again, you understand Izuku.” Aizawa said, choosing his words, making it clear that this was not an order but a request. Those requests did not leave much room for noncompliance. I was sure that if I refused there was a good chance he would turn the request into an order, and as ‘head of the family’, Aizawa’s order were like law. But then again most parent’s words were law right? Molding the order as a request was Aizawa’s way of keep everyone else out of it and that let him be free to deal with the situation and myself on his own terms. Sometimes it was a good thing and sometimes not. It all depended on situation and the request.

“Izu?” He said, using my nickname to bring me more towards obeying him and his request.

“Well, I don’t anticipate any motorcycles in my future.” I said, with a small smile gracing my lips. I was pushing him again, but I couldn’t help it. The day I stopped pushing back would be the day I put myself, my happiness, my goals second to anything else. Shifting my feet, I kicked at the dirt. I could distantly hear the others shuffling in the nearby bushes or trees, listening to our conversation.

“Skipping out on your chores means not pulling your own weight here. Being able to pull your weight and being responsible is important.” Aizawa said casually as he stepped back into his into he relaxed demeanor, hands in his pocket. “I’ll have you not slacking off, first it’s chores then it’ll be grades next, problem child.” His voice took on this odd, old-fashion cadence, a mere remnant of the accent he’d had before coming to this country. We moved to America just after I was adopted, to be honest I was unsure as to why we left Japan.

“Right, chores, responsibilities, got it.” I said, knowing that this would most likely end up being a talk of education since he mentioned grades. Honestly, I knew my grades were just fine, I was pulling and solid A in my classes so I wanted to avoid speaking of grades since it was not the issue. “Did you tell Yua?” I asked. When I was adopted, Aizawa had taken others in as well, Yua Nakamura, who had come to America to flee her family for true love. She fell in love with someone close to this family. The thing about Yua was she was in on this so-called secret, this mystery that was this family. Her being inducted into the family, Aizawa had given her me. It was an easy enough decision, she spoke both languages and could help teach me English. And teach me she did.

I learned more English than I should have, and the sass began.

Currently, Yua was twenty-eight years old, recently married to one of my ‘uncles’ and was deemed my foster mother. Adopted mother. Whatever. Putting a label on Yua’s role in my life was somewhat difficult. I didn’t use her last name and she wasn’t married to Shouta, but I lived in her house for almost as long as I could remember or rather since we moved to America. Yua was the one who hugged me, scolded, and raised me from just a scared child alongside Aizawa. They co-parented in a way. They both fed me and clothed me, but it was Yua that made sure I had a place that was solely mine. She grounded me when feelings of fleeing and the constant headaches would assault me. Then there was this pull, like someone tied a rope around me and tried to tug me in a million different directions.

“Yua has her own concerns currently.” Aizawa said and there was a small glimmer of worry on his otherwise unreadable face. Yua was pregnant with her first child and since her pregnancy began she had been having a difficult time.

I was not willing to consider that this difficulty could mean anything other than carrying a child was difficult on the body. I did not want to think that anything would happen to her or the baby.

“Are we done?” I asked Aizawa, hoping he’d get the message that I was done and I refused to spend the rest of this time worrying about Yua who would be perfectly fine-fine-fine.

“Are we on a schedule, Izuku?”

“No.” I said curtly, the smartass side of me wanted to say Yes and I’m late, but I was not about to get lectured for more.

“You realize you broke curfew last night.” The first two complaints had been mere cakewalks, now when this one came up I saw his features tighten, his brows drawing together into a downward arch.

“Well, I wouldn’t have broken curfew if it wasn’t for it being the moment the sun starts to set.” I was so strongly set on this issue, I felt at my age I shouldn’t have to have such an early curfew considering the others had later curfews than my own. Besides, when winter rolls around, nighttime came early and I was not about to be home at four or five each day.

“There is talk of threats, to those in this family and associated with this family.” He stated sternly. “I would prefer you safe from it.”

Rolling my eyes, I felt like there was a huge portion of this story being left out from me. I felt like I was to not know why this ‘threat’ was happening and what was going on.

“Here’s how it goes, if I cannot trust you to be back before nightfall, I will take measure to ensure your safety and that you do not disobey the rules we have set.” Aizawa’s words made sure that I heard that it was set in stone, that there was not questioning him. I shift on my feet and feel the grass slip under my shoes reminding me that we were still outside and that we still has an audience.

“I will make sure someone is with you at all times…”

My head snapped in his direction once more and glared. “Are you kidding me?!”

“Izuku, my boy, I don’t kid.” His eyes sparkled with just a hint of that mysterious gold then it vanished leaving me to wonder what just happened.

“You suck.”

He reached out with one hand and grasped my jaw with a smirk. “And you, my problem child, are the most disobedient child I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.” His words spoken with a warmth that I have come to see as a parent’s warmth for a child. It was something he really only showed to me. I was, after all the boy he adopted from a broken family. Still holding my jaw he bent down and rubbed his cheek against mine and then tousled my hair, confusing me even more. He did this on occasion and I never understood this gesture but took it anyway with a smile. I both loved and hated the action because I was unaware of what the meaning behind it was. “Be back by dusk, Izuku.” He told me before letting me go and taking his eave. “There is trouble lurking.”

I grumbled and shoved my hands in my pockets. Looking around at the surrounding area I pouted. “Out you mongrels, I know you all were eavesdropping!”

[musingsofawannabewriter]

Can I Be More Than The Person I Have Become?

Here I am again. Once every few months, sometimes years I get that urge to put pen to paper or in this instance finger to keyboard.

When I was little reading my mom’s Jodi Picoult, Danielle Steele or Avon romance novels I felt inspired. I wanted to write a book people would cherish and love. Then I read Purple Hibiscus and then the doubts came.

Purple Hibiscus is one of my favorite books ever and the author Chimamanda is an inspiration to me. But the doubts came because I believed I could never write a book as amazing as Purple Hibiscus, that stirred so many emotions and feelings in me that with each rereading makes me discover something new. It didn’t help that Chimamada is that perfect Igbo first daughter who has a first degree and not one but 2 MA’s and speaks fluent Igbo.

My admiration for her was tinged with a lot of jealousy. I am an Igbo first daughter, that can barely speak/understand Igbo despite growing up in Nigeria most of my life, I only have a BA in Law, I failed spectacularly at a Masters programme that from the start I only applied to because I thought it was expected of me. 

There are so many flaws in myself I could spend hours picking on but won’t for the sake of bringing down the mood of this article/opinion piece. Despite feeling I could never measure up to CNA I still chose literature as my elective in my GCSE’s and WAEC exams. Had an A for both and was the best student in class for the former. But I still felt like a fraud. I understand English, I speak it but the technical rules stump me sometimes. Like the semicolon… No matter how many times I can’t seem to retain when it applies. I suck at writing dialogue because I am always confused where to add the apostrophes and commas. Subject verb agreement, well I stumble my way through and hope for the best which has worked out okay so far.

I used to write in notebooks fervently in Secondary School. I would craft stories which would get passed around different students and their compliments and eagerness to read my words fueled me. I was going to be a writer maybe.. Get my first degree in Law then a Masters in Creative Writing. Maybe after becoming successful I’d be the next Michaela Coel adapting my work to the screen to great critical acclaim.

Well let’s just say reality hit hard, no punches pulled whatsoever. I left my sheltered Nigerian boarding school after graduation to go to the UK full time for my A Levels. First mistake was spending my years pocket money in under 3 months. Second mistake was essentially being mute for my first year of school. I have always been quite reserved and find it hard to talk to people. Going to a full boarding school meant I saw my classmates almost 24/7 so bonding and socialisation was inevitable. Well with A levels only having 3 subjects to study and it being a day school meant I could go a week without speaking to anyone except the lovely lunch ladies in the cafeteria.

If I am being honest I wasn’t used to interacting with white people and felt self conscious about my accent so it was a perfect storm. 

Then the whopper…I have always had a complicated relationship with food. Since I was younger my weight has fluctuated heavily. It didn’t help that my mom was one of those slightly bigger women who decided to become a gym addict and drop all the weight. A lot of her insecurity from being bigger rubbed off on me, directly and indirectly.

Having your mom take you to exercise classes at 13 hurts. Having your mom be so happy to see you lose so much weight because the food at your boarding school sucked hurts. Having people complimenting your mum and asking how you're related to her cuts even deeper. Every stab at my heart at confidence got buried deep. In school, I would restrict my eating by spending breakfasts which I hated asleep in class, would skip a few lunches then binge at dinner times. This had the effect of keeping my weight stable.

Even then my mom still criticised my weight. When I look back at my size 12/14 self in secondary school who was gorgeous, a rage fills me. I was so beautiful but with zero confidence. I hurt so much and wish I could go back in time for a few minutes to tell myself I was worthy of being liked, by others and myself.

Eventually being away from my mom, the safety of my boarding school friends and siblings made it easy to seek solace in food. I was in the UK, I was living in student accommodation and for the first time in my life I had a debit card. I spent hundreds of £s a month in takeaways. Then I spent over £100 on diet pills which made me feel ill. In under a year I went from a size 14 to 24 to my mothers horror and mine. I didn’t know about the body positivity movement or Tess Holliday. I only knew that my mom was angry and sad and worried I would die in my sleep one night.

In almost a decade, that has been one of her mantras when talking to me about my weight. That she can’t bury her child and she’s afraid one night I will sleep and not wake up. In her mind its concern, but the way she says it feels like emotional manipulation.

Reading back there’s a lot of mother bashing going on, but it is not intentional. Some people are besties with their mothers and I prefer a more distant relationship. We will eventually get to the daddy issues but that will take some tears and a while before I can go into that.

I crave the catharsis of writing. The word vomit and jumbled feelings in the pit of my stomach. It helps me see myself as that idealistic 16 year old with a heart full of dreams and hopes. Not the current dried out husk I think I am now. I think of my future in abstract terms.

I don’t see a family, mortgage or dog. I just see myself barely existing. I feel this with a resigned calmness. Then I have my internal spiral of being to shortsighted and hasty in writing my life off at 25. I read tweets about people finding first love in their 30s, going back to school in their 40’s and getting into their careers in their 50s. Then I hear that voice in the far corner of my mind whispering, do I even want to make it to my 40’s…

And I answer back quietly that I really don't want to make it to my 40s. I’ll maybe hold on till my parents die so my mom doesn’t lord it over me that she had to bury her child and not the other way around. But some nights I really don’t want to be alive. Some nights I wish I was never born and just like clockwork the tears start. Those tears that I hold in and the dark thoughts I numb with the stimuli of food, YouTube and now K dramas.

For the past few years, I have made my Other World. This Other World is essentially a parallel universe. In this universe I have no issues with food, I have an incredible metabolism that means I can eat virtually anything without guilt. I make friends my first day of college and join so many student societies and actually participate. I push myself in school and get into my mother’s dream of a Russell Group. I choose LSE though she wishes I chose Queen Mary. I work hard, join the Law Society, meet a lovely British Nigerian with a great background, we date a few years and get married. I get a Masters in Creative Writing and have an amazing blog which gets adapted to a critically acclaimed series and I am fulfilled.

Sometimes my Other World self changes. She is the daughter of millionaires who is a genius, polyglot and fighter of social justice. I can sing, know martial arts and take the movie world by storm. Other times I am just pretty and living a simple but happy life. I know in my heart that these are just fantasies and sometimes I wish I could be like Buffy in that episode of BTVS and stay stuck in that Other World fully. I’m sure you’re thinking about my family who I’d leave behind. My response is I can’t miss them if I never remember I had them.

I am the first daughter, the Ada. My parents though flawed always tell me I am a great role model for my siblings. I am seemingly still a virgin, don’t drink, do drugs or rock the boat too much. And I feel even worse. I feel guilty that with all they have sacrificed that they have been stuck with an average daughter and by upper middle class Nigerian standards, if that even exists, a sub par Ada. I feel defective looking around and seeing others in the peak of their careers, vetting engaged, building houses for their parents. I am still afraid of driving!! I can’t even get that basic skill down.

4 years post LLB, no LLM to at least lessen me not being a lawyer and stuck in a customer service role almost 3 years now. I know I am at fault for not making the right decisions. Not applying for the grad jobs or vacancy schemes in time. Being so down and depressed I wouldn’t leave my room for days and weeks at a time. Failing all my LLM modules, adding back all the weight and more after boot camps with my parents, not having enough savings and having an even worse accent after almost a decade in the UK.

My self-deprecating joke I tell is that my sister is the multi talented one, my brother the smart ambitious one and as my parents say I have a big heart. That essentially my parents would say my thing is having a big heart, like that ever helped anyone build a career. I thought if I couldn’t write then I could maybe study Social Work. That got shot down by my mother and I was persuaded to go into the path of Law for University. I applied for Social Work Schemes and got rejected multiple times over multiple years. I was too scared to sink my own money to self fund a Social Work Masters in case it became another LLM fiasco. SO now I have made Teaching my next career goal. I am resigning myself to it the way Henry the 8ths spouses and mistresses must have whenever he wanted to bed them. Powerless and without a choice. Then I think that’s  false equivalency and my pain could not be on the level of the pain they must have endured.

So many feelings, deep thoughts and memories flow out when I get the writing urge. I will likely never actually share this in full for obvious reasons except maybe anonymously. These few pages have jumped through quite a few time periods and experiences. My thoughts aren’t always linear and that ties in with something else I acknowledge but haven’t been serious about. I legitimately think I have ADHD and/or BPD. Watching the diagnosis episode of Crazy Ex Girlfriend by the amazing Rachel Bloom shone a light on feelings and behaviours I have had for a while. Maybe that’s why from the first episode of the show I was in love. She was stuck in the past, holding onto Josh who represented a time in her life of happiness. She had cutaways to magical musical numbers involving herself and the people around her.

The ADHD comes from following iconic black women on twitter who were outspoken about their diagnosis and bringing focus to how black women were being underdiagnosed. But then I think maybe I want to have ADHD as an excuse for the failures in my life and with the current NHS waiting lists I may not get a formal diagnosis for a while. So for now I manage and exist.

I like being honest in my writing. Exposing those dark parts of myself that I let fester in the recesses of my heart and mind.