#what am i doing with my life i have a french exam in less than a day

[minhosimthings]

A La Folie ft. Jay

Synopsis: Wounds came and went. All in the circle of life am I right? The greatest warrior among all the kings, Park Jay. For him, seeing blood was like seeing the sky. It was a daily routine which he could not escape. Yes sometimes he had grave injuries, which he wouldn't stop to take care of, with him being a workaholic. But sometimes healers do more than heal physical wounds, and for Jay, you did exactly that.

Pairings: King!Jay × healer!fem!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, no smut (yet hehe), mentions of blood, violence, domestic abuse, mentions of cheating, mistresses (don't read it if you can't handle it), mentions of food, Jay has a REALLY tragic past sorry bout that, reader is an orphan, also this is really dramatic IM SORRY I CANT NOT WRITE DRAMA, open ending oohh

A/N: EYYY MR JAY PARK WOOHOO Ngl I was so excited to write this but the exams and all made this kinda difficult to write so if anyone has been waiting for this I'm sorry for the extremely long wait. Also yes this wil be in three parts yay. @yunabi436 this is for you baby 😽

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

The French Quotes Series Masterlist

"And from Aphrodite's rotten lovesick blood did the white flowers turn into a darker shade of red, eternally forming the flower of love."

Aphrodite and the hunter Adonis' tale had been one of boars, blood, lust and love.

For the young king of the iron-kingdom of Vadronia (rightly given its moniker), the only thing he cared about in all of those four things were the boars and the blood.

Jay Park's kingdom wasn't the strongest in all of Paradoxica just in a penny's wish and a flick of a tail feather. It was quote unquote 'molten from iron itself' as all its rulers were.

From all of his brothers, Jay was probably the one who took his duties as a warrior seriously.

Well, a bit too seriously, according to the said brothers.

"Jay would you please stop running so fast?" Sunghoon panted, putting his hands on his knees and breathing heavily as beads of sweat dripped from his hair and skin.

The mud track was always the hardest one to trench upon, and with Jay on your trail? It was hell. Atleast that's what Jake and Sunghoon described it as.

"Are you going to be saying that when you're running from enemy horses?" Jay turned back and glared at Sunghoon, the light autumn breeze giving him peace as it whipped his hair around.

"For God's sake Jay, no one is going to invade us now." Heeseung walked into the scene, with much less sweatier clothes and an arrow clutched in his hand, indicating he had come back from his target practice, "Give the poor guys a break."

"Yes please give us a break I'll go down on my knees." Jake was close to collapsing on the floor, his hand desperately clutching onto the nearby flag pole for support.

"You'd go down on your knees for your best friend." Jay scoffed, throwing his head back to shake the sweat out of his hair follicles, because as glorious as they were, the stray strands still annoyed him, "And you." He turned towards Heeseung, who, even though was much taller than Jay, now looked like a dwarf in front of Jay's broad figure, "How many times do I have to remind you to come for practice?"

"It's not my fault." Heeseung jut out his bottom lip, he always loved acting cute in front of Jay even if he was older, "Little princess back at home has been spying on me. And not gonna lie, I am extremely aroused."

"Why did I even ask?" Jay rolled his eyes and stretched out his arms, the bright burning sun reflecting in his eyes like the moonshine he loved so much, which he drank by the fireplace as he penned down poetry he could show to no one.

"So Jayyyy" Sunghoon dragged his words out, "Felt any sparks lately?"

"Ask that question again and you'll be running twenty laps round this track." Jay promptly replied, cleaning his face with the lavender-smelling towel the nearby servant handed to him. He always loved the lavender scented things, it reminded him of the springs with his mother, oh how she would tease him with tiny flowers in his hair, and the clink of her ruby created dagger in her belt. The dagger lay soulless now, sitting in a secretive place in Jay's room, as he stared at it and remembered that moment again and again. His bastard father, no matter how many times Jay had cursed him, he still couldn't get it out of his mind.

His mother, his compassionate, kind mother, didn't deserve to bleed out from his father's turn of blade.

And no matter how many potions he took, the smell of the blood filled ballroom still lingered in his nose at night, when he would jolt awake in cold sweat, wanting to cling onto his mother, but then he'd remember that he wasn't eight anymore, she was gone.

"Jay you're my brother and I really respect you a lot." Heeseung started, sitting Jay down on the oak bench, while Jake and Sunghoon quietly sneaked out, running for their lives back to their horses, "But you've got to find someone to love in your life, you've got to get over your fear."

"Weren't you the one who was complaining about love to Jake and I a few days ago?" Jay raised a magnificently trimmed brow, to which Heeseung chuckled.

"Yep but then I fell into that rabbit hole and I seem to like it, a bit too much perhaps." Heeseung stared into the distance, instantly losing his dramatic moment as the setting sun hit his pupils.

"Yeah, someday when I'm older maybe." Jay fiddled with his fingers, he never could keep them still, "But for now, I wanted to ask if you'd want to come with me on a hunt tomorrow?"

"A hunt?" Heeseung quizzed, lifting himself with much difficulty off of the bench, bow in hand, "You haven't invited me to a hunt in ages."

"Necessity is the mother of invention." Jay got up as well, scented towel still in hand, "And in this case it's that wild boar our men have been hunting since last month, been terrorizing the border between Tarnow and Vadronia now. I'm surprised you haven't noticed yet."

"Consider me blinded by love." Heeseung threw a flirtatious wink at Jay, who visibly gagged, "I'll be there."

"I'll be waiting."

"No no no, Jay, we, under no circumstances, apply essence of Hibiscus to a water snake's venom." A lady with greying hair sighed, bending over a wooden cup, while a sturdy, black haired man gulped heavily and stared nervously at the herbs in his hand.

Jay was never very successful in his healing classes, and under the strict gaze of his teacher, old Mrs.Chun, he was far away from catching the train of success.

"I don't get it." Jay frowned like a child, setting the hibiscus flower down on the table filled with healing equipments of all kind, "Wasn't the essence of Hibiscus supposed to combat this snake's venom?"

The old lady sighed again and rolled her eyes, snatching the hibiscus from the table and setting it into a basket full of the bright red flowers. With her other hand, she picked up a wicker work basket of lavender and lifted it up to Jay.

"Lavender. I said lavender remember?" She smiled up at Jay like an encouraging teacher, "Lavender for the wounds which make a man turn purple, and hibiscus for the blood drops."

Jay mumbled the rule under his mouth before pressing the lavender petals to the venom splanched across the bown om front of him. The purplish colour immediately turned a healing shade of dark yellow, satisfying Jay and letting out a sigh of relief from the old lady.

"Just some more practice and patience and you'll be a good healer in no time." Mrs. Chun patted Jay's arm sympathetically.

"But why do I even need to be a healer?" Jay asked curiously, putting the box of potions up on the shelf where they belonged, "I'm already a warrior."

"Every great warrior needs to know how to tend to his own wounds." The old lady smiled, looking curiously at a green flask, "I made a vow to your mother to never let you fail in this subject."

Jay smiled fondly at the thought of his mother spending her hours in the infirmary along with Mrs. Chun. Mrs. Chun herself was like his mother figure, providing him the hugs his 14 year old self needed so bad years ago.

"And remember Jay!" Mrs. Chun called out just as Jay was about to leave the room, "I won't be here for the entirety of next month."

"But then who's going to look after the infirmary?" Jay turned back and raised a quizzical brow at Mrs.Chun, who smiled gently.

"My apprentice will." She promptly replied, "She's a nice girl, I told her all about your predicament of failing at healing." Jay let out a chuckle at Mrs.Chun's joke, "She'll take your classes alright?"

"Don't miss me too much Mrs.Chun!" Jay laughed, "I'm your favourite remember?"

Mrs.Chun laughed heartily to herself. Oh that boy, she thought, still a bit at heart even if he was a man to the world.

Only a bit of love perhaps, can truly lead him to show this side of him to the world.

Jay sighed heavily as he plopped down on his armchair, the most comfortable one by the fire.

Love, he scoffed, what a stupid, dangerous thing.

He believed his father to love his mother, he believed his mother to love his father even as he went out every night to quote unquote 'find himself'. Mistresses were awful buisness, and no Queen had ever objected her king having one. But of course, his mother had to object, she had to be different. She had to storm in to her husband and his lover and confront them. And his father, fire-filled man he was, had to strike a blade through her belly, making her bleed out in 14 year old Jay's arms.

And of course, Jay, blinded by his rage, had to strike his father back, skilled as his father was, Jay was more fleet footed, and in the blink of an eye, his father and his father's new toy were lying in cold blood on the floor, as Jay sobbed, clutching his mother's body, dead as a fish out of the ocean.

And his brothers had noticed, they had always noticed how Jay was never the same from that day. From the happy boy who loved to write stories and poetry and who hated to even step foot in the training yard, Jay became the mercenary king, ready with his sword clutched in hand, and his poems long forgotten to silence and withering darkness.

But it wasn't to say that Jay was a ruthless ruler, he chose not to take that path, especially not after half the kingdom starved under the rule of his father. It wouldn't have been a lie to say he was the kindest one in all of Paradoxica, except he didn't really show it in the way he spoke or acted, but by the way he controlled the administration and whatnot of the kingdom. This kept his busy, seldom leaving time for any other activities, much to the disappointment of his brothers, especially Heeseung, who had always been the closest to him, who had known what he was truly like, deep inside.

Clutching his eagle feather quill, one of his most dearest ones, Jay dipped the tip into his ink pot, letting the excess ink dry off before pressing it to his leather bound diary.

When he wrote the feelings he couldn't ever say out loud onto the softwood paper, Jay felt a sort of contentment, he had always been a clandestine philophile, so to write his proses on the idea of love, death and misery, was to create a beautiful choreography on his mindset.

Alas, if there was only someone he could show them to, someone who would understand what Jay meant in the lines, even with his messy loopy calligraphy, that would have been a dream truly come true.

But how could a man who wrote poems to challenge the angels of love themselves, ever find love?

But I am a mere narrator, what would I know?

And sometimes, just sometimes, Cupid lurked in the ballrooms of dancing princes and in the dark inkpots of oxymoronic kings.

"I have no idea what's happening, but I'm happy to be here." Sunghoon's beautiful Clydesdale horse pranced around on the grass, as energetic and as similar a persona as her owner.

"Would you tell her to calm down?" Heeseung's own chestnut's hooves guided him towards Sunghoon, "She needs the energy for the hunt." Heeseung easily managed to calm the mare down by scratching behind her eyes, to which Sunghoon drooped since he had been enjoying the prancing around a bit too much.

"Why are we going on a hunt again?" Jake adjusted his saddle, making sure he was buckled in properly to his Fox Trotter horse, "Aren't we above killing animals now?"

"Your best friend tell you that?" The clip clopping of Jay's magnificent Dutch Warmblood sent all of the soldiers to silence, "And if the animal is a wild boar, no we aren't above that."

"Whatever you say, oh great King." Sunghoon snickered, as he did a sort of bow on his horse, making everyone laugh.

"Oh shut up." Jay rolled his eyes, clutching onto his horse's hair, and leaning into his usual stance, "Come on now, don't want to keep a beauty waiting do we?" And with the mighty neigh of his horse, he rode off into the forest, followed by Heeseung, Jake and Sunghoon, who followed with dramatic sighs.

"Sometimes I wonder if he just wants to live in an adventure book and say cringey lines all the time." Sunghoon jested, making the others laugh.

"Where on earth is Sunoo?" Jay shouted out, completely ignoring the statement made about him, as the rest of the three managed to catch up to his horse's pace.

"Probably tending to his vineyard." The wind whipped Jake's hair around, "God knows if he'd ever accept coming to a hunt with us."

"Maybe a grape hunt-"

"Shh!"

Jay's action of stopping his horse, and shushing everyone startled the others, and as the clopping of hooves quietened down, they understood why Jay had stopped so abruptly.

The rustling of the nearby begonia bushes, combined with the noises of an animal which sounded extremely similar to a wild boar, alerted them, as they drew out their swords, daggers and metal tipped arrows, all from treasure chest of Vadronia's amazing metalwork, aiming them at the begonia bushes, as Jay held up his closed fist to give the command.

"Come on out." Jay whispered to no one in particular but himself, as the begonia bushes began shaking more rapidly and the sounds of an animal's footsteps came nearer.

"Hey maybe we should-" Heeseung bagan quietly to Jay, but was interrupted by the ripping of the begonias into shreds.

And there it was, what Jay had been waiting for.

A big wild boar in its full magnificence.

Ivory tusks in full gleam, swathes of brown fur all over its damaged skin, with wounds from previous hints. A ture display of its strength, Jay thought, it wanted to intimidate them, as if to say 'see how many people haven't defeated me yet, why do you think you stand a chance?'.

"Steady now, Lady." Jay patted his horse, which was ever so graciously named Lady, although the mare's personality in battle was far away from a lady's. Jay always preferred mares to horses, he though they were more faster and agile, while horses used their brute strength. And he had a hatred from brute strength. It was what got her killed after all.....

"Jake look out!" Heeseung cried out, snapping Jay out of his daze of staring into the boar's eyes. Of all the animals of the world, he hated this one the most, he hated the way his father loved to hunt them, and how he'd come home from hunts everyday drenched in blood with a boar skull im his hands, from which his mother would recoil from, what with her hatred of the smell of iron.

Hatred, that's all that was there in Jay's life. And that's all there will be.

"Jay, we have to get back come on!" Sunghoon cried, his horse already galloping away. The boar was far too big for them to contain. "Jay?" Heeseung peered back, "Jay no!"

But the sturdy built man's ears heeded no warning as he stepped along to the boar, his sword clutched tightly in hand, the carving of his name in the metal shining bright, as if to warn the spirit of the forest that he has arrived.

"Hyung what's happe-" Jake and Sunghoon's horses had turned back to see why the eldest wasn't coming, only to see Jay stabbing at the boar, while Heeseung tried to get Lady, who was close to prancing away into the depths of the forest.

"Help me would ya!" Heeseung cried, flinging his rope around Lady's magnificent neck, to which Sunghoon and Jake came quick and flung their own ropes, "One of you help Jay!"

"I'll go!" Sunghoon's horse galloped towards Jay, but to his shock, he saw that the boar was already lying, its movements still, and Jay standing drenched in blood.

It was dead.

Jay's sword was decorated with ribbons of maroon.

"Jay what the..." Sunghoon began, but he could find no words. The boar had been big, two times the size and strength of any ordinary man, and now it was kneeling at Jay's command, kneeling dead and cold as a fish.

"It's dead." Jay growled, his breathing too heavy, and his hand clutching a particularly dark spot on his stomach, as Heeseung and Jake came to the scene, having calmed Lady down, "The tusk...."

"The tusk? What about the- Jay!" Heeseung cried, before jumping off his horse and quickly moving towards Jay's graceful falling figure.

The last thing Jay felt was the feeling of wet grass underneath his head, Heeseung's hand over his wrist, and the familiar scent of feminine lavender pressing over him before everything went dark as he had always wished for it to be.

Jay never cared much about his injuries. No matter how big or small they were, no matter if it was a paper cut to the thumb or an arrow head to the shoulder, he would simply say "Injuries happen, it's a part of life" and move on. Which proved to be a source of annoyance for his brothers, especially Jake, who had an eye for healing.

But Jay was a firm believer in the notion that twenty four hours a day simply wasn't enough. He wanted more, he craved for more, more time, more work. Although he wouldn't admit it, everyone was in unison with the fact that he was Paradoxica's biggest workaholic.

And when it came back to the topic of injuries, Jay would still keep working, whether or not he was stuck in bed, because Heeseung had forced him to stay there.

Heeseung remembered Jay's younger days. How Jay would whine and do nothing if he got even the tiniest splinter in his finger. How he would beg for a day off from studies if he merely stubbed his tie against the kitchen ladder while sneaking out to steal pastries. But the horrible incident had changed every aspect of Jay, and now, he wouldn't stop working if every limb in his body was broken.

"All for the good of the people" he reasoned.

Usually Mrs.Chun had taken care of him, scolded him too many times about taking rests whenever he'd come back from battles or fights with blood flowing out his nose. But even then he didn't care. So the vision of waking up to Mrs.Chun's berry scent was a norm for him whenever he'd get injured.

But now, the room wasn't berry scented, and nor was Mrs. Chun sitting in the corner, waiting for him to wake up.

A girl?

A girl, wearing Mrs.Chun's apron, had her head rested against his table, her eyes fluttered close.

Were his eyes tricking him or did Mrs.Chun suddenly become thirty years younger?

Feeling something heavy on his waist, Jay tried to lift his head from his pillow, letting out a guttural groan as he did. God what was hurting him so much? He could feel something hurting at his stomach.

"Your Majesty, lie back down." He heard someone say, and as he opened his eyes, he saw the girl bending over him, forcing him to lie back down on the bed.

Jay stared at her for a few moments, trying to remember who she is before the candle went off in his mind.

The apprentice.

You were Mrs.Chun's apprentice.

"Are you Mrs.Chun's apprentice?" Jay groaned, feeling his head throb and his fingers were aching too.

You nodded promptly, before pushing Jay gently back onto the bed as he tried to get back.

"I'm sorry to inform you, Your Majesty, but you aren't getting up for another two weeks. You were stabbed by a wild boar's tusk." You stated firmly, shocking Jay at how casually you had addressed him, "His Highness Heeseung told me to handcuff you to the bed if you even try to move."

"Handcuff me?" Jay chuckled, moving his body slightly to lessen the pressure on his legs, "Where are you even going to get-"

Jay's sentence was cut off abruptly as your hands pulled out a pair of heavy metal from a secret pocket in the olive green dress you were wearing, and held it in front of Jay, effectively silencing him.

"I'm sorry if that was rude, but you are my patient, Your Majesty.." Your mouth let out a chuckle, sending a weird sensation into Jay's stomach, which he had never felt before, "So, I will do anything and everything in order to make you rest."

"So what may I address you by, My lady?" Jay quizzed you, his head now no longer throbbing for some reason. He studied your features for a while, he thought your eyes were pretty, decorated by a thin lining of kohl. Your figure was pretty too, wrapped in the striking colour of the dress you were in, combined with the beautifully familiar way you wore your hair.

"Definetly not by 'My lady'." You chuckled, picking up your dress, and sinking into a curtsy, "Y/N, you may call me Y/N, Your Majesty."

"Pretty name." Jay complemented, watching you stand up straight from your curtsy and smile impishly at him.

"You've got to take your medicine now." You reached into your apron's pocket and pulled a big vial, which was filled with a bubbling, golden liquid, "Now, according to Mrs.Chun, tricks by pretty people often work on you."

"Pretty people?" Jay scoffed childishly, thinking about whether or not he thought Heeseung was pretty, as you measured out the liquid into a cup, "Mrs.Chun needs to have a check for up there. And do you really think you're pretty?"

You strode towards him with the cup in your hand, and smiled widely. "Well, pardon me Your Majesty, but from the way you were staring at me five minutes ago, yes. I do think I'm pretty."

"Don't get your ego up." Jay warned, taking the cup from you, letting his mind linger for a few minutes on how your delicate fingers brushed his scarred ones softly, "Your parents mus'nt have taught you manners did they?"

"Well, firstly, I don't have parents." You smiled, "And secondly I need to check your bandages, they seem to be bleeding again."

So that was what the pain radiating from his stomach was, Jay thought, as he looked down to see his bandages streaked a darker shade of red. He quickly gulped down the golden liquid in the cup, a visibly disgusted expression forming on his face at how bitter it was, and looked up at you, with widened eyes.

"So...?" He said, expectantly, seeing you fumble with some clean cloth, another vial of what looked like cream, and a safety pin.

"Tell me where it hurts when I change them alright?" You said gently, making his lay down on the bed again, "and uh..."

"What?" Jay questioned, seeing your eyes linger at his wound or more specifically, his ab muscles, "Oh you can touch them it's fine."

"Oh. Oh yeah alright." You said, feeling your face heat up slightly. Bandaging him when he was still unconscious was easier than this, when he was awake. God his stare was so attractive to you, even now, as you gently touched his bandages, replacing them with cleaner cloth, you tried hard not to brush your fingers against his abs.

"Enjoying the view?" Jay asked, a cockish sneer to his voice. "There's a view to enjoy Your Majesty?" You fired back, although you most certainly were enjoying staring at him.

"You're an interesting one." Jay said, trying to make small talk as you lightly pressed against the smaller wounds with the cream, "Y/N wasn't it?"

"Yep." You said with a pop of your lips, finishing wrapping his wounds with a slight tap to check if they were secure, "And please do stay in bed and don't work. If you need anything, I'm right outside. His highness Heeseung has told me to rest in the chambers opposite yours."

The chambers opposite to his, his parents' chambers. God did Jay hate that room, all big and filled with skulls from hunts.

"If you want to you can go home, I can manage on myself." Jay said, his eyes set on yours. Why was it so hard to maintain eye contact with you?

"I know how that idea works." You smiled again, bringing that weird sensation back into Jay's stomach, "I'll go and then you'll order someone to bring you your work, so His Highness Heeseung specifically asked me not to leave. I guess you're stuck with me Your Majesty." You curtsied to finish off the impression.

"Jay." He spoke again, to your confusion, which made him stifle a chuckle, "Please, call me Jay."

"Jay." You smiled to yourself, "Well, ring that bell if you need anything."

As you left the room, quietly shutting the door behind you, Jay had the sudden urge to kick his feet in the air. The room was filled with lavender scent, your lavender scent to be specific, and it gave Jay a sense of calm, which in turn reduced the pain radiating from his stab wound.

Well this would be an interesting two weeks.

"Your Majesty what on Earth are you doing?"

Jay froze in his position at hearing a stern voice. Your stern voice, to be precise.

"Resting?" He said, trying to hide his cheeky smile, as he slowly backed away from his table. Rolling your eyes, you quickly got him back to the bed, worried that his bandages will open back again. But the only thing Jay was worried about was that his work wasn't getting completed.

"How about this?" You asked, as you finally managed to wrestle him back to the bed, "I'll do the work for you, if you agree to rest. It's in that diary right?"

"I can't let you do that." Jay grumbled, reaching for your arm, as you hurried to get to the diary on his table. The cold touch of his hand on your warmer skin made you flinch heavily, which in turn made Jay pull his hand away.

"I'm sorry." Jay quickly apologised, as you rubbed your arm, "I- That's my private diary, I don't really allow people to see it."

"Oh, my apologies then." You curtsied, still rubbing your arm, feeling extremely cold for some reason, even if the warm daylight was coming into the room through the window, "Your Majesty-"

"Jay." He corrected, shooting you the tiniest fragment of a smile.

"Jay." You said again, this time feeling more at ease, "You've got to rest, I'm begging you. Those bandages won't magically heal you until you rest. If there's anything I can do to get you to rest, I'll do it."

Jay's ears weren't actually listening to anything. His mind was too distracted again, by your scent. God damn his strong sense of smell, but you smelled like memories he wanted to forget.

"Tell me what perfume you use and then I won't work." Jay looked up at you with a cheeky smile. He didn't know why, but he felt comfortable to show you his smile, which he didn't often feel with the ladies in their paraffin socks.

"I- that's a peculiar question." You said, not knowing what to feel aboutthe actual King asking you about your perfume.

"I swear on my own grave that I will rest if the great healer Y/N tells me her perfume." Jay recited, keeping his hand on his chest for dramatic effect.

"It's the lavender one we get in the town square from Marcella's." You raised your chin up high, "Now would you rest?"

"Hmmm let me think." Jay dramatically sighed, "No."

"Your Majesty, I will beg." You breathed desperately, "I will seriously-"

"Your collarbone." Jay interrupted, his attention diverting from your eyes to your shoulder, "There's something on your collarbone."

Jay took note of the way your eyes flickered quickly and worriedly to your collarbone, and how you rushed to pull the sleeve of your dress up to cover it, clearing your throat afterwards to clear the awkward air.

"Are you-"

"Your Majesty, I admire the way you hold so much strivance for your work but you really must rest if you wish to keep working for the rest of your life."

The atmosphere of the room had a drastic change, Jay could feel it, as you quickly curtsied, said a quick "excuse me" and hurried off towards the exit.

That wasn't a stain or a birth mark on your shoulder Jay knew it, as he leant back comfortably, and decided to follow your advice for a while.

He'd seen dark marks like that on someone he once knew and loved.

And something in him asked him not to rest (unless it was pretending for you) until he figured out where that bruise the size of a man's hand, came from.

Part 2 coming soon....

Tags: @amazzwon @heeseungshim @kvmariii @mwahvvis @hottiewifeyyyy @sacrificeatmeup @perfectnighttt @yawnzzhoon @yunabi436

[sexysirius]

Home

GIF is not mine. Credits to whoever made it.

Summary: you and Nick have a star gazing date

Pairing: Nick x gender neutral reader

Word count: 596

Warnings: Nothing except so much fluff that might cause diabetes :p

Type: Fluff fluff and more fluff

Nick’s GCSE exams have just ended and both of you wanted to celebrate. It took Nick less than a minute to come up with this idea since he knows how much you loved stars and constellations.

You met at around 6:30 pm at James park. You’d planned it as a picnic and star gazing date. You’d brought some sandwiches and orange juice and laid it out on the classic red and white checkered cloth which was laid out on the grass. Nick had brought some chocolate chip cookies which you love so much.

Nick was sitting upright with his back rested along the bark of a tree lazily moving his fingers across your hair. You were lying down with your head rested on his legs.

“You really love my curls, don’t you?” You asked when the pink tint on his cheeks became evident.

“As a matter of fact I do, as much as you love me speaking French.” He said with a smug grin .

“I do not..I mean it’s good to hear you speak french I mean your French is good…the grammar and fluency…” you were stuttering at this point and you knew it

“Aww, no need to get all worked up, mon amour” he said with a smirk which turned into a full blown laughter.

“Nick Nelson, are you laughing at me?” You asked as you got up to sit upright facing him.

“Oh love, I love how you love my French.” he said pulling you towards him and making you sit on his lap.

You blushed fiercely and it only made him laugh more and god was it adorable.

You put your arms around his neck and you laid your head on his shoulder. You wanted to do this and be this for the rest of your lives and you knew it.

It was around 8pm when you were able to trace the stars to form the constellations.

You were able to make out Rigel, Bellatrix, Betelgeuse and Saiph which made a rough rectangular shape.

“Look that is Rigel and to the left, the brightest one is Saiph. Now travel upwards along Saiph and the next brightest star is Betelgeuse and now go right and you’ll find Bellatrix which is not that much bright but these 4 form the rough rectangular shape.” You took a piece of paper and drew a rough diagram as you saw on the sky and Nick was able to spot it immediately. You went onto explain Orion’s Belt and stars thereby tracing the path along the infamous Orion constellation.

You were able to identify the Pictor constellation and the three stars forming it- alpha, beta and delta pictoris with beta being the brightest.

“Are you feeling bored?” You asked look at Nick.

“No, absolutely not. I’m just amazed at how much you know about stars and constellations and now I’m completely understanding your obsession with Sirius Orion Black.” He said with a laugh.

“Well, he is the brightest star in the sky with a doomed life and if that isn’t ironical I don’t know what is.”

“I know y/n. It’s almost like it makes sense for his ending to be like that you know.” He said thinking more about the topic

“Yeah, that’s what makes it even more interesting.”

You and Nick lay beside one another and were spotting constellations and lazily playing with each other’s fingers for a long time and it felt like home. Nick felt like home.

“I love you” you whispered in his ear before snuggling into him.

“I love you too” he said holding onto you.

A/N: So yes I am obsessed with Sirius black if it’s not evident from this fic.

[sysy-studyblr]

hello! i stumbled upon your blog a few days ago and was honestly amazed at how you progressed in your german learning in less than a year. i don't know if you ever made a post about it, but could you share how you structured your learning routine? i'm self-studying french and the thing i find the hardest is how to cover all the topics i need and fit them jn a schedule. i know it's different fot everyone, but you're a major inspiration source, so it'd be pretty helpful! thank you in advance 💜

hi, firstly thank you so much!!! this is such a kind message!!!!! like very seriously, the type of message I would store in my heart for a long time, so thank you.

going to be absolutely real with you, I was very free as I picked up German, it was kind of my only goal for 8 months, so I didn't need to worry about other tasks!!! but in general, I started using the Common European framework of reference for languages [CEFR - A1-C2] to guide my revision, I did A1 - A2 with a language learning institute [goethe], where I got content + guidance from them and B1 - B2 with a private tutor, though I used a lot of my own resources + scheduling, so I'll break down what could be useful for you!

I broke German down into vocabulary and grammar, like just fundamentally - I did learn a bit of French, so I think this could work for French too, considering tenses as a part of grammar.

generally you have to progress in a language from basics to intermediate to then advanced, such that vocabulary + grammar structures get more complex as you go along. I (allegedly) pirated (alleged) German learning books from the (alleged) website libgen/scihub, and used them for practice. I also found free content online for German B2 grammar.

if you want to pass an exam, then what I did would work - towards the exam time, I pretty much just understood grammar structures, and read vocab, then did past papers until I was really good at it, because I needed the certificate for uni. but in general, I recommend practicing these structures yourself, and integrating them into your life. I watched German shows, listened to German music, read tons of stuff in German, and of course, all my devices are in German now. [I also did this before my French IB exam, albeit I am not very good at French]

my schedule had German every day, on average 3 hours, the week before exams 4 hours a day for like 5 days straight. I gave myself a week to go over grammatical structures, but if you just obtain a French A1 book and start doing the exercises alone, you would be just fine. I missed 20 hours of the start of the A1 class (I did 4 hours a day from A1 - A2) and I just used the simple book they gave, understood stuff with a dictionary and pushed forward.

this reply might be super all-over-the-place so do let me know if I should expound on something specific or if something makes little to no sense,!!!!

[mrhaitch]

Hihi! This is my first ever ask for you, and I’m quite nervous actually, (I was when I was sending one to Haitch too, I kinda look up to both of you in more ways than one and both of your writing makes my brain tingle✨)

So, my question is more along the lines of seeking your opinion as I feel, you might be the best person who can answer this. (Haitch is welcome to answer it too…I will def appreciate it)

So, being a straight-A student all my life, I made the people around me surprised and kinda miffed when I announced that I wanted a degree in English literature, when any college possible was readily accepting me for any degree in science (which the people around me were subtly nudging me towards. I mean I’m an Asian..it’s a given that they expected me to inevitably go for the most obvious choice)

After six years of grueling and being told over and over that my career has no fruitful future in my country, and an undergrad degree later, I am just a year away from completing and getting a masters degree in English literature. And the self doubt is finally setting in. There are moments where I feel like is it even worth it? Because my end goal is to become a professor.

And I know that it’s gonna be a mediocre pay—which is not the source of my worries, honestly I love literature too much to care—the thing that worries me is, the amount of time it’s gonna take to reach the said end goal.

See, in my country, you gotta clear a national level competitive exam to get a chance to even be an assistant professor in any university. The pass rate is low so to speak. And then I gotta start my PhD. So the thing that scares me is, what If after so much toiling and feeling like I’ve been doing nothing but study, for the entirety of my life, what if I end up actually hating the thing I love?

I just can’t help but feel a bit lost, and I’m scared about losing face in front of the people I stood up against. So as a person who has been a professor—of English literature no less— I need you to lay it straight to me.

Is it worth it? Should I keep going? Because to be honest, keeping my worries aside, I have been eagerly looking forward to that little me I envisioned doing something I love.

Because all this endless studying (I’ve also been trying to learn French since the last 4 years) is giving me a little burnout.

Okay. First things first, take a deep breath as it sounds like you're putting yourself under a lot of pressure so take a moment.

Academia is highly demanding, competitive, undervalued, and underpaid as career paths go. Much of the work you'll do (research, applying for grants, etc) will be unpaid and you'll do it for the love of it, and because it's the only way to secure and keep your job. I'm still very early in my career - I taught for two years and still haven't secured a permanent post as my publishing record still isn't to the required standard. It's likely that I'll be spending the next two to five years undertaking unpaid research, pursuing publications, and attending conferences in my own time and with my own money - all with the hope it'll get me a permanent position.

It still might not.

Even if I do succeed what awaits me is an ever dwindling pension rate, the promise of grotesque levels of overwork and an ever diversifying workload where academics are being required to take on more and more administrative tasks, ON TOP of their research, teaching, and pastoral responsibilities.

And no one will thank me - in the UK academics are heavily criticised by the press and the public at large.

But I'll still do it, I'll still chase it.

The main question is why? (Or as I had to say in terrible workshops I was forced to run in my previous job: 'what's your why?')

Academia is like healthcare, or policing, or social work, or any traditional vocational role: you tend to already know if it's what you want, and what you're going to push yourself beyond all reason to get to. You know it's hard, and unpleasant, and thankless, but part of you doesn't care - you'll likely do it anyway.

Burn out is a risk, as it is with any demanding career paths. You'll likely have many moments where you'll want to quit, or take up sewing, or anything at all that isn't what you're currently doing. There'll also be moments where it all feels worth it - looking out across a classroom and seeing a student fully understand what you're saying, that they get it; or having colleagues read your work and engage with it like it's a valuable contribution; or speaking in front of an engaged audience who value and appreciate what you're doing.

I have no definitive answers for you. I don't know your situation, I don't know your country or what the academic culture is there - I can only speak from my own experiences and from what I know.

What I can say is this: if this is what you want, truly and deeply, then go in with both eyes open. Never forget the challenges or the problems, never let yourself be lulled into a fantasy: know what you're doing and your reasons for doing it. Do it because you love it, because you'll need that love. Do it because you have something to say, something to put out into the world because that will be the thing that keeps you going when it's hard.

If this is what you want, be prepared to fail and fail often. Be prepared to be frustrated, and for people to suggest you quit and try something else (they mean well, mostly).

But also be prepared to be utterly smitten with and moved by your work, by your students, by that feeling of contributing to the ever deepening well of human knowledge. It's beautiful, it's bad, but it's beautiful.

[vroooom2]

Halvar sent me a question: if you weren't so smart, what job would you do?

My answer: make-up artist and hairdresser! Because you don't need the baccalaureate to study it. Unfortunately for me, I loved studying. And it looks like I still do.

That reminds me of when I was 15, I met a counselor for professional orientation, who was invited to meet all the students in our school, to advise what we should study after the baccalaureate.

- Me (with sheer enthusiasm): I want to become a fashion designer, what is the degree for that?

- Her (looking at my grades): you have to study at Science-Po

- Me: 😳

- Her: yes study at Science-Po, then you'll be able to do whatever you want after that.

Moral of the true story: I studied Fashion and Textile Design after the Baccalaureate, then Advertising, then I got into Science-Po, skipping the first year (special exam for those who had a BAC+2, usually for those who did two years of prépa, the special formation to get into French elite graduate schools).

I passed the entry exam, because after my studies in advertising, I was so demoralized, that I met another counselor for professional orientation, who advised me to do Science-Po. Her argument: it's all about learning general knowledge "culture générale". The curriculum includes history, geography, law, economics, social science, philosophy, foreign languages, and different specialties. She thought that it would broaden my perspective in order to choose a profession. (Actually, the best professional advice during a career change, was from a friend who said: with your background you can invent your profession. Such a mind-blowing truth.)

I followed her advice. I chose to apply for the communication section. How did I prepare for the exam? A friend who was accepted at Science-Po, after he graduated in engineering at École des Mines, gave me some tips. He works at the European Commission. For one month I read newspapers from various political views. Everyday, I picked up a newspaper and read all the pages. It helps to synthesize ideas, the requirement of the entry exam at that time.

No matter the section you applied for, you had 10 pages on a topic with documents from different sources: newspapers, legal texts, images, etc. Then you had to answer 4 questions, in a dissertation way, in 4 hours. Same process for the English test, but less pages and only 2 questions in 2 hours. Depending on your results, you were either eliminated or offered the chance for an interview with two professors of your chosen section, one who played nice, one who played mean.

Got accepted, then after two weeks, I was so bored, that I went to meet the Dean of Science-Po to ask if I could get into the International Relations section (it was actually my first wish, but I knew I'd have more chance to be accepted in the communication section). He said yes. And here I am babbling my life on Tumblr. Although, I wonder if LinkedIn Pulse would be a better platform. Uh, no I'm not an influencer, I'm a trailblazer.

What about the Medical Anthropology masters degree? Well, if you scroll down less than a mile with your thumb, you already have a part of my memoir.

Here's the other one: at Science-Po, we had a gap year to do an internship or study abroad in another European country (Erasmus program. See the movie l'Auberge Espagnole by Cédric Klapisch).

As I wanted to add something significant to my CV, I decided to work in Thailand, for an HIV/AIDS scientific program of Harvard University. Indeed, I already had my kind of Erasmus blasting experience, when I studied Fashion in London after the baccalaureate. I didn't go there through an University exchange program, but I felt the same liberation as the Erasmus students who discover new cultures, make new friends, and have a lot of fun.

To work in Chiang Mai, was more than an internship, my supervisor who was the director of the program gave me the title of "communication officer". The first time I spoke with him on the phone, he kept repeating: "Thailand is not vacation." He was right. My daily expenses there, were covered by a grant from the French regional public administration, the equivalent of a Thai manager's salary.

It was such a great experience, that after Science-Po (the graduate completion was 4 years, before the European educational reform), I decided to go further and do a Masters degree related to Public Health.

I wrote an email to the two directors of a masters degree: "Health, Population, Social Policies" asking how to proceed to get into it. I didn't know anything about EHESS procedures.

The Historian director wrote me back very quickly, mentioning that the second director would be more appropriate. I wrote to that second director who's a Medical Doctor, an Anthropologist and a Sociologist, forwarding the email of the first director. I explained that I wanted to skip the first year and get into the second year directly. The master degree completion was two years. He wrote me back, and asked me to meet him on June 21st.

After attending a fashion runway, as a freelance videographer/journalist (hey! I had to pay my bills), I went to meet him in his office on 96 bd Raspail. He started to talk about many things, mentioning many researchers names, as if I was already working on my dissertation 😳... Then I asked him: am I accepted? He didn't reply, and kept talking about concepts... I asked him again: am I accepted? No answer... That's when I discovered the heuristic research method.

I got into the second year, and met new students who asked me who was my advisor. When I said his name, they were all WOW... I was obviously the only one who didn't know that he was THE Celebrity that all students wanted to have as a supervisor.

[nordic-language-love]

(Re)introduction post

I seem to be gaining a lot of new followers atm (migrants from langtwt, I’m guessing! In that case: hello and welcome to langblr!) SO here’s a little bit about me and my blog!

About Me

I mostly go by Victoria online and it's what I prefer

She/her

In my 30s (yes I am a Real Adult with at least some of my shit figured out)

UK born and raised (East Midlands), although I'm moving to Japan soon!

I currently teach English as a foreign language on italki to students of all ages (current age range is something like 5-60), but will be teaching at an Eikaiwa from January

I'm also an aerialist (pole and hoop), which I teach and perform, a stilt-walker and fire performer (you can go visit my sideblog @jo-jenova if you're interested)

I'm also a fan of gymnastics, dance, writing (fantasy/sci fi/general fiction), baking, buying and owning books (and occasionally reading them), vikings (not in a weird white supremacist way), corvids, cats, Star Trek and, of course, linguistics

I’m currently awaiting an ADHD and autism assessment. I’m 99.9% sure I have ADHD and have pretty much no doubts that I’ll get a diagnosis (autism I’m less convinced of, but we’ll see what the experts say)

Languages

My native language is English (British - close to modern RP)

I also speak Norwegian and it is my main love/target language. This year I took the official B2/C1 exams and got C1. I write bokmål and speak a variety of Oslo dialect.

I'm also learning Japanese (current level: not quite N5). My goal is to reach a comfortable N5 level before I go there.

I largely understand Scots (more written than spoken), Danish (more written than spoken) and Swedish.

Languages I love and have some experience with but am not learning right now include: Finnish, Icelandic, Ukrainian, Tswana, Spanish

Wishlist: Korean, Cornish, Irish, Old Norse, Old English, Chinese

I can speak/understand a bit of French because I learned it for like 12 years but I've forgotten most of it (I do appear to be dabbling in it a little again though whoops lol)

I post primarily about Norwegian, Japanese, other Nordic languages, Celtic languages (Scots included as an honorary member) and linguistics, but occasionally I'll post about other things too.

About My Blog

My blog focuses primarily on my own personal language journey. I'm not really about aesthetics (you might get an aesthetic picture once in a blue moon) or pretending to be more advanced than I am. I mostly try to reflect where I am.

Sometimes this means I come across as bragging when I’m proud of myself or attention-seeking when I’m feeling down. That’s not my intention; I mostly just aim to be honest with myself and everyone else.

I post language logs once a week. These are so I can keep a track of what I've been doing and how I feel from week-to-week. They're not to show off how much I did or make anyone feel like they should be doing more. But if they make you feel that way and need to unfollow me because of that, then I understand.

Other things I post may include vocabulary lists, grammar posts, things related to linguistics, challenges and links to things related to my target languages that I find interesting.

I don’t do drama or discourse. I feel no obligation to respond to inflammatory asks and usually delete anything that I think is contentious. This is a language blog and it’s pretty rare that I deviate from that (I have a side blog for all my non-languagey stuff). But of course you can ask me questions about me and my life!

My blog is absolutely a safe space for people from all walks of life regardless of sexual identity, gender identity, ethnicity, nationality, colour, religion, size, IQ, background etc. If you consider that to be an issue, then you know where the unfollow button is.

I’m kinda terrible at replying to messages, so please don’t take it personally if I never respond to you.

My ask box is always open and anon is always on, so please feel free to send me any questions you have! (But uhh like I say I’m bad at replying sometimes so please just give me a nudge because honestly I may have just forgotten)

[smallangstdemon]

6, 16, 21 and 46 for the ask game!

6. Do you prefer writing or drawing?

Contrary to popular belief and to the amount of time I spend on each, I largely prefer writing over drawing. I think it comes to three facts. 1. When you look at a drawing, mistakes are way more obvious than when you look at writing and I also generally more easily how to fix a mistake in writing than in drawing. 2. What I prefer when creating is to tell a story, and so far I'm quite unable to do so by drawing (although the main reason I work so much on drawing is to be able to do so). 3. I'm studying literature, which means that I spend, like, at the very least 10h a week studying other writers, which is a very efficient way to improve; a thing I can't exactly do with drawing, since I don't go to art school. So when I write, especially after studying literature so much, I know what I'm doing, whereas I'm kinda a fly when it comes to drawing (one day I'll learn composition I swear)

16. Want any tattoos? What of?

Tattoos!! I'm kinda conflicted on this one. On one hand I'm kind of a butterfly and generally grow bored of things and getting bored of something you can't remove is... well. And also, I'm not fan-fan of how they age. On the other hand, tattoos are hella cool, and it's a tat cliché but you have one life? Either way, I think if I get a tattoo it's going to be when I'm at least 25 because apparently it's when brain stabilizes (maybe it's false but either way, I'm so not the type of rush things 😭).

About the content, I'm not sure either. It'd be certainly a manga thing, either from FMA, D.Gray-Man, Naruto or MHA; or for no manga: Marvel. I think I won't put any colour because that's what age the less well and it won't be too big. More generally, anything cute like a little ghost. Also, I think at some point I'll cave and have a tattoo of Le Cid by Corneille, but I don't know which quote yet.

21. How was your day today?

Wrote the answers in two days so I'm going to answer about them both 😭

Yestersay/Saturday: so great tbh I had my usual 6h exam in the morning and today's subject was french and I??? Liked doing it??? Which is really surprising because I'm not a fan of french literature usually. I think it's because last time I had a banger note at my french exam so I came in very confident. Plus, french exam is generally about dissing someone famous for 6h and :> I think I'll be less happy when the note comes but tbh I did great. Then we celebrated my father's birthday!!

Sunday/Today: Tbh Sundays are always the worse for me, if you have to know one (1) thing about me is that I fucking hate sundays. Because they're usually the only day where I don't have to wake up at 7 am so I don't put alarm which makes me wake up too late to properly work; and then I generally take a big nap in the afternoon and all in all it's a day I generally pack up with plans but end up doing nothing because too tired 🥲

46. What do you need when you're sad?

To be left alone, at least irl. Like, if it's about something specific, I'd probably vent ivl to someone (generally you dozjd8dh) but since I'm generally sad about nothing specific, I prefer to be left all alone and cry, like cry my eyes while listening to emotional/sad music and writing. What appeases really is the writing part I believe (another reason why I prefer writing over drawing blbl)

Ask game

[hawkins-losers]

My little rockstar (part 3) | Robin Buckley x OC

-

The sun was really hot today, which caused sweat to beat on Robin and make her skin icky. She hated weather like this. Thankfully, she wasn't scheduled at work until later and wouldn't have to suffer in the stuffy store all afternoon.

Conveniently, it was Steve’s day off so she went to his house to take advantage of his rich people pool. In her neighborhood, no one had pools. If you wanted to swim or cool on a hot day, you had to go to the municipal pool and it was always full of little kids screaming and moms trying to flirt with the male lifeguards.

''I could get used to being rich,'' Robin said, laying on her chaise by the pool and eating popsicles - enjoying life.

''You’re not rich though. I am,'' Steve reminded her.

''Your parents are rich. You work at minimum wage at the video store and currently have less than ten dollars in your bank account.''

''I do not.'' Robin stared at him and he sighed. ''Okay, maybe I do.''

''Why are you still working at the video store if your parents are rich? I know your dad wanted to teach you a lesson, but I thought it was a summer thing. It’s been a year.''

''Because they’re not giving me access to their funds until I re-do my exams and go to college, which means I have to pay for my car and gas myself.''

''Why don’t you re-do your exams, then?''

''Because I’m not smart enough for school. I failed three subjects. There’s no way I can upgrade my grades. And, even if I had the grades, I have no idea what I want to do in life,'' Steve explained, not seeing far into his future. Picking something you want to do for the rest of your life is hard. ''Do you have plans?''

Robin nodded. ''Traveling. I want to go to Paris.''

''What’s in Paris?''

That’s when Robin realized that she never really asked herself the question: why did she want to go to Paris? Going to Paris has been a dream of hers since she was about ten. It’s the reason why she took french lessons.

''I don’t know.''

She honestly didn’t.

Was it to escape her small town? Was it to be fully herself without the fear or risk of anyone she knows judging her?

They dropped the conversation and Steve went back to tanning while Robin stood and ran, cannonball-ing into the pool and splashing Steve when she entered the water.

.

Robin was boredly blowing her bubblegum behind the counter when a customer walked in.

''Good evening, welcome to Family- Hey, Teresa.'' Robin smiled, pleased to see her tonight. ''Need another recommendation for your brother?''

Steve wasn't working tonight so he won't give her shitty recommendations.

Teresa shook her head. ''Not this time. He's spending the weekend at a friend's. Any suggestions for me? I'm having a solo movie night.''

Leaving her spot behind the counter, Robin followed Teresa to the horror section of the store. It wasn't Halloween yet so the shelves were pretty full. Robin looked through the selection in front of her, taking her time picking the right movies. She didn't want to let the raven haired girl down with her movie recommendations. She might not come back if she gives her a bad movie.

''What about Sleepaway Camp? It's summer, I say it's the perfect time to watch.''

Teresa nodded. ''Good choice. What's your second pick?''

''What about Friday 13th: part VI? The first one is a classic, but I personally prefer this one.''

''Alright. I'll take them both.''

The two girls headed to the counter to register the movies and pay.

''I envy you. I haven't had a movie night in so long,'' Robin said while scanning the movies.

She missed the days when all she did on Friday nights was sit in her living room and watch horror movies. Life was simpler back then. When all she had to think about was the movie she was going to watch after school instead of getting a job.

Teresa raised an eyebrow. ''Don't you watch movies all day when you work?''

''Yes and no. There's a lot of movies we aren't allowed to watch. Horror movies are sadly on that list. 'We can't risk scaring the customers away','' Robin explained, mocking her manager's voice, still annoyed by the dumb rule.

''What are you watching tonight?''

''Ferris Bueller's Day Off.''

Comedies weren't Robin's thing, but that movie was hilarious. The synopsis doesn't sound promising, but there's never a dull moment. It's impossible to not like this movie.

''Really? I would've taken you for a Pretty in Pink girl.''

[pregnant-piggy]

Back again - part II

Sirius Black x reader

Words: 3600+

Warnings: swearing

part one

A/N: I’m back! Stressed af, but I could not leave you without part two! So I’m doing this instead of learning for my exams :) It’s the final part, but don’t worry cuz I have more Sirius content for you! XXX

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

The street you walk in is completely dark. Every curtain is closed and only four street lanterns are working. You squeeze your eyes to see what the house numbers are. Afraid anyone will see you, you don’t use your wand, but it lies steady in your hand, hidden in the pocket of your coat. You take a few steps closer to a house and read that it is number 14. You step back and walk further. After a few minutes you come to the right house, number 38. You walk to the door and knock.

Nerves rush through your veins as you wait for the door to open. You had never been here before, but Dumbledore had told you this was the right address. You weren’t sure though, it didn’t really seem like a place that-

The door opens, interrupting your thoughts. You look into the light brown eyes of Remus Lupin. He looks shocked; his jaw is dropped and his hand is clasped around the door frame. After a few seconds his confusion changes into a small smile then into a big grin. He pulls you in his arms and holds you tight. You sigh happily; it had been years since someone hugged you like that. A tear rolled down your cheek and you wiped it away with the sleeve of your coat.

‘Come in, come in,’ Remus says with a throaty voice. You step into the small house. You enter a small, dark hall filled with a single coat rack, where you hang up your coat. The living room is just as dark as the hall, but there is a fire burning fiercely in the cold.

‘I’ll get you something to eat…’ Remus mutters and you feel he needs to take a few deep breaths alone in the kitchen.

It is not a very big room and it is filled with a brown couch and a bookcase full of books. Waiting for Remus to return, you walk to the bookcase and look at the books. A summary on vampires; Magical creatures: dangerous or not?; Five ways to defend yourself in front of trolls. Your eyes scan all the books and they stop at a big book without the name on it. You smile when you see it is a photo album filled with pictures of you and your friends. Pictures of sleepovers in the boys’ dormitory, trips to Hogsmeade, photos of birthdays and other parties. On one of the pages you see your favourite photo.

All of you on Halloween in you third year, dressed up as each other. Sirius had gone as Peter and had filled his backpack with candy; Peter dressed up as James, with huge glasses and really messy hair; James had painted his hair red to be Lily; Lily had stolen a big sweater from Remus and was holding up five books; Remus was you, he wore a (y/h/c) wig and your favourite dress; you dressed up as Sirius, wearing his huge T-shirt and you had painted your hair black. You look at your bag that is lying on the ground. That T-shirt is in there. You had never given it back to Sirius, you loved it too much.

You are browsing through the album and your attention is taken by a picture of you and Sirius. You have fallen asleep on the couch in the common room and Sirius is sitting next to you looking at you. Under the picture someone, and you recognise Lily’s handwriting, has written: If you only knew what you feel for each other. You look back at the picture and realise that it is taken in your fifth year. You and Sirius weren’t dating yet but you had told Remus and Lily about your crush, and apparently so had Sirius. You start to cry; you can’t wait to see Sirius.

Remus enters the room and you turn around wiping away your tears. He looks from your face to the book back to your face.

‘I didn’t know you had this,’ you say to Remus. You sit down next to him on the couch.

‘Well yeah, Lily and I made it. I haven’t opened it since she and James died.’ You see the sad look on Remus’ face and you close the album. ‘When did you got here?’ Remus asks you.

‘This morning. I wanted to come to you, but Dumbledore insisted that I came to him first. I met Harry and he told me about what happened since Sirius escaped.’ You sigh; it had been a long day and you were tired, but you still want to hear Remus’ side of the story.

You rest your head on Remus’ shoulder and close your eyes. ‘France sucks you know? Stupid French people with their cheese and baguettes. They ruined baguettes for me!’ You hear Remus chuckle and continue your rant. ‘The only good thing there were the pastries. But they were expensive as hell! And the French wizards! Merlin, are they annoying! I never understood a word they were saying, which is not very nice when you’re duelling. Luckily that only happened a few times.’

Remus suddenly turns to you and looks you in the eye. ‘You haven’t changed at all have you?’ he asks with a  smile. ‘I missed you. I could have used your enthusiasm and positivity, it has not been nice…’

Seeing your questioning face, Remus begins to tell you about the things Harry didn’t. About the new Order, about his time with the werewolves, about the night at the ministry previous summer.

He talks all night and is finished when the sun already starts to rise. You have listened to him without interrupting. Your eyes are red from the sleep you are lacking, but you wouldn’t have wanted this night to be any different. It was nice to talk to Remus again. You had missed him so much. His smile and sarcastic comments, yes, but also the way he listens to your stories and how he trusts you even after this much time apart.

‘The next meeting is next Wednesday. Are you coming?’ Remus asks you while cleaning up his coffee table, that was covered in coffee mugs and candy-bar-wrappings, and you shrug.

‘I don’t know, I think I need to think about what you told me and what Harry told me, but I don’t think that will take until Wednesday. And to be honest I could really use some sleep right now. I haven’t slept for like two days.’ Remus laughs softly and gets up.

‘I have a guestroom,’ he simply says and walks upstairs. You grab your bag and run after him.

- -- -

You are lying on your bed, looking at the ceiling. Despite not having slept in 48 hours go can’t seem to fall asleep. The things you heard today are spooking through your head. Every time you close your eyes you see Sirius’ face, but he is talking to you, saying that he doesn’t recognise you, asking why you took so long to come see him, why you haven’t freed him.

You look at the clock hanging on the wall. It is 4 o’clock. You turn on the bedside lamp and sit on the edge of the bed. After minutes of doubting to grab your bag and take out a notebook. It is filled with letters that Sirius wrote you, during summer vacations and later when he was away for missions.

Sweet (Y/N),

It has only been two weeks since the vacation started but it feels like I haven’t seen you in months! Here at home everything is acceptable. Mum and Dad haven’t noticed I sneak out at night.

I know that you would say I shouldn’t sneak out and that I should be careful. But you don’t have to worry, I came up with a perfect system that I am not going to tell in case this letter falls into the wrong hands.

Next week I am going to James. He is back from his holiday then and he asked me to spend the rest of the vacation there. Maybe you can come over sometime?

Yours, Padfoot

You smiled at the letter. Sirius had written it to you in the summer before fifth year. It wasn’t unusual for him to write letters but every time you got one you had felt special.

Sweet (Y/N),

Please come save me from Prongs. All he can do is talk about Lily, about her hair, her eyes, her face, her skin, her fucking everything! I know you probably have better things to do but I don't think I am going to make it until the first of September if someone doesn't save me!

You smile at Sirius' words. You remember going to James after you got that letter and Sirius literally hugging you so tight that you couldn't breathe. You had blushed and stepped back, softly smiling at the situation.

Browsing through the letters you lose track of time. You cry and laugh at the memories in your love’s handwriting. You haven't read them in a long time, but still remember every single one of them.

Slowly the letters get more and more personal and romantic. Sirius wrote you about everything, every small detail of his life. You get to the period after Hogwarts. The letters he wrote to you when he was away for missions. Or when he was away with James, Remus and Peter on their monthly ‘Man-Break' (for Remus).

You are still smiling when you reach the last letter in your notebook.

My love,

Only two more days and I'll be back. I miss you and I know you miss me too. Everything is alright here, though James is stressing because he thinks he is going to miss Harry's birthday. I have tried everything to calm him down but so far nothing worked. I'll come up with more ideas.

Have you already got a gift for Harry? James said he maybe we could get him something quidditchy (he came up with that word! Don't let Remus see it!). I know Lily wouldn't really like it, but she cannot refuse it if we give it.

I really want to see you. I miss you so much. I know you think this is dangerous and it is, but we’re trained for this. I promise you I’ll come home. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms again and kiss your lips and watch every stupid, cheesy, romantic film you want to see.

James is calling for me. Probably to ask what he should write to Lily.

I love you, Sirius

That had been the last multiple-day mission Sirius had gone on. He had promised you that he could never leave you for that long. He would still go on missions, but they were less dangerous, mostly because Lily had forbidden James to go on life-threatening missions, and never for more than two days.

You close your notebook and look at the clock. Two hours have passed since you started reading. You fall back on the bed and close your eyes thinking about your friends and how much you miss them.

When you wake up two hours later you don’t remember falling asleep. You slowly get up and walk down. In the kitchen you find Remus drinking his coffee and reading the paper.

‘Morning,’ he says when he sees you. You mutter a ‘good morning’ back and fill a cup with coffee.

‘So how did you sleep?’ Remus asks when you sit down.

‘Fine,’ you lie and take a sip. Remus squeezes his eyes.

‘Then why do you look like shit?’

You laugh. ‘I have been thinking, and I think I am going to the meeting Wednesday.’ You take another sip of your coffee. ‘So what is the plan for today?’

‘Well since it is such nice weather-’ You laugh; it has been raining since you got here. ‘I thought maybe we could take a walk or something and I have to go to the library to bring back some books.’ You smile, that is such a ‘Remus’ way to spend the day and honestly, you are up for it.

- -- -

You have so much fun with Remus and the two days go by fast. Together with him you feel home. It brings back memories of after Hogwarts, when you and Remus stayed home together while Sirius went out on missions. The both of you then only fell asleep at sunrise, your night filled with worries.

And even now you stay up late with Remus, but not to worry about Sirius, or at least Remus doesn’t; you are still scared what will happen if you see Sirius. You spend your nights talking about your time in France and his time here back home. You learn more about when he was a teacher at Hogwarts and he tells you about Harry and all the ‘adventures’ this one has been on.

Staring at your bag on the floor on the floor of the room Remus gave you, you try to take dep breaths. When you agreed to go to the meeting, you didn’t expect to be so nervous. What if Sirius doesn’t want to see you? Or worse, what if he found someone else? You feel nauseous, like you haven’t eaten enough.

‘Are you ready?’ Remus asks. You get up.

‘Yes, let’s just get it over with,’ you say.

Outside Remus gives you his arm and you take it. After looking around to be sure no one sees you, Remus disapparates and are being pulled with him. You hold in your breath and close your eyes. The familiar feeling makes you even more nauseous and light-headed. When you land on the sidewalk of the street you open your eyes and take a deep breath. Remus is standing next to you also looking a little sick but when he opens his eyes he smiles at you.

In front of you appears the house you had only been to twice. One time when you picked up Sirius with the Potters and a second time after you graduated at Hogwarts to pick up some stuff for Sirius. You had gone with James and Remus and luckily Sirius’ parents weren’t home. When you look at the house you notice it has not changed at all. The front door is still the same black colour and it looks like it is the same paint it was twenty years ago. All the curtains are closed and it looks like there is no one home.

You and Remus walk up to the door and Remus knocks on it. You take deep breath and your legs are shaking. The door opens and Mrs. Weasley appears. She smiles at Remus and her eyes widen when she sees you.

‘(Y/N)!’ she gasps. You smile softly at her reaction and let her take you into a hug. ‘I haven’t seen you in so long! How are you?’

‘Shall we discuss that inside?’ Remus asks, while looking around the street and Molly nods. You follow them inside and look around.

You are standing in a dark hall. The walls are painted dark grey and the floor is black. On the ceiling there is a chandelier with a lot of dust on it. It gives you the feeling you are in a haunted house. Even the Shrieking Shack would be a better place to live.

‘Cosy,’ you mumble and Remus laughs. Molly walks to a door that leads to the kitchen. There are a few people already there but no one notices you.

‘How long have you been here?’ Molly asks you as you sit down and slowly people start to recognise you. Their eyes widen and some jaws drop. Swiftly you are surrounded by people who ask you questions and want to know how you are.

‘But I thought you were in France?’

‘What was it like there?’

‘Weren’t you banned from England?’

And then someone asks a question that makes your stomach turn upside down.

‘Does Sirius know you’re here?’ You look at Remus and then shake your head.

‘No, he does not, I got back here Sunday and I haven’t had the chance to contact him,’ you answer. You answer all the other questions but the later it gets, the more nervous you feel.

After half an hour you hear a familiar voice.

‘What is going on here?’

You recognise the voice. Of course you do. It is a voice you could never forget, not even if you tried. It is the voice with a little rasp, a deep, heavy sound. It is the voice that makes your head spin. The voice that makes you shiver. The voice that you haven’t heard in fifteen years. The voice of the man you loved, still love.  

The people around you step aside so Sirius can see you. With every person that steps aside you can see more and more of the person you came for. The man with the long, black, silky hair and the stormy grey eyes. You see his feet, his strong legs, his hands. Merlin, his hands. His beautiful muscled hands that used to touch your body every second you were near him. Every time you were near him his hands instantly found your body. His hands on you back, your hips, your shoulder, your thighs, your hands. His hands were everywhere.

You hesitate. You are afraid to look him in the eye. You are afraid he is not the person he used to be, you are afraid he has changed. Not that change is bad, but what if it is?

Slowly you look up. Sirius is still looking at the other people around you. He hasn’t noticed you. Yet.

He follows the direction everyone is looking at. You can feel your heart beating and you are pretty sure everyone can hear it. Finally his gaze meets yours and he doesn’t move. He drops his hands alongside his body and stares at you, with an open mouth. You form a little smile when you see his face.

‘Hi,’ you say softly but loud enough for everyone to hear it. People around you look between you and Sirius; you can see their heads moving, but all you can focus on his the man in front of you.

Sirius closes his mouth and then opens it again to say something. But nothing comes. The fear in your head gets worse. This is what you imagined. He doesn’t want to see you, he probably moved on from you, you are nothing but an ex for him. The girl he used to date.

You feel tears coming up, but you refuse to look away. You want to see his reaction, no matter how much it will hurt you. Sirius shakes his head and you feel like you have been stabbed. Your nails scratch on the table when you move your hand and you hear it. Everyone does. The room is absolute silent. Nobody makes a sound. Everyone is staring at you or Sirius.

You keep staring into Sirius’ eyes. Then slowly you start to notice a glimmering in his eyes. No metaphorical one, but a physical one. Sirius is crying, or on the edge of. The corners of his mouth go up and the slightest smile appears on his face. You feel the relieve falling off you. Your heart starts to beat harder, but more lively. The blood rushes through your body.

The little smile turns bigger and bigger, until Sirius is grinning. You let out a laugh from relieve and people around you start to smile carefully. Sirius walks towards you and you get up. When he is in front of you, he takes your hand and places his other one on your cheek. You look him in the eye and you feel like an idiot smiling so much. You start crying at the sight of Sirius’ tears. The tears roll down your face but Sirius keeps looking at your eyes. Your faces are now inches away from each other and you could easily lean in and close the space but something is keeping you from doing that. The fear is still in your body. Fear of being rejected after all these years.

‘Stop crying,’ Sirius whispers and you feel his breath against your skin. ‘Everything is alright, love.’

You kiss him immediately when you hear his words. And without hesitation he kisses you back. It is a rough, but passionate kiss and you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Feeling Sirius’ lips on yours makes you relax. Your hands on his chest, his hands on your back and in your hair.

People around you start to cheer and you smile into the kiss. Before pulling apart Sirius bites your lip and you moan softly so only he can hear it. You can see the arousal in his eyes and you grin. You take his hand and pull him out of the room. You drag him to the nearest room and close the door behind you. You stare into Sirius’ eyes and he kisses you again, rough and passionate, but also soft, like he is trying to express his feelings through his kiss.

‘Fuck,’ he breathes when he breaks the kiss. You rest your heads together and you giggle. The tears are still running down your cheeks but you don’t care. You relax when you feel Sirius’ hands on your back. You stay like this for a long time until Sirius says:

‘I missed you so much. I thought I would never see you again, where were you?’

‘France.’

‘France?’

‘Yeah, the ministry apparently doesn’t appreciate weekly letters about how much they fucked up.’

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

Taglist:

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[dragonologist-in-the-making]

Take A Break

Pairing: Sirius x reader

Request: Hello! Could you write a Sirius x reader where she's like the only person not interested in him and is focused on grades, so he's super confused when she pays him no mind? And of course drama queen tries everything he can to get her attention??😁

A/N: This is pretty dialogue heavy, and probably not my best work, but I still hope you enjoy! Feedback is welcome!

Wordcount: 1.5K

Sirius Black had gotten very used to using minimal effort to get attention. Boys, girls, teachers, everyone seemed tuned into him for some reason or other, and he had long moved past the odd feeling that brought about and accepted it as a part of his life. Walking down the corridors often resulted in groups of girls giggling at him, people stepping out of his way without a second thought, his jokes never went unlaughed. He may have no longer been Black family royalty, but the majority of Hogwarts students certainly treated him like a prince.

It was another regular day for him and the rest of the Marauders. They had joked with McGonagall in transfigurations, caused a minor scene at lunch, talked to each other as if they had a secret no one else could know about. Which, of course, they did, but nobody knew that. The extraordinary part of the day for Sirius Black, however, came in his astronomy lesson.

He had noticed her before, of course he had. He often stole glances towards her, her y/h/c hair tied up in a ponytail, the colour of her y/h sitting against her skin. They knew of each other, they had often worked together in the earlier years of Hogwarts in projects they were paired together for, but they had since fallen out of each other’s orbits, leaving Sirius to admire her from afar. Watching the crinkle appear between her eyebrows as she concentrated on her star chart, he knew that he couldn’t wait any longer to ask her out. Out of all the girls he spoke to, and she wasn’t even one of them, y/n was the one who could never leave his mind.

He watched her packing away her equipment at the end of the class as he quickly stuffed his things in his own bag, urging Remus to go ahead without him. Feeling an unusual sense of nerves settle in his stomach, he approached her, clearing his throat to announce his presence. She turned towards him, flashing a bright smile as she swung the bag over her shoulder and tightened her ponytail.

“Hey Sirius, it’s been a while. How have you been?” Checking the time on her watch, she started to walk towards the door and descend the stairs from the tower, Sirius following behind her.

“Oh, you know, I’ve been alright, getting along like always.” He laughed, relieved to hear a chuckle from her, bouncing from the walls of the tower and echoing around them.

“Yes, I’ve seen. It’s quite hard not to, actually.” They had reached the bottom of the staircase by now, and Sirius knew that they were about to head off in different directions for their classes. “I’m assuming the great Sirius Black didn’t seek out a conversation with me for nothing?” She asked, clearly seeing straight through him, causing a slight blush to colour his cheeks.

“Love, I would happily talk to you for hours just because. But you’re right, I did want to ask you something.” She stopped at the top of the next staircase, turning to look at him with a curious expression in her bright eyes. “I was hoping you would come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

She took his hand in hers and looked at him softly as she spoke. “I’m sorry. I’m flattered you asked me, I really am, and I love spending time with you, I just don’t have the time to have the fun that you do, or I’ll never get the grades I need to get the career I want.” She squeezed his hand before letting go, and he felt his heart squeeze with it as she left him and scampered down the stairs, turning back to him at the bottom and giving a little wave, complete with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry mate.” Sirius jumped when James’ hand clapped down on his shoulder, clearly having watched the exchange. “What are you going to do now?”

“I guess I’ll take a leaf out of your book Prongs.” Sirius sighed as the two of them began to walk through the corridor to their next class. “Just, with a little less creepy stalking.”

…

Y/n was sat in the Great Hall, waiting for her friends to arrive and sit with her for lunch, head stuck in one of her favourite books she had picked up in the library a few days earlier, to pass the time while she waited. Hearing someone sit next to her, she bookmarked her page and looked up, surprised to find a certain dark-haired boy sitting in the empty seat by her side.

“What you reading?” He asked, smiling brightly. She held the book out to him silently, placing it into his open hands. “Les Misèrables? J’aime bien ce livre!” She started, staring at him for a couple of seconds before she finally opened her mouth to respond.

“Tu peux parler le français?” His smile grew wider as she spoke to him, enjoying the sounds of the language he rarely got to speak anymore, finding pleasure in it even if there weren’t many parts of his childhood he enjoyed.

“Mais oui, mademoiselle. It’s impossible to be a part of my family and not learn French growing up. How did you learn it?”

“I grew up in France, my family only moved here a couple of years before my eleventh birthday. My parents worked out there for most of my childhood, so I learnt it quite naturally. It’s a beautiful language.”

“Even more beautiful when you speak it.” He laughed loudly as she shot him a dry look, clearly not impressed at his cheap line, although he noted how she averted her eyes and how a smile tugged at her lips. He passed the book back to her, letting his fingers brush over hers ever so lightly. “My offer still stands, if you ever want to take it. Hogsmeade, just say the word.”

“I wish I could, I really do. I’m just not as naturally clever as you and your friends. I have to put so much work in to get the grades that I do, I just don’t think I can fit a relationship into my life at the moment.” Sirius started to respond to her, trying to deny what she had said about him and his friends, but he was interrupted fairly quickly.

“Pads!” It was Remus, standing next to James and Peter, who were all beckoning him over. Sirius sighed, irritated at his friends as they seemed completely oblivious that he was talking to someone else, to y/n.

“It’s okay, they need you.” She encouraged, a hand on his arm as she gently pushed him away. “Have a nice weekend.” And with that, he had been pushed back to the Marauders, and once again he was left looking at her across a room, wishing he could be back by her side.

…

She was sat in the library, filling her Saturday with a self-imposed review of recent lessons, trying to commit it all to memory before exam season began and the stress became overwhelming.

She had lost track of how long she had been sat there, knowing only that lunch had come and gone before she had managed to drag herself away, and now there was an empty pit in her stomach she was ignoring. She was looking over her potions textbook, trying to memorise the method for brewing the elixir to induce euphoria. She had the book closed in front of her, as she muttered under her breath, trying to recall what she had read.

“So then you add the porcupine quills, and after that you… stir four times… clockwise?” She cursed herself as she struggled to bring the words to the front of her mind, beginning to open the book again when a voice interrupted her.

“You stir counter-clockwise.” Sirius was sitting at a table across from hers, alone, his own notes sprawled out in front of him. “You’re louder than you think.”

“You’re studying?” She asked, surprised to see him, and surprised to see him alone, actually doing some work. He nodded, grinning at her shock, messily collecting his belongings and transferring them to her table as he took the seat opposite her.

“I was trying to tell you at lunch the other day. I don’t just naturally take to all my classes, I do have to work for them. I just find the time to have fun, too. Y/n, you can’t spend your life holed up in the library, you’ll miss everything. Taking a little time off isn’t going to make your grades plummet. If anything, it will probably make you concentrate better.” She sat for a moment, taking in his words, and finally nodded.

“I’m willing to give your method a try. So, are you going to let a gal take you to Hogsmeade?” Nothing could beat the breath-taking smile that broke across his face, and she knew that following her heart was the right choice that day.

“I don’t know, I’m kind of busy studying.” He laughed, growing even louder as she threw a roll of parchment at him, hitting him squarely in the forehead. She met his eyes and they were shining at her, and she knew he was worth taking a break for.

[languagelearningcorner]

Six Months

It's been a while since I've updated! It has been a little over six months since I challenged myself to focus on Persian. Although I haven't posted much on here, I have been trying to stay consistent with it behind the scenes. The intensity of exposure/studying of the last three months definitely decreased as compared to the first three. However, I made sure to get daily practice in even if all I could spare was ten minutes.

Anyways, below are my summary of how my skills have progressed over the last six months~

Speaking

In the beginning, this is the skill that I saw the most rapid progress in. Easy enough, as I was basically starting from zero. Even in college, I was never really challenged to speak. The only speaking I had to do was either in a small group or as part of the final exam (for which I memorized all my answers). The biggest reason for the giant leap though was no doubt the tutor. Getting a tutor was the scariest thing at the beginning but definitely had the biggest payoff overall. Not only did it improve my speaking, but all other skills as well. For the past three months, I have continued to make gains in my speaking ability, although they have slowed down. Despite all the progress, I would say this is my weakest skill.

Writing

Writing is definitely a skill that has plateaued. As my speaking skills trend stagnant, so do my writing skills. I am good at spelling, have good handwriting, and can copy effortlessly. The issue is expanding my thoughts and really fleshing out my writing. Although in writing I can definitely express myself much more and do so in a more grammatically correct way than when I'm speaking, I don't think I can really improve it until I gain some skills in my expressive language. I also have been practicing this skill the least. I'll write a diary entry once in a while, a few texts to friends occasionally, and complete a writing assignment from my tutor once in a blue moon, so I'm not really that surprised that this skill has seen minimal progress.

Reading

I'm not really sure when my fluency started picking up but I've felt a definite increase in fluency with my reading. By that, I mean two things. First, my decoding is much faster. I can see a word and instantly produce it either in my mind or out loud. If it's a word I'm not familiar with, then of course, it's harder - I just guess the short vowels (and am wrong 99% of the time). The other thing is my reading comprehension. So, maybe I can't decode all the words in the sentence or for some remember what they mean, but there's a greater chance of me understanding the gist of the entire sentence than before. I'm able to understand a greater percentage of what I read. It takes me less time to get through a paragraph than before. I don't really practice that much more than I used to; about 20-30 minutes a week. I think that my increase in reading comprehension is due to the fact that my receptive language has skyrocketed in the last three months.

Listening

At the beginning of the six months I couldn't understand anything. Just a few greetings, some commonly used verbs, nouns, and prepositions. I really started to panic when I was three months in and still not quite able to understand much. Listening to TV and music felt a little uncomfortable because I kept thinking I should understand more!! I think it started to solidify when I was watching Asheghaneh. I was consistently watching 40 minutes a day and focused for the most part. I was understanding more and more per episode. I finished all of season 1 lol but I'm still listening to Manoto and other content creators on YouTube. Now, my tutor will sometimes tell me anecdotes or make comments (slowly and related to the subject matter) and I will understand probably 90% of what she says.

Overall: I think consistency has been the biggest factor in increasing my fluency level and overall confidence in all skills. The intensity of my studies has taken a downturn, but being consistent and practicing to some degree daily has helped keep my skills afloat. The other huge factor that has really helped has been tutoring. It has forced me to express myself verbally enabled me to make mistakes and learn from them, as cliche as that sounds. With tutoring, I've also learned a lot about colloquial spoken Persian and, very importantly, I've learned so much about traditional and contemporary culture as well. It's been fun to compare and contrast American/French culture with Persian and the European country my tutor lives in. I was originally supposed to stop after 6 months and rotate to Korean , however, I'm nowhere near the level I wanted to be before switching so I think I'm going to continue for the next six months and re-evaluate then.

My whole life, I 've been told I'm "gifted" for languages. I'm not- I'm just curious and fascinated by them. Because of this it initially killed me that Korean and Persian didn't seem to be sticking whenever I tried to learn them. Through this journey, supplanted by updates to track my progress, I realize just how colossal of a task learning a language is (for me, at least). It's a lot more dedication and time than I had ever put in for a language before. I knew it took time but I was naive to the amount of diligence and consistency it required. I'd always assumed that since I was "gifted" all I had to do was sit in class, do my homework, and get good grades without any upkeep after. To a degree, I did learn that way but I lost all my skills just as quickly as I gained them because I never maintained them. I also never allowed myself to make mistakes; I memorized and "solved" grammar problems, erroneously assuming that my grade accurately reflected my level of acquisition.

[z-007]

A Journey of Sadism (mental and physical)

I was born in the 21st of April 1992, in Jableh-Latakia. But, since my father was an employee for Total French company in Syria, I grew up in Damascus. At the age of 4, I was diagnosed with Diabetes type 1. It was very hard for me at the beginning when I was a child, and my mother suffered a lot, giving me insulin injections, which I found painful at that time, and analyzing my blood sugar to inspect what did I eat if the result was soaring sky high. I hated her at the beginning, simply because as a child, I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. At 8 years old I went to a school that is Sunni Islamic Pre-Historic School in Dummar called -Young Scientists- something that I discovered later on to be ironic. In Syria, If you weren’t good at school, you were cursed, you became like a Boxing Heavybag. They also used Falakas, the art of whipping feet. It didn’t stop at that, simply because parents became part of this process too, using any tool at their disposal in beating their child, chair, water hose, hammer, clothes hanger, electric cables, let alone being slapped on the face in a way that I started feeling my bones were shaking, and my eyes will throw fire, or kicked in your head and started bleeding. All of this, was because my marks in Arabic, mathematics, history and geography were not good except in English. It was the best language to understand for me, and the subject in which I saw myself to be a good student. As a consequence of that, I started losing control and cause trouble to my so-called teachers at that time. Luckily in 2001, I found my sanctuary that took to a completely different world. It was the first time I saw James Bond in GoldenEye. I was so thrilled by the action sequence, the theme of betrayal and everything about it was cool. This was a turning point in my life to become a Bond fan. I also learnt how to sing rap songs like Faint for Linkin Park, and Bleed It Out. And all of my father’s friends who were French, British and Americans were impressed. It was something that I remember with a loving memory to those people. Later I watched the rest of the Bond films and the happiest moment in my life was when I found the complete DVD set in Tartus. Simply because no DVD store in Damascus had the complete set except one who was also our neighbor. The curse of buying films in Syria was that they were badly used CDs at the bloody beginning. It was very rare to have a CD converted from an original DVD. This greatest franchise in the whole world has sealed my internal wounds for not being a good student. Ironically, the mental case of mine came back to me when I was at High School, especially it was a time that determined who I am, luckily it passed with no harm to me, because a single mark changed future to some students .I forgot to mention, that the school principle when I was at the ninth grade, didn’t stop calling my parents and telling them not to spend a single penny on me, because he thought I will never be successful. But I brought a mark that was better than his children’s. In 2010, I became a student of English Literature in Damascus University, I remembered that I was not a bad student at that time with an average of 80 percent. But the Syrian Crisis began in 2011, the press was already screaming for blood and the political unrest escalated to the extent that we had to change residence. This was the bane of my existence to open my eyes and find myself in Latakia. I was simply cursed and hostile, because I didn’t speak like Alawaits, their accent felt like starving dogs, in other words, they bark. They are trivial, shallow minded wankers who had nothing inside their heads except clothes, mobile phones and narrating a fairytale about themselves having sex with girls and a horny 40-year-old women they come across and imagining penetrating their vaginas and sucking their nipples. I registered in Tishreen University at third year, I managed to transfer my documents to that platonic place. The professors didn’t like me, simply for participating in their lectures, and the fact that I spoke French, Spanish and a little bit Russian. As a consequence, I kept failing at University over and over. Moreover, I had different ideas, and University Professors are bigots and snobbish. Their opinion was the only one that matters. The impact of the mentioned earlier, had made my pain started with breakdowns, screaming my head off and security gathering around me like” what happened to you?”. Added to that, emotionally speaking, I had a horse sex drive in that Mohammadian society. Girls dressed in a way that said to male students, “come to me.”. The majority of women at that city showed their breasts, waist, legs, and what attracts me most their feet, especially, high heels, that gave them a very elegant look. For my good fortune, all I had in front of me was Pornographic DVDs and websites, so I kept masturbating from 11:30 pm until 10:00 am from night to daylight. Still wondering, how men attracted them, I didn’t have any idea, and the question kept circulating. I also hated the idea of marriage, especially that I always loved to live my life the way I fathomed. I didn’t like the idea of getting buried alive by being a bloody father and spend the rest of my life with only one Angry Factory, aka, one woman. The psychological problem kept increasing and started with depression; taking anti-depressants for a while and go back to my normal life when soothed down. I kept taking them every now and then. Students were not allowed to know about their mistakes at any cost, this was a University rule. Self-doubt has caused me to go to a neurologist who started doing me brain scans, simply, I just wanted to know why am I that stupid, for failing continuously and still I didn’t get an answer. I was always deprived of sleep, studying my arse off and my professors didn’t care seeing their students DIE and SUFFER in front of them. Everybody panicked from me, always avoided seeing me, treated as unusual man. At that time, due to the fact that I kept taking anti-depressants, they became ineffective and stopped giving me relief. Part of what killed me thousands of time when I’m still alive was realizing that I cannot become an MI6 agent at any cost. I simply wanted to do 1 % of what James Bond did, take notice, that I was not pursuing women, I was looking for action and suspense. I wanted to be stationed in the heart of ISIS or Spectre and operate in the shadows to protect Queen and Country. I didn’t like Hasan Nasrullah, Vladimir Putin who looked like a Bond villain or Ayatollah bloody Khomeini, even Ali Bin Abi Talib himself, and that’s why I was also crucified for being a James Bond fan. Family and friends made a laughing stock out of me. I started dinking excessively, and suicidal thoughts kept recurring to me. They didn’t stop driving me to bring a razor and wound myself to death, it wasn’t the MI6 job that destroyed me the most. It was self-doubt. Doubting my brain efficiency and abilities, and especially that I saw students whom I thought less capable to express themselves in English than I am. My family tried to see the professors in Tishreen University-Latakia, unsuccessfully. I simply couldn’t have any idea what is the main reason I kept failing over and over. How could I develop myself without knowing my mistakes?!!, I later told some people that I wanted to be an MI6 operative, I thought that might sooth my tension, however, it got things worse. I started attacking the professors while giving their lectures orally and physically. I also broke the classroom washbasin, and the entire classroom windows, then security staff gathered around me after 3 minutes, they were about to send me to an unknown destiny, later, everything stopped after the head of the English department told them not to take any action. The last problem I did was with World Literature professor, whose name is Noor AL Araby, she was a real bitch, I remembered studying her syllabus for a month, she told us that Virginia is not required for the exam, and she brought it. As a result of that, I wrote her three pornographic stories on the exam paper. Stories people see in Brazzers and Naughty America (Porn films companies). Everybody got pissed off, the story was about to be dragged from my house to a security branch for torture. Luckily, my uncle who was a Colonel in the Republican Guard he had connection to the President of the University, told the professor to drop out the case, but she was persistent to have my balls for Christmas decoration. She spread what I wrote her on the internet and about to send them to newspapers. My parents begged her not to and we had medical reports that proved that I had neurological and mental case. Then I was suspended from the University for years, from 2016, till now. She did all she could to destroy me to the utmost level. I was happy when I realized she got very agitated. Especially, there were students confirming that exam questions were paradoxical to the things she lectures about.

Suspension Time

At the time I was suspended it was a slow killer for me. Literary, I realized that I was the worst student in the history of the planet. I decided to follow Boxing, I remembered that I was fit enough for the game. I found out that I did well at round bouts on the ring. I could do sparring sessions, shadowboxing…etc. I was able to run at least 10kms per day, 300 sit-ups, 80 press ups and 20 pull-ups. I tried to be a champion but every time I kept persevering, in addition to that my left palm was broken and my right eye was wounded. I got cold and sick, and I realized that I had to spend at least 2 months with vaporizers, fertilizers and strong meds. I kept striving in Boxing with no success. I lost confidence in myself and felt humiliated. I said to myself, why didn’t I choose to work for the Syrian Secret Service, I went to the branches, and when they saw that I was discharged from the military because of diabetes type 1, they asked me to get lost. I was surprised when I found out that my dentist was an officer in the Ariel Intelligence in Syria, I told him the story, he said “this is not your fight, you might think that you can do well in the field, but your enemies are smarter than you, they know how they can take you down and destroy you once and for all. Second, we had people who kill targets, who can do silent killings, detonate and sabotage, whether male, or female, but they have nothing to lose, their parents are killed and very poor, working to make money, and you are a discharged, rich bastard and you want to join us. I’m surprised when you told me that. I was a James Bond fan like you, but believe me my friend, that the real intelligence work will never come up to your expectations. Once the film you watch finishes and the novel ends, go back to reality, what you look for does not exist. I realized that I couldn’t become an asset for MI6, or any spy agency in this world, I felt that I was under surveillance by my country. I knew that they could look at my messages, trace my location any time they wanted. That was not the real problem, suicidal thoughts and self-punishment ideas didn’t leave me. So, I talked to my uncle to send me to the Special Forces, or any Military Barracks to become a martyr, to take the bullets to my chest. I remembered when I drank wine bottle on my own, I told my parents that I wanted to wear a C4 charge belt and blow myself up inside ISIS. They were horrified, then I was unconscious and within minutes, I found myself inside the clinic, after I told my problem to the psychiatrist, about MI6 dream and the doubt that I’m under surveillance. He told my mother that I’m a Psychotic. I was injected with needles and medications that made me feel like cutting my head off. He also sent me to Damascus for electro-therapy (to take electricity directly to my brain). I also became a field of therapy by my Doctor, he was testing medications on me like Invega that made me shake while standing up. Hence, he decided to give me Zeldox 60 mg, second generation anti-psychotic. My only comfort was when I slept. Waking up to life while taking those meds was a curse. I lost my sexual drive (libido), I remember feeling dizzy all the time, I remember calling the doctor every time when I tell him about the side-effects concerning dizziness and loss of sexual drive, he kept telling me that what you say is incorrect and that it didn’t have any symptoms. By miracle, my father brought me lower dosage medication, life changed for me. I knew cat-houses in my city, every money woman I went to for an intercourse, they took a lot of money. They were abusing me. The sluts didn’t make me enjoy the intercourse the way I wanted. They were controlling me as well, and this is why I left them. After I told my psychiatrist that I reduced the dosage, he said that my condition will deteriorate. He confirmed to me that Chemistry in my brain was not right, then I told him to screw himself. Reducing the dosage had an effect as well. I remembered at a certain time that painkillers were like a bag of peanuts for me. And when night came I felt incredible fever in my head. I felt like being boiled alive. And I kept seeing nightmare afterwards, voices telling me that I will pay the price of reducing the medication dosage. Complete terror and horror kept chasing me for a very long time. After recovery, I logged into the James Bond groups on Facebook, they made me trivia to answer, did me a test about the James Bond 24 films from Dr.No 1962 to Spectre 2015. After I answered them all correctly, they called me Agent 00Zein. Made me an admin, and I had many friends from all around the world. In the 5th of October the global James Bond day , I celebrated with millions of the franchise fans. My great father, brought me a modern computer and IPhone X to follow up with these groups.

Nowadays, I’m not looking for immigration, nor women or anything else in this world. I have chosen to help my parents when they grow old, and help them. This is the best way I can pay them back. I decided to watch films about espionage world, read books, imagining the events and enjoy it fully and get my arse back to reality.

This is the only way; I cannot be punished.

I can imagine myself a soldier of 30 Assault Unit in Ian Fleming’s room 39 in WW2, or talking with Sir Alex Younger about my mission in VX or Whitehall. If not Sir Alex Younger, it could be Admiral Miles Messervy, Admiral Hargreaves, Madame Olivia Mansfield, or Lieutenant Colonel Gareth Mallory. And realize that” It was a matter of pride that the 00 Section has been chosen for this test. This painful experience kept coming back sometimes, notwithstanding, I have chosen to take with a pinch of salt, lol.

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Join Me | Victor Von Doom

Pairing: Victor Von Doom x Plus Size Reader (she/her)

Word Count: 2k

Request: may I please request some NSFW with comic!doctor doom and a short plus size reader who is very sweet and motherly and she dotes on him and loves him deeply. But she is sometimes very self-conscious about her body and the fact that he is so much smarter than her and she is afraid he'd get bored of her someday?

Warnings: nsfw, light angst, reader is a little insecure and Victor kinda doesn’t understand why, smut, fingering, unprotected sex (please, don’t do this), vaginal sex, fluff

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Surrounded by open books and with a notebook resting on your lap, you found yourself enjoying the breeze of the night. You had the balcony all to yourself, your only company was the whooshing of the trees and the stridulating from the crickets.

The setup was comfortable, you had gotten used to doing homework outside. It helped you work quicker and understand clearer, to be the most efficient you had ever been — at least academically.

Flexing your left leg under your extended right one, you leaned over to take notes that would be helpful for your upcoming exam. You would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous, but making Victor proud was more important.

You weren’t at his level, a part of you was sure you would never be. Trying your hardest was your only option to not feel as though you were a burden. There wasn’t a thing Victor didn’t excel at — there was nothing about him anyone would qualify as a flaw, much less yourself.

The light of your eyes and compass of your life he had been since the day you met him. An enticing enigma you couldn’t help but wish to unravel. You thought yourself to be dreaming when he confessed his desires to court you, how a man as regal and powerful as him would ever grow interested in someone like you was a mystery you weren’t interested in solving when he made you so happy.

That was the main reason why you wanted him to be proud, to comfortably take care of his worries and businesses with the certainty you were as prepared to be whatever he needed you to be.

Steps behind you prompted you to close the notebook. You stacked it on top of the books and pushed yourself upward to stand up as the sound of metal clanking filled your ears.

Placing the books and pencil case on the desk near the French doors, you approached Victor. “Let me help you.”

He ceased his movements, standing still before you. He, however, briefly focused his attention on the books you had been lost in. “Are the professors overwhelming you with homework?”

You shook your head, standing on your tiptoes to unclasp the chest piece of his armor. “How was your day?”

Victor complained about the inanity of the American government’s existence as you placed the armor in its place, piece by piece just the way he liked. You were used to it, they weren’t as efficient as him. And even if they were, he hated them, it had never been a secret and no one could blame him — as complicated as Victor was, he had always been clear in his convictions.

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching you as though you would escape if he didn’t keep an eye on you. He had been doing the same for the past two weeks which only made you feel more nervous.

“You’re busy all the time,” he observed.

Not sure how to take the comment, you handed him a pajama and changed the topic. “Do you want me to run you a bath?”

Victor frowned. His patience was wearing thin, every night you avoided his worries and instead focused on whatever he could need. Victor loved the attention, your love and care had filled a hole in him and made him find a side of him he had only seen while around little Valeria; but he wanted to give you the same, to have a normal conversation with you like at the beginning of your relationship.

Had he done something wrong? Was life in Doomstadt so boring you preferred focusing on getting a second degree?

“Are you leaving me?” He blurted upon seeing you come back from the bathroom.

You frowned. “Of course not. Come, the water is just the way you like it.”

Not taking his eyes off you, he stood. Offering his hand for you to take it, he stared so hard he ceased blinking. Your hesitation made him swallow harshly, your touch eased off the string of doubts and inquires simmering up his throat as the fear of being abandoned once again bubbled up.

His slow steps prompted you to check his body a third time in search of fresh injuries. You didn’t find any. He must have been tired, poor thing.

“Join me.” It wasn’t an invitation but a command.

A silent nod was your only reaction. Dropping his hand in order to get rid of your clothes, you heard him sigh. A splash then filled your ears — you almost giggled, you would have if the air between you wasn’t so tense.

His eyes were heavy on you, so deep you swore their warmth had been replaced by darkness. Steading yourself against the edges of the tub as you sunk into the water, you fully faced him.

Victor rested his cheek on his hand. He inhaled sharply, “I am aware of my failings as a partner, yet I foolishly assumed our relationship was salvable...”

Dropping your gaze, you bit your bottom lip. For a while now you had seen such words coming. You couldn’t fathom why he would ask if you would leave him when he was the one considering it.

“Could you please not dump me while I’m naked in the same bathtub as you?” you pleaded for your dignity.

“I am not dumping you, as you say.”

“Perhaps you should.” You didn’t mean it, but truth to be told, the weight of everyone’s —including your own— expectations were getting too heavy to carry. There were many people who would be better than you at loving him, at ruling Latveria beside him,

“I don’t understand what is it that you want,” he admitted.

You swirled the warm water with your finger, letting the bubbles brush your skin as the water ever so slightly rippled.

Victor took your silence as a sign of indifference. “In fact,” he continued, “I don’t understand how you can be so caring toward me and then...”

“It’s not your fault,” you assured him in a whisper. “I am the problem.”

He scoffed. “How cliché of you.”

“Well, how insensitive of you!” you countered, setting your jaw when you felt him move. “I am honestly telling you there’s nothing wrong with you, or my affections toward you, or... I don’t know, anything that isn’t me, but you have to take it personally because you’re so perfect you can’t understand m—“

“(Y/N),” his voice changed, the cold tone went out of the window then, “breathe, love.”

You breathed in, nodding. His hands found yours underwater just as you were opening your mouth to continue explaining yourself. Victor squeezed them in an attempt to keep you from getting more overwhelmed.

“I’m not good enough,” you confessed, “not always.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He leaned over, dropping one of your hands to place his palm on your thigh. You tensed under his touch, making him tilt his head.

“I’m not smart like you, I can’t solve problems...” you bit your bottom lip, avoiding his eyes in attempts of keeping your tears at bay.

“Of course you can solve problems, simply not in the same way I do. You are sweet and kind. Everyone here loves you, my dear,” Victor slid his hand to your waist, fingers brushing your soft stomach in their way upward. Pulling you toward him, he rested his back against the tub again.

You carefully placed your hand on his shoulder. Splashing water as you fit yourself on his lap, you finally stared at him to asses what he wanted.

“You’ve made me a better ruler and a better man,” he fervently spoke, “I wouldn’t trade you for the universe.”

He had been a God and found it beneath him, but you? Oh, you were his equal, his queen, everything he had ever dreamed and so much more. Happiness hadn’t been in his vocabulary until he started courting you, now the world looked brighter with you by his side — worth saving instead of merely conquering.

“I’m afraid you’ll get tired of me,” you lamented, ��find someone prettier, more attractive...”

“Such a person doesn’t exist, not in my eyes.”

“Bu—“ your words died in your throat, this time because Victor grew impatient and slammed his lips onto yours.

Kissing him back, you allowed your eyes to flutter closed. Your hand moved to his cheek where your thumb gently brushed circles around the tender scars under your fingertips.

His grip tightened on your waist. Victor deepened the kiss by prying your mouth open, relishing on your soft sighs as your body relaxed. One of his hands slipped down to your thigh, caressing it softly as you parted from his lips to get some air.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, inching his hand closer to your pussy. His hand stopped at your mount. “Is this okay?”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nodded. Reaching your clit, he circled it gently with his thumb — pleasure ran through you and your head dropped onto his shoulder. Hiding your face in the crook of his neck, you mouthed at his skin as he gradually moved his thumb faster and applied more pressure.

A moan slipped out of your throat, making him smile as the hand on his chest traveled downward. You started stroking his cock when he slipped two fingers inside you. Whimpering his name, you gripped the base of his cock a little too tight which prompted him to whimper too.

As he felt your walls tighten around his fingers, Victor withdrew them. You groaned in annoyance, thinking it was one of his teasing games. On the contrary, he thrust up in your hand so you would get the hint.

His cock brushed your folds once you took your hand off it. Biting your lip, you lifted your head from his shoulder to look at him. He gave you a hungry look through his eyelashes and you couldn’t believe you had doubted his attraction toward you as his eyes then roamed down your torso.

Impatiently, Victor took you by the hips. Letting out a giggle, you placed both hands on his shoulders and eased yourself onto his cock. His threw his head back, humming in pleasure as you took your time.

The position wasn’t new to you, but the place was. You weren’t sure as to how to move so the water wouldn’t overflow. Asking would probably ruin the mood so you risked it and tentatively moved your hips.

The slow movements were nice, a difference from how sex was usually with Victor. You liked both equally, this one was simply more exciting because of its novelty. He seemed to think the same, at least that was what his expression told you as he uncharacteristically let you do whatever you wanted.

He grew bored of just watching and take it, though. One of his hands ran up your torso to your chest. He kneaded your breast, breath getting harsh as your hands went back to his neck where you this time gripped for more leverage. Thrusting up to meet your movements, Victor kissed his way up from your chest to your neck and then your mouth.

Your moans got louder when he hammered into you harder. The splashing water was the least of your worries, you were lost in the pleasure as now his hands roamed your body, and his mouth sucked on your nipples.

You released a long whimper when he started continuously hitting your spot. He took it as encouragement and quickened his movements. It didn’t take long for you to come undone, him following just behind in slow yet deep thrusts. You clung to him, breath unsteady and head buzzing with the intensity of your orgasm. Victor continued kissing your neck and face, breathing on your skin through his nose.

“The water isn’t warm anymore,” you told him, annoyed by the fact his warm bath had been ruined.

Grunting, he gently pulled you off his lap. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s take a shower and go to bed.”

You moved slowly, more tired than you anticipated. The shower was a blur, you didn’t recall which pajama you had put on or if you had dried your hair or not. It didn’t matter either, you were in bed with the man you loved, clung to his torso as your head rested on his stomach and his arms around you.

[charlieknighte]

un jour tu t’en voudras - part 1

Ethan Hitchcock/Maelgwyn

Modern AU - University AU - Fake/Pretend Relationship - Pining - Hurt/Comfort but like significantly more hurt than comfort - french people being terrible

13,060 words

content warnings: terminal illness, drunkenness and smoking, unhealthy family dynamics

For three hundred dollars, Ethan Hitchcock will attend your family's holiday event posing as your shitty art school boyfriend and do everything in his power to wreck the night. Maelgwyn's getting tired of Thanksgiving.

(Featuring art from my dear friend Matt Prairiecryptid!)

For once in his life, Maelgwyn is excited to see Thanksgiving go to shit. 

Nausea always creeps up on him as he moves towards a family gathering, but he’s distracting himself with schadenfreudian thoughts of how much of the night’s chaos and strife is going to be his responsibility this time. They’re going to hate the boy he’s bringing on his arm so goddamn much. Ethan has taken it upon himself to sound like even more of an egregious Quebecois douchebag than usual, like he's cramming a handful of extra vowels into every single word. It would bother Maelgwyn too if it wasn’t a result of an evening back home spent excitedly brainstorming ways to make him insufferable. It’s all Ethan can do to make himself as disheveled and douchey as possible. Maelgwyn’s paying a pretty penny for him to antagonize his parents, after all.

The Hitchcocks rarely advertise their services through anything but word of mouth anymore. Exam cheatsheets, less than legal party supplies, forged doctors’ notes, winning Roll Up The Rim cups—everyone around campus knows there’s not much they can’t get for you if you’re paying. Their acting services don’t come all that cheap, either, but once in a blue moon someone needs to make an ex jealous or fake a family emergency. Maelgwyn had come to them with his dilemma half expecting to be turned down, but they’d just nodded knowingly and named their prices as if they’d performed this particular service a dozen times before. 

So now Ethan’s here in Louisiana with him, blowing cotton candy-flavored clouds into the evening sky as they walk through pretty polished suburbs on their way to Maelgwyn’s grandfather’s house. He didn’t come cheap, even if they gave him a discount for a year of friendship and for the fact that they know how much shit his parents piled on him. Still, Maelgwyn is relieved he’s here. The thought of affronting his family again is much less dread-inducing with the knowledge that he’ll have backup. Ethan is a good friend to have—he’d endeared himself to Maelgwyn mostly by sleeping through the film classes they’d had together and later begging to study with him, then slyly turning their study sessions into outings with his friends. It was one of the reasons Maelgwyn had finally broken out of the lonely shell he’d hidden in through his first year at university.

He can work with him, he knows that much. He just wishes they’d had more time to prepare a plan for the night. Maelgwyn clears his throat. “So, we’re starting off on too good of a footing already. My parents are way too happy to hear I’m bringing home a boy.”

Ethan tucks away his vape and gives him a sideways look. “Aren’t you bi?”

“Yeah, well… I rode out making them think I was straight as long as I could. It pissed my dads off thinking I wouldn’t even consider experimenting.” Maelgwyn pulls a face. “Samot wanted to throw me a coming out party.”

Ethan snorts. “Too much acceptance is really an unusual complaint to have.”

“I know, I know.” Maelgwyn lets the matter slide. It’s a petty thing to bring up, and really the least of his worries when it comes to his parents. “Anyway, you’re also going to get brownie points with Samot right off the bat for being, y’know… good-looking.”

Ethan raises his eyebrows at him and gestures at himself. His Habs jersey and ripped jeans are wildly inappropriate for a dinner party, and he’d purposefully smudged his eyeliner at Maelgwyn’s request. His earrings are even mismatched. “Am I, though?” he says, skeptical.

“I mean your face. You’re not ugly.”

“Oh.” Ethan puts a fist under his chin and pouts at him. “Well, that’s all I get? I’m not ugly?”

Maelgwyn sighs good-humoredly. “Yeah, yeah, you’re pretty.”

Ethan splits into a grin, having gotten what he wanted out of him, and puts a spring into his step. Maelgwyn shoves his shoulder fondly. “Pretty fuckin’ annoying.”

“ Oh! ” Ethan stumbles and clutches his chest. “Is that any way to speak to your beloved? You wound me, mon cher .”

Maelgwyn laughs despite the strange feeling creeping into his chest. He really wishes they’d had a chance to rehearse. Hearing Ethan refer to him so affectionately is strange. Something occurs to him. “Oh, shit. Um, one more thing. My parents are pretty PDA, so we’ll probably have to… 

“Match their expectations so they don’t assume your relationship is crashing and burning?”

“Good way to put it.” Ethan really has done this before. Maelgwyn’s not sure how to feel about that.

Ethan’s hand hovers by his waist. “Can I, then?” 

“Sure.” Maelgwyn lets him put his arm around him and tries to adjust to being held as he walks. It’s not that foreign of a feeling. He’s had to endure the Hitchcocks’ drunken snuggling enough to not be fazed by them being touchy-feely when sober. Still, people don’t usually touch him here. He feels like he’s being flirted with by a spineless frat boy at a party. 

As they near the house, Maelgwyn finds himself nervously hoping he knows enough about Ethan for their false relationship to appear plausible. He knows that Ethan’s the cheery, personable one in relation to his brother, and that his general knowledge of the world is extremely hit or miss. He knows he’s kind enough to once have comforted Maelgwyn as he heaved his guts out in the bathroom of a frat party, and that he lacks enough common sense to have been found passed out in the bushes himself twenty minutes later. Maelgwyn doesn’t know shit about his life before university, but he figures Ethan will fill in the gaps if he needs to. He’s resourceful like that. Spirits buoyed again, he turns them onto the driveway leading up to the house.

Samol’s mansion is deceptively quaint, vines creeping over its two-story columns and cheerful flowerboxes and porch swings decorating the wrap-around deck. You would imagine it had been purchased for a pittance and passed down through generations. In reality, the house had been built as a wedding gift a few years before Maelgwyn was born, and the charming plant life and Victorian-era aesthetic was a result of careful curation. Maelgwyn still doesn’t know if he’s relieved or resentful over his parents giving it up. 

American Thanksgiving has always been Samol's domain, which Maelgwyn is constantly grateful for. He couldn't survive his parents' dinner party posturing again after having to endure it once in October. He doesn’t think Ethan could survive a polite evening in their mansion without snapping either, based on the three-room shithole apartment the Hitchcocks share. It might have inspired him to ask for more money too, which Maelgwyn couldn’t afford without going through the mortification of asking his parents. It’s much better to be here, where their wealth is plausibly deniable. Maelgwyn knocks on the door and braces himself.

There’s a distant hubbub deep within the house as his family politely argues over who’s going to answer. Ethan pops some gum and starts chewing obnoxiously, getting on Maelgwyn’s already frayed nerves—but he supposes that’s the point. Finally, a flash of blond hair approaches through the frosted glass on the door. Samot swings it open, flashing his campaign-trail grin. Maelgwyn’s excitement for his parents to balk at his disheveled, offensively casual boyfriend starts to wane a little as he tries to estimate how much Mayor Samot’s qipao of black silk and golden gilding must’ve cost the taxpayers of Toronto. His hair is in an elegant updo that he must’ve paid an equally opulent amount for.

“Maelgwyn!” Samot says, delighted as if he had no idea that his own son would be attending the family dinner he’s pressured into year after year. He steps out and wraps him up in a perfumey hug, earrings tinkling. Maelgwyn pats his back to participate without having to hug him back. “Oh, it’s so good to see you,” Samot effuses, stepping back. “Come in, come in. Everyone’s been asking after you, sweetheart.” 

Maelgwyn lets himself be shuffled into Samol’s nicely decorated if overly floral foyer. It’s pointless to fight Samot when he’s turned into an overwhelming cloud of energy and charm in his determination to do something. Ethan steps in after them, and Samot looks to him like an apex predator zeroing in on movement. His smile gets a little wider, showing more of his painfully white teeth. “You must be Ethan.”

“Yeah. Hi.” Ethan takes one hand out of his pocket and shakes his hand. Samot’s sharp smile dulls a little as he takes in his outfit. Still, the fact that it stays on his face instead of dropping away entirely means Maelgwyn was right to say Ethan would pass his standards for appearance. He feels a twinge of annoyance. 

An unfavorable twinge passes across Ethan’s face too as Samot’s deceptively slender fingers crush his hand. “Samot,” he says, smile back up to its maximum brightness. “Charmed, I’m sure.” Maelgwyn wishes his parents didn’t feel the need to establish authority over every single person they meet, but then again he wishes a lot of things about his parents. Every interaction with them is a fucked-up give and take exchange mired in the complicated politics of their family.

There are heavy steps behind him, and his heart sinks. He turns unwillingly. Samothes is making his way down the hall with a drink in one hand, as tall and stern and regal and terrifying as he was when Maelgwyn last saw him. That was some time ago. The golden embroidery down the chest of his sherwani matches the pattern on Samot’s qipao, and Maelgwyn has to resist rolling his eyes. He steps out to meet him, wanting to get it over with. “Hi, dad,” he says, and doesn’t deign to add anything else.

“Glad you could come,” Samothes says, hesitating for a nearly imperceptible moment before he pats Maelgwyn’s shoulder heavily. His gaze goes past him and visibly grows darker. He leans in and asks under his breath, “What is this?” As if Maelgwyn’s brought home a stray dog he doesn’t approve of.

“This is my boyfriend.” Maelgwyn turns so he doesn’t have to interact with him further and marches over to take Ethan’s arm firmly and interrupt whatever invasive questions Samot was trying to wheedle him into answering. Samot smiles innocently. Samothes comes to put an arm around his husband’s waist, frowning openly at Ethan. Maelgwyn can watch him doing Ethan’s job for him and making a dozen unfavorable assumptions about him already.

Ethan raises his chin at him in greeting and snaps his gum. “What’s good?” he asks. He’s discreetly wringing out his hand from Samot’s handshake.

“This is Ethan, dearest,” Samot says, leaning into his husband and drawing himself up to his full height to rest his head on his shoulder. His eyes are getting narrower and narrower as Ethan’s dreadfully inappropriate outfit and lack of manners already start to outweigh his pretty face.

“Ethan,” Samothes says, and doesn’t make any attempt to welcome him. Ethan puts out his hand, realizes there isn’t a handshake waiting, fumbles and puts it down. Maelgwyn can see him start to take on a tinge of genuine nervousness. He feels like he should’ve warned Ethan in some way, but there’s really not much more he could’ve done after telling him my parents are politicians. Samothes, who relishes in his position as senator of Ontario largely because of his lack of contact with the public, is really the worst one to have to impress.

Then again, Ethan isn’t really here to impress. “Um, Samothes, I guess?” he says like he’s only half-interested, getting even more insufferable about his gum-chewing.

“Mm,” Samothes grunts, still glaring at him. Maelgwyn imagines how terrifying his parents must seem from Ethan’s point of view, tall and beautiful and hostile in that courtly, dismissive manner of theirs. Making them hate him is going to be easier than he thought. 

“Let’s not keep everyone waiting, yes?” Samot says, nudging his husband and sweeping them back off to the foyer. He throws Maelgwyn a look that says they’re going to talk about Ethan’s outfit later. Maelgwyn can’t wait. 

He kicks off his shoes and shrugs off his coat, throwing it over the rungs of the staircase to the second floor for lack of available racks. “Well, that was hostile,” Ethan remarks, following Maelgwyn’s lead with noticeably less care. “They’re very—”

"Don't joke about how hot my parents are,” Maelgwyn snaps.

Ethan raises his eyebrows at him. "I didn't say anything."

"I know. I’m just saying. I didn’t want to tell you in advance and hear a million dumb jokes from you and Edmund."

"They made a good-looking kid. I didn't really need a warning."

"You can’t deflect from calling my parents hot by flirting with me. That just makes it worse . " Maelgwyn jabs a finger at him accusingly, and Ethan raises his hands.

"I didn't say anything ,” he insists.

Maelgwyn sighs and leads him through the dim foyer and into the bright, bustling living room. The adults are dressed as if they’re attending a formal gala. Adults—Malegwyn hates that he still calls them that unconsciously. They throw a few judgemental glances at Ethan out of their cloud of cocktail dresses and tailored suits. Ethan’s jersey had set him back a few hundred bucks, but no one here would find that an exorbitant sum. “Well,” says Ethan, insolently refusing to be intimidated, “should we make the rounds?”

“Yeah,” Maelgwyn says, though he’s reluctant. He can see his grandfather in his usual rocking chair, swimming in a stark white dress shirt that used to fit him perfectly. He’s laughing at something his sister is saying. Maelgwyn makes a beeline for him, pulling Ethan along by the arm.

Samol catches sight of him and eases himself up, smile so wide and genuine it crinkles the corners of his eyes. He holds out his arms for a hug, and Maelgwyn leans into him much more gladly than Samot. “Hey, grandpa.” He puts his arms around him and feels a moment of protectiveness at just how frail he is.

“It’s been far too long. I hope they’re treating you well up north.” Samol steps back and grins over his shoulder. “And this must be the famous Ethan.” 

“Yeah, hi,” says Ethan, putting out a hand. Samol ignores it and pulls him into a hug, too. Surprise quickly flashes across Ethan’s face, and then he hugs him back politely.

“Good to meet you. I have to say,” Samol says, pulling away, “we haven’t heard all that much about you, son. I’m looking forward to getting to know just who you are.” He smiles, easy and kind. Still, there’s an edge to the statement that Maelgwyn doesn’t quite understand.

“Um, you too,” Ethan says. He can’t bring himself to be rude to Samol, as most people can’t, but he looks slightly discomforted by the idea that people have been wondering about him. Maelgwyn doesn’t blame him when it’s these people.

Samol holds out a hand to the rest of his family. “This is my sister Severea. Her partner Galenica. My… brother of sorts, Tristero.” Severea and Galenica glitter as always, and Tristero’s in his signature jet black suit. They give Ethan smiles in varying shades of politeness as he shakes their hands in turn. 

"Pleasure," he says, greatly enjoying his aggressive Quebecois shtick. Tristero narrows his eyes. His handshake looks painful. 

"Likewise," he says, with his perfect Parisian lilt. Maelgwyn can see the exact moment Ethan stops enjoying himself. Tristero snatches away his hand like Ethan has the plague and turns to speak to Severea in mainland French, abruptly cutting him out of the social circle.

Ethan stands there for a moment, taking furious breaths, and then he turns around to round on Maelgwyn. "You didn't tell me you were French."

"All sorts,” says Maelgwyn. “I said we were all sorts."

Ethan puts his hands over his face and mutters a long string of curse words that contains tabarnak no less than four times. Some of Maelgwyn’s family members look at him strangely, but none of them really grasp what he’s saying. “We’re in Louisiana,” Maelgwyn reminds him. “What did you expect?”

Ethan puts his hands down, but he’s still sulking. “Your family has a hell of a grip,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, it’s from all the political grandstanding.” Maelgwyn puts an arm around his shoulders and turns him away from the adults’ corner of the room and its dozens of empty martini glasses. “You wanna meet my cousins?”

Ethan nods miserably and lets himself be led over to where the Tristé siblings are sprawling across the couches texting. Adelaide is draped across the length of one couch, head propped on her arm, and Angelo is aggressively manspreading at the other end to try to win back some space. They aren’t dressed extravagantly, but they still drip in brand names and good taste and organic locally-sourced handpicked vegan textiles. 

Angelo rolls off the couch and hops up to give Maelgwyn that shining grin that he shares with his father and hates so much. “Bro,” he says, pulling him into a hug and slapping his back, “where’ve you been? Tristero’s made me go on a humblebrag parade around the room, like, five times. It’s your turn, Oscars boy.”

“Oh, god, I hope not.” Angelo’s been out of the house much longer than Maelgwyn has, but Maelgwyn knows he resents his father treating him like a child at these gatherings as much as he does. He punches Angelo’s shoulder amicably. “Nice to see you.”

“This your boyfriend?” 

“Yeah—yeah. Uh, Ethan.”

Ethan jolts to attention and steps in to slap Angelo’s hand. “Hey,” he says, a shade more friendly than he was with most of the family. He seems relieved not to have to shake another hand. Trusting Angelo to be polite unsupervised, Maelgwyn turns his attention to the other Tristé sibling.

“Hey, Adie,” he says, leaning down to give her a one-armed hug. “You guys look great.”

Adelaide squeezes his shoulders. “And your boyfriend looks terrible. You’re trying to piss off Samot, aren’t you?” Maelgwyn gives her a pleading look, and she raises her hands. “My lips are sealed. Enjoy whichever game you’re playing.” 

Maelgwyn breathes a sigh of relief and drops onto the couch across from her. He appreciates that the Tristés consider him to be enough of an ally in the political landscape of their family that they’ll call him out on his shit instead of pretending to fall for it. He and Ethan chat with them during the long lull before Samol announces dinner is served. Maelgwyn mostly sticks to small talk and half-listens to Ethan enthusing about his fencing team with Angelo. It’s completely unsurprising that they get along well. He just wishes he hadn't given Ethan free license to exaggerate his accent. It's already getting grating. 

It’s not even halfway into the night, and Maelgwyn’s weary and itchy and uncomfortably warm. He wishes desperately he could be home, not for the first time and not for the last. At some point Ethan leans over and asks if he can put an arm around his waist again. It helps to have some time to parse the feeling of Ethan’s arm around him in a place he usually hesitates to let people touch. It’s not so bad once he gets used to it.

Finally, Samol comes back from checking on his food and announces that dinner is served. The slow shuffle to the dining room starts, and Maelgwyn endures nearly ten more minutes of laughter and milling about and seats being scraped back and forth. Ethan’s arm around him starts being less of a touch he’s tolerating and more of a grounding sensation. Finally, the seating arrangement is established, with Maelgwyn sitting as far from Samothes as he possibly can and ending up by Samol, who’s taken up the other head of the table. His grandfather smiles at him for a moment before they say grace, eyes merry and twinkling between wrinkled lids. Maelgwyn can’t help but smile back. 

Samothes settles himself in his seat with gravitas, looking gravely out over candlesticks and seasonal decorations and heaping plates of Louisiana home cooking. "Dear lord," he begins, projecting his booming voice. There’s a flutter as hands are clasped and eyes are closed. "Thank you for this food. Bless the hands that prepared it. Bless it to our use and us to your service—"

Ethan suddenly shoves back his chair with a loud noise, makes sure people are looking as he spits his gum into his hand, and gets up to throw it out in the kitchen. The table sits in stony silence until he returns. Maelgwyn desperately holds in laughter. When Ethan returns, Samothes says in a low, dangerous voice, "Would you like to finish our grace, Ethan?"

He freezes. "Me?"

"The lord seems to have moved your spirit." 

There's a nervous chuckle around the table. Ethan's squirms, waiting to see if it's a joke that will blow over. It isn't. He opens his mouth and hesitates. As if someone else is saying it for him, he mumbles distantly, "And help us to give you glory each day through Jesus Christ our lord."

An amen goes around the table, and dinner properly begins. Samothes looks grimly pleased. Ethan rips apart a dinner roll violently. Maelgwyn briefly worries that Samothes has genuinely upset him, but Ethan's anger seems to evaporate a moment too quickly. Or maybe he’s imagined it. It’s never easy to tell what Ethan’s thinking. Too many of his actions are the result of one facade or another.

Either way, Ethan eventually pulls himself up from his childish slouch to serve himself like everyone else. He goes for his dinner fork, hesitates and purposefully picks up his dessert fork instead. Samot goes to say something, seems to think better of it and just purses his lips. Maelgwyn has always noted that Ethan has strangely impeccable table manners when he wants to, and he’s thrilled that he’s deciding to use his knowledge of etiquette for evil. He picks up his own dinner fork, because to do otherwise would be a little too suspicious, and digs into his food enthusiastically. Samol’s jambalaya has often been the only thing getting him through this fucking holiday.

"So, Ethan," Samol begins, smiling warmly, "where do you spend your Thanksgivings when my grandson isn't dragging you out to my neck of the woods?"

Ethan gives him a small, polite smile. Samol is too hospitable for anyone to stay standoffish when speaking to him. "At friends', with my brother." To tell the truth, Maelgwyn is tremendously envious of the friendsgiving he’s constantly missing out on. For Thanksgiving to be a pleasant night and not a drawn-out affair of family drama and faux-politeness would be a dream.

"Not with family?" Samot asks from across the table, masking judgement with concerned curiosity.

Ethan snorts. “Wouldn't know where to find them for it, and wouldn’t care to see them." They have the opposite problem, really. Maelgwyn has too much family, and Ethan has next to none. Ethan has never seemed to give much of a shit about it, which Maelgwyn envies tremendously. He wishes with all his heart and soul that what his family was doing didn’t bother or affect him.

Samot takes a slow sip of wine. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” His eyes are intense over his glass as he watches Ethan rub at his eye, purposefully smearing his eyeliner a little further.

Ethan shrugs and shovels more shrimp in his mouth. Samothes gives him a narrow-eyed, skeptical look Maelgwyn’s learned to fear, but Ethan seems completely unfazed by it. “This is great,” he says as an aside to Samol, mouth is full of shrimp. Samol smiles brightly, and Samothes moves on, having recognized that Ethan is outplaying him by winning his father’s favor. The strain between them tightens a few fractions more. 

“ Puis-je avoir du sel? ” Tristero says, gesturing to the salt shaker at Ethan’s elbow. 

“ Ouais, ” says Ethan, leaning unnecessarily hard into the a to make it absurdly clear that he isn’t saying a proper oui. He reaches out and drops it into Tristero’s hand. Tristero’s eyes widen as if horribly offended, and he straightens his back self-righteously. Maelgwyn braces himself for one of his insufferable speeches on table etiquette.

“ Il ne faut pas passer le sel de la main à la main, ” says Tristero, growing steadily more hostile with each word. “It should be set down on the table in front of your neighbor so they can pick it up for themselves. I just thought I should let you know, seeing as they don’t seem to teach etiquette up in your country.”

“Oh,” Ethan says, reaching the point of hostility much faster. “I see. Well, let me put this in a way you’ll understand, since there seem to be so many cultural stumbling blocks between us. Je m'en fous.” 

The table quiets slightly, everyone finally able to understand Ethan’s profanity (except for Samothes, who keeps eating his rice in blissful ignorance). Maelgwyn and the Tristés try to suppress snickers and smiles. Samot goes to snap at Ethan, finds himself in the position of not wanting to discipline a stranger, and instead says in exasperation, “Maelgwyn!”

Maelgwyn tries to stop smiling and look appropriately serious, but is only halfway successful. “Ethan,” he says, touching his arm.

“He started it,” Ethan says sulkily.

“I know, babe.” Maelgwyn finds himself rubbing Ethan’s shoulder and feels foolish both for acting like his father and for using a term of endearment for the first time. He should’ve rehearsed it earlier, as Ethan had. He drops his arm and goes back to his food, hoping he isn’t red in the face. Samot looks disappointed in him for taking Ethan’s side, but he doesn’t instigate the matter further.

“Well, it was always said that passing salt de la main a la main would cause a quarrel,” says Samol good-humoredly. There’s some reluctant chuckling around the table. The matter having been smoothed out enough to ignore, they continue picking at their plates. Still, there’s a considerable strain underpinning the evening. Ethan and Tristero keep trading blows, though neither escalate as far as the spat over the saltshaker. A steady, dull pain grows in Maelgwyn’s chest, and he starts desperately avoiding speaking with his parents. He almost thinks he’s home free when Samothes abruptly clears his throat and asks, "How are your films going, Maelgwyn?"

Maelgwyn swallows. "We don't really put out anything till third year, dad." 

It’s not technically true, but he doesn't feel like explaining the intricacies of his projects to his father and watching his eyes glaze over. He waits for a followup question and gets none. Samot touches Samothes's arm, making it clear to Maelgwyn that he told him to ask, and then he speaks up instead. "What about you, Ethan? What do you study?"

“Performing arts,” Ethan says, sounding appropriately contemptuous and uninterested in regular human interaction for someone of his major. Maelgwyn can see Samothes’s face completely drain of hope that he had brought someone normal home. Samot progresses to rubbing his arm comfortingly. It’s awfully early in the evening for him to be doing that, which is a good sign.

“I see,” Samot says, “and do you know what you plan to do with your degree?”

“Perform art,” Ethan says flatly. There’s a chuckle around the table, mostly from the Tristé siblings and Samol. Ethan splits into a shitty grin. “I’m joking. You can’t do shit with an arts degree. It’s join the army or marry rich.” 

The table finds this less entertaining. Samot’s hand goes still on his husband’s arm, and Maelgwyn can see him digging in his nails. Ethan sips his drink peacefully like he was just making pleasant conversation and as if Samothes isn’t staring daggers at him less than a day into knowing him. Maelgwyn finds himself wishing he hadn’t been thrown under the bus by association, but he still has to respect the balls Ethan has to have to act so unbothered by his father’s ire.

Samot lets out a fake, tentative laugh, pretending this is a joke to give him an opportunity to backpedal. Maelgwyn realizes he might’ve had too much wine. “But you�� do have goals other than that.”

“Well, marry rich. I already said that.”

“That’s not…” Samot sighs. “Maelgwyn’s going to make films. You haven’t considered acting in them?”

“Sure.” Ethan drops his cutlery and pushes back his chair with a harsh scraping noise. “I mean, in case you haven’t noticed, you seem to be doing well enough for yourselves to look down your noses at me. I’m sure you’ll bribe someone to give your son a few dozen mil, right?” Samot’s mouth drops open in indignation. Ethan sits back, gesturing around at the dining room in all its faux-antique charm. He’s smiling one of his most horrible smiles. “Hell, I’m sure some portion of all this is willed to Maelgwyn, and your tête de la famille will keel over soon enough, won’t he?”

If Ethan’s previous outburst had quieted the table, this one completely kills all activity around it, forks clattering still and jaws pausing mid-chew. The silence is murderous. Adelaide chokes on something politely and brings a hand to her mouth. Samot sits back with his wine, staring at Ethan with open, intense malice for the first time in the night.

Samothes holds his knife like he wants to slice Ethan open with it. “What did you say?” he says, voice low and dangerous. It’s redundant. Everyone knows what he said. Ethan blinks at him.

“I said you’re doing well enough for—”

“No, you know what I mean. How dare you?”

Ethan slides back down, looking less confused than pissed off now. Maelgwyn tries to say something, but all that comes out is a squeak. It’s still enough to get Samothes’s attention, and he fixes him with his awful stare instead of Ethan. “How do you manage to be with someone like this? How could you trust him enough to tell him?”

Maelgwyn wants to disappear. He can’t even slink down in his seat, he’s so frozen with fear. The table hovers in its silence, no one daring to breathe. Samothes’s directed malice fades to an aimless fury. “You didn’t tell him,” he says quietly. It’s more of an accusation than a question. Maelgwyn shakes his head wordlessly. He feels like he was just plunged under six feet of water. Samothes sighs and looks to Samot. “Tell your son—”

“ My son?” Samot snaps, sitting forward again and sloshing wine onto the tablecloth in his indignance. Maelgwyn stares down at his plate and pushes around some rice, chewing mechanically without tasting his food.

“Aw, don’t kick up such a fuss,” Samol tries to say, but he’s spoken over immediately.

“I’m sorry, what was I not told?” Ethan says, something hostile about his tone even though Maelgwyn silently begs him to stay soft. He might’ve been pushed too far. 

The table becomes abruptly quiet again. Samot and Samothes sit looking at each other, not knowing how to break the news. They’ve never known how to talk about it. It’s like the mere mention of it has plunged them back into grief as fresh as the day the news was first broken to them.

“It’s stage four,” Samol says softly. Ethan blinks at him, opens his mouth to ask a dumb question, and then understands and slowly melts into horror.

Samothes pushes his chair back with a horrible screech and gives Maelgwyn a look before leaving for the kitchen. The blame is shifted to him as always. Maelgwyn didn't do enough, didn’t behave properly enough, wasn't enough. He should’ve better informed Ethan about his family’s history, and yet he should never have brought it up—or brought him home—to begin with. Tristero stands up in a huff and completely leaves the room, slamming the door to the back porch. Angelo and Adelaide jump up to go after him, giving Maelgwyn looks of apology and pity. Severea regards her brother with a deep sadness, and she and her partner rise and follow them out more slowly. The festively decorated table suddenly seems ridiculous and inappropriate in the sober atmosphere. Maelgwyn feels like slinking under it, pressing his head into a corner and hiding for the rest of the night. He can hear Samothes washing dishes aggressively, trying to regain some sense of control over the world. The way he bangs each dish brings Maelgwyn back to the arguments that used to echo through this house in his childhood, and how badly he would flinch at every little noise.

Samot rises from the table, still fixing Ethan with an openly malicious look. He walks around the table slowly, scaring Maelgwyn more with each step. "You've got a little something," he says, and then hauls Ethan up by the scruff of his neck like a kitten and scrubs vigorously at the corner of his eye. He drops him just as quickly, looking furiously satisfied, and storms off to the kitchen after his husband. Ethan sits there, blinking and stunned. When he looks at Maelgwyn questioningly, he can see that Samot had wiped off the eyeliner he's been so insistently smudging towards his temple. 

It almost makes Maelgwyn laugh despite everything, and then the hissing whispered argument beginning in the kitchen reaches him and all mirth he could’ve summoned evacuates his body abruptly. He took this too far. He knows that. He sinks down in his chair, every harsh consonant he can hear hitting him in the stomach like a blow. There’s nothing he can do. There never has been.

He, Ethan and Samol are the only ones left at the table. "I'm sorry," Ethan says, soft and genuinely regretful.

"It's alright, son. You didn’t know." Samol gets up and claps him on the shoulder. Maelgwyn watches Ethan re-evaluate how frail he is, how much trouble he has getting himself upright. For a moment Maelgwyn wants to burst into tears and rest his head against his grandfather’s bony shoulder and tell him everything, lay out their whole horrible scheme and try to explain why he thought it was a good idea. 

He remembers confessing the fear and unease of his home life to Samol when he’d been a child in the midst of his parents’ impending separation, and the relief of Samol telling him he’d take care of it and letting him sit in his Marlboro-scented car as he walked into the house to chew his fathers out. Maelgwyn aches for the same sort of relief, but he still can’t bring himself to speak. He watches Samol make his way across to the door out to the back porch and rest his hand on the handle. “I’ll smooth things over,” he says in his effortlessly comforting manner, and steps out. 

Maelgwyn feels a fraction better, but only that much. Even though there's no one left at the table, he finishes his dinner silently. Ethan sits there for a few more moments, then follows suit. He seems unsure of what to say.

“I didn’t think it would come up,” Maelgwyn says when he can be verbal again. It feels like a woefully inadequate excuse. Ethan looks up at him from his dish. He doesn’t seem angry with him, for which Maelgwyn is awfully grateful.

“I guess it worked in our favor,” he says, but he sounds unsure. He pushes his food around a little and then looks up again, eyes anxious. “I am sorry.”

“Don’t—Don’t worry about it.” Maelgwyn doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. He stabs a piece of shrimp a little too hard. It’s quiet for a few minutes as they finish their food. The argument keeps gaining traction in the kitchen, growing more and more heated. Samol is coughing outside. Something about the harshness of the sound makes something in Maelgwyn snap. 

He gets up abruptly and slams open the door to the porch. It’s darker than he expected it to be, none of the porch lights on and the suburbs glittering in the moonlight in the distance. Samol is sitting on the edge of one of the porch swings, a lit cigarette between his fingers as he rests his hand on his knee. The Tristé siblings lounge on another of the benches, looking sullen. Their father leans against the railing at the edge of the deck. They all blink at Maelgwyn’s sudden, violent entrance.

"You're not supposed to smoke anymore,” Maelgwyn snaps at his grandfather.

"Maelgwyn," Tristero says warningly, but Samol waves at him and goes to stub out his cigarette.

"Naw, he's right. C’mon, Tristé, ain’t there been enough unpleasantness tonight?” Tristero glowers at Maelgwyn, but relents. He shoots an even dirtier look over Maelgwyn’s shoulder as the door opens. Ethan steps up beside Maelgwyn and puts a hand on the small of his back. Maelgwyn isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be a comforting touch or just a part of the act, but it makes him feel better to have someone at his back. 

Tristero takes a step towards the staircase that leads down to the backyard as if Ethan’s very presence disgusts him. Ethan takes bold steps out to meet him, hand outstretched. "It's was good to meet you.” Tristero regards him with a moment of wary disdain, trying to figure out what he's playing at, before he clasps it.

"Have a good rest of your night," he says, enunciating his accent pointedly. The moment he lets go and steps away, Ethan jams his hand in his pocket like he wants to get rid of the feeling of touching him. Maelgwyn appreciates his dedication to his job, even if the rivalry he’s trying to embroil himself in might be a little bigger than his paygrade. 

Tristero descends the stairs and walks off across the lawn into the dark. Galenica and Severea wait for him by a streetlight. Samol stays behind, rocking back and forth on his porch swing quietly. Maelgwyn wonders if he hates the family falling apart because of him as much as he does. “Where’s everyone going?” he asks Samol. All the venom has gone out of his voice, and he sounds small and tired.

“Just to take a breather,” Samol says evenly. Maelgwyn wouldn’t be surprised if he was lying to spare his nerves. His grandfather’s guitar is leaning against one of his rocking chairs, and Samol hobbles across to sit in it and pick up a quiet tune. Even if it doesn’t quite match the situation, it’s soothing. Maelgwyn crawls onto the porch swing he just vacated and sways back and forth miserably. 

(Read part 2 here)

[kerice]

Painful Memories...

I came across some old photos. Some of my wedding. I can look at these pictures now with less emotion. There is sadness but I really can’t identify with that person in the photo anymore. Does this mean I have detached myself? I remember being there. Have I healed from the wounds that are still painful to mention? This day, more than 17 years ago, was a start of a major trial in my life. Having the courage to work through the pain of recovery has helped give me the drive and tenacity to overcome financial debt and to succeed in school. 

My academic journey started back in 1996, academic achievement did not come easy to me in high school, but I wanted to get a good job, so a few years after high school I started classes at Seattle Central College, in Seattle Washington. I then had a child at age 25 and I became a single mom. I am always inspired by women who say that without hesitation, trepidation or feeling less than women who have a partner. When my son was about three years old, I transferred to Bellevue College. They had a work study program where I could work at the school daycare (where my son was) and also work on my career goals, while having my son close. Due to the early birth of my second son on Nov. 27th, I was unable to finish my last two weeks of course work in the fall of 2003. As a result, I received a failed grade in my personal enrichment courses of French 201 and Algebra II. However my GPA for my science classes were within the range they needed to be. But, even so, I had to quit my job and dropped out of college since my son was born two weeks before the final exams. 

On the day of the wedding, It was a beautiful, warm day in September 2004, I remember, the kids were dancing and laughing, the lakeside property was gorgeous. I remember my family and friends being around me, it felt like a different life. I don’t like going back in my thoughts. The pain of those memories has become less as time’s gone on. To go from such a happy day celebrating with the person I wanted to live my life with to days later, almost losing my life to this person. This is a story, no one wants to tell. Four days after my wedding, I was a victim of a road rage incident, where I was physically assaulted and (along with my infant son) nearly killed. My husband of four days was charged with reckless endangerment and assault and then arrested. A passerby had seen the incident and called 911. I still can’t believe this happened to me. He never apologized for what he had put us through, we never saw him again except at a distance. I then started therapy for the physical pain that was inflicted on me, the emotional pain would be a much longer process of healing.

When you go through the family court system and testify in front of everyone, what you go through, it is very difficult. After the shock wears off, the shame sets in, it’s hard to talk about. They (the court advocates) encourage you to talk, saying that it saves lives. I felt lost and defeated. I was forced to go through court ordered therapy, which I knew, any invasive findings would be broadcast in court. I had to acknowledge other incidences of abuse that led up to the escalation to the road rage. I was faced with the reality of my own denial of what was happening to me. The excuses I would make to myself. He was just stressed out. Maybe it was a psychotic break? I couldn’t be objective or logical enough to begin to imagine why someone would do such things to a person they profess to love. I didn’t want a stomach ulcer on top of everything else. I was able to get a pro bono attorney for the first trial.  But after my ex-husband went to domestic violence treatment, there was a new trial. This was because, where there is “abusive use of conflict,” the courts don’t allow mediation to settle parenting plans. This put me in financial peril, and I have struggled financially  ever since. 

It’s been many years since the assault and arrest. I was vilified and blamed for what caused our separation to our community and friends. According to his account, it was all an exaggeration, a misunderstanding. I heard him say in court that I was crazy, emotionally unbalanced. Especially during the child custody proceedings. I was so afraid of him and what he would do to me. I couldn’t even comprehend fully what he was doing, who he even was. Was he my enemy now? He blamed me for getting him arrested, even though I had not been the one who called the police, but an anonymous stranger did! I felt alone, scared, traumatized. I hated having to go through the court hearings and hear the venomous words coming from him and his attorney. It made me feel crazy, out of my mind. I had to get away, I saw him everywhere, I was always looking over my shoulder. Sudden movements would make me jump. Flashes of the trauma would enter my mind. While driving my car, when I would see brake lights I would tense up and my heart would skip a beat. How could I even co-parent with this person? My Post Traumatic Stress was keeping me from moving beyond what happened to me, keeping me from moving forward. But I knew I had to somehow keep it together and be strong for my children. 

After the divorce, I was given permission to move out of state. In 2007, my brother, who lived in Northern Kentucky, offered me a job. Because of this, I was able to move out of state with my children. I am so grateful to my brother for his help in this transition. During this time, my father had entered retirement from the military out on the west coast. He and my mother were planning on moving to Cincinnati to help my brother with his business. The timing of the move was good since we would be able to have the support of my family, during this time of healing and transition. Upon my move, my ex was continuing to file motions at the Seattle court house. I had to hire an attorney, from out of state, to represent me and to respond to every motion filed. Within 5 years, he filed 12 motions that were all dismissed for lack of credibility. Even though he was ordered to pay my attorney’s fees, these orders were not enforced, therefore leading me to incur much debt over the years. With the two divorce trials costing $40,000 and the additional $10,000, my finances were in trouble. I had to ask my parents for help with these huge costs. Two years after the divorce, he stopped paying child support and my daycare costs exceeded $6,000. I had to ask my parents for help with the kids, which allowed me to work more hours to pay my debts. I have been used to working two or sometimes three jobs to get a handle on my finances. In 2015 I was able to receive vocational training so I could earn more per hour. 

I am a single parent living in the Cincinnati area for almost 14 years now. After much healing and hard work, I am anxious to continue my academic career goals. I am the proud parent of two well-adjusted young adults and I’ve had much experience juggling work, school and parenting. I also became the caretaker of my grandmother the last year of her life. In which I moved her into my home with my two children. During this time, as I partnered with the hospice care staff, I assisted in many nursing responsibilities. Reflecting back on this now, I feel that nursing is the field I belong in. During my time in Cosmetology school, I took on another caretaking job. I did this while managing my other full-time job. Then in 2018, I enrolled in an accelerated program at the Cincinnati School of Medical Massage. Where we had rigorous course work in A&P and Pathology. I also became a personal care assistant in 2018. I also currently work as a licensed Cosmetologist and LMT, as well as an STNA. 

I am happy to say that my domestic partner and fiancé is supportive of my desire to finish my nursing education. Over time I had developed a tougher exterior, not able to readily identify with my feelings. I was so guarded, out of necessity. An armor of survival. I find it more difficult to make friends, especially deep friendships that take invested time and effort. Letting people in feels too high of a risk at times, as the emotional scars surface. Where I attended massage school, they taught us what it means to be “semi-permeable.” The idea of boundary lines that define your personal space and the space for the client. If you are too closed off, then you won’t be able to tune into anyone else’s needs. This was a wonderful exercise for me in many ways. It’s helped me in my relationship with my children as well. In the past, I’ve heard awful comments directed towards me, anywhere from saying that I am a bad mother, to questions like, why didn’t I just get an abortion. Being on the other end of the parenthood journey, with my kids entering the adult world, I would say it was worth the pain, the struggle. We persevered, we are all tough as nails, I can see it from the work ethic my kids have. Even in the most ideal circumstances, children can still have issues. But seeing the love for me in their eyes is very moving. Watching them run around, playing and laughing is like watching my heart dancing outside of me. I wish that some things had been different for them. But through the struggle, we established a strong bond, which I believe will last for years to come. I don’t know who made this quote but it sums up so much. “A son makes love stronger, days shorter, bankroll smaller, home happier, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten and the future worth living for.” 

This trial has taught me to not be too quick to dismiss the notion that real love does heal our wounds. In my younger years I would have thought of that notion too trite. Having my children with me in my life has given me profound purpose and meaning. As small children, they looked to me as their constant, their calming force. They were my purpose for staying strong, stoic, steady. When they were little and even now, I give them my continued support. Also, it took me years of being single to allow myself to fall in love again. I feel thankful to my family and to my God that I have another chance at a lifetime partnership. So much healing has taken place but the memories in the emotions are still there. The muscle memories within the physical scars, are still there.

I see what those court advocate where talking about, all those years ago. I have come through the pain of a trial that allows me to empathize with the profound pain of others. Sharing my pain can save lives, or at least meeting others at their depths, so they feel less alone. Not that I have the answers, only the experience in the struggle to survive. I believe now, as a nurse (or soon to be) I can come along side someone and show them I understand what it’s like to be in pain. I can better understand where they’re at because of what I’ve been through. Not everyone is ready to hear a story like mine. A lot of times i get the, “ wide eyed, gaping mouth” reaction. But sometimes I meet someone who says, that it was what they needed to hear. It gives them the courage to set out on their own journey of survival. To start fresh, to start over if that’s what is necessary to start the healing process. As a massage therapist I deal with people and their physical pain all the time. I build care plans around strategies to begin the healing process. Many times, the physical pain is locked up with emotional pain underneath. I understand this, as I am there with them, letting them cry through their trauma. It’s a process that I feel privileged using my skills and abilities to aid in the healing.

[tinyyoungblood]

IMPORTANT !!

this feels like a tinder add but here goes nothing

i’m desperately looking for someone who is french or speaks french fluently

and is in the mood to gush about tom or peter or the whole mcu with me!! we can talk about anything really, from venting about life to philosophy to thorough movie analysis—as long as it’s in french!! (if you don’t speak french but still want to chat, you are always welcome)

i’m having my delf b2 exams in less than a month and because of covid and homeschooling my french got pretty neglected and it’s embarrassingly terrible now. it makes me want to knock myself out with a baguette, but i don’t deem myself worthy of them anymore, so here we are.

the delf exam includes an oral interview with a native speaker, so it’d be amazing if you could correct me if i’m babbling bullshit or help me with colloquial speech or vocab questions if i happen to have any. but what i, first and foremost, am looking for is a friend, not an employee nor a tutor. if we don’t click, we don’t click, that’s fine. but if we do, i’ll shower you with love. so if you think you could help me, please, hit me up and become mon ami so i can make my 60€ of exam fees worth it

(i actually contemplated writing this in french but i couldn’t even figure out the first sentence. that is how much i need you, person who is reading this. hELp please)

THIS IS ALL THROUGH TUMBLR MESSAGES OF COURSE! NO PHONE CALLS OR SMTH lol

-

tagging some mutuals for sb but also in hope they go oui oui putain in my dms or know someone who can (sorry for bothering yall)

@honeypie-holland @insidiousslut @chloecreatesfictions @t-lostinmendes @tombrina @tonguetiedholland @cosmicholland @taciturnspidey @duskholland @parkeret @hollandsrecs @ftmpeter @blushypetey @theamazingtomholland @thwippeter @darlinglavender @sfatimaaa @coulson-son-of-coul