#I spent half an hour looking up Latin words to decide what term I wanted for the queer community in Garlemald

[ecosystem-administrator]

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Timeline: 4.5-5.0-ish, no major spoilers Pairing: Maxima/Riol Content warnings: Internalized homophobia, references to patriarchal culture

Riol trips over a secret he didn't expect to be a secret; Maxima has the emotional breakdown he's been repressing for several months; there is, finally, a kiss.

“Have you got anyone back home?”

The question was startling, and Maxima looked down at Riol uncertainly, for a moment envisioning any possible ulterior motives. But what did he have to lose? This wasn’t the Empire, the people here would be friendly to the Populares if they could find any. Or at least less openly hostile than the Empire was. “I gave you all the contacts I had when I first arrived,” he hedged.

That earned him a light smack on the upper arm; he’d been getting more accustomed lately to Riol’s style of physical affection, and just raised a bemused eyebrow in response. “Not what I meant. Like, a partner, a lover. Someone you miss.”

He shook his head. “There was someone…once. After my parents died, I broke things off. I planned to take a more active role in the movement in their place, and I didn’t want hi- them to be in danger.” Very few relationships between men in the Empire managed to last long-term, anyway; although it had hurt, they’d both seen it coming, and agreed it was for the best. There were just too many obstacles to such couples remaining together.

“Sorry to bring up bad memories,” Riol murmured. And then, in a very deliberate and careful tone, “…What was his name?”

Maxima stared at Riol again, wondering how much of the fear speeding his pulse was making it into his expression. He’d slipped up just there, and of course Riol was too quick not to catch it. It was one of the things he liked about the Hyur, one of several things that had him enjoying the company more than he should, entertaining daydreams of continued closeness. He’d already indulged too much, and now his most damning secret was exposed and he would lose this lifeline-

“Maxima!” Riol was shaking his arm, his grip warm and firm and more real than the panic he’d begun to spin into. “Gods, what’s got into you? It was just a question.” He swallowed visibly, and to Maxima’s astonishment, flushed a little. “…Well…” He cleared his throat. “…In the name of tryin’ to be more honest with each other, maybe not just a question. I’ve been really enjoyin’ your company these past months.”

The spiral of increasing panic had slowed, but Maxima was already too much in fight-or-flight mode to interpret what Riol was saying. “I’m sorry,” he managed, his voice wavering. “I-I’ll keep my distance, just…please don’t tell anyone else.”

“What in the Navigator’s name are you talkin’ about?” Riol was only getting more agitated, which was exactly the opposite of what he’d intended, but of course was the expected result even so. At least he had enough leverage not to feel physically threatened, but how was he to endure this social landscape without the one person who actively welcomed his company? But he would live, he would manage, if only he could persuade Riol to keep quiet in the name of the friendship they’d had. “I thought we might have somethin’ goin’ here. If you’re interested.”

“I…what?” Maxima blinked, reassessing the interaction, blushing suddenly as he realized what Riol had meant. Naturally, he realized, if Riol had been signaling that he was scaenicum as well, Maxima wouldn’t have caught whatever codes or gestures were specific to Eorzean culture. He glanced down at the camp; though the outburst hadn’t drawn any attention yet, they weren’t even entirely out of view. “If that was your intent, we’ve already been…incautious.” He lowered his voice, shifting back from the cliffside. “That is… yes, certainly I am, but we’ll need to think carefully about how to keep from seeming suspicious.”

“Suspicious how?” At least Riol seemed to have calmed as well, but he still seemed deeply confused. “It’s not a crime to…” Even as he spoke the words, understanding seemed to dawn, and he scowled deeply. “Ohh, I’d heard Garleans were backwards about- roles and relationships, but I never knew it was this bad… Llymlaen’s barnacled bosom, no wonder you’re so good at hidin’ everything.” He took a deep breath, visibly settling himself down, and got up on one knee so he could look Maxima in the eye more easily. “Listen, Maxima… it’s not like that here. Whatever you like in a lover, it’s not gonna change anyone’s opinion of you. And if anyone gets on my case for who you are, it’ll be because you’re a Garlean, not because you’re a man.”

It was a persistent rumor, of course, that such things were managed differently in foreign lands. That the roles of men and women within the family were less strict and relationships more varied. Maxima had had some hope that perhaps one day it would be possible to find a partner and live discreetly, in a way that his homeland had gone out of its way to deny him; he’d never dared to imagine that such discretion would simply be unnecessary.

This, finally, was simply too much. He was so far from home, and every familiar mountain and valley of his emotional landscape, everything he’d worked through and around all his life, was just insignificant to the outside world, meaningless upon a grander scale. His eyes began to sting, and no amount of reaching could find the calm center he relied upon to maintain his equilibrium; he realized he was holding his breath as if that could still the pain, and when he finally let it go, the exhale shook and the inhale stuttered. He reached for Riol blindly, instinctively, like an anchor in a storm, and without needing to give any further sign he found himself embraced, pulled into the warmth of Riol’s chest as his composure finally crumbled.

“It’s all right, let it out,” Riol said soothingly, stroking his back as he shook with emotion. “That’s been a long time comin’. Yer plenty tough for holdin’ out as long as you have.”

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, though it probably wasn’t as long as it felt like: they’d come up here to watch the sunset as had become a habit, and when Maxima was finally able to raise his head again and breathe clearly, the first stars were only just emerging. Still, it was long enough that Riol groaned with relief when he was able to ascertain that his companion was steadying out, and he sat down on the earth again heavily. “Sorry,” he explained, “Much as I care for you, I ain’t twenty anymore, and that’s not doin’ my knees any favors.”

Maxima couldn’t help but laugh, a little brokenly, as he wiped his face and tried his best to regain his dignity. “Thank you,” he answered quietly. “I…being here… So much has happened.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Riol agreed, leaning into his side and wrapping an arm around his waist supportively. “…Gods, I wish Thancred hadn’t got dragged off who knows where. Him and his fancy Sharlayan education…he would’ve known what kinds of things I should have told you from the start, where the differences are so I could help you adjust better. I’m good at sneakin’ around and payin’ attention, but when it comes to this diplomacy stuff I’m sailin’ in the fog here and just hopin’ I don’t end up on the rocks.” He grinned slyly and squeezed Maxima’s waist a little harder for a moment. “Good thing you’re tall as a lighthouse, isn’t it?”

He made it seem so easy. Sitting like this, Maxima didn’t feel any less lost, but at least the feeling was less dangerous and more adventuresome. Cautiously, he settled his own arm around Riol’s shoulders in return, accepting the smaller man’s presence more completely. “As for what you said earlier…”

“I’m not askin’ for anythin’ except your company. However much of it you’re comfortable givin’.” He looked up at Maxima seriously. “I’ve never been the type for commitment. We’ve both got too much goin’ to make any offers past here and now, right? But I like you, Max, I really do. At least what you’ve let me see so far. We can start there, and see where things take us.”

“I’ve grown very fond of you, as well,” Maxima admitted. “…The reason I was so alarmed earlier was in part because I had already been indulging in that affection more than I would have dared at home. I was afraid my carelessness had lost me your company.”

“Nah. If I wasn’t interested, you wouldn’t be the first one I’d let down gently. Maybe I’d give you a bit of a break to keep from makin’ things awkward, but we’d still be friends. And we’ll still be friends if you decide you’re not interested, too, all right? Gods strike me down if I ever try to use my position to keep someone hangin’ on when they’d rather go.”

“I know. I’ve seen plenty of abuse of power in my time. It’s not as if the thought didn’t cross my mind, but…you aren’t the type.” Maxima smoothed his thumb over Riol’s bicep, looking down at him speculatively. He’d never dared to be caught staring at the other man’s features before; now, he found he was getting lost in the green of Riol’s remaining eye.

“I’m not gettin’ back up on my knees for a bit,” Riol said with a grin that lit his gaze appealingly. “So if you want a kiss, you’ve got to come down here and get it.”

That was in fact exactly what Maxima wanted, the thought he’d still been hesitating to complete even in the safety of his own mind; so with permission given, he leaned down to press his lips to Riol’s, gently at first. Riol’s arms came up to wrap around the back of his neck, and he wasn’t sure whose lips parted first, but he tasted good, so good that Maxima could have lingered in that moment for an eternity, shutting out all the world in favor of this simple intimacy.

When they did finally part, to his surprise, Riol leaned their foreheads together, the warmth of his skin close to but not quite touching Maxima’s third eye. The further intimacy made Maxima shiver just a little, not having expected a foreigner to be familiar with the gesture, and Riol seemed to realize and pulled back just a little. “Oh hells,” he muttered. “I keep forgetting. You all right?”

“It’s fine,” Maxima told him quickly, blushing. “That is…it’s intimate, but not unpleasantly so. …It’s been a long time since I let anyone this close.”

“Figuring each other out is gonna take some work,” Riol nodded, but he was still smiling. “I’m up for it if you are.”

[littlemisspascal]

Ezra’s Journal Entries #1-3

Fandom: Prospect / Pedro Pascal

Pairing: Ezra x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,269

Summary: You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe. 

Warnings: angsty fluff, Ezra’s dealing with the aftermath of the Green, language, 1st person POV (Ezra), dialogue in italics because that’s just how I chose to do it, no beta so all mistakes are mine

Author Note: I know I said Death and Angel would come out next, but I got such a inspiration high and the words came out so quickly I just told myself screw it and decided to share what I have. If anyone thinks this is a series worth pursuing, let me know. If you don’t, well, just be gentle please 💖

Cross-posted on AO3

Entries #4-6

Look for additional notes at the bottom.

My name is Ezra. 

I have my mama to thank for that. Time has erased her face from my memory, but her voice is ingrained into the tissue of my brain the same way these words are inked on this parchment. She was a bonafide believer that the meaning of a child’s name influenced the course of their destiny. When I was no taller than the height of her waist I learned my own name’s denotation: help.

It’s just a tick too ironic, isn’t it? To be destined to help others when I can’t help my own self. I gave the Green far too little credit. It didn’t just pilfer my arm to satisfy its ravenousness, it greedily stole my sense of purpose too. 

Every night I thank the deities you didn’t accompany me there. If the Green had taken you...

I know how worried you are about me, little love of mine. When I look at you, I find you already looking back, a sweet smile gracing your lips even as concern burns in your eyes as an eternal flame. From day one you’ve always been looking at me, seeing every disgraced flaw and scar—even the invisible ones carved into the darkest edges of my soul. Kevva knows I’ve never been capable of concealing anything from you, but fuck if I don’t wish I could sometimes.

You’re asleep now as I write this, tucked against my side in the vacant space my arm once occupied, drooling on my shirt. I love you so much it hurts. A black hole in my chest perpetually aching to be filled by your presence. And as we venture once more into the starry sea, our ship gliding past the imaginary wings of Noctua, I find myself recalling a theory you once told me many cycles ago about humans being made in the womb with stardust infused in their bones, linking them to the universe. You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe. 

And it’s undoubtedly selfish, but all I could think of in that tender moment beyond kissing you was how I didn’t want an eternity spent together with our cosmic bodies intertwined. 

I want longer.

Soon after we awoke and each consumed a slice of bush bread bought during our recent docking at Kamrea, you fiddled with the channels on the ship’s radio, hoping to hear news from your homeworld but cursing when you only heard static. Then, without an ounce of forewarning, music burst out with an almighty scream through the speakers at full volume, flooding the whole compartment with a woman’s warbling. It was the same crusted Vayok song that merc Inumon blared in my ears during my last night on the Green, every note an individual needle piercing my skull, impossible to ignore.

Reality deserted me, leaving me to sink to the depths of the abyss within my mind where all I could see was Cee’s pale, disturbed expression as she looked to me for guidance. I remembered how my tongue felt clumsy in my mouth as I tried my damnedest to negotiate our transport, thinking if I could just piece together the right sequence of words, if I could just get their lingering eyes off of her, then maybe, maybe we’d have a chance at salvation. 

The memories coalesced, overlapping and blurring and mixing out of order. Each one was drenched in spilt blood.

Then your pinky wrapped around mine. The touch was soft yet firm, the action childlike in its innocence. It was such a jarring contradiction to my mind’s violent narrative, my consciousness was hurtled back into the living quarters of our ship as a result. You didn’t say anything when you saw I returned to you. Instead, you swallowed down the questions lodged in your throat and led me by our entwined fingers back to our bed.

There’s a plant back home called a dandelion, you told me with my head resting in your lap, a far better comfort than any pillow could provide me. It’s the only plant in the galaxy you can see the sun, the moon and the stars when you look at it. That’s not why it’s my favorite though.

I asked how it had won your heart’s favor if not due to its resemblance to the celestial bodies, then immediately found myself mesmerized by the smile that lit up your face as you peered down at me. My chest cavity tightened as I was filled with the profound longing to be able to suspend time, if only so I could stretch this moment to match the length of our separation, if only so I could erase the old and replace it with the beautiful new.

Dandelions grant wishes, babe. Anything you wish for with your whole heart, it will be yours to have.

I told you I wouldn’t wish for anything—nothing else in the galaxy could compare to the prettiest, wisest soul I’d ever encountered in all my years traversing it. You saw right through that lie with the same confident ease you see through all my masks and diversions, but—for the second time in the span of an hour—you held your tongue.

This journal’s as good a place as any to admit the honest truth. So here it is: I wish with the entirety of my bloody, beating heart I could be the man you deserve, little love of mine. 

When you read, whether it be a book or the flight manual, you have the precious habit of mouthing the words. I don’t think you have the faintest notion you’re even doing it, which makes it all the more endearing to watch.

My brother had a similar habit, always nose deep in the yellowing pages of classic literature, except he had a proclivity to spoil the plot when he talked in his sleep. I remember there was one particular novel he returned to often, sometimes reading from beginning to end, other times seeking out specific segments he’d underlined in bold, black pen. It was a rather dreary tale about war and rivalry and the process of determining one’s own identity. I became so exasperated with my brother’s obsession I considered shredding it on more than one occasion, only to immediately hate myself for entertaining the thought.

It was only after his death—twelve whole cycles, in fact—that I summoned up the will to open the front cover. Seeing his name scribbled in the corner, cursive and neat and so utterly him, nearly had me tearing the book in half, overcome with a vicious rage I had never known prior nor have I encountered since. But by the almighty grace of Kevva I reigned it in, chaining it to the agony and fear imprisoned within the confines of my rib cage, and turned the page.

There was one segment underlined not once, but three times, nearly bleeding ink onto the page behind it. When I close my eyes, the words are tattooed on the backs of my eyelids, as haunting as they are comforting.

So the more things remained the same, the more they changed after all. Nothing endures. Not love, not a tree, not even a death by violence.

The author lived and died centuries before my brother’s inception, that is an inarguable fact. 

But I know those words were written for him all the same. 

Notes: 

There is an actual theory humans are made of stardust ✨

The Sater within Prospect mention the Currents as being responsible for bringing Ezra and Cee to them, so I imagine them as similar to the Fates/Moirai in Greek mythology.

Noctua is a real life, extinct constellation that is Latin for owl. I thought within this Prospect universe it could exist as a type of landmark or coordinate. Plus I love owls 🦉

Crusted is a term from Prospect Ezra uses. Equivalent of damn. I think there’s something funny about how they use creamy as a positive adjective and crusted as negative.

Vayok is the alien language Inumon speaks within the movie, so I decided to write the song she blares as being sung in the same language

Bush bread is referenced in a deleted scene by Ezra, but a google search revealed to me it’s also a real life type of bread too

In the same deleted scene Ezra references that he has a brother. I haven’t decided his name yet/if he will have one

The book and quote Ezra refers to in #3 is John Knowles’ A Separate Peace. One of the few required reading books I liked back in high school.

The quote about dandelions being the sun, moon and stars is based on the legend of how dandelions came into existence. I always thought it was beautiful.

Series Taglist: @insomniamamma

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan, @melobee, @randomness501, @absurdthirst, @captain-jebi, @artsymaddie, @happiestsparkleofall, @disgruntledspacedad, @gallowsjoker, @aerynwrites, @vintagesaph, @sylphene, @chibi-yuki, @freeshavocadoooo, @stilllivindue2spite, @pointy-sharp, @leilei-draws, @over300books, @theocatkov, @oh-no-a-whovian, @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @lin-djarin, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @coaaster, @waywardmando, @thisshipwillsail316, @grogusmum, @asta-lily, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @tacticalsparkles​

[darkromanceblackburn]

Decebal Avram Chirilă SFW Alphabet Slasher OC

Authors Note: Just trying to work more on his character so I decided to try this SFW Alphabet. ENJOY!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Decebal is a person that isn't afraid of public display of affection, if he likes someone he will let them known, through compliments, flirting, hugs, and so on. He may come off as a womanizer (which he kind of is), but that's really just how he is. All his life during Romanian Communism he's been neglected completely from affection; the most he got were more mature women complimenting on how cute he was.

Even if you're just his friend, he will hug you, wrap his arm around your shoulder. Don't strictly take that as a romantic gesture. He is just friendly.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

This Romanian as a best friend? You're basically having yourself a loyal dog that will take a bullet, grasp a knife and give his life for his best friend. He hated himself for not being strong to save his parents so now as an adult, he protects the people that have a big value in his life.

He may seem very friendly, but he has a hard time trusting someone, and that someone has to prove themselves trustworthy, mostly because Decebal is a wanted man and he meet people that played the 'friend' role only to stab him in the back. If he calls you brother or sister, then you can count on him anytime. His word is gold.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Decebal loves hugs and cuddles, and he has no problem in sharing. This man is touch-starved for affection, although he will never admit it. 

He usually loves to hug and cuddle from behind, his big arms wrapped around you, his chin rested on top of your head or if he's in a really good mood, he will spin you around. Romanian Rollercoaster!

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Alright, this man has very big issues with settling down and the whole marriage deal; although not impossible! As I said, he has a hard time letting anyone get close to his heart. It's kind of a paradox because he is starved for affection, but he runs like hell from marriage. You need to have nerves of steel if you want to get him into a little more 'serious' relationship. That strictly depends on you if he views you as a one-time thing or something more. All the women that were around him as a child after his parents were killed, were company ladies or prostitutes, toxic women so for him to meet someone who is genuinely nice to him out of no reason is a little more like a fairytale for him.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

As friendly as this man is, he is also very blunt. Decebal isn't the type to beat around the bush; if he has something to say he will. He is most of the time very honest and probably his words might hurt you, but he doesn't like to get drunk with water, which pretty much means he isn't the type to even lie to himself.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

As I said above, marriage is pretty much a subject and a level he wants to step aside and avoid. He is a rogue one who loves to taste freedom in all ways. He had enough of the restrictions during the Romanian communism, so his outlaw life is something he cherishes. You will have to be someone who isn't into poly relationships. You may be his significant other (Again.... How did you do that?), but that doesn't mean you can tell him what to do. Stubborn Romanian Ass.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Decebal is a pretty gentle guy in his day to day life; he prefers to love than to fight, but again.... If the last resort is fighting, oh boy. He is the type to open the doors to the ladies, smile their ways, or compliment them. That's I suppose his gentle nature. He basically has three moods; the gentle romantic lover, the sassy and vulgar punk, and finally the fast, sadistic swordsman assassin.

On 80% of the time, he is a combo of the first two. The last one is a rarity because he prefers to smile than scowl, but he is called The Impaler for a reason.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

I did mention it in the cuddle part. He is a hugger and will do so with almost anyone who is nice to him or doesn't show to be his enemy. His hugs are very nice, especially when he does them from behind, twirling you around if he is in a very good mood.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

There are two ways that he says these words. One is when he is in a jokester mood saying something like 'Awww... I know you love me.' Then the more serious way that takes a lot to pull from the Romanian's lips. He may say the L-word but it depends on how he says it. That makes the difference.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He really isn't a jealous guy. Decebal values freedom most of all things and he doesn't want to be a possessive asshole to his s/o if that's the case. He gives you freedom, so he expects you to do the same.

If it's for example about someone he likes and someone hits on them, he will probably increase his game, topping his competitor, because Decebal has Latin blood running through his veins and he knows how to take someone's mind with his charms.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Romanian lover, French kisser. He loves to leave his partners with a dazed look after a kiss, so his kisses are full of passion and sensuality, his hand running through your hair, while his other hand strokes your hip. All the time his eyes are half-lidded looking into yours.

As for where he loves to be kissed? Try kissing the nape of his neck, you will feel him shiver and look over his shoulder at you with a cheeky smile.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He has a weak spot for children mostly because he knows how sensitive these little ones are. He was a little guy himself when his parents were killed, so he knows what such a tragedy can do to one. As for if he wants children? He isn't a father figure. Sometimes he acts like a teenager and he doesn't see himself be able to raise children with his style of life. 

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings are probably either very funny or lazy, depending on how he spent the night. He can wake up full of energy, blasting Romanian music in his headphones, singing, and preparing for the day. Lazy mornings are usually in bed, crawling downstairs and trying to prepare his coffee, drool running down the corners of his mouth.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

If you're a night person you got yourself a night owl. He loves to stroll through the city, going to a bar, having a few drinks, going to a club. Or if you prefer a much quieter environment, you two can sit down on the front porch, talking about whatever topics you want. He is a pretty cultured person so he can keep up a conversation all night long. Ooooor.... if you want a much more sensual night.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Alright; Decebal has the whole super confident guy attitude with a cheeky grin, all tall and handsome, but he has also a very sensitive side. He will reveal little by little about his past, torture, nightmares when he feels he can 100% trust you. Despite his loud nature, he also has a mysterious vibe that attracts people, especially ladies aaaand also danger to him.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

You really need the talent to anger Decebal. In his opinion, life is too short to have a scowl on your face. Like the Romanian saying 'Faci haz de necaz' which basically means 'I'm laughing at trouble'. All his childhood was depressing and gloomy and he is simply tired to victimize himself. 

He really doesn't get mad so easily, but God help you if he gets angry, because it's like seeing Romania's bloody history depicted into a person.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He has a pretty good memory and will remember everything you told him. Your favorite flowers, your favorite dish. He will remember. He doesn't forget if someone helped him and he doesn't forget when someone did it wrong.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He never had a long term relationship. All his relationships, if you can call them that were just for one night or even for a few hours. His life in his home country was harsh and he didn't have the privilege to meet someone he could call HIS. Then after leaving his country, he never stayed in one place which made relationships non-existent.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Decebal is very protective if you are someone he cares for, protecting you even if it means giving his own life. He is a 'Go hard or Go home' guy. He lost too much when he was young because of his cowardice, so when he unleashes his swords is dance time.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He is a romantic guy by heart and he loves to make his special one feel that way; a bouquet of flowers, something that he remembers you saying you want.

As for effort in general, he puts 100% of his blood. All his life he had to work hard until collapsing and none cared. He digs his teeth into the task at hand and won't give up just because it hurts. He faced enough abuse as a child to know that there are worse things than a back full of whip marks or broken fingers.

When he was young he used to be tortured if the task given to him wasn't done properly and it's in his system to do it right.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Probably his flirty attitude towards most people, which in his opinion is just friendly. Even if you magically are his s/o old habits die hard and he can be a real womanizer, so let's hope you're someone who can put up with a lot.

Another bad habit, or rather a good one? Depends on how you view it, is his daredevil side that makes jokes even in the face of death. Dying with a smile on your face and a good laugh? Sounds familiar. 

Emotional Intimacy? He doesn't like this territory mostly because he feels like the coward he was as a child. Putting his feelings on a silver platter is a challenge for him and he usually screws up by taking everything as a joke. 

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He knows he looks good. He knows he is handsome. He knows the ladies dig it. He is mostly 50% concerned with how he looks. He makes sure he is clean, smells good and his hair is in that messy bedhead the women swoon over.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Probably if you and he have been together for a very long time. He just got used to you being around that when you leave is kind of depressing sight, but freedom is the most important thing for him, so he will swallow everything down and wave you goodbye, going on his lonely path yet again.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

One of the things that really may trigger his vulnerable side would be someone choking him because that reminds him too much of the days in jail as a child and teenager, the warden there being the father figure that used to choke him under the dirty cold water that reeked of rats on an almost daily basis.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He doesn't like controlling people, people that think they can make anyone do what they want just using the fear as a weapon. It reminds Decebal too much of the dictator of his country during the communist system. He went through much in his life to have his freedom be taken away... again. That is something that haunts his sleep at night, one of the reasons he mostly spends his nights out and his days sleeping.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He is usually sleeping during the day, mostly because he prefers to spend his nights strolling through the city, anywhere where he can be free, none to tell him what to do. He is usually sleeping on his front with his face buried into the pillow. Usually, if he wakes up in the middle of a nightmare, he stays awake and looks out the window or on the roof of the house or building, letting his mind known that he is free. He isn't chained.

[anniviech]

Tabula Rasa (1/?)

Pairing: “Ten/Rose” (eventually) Rating: Teen Summary: Four months ago, John Smith woke up on a cold and windy beach with no recollection of who he was or how he had gotten there. He just knew that sometimes he felt like he didn’t quite fit in.

[Masterpost] -- [AO3]

Notes: See prologue.

Chapter 1

"I'm sorry, Mister Smith, but there still haven't been any news."

He thought he had gotten used to hearing this sentence by now. Almost expected it, really.

And yet he still found his jaw working as he swallowed down the unbidden emotions the uttered words had once again brought up to the surface.

"But we are keeping an eye on it, and I assure you we will contact you as soon as there is any update on your file, so you won’t have to go through all the trouble of making your way up here just to return disappointed."

It was the pitying look in the Detective Sergeant’s eyes that made his jaw work again as he clenched his teeth, briefly making his dimples show, before he gave a sniff and plastered on an easy smile that didn't quite reach his own eyes as he rose from his seat.

"Right. Well, thank you for your time anyway, Detective Miller," he replied with more enthusiasm than he felt, shaking the woman's hand over her desk. “Not a complete disappointment if I get to enjoy the lovely seaside view in a calm getaway, though, is it?”

“’Course, there’s always that,” DS Miller agreed with a smile that looked at least a little less pitying.

His own smile remained on John's face even after he said his goodbyes and turned his back on those pitying eyes, giving one of the faces that he recognised by now across the spacious room a small wave in passing as he made to leave the police station, all the while trying not to appear as upset as he felt.

It had been months by now.

Four months and two days, to be exact, since John Smith woke up on a cold and windy beach on the Dorset coast with no recollection of who he was or how he had gotten there. Even his name was just a placeholder – simply the first one that had come to mind when he’d been asked what he’d like to be called. (And it was wryly appropriate, he had to admit.)

He felt his mood spiralling further downwards as his thoughts drifted back to the time after he woke up as a stranger to himself.

The angler from the beach had been concerned and kind enough to offer him a ride, and when John had been unable to give a destination, they had eventually agreed on the local police station as being the most sensible choice after John had initially shot down the man’s advice to see a doctor.

What had been first assumed to be hopefully just a temporary blackout of sorts and minor inconvenience, soon turned into a much more complicated case for the friendly Detective Sergeant who had ended up assigned to it after being the one to greet them at the entrance of the station, when still not a single personal memory would return to John within the following day. Nor had any relatives or friends made inquiries into local hospitals or other nearby police stations, and none of the hotels and B&Bs of the surrounding towns had been aware of any missing guests that matched his description, either.

What had followed was a range of psychological examinations, as well as medical ones of his head which failed to find any trauma to it, interviews with various authorities, and conflicting emotions he didn’t really like thinking too much on.

With no further results.

In the end he had really lucked out thanks to sheer coincidence; otherwise his current situation would likely look much bleaker.

During a conversation with one of the doctors doing the examinations of his head, they’d found out that John was in possession of rather advanced linguistic knowledge, when he’d finished one of the doctor’s explanations for her, pointing out that the Latin and Greek in the medical terms she’d used kind of gave that away and that it was simply logical conclusion, really. Intrigued, the doctor had suggested to check if he might know any other languages, as any knowledge about his lost background could be of help, and when he’d been offered to use the internet on her computer, both of them were amazed to realise that he had no trouble reading the Cyrillic alphabet, Arabic abjad or logographic characters from Asian languages, and had even been able to easily speak sentences in the respective languages when prompted.

It might not have helped the police with his missing person’s report so far, but it sure had been a small blessing in regards to John’s current everyday life – since, as luck would have it, the doctor had a friend running a language school in London who was looking for a replacement for two teachers who were about to retire, and had given in to the impulse of giving them a call and arranging an introduction.

That was how, soon after, John found himself with a job teaching French and Russian at the Morris Language School in London, after an extensive interview with its owner Lloyd Morris. Morris, an elderly, well-travelled man, had been intrigued by his story and so thoroughly impressed with his linguistic abilities, that he’d wanted to hire him right away despite his unique situation and lack of educational certification, going so far as to offer John accommodation at the school’s student residence, in exchange for his income cut in half for the time being to make up for the loan in accommodation and food provided in the school’s cafeteria.

While John’s income would still not be comparable to that of his certified colleagues even if it wasn't cut, it was enough to have slowly built a wardrobe for himself over the months and might even allow tentative plans for looking for his own place to live in the near future.

Being offered a position at the school had definitely been a stroke of luck and he was forever going to be grateful for the opportunity, considering that he might’ve just as well ended up living penniless in some kind of homeless shelter. Plus it gave him something to focus his mind on, and he found that he quite enjoyed teaching. (He often wondered if he might’ve also been doing that before.)

At this point, one might even think John to be quite the productive member in society, all things considering – were it not for his own cluelessness as to who he was. Or the general feeling of not quite belonging that he sometimes felt.

He wasn’t sure if it was due to his situation of not knowing his own past, but sometimes he couldn’t help noticing little things about himself and the way his mind worked that seemed… different from other people. (And he didn’t just mean speaking an unusual amount of languages, which in itself already made him stand a bit out.) It was the way he’d find people staring at him when he joined in on conversations during very specific discussions, like that one time he’d watched a scientific documentation with some of the students in the common room and ended up explaining the jargon and one of the mentioned topics in detail, to several surprised faces. (To be honest, he had kind of surprised himself with that. The facts had sort of just blurted out of his mouth without him really realising.) Or how he slept much less than seemed to be common, often finding himself to be the first and only one up at the student’s residence during the week days – well, apart from the receptionists.

Little things that just made him feel out of place at times. (But then again, he sort of was out of place, wasn’t he?)

So here he was, four months later.

And there was still no one reacting on his own missing person's report. (Well, other than some recent insincere attention seekers who’d read that bloody news article about him – he was starting to regret ever agreeing to the blasted thing, as it turned out to only pile more annoyances to deal with on his plate instead of being of any real help. Fat lot of good that had done.)

He couldn't help but wonder what that said about his previous life and the man he used to be, when not a single person seemed to be actively looking for him.

Could he have been that horrible a person? That no one would miss him nor mind him being gone?

Once more he came to ask himself if perhaps he should simply let go of looking for his past life and just focus on who he was now. To try and fill the glaring hole in his mind with new memories and experiences, and just be the person he felt comfortable being at this moment.

'If only it were that easy,' John scoffed mentally as he pushed the glass door open to leave the circular building the police station was located in.

Maybe he should just start by stopping to come by here.

Detective Miller was right, of course they'd inform him if there were any news. It was just him being sentimentally hopeful that made him take the three hour train ride to this quaint, small town on some of the weekends to personally check in with the local police department (and to try to find any more clues around his mysterious appearance here himself), really – and what good had it done him so far? Every time he just left the place feeling dejected and even more lost than before he’d arrived.

Walking down a concrete staircase, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, he decided to go for one last walk along the beach. Since he was already here, he might as well go and really enjoy the seaside view, he told himself.

Monday found John back in London.

He’d spent a good part of the first half of the day filling his lessons with comments and what he thought to be interesting facts about the respective countries’ culture on top of teaching the languages, keen on keeping his mind busy and distracting himself from any potential brooding which typically followed another fruitless weekend at the Dorset coast. (He tried not to question the wealth of his general knowledge too much, with his memories seeming to be perfectly fine in that aspect – while anything personal was just one big void. It was rather peculiar, and kind of hinted at the possibility of his amnesia having psychological origins… He wasn’t sure how he felt about that idea.)

His off the track rambling had been brought to an end, though, when one of his students corrected him on a rather well known historical fact, dumbfounding John when the other students had agreed with their peer. He’d been pretty sure he had gotten it right, as he’d been correct with everything else so far. He’d put it off to being a bit too scatterbrained (or his general memory maybe not being perfectly fine, after all) and decided to just check on that again by himself later.

With his courses finishing early in the afternoon on Mondays, John made plans to spend the rest of the day with flat hunting, next to planning future lessons, and made his way to a quiet little café he’d come to like frequenting, his second-hand laptop resting in a messenger bag against his side. While he didn’t mind company as such, he was growing a little tired of being constantly surrounded by people who were mostly over a decade younger than him, and having to share most of the living area with several students at once. (He was growing especially tried of curious - if probably well-meaning - students who tried triggering his memory by constantly asking him personal questions he had no answers to. He was really starting to regret that news article.)

While the arrangement had been fine for the first few weeks (beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all), he found himself increasingly longing for some more privacy, especially when he’d find his mood shifting towards the more gloomy side.

So he tried finding his own place to live at, or at least a shared living situation in a much smaller scale – which was easier said then done for a person lacking concrete identification and a comparably modest income in a city like London.

Still, couldn’t hurt to try.

And so John was nursing his second cup of tea at the café a little later, scrolling through offers on the internet after having already sent out three inquiries via mail, when another particular one caught his eye. At first he thought he had misread the rental charge, mixing up the line it was stated on with the advert above it, but when he clicked on it he realised it was indeed correct.

Instantly intrigued, John read through it carefully; a single person was looking for a subtenant to a spare room in their three room flat located in the nearby Chiswick area, with a monthly rent that was well within his budget and frankly speaking rather low considering the location, ticking all the mental boxes he had been looking for. He had hopes that as a subtenant people would be more inclined to turn a blind eye to his lack of identification papers as long as he could proof he had a stable income.

It sounded nearly too good, and John was almost certain an offer like that would already be taken up, as it had been posted a few hours ago, but he still hastily typed an inquiry anyway. Sending it away, he took a long drink from his tea, mentally crossing his fingers, before finishing his scrolling of the remaining adverts. When no other offer caught his eye, he finally decided to work on his course lessons.

Around twenty minutes into it, he got distracted by an alert to a new mail. Curiously opening his inbox, he felt a spike of excitement when he saw the subject line referring to the Chiswick flat, quickly clicking on the message.

“Hi John!

You’re actually the first person I got around to respond to since I only found time to check my messages just now, so no worries there! Give me a quick call under this number, so we can talk this out a bit?”

John blinked in surprise, hardly able to believe bis luck. But then his eyes fell on the phone number the message ended on, and he felt his excitement curbed again a little as he typed a reply.

“Sorry, don’t have a phone. Know it’s a bit unheard of and that I should be getting one, but so far I just didn’t get around to it. Is that a problem? I could ask to borrow one? Might just take me a mo’”

He send it off right away, with the hope that he didn’t sound too desperate coming up only once it was already sent into the digital ether. Still, if he was the first candidate, then he didn’t want to waste time that could potentially lead to someone else getting their chance. He was looking around the café, sizing up the few other patrons and which of them looked the most likely to borrow him their phone as he couldn’t spot the café’s employee right then, when another alert drew his attention back to the laptop.

John opened the message.

“Bugger. Do you have Skype on your computer? (You know, I think that might actually beat a phone call for a first impression!) I’m using the same email address on there.”

He was pretty sure he’d seen that name before among the pre-installed software, and sure enough, a quick search revealed that he did, indeed, have Skype on his laptop. Grumbling under his breath about why everything needed a separate registration, John finally managed set up an account and look for his potential future flat-mate. Adding them to his contacts, he typed a quick message.

“Hi, this is John who asked about the flat.”

A few moments after he had sent the message, he was surprised to find his laptop playing a ringing tune and popping up a window that informed him about an incoming video call. Clicking on the accept button, he watched the window turn black with a new tiny window displaying himself at the bottom corner, before the connection was finally established and revealed a view on his contact slash potential flat-mate.

John froze briefly as he took in the sight on his screen, feeling like something was tickling the back of his mind, similar to the sensation of a déjà vu.

It was a woman; around her mid-twenties, blonde, shoulder-length hair framing a triangular face in soft waves, a smile spreading over full lips as she gave a little wave into the camera.

“Hiya! I’m Rose.”

[loislaneinvestigatesauthors]

Peggy Wheeler’s Literary Menagerie: Beautimus Potamus, The Raven’s Daughter, Chaco

What inspired 'Beautimus Potamus?' Any characters in that satire drawn at all from real life?

It's an odd thing how the character of Lady Beautimus came about.  I woke up one morning Summer of 2011 with that scene from Disney's Fantasia with the dancing hippos. My husband I drank our coffee in the morning, and I told him that morning I thought it would be fun to write a story  of one of the hippos as an adult, and then I started it as my first novel ever.  I'd been writing since I was six-years-old, poetry, little stories, and later technical writing, and non-fiction, but I didn't think I had the chops to write a novel.  Once I started work on The Splendid and Extraordinary Life of Beautimus Potamus, I became obsessed with the novel. 

I joined a critique group who were so brutal I didn't know if I ever wanted to return to it, but I stuck with the group, paid attention to their critiques, and in the two years I was with them, I learned so much about how to write a novel. After each weekly meeting, I went home, made changes to the manuscript and kept at it. Sometimes I'd wake up at two or three a.m. and get to my computer, and write sometimes for twelve or even fifteen hours straight without a break, except to use the loo or get a drink of water or coffee.  My husband loved the story and encouraged me to keep at it. And, yes, many of the characters, including my husband as the wolf, Steven D. Lobos, my mother, my daughter and grandchildren are represented in the story.  

Beautimus is the person I wish I were.  Beyond that, my mother with severe dementia,  blind, incontinent, delusional, and unable to walk or even feed herself, was in long-term care during the time I wrote this book, and I'd take pages in every day to read to her. I didn't think she'd understand most, but she did. She laughed at the appropriate places, and when one of my characters used foul language, she'd shake her had and say,"That's nasty."  

She loved the book, and off I showed up without a chapter or at least a few pages to read to her, she demanded to know, "Why didn't you bring the hippo story? I've been looking forward to it all morning." When I read the last word of the final chapter to her, I thought she'd fallen asleep because her eyes were closed. As I tip-toed out of her room as to not disturb her, she bolted upright with tears in her eyes. "Peggy Ann, that was beautiful."  Shortly after, she passed away, and The Splendid and Extraordinary Life of Beautimus Potamus was the last thing I'd read to her before she died. I dedicated the book to her.   

How did you create and develop the hero in Chaco? How did you research his background?

CHACO.  I volunteered to work with immigrants in the 70s. I brought their paychecks, guitars, clothing to the deportation detention camp in El Centro California, assisted them to get legal help if they needed it, and brought messages to their families they were leaving behind. I also listened to their stories, and most of those stories broke my heart. Although I am not fluent, during those years, I learned to speak and read Spanish decently, and I learned much about the people and  culture of Latin America.  I wanted a highly unlikely hero for this story and couldn't think of any protagonist/hero that would be more unlikely than an undocumented worker hiding in California from a death sentence in El Salvador for being a freedom fighter on the wrong side of an American-backed coup. 

I also used several Hispanic sensitivity readers, native Spanish speakers, to make sure I treated the subject matter and language with respect. In the end, I believe I only got one thing wrong in saying Te Quiero instead of Te Amo in one scene, which I'm told is really no big deal. The highest compliment I received was from a Mexican-American friend in Texas who told me something like:  "Most white people, attempting to write Latino characters in their books, simply give white characters Hispanic names and employ a bunch of offensive stereotypes. You, however, demonstrate understanding of Latin American culture."  

How do you move so fluidly among genres? Do you work on different ideas, or different books, at once? 

I move fluidly through genres because I'm trying them all on for size.  I may always write cross-genre or mash-ups because it's fun, but seems as though I'm moving more toward being a mystery-thriller writer. I am also going to try my hand at literary fiction and Sci Fi.  

You asked if I work on several books at a time.  Yes.  I have four novels started, some far along.  The next book after The Desert Ravens is released, is the sequel to CHACO.  It's called "Moonforest Sanctuary, and I'm already to Chapter 6.  But I'm also working on The Woman in the Desert, The Ghost of Mrs. Stanislofsky, and two Sci-Fi novels.  The Raven's Daughter series (third set in Ireland is called The Ravens of Éire).  I already have several subject matter experts and recently visited both the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland, and hope to get back again.  I'm also working with a woman who teaches Irish Gaelic so that any Gaelic terms I may use are accurate.  

I research heavily for all of my books, for example, I spent nearly two years talking to astrophysicists and people on Helioscience sites and groups to ensure that the science in the book is plausible before I even started work on the manuscript.  I got the idea for CHACO from a 2012 article in National Geographic about the 1859 Carrington Event, when two massive Coronal Mass Ejections (CMEs) hit Earth full on and wiped out telegraph service throughout the Northern Hemisphere, and created chaos for years. 

The speculative story is about "What would happen if several Class X CME's were to directly hit Earth today?"  The scary thing is, this will happen and we are unprepared. When it does happen, we will be living as we did in the 19th Century, without more than a day or two warning, and the problems may not be completely resolved, and power may not be fully restored, for a decade!  Scary.

How did you research the Yurok culture to write Raven's Daughter? Did you find anything surprising?

We have a number of Native Americans in my family, Kiowa and Navajo mostly, but some from other nations as well.  When we lived in Weaverville, CA some years back, my husband and I attended annual bear dances at George Walking Bear's home, a Modoc healer, who lived with his Cherokee wife on sixteen acres on the banks of the Trinity river.  There I met and interacted with many northern tribes, mostly Yurok.  It was Yurok women who taught me how to process acorns by shelling and breaking them into pieces, putting them in pantyhose, and submerging them in a toilet tank so that with each flush, the acorns lose their acidity so they can be ground and used as flour or put into soups and bread.  

It is from the Yurok women that I also learned that the Yurok do not permit women to sweat with the men.  Mixed sweats are in some cultures.  Women only sweats and men only sweats in others.  I also got onto a number of indigenous sites and tribal websites to learn more of the history, and I used several indigenous folks as subject matter experts.  Learning the folklore and stories of the Yurok, including the legend of the Pukukwerek (also spelled Plukukwerek or Pukkekwerek, the monster killer who shapeshifts into a raven) fascinated me.  It's one reason, along with my repeated interactions with Yurok women, is the reason I decided to make Maggie Tall Bear Sloan into a half Yurok woman. 

Which of your books is your favorite?

My favorite book is, and will always be, The Splendid and Extraordinary Life of Beautimus Potamus, and its companion piece, The Anam Glyps, not just because I so loved writing the books, and Lady Bea is my first ever novel, but because of my mother.  I cannot read or listen to that book even now without thinking of her, and crying a little.  I'd love to see this story as a full-length animated or CGI film. 

Peggy Wheeler’s books are available here. 

[learnspanishfans]

How I Learnt Spanish, Italian and Portuguese for the Price of a Beer

I sat in the sunshine in a cafe in my new adopted city of Seville, chatting to a Spanish friend about life in Andalusia. We talked about southern Spanish traditions, the prospects for young people and of course, the fiestas of the month that we would attend. And I did this all in Spanish. A few months previously, I would stutter on even the simplest Spanish phrases, having studied the language for years but never really practiced with native speakers.

After Years of Spanish Study, I Still Mixed Up “Gracias” and “Hola”

Before moving to Spain I had been learning Spanish on and off for around six years. I decided that this would be the year I finally became fluent. From my studies, I’d worked up to a B1 level in Spanish. But my Spanish skills had receded, after having lived in Rome for one year and learning Italian. My Spanish conversational level was still a strong A2, functional but basic. That said, at the start of my trip, I walked into a bakery and said "gracias" instead of "hola"! Though I had a solid base in Spanish, I still found it difficult to hold conversations with native speakers. What’s more, I was living in Andalusia, a region renowned for having one of the hardest Spanish accents for learners. As I sat chatting with my friend in the cafe, listening to my friend speak Spanish, I realised my Spanish was getting better and stronger. Even my friend had noticed. "Wow! You speak a lot better than last time," he said sounding quite perplexed. I had only been in Seville a few weeks; how could I be more fluent than I was last week? Wasn't learning a language supposed to take years instead of weeks?

My Language Learning “Formula”: Beer and Facebook

I used the same formula to learn Italian, Spanish and Portuguese. With each language I learned, the time it took to reach fluency decreased. This was partly because I recycled the techniques that worked and partly because they're all Latin languages, so a lot of the vocabulary and grammar is shared. In fact, after becoming fluent in Spanish and Italian, all it took was a language-learning CD and a few weeks in Porto, Portugal to get to a conversational level of Portuguese. I had the same routine for each language I learned: meeting up with native speakers in cafes for a “language exchange” arranged on Facebook. Each exchange only cost me the price of the beer, coffee or sangria from the cafe and a few hours of my time. The language exchanges I organised were always free for both of us, as we would spend half the time speaking Spanish and half the time speaking English, so we both benefitted. Any free time I had was devoted to improving my Spanish. Some of my friends balked at this, saying that it must be exhausting doing so many language exchanges per day, but what's exhausting about meeting new people, learning, eating tapas and going for drinks? It was incredible fun and in six months living in Barcelona, Cadiz, Granada and Seville, I had done over one hundred language exchanges, made new friends and memories and of course, significantly improved my Spanish.

It’s Easier than You Might Think to Find Work Overseas

Facebook and beer were my main tools for improving my Spanish, that and a willingness to make mistakes all day long and meet new people everyday. But to make the most of these tools, I needed to move to the country whose language I planned to learn. Now, it's true that you don't need to move to the country to learn a language, for me, immersion has always been a fun way of learning a language. You get to live in a new culture, travel, make new friends and learn the language in context. How did I manage to live and work overseas? Using Workaway, I searched for work-exchanges in hostels. Hostels are a great way of moving to a country to learn a language: you have an instant social life with the other workers, access to staff who are probably from the area, free rent, an awesome central location, a flexible work schedule and sometimes food and pocket money are included. As an alternative, au pairing can work well, but your schedule will be more restricted, your hours longer and sometimes you will be employed only to speak English to the children. That said, you will likely earn more as an au pair compared to doing a work-exchange in a hostel. I worked around twenty hours per week in hostels and relied on savings as the placements were not all paid. But with beer as cheap as €0.33 for a caña (a very petite Spanish beer) and food included, I barely had any expenses. And I made some extra money by teaching English on the side, which helped keep me afloat financially. This was my foundation from which I learned a language and organised language exchanges for myself.

Here’s How I Used Facebook to Arrange Language Exchanges

As soon as I settled into my hostel, I used Facebook to find native Spanish/Italian/Portuguese speakers. Using Facebook's search bar, I would type: [Name of city] + [Language exchange] And: [Name of city in target language] + [translation of the word for "exchange" in target language] So, for example, when I lived in Granada I would search:

Granada Language Exchange

Granada Learn English

Granada Intercambios (translation: Granada Exchanges)

Granada English

Granada Inglés (translation: Granada English)

Granada idiomas (translation: Granada Languages)

It's important to use lots of different combinations in both English and your target language because you want to find as many groups as possible. Make sure to include the name of your city in English and your target language and to type the above search terms in both languages, with as many relevant words as you can think of. Add yourself to every single group you find. I normally added myself to at least ten groups per city. In each group would post the same message. Here’s the exact script I used:

Hola! Soy una chica Inglesa y estoy buscando españoles para hacer intercambios de idioma. Si alguien quiere mejorar su Ingles y tomar algo, estaría encantada! Cualquier cosa, hablame por privado. Muchas gracias.

Translation: "Hi! I'm English and looking for Spanish people to do language exchanges with. If anyone wants to improve their English and grab a coffee or beer then send me a private message, thank you." I always wrote this message in the target language and would copy and paste this onto the wall of all the Facebook groups I joined. Most language groups had hundreds, if not thousands of people on the page, so the post would get a lot of traction and I sometimes got as many as sixty requests in one city. One by one I would respond to each message inviting them for a coffee or a caña and arranging a day to meet through private messages. I tested a few different approaches and found that it's better if you ask people to message you in private as they tend to tell you more about who they are and where they're from, rather than just letting people comment on the post, as the most they'll say is "I'm interested!" People are also more likely to respond to a private message than a long trail of comments on a single post. I always tried to make plans quickly with the other person - ideally in the next couple of days. Otherwise it's too easy to lose momentum. Some people would be a bit surprised and asked if I wanted to chat a bit online first, but you can't really waste time getting bogged down in endless online chat. I often needed to learn the language in a few months, so met up with every single person who responded!

More Hints and Tips on Arranging Language Exchanges

Tip 1: Speaking English Gives You a Big Advantage

If you’re a native English speaker you will be at an advantage, as in countries like Spain and Italy the level of English is low and many youngsters are keen to learn it for work and potentially moving abroad, so you will be flooded with requests for an exchange. On the flip side, my approach doesn’t work as well in countries where the level of English is high. In Portugal, for example, the level of English is high and more on par with Germany than Spain and Italy, so the only responses to my language exchange requests came from a few Brazilians living in Portugal.

Tip 2: Keep it Local: Small Cities are Better than Big Cities (Smaller cities are better than bigger cities?)

Living in smaller cities accelerated my language learning and I recommend places like Cadiz over bigger cities like Barcelona. Though I only spent three weeks in Cadiz, I met so many people and made a lot of friends. In Barcelona, it was harder to meet people and the logistics of doing language exchanges were a nightmare, simply because it took a lot of time (and money) to get from one side of the city to the other.

Tip 3: Connect with International Students

Smaller cities with a university typically have a strong Erasmus community, which can be a boon if you want to practice other European languages. As I spoke Italian and Spanish, Erasmus and other international student groups were fantastic exposure and Erasmus students are a friendly bunch.

Tip 4: Carry a Notebook to All Your Language Exchanges

As you are doing so many language exchanges, it's important to establish best practices, as you don't want to waste those hours. I always carried a notebook with me and got my language exchange partners to jot down useful words and phrases, which I would then upload as flashcards on my phone, using Anki. I then tried to ensure that I used them in conversation in the next few days.

Tip 5: You Don’t Have to Drink Beer!

My method also works for non-drinkers! I only drank beer in the language exchanges because at €0.33 for a caña it ended up being cheaper than coffee and even water. I would try and ensure that my language exchanges were at least one hour in English and one hour in Spanish, so that even if I had three in one day, I would spend around €0.99 for three drinks, six hours of socialising and meeting Spanish people and three hours of actually speaking Spanish. So, this ended up being far cheaper than doing classes and a much more effective way of getting speaking practice.

What Level Did I Reach in Spanish?

I ended up with so much speaking practice that I reached a strong B2 level after 3 months. I probably could have reached this goal sooner, but all my friends working in the hostel with me were Italian, so I spoke Italian inside the hostel and Spanish outside of it. Initially it was hard switching between the two languages, but it ended up being fantastic practice because by the end, each language was a separate beast and my Italian went from B2 to C1. Incidentally, the same thing happened in Portugal, where everyone working in my hostel was Spanish and a lot of our guests were Italian, so I got to practice those while also doing Portuguese language exchanges. The hundreds of language exchanges I did in Spain, Portugal, Italy were amazing and the best memories I have of living abroad and learning a new language. So, if you want to live abroad, get to know a new culture and learn a language cheaply (or for free) whilst making new friends, make sure to organise your own one-on-one language exchanges, it'll be the most fun you have abroad!

The post How I Learnt Spanish, Italian and Portuguese for the Price of a Beer appeared first on Fluent in 3 months - Language Hacking and Travel Tips.

Shared by learntospeakspanishquickly.com: http://ift.tt/2eQY9eX from Blogger http://ift.tt/2jl15FM