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flufflepuffle296 · 4 years ago

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“Chloe xxx”

I really want Chloé to get another redemption arc, but not because she wants to be Queen Bee again or prove herself to anyone-but because she wants to prove to herself that she can be as awesome as she wants. Also sorry but I rambled here.

I don’t even want it to start because of something big like being rejected or glares from classmates, it could just be she’s chilling in her room and she notices her butler flinching when she calls his name, or she’s watching a show and she wants to be just as cool as the main character, or even just looking around the class and just thinking “why not?”

She then starts calling her butler’s name a little sweeter, takes Sabrina out for coffee at her favourite café this time, pushes Alya’s bag towards her when it falls off the bench. She anonymously donates money to varying charities and doesn’t tell anyone about it. She feels warm when she does it-she doesn’t know why but it almost feels kind of nice. She begins working a shift or two here and there at the hotel. She smiles at Mylene when she walks in (even if she considers that outfit a crime against fashion), and returns pens when she borrows them. Nino loses a USB and Chloé helps in the search party for it (though does it secretly at break and lunch).

Becoming nice to Marinette is harder though. She decides however, that if she wants to be an ok person, she has to give everyone a chance, so buys a yard or two of a nice fabric the girl’s been eyeing for weeks, and posts it with a note signed “-C xxx”. It kind of feels a little nice when Marinette walks in in a pale pink beaded dress that isn’t totally horrible Chloé supposes.

She later realises that saying sorry is another thing she can do to become a better person, and she always kind of wanted to but was too prideful to do so-but no more! She apologises to butler Jean, saying that she’s sorry for screaming at him, firing him, everything.

She then apologises to Sabrina, for treating her as a slave and asking if she wanted to go to that film she’s been rambling about, since they always go for her choice. She also takes all of her homework back that Sabrina was doing for her, and starts working really hard on it.

She goes to the bakery later that week, and orders a large slice of cake, reasoning that she can’t be nice to others if she’s not being nice to herself, therefore she needs this chocolate cake. She then asks Sabine if she can go up to talk to Marinette, who is rather skeptical of her and only allows her in the dining room. She apologises for bullying her all those years, and hands her an envelope signed “-C xxx”. Marinette opens it, to find it full of cash that’s tied in small bundles with labels on.

“Homework soaked-age 7” €3

“Sketchbook ruined-age 10”. €18

“Teacher’s present destroyed-age 14”. €16

Everything she’s physically destroyed or ruined is accounted for and compensated. She then apologises for all the verbal abuse and mean comments, before asking for a truce. Marinette accepts, and points out that since they have a truce, she is obliged to inform Chloé that she has buttercream on her face.

A week later she gets all her homework back: B+, B, A-, B-, A+.

Not her usual report of full marks, but she’ll take it.

She starts working every night at the hotel, from 6pm till 10pm. She refuses to look it though-she is Chloé Bourgeois after all. Her uniform is spotless, her makeup is now impeccable (blue eyeshadow with pale lips? What was she thinking?), and she never has a hair out of place. She begins living on coffee-these grades aren’t going to raise themselves after all -and constantly has an energy drink in her bottle (not that the class is allowed to know that).

Grades: B+, A-, A, B, A+

Getting better...

Once in class, Rose slammed her head on the table (delicately? She somehow slammed her head DELICATELY?), and weeped that she didn’t understand the material. Chloé scribbled an explanation on a sheet of paper, and after class slipped it in Rose’s bag.

The next day, an akuma strikes near the school. They can’t leave because some kids live far away, and Bustier isn’t taking initiative and the class rep is no where to be found. Chloé bites her lip, before standing on the desk and clapping her hands. Once she has the class’ attention, she gives out instructions.

“KIM, IVAN! Grab heavy objects and block the doors. JULEKA, NINO, NATHANAEL! You can lock the windows since you’re the tallest. EVERYONE ELSE! Clear books away and any other things that could cause bruising if knocked over, put bags away, and hide under the desks and benches!”

Everyone stares at her.

“NOW!”

Everyone scrambled to their duties, before hiding under the desks, holding their heads like Chloé instructed.

Grades: A, A-, A+, B+, A+

Nearly there...

She informs her father that she’ll be leaving for a week next month, and tells Bustier and Damocles. She books a plane ticket to New York with her money from working, as well as a hotel room. She packs her bags and leaves, giving her dad a kiss and a hug beforehand and promising that she’ll be safe. She boards her plane and then hauls her bags up to her room, before making a call.

“Who is this?”

“Your daughter, Chloé.”

“I DON’T-oh you. Why have you called me I’m in the middle of working-shouldn’t you be at pre-K?”

“I’m 15 and French ma-but anyway, is it possible if you could promote Marinette’s website-MDC-in return I’ll work for you for free.”

“Oh yes Marinette-the exceptional one. How long will you work?”

“I’m only here a week-I’ll become your assistant even! I know you hate Stephanie.”

“...Fine. I’ll drop her into conversation at an interview if you’re only here a week. Now do not call me unless it’s an emergency. You start tomorrow-8am, sharp, in a fashionable outfit-or you’re fired.”

Chloé smiles as the line goes dead. Her mother may be a dragon, but Chloé can respect that she helps those she cares about.

Even if it isn’t her...

The next day she arrives at the office at 7:45, in a white suit with gold jewellery. Audrey nods, before sending her out with rapid instructions for coffee. Chloé takes her order to the café she requested, and starts reading it out to the barister, only for him to pale and interrupt her halfway through.

“Oh God-you’re ordering for Audrey aren’t you? Oh Lord-HEY AARON! STYLE QUEEN ORDER NO. 37! QUICK!”

The other worker, Aaron, goes white, before flipping every machine on and opening every can he can find in preparation.

“You must be her new assistant-good luck with her, the last one would come in to order her coffee and then sit in the corner and cry so much we set up her own space-look!” The first one says, pointing out to a comfy area of bean bags and pillows.

Chloé cringed. “Nah, worse. I’m her daughter, if you can even call me that, that’s interning for her in exchange for a favour.”

The barister pitied her. “Yikes.”

Chloé takes the coffee being thrusted at her and nods at the two, before sprinting back to the office.

After that week of hell, she still refuses to wear anything other than heels and designer clothes, and her hotel room is immaculate. She packs the night before, and sets off back to Paris in the morning.

MDC takes off after the Style Queen reccommended it briefly in an interview, and Chloé starts helping Marinette manage and organise commission dates and social media, eventually becoming her PR person/caffeination.

She starts working not only her 6pm-10pm shifts, but also a few shifts from 4am-7am a few times a week. She does her homework at lunch and as soon as she gets back from school, even doing it during akuma attacks. She gets through a concealer a week for her bags, and sleeps all weekend.

Grades: A+, A+, A+, A+, A+.

Perfect.

...Or not...

She realises that she can’t maintain this. She can’t survive on 3 hours sleep and an unholy amount of caffeine. She cuts back on her shifts, doing 4 a week at most, and only does homework for a maximum of 2 hours a day. She starts, meditation and yoga, trying to keep her mind peaceful. She still donates to charities, and goes out with Sabrina and shops.

Grades: A, A, A, A, A.

Still pretty good, and she’s happy this time!

She begins doing things more for herself. She’s always wanted to learn Spanish after all. She hires a tutor, and starts working extremely hard to become as fluent as possible by the end of her education.

She learns conversational Spanish in about 6 months of semi-intensive learning, and decides to do something else as well. She starts learning Mandarin with Marinette, and struggles slightly more than she did with Spanish, but she’s still progressing.

She realises that she has a knack for learning languages, and picks more up more easily after she starts learning Spanish, Mandarin and later Portuguese.

One day when she’s out she comes across a homeless man, and offers him some money and brings him a hot meal. She sees others around him in the same situation, and does the same for them.

She then volunteers at the local soup kitchen, feeding hundreds of people on weekends and washing up afterwards. She connects with the homeless and a few refugees, and starts learning Arabic from one of the regulars, in return slipping her a few Euros (basically she gives her €250 every week).

She takes a shift at the bakery, manning the counter and becoming fast friends with Marinette as they practise their Mandarin on one another.

Grades: A+, A+, A+, A+, A+

AND SHE’S HAPPY!!!

She eventually starts applying for universities, listing her abilities and experiences.

• A+ Student

• Volunteer

• Interned for Audrey Bourgeois

• Works at Boulangerie Patisserie

• Works at Le Grand Paris

• Fluent in Spanish, English and Mandarin, knows conversational Arabic and Portuguese, learning Polish.

The more she writes and thinks about the past 4 years, the more she comes to the realisation of

“Holy shit, I’m awesome. I’m an ok person. I’m a good person in fact. I’ve done good things. I’ve made a good impact on society. I did it. I DID IT!!! And I’m going to keep doing it-after all, I’m awesome and people rely on me, plus it makes me feel good. I’m no longer a spoilt 14 year old. I can be good. I am good. I am a good person.”

#mlb #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #chloe sugar #chloe redemption #chloe bourgeois #chloe deserves better #ml chloe #miraculous chloe #ml #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #bustiers class #style queen #audrey bourgeois

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barnesandco · 5 years ago

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Nikah: November

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None. Please let me know if otherwise.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s writing challenge. God, this is a big one. Thank you to everyone who reblogs and comments, you help me through life. I hope you enjoy this in return. Final chapter to be posted tomorrow.

After several weeks of lonely silence and painful longing, Bucky begins to feel that he might be okay. That he can be complete without the missing puzzle piece in the shape of her, the one that has left a vacant hollow inside his heart. Days became weeks, and weeks, eventually, will become years. Thanksgiving is a week away, but Christmas decorations have appeared in certain shop fronts, and these are the ones he lingers by the most, letting the warm haze of distraction take him. Sometimes, he'll allow himself a closer look inside, and this is one of those occasions.

It's a book café, homely and peaceful, fireplace roaring enough to drown out the sound of the singular barista calling out orders. He doesn't go to the counter, makes his way to the nearest bookshelf, inhaling the scent of oak and old paper because it is a different scent. One he does not know, or otherwise, does not remember and must relearn. Running his hands over the spines, he realizes this is a shelf of classic plays, and suppresses the bark of an ironic laugh at how every tree trunk in the forest of his life is marked with an arrow pointing him back to his wife. Will-o'-the-wisp, disappearing the closer he gets, the further he feels.

Deciding that a house of books will do him no good in forgetting a woman who is a literary scholar, he goes to the counter. Asks for a hot chocolate to go, and waits patiently as the young man makes his drink. Everything about this place is warm, defiant in a soft, gentle way. The cafe is nestled amongst a series of big brand coffeehouses and bookstores, the happy medium that refuses to bow to excess, perfectly content in its remarkable mediocrity. Again, much like his wife. He has to stop thinking of her like that - they're married in nothing but name. But that doesn't detract from the truth of his comparison.

He takes the to-go cup with steady hands, letting the heat seep into him like the comfort of her hand in his, and leaves the café. Maybe it's because he had begun to accept her absence in his life, or maybe it's because he's so lost in his own mind he forgets his surroundings, but he doesn't expect it when it happens. His foot has yet to land on the sidewalk when someone barrels into him like a cannon, dark hair and full force. The hot chocolate goes everywhere, on him, but mostly her, and it's only when the dust settles that he realizes that it's her. Sleek pantsuit under a winter coat, elegant outfit now dripping with not-so-hot cocoa, but it's definitely her.

He says "Oh, jeez-" at the same time as her "Bucky?" and he knows he must look an outright fool, gaping like she's grown another head but God. She shakes her hair, a droplet of hot chocolate spraying out, and tries to formulate a sentence. If Bucky hadn't been avoiding mirrors since the day she moved out, he'd recognize the longing in the sad curve of her mouth as his own.

"Wow," She says finally, letting out a chuckle, air pluming into clouds in the cold. "That was fun," and Bucky shakes the shock off his system, prays to God that he doesn't stutter, because this conversation might be his last with her.

"Oh Lord, doll, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," He says, eyebrows furrowing pleadingly. No longer caring how desperate he may look, he just wants another moment. One more minute.

"It's okay, Bucky, I should have watched where I was-"

"No, no, not your fault. My place is two blocks away. I have a change of clothes," He says, sentences firing like bullets and even he cringes internally at how imposing he must sound.

"No, I-" A nervous laugh this time, short and delivered with eyes pointed to their feet, and the cocoa pooling there. "I shouldn't, I don't want to bother-"

"Darlin’, you live a borough over and you're drippin' chocolate, thanks to me," He reminds her, gently conveying the urgency of the situation. Passers by are starting to slow down around them, and he's sure someone's bound to recognize him if no-one has already. She seems to realize the same thing, looking around at their surroundings.

"Are you sure?" She asks, her eyes pools of what Bucky can only call hopeful caution, an emotion that he this time does not fail to see reflected in himself. He nods with a smile, one that only falters when her hand grazes his on the way down to the subway.

The train ride goes quicker than he would prefer, and before he knows it, he is forced to remember that he hasn't dusted in a week just as he's opening the door. She walks in like the first man on the moon, like she's stepping onto sacred land that was never hers but she has every right to be on. A set of her clothes is folded in a corner of his dresser and he goes and gives it to her.

"Oh yeah, these were in the washing the day I left," She recalls, heading into the bathroom to change. He heads for the kitchen, putting the kettle on.

Has a second thought that he swats away like a fly before putting a Billie record on the record player. Doesn't know what he expects from this, and part of him wonders if anything will come of it, but his heart insists that it must. He can't make his mind up about it before she enters the kitchen, and it's déjà vu. Her, standing new as the day he met her, while he dances unsurely under the judgement he knows she will never offer.

Pulling out a chair, she sits, and Bucky notices the bags beneath her eyes. Another echo of him, a reflection. He pours the tea, and allows the scent of jasmine to infuse itself with the unspoken longing in the air. She sighs, inhaling the tea he saved. The one he drinks when he misses her and her warmth.

"I missed this," She says, and Bucky wonders again if she can read minds, because if not, their minds must know each other better than their hearts do.

"What, tea?" He jokes, trying to alleviate the tension. She laughs lightly, the sound playing along with Billie's music, the way it is meant to. Shaking her head, she answers demurely:

"Being quiet with someone else." Her eyes meet his before darting back down to the cup she's holding.

"How have you been?" She asks after half a second too long for the question to not sound awkward. How do you breathe side-by-side with someone for months without becoming intimately entwined with their well-being?

"Same as always. Missions, sleep, eat, more missions," He says, nonchalant, looking at a spot on the wall behind her shoulder.

"You still can't lie to me, Bucky. You should've left out the sleep part." She tilts her head, a curious bird on a window-sill, helpless to help the person calling for rescue on the inside. He doesn't let her.

"You're one to talk. Nightmares haven't stopped, have they?"

"Do they ever?" She asks sadly, and Bucky has to admit, he thought, for the few months that she was his pillow, that they did. Another dream shattered.

"No, not as far as I know." He responds, thinks about how every aspect of his life, conscious, and subconscious, is linked to her. Nothing feels complete, like his heart isn't the only thing missing a piece.

She had wanted to bring him to Pakistan. Had expressed a tentative desire to show him her origins, her home. Never had the chance, but he's here now.

Islamabad, bustling and busy and ever so loud, like nothing he's ever seen. New York is populous, of course, but this - the cars, the lights, the energy - it's all so different. And perhaps it's because of the air of the place, or maybe it's because he's somewhere holy, but he feels so full. Brimming with awe at the pillars towering in the mosque above him, except for the pocket of incurable sadness deep in his stomach.

He has spent a day in Islamabad, one full day, not able to spend a single second without thinking of the woman who's land he is wandering like a lost bird. Every sense of longing is multiplied exponentially here, and although it's beautiful, and he's trying his best to absorb the luxury of travelling, he knows he cannot enjoy it. Not without her, not like this.

"I went to Pakistan, you know," He tells her. Her eyes flick up, and she shields the surprise cleverly, but not quickly enough for him.

"When?"

"Last week, on a mission near the border. Human trafficking ring targeting Afghan refugees near the border. I decided to linger, went further south to the capital," He says, tracing the rim of his cup. His tea is still piping hot. "I didn't see the Badshahi Mosque but I went to Faisal Mosque."

"How was it?" She asks, and there she is. His wife, the woman he's spent so many sleepless nights for.

"Busy. Crowded, but peaceful, and it was so calm," He answers, biting back the last comment. The one that separates honesty from a half-truth. Isn't a half-truth also a half-lie?

"But?" She pries knowingly, and Bucky almost laughs.

"But it was like there was something missing," He admits, heart jackhammering a sharp beat into his sternum, and he doesn't want to see her response.

"I know what you mean," She replies, and he doesn't know what to do with that.

"Do you?"

"I've been going to the Smithsonian every week since we split up. You're everywhere but so far out of reach, and it doesn't make any sense." She says breathlessly, fingers leaving the cup to intertwine amongst themselves, twisting like their thoughts, their relationship. Bucky looks up.

"Baby, I-"

"I know, I'm complicating things, and I'm sorry, but seeing you again just unhinged me and I don't know what I'm doing. I never do, and I'm messing it up colossally, so I should go," She says in a hurry, and gets up to leave. Ignores the full cups of tea, their aching hearts, as she pulls on her shoes through eyes glinting with tears she cannot afford to shed.

"Wait," He protests.

"No, I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable. Thanks for this," She says, picking up the shopper he gave her to put her clothes in, stuffing her jacket into it as well.

"I think we're making a mistake," He tries. "Doll, I know this sounds nuts but I don't want to stay separated. I don't want this," He says, finally, and she drops the bag. Looks at him with tears and barely-there hope.

"Then what do you want, Bucky?" She asks, voice cracking at the end. Bucky knows he doesn't have the heart to back out now, and he'd curse himself for the rest of his miserable life if he did.

"You. I want you, doll, till' death do us part. You're the greatest happiness to ever happen to me." He steps forward, takes her hand. It trembles, shakes, and he squeezes it. She squeezes back, so he moves closer. They're nose-to-nose, and he counts her eyelashes. "And I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you 'bout that before, but I didn't think you felt the same." She laughs, actually laughs, the tears finally slipping down the slope of her cheeks, as she bends forward and her forehead nudges his chest. She looks at him teary-eyed, talks through the joy.

"For a super-spy, you're not as good at noticing things as you like to be," She says, and he blinks. Her smile spreads impossibly wider, blinding like sunshine, and tells him: "I love you, Bucky."

The world stops, on its axis, in its orbit, hell, he thinks he's having a heart attack, a physical stagger backwards at the words that his heart has known for longer than his mind. Actions speak louder than words, and she has been loving him with her whole body for as long as he has been blind to her compassion. Miscommunication is a tragedy; it deprived him of this feeling for so long, and now that they have gotten rid of it, he does not know what to do with its absence.

"Then why are you crying?" Is all he can say, reeling from the impact of her confession, raising a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing a tear down it.

"I just- I can't believe this is happening. They're tears of relief, Bucky," She laughs wetly, an absolute mess, but she's there, and it's real, and she loves him.

"Is that a yes?" He asks, and she lunges up to meet his starving lips. His arms come up to wrap around her waist like ivy vines around their support wall, and she is there. Rock solid and cotton soft, all her love and all her heat pouring into him like tea from a kettle. Her hands in his hair press, tangle, tug lightly and she murmurs against his mouth: "Yes." Another kiss, this one soft and long-suffering, heated and quiet and oh so sweet, jasmine on her lips and fire in her hands. "God, yes." A murmur, quiet and gentler than mistletoe erupting from snow-decked tree branches, as she settles against his chest, lips rasping together. She tastes of heaven and holy water, a storm in her own right.

"I love you, too," He says against her lips, and thinks: his heart is whole again.

Taglist: @suz-123 @mermaidxatxheart @buckyreaderrecs @shield-agent78 @corneliabarnes @readerandcinephileingeneral @stevieboyharrington @notsomellowmushroom @veganfangirl5 @mood-pancakes @lbuck121 @starnight-charmer @redhairedfeistynerd @geeksareunique @samingtonwilson @alyxkbrl @bucky-smiles @marvelrose

#ayesha writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x desi!reader #desi!reader

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wandering-----wonderings · 5 years ago

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A glimpse inside everyones favorite hyperpolyglot, Sydney Bristow. (Yes, I childishly cut Danny out of the picture because I prefer Sydney with Noah, but I like this picture, so there you go.)

Let's start this off with a quick quote from Recruited: I speak five languages (six if you count pig latin. From Shadowed, we also know this: for SD-6 agents, mastering five or six languages was the bare minimum. So right out of the gate, before she even starts working at SD-6, she's already met the 'bare minimum' requirement. Sort of; I'm not sure if SD-6 would count English - or pig latin for that matter.

My current wondering is: what five languages (six including pig latin) did she know before starting SD-6? English would be 1, obviously, and Pig Latin would make two. I'm assuming she's counting her Spanish and Mandarin college electives when she said that (unless she already spoke those languages and just took them as electives to get more of a background on them), so that would be 3 and 4. So what were 5 and 6?

Truthfully, I have no idea. Wikipedia has a list of her speaking 30 languages: English, Russian, German, Greek, Dutch, French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Norwegian, Swedish, Romanian, Hungarian, Hebrew, Uzbek, Arabic, Persian, Urdu, Indonesian, Cantonese, Mandarin, Japanese, Korean, Hindi, Vietnamese, Polish, Serbian, Czech, Ukrainian, and Bulgarian.

Now this is completely a supposition, but the Wikipedia list doesn't mention Latin - it doesn't mention pig latin, either - but I would think that one of the languages she knew before coming into SD-6 would be Latin; it just ... sorta seems like it would be the first language she would learn with her being as studious as she is since, while being considered a dead language, it's still quite present in today's world, especially in the sciences. So my guess for language-number-5 would be Latin.

The sixth language is more of a long-shot. Seriously. In the pilot episode, in the SD-6 briefing room, we hear this:

Sydney: ''What is that? Hieratic?'' Sloane: ''Good try. That's what I thought. Actually, it's demotic. Taking notes in ancient languages was just one of Muller's quirks.''

A quick Google search showed this:

Now, she obviously doesn't know Hieratic or Demotic, otherwise she would've been able to translate right off. However, she was able to recognize it. So my theory is that she either learned the 'parent language' or one of the other 'child languages'. None of them are on the Wikipedia list. Most kids are interested in hieroglyphics but usually not enough to actually learn them (at least, such was the case with me), but I think we can all agree that when it comes to languages Sydney is a bit different - in a good way. So my long-shot-of-a-guess is that her 6th language is 'Egyptian'. Granted, she'd been at the agency for about seven years when we see her in the pilot episode so she could have learned it within that time.

Now that we've done that, let's review her language history in the books (at least, all of the one that I can remember off the top of my head). (I don't think she spoke in anything but English in Sister Spy, Father Figure or Skin Deep, but I may be wrong.)

Recruited: she's taking Spanish and Mandarin as electives, and she also says that she can speak a total of six languages (prior to being recruited)(see above). Spanish is also used later in the book. A Secret Life: she's was trying to teach herself Russian. French was used in this book, but she couldn't understand it. Disappeared: she had to learn Romanian (which she was distracted and didn't do too well at, but I assume she went back and learned it properly later). She also states that after the events in A Secret Life, she came back to L.A. and learned French as if her life depended on it. Free Fall: had her brushing up on one of her ''better languages'' - French. She was also able to translate an one-sided phone conversation she was eavesdropping on, from Russian. Infiltration: her Russian is described as amazing (and at times she'd been ahead of her SD-6 tutor), she says the Romance languages had been easy to learn (I haven't got a clear answer as to how many there are), Japanese took an impossible amount of concentration, and says it was difficult to keep the Oriental languages straight when she threw Cantonese and Mandarin into the mix (which, she should have already knew a fair bit of Mandarin since, as stated above, it was one of her electives). Vanishing Act: speaks in 'flawless' Dutch. (Also, she asks a woman working in a bookstore if she has any first additions of Chekhov, and when the woman ask if she wants it in English [the book], Sydney says she wants it in Lithuanian. This doesn't necessarily mean she speaks Lithuanian since it was a code phrase and it's not listed in her Wikipedia languages, but maybe she learned at some point.) Shadowed: she had recently brushed up on her Greek, and had learned German at some point.

Think about that for a minute. Did you catch what I did? She was recruited in the fall of her freshman year (a few weeks into the school year) and Free Fall says this happened in September. Shadowed itself happens in October of her sophomore year. Which means, Sydney learned 11+ languages in a year. So, aside from learning stuff for school, learning bank stuff (so she would be able to lie more efficiently to anyone who asked what she did on a daily basis for Credit Dauphine), and learning cool spy stuff and going on missions, she managed to cram in 11+ languages amidst carving out time for a social life with Francie (and a few dates with Noah) in one year's time. At the age of 19 and 20 years old. If you didn't think she was superwoman before, you should now.

Not to mention, that that's just the languages she speaks. While Sydney's trading card lists her languages as ''numerous'', she obviously knows a various amount of codes and ciphers as well; which, to me, counts as a language. We know she knows Morse code (2x18) from her mother's earrings, the Substitution cipher from when her dad encrypted her crossword puzzles (4x12), and Skip Sequencing Cypher Text (2x19) from when she was trying to get a message to Vaughn and an ever-helpful Weiss. That's just the ones I can remember right off, I'm sure she knows quite a few more.

As a side note, on Noah Hicks' trading card, it claims he only speaks three: English, French, and Russian. Oddly enough, the Russian was episode based while the French happened in the books - it's odd because I like to find what's different between the show and novels, but that's something that lines up. I'm sure he knows more languages - as it's said, five or six was the minimum - but it's not stated in the novels, the show, his Wiki page, or his trading card.

((Update: Ok, so two things. One, one the back of her season 3 trading card, it has one of Sydney’s languages as Taiwanese, so I guess that bumps her (known) total to 31 languages. Secondly, I did forget about a language from Vanishing Act; ''... a circle filled with words in what Sydney immediately recognized as Latin.'' Now again, it said she recognized it and not knew it (though, that’s probably the same thing for her), but I feel it’s further evidence supporting my theory.))

#Alias #Sydney Bristow

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rivkahstudies · 5 years ago

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sometimes, I like to break my habit of “morning person aesthetics” and go for the grunge that results from me finding my own piece of secluded darkness to work in.

June 2019 Productivity Challenge, Day 30: 9:05 PM

[✔️] Work: organized some resources to look into. confirmed an appointment for tutoring. [✔️] 100 words: 169/100 words on my chapter today. holed up in my car in the rain and just let myself enjoy the ambience. [✔️] Languages: I’m keeping up a streak of Arabic on Duolingo to make sure I practice more, and I’m finally starting to be able to glance and recognize certain letters. I’m really enjoying it. [✔️] Exercise: core workout tonight :3c It feels really weird to realize that tonight’s the last night of June. I’m done this productivity challenge. I successfully completed it! I don’t do that very often with challenged. They’re like all my journals, unfinished, about 15 pages in. But this one, I did. And I only missed posting on the date once, I only missed my writing goal 4/30 times, I only missed my language goals 5/30 days, and I had one consecutive week of not meeting my exercise goals. I worked and made $280. and I did some stuff toward my language discord! This wasn’t a perfect month (no month can be) but I’m extremely proud of how far I’ve gotten and what I’ve accomplished. I wrote a total of 7,497 words on all things related to my book (not even including emails!) and my third draft now sits at 1,970.

Here are just a few studyblrs who encouraged me to go on or told me they felt inspired by it. I hope you all have productive summers!

@pinetreestudies @thekingsstudy @theonlysaylor @student-succulent @coffeeandpies @khatulastudies @moontigr @jungcinema

#rivkahstudies #june2019pc #challenge completed

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rynne311 · 6 years ago

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Put in the Effort

Request: Some of the comics indicate Talia and Damian speak Arabic, so could I get a Reader x Damian (relatonship or friendship, either's good!) fic where the Reader surprises Damian with Arabic somehow - like, by learning some basic Arabic greetings/goodbyes, or using the Arabic pronunciation of his name (which'd be Dem'yan) and he's just kind of touched by that? Damian deserves more fluffy fics than the fandom gives him and you're good at that genre, so I thought I'd offer up the idea.

Requested by: Anon

Word Count: 492 Requests are Open HERE.

AN: As I’ve done in the past, in lieu of poorly translating anything, I’m keeping everything in English and italicizing anything in Arabic.

He heard you coming up behind him in the garden from the moment you had stepped out the door. Still, Damian decided to wait until you announced your presence to him before looking up from his book. Within moments, you’d found your place next to him by Alfred’s perfectly manicured rose bushes.

“Hello Damian, how are you this lovely afternoon?” you asked exactly as you had practiced over and over again for the past few weeks.

“Y/N, what did you just say?” Damian questioned immediately, barely giving you a moment to sit down beside him under the tree. His book had been snapped shut from the moment you had begun to speak.

Now you were far more nervous than before. Had you mispronounced something and said something horrible? Meekly you clarified, “I said ‘hello Damian, how are you this lovely afternoon’ did I say something wrong? I kept practicing and really wanted to say it right.”

“There were minor imperfections, but you got it mostly right,” Damian praised. “What I don’t understand is why you have a sudden interest in Arabic.”

“Because the language is a part of you, Damian,” you answered simply. “So much has changed for you from every story you told me, so I thought I’d try and do something that might make some of those big changes a little easier on you.”

You could plainly see across his face that while he understood the words you were saying, he was still completely confused. You knew that the part he was struggling to understand couldn’t be explained with words, he needed to understand the love and feelings behind the action.

“Not many people are willing to put in the effort, Y/N,” he mustered, struggling to make eye contact.

“I’m not many people, Damian,” you replied. “Besides, everyone should have a little part of home to comfort them.”

Before you could blink, you were enveloped in a bone crushing hug. The appreciation for your consideration and care needed no translation, and you knew even if he was never able to completely vocalize his feelings, this small gesture of yours meant the world to him. Damian couldn’t remember the last time someone had worked so hard to make him feel comforted just because they cared about him, rather than as a means for future advancement.

As soon as Damian released you, he was already pulling you back to the house. You did what you could to keep up as he pulled you along to the manor’s library. Damian tried to rush you along saying, “C’mon Y/N, if you’re going to learn the language, you need to have the best tutor...me.”

You knew you made the right choice, finding a new way to spend quality time with your best friend. Like you said, everyone should have a little part of home for comfort, and if you could be the one to give that to Damian, all the better.

Taglist:

Everything: @societiesholyskittle @pickyblue12

Want to be tagged? Let me know via message or ask box!

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mamoonkhpal · 4 years ago

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L’Auberge Mélangeur

I wonder how far the muezzin’s call to prayer echoes over the rooftops and across the strait to Tarifa, where the southernmost tip of Spain faces Morocco. On my tiny enclave, where I am perched among multitudinous satellite dishes, the coast of the Tarifa appears to encroach closer than I initially considered. I could feel the crushing proximity of this strait as if I was standing on a thread strung above Le Ville Nouvelle. There is a greater expectancy inside the medina over the arrival of the evening prayers than from some of my new counterparts inside the hostel. L’Auberge Melangeur is a large riad cloistered tightly by busy neighbouring dwellings of families with many children. The maître d’ revealed the riad had been host to numerable personalities during its tenure inside the International Zone, and it would be host to the beginning of my traveller’s sojourn inside the country too. The streets are beautiful in daylight, but menacing in the night. The torpor from the heat has cast my roommates into dances above this strange menagerie. On arriving in Tangier, my fortune instantaneously sunk with the town’s past upheavals and fraught history. The view from above leaves the impression of the town having collided with time like the trumpeting pages on Morocco I read before arriving in Tangier. The hostel lies just behind the Hotel Continental, which faces the port where the sun was setting, and the evening’s rambles would enliven later. I was lying on the roof terrace under the dry heat of the sky, when Marc, sleeping on the floor above mine, would jar astray to the hashish bellowing from the sinews inside the medina. As per the quotidian, a potion of smoke and music perfumes the streets each evening. And over the Hotel Continental towards the seafront the rolling tides forbids crowds from leaving the promenade anytime soon.

……

To Amine’s amusement Marc embraces him firmly than asks, ‘So, did you just arrive?’

‘Yes’, Amine said with more apprehension than excitement.

Marc retorted quickly, and explained how he discovered the hostel. ‘I’ve come from Paris while visiting an uncle. I am now here for the foreseeable future. What are you doing? Marc was dressed feebly with a few rags on his torso and shoes he described as disintegrating. His face bore a dishevelled beard concealing eyes sunken with fatigue, and an overworked trilby which unleashed his frayed tresses. ‘I am searching through the Atlas Mountains to look for Berber musicians in the desert.’ He quickly paid attention to Amine’s hand then appealed in earnest to the splint propping his left wrist.

‘Did you break a bone?’

Amine was exasperated to answer. ‘Uh. Yeah. I was on my bicycle when a car struck me in London’

‘How terrible!’ Marc’s face fixed surprise.

The odour of hashish became more distinct once the local boys arrived after school. They were neighbours living beside the hostel who would smoke outside their homes after and between breaks. The perfume led Amine and Marc outside the hostel and onto the streets when the night began its slow descent into crimson blue. They were tacit in their steps entering the cobwebbed inlets which ran towards the petite socco, 5 minutes away. The old town lost all geometry after a few turnings between the ceilings of tall buildings looming upwards.

An Arabic horn rumbled deceitfully from the sky. They usually bring nocturnal life into séance during the evenings. A requisite of some dexterity was necessary for crossing the streets among so many weird figures, or scattering children inside the medina, Amine reflected. ‘There’s a café behind the old jailhouse. It’s near the museum’, Marc explained to Amine. He appeared worried but Marc bade he follow him on and smiled so to remind him that he was now more confident with the area over his weeks of stay in Tangier. They climbed higher along a narrowing path. Amine noticed the men appeared more like spiders in their djellabas then humans. ‘It’s just here’, Marc pointed towards the Place de la Kasbah overlooking the bay, where the ships were moored. The floodlights below dotted the highway along the harbour, which reflected light onto the old prison where Marc had taken Amine. The sky had darkened into night and further ahead on the tapered path was the Café Marc mentioned earlier. They crept further into the bellowing smoke which rose into the air. And after making some way through, the noise surrounding the pair retreated until their path was silent, only echoed by passing traffic coming from the highway. They would walk through this narrowing pathway until Amine could only hear faint thuds of music in the distance, trudging closely behind Marc. The noise became audible and the pair could see through the sprawling fauna crowds inside the café listening to disco music. On arrival Marc was firmly embraced by Yusif, the owner of the café. He was a gangly figure grasping a pipe of khif in his hand and wearing a large pair of luminous, yellow pointed babouches. He immediately bade the two sit with another group of guests on the terrace outside, facing the port.

Yusif was searching for more Khiff inside his leather waist pouch before handing it freely among Marc’s friends who were speaking French among themselves.

He fixed his eyes on Amine, ‘What is your name habib?’

“Amine”

Eh! ‘What?’ He drew his tall figure towards him to listen more closely

“AM-I-NE,”

‘Ah, you are a Moslem habib. My name is Yu-sif, and I am the owner. This café was my father’s until he passed away 3 years ago. I now run it and also have some clothing businesses nearby. My house too is also along that road. Habib, make yourself welcome here.’

A group of Austrian travellers were sat with Marc’s friend Giuseppe, from Italy. The younger man was disguising a blonde ponytail beneath a stylish black trilby. The den was reverberating smoke between the floor and the ceiling. Yusif had sat with his personal guests and ordered more fresh mint tea from a bald man preparing large bunches of mint behind the café counter. He was infamous for receiving swarms of street cats from the Place de Kasbah, who would perform unbeknown routes to Yusif’s café for detritus fish. They would loiter on the terrace of the café sometimes and entertain the guests before he would have them cleared. He was one of the many assistants he employed to manage his local businesses in the busy area.

‘Giuseppe, this is Amine’, Marc interjected momentarily.

Giuseppe pressed Amine with fascination and asked him boldly, ‘Why are you in Tangier?’

Amine was sat in silence opposite a couple. Julia who was on his left, finished the remainder of her cigarette, then struck him into conversation.

‘What do you do Amine?’

He was pensive now, and the few inhalations he took inside the café dissembled his retort sibilant between his slow exhales. ‘I was a stooge inside a restaurant in London, by the river Thames. A few weeks earlier a car struck my bike and I fell landing on my hand. After that I left for Tangier’, Amine presented his bandaged wrist to her for review.

Julia was a vision. Her blue eyes were drifting aimlessly as Amine spoke. She smiled momentarily then offered him her condolences. ‘What will you do while you are in Tangier?’ she asked in her distinctly continental tone. Marc moved inside the café on the cushions beside some musicians strumming in the corner of the café, and Julia introduced her boyfriend Tobias beside her, and offered Amine some of their khif with his mint tea. She placed a small black atom in the centre of his right palm that was obscenely fragrant and pleasing. He would prepare the khif into a desperate looking joint he lighted unawares despite his maladroit hand. The herbal infusion mixed with the tobacco, raised lofty undulations through his chest and fresh aromas of aniseed and fennel up his nasal passages. She confidently poured the tea at some height into his cup like the fashionable Moroccan men Amine saw in the medina serving tea among their friends. She then placed a sugar cube carefully inside his right hand. Julia and Tobias were at the height of Viennese chic in the café. They continued smoking profusely before recommending I visit the local cafés and bazars in the medina. ‘I’m sorry to hear of your accident Amine. I am tutoring at the local university’, Julia said. We ordered another round of mint teas between us, though Giuseppe declined and continued puffing on his khif. ‘There is a festival in Marrakech happening soon and I am meeting a few friends later on with Tobias. You are welcome to join us, we’ll be in Marrakech within a fortnight,’ Julia smiled with excitement. Marc then retrieved a leather bound writing journal from the crèche inside the café where a group of musicians were strumming. He carried on explaining that he was heading towards the desert to learn more on Berber music with folk musicians he was looking for. He had finished meetings with a local village chief yesterday who promised he would host him for the coming days inside his home near Essaouira at a discounted rate. Giuseppe was facing the window looking outwards towards the ocean. He was also smoking profusely at a roll of hashish. The wind flushed gales through the awning and ruffled beneath his black trilby. He leered towards Amine with high spirits, and asked ‘Are you enjoying Tangier?’

‘Yeah sure, I am. But the reputation of the city goes unchallenged, I can feel varmints in the air.’

#Moroccco creativewriting shortstory tangier marrakech #fiction literature

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thehygieneguru · 4 years ago

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Reflection on last week sessions

Tutorial session on Monday was productive, my tutor pointed out a point that was not on my mind for some unknown reason(primary research) and it got me thinking of some creative ways I can gather such data from such conservative society. I’ll start with family and friends(which are easier) and then see where I can go from there. The first method that came to my mind was a survey, but I'm going to take more time into researching some creative methods I can use to do the primary research.

Also, I should start doing mini tests to test out my hypothesis and know what to iterate at this early stage, better than waiting until it’s too late.

- Get to know more about women reproductive health -

On Tuesday’s session we got to draft an e-mail to a potential stakeholder telling them about our project and asking for feedback or collaboration. And those were the points I’ll be keeping on my mind when contacting a stakeholder

- Send short emails with one or two enquiries

- Send an email with names(not to whom it may concern)

- Use bullet points, numbers etc

- Address the ultimate party and not the gatekeeper who may be the secretary

- Language is key!

Wednesday’s session was interesting, we had an alumni session. I wrote down names of 3 alumni and I’m planning to contact them and ask for their feedback regarding my project.

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

Translation

Few weeks back to contact experts here in Bahrain, I had to translate what my project was about to Arabic and the process of doing that was extremely difficult.

Which got me thinking about the implementation of my project here in Bahrain and the amount of work and effort I have to put in order to create material that is in Arabic to conduct workshops in public schools.

Even though arabic is my first language, the research process and everything related to my work is done in English. And to convert all of this into Arabic is a bit difficult when it comes to terminologies etc ( which I have to research).

#Reflection

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lit--bitch · 4 years ago

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Current-Reads (27/04/2020 - 03/05/2020) 🐸🍇

(Disclosure: I know a couple people this week, like Billie Collins from The Writing Squad. I know Elizabeth Ellen through Mira Gonzalez and her editorial help with my poetry. Everybody else be a stranger to me. 😢)

Preface as always: Every Sunday without fail I throw up the freshest literature and photography I’ve read over the week, sometimes it’s a book, or a piece I saw in a magazine or an online zine, maybe it’s something I saw on social media, etc. If I add ‘RECOMMEND’ next to a few of the titles, but that’s not to say I don’t recommend all of them, I just love some pieces more than others. Not everything will be everybody’s cup of tea, yanno, c’est la vie. And any titles that you see in bold are hyperlinked so if you click or tap them they’ll direct you straight to the source… or shopping basket.

Bit of an off-week this week, my dog hasn’t been very well so my mind has been elsewhere, and that Annie Ernaux review took it out of me, ha. I was terrified to write negative criticism, openly, and it’s not even like I was saying, “I just didn’t enjoy this writing”, like the Ernaux text genuinely has politically biased implications. It’s really hard writing about the genocide in Algeria and my family, because 1. France has done a lot of work to avoid its discussion so they’re never held accountable, 2. A lot of people don’t really know about it, and 3. A lot of people don’t care, like a lot a people, the annihilation of the Amazigh hasn’t even entered social discourses like it has with Native Americans or the Aborigines, and these are still discourses which are a lot of the time, ignored. Getting people to just be aware of this, takes time, centuries even, and so many voices. I do feel like I’m screaming into a void, and I’m not surprised Fitzcarraldo Editions didn’t pay much attention to the review. It probably seemed impertinent of some random stranger to call out a 78-year-old feminist for her furtive privilege and non-condemnation of France’s role in genocide in Algeria. Afterwards I had a massive cup of tea, and took a minute out. The amazing and lovely work I’ve read this week has been like comfort-food. Current-reads this week include Billie Collins’s The Haircut, an excerpt from ‘Bluets’ from Elizabeth Ellen’s Poems collection which I still can’t believe came out two years ago, and I rediscovered this poem on one of Hobart’s web features. I also read a review Jon Petre did for SPAM zine on Cathy Galvin’s Walking The Coventry Ring Road With Lady Godiva, published by Guillemot Press (which is run by one of my old tutors and friend, Luke Thompson). I adored these beautiful pieces for 3AM Magazine’s Poem Brut series, from Kayleigh Cassidy, to do man and other poems. FINALLY, last but not least, I read two wonderful writers on Split Lip Magazine, one from their 2019 site, JJ Peña’s manguitos, pears and grapefruits, and Threa Almontaser’s I Crack An Egg.

I also want to say beforehand that I check all the writers and their social media (i.e. I stalk them and their bios) to make sure I absolutely get their pronouns correct, I don’t just assume hes and shes, etc. So in case anyone’s concerned about that, dw I do this shit properly.

Let’s get into it.

***

Threa Almontaser’s I Crack An Egg on Split Lip (RECOMMEND): Cooking, family and religion. That’s the fucking trinity here. If it weren’t for the fact that I practised Islam when I was kid and my dad’s Muslim, I wouldn’t understand a lot of these references. The vernacular here is important, because what Threa does, is she makes you aware. She pulls you into her periphery, and then into her focalisation. It’s steeped in her habitus. This poem’s peppered with Arabic utterances, (wallah = I swear to God), references to the imam, henna and hijab. She negotiates the relationships of mother and marriage, tests the tensions in personality, admonishes expectations in the kingdom of her mother’s kitchen. I felt looked in the eye when I read this poem. Women are the backbone of everything. And Threa Almontaser’s one to watch.

Kayleigh Cassidy, to do man and other poems on 3AM Magazine (RECOMMEND): These are so cool, I’ve got a massive smile on my face rn. I loved these visual word collages. Each one is so individual in its own right and they’re so witty and relatable, haha. Particularly ‘to do’ and ‘an idea woke me’... They’re symptomatic of Gen Z anxieties and frustrations, they wrestle between our office selves and our artist selves. Just loved them. Adored Kayleigh’s bio too, “Kayleigh is dyslexic, working class and a massive fan of the moon; full, half or gibbous.”

Billie Collins’s The Haircut (RECOMMEND): Billie Collins’s writing is so familiar and real and intimate. It’s like home to me. I really loved this piece she did for the Writing Squad’s Staying Home series. I’ve been making my way through each of the works on there slowly, they’re so fantastic. Since the lockdown, we’ve been displaced by home haircuts and DIY. This piece is about the intimacy of giving your dad a hair cut written in the form of a contract (it echoes of tenancy agreement also, does anyone else get that?) / a play, I mean it’s amazing. The familial camaraderie and realism makes the scene so accessible and visceral. The opening immediately grabbed my attention: “This is the first time I’ve ever given my Dad a haircut. I’m reluctant, but have agreed to do it on the following terms:

1. PARTY A [Hereafter: THE HAIRDRESSER] agrees to cut the hair of PARTY B [Hereafter: THE HAIRDRESSEE] under the proviso that no matter what happens, no matter the appearance of the resultant effect [Hereafter: THE HAIRCUT], THE HAIRDRESSEE is not allowed to get angry at THE HAIRDRESSER.”

The dialogue is a harmless bicker, which fades away as the focalisation of the speaker comes to the fore. It lessens in wit and exposes a more vulnerable and moving perception to the task in hand. It becomes tender, a moving cut. The ‘I’ finds a poignancy in being guided to cut the father’s hair, and the hairdresser becomes transfixed by other details, of skin and touch, in age and aging. It made me cry. Especially that reference to Tom Waits. Bloody hell, Billie.

‘Bluets’ from Elizabeth Ellen’s Poems collection, HOBART (RECOMMEND): Someone finally says it. Maggie Nelson’s Bluets wasn’t that great. Thank you Elizabeth Ellen. Elizabeth’s writing is like sitting in your trackies eating Chinese food and having a good sob. Other people have said similar things in that vein. It’s really the best of kind of writing, the most accessible and universal. This whole collection is about being messy, about revelling in your messy womanhood, being a messy fucking woman and having messed-up feelings and writing messed-up writing. It’s deeply self-contemplative and irritated, it’s also watchful. ‘Bluets’ is a sneak peek of a collection I adore, and keep going back to. This one poem singularly unpacks the tensions of neatness and neat perceptions of femininity, tight structures and the constrictive corseting of feelings Elizabeth Ellen so abhors. Let it all out. Let it all hang right out.

JJ Peña’s manguitos, pears and grapefruits (RECOMMEND): This work is just absolutely gorgeous, and it was in Split Lip over a year ago. There is a tartness, a bitter acidity, a bite that you find in these sweetnesses from JJ Peña. The way we’re all hanging fruit from a family tree. The intergenerational trauma. The pain and weight of parental imperatives and suppositions. It’s the honesty and the enviable metaphor that makes this work so beautiful, it’s so vivid. Like: ‘the island treasures into golden sunsets & moons, into pandulce plazas & beaches where women who eat the sun walk around. no other place, he says, bleeds & blooms the sun.’ The language is so enriching, you can so clearly envision what he’s talking about, and how these landscapes and skies collide with more sinister and unpleasant experiences, of secret-keeping, sexuality and rape.

On a personal level I connected with this writing for the way JJ negotiates with questions of heritage and self-identity. There’s a huge pain in being divided between lands and culture and blood. When I was a kid, I used to tan like my Algerian father, I’d go mahogany, and I’d get crocodile skin in the sun. My mum used to have to rub olive oil on me. Now, I’ve still got that thick Kabyle-girl, North African skin from my dad, but since I’ve grown up, I don’t tan like that anymore, for whatever inexpicable reason, I burn worse than my English mother. And I’m lighter-skinned than her too, like cheesecake white. And I understand what JJ means when he refers to his father, who in ‘grapefruits’, declares: i got that peña blood. wood skin. My father’s the same. And I get it, I don’t know why I’m not the same either, JJ. But I think the exact same thing: I might have hardened skin if I’d spent my life working in my grandmother’s fields, picking olives.

I’d hate to give any more away about this writing, so go ahead and read it and have a look at some of JJ’s more recent work in Barren Magazine.

Jon Petre, on Cathy Galvin’s Walking The Coventry Ring Road With Lady Godiva, SPAM zine (RECOMMEND): People never recommend reading a review of a book, they always just omit that part, and recommend the book straight-off. But a lot of the time, I wouldn’t know half of what to read if it weren’t for reviews. And writing reviews takes up a lot of time and a lot of reflection. I feel it’s necessary to review reviews, because they’re equally a piece of writing in and of themselves, and therefore an extension of the art being reviewed. I really loved this piece from Jon Petre. It not only made me want to buy Cathy Galvin, it made me want to read more of Jon. The review is as much an explanation of this psychogeographical poetry and Coventry’s ‘edgeland’ landscapes, as it is a wonderful piece in its own right. It is informative and witty, and its descriptions are succinct, measured and quite beautiful actually. I just loved this part in the opening paragraph: ‘I have always wanted to explore the edgelands. They are everywhere, hidden in plain sight, an alt-highway running into the hidden psyche of ostensibly dull places. If you want to get to the heart of somewhere stick to the edges.’

I also really enjoy the way Jon relays and quotes sections of the poems, he’s selective and careful. He recreates the oscillations in Galvin’s collection in his sentence structures: ‘Coventry’s punk scene is an especially positive part of the story ‘England’s dreaming Pistols and punk / peaches on beaches’ are up against ‘that figure head – / not what she seems, the Queen, the fascist regime’. Revolution and radical change has to start somewhere, as Lady Godiva herself proved – why not at the Coventry ring road?’

He’s chatty, he’s got a voice. ‘Galvin is clearly having a lot of fun mixing her references to Coventry history and other texts – quoting The Specials alongside Dante, which is 100% my shit – and stitching letters to Phillip Larkin and legalese about the ring road’s construction into art.’ He’s not sterile, he doesn’t write reviews that border on pretension, he’s not a ridiculously irritating sesquipedalian-ist (someone who likes to use big words, irony intended). He makes the books he reviews worth investing in, and you don’t need 10 tabs open to look up words he’s saying. He writes with precision and with feeling. SPAM zine in general is absolutely fabulous, and boasts some amazing writers.

***

Right, I need a cup of tea. Next week’s review is Tiana Clark’s I Can’t Talk About The Trees Without The Blood. Absolute bleeder. I might be slower to the take next week because I’ve got my MA viva (on Zoom, wahey) and all sorts, so bear with me. Stay safe love-bears.

#poetry #visualpoetry #prose #litbitch #review #currentreads #recentwork #jjpena #billiecollins #kayleighcassidy #jonpetre #3ammagazine #spamzine #elizabethellen #hobart #splitlip #magazine #threaalmotaser

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possibilistfanfiction · 7 years ago

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you steal the air out of my lungs (you make me feel it)

[supercorp; uni au: kara is a barista & lena is exhausted with her honors thesis & also with the cute girl at the coffee shop who doesn’t seem to understand flirting. at all.]

you steal the air out of my lungs (you make me feel it)

you’re 100% sure kara is in when you get to your favorite cafe at 7 am and there’s already carly rae jepson blasting, which, under normal circumstances would be even more exhausting than your life already is this early in the morning but then.

kara smiles this megawatt thing at you when you walk up to the counter, way too bright for this early, but you smile back anyway. it’s a nice cafe, open and airy and in an old loft, with a nice patio with urban garden planters and decent, onsite pastries; they even collaborate with a small bookstore, so the walls are lined with camille paglia and roxanne gay. this should be a clue to kara, you think, as should like most people in the cafe, but it’s an unofficial queer hangout, basically. which isn’t exactly why you frequent it—it’s close to your apartment and their hours are outrageous—but it doesn’t hurt, exactly. kara smiles at you like she’s the sunrise herself, in a big sweater, pushes her glasses up.

‘good morning, lena!’

‘hi, kara,’ you say.

‘cappuccino with an extra shot for you today? and do you want the lemon scone again? or, we just made these blueberry ones—totally awesome. i’ve had two this morning.’

talking with kara is sometimes akin to being lapped on the track, or something like that, but it’s kind of delightful and oddly comforting, two things that aren't too common in your life, honestly.

‘i’ll try the blueberry, then,’ you say, and kara claps. ‘and a cappuccino, yes. thank you.’

‘great,’ kara says, putting in your order on the iPad and then turning it to you. she starts to make your drink as you tip her (outrageously, but you can, so you might as well), and she makes a little noise of remembrance. ‘i’ve been reading that book you suggested!’

‘what do you think so far?’

her sleeves are rolled up and her hair is a loose braid, all honey and wisps, and you honestly don’t give a fuck about what she thinks of your book in that moment, but then she smiles again.

‘i really love the part about multiverse theory,’ she says. ‘so far it’s my favorite, how our universe is a little ship in a big, what, space? and maybe there are other ships but we don’t have the means to find them yet.’

you smile at your phone—you don’t have any messages, but you scroll through your spotify so it doesn’t look too pathetic. ‘that’s a fun theory, isn’t it?’

‘it’s fantastic,’ kara says, presenting you with a cappuccino. you’re sure she does this for everyone, but kara is really talented at latte art, and today she’s made a few little stars and what is probably an approximation of saturn in the center. ‘let me get your scone!’ she says before busting to the back.

you wait at the counter—the cafe isn’t busy quite yet; the morning rush usually begins around 7:45. when she returns with your scone you take a deep breath because, well, you’ve slept with a lot of girls, but you’ve also had a mess of childhood and you’re not the best at caring about someone. you think kara is certainly someone to be cared for.

also, you’ve flirted for, like, months, and she seems really oblivious. either that or she’s straight, but you’ve seen her full-body blush whenever sutton comes in—who can blame her, honestly—and you’ve seen her kind of stare lovingly at shahir and eli whenever either of them leans over to point something out in a book. you know her sister, alex, got her a job there, and you know alex is dating maggie and that kara has been excited the entire time, so honestly who knows.

‘how’s your arabic coming along?’ you ask.

kara doesn’t seem surprised that you remembered, but she does seem—touched? happy? in a quiet way that’s like kara but also not like her at all.

‘the verb tenses are so hard,’ she says, ‘but rasha has been helping me, so that’s great!’

you know rasha, who is beautiful and funny and has a host of pretty hijabs and cool sneakers and can program a robot and recite syrian poetry, who is also the head of the QSA, and your chest aches a little.

but then kara carries on. ‘i met her new girlfriend the other day at the library, too! she’s fluent in a bunch of different dialects so now i have, like, the perfect tutoring team.’

‘awesome,’ you say, and it comes out breathy and too relieved to just be about arabic and kara’s future in international journalism.

she flushes, just a little, and scratches at the back of her neck. you’re about to ask her—maybe, finally—if she wants to get a drink with you later that week, or lunch, or anything really, but then there’s a line.

‘i’ll let you get to work,’ you say, and she laughs.

‘i was about to say the same thing.’

‘talk to you later, kara.’

‘go design a time traveler or something, crazy brain.’

you smile at the little space design in your coffee, smile at rasha and her new girlfriend a few minutes later when they come in for their morning coffee, bury yourself in your work even though kara’s bright smile and emotion side B on repeat are really, really distracting.

you’re surprised when you get invited to eli’s party, because you’re not sure if you have a single actual friend, but you had helped them a few times in differential equations, and shahir seems to like talking to you sometimes, so you agree to go, because drinking $7000 scotch in your room and watching veep for the millionth time is, even to you, a little pathetic.

when you get there, someone hands you a beer, and oliver finds you, slings their arm over your shoulder and leads you outside to a garden. there’s music and lights and someone suggests shots and sutton is dancing, which means everyone starts dancing, and you’re sufficiently drunk and warm and aching when you see kara.

she seems like she’s a little drunk too, and she laughs and tugs you to dance. it’s a lot—she smells like coffee and laundry detergent and sandalwood and a little like tequila, her hair loose and wild in the late summer humidity. she throws her head back and her arms up and you want to kiss her, you want to go to your dorm room and take off your clothes together, hushed and slow and fast and all kinds of lovely—but here she is, this perfect thing, this perfect girl, and you’ve never been able, not in your whole life, not quite, to be good enough for perfect.

so you dance until the end of the song and make some excuse to get water. she begins to offer to follow, but oliver tugs her back into the fray, and she breathlessly promises to find you later.

you start to walk back to your dorm, though, and you know she doesn’t know that, and she’s so full of life, so alive, so you know she’ll stay at the party like you just can’t, and she’ll be magic and you’ll see her tomorrow morning, and the morning after.

it’s a bit of a balm—that assurance—in a way that makes sense to your drunk brain, so you smile into your pillow, even though your palms still sting from the feel of her hands in yours.

you do see her the next morning, and she looks awful, which makes you laugh.

‘i have never been this hungover before, lena,’ she says. ‘sutton just—drank for like eight people or something.’

‘a real hero.’

‘superpowers, i swear.’

‘why don’t you make yourself whatever drink you want on me this morning too,’ you suggest.

kara’s smile turns into a wince, and she groans. ‘that is, quite possibly, the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.’

‘anytime, danvers,’ you say, and it might be because she’s hungover or it could be because she likes you, you aren’t sure of anything anymore, but she blushes.

you don’t have much time to do anything but your thesis for the next few weeks, but then finally you get a break. you’re so tired by this point you’re not really thinking until you process that you’ve stayed until close at the cafe, and kara smiles at you wanly as she puts the chairs on the tables so they can mop in the morning before opening.

‘sorry, lena,’ she says.

you suppress a yawn and shake your head. ‘i should stop for the night anyway.’

she nods and offers you a little smile and you pack up your things as she finishes with the chairs.

‘hey kara,’ you say, ‘would you want to grab a bite to eat? we could go to furniture warehouse, they’re open and they have a decent cheeseburger.’

kara turns to you, wide-eyed and beaming, and nods. ‘yeah! yes.’

‘okay then,’ you say, wait at the front for her to put on her coat and lock up. the night, as you walk, is starting to get chilly, but it’s beautiful and you want to take her hand. you don’t think anything is going to happen—you’ve stopped hoping, at this point—but then kara turns to you, effectively stopping you in the middle of the sidewalk.

‘lena,’ she says, very matter-of-factly.

‘yeah?’

‘i have come to discover, after watching a lot of youtube and having one too many shots with sutton, and talking to alex, that i like girls.’

‘that’s awesome,’ you say, with excitement but as neutrally as possible, because at this point you don’t want to get your hopes up.

she deflates a little, but it’s kara, so she keeps going. ‘this is going to be mortifying if i’m wrong but—you’ve been—have you been flirting with me?’

‘um,’ you scuff the toe of your boot, swallow, because you’re very awake right now, ‘yes.’

when you meet kara’s eyes, they’re very bright, and she looks, just—happy. ‘cool,’ she says.

‘yeah,’ you say, and she reaches out to take your hand, swinging your arms once before laughing.

‘wow,’ she says. ‘you and cheeseburgers. this is the best night ever.’

you smile, something that reaches into the very center of your being. ‘it’s not too bad,’ you say.

she squeezes your hand and when you look over she’s grinning up at the stars, which are reflected in her glasses like a small universe themselves.

#hi!#whoever donated for supercorp heres a lil one!#hope this is ok :)#possibilist #possibilistfanfiction #THANK YOU

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barnesandco · 5 years ago

Text

Nikah: February

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Like, two curse words. Mentions of stress and nightmares.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s writing challenge. Thank you for reading and commenting!

Their one month anniversary is spent in an indoor storage unit in Brooklyn, where they work on moving her things from her old apartment to the one they share together. Between her studies and work, and his hectic job, this is the first weekend that neither of them have prior engagements on. This task has been much delayed and is long overdue. It wouldn't have been necessary at all if she hadn't turned down his offer to pay the rent she doesn't want to spare for a place she isn't living in. Hence the van they rented to dump everything in the storage unit, and are now extracting required items from.

At least there's some form of temperature control, Bucky thinks, picking up a plastic cover for the couch. Their movement isn't inhibited by the thick coats demanded by a New York winter. Instead, he's wearing a grey cable-knit sweater that's fraying at the hem. She's standing by the shelves at the back wall, her cashmere-clad form hunched over a box of ornaments, weighing one in each hand like a balancing scale, lip between her teeth. By now, Bucky knows that means she's distracted - a tell of emotional absence. Her mind is somewhere else.

He tucks the plastic wrap around the bottom of the couch and clears his throat as he approaches her. The phantom pain if the accidental fist he received to his stomach the first and last time he unwittingly snuck up in her echoes through his abdomen. There had been apologies for days, right up until he had to leave for that ten-day mission in Columbia. She blinks once and snaps out of her trance, faces him, still holding the two pieces of decoration.

"You can bring them all if you like. Don't have to choose," He tells her, nodding to her full hands, and tucking his own in the pockets of his black jeans.

"No, there were already too many for my place alone. I'm not dumping it all on you," she shakes her head. Bucky thinks she's confused. Probably about why she's feeling so much lighter, why the stormcloud named "green card" seems to be stalling. The manual labor, the menial task should help get her mind off things, relieve the mental burden a little. She puts a miniature clay pot back in the box, leaving an intricately carved building.

"What is it?" Bucky asks, looking at the structure cradled in her palm.

"The Badshahi Mosque in Lahore," She replies, running her hands in mesmerizing patterns across the polished surfaces of the carving.

"It's beautiful." His eyes roam over the domes and towers, the arched entrance. She chuckles.

"You should see the real thing. Life sized. This is just the main building," She tells him, face coming alive. "When you enter the gates, there's a gigantic courtyard you cross before going inside. Marble arches, Mughal frescoes, floral motifs, it's all breathtaking."

"Are all mosques like that?"

"In size? No. Not in detail and decoration either, I guess. This one is a lot fancier than most, but there are some features all mosques have in common. Like the domes that represent the vault of Heaven, and minarets where the call to prayer is given from," She explains, brushing past him to put the model in the box of things meant to be to his home. It's still half empty.

"Call to prayer. Azaan, right? The one you've set for your alarm for prayer?" He picks up a sealed box by the entryway and puts it on a shelf.

"It's an app. Uses the azaan to let me know when it's time. The times change according to the length of the day. Apps are easier than changing the phone alarm all the time." Navigating the minefield of stuff, she opens the duct tape to close the decorations box. Just as she's about to cut off an end, her phone rings from somewhere in the room.

"Shit," She mutters, and he takes over the tape, fingers grazing hers as they switch places. She scrambles, almost tripping over a cricket bat leaning against a dining chair before locating the offending device in a flowerpot.

“اسلام وعلیکم، ماما”

She greets breathlessly, fake enthusiasm oozing. Bucky doesn't blame her. Work's been tough, and neither of them have been getting much sleep with the restless nights they've been having. The first few days after a long mission are painful, and his subconscious likes to torture him with nightmares. She's patient, though. Began keeping a glass of water on the nightstand, wouldn't let him move to the sofa in the middle of the night when he didn't want to disturb her. She's kind, kinder than she has any reason to he after how cruel the world has been to her. Because in addition to the tension of concluding her doctorate, and then dealing with his nightly episodes, she's coping with the stress of the green card.

"ماما، میں نے کہا بھی تھا کہ یہ خبریں نہیں پڑھنی چاہئیں۔ سب جھوٹ ہے۔"

I told you not to read those articles. It's all fake. She shoots a worried glance his way. After her family found out about the marriage, they had to design some sort of scheme to prevent them from interfering or being upset. Lie of choice - Bucky Barnes is Muslim. The press hasn't been fed this fallacy, but they've been hounding them for weeks - Is Bucky Barnes a secret Muslim? (Fox News), Bucky Barnes proves himself a traitor (Infowars), Bucky Barnes defies Islamophobia (CNN). Bucky doesn't like any of them, and it's bound to get worse after they find out about the application they submitted for permanent residence based on marriage.

They applied for it yesterday, when they had decided that a month is enough time to convince people that their marriage is not fraudulent. Bucky considers the headlines they'll come up with when they'll inevitably find out, thinks about how worried she was about ruining his public image the first time they met.

"You know what the media will say, right?" She asks over her elaichi tea in a booth tucked in the back of his favorite café.

"I can imagine," He answers, drawing circles in his cappuccino with the stirring stick. The cream design on top is long gone.

"Then why are you doing this?" She wants to know.

"Because you have the right to stay. And Parker would be devastated," He adds honestly. No use beating around the bush.

"Why you, though? Did the Avengers have some kind of meeting about Peter's long face and you drew the short straw?"

"Sam's too high profile, and everyone else is either too young or too taken."

"Of course, yeah, that makes sense," She concedes, taking a sip. He drains his cup. "I'm sorry- I didn't mean- I just don't want you to feel obligated to do this. Nobody's forcing you. If you don't want to, I'll figure something else out," She rambles in quick succession, all nervous hand gestures and non-existent eye contact, looking anxious and embarrassed.

"It's okay. I want to. Besides, it'll get me away from the Compound. Sam's always goin' on about being more involved, and don't get me wrong, I'm happy to do the work, I really am. The job is important, but I don't want to live in it, you know? Need a change of pace, to get away," he tells her, trying to make it sound like she's helping him as much as he is her. And she is. He may not look it, but he's tired. Happy to do the work, loves the job, but doesn't want to live for it.

Her cup comes down on the saucer with a clink, and he realizes she's finished her drink, and they've discussed everything there is to be discussed: living arrangements, finances, her studies, his job, Peter.

As they leave the café, she's a step ahead of him, and he rushes to open the door. She thanks him and he nods; together they step out into the slushy, snowy streets. Christmas is a week away, decorations out in full force. The twinkling fairy lights from the shopfront windows reflect in her irises, brightly contrasting with the midnight brush strokes that are her eyelashes. Her breath is released in clouds from her lipbalm-coated mouth, and the word winter wonderland has never felt more appropriate.

The memory of their first meeting floats in his eyes as he begins separating the items whose fate is her to be determined by their owner, still on the phone. She calls her family every other day, and they're close. The guilt tears at her, he sees it every day, sees it now, in the way she's scratching her nails against her legs when he walks past to get to another container. All the while, the Urdu he's learning touches of plays in the background.

"جی، ماما، وہ بہت اچھا ہے۔ آپ بالکل فکر نہ کریں۔"

Yes… he's very nice. Don't worry.

"ہاں، میرا خیال بھی رکھتا ہے۔"

Yes, he takes care of me, she's telling her mother, and Bucky hides his grin behind a pile of books.

"اللہ حافظ۔"

She bids farewell and ends the call with a sigh, just as he exits the van.

"Everything alright?" He asks, hands on hips. She nods, tucks her phone in her pocket and goes to the area he's calling no-man's land. Kneeling down, she moves the cricket bat into a box of things destined for his apartment.

"Yeah, the usual." Sorts through a few more things.

"What do you want to do with the flowerpots?" He asks, pointing to the empty pits her phone had disappeared into earlier. She turns towards him on her knee and huffs, tries to blow a lock of hair out of her face.

"I don't know why I have those. My thumb is as green as Trump's environmental policies," she mumbles, getting up to place them in a corner. They take one each, and another ten minutes of work awards them with the end of their assignment.

Bucky opens the passenger door while she locks the storage cell, and they leave the facility. The day's work - a tangible accomplishment - has cheered her up, and he wants to resurrect the ghost of a smile on her face

"I want pizza," He tells here, straight face.

"O… kay? We can have pizza, she says hesitantly. He never demands anything of her, so she's wondering where he's going with the framing of the wish.

"Do you have a favorite pizzeria?"

"There's a place in Astoria that-"

"Astoria? Queens? No. No, no, no. Brooklyn has the best pizza, come one," He deadpans, turning on the blinker, eyes flicking over to see her cross her arms playfully.

"I refute that."

"Alright, Astoria it is," He sighs pretend-reluctantly, rolling his eyes. She pokes her tongue out at him, and then laughs. The sound warms his blood, and he forgets the February chill and all thoughts of food as the melody rings out. When he returns to his senses, all he can think is, he's in so much fucking trouble.

#ayesha writes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky #bucky imagine #bucky barnes #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes x desi!reader #desi!reader

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bboongobbang · 8 years ago

Note

Hello~ can I request something where the RFA do a favor for MC and they're like "ohh you owe me something now" kind of teasingly, so she gives them a kiss. How would they react? ^^ thank you

ohyes

ZEN:

It’s the middle of summer, and the two of you are on the couch, far enough apart to keep from sharing body heat

The half-underground apartment keeps cool for the most part, but there is a major problem brewing

You are craving goldfish-shaped bread (bboongobbang) like nobody’s business

You want it so bad, and the truck is right outside, but it is SO HOT, and you CAN’T GET UP

And Zen, ever the knight in shining armor, agrees to go and bring it back for you

He comes back with the bag full of them, looking like an angel of delicious snack deliverance

And just as you reach for the bag

He yanks it out of your reach

“Zen...?”

“Do you know how hard it was to get this? The unforgiving sun, beating down on my poor, flawless, porcelain skin... The badgering for autographs, the guilt on my conscience, knowing that everyone in line was blinded by my presence...”

Oh boy, is he ever the drama king

“I think you owe me something in return for this~”

You pretend to think for a moment, playing along with his game

“Hm.... how about a kiss?”

He straight-up drops the bag and climbs over you, beast unleashed and ready to devour~

“Babe wait let me eat one first PLEASE”

JAEHEE:

After a full day working at the cafe, your lower back is sore and your shoulders are stiff

The moment you two get back to the apartment you weakly ask for a back massage

homegirl does judo, we all know she knows the pressure points and gives the best massages

She’s more than happy to oblige, and before long her fingers are working out knots you didn’t even know were there

i never let guys massage me bc its always kinda sexual but with jaehee it just feels natural

You always ask her because you know it doesn’t tire her, but this time she leans down to your ear

“This is the third massage this week, MC. I think you owe me something after this one.”

You tilt your head to look up at her

“Will a kiss do?”

Once you close the gap, Jaehee’s massage halts

And the kiss lasts a little longer than you had intended

Jaehee breaks off first, panting slightly and still paused looking at you

After a beat she resumes the massage with more gusto, eliciting an accidental moan from you

“Do you think we can work out an hourly rate?”

YOOSUNG:

This exam snuck up on you, but luckily Superman Yoosung was there to help

His grades have been slipping lately but he still knows how to study

he’s a SKY student, after all

You begged him to tutor you and he was surprisingly good at it

Underneath that gaming gremlin was a faint glimmer of the straight-A student

And his grades were even rising a little because of it

But countless nights in the library poring over books and making flashcards eventually paid off

As you refreshed and refreshed your grades

to find a 95%

Yoosung is proud and so happy for you

But he can’t hold back a yawn when he tells you

“Okay so now you owe me, right?”

You set your laptop down and take his hand in yours

“I don’t have much, but can I pay you in kisses?”

HOO BOY THAT WOKE HIM UP

You grab him and pull him down to you, wrapping your arms around him and pecking him once on the lips

“What’s my total, Mr. Kim?”

JUMIN:

You had been invited to an awards show for some affiliate company of C&R’s

And, amazingly, nothing in your ridiculously gargantuan wardrobe quite fit the dress code

At first you were uncomfortable with asking Jumin for things but as time went on you came to terms with the fact that money meant nothing to him

So as you perused your closet once again, a week before the event, you casually turned to Jumin as he sat on the bed behind you

“Jumin, this is stupid, but I don’t have anything to wear to the event next week.”

His interest is piqued and he pulls out a few dresses from your closet, only to return them to the hanger

“Can I trust you to find something classy for me?”

“Do you not trust my fashion sense?”

“I trust your fashion sense, darling, but I don’t trust your wallet. I’m not supposed to be the center of attention here- I just need something simple.”

He ponders the request for a moment, looking you over with an appraising eye

“That’s a tall order, MC. I think a task that monumental requires some compensation.”

The demand catches you off guard, but living with Jumin Han keeps you on your toes.

“Do you accept kisses as currency?”

He embraces you so quickly that it makes you a bit dizzy, and his kiss is firm but it’s soon over

“I won’t refuse it, but I think you made a poor financial decision, Princess.”

He leans close to your ear, sending a shiver of delight down your spine

“Your kisses are priceless.”

707:

You’ve been learning Arabic from Saeyoung, mostly just to get past his damn security

But the door stumped you one day

“Find the derivative of cos(x)sin(x).”

You pounded on the door as hard as you could

“Saeyoung, open up!”

The muffled reply:

“I’m busy! Just answer the question!”

“I can’t! I don’t know the answer!”

“What? It’s just calculus!”

“””””Just calculus””””””, he says

“I don’t remember calculus!”

“Just Noogle it!”

You kick the door as hard as you can.

“Okay, okay! cos2(x) - sin2(x)!”

The door swings open, revealing Saeyoung on the couch, watching cat videos on his laptop

You wrap your arms around him from behind, burying your face into his hair

“Get rid of the calculus questions, you jerk.”

He chuckles to himself

“And what will you give me if I do?”

You think about it for a moment

“I’ll give you a kiss~”

“Deal!”

He leans his head back to claim his payment right away, and pulls up a window on his laptop to disable the door questions

“We can start with Algebra, then~~”

lol some of these got a little saucy~~ sorry!

#mystic messenger #mysme headcanon #mysme #zen #hyun ryu #jaehee kang #yoosung kim #jumin han #luciel choi #707 #saeyoung choi #sfw #mysme hc #Anonymous

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rfassholes · 8 years ago

Note

Hey! Could I request how the RFA+V+Saeran would react to an MC who was learning Korean as their third language and is still pretty choppy/needs them to talk a bit slowly? Like I've known Japanese and English since birth pretty much, and I might learn Korean in the future, so maybe something like that if it makes sense? You don't have to use those languages btw! Sorry if that's too specific! I love your work so far, and I hope I see more from you soon, have a nice day!

Hell’s yeah I can! Don’t apologize either, sweet person, you have done no wrong. Also, don’t worry about how specific it is; it helps me understand what you’d like to read! I think it’s pretty rad that you’re learning another language, too! Thank you for supporting what I write and enjoying it. I hope you have a nice day, too; much love!

Yoosung:

He had to take a couple English classes to gradate highschool and get into uni, so he completely understood if you weren’t 100% fluent!

If you were pretty good at reading it, he’d lend you some random books so you could get practice

Wouldn’t pressure you to speak Korean in public either

that shit’s scary sometimes

He was really excited that you could speak Japanese, too

languages are really scary sometimes, okay?

Yoosung would brag to people on and off campus about your ability to speak multiple languages

He’s just really hyped that you’re really smart

He’d want to learn really cheesy phrases in Japanese and English

Extra excited if you wanted to learn Korean ones

Would be really nice to correct you if your grammar or pronunciation was off

8/8 would try to learn another language with you

“Yoosung, I’m already trying to figure out one right now” “But it’d be fun!” “You’ll probably stop practicing after a couple of weeks” “Well you’re not wrong, but-” “Yoosung, no” “Watch me”

Now he would say random things in Italian because sOMEONE missed the opportunity to when he signed up for a class

Jaehee:

You knew that Jumin probably had her be somewhat proficient in a couple of languages for business affairs

She might’ve only dealt with that for less than three years, but Jaehee wanted to enrich herself anyways

Then she found out that your Chinese was really good on top of your Tamil

Jaehee was happy that you were fluent in some of the languages of the countries she dealt with the most (no, I totally didn’t google what countries south korea imported and exported with the most)

You two became the couple that spoke different languages at home than in public

However, your Korean wasn’t as close to fluent as you’d like

I mean, she could tell from phone calls early on by your accent that Korean wasn’t your native

She really liked to sit by you while you were translating something aloud and she was working

Those were her favorite nights

Especially since you usually got her to pause working to help you work out a sentence or two

Then it turned into encouraging cheek kisses

Then she couldn’t completely focus

oH WELL

guess you both just have to….be….cute..what..a….tragedy

She would also buy you cute-looking books that were in Korean

It may or may not have been so she could get more of those nights

Zen:

He’s probably had some scripts that weren’t completely in Korean, so he’s familiar with some language patterns and can say “je suis un pomme”

dAMMIT, ZEN

Okay, so you were just slightly offended, because he thought he was saying he’s a prince

You’ll admit that knowing English and French then deciding to move to Korea was a bit odd

But c’mon, man

“…you do realize you just said you were an apple, yeah?” “No, I called myself a prince’ “We’re speaking in English right now” “That’s correct” “It’s literally prince in French” “Well, how was I supposed to know” “Dumbass”

You wouldn’t let him live that down for weeks

Zen then tried to get you to speak a bit more Korean when you were on set rather than confusing people

oh shit

my cover’s blown

Well, now you were the one getting made fun of

“You called me a table” “That may be true” “A tABLE, MC” “At least I said you were a pretty table?” “You called me a moist table, MC” “Okay, okay, you see-” “Mhm” “Shut up, pretty boy” “I thought I was a table?” “That wasn’t even funny” “…” “You’re still a dumbass”

Nobody in the rfa chats knew what you meant by calling him an apple

Then Zen just had to talk about The Table Incident

MC has left the chat

cue him running into the living room

“but, bAAAABE” “Leave, you apple” “MC, love meeee” “I already do” “Can I at least get a hug” “Nope”

MC has entered the chat

He then tried to get take the phone while you were typing out The Apple Prince Incident

You got Seven in on it to change his name in the messenger to je suis un pomme for a week

Seven: (slight route spoilers, but I changed it a bit anyways)

blah, blah, taxes, blah, author of several books in Arabic, blah, likes cat

w a i t j u s t a d i d d l y d a r n s e c o n d

Arabic? And Portuguese?

aww yisss

This was probably when he approved you and went straight to V

Plus cats?? That was a bonus

He really liked talking to you with the messenger even if your grammar was a teensy bit off

may or may not have recorded a few phone calls to hear your accent

Once you had gotten to meet him at the apartment

whoo, boy

He was getting on your nerves just a bit

You snapped just a bit and kinda sorta went off on him in Arabic and he just sat there

“You done?” “Yes, was there an issue?” “Yeah, it was kinda hot”

*narrator voice* He realized he had Fucked Up right Then And There

“You didn’t hear that” “Sev-” “Good day”

This time he wasn’t staying away to protect you, he just didn’t want to turn as read as his hair next time he had to see you

He finally had been able to hold a conversation after staying stonefaced in an attempt to forget

You didn’t tho

After everything had gotten sorted out and you had understood why he was acting like that, it was pretty okay

Neither of your dumbasses realized that you were both speaking Portuguese during the Incident, so the only time he heard your Korean was on the phone

He’d take breaks from working whenever you wanted to practice the language

I mean, if he could be fluent in seventeen, so could you

Seven regarded your ability to speak Arabic as something “holy” and was ecstatic that you were one of the few that didn’t need his help to get home

Jumin:

Once he found out that you could read and listen to Korean, but not speak it all that well, he immediately found a tutor

He’d like when you’d hold short converstaions with him in his native

However, Jumin just didn’t know that you were fluent in Russian and German

It took him a couple of weeks until you greeted him as “dorogoy” (my dear) when he came home from work one night

Jumin knew a fair bit of other languages, so you both spoke to each other in this odd Franken-language (lmao but that’s German already)

He really loved it when you’d forget a word in Korean and looked confused for a second before saying it in German

Would always help you with a word or slang phrases

just because he had to look them up does not invalidate this

Definitely would buy you so many books

You’d probably end up with the same book as multiple copies in other languages

He just wanted the best access to literature for “mein liebling“ (my beloved)

Would be the Softest if you had a question or wanted to carry longer conversations in Korean

So! Supportive!

Since he’s traveled so much, he knows how to ask and follow directions, ask how someone’s doing, and general things like that in a variety of languages

Once he found out you spoke Dutch and Hebrew, he wanted to learn more about the languages

You’d lean against each other on the couch at night and ask questions about each others languages

“How do I call you my moon?” “Mijn maan” “I like that; it suits you” “How do I call you my star?” “Naui byeol” “I think that suits you, too”

If he ever went to a country where many people spoke either languages, he’d ask you to come

Definitely took photos of you interacting with people and reading plaques at exhibits

Was kind of an excuse to take you on a vacation

V would also would carry both a Dutch to Korean and a Hebrew to Korean dictionary for you if you couldn’t remember the word to say something to him

Started having you write descriptions of his work for exhibitions so he could broaden his market

Would 784282/8 continuously help you if your speaking was a bit choppy and lessen any anxiety you had about it

Saeran:

“Just buy some dictionaries” “Yeah, well, what if I don’t want to?” “Then google translate” “But then I’d end up saying something stupid” “You always say stupid things, though, MC” “Don’t be an asshat” “Suggestion taken” (haha, what? me? use google translate for the languages I don’t speak for this post? pssh)

He’d be the ones to leave passive aggressive sticky notes in other languages if you weren’t paying attention

Also the one to label things if he didn’t understand the yelling in Haitian Creole

he’s trying, okay?

Saeran may speak multiple languages but not whatever that spewing was

“Saeran, that was Korean” “Yeah, and I’m a cat” “Hey, at least I tried” “You asked me if the parakeet gave a prophecy, MC” “…That’s besides the point”

Would correct you bluntly

Would continue with the sticky notes on everything

started learning Greek and Haitian Creole so he could add proper translations to things

One morning, he woke up with a sticky note on his forehead that labeled him as “내 사랑, αγάπη μου, doudou mwen”

He ended up keeping that in a drawer on his nightstand

I’m sorry that I write this at several different times. I’d be glad to fix any of these if you don’t like them. Especially Seven’s. I did horribly with his. I hope that they were semi-decent, though, and that you enjoy a few of them!

Please correct any mistakes I made with the languages. I can only vouch for the ones I speak, the rest were google translate. If there’s any other issues, I’d be glad to fix them as well!

#mm headcanons #mm requests #mystic messenger #mystic messenger hcs #mystic messenger requests #yoosung kim #jaehee kang #mystic messenger zen #707 #luciel choi #saeyoung choi #jumin han #v mystic messenger #jihyun kim #saeran choi

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aucpresidentialinterns-blog · 8 years ago

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Why I came here:

This week, we took some time to reflect on why we decided to join the Presidential Internship Program, and how we’ve grown along the way.

Kara Fitzgerald, Office of the President

As someone whose academic focus was international relations and whose personal and professional focus was education, AUC seemed like the perfect opportunity for me to explore the intersection of my interests and learn through experience what international education can mean. I can't say that I weighed all my options and decided on the Presidential Internship Program, because when I was accepted, it was still the only application I had submitted. When I was offered the position, I knew I could not turn down an opportunity that seemed both an amazing transition program from college to post-college life, and a program perfectly tailored to my interests.

My primary goal in coming to AUC was to develop my professional skills, specifically in communications, and to gain experience in navigating a large institution at the executive level. Ultimately, I was confident that in meeting these goals, I would be better positioned as a compelling candidate for prestigious graduate programs and a career in diplomacy. I feel as though I have more than met these goals. I have been surprised by the opportunities I have had to not only continuously grow in my professional research and writing skills, but to also be witness to and part of AUC's policy agenda, facing both the Egyptian and American governments. Moreover, I am constantly surprised by how full my life in Cairo has become: with my intern cohort support network, Arabic tutoring, AUC friends, city exploration, etc.

Suzi Kondic, Office of Sustainability

To organize my post-grad search for opportunities, I set up several goals for myself. They were somewhere along the lines of 1. Live in a new place, 2. Put my degree to use, and 3. Get hands-on professional experience in the environmental field. I assumed that I would have to settle for fulfilling one, or at most two, of these goals. The Presidential Internship Program stood out to me because it allowed me to take a substantial, professional step while exploring a part of the world that was completely new to me. In terms of making the choice the accept my offer, I talked through my decision with just about anyone who would listen. It all came down to realizing this was a now-or-never opportunity.

Before I arrived at AUC, I didn't speak a word of Arabic and I had never been to the region before, so I honestly had very vague expectations. I didn't set up any specific goals to achieve by the end of the year, rather, I just planned to give it my best shot and see where that got me. Now that we're seven months in, I can already feel that this year has been a time of profound self-growth, in almost every realm. I'm happy to report that I'm proud of the work I'm doing at the Office of Sustainability, I can now have (very) basic conversations in halting Arabic, and I will be leaving this Program with more focused aims for my career moving forward.

Jacqueline Gill, Office of Data Analytics and Institutional Research

I first heard about the Presidential Internship Program at AUC from the director of Fordham's Middle East Studies department during my junior year. I immediately knew that I wanted to be a part of the program, and over the course of the next year it became the number one thing that I wanted to do after graduation. At the time, I was considering a lot of “what-ifs?” What if I pursue a career in academia or research? What if I live abroad? What if I commit myself to studying Arabic? The Presidential Internship Program fulfilled all that I hoped to find in a post-grad opportunity, and more. As I continued my college career, held several internships and learned even more about the program, I felt that participating in the program would fulfill even more of my goals, and what-ifs - some that I had not even considered when I first learned about the program.

The DAIR position was not added to the AUC internship program until this year, and I am so glad that it was. I feel that I am growing personally and professionally everyday that I am at AUC. At DAIR, I have built on the planning and research skills that I developed in the classroom at Fordham and as an intern working on the strategic plan for the EastWest Institute. I have plunged into Arabic, and I am constantly improving. I have also been at the center of an on-going university-wide self-study. In my position, I work with individuals in nearly every department at the university. I can pick their brains not only their experiences working and researching in academia, but also about strategic decision making and management. I feel that experiences that I have had and the skills that I have further developed as the Presidential Intern in the DAIR office have made me a better decision maker and leader. From the moment that I heard about this program, I knew that it would be the next best step to accomplish my broader personal and professional goals. So when the time came for me to make my decision, my main thought was: why not?

David Chy, Office of Advancement and Communications (Advancement)

As senior year of college rolled along, the pressure to lock in postgraduate opportunities mounted. After living my entire life in Rhode Island, I knew I wanted to live and work elsewhere. I never imagined that my first home outside of Rhode Island would be Egypt, but then I discovered the Presidential Internship Program at The American University in Cairo...

I had never been abroad before, so the idea seemed interesting. I researched the program and AUC and became convinced that it was the right opportunity for me. The opportunity to learn Arabic, in particular, drew me to AUC. Since my arrival in Egypt, I've gone from zero Arabic language capability to being able to give directions in taxis and order basic meals at restaurants! The program has afforded me the opportunity to establish a foundation in Arabic, travel extensively throughout the region and develop professional skills that will benefit me in the future.

Leila Ruiz, Office of the Vice President for Administration and Finance

Arabic (Middle Eastern Languages and Cultures, Language track with a focus in Arabic) was one of my majors in college. I knew I wanted to work in the region and utilize those skills. While I wasn't completely fluent, I also knew that I didn't want to spend another year exclusively studying Arabic in the region, as I was excited to start my career. The PIP is an amazing opportunity that perfectly aligned with those goals. There is no similar program in the region.

Going into the program, I sought to gain meaningful work experience, determine if this was the region I really did want to work in, learn more Arabic, travel and do cool things. My time at AUC has enabled me to do all of those things.

Tyler Karty, Research Institute for a Sustainable Environment

For a long time I was trying in vain to find something that I could do between graduation and grad school that would allow me to pursue research in crop and soil sciences while allowing me to hone my Arabic skills. What kind of program would offer something that crazy? After all the Arabic exams and grammar, there was no way I could stay in the US and not put my Arabic to good use. Now I'm not a religious man, but when I saw and read about the PIP and RISE, it felt like some kind of divine intervention. To this day I have no idea how I didn't delete that email from my adviser.

Since coming here I have grown professionally and personally. I've learned how to operate in a culture and work climate very much the opposite to where I first studied at Michigan State. I have had incredible experiences with the rest of our awesome cohort and am really excited to see the next group come and grow like we have.

These next few months are going to be really exciting for me at work. Im lucky to be able to operate independently and have the freedom to begin my own projects and make impacts on what we do at RISE. Hopefully the end doesn't come too quickly.

Katherine Pollock, Office of Advancement and Communications (Communications)

As a Middle East studies major, I knew that I wanted to move to the region following graduation to improve my language skills and get more "on-the-ground experience." However, having already traveled and studied abroad, I knew I wanted to take a more professional, career-focused step. So the Presidential Internship Program was the perfect way to get to live abroad without sacrificing the professional development that many first-year-out-of-college jobs can offer.

I don't think I necessarily set specific goals coming into the program. Rather, I wanted to use this year as a way to develop my skills (Arabic, writing, etc) and to find more clarity on what kind of career I wanted. While I still definitely haven't decided what "I want to do with my life," this year has solidified for me that I'm passionate about the Middle East and writing. I've realized that if I can find a career that combines those two things in some way, then I'll be fulfilled.

#aucinterns

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lawandlinguisticsandeuropeandfun · 6 years ago

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CLS Hindi Acceptance! and Advice

*Obligatory my opinions are just that, my own. They do not represent the views or objectives of the CLS, the US Department of State, or American Councils.*

I’ve had an exciting week! I just found out I received the U.S. Department of State’s Critical Language Scholarship for Hindi. That means I will spend this summer in Jaipur, India studying the language for about 20 hours a week while doing various cultural activities in between. Find out more about the CLS program here. Though I haven’t done much for the program aside from getting accepted, I really recommend the experience for any American langblrs out there. I’ve seen that langblr/Tumblr is really lacking some CLS information, so I want to relay some things that I’ve learned so far plus a little bit of advice for getting the scholarship, based on my experience.

Use all the resources available to you.

The CLS website is really great because they have names of previous participants, your campus advisors for every language at your university, webinars and so much more. Take a weekend to sit down and survey all the advice that CLS itself offers: most of what I’ve learned I’ve taken directly from what they’ve told applicants to do. The CLS application process is, in my view, extremely straightforward: they’re not trying to trick or weed out applicants for any weird reason, they want who they say they want on the website - passionate, interesting college students who will work hard to learn a language. If you can give that impression in your application, you’re golden.

Outside of CLS, gradcafe forums, some older Tumblr/Reddit posts, and Youtube all helped me get an idea of what the program is like. Likewise, an hour of googling can give you some more specific nuggets of information to include in your application.

ALSO on-campus resources at your college will likewise be super helpful to you. I visited my college’s Writing Center I think 4-5 times to draft and revise my essays, and I’m so glad I did. Ask around, and find study abroad officers, alums, and CLS advisors at your school to help you prepare for your application, and hopefully, your time abroad!

Don’t let Imposter Syndrome stop you: This program isn’t just for foreign language majors or people from “prestigious” colleges.

CLS goes through extensive lengths to recruit applicants from a variety of colleges, experiences, and majors. Finalists come from community colleges and the Ivy league, and language majors are far from the only participants. CLS just wants to see you make a unique case that your experience and your field of study will benefit from the scholarship: do some research on the country/ies that speak your target language and find connections between that and your academic career.

Make your application specific and construct a timeline.

To be blunt, CLS is already aware of the fact that 1 billion people speak Chinese/K-Pop is gaining global musical influence/Farsi is an important language due to historical Iran-America relations. Not only that, the readers for the program have likely been told these very general factoids in thousands of application essays. My advice is to save that space in your essays and give the readers a few tangible and vivid details of your relationship to that language. It goes without saying that you think more people should speak your target language because that’s the entire purpose of CLS. Also, if you speak/use other languages in your daily life make a really interesting connection between the two! For example, I previously was an exchange student to Croatia, so I discussed my interest in the religion and politics behind the Serbian/Bosnian/Croatian and Hindi/Urdu linguistic divides. Write essays that give the readers a good idea of who you are, and try to stay away from bland and well-known facts about CLS and your language.

Another thing that really helped my application was that my advisor told me to draw out a timeline for my future as I see it now. With those long-term goals of mine, I wrote how Hindi and India fit into my life, and featured those connections in my essays.

Also write to impart some sense of urgency upon the reader: why CLS now? When you give the impression that your goals are detailed and realistic, your application will be so much better!

Talk about what you’re doing now.

CLS wants to see a demonstrated commitment to the goal of acquiring and using your target language, in whatever unique way you’ve gone about that. Be creative! If you have a langblr for your target language, talk about it! Write how you’ve made vocabulary lists and answered writing prompts in your language. In my essays, I wrote about how I couldn’t take Hindi classes at my college due to a schedule conflict, so I arranged to audit lessons instead. I’ve heard of people starting study groups, conversational coffee hours, and tutoring programs, in addition to things like dance and martial arts lessons, calligraphy, and so much more.

Choose your language first, not the program.

Sidenote: while CLS is amazing in that it fully funds all travel, room/board, and academic expenses for every student, I’ve come across people online trying to “game” the program by trying to strategically choose less common languages that receive fewer applications to the program. CLS offers about 16 languages, and from my experience the bigger programs are Russian, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, and Korean. So for example, a student may really want to get into CLS in general, and despite their having five years study of Russian, they may choose, say, the Azeri program because it receives fewer applications. As a very competitive and generous program, I seen people prioritize getting accepted over any consideration of the actual language they will be spending months studying.

So the first problem with this approach is that a) we don’t know the exact distribution of applications for a given language for any given year, and b) CLS compensates for the fewer applications of these less-spoken/studied languages by offering fewer spots. So the low amount of information applicants receive means that practically you should choose the language you would do the best studying over any sort of strategy to get into CLS in the first place.

Secondly, your application will likely be stronger if you choose the language you are most passionate about and connects best to your future career.

#CLS #Critical Language Scholarship #CLS Hindi #CLS Jaipur #Hindi #Langblr

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