#WHAT IF SOMEONE WANTS TO STUDY GREEK INSTEAD OF FRENCH

[yuri-is-online]

Yuri, what do you think about the theory that the Clash happened because Clementia found out a dark secret about the Academy/ghouls and got offed as a result? Because it's been keeping me up at night and I NEED ANSWERS

edit: while I was writing this I went back to the intro so I could read the prophecy and noticed something in the Intro I think we all missed since I haven't seen anyone really talk about it. When naming the dorms, Luca obviously does not list Clemntia, but he also does not name Obscuary. When asked neither does Kaito, but I assume that is the seventh and "newest house of the current line up" he describes as "having no general students and even most ghoul students cannot join it... you cannot be assigned there by the Weighing of Souls." There is a rumor about "their captain being the one to-" and then he is cut off by Cornelius. Is that also related to the Clash? What is Ed rumored to have done?

... huh. I should. I should probably get back on the reddit or look at world chat. Or maybe join a guild that's got more active people in it that aren't french or a discord because this is the first I have heard of this. I want to make a lengthy post here at some point about what we know about Clementia from the story + some trivia stuff I have noticed but none of it really helps beyond suggesting that it's 1) vaguely church/holy themed and 2) has some roman and greek influences. Neither of which assist us in figuring out what happened to them.

For my part, my brain keeps turning towards the fact they seem to be responsible for "exorcisms" and that the ghouls have "lately" been refusing to capture the anomalies and insist on killing them. Darkwick has a lot of anomalies in their care, and as we see in Book 4 it can create them as well. I was wondering if maybe Clementia's duties extended past exorcising anomolies, were they also responsible for their proper storage? To me I feel like the ghouls (specifically Taiga) have a reason for thinking it is best to kill the anomalies instead of taking them back for study. My reasoning for this is mostly that I can't see Tohma, who makes a point to be in good standing with the school, actively whoops a daisying every single mission he does "just because." Whatever happened with the Clash clearly caused a break in relations between the school and its ghouls, based of Taiga saying the spy among them is trying to "make us ghouls look bad" I think the general belief among one faction (let's call them Tohma's Faction since he was the first one to bring up the spy) is that whatever happened was not actually the ghouls's fault. Perhaps even that things were instigated on purpose.

That feels like a lot of word vomit, basically what I am trying to say is that I don't think the ghouls trust the school with the care of anomalies at the moment, and that an anomaly of some sort is what was responsible for what happened to Clementia more so than the school itself. Perhaps a very powerful demon? I sort of get the feeling that whatever happened to Clementia was not whatever the instigator (if one exists) intended, if for no other reason than it was the only dorm destroyed. There's a chance this person wanted all of the ghouls destroyed, the school seems to think that the prophecy they keep is about a ghoul but I'm not so sure. "The whisper of the new moon will lead the champion to the academy on the solitary isle. So long as the champion resides there, the world shall be sheltered from profound tragedy." I could just be overthinking things but that doesn't really sound like something meant to encourage someone to be a protector of something... it sounds like instructions for a cage. Like as long as a specific thing is contained on the island, then the world will be safe.

Of course none of my thoughts exclude the idea Clementia was destroyed for finding something out, but to me it seems less like a punishment and more like a preemptive strike. If that makes any sense?

[wolfsbane-archive]

Book Reviews with Elvira!

As a part of my studies right now, I've been having to read a lot of books in our collection. Clement wants me to make a small exhibition for the archives on anything I want, so lots of reading has to be done to find out what I'm interested in. I know I've always enjoyed learning about vampiric magic, which is more heavily practiced among women than men. The first book I've read is a Greek translation of Die Macht, so I have decided to do a review of it for you all!

Die Macht / Ἠ Ισχύς

This book was written by Isolde Vanderwolven and Elsebeth Vanderwolven Lehmann. It was originally published in German in 1902. The book I read is a Greek translation by Agata Kouris, which was published in 1905. We have both the German and Greek translations, as well as English, French, and a couple other languages. It is a very popular book!

Ἠ Ισχύς is a summary of the history of vampiric magic practices in Northern Europe, especially among Frisian and Vanderwolvian vampires living in what is now Germany and Sweden. It, of course, focuses on magic in Schakal-Burg, and Katrinna Vanderwolven's magic teachings. Even before she was a vampire she was a witch, and a very powerful one. Her magic teachings are widely practiced in Eurasia, from my understanding. Jihei told me he has even seen Vanderwolvian witches as far away as Eastern Russia!

I did not like this book very much. It is very strict about the 'right' way to do magic, which is just how the Vanderwolvens are. There is a right way to do everything for them. However, I think that it is important to know as many ways to do one thing as possible, and, sadly, this is one of the ways to do magic. It also gives a very good look into why women vampires are more likely to do magic than the men. There is an entire chapter about Isolde and Elsebeth becoming witches and why they became witches. It is very interesting if you can get a copy in your hands. I have always felt a little bad for the both of them, and their stories of getting into magic were very empowering for someone who has lived in similar situations to them. Especially Isolde.

Anyways, I think I give this book 5 out of 10 teeth! I will be rating things out of teeth instead of out of stars, because I think it is very important to always be a little silly, no matter if you're human or vampire.

Thank you for reading my book review! I will try to share more as I read more books. I will also ask Clement to do some as well, because he has read a great many more books than I have!

Hugs,

Elvira

[darkfictionjude]

I was thinking about an old ask where MC had made the effort to learn Spanish for Imre. And was wondering if there is a possibility for MC to know more than just English, or they never had the chance to learn anything else so far. From what I remember, and I may be wrong, Sally supposedly knew other languages? I'm not sure if that's the case.

Then again, MC never was a very good student, a part of me believes it is because they never cared about it more than because of ineptitude. Yet, because of this, it would make sense to believe MC never learned another language. There is no reason to. Not only they have no need, since they live in an English speaking country (and, if we assume the town could be in Canada, no one seems to be speaking French either). But also, MC seems too uninterested to learn anything. So, unless Sally himself made sure MC studied another language (and I don't see a reason why he would do such a thing so far) I don't see MC actually doing it.

Of course, there is a chance that once MC's character arc advances or finishes, that MC may learn other languages. And not just alive natural languages like Spanish or French, but maybe also classic or dead languages as Latin or Ancient Greek. This last part is unlikely, unless MC was inspired enough by Imre's interest in paleontology, but MC preferred archeology instead.

On the other hand, being a member of an old money family (even if the family is broke now), it would make sense for the children to be taught other languages, just as a sign of status. But even if this was the case, MC probably was never an enthusiastic student, and would be losing any progress while internated.

It would be kind of cool if there was a chance to choose a second language, maybe as a reference to a possible origin for the Crown family (I remember the ask I wrote about the family possible Latino origins). Then, of course, it's wholly unnecessary and would be rather flavour text, and no more. Unless you decided to include segments of the game in another language (like a puzzle), just so MC could use this knowledge, but that would be unfair to the players who didn't want to know another language (although, you could make it, in that case, as if the language was Spanish and Imre was able to solve it, or there were clues nearby that allowed to translate the thing). That is just an idea, and not really a good one, I think.

That said, you probably shouldn't add the feature, as I have many reasons to believe MC wouldn't speak nothing but English, and the addition would, in most cases, be useless. Unless you went out of your way to make it meaningful. It just adds unnecessary complications.

You do think a lot don’t you etymology nonnie? (At least I hope it’s you or this would be embarrassing)

As someone who lives in Canada unless you’re close to Quebec small towns in most provinces don’t speak French. Sally does kind of know a second language but I can’t reveal what it is yet.

Also yeah there was no need for mc to learn another language apart from doing it for fun and I don’t think mc understands what doing something for fun is yet so they would have never seen a need to. They likely believed they’d stay in Croun till the day they die so what’s the point of learning anything?

[chaotic-timelord]

TSH spoilers ahead

“My stomach burned but I felt oddly calm. Getting shot, I'd always thought, would hurt a lot more than this.” — this is the way Richard, at least at first, reacts to bring shot. Why? I never got shot so I might be wrong here, but from what I’ve heard and read getting shot usually hurts a lot. So why is Richard that calm about it? He didn’t even focus the group’s attention on the wound until in between half a page and a page later, which means he was probably so caught in the events that he barely remember he should tell them [not that it helped much, but I’ll discuss this other topic later].

My first theory’s quite simply : he was lying. Instead of passing next to a fatal point maybe the bullet just went through his skin, but it wasn’t deep enough to damage anything at all, causing surely less pain than what’d have happened if it were deep. We know Richard’s a very unreliable narrator, and by making the wound sound more dangerous than it was he might’ve tried to make it all more dramatic. Or maybe he’s lying about the pain. I mean, do we really expect Richard, who didn’t describe how it felt to be basically killed by the col when he was in the hippie’s house? [if I remember this right, he described only the events, not the feelings] In reality he was at least sitting down in pain and focusing all the attention on himself, or barely resisting the attempt to do it to see how the tensions in the group’d develop. Richard doesn’t strike as someone who’d gladly write about anything he doesn’t want to write about, so perhaps he wanted to seem braver by narrating as if he was calm during the whole scene.

Of course he might not have gotten shot at all and written he did just because of a really plain reason which’d make it all look stupid- he got a bad grade in his french test and instead of writing that decided to make up a situation where he skipped it or something sounding as ridiculous [imagine the scene : Charles and Henry almost fighting, Francis and Camilla having no idea what to do {with Camilla standing there until nearly the end like the 🧍🏻emoji, Francis probably thinking ‘oh my bacchus I need to drink. And have sex. What if I propose this to the group when Camilla isn’t listening after we’re done here?’ and Richard thinking about how to make it all sound poetic}.

Anyways, back to the theories- he wasn’t lying and was somehow lost enough in thoughts to not even notice he was shot at first. He didn’t feel it, just realised when he looked down. This seems less realistic to me than the previous ones, but Richard got surely influenced a lot by the rest of the greek class - even though he clearly didn’t belong in it - so his first though could have been a quote from a book they’d been studying, or a thought about the translation of words like ‘bullet’ and ‘death’ into ancient greek [yes, I bet Richard would have tried to translate ‘bullet’ into ancient greek. At least he can sort of justify it by explaining how he was still ‘in shock’ about getting shot and so on].

Now, the group’s reactions. As we all know, the group basically didn’t give a damn about Richard in that moment. As I mentioned before they were all busy doing / trying not to do other things [except for Camilla, and I’m not sorry at all to say she lacks a backbone. What the hell was she even thinking before the end? ‘Oh too bad my qpp and my brother don’t get along together. What should I do? Ah, right, stand here like a statue’?], and they either ignored him or thought he was kidding.

I doubt they wouldn’t have seen the wound if they had looked at his shirt, but the majority of them was distracted and thinking about other things - and dealing with an injured person wouldn’t have helped - and Richard said that he looked at /him/. The normal reaction to being in some way called by someone is looking at them in the face, not looking at their shirt. Because of what he had said they should have checked whether he was alright or not, but seeing the situation I doubt any of them even thought it. The only ones who weren’t deep enough in problems to worry about it were Francis and Camilla, but Francis was surely used to Richard lying and saying things not the way they really were, and Camilla was too - scared, worried, overthinking about what’ll happen? I can’t relate to Camilla at all, so like with Richard I have no idea what she might have been thinking back then - to worry about Richard.

On the other side, they might have noticed the wound [and silently insulted Charles for causing that additional problem]. It’s possible that they just ignored it and truly didn’t care, but I doubt it. None of them was emotionally bound to Richard enough to try to help him - plus they were so absent from reality that I’d be very surprised to find out any of them had any medical knowledge - and they must have known their lives were about to change forever, since in a very little amount of time the owner of the place started knocking on the door, so what difference did a dead or injured classmate make? He wasn’t as close as they were. He never went on bacchanals with them. And they killed Bunny, someone they were much closer to, so maybe they silently agreed to focus on what they could still try to sort out and let the owners call an hospital instead, or directly let him die in case the owners weren’t fast enough. Feel free to add anything to any part of the post - I’ve just noticed I don’t have any other idea that makes much sense on the 2 topics, but I’m sure there’s lots of theories I haven’t thought about.

[what-and-how-todo-writing]

The Myth of Sisyphus

This is going to be a longer post, just letting you all know. Albert Camus is one of my favorite authors, and The Myth of Sisyphus is one of my favorite essays to ever have been written, and I wanted to share it with all of you.

If you have any questions; please let me know. I'm always opened for answering those. Below the line is my ramble, but for those of you who do not know what it's about; it's basically the realization of the 'absurd' does not justify suicide, and instead requires "revolt." He then outlines several approaches to the absurd life in the book.

Brief Biography of Albert Camus

Albert Camus was born in Algeria when it was still a French colony. His father, Lucien, died in World War I when Camus was still a baby. Camus’ mother, an illiterate house cleaner, brought him up thereafter. Showing aptitude for his schooling, Camus was accepted to the University of Algiers. Here he developed his sense of political engagement, joining first the Communist Party and later the Algerian People’s Party. In 1930 he contracted tuberculosis, causing him to give up playing soccer (he was a skillful goalkeeper) and meaning he had to study part-time. He graduated in 1936. Camus joined the French Resistance at the beginning of World War II, and worked for an underground resistance newspaper, eventually becoming its editor in 1943. It was during his military service, too, that he met Jean-Paul Sartre, the existential philosopher. In 1942, Camus published The Myth of Sisyphus, the first of a number of works that strove to look at the meaning of life and elucidate Camus’ theory of absurdism. Also that year, he published his first novel The Outsider (also translated as The Stranger). The Plague followed in 1947, and The Fall in 1952. In 1957, Camus was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature (becoming the second youngest recipient after Rudyard Kipling). He died in 1960 as the result of a car accident. Camus was married twice, but had strong criticisms of the institution.

Historical Context of The Myth of Sisyphus

Albert Camus began writing at a turbulent time in the history of mankind. His father was a casualty of World War I, and not long after Camus found himself part of the French Resistance during World War II. The Vichy government had capitulated to the Nazis, surrendering Paris and much of the rest of France too. Perhaps this historical moment can be detected in The Myth of Sisyphus, which represents nothing less than an inquiry into the apparent meaninglessness of life. Furthermore, Camus’ military service kept him away from his native Algeria, perhaps evidenced by the book’s recurrent mention of man’s exile from the world (or from understanding the world). In employing the Greek myth of Sisyphus, though, Camus is keen to stress the ahistorical nature of what he is discussing. That is, though the warring of the twentieth century might have heightened the futility of life—made it more prominently visible—Camus sees the problem of absurdity as one simply fundamental to the human condition. For Camus, mankind’s longing for meaning in a meaningless world was a fact of existence in the past and will remain so in the future. 

The feeling that life is meaningless is a consequence of certain unavoidable experiences in life.

If you were to ask someone, “Why do you choose to stay alive?” you might get a host of different answers. Some feel an obligation to family. Others might be driven by a curiosity about what life has in store for them. And some may have never considered the question at all and would reply with an exasperated eye roll.

Camus argues that the most common reason people choose to go on living is a general sense that our activities in life are worth doing.

This is especially true when we’re young, and life seems full of hope and promise. We’re driven by ambitions. We think of ourselves as progressing. And we feel that our actions have good reasons behind them.

But there comes a time in a person’s life when nagging doubts begin to nibble at this optimism. There are two experiences, in particular, that are prone to challenge life’s sense of purposefulness: the repetitive nature of our days and an increasing consciousness of our impending death.

In the grind of the nine-to-five work cycle, where eat, sleep, work, repeat is the mantra of our lives, the repetitive quality of our actions makes itself known. We begin to feel more like machines than people. And constant repetition is enough to drive out any passion we once found in our work. In the exhaustion that we feel at the end of a workday, it’s not uncommon for us to wonder what all this is really for.

To make matters worse, the inevitability of the final destination – death – only looms more and more prominently over our lives as we grow older. It serves as an ever-present reminder that nothing we do in life is of any lasting consequence.

In light of these two unpleasant experiences, it’s not uncommon for an individual to feel that her struggles and suffering in life are pointless.

This feeling that life has no ultimate value or meaning is what Camus calls the absurd.

The reason the absurd is so critical to the present discussion is that it’s directly related to the question of suicide.

It’s often assumed that if life has no meaning, then it isn’t worth living.

If this is true, then it presents a very real, very urgent, dilemma for anyone who feels this way about their life. Do they go on living in denial of the uncomfortable truth that colors their whole perspective, or do they end their life?

The overarching problem in these blinks is to examine whether meaninglessness does imply worthlessness or if it’s possible to live a good life in a meaningless world after all.

The absurd emerges in the confrontation between a person who craves understanding and a world that resists it.

So far, we’ve considered the absurd experience from the point of view of a sense of value. In the tedious toil of our work and in the uncomfortable awareness of our impending deaths, we witness the value of our activities evaporate before our eyes.

But there’s another type of absurd experience that has less to do with value and more with the impossibility of ever arriving at permanent knowledge or understanding of the world. 

These intellectual types of absurd experiences tend to be momentary and surreal. For example, we have an absurd experience when we momentarily fail to recognize ourselves in the mirror. Or, another example is when, for a split second, an intimate loved one appears like a total stranger.

What’s common to these experiences is that objects are momentarily divested of the meaning we normally attribute to them. Instead, we see them in their naked materiality as pure things.

Such experiences confirm that the material universe is in itself devoid of meaning. Instead, it’s human minds that are responsible for imposing meaning and order on the world so that we can make sense of it. For example, we label this person a “friend,” that person a “lover,” and those things “shoes.” This works pretty well when it comes to navigating the world on a day-to-day basis.

The problem is that the world is infinitely more diverse and more complex than our limited ability to understand it allows. Objects are constantly overflowing the narrow labels that we place on them, forcing us to re-evaluate those labels. Things don’t remain “friends” or “lovers” or “shoes” forever.

And when it comes to the really big questions, such as understanding why the universe exists, our attempts at understanding are hopelessly futile. Camus compares the person who tries to understand the world to a sword fighter who attempts to take on a platoon of gunmen. Both figures are absurd insofar as they are so hopelessly ill-equipped for the task that faces them.

Thus, Camus defines absurdity as the confrontation between a person who craves meaning and understanding on the one hand and a world that constantly resists understanding on the other.

So, the person who feels the world to be absurd in this intellectual sense feels that any theory that claims to be a final explanation of the world is disingenuous. In all likelihood, we will never come to a satisfactory answer to the meaning of existence. So what then? 

The flight into faith is an inauthentic evasion of our absurd situation.

The absurd experience is fundamentally uncomfortable. It implies that our burning desire for purpose and understanding in life will never be completely met.

For some people, this awareness is simply too intolerable to bear. Thus, they seek an escape from the impasse. The typical mode of escape is to turn back to the doctrines of religion and philosophy through faith.

In a sense, faith in a doctrine solves the problem of the absurd by offering people answers to the meaning of life as well as providing a pre-packaged blueprint for living. The problem Camus has with this “solution” to meaninglessness is that it’s born more out of terror than of reason.

Camus is not in the business of arguing that religions or philosophies are false. Rather, he merely points out that both religious and philosophical systems always end up depending upon assumptions that no one can possibly know for certain since they transcend lived human experience.

The only thing we can be sure of is our immediate sensory experience and the things contained within it. Any attempt to make claims beyond our experience is, therefore, an illegitimate move.

Of course, we might question the value of such an extreme adherence to certainty. If one has a more comfortable and enjoyable life with religious faith, isn’t that justification enough?

Well, the problem for Camus is not that blind faith is a betrayal of the truth. The truth is always uncertain, anyway. The problem is that turning to faith is a betrayal of oneself.

When people flee from the absurd into faith, they’re being deeply inauthentic. They are, in a sense, lying to themselves. They’re not living according to what they really believe in their hearts.

For Camus, one doesn’t solve the meaninglessness of life by pretending that it has meaning after all. The only authentic response is to accept and embrace meaninglessness for what it is.

In practice, this means three things: a total absence of hope for a better future, a continual rejection of any doctrine that claims to be an absolute answer to the meaning of life, and a conscious dissatisfaction that never goes away.

While this may seem like a recipe for a rather dreary existence, meaninglessness by no means prevents one from living a rich and fulfilled life. According to Camus, we must revolt against the absurd, not by denying it, but by living life to the fullest in spite of it.

The absurd is the condition for profound freedom.

In the previous blink, we heard the case for why taking refuge in religious faith is an inauthentic response to the absurd.

But, again, one might question the value of authenticity. If one lives a happier life with faith in God and an afterlife, then who cares if they’re being inauthentic?

Well, practically speaking, there are benefits to living authentically with the absurd. Over the next two blinks, we’ll discuss the two principal virtues of authentic living: freedom and passion. 

While religious doctrines might placate the discomfort of the absurd by giving meaning to our lives, they also limit us to their interpretation of the world. By offering us a pre-packaged story of what we are and how we ought to live our lives, they confine a person to a monotonous and habitual mode of living.

When we, instead, abandon all attempts to impose meaning and order on our lives, we also abandon the obligation to live in a particular way. When we deny a higher power the right to dictate our lives for us, be it God or Fate or Morality, then how we live is something we must decide for ourselves.

Camus turns to fiction to find an example of someone who takes this logic to its fatal conclusion. Kirilov, a character in Dostoyevsky’s novel The Possessed, ends up getting killed by his own reasoning.

Kirilov argues that for life to have meaning, there must be a God. But since he doesn’t believe there is a God, he can’t believe that life has meaning. He concludes from this that he must kill himself – which he does. He also argues, somewhat absurdly, that through his suicide, he will become a God since the act will prove his absolute freedom and mastery over his own life.

While Camus agrees with Kirilov’s logic, he points out that actually going through with the act of suicide is not necessary to be free. All that is necessary is an awareness of the absurd.

Thus, we have an answer to the question of suicide. For Camus, suicide is not a legitimate response to the meaninglessness of life because it entails renouncing the freedom that this meaninglessness offers us. In this sense, hopeless suicide is just as inauthentic as hopeful faith. While they might seem like opposites, they are equivalent insofar as they both renounce the freedom entailed by absurdity.

The lack of hope in an afterlife leads to greater passion in this life.

Just as freedom is a logical consequence of the absurd life, so too is passion.

What’s meant by passion here is the sense of being present in the moment and having a direct relationship with the world in front of us.

The absurd stance leads to a greater appreciation of the present moment by liberating us from illusory visions of a better future in the next life.

The idea of an afterlife that is infinitely longer and more pleasurable than the one we’re currently living is inevitably going to devalue this life by comparison. These mirages prevent us from fully appreciating and taking advantage of the life we actually have.

By contrast, when we give up hope in an afterlife, all that’s left is this finite life here on Earth – so we better make the most of it.

While the knowledge that our lives are finite certainly causes discomfort, it also instills in us a sense of urgency to enjoy this life as best we can before we die.

This ethic of enjoyment is amplified by what Camus calls the overturning of quality in favor of quantity.

One of the logical outcomes of the absurd is that no experience is inherently more valuable than any other. If it's not possible to know whether there are any objective values, then there can’t be any way of conclusively affirming that one experience is better than another. The absurd leads to radical equality between all experiences.

This leads to a strange kind of ethic. Since it’s not possible to know what the best way of living is, you’re better off just trying to have as many experiences as possible before you die.

An example of someone who lived according to the ethic of quantity over quality is the notorious fictional seducer, Don Juan. This is a character who never shows any interest in achieving some perfect – and impossible – ideal of love. Rather, he merely aims to have as many short-lived, passionate affairs as possible before he dies. He dedicates his life to the pursuit of sensual pleasure, and he lives for the moment.

It’s important to note that Camus does not propose Don Juan as a model to be emulated, but merely an example of someone who pursued earthly pleasures with a passion. Ultimately, the kinds of experiences that you pursue in life are up to you.

Sisyphus’ punishment is emblematic of the human condition.

In Greek mythology, Sisyphus was a renowned king of the City of Corinth whose intelligence and craftiness in life earned him the ire of the gods. 

There are differing accounts as to how he managed to earn the gods’ displeasure. In one story, it’s said he put Death in chains, thereby temporarily ending death on Earth and forcing the gods to intervene.

Sisyphus is, however, more famous for the punishment he received for his misdeeds in the underworld. He was eternally condemned to push a rock to the top of a mountain, only to see it roll back down to the bottom. Each time, he would have to walk back and repeat the process over again.

The gods had good reason to believe that they could have found no worse punishment for Sisyphus. What makes the punishment so tortuous is not the labor itself but Sisyphus’ awareness that his labor is pointless and futile. 

It’s precisely this awareness that makes Sisyphus a hero of the absurd, for he is completely aware of his hopeless fate, and yet he continues to live it anyway.

Of course, in Sisyphus’ punishment, Camus sees the fate of all mankind. Whether we work nine to five or not, all of us engage in repetitive daily tasks and struggles that are, in the grand scheme of things, just as absurd and futile as pushing a rock up a mountain.

That sounds pretty bleak. But, still, that doesn’t mean we should despair. For even Sisyphus’ eternal labor isn’t entirely tragic.

In a remarkable twist of fate, says Camus, rather than being crushed by the awareness of the hopelessness of his situation, Sisyphus is liberated by it. That’s because a fate only seems intolerable when placed in contrast with the illusion of a better life. But, Sisyphus is free of the illusion that he will ever have anything more than what he already has. Thus, he does not compare his fate to something better. He merely acknowledges his condition and accepts it for what it is.

Camus imagines that in that period of respite when Sisyphus is walking down the mountain to retrieve his rock, that he feels a strange sort of satisfaction. Despite everything, he has become attached to his rock. If Sisyphus sometimes feels sorrow at his condition, we shouldn’t be surprised if he sometimes feels joy as well.

Like Sisyphus, we, too, can find joy and satisfaction in the struggle.

Final summary

For Camus, the complexity of the world will always exceed our ability to comprehend it. What’s more, we will never discover an ultimate meaning to our lives simply by examining the world around us. That means we have three choices: we could turn to faith in unprovable doctrines to give meaning to our lives; we could die by suicide; or we can be brave and accept the meaninglessness of existence for what it is. Camus believes the third option is the most authentic. But this doesn’t mean we must live a difficult and unhappy life. While the absurd experience is certainly the source of confusion and suffering at times, it’s also the condition for a freer and more passionate existence here on Earth.

Other Books Related to The Myth of Sisyphus

Camus studied philosophy at university, and an inquiry into the meaning of life—or lack of—forms the basis of much of his work. In The Myth of Sisyphus, Camus defines his philosophy of absurdism—which, in brief, is the confrontation between man’s longing for meaning and the world’s refusal to provide it—through discussion of other philosophers.

 In fact, Camus explicitly claims not to be a philosopher, such is the distinction he draws between himself and these other writers. Accordingly, Soren Kierkegaard, Karl Jaspers, Edmund Husserl and Friedrich Nietzsche all crop up intermittently throughout the work. Camus feels all of them have one fatal flaw (aside, perhaps, from Nietzsche): that they try to resolve the absurd, rather than finding a way to live with it in full view. 

Later in the book, Camus turns to literature in an effort to see if absurd art is possible. He praises the Russian novelist, Fyodor Dostoevsky (author of Crime and Punishment and Notes from Underground), for his ability to show the absurd as it functions in daily life, but criticizes Dostoevsky, the man, for turning back to God in order to resolve life’s meaninglessness. 

In the book, Camus also cites Franz Kafka, Honoré de Balzac, Marcel Proust and others as writers whom he feels expose the absurdity of life in their work. Camus’ own novels, such as The Plague, where to exert a great influence on the twentieth century and beyond.

[la-pheacienne]

What are your favourite greek classics? or in general from the greek literature canon? I'm not greek so i confess that i only know the ones that date back centuries that i needed to study from my classic greek classes :) I read antigone and i like it

And, aside from les mis, have you read any other french classics? or any that are now encapsulated as "european" (spanish, polish, romanian etc?

Sorry if any questions sound weird. Do not need to answer if they make you uncomfortable

No it's not weird at all, thank you for asking!!!

Unfortunately, I have read far less greek classics than I would like. My first response will be kind of basic, I think one should always, always, start with Homer (with a slight preference for Odyssey). Odyssey is truly magical. There is nothing quite like it. Thematically, conceptually, narratively, stylistically it is just so flawless. It is like a dream of adventure, love, monsters, good and evil, loyalty and treason, and longing for home of course.

Then since you have read Antigone you could try Oresteia, this is a trilogy (I think the first trilogy ever created?), so it's three consecutive tragedies, and it's amazing, I think this one particularly appeals to someone who is looking for a more, let's say, morally dubious world. It's less idealistic, it's a story about a rotten royal family tearing itself to pieces. What's cool is that every single POV has more or less valid reasons for doing what they are doing, and your opinion on the characters really changes when you go from one tragedy to the next. Everyone is partly right and partly wrong (some more than others), but in the end the gods intervene to settle this affair once and for all. It's really cool. Then Oedipus Rex has of course the OG "trying to change my destiny and making it happen instead" arc which is a really powerful theme, used consistently ever since in any type of modern media, films, tv shows and books.

But since you ask about Greece, in case you are interested in reading modern greek literature, I have a soft spot for the Murderess of Alexandros Papadiamantis (you can find it in Amazon), I think it's the best modern greek novel honestly. It's about an old woman who slowly becomes deranged and starts killing little girls, starting with her newborn granddaughter, because she feels that girls bring only misery to their families (and will only experience misery themselves). Then I will also include this quite niche recommendation (this one will be more difficult to find but an english translation does exist), its The End of Our Small Town by Dimitris Hatzis, it's a book with many beautiful and heartbreaking short stories/portraits of different social types of people in Greece during the period between the first and the second World War.

So, from Europe I have read french, russian, and english literature. And also Kafka, that's it. So I can only speak about this. From french literature, I would recommend a less talked about novel of Balzac, Le Cousin Pons, that is one of my absolute favourite books. Balzac is the contrary of Hugo in the sense that Hugo is a Romantic, he talks about society but aiming to inspire people, to put it simply, while Balzac is a Realist, so he wants to present society exactly as it is, and it is not a good portrait. Where Hugo is hopeful, Balzac is resigned, so it is a really depressing book. But still, hands-out the most in-depth portrait of french society, 100 percent relevant today, and the appeal of it is that it makes the modern reader feel akward cause the things he criticizes are still prevalent in the modern way of thinking. I guarantee that you will find people you know that are exactly like some characters in that book. It is the story of an antique collector that is ignored and scorned by his superficial bourgeois family because he's weird and he only cares about his hyperfixation (his collectables) until they realise the true value of his collection and they construct a plan to steal it and basically destroy him in the process.

[kimyoonmiauthor]

A puzzle piece of Antigone's Diagram–Someone cool this time

Goheen, Robert F. (Robert Francis). 1951. The Imagery of Sophocles’ Antigone : A Study of Poetic Language and Structure  / by Robert F. Goheen. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Went all the way to a university library to look for the wrong diagram for Antigone.

The closest I got was this:

"Unlike the modern opera to which it is often compared, Greek Tragedy did not subordinate plot and character–or if you wil, drama–to music and the dance. This is clear from the extant tragedies. In general, the plot or conflict of agents in action is, as Aristotle observed, the central structural feature And in every extant Greek tragedy the language, or element of diction, is highly and skillfully developed element. To some extent, perhaps this is a happy accident. A large open-air theater, heavy costuming, and masks imposed limitations on physical action ad facial expression which by modern standards must seem severe.

...The total structure of the tragedy has therefore two significant dimension: a horizontal (time) dimension and a vertical (meaning, value) dimension is what the tragedy on the whole means. This, too, starts with the plot—the sequence of actions as symbolizing something or representing certain universals–but it includes also the choral and poetic components, which contribute to total content kinds of perception and modes of meaning that are to some extent over and above the specific actions of the character.

So he put conflict and continued character at the center of the diagram. Which is different from the previous diagram I posted where emotion was argued for. There are a few loose references to Freytag's work, but no credit is given. You will understand why if you read his profile and then remember how much of an AH Freytag was.

This is not the "Big" gotcha moment I was hoping for, but given the timing, and how Antigone was played out during history ad earlier attempts to describe Antigone:

Such as this earlier German look at Antigone, I think one can say the scholarship split into two camps somewhere down the line.

One is the way they looked at Antigone this way:

This is from an early 1810-ish's version of looking at Antigone, predates Freytag, where the Greek is given.

And the other is more like Goheen's way of analyzing the text which is in contemporary terminology, but often with none of the credits for that idea.

There are more conservative looks at Antigone, which I glanced over while I was there, where the person goes by Stasimon, for example this study of Antigone: https://www.jstor.org/stable/44276322?read-now=1#page_scan_tab_contents

which is in French, but you kinda get the idea.

So instead of going over it in contemporary terms, it goes over it in terms that Aristotle would have gone over it and see it—a lot of the theses ran towards trying to see it as how Aristotle and Sophocles would have seen the structure. Chorus, morals, putting the order in the way Aristotle would have wanted.

There are somewhat the people in the middle, who don't discuss the structure at all, but keep emphasizing character as the most important thing.

Antigone by Jean Anouilh

The Theban plays translated by Robert Fagles (1984)

Both of these do this, though if you were paying attention to what Aristotle actually said, he didn't say that character was the most important, but that character was far less important than morals.

And then you have people on Goheen's side of things, where they take modern terms, ignore what Aristotle actually said, and try for basically readercism minus a lot of Historicism.

But you can see in those paragraphs I quoted for you shades of Freytag. "Can't move about the stage." was one of his assertions, though it was about the wooden sandals. And when I looked up Goheen's sources, he didn't source that opinion anywhere. His citation 7 leads to a dead end. He cites a entire book, but it's not about the staging...?

Freytag's assertions about character coming first, is also something he stated.

The diagram is also Freytag-ish, so why would Goheen not cite Freytag? Do you remember when Freytag called "Hindoos" (His phrasing, not mine) "Substandard as a race who couldn't make theater." ideas...

And if you read Goheen's bio, that had to get him in a twist.

I can also feel Selden Lincoln Whitcomb maybe via Rowe?

The shadow of Percy Lubbock is in this essay too, but it's late enough that maybe Goheen didn't know. Alice Guy Blaché was erased in her own lifetime.

About Robert Goheen:

Born in India. Both parents were likely? white. Maybe. It gets dicey with imperialism. But the wikipedia article said both of his parents were missonaries.

Fought for Black Civil rights in education. Super awesome as you can get. He faced steep opposition to his support of Black civil rights, but he still fought for them to be included in the college.

16th President of Princeton.

Conclusion

What I've learned so far is that you can like someone's ideas tremendously, but still hate their guts, but you really, really should cite them anyway and do a minor take down instead of all these sideways mentions. OK, it's not very academic to call Freytag a royal A Asshole that loves Fascism, even if that's very easy to argue, but also, I don't think it's a good idea to take the person's ideas and not give them credit. One can like an idea within the scope of a person but still think they are scum. Given the political leanings of Goheen and that I can remember some of the assertions Freytag made, yeah, I kinda feel like Goheen liked the idea of a plot structure, but hated the originator was really effing racist towards a country he'd spent his formative years in (maybe Third culture kid??)

And while I understand the lack of mention of Freytag, kinda purposefully getting Aristotle wrong on character, conflict, and so on kinda is a bit strange to me. You can point to the value shift, point to say, Percy Lubbock, and say, you wish to look at it from a Lubbock PoV, but maybe Lubbock being gay was against his moral code as the son of missionaries? (I hope not, but you never know). How did conflict and this readercism attitude creep in otherwise?

So cool figure. Maybe a puzzle piece, but CITE YOUR SOURCES NO MATTER WHAT. Even if you hate their guts. You can disavow the rest if need be and re-argue it from a different angle that's not based on say, the genocide of Polish people (Freytag).

One can say you like the upholding of the middle class and lower class in fascism, but still hate fascism and argue against it.

But I suppose plagiarism is kinda a Professor thing–or more professors in this long, long project have plagiarized than any other group. TT Sometimes you teach it, but you don't live it.

I got frustrated so much that I ended up flipping through every Antigone book I could find at the uni library. Not in any of them. TT I think I have enough to debunk the diagram, though.

[nysus-temple]

YA'LL I'M AT MY LIMIT— Someone came today and said "why do you want to defend Latin and Greek so much? They aren't of any use" AND SIR I'M SORRY TO BREAK IT TO YOU. BUT YOU'RE SPANISH. YOUR LANGUAGE COMES FROM LATIN. USE LATIN INSTEAD OF COPYING ENGLISH WORDS. And then he went and made it worse saying "ok fine, Latin is useful, whatever you say. But Greek? What do you need Greek for?" LIKE DUNNO. IT'S A FUCKING ACTUAL LANGUAGE SPOKEN IN AN ENTIRE COUNTRY WITH YEARS OF HISTORY. PERHAPS THE FACT THAT MANY SPANISH WORDS COME FROM IT. DUNNO BUDDY. IS THAT USEFUL ENOUGH TO YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT???

[whatsupbomb]

Astro notes about beauty and style🐈

Aries placements have striking beauty. With Aries Sun use white or light colours/with Aries Moon use blue or cold colours to get attention

To attract attention of your husband/wife, use colours of your Sun/Moon nakshatra

Sun nakshatra colour can tell which hair colour is suitable for you

5th house sign is our hair and how to take care of them. For example, I have Cancer 5th house, they often look dry and dull with lots of dandruff since Cancer is a water animal crab who has shiny shell and requires moisture and mineral supply

People with cat nakshatra Ascendant (Purva Bhadrapada/Dhanishtha/Chitra/Vishakha/Punarvasu/Ashlesha) are really good with manicure and prefer to use file instead of scissors like cats who use scratching post. They often paint their nails, but can't grow their own

People with rat nakshatra Ascendant (Magha/Purva Phalguni) have thin, short, light, disheveled hair with split ends. Colouring makes them fell off. Rat nakshatra Ascendants like to keep themselves clean by oftenly taking showers, using deodarants and panty liners. However, they hate washing their own panties and leave dirt in the clean places for someone to remove it

2nd house are your lips. So, try using lipstick with the colour of it's nakshatra

3rd house are your nails. You know what that means from a previous note

North Node is our face. To get noticable, try looking at Rahu (North Node) nakshatra animal appearance. Very useful for models who do lots of photoshoots. Rahu is like your distinctive feautures

8th house is a house of showbusiness and showing off your wealth, for example, on the red carpet . So, use body part of it's sign to get admiration from fans

People are gonna pray to your 10th house sign body part because it's a house of being an authority in one's field

Chiron on the Ascendant likes to experiment with it's own appearance using make-up or clothes. They have a unique style often referring to the past trends to revive them. For example, Jeremy Renner with such placement used to be a make-up artist and wore earrings and eyeliner

Purva Bhadrapada nakshatra natives often get famous for their beauty in foreign countries. Most of the times they have a mixed race (for example, Brazilian Adriana Lima/German Ryan Gosling/Cherokee Johnny Cash/Greek John Stamos/Mexican Mario López with Purva Bhadrapada Ascendant, Mexican Eva Longoria/Cuban Eva Mendes/Chech Eva Herzigová/Brazilian Kaya Scodelario/Italian Ornella Muti with Purva Bhadrapada Sun, Albanian Rita Ora/French Matt LeBlanc/Swedish Bill Skarsgård/Australian Jacob Elordi/German Olivia Munn with Purva Bhadrapada Moon, Italian Monica Bellucci/Russian Robert Downey Jr/Mexican Salma Hayek/French Vincent Cassel/African Lenny Kravitz with Purva Bhadrapada Chiron)

Chiron will show how can you become more attractive to your own self since it's about healing and changing your lifestyle like in mythology when Chiron left his army to study herbs. It's also indicative of how we should take care of our health

Venus nakshatra indicates your comfort zone, prefered style and voice manner. I have Krittika (goat) Venus, and my favourite clothes are light, thin, flowing, of smooth and warm material, so, I can walk with comfort since goats like to jump and run. Also, I prefer sneakers to boots

Mercury is how we move and which shoes we prefer. With Mercury in horse nakshatra (Ashwini/Shatabhisha) you like wearing leather knee-high boots which sit tight on the leg and have wide heels

Saturn is a feminism planet. It shows how we feel about our natural beauty and if we want to change it. With Squares to Saturn we aim to become more feminine each day. Meghan Trainor who sings about feminism has it on IC and respects her own flaws. Men with Saturn on Descendant (7th house of the opposite sex) in my observation respect women and their natural beauty the most. They won't judge you for your flaws

6th house is a house of femininity while 10th house is a house of masculinity. Planets on their cusps indicate how we feel towards women/men and what are our types in both sexes

4th house is responsible for transgender people because it's ruler Moon is a neutral planet which affects both sexes in the same way (it's indicative of our character)

People with planets on IC often support transgenders (maybe I'll do my research about it using natal charts of celebs who play transgenders or fight for their rights)

Planets on Descendant are your most noticable features, especially by the opposite sex (check a picture below)

South Node (Ketu) is how you look when you cry. It also indicates features we're muses for. It indicates art and who'd like to take a picture of us or paint us

DNA (#55555) asteroid will show beauty you got from your ancestors. Might indicate your grandma or grandpa you like the most

"Lisitsa" (#8064) asteroid ("female fox" in Russian) is how you lure people into your trap (seduction)

Aspects to "Schramm" (#113952) asteroid ("scar" in Russian) might indicate self-harm

Asteroid "Industria" (#389) will show if you're suitable for fashion industry or not

Asteroid "Sunshine" (#3742) is indicative of features we get compliments for, but don't notice in ourselves

Asteroid "Sunflower" (19019) is indicative of our glow-up and when we feel the most beautiful (useful in synastry)

Asteroid "Sirene" (#1009) are features people overestimate in us and what men fell in love with instantly after the 1st meeting on the Internet or in real life. Might indicate woman singing voice

Asteroid "Zagar" (#6746) is "tan" in Russian

Asteroid "Young" (#2165) indicates body parts which always look healthy

Asteroid "Ursula" (#375) are features people get jealous of

Asteroid "Zavist" (#7440) is "jealousy" in Russian

Asteroid "Tsvet" (#2770) is "colour" and "blooming" in Russian

Asteroid "Rosa" (#223) is how you look and behave when you feel love

Asteroid "Ruby" (#2474) is indicative of passion and preferable sex partners

Asteroid "Agni" (#398188) is where we outshine others

Asteroid "Adorea" (#268) are features people like the most in us

Asteroid "Bohemia" (#371) is indicative of luxury life

Asteroid "Gross" (#33800) are features we hate in ourselves

Asteroid "Geisha" (#1047) might indicate escort and looks our husband wants us to have while meeting his friends. Also, it's about us managing our household (indicative of an ideal housewife in a man's chart)

Asteroid "Hypnos" (#14827) are features people idealise in us

Asteroid "Ljuba" (#1062) means "perfect" in Belarusian. Indicates perfect housewife like "Geisha" because women with such name in my observation are hospitable and helpful

Asteroid "Lyubov" (#3108) is "love" in Russian

Asteroid "Michta" (#20286) is "a wish" in Russian

Asteroid "Mila" (#3231) is "pretty looking" in Russian. Also, we literally have make-up store with such name in our country

Asteroid "Mami" (#486416) means "sugar mommy'

[beauty-and-passion]

Silly fun challenge prompt: what languages do you associate with the Sides/what would be the 2nd language each Side learn?

For example I am a big fan of Hispanic (Spanish speaking) Creativitwins fanon. And c! Thomas too could've learnt Spanish in high school and the fact his love interest is hispanic too just makes perfect sense-

And in contrast to Hispanic twins I headcanon Janus as a francophone (French speaking) for two reasons: 1) it was still lingua franca around Victorian era, his aesthetic inspiration and 2) dividing American high school by Spanish class vs. French class is like causing Civil War (I was and still am a language nerd, so I learnt both languages, which was a mistake but the kind of mistake that was worth it when you think about it later)

German suites Logan since lots of famous philosophers are German. I associate Japanese or Korean with Virgil since those two are really dominant in the current subculture world (and maybe our emo could've been inspired and turn into E-boy - wow that sounds terrifying)

I don't have strong preference on Patton's but Italian sounds nice, since all those music and dessert and anything sweet are often from Italy. And maybe 'Orange' can be some language that sounds harsh like Russian, so he can murmur in that in sleep and scares everyone else

I know you're in Europe: 1) you use GMT and 2) Americans wouldn't care about Eurovision. So I wonder how you would think based on your European experience!

Oooh, I like this! As European Who Studied Languages, I definitely approve this and I'll gladly add my two cents about which languages the sides should learn.

_________

Roman: He canonically knows Spanish and that's perfect like that. Spanish is a romantic language, someone speaks Spanish and you can't help but swoon. It’s a great choice for the Side responsible for romance and passion.

_________

Remus: Remus isn't just intrusive thoughts, but there’s a very high chance he’s also responsible for Thomas' sexual urges. So, what is the language made for sex? You’re right, it’s French. French is sexy. You can say anything in French and bam, ✨sexy ✨.

"Je sors la poubelle." Sexy, isn't it? Well, I just said "I'm taking out the trash". See? Very sexy.

(French people, please confirm my words. We all know it’s true)

_________

Janus: Your points are incredibly valid and I love them. But if we should choose among all languages, I would love Janus to be one of the very few (extremely few) people in the world who can speak Latin.

I know Latin is a dead language, but it would be great - and not just because of the connection with his name.

Let’s consider that the other Romance languages, despite evolving from Latin, cannot entirely understand it, because they all changed a lot through the centuries after mixing with the Germanic ones. On the other hand, the Germanic languages (English, German, Swedish and so on) are part of a completely different group, only slightly influenced by Latin, so they cannot understand it.

In other words, Janus would speak a language that only sounds familiar - and maybe you can grasp a couple words here and there if you know a romance language, but the true meaning is hidden. What is he actually saying? Who knows. Is he actually cursing someone? Who knows. After all, do you understand Latin? Yeah, me neither.

If I have to pick a language that is still spoken today instead, I think I'll join you with French. Your points are valid and French is a very elegant language, fitting for Janus’ whole aesthetic. So yes, French could work.

_________

Logan: German is a great choice and you are absolutely right with your point about the philosophers. Also German is a language of harsh sounds and strict grammar rules - for example:

declensions that should be used accordingly for articles, adjectives and nouns

specific verbs for specific meanings

words made by putting together shorter words (like Haustürschlüssel.  Haustür means “front door”, Schlüssel means “key” -> this word means “front door’s key”)

sentences that should follow a specific construction, with parts of the compound verb after the noun and part at the end of the sentence. And secondary phrases also have a specific syntax and should always be introduced by a comma

In other words, it's a very organized language and I think it would fit Logan.

But also, considering that almost all words related to science and philosophy come from Greek, I think Logan should at least understand some Greek. As a treat.

(Also because Greek is another incredibly complicated language, so if someone has the patience to learn it, it’s definitely Logan.)

_________

Virgil: oh my gosh, I never thought about an eastern language for Virgil. In a way, it would be a very peculiar choice and I kinda like it. Japanese and Korean are extremely complicated languages, they have a very specific alphabet (I'm especially thinking about the Japanese one, that even asks for a specific direction to write words) and require a lot of work (and memory) to learn them.

But Virgil is also a poet and when I think of poets and sonnets my first connection is with the french ennui, le mal du vivre and especially Baudelaire and his works. Virgil would appreciate Baudelaire a lot. So French, again.

But hey, there’s too much French now. So I’ll pick the other european literature full of sadness: the russian one.

Russian is supposed to be a big scary language and its alphabet is weird and omg what if they're cursing us? But if you learn it a little bit, you’ll find out that Russian has a lot of soft/open sounds (due to a good use of vowels) and it's very poetic.

So the language itself is a bit like Virgil: he seems scary and evil at a first glance, but if you learn about him, he's actually kinder than he looks.

But never underestimate Russian, because just like Anxiety, fear is just behind the corner: you start learning it and wow, there is just one present tense, one past tense and one future tense? This is great, what a wonderful language!

And then, before you’ll realize it, you will find out that each verb has a “doppelganger” used for entirely different purposes AND there a gazillion verbs of motion and you will end up crying on the floor, because there are just too many verbs - and look, there are also one trillion particles you can put before these verbs and they give them EVEN MORE MEANINGS.

No, this isn't entirely based on my personal experience, what makes you think that.

_________

Patton: I have never thought about Patton learning another language, because English just fits him too well.

But when you proposed Italian... well, my heart just wiped out everything else. There is nothing here, only Patton speaking Italian.

So yes, Patton's second language should be Italian. No, it must be Italian. Because French is the language of sex, Spanish is the language of love, but if you want to declare your eternal love to someone, you use Italian. Do you want to marry someone? Italian. Do you want to tell your significant other how much you adore them? Italian. Italian has one million ways to express love and Patton should use them all with his kiddos.

And yes, Italian is also associated with warm people, warm places and good food, all things Patton deserves and should enjoy. So Italian is a big yes.

_________

Orange: since Orange is a mystery, I am a bit torn between these two languages:

1) Esperanto: This language is amazing, because it isn’t a natural language, born like all others, but it has been built by a man, who wanted to create an universal language in order to foster world peace and international understanding.

So this language has been created to be as simple as possible, with a very regular grammar (unlike all other natural languages) and its words all have references to other language groups (romance, germanic, slavic, indo-europeans, finno-ugric languages and so on).

And if you actually listen to it (especially if you know some latin languages) you will find it weirdly understandable. I found this video in particular and I was impressed by how strangely familiar esperanto sounds.

And... that’s it, I just think it would be kinda poetic that the last side knows a language that all others can use and understand.

2) A Greenlandic language. Why? Because they are insanely polysynthetic.

What does that mean? If in German you can make words by putting together other two/three words (like in the example I used before), in the Greenlandic languages you can build an entire sentence by putting together nouns, verbs, articles and everything else. All together in one single word, whose meaning can be translated with an entire sentence in another language.

Do you want an example? Here is an example from Wikipedia: tuntussuqatarniksaitengqiggtuq.

Yes, this is a word.

This word is from the Yupik language and means "He had not yet said again that he was going to hunt reindeer.". And this word is made of:

tuntu- (= reindeer)

ssur-  (= hunt)

qatar- (future tense)

ni- (= say)

ksaite- (negative)

ngqiggte- (= again)

uq  (3rd.sing.IND)

Is this insane? This is fucking insane. Do you want to be scared? This is real fear. What the heck. How. Why.

You know what? This is perfect for Orange, I’ll leave Esperanto to Thomas. Orange deserves to be this scary. I can already see the other sides quiver before him.

_________

And so, here are my guesses! If someone has other ideas, feel free to add yours and tell us why, so we can all have a nice discussion :D

[peter-parcoeur]

Good girl gone bad | (frat!tom)

request: How about frat cocky Tom at a Christmas party, wearing something that shows off his muscles, and he keeps flirting with y/n, who hates him. Throughout the night, he slowly wins her over, and once he has her in the palm of his hand, he makes her compliment him and then worship his muscles and then get on her knees and suck on him through his boxer briefs and then finally he f*cks her face and he's dirty talking and boasting all the way through :)

disclaimer: Hiii, so this was a request (sadly anonymous but if you’re out there reading this, I hope you enjoy and this lives up to your expectations...) this is my first attempt at fratboy!tom so I apologize in advance if that’s not exactly what you expected from it or whatever. Also I’m french so, some unfortunate spelling mistakes may occur and for this I apologize too! (damn I do really know how to sell myself, don’t I?) Anyway, enjoy your reading and please give it a ♥ if you liked it and a comment if you either really liked or hated it. Annnnd I’m talking too much.

warnings: smut smut smutty smut is to be expected, obviously. includes: brat!tom, braggy!tom, boasting!tom and some serious potty mouth / enemies to lovers (well, more like enemies to fuckbuddies idk) / oral-sex / face-fuck / dirtyDIRTY talk/ fingering / brief mentions of self luuuuvin (that’s masturbation, for you) / dom!tom + sub!reader / I guess a little bit of humiliation and praise kink idk if that’s triggering so just in case... / roughness... I guess that’s it? probably enough already.

____________________________________________________

« Come on, it’ll be fun! God knows you could really use some fun… » your friend’s voice almost begged over the phone as you safely locked it between your cheek and your shoulder to open the door to your dorm room, your keyrings grazing the piece of metal surrounding the lock with a soft, clicking noise.

“Yeah cause hanging out with complete morons as they get shit-faced on cheap vodka is totally my idea of a good night...”

“ Urghhhh, Y/N please, are you really gonna be a Grinch about it?”

“  Well, it’s a Christmas party so I guess that’s convenient?”

You could tell your friend was getting frustrated by now, the slight change of tone in her voice making her sound desperate. Kicking off your shoes and dropping your books above the mess on your desk, you immediately crashed onto your bed with a loud, exhausted groan as this never-ending day had managed to push every single one of your buttons. You felt completely drained and yet, your best-friend wanted you to join her to some frat-house where, apparently, the “most incredible” Christmas party was about to be held? Uh-uh. No way. Your actual plan for a Friday night (= eating take-out food in front of some true crime documentary on Netflix) seemed much more appealing than the effort your friend seemed to require from you.

“You’re really gonna bail on me? What if something happens to me?”

“Now this is guilt pressure and you’re so much better than this! “ You laughed, “plus… I know you wanna go just so you can make out with Harrison… You really don’t need me for this and truth be told, I really don’t need to see that guy shove his tongue down your throat!”

“Maybe YOU need someone to shove his tongue down your throat “

“I’ll pass, thanks “

“Come on, how long has it been since you’ve got laid? “

“That’s… way beside the point?””

Still, you thought about it.

How long has it been, really?

Well. As far as you could remember, there were a couple (disastrous) tinder dates at the beginning of the semester. Nothing major even though the sex was still okay. Then you had decided to delete the app so you could focus on your studies, thinking that, eventually, life would grant you with an actual IRL, cute boy who could actually work a little harder to get into your pants whereas it had taken a single swipe on a screen for the previous contestants.

But for now, as the semester had come to an end and Christmas break was around the corner, it only occurred to you just how busy you had been, studying all night long and running on fumes and gallons of coffee. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you truly needed to blow off some steam. Sometimes you wished you were more like her, carefree and less picky when it came to boys and random flings. Like her current crush, Harrison.

Harrison was a typical heartthrob with the face of a Greek God, so it was only natural for him to act like a brat and play with girls as he wished. With his piercing blue eyes and dreamy smile, girls could only wish he would look at them twice. But still, he wasn’t the worst part of Team Jackass, as you liked to call them. Their captain was actually Tom Holland. Football Quarterback, Tom collected girls’ hearts like trophies and held his pride within his questionable reputation. Party animal, heavy drinker and confirmed exhibitionist since he’d been caught fucking a cheerleader in the middle of the football field right after a game, his name was on everyone’s lips, whether they whispered gossips down the faculty’s corridor or muffled into a pillow as he dived into another naïve, besotted girl with the promise of an encore. To this day, all of the girls he had laid his eyes on were still waiting for a call-back.

You pulled a disgusted face at the thought of witnessing his little hunting game one more time. Tom was actually one of the main reasons why you usually skipped any frat party now. There were just so much time you could waste, sipping on some funky tasting “home-made” punch as “Football superstar” Tom Holland bragged about his athletic skills or how many girls he had fucked over the last couple days. Sometimes, it felt like a competition between him and his brain-dead friends. Somehow, you just knew he kept score of his one-night stands. Maybe he’d give you five stars for trying anal, a deep throat would give you another six and god forbid if you flattered his enormous, gigantic cock, well then, by all means, the throne would be yours. There was just something about him that screamed and irradiated praise kink.

“Y/N? Have I lost you?”

Your friend’s voice brought you back to reality as you seemed to have blacked out for a while.

Then, out of nowhere and unexpectedly, the words came out of your mouth.

“What time is the party then?”

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For every party, there’s a dress code.

Surely, a “Christmas” party just couldn’t be, without a fair splash of colorful jumpers or any subtle hints at Santa Clause as an excuse for a last-minute theme. Still, standing in front of what could only be Wednesday Addams’ wardrobe, you were suddenly hit by your lack of interest for any piece of clothes that wasn’t a shade between black and white. Was beige even a color anyway?

For a brief second, you considered wearing your infamous Christmas onesie, basically a fluffy one piece with a zipper, an oversized hood and covered with snowflakes and candy canes. The jokes would never end but no one could blame you for being ‘off theme’, then.

In the end, you settled for a rare “colorful” top which, luckily, happened to be whatever shade of green Christmas trees actually were. It was also skin tight and you knew for a fact it made your chest looks twice its size because of the way the velvet fabric enhanced your waistline. It was nowhere near provocative with its long sleeves and turtle-neck so you figured you could be a little bit more risky with the bottom part of your outfit, grabbing the black mini-skirt you’d bought a week before on a splurge, even though you didn’t know if you’d ever find the confidence to pull it off. It was short, there was no denying that as you turned around in the shop’s fitting room to catch a glimpse at your backside, knowing your whole ass would be exposed if you ever dared to bend down even so slightly.

Still, you felt sexy in it and as a girl who happily traded a sexy dress for yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, any piece of clothes that made you feel good about yourself was an instant buy.

Looking down at your final outfit as it laid down on your bed, a pair of nice ankle boots at the bottom of it, you patted yourself on the back for making the extra effort and walked to the bathroom for a well-deserved boiling shower.  Staring at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you sighed to yourself as the aftermath of a sleep deprived week and lack of skin care routine or basic maintenance whatsoever hit you like a truck on the highway. Your hair had been wrapped into the same messy bun for days and it would definitely take some professional skills to cover up the bags under your eyes.

Maybe this party was the wake-up call you needed, the equivalent of a Judging look from your mother every time you visited her after a while. You could almost hear her complain about how unhealthy you looked and how you should wear more “flattering” clothes. Ironically, you also knew she would never approve the skirt you intended to wear that night. You remembered just too well that frown she’d given you at your father’s 60th birthday and how you had to gulp an entire bottle of red wine to forget about the fact the woman who gave birth to you had called you a prostitute for wearing a dress above the knees. Sometimes it’d be like that. Family gathering were like a plague, somehow, you just couldn’t escape it and it would either scar you for life or make you wish you were dead.

As you entered the cubicle, the coldness of the tiles hit you, covering your skin with goosebumps and sending shivers down your spine. It took you a couple minutes to adjust as you waited for the water to turn hot enough to coat the mirror with a thick foggy layer. Only then did you relax, letting go of this week’s emotionally charged weight upon your shoulders and focusing on yourself, at last.

It was a fairly long shower as you decided to go through your entire haircare routine instead of a brief, one minute shampoo. Not to mention the fact you also had to shave entirely as it felt like it would be a good way to get rid of this nightmare of a semester, like stepping out of your old skin and into a new one. Usually, body hair was probably too far down the list of your preoccupations to even be noticed but you figured, as you felt surprisingly motivated, now was the right time to make your body smooth as a baby. You actually loved the feeling of a soft, freshly shaved skin.

As you rinsed off the soap, your hands fondling the body parts water failed to reach, your mind unexpectedly wandered through some steamy thoughts as soon as your fingertips grazed your slit, taking some shy dip between your folds. It was no surprise that a simple, barely there stroke would instantly strike your arousal, after all, it had been a while. You shamelessly admitted that your studies had taken over your life, up to the point you’d even find yourself too exhausted for some self-love. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, the small collection of adult toys you owned were probably collecting dust in the middle of your socks and panties, wondering when they’d get to take a swim and make you squirm into your sheets as you hold on to the headboard, biting your lip until it turns white so you don’t scream through climax.

What struck you the most was the fact TomfuckingHolland came to your mind the very second your middle finger met your clit, circling it softly as you felt electricity spark through your legs, making it jolt. Why the hell was his stupid smug splattered all over your unspeakable thoughts when he was, by far, the last man on Earth you’d let come close to your naked self? Let alone in a shower cubicle the size of a shoe-box where you’d have no space whatsoever to escape his heavy, muscular chest.

His body looked ridiculously built for a man with the face of a 13 year-old. Sometimes you’d catch him randomly flex throughout the day, showing off his enormous biceps to anyone willing to praise his impeccable shape. There would be no room for these guns in there, you thought as a brief image of these massive arms shielding you from both side, fists tight against the tiles, came immediately to your mind. What took you by surprise wasn’t to actually picture Tom standing in there with you, naked and definitely willing to make that room a lot steamier, but the fact you slipped a finger into your surprisingly dripping core as soon as you imagined him stepping closer so your bare, sticky chests would meet, his obvious arousal poking at your inner thigh, begging to make an entrance.

You stopped before you inevitably came, even though your body craved for that well-deserved relief. You may have been hornier than you thought, but not nearly horny enough to hand your first orgasm in months on a silver plate to a boy who probably stroked himself in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Your thighs squeezed together where your fingers had left a desperate void, rinsing your entire body with a much colder water, hoping it would bring your sanity back.

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You looked incredible.

It wasn’t just you boosting your ego through a pep talk in front of your mirror back in your dorm this time, and even if you loved to give yourself an encouraging speech, praising whatever features you thought made the cut in the top three of your best assets as you gathered the strength to go out in public in an outfit pretty far from your comfort zone, nothing could ever beat the look people gave you as you walked into the frat house looking like a three courses meal. There was just something about that short time slot where you caught a gaze and knew what that look was all about.

You knew Liza, the head student with a soft spot for athletes so obvious she probably had the entire football team’s handprints tattooed on her skin, just hated to see you get the attention she usually caught. Athletes loved nerdy, smart-ass girls like her, but to her own despair, you actually happened to be one of those, only with a shorter skirt and thicker thighs.

You knew half of Team Jackass was already staring at you, wishing they’d catch a glimpse of whatever you had to offer underneath that impeccable outfit as the soft fabric of your skirt kept rising up, every step bringing you closer to an unfortunate peek at the plain, white cotton undies you had chosen to wear that night.

But above anything, you could most definitely feel someone’s gaze upon you, burning up your skin like lasers trying to scan through your clothes. Suddenly, you felt exposed and with a simple smirk, Tom-Holland came out, strong as ever, just so he could pop out the comforting bubble you had built around you. Of course, he had chosen to wear the tightest white tee-shirt so everyone could distinctively see each of his six, rock-hard abs. Of course, his sleeves were slightly rolled up to enhance his biceps and if you weren’t familiar with his despicable behavior, seeing him flex just so he could kiss the pumped-up mount irrupting from his upper arm like a fresh batch of popcorn on a stove, you could have barfed immediately at the disgusting sight of a man with an ego the size of a fucking comet.

For now, you simply rolled your eyes all the way to the back of your head and watched as he smiled cockily, his hand reaching out for a redhead girl’s cheek even though his eyes were most definitely undressing you from afar. You could tell the girl had dressed to impress as she was tightly wrapped into the just-slutty-enough version of Santa’s outfit. Basically a velvet red dress with a fluffy white strap on top of her bustier. The way she laughed and twirled her long curly strand of hair as she gazed lovingly at Tom was enough for you to know she would soon join the never-ending list of names on his score board.

Shaking your head at how easy it seemed for him to get laid within the first hour of a party, you made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol seemed to be. As expected, most students were already sipping at some questionable cocktail right from the bowl with a straw and since you didn’t feel like going straight for the strong stuff, you settled for a beer, fiddling with the bottle cap for a solid minute before you heard a voice coming from behind your back.

“Need some hand with that, sweetheart?”

The cocky tone and thick accent immediately sent you off as a long, single shiver ran down your spine from the disgusting thoughts it brought along. It had come to the point you couldn’t even stand his stupid voice.

“I’m fine, thanks” you lied, your first still tightly gripped on your sealed beverage.

“You look like you could use some strength…”

Of course, he had to bring up his impressive, spectacular strength within seconds. Maybe he expected you to slow clap, bow down or throw confetti’s all over him for being strong enough to open a beer bottle. What on Earth would you do without his strong, manly hands?

Grinding your teeth as your tongue clicked against your palate out of pure annoyance, you gave him the most unimpressed look as he grabbed the bottle from your hand, popping out the cap hard enough to make it fly off and hit the table with a soft, metallic thump. Smirking to himself, Tom handed you the bottle back, tilting his head as he obviously expected some enthusiastic reaction.

“Do you want a medal or something?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would be a good start? “He mocked, raising his eyebrows in a way that made your consider throwing the entire bottle at his face to wash away his stupid cockiness.

“Thanks” you simply blurted out, raising your beer slightly before walking away as you took a couple sips. It wasn’t even that cold or remotely good.

Tom watched as you walked away in silence, his eyes inevitably drawn to the way your hips and that glorious ass of yours seemed to wiggle into that daunting skirt. Grazing his thumb over his bottom lip with a smirk, the eager flame in his eyes made his will to take you to a quiet place grow bigger with each step you took.

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The music was getting considerably louder as people were now dancing all over the place, from the staircase to whatever was left of furniture after too many parties hosted in this house.  The constant buzzing sound of chit-chats and laughter was slowly making your head spin as you gulped on your third (or was it the fourth?) Shot of tequila. As expected, Y/BFF/N had wasted no time as she was already clinging to Harrison’s neck, feasting on his mouth like an open buffet. His hands were on her bum, holding on to it for dear life with a strong grip. At least, she was having fun.

Out of boredom and to your own surprise, you had agreed on doing shots with a couple people you knew from class. Not technically what you’d call reliable friends but you always bumped into them at parties where you’d basically chat, and drink. From afar, you could see some people had gathered around a table where Team Jackass had started the inevitable beer pong contest. Nibbling at a piece of lime, hoping it would wash away the burning haze of the tequila, you winced at the sourness as your eyes suddenly locked with Tom’s. He was now holding his arms up on both side, raising one fist through the air as he had clearly won that first round. There was something pathetic about a man in his twenties begging for attention and acting like he was about to claim the gold medal at the Olympics when all he did was throw a feather-weighted plastic ball into a red cup.

All the alcohol in the world would never get you drunk enough to tolerate this guy.

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see him act so pitiful when he face was actually okay. Well. He was definitely cute as long as his mouth was shut and his stupid, pretentious smug out of the way. With his soft, chocolate brown eyes, his tousled eyebrows and thin pink lips, he could’ve been a guy you’d be interested in. His brown hair was somehow, always tucked into a snapback or a beanie but you had caught a glimpse of his natural curls once and though it killed you on the inside to admit it, he did look great when he didn’t try too hard to be a complete asshole.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t see him walk towards you.

“We’re doing shots now? “

“Impressive” you frowned, “did you figure it out all by yourself?” you chuckled, swallowing what’s left of lime, basically pulp, in one soft gulp.

“You like to act all smart ass around me, don’t you?”

“Correction: I am, in fact, smart… Not that it’s something you’re familiar with so, pardon me if it’s all too confusing for you… “

“Are you calling me dumb, then?” he was frowning now, his enormous self-centered head deflating under the unexpected pressure of your witty come-back.

“Did you hear the word ‘dumb’ coming out of my mouth?”

“No – but I sure know what I would like to see come in that sweet mouth of yours, darling”

The fact he had the nerves to say that kind of stuff right to your face was enough to piss you off but what caught you off guard was his hand reaching for your face as his thumb delicately grazed your bottom lip, pulling at it just enough for you to taste his fingertip.

“Surely, lime isn’t the only thing you like to suck on?” he smiled, cocky as ever as you could feel actual rage building up from your core and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I suggest you keep your hands off me” you snapped, pushing his hand off your face as he laughed to himself, the raspy sound caught in his throat making you throb against all odds.

“Or what? What you gonna do about it, uh?” he teased, confident as ever, his words coming out of his mouth halfway between a threat and a challenge. His arms were crossed against his chest now, making every inch of muscle he owned just pop out. There was nothing sweet about the way his body was built, and was he ever given the occasion, you knew he could break your spine in half with his one hand. You just wished you’d never thought about it as the filthiest images came to your mind, starting with Tom spinning you around over the sink in the bathroom and pinning you down with his palm pressed between your shoulder blades as he pounded hard and fast into you.

Maybe Tequila had gotten to your head faster than you expected.

“I know girls like you” he started, walking backwards until your back hit the wall and you were completely trapped between his arms, one of his leg parting yours so his knee would slowly graze that spot where your thighs met, claiming his access to that precious part of your body you could definitely feel getting damper against your will.

“What about it?” you asked, slightly more provocative than you had intended.

“You like to act all innocent, pretending you have higher standards…” His breath was warm, wrapped into the thickness of alcohol, curving a ball at the back of his throat so his voice would come out raspier and lower than usual, “… but secretly you just want guys like me to fuck the back of your throat until you choke”.

You felt it. Your pussy throb at the single thought of it. You didn’t want to physically react to these obscene images, words coming out of his mouth filthier than anything you’d ever heard, but still, as hard as you wanted to remain cold and unbothered, there was no denying for the dampness between your thighs. You just hoped he wouldn’t get a chance to notice it.

“You disgust me” it took you all the strength you had to spat back at him, and even then, all he did was smile then chuckle softly to himself as his hand slid up your throat, wrapping it slowly until his thumb pressed itself into the crook under your chin, nesting as it was made to be there.

“Please—are you really going to pretend you’ve never thought about my cock filling up your pretty mouth?” his fingers found your lips again, tracing it slowly as your heartbeat increased with each word, “like you’ve never thought about me when you finger yourself at night” he paused, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head, his mouth coming closer to your hear with a dark whisper “I know you do, baby… I know you touch yourself thinking of me, wishing those fingers were mine, diving into your dripping cunt… Touching spots you could only wish you’d reach… how I would spread those lips open and run my tongue all over your slit….” A warm breeze brushed your neck as a cursed laugh escaped his lips, making you squirm unexpectedly, “I bet you taste so sweet, I would never get enough of that glorious pussy…”

By now, you were wrapped into the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was strong and manly as expected, yet comforting in a way you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to picture yourself wearing that grey hoodie he loved to wear after a game, his perfume raining over your bare chest as you’d lazily ride him on his dorm bed after you’d get bored of whatever movie you’d settled for, pushing your panties to the side as he couldn’t be bothered taking it off completely. You didn’t want to picture him unzipping that same hoodie, palming your boob with one of his strong hands as his mouth sucked on your nipple until your soft, delicate skin turned red from all the biting marks. You didn’t want to feel yourself stretch around his rock-hard cock as he’d lift your legs up to wrap it around his neck, because he’s that kind of jerk who likes to show off even when he’s completely buried inside of you, that kind of complete asshole who loves to remind you just how deep he can go, smirking to himself as he hits your special spot over and over and over…. until you beg for him to stop. That kind of utterly disgusting dickhead who’d never stop, because he knows that, deep down, you just want him to keep going.

“Now you can tell me you’re not already wet… But we both know that’s a lie” he smiled again and as you felt his hand going down, palming you through your top and all the way down to the front of your skirt, you finally decided to come to your senses and grabbed his wrist into your tight fist, stopping him just in time before he’s reached the only approval he truly needed.

“Go to hell, Holland” you snapped, using all of your strength to push him off and walk away.

You didn’t turn back to see him chuckle at the sight of your flushed face.

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The coldness of water came as a shock as you bent over the sink in the bathroom, splashing your face until it didn’t feel like your skin was on fire. Grabbing a towel, you patted your cheeks and forehead, staring at the reflection in front of you. You definitely looked flustered, like you had just run a marathon when all you really did was to suffer through your archenemy’s evil little game.

Usually, you would have just brushed it off and that’d be it. But tonight, for some reason, you just couldn’t seem to shake him off your thoughts, his voice still echoing through your head like a curse without a cure. Outside the bathroom, you could hear the muffled sound of music and screams coming from the living room as beer-pong had turned into strip-pong with everyone removing a piece of clothes every time the ball missed the cup. Typical, drunken behavior. Soon enough these parties would turn into a massive orgy and it wouldn’t even come out as a big surprise.

Freshen up a little had helped you settle your thoughts back into place but still, your body didn’t seem to catch a break as the build-up tension and frustration Tom had caused within your core was yet to be released. There was no denying that your toys would have come handy if you were back to your dorm room as it felt like your pussy kept clenching for no reason, like the gaping mouth of the thirstiest man in the middle of a drought. You knew how bad you needed to put it out of its misery but if you thought undressing for a ping pong game was bad, what would happen if anyone walked on you literally fingering yourself in the bathroom of a frat-house? No one would shut up about it.

Tom would certainly not. Shut. Up. About. It. Ever.

You pressed your thighs together, hoping for some sort of relief as his words came back haunting you, thinking about how your hand had found its way between your legs earlier in the shower, the very second you had thought about his body pushing you up against the tiles. Is that what he was to you, now? A fantasy? Would you become another disgusting cliché of a girl begging for the typical frat boy to fuck her at a party because she couldn’t handle his dirty mouth?

Then you thought about your best-friend and how the last time you’d seen her, she was heading upstairs with Harrison, giggling, her lipstick smudged all over her chin after making out heavily on the couch up to the point everyone was starting to wonder whether they should be charged for that kind of peep-show or just roll with it. How she was probably getting fucked in his bedroom while you were standing alone in a bathroom, dripping wet for a man you hated down to the very bottom of your guts.

The door swung open abruptly, making you jump.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” Tom smiled, walking in.

“Can’t a girl have some privacy?”

“I need to take a piss, you’re the one standing out there doing nothing” he joked, walking to the toilets with his hands already fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

“Hum, excuse me?” you spat, widening your eyes as you realized he was genuinely about to use the toilets with you still standing a few meters away.

“I said I needed to take a piss… So either you just stand there watching, which I don’t mind really… or you can get out?” he pointed his chin towards the door, unbothered as he casually pulled his dick out of his boxers.

Both infuriated and shocked, you turned around as there was no point leaving the room now that his whole junk was out and already halfway through it.

“Do you have to be that disgusting? Really you’re such a pig!” you complained as you heard him sigh with relief before the toilet flush broke the most awkward silence of your entire existence.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll clean it up real nice just for you…” he smiled even though you still had your back turned to him. You heard him use the tap, washing his hands for a considerably long amount of time. At least he wasn’t one of those filthy rats who thought basic hygiene was optional.

“What were you doing by the way?” he finally asked, grabbing the towel to your left, “touching yourself thinking about me?”

You turned around to face his cocky face once more, this time with a furious need to slap it. Hard.

“You know I’ve seen you walking around campus a couple times, Y/N… Those big jumpers and yoga pants you like to wear don’t do that body any justice, but this?” he circled his finger in the air, pointing out her entire outfit “this, I like to see… and if you weren’t being a little brat I would gladly pull up that skirt up to your waist and have you there, above the sink…”

“I’m being a brat?” you scoffed. That was rich, coming from the ultimate king of bratty assholes.

“Well you call it whatever you like but denying yourself something you truly need just to prove a point seems a little childish…” he shrugged, shoving his hands into this jeans pocket and giving you a perfect glimpse at the veins running up his arms and disappearing underneath his rolled up sleeves.

“You think all girls are begging for you to fuck them? Really?”

“Probably, yeah, and who could blame them really? I have a great cock and I’ve never had a single bad review about the way I use it…” he smiled, with the arrogance of a king sitting on a throne of indecency.

“You’re so full of yourself… it’s insane” you shook your head with pure disgust.

“Then go ahead and prove it”

“Prove what, exactly?”

“That you’re not dripping wet as we speak…”

Point taken.

You were, indeed, dripping wet and soon enough, you’d have some serious explaining to do as the thin cotton fabric of your underwear was now soaked with your unsolicited arousal. Even though your head was filled with hateful thoughts and resentment for Tom, it felt like your body would not stop begging for his touch, dragging him closer like two pieces of magnets on a fridge. Unconsciously, you were now standing a couple inch away from his face, so close you could actually smell the soft mixt of menthol and alcohol from his breath. There was no point denying the obvious tension between you two as you looked like you were about to break into a passionate kiss but now it was just a fight between your will for self-preservation and your body, aching to be touched.

And so you heard yourself say these words you never thought you’d say, like you were standing in the audience as your other self was performing on stage, making some questionable decisions you weren’t 100% okay with.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

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You could have fought longer, for the sake of your personal values, but as your feet were swiped off the ground, your back hitting the door as it closed behind you with a loud slam, all of your good sense and respectable choices just vanished as much filthier thoughts buried them for good.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands had wasted no time and found their way under your top, fondling your breast with the hunger of a wolf. Your lips attached to his, you moaned louder than expected as he pushed himself a little harder against you, the obvious stiffness of his crotch pressing against your aching core. Your skirt had risen up to your waist from spreading your legs a little too wide, flashing your white panties as it was now so soaked you could definitely see the outline of your lips, the thin fabric sticking to your slit. Catching your breath, heavy pants breaking your kiss, you looked into Tom’s eyes only to see nothing but pure, absolute lust in them. As you tugged at his brown locks, a couple strand curling slightly at the back of his neck, you watched as his snapback fell to the floor with a thump, unleashing his brown untamed mane.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so bad, groaning slightly as your fingers scrapped the back of his neck, your lips sucking on his throat for good measures. With his head tilted back slightly, it felt like Tom was getting soft for a while, caving in so you could take control over him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long as he suddenly traced a hand all the way down to your inner thigh, immediately pushing your panties to the side with his middle finger.

“I knew it…” he smiled, sliding his finger along your slit as you wrapped it up with a glistening coat of arousal. You knew he had won the minute he felt just how wet you were for him, but when it should have been upsetting, you just didn’t care. All you needed now was to feel his cock filling you up in any way he wanted, “who made you this wet, darling?” he smiled, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t be a brat…” you complained as you could see some mischief in the way he looked at you.

“Just say it” he insisted “I want to hear you say out loud just how wet I make you” this wasn’t a request, but an order. And for some obscure reason you didn’t want to figure out, it somehow turned you on even more.

“You…” you started, biting your lip out of nerves, or out of excitement, you weren’t sure quite yet. “You make me so wet, Tom” you almost moaned, pushing yourself a little harder against his hand when he failed to give you exactly what you needed. His fingers. Buried deep inside of you.

“Hmm” Tom groaned, two of his digits spreading your lips apart at a torturing slow pace, “I like the sound of that…” his knuckles were barely halfway when you buckled your hips off the door, begging for more, “what’s that darling? Tell me what you want…” he was whispering by now, slowly pushing his fingers into your desperate slit, “I want to hear you beg for it…”

You felt him push deeper, curving his fingers into a hook every time he reached your g-spot. By now you were so aroused you just knew it would take you more than a couple stroke to cum heavily into his awaiting palm. You could hear the sloppy sound of your own wetness every time he slammed his slick, extremely skilled digits back into your throbbing pussy. His lips curved into a hasty smile as he could feel you literally drip all over his palm and wrist.

“I want you… I want you so much” you barely managed to whimper as he increased the pace, his wrist working its magic between your thighs.

“Hmm hmm? I’m gonna need you to be more specific baby… what exactly do you want?” his thumb grazed your clit for a brief second and that was enough for you to squeal under his touch, making you clench suddenly around his fingers, “say you want my cock” he almost growled as you felt his hard-on twitch against your thigh, begging to be freed.

“I want your cock” you immediately wimped, your own words sending shivers down your spine as you twitched with anticipation, “I want it so, so bad…”

“Good girl…” he hummed, slowing down the pace so he could add a third finger, stretching you out slightly this time, “d’you think you can take it though? It’s pretty big…” he smiled, twisting his hand just enough so he could dig himself a path.

You simply nodded, unable to speak anymore, but as you were about to beg for more, Tom removed his hand, leaving you frustrated and hornier than ever. His face changed suddenly as he watched you pout, his hand reaching up for your lips.

“What about that pretty mouth, then? You think it may fit?” he smiled, spreading your lips apart so you could taste yourself on his soaked fingers. You immediately obliged, sucking at it, one by one, never keeping your eyes off him. When he shoved three of his digits, watching as your tongue twirled around it, cleaning it off completely, you could definitely tell his eyes had gotten darker, filled with unspeakable thoughts you would be begging to hear soon.

“You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face?” he added, removing his fingers from your mouth so he could give you a soft, cheeky slap on the cheek. You nodded, obedient as ever. “Say it” he commanded, louder this time, “say you want my cock inside your mouth”.

“I want it… I want your cock inside my mouth” you pouted, only because you knew he loved to see you beg like a spoiled little princess. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at you every time you tilted your head to fake an innocence that was long gone.

Tom stepped back, walking away slowly as he watched you standing there, flustered, your hair all over the place, panting out of lust and frustration. Pulling his shirt off, you watched as his impressive chest unveiled in front of you. Abs like rocks, a thin strand of hair tracing a path from his navel to his crotch, disappearing under his jeans, his impeccable V-line bringing images you never thought you had within yourself. As he pushed his hair back, daunting you with his a look half way between arrogance and disdain, it felt like all signs of dignity had left your brain as all you could think about was to crawl to the floor and beg for his cock.

“What you’re waiting for then, Darling?” he smiled, unzipping his flies as he watched you walk towards him and get on your knees within seconds.

Your hands pulled at his jeans until it finally pooled around his ankles. Looking up to stare into his eyes, you felt both small and powerful, submissive but in control as you were now responsible for this man pleasure. It was up to you whether he’ll get to cum or not. But as you considered edging him as an option, Tom wasted no time in remembering you who was actually in charge.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he sighed, grabbing your hair into a fist as his other hand stroked his cock through the cotton fabric of his boxers. You could tell he was just horny as you were as a couple pre-cum had already stained his briefs, turning it into a darker shade of grey.

Again, you nodded, removing his hand so you could replace it with yours, palming him through his briefs as he growled against your touch. He was big. Actually much bigger than you expected but somehow, you were up for a challenge. Tracing the outline of his cock with your fingers tips, you felt him push his hands on the back of your head, forcing you to come closer to his crotch.

“I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so, so bad” he groaned as you unexpectedly ran your tongue all over his stiff through the fabric, feeling it twitch as you palmed his balls. By now he was so hard you could feel the veins tracing a dirty road up to his leaking head as Tom started grinding slowly against your mouth, messing up your hair with his desperate fists.

When you pulled down his boxers, you took a couple seconds to stare at his glorious manhood, hard and pressed against his abdomen where it curved slightly, your mouth watering with a thirst you could have never pictured, especially when standing in Tom Holland’s bedroom. And yet, you couldn’t wait to have this magnificent piece of flesh filling up your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tom smirked, boasting as ever but immediately squinting his eyes with a deep growl the minute he felt your tongue licking at the base, slowly going up until you finally bobbed on his creaming head.

You had always been good at this, giving head. Not that all of your partners would give you a proper review in the morning, pointing out your highs and lows, but there were just things men couldn’t do, like hiding the fact they were just having the time of their lives. And right now, Tom actually looked like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than standing here, with his cock in your mouth.

Twirling your hand at the base where you mouth couldn’t go just yet, you started bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking your cheeks in so your mouth would pop every time his dick came out. You had quickly figured out a couple things about Tom, including the fact he just seemed to love it dirty and noisy. You could actually hear him growl louder, his fist tightening its grip into your hair every time he slipped off your lips, only for him to shove it back a little harder and definitely deeper with each thrust.

“That’s it baby… Just like that… you’re such a good girl…”

You were a good girl, indeed. Always had been. Straight-A’s student from day one, the pride and joy of your parents, spending most of your week-ends doing some volunteer work whenever it was needed while being a caring, polite girl who never did anything wrong. Right choices only.

Or so you thought. Obviously, tonight would be always marked as the only questionable decision on your impeccable path to perfection. But still, as Tom grabbed your face with both hands to push himself deeper and all the way down your throat, making you gasp for air slightly, you had no regrets.

You stayed still for as long as your lungs could handle it, holding on to his firm, muscular buttocks as you swallowed him all. Looking down on you, Tom was left speechless as his cock stretched your cheeks out, his balls resting into your palm as you twitched them slowly, making it jolt with both pain and pleasure. When you felt like you were about to gag, you pushed yourself back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt numb and yet it missed the feeling of being stretched out already.

“Hmmm baby look at you…. you think you’re ready for it?”

“Yeah” was all you could blurt out. Yes to anything he wanted. You were prepared. You longed for it.

Looking around as Tom started pumping himself, getting ready for you, spitting into his palm to lube himself up so your lips wouldn’t drag along his shaft too much, you just couldn’t believe you were there, kneeling on the navy carpet of Tom Holland’s bedroom, the epitome of the ultimate frat boy. A huge flag from his favorite sports team was hanging above his bed, his never-ending hats collection sitting on wooden shelves by the wall like it was some kind of “frat boy starter pack” Art exhibition. In the corner of the room, you caught an unexpected glimpse at a guitar. It looked fairly new, but never in a million years would you have pictured Tom playing guitar. On his desk, his laptop was still open on a Spotify tab where you’d probably find a playlist based on some typical white boy rap music but against all odds, the room looked neat compared to what you had in mind.

“You look so beautiful” he sighed, out of nowhere, and to be completely honest, had your mouth not been filled with his dick, you would have probably picked up your jaw from the floor. Taking him all in once more, you just pretended you couldn’t hear, sparing you some awkward misunderstanding. Maybe those words were actually directed to his dick. After all, the boy loved himself just that much.

His hands were all over your face, wiping tears from your eyes every time he hit the back of your throat a little too hard, stroking your cheeks, massaging the back of your neck, roaming through your tangled hair as your kept up with his reckless pace, his hips swinging back and forth while you remained completely still so you could take him like a champ.

“God, I love to see you choke on my cock….” He gritted through his teeth “so…so hot…” you could tell he was getting sloppier now, pumping in and out of your mouth abruptly then a lot more slower as a couple twitch from his cock gave you a hint of his upcoming grand finale.

By now, you were a slippery mess, the taste of pre-cum hitting your throat as you dribbled all over his shaft, obscene sounds of suction coming out of your mouth every time he pushed himself out and back in all over again.

“F----uuuuck….fuck baby I’m gonna come!” he grunted, the sudden high-pitch of his broken voice driving you insane as you pushed yourself up a little so you could open your mouth wider, expecting him to fill it up soon enough. “D’you want me to cum in your mouth? Uh?” again, he gave you a little slap on the cheek, not quite hard enough for you to feel any pain. You nodded, moaning whatever came close to a “yes” as every single inch of your mouth was filled with Tom.

You heard him whimper, twitching a couple times, harder with his thrust as his hand fisted into your hair abruptly throughout his climax. Looking up to see his face, your eyes locked with his as he came all over your tongue, raining down your throat with a couple last, sloppy thrusts.

“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuuu------“

Your eyes immediately teared up as you tried your best to swallow every drop of cum he had to give, the corner of your lips dripping like an overflowing sink.

Then there was a complete silence.

As you wiped your mouth off the thick, warmness of his cum, you felt him kneel to your side, then sit. Both of you looked completely exhausted, drained from every ounce of energy you had left.

“Well, that wasn’t half bad… for a little brat” he spoke again, and you just couldn’t believe he had gathered the energy to say this when he could have chosen silence.

Laughing quietly to yourself so you wouldn’t slap him across the face, you decided not to fuel him up and remained quiet instead. His hair had gone curlier than heaver, his glistening red face making him look like any cute boy you could easily fall for.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of you at frat parties now?” he spoke again, and though it truly pissed you off to admit it, you just knew this wasn’t a one-time thing. For all you knew, this, was barely a prequel to a long, bumpy story of a good girl gone bad.

All because of Tom-fucking-Holland.

[nanasparadise]

“Dream Invader” Yan! Abbacchio x gender-neutral reader (Soulmate AU)

Hello everyone! I hope you are doing fine. I don’t know if you have read my previous post, that talks about a dream I had, but I decided to turn some elements of it into this piece of writing. This fanfiction is set in the soulmate universe. I really hope you enjoy it, because I decided to write this instead of studying for my French essay I have tomorrow (please wish me luck, God knows I need it) :D. And for the requests: I haven’t forgotten you, please remain patient. T-T I’ll write my last test on Thursday, after that I have holidays, so I’ll definitely catch up on them!! Thank you for sticking around. <3

Summary: Your soulmate keeps visiting you in your dreams, but you don’t feel comfortable around them…

TW: noncon touching, toxic relationship, angst, reader gets hurt physically, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

 I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

 Word count: 2626

It had happened yet again. You had dreamt again of this man, one of many countless dreams. Breathing heavily, you abruptly opened your eyes and wiped away the sweat that was accumulating on your forehead with the back of your hand. “Does that really mean…?”, you mumbled softly. Most people would be happy to find out they had a soulmate and finally had met them. But most people’s match certainly wasn’t someone, who conveyed a deep obsession and possessiveness towards their beloved. Still mentally in your dream, your body started to tremble slightly. What were you going to do now? At first, you had brushed off the dreams, convincing yourself that they didn’t mean anything. But you knew the gist of it. You knew that when a certain person kept infiltrating your dreams, that they were your soulmate.

Sighing deeply, you turned around in your bed, your left cheek resting on the soft pillow. The clock on your bedside table revealed that it was 4:30 a.m. You certainly couldn’t fall asleep again, but it was still too early to wake up for work. So you remained there in the quiet, your shallow breaths being the only sound in the dark room. Despite your efforts, your racing thoughts kept returning to your dream. “Who is this man?”, you whispered as you looked down on your fingers, which seemed to still hurt.

 Every time he had shown up, he had never revealed his name to you, wanting to keep it to himself. “I‘ll tell it to you once we see us in real life, amore”, he had told you, a certain spark igniting his admittedly gorgeous yellow and purple eyes. Truth be told, your soulmate was nothing short of beautiful. Long white hair with a purple hue graced his stoic face. His athletic body was adorned with a dark bodysuit, accentuating his muscles. All in all, he reminded you of a vengeful Greek god, breathtaking but dangerous. Dangerous… You began to feel threatened by the presence of your mysterious dream visiter. Since he had never offered you his name, you hadn’t given him yours either, sensing there might be something off about him.

 Still, he had found it out. This night in your dream, you two had been on the flower field you had met for the first time. You had felt dizzy, as if your head had been caught in the clouds. This light atmosphere had convinced you that this had been truly a dream, since a sense of haziness always accompanied your nocturnal adventures. The summer sun had been setting, turning the sky into a colourful spectacle of orange and pink. This would have been a picturesque and maybe even romantic moment if it hadn’t been for the feeling of dread building in your stomach. A small smile had formed on his purple lips when he had perceived your form. Quietly, nearly inaudibly, the stranger had murmured your name into the warm summer breeze: “Y/N.” Immediately, goosebumps had formed on your arms. 

“How do you know my name?”, you had replied, visibly shaken. Had he somehow managed to get some information on you? 

“It’s such a fitting name”, he had mused contemplatively, ignoring your question. “Y/N…” His unique eyes had been fixed on you the whole time, analysing every detail of your face. Fear had started to take over your body. The slight shivers had transformed into noticeable trembling. Your breath had shortened as you had desperately searched for a way to get out of that dream. 

„Why are you doing this?”, you had shouted out, panic manifesting in your voice. “Why do you keep entering my dreams, just to behave like a creep? How should I trust you when you don’t even tell me anything about yourself, yet you somehow know my personal information?” The man in front of you had sighed at your outburst. Sparks of sympathy had danced in his eyes, making them appear even brighter. Slowly, he had reached for your hands, holding them in his larger ones. You had tried to pull off from his grasp, but your fighting had been futile against his stronger form. So you had been forced to remain there, listening to the dream man’s words. 

“I know this is confusing for you,” he had said while rubbing circles on the back of your hands with his thumbs, “but I can’t give you any information yet, my job makes it hard. I need to see you in real life and I promise, I’ll tell you everything then.” Tears had pricked in your eyes, clouding your vision. Why had he assumed you two would meet? The thought of the stranger knowing your address had turned your initial dread into hot anger. No matter if he was your soulmate, you were still your own, independent person! He couldn’t just stalk you, talk to you as if you were a couple and leave you in the dark about his own identity. The dream man still had held your hands, expecting some kind of reaction from you. 

“No”, you had simply answered, refusing to meet his intense gaze. 

“No what?”, he had replied, impatience swinging in his voice. He had been in your dreams endless times, reassuring you of his love and loyalty for you. Why hadn’t you been reciprocating his feelings? He was your soulmate after all! 

“No,” you had repeated while your eyebrows had furrowed, illustrating your resistance,”we’re not going to see each other.” The grip on your hands had suddenly become stronger and hurtful, nearly crushing your fingers. For a second time, you had tried to take away your hands from him but without success. The stranger’s orbs had fixated you, darkness swirling in the iris of the same colour as the flowers on the field. Terror had made itself visible again in your body and mind, amplified by the man’s sombre look on his handsome face. Yes, he looked just like a statue of Ares, so enchanting and yet so enraged. And dangerous… 

“So you don’t want to meet your soulmate?”, he had stated calmy, which only had increased your anxiety. 

“Please, let go, you’re hurting me”, you had pleaded despairingly. The man had squeezed harshly one last time your hands before he had eventually released them. Protectively, you had cradled them against your chest, trying to soothe the pain by softly rubbing your fingers. “What kind of person would do this to their soulmate?” you had thought in disgust and fear. Hesitantly, you had looked up to him, his face remaining a stoic façade. 

“You still haven’t answered my question, Y/N”, the dream man had said coolly. The fact that he had addressed you with your name again had put you in a state of fear once more. Nevertheless,  you had gathered all your courage to reply to him. 

“No, I don’t. Someone who hurts and stalks me can’t be my soulmate, no matter if they enter my dreams. And even if you are, I still don’t want to be with you. Please, I’m begging you to respect and accept that.” 

The Italian – you had guessed that this was probably his nationality since he called you Italian pet names –  man’s gaze had immediately softened at your words. He had known he’d got carried away with his rage. Of course, your words had pained him more than any weapons ever could, but he had to be patient with you. He could only imagine how he had come across to you, especially now that he had hurt you. No, he couldn’t pain a loved one again, not you… 

“I’m sorry, cuore mio,” he had said remorsefully, regret manifesting itself, “I really shouldn‘t have hurt you. I promise it won’t happen again. I just want to see you, really see you, and hold you in my arms. I know, I might not be the best man to have existed.” His face had abruptly twisted into a pained grimace. This had been the first time he had ever been that sincere to you. Your feelings had begun to transform into a mix of sympathy, fear and confusion. He had really appeared to feel bad about his actions, maybe he had lived through a trauma to react that way? Your pondering had quickly come to a halt. No, you really couldn’t start to show empathy for the man. After all, he had stalked you, hurt you, crossed too many lines. Nonetheless, your dream invader had kept up with his speech. “I don’t know if I deserve your love, but I really want to believe in it. You are my soulmate and I am yours, we can make it work out if we try. Please, give me a chance and I will do everything in my power to show you I am worthy of you. Just don’t reject me already.” He had paused for a moment, a slight tremble in his voice making itself visible. You had stared at him with big eyes, not knowing what to do or how to feel about this situation. “I’ll be truthful with you. I’ll tell you everything you want to hear.” The man had tried to grasp your hands again but had immediately stopped when he had seen, how you had flinched away. His lips had formed into a thin, bitter line while seeing your reaction. Was he a monster? “I see that my words don’t seem to get through you” he said stoically. “I’ll show you what I mean, that might help. We’ll be seeing each other soon enough.” His last sentence had sent you a cold shiver down your spine. You had had the feeling that he hadn’t referred to another dream… An expression of horror had slowly crept on your face.

“What do you mean?”, you had blurted out loudly, “you mean in our dreams, right? You don’t know where I live, do you?” But the stranger had cruelly decided to stay silent, staring at you ominously instead. Suddenly, the light atmosphere around you had changed. Heaviness had taken over you, the scenic landscape had turned black as you had woken up.

 You took another look at your clock. 5:15 a.m. Did you really spend so much time recalling that dream? Deciding that you already wasted too many thoughts on that man, you stood up from your bed and took a shower, even if it still was early. “Some distraction will do me good”, you sighed, exhaustion manifesting in your voice. Your dreams involving the stranger were always so vivid that the next morning you woke up completely tired and drained. As you entered the shower and felt the warm water hitting your skin, you finally managed to relax a little, even if that tiny voice of fear kept reminding you of the dream man’s words…

 Weeks had passed since your last encounter in the dream world with your so called soulmate. A sense of hope blossomed in your chest. Maybe he had finally come to his senses and realised that it would be best to leave you alone? That was at least what your friends had told you. They had reassured you that it happened often, that your soulmate could be invasive, they had heard that before from other acquaintances. But in those cases, it had always ended well, none of the people had been harmed. You had chosen to blindly accept that explanation. Truth be told, you did need comfort right now. Because, what your friends didn’t know was, that you felt a pair of eyes burning holes into your back every time you left your home. Yet, you never saw the person behind the gaze. Foolishly, you clung onto the sense of security your friends provided you with, even if it was but wishful thinking…

 As you returned home one evening after your work, you already perceived intuitively that something was wrong. Why was there a light on? You always did turn them off… Cautiously, you entered your bedroom, as that was where the light source came from, with your phone in your hand with the emergency number already typed in. Your palms grew sweaty and your breath heavy as fear flooded through your veins. Only now, you thought that you should have maybe taken a knife from the kitchen as protection. But alas, it was already too late. When you saw the person sitting on your bed, you were surprised to see a familiar face.

The man from your dreams quickly stood up when he glanced at your form. His eyes first landed on your horrified face, then on your phone. Without a second thought, you quickly tapped on the call button and placed the device next to your ear. The man knew exactly who you were planning on phoning. “Please, take the phone away Y/N, I’m not going to harm you”, he said lowly. Even though he promised to not hurt you, his dark expression on his face made you think otherwise. Of course you weren’t going to hang up now. You heard the Italian sigh at your act of defiance. After the second beep sound, a voice appeared on the line. 

“How can I help you?”, the person on the other side of the phone asked politely. Before you could reply, an to you invisible force ripped the device out of your grasp and slammed it onto your wall. The screen of your smartphone turned black and cracked into thousand pieces. With eyes as big as saucers you stared incredulously at it. 

“I’m sorry for that”, the man simply uttered. Though you couldn’t hear a hint of actual remorse in his voice. “I’m gonna buy you a new one.” 

“What do you want?”, you managed to voice, “I thought you had left me in peace.” 

“I’ve told you at our last encounter that we would see each other again, fiore mio”, the man replied with softness. “I can’t believe you’re really here physically”, he kept on musing in a dreamy tone, eyes lighting up. He took a few steps towards you, a hand reaching out to you. You instinctively took a few steps back until your back hit the door. 

“Please, don’t come near me”, you begged, feeling completely helpless and exposed. 

“It’s fine Y/N, really. I promised I’d you show that I won’t ever hurt you again.” He was now in front of you, your faces so close, you could feel his breath fan over your nose. Tears welled up in your eyes and threatened to stream over your face. What were you going to do now? You were scared to react in a sudden way, scared it would trigger the Italian and his dangerous invisible force. Gently, the man shushed you and placed a hand on your cheek.  A calloused thumb brushed away the tears that had finally escaped. “I know that I have done bad things in the past,” he whispered quietly to you, “but I, Leone Abbacchio, swear I will fix it. I will be a better person for you, Y/N.” Your eyes widened at the revelation of his name. Abbacchio basked in your innocent reaction. He took a mental note to replay it with Moody Blues later. While one hand kept caressing your cheek, the other one grabbed into his pocket to take out a yellow flower, matching perfectly with the man’s eyes. Your gaze fell upon the plant, recognising it from the flower field of your dreams. Abbacchio softly tucked it behind your left ear while admiring your face. You hiccupped anxiously at his obsessive staring. “We will have a beautiful future ahead of us, I’ll make sure of it” the Italian murmured in your ear. 

“After all, we are soulmates.”

[intjpersephone]

🧠Since memorizing everything is some hard shit, allow me... 🧠

Science has my entire back on this one...

Now, I'm gonna be talking about three techniques, two of them are gonna help if you have a test really soon the other one is in for a long run.

"The Generation Effect"

being tested is supposed to help others evaluate your progress, but it turns out that testing isn't a very good evaluation tool.

It actually functions better as a learning tool but only if used properly. This may seem Counter-Intuitive but first, you should test yourself before you even know the material. For example, start with the practice test even before you started studying it. You'll get answers wrong, But your brain is forced to generate answers, you'll be creative, panicked and end up priming your neurology to learn the correct new answers. This technique works on "The Hypercorrection Effect": when you make a mistake on some type of general information and later find out you're wrong, you're much more likely to remember the correct answer. For example, you're certain the capital city of India is Mumbai but later find out it is in fact New Delhi, you are much more likely to remember that forever compared to somebody who was just simply told the answer New Delhi.

Your brain Hypercorrects. One theory behind this states that surprise and embarrassment play a role, That's why you probably remember everything embarrassing thing that happened to you so far 😂(😥)

Now My Personal Experience: On this one, in April, I had a 20 marks test every week and so my teachers would ask us questions related to the test during classes and I used to get most of them wrong, and after the embarrassment, the test came I actually did better than my classmates.

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

"Spacing"

This one is the one for the long run now...

For spacing, you're gonna wanna practice and then almost forget the material and then practice again.

One particular study had students learning Spanish, each group had eight hours to study. The first group studied intensively for eight hours in one day while the second group studied for four hours one day and then one month later studied for another four hours and an entire month later.

So both groups had the same amount of study time just distributed differently. After only getting 8 hours of practice they tested them 8 years later.

Both groups were tested on their Spanish vocabulary and by now you probably guessed the group that spaced their studying over a month gap performed 250% better. Remember this is 8 years later that they're being tested.

My Personal Experience On This: So, in 4/5th grade, I used to jump from learning greek to french to Spanish and so on, so last year staying inside I picked french again, remember this is 4/5 years later, and remembered all the basics very well! I was surprised but now it makes sense!

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

"Interleaving"

So, what studies have found is that instead of studying the same thing over and over again, if you mix up or vary the challenge the benefits are huge. At the moment this process might be a lot more frustrating and you may even think that you are learning more slowly but that's why it's so counterintuitive.

Let's take a look at some examples that could apply to your life. All of which have come from a wonderful book called "Range" by David Epison. if you have any interest in high performance and improving skills, this books will change your perspective so I highly recommend it.

First, we are gonna talk about motor skills like piano, so a particularly tricky thing to do is jump "A", big inter violin-piano really quickly so say starting at "C" and then jumping 20 keys really quickly, it takes a lot of coordination and muscle memories to do that quickly without thinking about it without accidentally hitting other keys along the way.

So this study had one group practised the 20 keys jump over and over and they have gone relatively good at it pretty quickly. But the second group had practised not only the 20 key jumps but also mixing a 15 key jump and 10 key jumps

So, ultimately they had to practise but the 20 key jumps but had interleaved or mixed practised by using a bunch of different intervals obviously it would have been a lot more frustrating to be learning multiple intervals at once the 20 key, the 15 key, the 10 key but when they brought the groups back what they found was that the group that practised interleaved or mixed practised was better every single interval including the 20 key jumps. Even though they technically had less practice with it the same has been shown in mathematics. Rather than practising one type of problem over and over, mixing different kinds of problems in between makes the process harder but develops stronger skills.

It's very shocking how bigger difference this type of interleaving makes.

Looked at math skills in grade 7 students. Those that used interleaving or mixed practice saw an effect size of approving someone's from the 50% of skill to the 80%, that is like being an average student to being someone who is definitely something brown parents will dig, which is an ultimate math god.

If you're using cue cards makes sure you're mixing up different themes within those cue cards.

My Personal Experience On This: Now, I have never really tried this before, so that's why I tried my best to elaborate on it as much as I could. But while researching on this, so far this one deeply impressed me, and my mom was a mathematics teacher before my brother was born (she also taught commerce but that's irrelevant) so, she was a middle and high school teacher and she ALWAYS keeps suggesting me, but hey, there's a reason I say relatable to a meme which is about being a disappointment 😐, anyway, I do really look forward to trying this one.

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

All this research is incredibly significant because of evidence-based solutions especially in space like education.

And the idea for today's post was suggested by my wonderful girl, @agents-of-shield-fan

and if you want me to make my next post on something you have in my mind, tell me!

Now go ahead and ✨ S H I N E ✨ babe 🤗🌿💕

[aurora-daily]

Runaway with AURORA: we meet the songwriting sprite to talk about music old + new

'We simply have to survive. And that is enough'

Interview by Blossom Caldarone for gigwise (July 8th, 2021). 

A textbook empath and considerate soul, Norway’s AURORA has an endearing air of childlike sensitivity. Comfortably seated in her mother’s French dress, we caught up over Zoom amid the frenzied #runawayaurora trend and the singer’s monumental TikTok rise.

AURORA’s 2016 single ‘Runaway’ is now the dainty accompaniament to millions of short videos on the increasingly influential TikTok. Predominantly featuring suburban teenagers, the trend has encouraged people to find the charm in their otherwise mundane corners of the world. “Seeing the beauty in the small things is something we all lost on the way” she says. Whether users film lakeside days out, pose elegantly or capture early morning sun beams, the trend's theme is strikingly on brand for AURORA: “It’s nice that people have created a wholesome vibe to it - you never know with the trends! I’m happy it’s not anything horrible.”

Momentarily gazing at the mountains outside her Bergen window, it’s clear to see AURORA isn’t fazed by the numbers that currently skirt her name. “It’s a very abstract thing for me and therefore I don’t spend time trying to understand it. I’ve just been home, doing my normal things, cooking my dinner, reading my books and being in the studio. I’m very grateful that people are letting my song into their hearts” she softly explains.

Written when she was only 11, the song platforms a prematurely advanced AURORA grapple with the concept of running away from the people we love when we are in pain. “Just like a dog that goes out and dies alone in the forest, we do the same. We struggle so much in talking about these very mutual, normal feelings but can’t deal with them when we are going through them ourselves.”

It’s a universal reality that stumps any age or decade, and her philosophy on the song’s ability to resonate is profound: “Music, unlike us, has no age. If it’s good or relatable, or if it has nerve, it will never die and it will always make sense to someone.”

She’s embarked on a week of interviews, and I’m her last before the weekend. Conscious she may not want to wax lyrical about Runaway any longer, I turn the discussion to the things that make AURORA tick. “My biggest muse is Mother Earth and nature. It always has been and always will be” she gushes. “It grounds me, it opens me up. It humbles and strengthens me.”

Her Nordic roots affording her the luxury of stunning outdoor access, she talks effusively of its importance, and how life’s increasingly high tempo is detrimental. Astutely describing being human as an “extreme sport”, she accredits success to ending up in her own bed at the end of the day. “The world is way too demanding in every area. It’s almost impossible” she laments. Her approach to living is one of simplicity; where surviving is the only necessity and anything else a mere plus. “It’s a matter of life or death, we simply have to survive. And that is enough.”

With last year’s lockdown allowing her to fully immerse herself in her artistry, AURORA found herself revelling in the desolate streets and empty shops, whilst finding ultimate inspiration in the silence. Her introverted intentions thrived whilst she empathised with the struggling extroverts in the world: “Silence is so rare and I love it. I try to be in silence as much as I can”. AURORA famously doesn’t listen to much music apart from fellow celestial Enya: “I’m afraid I’ll miss out on an idea if I’m listening to something else. And I don’t want to be effected by other melodies. It contaminates me” she explains. A theory shared with anything but pretence, AURORA evidently has an ability to hone in on the nuances within the quiet; a skill that requires patience and devotion to creative processes.  

Her timely mid-pandemic single ‘Exist For Love’ is a song that prioritises the fundamental importance of love. A delicate step away from previous AURORA releases, its traditional tendencies embody the timeless essence of a '50s love song, a trait only enhanced by its cinematic Isabel Waller-Bridge arranged strings: “I just felt like we needed a divine love song. I truly believe that when we understand love - unselfish pure love - we understand why we exist” she plainly explains, again finding a way to strip down concepts that feel hard to define.

“When I write, I think a lot about what the world will need. I wish to make something that will be good for people.” Often writing selflessly, boundaries are key; being an empath can be exhausting. “I can’t really read the newspapers. I have to learn things through discussion, and then dive into matters if I want to educate myself more. I spend little time on social media because it makes us sad, but it also makes me sad to see so many sad people on social media.” Surrounding herself with others who also tend to give more than they receive, AURORA ensures her good intentions are not misplaced.

As for her fans, they are at the forefront: “I think a lot about them. It’s all for them.” But it will come as no surprise to learn that she doesn’t like the more vacuous side of the industry, and finds getting recognised slightly unsettling. “It’s good to know it’s all worth it. As long as you can say something that means something, you can use the music as a tool to support people out there” she justifies.

Her new single ‘Cure For Me’, out now, is another example of AURORA’s altruistic approach to songwriting. A playful tune that will surprise fans with its cheekiness, it debunks the idea that humans should ever need to be cured, and that anything other than who we are is abnormal. “People are very self-critical and it doesn’t take much for us to assume that something is wrong because we look different, or act different, instead of just accepting that we are different. We are all biologically designed to be unique” she explains. We go on to discuss how we’re led to believe that we’re crazy for being emotional or sensitive: “That’s what inspired me to make this song, as an anti-gaslighting song where you just celebrate that it’s fine, and you’re going to be fine, and I don’t need a ‘Cure For Me' because I’m perfectly ok as I am.”

The song’s juxtaposed setup is a peek into what’s to come: “It’s fun for me to be less serious about things. It’s very new for me. I am often very serious in all my music. I really feel like we need a bit of light right now, everything has been so intense.”

Heading into a newfound artistic side, AURORA is considering how the new sound should be consumed too. With her mystical ability to sonify nature and art, AURORA’s eclectic and ethereal world has always captured feeling in a visual way. “I love to be able to shape how people see my music, even if just a little bit. For many people, it’s easier to understand the whole thing when they can see it as well.” She is currently painting an “intimidating” canvas and studying Egyptian history, alongside Greek and Roman mythology. Finding inspiration in their bohemian attitudes towards female roles, AURORA is focussing on the old, the new and repeated behaviours in between: “Everything we’ve done in history, both good and horrible, has sometimes taught us to be better and sometimes not. Our patterns of behaviour are very interesting.”

So with ‘Cure For Me’ here and a well-researched new artistic process in full flow, AURORA is peacefully going about her business and prioritising the small things that make her feel truly content. Currently, she's filling her home with flowers: “It makes me more happy every day than I could ever imagine.” Her intentions are in the most authentic place; a space that prioritises connection and understanding, and one that prioritises the heart in a world where its complexities are so often dismissed. “As long as we remember to take care of the mind and the heart, we’ll have the capacity to care for others as well” she finally assures me.

[jeannereames]

Hi Dr Reames, I hope you're well! I think I might have asked this before, so sorry if I'm being obnoxious, but do you think there is very much studying left to be done in regards to Alexander/Macedonia? Looking at the field from the outside, it seems a little bit like all that can be said, has been. Would you recommend studying Alexander specifically as a prospective academic path, or would you advocate pursuing other areas of classics?

The problem with studying ANYthing in the ancient world is always a problem of the sources. Unless there’s new material, then we’re all just doing ring-around-the-rosie with what we have. That doesn’t mean new things can’t be said. I’d point to my own work on Hephaistion, or for that matter, Alexander’s bereavement. I wasn’t looking at anything new, just looking differently at what we already had. As someone who’d done bereavement counseling, Alexander’s mourning of Hephaistion didn’t strike me as particular unusual, except in the amount of money he had and power to have his desires put into practice.

Also, scholarship tends to go through “fads,” like anything else. That is, someone makes a splash with a new approach, one that can be applied more broadly, and suddenly, a lot of people jump on board. That’s not necessarily bad, but it can result in oversaturation. Right now, one of the big fads is “reception studies.” So the rise of new directions in the study of old fields can offer alternative approaches to familiar material.

Another thing that can happen is for old fields to give birth to new ones. E.g, Charles Edson, Harry Dell, and then Nick Hammond all started asking questions about the country that produced Philip and Alexander, instead of writing just about them. Edson’s 1939 dissertation at Harvard, “Five Studies in Macedonian History” widened the lens but things really began to churn in the 60s and 70s. In 1972, Nick Hammond published the first volume in that massive A History of Macedonia, after having done Epiros earlier. He got Griffith to work with him on vol. 2, Griffith writing much of the material on Philip (which is still, btw, a pretty damn good summary of Philip’s reign, if you allow for material discovered since), then Walbank, already well-known as a scholar of Philip V, worked with Hammond on Vol. 3, which is the Hellenistic period.

Macedonian Studies was born, and by 1990, 3 different histories had appeared: a short version by Hammond on Macedonian Institutions called The Macedonian State, Gene Borza’s (still) excellent In the Shadow of Olympus, that goes up to Philip II, and Malcolm Errington’s A History of Macedonia that included ATG and the Hellenistic period. What followed (and was in between) involved numerous articles, then companions and conference proceedings. Alexander (and Philip) were still hot property, but many articles had nothing to do with them. New direction had been found.

Yet notice most of those early scholars were English-speakers. Partly, that owed to where it got started: Edson and Dell were Americans. They trained students who were also Americans. So Bill Greenwalt (Dell’s student) would go into Argead Macedonia with an interest in Illyria (and Thrace) because Dell had the same. There were some Greek scholars, such as Miltiades Hatzopoulos and Argyro Tataki doing a lot with epigraphy, and Manolis Andronikos himself, but the field was dominated by English-speakers for a while.

One of the bigger shifts in the last 20-25 years has been an expansion into other languages, plus the Greeks dominating the archaeology. When you take up high-level scholarship, there’s an assumption that you will read material in languages besides your own. When I got my PhD, aside from the ancient languages, common wisdom dictated I learn German and French.

BUT my NUMBER ONE piece of advice to anybody who wants to do ancient Macedonia today is LEARN MODERN GREEK.

Why? Because, as I said, the Greeks have taken back their own archaeology and most of their reports are in Greek. They’re talking to each other, and most (non-Greek) scholars don’t read modern Greek [that well]. That’s not entirely accidental, and some payback for the colonial dominance of the late 1800s and 1900s. (Elgin Marbles anybody?) The best way to keep out “interference” is to write mostly in a language few other scholars read well. That keeps Macedonian history in Greek hands. I would now advise young scholars that modern Greek is more important than French. Just as, if you really want to do Thracian history, learning Bulgarian and/or Russian might be a good idea.

It’s getting increasingly hard, as scholarship expands, to keep up with all the languages one needs. Current work is being done on Macedonia, as well as Alexander and the Hellenistic world in English, Spanish, Italian, German, modern Greek, and even Russian, and that doesn’t look at the wider world outside Europe (and colonial states). We’ve got a ton of talented young scholars on the continent, while jobs are lacking in many English-speaking countries, meaning students just aren’t going into it. English still remains a major language, largely because Americans and Canadians suck at learning other languages while the Europeans might speak 4-5. But English is becoming less relevant. As a grad student, I couldn’t have guessed I’d need Spanish and Italian more than French.

But LEARN MODERN GREEK, as that’s where the NEW stuff is. I doubt we’ll get much (if anything) new in textual evidence. By contrast, archaeology is rewriting what we thought we knew about north Greece. E.g., Methone now vies with Pithokousai for the earliest Greek script. Think about that a minute. Euboian Greeks and Phoenicians weren’t just hanging around off the coast of Cumai in the late 8th century, they were poking about the Thermaic Gulf, too, interacting with whoever the hell was at Pella before the Macedonians moved in (Bottaians, Paionians, somebody else…?). Who [what people] were buried at Archontiko between 650-450 BCE?? What was happening tradewise between Aiani in Elimeia and Corinth? That, to my mind, is where scholarship is going: or it should be. The Early Iron and Archaic Ages…periods before Macedonia even shows up in the written record with Herodotos.

Sure, I love Alexander, and I write about him a lot here, or Hephaistion, but I’m really an Argead specialist. I’m just as curious about how Alexander I used Persian power, then Persian absence to consolidate his own power and create Macedonia as we know it. When I first got to UNO, the Hellenistic Era was the “happenin’” place, but there are now a number of Macedoniasts doing that. Pat Wheatley (Brian Bosworth’s student) and Charlotte Dunn just (2020) published a new (probably definitive) book on Demetrios Poliorketes for instance (I’ve been waiting to see that for years). And there will always be Yet Another book on Alexander or Philip, but the place that is WIDE OPEN for research is the archaeology of Archaic and Early Iron Age Macedonia. That shit is interesting.

Go to Macedonia. Drive around and visit the museums (not just the big ones in Athens and Thessaloniki, or even Vergina). Go to Veroia, go to Pella, go to Aiani, go to Ioannina, go to Florina. See what’s up there. It’s COOL.

[innovativelanguagelearning]

10 Ways to Learn 34 Languages in No time

Have you ever wondered how some people can learn a language in one week? 

Well, most polyglots—people who speak several languages—start speaking new languages quickly thanks to a few but powerful tips.

Afrikaans       Arabics       Bulgarian       Cantonese

Chinese       Czech       Danish       Dutch       English

Filipino       Finnish       French       German       Greek

Hebrew       Hindi       Hungarian       Indonesian

Italian       Japanese       Korean       Norwegian

Persian       Polish       Portuguese       Romanian

Russian       Spanish       Swahili       Swedish

Thai       Turkish       Urdu       Vietnamese

1. Connect with language partners online.

One of the most common (and cheapest) language-learning tricks is to simply build a learning relationship with a native speaker of your target language; perhaps with someone who is also interested in learning your mother tongue.

2. Work on your Pronunciation.

A great way to correctly pronounce words in your chosen language is to use a voice dictionary. This will allow you to listen to automatic audio pronunciations of all the new expressions you learn.

3. Have a go-to Dictionary App.

Not only will a dictionary help you become successful in your chosen language, but it will also lift the vocabulary weight right off your shoulders. You will start to contextualize every word you use and train your brain to use it in real-life situations.

5. Use the Spaced Repetition Algorithm for memorization.

The Spaced Repetition Algorithm is proven to be more effective than traditional memorization methods. Using spaced repetition to learn new vocabulary words increases your ability to remember information in the long-term.

On our site you can use flashcards to improve your vocabulary skills. These flashcards will repeat as you need them so you can check back on words you have studied in 3 days, then 7, and then maybe 14 so you don't forget them.

6. Listen to audio clips in your chosen language.

Studies have shown that being exposed to any language's audio, even if you don’t understand what’s being said, can “make a huge difference” as it helps your brain adapt to new pronunciations and grammar structures.

You can get started on this without audio lessons. On our sites you will find clips recorded by native-speaking language teachers, along with flashcards, grammar explanations, cultural insights and much more for all your listening study needs.

7. Study grammar, only when necessary.

Most of us have studied at least one language at school, yet we are still unable to speak them. Why? Because academic systems are not built to teach you fluency and speaking, but they are built to teach you grammar for tests. Instead, to keep up motivation and see real results it's better to focus on the practical side of languages, real-life conversations. Learning the necessary grammar will then come progressively.

Keep a daily journal using the foreign vocabulary words you learned throughout the day. You can then ask your tutor, or teacher to correct your writing and spot any grammar rules you might have missed.

8. Take private language lessons online.

Worried about losing motivation while learning a foreign language? Then working 1 on 1 with a teacher is a must.

Let’s be honest: private language lessons are the only way someone will be truly disappointed when you do not finish your assignment. Your private tutor is focused on you and your language education, and not juggling at least a dozen students in multiple classes. Without that central focus, you might not learn your target language as fast as you can.

9. Change your language settings on your devices.

We spend a huge amount of time interacting with technology. Phones, computers, TV. To make the most out of the time you devote to these devices, a great idea is to switch your language settings to the language you’re learning.

At the beginning, you might need to translate a substantial amount of words into your native language to move on with almost everything you do, but since most of us know where certain apps and settings are located, you will slowly but surely start to memorize new vocabulary words

10. Stop worrying about making mistakes.

One of the biggest errors that can significantly slow you down is worrying about making mistakes.

To break this barrier, you might consider telling your language partners and teachers that you are open to any feedback or corrections on your grammar structure and pronunciation. Don't be afraid to make mistakes, you will learn from your mistakes and the feedback you get from them. Because of this you will be much less likely to make those mistakes in the future.

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