#Work and study in the UK for free

[financia012]

Indians Can Now Work & Study in the UK for Free for 2 Years!

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Indians Can Now Work, Study & Enter the UK for Free for 2 Years – New Visa Scheme The United Kingdom has launched an exciting new visa opportunity for young Indian professionals! The India Young Professionals Scheme offers 3,000 visas annually, allowing Indian citizens aged 18-30 years to work, study, and live in the UK for up to 2 years without requiring job sponsorship. This initiative aims…

[gingerbreadmonsters]

sleepy and v fed up w this blasted reading for japanese history class tomorrow. give me 45 minutes to finish this article and i will be back to talk about kissing or something

[shivangeasyvisa]

Fast Track Your Visa with Shivang Easy Visa for Canada USA Schengen UK A...

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Shelter - 1

Summary: You save Soap's life. It might have ruined yours. But now you're stuck with the 141 and the man named Ghost won't stop looking at you. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/F!Reader (No Y/N) Warnings For This Chapter: Canon typical violence, my attempt at writing Soap's accent, soft Simon, military inaccuracies, canon divergence right off the bat.

A/N: My first COD fic! I hope you guys like it. It will be a slow burn because Reader needs a hug and therapy and Simon is awkward but also needs a hug. Enjoy!

This had been your first vacation in ten years. Ten. You had wanted to wander around London, see the sites, eat pub food, try to see how much the city had changed since you had last visited, ages ago when you had a summer internship at the British Museum. And now you were bleeding out on this shitty, dirty floor. There was shouting somewhere to your left as you hazily stared up at the dark ceiling.

You had made it three days before some guy pulled you off the sidewalk and shoved you into the back of a van. There had been a sharp pain in your neck before the dark came. When you came to, your hands had been tied and you were in the belly of an abandoned tube station, if you were guessing. Your captors were speaking Russian—rapidfire and stilted, but you did recognize some of it. Most of it. Maybe. If your undergraduate studies were still holding up. But you did know something for sure: you were curled up and hiding near a bomb. To keep your mind from wandering about when you were going to be the next hostage shot or when the bomb would explode, you started repeating whatever you heard to yourself, quiet and low. Cities, people’s names, shipments, shipments, shipments. You hadn’t done this in years, your therapist would have a field day, but this was better than the waiting. This was better than the pleading your fellow hostages were doing, begging for their lives.

You kept repeating what you learned. More shipments. More cities.

An immeasurable amount of time dragged on; how many days and nights passed, you couldn’t tell, but you knew exactly how many other hostages your kidnappers had killed before you were the only one left. And you weren’t entirely sure if it was because they had other plans for you or if they had actually forgotten you were there, huddled near the bomb. Perhaps you had taken the saying, “the closer we are to danger, the further we are from harm,” too seriously.

But it mattered little when the fighting started and a too warm hand clapped on your arm. And then the brightest pair of blue eyes were staring at you. The man had the most ridiculous mohawk you’d ever seen but you couldn’t really tell him that, not when he was pressing a finger to his lips. A quick glance down showed his UK flag patch on his vest and you felt the smallest bit of tension slip from your shoulders.

“I’ma get ye outta here, lass,” he said, Scottish brogue winding through your ears.

You only nodded and let him move you into a crouched position. He and another man in a ridiculous hat worked on defusing the bomb, working in tandem on either side as your eyes swept toward the door. You were nearly there. Nearly free.

You were going to get out of here. You were going to live. You were going to see your sister and her baby. You-

-Came to a hard stop when the shooting started.

You curled into a ball behind the bomb as the shouting started but then you heard that ridiculous Scottish accent again. And yes, it was stupid. But you had always been a little stupid. You were on your feet again, hands still tied in front of you, before you could think of anything else to do and ran, shoulder down into the man tussling with the Scot and another man in the dumbest hat you’d ever seen. The man with the gun let out a wet ‘oof’ when your shoulder connected with his side and you both fell to the dirtied floor. You hadn’t even heard the gun go off.

Hadn’t felt anything but a heat blooming across your shoulder.

And then your knees buckled. “Oh.”

A quick glance to the left saw your once white shirt now a dark crimson. Pity. You’d liked this top. Your blood was roaring in your ears but you did remember someone saying the bomb was defused…that was good. Great. Wonderful.

A choked gasp was torn from your throat when large hands clamped over your shoulder and you saw those blue eyes again. “Now, why’d ye go and do that? Made a mess, ye did.”

“Next time,” you ground out between clenched teeth, “I’ll let you get shot.” Dark dots were starting to cloud your vision even as the grip on your shoulder grew tighter. You vaguely heard him shouting for someone to throw him something before he turned back to you. He was bleeding, too, crimson streaked across his face and neck. More of it slithered down his arm.

“We’ll get this cleaned up. Cannae have a bonnie lass bleedin’ out in a place like this.”

And you had to smile. You did, even if you looked absolutely insane, because this was probably the first time in over a decade that someone was nice to you and you had been shot.

And then the Grim Reaper loomed over you, skull bright as he blotted out the light above him.

“Fuck.” The word slurred on your heavy tongue. “Guess I’m dead, then.” The ridiculousness of the situation was not lost on you, even as the light faded and you were out cold.

Your eyes opened slowly, weighed down and scratchy. It took a moment for you to realize you were in a hospital room, small, stuffy, and a worn shade of off-white. Uncoordinated fingers plucked at the thin, bleach-stiff sheets across your hips before you tugged at the neckline of the light blue hospital gown and frowned at the large dressing taped over your shoulder. A single wiggle against the flat pillow let you know you had a matching one on your back. Wonderful.

Well, at least you weren’t dead?

The door opened and a bespectacled man popped his head in. His bright eyes connected with yours for just a moment before the door snapped shut again.

What just happened?

You got your answer a handful of minutes later when your tiny room was filled with several more people, doctors and nurses checking you over and a woman—Laswell, you think she said her name was—staring at you from her place in the corner. She was biding her time, you knew that. Her American drawl had thrown you for just a moment, a stark contrast to the English accents coming at you from all directions. You tried to keep up with all the information they tossed at you, about your stitches, the physical therapy you’d need, how to keep movement to a minimum before helping you into a sling to keep your arm immobilized. It went on and on. The pain meds were keeping you from scratching at your shoulder but it did feel a little like your brain was swimming through your skull.

And three of them said the same thing: “You’re lucky you’re alive. It nearly nicked your subclavian artery and you would have bled out.”

Comforting.

And through it all, Laswell was quiet but when she pushed off the wall, the group of medical professionals dispersed.

“You’ve been through a lot.”

You said nothing as she stepped closer and set a manilla envelope on your bedside.

Her eyes darted to the envelope for a moment, obviously expecting you to take it but she continued on, unperturbed for now, when you did not. “From what I understand, you saved a man’s life and gave them an opening to be able to diffuse the bomb. I would actually say that all of London owes you their gratitude.”

“I doubt I’ll get it though, right?”

Laswell smiled. “Good. You’re smart.” But she still tapped at the folder again.

Fine. You picked up the folder and undid the thin rope closure as best you could with one hand and tipped it open across your lap, spilling paper and pictures across the blanket. One was of the man with the mohawk. And then… “Wait. He’s real?” You plucked one of the pictures up and waved it around like a flag. “I thought he was the Grim Reaper.” A man in a skull mask was staring back at you, large and hulking, and draped entirely in black aside from the SAS patch in the middle of his vest.

“You wouldn’t be the first to think that. But probably the only one to see him like that and live to tell anyone about it.”

Again, so comforting.

You flipped the picture over to see Ghost written in neat, small letters across the bottom. What kind of name was Ghost? He wasn’t a ghost. You flipped over a handful of the other pictures and learned the mohawk belonged to “Soap.” “Gaz” and “Price” soon followed—ah, he was the one with the ridiculous hat. But it was the last picture that had your heart stalling.

Vladimir Makarov was written in that same, small script.

“He’s dead, right?” Your voice shook as you stared down at the picture. “Tell me he’s dead.”

Laswell’s measured silence was all you needed before you hurriedly stuffed the photos and paper back into the folder.

“My flight back to Chicago is leaving on the tenth. What day is it?” You asked, tossing the folder to the foot of the bed. The simple motion had your other shoulder protesting, heat rippling across your chest and down your spine.

“It’s the ninth.”

Relief flooded through you. This would be over soon and you were never going to take another vacation, no matter what your sister told you. “Great. I’ll be out of the country in a couple of hours. Do I need to sign something or-”

Laswell frowned and took a few steps toward you and tension once again wound itself through your spine with each of them. “I don’t think you understand. Makarov’s plan didn’t work because of you-”

“Debatable.”

“-and you saved one of the men who Makarov has a personal vendetta against.”

The heart rate monitor was now leaping all over the place, beeping a sharp staccato into the tense air. You didn’t like this. You didn’t like this at all. “So? Makarov doesn’t know who I am. One of his lackeys grabbed me. He barely saw me.” You had been one of many, another faceless victim to his whims.

But Laswell shook her head. “I guarantee it; he will not forget you.”

Funny. You’d been forgotten by almost everyone else and you were apparently unmissable to a psychopath. “I am supposed to be going home. I want to go home.”

She took another step. “I’m afraid that until Makarov is in custody, it is safer for you to stay-”

“Am I being arrested?” You bit out.

“No.”

“Then I’m free to go.”

Laswell’s lips rolled into her mouth for a moment. “No.”

Traitorous tears stung at your ears. Stupid, so stupid. You hadn’t cried in front of someone else in decades. Tears didn’t help with anything and here you were, crying in a hospital bed in front of a stranger. “I need to go home.”

Another step and she looked down at you, eyes just shy of pitying. “You’ll be dead before you get off the plane.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” She took the folder and opened it again, pulling out one of the papers you hadn’t read and another picture. She set both on your leg with a sigh. “You were taken out of London when you were stable enough to move.”

The next breath stalled in your lungs. “What?”

“Makarov has a long reach. You were wrapped up in it the moment you saved Soap. The hospital room in London that simply had your name on the door was raided. They killed a nurse.” Every new bit of information was a punch to the stomach, leaving you wheezing for breath and throat aching. “Makarov doesn’t do half measures. And he’s in the wind right now and staying quiet since his plan for London failed.”

Something you hadn’t touched in years started to bubble beneath your skin. A rage you hated. The rage that had kept you alive as a kid. “Then do your fucking job and get him. I’m going home.”

“Any word? Movement?” Gaz asked as Simon looked over the print outs of intel and loops of camera footage from the tunnels where Makarov could have fled.

“Nothing.”

Nothing.

Nothing.

He hated it. He hated not knowing.

There were leads, of course. Strings to be pulled on to see where they could go.

But Makarov was in the wind. And every night, he heard the woman on the other side of the thin wall cry whenever she thought no one would hear.

You did not go home. Instead, you were bustled out of the makeshift hospital room and into yet another infuriatingly beige room, your shoulder smarting with the movement even with the sling. At least the baggy sweats they’d let you wear were comfortable. You recognized Soap as Laswell had you sit in a cold metal chair on one side of the table.

“Good ta see ye up and about, lass,” Soap said. The stitches across his face were mostly covered by butterfly bandages that crinkled when he smiled at you. He then pointed at his own sling, barely holding his bulky arm up. “We match.”

You almost returned the smile. Almost. “Glad you’re not dead, too, I guess.”

“I wanted to get a look at ye,” Soap said. “Properly thank ye fer saving my life.”

Your mouth twitched into a small smile. “I think it was a mutual saving. You defuse a bomb, I keep you from getting your brains blown out. We can call it even.”

He laughed, hearty and jovial. “Ye’re tough. That’s good. Ye’ll need it.”

He was trying to be nice to you, you knew that. He seemed nice. Really! But you still felt the snark and sarcasm trying to climb its way out of your throat. You bit it back, probably grimacing the entire time. “I’m not the one shipping off to Kastovia.”

The smile slipped from Soap’s face. “What?”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to read his expression. “I assumed that was where you were going? The guys in the tunnels mentioned it a couple of times.”

“You speak Russian?” Laswell cut in.

What was this line of questioning? You turned as best you could to look at her. “Yeah, sorta. I took a few classes in undergrad.”

“And you didn’t think to mention you overheard anything while you were held captive?”

“You’re CIA. He’s SAS,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder to point at Soap. Your stitches protested immediately, knocking the wind from your lungs for a moment. “I kinda figured you guys had all the information you could get from that shitshow.”

Soap rose from his seat and left the room without a look back as Laswell rounded the table to stare down at you. “You had information and didn’t share it. You know how that looks.”

“I was shot. Did you forget that?” You bit back. “Then you tell me I can’t go home. What was I supposed to do? When was I supposed to offer up any of this? When I was unconscious?”

Laswell’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “You don’t trust me.”

The scoff tore itself out of your throat before you could even try to stop it. Scoffing at a CIA agent probably wasn’t your smartest move, but, again, you knew you were kinda stupid. “Wow. Look at you. That scary CIA training is paying off, huh? Love to see my tax dollars hard at work.”

The door opened again and Ghost walked in, shoulders nearly brushing each edge of the frame.

Your entire body tensed as he quietly neared the table and took the seat Soap had vacated. Laswell nodded at him and he tipped the point of his cloth-covered chin. And then she was gone with a snap of the door behind her. You pulled your gaze back to the man…the behemoth…in front of you. His mask was no less unnerving than it had been in the tunnel when you thought he was the Grim Reaper coming to usher your soul into the ether.

But this close you could see the dark honey of his eyes and that turned something else in the dark shadows of your chest.

And you knew you couldn’t be afraid. Not now.

“Ask me anything,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. But what if they didn’t believe you? What if he really would be the last face you saw, like you had believed in the tunnel? “I’ve nothing to hide.”

He huffed. If it were anyone else, you might have guessed it was a laugh. His eyes, hooded and dark, dragged over you. “We’ll see.” In one swift movement, he placed a handgun on the table and then reached across to grab your uninjured arm. He pulled it toward him before you could even think of pulling back. He twisted his grip on your wrist to have your palm up and only then did he release you.

You knew better than to retreat. You needed them to believe you—you were the victim in all of this. You. Not them. You. If you had to sit here with the Grim Reaper to prove it, you would. But it was when he tugged the glove from one of his hands that you felt your next breath stutter behind your teeth. And you were sure he felt it when he pressed the tips of his fingers against the delicate skin of your wrist’s underbelly.

He was warm. Solid. And oh god were you really this touch starved? That the man tasked with interrogating you—to make sure you weren’t a terrorist—was making you burn all over like a schoolgirl? It didn’t help that you felt his broad legs on either side of yours beneath the table.

Get it together.

He asks you questions and you answer. Truthfully. You listed all the places you’d heard, names you could decipher, cargo, shipments, everything. Anything.

Ghost listened to it all with that same hooded stare anchored on your face. Someone else probably would have squirmed under his gaze but you didn’t. If anything, his immovable presence was weirdly comforting. What was wrong with you?

And when you were done, when you had exhausted any and every bit of information you thought you had squirreled away from your time in the tunnel, the man in front of you simply drummed his fingers against your pulse and stood, putting his gun back in its holster and pulling his glove back on.

Funny, you hadn’t realized there were more bones stitched on them, too. At least he was consistent.

He strode toward the door and then turned back to stare at you again, unblinking. “Stay put.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly allowed to leave.”

His dark eyes narrowed for a moment and he huffed. Was it a laugh? You didn’t know, but you wanted it to be. But he left the room before you could ask.

It had been a risk, he knew, and had done it anyway. She could have been a spy, a trained one, good at deception and emitting pity. But he had felt her heartbeat skitter beneath his fingers, an impromptu lie detector. Simon knew she was being truthful. An open book.

A rare thing in times like these.

Well, open enough for him to believe her answers and her muttered instance that she wasn’t “some sort of Russian plant” because she wasn’t “dumb enough to be a criminal.” She was…something else. Simon wasn’t quite sure what that something was, but he knew that he thought of the curve of her bottom lip when he left the room and reported what he learned to Laswell and Price.

The pair looked at each other, matching looks of knowing on their faces. Her knowing about Kastovia hadn’t been expected but it didn’t seem like she knew that they (Gaz and Price) had already gone and had been led on an infuriating game of hide-and-seek with the transport of the Sarin gas. If the bird had been awake (or more willing to share what she’d heard before), they would have been back on base days earlier because it had been exactly where she’d said they would be.

“We need to keep this quiet. Makarov already knows she’s alive and at least suspects that she heard something. He wouldn’t’ve sent his men to the hospital if he didn’t.” Laswell scratched at her chin. “If any more of her intel pays off, this could be invaluable.”

The two continued, looking over the points Simon had written down after leaving that tiny room. And there had been shipments and their locations, names of people who probably would receive them, and then targets. Possibly. It was so much more than what they’d had when Makarov had vanished into the belly of the tunnel.

“She’s given us gold.”

“Or an unpinned grenade.” Laswell sighed and flipped through the pages again, handing one to Price and they spoke again in low tones. Simon listened, as he always did. They would still be sent out, following those breadcrumbs, with glowing red letters.

Something twisted in Simon’s chest, behind the crooked and dark ribs, and he thought of that curve of her bottom lip. “What happens to ‘er?”

You didn’t mind paperwork. Not really. Was it your favorite thing? No. But it was a fact of life that paperwork was inevitable. You almost liked that most of it was the same: sign here, date here, birthdate here. Easy. Simple. Unchanging.

But you weren’t entirely in love with how you knew you were basically signing your life away as Soap stood sentinel in the corner, his matching sling still around his bulging arm. They’d already “handled” your job, telling your supervisor that you had been injured and would be taking a leave of absence from work.

They promptly fired you.

Laswell winced at that and then said that “they” would take care of it. Who “they” were, you didn’t know and didn’t have the wherewithal to ask at the moment. But she inferred that your bills would be paid by someone else so you didn’t really care. Whatever. You’d been an archivist at one of the many museums in Chicago, cataloging anything and everything that came in. It had been good work, to be fair. You were actually using your degrees and the fact that they had you working overnight was almost a perk. It was nice to not have to worry about coworkers’ feelings or them microwaving fish in the communal microwave when you were trying to work.

But…whatever. It was fine. This was…fine.

You were given three meals a day and sometimes a snack. Tea in the early afternoon, much to your delight. You had a warm bed. Things could be worse.

Whenever the doctors or nurses would come in and check on your stitches and your range of movement, he—Ghost—would just be there. In the background. Waiting. Silent and unmoving.

And the painkillers you were given must’ve been some good stuff because you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Or maybe his unhurried gaze was weirdly comforting. Knowing he was there, was always going to be there, was nice. A weird constant in the upheaval of your life. (And maybe you should call up your therapist after you finally get home.)

You signed your name on the last paper and then managed to stack everything neatly with one arm before handing it to Soap who took it with a small smile. “Ye’re handling this well.”

“Yeah.” Been through worse, is what you could have said. But worse was debatable. At least in some regard. You could handle being fired. You had savings. You could find another job. Your sister always said you had the uncanny ability to land on your feet. You’d let her keep that assumption. It wouldn’t be the first one she’d made about you. “Can I make a phone call now?”

Soap tapped a finger against the papers and his blue eyes were full of pity. You almost hated it. “I’ll ask Laswell.”

Well, that wasn’t a firm no, at least.

It had been a few days since your interrogation with Ghost. You had deduced that you were on a military base of some sort, with the people walking by in uniform and the staccato of gun shots at exactly eight o’clock in the morning, every morning. Probably a firing range. While you weren’t allowed out of your beige hospital room, they were kind enough to bring you a few very well worn novels to help pass the time. Again…it was fine.

The door opened a few minutes later and Ghost and Laswell walked in, a large black brick looking contraption tucked beneath Laswell’s arm. Your heart stuttered for just a moment. A satellite phone?

“You need to understand that anyone you call could be in danger. Used against you.”

The next breath rattled behind your teeth. You had expected that. You knew that. But your sister deserved at least something. “Did you see her in my file?”

“Who?”

“My sister.”

Laswell’s answering quiet was all you needed. Good.

“I’ll keep it quick,” you said, stretching out your good arm toward the phone. “Promise.”

“Any funny business-”

“I’ll expect a bullet between the eyes. Yeah, sure. Can I please have the phone?”

Ghost made that huffing sound again and you felt the corners of your mouth push into a twitching smile for just a heartbeat to two. The phone was weighty in your palm as you plugged in the number and held it up to your ear. It rang twice before… “Hello?”

“Hey, Kirby.”

There was an answering giggle and it shifted a weight on your shoulders. “Hey stranger! I thought you were living it up in London for a few days more? Thought you were gonna call me when you were home.”

“Oh, um. So there’s been a change of plans. I’m gonna stay for a little longer. I’ve been asked to consult at one of the archives here.”

Kirby hummed, crackling the line. “Consult. You’re so important. That mean you left-”

“They fired me, actually.”

She gasped. You imagined her clutching her phone tighter, placing another hand over her heart. She was always so delicate. Outraged on your behalf, too. “No!”

“Yeah. But it’s okay. You said I needed a new job anyway.” You shut your eyes, feeling them burn with tears. Lying to her didn’t feel right. She was the only person in the world you trusted.

“They were awful to you. But, you always land on your feet, don’t you?”

You smiled despite it all, wobbly and crooked. God, you missed her. “I try. But I didn’t want you to worry if you didn’t hear from me for a bit as I get settled here.”

Kirby laughed. “You’re the worrier, not me.”

“That’s true.” You were. And even know, with a bullet wound and a supposed bounty on your head, you worried about your little sister. You might worry about her forever, actually.

“You’ll still be able to make it to the delivery, right?” The smallest bit of trepidation dipped into the syllables. Kirby wasn’t scared often and it twisted at your marrow. “I need you to hold my hand.”

You opened your eyes and looked at Laswell and Ghost, lifting your chin a bit. You were going to be there. Come hell or high water. Or more terrorists. “Wouldn’t miss it, Kirbs. You know that.” You eventually said your goodbyes and “I love you” and “I love you, too” before ending the call with a quiet, “give the little one a hello for me, okay?”

The phone clicked in your hand and you let it slip back into Laswell’s grip when she reached for it. “Any other family you need to call that weren’t in any of your files?” The question was tinged with exhaustion.

You didn’t feel bad. “No. It’s just her.”

Laswell frowned but said nothing else as she strode from the room.

You expected Ghost to follow. He seemed fond of doing that. But he didn’t. His unmoving stare was anchored on you. “Why wouldn’t your file show your sister?”

Well, he certainly cuts to the chase. “It’s a long story.”

His large arms crossed over his broad chest (you ignored how your heart hiccuped. God he was so big.) “We’ve got time.”

Chapter Two

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think!

[what-even-is-thiss]

Free or Cheap Spanish Learning Resources So You Can Run at Windmills in Fluent Spanish

I will update this list as I learn of any more useful ones. If you want general language learning resources check out this other post. This list is Spanish specific. Find lists for other specific languages here.

For the purposes of this list "free" means something that is either totally free or has a useful free tier. "Cheap" is a subscription under $10USD a month, a software license or lifetime membership purchase under $100USD, or a book under $30USD. If you want to suggest a resource for this list please suggest ones in that price range that are of decent quality and not AI generated.

WEBSITES

Dreaming Spanish - A website that is also a YouTube Channel. This is a comprehensible input site with videos about a variety of subjects with multiple hosts from multiple countries. It has content for learners from absolute beginner to lower advanced. It lets you sort videos by dialect, subject, length, etc. The free version has a lot of content. The paid version is $9 a month and has many more videos and allows you to track your listening hours. The website is in English but all videos are entirely in Spanish.

Lawless Spanish - A free website with resources to learn Spanish relating to grammar, pronunciation, and vocabulary. The website also has worksheets, charts, an AI chatbot, and reviews of different learning resources. The website is in English.

Spanish Boom - A free website with beginner lessons and free readings with audio and visual aids. They're also associated with a service called Esidioma that provides paid courses with tutor help for around $23 and also sells books. Prices are in Euros but they also sell to people outside of Europe. The website is available in multiple languages.

studyspanish.com - A website with free verb drills and grammar lessons. It's commonly used by high school Spanish students. They also have a blog that hasn't updated in a while but there is an archive to read through. They have a paid tier with access to their podcasts, vocab lessons, and their Spanish learning app which is $10 a month or $120 for a lifetime membership. The website is in English.

Speaking Latino - A website marketed at Spanish teachers but it's in English and has guides to colloquial Spanish and slang in a lot of different countries and a free blog with tips on sounding like a local in different countries. It has a paid tier but that's mostly useful for Spanish teachers. They also sell slang dictionaries for various countries that are usually less than $10.

UT Austin Spanish Proficiency Exercises - A bunch of free grammar, vocab, and pronunciation guides for various tasks you should be able to do in Spanish at various levels from one of my alma maters, the University of Texas at Austin. It's got videos of people from different countries pronouncing things. The podcast links often don't work for some reason but the grammar, vocab, and video links should work fine. The website is in English.

SpanishDict - A free dictionary website and app with a search feature that also has curated vocabulary lists on various topics and articles. They have a paid tier at $13 a month with a writing coach and subscriber only curated lists and articles. Personally I don't think their paid tier is all that special but it's up to you. The website is in English.

BBC Bitesize Spanish - Bitesize is a free study resource for kids and is sorted by level. It has articles aimed at little kids as well as secondary school aged teens studying for their exams or planning to study abroad. The website is in English and available worldwide, not just in the UK.

YOUTUBE CHANNELS

Hola Spanish - A channel by a woman named Brenda from Argentina who makes videos about grammar, pronunciation, culture, media, and general Spanish tips for upper beginner to advanced learners. The channel is almost entirely in Spanish with occasional vocabulary words translated into English onscreen. There are subtitles in Spanish onscreen but sometimes they randomly disappear.

Butterfly Spanish - A channel with free lessons from beginner to lower intermediate. The host also makes videos about useful phrases and listening practice videos. The channel is mostly in English.

Spanish After Hours - A comprehensible input channel for beginner to intermediate learners with vlogs, history, Spanish tips, and news. The descriptions and video titles are in English but the videos are all in Spanish. The channel host is from Spain.

Easy Spanish - A channel part of the easy languages network that makes a combination of videos with useful phrases and terms for beginners and interviews on the street with locals. They have teams in both Barcelona and Mexico City and there are dual language subtitles in Spanish and English onscreen. The hosts also have a podcast for intermediate to advanced learners.

My Daily Spanish - A catchall channel that has lessons, discussions of grammar, culture topics, vlogs, vocabulary, and other various things. The host is from Spain and also makes a lot of YouTube shorts. She mostly speaks in Spanish but occasionally uses English or has English translations onscreen.

Spansh Boost with Martin and Spanish Boost with Mila - These channels are run by a couple from Argentina who also work as tutors on italki. They often appear on each other's channels and both have their own podcasts and vlogs and general content videos that they make discussing their lives, giving tips, and discussing culture. Mila also makes a lot of videos playing the sims.

Spanish Boost Gaming - Run by Martin from Spanish Boost, this is a lets play channel in clear and easy to understand Spanish. Subtitles are available in English and Spanish and a few other languages as well and it's an actual let's play channel. He plays a variety of video games, makes jokes, and says cuss words and everything.

Mextalki - A channel run by a couple of guys from Mexico city that has listening practice, podcasts, street interviews, and Mexican Spanish specific lessons. Some videos have dual language subtitles onscreen while others do not. The channel is majority in Spanish but in a few lesson videos or portions of videos they will speak in English a bit.

Espanol Con Juan - A channel that teaches Spanish in Spanish from upper beginner to upper intermediate. Juan has grammar lessons, vocabulary lessons, and videos about culture. He is from Spain and the channel is entirely in Spanish. He also has a podcast for more advanced learners.

READING PRACTICE

Vikidia - A wikipedia type website specifically made for kids. The articles are short and written in more simple easy to understand Spanish. The website is in Spanish and made for native speaker kids.

Spanish graded readers by Olly Richards - Spanish has short stories and dialogues for beginner and intermediate, books in easy Spanish on world war 1, world war 2, western philosophy, and climate change. There's also dialogue books specific to Mexican Spanish and Spanish used on social media. The books usually go from $5-$20 new depending on how old they are and whether or not you bought a digital copy. These are really easy to find at used bookstores for cheap though, especially in the US.

Conatilteg Digital - This is a mobile app that provides digital versions of the free textbooks for children provided by the Mexican Ministry of Education both historic and current. The link I provided is for iOS but the app is also available on android and the app is available in multiple countries and not just Mexico. The app is entirely in Spanish and categorized by grade from preschool to secondary school so it's a resource appropriate for all levels and may be enjoyable for any kids you know that are learning Spanish. You can also view their browser website here. (also entirely in Spanish)

Hola Que Pasa - A free website with news articles for learners from beginner to intermediate difficulty. They also provide audio and have the news articles available in podcast form. Every article has certain phrases highlighted that you can hover over and get and English translation of. The website is in a mix of English and Spanish.

Spanish in Levels - A world news website in Spanish for learners. The articles are separated into three different levels and the website is in a mix of English and Spanish. Each article also has audio.

PODCASTS

Spanish for False Beginners - An unscripted podcast about various topics hosted by a guy from the UK and a guy from Spain. The podcast is aimed at people who find beginner content to be boring but still find intermediate content to be too difficult. English is very rarely used.

Uforia/Univision - Uforia is a free app aimed at native speakers in the US and has Spanish language radio, music, and podcasts. Univision in general is also useful if you like American and international news and programming in Spanish.

Radio National de Espana - Another site for native speakers, this is Spanish National Radio. They have a variety of free podcasts and radio programs.

Spanish Obsessed - This is a series of lessons in podcast form for learners from absolute beginner to advanced.

Storylearning Spanish Podcast - This podcast tells different short stories in Spanish and is aimed at upper beginner to lower intermediate learners.

Radio Ambulante - A Spanish language podcast from NPR that's similar to something like This American Life that tells stories from around Latin America. Although it's aimed at native speakers, the language used is clear and understandable and transcripts are available. They're also aware that a lot of intermediate and advanced learners use them for listening practice and they have developed a free app that helps with comprehension and vocabulary when listening to their podcast.

SELF STUDY TEXTBOOKS

Madrigal's Magic Key to Spanish - A self study textbook written in the late 80s that still mostly holds up for beginner to upper beginner Spanish. A paperback edition of the textbook is about $25 and used copies and ebooks are also usually available wherever you like to buy books. It's also half off on Amazon pretty often.

Complete Spanish step-by-step by Mcgraw Hill - This is a complete version of the McGraw Hill budget option, the spanish step by step series that focuses on the most frequently used words and grammar. It's $25 new but the individual books in the series usually cost less than $10 and used versions and ebooks are available.

Complete Spanish Grammar from Mcgraw Hill - This is a workbook as well as a textbook that usually costs around $20. The complete Spanish all in one version of the book costs about $40. Used versions of these books can be difficult to find because people tend to write all over them but ebook versions are available. You can also find their beginner workbook for around $18.

Practical Spanish Grammar - This book is usually around $25 but because it's not a workbook it's fairly easy to find used copies. An advanced grammar textbook is also available.

SERIES FOR LEARNERS AND KIDS SHOWS

Destinos - This is a series of over 50 episodes of a telenovela made for Spanish learners. The plot revolves around a group of siblings searching around the world for their long lost half sibling they just learned that they had so the series includes a lot of different Spanish dialects.

Extra Spanish - A 13 episode sitcom made to show in Spanish classrooms that revolves around a group of friends in Spain and a student that just moved there.

Dora la Expladora - Yeah if you remember Dora the Explorer from your preschool days it also unsurprisingly exists in Spanish. You can watch clips and some full episodes on YouTube and buy full seasons for around $8 each on Amazon.

PBS Kids in Spanish - A few PBS Kids shows like Cyberchase and Daniel Tiger have been dubbed into Spanish. The link I've given goes to a place to buy them on Amazon Prime but if you go digging on their YouTube channel or the PBS Kids website you also might be able to find them for free. They don't always make it easy to find though.

Plaza Sésamo - The Spanish language localization of Sesame Street for Mexican audiences with its own unique characters. The YouTube channel has a huge amount of content on it and often has episodes streaming live.

[theninthdoor]

݁˖⚘‧˚ pac || yes or no + short message/clarification ࣪˚࿔

🌷 think of a question you need a Yes/No answer for, take 3 deep breaths, ground yourself, and then pick one of the 8 options below. this PAC should give you a general idea of what the energy surrounding this matter is + what Spirit wants you to know and/or suggest you to do about it. 🌷 take only what resonates and leave the rest! if you feel like the pile you’ve initially picked doesn’t really apply or resonate with you, then don't force it. just really try to use your intuition + your discernment. and you can also, of course, pick more than one pile. 🌷 remember that this is all for entertainment purposes and that free will still exists. don’t feel pressured to do anything you don’t want to or to make a pile/answer fit you situation, alright? 🌷 enjoy, my friends!

Pile 1 || ✧

cards: ace of pentacles, king of swords, Time for a Nap

Your answer, dear Pile 1, is Yes! This might require some more work going forward, and things might not be or go exactly as you have envisioned them up until this point, but the outcome should still be very positive! At the bottom of the deck we have the Eight of Pentacles and the Four of Wands, too, which suggest that your efforts will be rewarded (now or later), for sure, as long as you stay committed to whatever it is that you have in mind. New communication or clarity regarding this matter might be coming towards you soon, as well, so I would be on the lookout for that! At last, Spirit is saying that it's alright for you to relax now. Don't rush; don't fret; don't doubt. Things will work out for the best, as you will surely see. You're going in the right direction (action-wise, thought-wise, or both).

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: Cat- names; C- names. Cambridge. UK. Harvard. Planning for college. Light brown hair. Green hair. Tan skin. Howard. H- names. Blue manicure. Red manicure. Ice. Snow. New books. Missing deadlines. Tabi shoes. Blue pajamas. Elf. Elv-. Long essays. Yellow flowers. Craving donuts or croissants. Bears.

Pile 2 || ✧

cards: ace of swords rx, seven of wands rx, Breathe rx

This seems like a No, dear Pile 2… Something about it is making me feel like your/someone's time has passed or other things have now gotten in the way of this, so the road is blocked. We have the Ten of Cups at the bottom of the deck, though, which, to me, is a sign that even if No is not what you were expecting to hear, it will still prove itself to be the best answer you could get. The future holds clarity and resolve. It's not so much that you're being denied whatever it is that you have in mind; it's more so like you're being redirected towards something better altogether. And, I think, the long-run is what you should be thinking of, not the past or the present.

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: Burgundy hair. Ginger hair. Ginger cat. Ginger. Spices. A new baby in the family. Younger brother. Losing or breaking an umbrella. Iris. Inez. Ingrid. Slovenia. Slovakia. Sweden. Norway. Royalty. S- names. Monet. Painting. Studying art. A- names. Y- names. Red brick.

Pile 3 || ✧

cards: knight of wands rx, nine of wands, Go The Distance

No for now; More likely in the future. - That is what I heard here. The timing isn't quite right for it to happen or for you to make a decision. Something tells me, too, that if the answer were to be Yes, you'd soon find out that it should've been a No instead. If this were to come to you right now, that is, it's likely that you wouldn't be happy about it, even if you think you would. Now, if you're asking about someone else, I feel like there's some sort of pause there. I see no activity; just silence and/or distraction - like the other person is looking away from this. So, basically: Now is not the time. That is our take away from this.

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: Elephant. E- names. Flowers. Garden. Spring allergies. Allergic reactions. Arguments with the mother. Light-colored hair. Throwing a lot of old stuff away, or wanting to. Planning for a tattoo. Saving money. Drawings of trees. Biology. Botany. Lakes. L- names. Lily. Leon-. Land-. Pisces placements. Elev-. Eleventh grade.

Pile 4 || ✧

cards: temperance, the high priestess, Why?

Your answer is Yes. There is some complexity to this issue, though, as the cards are suggesting a need to seek more information. Not only do I think you might need to reflect, by yourself, a little bit about this, but it may also be a case of you needing to talk to others and/or do some research about whatever it is that you're asking about here. If I were to put this energy into a sentence, it would be "Keep moving in this direction, yes, yet cautiously and slowly."; so, even if the answer is positive, you still need to be careful, in order to avoid mistakes and/or misunderstandings. The future just isn't as clear as the present, it seems.

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: Listening to Taylor Swift or reading articles about her. Red lipstick. Red manicure. Working at a beauty store. Hairdresser. Fish. Sushi. Fishing. Fire placements; Aries placements, in particular. Andrew. Andre-. Baby blue. Painting walls. Wallpaper. Buying decor or home appliances. The countryside. Get-together with friends. Date night. Plastic surgery. Dolls. Iv-. Hiv-. V- names. Vanya/Vania. W- names.

Pile 5 || ✧

cards: knight of cups, six of wands rx, Chaos and Conflict

Alright… this one is a solid Maybe. There are many pros and cons; many points in favor and many others against. Overall, there are a lot of conflicting energies at play here. If this involves other people, then your energy is not aligned with theirs, so whatever you want and/or expect doesn't reflect their current standing. You're not seeing eye to eye, and you, yourself, don't seem to be seeing things clearly. Within you, too, I think there's a lot of confusion surrounding this situation. You're just being misguided, somehow, either by your mind or your heart. Either way, though, I don't think this is anything too serious or final, and you should, eventually, find your way to the truth. If you asking about a decision you've been pondering on, then the answer is: Wait. As I said before, you are mistaken, somewhere or somehow. This direction you're going in might not be completely wrong - or else the answer would've been a No, I suppose -, but something about this isn't quite right.

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: On and off relationships. Friendships ending. Betrayals. Starting new TV shows. Binge watching shows or movies. Film class. Critical essays. Bad grades. Red or orange clothing. New dresses or skirts. Cottage core. A very old pet. Grey fur. G- names. Phillipe/a. Fil-. Trish. T- names. Treasure. S- names.Tr-. Spain. Argentina.

Pile 6 || ✧

cards: death, ace of cups rx, Come To The Edge

Before I even pulled the cards here I heard "your friends are not being helpful" - yet I feel like the message might also apply to acquaintances, coworkers, etc., or anyone or anything you have been relying on a lot as of late, really. I feel you being pushed and pulled; being made to run in circles. Whenever you're close to your goal and/or to the truth, something else or someone else distracts you, and then you're back to the beginning. There's an element of immaturity and carelessness here, both coming from you and from around you, so I would, for sure, keep an eye out for that, too. Besides that, I also feel like you're only seeing what you want to see. There is much more to it, yet you're allowing yourself to be deceived and misled.

So, here, the answer here is not really a Yes, nor it is a No. I think the question, itself, is either pointless or misconstrued, so what you ought to do is take a step back and make sure you're using reason and being realistic. After you do so, then, I believe, you might find the right questions to ask (or realize you shouldn't be bothering with this matter at all).

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: Going from PAC to PAC. Angel numbers. Social media lurking. Gossip. Frustration. Libra placements. Sagittarius placements. A- names. D- names. Lace. L-names. M- names. Bows. Coquette. Sis-. Sib-. Vancouver. Sol-. Son-. Kark-. Asia. Indonesia. Philippines. Northeast. Tornado. Mel-. Grains. Pink phone case. Yellow phone case. Small tattoos.

Pile 7 || ✧

cards: the sun, seven of pentacles, Come To The Edge reversed

This feels like a soft Yes, but a Yes nonetheless! I think things are moving in the right direction, as it is, so even if this isn't a clear Yes as of yet, it is likely to become one pretty soon. And, whatever it is that you're seeking, I believe, is likely to either come to you or become available in the near future; so this is like the energy is building up to it or maturing. - and 'Maturing', I think, is really the keyword here, and what you need to reflect upon! You also need to keep moving and to keep bringing positive energy into your life; stagnancy won't do it. Patience is also needed, as well as respect for Divine timing. If there are other people involved here, I feel positive in regard to that/them, too. Everything seems pretty nice, overall, and optimistic.

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: Jo- names. Jasper. Buying crystals. Setting up an altar. Al-. Morocco. North Africa. Egypt. Family traditions. The sun. Sisters. Stars. Ancestors. Ancestor work. Baby names. Mother figure. Long dresses/skirts. Wedding. F- names. P- names. K- names. Kan-. Can-. Vials. Ven-. Bracelets. Virgo placements. Capricorn placements. New romantic interest or relationship.

Pile 8 || ✧

cards: eight of wands rx, king of pentacles, Treasure Island

This is not yet a Yes, but might be on it's way to becoming one! It isn't a No, though. It's just kind of a 'meh'… not even a 'maybe'. There's resistance here. Doubts. Questions. Lack of clarity, all around. I think what you are needing right now is time, first and foremost, dear Pile 8. You need time to think; time to make up your mind about some important things; giving others time, too. Instead of focusing too much on what you're inquiring about here and over-saturating your mind and/or the situation, take a break instead. Relax; do some self-care. You need to look at this matter with fresh eyes from now on, or you might miss the most important cues. Because, overall, the energy is positive, yes, but it could still turn into something less favorable if you push it too much or act on impulse rather than reason.

extra messages - don't have to apply; serves as extra confirmation: I accidentally wrote Pile G instead of Pile 8 for whatever reason, so the letter G might be very significant here. Also, you might find some extra messages in Pile 7, as I am feeling like the two are somehow connected. Grandmother's house. Tile floors. Italy. Sweeping leaves off the floor. Gardening. Cats. Baby pets. Vind-. Motorcycles. Old bus. Something inherited from the grandfather or father. Gold jewelry. Fol-. Jewelry on the right hand/arm. -in. 28. 8. 88. 33.

decks used || The Original Rider Waite + Wisdom of The Oracle

(Disclaimer: Based on current energies. All is alleged and for entertainment purposes only. None of the original images are my own - only the edits!)

[bonefall]

I have a question about cows! Do you know if Holsteins produce milk with higher amounts of lactose? Because I know tons of people that eat dairy back in the home country but develop some strange lactose intolerance in the States, and I've been trying to figure out why. Thank you!

For a REALLY solid answer I'd need to know what your home country is so I could compare it to the US! There's a LOT of variation between the cattle and dairy production of different regions, from the sorts of breeds used down to the very way that milk sold on the shelf is preserved and classified.

As examples, Italy uses different preservation methods that assume the consumer is buying less milk at a time so it can be fresher, Kenya's market is mostly small producers using traditional open-pasture methods (though this is changing and please for the love of god do not move towards holsteins it's a fucking trap), India's milk mostly comes from native cow and buffalo breeds, etc.

But I can say for certain;

Holsteins typically produce slightly less lactose than other breeds because their milk is practically boob water. There are also studies that show that crossing cattle with holsteins makes their milk less nutritious.

Milk taste and nutrition is influenced by a TON of factors, including diet, exercise, mental health, and even time between milkings.

American food safety standards are terrible, and are about to get even worse because of the current administration.

Anecdotally, I've heard a LOT of stories about American milk making visitors and returning travelers sick. I can also confirm that milk in the UK just plain tastes better.

In fact as a personal story, here in the states I only ever buy Lactaid brand milk, which has lactASE added to break down the lactOSE. Regular milk here gives me problems when I drink more than a glass of it.

(store brand lactose-free milk works too, and is cheaper, but this is one of those situations where the off-brand stuff doesn't taste as yummy imo.)

While I was with my partner overseas, I was drinking regular whole milk from the regular convenience store with ZERO problems. Straight chugging it daily AND adding it to every cup of tea I had. I'm already a milk fiend here but I was a milk SUPERVILLAIN over there.

So I recommend trying lactose-free, to see if it works. I'm not even lactose intolerant, but it helped me.

There's also a budding discussion about a protein structure found in the milk of certain northern dairy breeds, including the holstein, called A1 beta-casein. This protein is extremely common in American milk, and there is evidence that some people have a negative reaction to it.

but PLEASE BE VERY CAREFUL WHEN YOU RESEARCH THIS TOPIC.

It's one of those nutritional subjects that's still being heavily researched, but snake oil salesmen and brain worm warriors are trying to turn A1 milk into the newest Hash Slinging Slasher. Y'know. The autism-causing, diabetes-making, heart-attack inducing boogeyman which is the reason why we should all be afraid UNLESS you buy my product.

SO, be very skeptical of the "health benefit" claims, and keep an eye on study bias with the knowledge that a lot of research was funded by organizations trying to sell milk without A1.

THAT SAID, a type of milk that's A1/A2 (has some A1 beta-casein) or A2/A2 (contains absolutely no A1 beta-casein) might help. MOST traditional breeds produce A2/A2 milk-- unless, of course, they were outbred to certain European cattle breeds. Non-cattle animals, like goats and camels, also produce A2/A2.

TL;DR

Try lactose-free milk or A2/A2 milk, those might fix the issue.

(Also this is NOT a raw milk friendly space. If anyone attempts to respond to this post with the endorsement of raw milk, I will unzip you throat to tail in front of all four Clans of the forest. Brainworm Bobbies DNI)

[tonkable-art]

✷ Tonk's Art Resources ✷

Hi! No one asked but I wanted to make a big list of art resources I use because I like to try and help people be creative! Not everything I list is free (mostly the books & some PDFs), but I’ll try my best to keep a big portion of it unpaid.

I've also made a carrd with the same links and a set of software links + prices but I'll be updating this with more things I find that I think would be helpful. :)

Drawing

GES DRAW PARTY - Timed model videos

Drawing Tutorials Online - Figure drawing tutorials (& fun SVA student sketchbook videos)

Line of Action - Timed model Photos

3 tips to improve your PEOPLE SKETCHING (fast urban sketching techniques), Sketching Scottie

Creating Backgrounds, Tim Mcburnie

Drawabox

Reference Angle

Kaycem

Colour Theory

Why Color Studies Are So Powerful, Light Ponderings

Marco Bucci

Colour Tips and Tricks, Iniro (PDF)

This post

Animation

The Animator’s Survival Kit, Richard E. Williams (book) - I think this one is a pretty obvious must-have

How to Animate Night In The Woods [Scribble Kibble #103], Crowne Prince - Helped me get a grip on After Effects

Little Miss Hellraiser Toon Boom Harmony Rig, Edu Bruks - Free Toon Boom Harmony rig

Alex Grigg // Animation for Anyone

BaM Animation

Storyboarding

Exploring Storyboarding, Wendy Tumminello (book)

Storyboarding Essentials: SCAD Creative Essentials, David Harland Rousseau & Benjamin Reid Phillips (book)

Storyboard Pro Crash Course/Tips for beginners, OhJeeToriG

A Guide To Storyboards, MagicBunnyArt (PDF)

Character Design

Character Design Crash Course - A huge free course document with assignments you can work through

Delicious in Dungeon - Fundamentals of Character Design, lines in motion

Writing

Writing for Animation, Comics, and Games, Christy Marx (book)

Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting, Syd Field (book) - I have the 1987 edition

Reedsy

How to Plot a Comic From Start to Finish!, McKay & Gray

Portfolio Tips

How to make a Character Design Portfolio, Jackie Droujko

Top Tips on How to Kickstart Your Storyboard Portfolio, Brown Bag Films

25 Tips to Create an Animation Demo Reel, Sir Wade Neistadt

Extras

PuccaNoodles’ Animation/Art Resource Sheet

My Study References Pinterest board

Motivation Station - Playlist of sketchbook videos and some speedpaints that I use to motivate & inspire me

The Illustrated Freelancer’s Guide, Heather Parry & Maria Stoian (PDF) - Really useful for freelancers in the UK

Software substitution chart

Adobe Suite substitute chart

Remember to check out the carrd, it might have a more updated list!

[fuchsea]

𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑺𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑨𝑻 𝑴𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑺𝑨𝒀 '𝑰𝑻'𝑺 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑮𝑶',

𝑩𝑼𝑻 𝑰 𝑫𝑶𝑵'𝑻 𝑭𝑬𝑬𝑳 𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬 𝑮𝑶𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑯𝑶𝑴𝑬.

this is going to be a journal archive for me, but feel free to reblog or whatever.

the first ever time i saw louis was in manchester, uk : a place close to where louis calls home. it happened out of nowhere, stacks of luck falling my way where i moved to the uk to study and my lovely friend jas was selling her ticket. my first ever concert and i was so incredibly excited and lost in the love and memories that show held. over the past three years, i've seen him twelve times in total, something that even as i type this feels so surreal to me.

there was something cosmic working my way when the moment i decided to move back home, it was announced that louis would be performing in india. when i thought i'd never see him again, he somehow, without even knowing gave me hope to never say never. and so the wait began. i bought the ticket six months ago. two days after that i found out i wasn't moving home afterall, instead flying continents away to latin america. never fret, i said to myself. louis would tour here for lt3, i said. even still, my heart clenched thinking about how he's performing at my home and i wouldn't be there. maybe it was the same cosmos returning, or maybe it was a new string of fate tugging, but after i went through a depressive spiral and circumstances failed me, i did end up moving back home afterall. as i held myself and my suitcases, with tears filling my eyes and no idea what i was going to do with my life, i latched onto the only hopeful thing i could see at that point : at least i will get to see louis in india, at least there's that good thing still happening, unsnatched and unbridled.

and so, the excitement began. mixed still with that one nagging thought that it might all go wrong. i reached mumbai on friday, and the air felt fresh. hopeful. i met with some lovely friends on saturday, and the air felt like love on a summer's day. hopeful. i woke up at 5 a.m on sunday and ran for my life at 2 p.m and i sat down, starfishing, holding space for my friends, out of breath, grime all over me, my back aching, face drenched in sweat. hopeful.

at ten past seven, with my heart caught up in my throat, i looked up and there he was. in his white tank top and yellow trousers. magnificent. ethereal. live. there's something so magical about a live show, wherein the artist takes you in and you look right back at them with so much awe held in your eyes that it sizzles through the air. you could see the disbelief evident on his face and so when two songs in, he introduced himself and said he's a kid from doncaster in nothern england and never in a million years did he think he'd ever come to india and the gratitude swept over his words, that same disbelief washed over us. that how is it possible that he's here, in front of us. he kept saying the same thing so many times because he was left without words by how welcoming we were. in that moment, my previous 11 shows passed by in a blur and this 12th show felt like the first, but more special. he couldn't believe how loud we were and from the first moment itself he knew this was going to be a special gig, he said so a few times. and who were we to take that joy from him? we gave it back tenfold, we made sure he felt every single voice, every single breath, every single heartbeat. we were louder than him but the love present at the field was the loudest ever booming echo.

a moment of calm, cameras and signs down, soft strings of the band gearing up for the next song, a halo of blue lights surrounding him. i fanned myself with my left hand to beat the heat and i see him making a thumbs up sign. i look around me, to see if someone was feeling down and needed a breather. but i found no one and when i turned back, he made the sign again and pointed at me, as if to say "yes, you" and i signed back to him, "all okay"; he checked again and after the confirmation, started singing again. i'd like to hope that he also saw the zouis shirt i was wearing. i'd like to hope that i never forget this night.

halfway through the set, his confidence grew back and it roared, "this is my fucking lot", and yet again who were we to deny him that. the disbelief, ever present but now there was unadulterated happiness and a good overwhelm mingling. the amount of times he pointed to us, to here, to now, to this night showed how much it meant to him. he spoke more than he sang, his thank yous more than his songs.

on a sunday evening as the sun set down over the coast of mumbai, he sang saturday with a heavy voice, as though he couldn't hold his emotions in anymore. he let them pour out with each exhale, each word, each note. and we gathered it up, held it safe, and gave it back to him in the form of our unending love. a note change at the word "shade" and the confidence was back once again.

and so came the time we all hate, the goodbye, the hopeful temporary distance. it wasn't just us though, louis was right there with us, a pout on his face, saying he doesn't want this to be over, that he has to let go now. he starts singing, and i see tears stream down all around me. he's never once sang the words "i don't feel like going home" out loud but on a sunday in mumbai, he sang them, he meant them, he didn't feel like going home.

the bridge came upon us, the last few minutes of louis in mumbai. in my previous shows, i have noticed that before the bridge he says something along the lines of "sing as loud as you can, let's finish this together". but as everything that's happened so far, this sunday in march was different. he took a pause, took the crowd in, and said "i will never, ever forget this. let's finish this together. thank you, thank you, thank you." and took a leap to the sea of desis gathered on the field for him. he giggled through barricade, held hands, touched faces and soared, "i don't feel like going home" as he ran back, with one last swaying dance move and taking our voices and hearts along with him.

you'd think that now that he's left the stage, it'll be calm. you'll realise it's over, even though he didn't want it to end. and when has louis ever let go of his stubbornness? he posts pictures from the show immediately after, somewhere amidst the grounds as green day finish their set. and we feel the love soaring from him, the pride and the joy. moments later, still maybe reeling from the adrenaline, he tweets "from doncaster to mumbai" and seals a permanent home for himself in our country and our hearts.

as i lay in the field with my friends, our heads touching and hearts synced with a bone deep ache in us, i think to myself, there is so much hope in the world yet. it took 15 years for louis to come to our home, but it was worth the wait for him and for us. it may sound parasocial but i feel such kinship to louis and how i am drawn to him and he to me. to me, louis represents hope and strength. hope beats in our hearts, still, yet, and forever.

the last time i saw louis was in mumbai, india : a place close to where i call home. and so, the story ends here. or at least until a new string of fate tugs and the cosmos fall in line again.

[flawdchaos]

Lips of an Angel

Lando Norris x Reader

based on lips of an angel by hinder (if you haven’t heard this song pls listen to it because it’s a banger and this is heavily based on it.)

tw: angst, kinda sorta cheating, reader and lando being dummies

a/n - hi friends, this is my first time writing for f1. i’ve written before on here and took a break to study on class work. i’ve fallen back into my f1 phase and dreamt this up on the way into work tonight. i hope you enjoy, feel free to give me feedback. thank you xx

word count - 1500 (ish)

Lando’s room illuminated from the soft glow of his phone on the bedside table, buzzing against the base of the lamp. He moved as delicately as he could, careful to not wake the girl sleeping on his chest, to see who could be calling so late. He rubbed his eyes and squinted reading the name across his screen, the name he chose to disguise Y/N’s contact.

JULIE - MARKETING.

He slid out from under the girl, tiptoeing to the hallway before whispering a hello through the phone.

“Lando?” the voice shook through the phone. “Lando, I’m sorry.” he could hear it now, the sniffles and uneven breaths - she was crying. He crept down the hallway a bit more in an attempt to gain distance from his bedroom and sleeping companion.

“Y/N, why are you crying? Is everything alright?” he whispered, being met with only sniffles. “I’m in the living room. I have to whisper. What’s wrong?” He was growing impatient in her silence, the worry growing each minute he was on the phone call.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this - this pretending. I want you for myself. Call me selfish,” she took a deep breath in “, but I deserve you - not her.”

She had never been this brash before but he couldn’t blame her. After months of secret conversations, shared glances, and hugs that lingered just a little too long - he had to agree with her.

What they shared wasn’t meant to happen in the first place. Lando and Y/N had been in the same friend groups for years, only knowing each other mutually. It stayed that way until one night when they found themselves alone at the bar, friends having left long ago. One too many drinks and the heavy hand of the bartender led them back to Lando’s flat in London. They agreed the next morning, for the sanctity of their ‘friendship’ it would never happen again - but, they were both lying to themselves and they knew it. One night turned into two and before they realized it, the rest of Lando’s winter break was shared mostly in the sheets of his bed. It was only when he was leaving back to Monaco that things came to a halt abruptly. No conversation or discussion of what the hell had just happened over the past few months, just radio silence on both ends. It was an unspoken ending between the two.

That was until a couple months later and during Lando’s first podium of the season that he found himself wishing she were there to celebrate with him. Drunkenly, he debated his options and finally decided to send her a text telling her just how much he missed her and the things they would do. His text sat unattended in her messages for the rest of the night because while Lando was thinking of her, she was doing everything she could to forget about him - and this included making the same trek home from the bar with a stranger. Come morning the only thing the pair was left with was regret.

Y/N was the first to reach back out again after his crash in Las Vegas. She couldn’t admit to her friends just how shaken it had her but she tossed and turned in the bed for over an hour before picking up her phone.

Glad you’re okay. Try to stay out of the wall next time, yeah?

Her name lighting up his phone had his heart beating almost as fast as the adrenaline of crashing did. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard as his mind raced on what to say. It was late in the UK so his response would probably go unnoticed until the morning. Or - had she stayed up that late to watch him race? Or should he say crash.

“What’s got you stumped, mate?” Max’s voice broke him from his daze as he glanced over his shoulder. “Y/N, aye? Just admit it.”

Lando’s head shot up to meet Max’s stare. “Admit what?”

“That you’re fucking whipped. I’ve seen you stalking her instagram.”

Something about Max’s words ignited a feeling within him. For the first time in his “playboy” career - Lando Norris was scared of his feelings.

—

It wasn’t long after the Las Vegas Grand Prix that Y/N had noticed a shift in Lando. He was almost nonexistent on her social media - no likes, hearts or story views. She chalked it up to the busy life he lived but when she clicked through his ‘close friends’ instagram story, her heart fell to her stomach. Lando had his arms wrapped around another girl, lips pressed against her cheek in front of a mirror. All of her questions and doubts were confirmed with a simple click and despite him owing her anything, she felt betrayed. Y/N couldn’t deny it anymore - the time she had spent with Lando was a whirlwind and no matter how many nights she spent curled up in bed, their bodies pressed together, she was always left wanting more.

On the mornings she woke before him, which had been every morning except two, she had found herself tangled in his arms feeling safe and secure. The true depth of her feelings came to be when she slowly awoke one morning to Lando running his arms down hers and placing a soft kiss on her forehead, vowing to return shortly. He stuck true to his promise when he crept back into the bedroom, two cups of tea tucked safely in his hands. She realized then that a small snippet of a domestic life with Lando was all she ever wanted but when he spoke again, the reality of their situation came back into play.

“Max is coming over in an hour to set up some stuff for the new Youtube video. I don’t mean to rush you but I figured our secret was still between us.” She nodded and hummed before taking another sip of her tea.

“Sure thing. I’ll be gone as soon as we finish our tea.”

-

Y/N finally realized, after viewing Lando’s story, that she had to move on. Find somebody to distract her from the replays of her intimate moments shared with Lando - and so she did. The pair both settled into mediocre “relationships” to distract themselves from the constant longing they had for each other. Subtle posts made to stories in hopes to cause jealousy in each other were made almost weekly. Lando had been seeing a girl one of his mates had set him up with, and Y/N had met a guy at a bar in London on a girls night out. Neither of them were unhappy, per se, but nothing matched the energy that the pair had shared before. On nights after rough races and a few drinks, Lando would have dreams that the girl in his arms wasn’t who had been currently seeing but Y/N instead. One dream had sent him over the edge and he had called her that night to hear her voice.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. His longing was quickly turning into regret as he realized this was probably a mistake before her soft voice filled the phone, she was whispering.

“Lando?” his heart was racing at the mere sound of her voice.

“Y/N, I’m sorry to wake you.” he said, hand raising to his mouth as he started biting at his fingernails.

“It’s okay, are you alright?”. She was still whispering.

“Uhm,” he began, shuffling his feet against the rug below him. “Fuck. This is so stupid…but I had a dream about you. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“A dream? About me?” he could hear her shuffling around on the other end of the phone, probably trying to put distance between her and her partner just like he had done.

“Yeah. A dream. It isn’t the first one I’ve had either.” They were both silent for a moment before he continued. God, why was he admitting this. “And I guess they’ve just helped me realize some things.” His heart was beating so hard that he figured she could hear it through the phone. A sharp intake of breath from her end of the phone had him biting at his nails again.

“What things, Lan?” Lan. He hadn’t heard her say that in months.

“My girl’s asleep in the next room. John is probably in the room next to you asleep. We’re kilometers and kilometers apart but yet, despite all of that, every time I close my fucking eyes all I see is you. All I hear is you laughing. I dream of you.” He sat down, head in his hands. “I guess I never really moved on, Angel.” The nickname had given her long ago falling effortlessly from his lips.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if she hung up the phone, called him a dickhead, and never spoke to him again. All of the worst options lived in his head. The last thing he expected her to say was,

“Lan, I dream of you too.”

[lookwhatyoumademelou]

Fund Michelle's Hands-On Archival Studies in UK

Hello Everyone! I got accepted into a MA (Master of Arts) degree at The University of Manchester for Library and Archive Studies. This program starts in September so I created a fundraiser to help me fund the student visa process & accommodation (housing).

Click here for the link to my Go Fund Me page to read more & of course, to donate/share.

Please reblog/signal boost this post.

I appreciate you. Thank you for helping make my dream of living/working/studying abroad come true<3

I am currently raising funds for my student visa application which I am estimating at $1500 usd

(application + nhs surcharge for the yr + conversion rate from usd to gbp)

(conversion rates to gbp fluctuates & unfortunately a google search at any time is a little unreliable if the school charges at 1.4 and not the current rate it’s confusing to estimate 😂😅 bc my housing deposit & CAS statement have been a bit more than anticipated)

Additionally, here are links to donate to me directly if you do not want to go through Go Fund Me:

VENMO

PAYPAL

CASHAPP

Also, if you have any ideas/tips on how to share my fundraiser etc., master's degree abroad funding ideas/tips, or anything else related to living/working/studying abroad, feel free to DM me :)

Thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

May your generosity return to you tenfold✨

thanks everyone for your support (reblogs, donations, good wishes, etc. ❤️)

[thel8shift]

Hogwarts As A School

i saw someone else do this and our drs are vastly different in how hogwarts schooling is ran so i thought i’d post my version. i’ve been shifting to Hogwarts in a few different eras for years now and this is how school has always ran for me. i shift to a university style hogwarts btw, first 5 years are like undergrad, and then you can leave after 5th year if you don’t need it for your work. 6th and 7th years are the equivalent of grad school.

School Size

hogwarts is much smaller than many of you think

the castle itself is massive but the population is quite small

there’s about 280 students at Hogwarts give or take some. 10ish students per house, per year. my graduation class at hogwarts in 38 in my golden trio dr, and 45 in my marauders dr

the wizarding population of the uk is much smaller than you’d think it is

Classes

All classes are 2 times per week minus astronomy

astronomy is at midnight or later on different days for each year. Mondays are 2nd years, Tuesday is 3rd years, Wednesday is 1st years (as per the first book) Thursdays are 4th years, 5th years are Wednesdays at 1 am, 6th years are Tuesdays at 1am, 7th years are Mondays at 1am

classes start at 9am Monday through Friday and last class ends at 3pm

for your first two years, you don’t have any electives (per the books) so you have a lot more free time. out of 20 class slots (minus astronomy time) 13 are taking up for 1st years, and 12 for 2nd years, Flying being the extra class for 1st years

when your 3rd year comes, you must take at least 2 electives, but you can take up to 4 without needing a time turner like Hermiome in the 3rd book. 6 core classes plus 4 electives taking up all 20 class slots. (i am doing this in my 5th year and it’s HELL. but i want the OWLs so i suffer)

Testing

for final exams every year each class has a written test where you go over your theoretical knowledge of magic, and a practical test where you get to test the skills you’ve learned over the semester.

exams are taken twice a year in december and june with mid terms in october and march

OWLs are taken at the end of your 5th year, and then you take NEWTs at the end of your 6th year. you have to test at a certain level for each class to be able to take OWL/NEWT level classes

General Things

breakfast is from 7am to 8:30, lunch is from 12pm to 12:45, dinner is from 6 to 7:30

uniforms do not have to be worn for meals unless there is a special event

you also do not have to sit out your house table unless there is a special event

Sports/Clubs

club sign ups are always the second weekend back so around the middle of September

you can sign up for as many clubs as you like as long as you can balance them

you can also sign up for things like study groups or house study halls, Ravenclaw house study is on Wednesday after classes from 3:30 to 5:30

Quidditch try outs are always at the beginning of October, and the season starts the first weekend in November.

Canonically there’s only about 6 games of quidditch but that’s dumb so there’s quidditch most saturdays November to April with the games starting at around 10am

thats everything i can think of right now! if you have any questions feel free to send me an ask!

[girlactionfigure]

THURSDAY HERO: Helmut Kleinicke

Helmut Kleinicke was a German engineer who supervised construction projects at Auschwitz while saving Jews from the gas chambers.

Born in 1907, Helmut grew up in the forest of Lower Saxony – literally. His parents were forest rangers. Helmut studied civil engineering and joined the Nazi party in 1933. In 1941, right after getting married, Helmut was hired to join the team planning the construction of Auschwitz concentration camp. He moved to Chrzanow, Poland to work on the project.

In Chrzanow, Helmut was ordered to select local Jews who were young and healthy to work on the construction site. He treated them well and didn’t allow the SS to harass them. One survivor remembered, “Those of us who worked for Kleinicke were like VIPs. We had a certificate that we worked for him, and that was our insurance policy.”

When he heard about plans to round up local Jews, Helmut located every person on the list and warned them they were about to be arrested. Then he transported many of them to the border and helped them escape. Others he hid in his attic and basement. Helmut didn’t keep track of the Jews he saved, but it’s estimated there were hundreds.

By late 1943, the higher-ups at Auschwitz noticed that Jews who interacted with Helmut kept disappearing. He was removed from his job and drafted to an artillery unit, then sent to the front lines. When Germany surrendered in 1945, Helmut was arrested by the British because of his membership in the Nazi party. While he was in prison, Jews he had saved submitted affidavits testifying that he had rescued them “without regard to his person” and that many Jews owed their lives to Helmut Kleinicke. He was exonerated in 1949. For the rest of his life, he did not talk about his wartime activities. He told his daughter only that he’d saved some Jews, but wished he’d saved more. He never considered himself a hero. In 1979, the American miniseries “Holocaust” aired on German TV. Helmut watched it and was deeply shaken. Three days after that he had a stroke from which he never recovered. He died a few months later.

Helmut’s heroism was unknown until recently. In a 2015 documentary, Josef Konigsberg, an Auschwitz survivor, testified that Helmut Kleinicke saved his life by pulling him out of a line of people being deported. This interview, and corroborating evidence that Helmut had saved many Jewish lives, led to Helmut Kleinicke being honored posthumously as Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem. The ceremony was held at the Israeli Embassy in Berlin, and was attended by Helmut’s daughter Juta Scheffzek. Also in attendance was Josef Konigsberg, who told his story of being rescued by Helmut. “I owe him my life,” said Josef, describing how Helmut rescued him from a transport line to Auschwitz: “My mother came and begged him to rescue me. Kleinicke grabbed me and said that I was his best worker.” Josef’s mother and sister were not so lucky and both died in the gas chamber. Crying as he addressed Juta, Josef said, “This is one of the most beautiful days of my life. Thank you, thank you.”

Juta was deeply touched. “It verified what my father said to me in very few words – and I never knew if he had been telling the truth.” She told the Times of Israel after the ceremony, “It was a very long and emotional search to discover the truth about my father, and I hope that people in America, the UK and Israel will hear about it.”

Israeli Ambassador to Germany Jeremy Issacharoff, who hosted the event honoring Helmut, commented, “When you’re in the context of Germany, you’re never free of the historical dimension of the Holocaust, and it’s a very heavy burden to bear for the Germans, and also obviously for the Jewish people, and it’s always there. And I think it’s really important that this type of ceremony also recognizes that there were a few really important people who did the right thing. And that, to me, is the main message that should come out of this.”

For saving Jews while his peers were killing them, we honor Helmut Kleinicke as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[sandcobangevent]

Good Grief

By @shinymoonforest and saturn11dae

—- ˚ ༘ ⋆ —-

Sherlock never understood emotions very well. How they worked, how others experienced them in comparison to him, how he was either “too much” or “too apathetic” … All of this and more was a bit of a mystery to him, despite spending years trying to study people’s reactions. 

Detective Holmes had solved some of the toughest cases in the UK, from online creeps to diamond thieves, and yet emotions felt more difficult than almost anything he had ever experienced.

And this new emotion was no exception.

He and his friend and colleague, Dr. John Watson, were spending time at The Volunteer, the latter’s favorite local pub. It was nothing out of the ordinary that evening; a few drinks, a few laughs, spending time with his flatmate. Yet despite this, a sinking feeling made itself more known in Sherlock’s chest. Except it wasn’t sinking, rather it was… floating? Bubbly? Empty? He wasn’t sure what to make of it as he rocked back and forth in his chair, making popping noises with his mouth. Something that the doctor seemed to catch onto after a minute or two.

“You alright Sherls?” he inquired, noticing the other’s common methods of self regulation at play. Sherlock, meanwhile, merely looked at John with his lips tightly pressed together. It almost mimicked the constrictive feelings in his chest, as much as he tried to fight them. 

“Sherlock?” John asked again, brow now furrowed with worry after not initially receiving an answer. “Sensory overload?”

An assumption, based on past experiences with public places, but a correct one at that, and Sherlock quickly seized the opportunity to leave their current situation with a brisk nod.

“Alright- Hey, that’s okay, we can head home if you’d like- Would you like that?”

Another nod, his hand now fidgeting with his own shirt, as if he could twist this pressure free.

“Okay, gotcha, I’ll just—uhh— Oi, ‘xcuse me mate! Can we get the bill?”

—- 𖦹 —-

“It’s really rather difficult to explain, Watson,” huffed Mr. Holmes, quickly taking off his shoes and beginning to pace around the flat. The poor doctor nearly had to sprint to keep up with his flatmate, who had gotten a head start in storming out of the pub when the noise supposedly got too overwhelming.

“What, even for you?” John scoffed, earning a look from the detective and a nervous smile for himself. “Right, bad time— bad joke— If you don’t want to explain it, you don’t have to, mate, but it might help a bit if I knew what was going on.”

“Well, what if I don’t want to?” he chided back, finally bringing his movements to a stop with a curled up seat on the couch. 

“Then you don’t have to,” the podcaster replied, through which Sherlock could hear the sigh in his voice and thought that perhaps his tone was a bit harsh. “I’ll get your sensory things.”

As John wandered further into the flat to grab a few things for his friend, Sherlock’s mind couldn't help but begin to spiral. Clearly, he decided, this wasn’t a sensory issue - at least, not fully. He gave a nod and signed ‘thank you’ upon being handed his ear defenders first and foremost, but even with them on he still felt overwhelmed by something. It spiked and simmered in his chest with each back and forth the doctor made, rising and falling like his breathing, his heartbeat. Even in his current state he can deduce this, that something about the man was causing a disturbance in his mind. It was horribly distracting to his deduction process - an attribute he had noticed in some of their previous cases - and he wasn’t going to figure out what on Earth was bothering him so much with those sparks dancing in his head. 

“I am going for a walk,” declared the detective, suddenly standing from his current position on the couch just as John was about to hand him a cup of tea. The beverage is held by the perplexed podcaster for a few moments, too stunned to speak even as his flatmate begins to walk to the door. With ear defenders, no shoes, and a blanket still draped around his shoulders, he adds, “I would not like to be disturbed,” before closing the door behind himself. He could hear the confused sigh behind the door of 221B, the supposed placing of his cup of tea before John wandered off to do something else. 

It only stirred around the pit in his chest even more.

So he wandered down the stairs to the closest place that he could decompress and process… everything, really. 

221A. The door was shut faster than it was opened, somehow, causing Ms. Ametxazurra to practically jump in her seat. “Sherlock, wha-??” “Do not worry, Mariana, I am simply in need of an area to self-regulate.” Right on cue, the detective begins to pace back and forth in the flat. “And you can’t do this in your own room? It has to be my flat?” “Yes, of course it does!” he groaned with frustration, throwing his hands in the air as he spoke before they began to move repetitively. Mariana’s curiosity grew at the sight of such an abrupt entrance followed by such a tone. She paused her current TV show and resigned to watching Sherlock instead, attempting to discern what could be bothering him. 

“...Would you… want to talk about it?” She inquires following a pause. “First Watson, now you, for goodness sake-” The man stopped himself, both physically and verbally, from going any further after recognizing the tone of his voice. A deep breath was taken, in for four counts, holding for seven, out for eight, just as he had practiced and performed so many times in the past. Many times still, most likely, in the future, given the complications his own mind could cause him. The accountant noticed this technique and noted its implications, worry lines forming within her expression. “Sorry.” “It’s okay,” Mariana acknowledged, turning her body towards Sherlock and her full attention with it. “Frustrated?” “Very,” he started, his pacing picking up again. “There is a certain individual whose very presence causes me to feel sick. Or… not exactly “sick,” rather… anxious. Confused. A whirlwind of different emotions combined into one that seems as though it should make sense, and yet it doesn’t. I feel as though there is a great storm in my chest, sirens blaring, red lights flashing, a swarm of chaos ready to explode right out of my body. Just the same, this person brings me peace, comfort, stability, and while I do not understand how these two polar opposites can co-exist I do understand that it’s fairly overwhelming that-” He stopped. “Why are you laughing?” Sure enough, the Spaniard had partially put a hand over her mouth to try (and fail) at hiding her smile, only for small bits of laughter to slither through her fingers. “Sorry, sorry, cariño, I’m not laughing at you- well- I’m not laughing at your feelings-” “Then what?” he inquired, albeit with a bit of childlike impatience. “Just- you being you, Sherlock. I promise you, you’re getting yourself all worked up over something that’s not nearly as bad as you think it is.” “You have the answer, then?” This had grabbed the detective’s attention, his eyes widening as he stepped closer to her. She, in turn, made a silent offer for him to sit next to her on the couch, to which he quickly accepted.

“Mhm.” “Well?” “Love.” And all of a sudden, everything stops. The heightened heart rate, the restlessness, even the stimming all completely freezes as soon as that word is uttered by her lips and processed in his ears. “It’s… complicated, for sure,” Mariana continued, “But also beautiful. And messy, and charming, and chaotic, peaceful, gut-wrenching, comforting… That’s love. It’ll make you question everything and feel completely right all at once. The right person makes you absolutely frustrated with how much you adore them, one way or another, even if they frustrate you to hell and back sometimes.” Sherlock chuckled at this last comment, as if finally releasing some of that built up pressure in his chest. Still nervous, but it’s something.

“I’m not surprised that it’s overwhelming you, from what I can tell-” He nodded in response to this, both confirming her observation and urging her to go on. “But the only way to push through this feeling is to confront it. Otherwise, you may as well explode from pushing it down so much.”

“How on Earth would I go about doing that,” the man retorted, “when I could hardly word this- this blasted feeling myself??” “Sherlock-” “No, I-” He stood up again, taking a few steps forward, a few back, circling her couch a few times as he spoke. “This- this love is metaphorically oozing out of the very core of my being, infecting everything I touch. Cases, tasks, thoughts-” “Sherlock.”

Another forced pause, as he did earlier, though this time upon hearing her firmer tone. “Please just… take a breath, we can work through this, okay?” “...Okay.” Sitting down once more, he closed his eyes and rehearsed the breathing technique taught to him what felt like ages ago. In for four… hold for seven… out for eight. “There you go,” she sighed, her voice gentle, quiet, giving him the necessary silence to take a few deep breaths. Then, just as he’s exhaling, as if able to read his mind…

“...It’s John, isn’t it?”

He opened his eyes as he exhaled, preparing mentally as his secret was fully revealed. 

“...Yes.”

Her eyes held a certain sincerity that Sherlock often admired in people. The ability to properly empathize, know generally what the right thing to say was as if it was second nature. A type of kindness he had attempted to tap into but generally saw brighter in other people rather than himself. 

People like Mariana. People like John.

“Whether or not you tell him how you feel - which you should, by the way - these feelings won’t change anything.” “But what if they do?” His counter was quick, alert, frightened, as if he had rolled this thought through the crevices of his grey matter countless times.

“You really think he would stop caring for you that quickly? After all this time?” Her remark, meanwhile, came softer, her tone leaning on that apparent second nature of hers. The words gave the detective pause as he pondered them, thinking on how sensitive John had become to his needs. How he came to care for his scattered self, even when they were at odds. 

“...He did attempt to calm me even as I stormed out of the flat… Even… when I was unable to give him a straight answer as to what was happening...”

How much he cared for Sherlock, no matter what.

“And he’d do more than that, Sherlock. He has done more than that, multiple times.” “...I… I love him,” he stammered, as if fearful of the words being somehow forbidden or cursed.

“You love him,” reassured Mariana before gently going to hold one of his hands. She squeezed. He squeezed back. “And you want to tell him… don’t you?” “...I do.” “Okay,” is all she replied before aiding him in finding a solution. A plan to properly structure his feelings in word form, one way or another.

—-  ˏˋ ✸ ˎˊ —-

‘Stick to the plan,’ Sherlock told himself whilst marching back up to 221B. ‘Just stick to the plan, and everything will be fine.’ It was easy, he thought, until he was back at the door to his flat, his home, with test tubes bubbling in his gut all over again. A hum of… love, apparently, according to Mariana. One that motivates him to push open the door, albeit carefully, as if it would shatter if he rushed into things. 

John was turned away from the entrance, fixated on something in the kitchen. Archie soon perked up from his bed upon being alerted to the detective’s presence and ambled over to him, jumping up a bit to paw at his leg. A small half-laugh, half-sigh sort of noise escaped his throat, and he can’t help but lean down to give the dog his due affections. “That you, Sherls?” rang that oh-so-familiar voice, whose owner soon turned around to discover the answer to his own question. “Oh good- I uh-” He shifted back to what could now be seen as two pots on the stove. Next to it, two plates ready to go with one half of Sherlock’s favorite comfort meal.

“Did you make-?” “Yep, just ah- just finishing up the sauce here.” Soon enough, tomato sauce was poured onto the penne noodles, cooked just as it was preferred, down to the very brands of sauce that were combined to create what was often described as “the perfect array of flavors.” He really did care for him… The thought made the taller man smile.

Both men soon took their seats, glasses of water already set at the couch table that John brought their plates over to. It isn’t even a few seconds, though, until the shorter shuffled back to the kitchen to retrieve the earlier cup of tea from the microwave. “It’s not as warm as it was earlier,” he sheepishly explained after sitting back down, “but I figured it’d be a shame if I just tossed a good cuppa of Chamomile. Besides, I didn’t know if you’d want it later and-” “Thank you.” His voice was soft, though his smile seemed softer. The sight alone brought a tinge of warmth to John’s cheeks. “Oh- Yeah, of course. Anytime.” Just as that second nature of kindness fascinated Sherlock so, too, was he fascinated by the patience of some of the people around him. Never cross when emotions threw his tone and temperament out of balance (not unless it was deserved, anyhow), yet never infantilizing him due to his behavior. There were times where it felt close, yes, but many times it was for good reason. Many others it was because of genuine concern for his well-being, just as he cared for theirs. In his own way, yes, but still never usually questioned in a negative light. Another thing he admired about the man that was John Watson, it seemed…

Minutes went by filled with nothing but the clinks of forks on plates, the occasional scratches and wanderings from Archie, the doctor talking to himself and the dog a bit. All the while, Sherlock attempted to keep his metaphorical ducks in a row internally. His thoughts raced around in the waters, threatening to spill out at times where a random urge struck him, only to be pushed back by the dam that was anxiety and comforting food filling his mouth.

‘If you tell him now, you’ll ruin the plan,’ Sherlock tells himself. ‘Have dinner, then go over the bullet points, rehearse what you want to say, then just say it. That way you say everything you want to say, you don’t embarrass yourself, and-’

“I love you.” Even Archie seemed to go silent at the words, ones that the detective didn’t even realize have left his mouth until he noticed John staring back at him in awe. Maybe he didn’t hear…? “You…? Sorry, what?”

‘Bugger.’  His complexion was quick to match the podcaster’s flushed face and then surpass it, the dam beginning to crack under pressure as he finished his bite of penne, careful not to choke on it. 

“There’s a stampede in my chest that I cannot control and it drives me mad when I am around you.” The anxious stimming started as fidgeting with the fork. 

“There are times where I have to watch you through my fingers because staring at your face for too long causes a bubbling in my stomach and chest that is almost nauseating.” Then it transitioned to snapping once the plate was put down. 

“It is an absolute whirlwind that has distracted me for some time now.” Then his leg was bouncing. 

“With you I am both anxious and at peace and comforted and confused and all sorts of things in between that I can hardly decipher on my own-”

Then-

“Woah- woah woah woah-” The plate and fork alike have been placed onto the table, the blonde holding up his hands in Sherlock’s general direction. “Easy, mate, easy.”

He did his best to do so, to “take it easy,” as it may, even if he felt the exact opposite in the current moment. Alarms rang in his mind, blaring at how he had completely and utterly ballsed up his whole plan after Mariana had so carefully gone over things with him. And now what would happen? Who was to say what would happen now?

“...Sorry,” the detective murmured, looking down at his plate with a twinge of guilt tainting those striking eyes of his, complimenting the embarrassment clearly shown on his florid face.

“No, no, you’re okay!” blurted John, almost instinctively placing a hand on his arm without a second thought. “I…uhm…”

The unexpected rise in volume gave Sherlock just enough courage to raise his gaze to glance at the man next to him, only to be met with a face similar to his own. Blushing, nervous, avoiding eye contact, smiling. He was… smiling? “I… I love you too, mate...”

It was almost amusing how much four simple words could mean to a person, how much weight they can carry coming from the right people. All of this pressure inside of the detective, fizzing and soaring and popping like fireworks inside of him. A slight smile creeped onto his face, even if he did think it premature, as he hadn’t even confirmed the meaning of these four - or rather, five - words.

“You… love me? You-” “Yeah- uhm-” John cleared his throat as a means of pausing before speaking. “I have for a while, mate, I just… each time I thought about bringing it up, I got this… this sinking feeling in my chest. Like something-” “-would go horribly wrong if you revealed your feelings?” Sherlock’s smile grew as he finished John’s sentence, particularly when being met with a nod of confirmation.

“Y-Yep. Dead on there, Sherls.”

The doctor’s flatmate soon pulled him into a tight hug, burying his head in the crook of the man’s neck. A factor that, especially when he could feel his best mate’s warmth, only increased his own. Nevertheless, he hugged back tight, above the diaphragm just as Mr. Holmes liked it. His arms stayed there, too, even as they both pulled out of the hug. It worked out, though, as Sherlock’s arms also seemed comfortable wrapped around John’s torso. “I love you,” he proclaimed once more, as if to triple confirm they shared this feeling.

“I love you too,” John echoed, laughing upon being given a second, shorter hug before the detective - his detective - is zooming around the flat, jumping up and down with a grin. 

‘Good grief is he adorable when he’s happy,’ the doctor silently pondered. Because they were, truly, especially now. They were both in love and happy. 

Even if the road to the moment had its bumps, they were both content with that.

 —- ‪‪❤︎‬ —-

[bansept]

Until I see you again

I... didn't mean to write this??? I was about to rant about Ichigo leaving to the UK and leaving Orihime sad behind, but then it started to look like a small writing thing. So, have at it, hahahahaha

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

She's not supposed to cry. She promised him.

Orihime sniffs back the wave of fresh tears ready to breach her resolve, the hand holding onto the plastic bag - which contains the only gift Ichigo agrees to take with him, namely some fresh bread from her bakery - clenching valiantly. Her gloved hands hold on tight, a small lifeline that keeps her from gathering him in her arms and anchoring herself on the ground. Maybe if she turned into a solid bloc of pure metal, she'd be able to keep him well-settled on the ground, and he wouldn't have to take that stupid plane.

She doesn't want to be selfish, and oh well, she knows she won't be. He discreetly rubs her back, the touch reassuring, and somehow that barely helps her greed win the fight.

Ichigo, mostly free of his Hollow-hunting duties, will leave for the UK, right in London, in 4 hours, as a continuation of his studies to become a translator.

It's not really a surprise to anyone who's known him: in classes, he was among the best in English, discussing Shakespeare and his influence and overall works. He'd help her with tests, training her with the spelling, although it flew right at the top of her head at the time ; it took a lot out of her to not blush to death.

And now, here he is, all handsome and adult, right on his way to graduate in a couple of months, but leaving for a foreign land she knows scrap about (except they drink tea and have a monarchy), and he will be gone forever.

She sighs, pouting to herself. Not... forever forever. But 4 months feels like an eternity already.

Ichigo looks from left to right, checking for his luggage while Yuzu fusses about the importance of being early at the boarding gate. Karin elbows Isshin, whose expression is a mix of pride and terrible doom. Orihime heard him mumble things to Ichigo while on the way here, which of course only left Ichigo pissed at his father.

The young man already said goodbye to their friends earlier, back in Karakura. Chad is busy at the Gonzalez gym, his boss not giving him much regard when it comes to breaks, while Uryu is buried under thick layers of medical books and studies. He might not become a surgeon like his father, but he's definitely not lacking work while studying the pediatric field.

Renji and Rukia came earlier in the week. With the recent announcement of Rukia's pregnancy, which was a whole event on itself and brought EVERYONE to tears (no matter what Uryu and Ichigo say) and the incessant work the Soul Society keeps throwing at them, it was very kind of them to travel back to the World of the Living to bid their goodbye.

Which leaves her. Sure she could come by as just the friend who's available to come and see him off, a smile on her face as he waves, flying away like a bird to foreign lands.

Except she's no longer just a friend.

After the war, they spent time with each other. Just them, just the simple reading sessions in his room or at her place. Just the bickering about the bread he supposedly dislikes but engulfs greedily. She was invited plenty of time, gradually, to their home, the warmth of the Kurosaki smiles around her, cautiously tasting her meals before genuinely digging into them. Spending time with the twins, as both of them stared at her with wonder, some kind of urge to be understood as young women. Orihime remembers fondly the moment Karin, quiet, distant and cranky, asked her for help. Nothing overly major, but in that single moment, she wasn't just a friend anymore.

She wasn't simply a buddy either when Ichigo asked for more of her time, which she willingly gave.

Were they dates? Going to a coffee place, or the cinema, or on missions just the two of them? A part of her rapidly thinks it's the way for Ichigo to enjoy some peace and quiet without being alone, while the confident and hopelessly in love part of her rebukes the idea of convenience: it's to spend time with her. And only her.

And so they did, they hung out, discussed, laughed, visited places together. He confided in her, some of his fear, and she leaned against him while muttering about her past, what her brother had told her, very long ago.

Ichigo had shown nothing but tenderness towards her, and the cherry on top was his first hug, the day they'd visited his mother's grave.

She flushes at the memory. Oh, no, they weren't dating... Were they?

Ichigo turns to her after hugging his little sisters, a small smile on his face. He's wearing a thick gray coat lined with fur, the only protection he has against the frigid cold from England he's supposed to have once arrived. His hair has been trimmed one last time by a tearful Yuzu, the short strand on top of his head still somehow foreign after a few months. But who is she kidding, Ichigo looks even more handsome that way.

"Are you alright, Orihime?" His voice is smooth, laced with held-back worry.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine." She sniffs again, and she swears she means it. Her heart is aching for him to stay and never ever leave without her for so long, but she can't be that kind of horrible person. Suggesting he misses this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity out of selfishness is out of the question. "You sure you have everything?"

It's one of those phrases everyone asks. He's packed his 2 suitcases over the last month, he's pondered over it for longer than that, his sisters helped him out, his father checked with him and Orihime helped retrieve one last tube of toothpaste, because he has a specific brand he likes and that's one of the many things she's discovered about him that make her melt.

"Yeah, I think I got what's necessary." He grins nonetheless, pulling at the grip of the dark blue suitcase by his feet.

Orihime nods at him, hiding her reddening nose in her coat. It rained a lot this morning. Ichigo comes closer to her, his wide frame hiding her from the rest of his family, some kind of intimacy for them both. He has a small blush on his face when he picks up one of her hands.

"Hey... You promised not to cry."

"I'm not... just the blue men tickling at my eyes." She pouts, letting her hand rest in his bigger, safe and warm one.

Ichigo only raises his eyebrows with a knowing smile, her antics gliding over him naturally now.

"I'll send messages." He speaks, and his tone is breaking a little, because she knows it hurts him too.

Orihime can only nod, although her eyes waver with the silent "please do" plea. She gently holds him tighter, and with a tight smile, Ichigo decides to lean closer, hugging her against him. The warmth invades her, both her body and mind, turning all residual sadness and anxiousness into a mushy pile of love for this man, like pillows of marshmallows. He smells of home, of courage. Of the books he studied, of the iron of his sword, of the gentle dandelion in the wind. His arms, although completely engulfed by the coat, are molted steel bars, circling her while remaining strong. His head is leaning against hers, resting atop her scalp, and in the small instance it took for him to embrace her, Orihime's doubts and fear all but flush away.

A part of her wonders how his family reacts to this evident display of affection, one she herself is almost foreign to. But it doesn't matter.

He pulls away, gently, face red mirroring hers.

Hours later, his plane flies away, and Orihime clenches her phone, the small pastry charm attached to her phone case, a small gift from him, rocks gently against her palm.

[blackstarlineage]

Over-Reliance on Foreign Powers and Ideologies Instead of Pan-African Solidarity: A Garveyite Perspective

Introduction: The Crisis of Dependency and the Need for Self-Reliance

One of the greatest weaknesses of the African/Black world today is its dependence on foreign powers, institutions, and ideologies. Instead of focusing on self-sufficiency, internal economic cooperation, and Pan-African unity, many Black nations and communities look to Western nations, China, the UN, the IMF, and other external entities for solutions.

From a Garveyite perspective, this over-reliance is not an accident—it is a direct result of colonial conditioning, designed to:

Keep Africa and the diaspora politically and economically dependent.

Prevent the development of self-sufficient Black nations and institutions.

Ensure that foreign powers control African resources, policies, and economies.

If Black people do not break free from this cycle of dependency and prioritize Pan-African self-reliance, they will remain under the control of neocolonial forces, unable to shape their own destiny.

1. The Historical Origins of Black Dependency on Foreign Powers

A. The Colonial Strategy of Creating African and Diasporic Dependence

Colonizers and enslavers deliberately stripped Black people of self-sufficiency to make them permanently dependent on European and Arab rule.

This was done by:

Destroying independent African economies and making Black nations rely on European trade.

Forcing enslaved Africans to abandon their skills and rely on white-controlled economies.

Replacing African governance and legal systems with European models that required foreign oversight.

Example: After slavery was abolished, Black people in the Americas were denied land ownership and economic independence, ensuring they would remain under white economic control.

Key Takeaway: Colonialism and slavery were not just about labor—they were about creating permanent Black dependency on foreign systems.

B. The Role of Foreign Ideologies in Suppressing Pan-African Thought

Foreign political, religious, and economic ideologies were used to disconnect Black people from their own traditions and make them adopt European/Arab-centered ways of thinking.

This resulted in:

Black nations adopting European democracy, instead of African governance models.

Western-style capitalism and socialism replacing African economic self-sufficiency.

Arab and European religions replacing indigenous African spiritual systems.

Example: Many African leaders today look to the West or the Middle East for ideological guidance, rather than studying pre-colonial African governance models that worked for centuries.

Key Takeaway: When Black people adopt foreign ideologies blindly, they reject their own intellectual and cultural heritage.

2. The Modern Consequences of Over-Reliance on Foreign Powers

A. Economic Dependency on Foreign Institutions

Instead of developing their own industries, banks, and trade networks, many African nations and Black economies remain controlled by:

The International Monetary Fund (IMF) and World Bank, which trap them in debt.

Foreign corporations, which extract Africa’s natural resources without reinvesting in Black communities.

Western and Chinese investors, who profit while African nations remain underdeveloped.

Example: Many African countries borrow billions from the IMF, only to remain in perpetual debt, losing economic control to foreign entities.

Key Takeaway: A nation that does not control its own economy is not truly independent.

B. Political Dependency on Western and Eastern Powers

Many Black nations fail to act independently in global politics, instead choosing to align with:

Western nations like the U.S., UK, and France, which interfere in African and Caribbean affairs.

China and Russia, which present themselves as “alternative partners” but still exploit Africa.

The UN and EU, which dictate policies to Black nations without truly benefiting them.

Example: The African Union often waits for Western validation before taking political action, proving that many African leaders are still mentally colonized.

Key Takeaway: True political sovereignty means making decisions based on Black interests—not foreign approval.

C. The Psychological Effects of Seeking Validation from Foreign Powers

Many Black leaders and intellectuals still believe that progress must come from the West or East, rather than from within the Black world itself.

This results in:

A lack of confidence in African solutions.

Blind imitation of Western policies that do not fit African or Caribbean needs.

A failure to recognize the power of Pan-African cooperation.

Example: When African nations face crises, they often turn to the UN or the West for “help”, instead of forming Pan-African coalitions to solve their own problems.

Key Takeaway: A mentally enslaved people will always look to their former masters for guidance, instead of trusting their own wisdom.

3. The Failure of Foreign Ideologies to Address Black Issues

A. Western Capitalism and Its Exploitation of Black Nations

Capitalism has failed Black nations because it:

Prioritizes profit over community well-being.

Creates massive wealth gaps, leaving Black workers in poverty.

Encourages foreign exploitation of African resources.

Example: Africa is rich in gold, oil, and minerals, yet most Africans remain poor because foreign corporations own these industries.

Key Takeaway: Western capitalism does not serve Black interests—Africans must develop their own economic models.

B. The Failure of Western Democracy in Africa and the Caribbean

Western democracy was imposed on Black nations without considering African governance traditions.

It has led to:

Corrupt leaders backed by Western governments.

Endless political instability and coups.

Foreign nations influencing African elections.

Example: Many African elections are funded and influenced by Western nations, proving that political sovereignty is still an illusion.

Key Takeaway: African nations must create governance systems based on African history, not foreign political theories.

4. The Garveyite Solution: Pan-African Solidarity and Self-Reliance

A. Building Pan-African Economic Networks

Black nations must:

Trade more with each other, rather than relying on the West and China.

Invest in Black-owned banks, businesses, and industries.

Develop an independent African currency, free from Western control.

Example: The African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) is a step toward economic independence, but it must be fully embraced by all African nations.

Key Takeaway: A free economy means trading within the Black world—not depending on foreign nations.

B. Strengthening Pan-African Political Alliances

Black nations and communities must:

Coordinate their political strategies across the diaspora.

Resist Western and Eastern interference in African and Caribbean affairs.

Build stronger ties between Africa, the Caribbean, and Black America.

Example: The Caribbean and African Union should create a unified political strategy, rather than acting separately.

Key Takeaway: Only a strong, unified Black political front can challenge global oppression.

C. Reclaiming African Intellectual and Cultural Ideologies

Black people must:

Develop political and economic systems based on African traditions.

Stop idolizing foreign ideologies and embrace Pan-African thought.

Reject Western and Arab cultural dominance over Black societies.

Example: Instead of copying Western or Eastern governance models, African nations should study their own pre-colonial systems of leadership, trade, and law.

Key Takeaway: A people that copies foreign cultures will never truly be free.

Conclusion: Will Black People Choose Pan-African Unity or Remain Under Foreign Control?

Marcus Garvey said:

“A race that is solely dependent upon another for its economic existence sooner or later dies.”

Will Black people continue looking to foreign nations for solutions, or build their own institutions?

Will we rely on the West, China, and Russia, or embrace Pan-African economic and political power?

Will we break free from mental slavery, or continue to worship foreign ideologies over African wisdom?

The Choice is Ours. The Time is Now.