#academic language barrier

[throckmortons-thrussy]

Vent time!

Was thrown off gaurd today in class because my Professor veered way off into unknown territory that I wasn't prepared for, and he kept talking like it all made sense.

I actually finished reading, highlighting, and taking notes on the chapters he assigned so I could contribute to the class discussion... And he didn't even use the terms the book used? He was describing the concepts we read, but with different terminology and equations with different symbols than the ones the book supplied.

Like, I was flipping back and forth through my notes, and I just couldn't follow along with what he was talking about.

The class discussion was... well, pretty much nonexistent. You can see in my notes the moment things stopped making sense because there's just a large gap of nothing, and then me trying to make sense of some of the equations he was using near the bottom.

I stayed after at least 20 minutes with him, trying to understand if maybe I misunderstood the reading or if my notes went in the wrong direction. Maybe I did notes on the wrong chapter? I was so lost.

Come to find out... My professor doesn't agree with a lot of the language used in our readings. Not only that, he brushed off the terminology I had written in my notes and said what he was saying was basically the same thing. And the equations!! He was just free-balling them! He said that he was just making up letter...

Like, my dude... WHY ASSIGN US TO READ THE FUCKING CHAPTER IF YOU'RE NOT GOING TO EVEN USE THE SAME TERMINOLOGY AND EQUATIONS?

Sorry... I just- I can usually still follow along well in class, even if I haven't completed the assigned readings. I wanted to start this semester on the right foot with this BEHV class since I'm trying to decide between minoring in Behavior Analysis or Counciling.

Like, the chapter started getting a too wordy for me near the 3/4th mark, so I had 2 pages of notes just trying to get the terms straight and even did extra examples for each to make sure I understood what the theory was saying.

I showed him these and asked if they made sense, or if I went wrong somewhere... Wanna know what he said?

That it was all correct; however, he thinks people get too caught up in the terms and language of the field when they should focus on the science.

...

How are we supposed to begin to understand the science when THE WORDS YOU'RE USING TO DESCRIBE THESE PHENOMENON ARE DIFFERENT THAN THE ONES ON THE CHAPTER?!

I was hoping this class would provide clarification for all the terms thrown at us in the reading, but instead, he made these concepts all the more confusing (and added NEW interchangeable words I need to worry about).

I haven't been this frustrated in a class in so long. By the time I got home and finished walking my dog (very frusterated walking at that), I craved potato chips for the first time in YEARS. I found some old chips my roommate hadn't finished off yet and binged a bit.

This class is literally titled Basic Behavior Principles and has no prerequisites.

Listen, he's smart. He knows his stuff. He's a master's student pursuing his doctorate degree in the subject.

He also has no idea how to present this information in a concise way to an undergraduate class that doesn't require any prerequisites.

I'm going to keep pushing forward. Get in touch with the other students in class. Maybe he just threw way too much at us way too fast. I don't know. I'm just so confused by his approach and goals with this class.

[gayvampyr]

anyway i will always trust and respect native speakers’ usage of their own language more than anyone who tries to police how others speak, or who deems variations in dialect “incorrect/improper” because it’s different from how they personally speak, especially since the history of language policing is chock full of racism, classism, and xenophobia

[draconicace]

honestly. if a post feels like it needs a classroom full of liberal arts majors to dissect and discuss to understand even half of the point it's trying to make. then maybe it was inevitable that it was misunderstood by several people.

[cruelsister-moved2]

sorry if that makes absolutely no sense but like there needs to be major reform in the education system and also a lot of the entities that exist around it like museums and publishing and film etc because there is a mytholicised holocaust which is very set in now so even if like certain individuals educate themselves it doesn't really eradicate the danger of it being erased when those groups are much smaller and quieter than the people (hollywood, schools, governments etc) who actually get to define what it was and what it means. like its really good if some people went and read maus or something but that's more something thats like (still necessary) personal duty that does very little to fix the problem overall so like I don't want to disparage that but it is very much the bare minimum

[golgafrincham]

Research Fun

Finding a useful article, getting excited and looking through the author's other works only to then find a second review of the author's book which DESTROYS their sloppy methodology, self-contradicting statements, and calls them completely out on their ignorance of related fields.

[leclerc-hs]

fille stupide - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: request from anon, in which you don't know French and a stranger helps you find your way back home Warning: 18+, SMUT, mean charles, degradation, some French (badly translated please correct me if needed), smut, smut, smut.... Word Count: 1808 Author's Note: I can't stop writing smut??? I think I hit every area the anon wanted!!! xo hope you like it lmaoooo also I wrote this so fast so it might not be my best work but I couldn’t sleep so I decided to write to pass the time. UPDATE: Also I just want to give a major shoutout to @dannyramirezwife for checking the translations for me!! It seriously means the world to meeee PART 2

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

DESPITE MONACO'S REPUTATION as one of the smallest countries in the world, you found yourself defying expectations by getting lost. The common assumption that such a compact place would be easy to navigate proved to be a misconception, as Monaco’s intricate streets and unique layout presented a challenge, turning what seemed impossible into a reality. Your reality.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The murmur of students passing by echoed, their conversations blending into a linguistic symphony of French, a language foreign to your ears. The decision to pursue the International University of Monaco, a place where the native tongue was French, felt like a bold and ambitious choice at first. The picturesque landscapes, the allure of the Mediterranean, and the prestigious academic reputation had drawn you in. 

However, as you stood outside the building, the reality of linguistic barriers hit you with full force. It seemed like every conversation, every announcement, and every piece of information was enveloped in a language you struggled to comprehend. Although, most knew English, it wasn’t the standard, and you were not yet adjusted to it. 

Panic surged through you as you hurriedly navigated the winding sidewalks, desperately trying to locate the building housing your apartment. Your focus was solely on scanning the towering buildings, hoping to spot a familiar one. The urgency of the situation compelled you to dart forward, not paying mind to those surrounding you. It was a recipe disaster, leading you to collide right into the body of another person.

“Mon dieu,” My God. The man said with a slight annoyance in his tone. “Regarde où tu marches!” Watch where you’re walking!

As the words were proclaimed, your eyes locked with a man’s gaze. He was the most stunning individual your eyes have ever beheld. His physique was tan, sculpted and taut, with biceps stretching the seams of his t-shirt. A pair of black sunglasses perched confidently on the bridge of his nose, adding an extra layer of allure to his presence.

You had absolutely no idea what he was saying. Although by the look of his furrowed eyebrows and tightened jaw, it was evident he was far from pleased. He removed his sunglasses, unveiling a pair of narrowed eyes.

Embarrassment tinged your cheeks as you stammered, “I’m so sorry!”

Under his scrutinizing gaze, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of smallness. His eyes, which you presumed to be green, were veiled in fury, making it difficult to discern their true color, yet undeniable captivating in their intensity. 

“Tu parles Français?” Do you speak French? A sly grin stretched across his lips slowly, reveling in your bewilderment. “Stupide, stupide fille,” Stupid, stupid girl. he added, savoring the moment.

Gazing downward, you focused on your feet, idly brushing your hands across the bottom of your white sundress. The garment was short, adorned with a little tied bow between your breasts and flower details.

“I’m a bit lost.” You muttered. “Would you be able to help me find my place?”

“I ne sais pas,” I don’t know. He persisted in speaking French, despite knowing you couldn’t understand. It felt as if he aimed to humiliate you, to provoke a sense of frustration or anger deliberately.

“Évidemment, je peux. Fille stupide.” Of course, I can. Stupid girl. He was mocking you and you didn’t even know it.

You let out an exasperated groan and sidestepped to make way for him, muttering a small ‘nevermind.’ However, as you moved, he followed suit, intentionally blocking your path and halting your movement.

“You shouldn’t be wearing dresses so short,” his fingers gently toyed with the thin strap of your dress. “It’s a bit windy for them.”

You felt the goosebumps rise on your skin from his touch alone. You frowned, “So, you do speak English?”

“Oui, la plupart des gens le font.” Yes, most people do. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as he continued speaking in French. While you acknowledged the need to learn the language, it felt like he was intentionally being cruel rather than helpful. “Are you in University?”

You nodded briskly, eager not to waste any time, especially since he finally seemed willing to be helpful.

“Most of the students live this way,” he mentioned, his hand wrapping around your wrist as he began to walk, essentially pulling you along with him. The touch of his skin against yours stirred butterflies in your stomach. Despite the fact he was insanely hot, you struggled to concentrate, almost forgetting the fact that he was behaving like a total asshole. 

He muttered French phrases to himself throughout the entire walk, small laughs escaping his lips while you remained clueless about what he was saying.

“Je veux te manger.” I want to eat you out.

“Tu t’habilles comme une salope.” You dress like a slut.

“Je vais te détruire.” I’m going to wreck you.

You weren’t sure what it was. Whether it was delusion from exhaustion or simply the undeniable sex appeal of the guy, the words, even though you didn’t understand them, strangely aroused you. 

Guiding you through the streets, he steered you into a lobby of a building that finally seemed familiar. “What number are you?” he inquired, referring to your apartment number. 

“Why would I give a stranger my apartment number?”

He scoffed, “I’m Charles. Not a stranger anymore. What’s the number?”

You didn’t give him the information because he convinced you that easily. It was more because he knew the area better than you. 

“0217? I think.” You replied, not entirely certain. The rush of your first day at university had left you with little time to settle in and memorize details. He didn’t seem to have much patience as he led you quickly up the stairwell and in front of a door with the numbers 0217 on it. You pulled out your key and unlocked the door, smiling as you finally pushed it open with success.

“Come in and have some water before you go,” You offered. It was the least you could do to express gratitude for his assistance. Your apartment was sparsely furnished, with only a mattress on the floor and several boxes scattered about.

“Sorry for the mess,” you bent over to pick up two water bottles from the case of water, your lace underwear with tiny hearts all over them peeking out for Charles view. He groaned loudly and unashamed.

Fatigue weighed heavily behind your eyes, but a persistent ache tugged at your stomach, insisting on the need to fulfill it.

“Mon dieu, j’ai besoin de t’avoir.” My god, I need to have you.

You rolled your eyes at the man as he said yet another sentence in French, handing him the water bottle. Rather than taking the water bottle from your hand, he grasped tightly onto your forearm and pulled you into him, the shock of his grasp causing you to drop the water bottle.

You felt your stomach tightening with need as his hands were on you once again. It was sick really. How this big of an asshole could turn you on so much.

“Rule number one, you can only roll your eyes when my cock is stretching your tight little pussy.” The scent of his cologne made your knees week. It was embarrassing. How quickly he was able to affect you. 

A soft gasp escaped your lips at his words, and your heart raced rapidly in response. He towered over your small frame, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at your flushed skin. A dead giveaway to how badly you were aching for him.

His hand swiftly pulled the strings of the dress, giving him full access to your breasts. He slipped his hand into it, pinching your nipple between his middle finger and thumb.

“On the bed.” His tone was demanding and authoritative, treating you like you were the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. Treating you like the slut that you were. “On your hands and knees.”

You rushed over to the bed, falling to your hands and knees, turning your head to look up at Charles behind you. Once he makes his way over, he grabs your hair and pulls you so your back is flushed to his chest, pulling your mouth to his. His tongue slips its way into your mouth, devouring you. The process is not entirely sexy. It’s urgent. Frantic. As if neither of you could have enough of one another.

He pulled away and spoke gruffly, as if he was angry with you. “Doesn’t even know a lick of French, stupide fille.” Stupid girl. He remarked, switching off between French and English.

Your dress was so short that he didn't even need to move it to see your panties. The dainty little hearts had him foaming at the mouth. So fucking cute.

“Fucking salope.” Slut. He pushes you back down, letting you fall back onto your hands as he pulled his pants down, freeing his cock.

You felt your mouth water at the sight. Just like him, his cock was beautiful. Perfectly smooth and dripping with pre-cum. You moaned as he pressed the head of his cock to your lace covered pussy, teasing you with it. You felt yourself growing needier, trying to push yourself onto his cock for more friction. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” He groaned, pulling your underwear to the side, and spitting directly onto your pussy. He did it as if he was spitting on the sidewalk, with no care and no respect, shoving two fingers into your heated center. He wasn’t gentle in the slightest. He was greedy, taking whatever he wanted from you. “Pathétique,” Pathetic. He sighs, shaking his head, "Such a cock slut."

Loud moans left your mouth as he stroked where you ached with his fingers before removing them and replacing them with his cock. 

“So fucking tight,” he hisses, his fingers grabbing onto the skin of your ass to add leverage as his continues to push deeper. To push harder. Your pussy squeezes him harder as he utters the words. “Tu aimes ça?” You like that? He muses on, “You like hearing what a tight pussy you have?”

“Dirty fucking slut.”

His hand reaches out and forces your head down onto the mattress, limiting your breathing. He’s completely unhinged. His hips relentlessly pounding into you. Fucking you like he’s mad at you. Fucking you like he hates you. With every thrust, a loud moan escapes your lips, echoing off the empty apartment walls.

“Come on my cock,” he demands. “Squeezing me like you’re going to come.” He states. You can hear the smirk in his voice. 

You feel yourself choking on your moans as it hits you. You’re now leaping over the edge of your orgasm. “That’s it,” he soothes, talking you through as you release all over his cock, but he doesn’t slow the roll of his hips into you. He pulls your face up from the mattress, his hand holding you up by the back of your neck. You’re completely limp, practically nothing but a toy for him to use. 

“Charles,” you’re yelling his name repeatedly.

At the sound of your voice yelling his name, he quickly pulls out and comes undone, releasing all over your backside. He collapses beside you, both of you trying to catch your breath. You both lie there, unmoving, just staring at each other.

“You should really learn French.” He laughs, a smug smile forming on his lips. You can’t help but laugh in response. 

“Maybe you can teach me?” 

“Peut être.” Maybe.

[spaceeoddity]

As a verdict is possibly hours away, a sense of dread has been building in my stomach for what it will mean for Amber’s future, as well as all victims of intimate partner violence (IPV), particularly as women’s basic rights continue to be under attack in the United States. Like many people who are following the case, I have personal experiences with abuse. Much of my research focuses on IPV, specifically, the disparities in resources and services that are available for survivors to leave their abusers, such as economic, social, geographical barriers. It’s a topic which is deeply tied to my own personal experiences and academic career.

I initially was ambivalent to Amber Heard. Before I began to research the case, I was firmly in the "they both suck" camp, having only briefly glanced through articles. I started to pay more attention to the media coverage over the past six weeks and was really staggered by how Heard was being portrayed as a lying, crazy, gold-digging woman through narratives that were not only going unchallenged, but were heavily perpetuated in the public discourse. Even worse, that the abuse she experienced had been capitalized on by "true crime" junkies and mocked in TikTok videos and Youtube compilations. So I began watching the trial live and found that there was far more evidence and far more substantial evidence which shows that JD was the perpetrator of abuse within their relationship.

The evidence collected through JD's personal texts and emails show an early pattern of abuse. He exerted control over the clothes Amber wore and would become angry when she didn't dress "conservatively". He would consistently accuse her of having affairs with acquaintances, friends, and various co-stars, even with an openly gay director, Clive Barker. He didn't like that she was ambitious and would scorn her when she took opportunities to advance her career. He would constantly refer to her with misogynistic language. He also referred to Amber, an openly bisexual woman, as a “lesbian camp counsellor”. He messaged other men to discuss killing her through drowning and burning her, and then raping her burnt corpse to prove that she was truly dead. This all occurred while they were still dating. She was in her early 20s and he was in 50s. All of these coercive, paranoid, jealous, controlling behaviours are deeply and unequivocally abusive.

None of this includes the evidence which shows physical and sexual abuse. There are audio tapes in which he admits to headbutting her, so hard that she was concerned her nose was broken. In another recording, they discuss how her family and friends have seen her bruises, broken blood vessels, and bald spots from her hair being torn out of her scalp. Another shows him stating “I will smack the ugly c**t before I let her in.” A video shows him aggressively breaking and smashing furniture near her. One interaction reveals that Stephen Deuters, his assistant, begged her to come back to him after her assaulted her on a plane in front of his bodyguards, pleading to her that JD was remorseful for his actions. Heard also has stated he sexually assaulted her multiple times. Remember, he previously discussed violently raping her in those infamous messages to Paul Bettany.

As for witnesses, several testified to seeing bruises on her numerous times, including JD's witnesses, such as their marriage counsellor. A makeup artist, Melanie Inglessis, testified to covering swelling on her lip and two black eyes. Raquel Pennington saw several injuries, including bloodied bald spots on her head, a swollen nose, and cut lip. She expressed fear JD would eventually kill Amber if she didn't leave. Josh Drew also testified to seeing her with injuries, including black eyes, a swollen cheek, and a busted lip. iO Tillet Wright (who Depp misgenders throughout his testimony) recalled hearing JD assault Amber and scream “oh, you think I hit you? You think I fucking hit you? What if I peel your fucking hair back". iO then called 911. This was the incident which led Heard to file for a divorce and a restraining order, two days afterwards. It is worth noting that Pennington, Drew, and Wright all corroborated this incident in their depositions, as did iO’s 2016 essay.

Is she guilty of fighting back? Absolutely. She never lied about doing so, even dating back to her 2016 deposition. However, fighting back against a man who has beaten you, sexually assaulted you, controlled your career, finances, and who you can associate with does not equate to being an abuser. It’s simply surviving. And yes, I’ve heard those audio tapes, the in which she’s expresses her incredulity at him for stating their fights were fair when she feared he would kill her.

His case has relied upon deeply misogynistic narratives to discredit both her claims and her character. She was after his money all along, even though she refused the 30 million dollar fortune she was legally entitled to, as there was no prenup. She painted on bruises, even though a makeup artist testified to covering up her swollen lip and two black eyes. She cut off his finger, even though multiple texts and even an audio recording showcase him admitting to doing it in the midst of a bender. She didn't donate her money, even though she and the organization created a 10 year plan for her to make yearly payments (in my personal opinion, what she does with her money either way is nobody's fucking business). Also worth noting, an ACLU representative testified to her being ahead of schedule until Depp began suing her. She made up a hoax, because she documented her abuse - as we advise all people who are in abusive situations to do. She's a liar, because women are inherently deceitful liars.

None of the evidence that JD's attorneys presented has proven that she defamed him through her op-ed piece. That's likely because their goal was never to prove that her article - which never explicitly references him or their relationship - impacted his career. Those who watched the trial will know, Tracy Jacobs, his agent of 30 years stated that it was his drug and alcohol abuse, anger issues, chronic lateness (7 or 8 hours late to set each day), and unprofessionalism that led to his career decline. Film crews grew tired of working around these problems, and eventually, so did Hollywood. Tina Newman, a Disney Corporate Representative who worked on POTC stated no one knew of Amber’s op-ed until Depp sued her. 

The trial was always meant to humiliate, shame, and terrorize her. We are witnessing in a powerful man terrorize his ex-wife through the legal system, all while the world makes TikToks of her sexual assault testimony. JD has a documented history of violence and is due for another court date after assaulting a crew member of the set of City of Lies. To quote his own words, “If I’m angry and I’ve got to lash out or hit somebody, I’m going to do it and I don’t care what the repercussions are. Anger doesn’t pay rent, it’s gotta go. It’s gotta be evicted.”

I don't know whether Amber Heard will win her case. We’re witnessing a radical right-wing political swing to control and criminalize women’s bodies with Roe v. Wade under attack right now. To be blunt, I have very little faith in the justice system and that a jury - in Virginia of all places - will rule in favour of an abused woman over her charismatic, powerful ex-husband. However, I think it's important to remember that Amber did everything right, that is, everything we tell women to do. She documented her abuse, left her abusive partner, and was granted a restraining order - and she's continuing to be punished for doing so. If Amber, a privileged white woman with access to economic resources, is still struggling to escape her abuser, how can we expect women without those privileges to?

[bratzforchris]

the bratzfornick 141 writing challenge

hi everyone! me and @nicksbestie been looking for new fics to read and so many of you are so talented, so what better way to have new reading material than hosting a little challenge to fuel our delusions 😋

here are the basics for the challenge: pick 1 character, pick 4 story elements, and create 1 fic! more details below!!

the following rules are things you must follow. otherwise, you will be eliminated from this challenge. 

no being rude or hateful to other creators. this includes us, as well as others participating in the challenge.

no copying or plagiarizing ANY work. this includes challenge submissions as well as other stories that have been posted to tumblr/wattpad/etc. if you choose to use one of your works from another platform, please make sure that you have proof it is your own work

no submissions that revolve around anything weird or illegal (abuse, incest, illegal age gaps, highly graphic mental illness, hard drugs, age play, homo/transphobia/racism/abelism/etc, bathroom play, etc) 

5k max word limit. in order for us to be able to thoroughly read all of your submissions, please keep your word count to 5k or less and use paragraph breaks!

when you post your fic, please tag @bratzforchris and @nicksbestie and use the tag #bratzfornick’s 141 writing challenge 

characters (pick 1)

matt sturniolo

chris sturniolo

nick sturniolo

nathan doe

story elements (pick any 4): you may mix and match these to your liking. you are not required to do one from all four categories (for example: two locations, one trope, one genre OR two genres, two tropes, etc)

GENRES: 

Fluff

Smut

Angst

Age regression (not age play. your work must be 100% SFW and innocent to fall into this category)

TROPES:

Friends to lovers

Enemies to lovers

Little x caregiver 

Friends with benefits

Chronically ill x healthy

Mafia x goody two shoes

Academic rivals

Lovers to strangers

Nurse x doctor coworker

Fake dating

Grumpy x sunshine

Royalty x bodyguard

Major character death

Angel x demon

Singer/band member x fan

Arranged marriage

Locations/Settings: 

Alternate universe (AU)

College/university

Concert

Outskirt small town

Big city

The forest/woods

Home

Library/bookstore

Vacation

Haunted/abandoned house

Office

Hospital

Plot Ideas: 

Accidental confession (it slips out when drunk, caught in the heat of the moment, etc)

Revenge (fake dating, sleeping with an ex, etc)

Getting used to a new diagnosis/disability (a doctor who is so used to coaching patients through their new diagnosis that they struggle with theirs, getting used to new dynamics with a partner)

Forced proximity (one bed, locked in a room, etc)

Redemption arc

Taking care of each other (cleaning wounds, cooking, holding the trash can while they’re being sick)

Hiding a big secret

Fight that turns sexy

Language barrier (a Southern partner not understanding Boston slang, an actual language barrier, etc)

Chance encounter

Caught in the rain

Dare 

create 1 fic: please follow the rules, characters, and story elements listed above! as stated before, you do not have to pick from all four story categories, just four total. write as many fics as you’d like for this challenge. 

don’t forget to tag BOTH of us: @bratzforchris and @nicksbestie and use the #bratzfornick’s 141 writing challenge in your submission!

Submissions close May 15th, 2024! Most importantly, have fun! No actual monetary or material prizes will be given out for this challenge→it’s all meant to be fun and creative. Good luck and have fun! We can’t wait to see what you come up with ♡

[aclowntiny]

Ink Trails- Hongjoong x GN!Reader (Soulmate AU)

Just about everyone has a soulmate, a person they're destined to be with, to go through life with in some capacity. The mark of this? Anything you write on your skin shows up on theirs.

Word Count: 2.4k | Soulmate AU, Banter, Faint Humor | Warnings: a bit of language

You weren’t a big fan of drawing on yourself. As a child, you were something of a neat freak, washing all the dirt you could off your hands and never wanting to add ammo to the enemy in yours and the sink’s war. Of course, your favorite sheet of temporary tattoos didn’t count as dirt, not when they granted you several days of carrying your favorite character, a little purple penguin, with you. In fact, you practically ignored the rest of the sheet besides a few snowflakes surrounding him, all of which everyone told you were now decorating some other kid, too.

Well, good, you thought, your penguin was the best and they probably loved it, too. Otherwise they couldn’t marry you or whatever soulmates did. Usually it was get married. Maybe you would get married when you grew up. Your grandparents liked being married.

As you grew a bit older, you wrote in school. Sometimes your pen or pencil slipped, skimming your hand with an accidental line. Sometimes your soulmate was clumsy, too, and you watched a pencil trail appear when you didn’t even have one in hand. The weirdest was when you watched a whole shaky ㅎ appear, the circle looking a bit square, then suddenly erasing and being reborn round again.

And then just like that, it was all gone.

It hadn’t really been your habit to write things on yourself like others you knew- it just didn’t come naturally to you when you had paper and, a bit later in life, your phone. Beside that, given the marks of soulmates, any notes you wrote would appear on someone else’s arm, hand, anywhere they could get scolded for if they had strict family or teachers or a barrier to looking presentable at an academic event. It just didn’t seem fair. That was the same reason why, even years after school and becoming an adult, you chose not to get any tattoos. What if your soulmate hated it? Then they get it removed and you lose yours and the cycle goes on like some sort of stupid cartoon sequence of ink and lasers.

Ok, that part maybe not so much, but you knew how personal and controversial tattoos could be, so kinda weird to put one on someone else without their consent. Sorry about the penguin, you supposed all those years later, I was four.

Instead, perhaps preferably, you doodled a lot on paper, keeping at it even when that rude boy Matthew from seventh grade told you your cat looked so bad, it made him think it was a dragon holding a cookie. Such insults would not be taken from the guy who used ‘I don’t like the color red’ as an icebreaker ‘fun fact’…while wearing a red shirt.

Even if you were no artist, improvement naturally came with age and frequency, and you favored keeping your drawings cute anyway. Yet another reason to put them down on paper- pen ink faded from skin, but on paper, it was like a tattoo. Permanent with all your other notebooks of doodles that would have more than covered your body.

Your body, which was semi-frequently decorated anyway, not of your own accord. Your soulmate, likely around your age, had no qualms about use of the forearms as a notepad, so it wasn’t the oddest occurrence by far to wake up with things like ‘7:00 독주회’ or a more frantic ‘ENGLISH TEST 9:00’ scrawled there. Or even once a very unceremoniously written, shaky, clearly hastily added ‘BUMJOONG WAS HERE’ on the back of your hand. That was a fun one to try to explain. It made you wonder sometimes if your soulmate was a less considerate person than you or if you’d simply proven well in your restraint.

You weren’t expecting any answers, or perhaps more questions, to come in the form they all did.

The morning was like any other: it was your day off, time you’d reserved so as to endeavor some shopping. Making yourself a nice breakfast and choosing one of your favorite outfits, you hopped in the shower. Deciding what the heck, it was your day off, you even busted out the new sugar scrub you’d bought as peals of warm, crashing water echoed around you, lathering some exfoliant luxury upon the skin you’d always cared for.

Never once had you expected it to entertain anyone’s notice.

But there it was as you strolled along the concrete of the shopping center’s sidewalk, completely unaware of what was exposed until you ran into a friend, waving and exchanging the platitudes of two meeting after some time.

“Wow, (y/n), what a surprise, I didn’t know you got a tattoo! I thought you didn’t want any!” Your old friend Brian exclaimed with a wide smile, tilting his head. “May I see the whole thing?”

His words rose slowly to your head as you blinked, gears turning. For you had not, in fact, gotten anything of the sort done. Instinctively you held out your hand, assuming your soulmate had scrawled another vague practice reminder on the back of their hand or wrist, but your skin was blank, just a smooth expanse the same tone it always was.

“No, not your hand, silly! There!” Your eyes followed as he pointed down towards the ground, toward…your leg?

Swiveling at the hips, you bent and tugged on any necessary clothing to reveal, sure enough, writing near your ankle. Your chest sunk.

“I didn’t get a tattoo,” you said quietly.

“What?”

“I didn’t get a tattoo,” you repeated, voice a deadpan.

He pointed, finger rising slowly, almost shakily. “Then what’s-”

“I don’t know. I- I guess my soulmate did it.”

“Your soulmate got a tattoo without asking you?”

“We haven’t met,” you burst out as you raised the fabric around your leg higher, “I guess they don’t care what I think! What’s this even say, anyway?”

Frustration pricked at you at the sheer height of the piece- it wasn’t exactly dainty. Quite a ballsy move, all things considered. Sheesh. Wait, those were wings, huh?

“It says ‘faith’,” Brian supplied, “and I think it’s nice. Could definitely be worse. Could have been a partner’s name or, like, naked Spongebob or something.”

You cocked a brow. “Naked Spongebob?”

“Well, would you want that on your leg?” Brian shot back, crossing his black t-shirted arms.

“No,” you sighed, staring at your new, involuntary body art, “I suppose I would not. Well, you’re right- this is pretty nice. I can live with this. Hopefully it’s not the first one of many, though. My soulmate better leave me some control of my own skin.”

“Yeah, and if they don’t, you’d better give them a piece of your mind.”

A chuckle escaped you. “Yeah, right. I don’t even know where they are.”

“Have you never tried to find out?” Brian’s eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing at you like he was asking the dumbest question he’d ever uttered.

And maybe he was. Your chest contracted in realization that you had, in fact, never once considered taking any initiative into finding whoever it was had those recitals or English tests or who you really hoped had the spine to smack Bumjoong one for defacement of property. The person who, by the universe’s decree, was meant to be some miraculous piece of your life forever and you’d just…assumed they’d walk in whenever it was time. All your concern had gone to not bothering their appearance despite their clear lack of regard on the subject.

“Uh, (y/n)?” A hand waved in front of your face. Brian’s. “You’ve gone all spacey on me, what’s wrong?”

“Brian, I might be stupid.”

“Might?”

You descended back to earth, or at least close enough to its gravity, to find the wherewithal to smack his shoulder beneath the momentous echoing of reality throughout your brain.

“Also, I take it then the tattoo on your arm wasn’t your idea either?”

“The…what?”

Shopping day over.

~

Hongjoong couldn’t recognize his own handwriting. Or could he? Had he written that address on the back of his hand? He had to have. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. As if his schedule wasn’t busy enough, now here was some other errand he’d forgotten.

Pulling out his phone and typing it into maps, he saw that at least it wasn’t too far away. A reasonable drive, especially for a…tuesday? Oddly specific, but appointments were appointments, he reflected as he swiveled in his leather office chair.

After all, if it wasn’t important, he wouldn’t have written it down so visibly on himself like that. That was a habit he’d largely dropped in adulthood, image of greater concern and regard for mess a bit higher, too. Plus, the only other good it would have served seemed not his lot.

At least a fair number of songs had come from it. Ah, music- the eternal, universal processor. What would he do without it? Music was a way of filling every void-no, scratch that, coming to terms with the existence of voids within oneself- the thing that made him feel complete, or certainly one of them. Jokes had it that music was Hongjoong's soulmate, and while the songwriter didn't appreciate fun being poked at his expense, it was hard to deny the itching grains of truth beneath his skin at the words.

Music-related or not, this short trip was his lot, so why not make the best of it? After all, whoever had organized it picked a pretty nice café as the rendezvous point. Worst case, Hongjoong would at least get a coffee out of it.

~

You were starting to wonder if nobody would approach you, more singles and even couples getting in line and heading straight for a table or the door than you could count on one hand. In fact, in came someone else right in time with your thoughts, a super hot guy in fact, though he looked confused as hell. His eyes darted back and forth between the chalkboard menu and the industrial-style metal tables as he stood a little bit out of line.

Shit didn’t hit the fan until he pulled his phone out to check it, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. His loose black t-shirt sleeve fell back, revealing a tattoo suspiciously similar to the second one that Brian pointed out on your own body. And that font was very, very unique. And big. And it was on you now.

Moving completely of its own volition, your body peeled from its metal seat and strode right up to him. No thoughts swirled to the surface of your mind even as you reached his side, prompting him to turn on his heels.

The only words your mind could barely form fell out of your lips. "You're the one who gave me these tattoos."

Jumping back, the man gaze at you with saucer-wide eyes, saying nothing as you pulled your own sleeve back to reveal the second and luckily last set of writing Brian had found on your body, this time reading 'No 1 like me', and again showed your ankle.

"I designed that one myself, how could you possibly-" His wide-eyed gape fell slowly into a smile. "I have a soulmate?"

"Yes, of course you do!" You replied, incredulous. "Did you think you didn't?"

"You never wrote anything!" He shot back.

"I was trying not to mess you up!"

"I just..." The man's handsome features fell, first into seeming hurt then just into a pensive look. "For so many years I taught myself to make my own way. Sometimes I was fine with it, sometimes I wasn't."

"No wonder you thought there was no one like you," you said before panicking, thinking better of it, "not that the tattoo isn't cool! And still true. I really like the font, actually? You said you designed at least one of these?"

"Yeah, I knew what I wanted, so I drew up the faith one and..." He tilted his head, sliding his phone from his hand back into his pocket. "wait, do you want to get a table?"

"Only if you buy me a drink," you teased, nodding toward your arm as you got back in line, "you owe me for these."

"I think you owe me for years of radio silence," the man shot back with a smirk, crossing his arms.

Heat crept into your face at the way he fixed the intense look at you, but you refused to back down. "The way you described it sounded like I taught you a valuable lesson."

"Pain can teach lessons."

Ok, you were about spent at that. "Are we really fighting over something as stupid as one free coffee?"

"I mean, fighting wasn't the word I would have used there, but you're right. I've got this one."

"Oh, you two are so cute!" The barista waved her hand as you placed your orders. "I love couples who bicker like old married grandparents! So, what are your names?"

You and your soulmate glanced at each other, your eyes sliding back into those deep, dark, expressive ones you wouldn't mind getting used to. He searched yours, too, and a small smile played on his lips that had you wondering what he was thinking... until you realized it, too.

Maybe you had wildly opposite views over the years on using your body as a notebook, but you two soulmates had the exact same sense of humor.

"We don't know," you both said at the same time.

"I'm Hongjoong," the man in black introduced himself, smiling wickedly now.

"(y/n), nice to meet you," you replied, bowing back to him.

The barista mirrored Hongjoong's initial shock at your confrontation as you both headed to your table, laughing now. Somehow that all came as easily as bickering, all your interactions up to that point having a certain flow you'd never felt before. Placebo effect? Maybe, yet the tug you felt the moment you first saw Hongjoong was yet to fade. It was like those old sayings: it felt like you two were making music.

"Ok, please don't think I'm being rude," Hongjoong's voice cut into your thoughts, "but I'm a songwriter, and I feel like I just have to write down some lyrics right now."

All you could do was just grin at that. Well, shit. Maybe now you really would have to try leaving more of an ink trail.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

I'm so glad you're doing well!

Could I perhaps ask for Damon and his darling nerd? Maybe something really good happens to her that she's excited about and when she tells Damon about it, she hugs him without thinking because of how happy she is. I'd imagine him getting drunk off of the physical contact and just wanting more

Yandere! Jock x Honor student! fem! reader everyday tidbits: achievements

Damon was nervous.

He's rarely nervous.

And, the fact that he's nervous for another person is weirder.

But, at least he's nervous for you. That made it more excusable as he watched you from afar on the bleachers, biting his nail while praying to whoever God that still didn't give up on him.

Sweat riddling down his temple, he watched as you raised your whiteboard with the words "300 to 3,000 Mega Hertz". Your eyes focused on the screen projector up above the University stage, with the question reading "What range of frequencies are usually referred to as the Ultra High Frequency (UHF) Band?"

It was your University's Intramurals week, with today being the Academic night. You were assigned to be the representative of your college's individual science quiz bowl, and that meant that Damon didn't get to have that much tutoring off of you.

Other than being pissed that you just had to join the quiz bowl, he felt somehow proud. You, the academic genius, the introverted yet blunt student of the Education department, is in a competition in front of such a huge crowd like this? It was unbelievable.

And yet, his unfounded jealousy trickled down his spine when the people cheered for you once the proctor beside you raised the green flag, signaling you got the right answer.

He may be cheering for you, but others are too. Just thinking about how other people can see your brilliance other than him was boiling his blood under his skin.

"One more round..." He whispered, gripping his fist. "Just one more, and she's for my eyes, and my eyes only once again."

His muttering scared his friend beside him, not used to seeing Damon so... ??? What is Damon's face projecting? He doesn't know. It was foreign to him.

Damon's heart jumped once he realized it was the last round. This is it.

The projector flashed once more, with the last item of the hard round. If you got this, then you'll be the champion of the individual science quiz bowl. If not...

"Which prefix is often used with scientific terms to indicate that something is the same, equal or constant?"

Hmm? Why did language studies came here?

Anxiety riddled his body for you.

What is it?

Whispers got out on the surrounding stadium and from the bleachers, wondering what the answers are. Some students are trying to mouth the answers to their representatives, but to no avail.

He found himself clasping his hands together, eyes wide as he leaned forward and bit his tongue.

"Come on, y/n... You know this... Wait? Do you? Whatever...." He whispered under his breath, watching you turn the gears click and clack on your pretty head.

Then, your hand started to move on the whiteboard you're holding.

As the timer ran out, you put your marker down with a shaky breath and an unsure frown, making your college groan in defeat.

Damon almost lunged at them. How dare they? How can they not believe in you, sighing in defeat-- do they not know it affects your morals too?

As murder plays on his mind, the projector flashed, showing the answer.

"iso"

His breath hitched, watching you put up your whiteboard marker.

iso

"OH MY GOD!"

"YES!"

"LET'S GOOOO!!"

"LET'S GO EDUCATORS LET'S GO!"

As the College cheer and the defeaning beat of the drums wafted from the bleachers, your eyes widened in delight, covering your mouth from disbelief. You actually got that right?!

Damon was suddenly buzzing with energy. His eyes wide, mouth a small "o". He stood up, and as if time stood in a slowmo, he vaulted over seats, and down from the bleachers. Ignoring the shot of pain on his feet, he ran through the barriers and ran past shocked people.

But before he could scoop you up in a hug, your eyes found his and with a huge grin, you ran to him and embraced him first.

Your soft body on his hard one, your arms giddily wrapped around his neck, your head buried on his shoulder.

He froze, not knowing what to do.

"I-I did it! Damon I did it!" You giddily whispered. Your voice, usually laced with shyness and a bit of ridicule, was full of elation and happiness. You felt so light, free from the pressure that you were placing on yourself. Tears of happiness trickled down your cheeks.

Damon trembled. His senses were overwhelmed with yours. Your scent, your body, your warmth... It was too much.

His arms shakily wound around you, gripping you tightly as his nose buried on your neck, inhaling your scent and calming down.

He can't be too worked up. After all, he's in front of countless people.

He reluctantly let go of you, wiping your tears away from your cheeks.

"I'm so proud of you, y/n." He whispered, eyes filled with so much affection that even your blindness to his advances got shunned away for a bit, making your heart race.

"Thank you, Damon..."

Meanwhile, everyone at your college were shocked, and other students let out high pitched coo's and aw's, thinking that you and Damon are together.

"What the fuck? Damon?" His friend was bewildered. Sure, he knew that Damon had the hots for you. But this?

It was too cheesy for him. Blegh.

Sure, maybe Damon took advantage of the crowd, vaulting over people to hug you and make it seem that both of you are dating. Will he deny it? Nah. Maybe even vaguely insinuating and egging these people to believe more.

At the very least, with him being your "boyfriend" nobody will try to snatch you away from him now that people saw your brilliance.

And as he buried his face on hair once more and spun you around happily, he knew the next few days and weeks will be one hell of a ride.

[swordcreature]

How do you think our tiefling boys would react to our world if they somehow ended up here?

i always find these so cute, but in my head i'm thinking "they would be terrified and ready to stab someone because they are in a strange world where they can't understand anyone" lol

so to make things easier and cuter let's pretend that

1. there are no language barriers

2. no one is trying to kill them/no one's freaking out because they look like devils

3. they're somewhat aware enough of what's happening to not be scared shitless or severely confused

4. they know they're going back home at some point (i would be acting SO different if i thought i was gonna live in a different world forever vs just visiting lmao)

ty for the request you're the best!

Dammon, Rolan, & Zevlor - A Part of Our World

How the tiefling boys react to coming to our world

Dammon: 

He’s amazed by the advancements we’ve made, slack-jawed at how we’ve managed to bend metal to form buildings that climb so high he can’t see the top, at how we’ve made metal fly without so much as a single spell, at how we’re able to make metal into machines so big they can move the earth itself.  

It’s overwhelming at first and he has so many questions. How does this work? What type of metal is that? What does this do? It never stops.  

But every answer is met with true awe. Dammon loves smithing, loves infernal machinery, and he’s been suddenly transported to a world built around his craft, of course he is inspired.  

He’s the most open-minded of the tieflings when it comes to a new experience. And just like the Hells, even though this place is foreign, unfamiliar, frightening, he’s eager to learn something from it.  

Dammon takes notes on everything he possibly can, sketching out little pictures of the world around him to bring back home.  

I could see him being a bit of a terror just because he breaks everything around him trying to figure out how it works, what makes it tick, so to speak. I mean, how could he truly understand the inner workings of, say, a car without taking it apart piece by piece until he has it down to its bare bones.  

Overall, I think he comes back home with so many good stories to tell of all the fantastical things he’s seen, all of the new ideas he has, and a renewed purpose in his work. 

Rolan: 

Rolan absolutely hates our world. It’s just not made for a guy like him. 

I mean, first off: no magic. His life revolves around magic, it’s an integral part of him. Without it he feels empty and strange, so this world feels very wrong to him. Imagine being connected to the Weave for years and then suddenly having it stripped away. Completely gone. I would think it would feel disorienting at best.  

He finds some interest in speaking to people of this world who practice magic, but it is so entirely different than his own that they're practically talking about two different things. He expected a more tangible magic like the Weave and is disappointed when he learns it’s so vastly incomparable.  

Second: the people. There are so many people here. Pretty much anywhere he goes, the population would be bigger and denser than anything he’s used to. And it’s not like he’s a people person. Not to mention the way humans tend to treat outsiders.  

Despite his absolute discomfort in our world, Rolan is determined to write down everything he can of his experience. Not many mortals from his world get to experience traveling the universes, so cataloging his journey is a must.  

He’ll write a book once he’s home, and it’ll make a big splash in the academic community, he just knows it! 

When he does leave our world for his own, he’s relieved. In his book he makes it sound like this magical wonderland of things beyond most people’s comprehension, but to those close to him he tells them the truth. He was not a fan.  

Zevlor:  

Zevlor is apprehensive at first. This world is strange – he does not know the customs at all. But he's eager to learn.  

He spends his time amongst the people more so than the other two. He is so curious about the traditions of the land, the history of the world, and hearing it from the mouths of the locals is better than getting his hands on any book.  

He immerses himself in the cultures he comes across as much as possible; he eats our food and sings our songs and actually has a really good time with it. 

I think he finds special interest in the history of combat, how our conflicts have changed throughout time. How did we go from swinging swords and shooting arrows to battling wars from across the world?  

Zevlor also tries to teach people of our world about where he comes from. He tells stories from his days as a Hellrider to anyone who will listen and even tries to cook some traditional Elturian food, but it’s hard to do so without the same ingredients.  

Overall, he’s more interested in the shared knowledge of culture and information between our world and his. It brings him comfort finding similarities between such different worlds.  

When he finally can go back home, he shares his stories with the children first, spinning them tales of the people he met and the things he did. How even in such a foreign place there were still nice people willing to help and to share and to be a friend.  

Zevlor is the one who wishes to come back the most.  

[astrok1dz]

Rivalry?

Dee x gn!Reader

A/n: hii this is chapter 1 of a fic i’ve sort of been planning out in my head, since there’s barely any Dee x reader content!!

Chapter 1: Your Rival

Okay, so it turns out being a new student at a high school wasn’t quite easy in any country. I mean sure, communication wasn’t an issue given that you had moved to Russia quite a while ago. You could overcome most of the language barriers that would present themselves to you occasionally. The cultural aspects weren’t really an issue either. You found it was the students that made it hard for you.

Not that you could really change them or anything, or that you had it so bad that you wanted to change yourself. Let’s just say that being a foreigner and having unconventional interests didn’t really pair up well.

What you found the most annoying, however, was a particular classmate. Blonde, quiet, serious, smart, had all the girls chasing after him, none of which would bother you if he wasn’t so arrogant. You saw the way Dee Schvagenbagen treated whoever showed interest in him, how he only helped people out academically in exchange for money (which you still thought was a good idea to profit), and the way he would just stare at you whenever you participated in class or got a higher grade.

You didn’t find him too important, just rather insufferable. Nothing you couldn’t ignore or shrug off. Usually when any of these happened you just smirked and ignored his death stares.

Enemies is a big word. To describe what you felt for Dee, you preferred the term ‘rivalry’.

From his point of view, however, it was quite different.

[its-sixxers]

You break your fall on a pile of corpses - animal, human, so savaged it’s difficult to tell which is which anymore. There’s a light in the dark. Moonlight. You run to it, and are halted in your tracks by a creature materializing out of the shadow.

Nosferatu, it couldn’t be anything but. Covered in filth, garbed in disintegrating leather and fur, metal adornments tarnished. Blood is smeared across a mouth with too many teeth, and it brandishes claws slaked in crimson.

Fed, you hope.

The creature speaks with a woman’s voice in an ancient tongue in a grotesque display, and you realize you’re going to have to be very careful if you want to survive the night.

[RES/STR + Intimidation] You stand your ground and continue the staring contest. She looks like she can smell fear.

[INT + Academics] You’ve heard that language before, haven’t you? Hopefully you’re not a victim of a long game of telephone.

[CHA + Persuasion] Language barriers have never stopped you before. Time to sweet talk a Sewer Rat. A really, really old Sewer Rat.

(bonus) [MAN + COM] You give her a lil kiss on the cheek. If you can find a place teeth aren’t poking out of.

[jesncin]

Hello!! I saw yalls lunar boy post (which made me so extremely happy btw, genuinely got teary eyed while reading it) and it said that yall did a lot of research into queer indonesian history and media? If yall dont mind could you link some of those? Im studying up on queer indonesian history myself and struggling to find good resources 😅 ofc all of these are /nf!! Feel free to ignore me and im so sorry for bothering yall 🙏🙏

Not a bother at all, and I'm super happy to hear that the Lunar Boy Queer Escapism comic made you so happy! 💜 Ooh yes there's a ton of sources. From the top of my head:

Creating Spaces for Dialogue: Exploring Queer Cinema in Southeast Asia. An extremely thorough analysis and catalog of queer cinema throughout SEA, with a very robust Indonesian section. My buddy Gris did the research for this and they're very dedicated to this sort of stuff! The Kontinentalist in general has fantastic articles.

Queer Indonesia Archive. An incredible digital collection archiving the lives of queer Indonesians. There's magazines, posters, photos, newspaper clippings, and more! I've talked to and met some of the people working on this project and they're very passionate about memory preservation.

Beyond the Binary: Two Bissu Defend Their Roots in Sulawesi. New Naratif has some good articles covering queer Indonesian lives. I think personal interviews and their reporting are their strong points. I've illustrated for them a couple of times (all queer related things lol). Looks like their website is down at the moment but will be back in May!

Vice Indonesia has some great stuff like their video on Lengger Lanang, Bunda Mayora, and more! I recommend Madame X Memories: The Rise and Fall of Indonesian Queer Cinema.

Bissu A Frame of Diversity. A recent video on the Bissu of Sulawesi. I consider it extremely important to be able to hear from Bissu themselves, since most resources are by white anthropologists who often misconstrue queer Indonesian culture.

The writings of Nurdiyansah Dalidjo. He writes in Indonesian (sorry not in English, my language barrier self uses a mix of google translate and my own Indonesian to read his stuff), but the work he does is invaluable. Whether it's personal reflections on his life, or covering the lives of other queer people, it's all fantastic writing. He did a series "Queer di Masa Lansia" covering elder queer people that is very much worth a read. He's active in waria spaces, working together with transfemme lower class people. I've met him, he's very nice to me :( Idk why :'((

So I hope this is helpful! Early on when I did research for Lunar Boy I reached out to academics on queer Indonesian identities and while some of it was helpful (bless Dédé Oetomo for giving me the time of day and answering my questions), I've learned it was more valuable and enriching to find material that talks more directly with queer people. Stuff that isn't filtered through a scholarly lens or bias. If there's any takeaway I can give, it would be that.

[nicksbestie]

the bratzfornick 141 writing challenge

hi everyone! we’ve been looking for new fics to read and so many of you are so talented, so what better way to have new reading material than hosting a little challenge to fuel our delusions 😋

here are the basics for the challenge: pick 1 character, pick 4 story elements, and create 1 fic! more details below!!

the following rules are things you must follow. otherwise, you will be eliminated from this challenge. 

no being rude or hateful to other creators. this includes us, as well as others participating in the challenge.

no copying or plagiarizing ANY work. this includes challenge submissions as well as other stories that have been posted to tumblr/wattpad/etc. if you choose to use one of your works from another platform, please make sure that you have proof it is your own work

no submissions that revolve around anything weird or illegal (abuse, incest, illegal age gaps, highly graphic mental illness, hard drugs, age play, homo/transphobia/racism/abelism/etc, bathroom play, etc) 

5k max word limit. in order for us to be able to thoroughly read all of your submissions, please keep your word count to 5k or less and use paragraph breaks!

when you post your fic, please tag @bratzforchris and @nicksbestie and use the tag #bratzfornick’s 141 writing challenge 

characters (pick 1)

matt sturniolo

chris sturniolo

nick sturniolo

nathan doe

story elements (pick any 4): you may mix and match these to your liking. you are not required to do one from all four categories (for example: two locations, one trope, one genre OR two genres, two tropes, etc)

GENRES: 

Fluff

Smut

Angst

Age regression

TROPES:

Friends to lovers

Enemies to lovers

Little x caregiver 

Friends with benefits

Chronically ill x healthy

Mafia x goody two shoes

Academic rivals

Lovers to strangers

Nurse x doctor coworker

Fake dating

Grumpy x sunshine

Royalty x bodyguard

Major character death

Angel x demon

Singer/band member x fan

Arranged marriage

Locations/Settings: 

Alternate universe (AU)

College/university

Concert

Outskirt small town

Big city

The forest/woods

Home

Library/bookstore

Vacation

Haunted/abandoned house

Office

Hospital

Plot Ideas: 

Accidental confession (it slips out when drunk, caught in the heat of the moment, etc)

Revenge (fake dating, sleeping with an ex, etc)

Getting used to a new diagnosis/disability (a doctor who is so used to coaching patients through their new diagnosis that they struggle with theirs, getting used to new dynamics with a partner)

Forced proximity (one bed, locked in a room, etc)

Redemption arc

Taking care of each other (cleaning wounds, cooking, holding the trash can while they’re being sick)

Hiding a big secret

Fight that turns sexy

Language barrier (a Southern partner not understanding Boston slang, an actual language barrier, etc)

Chance encounter

Caught in the rain

Dare 

create 1 fic: please follow the rules, characters, and story elements listed above! as stated before, you do not have to pick from all four story categories, just four total. write as many fics as you’d like for this challenge. 

don’t forget to tag BOTH of us: @bratzforchris and @nicksbestie and use the #bratzfornick’s 141 writing challenge in your submission!

Submissions close May 15th, 2024! Most importantly, have fun! No actual monetary or material prizes will be given out for this challenge→it’s all meant to be fun and creative. Good luck and have fun! We can’t wait to see what you come up with!

[ohsalome]

What are some amazing, most read Ukraine authors? The only one I know is Gogol and I would like more on my radar.

First important disclaimer is that without knowing ukrainian, your pool of choice is very limited. Unfortunately, our translators haven't done nearly enough to make ukrainian literature acessable for english speakers, so a lot of genuinely amazing stuff would require you to know the language.

The second important disclaimer is that I am going to recommend you a lot of poetry, and, with no disrespect to the translators, it doesn't hit nearly as hard in english as it is in ukrainian. I've recently heard the phrase "to read poetry in translation is like to take a shower wearing a raincoat", and it is so true. So, apologies for this barrier, but there is nothing one can do.

With that in mind, let's start from classics:

The first most important author is Taras Shevchenko. He mainly wrote poetry, but has some prose works as well, and during his life he was more known as a popular artist. The Bible of his works is Kobzar (a ukrainian word for travelling blind musicians), and the same word is also often used as a nickname for Shevchenko - akin to how Shakespeare can be called the Bard. Among the most important poems pay attention to A Dream (the poem for which he was imprisoned by the russians with an explicit ban on writing and painting), The Caucasus, My Testament, Kateryna, A cherry orchad by the house, О thoughts of mine

The second big name to know is Lesya Ukrainka. Lesya is also more known for her drama and poetry than her prose, but she also was a prolific translator and a feminist. Her most well-know play is The Forest Song (a cartoon adaptation is soon to be released after 7 years of production, but from the trailer it looks like it's not going to be close to the text). I find her Бояриня play to be much more interesting and relevant, however, it looks like it has not been translated yet. Among her poems, some of the most important are Contra Spem Spero and Cassandra (the latter has had some successful stage prouctions in Great Britain last year, mayhaps it will gain popularity)

Some links to her works: [x] [x]

Fun fact: there are speculations about Lesya Ukrainka's relationship with her close friend Olga Kobylyanska. The letters they exchanged are quite intimate and sometimes even erotic in nature, which lead some academics to believe that they were more than friends (most still fall in the "gal pals" camp tho). However, if that were true, that would mean that Lesya Ukrainka is the only bisexual woman to ever be printed on banknotes.

The third pillar of ukrainian classical literature is Ivan Franko. Once again, we are talking about partiotic poetry, but there are also many socialistic ideas in his works (although he became dissilusioned with it in his later years ), which I think many western readers will find appealing - (side comment - it looks like "collective west" is going through the same processses that we overcame a century ago, so ehm... good luck, y'all will need it). I haven't been able to find much of his works translated in English, so here is a good master page. Zakhar Berkut is considered to be one of his greatest works (a ukrainian-american co-production movie The Rising Hawk was released a couple of years ago, it was shit). If you manage to put your hands on it, I would greatly recommend The Painted Fox and Moses. Also, reading Eternal Revolutionary imprinted on me so much in childhood and determined who I grew up to be, I pretty much consider Franko to be my spiritual father.

A great event that happened this year is that Valeryan Pidmohylny's The City is finally getting an english translation. I have been gushing about this book on this blog before (you can also find the link to the publisher there), because for the archetypical ukrainian literature this book is a breath of fresh air. It's beautiful, it's modern, it's urbanistic, the protagonist is irredeemable asshole, it's amazing and I should re-read it as well.

Among the authors that are much more difficult to find, I greatly recommend Ivan Nechu-Levytsky. In my humble opinion, he like no other has managed to capture the "ukrainian spirit" and his plots are extremely captivating and dramatic as hell.

I will always, always add Ivan Bahryiany to my lists of ukrainian "must reads". He is an author of the first ever ukrainian adventure novel Tiger Trappers/The Hunters and the Hunted, which is the book that is loved even by those who don't like ukrainian literature. However, I personally find his Garden of Gethsemane to be a much more important (but take care, it is much more depressing as well). This author is extremely important, but I struggle finding PDFs of his work - perhaps, you'd have to search the libraries or ukr diaspora publishers for paperbacks. I have also been unsuccessfully hunting for an english translation of Why I am not going back to the Soviet Union? pamphlet for years - and I know for sure it exists because the USA first lady at that time has read it and it influenced her opinion on the USSR - but I've had no luck so far.

Another very important author of the same time period is Mykola Khyvylovy. One of his plays has actually been recently put to stage in English (shamefully, I haven't watched it yet, but I can vouch for the text it was based on - it's brutal).

I can't speak about ukrainian literature without mentioning crimean tatars, and although their works are much, much less known (in Ukraine as well, unfortunately), please do not overlook it. It is a gorgeous culture, and reading it, I grew to love and value Crimea so much even without ever visiting it. There are some english translations avaliable, including those of Noman Çelebicihan - an extermely important figure in Crimean Tatar history, the founder of the unfortunately short-lived Crimean Democratic Republic, the author of their national anthem, and overall very influential revolutionary.

Now let's jump to the popular modern authors. Many don't have english translation, but the problem is much less prominent in comparison to the ukrainian classics. With these authors, you shouldn't have trouble with finding paperbacks. Among the most influential authors I can recommend Serhiy Zhadan (Timothy Snyder has once said that he expects Zhadan to receive a Nobel Prize in literature and I agree), Oksana Zabuzhko (she either aught to release soon or has already released an english-exclusive book about the russian-ukrainian war), Yuri Izdryk (extremely modern and unconventional, but he's a good represention of the current state of art), Yuriy Andrukhovych (love his mastery of language, hate his characters). These authors are more light-hearted, but a grim necessity for today is Stanislav Aseyev's The Torture Camp on Paradise Street. It is a autobilgraphical book describing his experience being imprisoned by russians between 2017 and 2019. Western journalism often describes the war crimes russians commit on our land, but just listing the number of people lost doesn't show the face of the russian horror. Read this book to understand why we were screaming about the russian threat before the full-scale invasion, and why every time we regain the territory we brace with terror of what we'll discover there - because everywhere russian army goes, they build hunderds of such Isolyatsya camps that the book describes.

Also check out Serhiy Zhadan's band!