#live english church service

[roshanzion2023]

[emmanuelfaithcommunitychurch]

Our series on the Sermon on the Mount from Matthew 5 continues this Sun. We hope you'll join us to worship and learn from God's Word. See the weekly email link below for info on some great connection opportunities happening this fall. 🤝 🍂

➡️ https://tinyurl.com/3xxss2p9

[centrally-unplanned]

I find myself interested in how ineffective integration was for Ireland vis a vis the UK in the 19th century. Certainly after 1832 voting reforms and the 1829 repeal of the ban on Catholics serving in parliament (UK-wide but ofc hitting Ireland the hardest), the Irish were at more-or-less equal footing as the English or Scots when it came to voting rights and the legal system (I think most people don't know this! They think the Irish couldn't vote in the 19th century!) And it wasn't even an "on paper" deal for voting rights, Irish were active in government (they even had Irish PMs, though ofc Protestant), by the latter half of the 19th century economic regulations were equalized, and they got within a hair's breadth of Home Rule before some munitinous unionists and WW1 got in the way. Despite the rep a lot of countries have gigantic ethnic minorities, and liberalism/equal franchise is actually pretty decent solution to that problem. Why didn't ~100 years of representation in the House of Commons, in the era when "nation building" was at its peak, not work?

From what I can tell, timing is of course part of it. At a simple level, World War One was such a nationalist godsend; it created the "radicalism cascade", a weakened center and domino revolutions inspiring everyone with a cause with a sort of temporal Schelling Point. Without it, would the 1912 Home Rule have just been implemented in due time, and Ireland would be like Scotland today? At a more structural level, the timing was particularly rough because WW1 was the tail end of the age of religion in Europe. So much of the conflict was over Protestant vs Catholic, and after WW2 if Ireland was united under one home rule government in the UK it's hard to imagine the secularizing age powering so much conflict. Had they "held on" a few more decades you could see it calming down.

I think those are true enough but you do gotta dig down to another level. "Protestant" wasn't really just a religion in Ireland - it was the Protestant Ascendancy, a ruling class of combined English settlers and converted Irish who, during the imperial era before the 19th century, built an entirely separate ruling class in Ireland. And it was a deep ruling class - Catholics were barred from voting in even the Dublin local parliament, they were banned from being judges or lawyers, inheritance law was rigged to privilege Protestant sons while converting away from the Anglican church came with property confiscations. Depending on what counts, at its peak in the 18th century up to 30% of the country had opportunistically converted, in a system rigged top to bottom against the Catholics.

Imagine for a second India was given representation in the House of Commons and given self-rule. Just ignore the distance and demography issues for now, this obviously wouldn't actually work, instead think about what that transition would look like. The British "Indian Civil Service" would have to be dismantled...which was like 10k brits vs over 100k Indians. Actual british military officers in the country in the 19th century was less than 100k - and it was a rotating duty, they didn't all live there. Dismantling that really isn't that hard! Those people just go home. The core that ruled was deeply integrated into the country, but it was tiny - the vast majority of India was ruled by Indians, in the name of the Crown. They would just...keep going but now be in parliament.

That was impossible in Ireland. Britain had actually launched one of the most intensive cultural conversion programs of a foreign nation around in the 17th and 18th centuries, it was nowhere close to the "light imperial touch" of elsewhere. But it never...worked. Instead it just built this gigantic ruling class, deeply enmeshed in both Ireland and England, completely dependent on that superiority economically, but seen as outsiders by the Catholic Irish majority. "Protestant & Catholic" is at least half a gigantic class war. And in the 19th century the UK brought "laissez faire liberalism" to Ireland and was like "look, we are equal now!" after two+ centuries of rigging the system. It was literally the "kicking out the ladder after climbing up" equality meme.

This was why Home Rule was so bitterly contested, why Protestant Anglo-Irish officers threatened to mutiny in 1912 if it was implemented. They understood that the first acts of Home Rule were going to be, essentially, reparations. Which the Irish almost surely deserved. But Imperial, Liberal, 19th Century UK was not going to give reparations to the fucking Irish, it was not ready to dismantle its dejure and defacto aristocrats in that way - or at least not until it was too late, some land reform for example did begin in 1903. Scotland didn't need it, Wales was too weak to fight it, but Ireland was in the sweet spot of being weak enough to be oppressed but strong enough to oppose it and fight back once the culture changed.

Or at least that is my current read, this is a low-confidence post. Curious to learn more!

[aliceintheworld]

PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

Summary: "I shouldn't be watching a man undressing, especially not from the house next door."

Warning: Intolerance, toxic religion, parental relationship, Jungkook taking off his clothes 😮‍💨🤲 very dumb reader.

A/N: This is my first fanfic on Tumblr and my first BTS one. I know, it's embarrassing. The story isn't that great, and it probably shouldn't be the first one I post here, but the characters took on a life of their own without my consent, and I've been writing this since 2022 (fuck), so here we are. Please keep in mind that English is not my first language and that the reader is extremely annoying. See you on the next chapter! Thank You.

Next Chapter

Chapter 1

I organize the things from the bazaar as I go through the accessories spread out on the table. It's a calm easy task and I've done it more than a thousand times, so even with my eyes closed the job is done masterfully. My mother is next to me, quietly, listening to music on an old radio that she refuses to throw away. It seems that, since it's a radio she got as a teenager, the object has a deep meaning for her and she doesn't even like the thought of exchanging it for something more modern. I hum along too, trying to tune my voice in some parts where the music gets harder and the notes get higher.

Usually on the weekends, every Sunday, my mother and I go to church and the bazaar after the service, to raise money and help the pastor's project. Pastor Leen is a good man and always helps everyone in need, so this semester, during these last months of the year, he has been focusing on the animals that live on the streets. Everyone in the community who goes to church participates and helps in whatever way they can, whether through donations or fundraising, like my mother and I do. That’s why we gathered some clothes and items for the church bazaar, and with the sales, we can do our part. It's exhausting, but rewarding in the end.

During the week, I study at the university in my town and work at the library, so there's not much time for rest, but I like having a busy life. Although I know that, for some people, my idea of a busy life might not seem busy at all. At twenty-one, I’m supposedly supposed to be somewhere else in the world, enjoying my youth and partying with my friends, but strangely, I never wanted that. Whether it’s because of my mother, who always instructed me not to follow that path, or because I’m just introverted, I’ve never gone to parties or had adventures that I could look back on later. The most out-of-the-ordinary thing I've ever done was drink beer when I was eighteen and regret it the next day, feeling guilty for being influenced by a friend.

I’ve never left this town. I’ve never dated. I’ve never been to a party. I haven’t done many memorable things in life. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll regret not having these experiences someday, but I’m so tied to the way I live my life that it’s hard to change, even just a little. Habits are hard to break, whether for better or worse. I’m pulled from my thoughts when the store door opens and Mrs. Jeon walks in with a smile on her face and two heavy bags in her hands. I quickly get up intending to help her, but my mother is faster.

“Good morning, Eunji,” Mrs. Jeon greets my mother, letting out a relieved sigh as the weight of one of the bags is lifted from her hands. “Good morning, Y/N, how are you?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Jeon. How has your week been?” I ask, taking the other bag from her. I peek inside and notice that it’s full of men’s clothes, judging by the size and the predominantly dark colors.

“Radiant, actually. My son arrived in town last night,” she says, her smile widening. I’m surprised because I didn’t know she had a son. Mrs. Jeon moved to town six years ago, and I don’t recall any son visiting her or her mentioning him. This is the first time she’s spoken about it, at least in front of me.

“Your son, Jungkook?” my mother asks, curious, and our neighbor nods, still beaming. “Doesn’t he live in Seoul?”

“Yes, he does. But he’s been expanding his business, and I invited him to visit, and coincidentally, he decided to open a branch here,” she explains, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. My mother instantly flashes a smile. An interested smile that I know all too well.

Of course, because I’ve never dated, my mother is always trying to set me up with someone. Not that I want her to. I never asked her to make all this effort, much less to convince the church ladies to introduce their sons just because I’m single. It’s embarrassing, as if I’m not capable of finding someone on my own without my mother’s help, but she doesn’t listen, even when I had an honest conversation with her asking her to stop trying to play Cupid.

"What kind of business?" my mother asks, and I try not to roll my eyes. For a woman of God, she worries way too much about money and status. It's a controversial topic that has led to arguments between us in the past.

"He's a tattoo artist. He owns a tattoo studio in Seoul," Mrs. Jeon explains with a proud smile, and my mother's face immediately turns serious. The charm of a potential son-in-law is lost. Of course, no one is ever perfect enough for her—or for me, in her eyes.

I love my mother. She’s strong, and many times I look up to her when making important decisions, but she judges people too harshly. Ever since she joined the church when I was younger, she’s changed. She changed her clothes, the way she speaks, and even her thoughts. I can’t even remember what she was like before, and even though all these changes were a support for her after my father passed away, some aspects of the situation still bothers me. The fact that she believes people are going to hell just for having different opinions and ideas is one of them. Of course, I don’t argue with her about it and rarely express my point of view. If she knew how I really thought, I’d be a princess locked in her room, with no peace and even less freedom than I already have at home.

"He's a tattoo artist?" my neighbor nods, not noticing the bitter tone in my mother's voice. I decide to step in, anticipating some sharp comment from the woman beside me.

"Mrs. Jeon, thank you so much for the clothes and for your help. Just today we had three customers, and the clothes you donated sold very quickly," I interject, changing the subject. The tension in my shoulders eases as my neighbor shifts her focus to the bag in my hands.

"Oh, no need to thank me. I want to do as much as I can to help the animals. I adopted a puppy last week and I’m in love!" she says, placing her hands on her cheeks with joy, and I can’t help but smile. Mrs. Jeon is one of the few older people from the church that I enjoy talking to.

"What’s his name?"

"Gureum. He’s an angel," she says, forming the small size of the puppy with her hands.

"Gureum? Don’t tell me he’s all white," I guess, laughing at the name.

"He is!" she laughs with me, jingling the keys in her hand. "Anyway, I hope we get plenty of donations this month. I can't wait to see the results of our work."

"That’s true, Misuk. This month the winter will be harsher, so we have to act more quickly this year," my mother continues, and the conversation shifts to the church project. I feel more relieved as the minutes pass and Mrs. Jeon leaves. Not because of her, of course, but because of the situation itself. My mother is very straightforward and usually says what she thinks, no matter who it hurts. I don’t want my relationship with our neighbor to be ruined just because my mother doesn’t know how to hold her tongue.

"Did you hear what she said?" Eunji asks, her eyes wide, one hand on her chest as if she’s deeply shocked. "Her son is a tattoo artist! Do you think he has those awful marks all over his body?"

"Probably, Mom," I sigh, trying to focus on the clothes Mrs. Jeon just brought. "And Mom, don’t talk like that. She’s our neighbor."

"Even so! Y/N, that only happens when parents don’t know how to properly guide their children. How can a mother, who goes to church, let her son go down such a horrible path in life?"

"We don’t know how her son lives, and it’s none of our business, Mom!" I try to keep calm as I fold a large black T-shirt, but then I remember that before organizing the items, we have to wash them, and I couldn’t be happier about that.

Usually, the clothes are washed at our house, and my mother still has to stay at the bazaar for a while longer. Honestly, I don’t want to be around her listening to how good of a mother she was just because I go to church and don’t have a tattoo on my arm. It irritates me, and it’s hard not to let her notice, but for the sake of peace, I try my best, nodding and agreeing with all the nonsense she says.

"Mom, I’m going to take all these things home and get everything ready for the bazaar, okay?" I try to force a smile, but my face feels stiff. My head is throbbing, and I can’t wait to get home. I’ve been out of my room all day, and there’s nothing more exhausting than that, at least for me. She murmurs in agreement, probably annoyed that she can't keep talking badly about Mrs. Jeon’s son, but I don’t care and just leave.

I regret it a little halfway home because the bags are heavy, and even though the distance isn’t long, it’s hard to carry all the clothes by myself. I arrive home out of breath. The sky is overcast, with dark gray clouds covering it, but I’m sweating as if I just ran a marathon. I laugh a bit at my lack of fitness, promising myself that I’ll start the morning walks I keep putting off, and I head to the laundry room to start organizing the clothes.

When I open the bag, I’m surprised by the items. Not only are they of good quality, but I’m also certain they don’t belong to Mr. Jeon. He dresses well, but not in this style. I can hardly imagine him wearing black jeans or a heavy jacket. I’m intrigued by who the owner might be, but I don’t waste time pondering it, too tired to unravel mysteries that aren’t even important. I leave the laundry room once everything is organized and head to my room, throwing myself onto the bed.

My room isn’t particularly special or different, but what I love the most about it is the bookshelf filled with books covering almost the entire wall. It was my dream from a young age to get a job and buy every book I was interested in, and luckily, that’s been possible since I started working at the library. It’s the perfect job for me, even if it’s temporary. I’m studying literature to become a teacher, and I can’t wait to start working in my dream job.

I sigh and pull my phone out of my dress pocket, too lazy to take off my clothes and go shower. I groan, placing my hands over my face, knowing there’s no escaping it after being out of the house all day. There’s no way I’m going to bed like this. Reluctantly, I get up and untie my hair, which falls in waves, heavy against my neck.

I bend down to grab the hem of my dress and start pulling it up, feeling even more tired. Today was such a long day. I can’t wait to go to bed and sleep until tomorrow. I take off my socks, lifting one foot behind the other, and as I head to the towel inside the wardrobe next to the bed, I unhook the bra that’s been bothering me all day. The relief is so immense that I let out a sigh, touching my breasts with my fingers and playing with my nipple, hardened by the cold air.

On my way to the bathroom, I stop and look at the window when I notice that the neighbor’s window—the one that had never been opened until now—is, in fact, wide open. I need a few seconds to realize that there’s someone on Mrs. Jeon’s balcony, and worse, it’s not her on the other side. It’s a man. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life.

I hide behind the bookshelf in my room, afraid that he might think I’m spying on him, but for some reason, I keep watching him with curiosity, hypnotized by the way he moves around the room and among the furniture. His dark, wavy hair falls over his face when, out of nowhere, he starts pulling his shirt over his back, taking it off lazily while focusing on the phone in his hands. He gives a small smile, almost as if he subconsciously knows the effect he’s having on me. My heart beats hard against my chest, and my breathing quickens; my mind fills with fantasy images of his pink lips and large, seemingly soft hands.

He is... gorgeous. Different. With tattoos all over his body. One of his arms is completely covered in designs, and his chest is adorned with images that I can’t quite make out. My mouth waters as my eyes roam over his strong back and shoulders. His pale skin glows under the dim light of the yellow lamp, and it’s hard to catch my breath. It’s like observing a work of art. A forbidden work of art, I know. It’s wrong. But I can’t convince my mind that I should stop. The man, still a stranger, smiles at his phone as the screen lights up his face. Unlike his body, which exudes sensuality and is intimidating, his smile is sweet and gentle, and the most charming I’ve ever seen. He tosses the phone onto the bed, unbuckling the leather belt around his waist and deftly undoing the buttons of his jeans. That’s when the trance that literally had me delirious breaks. I slam the window shut, desperate at my own madness.

What was I doing? How could I have seen a stranger stripping like a complete pervert? I feel so bad, guilty for having crossed the line and done something as wrong as this. I gulp, covering my face with my hands. I let out a tortured sigh and feel my heart racing uncontrollably. I am sweating, as if I had done a heavy workout, when in fact, I had been standing still the entire time. I peek through the gaps in my window to see the room in Mr. Jeon's house, but I can't see anything anymore and I don't have the courage to open the curtains and try to look at the man again.

It's the first time in many years that I have felt something like this. Could it be desire? I can't remember the last time I felt anything like this. I recall having a small and first crush on a boy at school, something innocent, when I didn't even know what it meant to like someone romantically or as a friend. This was, throughout my life, the only consistent experience in recent years. It scares me that suddenly I feel something different for someone, even if it's minimal. I let out a sigh and cover my face, embarrassed by my own behavior. To make things worse, I'm not even wearing clothes. I rush to the bathroom and close the door, staring at myself in the mirror. I am so dazed that even my cheeks are dark red. I close my eyes tightly and head to the shower, trying to let the water wash away my thoughts. It doesn't work. I spend the whole night gazing at my bedroom window, full of images that I can't forget or erase.

I have a normal day after the almost exhausting night. I study in the morning about different approaches with children on the autism spectrum, which I find completely interesting and complex, and then I work in the afternoon at the college library on campus. This is actually great because I can study even during my work hours with free access to all available books, which has saved my life in recent months. The first semester of classes was tough, but this second one has been terrible, with piled-up assignments and deadlines that are almost impossible to meet, at best. My life has revolved around this routine, and the ordeal of exams hasn't even started. On my way home, I stop at a convenience store to buy something to eat and bike towards my house, which, honestly, isn’t very far but is extremely tiring.

I get home exhausted, collapsing on the sofa almost immediately. My mother appears from the kitchen with a serious face and a tense expression, as if something very grave had happened.

"You won't believe who invited us to dinner." she comments, placing one hand on her hip.

"Who?" I ask, just out of courtesy. Besides not being hungry, I'm not interested in the subject, too stressed with college stuff to pay attention to my mother.

"Misuk."

"And what's the problem, Mom?" I roll my eyes. Until yesterday, my mother had no problem with our neighbor, and now she acts like the woman is forbidden or not good enough to be her friend.

"Did you forget, YN?" she asks, crossing her arms. "Her son, the one from Seoul, will be at the dinner."

I turn pale, my mouth dry. How could I have forgotten this? College has consumed all my thoughts during the day, but I would never forget that man. The man I saw through the window is Mrs. Jeon's son, I suppose. I concluded this after spending the whole night mulling over my thoughts and reliving that body and face, which I can’t even recall without blushing. I’ve already eaten at college and feel satisfied, but the first thing I do when my mother mentions the dinner is smile.

"I’ll go with you." I affirm, unsure. If my heart raced so much from a distance of Mr. Jeon's son, I can't imagine what will happen if I see him up close. But I'm so curious that I can't avoid it. I want to see him. I want to prove that everything I felt last night wasn’t just a product of my imagination tainted by romance novels.

"The truth is, I wanted to cancel the dinner."

"You didn't cancel, did you?" I ask, trying not to sound too desperate. My mother shakes her head, which makes me sigh with relief.

"No, but I'm curious about the guy. I want to see what he's like and make a better judgment about him. I just ask that you don’t get involved with that kind of person. He’s a tattoo artist and lives alone, so young. Who knows what he does alone in a city like Seoul." she says, and I agree with a noise in my throat.

I’m also curious about him, Mom, but not for the same reason as you. I stay silent as I go upstairs to my room. I look for some slightly nicer clothes without much expectation but I don’t have anything different from conservative or old. I feel sad for no reason and convince myself that it doesn’t matter what I choose to wear; a man like the one I saw last night will never be interested in me, no matter what I put on. I quickly shower, then, after my mom calls me from downstairs, I look at myself in the mirror, staring at the dark blue dress that goes down to just below my knees. I roll my eyes and simply go, with little enthusiasm.

My mom has a bowl with a freshly baked cake, and after saying it's for the neighbors, we head out. It’s the house next door, but the short walk feels like an eternity to me. My heart races as we approach, and I let my mom lead the way, walking ahead. She knocks on the door with three taps, and we don’t wait long before Mr. Jeon appears. He’s a man in his fifties, but very handsome and friendly, wearing a long-sleeve shirt and comfortable house slippers. He smiles at both of us, still holding the doorknob and giving us space to enter.

"Good evening, Eunji, good evening, Y/N." he greets us. I nod, a little embarrassed. Unlike Mrs. Jeon, I don’t see him often, as he is very busy with work and doesn’t attend church regularly.

"Good evening, Yejun."

"Good evening, Mr. Jeon. Thank you for having us." I smile, genuinely grateful. I truly like the couple, as every time I see them, they always treat me very well.

"What a polite girl, isn’t she?" he says to my mother in a joking tone, then looks at me kindly. "You don’t need to thank us. We love having you two here. Please come in and make yourselves comfortable."

"I brought a cake for after dinner." my mom says with a smile. "Where is Misuk? I want to give it to her."

"She’s in the kitchen, finishing organizing things. Shall we go there?"

I follow them in silence, having little to do. My mom is more accustomed to the environment, as she comes here a few times for church meetings. I take a few steps toward the kitchen when a noise on the stairs catches my attention. Then he appears, and like magic, everything I felt before resurges, ten thousand times worse. I catch my breath as I see him slowly descending the stairs. He is much taller than me and different from what I imagined, now up close.

His eyes are dark, bright and large, which strangely complements his sharp jawline. His lips are a beautiful pink that makes me run my tongue over my mouth, enchanted by their apparent softness. Pink is now my favorite color. He exudes a powerful aura with his heavy clothes and his body built like a big mountain towering over me, but when he smiles, I am captivated. His smile is sweet, friendly, and inviting, making me want to get closer. However, the thing that catches my attention the most is the eyebrow piercing. My God. What a man.

"Hello, how are you?" he says with a boyish smile, and I blush instantly. I try to maintain a mantra in my mind, repeating several times: calm down, calm down, calm down! "My name is Jungkook, are you my mother’s neighbor?"

"Y-yes." I stammer and almost instinctively close my eyes, frustrated with myself. He smiles even more, squinting his dark eyes as if he finds me amusing.

"Nice to meet you. What’s your name?" he asks with a soft voice, and I feel embarrassed for not having said my name earlier.

"My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you." This time I don’t stammer, but I speak so quietly that I fear he might not have heard me.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. My mom talks a lot about you." he says, confirming that yes, he did hear me.

I open my mouth to try to say something, but suddenly my mother appears. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. I wanted more chances to talk and discover new things about him, but all I was managing to do was look like an idiot who hasn’t left the house in years, completely antisocial. My shoulders slump, and I follow my mother to the dining room in silence, feeling embarrassed. I can almost feel Jungkook’s presence behind me, but I don’t have the courage to turn around and glimpse his expression. I almost automatically remember him taking off his clothes, showing the tattoos that are now hidden, and I flush even more, almost choking on my own saliva.

"Good evening, Y/N!" Mrs. Jeon smiles at me, already seated at the table. I feel guilty for almost drooling over her son earlier but I smile, greeting her in the same way.

"Good evening, Mrs. Jeon. The smell of the food is delicious, as always." I say, seeing the vegetables on the table and the meat next to it that looks divine. If I hadn’t eaten earlier, I’d be attacking the food, with respect, of course.

"Always so sweet, Y/N." she smiles. "Please, have a seat. Jungkook, sit next to her." she requests. I try to not choke again, just nodding, watching the man I am incredibly attracted to sit to my right side.

His parents and my mom engage in a lively conversation, and I try to pay attention in case they ask me something, but the truth is, I can’t follow along at all. Jungkook eats in silence and occasionally answers my mother’s questions, which I’m sure are meant to gather more material for judgment when we get home, but I can’t follow any of the reasoning. Besides being handsome, polite and kind, he also smells good.

With the clothes he wears and the tattoos decorating his body, I would swear his perfume would be woody and strong, but it’s quite the opposite. His scent reminds me of spring, or nature like a field full of flowers. It’s a scent I could absorb all day. Lost in thought while I play with the fork on my plate and the cabbage kimchi I served myself, I don’t notice him coming closer to me and my ear. My whole body shivers with his breath. I try to not make it too obvious, but I think it’s in vain since I hear his soft laugh even closer to my neck.

"Do you want to go to the kitchen, Y/N?" Jungkook asks in a whisper so close that I look around just to make sure no one is watching, especially my mother, who seems to have already formed a prejudiced opinion about him.

"Why?" I ask in a whisper, confused.

"I want to ask you something." he smiles crookedly, which makes me even more disturbed. I nod, still unsure about what I’m agreeing to. He quickly stands up, and I almost instantly follow him. When we get to the kitchen, he turns around quickly, watching me attentively, crossing his arms over his chest.

"W-what do you want to ask me?" I swallow nervously.

"I was thinking whether I should talk to you about this, but after meeting you tonight, I think it’s for the best, anyway." he says with a serious face. His previously relaxed attitude changes completely, as if all the fun from earlier had drained away.

I become worried, my mind filled with questions, until something occurs to me. What if last night, somehow, he realized I was watching him? My body turns to jelly at the thought, and my heart beats faster as I look at his face. I would die, seriously. I would fall to the ground and never wake up again. My hands tremble as I wait for his question.

"Are you and my mother very close?" he asks in a whisper, this time with a weak voice, looking at his own intertwined hands. I nod in agreement, even more confused. Since Mrs. Jeon moved to my city, we’ve become something like friends, despite the significant age difference. I consider her, even if mistakenly, like a mother.

"Yes. I think we have a close relationship. Why the question?" he shifts uncomfortably. He tries to smile but can’t. I am worried but silent, waiting for his answer.

"My mother is sick, Y/N." he says quietly, with a weak voice. My eyes widen at the news. I never imagined this is what he wanted to talk to me about. From his seriousness, it seems to be something very grave. "That’s why I came to the city. She had depression years ago and last month she tried to take her own life for some reason."

"She didn’t tell anyone, I’m sure." I say as much as I can, still shaken and shocked. Mrs. Jeon seems so happy lately that I could never imagine something like this. My eyes fill with tears, but I try to contain the flood of emotions inside me, embarrassed to act this way with a previously unknown person.

"I know. I was shocked when I found out." he explains, running his fingers through his dark hair as if he were tired. "She wants to spare people from the situation, but I wish everyone could know and support her. She shouldn’t be thinking about anyone’s well-being right now, except her own. That’s why I came to Busan, to take care of her."

"I understand." I whisper with a lump in my throat. I want to take his trembling hands and assure him that everything will be okay, but I don’t have that much courage. I wish I were casual and authentic and had the ease to simply say what I’m thinking. It’s the first time that not being this way makes me upset and sad. I wish I could be someone else right now. I wish I could help more.

"I apologize for bringing this up so suddenly. I hope I haven’t ruined your evening. I’m sorry." he smiles awkwardly, puffing his cheeks, and a previously hidden dimple appears. His face turns red and I can’t help but like him even more.

"Don’t worry. Really. Thank you for telling me the truth. I want to help in any way I can. I'll try to keep her company more often."

"Thank you so much, Y/N." he smiles, with his eyes shining. "I knew it was a good idea to tell you the truth. I knew I could count on you."

Ask for a TAGLIST in the comments.

[grishaverse-chaos]

okay SO. it took longer than I expected for various life reasons but here is the massive conlang masterpost, featuring all the languages and prominent dialects that I imagine would exist within the grishaverse. under a cut bc it got really long!

RAVKA

"standard" Ravkan. this is the language spoken in Os Alta, as well as most other places in East Ravka. used on any official documents within Ravka. spoken by most nobility, including those in West Ravka

West Ravkan. this dialect formed only after the creation of the Fold - because the two sides of the country were separated from each other, linguistic drift occurred. over the 400 years that the Fold existed, the two languages diverged from each other significantly, but are still mutually intelligible - they're still very clearly dialects of the same language, not separate languages altogether. most West Ravkan nobility don't use this dialect, although those who are in favour of West Ravka becoming an independent country WILL use this dialect to promote independence. many West Ravkans also speak "standard" Ravkan, because of military service; they would have to communicate with people from across the country - however, many of them would still speak West Ravkan at home, with family, etc. most East Ravkans, especially nobility, wouldn't speak West Ravkan and would probably look down on those who do; I imagine Nikolai speaks at least some because it's the kind of thing he'd do (and the place he's Grand Duke of, Udova, is in West Ravka)

Suli. definitely a completely separate language from Ravkan; they don't have much in common. spoken predominantly by travelling Suli, and very rarely by non-Suli - although in canon, it is taught at the Little Palace, and some Grisha will learn the language. diplomats who often have dealings with Suli communities, and soldiers who serve in areas with high Suli populations, will often learn some (though probably not enough to become fluent) - canon states that it's useful for travelling in the west and northwest of Ravka.

Suli/Ravkan dialect. in areas with high Suli populations (predominantly in the west and northwest), locals may have adopted parts of the Suli language, and vice versa, to create a pidgin language that can be understood by both groups. probably NOT spoken by soldiers/diplomats/etc, who prefer to learn the original Suli language

various other dialects! while the most significant difference is between "standard" and West Ravkan, small towns and communities across the country will speak slightly different versions of the language, just because of how big Ravka is

ancient Ravkan. this is briefly mentioned in canon - I imagine it bears a similar relationship to modern Ravkan as that between Old English and modern English; ie, it's a completely different language! very old books that were printed in ancient Ravkan probably still exist; I imagine it's spoken by some members of the clergy, similar to how the Catholic Church uses Latin in our world. often studied by historians or other scholars. iirc Mal's tattoo is also written in ancient Ravkan, which means that either he or somebody around him must have spoken it fairly well. I would guess that Tamar and Tolya probably speak at least some ancient Ravkan because they grew up in the church

FJERDA

"standard" Fjerdan. again, spoken in Djerholm, by the military and by the government. fun canon facts I found while researching for this: all nouns are both plural and singular (similar to English words like "fish") and the language has three grammatical genders, but they are called wolf class, hare class, and tooth class!

Hedjut. the Hedjut, in canon, are an indigenous group living on Kenst Hjerte, a pair of islands off the coast of Fjerda. though some have come to live on the mainland (I believe Ylva, Jarl Brum's wife, is Hedjut?) most still live on the islands and speak their own language, separate from Fjerdan

liturgical Fjerdan. religion plays a huge part in Fjerdan culture, and imo their holy texts would have been written in this liturgical version of the language, many centuries before canon takes place. drüskelle are probably taught liturgical Fjerdan. some people might also prefer to pray to Djel in liturgical Fjerdan? speakers of modern Fjerdan can probably understand it, but with some effort

again, multiple other dialects. Fjerda has a lot of peninsulas; the language would have developed differently in different places. when Nina is in the Elling peninsula in KoS, she probably has to speak the local dialect rather than the "standard" Fjerdan which she probably learnt in training

other indigenous languages. now, this is purely conjecture, but the grishaverse map shows other small islands off the coast of Fjerda, which don't seem to be part of Kenst Hjerte. it's entirely possible that there's other indigenous groups, like the Hedjut, living there, with their own separate languages. on the other hand, in an age of sea travel, it's likely that Fjerda would have colonised those islands and brought them into the larger country, meaning that the groups living there would be classed as Fjerdans and encouraged to speak Fjerdan

KERCH

"standard" Kerch. this one is so interesting because Kerch is canonically the language used for international trade, so diplomats and politicians across the grishaverse would likely be able to speak Kerch. knowing the language is probably also a sign of status in other countries, including Ravka. it's spoken by most people within Kerch, as well as being the language used for any kind of international relations. for example, I imagine that at the summit at the end of Rule of Wolves, both the Ravkan and Fjerdan delegations spoke Kerch

Barrel Kerch. has a similar relationship to "standard" Kerch as Cockney does to "standard" English - they're recognisably the same language, though spoken with very different accents, but Barrel Kerch has created so much new vocabulary that doesn't exist in "standard" Kerch. I also think that this is why Wylan didn't recognise the word "mark" in Six of Crows - it simply didn't exist in the version of Kerch he's used to speaking!

other dialects. Kerch is much smaller than Ravka or Fjerda, so I imagine there's fewer separate dialects, but people living in the Kerch countryside probably speak a slightly non-"standard" version of Kerch. Kaz probably grew up speaking a country dialect, and had to adjust when he started living in Ketterdam

SHU HAN

official Shu. probably? we know very, very little about the language(s) within Shu Han, but it's a fair bet that there's an official version of the language used by the government etc. this is probably the dialect that's taught to students studying Shu, particularly noble children or diplomats. its main difference from common Shu is that it has a smaller, simpler vocabulary and is easier to communicate effectively in

"common" Shu. in canon, we get a lot of references to words or phrases in Shu that are untranslatable - often in poetry or literature. that would probably be really impractical for a language used in business, so imo the dialect used by most people would be slightly different from the dialect used in government. this dialect has a lot of flowery, poetic language.

other dialects. while Shu Han is smaller than Ravka, it's still pretty big, so I imagine that again, there would be slightly differing variants of the language spoken in different places

THE WANDERING ISLE

there is no standard version of Kaelish. in my personal headcanon, the Wandering Isle is based on a mix of multiple different Celtic cultures and so has multiple different languages. honestly I could make a whole other masterpost based on my headcanons for the Wandering Isle, but I'll stick to the languages for now

Central Kaelish. this is what I imagine Colm and Jesper speak; it's loosely based on Welsh, given that Jesper's middle name is Welsh. it's probably Colm's first language, but he taught Jesper to speak it so he wouldn't lose touch with his Kaelish heritage

North Kaelish. this is what I think Pekka Rollins's dialect is; loosely based on Scottish Gaelic

basically, there's dozens of dialects across the country; some of them overlap somewhat with others, while some are more distinct

NOVYI ZEM

okay SO. once again there's like, zero canon material to work with here, but it's fine. canonically the language spoken is Zemeni. like with most of these countries, there's probably a "standard" version which is used for official purposes, spoken in and around the capital city, Shriftport

Northern Zemeni. the capital city is in the south of the country, so the dialect which differs most from "standard" Zemeni is probably spoken mostly in the north

other dialects. if I had to guess, I'd say that the other big separation of dialects is between coastal areas and inland areas - coastal cities which see a lot of trade would probably use "standard" Zemeni, so they can communicate with people who've learnt Zemeni (who would likely have studied the "standard" dialect), while inland areas would have developed their own dialects

OTHER AREAS

the Southern Colonies: is canonically a colony of Kerch, so their official language is probably "standard" Kerch. it's also canonically a place where criminals from Kerch are exiled (and the former King and Queen of Ravka, but that's almost certainly a rare exception) so there's probably also a lot of Barrel Kerch being spoken, that the criminals have brought over

there's almost certainly at least one indigenous language spoken there as well, though. whatever culture it used to have before being colonised by Kerch probably hasn't been entirely erased. the closest real-world comparison is probably Australia, where English criminals used to be sent? so I do think that there are indigenous groups living there, with their own culture and languages

a dialect has probably formed that mixes parts of Kerch with parts of the indigenous language, forming a new pidgin so that locals and new arrivals can communicate

if the Southern Colonies ever gets independence, I imagine that the original indigenous language would become its official language - the pidgin is probably used more day-to-day, though

it's also possible that the Southern Colonies used to be a part of Novyi Zem before being colonised; in which case, the indigenous people might speak Zemeni? I personally think it's separate, though

the Bone Road: a set of islands, near the Wandering Isle. apparently there are dozens but only two have names - the names they've been given sound vaguely Ravkan. I imagine that those two, Jelka and Vilki, have been "discovered" by Ravkan explorers (though probably not colonised? I think if they were Ravkan territories that would've been mentioned when Nikolai takes Alina to the Bone Road in S&S) and given Ravkan names

however, all of the islands have their own cultures and languages. they're pretty small islands so I don't think that there would be many different dialects within each island. on the other hand, I wouldn't be surprised if the languages spoken on each island were all quite similar to each other, though recognisably distinct. they're probably all at least from the same language family

[scotianostra]

August 23rd 1305 saw the Judicial murder of the Scottish patriot Sir William Wallace on King Edwards orders after a sham trial for treason, at The Elms, Smithfield, London.

Wallace is said to have accepted his execution without resistance and a brave heart. He even made a final confession to a priest and read from the book of Psalms before his punishment. His naked body was wrapped in an ox hide to prevent him being ripped apart, thereby shortening the torture, he was dragged by horses four miles through London to Smithfield.London. Bystanders pelted him with garbage and excrement and even hit him with sticks and whips.

The method of William Wallace’s “execution” was not unusual for the era, it was the norm for treasonous acts, the point is, Wallace was never an English subject, Edward was not his King so as he is said to have uttered at his trial in reply to the charge….

“I could not be a traitor to Edward, for I was never his subject.”

He was hung briefly but not killed, the executioner may have sliced off Wallace’s manhood and disemboweled him while forcing him to watch. His intestines were likely burned before his eyes. Miraculously, Wallace may still have been alive. As is the English execution custom, his heart would have been gouged out from his chest. If the executioner was skilled enough, it would have still been beating upon removal, and he would have yelled, “Behold the heart of a traitor!” Then, Wallace would have been beheaded post-mortem. His head was then displayed on a spike on the London bridge. The rest of Wallace’s body was chopped into four pieces, a torture practice known as “being quartered,” his limbs were sent to Newcastle, Berwick, Perth and Stirling as a warning to dissenters.

Three of these locations seem undisputed. But the fourth part is sometimes disputed, Stirling is my own assumption, the place of his greatest victory, Edward would have seen it as symbolic, but Aberdeen has been suggested, the Wikipedia entry for St Machar’s Cathedral says “After the execution of William Wallace in 1305, his body was cut up and sent to different corners of the country to warn other dissenters.

His left quarter ended up in Aberdeen and is buried in the walls of the cathedral.” But the wiki entry for Wallace says different as stated it mentions Stirling.

The Society of William Wallace tells us this…..

“Following Wallace’s execution and dismemberment, one quarter of his mutilated body was displayed on the repaired and rebuilt Stirling Bridge. No doubt this was thought by the English overlords to be a fitting place to show off their grim trophy. And this is where the legend starts……Wallace had links through his uncle to the monks at Cambuskenneth. At that time, the church was far more militant than nowadays, and many church leaders (and no doubt their subordinates) were fiercely loyal to Scotland and the cause of freedom. The legend states that a group of these monks issued from the Abbey one dark night and retrieved the remains of Wallace’s body, with the intention of giving it a Christian burial inside the grounds of the Abbey itself, and this they did, telling no-one outside the Abbey of their actions, which would have brought fatal recriminations upon the Abbey. Longshanks was known to be no respecter of the Church. ”

William Wallace died a brutal death. His name and fame did not. He lives on not only in Scotland and England but all over the world.

On the 700th anniversary of his execution at Smithfield ,David R. Ross, Convenor of The Society of William Wallace, walked from Robroyston to Londond and at St Bartholomew the Great Church st Smithfield, close to the place he was murdered, a funeral service was held for Sir William.

His memorial close by includes the words:

"I tell you the truth, son, freedom is the best condition, never live like a slave."

"Victory or Death."

[useless-catalanfacts]

Mariquita Tennant (born Maria Francesca Eroles i Eroles) was a Catalan woman who protected abused and poor women in Windsor (England).

How did she end up in England?

Mariquita was born in the village Pla de Sant Tirs, in the High Pyrenees of Catalonia. During the war between those who wanted an absolutist monarchy and the liberals, Mariquita's father was involved in the liberal side and between 1821 and 1823 he was the leader the local miquelets (militia). When the King of France sent the army known as the Hundred Thousand Sons of Saint Louis to help restore the absolute monarchy, many liberals went on exile to England. Mariquita followed her father, mother and three siblings on exile to London.

They settled in Somers Town, a neighbourhood that had become home to many exiles from Catalonia and the Valencian Country and that had previously also become home to exiled French revolutionaries and American independentists. In February 1833, Mariquita married David Reid, son of a Scottish beer maker who had become wealthy running a pub chain in England. But in November of the same year, David threw himself down a window during an epileptic attack, resulting in his death. Soon after, Mariquita's first and last daughter Mary was born, but she also died soon. Some years later, Mariquita married again. Her new husband was Robert Tennant, but he died a sudden death in 1842.

In 1846, at 38 years old, her first husband's family allowed her to live in one of their properties. She turned this house into a shelter for girls who had been abused by society. There were many girls and women in this situation, so the house was full very soon. Quickly, Mariquita looked for funds and allied with the Anglican church to create a local branch of the House of Mercy. In 50 years, this institution attended and housed 2,500 girls in Windsor, many of which were girls who had been forced into prostitution by poverty and until then had had no way to escape.

The house that Mariquita's first husband's family let her live in, and which she turned into a shelter.

Mariquita suffered bad health for most of her years of service, and in the end died in 1860. She's buried in Saint Andrew's cemetery, overlooking the house she turned into a shelter.

In 2005, the Windsor and Maidenhead city council uncovered a blue plaque to remember her (in England, blue plaques mark the place where a historical event happened or recognise a historical person), though there's a small mistake because it says she was born in 1811 but she was actually born on November 9th 1807.

She's the only Catalan person to have an English blue plaque.

[labuenosairesfrancaise]

Alderley House

Hi guys!!

I'm sharing Alderley House. This is the 17th building for my English Collection.

I decorated most of the house, for reference, but with some simple furniture as I found here: https://media.onthemarket.com/properties/629174/doc_0_96.pdf

History of the house: Alderley House is a mid-19th century 23,843 square feet (2,215.1 m2) Grade II listed country house designed by Lewis Vulliamy and built for Robert Blagden Hale in the Cotswold village of Alderley, near Wotton-under-Edge in Gloucestershire, England. It was built on the site of The Lower House, a 17-century manor house built by Sir Matthew Hale, a lawyer. The house is situated immediately to the southwest of St Kenelm's Church. In 2009 it was sold to an American oil executive who restored the house as a private home after 70 years serving as a preparatory school, Rose Hill School.

The Hales of Alderley were a prominent gentry family in the Wotton-under-Edge area of Gloucestershire from the early 17th century to the early 20th century. Alderley, located 2 miles south of Wotton-under-Edge, was home to the Hale family, starting with Robert Hale who built West End House in 1608. Robert's son, Sir Matthew Hale, purchased the manor of Alderley in 1656 and had The Lower House built between 1656 and 1662.

Sir Matthew Hale, a jurist, was raised by a relative and became religiously devout. He lived near St Kenelm's Church and had a right of way granted to his manor house. Sir Matthew Hale resigned as Lord Chief Justice in 1676 due to ill-health and retired to Alderley, passing away the same year. His estate was inherited by his grandchildren, and West End House was bequeathed to his daughter, Mary.

After Sir Matthew Hale's death, The Lower House remained the family seat for over a century until another Matthew Hale rebuilt The Upper House between 1776 and 1780, making it the new family home.

In 1805, Robert Hale Blagden Hale inherited the properties in Alderley, which included The Upper House as the main family residence. In the 1830s, his eldest son, Robert Blagden Hale, chose to set up his independent household at The Lower House due to prevailing Victorian attitudes about the separation of male and female servants. In 1844, he added a new service wing with a distinctive crow-stepped gable designed by Lewis Vulliamy to The Lower House.

After his father's death in 1855, Robert Blagden Hale, who was a Tory MP for West Gloucestershire, inherited the family properties, including Cottles House in West Wiltshire. He resigned as an MP in 1857 and sold Cottles House to focus on becoming a country gentleman. In 1859, he demolished both The Upper House and most of The Lower House to build a new manor house named Alderley House in a fashionable style, designed by Lewis Vulliamy. The new house utilized materials from the demolished structures, including one of the staircases.

Alderley House was constructed with ashlar and a Cotswold stone slate roof, featuring a heron's head motif (the Hale family crest) above Robert Blagden Hale's initials on the entrance porch. The house followed a double-pile plan with rooms facing outwards from a central wall, a design common in country houses from the Restoration period. The total cost of building Alderley House, including decoration, furnishings, and architect's commission, was £16,746 15s 8d, making it a modestly priced country house compared to others of the Victorian period.

For mor information: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alderley_House

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

This house fits a 64x64  lot, but I think you can make it a 50x40 if you lose the church, the stables and the service building.

The church is just for pictures purpose and is empty inside.

Hope you like it.

You will need the usual CC I use:

all Felixandre cc

all The Jim

SYB

Anachrosims

Regal Sims

King Falcon railing

The Golden Sanctuary

Cliffou

Dndr recolors

Harrie cc

Tuds

Lili's palace cc

Please enjoy, comment if you like it and share pictures with me if you use my creations!

Follow me on IG: https://www.instagram.com/sims4palaces/

@sims4palaces

Early Access: 07/01/2024

Download: https://www.patreon.com/posts/108520278

[equinox-86]

Noctis Character Profile

"Greetings. Kaminashi's top Vampire Hunter squad at your service. Please report any sightings to HQ immediately."

C a n y o u h o l d h e r h e a r t ?

Most of the info listed here is still a work in progress :P Some things might change. Note that Noctis is very cold in the beginning but gradually warms up to the vampires, which results in forming strong connections and friendships later on.

General

Kanji: アエクアリス・ノクティス

Romaji: Aekuarisu Nokutisu

English: Aequalis Noctis

Also known as:

Pyromaniac, Jirai-Onna, Alcoholic, Chichinashi, (and many others, by Ayato) Bitch-Chan (by Laito) Livestock, Lilith (by Ruki) M-Neko-Chan (formerly by Kou) S-Neko-Chan (currently by Kou after witnessing Noctis kicking Ruki and Yuma in the balls during MB's Prologue) Drunkard, Punk, Mesubuta (by Yuma) Lilith (by Azusa and Karlheinz) Woman, Vessel, Bloodbag (by Carla) Chew toy (Shin)

Her Nicknames for the DiaBoys:

Ayato: Ayarou (Ayato + Yarou) Laito: Netorare/Cuck Reiji: Megane/Four-eyes, Mom (jokingly), Old man Shuu: Old man Ruki: Ojou-Chan (jokingly) Kou: Gigolo Yuma: Gorilla (due to his strong physique), Meathead Carla: Old man (jokingly after getting along) Shin: Cyclops, Eyepatch-bastard, Ankle Biter, lap dog Most of these nicknames aren't in use anymore or used jokingly after More Blood and Dark Fate.

Personal Information

Age: 18 (Physically)

Status: Alive

Race: Demon/ "Lilith" ( She is from a demonic species higher ranking than a Founder.)

Gender: Female

Height: 5'3

Hair Color: Black (natural) and Fuchsia (dyed)

Eye Color: Blood Red

Occupation: High ranked Vampire Hunter, 3rd year Student at Ryoutei Academy

Relatives: Unknown

Hobbies: making cocktails

Favorite Food: Alcoholic Beverages

CV: Yoko Hikasa

A mysterious figure with an unusual name. Affiliated with the church lead by Seiji Komori, Noctis was sent to the Sakamaki Mansion under false pretenses as a "Sacrificial Bride" in order to ruin Cordelia's plan and gain the Sakamaki brothers as allies for the sake of the assassination of Karlheinz, as well as to stop future women to be sacrificed to vampires. Unable to bear the thought of dooming his adopted daughter Yui Komori, Seiji forged a plan to train and send a powerful demon whose memories he took, to doom the Vampires. If Noctis were to die as a result of the plan, he would feel no guilt, as she is not human. She believes she is human, as she spent her time living among them.

Personality

Noctis is a very calm and patient person, who could snap fast if someone acts unreasonable. She's very defiant to the vampires and doesn't tolerate their abusive behavior towards her, often engaging in physical fights with some of them. The mistreatment results in her getting dependent on alcohol and she is sometimes seen drunk during school hours in HDB. Despite appearing like an honor student at first glance, Noctis tends to engage in delinquent behavior. Despite of this, she is a responsible person that manages to complete her tasks decently, such as supervising Ayato and Laito to make sure they do not to cause trouble at school under Reiji's order. Noctis likes to throw sassy remarks at the vampires. She often gets in unnecessary trouble for running her mouth. She takes joy in teasing Ayato and Shin, who are quick to lose their temper, which she finds humorous. Noctis' has a resting face which makes her seem cold and serious, but it is easy to get a reaction out of her. She keeps her thoughts and feelings to herself and rarely shows compassion towards the vampires as to keep herself safe and not give them an opportunity to use her weak points against her. Rather than showing pity, she gives them advice from a rational perspective. She's very analytic and observant. Laito managed to break her cold barrier by constantly toying with her emotions for his own amusement, mainly enjoying the new expressions she makes by provoking her and putting her in situations that would cause her to show fear. His little games of psychological manipulation slowly resulted in Noctis showing more emotion and eventually warming up to the Vampires in More Blood.

Appearance

In most outfits, Noctis is seen wearing a heart choker on her neck and on her thigh to make biting more bothersome to the vampires. It serves as an extra protection measure.

She is always carrying a lighter with her.

Relationships

WIP

Trivia

With her drinking habits, Noctis developed spitting fire using alcohol and a lighter as a special skill.

Noctis hates cranberry juice as a result of drinking it too much to restore her iron levels.

When Reiji nags her too much, she jokingly starts calling him "Ossan" (おっさん) meaning "old man." Here, she refers to him or any other vampire as a grandpa due to how old they are.

Opposite to Yui, Noctis is a demon with a "human heart." Due to her memory loss, she was treated like a human by the church and learned their morals and values.

Noctis has a reflex that causes her to punch what causes her fear. For example, If someone were to jumpscare her, they would get punched by accident.

As a result of sharing a roof with 6 men, Noctis started to adapt manly speech mannerisms, such as using "ore" instead of "atashi" when referring to herself.

[vettelinyourarea]

In the stars by benson boone with ollie when he lost his soulmate and hard to live his life without her please. Thank you xx

in the stars - oliver bearman

genre: angst

word count: 846

inspired by in the stars by benson boone

warning: english is not my first language, mentions of death

thank you so much for requesting this! i am very sorry that it took such a long time to finish this request, but i hope you enjoy this anon! 🩷

Sunday mornings were your favorite

I used to meet you down on Woods Creek Road

You did your hair up like you were famous

Even though it's only church where we were goin'

Sunday mornings used to be Ollie’s favorite day. Not because it was a weekend, not because it was a race day, but because it was the day when he would meet up with you. He remembers how you used to do your hair, styling it as if you are going to a formal event although you are actually just going to the church with him. 

Ollie remembers how every time after the church service, he would take you on a lunch date, sometimes accompanied by his siblings who love you so dearly. He remembers how you would take care of them like they are your own siblings, he remembers how he realized he is in fact, in love with you on one of those Sundays. But Sunday mornings are not Ollie’s favorite anymore. Not after everything that happened.

Now, Sunday mornings, I just sleep in

It's like I buried my faith with you

I'm screamin' at a God, I don't know if I believe in

'Cause I don't know what else I can do

Sunday mornings used to be so different with you, and he knew nothing will ever be the same ever again after what happened to you. Now, he just sleeps in if it’s not a race day. He never goes to church anymore, he buries his faith in God with you, buried under the earth. 

Ollie has lost count of how many times he had screamed at God, why did He have to take you away from Ollie? Why did God hate Ollie so much that he have to take the love of his life away from him? Ollie doesn’t know what to do anymore but cry and scream every time he remembers that you are not with him anymore, and you will never be with him again from that day.

I'm still holdin' on to everything that's dead and gone

I don't wanna say goodbye, 'cause this one means forever

Now you're in the stars and six-feet's never felt so far

Here I am alone between the heavens and the embers

Ollie remembers the day you were admitted to the hospital, they said you were okay, that it would be just a small, simple surgery. But now he knows that it was all just a lie. That day was qualifying day and Ollie had managed to snatch the pole position. All the happiness from the day’s event is gone when he received a call from your mom.

“She’s in a coma, she lost too much blood during the surgery,” your mom had said to him through the phone. It took everything in him not to leave the race and fly back home to see you. He had been crying all day and all night, worried about you. He should be there with you, he thought.

On Sunday, he took his win from the feature race, and fly back to you as fast as he could. Only to be informed that you are gone, you are not with him anymore. You had passed away.

Oh, it hurts so hard

For a million different reasons

You took the best of my heart

And left the rest in pieces

Ollie remembers the day of your funeral. It was also the day you took his heart with you, buried six feet under the earth. “It’s okay Ollie, she loves you all her life,” your mother said, trying to console him. It was weird, he should be the one to console your parents, not your parents consoling him. But that doesn’t matter at that time. 

Ollie had met you when both of you were just 4 years old, going to the same kindergarten. Ollie confessed his feelings to you when you were 14 years old and started dating when you were 15 years old because finally, you are “old enough” according to your parents. 

It feels to him, that he has loved you all his life. But, he realized that the years of him being with you were just a portion of his lifetime, and you have loved him all your life. That fact broke him so deeply, how is it fair? You had promised to be with him no matter what, you had promised that you will always be there for him when he needs you. And you are, you are always faithful to your promise. But what about him? He wasn’t even there when you go into the surgery, he wasn’t there when you fell into a coma, he wasn’t even there when you took your last breath.

But he knew that at the end of the day, it was not his fault. He knew that at the end of the day, he has the move on. And he also knew that at the end of the day, he will always love you, no matter what. 

[redtsundere-writes]

Can you write a Sukuna x Uraume fic, where they both go to Mexico since well....why not??? and Sukuna is tortured by the all of the spicy shit and all while at the same time loving pulque and other Mexican foods that are not spicy? if you can add Sukuna and Uraume going back to Japan after learning a large ammount of swearwords in Mexican like "Te voy a tumbar los ojos, pendejo" "Cagaste cabron" "the voy a chingar a tu putísima madre wey" and something along dose lines, it would be AMAZING...thank you!

Masiosare | Sukuna x Uraume (English)

mexican!sukuna ryomen x uraume

ENGLISH VERSION! ! ! (Haz click aquí para la versión en Español!)

Sypnosis: Sukuna discovers he is Mexican and wants to visit Mexico with Uraume. Contents: A LOT OF MEXICAN REFERENCES (but I explain them in case you are not part of the club, don't worry boo.) I tried to explain them as best I could so if there's something you don't understand, just let me know! Translations. A lot of them. Fluff. Is a crack fic but not really? Uraume uses They/Them pronouns. Human Sukuna. Word Count: 1583 words. Author's Note: I laughed so hard while writing this, I can do so because I am literally Mexican (iykyk) Thanks anon for the request! I rediscovered a lot of songs I usually dance to in weddings or quinceañeras. I couldn't stop bobbing my head lol. Wait... Am I turning into a señora? Welp... * = Definition on comments

Uraume is a faithful servant. They follow the supreme king wherever he wants to go. So when Sukuna asked her to go on a journey of self-discovery with him, they thought they would go to a sacred temple or a paradisiacal place in Japan. What he never expected was that he would want to go to Mexico. Uraume knew that he liked to explore new lands to conquer them later on, but traveling to another continent for funsies seemed excessive, but they did not question it. 

After a long journey to discover his origin, Sukuna discovered that he was born in Mexico, but did not live there for long. So as soon as he met with Uraume again, he asked them on a journey to reconnect with his roots as any whitexican* would do. That’s how the king and his faithful servant set out on their journey to new lands. 

After two days of travel, Sukuna and Uraume arrived in Cotija de la Paz, Michoacán. A lively magical town* with stone roads, leafy trees and hardworking people everywhere.  The characteristic Spanish architecture, orange walls and beautiful colorful mosaics caught the attention of the newcomers. The first thing they did when they arrived was to buy new clothes to mix themselves among the locals. Sukuna bought a white guayabera* with black shorts and sandals, while Uraume opted to wear a Mexican pink* summer dress. 

Once they settled in, our protagonists decided to wander aimlessly in search of something interesting to do while drinking aguas frescas* they bought in a Michoacana*. They wandered through the main park, watched the squirrels sprinting across the lawn and the people setting up the rides for the summer fair. They sat on a rusty bench to watch in fascination the gigantic church that could be seen from any part of town, several locals were going out to eat after the spiritual service. 

“I'm hungry,” Sukuna complained as soon as he got bored of admiring the view. 

They both wandered through the town until they came across a long line to eat at a local restaurant. That could only mean they must be serving delicious food. On the plastic sign hanging from the ceiling, a pig in a chef's hat could be seen inside a boiling pot. It was a Michoacán-style carnitas restaurant. Michoacán-style carnitas are pork fried in its own lard, but the secret is that the lard is flavored. 

“We'll eat here,” Sukuna decided for both of them before going into the place. Uraume only followed him closely. 

As expected of a king, Sukuna cut the line causing everyone waiting to start cursing him in Spanish. They screamed things like “Metete a la fila, cabron!” (“Get in line, you bastard!”) or “¡Quitate, pendejo!” (“Get out of the way, asshole!”) Paying no attention to the rabble, they sat down at a white plastic Coca-Cola table that had an assortment of condiments, like salsa, salt and limes, in the middle. Sukuna snapped his fingers a couple of times to get the waitress attention quickly.

“Disculpe, pero debe respetar la fila.” (“Excuse me, but you must respect the line.”) The waitress asked him very angrily. To which Sukuna only answered leaving a bag full of gold coins on the table, leaving the waitress completely disconcerted but happy. 

“Le traeré una orden de carnitas de inmediato.” (“I'll bring you an order of carnitas right away.) The waitress changed her attitude with a big smile as she ran to the kitchen. 

Sukuna and Uraume were impressed to see the pot full of carnitas, a tower of corn tortillas and two little jars of pulque.* Uraume could see the fat dripping from the food and their mouth watered. Sukuna didn't hesitate to make himself a taco and pour some of the reddest salsa in the assortment. Uraume warned him to try it first because they heard that Mexicans love spicy food, but the king ignored him thinking his taste buds would be fine. Big mistake. The king felt his mouth on fire at the first bite. His eyes began to water and his nose began to run, but he didn't crack. Sukuna swallowed the delicious fatty meat dipped in red sauce. He took a gulp of the pulque like a thirsty man in the middle of the desert. Uraume just ate their tacos with some green salsa with a calm mind having warned him. 

Night fell faster than they thought, but the rides in the plaza came to life. The center of town was filled with families walking among the rides, colored lights illuminated the streets, vendors shouted promotions at the top of their lungs, and the music of Los Angeles Azules blared from the speakers. Sukuna and Uraume had jumped on the mechanical game that seemed to attract the most people. The famous tagada, a spinning plate on which those entering had to hold on tightly without letting go, as the sudden movements made by the tagada caused people to jump or bounce off. The game began to spin as soon as the loudspeakers began to play Arremangala Arrempujala by Los Karkik's, a song that Sukuna completely hated within the first second. 

“Ay wey!” A man shouted next to Sukuna, who was slipping little by little due to the sudden movements. 

“I don't understand why people like this,” Sukuna commented to Uraume in boredom as they spun out of control. 

“¡Ya llegó La Monja!” (“The Nun is here!”) The boy, who was controlling the game, announced. 

To the surprise of the two foreigners, a man disguised as a possessed mummy entered the game and began to dance to the rhythm of the music, balancing perfectly, while the game continued to shake and spin vigorously. Sukuna and Uraume watched in bewilderment as the mummy did his sexiest dance moves in the middle of the tagada while the crowd clapped along to the rhythm of the song.

“I think that's why they like it,” Uraume commented without taking his eyes off her. 

“¡Es hora del amor!” (“It's time for love!”) The boy at the controls gave the excited announcement over the microphone. 

Out of nowhere, the area where Uraume was standing began to shake violently. They held on tightly to the metal bars behind them as if their life depended on it. Their body moved violently towards Sukuna because of gravity. Slowly the boy at the controls managed to get Uraume to fall sitting on Sukuna's lap. They both blushed at the situation they had gotten themselves into for wanting to get on one of the games. Even though the boy had succeeded in his task, Uraume was still bouncing up and down on his king. They tried to pull themself back to their place, but it was practically impossible. 

“I'm sorry, my king!” Uraume exclaimed between stutters with pink cheeks. 

“¡Vivan los novios!” (“Long live the bride and groom!”) The boy exclaimed over the microphone, followed by a wave of applause. 

Finally, the ride was over, but their blushes still hadn't gone down. They were embarrassed that mere locals could put them in that awkward situation. Sukuna was starting to get annoyed that he couldn't get out of his head how adorable Uraume looked sitting on his lap. “Puta madre...” (“Fucking hell…”) He thought annoyed.

“What do you want to eat?” Sukuna asked them in an attempt to overcome the awkwardness. 

“I've seen a lot of people buying from that cart, I want to know what it is,” Uraume pointed to a white cart with a hand-painted corn on the side. 

It was a cart of corn on a stick.* A lady greeted them in high spirits as they approached the giant pot of boiled corn. They both ordered a corn on a stick. They watched as the lady quickly prepared their orders. First a layer of butter, then a layer of mayonnaise, salt, and a heaping helping of grated cotija cheese. They didn't know it, but they were about to taste one of Mexico's finest culinary creations. 

“¿Con chile, chile del que no pica o sin chile, corazón?” (“Spicy, not so spicy or no spice, sweetheart?”) The lady asked with a friendly smile. 

“Del chile que no pica.” (“Not so spicy.”) Sukuna replied, flattered by the sweet nickname. 

Sukuna and Uraume continued to wander around the fair as they entertained themselves by watching people partying in their natural habitat. Although it was past midnight, the night was still young. As they walked through the games of chance and skill, a drunk ran into Uraume, causing them to drop their corn on the floor. Uraume was saddened to see the fate of their delicious snack.  

“¡Oye, cabrón!” (“Hey, you bastard!”) Sukuna yelled at the man with the curse words he had learned today, not caring that his Japanese accent stood out. He handed his corn to Uraume to grab the stranger by the shoulders roughly. “¡Mira por donde pinche caminas, pendejo de mierda!” (“Watch where you're fucking walking, asshole!”) Sukuna screamed annoyed before throwing him into a trash can. Uraume thought someone would come to the drunk man's defense, but to their surprise, no one around him batted an eye at the small fight. 

“Your corn, sir.” Uraume gave his snack back once Sukuna returned while wiping his hands.

“Keep it,” Sukuna told them. Uraume blushed for the kind action of his king. “I asked for not so spicy and my mouth is in fire,” he grudgingly complained. Uraume could not help but laugh.

Order your own fanfic! (Starting price: $5 USD)

Masterlist.

[moneeb0930]

FACTS AB0UT RWANDA Y0U DIDN'T KN0W 🇷🇼

• Women make up 64% percent of the Rwandan parliament.

• Rwanda 🇷🇼 was once còlonized by Germany and Belgium.

•Rwanda is the smallest country in East Africa.

•In spite of Rwanda’s small size, it is made up of several diverse ecosystems.

• Rwanda’s local language is Kinyarwanda, though French, English, and Swahili are widely spoken.

•Rwanda is one of the safest countries in the world.

•Rwanda and Burundi used to be the same country.

•The Rwandan gen0cide was almost 29 years ago.

•Rwanda is landlocked.

•Animal and environmental conservation is a big priority.

• Rwandan coffee is too good.

•Once a month, the country participates in a mandatory national community service initiative.

•Tourism is one of Rwanda’s fastest-growing industries.

•Kigali, Rwanda is the clèanest city in Africa.

•Rwanda hosts a car-free day to promote exercise and healthy living.

•Rwanda is home to some of the world’s last remaining mountain gorillas

•Rwanda is a predominantly Christian country, with around 60% of the population belonging to the Catholic Church.

•Some of the most important traditions in Rwanda revolve around family, community, and religion. Rwandan families are typically large and close-knit, with many extended family members living together in one household.

[haggishlyhagging]

While in the past the legal wrongs of woman in the marriage relation, in which she is robbed of name, personality, earnings [and] children, had a tendency to drive her to live with man outside of the authority of church or state. The occupations recently opened to her, whereby she can gain a reputable livelihood by her own exertions, [have] greatly increased the ranks of single women. No longer compelled to marry for a home or position, the number of young girls who voluntarily refrain from marriage, by choice living single, increases each year. No longer driven to immorality for bread, a great diminution has taken place in the ranks of "public women." No longer forced by want into this life, the lessening number of such women not meeting the requirements of patrons of vice, resulted in the organization of a regular system for the abduction, imprisonment, sale and exportation of young girls. England and Germany most largely [control] this business, although Belgium, Holland and France, Switzerland, several counties of South America, Canada and the United States are, to some extent, also engaged in this most infamous traffic.

Foreign traffic in young English girls was known to exist long before the revelation of the Pall Mall Gazette made English people aware of the extent of the same system under the home government. It was this widely extended and thoroughly organized commerce in girl-children which roused a few people to earnest effort against it, and secured the formation of a society called "Prevention of Traffic in English Girls." To the chairman of this society, Mr. Benjamin Scott, was the first official suggestion due that terminated in that investigation by Editor Stead, which for a moment shook the civilized world and held Christian England to light as a center of the vilest, most odious, most criminal slave traffic the world ever knew.

London, the great metropolis of Christian England (the largest city of ancient or modern times) is acknowledged by statisticians and sociologists to be the point where crime, vice, despair and misery are found in their deepest depth and greatest diversity. Not Babylon of old, whose name is the synonym of all that is vile; not Rome, "mother of harlots"; not Corinth, in whose temple a thousand women were kept for prostitution in service of the god; not the most savage lands in all their barbarity have ever shown a thousandth part of the human woe to be found in the city of London, that culmination of modern Christian civilization. The nameless crimes of Sodom and Gomorrah—the vileness of ancient Greece which garnered its most heroic men, its most profound philosophers—are but amusements among young men of the highest rank in England—West End, the home of rank and wealth, of university education, being the central hell of this extended radius of vice.

-Matilda Joslyn Gage, Woman, Church and State

[concerningwolves]

Hi! 👋🏼

First off, I just wanted to thank you for all that you do on your blog, not only has it been helpful to keep things in mind when writing, but I also genuinely enjoy learning more about sign language; I’m trying to self-learn it because it’s just that interesting to me hehe. (Also my church has a Deaf Service and I’d really like to be able to talk to the people there.)

I do have a question, but feel free not to answer; I’m currently working on a story where a very young child has acquired deafness after a severe illness (vaguely Hellen Keller vibes), and I was wondering if you know of any things I should specifically keep in mind when writing about the aftermath (immediate and long-term) of it? The setting is mildly fantasy where sign language exists, but hearing aids and cochlear implants have yet to be invented.

Thank you again for your blog, and the care you put into all your posts!

You're very welcome, and thank you! ☺️ It's always lovely to hear that people are helped by this whole... [insert vague hand-wave at my blog] thing I'm doing

Things to consider with a young character who loses hearing after illness

I don't know anything firsthand about what it's like to go deaf, so the first thing I'll recommend is to find stuff written by people who do. A search on r/deaf for "lost hearing" brings up a lot of different threads; for example, this post where people discuss things they wished they'd done/known when they first lost their hearing might provide some good insight.

As another starting point, Jessica Kellgren-Fozard has a fair few videos on her channel about her experiences as a deaf person, and specifically as someone who lost her hearing in her late teens. These two in particular might be helpful to you:

So You're Losing Your Hearing...

This is a video for people who think they're losing their hearing, but while it's not strictly about lived experience, it could certainly be helpful to note both the issues Jessica discusses and the solutions to them.

For example, she mentions isolation is a big problem, and talks about the importance of using the tools provided by the internet to find communities of people in the same boat. Even without the internet (or some fantasy equivalent), people are very community driven and prone to bonding over shared experiences, even if those experiences aren't wholly analogous. Are there other disabled characters in your story that your recently deaf character could speak to? Other d/Deaf characters? Who does she have by way of support and community? – these are all good things to think about.

Why I Don't Sound Deaf

In this one, Jessica talks about her experiences and her relationship with speech and sign languages as someone who lost her hearing. With applying this to your character, her age is important – the "golden period" for acquisition of a new language is typically thought to be before ten years old. Theoretically, the younger someone is when they lose hearing, the easier it will be for them to learn sign language. As Jessica points out in the video, sign language has a different grammatical structure, and because of this she finds it easier to use Sign Supported English instead of BSL. A much younger child, if given immediate or near-immediate access to sign language, is likely to take to it far more easily.

More on speech and language acquisition (or: the evils of consonants)

The impact of hearing loss on speech isn't something I can speak to (pun unintended) with great knowledge or certainty, but I can sort of extrapolate based on personal experience with learning to speak while not being able to hear well. (I had speech therapy, but that was as much to do with my narrow jaw + teeth overcrowding as with language difficulties caused by deafness). I misheard a lot of words and phrases – I spent years thinking that the "big girl swings" were "barbecue swings" 😅

It's worth looking into what level of speech your character would have based on her age, and using that to work out how much verbal proficiency she could retain (if any). Muscle memory accounts for a lot, so if your character already knows how to say certain words or phrases ""properly"", she could retain that ability. It's not an automatic or effort-free process, though: I'm in my twenties and I still have to consciously think about how my mouth is shaping sounds every time I speak. I don't think that will ever change.

If your character is young enough that she's still learning to speak, there will likely be a more marked impact on how her voice sounds. Different phonemes – units or "parts" of sound in speech – are uttered at different frequencies, which affects how easy/difficult they are to hear and therefore learn. This is, AFAIK, one of the biggest causes of the slurred/indistinct speech that people tend to expect d/Deaf people to have. Consonants are evil little fuckers, by which I mean they're spoken at higher pitches so anyone with loss in the high frequency range (hi!) is more likely to miss them. There are different types of consonants, too! And yes, each type presents its own challenges, because consonants exist purely to vex and frustrate everyone with high-frequency hearing loss and/or speech difficulties. For example, labiodental fricatives (e.g., the 'f' in fan and the 'v' in van) are particularly tricky, because they sound virtually indistinguishable.

StudySmarter has an easy-to-understand comprehensive breakdown of phonetics. You don't need to become an expert in phonetics, but reading through this will help you understand how sounds are formed in speech, which is helpful to keep in mind when thinking about your own character's speech. Pay particular attention to the phonemes that sound similar (like the aforementioned fan/van) or are soft/breathy (like the 's' in 'sound' or 'h' in 'half') – these are the most common problem areas, as are distinctions between 'sh' and 's'. If they feel soft or breathy in your mouth, they're probably going to be harder to hear.

Deafness and illness as trauma, and adjusting to change

Last thing I'd suggest thinking about is the experience your character has with the illness itself, and how she feels and copes with the changes to her life caused by acquired deafness. Illness can be a traumatic experience, especially when it has long-term after effects. If you've ever lost the ability to do something you can usually do, even temporarily, you'll probably be familiar with the frustration, and sometimes humiliation. It's also hard to overstate just how much auditory information there is in the world, and how much hearing people rely on that information without knowing it. Suddenly losing that ability isn't going to be easy, even if your character is young enough that they won't be able to remember anything different once they're grown up. Add to that the realisation that your body isn't as reliable as you thought it would be, that you suddenly can't trust your own health, and possibly not being able to understand why that's the case. That's a lot to deal with! And you shouldn't be afraid to show your character going through it!

Thinking back to my own childhood experiences, the strongest emotions connected to my deafness are confusion, embarrassment and alienation. Confusion because the world can be confusing when you're constantly missing auditory cues; embarrassment because unfortunately not everyone is kind and accommodating when you make mistakes due to missing aforementioned auditory cues/information (and sometimes even if people are lovely about a mistake, you can feel stupid for making it anyway); and alienation because of a sense that I was somehow "different". Thing is though, this was normal for me. I have never known anything different. But my relationship to and understanding of deafness as an identity has evolved hugely throughout my life. So, once again, age is going to be a deciding factor in how your character adjusts.

From some rudimentary googling and fuzzy memories of my brief stint as a Psychology student, children develop social awareness (awareness of how others think and feel) and self-awareness (awareness of own existence and how others perceive you) fairly early on, but these awarenesses take time to develop fully. Basically, this means that your character’s age will influence the scope of their reaction to acquired deafness. Some examples as a frame of reference:

A two-year-old is going to be primarily focused on their immediate emotional experience – they can’t hear things they could hear before, it’s confusing. They will also likely be aware if people treat them differently, but unlikely to have a socially-installed idea that they are now different.

A four- or five-year-old, on the other hand, has probably developed enough social and self-awareness to understand that certain people in society get treated differently. They might already have a sense that this is unfair, or they might still be trying to understand why this is the case – it depends on what they’ve learned about disability from adults around them.

(I mentioned above that you can feel stupid/embarrassed for making a mistake even if people are genuinely supportive regardless. The first time I vividly remember someone making me feel stupid and embarrassed for not hearing something, I would have been 4 or 5. The first time I can recall feeling stupid because I was aware that other people didn’t have that problem and that I’d made a social faux pas, I would have been about 7 or 8)

By early adolescence (ages 10–13), children are more aware of, and possibly more susceptible to, peer pressure and social norms [1]. Any understanding of and biases/prejudices concerning disability will be more deeply ingrained, as will concerns about the social impact of going deaf.

The support network that your character has access to is going to be crucial to how they manage this change at any age, so think about the characters in their immediate family/community and how they’ve acted towards disability and social difference.

[1] In a fantasy setting, you as the author are in charge of what those social norms and attitudes are, and I always encourage authors to examine their own biases when worldbuilding them. How are disabled people viewed and treated in your world? Have you made it similar to your own social and cultural experience? If yes, is that because you see that as the norm, or is there a narrative or worldbuilding reason for that? Are there any assumptions about the current or historical treatment/existence of disabled people that have influenced your worldbuilding?

Tropes to watch out for

There are three main tropes to be wary of when a character acquires a disability of any kind:

The acquired disability as an inherent tragedy akin to a death sentence and nothing else. As I’ve already said, an acquired disability can be significantly emotionally difficult, especially if the circumstances around acquisition were traumatic. Acknowledging and exploring this is important. The problem is when writers leave it there – the character is disabled, their previous way of life is lost to them, and therefore the character no longer has any worth to the story (and, by implication, to society). Think of the trope of the ex-athlete (or any other hobby/profession, although fighters and athletes are the most common components off this trope) who acquires a disability and then becomes a bitter, depressed hermit who lives in a state of misanthropy and misery because their life is effectively over. (This happens to Will in Me Before You by Jojo Moyes. Content warning for assisted suicide there). The main issue with this trope isn’t its content, per se, but its execution: Writers rarely examine why someone might end up like this (hint: institutional and internalised ableism, and lack of structural support for disabled people), and instead treat it as an inevitability because they cannot conceive of disabled existence as anything but inherently miserable.

The second trope is when a character manages to “throw off” the disability. These characters either only remain disabled as long as the disability is narratively useful, are magically cured, or overcome the disability by an act of willpower (sometimes only for narrative effect). The issue here is the content: the idea that disability can be overcome or cured by sheer willpower (or yoga, or the right diet, or religion) is pervasive and actively harmful to real-life disabled people, because it implies that disability is somehow our fault. Closely related to this trope is the one where an acquired disability never tangibly impacts a character (or only does so when it would be dramatic); you see this primarily with characters who use prosthetics effortlessly or, in the case of the latter, characters who appear abled until their disability can cause tension or drama in the plot. Again, the content is the issue: disability is flattened to nothing but a plot device, with no thought given to how it affects characters (and therefore real disabled people).

Finally, there’s the idea that an acquired disability is actually a “blessing in disguise” as a type of inspiration porn. That’s an icky trope, but I think it has some itty bitty grains of potential – crucially, the fact that there can be joy in disabled existence. Someone who acquires deafness might not see it as a blessing in the same way as some congenitally deaf people do, but they may still come to appreciate and embrace (aspects of) Deaf culture. Or perhaps they just manage to develop a neutral relationship with their acquired deafness. That’s fine, too!

A solution is to all of these is to consider the practical and proactive aspects of recovery, as well as the emotional fallout. Consider:

How does your character adjust?

How do the people around her adjust?

What support does she have? / What support systems are available?

How does she make sense of her new reality?

What accessibility aids does she have access to, and what are they like to use?

Long story short, nuance and consideration of different aspects of the disabled experience are key.

Hopefully this’ll help! (I’ve also wanted to talk about acquired disability in fiction for a while, hence the wall of text lol). Best wishes for your writing, anon ☺️

[mariacallous]

In her 1996 novel, Fieldwork in Ukrainian Sex, Oksana Zabuzhko wrote that for Ukrainians, “Fear was passed on in the genes.” Zabuzhko, one of the most important living Ukrainian writers, was referring to the childhood fear of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person in the Soviet era. Anyone who approached you could be spying for the KGB, and if you let a careless word slip, the bad men would come “and put Daddy in prison.” But that line captures what Zabuzhko’s novel is about: the inherited fear of oblivion born between the hungry jaws of empire, or what she calls the “eternal Ukrainian curse of nonexistence.”

Fieldwork in Ukrainian Sex was a sensation when it was published in Ukraine, but it took 15 years for it to be translated to English. Even then, it didn’t find a U.S. readership until the full-scale Russian invasion in 2022. The book’s path is emblematic of the tough road to English translation, much less readership, for novels written in Ukrainian. Until this year, not a single novel translated from Ukrainian had been published by a major U.S. publisher.

Tanja Maljartschuk’s Forgottenness, the first to break that barrier, is a book about Ukrainian identity and the struggle against nonexistence. Originally published in 2016, when it won the BBC’s Ukrainian Book of the Year Award, it tells the story of a contemporary Ukrainian writer who becomes obsessed with Viacheslav Lypynskyi, an important Polish figure in the early 20th-century Ukrainian independence movement. Lypynskyi studied Ukrainian at university in the early 1900s, when teaching the language was scandalous; both Russians and Poles considered it “a dialect of either Russian or Polish, or both concurrently.” Printing Ukrainian works was also prohibited, “punishable by imprisonment or exile.”

Throughout history, Ukrainians have faced this paradox: a denial of their existence (Ukrainian isn’t a language) combined with brutal repression (and you are forbidden to speak it). As Maljartschuk writes, the struggle makes many “lose their minds.”

Forgottenness is full of characters shrugging, often in dramatic situations. While American critics often lament shrugs (along with nods and smiles) as lazy dialogue tags, for the Ukrainian writer, the shrug is an important gesture. Soviet-born U.S. writer Gary Shteyngart once wrote, somewhat tongue-in-cheek, that Ukraine’s coat of arms could be a man shrugging. This attitude can easily be mistaken for nihilism, but it is far more complex than that. On its most basic level, it comes from a learned acceptance that many situations are beyond one’s control. For generations of Ukrainians, this acceptance has been necessary to maintain sanity.

Ukrainians have found different ways of shrugging. In Forgottenness, the unnamed narrator remembers how her father, like many Ukrainian men of his generation, became immersed in kung fu in the 1980s, needing to feel like he could protect himself. Her grandfather, after feigning insanity to avoid military service, worked as a forced laborer, melting down church bells that were transported across the Soviet Union to be made into weapons; for years, he responded to most things with a joke, fueling himself on laughter.

She remembers how her grandmother was left at an orphanage by a father who would soon die in the Holodomor, Joseph Stalin’s terror famine of 1932-33, during which millions of Ukrainians starved to death. In an attempt to understand and connect with her family, the narrator asks her mother how this genealogy of suffering affected her. “Mom shrugged. ‘What was there to be affected by? That’s how things were, and that’s all there is to it.’”

The narrator has the opposite reaction. Her fascination with Lypynskyi, who almost lost his mind, falling into infirmity under the weight of defending the idea of a Ukrainian nation, comes partly from identifying with him. For the narrator, her inability to shrug leads to an existential crisis. She becomes terrified of the outside world. For months, she stops going outside. She begins to mop her floor relentlessly. She stands on her head to see things from a different perspective. She obsessively reads old newspapers in search of references to Lypynskyi. She is desperate to understand history. In a recurring image of the novel, she imagines time as a blue whale eating plankton by the millions. There is no mystery as to whom the plankton represent.

The historical parts of Forgottenness can be challenging, both to follow and to witness, for the simple reason that Ukrainian history is challenging. Lypynskyi lived through the early 20th century, a time when hope for a Ukrainian nation flickered before being brutally smothered.

As the narrator puts it, in the three years after the Russian Revolution, “Kyiv, like a loose woman, changed hands over ten times … and each new seizure ended in bloody purges.” Borders change, names change, empires come, empires go, and everyone dies. One reason that Maljartschuk’s is the first Ukrainian-language novel to break into U.S. commercial publishing is that so many Ukrainian writers from the 20th century were permanently silenced.

As Ukrainian writer Anastasia Levkova recently wrote, under Stalin, 500 of the foremost Ukrainian writers were executed. But she is quick to point out that Stalin was not solely responsible for silencing Ukrainian literature: For example, Vasyl Stus, one of the most famous Ukrainian poets of the 20th century, died in a Soviet forced labor camp decades after Stalin’s death. It is not just Stalin, nor is it just current Russian President Vladimir Putin—it is the Russian Empire that denies Ukrainian history, Ukrainian language, and Ukrainian existence.

Ukraine, one character in Forgottenness laments, “has so many million bodies but so few actual people.” The Russian Empire won’t even allow remembrance of the bodies. When the narrator goes to visit Lypynskyi’s grave, she cannot find it, because the cemetery’s headstones were bulldozed and used to line the floors of pigsties during collectivization. How is she to come to terms with her past when the empire has erased it?

As she’s fighting panic attacks, the narrator watches pigeons across the street building nests and laying eggs on neglected balconies. “Once in a while, the building’s owners would toss the eggs off the balconies onto the asphalt below. The pigeons would then sit on the roof and dispassionately observe the destruction of their offspring.” The pigeons shrug not because they don’t care, but because—what choice do they have?

The narrator’s inability to be like the pigeons almost kills her. But she can still think, write, and face her crisis head-on. In what might seem like an anti-climax, but is actually a triumph, she seeks out a therapist. As she puts it, in her part of the world, “the human head has one purpose—to eat.” Her mother condemns her for being a drama queen. But the narrator finds another woman, a professional, who listens and who cares. She begins to trust her. She starts talking her way out. Through language and solidarity with a fellow Ukrainian, she finds her way back to the world.

Maljartschuk, a Vienna-based Ukrainian novelist, wrote Forgottenness between the Maidan Revolution in 2014 and the full-scale Russian invasion of 2022, a period when Ukrainian art, newly liberated from colonial shackles, was blossoming. Its Ukrainian title, Zabuttya, means both “forgetfulness” and “oblivion,” and although this is not a novel about the war, no event has brought the threat of oblivion into more urgent focus than Russia’s invasion.

According to Forgottenness’ promotional materials, Norton’s inspiration for publishing the book was a March 2022 article in the New York Times about the urgency of bringing Ukrainian literature to the West after Russia’s invasion. Because of the sudden prominence of Ukraine in the American consciousness, there is the temptation for Americans to read Ukrainian literature today anthropologically, approaching it as a window into the country instead of an imaginary story about Ukrainian characters.

To be clear, this is not a criticism of the publisher: I am very grateful that Norton published Forgottenness, and I hope that more U.S. publishers will follow its lead. But how does it affect the reader’s experience to approach the book with images of rubble in mind? How does an American reader get around the trap of reading Ukrainian fiction like it’s nonfiction—of reading it for information rather than emotion—when current events are the reason for its translation into English? The narrator’s panic attacks are brought on not by missiles but by the chaos in her mind and the fear in her genes. Is it not disrespectful to read the book as a guide to understanding Ukraine in 2024?

Fortunately, Forgottenness shares a way to read itself and also to read Ukraine’s latest fight for survival. Maljartschuk personifies the statewide struggle against oblivion in the individual struggle to accept the things you can’t change while refusing to accept the things you can. The struggle, I believe, applies to both the narrator and Ukraine, past and present. The story speaks to what came immediately before the book was published: the Maidan Revolution, in which Ukrainians from every class and background risked their lives to drive out the pro-Russian puppet government, holding Independence Square in Kyiv for three months in the face of a harsh winter, police snipers, government-hired thugs, kidnappings, and torture. But Forgottenness can also speak to what will come after.

The narrator says of her grandfather feigning madness to get out of fighting: “Between a slavish existence and a heroic death, he chose the former, and only thanks to this choice did I become possible.” In her words, she is “the offspring of meekness in the face of power and fear in the face of death.”

But there is no trace of meekness in today’s Ukraine. A generation of Ukrainian writers and artists are now on the front lines of battle or in the rear guard, tirelessly fundraising for equipment for soldiers.

“Everything I’ve done in my life has only come to be by overcoming great fear,” Maljartschuk said in an interview following the 2022 invasion. Fear, as Zabuzhko wrote, lives in the genes. But fear need not paralyze. “Ukrainians are no longer victims,” Maljartschuk added, “but fighters.”

[izzythehutt]

Do you have any religious wizarding world headcanons? God bless you <3

This is one of the HP world-building things that I struggle with because it doesn't...really make sense. JKR didn't want to deal with it in a significant way. It obviously takes place in a universe, like our own, where British Christianity (or at least the cultural vestiges of it) permeates. The characters celebrate Christian holidays, there's literally a wizard friar. They are clearly not living that neo-pagan life. But there's also no explicit mention of religious worship at the school (no required chapel attendance at Hogwarts, like there would be at a real British boarding school.) Is there even a Church in Hogsmeade? Harry had a christening and has a godfather so he was baptized (Sirius you are failing in your religious obligations to your godson lol)! There's a church graveyard in Godric's Hollow and people are going to services on Christmas Eve. Harry's parents have a quote from Corinthians on their gravestone that he isn't capable of contextualizing correctly. The Dursleys are smug, middle-class unchurched, uninterested in metaphysical questions materialists, which I can dig and is definitely a real "type".

Also witchcraft in HP is a natural ability people are born with as opposed to some unnatural power one gains with the unholy cooperation with demons. So I guess HP is a parallel universe where the biblical strictures against witchcraft wouldn't exist/apply? The fact that McGonagall's backstory involves her dad being a Presbyterian minister cracks me up. Ain't no self-respecting real-world Calvinist bringing his kids up as wizards in our universe.

I do think the Christian worldview/Christian themes are pretty apparent in HP, but doctrinal questions are left un-dealt with. Obviously there's an afterlife and a world beyond this one—and the whole series is ultimately about death, accepting it and conquering it, being willing to die for others, etc.

I do love having the Black family make scriptural references so I apparently can't quite resist them having some at least period appropriate bible knowledge.

My favorite batshit crazy HP theory is that the whole pureblood wizards/muggleborns conflict is a metaphor for recusant Catholics/English protestants.