#once I finish my GCSEs

[astral-from-afar]

Know that if I wrote any blp fanfics that it would be the most random bs and absolute crack you'd ever lay your eyes on

[katzenmas]

just imagine cbf!Gaz seeing you again after ten years. Last time he saw you was when you guys finished your GCSEs. somehow you still looked the same even after all these years. the loud laugh that you barked out in the midle of the supermarket made him do a 160 degree turn.

he knew that godawful laugh, and it belonged to a snarky mean girl he knew as a kid. she was awful, always making fun of him in some way or another, showing up at his house like she owned it, eating his snacks and staying for dinner that his ma prepared. you were a nuisance at first. just some kid that moved in two houses down. then you became a thorn at his side when you caught him staring at your old my little pony dolls.

that very day, under the hot summer sun, napes sticky with sweat and lips tugged into smiles while you and Kyle played with your dolls, a beautiful friendship was born.

both of you started school, as fate would have it, you were conveniently placed as classmates. always going to and coming back from school together. never once did you grow apart. during those eleven years in school you and kyle both got new friends, different friendgroups but never lost sight of each other.

but then he joined the military. he finished his exams and got his acceptance letter into bootcamp the same day. his excited expression fell from his face when he saw how you clutched the letter he gave you a bit more tightly. your eyes looked up into his, with white molten rage simmering in your irises.

' I will be protecting you! protecting the whole country' he was screaming. nervous hands running to run his fingers through his hair, small puffs of air heaving out of kyle's chest.

' Yes by killing other people who are doing the same thing Kyle! don't you get it? you are just a body to them, you will be replaced by some other idiot kid who thinks he can be a hero' your yell tore through his room. you two have been at it for hours now. his whole room was a mess, things were thrown in the heat of the moment, some old football trophy lay broken next to a sweater of his that you threw at kyle's head.

'please, just stay' you were much quieter, your tone pleading, begging him to reconsider. ' just stay with me, be safe with me'

next morning he took his bags and left for bootcamp.

it's been ten years since that. turns out you still live in the small town you guys grew up in, or maybe you're visiting our parents? kyle's mind is running a hundred miles per hour, looking over at your form, trying to notice what had changed.

the first thing he noticed was your hair. it was no longer styled in the edgy way you liked to keep it during your rebellious teenage years. it was your natural hair color, a few strands framed your face and shook round as you laughed with your shopping partner.

the next thing he noticed were your hands. your fingers more specifically. kyle was looking each of your fingers, trying to notice even the smallest flash of metal. of a ring. he came up empty handed.

before he could choose another part of you to analyze, the loud sound of glass breaking got him to look up.

the jar of pickles you were holding slipped from your hands. your fingers were shaking, eyes trained on him, frozen in stupor. kyle saw the gears turn in your head, he could almost see the memories of your fight flashing by your eyes. your friend placed a hand on your shoulder but you ignored it, staring kyle down with a cold gaze.

a few beats of silence streched for far longer than kyle would have liked, so he broke it.

'hey there! its been years' he tried to sound casual about it but it came out a bit forced, his voice sounded like there was soemthing lodged in the back of his throat. he outstretched his arm and moved closer to you, but was left frozen mid action as you turned your back towards him and just picked another jar of pickled from the shelf in front of you.

you did not dignify him kyle with a response, hellbent on acting like he was not even standing there. you shook your head and turned to your friend, a smile graced your lips again as you pushed your trolley past Kyle, never looking at him again.

' did you know that guy?'

'i dont think so, can't remember him' kyle felt his heart shatter.

-----

idk where i was going with this. it was supposed to be a smutty one at first and then i was like hmmm... haven't written agnst yet. so yeah.

[humanpurposes]

❤️ Gee-sus Christ Mas request! ❤️

Prompt: From Christmas (but make it sexy), number 9: “Tipsy fondling, softened giggles and muffled noises as they fool around with each other after having a little too much to drink” 🥂

With Billy Washington! And if I may add a kink… 🤭 voyeurism? Or exhibitionism? 😘

A/n: My first time writing Billy W as a prezzie for my lovely Inka ❤️✨

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: 18+, fingering, voyeurism, kinda dub con?

Main Masterlist

You spot him because he’s the tallest person in the room, leaning against the wall by the balcony, taking small sips from a bottle of Heineken. It takes you a minute, but you recognise the messy mop of dirty blond hair, the lowered chin, the cautious way he looks around at his surroundings, like an unsure puppy. Billy Washington has always had a way of pulling at your heartstrings and tonight is no exception. You feel a bit sorry that he’s alone, standing at the edge of the room at a Christmas party.

The host, Laura, is one of your friends from uni. Once you’d found somewhere to put your coat you had gone up to her to say a simple “hi! Haven’t seen you in ages!” before she pulled you into a suffocating hug. It gave you a chance to get a look at him though, peering over her shoulder.

Billy’s already looking at you, slightly bewildered. You wonder if that’s a good sign or a bad one, but surely now you just have to go over to him?

So once Laura lets you go and you grab yourself a drink, you weave your way through the other guests, all the way over to the wall by the balcony and come face to face with Billy. He’s a little undressed, in a black t-shirt and black Adidas joggers. You’re in black too, a long sleeved dress and black tights, but it looks like you’re not even dressed for the same event.

“Hi,” you say, noticing a humiliating tremble in your voice and hands.

Up close, you realise he looks completely different from how you remember. His face is sterner and sharper in the lines of his jaw and cheeks. And he’s tall. Really tall. But then he presses his lips together in a familiar, shy little smile.

He says your name and it almost sends you into a state of shock. “Long time no see.”

Over a decade now, you think. You and Billy had grown up in the same area of Nottingham, gone to school together, until his family moved down to London after you’d finished your GCSEs. You weren’t really friends, but you were familiar, you’d seen his face every day from the age of four to sixteen, that had to count for something. Seeing him now gives you a happy sense of nostalgia, the boy who didn’t need to try hard to make you laugh every French lesson, who sometimes tagged along with you on your walk home and bought you sweets from the corner shop.

He’s a lot more subdued now, only natural with age, but as you start to chat more you realise there’s an innate sort of sadness about him. That, with the intensity of his blue-eyed gaze, makes your heart flutter. You soon learn he’s been working as a marketing assistant for the last year, which is how he knows Laura.

“I thought you were set on the army,” you say, “like Lana, right?” Billy’s older sister. You’d never seen much of her but you knew he idolised her.

His face drops a little and you can only hope you haven’t touched a nerve. “Didn’t work out,” he says, looking down at his beer bottle. “She works with the police now, explosives officer.”

“Sounds dangerous,” you say.

Billy raises his eyebrows. It looks like he’s going to say something else when he brings the bottle to his lips, jutting his chin out slightly as he finishes it off.

You take a long sip of your own drink, finishing it off a lot more quickly than you had intended.

Billy nods at your now empty glass. “Can’t be having that at Christmas,” he says with the slightest hint of a smile

He takes your hand in his and leads you towards the kitchen. The alcohol must be doing a number on you because all you can think about is how large Billy’s hand is compared to yours, how warm he is, how tightly he’s holding onto you. And when he has to duck to fit under the doorframe, you can’t help but bite down on your lower lip at the way your belly flutters. When did he get so fucking fit?

But you tell yourself not to get carried away. It’s just a Christmas party and he’s just an old acquaintance, probably best to take things slow and hold off on the drinks.

So how you and Billy end up sitting on the sofa at midnight, with an empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s between you, is a complete mystery. But to be fair to the two of you, the bottle was nowhere near full when you started drinking it.

The party continues around you, but you and Billy are in a world of your own, chatting about the good old days back in Notts, ending up in fits of laughter over silly stories, like the time he nearly goaded your Year Eight History teacher into a fist fight.

“Oh God, I was awful,” Billy laments, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his face.

You’re staring again, but you’re too tipsy to stop yourself. The room is mostly dark apart from the warm glow of fairy lights on the Christmas tree, and you keep staring as the light hits his hair, the tip of his nose and the curve of his lips. 

You open your mouth to tell him that he’s not awful, but the words dissolve on your tongue as Billy turns his head towards you. 

You can’t explain it but there’s a moment of knowing between you, his blue eyes burning into yours, the little smirk on his lips. Nervousness ripples through your body again but it’s a feeling you find you’re enjoying. You giggle and Billy tries not to, but smiles back.

Then he looks down at his hands, clutching his empty glass between his legs. You feel a flicker of fear in your chest, like he might get up or just leave altogether.

“How are you finding London?” You ask suddenly, shuffling closer into him– much too close, you realise. Your legs are tucked under you, knees pressing against his thigh. 

His eyes move around your face, glancing quickly down, then up again, and his lips are restless. “Fine,” he says, “it can be lonely sometimes.”

“That’s what I think,” you say. “It’s such a big place. Sometimes I think it’s too big.”

“Nah you’re always going to be alright,” he says. “You’ve always been smart, and nice. You’ve got friends, nice job, yeah?”

“Yeah I guess.” 

Billy hums to himself and twists his mouth into a little pout. “What about a boyfriend?”

“Ah,” you say, keeping determined eye contact, “the one thing I don’t have.”

“Good to know.”

“Why would that be good?”

Billy just shrugs, then tries and fails to suppress a pleased grin.

“What about you?” You ask. “Girlfriend? Or Boyfriend?”

“A boyfriend’s not on the cards for me,” he chuckles, “and no girlfriend, not for a while, I’ve been trying to focus on myself.”

“Oh,” you say, trying not to sound too pleased about the lack of a girlfriend, “that’s good.”

“Yeah,” he says, tapping his fingers against the glass– his long, lithe fingers. “I don’t wanna bore you with the details, but I was in a really rough spot last year. Couldn’t get a job, did some stuff I regret, got myself in a really fucking stupid situation, but it was all a wakeup call, you know?”

He looks across at you again, with the sad puppy dog eyes. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath against your skin, your neck and along the neckline of your dress. 

He keeps looking into your eyes, you think it might be a dare or an invitation.

It’s a question you don’t need to answer when he closes the space between you, kissing you gently.

It’s over as quickly as it happens and soon you’re met with the sight of his eyes again.

Your heart is humming in your chest and you can’t quite catch your breath. “What was that for?” you whisper.

Billy’s face falls. “Oh,” he says, “I’m sorry I just thought–”

He starts to pull away and all you can think to do is reach for him, haul yourself onto his lap and weave your fingers through his hair. “No, what I meant was, why did you stop?”

After that he doesn’t waste a single second. He surges up to kiss you again, desperately, harshly, sucking and nipping at your lips while his hands grab at your waist.

Your hips start to move against each other, with his guidance, desperate for friction, to ease the tightening feeling in your stomach but all it seems to do is make you want more, especially when you feel how hard he is underneath his joggers.

He keeps kissing you, keeps grinding you against him, panting and huffing against the back of his throat in the brief moments when your mouths are parted. You can only hope Laura’s too drunk to notice the two of you dry humping each other on her sofa, and giggle against his lips at the absurdity of it, 

It’s too easy to get carried away. One moment you’re just enjoying the feeling of his lips and tongue against your own, the next his hands are moving from your waist, dragging you tights down and rucking up your dress so he can feel his hands over the skin of your bare ass and thighs while he kisses your neck.

Then he runs his fingers over your clothed centre, curls them around your panties and starts pulling them to the side.

“Billy,” you whine, instinctively lifting your hips to escape him but he just pulls you right back to where he wants you.

“No, no, no, you stay right where you are,” he mutters into your neck as he starts to circle over your clit.

The pleasure he brings you is surprisingly overwhelming and goes straight to your head. You can’t tell if you want him to stop or never let you go again.

You hold onto him by his neck, rutting your hips against his hand to his praises of “good girl, just like that, feels good, doesn’t it?”

And just when you start to feel like it’s not enough you feel one of his fingers slip inside your soaked cunt. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, already feeling just how much deeper he can reach than you can on your own.

But it’s wrong, isn’t it, letting him touch you like this with other people in the same fucking room?

“Billy, we shouldn’t do this here–”

“Come on,” he grunts, “fuck yourself on my fingers, I know you want it.”

And you do, you really do.

“What if someone sees?”

He grabs you by your chin and drags you into him until your foreheads are pressed together. “They’re not looking at you,” he says, “so you just keep your focus on me, yeah? Keep looking at me, keep thinking about how it feels to have my fingers deep in that tight little pussy of yours, can you do that for me?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

He lets out a low hum of content that makes your cunt clench around him.

You start to rock your hips against him. Your mind is hazy but in a way it only makes you feel lighter, more sensitive as his finger nudges against your soft spot, as he circles your clit, kisses your neck and lets his warm breath tease your skin. It’s careless and desperate and you want it, you need it.

You curl over him when your orgasm washes over you, wrapping your arms around him and pressing as much of your body against his as you can manage. You barely stifle a moan by pressing your lips against his temple.

You feel one of Billy’s hands run over the back of your head. “Shh, there you go, that felt nice, didn’t it?”

You feel his finger drag against your walls as he slips out of you, and hear a wet sound as he cleans it between his lips.

You’re content not to move, feeling the heat of his body and the light drumming of his heart beneath you, the apparent hardness he’s trying not to grind against you. You snake a hand between your bodies when he grips at your wrist, and commands your attention to his eyes.

“What about you?” you ask.

“We can go back to mine for that,” he says, “if that’s something you’d be interested in, obviously.”

Only Billy Washington could be this awkward despite having just been inside of you.

You smile, running your fingers over the golden stubble along his jaw. “I’d like that.”

Billy keeps gazing up at you, and takes a breath like he’s just remembered how to. 

You don’t bother checking the time when you eventually go to leave Laura’s flat. You almost forget to say “goodbye,” but the last people standing are all shouting an off key rendition of Fairytale of New York, which you don’t think you want to interrupt.

You and Billy stumble down the street arm in arm, giggling softly when you keep bumping into each other only to pull yourselves back into each other. 

You make it back to his flat in Cranstead Fields, which takes a grand total of three night buses to get to. The moment you’re through the door he’s pinning you between his body and the wall, holding your face between his hands and kissing you with as much enthusiasm as before.

“I’m so glad we ran into each other again,” he whispers with a little grin.

You run your palms over his chest, slip them under the hem of his t-shirt to feel the way his stomach clenches, and snag your fingers on the waistband of his joggers. If the pleading look in his eye when you start to palm over his bulge is anything to go by, you’d guess he’s utterly desperate.

You only intend to kiss him once on the lips, but find yourself coming back again and again because just once isn’t enough. “I’m glad too.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

[qqueenofhades]

May I ask about prompts 14 and 38 for Dreamling, perhaps?

Dr. Robert Gadling presently has ninety-nine problems, and students who cannot read the module handbook are, at a minimum, ninety-eight of them. (How did they finish school? Take their GCSEs or A-Levels, any of it, while being functionally illiterate? Etc. etc. dismal condition of British state education and indeed the entire British state under the Tories, but still.) He has just fired off a hopefully polite-sounding group email advising everyone to please have a proper look at the posted content before sending him individual queries, when there's a knock on his door and he glances up, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah?"

"Rob?" It's Philippa, again, which makes his heart sink on reflex. They've already had several serious conversations intended to make him consider the possibility of becoming Head of School when her term's up next May, and -- frankly, over his dead body, which in his case is not at all a metaphor. It turns out, however, that she's not here to harass him to take on more professional responsibility, but rather to attend to his personal life. "Your boyfriend's skulking in the foyer and frightening the freshers again. Make him knock it off."

"My boyfr -- ?" Yeah, yeah, all right, the gentleman doth protest too much. Hob hasn't felt up to taking Dream to any faculty functions just yet, but he did tell Amira the other evening at the welcome-back mixer that he was seeing someone, and the news must have spread as fast as any other juicy department gossip. Hob sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Right. Thanks, Philippa. I'll tell him off."

With that, not sad to get away from the horror of his inbox, Hob pushes back his chair and gets to his feet, trotting out his office door and down the stairs. Even before he descends into sight of the foyer, he can tell where the problem is located. Dream is standing spookily just inside the door, in full goth-black, long-coat, pale-faced, looming-in-your-nightmares splendor, and students are indeed outright sprinting to get past him. Others seem to think he's some weird piece of performance art from the theatre department and are asking for selfies, which makes him stare at them even more. Hob swallows a groan, speeds up, and reaches the ground floor. "Oy," he hisses at the unrepentant King of Dreams. "What are you doing here?"

As per fucking usual, Morpheus haughtily disdains to provide a sensible answer (or indeed, any answer). Hob adores the skinny eldritch weirdo, he really does, but one problem he did not foresee now that they're officially an item is that Dream has gotten downright clingy. After going a hundred years between seeing each other, with each of those meetings usually ending in disaster, Hob's still getting used to the idea of seeing him regularly -- weekly, even. It's not like he minds. Variety is the spice of immortal life, and all that. But it does mean that they need to have a few conversations about boundaries, and this is definitely one of them.

"I'm busy," Hob says, doing his best to sound stern. "I've got work to do, love. Like we do in the human world, eh? Can't all sit around in magical throne rooms, brood, and spin magical stories."

Dream looks miffed at this lightweight estimation of his professional duties. He opens his mouth for some sort of pompous reprimand, but Hob holds up a hand. "Be back at five PM and save me from the emails, and we can jog off together somewhere, all right? But not until then. And stop scaring the students, or Philippa will have my head. Or make me be the Head, and I'm not sure which one's worse."

Dream once more appears about to object -- he still hasn't gotten in a word edgewise, which is probably for the best. But Hob looks furtively in either direction, then kisses Dream on the cheek, spins him around, and propels him out the exit, whereupon he looks very much like an extremely ruffled bird -- raven, probably, which Matthew is bound to find amusing. Mother of God, Hob's life is strange.

Biting a smile despite himself, he trudges back upstairs and dutifully applies himself to the remainder of the paperwork and otherwise makes sure that everything is in order. Then at 5:04pm, he gets up, grabs his things, and heads back downstairs, where Morpheus is waiting for him. "You are," he announces stiffly, "late."

"Only by four minutes. Pretty sure the world won't end." Hob grins crookedly. "Eager to see me, then?"

Morpheus, of course, cannot countenance actually saying this aloud, but it doesn't matter. He holds out his hand, Hob decides he doesn't care who sees him take it, and does so. Then all at once, the familiar surroundings of the Department of History stretch and ripple and fade away, and the next instant, they're not there at all, or London, or Earth. They're here, in Morpheus's home. The Dreaming.

As usual, the place looks eerie, magical, mystical, and lovely, and Hob is getting somewhat more used to the abrupt transition between worlds, so he only swallows hard a few times and then is good to go. They ascend to the castle, he and Lucienne greet each other warmly, and then Morpheus jealously squires him up to his rooms at the top of the tower, beneath the vast dome. The great bed is a temptation, and doubtless they will end up there before too long, but a supper is already laid, glimmering in the fey candles, and Hob blows out a relieved breath. "Could eat an ox. You're a lifesaver, darling."

Morpheus looks the usual blend of awkward and pleased he always does when Hob casually uses endearments or expresses affection. "Does this make up for me alarming your pupils, then?"

"More 'n." Hob sinks into the chair and tries not to wolf down everything in sight. "But still. Don't do it again."

They eat (here in his own realm, in his own stuff, Morpheus eats too). They drink, they talk. It's like old times, and more. Afterward, they go outside to gaze at the stars, a thousand times brighter and more brilliant than anything on Earth, and Morpheus's tousled dark head sinks slowly onto Hob's shoulder, like a feral cat finally becoming close enough with one trusted person to let itself be petted, let itself be loved. Hob bites another smile, this one unspeakably tender, and leans in to kiss Dream's hair. Aye, his life is bloody strange, and it always has been. But he would not trade it for the world.

[myfruitlessthorns]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐅𝐎𝐌𝐎 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥-𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬

as an 18-year-old, 2006 baby, most of my fandoms were in their prime long before i was even cognisant. i mean, merlin had finished by the time i had just started school, superwholock was thriving away as i obliviously flicked from the ludicrous image of matt smith dancing away in the tardis to sherlock babbling away to john on the bbc, and even by the time i'd hit secondary school, i was left with the tail ends of pretty little liars. i can just remember so desperately binging the entire show at the ripe age of 11, just to catch the shitty season finale and exactly on time for the enraged twitter afterparty. living like this, i've somewhat made peace with the fact that i am a sort of fangirl-archaeologist, sifting away happily through the dusty ruins of once great and mighty fandoms and finding the occasional relic hidden - fantastically written fanfiction.net smut hidden amidst the rubble of mid 2010s jhutch whistle edits.

however, bitter as i am, nothing - and i repeat - *nothing* has given me such enraging, all consuming FOMO as the ballad of songbirds and snakes. 

picture the scene. its 2020. a young, 14-year-old tisha has just finished the hunger games trilogy. she adores it, and to her luck, the brilliant suzanne collins has decidedly published a prequel just as she tucks mockingjay away, back into her bookshelf. perfect timing, right? i just remember the feeling of 'i cant wait to read it!' battling away with 'except it's covid so i cant' and one of my friends had pre-ordered it anyway, so i was determined to get my hands on a copy as soon as lockdown was over. 

except, after lockdown finished, came gcses and after gcses finished came a levels and it was then, amidst personal statements and entrance exams and oxbridge applications that *it* came out. the ballad of songbirds and snakes: the fucking film. i was long out of my hunger games phase; i dont think i considered even quickly flicking through the novel before going to the theatres. im a purist like that - book before film always - but i just didnt have time to read it and so, completely oblivious to the fact that i was alive and concious, missing the hunger games renaissance when every other teenager was obsessing over tom blyth and making fan edits of rachel zegler and listening to the soundtrack on repeat, i decided to save the book till after a levels.

and what a fucking mistake. 

the fact that i could’ve revelled in the prime of tbosas fandom in live time and been there at its peak!!! and that i fucking missed it???? everyone i knew watching that masterpiece play out in theatres and now, i have to sit and listen to you all reminiscing about november 2023 not knowing what that felt like, envying the fyp full of coriolanus snow edits and the fresh off the cut late night interviews with the cast that you all got to experience. in fact, the movie has aged just enough to be declared a ‘phase’ by everyone that was there in at its peak. and its driving me up the wall, because the worst part of all this is i have no one to talk to share my burning obsession with, knowing well, that 11 months ago, half the internet would’ve happily shared it with me.

so please, tbosas fans, if there are any of you still active, if you empathise with the plight of listening to ‘cant catch me now’ on repeat whilst pretending to be lucy gray - lets be mutuals. please.

-a girl going slightly insane.

(on a side note, i have sincerely learnt from my mistakes and will not, by ANY means, be leaving sunrise on the reaping to the last minute. i just hope its as good as tbosas!!!! in suzanne collins, we trust!)

[adhdblues]

I went many years not realising that something was wrong with me.

Many years of thinking that how I feel and how I process things was normal. Everyone experiences similar things, is what I thought.

School was okay. I ended up with good grades in the end - A, A, B for A-levels.

But I didn’t realise that I was struggling to understand textbook language. I didn’t know that comprehension of that type of text could be a learning disability. I just thought I wasn’t good enough.

I never really did any work in class. I was actively involved in discussions. Always had an idea to share, and my teachers seemed to really enjoy those discussions. But putting them on paper was fucking hard.

And the research never really got any deeper than the ‘contents’ page and half of the ‘introduction’ of a book. I had piles and piles of books to look through, they all intrigued me. But they just sat there, in a pile, looking cute.

They sat there as the guilt (of not reading through them) weighed on me more as deadlines got closer.

If we had to take notes in class, I wasn’t able to focus. Notes were mandatory, as per my teachers’ expectations - that’s the only way they’d know whether we are concentrating or not. But, I would leave the classroom feeling like I didn’t learn anything that day, because it was all too fast.

Now I know why.

I knew I was smart (sometimes I truly believed that), and I knew I could understand everything that was communicated to me verbally. But the classroom setting just wasn’t right.

I never thought that I’d be one to have ADHD, or that disability they called dyslexia. It felt so foreign, so out of reach - I shouldn’t even consider it because I don’t need the help, is what I thought.

I needed that help.

I never thought I deserved extra time during exams - even though I never fucking finished my papers. No matter how fast I tried to get through the questions, I always had 3 or 4 or 5 pages left once the time was up.

I was actually never told about such things existing, I didn’t know what ‘accommodations’ were. Not until I saw a handful of classmates sitting in a separate room, taking the exams at a different time to us. But still, no one really talked about it.

I just wish that my school, one of the ‘best British schools in the country’, would take learning disabilities more seriously.

I wish they had taken the time to educate us about such things, instead of telling us off for the eyeliner or nail polish we wore.

Instead of giving us detention for wearing pants tighter than their liking.

Or the assemblies they forced us to sit through, where they would bring in alumni to talk about all the amazing things they had achieved since they left school.

If only I had been told about what learning disabilities were:

- I would have struggled less in GCSE.

- I wouldn’t have had those multiple breakdowns because I thought I was stupid.

- I wouldn’t have thought that I wasn’t good enough.

I was always so intrigued by learning new things. But the classroom setting just wasn’t right. The teachers never came to me to ask why I’m struggling, they came to me to tell me I wasn’t good enough.

My biology teacher said she’d be surprised if I get a C. Out loud. In front of the whole class. As she gave out our mock exam results.

I got an A in biology when the real exam came around. Because I studied my ass off. At home. In my own space.

She did nothing to help me.

My math teacher told the whole class that I got the lowest score in my mock exam. I wasn’t there, but my classmates told me. It was embarrassing. I fucking cried. But now that I look back, it’s because I couldn’t understand textbook language at the speed they wanted me to.

I got an A in that too, when the exam actually mattered.

I never really cared much for mock exams. They didn’t mean anything towards my final grades, or my future. I couldn’t care less and they didn’t deserve the stress I’d have to go through.

I just knew I would study for the real exams. I knew I could pull all-nighters and study better under pressure.

Now I know why.

I would wonder why it was so hard for me to keep up with deadlines. I would think that maybe I just don’t care enough. But I kind of did, because I enjoyed learning. I enjoyed discussing and sharing ideas.

But the school system just wasn’t right.

I look back and wonder what it would have been like if I got the extra help that I needed. If I knew I was dyslexic, maybe my English teacher wouldn’t always make me read out loud to the class “to help with my reading skills”.

That was torture for me and everyone else involved - (I think she enjoyed seeing students struggle though).

I remember I specifically went and asked her to stop making me read out loud. Because I felt ashamed of all the long pauses, when I couldn’t find the line I was on. Or for saying the wrong thing, or pronouncing the words wrong. I was ashamed that everyone had to listen to me struggle, because I thought I was wasting their time.

She asked me to read to the class, that same day.

[cieloclercs]

𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜

in which childhood rivals turned best friends realise they were always meant to be something more

charles leclerc x noêmia senna borges (oc)

arriving this summer!

✧.* NOÊMIA SENNA BORGES is a trailblazer. It makes sense, when you take a look at her family tree. She comes from a family of history-makers: the daughter of four-time World Champion Gabriel Carvalho Borges, and niece of one of the greatest drivers to have ever lived, Ayrton Senna. Her future career in Formula 1 had already been written in the history books before she’d even learnt what it was. Everyone in the world of motorsport knew, from the moment the Senna Borges family announced her birth: it was only a matter of time.

✧.* CHARLES LECLERC has faced his fair share of obstacles on the long road to Formula 1. But amongst crashes and failures a plenty, no other challenge has been more difficult to overcome than eleven-year-old Noêmia Senna Borges. Ever since (literally) running into the daughter of his idol at the Junior Kart World Cup, Charles and Noa have been inseparable: even despite their fierce on-track rivalry. Years pass and things change, but the one constant in their lives is always each other. By the time they are grown — with Charles making his way to Formula 1 and Noa setting record after record in the lower categories — they’re sure there is nothing that could ever tear them apart.

✧.* THEY ARE WRONG. After two years of no contact, Noa finally earns her place in Formula 1, becoming Aston Martin’s second driver alongside Sebastian Vettel. The friendship she was once certain would last a lifetime is now shattered and broken. But as the year passes, and Noa and Charles fight for their place in the Formula 1 history books, it becomes clear that maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder — and all they needed was a little incentive to realise that they are something far more than just best friends.

CAST!

yasmin barbieri as

NOÊMIA SENNA BORGES

2000 | Capricorn | ESTP Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

.

charles leclerc as

CHARLES LECLERC

1997 | Libra | ISFJ Monte Carlo, Monaco

.

INCLUDING!

pj tomasi as luiz senna borges marianna rozmajzl as raffaella di angelo ugh_liza as eloísa dos santos alves alessia lanza as anneliese beaumont michael cimino as oscar de conceição soares

and all other characters as described!

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞.

so this is going to be my summer project after i’ve finished gcse’s!! i’ve been wanting to do a senna!oc story for agesss but what with studying and everything i just haven’t had time to write anything :(( BUT for the last couple of weeks this idea has been stuck in my head, so as soon as i leave school i’m gonna be writing this non stop :))

obviously it HAD to be a charles fic because he’s the love of my life <33 and i’m obsessed with the idea of childhood friends to lovers with charles (it’s just HIM) however, this fic is a bit more complicated than just childhood friends to lovers… i’d say it’s rivals to childhood friends to (kind of) enemies to friends again and THEN to lovers… but i have the whole story planned out in my head pretty much and i actually love it so i have to get it written down :))

i’m thinking of making a taglist for this story for when i publish it, so if you’d like to be a included, go to my navigation page and click on the google forms link! you can select to be put on the taglist both for this fic and for sliding doors! as always, feedback is always appreciated, so a like or a reblog would really make my day <3 i’ve received some lovely messages from sliding doors readers, so i really hope saudade might get the same treatment :)

countdown to summer break: 28 dayss!!

stay tuned for updates!

rose 🤍

[thenightfolknetwork]

I am an antichrist.

The Real thing, born to a seventh virgin daughter after her soul was consumed by my father, Satan, in a ritual of fire, glory and light.

I was raised as instructed by The Book— Don't ask which Book, you don't want to know, the knowledge would melt your eardrums— to be the destroyer of the world, the prince of sins and the devourer of souls. I am the One Who Will Bring Fire to the earth, I am the One who will run the blood of innocents through the streets and boil the sea with my mere desire, I am the dark side of the moon, I am humanity's nightmare, I am—

I am 12 years old.

And I'm at school.

I just learned about ecosystems: The delicate balance of a food chain, the harmony that exists in the earth when a network of fungi extracts nitrogen from the earth and a rotting tree leaves the soil rich for next spring.

I found out about corals recently too. They are alive and an extremely complex life form for something that will never move, corals don't die as long as nothing kills them, isn't that a strange and wonderful concept?

I always wanted to be the World Destroyer.

It never occurred to me that bringing hell to earth would mean no deer or bees or coyotes.

If you increase the average sea temperature by more than two degrees, millions of corals will die. I don't know if I want to boil the sea if that's the end result.

But I am the Antichrist and I like being the Antichrist. I like to be Apotheosis, the crack in the glass, the rotten apple, the mercury in the water.

But I also like the world as it is, even if it doesn't bow down to me in fear.

What do I do?

(What do I say to my father?)

This is the problem with prophecies – they always put the subject under such a tremendous amount of pressure! I feel sure that, if your father had simply not mentioned his plans for your future, you would have grown up without these anxieties and likely gone on to fulfil your unholy purpose without a second thought, in a time frame that felt sensible and natural to you.

Instead, you've been burdened with a terrible and unreasonable amount of responsibility. No wonder you're feeling torn! This is more than any twelve year old should have to consider.

The important thing to remember is that you don't have to make a decision about this right away. You are the Antichrist and you will remain the Antichrist while you take a little while to decide the best course of action for you. The end of the world will still be there when you're ready for it.

As to the apocalypse itself, this is the other reason prophecies can be so frustrating. They are simply never specific enough to be helpful. Yes, you may be destined to end the world – but which world, exactly? And how much of that 'blood of innocents, boiling seas' stuff is literal, and how much is just a religious scribe getting carried away with himself?

In my experience, there are many, many ways a person might fulfil a prophecy without having to bring a fiery demise to this particular realm of existence. You might take a short hop over to another reality and destroy an uninhabited world, for example.

Alternatively, you might take your prophecy in a more metaphorical sense. “The world” we live in today is one that allows billionaires and business magnates destroy our environment in the name of profit. Perhaps you could fulfil your great purpose by destroying the social and political structures that make that world possible.

I understand your trepidation about bringing this up with your father. However, I really do think that you should consider it. Looking after you is his job, after all, and I'm sure he wouldn't want you struggling with these feelings alone. Reach out to him, and let him know how you feel.

You don’t have to decide this all at once. Whatever else you say to your father, you need to make it clear that you will not be embarking on any sort of apotheosis until you've at least finished your GCSEs. You are a child, and you deserve to have a proper childhood, whatever the future might hold for you.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[severevoiddragon]

Some fun facts about SoE that have no meaning in no order just when I thought of them

Rin n co studied Jekyll and Hyde for English GCSE (which was at the same time as SoE was happening). Because of this, when she was an adult, she recommended the book to Cyan, who hadn't read it before. They read it n went "omg lol this is me", much to Rin's concern

Cyan has an older sister who I don't talk about enough- but also they don't remember her at all so it doesn't matter (<- definitely has a name for her yep)

Callie is an unreliable narrator (ik I said this a couple days ago but expanding on it a lil - there are some parts she is intentionally hiding from the audience. she has slipped up a couple times while trying to keep these hidden things hidden)

I've written up to episode 11 (the denouement) but I'm unsure of pacing and everything so :( idk :( I like Episode 6 so I'm posting at least all 3 parts of that (there's one more Episode 6 hehe)

I have a whole Bad Ending AU which I'm tempted to get you guys to vote on which ending. Except I won't tell you which ending you get. This will only come into play at the end of arc 2 and tbh this is motivating me to finish arc 1-

Cyan loves fireworks and once they're besties w Callie, she invites them to their annual new year's celebrations. The town of Everwich is invited but Cyan used to just sneak in. It makes Cyan happy they finally are allowed to come <3

Kitty was NOT interested in James Beaumont, the guy she was likely to marry. She did not know this. She thought all girls wanted to hug and kiss their friends. This is because she was in the Georgian era.

Charles n Callie have SO MANY PARALLELS. BUT I CANT SHARE THEM. BECAUSE SPOILERS.

Callie is the only one other than cyan to be able to see Other :)

If anyone wants to hear about the music for my ocs pls ask BC I have a lot of Thoughts™ about those

[madeintheniamh]

Please can you write something about Tilly having a panic attack because she’s stressed about school (maybe exams) and Harry is calming her down? That would be so cute!

sorry this has taken me so long to respond to, but it's here now at least. enjoy xxx

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

you can let it go

stmf one shot #8.

a/n: loved writing this one! i know gcses and a levels are coming up for any of my fellow uk readers and i just wanna say if you're seeing this, please don't panic. exams are made up to be so much more than they actually are, and you are always more than what a piece of paper says.

warnings: panic attack, lots of dadrry and fluff haha

She had the pen in-between her fingers, but she couldn’t will her hand to get it to move across the page. Somewhere, deep down, she knew the answers, she knew them. But after spending weeks revising for her GCSE mock exams, she couldn’t get herself to jot them down onto the exam paper in front of her. She glanced around at the hall around her, and it looked as though the clock was playing tricks on her, the big hand moving at double the pace it should have been. She had the answers, but minute by minute, the hall was getting smaller, the pillars in-between the stained-glass windows beginning to close in on her, and her stomach beginning to churn in that horrible way that it always did when she knew she was about to lose control. She didn’t realise, but black mascara was beginning to spill down onto the paper, filling in the blanks where her answers should have been.

The room was now so small that she couldn’t take it anymore, and she stood up, dashing for one of the doors where one of the invigilators tried to block her from exiting. “Excuse me, you can’t-”

“I’m going to be sick,” She mumbled, flinging the great doors open in front of her to reveal a freezing January afternoon, the sun already beginning to set at 3pm. She shivered as she ran into the upper school block in an attempt to find her phone which she had left in her bag.

“Matilda Styles, why aren’t you in your exam,”

She jumped as her stern-faced head of year appeared directly in front of her, who was now angrily looking down at the phone Tilly was holding in her hand. “And you know you’re not allowed your phone out during the school-”

“I don’t care!” Tilly shouted as she turned around and began to sprint in the other direction towards the girls’ toilets, covering her hands as she realised what she had just said. Although most people including her generally despised her head of year, she had never once spoken back to a teacher in her nearly thirteen years at school, yet in the haze of it all, she just had. She heard the heavy footsteps following her down the hallway, but she didn’t care. She needed Harry, because Harry could fix anything like this. He always knew what to do.

----

“Sorry guys, we’re going to have to stop for a minute,” Harry sighed, his phone vibrating in one hand, whilst he held his guitar in the other. “Tilly’s calling me,”

He placed the guitar down on its stand before rushing out of the recording studio and pressing answer.

“Hey baby, how was your History exam? Did you finish early?”

He could hear her struggling breaths through the phone. “Daddy, I don’t know what to do, I’ve failed, I ran out, I-”

“Slow down, baby, it’s okay. Do you need me to come and get you?”

Her breaths were getting deeper by the second, as she couldn’t get the words out to answer him. “Tilly?” He gulped, beginning to feel sick himself. “Have you got your inhaler, baby?”

He could hear her fumbling around inside her handbag. “I think so, I,”

“Take deep breaths with it. I’m going to come and get you as soon as I can, but meanwhile you need to go and find someone and let them know whilst I’m on my way. You’ll do that, won’t you baby?”

Her hair was now stuck to the sides of her face with tears. “Okay, Daddy,”

“Okay, baby. I love you so much, you know that, don’t you?”

-------

He found her huddled up on an armchair in the corner of the school medical room, her face still pale, clutching tightly at the paper cup of water in her hand. Her red blazer was draped over her lap, but she still shivered as he placed his palm to her face and stroked it across her cheek, whilst taking the chair next to her.

“My gorgeous girl,” he whispered into her ear, his minty breath trailing across her neck. “How are you feeling,”

“I feel like shit,” she mumbled, her eyes still red rimmed and glossy from crying. “I didn’t write anything. I’ve failed,”

“That doesn’t matter, lovey. I want to know how you’re feeling, in yourself,” he smiled, willing him to look into his eyes. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I don’t know, the room just got really small and I got really hot, and then I felt sick, and then I got up and I ran out, and I don’t know,” she began to cry, burrowing her head in his chest. “It was horrible,”

“I bet, baby, it sounds like it,” he soothed. “But these things are sent to try us, aren’t they? And it’s only a mock,”

“But I’ve failed Daddy, and I worked so hard,”

“I’m sure you can re-do it, baby. But you’re starting to worry me. This isn’t the first time you’ve felt like this, is it?” he asked her, now tipping her chin up to face him from where she was avoiding his eye contact. “Is it?” He asked again.

“I don’t need to go again, Dad,” she whimpered. “I hated it. She just asked me all these weird questions, and it made me cry,”

“But you only tried it once, lovey,” He exhaled slowly. “Therapy takes a long time to work,”

“I don’t need therapy, Dad!” she cried. “I’m not crazy!”

“I’m not saying that, T. I go to therapy, and I’m not crazy, am I? Lots of people go. You never know, it could help you,”

“But I’m frightened, Daddy,” she breathed.

He smoothed her hair from her face before peppering a kiss to her forehead. “Frightened of what?”

“I like it when it’s me telling you things,” she whispered. “You always get it. What if they don’t get it?”

“I can go with you, lovey, if it makes you feel better,” he soothed. “But it would really make me proud if you could give it one more go, for me, and I will make sure all this exam business is sorted, you don’t need to worry. I just need you to go home and get some rest, because I know you haven’t slept in days,”

“Okay, Dad,” she moaned. “If you say so,”

He kissed her again. “Good. You know no matter what a stupid exam says, I will always be so proud of you, okay?”

[princeloww]

Hello, its me again, telling the Takin Over the Asylum fandom about Scotland, despite being from Ireland.

My last post was about Scottish slang and a rough guide on how to actually use it. (Aye, Nae, Cannae, etc)

Today, not because of any specific reason, and just because I feel like it, I'm going to talk about how education works in Scotland, since I know a lot of TOTA fans are NOT from the UK, yet probably still wish to write fanfiction, and might want to get it more accurately right.

Again, I am not Scottish, but I've done research, and this is just a rough guide for people wishing to write fanfiction about Campbell Bain. - and a lot of people may already know this stuff, of course, but this is just for those who might not.

"High school" is generally not a used term. Some schools are CALLED "high school" in their actual names, for example, Perth High School, but they aren't high-schools like in the USA.

School starts for Scottish kids in primary one. This is the equivalent to elementary school, in other places. Usually kids are around 4 or 5. Primary school lasts until P7, which is the equivalent of year 7 in England. You would be 11 in P7.

After primary school there is no middle school. It is straight to secondary school, in S1 (equivalent to year 8). Secondary school is basically middle school and high-school combined. You're there from 11-ish until you're ready for college.

Secondary school lasts from S1 (yr8) until S6 (yr13).

The Scottish education system is much different than in England/Wales and Northern Ireland, so here's some things that will explain it better than I can:

National 5 is pretty much the equivalent to GCSE, which are exams taken in the rest of the UK when you finish school. In the rest of the UK, once you've done your GCSES, you can go onto complete your A-levels, which is basically just a higher qualification.

A-levels are equivalent to Scottish Highers.

You do your National 5s in your last year, and then can go onto do higher education.

In Takin Over the Asylum, Campbell is 19 (I believe), and his father says he has not finished his exams, and wants him to go back to school.

I'm assuming the education system was generally the same in the 90s, and working off of that assumption. If it was not, then this is a waste of your time, but oh well.

Either Campbell did not complete his National 5s at 15-16ish, or his father is pushing him to finish his higher education. I think both options are interesting, when it comes to possible headcanons or fanfiction ideas. Either Campbell struggled with his (basically GCSEs) and was unable to complete them, having no qualifications at all, or he did complete his exams, has some qualifications but his father wants him to do more, finish his education and strive to achieve more.

I like to headcanon that he really struggled in school despite being bright and well-able. He always seemed to get in trouble when he didn't mean to, probably for being too loud, energetic and "disruptive", in a way that the teachers didn't understand to NOT be him misbehaving.

Most of this is just food for thought, really, and a wee bit,,, entirely useless, but I thought it was a bit interesting.

Again, feel free to correct me in the replies. I am but a simple Northern Irish David Tennant fan, who wants to help people feel more confident writing fanfiction, for my own selfish desires.

Hope this was somewhat helpful to someone out there!

[princesspumpkinseed]

Throughout my university education, I tried incessantly to be a good student and I took pleasure in inflating my marks. Despite being one of the few students not having studied pure maths at A-Level, I almost exclusively achieved firsts (only once achieving a 2:1 in French, which I then improved the following year) and finished my undergraduate degree in Maths with awards for my high grades and requests from my teacher to continue my studies for the sake of science. Now that the memory of Bristol is becoming more and more distant, I want to tell you, reader, how I did that.

Imposter syndrome

Before you’ve even started studying, imposter syndrome might set in. Don’t let the doubts about whether you deserve to be in your institution block your path. I remember thinking that everyone else had studied further maths; that maths was what the other students dedicated their lives to (while I just liked it enough); that my occasional lack of comprehension was proof that I got into this university on a whim and I was not as worthy as the other students. To those thoughts, I invite you to reply “Let’s see how far I can go with this.” If you really did get into an amazing university with students who are supposedly superior to you then let’s see how much you can take from this university: how many classes and mentally stimulating problem sheets, how many afternoons in your cherished campus until they realise that you’re not supposed to be there. Try your damndest to keep up and maybe you’ll surprise yourself and find that that drive is exactly what is going to keep you where you where you want to be. If you’re not supposed to be there: cash in.

Alternatively, maybe you got into a university which you think you’re too good for. Prove it. If you’re too good for this uni, then get a first and have them begging you to do a PHD. I dare you.

Come back to it later

When starting university, you need to build skills as well as learn content. You know how to memorise the notions and how to apply the formulae – you’ve been using this kind of skill since GCSE – but building analytical skills or learning to write elegant proofs cannot be done in an evening or with a pack of flash cards. When learning to write proofs, I recommend to you to write out the teacher’s proofs and annotate the relevance or each sentence. I also used to break down big proofs into the function of each paragraph and then imitate it afterwards. You could also use this approach for applied maths: note the techniques used at each stage of a response at the side of the page and then try to do it yourself. Remember, though, that you a building a skill and this will take effort and repetition. If you’re not quite getting it on Tuesday, give it a good go (at least 20 minutes of actively trying to understand a method or a style) and then come back on Wednesday. You might not be used to having to leave something unfinished for the evening but Rome was not built in a day and your first year is essential for building a good foundation so use your time generously for your study.

PS. A small proof tip I have is to define any theorems you’re going to use in your introduction and then you won’t forget how you were planning to tackle the problem and you won’t need to define them later, which will improve your flow.

Previewing Content

I didn’t consistently read the lecture notes before class started but when I did I felt rather proud of myself. I knew what was coming up in the lesson and therefore like I had an advantage over other students and if something didn’t click when I was reading, sometimes simply the teacher’s intonation would clarify all of it. A quick glance over the content (not necessarily absorbing any of it) is all it takes to feel smug and curious before the lesson even begins.

Conversely, consolidating content.

If you didn’t understand the lesson, the best thing you can do is actively review the lecture notes. Explain them aloud or write them out in a conversational tone as if you were explaining it to yourself. In maths in particular, this can render the abstract more intuitive and allow you to manipulate concepts more easily. Throw in an example or two if need be, to concretise your understanding.

Also, find some chums to discuss with after class. Even if you just complain about a homework problem, chatting with a friend can make topics more memorable. Don’t be shy about not getting something: your friend may rephrase the content and turn out to be a better teacher than the initial lecturer. So complain, rant, explain, or just make jokes about the lesson, and this might contribute to the community in your course simultaneously.

Taking this further, be present and helpful on your course group chat around exam season! You’ll find that other people may pose questions which highlight a gap in your knowledge or that explaining to another solidifies your own comprehension.

Even after your course ends, it could be nice to honour what you have learned using books and documentaries. I read Alex’s Adventures In Numberland after my maths degree just for the nostalgia and I ended up adding some niche trivia to my expensive education. Your knowledge should inspire you and stimulate you, not stress you out.

Be a teachers’ pet: you paid for it.

In first year, I frequented teachers’ office hours and I’m glad I did because receiving maths through verbal and illustrative demonstration helps me to surpass the abstract words on the page. If you have a quick query, don’t be afraid to send an email or chat with the teacher after the lesson. Put up your hand to ask or answer questions - sitting at the front might make this less scary since you can’t see all of the other students. These teachers are experts in their field so interact with them and enjoy their thought-provoking conversation – use it to nourish your own curiosity and to motivate yourself to make them proud. Many a time, teachers sent me extra articles or books after I had expressed a curiosity or lack of understanding to them and thus I have resources to further my study despite having graduated.

Better than knowing the content, know the teacher’s style.

I noticed when doing functional analysis past papers that there was always a question requiring a certain technique following a question requiring another technique: this knowledge was indispensable in the final exam! I almost wasted time trying the wrong technique until I remembered this and then recited a perfect answer, of which previous exam papers had assured me the correctness. Knowing the teacher’s style can give you a hint about the content of the exam (where to focus your revision) and helpful insight about strategies required. As well as this, they’re a booklet of fun problems which are tailored to your competences – what’s not to love?

Concluding advice…

The above advice is applicable only when you already have a study schedule and you do what is required to you to keep up with assignments and content, but how you do this depends on your learning style, your waking hours, your extra-curricular activities, etc. I can’t give you a study plan but I can give you the above flourishes to make a good routine even more effective and I can leave you with some final advice: don’t lie to yourself. Don’t tell yourself that something is good enough when you don’t think it will get you what you want. Sometimes you just don’t get things and you may need to take a jog or go to the bathroom to think about it with a clear mind or sometimes you don’t have the time to waste on a single problem when other assignments are urgent – that’s okay, but give yourself the best chance of getting it right by beginning it early and prioritising your study first and foremost. Don’t hope for a grade, work for it: effort is much more dependable than chance.

[gentlehue]

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ cynthia's rest of 2024 wellness challenge: day one crossed off tasks are ones i've done!

୨♡୧ wake up between 7-9am every day, sleep between 9pm-12am every night

୨♡୧ some form of movement every day

୨♡୧ at least one full bottle of water every day

୨♡୧ journal at least once per day, preferably twice

୨♡୧ read a book at some point in the day

୨♡୧ consume some form of educational media once per day

୨♡୧ no technology an hour before your intended bedtime

୨♡୧ try to do at least one kind deed per week

୨♡୧ no negative self talk/self deprecating jokes/negative talk or gossip about others

୨♡୧ no screen time above five hours

notes 𐙚⋆°.⋆

included the screen time as proof because i feel the need to for some reason LOL 😭😭 you can tell it was bad on monday damn

very very proud of myself today since i completed 9/10 of these!!!! completely forgot the last one tbh

helped my sister w a gcse maths question & was very shocked i acc remembered how to do it i feel like i erased all memory of gcse content as soon as i finished

also someone remind me to show u guys a book quote i have written in my journal tmr because i love it so much!!! (only journaled once today forgot to do it in the morning 😫)

anw logging off now will probs be reading for the rest of the night, love you guys sooo much 😚

[yourstrulyarrow]

i'm gonna get no responses to this but if anyone reads this and likes giving advice PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

so i just finished my GCSEs, and i can't decide which school i want to do A-levels at (for non-brits: did qualifications after turning 16, U minimum grade, 4 pass grade, 9 max grade. i can't decide what school to go to for my pre-uni qualifications). doing psychology, biology, maths, and further maths.

OPTION A: my current school. i'm pretty out about being trans, and although i went around asking teachers to use different pronouns for me 2-3 years ago, most don't because they keep forgetting (i don't pass, and the picture of me on the school register they see every day is when i was 11 and very fem-presenting). i have 1 teacher that uses they/them for me (i only use he/him pronouns, they/them is ok because it's not she/her, but i don't like it much). they were okay with my name change, but my school email has my deadname's initial since you can't change an email. i haven't gotten a response yet about whether i can have a new email for sixth form (i'll update when i do). they have zero clue what a trans person even is, they "officially" think i'm non-binary (i'm not, i'm a binary trans guy) but zero teachers were informed of this hence the issue with pronouns. my head of year didn't know i'm trans, and he was awkwardly trying to not offend me by "not assuming" i'm trans. i've been there 5 years and i generally have not had a very nice time, BUT they did let me use the disabled changing room rather than forcing me to go with the girls or the guys back when PE was mandatory (in year 11 they let everyone change in the toilets/whenever during lunch, so no issues there). they're understanding and sympathetic i think, just a bit ignorant. they refused to let teachers sign my deed poll to avoid "getting between [me] and [my mum]", despite using my preferred name in all correspondence anyways (so if there was a problem they would know... ironically all correspondence misgenders me). they give year 12s/13s detentions (which i disagree with... if a sixth former is late or doesn't do their homework that is THEIR PROBLEM and they should be left to deal with the consequences. if they're not responsible enough...), don't let sixth formers attend only for lessons (i.e. 8:30am start even if you don't have lessons until 9:50am or 11:30am, can't leave if you don't have a lesson. can leave for lunch but not break, and only once you gain permission). their school counsellor found about about my mother's abuse of me, and decided to get a social worker called to my house, creating huge problems for me, and when the social worker decided the situation was "resolved", she decided to send the document with EVERYTHING I SAID ABOUT MY ABUSIVE MOTHER... *TO MY MOTHER*. it was hideous. i really really like the maths teacher here, the way he explains things is top-tier, but i'm not guaranteed to get him. i'm attached to the psychology teacher (and she's very lovely, i've had issues with splitting where i swap between "she's my mother" (positive, as in "i wish i was her kid") and "she's the worst teacher and a backstabber i hate her". but after some careful analysis i was greatly overreacting, she's amazing). i like my biology teacher (also not guaranteed to get him, he's very nice though and he likes me and is supportive of me being trans!!). they also have 1 trans teacher (i think he does maths) who could be helpful to me when i do my EPQ, as i'm definitely going to do it on some kind of transgender topic. i'd also have already-established friends, i'm okay with most of the girls with my year but a lot of the guys don't like me much (trans and i was very annoying when i was 11 and they never forgave me). the guys who are chill with me are mostly going to option c school :(

OPTION B: school near-ish me with same sort of grades as current school. they're about the same grades-wise and in terms of oxbridge offers (i want to go to cambridge). their psychology spec is the same as my gcse psychology spec, which you'd think is a net positive but oh dear lord it is so boring. i don't want to re-learn some gcse content. we had our induction day and i don't like the psychology teacher :(. also i got called out for being autistic as fuck (not diagnosed, but peer-reviewed) in our induction day session because she made us do a thing about recognising facial expressions and i got it completely wrong. it made me feel really shit and stupid because i'm not diagnosed or anything ://. i also don't really vibe with the biology teacher, the maths teacher seems chill though. this school is a LOT bigger than my current, and they have a whole separate building/cafeteria/etc. for sixth formers. good because it means i dont have to see the little kids but also there's wayyy more people, kinda scary :/. also i have 1 friend who says she'll go to either option a or b depending on where i go so we can be together (if i choose option c, she'll go to a as one of our other friends is going to a). they have really good lab facilities for the sciences though so i'm not sure?? also public transport is better to there, but distance is similar to option a. big thing for me driving me to consider this school is they have a "transition policy" for trans kids, they know what transgender means, they have a whole system, they understand having the wrong name on exams and stuff can be distressing, etc etc.

option c: amazing school, slightly far. ok so omg i REALLYREALLY want to go to c but the problem is my first mock grades weren't good enough :(( 999988876 + L2D (btec is in business). in last mock, i got 999999996 + L2D. also a distinction in english speaking. so clearly i'm academically capable enough to go there, right?? the 6 is in art, i recently got my raw mark back and it's an 8 (1 mark off a 9). my coursework for business i got 107/120, that's not amazing but i think i can maybe maybe get a L2D* in it anyways? they don't have a very casual atmosphere, it's very much study study study, but i don't mind because the school gets such amazing grades. really good maths department, but they make kids learn all of maths a-level in year12 and then all of fm a-level in y13 (if doing both), treating it as 1 combined a-level. routinely 20+ oxbridge offers every year. a few of my friends are going to option c as well, including a guy who got about the same grades as me in the first mock but lives closer so he got n offer :(. no policies on trans kids so i don't know how they are in this regard. i don't have an offer for this school, i'm on the waitlist, but ppl who got rejected were told if they email on results day with much higher outcome grades than their application, they can get in (subject to spaces left). so there's a small chance if i get all 9s and an 8 or something maybe i can go there??? i'd have to basically get on my knees and beg though.

so anyways, option a, b, or c, and why??

[correctpathos]

Learning to Draw #1 - :)

My Manifesto that will be read as I lay destruction to The Works

I'm in my late 20s. I'm doing this because I can't find anyone else showing a similar process as a genuine sucky beginner. I used to draw a bit in my early teens. Slated for greatness at my art GCSE, a master of using the ruler for two-point perspective, I could achieve an 'A' they said - if I chose it - and I bet you're wondering how I got here... At home I drew my favourite anime characters. They weren't good, but whatever. I drew Itachi from Naruto and was so happy with this one that I took it to my parents to use their scanner. I subtly wanted to show it off, but I said I thought it would be cool if I scan it and colour it in on my cracked version of Photoshop CS5.

All I remember is they both saw it and had a good laugh at Itachi's hand. "It looks like E.T - 'phone home'". I didn't colour it in, and don't think I drew anything after that. The GCSE Art I took was bizarrely thin on teaching theory/skills and more about trying out a variety of creative mixed media - textured collages, pottery, and the like. I didn't draw a single thing and somehow achieved a B.

So anyway, I kept wishing I knew how to draw. Not as a professional or anything. Just enough to convey a sketch of an idea on the page that didn't look weird. What inspired me to pick it up again was some of the artwork in the RPG book for 'Warlock'. Thought it was rad as fuck. Wish I could do that.

Figuring out how to do this has sucked so much ass. So many 'beginners' post absolutely passable drawings to undermine your confidence, or they bait you in and say "yeah, I'm learning to draw...I stopped a few years ago when I finished up with Sistine Chapel". Fuckers. One egregious example was on the 'learntodraw' subreddit where someone said their husband started drawing a 'week ago', presenting a near photo-realistic image. Later admitting after backlash that their husband had only just started 'taking it seriously this week, but has drawn before'.

All the other guidance essentially consists of happy-go-lucky 'just draw :)' or locked-in 'drawing is like working out, put the reps in'. In-between are mentions of 'the fundamentals' but the best way to learn these are???

A few months ago I attempted 'Draw a Box'. I gave up because I'll be honest, it is incredibly boring to spend your evenings drawing 250 boxes, cylinders, and then once you finally think you're onto the interesting stuff you get asked to do several pages of arrows. I still hadn't drawn anything apart from basic shapes.

The structure was good for me though, so I thought let's buy an online art class. The course recommends joining their community and sharing your first work, which you must draw 'from your mind'. Here is Chroknight. This took approx 2 hours of really trying. This was still attempting to incorporate ideas about perspective and breaking down shapes I had heard about from Draw a Box. So this probably shows a month of learning. This is what I want to see when I look for a beginners journey.

I did this for a bit and drew some heads before becoming so fucking angry at the entire process. "People can be broken down into very basic shapes - squares, circles, triangles". Yet what really happens is a lot of complex rules around curving, avoiding tangent lines, and so on. I watch as the 'forms' get drawn in and say "okay, how the fuck do you make that look like a person?". My forms were often weirdly askew so I tried to correct them. The heads just don't look right. I was really struggling to spot that my forms were so wrong that it wasn't until I got to the details or the end that I was like "oh, wow this is really off". People who can draw say "just make sure your forms are correct first", and I get it - but often I can't tell until I start putting features on.

I know they're not like if you just picked up a pencil for the first time. This was around 2-3 months of learning. I was really feeling angry and impatient that after drilling facial features and head forms that they still looked so weird and were taking a significant amount of time to draw. Each of these took at least an hour. Could've watched X-Files.

"This is why an understanding of anatomy is so important" the instructor says on their demo. Proceeding to practically, to my untrained eye, ignore their forms and freely draw 'skin lines' to indicate anatomy. How do I do that? "Study anatomy". The assignment for this part of the course is to draw each body part 'until memorised'. More grinding. I was too angry and couldn't face it.

So here I am a few months on. I am going to restart the course and actually begin 'grinding'. Drawing regularly, from reference, whatever. I am banning myself from artist YouTube videos about how they learn because these people are already great and their advice amounts to variations of studying/grinding or even worse "learning to love art again". I am also leaving the communities full of people posting things I can only aspire to and saying "any feedback UnU?", "why do I suck? :(".

x

[neil-neil-orange-peel]

Xmas Fanfic Plug Alert 🚨

Ho ho ho! 🎅 With it once again being the season of long, cold nights and shopping stress (and a bit of festive cheer, too, for the kids), I thought I'd take the opportunity to shamelessly plug this little old fanfic I once wrote and have since never shut up about:

After the deaths of his parents, Rick certainly isn't looking forward to Christmas this year. Nothing and no one can put him off his misery - not even Vyvyan, whose relationship with Rick has changed monumentally since the near-fatal bus crash. The house's only chance at a happy Christmas has somehow fallen into the hands of a certain imaginary friend. Hopefully, Fred knows what he's doing...

A Bastard's Carol is, unsurprisingly, a Young Ones parody of A Christmas Carol. Well, I say a Young Ones parody - there are characters from across the Rik 'n' Ade 'verse running amok in this. I wrote it in 2019/2020, a time period now an almost scary number of years away from us.

Don't get me wrong, ABC is by no means worthy of comparison with the work of the great Charles Dickens (or the work of the great Rik Mayall and the great Ade Edmondson, either). Yes, it is overwritten (why'd you think it ended up double the size of A Christmas Carol?); yes, it features too much interiority (Rick is one of my darlings okay); and, yes, maybe sticking to the five stave format, thus ensuring some of the chapters hit 15K, when I was writing for people whose attention spans meant they'd ditched traditional novels for fanfiction was a bit of a mistake (love you guys).

But that all being said...

It was written with love, and passion, and a quite large dollop of staying-up-'til-the-sun-rises-to-get-this-next-bit-finished-damnit. Despite its imperfections - and there are many - I am still proud of it. I wrote it for me, but I also wrote it for this fandom as it existed at the time. As I said above, 2019 was a while ago, especially in fandom terms (back in the B.C. years), and I'm sure most Young Ones fans on Tumblr now have new and vastly superior fanfic to get stuck into. I'm just offering ABC up to you this December as a ghost of scumbags past, if you like.

I know I've slagged it off a bit, but seriously: there's at least one person who read it and had their GCSE-fuelled hatred for A Christmas Carol somewhat overturned by it.

And it's got Rick and Vyv being gay. I probably should've started with that...

Happy Holidays! ❤️