#remember when teachers told you to look it up in the dictionary

[gildedphoenix]

It's ok, I can't spell nusense either :)

*boop*

You know it's bad when even spell check is like, "Um, do you mean -

[morgana-larkin]

Hey! saw u asking for prompts. I REALLY LOVE ur fic 'worth it'!

Anyway, can you write a fic based on '' we get married in our heads'" "I miss you on a train" and 'I think about you' basically based on About You by The 1975. Maybe mel and r have met in Italy, when they're both in vacation. Became real close or something but never really did talk and pursue what was really going on between them because both are scared, then they part ways and never had contact with each other 'cause they thought it's better that way, until reader arrives at abbott as the new teacher not knowing she'll see the redhead again

Hey, thank you for the prompt! I’m glad you’re liking Worth It. I hope you like this, it has a lot of angst because apparently my brain deemed it necessary but a happy ending.

Don’t Let Me Go

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Sad Mel (yes this is a warning because I don’t like it when she’s upset)

Words: 3.6

Beautiful green eyes stare back at you in your mind. You just got back from Italy where you were teaching a child English during the summer and that’s where you also met her, Melissa Schemmenti. She was visiting some family members of hers during summer vacation for 2 months.

You still remember meeting her. You were sitting on the patio of a coffee shop reading an Italian- English dictionary so you can help teach the child better. She saw you sitting there and thought you were beautiful, sitting there, with some sunglasses on, a smile on your face and the sun hitting you, making it look like you’re glowing. She decided to walk up to you and start conversation.

“That book makes you stand out as a tourist.” She told you and you looked up at her and saw those eyes, those green eyes that you still think about in your mind.

“Well I think the book and the fact that I’ll look completely clueless if someone talks to me in Italian will make people know I’m a tourist.” You replied back to her and she laughed. A laugh that you think about constantly that you hear in your mind.

You and Melissa became friends after that, you went out to places together and she showed you the places that Italy had to offer. You learned that she was a teacher as well and that she lived in Philly. You both talked about everything and told each other all about yourselves. And in the 2 months of you two knowing each other, you both became attracted to each other, although neither of you mentioned it. And then when the time came for both of you to go back home, you both decided it was best to cut contact, since you won’t see each other again.

“Are you sure?” You asked her and she nodded.

“I had a great time with you these past 2 months but we’re not going to see each other again so why keep contact?” She said and you nodded. “It’s for the best.”

5 years later…

You recently just moved from New York to south Philly. You were on a train, just coming back from picking up the last of your things from your parents house in New York that you gave to them to keep for you. You were listening to music when you saw someone with red hair walk on and then you thought about her, the beautiful Italian woman you met 5 years ago during the summer. You still think about her of course, and wondering if you should have told her how you felt before you parted ways.

The next day you wake up, you’re starting your new job as Abbott Elementary’s new 3rd grade teacher. You walk into the entrance of the school and went to the main office to get your badge and classroom key. As soon as you walked you ran into someone. You went to go apologise to the person, but as soon as you looked at them you froze. It was her, the woman who still sometimes occupies your thoughts and dreams.

“Melissa?” You say to her quietly, in disbelief that she was right here in front of you. Melissa was just as shocked as you were, and then you looked into those green eyes that you only saw in your dreams now and they made you feel safe.

“Y/N?” She said back to you, just as quietly. “Wha-what are you doing here?” She asked you.

“I-I’m the new 3rd grade teacher.” You stuttered out. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a 2nd grade teacher here, have been for many years now.” She said.

Before either of you can say anything else you get interrupted. “Hey Melissa, can I talk to about the curriculum we got this year I have a couple of questions.” A younger teacher said to her. And then she saw you. “Oh hi, are you a new teacher here?” She asked you.

“Ya my name is Y/N Y/L/N, the new 3rd grade teacher.” You tell her and hold out a hand for her and she shook it.

“Oh how lovely to meet you! My name is Janine Teagues. I’m a second grade teacher here like Melissa here.” She told you.

You left Melissa and Janine to talk and you went to your classroom to set up before the kids get here in 30 minutes. You didn’t get the chance to do it the week prior as you were in the middle of moving and the principal said it’s fine and just emailed all the information that you needed to know.

You were putting up some fun posters with the help of a stool when she walked in without you realising it.

“Y/N?” She said. You didn’t know she was there so it took you by surprise and you fell off the stool face first. She caught you, of course, and when you realised she did, you opened your eyes and saw hers staring at you. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” She said and let go of you when you found your footing.

“It’s alright, you caught me so it’s fine, no harm done.” You told her and walked over to your desk to organise some papers. “Was there something you needed?” You asked her. You tried to seem calm on the outside instead of freaking out like you were on the inside. The truth is that you missed her. You missed her as a friend. You only knew each other for 2 months but you became really close and even knowing that you only had 2 months, feelings had to of course get in the way.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” She said and when you looked up at her, she looked hurt. Hurt about what? You don’t know. Melissa was trying to be neutral about this, you both thought it’d be better to cut contact before you parted 5 years ago. And in that 5 years, she never forgot you, and seeing you again, she realised how much she missed you. She remembered showing you around, walking and running around, hand in hand, smiling and laughing. She thought about finding you constantly, she could have asked one of her guys to find you and they would have, but that scared her. She became attracted to you in those 2 months and she never told you, she knew you’d never like her back the way that she likes you. She knew you were attracted to women, but she thought you’d never be attracted to her.

“Well considering that we said it would be better to not have contact with each other when we parted, then I can see why you thought that.” You said coldly and she was taken aback by that. The truth is that while you were excited to see her again, it was originally her idea to cut contact, and she convinced you that it was for the best. And now here she is talking to you after she so easily left you behind. “Look Melissa, I don’t know what you want but, we became friends in Italy but we haven’t spoken in 5 years because you thought that would be for the best.” You told her and she nodded looking guilty. “So I think it would be best if we continue that way.” You told her and it hurt to tell her that but you have to protect yourself against her. She hurt you 5 years ago and while you wanted to be her friend again like before, she might just hurt you again. You’re not going to take that chance again.

Melissa’s heart broke a bit at you telling her that. She missed you and wanted to see if she could reconnect with you again. But if you don’t want to then she can’t force you. “If that’s what you want.” She told you and you looked at her.

“I think it’s for the best.” You said simply. Repeating the same words she told you before you left to the airport, leaving your heart in pieces and regret for not telling her how you feel. And while your feelings for her never left, you’re still not going to tell her, you won’t give her any chance to hurt you again, to break your heart, once was already enough. At that Melissa nodded and left.

And it seems the universe hates you as Melissa’s room was across the hall. You took a deep breath and continued getting ready before you went to go meet your new students.

You walked outside as students were lining up as they found who’s going to be their teacher this year. Someone called you over and told you to stand where they are so they know where to bring students that were going to be in your class. The universe had it out for you as you were told to stand 4 feet away from Melissa. You both did your best not to look at each other but every few seconds, one of you did.

At one point the sun hit you the exact same way it did when she first met you and the way it hit you again when she took you on a picnic to a beautiful park she knew. She thought you looked beautiful in the sun dress you wore, how it fit your body perfectly and your hair glowing in the sun. After you finished your meal you both layed down on the blanket and looked at the clouds in the sky and just enjoyed each other’s presence. And at one point you took her hand in yours and she turned to look at you, only to find you looking back at her with a smile. And she just layed there, looking into your eyes with a smile, the sun hitting your face, making you look like you’re glowing, like an angel.

It broke her heart that you wanted nothing to do with her now but she understood, she had basically told you that on that very sad day, when you said goodbye to each other, thinking it was for forever. Melissa was used to cutting people off, but it still hurt her when she did. Since you decided that you want the both of you to ignore each other, then that’s what she’s going to do. But she couldn’t stop a smile from forming when you were greeting some of your students with a huge smile.

Unknown to Melissa, Barb happened to look over at Melissa looking at you. She saw her looking at you with a sad smile and longing in her eyes. Barb heard your name being called and that’s when she put 2 and 2 together. Melissa told her about the woman she met on her vacation in Italy 5 years ago whose name was Y/N Y/L/N. And now here she was, the new teacher at Abbott. And from the look Melissa was giving you, Barb thought that seeing you again didn’t go well, since it seemed you were ignoring her. Barb decided that she’ll talk to Melissa at lunch.

The morning went by and Melissa kept looking across the hall to your classroom. She saw how you were with the kids and it warmed her heart. She saw how gentle you were, how you talked to them with a smile, and paid complete attention to them when they talked to you. She felt like she made a mistake letting you go 5 years ago but she thought that you would go and live your life and leave her behind in the end if you kept contact.

Lunch came and like always, Barb met Melissa in her classroom before they went to the break room together. But this time when Barb walked in, she closed the door after making sure it was only her and Melissa in the room.

Melissa heard the door close and saw Barb standing there giving her a look. “What?”

“So am I correct in assuming that the new 3rd grade teacher is the same one you met in Italy 5 years ago?” Barb said, straight to the point. And the sigh and look she gave was all the answer she needed.

“Ya, the same one.” Melissa said defeated.

“And I’m also guessing that meeting her again didn’t go well.”

“She said she wanted nothing to do with me. And used the exact same words I said to her 5 years ago when she asked me if I was sure I wanted to cut contact with her. That it’s for the best.” Melissa sighed and put her elbows on the desk and her head in her hands.

“Melissa…” Barb started but was interrupted by the redhead.

“I missed her Barb, I knew I did but after seeing her again, I realised how much I missed her. Even after 5 years I never forgot her. How is it that we spent only 2 months together and I still think about her 5 years later?” Melissa said, and her voice cracked at the end. Barb could tell she was on the verge of crying.

“Even spending a short time with someone can leave an impact on you. It’s not always the amount of time together but the quality of the time you spend together.” Barb says and Melissa looks up at her , with red eyes. “Oh sweetheart.” Barb says and goes over and hugs her, and that’s when Melissa starts crying. Melissa never told her but Barb knew she developed feelings for the Italy girl. “Have you told her how you feel?” Barb asked after Melissa stopped crying.

“No. Why would I do that?” Melissa asks like the reason was obvious.

“Because maybe she feels the same and that’s why she’s avoiding you.” Barb says and Melissa freezes. She didn’t think about that. But as always Melissa declines it, deeming it impossible.

But the week goes by and Melissa can’t stop thinking about that. She thought about it more and more and the only thing she wanted was to be near you. But during the week, you did everything you could to avoid her. You never put anything in the fridge and you always come in with your own coffee so you never have to go in the break room in the morning. You avoid any possible eye contact when you’re both standing at the doorway, greeting your students. At lunchtime you eat in your classroom or in your car. At the end of the day you don’t look at her and you leave before Melissa does. And when you pass each other in the hall, you don’t even look her way. She sees you talking to other people though, you and Jacob seem to take a liking to each other as you guys have a lot of the same interests. She’s seen you talk to Barb at the beginning of the week but then you found out her and Barb were best friends so you haven’t talked to Barb since.

Before she knew it, one week goes by, then another, and another, and then it was Halloween morning and by some miracle, it was on a Friday this year. Melissa came in dressed as the scarlet witch and of course she saw you checking her out. You came dressed as Captain Marvel. Of course you both had to pick someone from the same universe. Melissa thought you looked amazing in the costume. It’s safe to say that while you were checking Melissa out, she was also checking you out.

And when hell broke loose and the teachers had to find baby thanos, you and her got paired together. While you were walking in the halls together, she kept looking at you. She wanted to talk to you and she had the perfect opportunity too, but she didn’t know how to start.

“Would you stop looking at me please.” You told her, well I guess you started it.

“Sorry, I want to talk to you though.” She said and you looked at her.

“That’s interesting, because 5 years ago you told me that we shouldn’t talk to each other again.” You countered.

“I made a mistake.” You looked at her a bit shocked. She certainly got your attention now. “I shouldn’t have suggested that we stop all contact. I regretted telling you that right away. I thought about looking for you, multiple times but I never did.”

“Why didn’t you? Why did you suggest cutting contact if you regretted it?” You asked her, and she dragged you into the nearest classroom and closed the door.

“Because I got scared Y/N. I got scared of how I felt about you. I didn’t just think of you as a friend, well I did at first but then I got feelings for you. And I knew that if we kept contact then eventually you’ll find someone else and live your life and leave me behind. I didn’t want you to hurt me when that happens so I decided that it would be best if we forget each other. But it backfired, because I never forgot you, I thought about you constantly.” Melissa said, and she got a bit choked up trying not to cry. “And then when we bumped into each other after 5 years, all I wanted was to reconnect with you and tell you how sorry I was for letting you go. But when I tried you wanted nothing to do with me and it broke my heart when you said that.” A tear fell down her cheek and her eyes were rimmed red.

You looked at her after her confession, whatever you thought she might have said that, that was not it. You didn’t know what to say, your brain processed everything she said. “You had feelings for me?” You said, and Melissa looked up into your eyes and saw that you looked hurt, the same look you had when you two said goodbye to each other.

“Have actually, I still have feelings for you, they never went away like I thought they would.” She confessed and you were shocked.

“I have feelings for you as well.” You confessed.

“You-you do?” She asked, not believing it to be true.

You nodded. “That’s why I thought it would be best if we stayed away from each other. It hurt when you told me that we shouldn’t speak to each other again. So when I saw you again, I was excited to see you again and then I remembered the pain from you leaving me behind so easily. I didn’t want to get hurt again. So I thought that I would spare myself the pain in the future and just not talk to you now. I regret not telling you how I felt then, but I thought you wouldn’t feel the same way because you’re…well… you know, you’re u. You’re so amazing and sweet and gorgeous, you could have anyone you want. You told her.

“Anyone except you, I could have anyone except the person I actually want.” She said with a tear rolling down her cheek. “If I told you 5 years ago how I felt then I could have had you, but I guess I missed my chance.”

“Who said that was your only chance?” You asked her and she looked at you confused. You walked up to her and wiped away the tear that’s rolling down her cheek. Her breath hitched when you did that, she wanted to get close to you again for almost 2 months now and to think it might happen, she just couldn’t think right now. She wants to respond, to make up for lost time, she doesn’t want to fuck it up and lose you again.

“Are you saying that you’re still willing to be with me?” She said and you nodded.

“I constantly thought about you as well, and you ended up in my dreams at night too. Almost like you were haunting me.” You joked and Melissa let out an airy chuckle. You touched your forehead with hers as you both basked in the happiness you felt of being near each other again.

“Y/N, I missed you so much, I regret ever letting you go.” You pulled back and cupped her cheeks.

“Then don’t let go now.” You told her and she wrapped her hands around your wrists while your hands were still cupping her cheeks.

“I won’t, I’m not going to make that mistake again.” And with that you leaned in and kissed her. She kissed you back almost immediately. You both felt safe , you felt at home. She moved her hands from your wrists and laid them on your waist. While you moved them from her cheeks to around her neck.

“Well it’s about time.” Barb said, smiling from the doorway, and you both backed away and looked at her. “I convinced everyone to pair you guys up so you would talk to each other and hopefully work it out, and looks like you do.” Barb said proudly and Melissa smiled.

“Thank you Barb.” Melissa said and then looked at you and pulled you to her and hugged you. She then pulled away and looked at your eyes. “I promise I won’t let you go.” She told you and you smiled at her.

And she said the same promise to you at the end of her vows on your wedding day.

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @imaginesmultifandoms

[munsonbrackets]

Tutor Astarion

https://href.li/?https://www.youtube.com/shorts/lHIfng6qd90 IDK why this makes me feel something, but I’m not mad about it.

Like imagine being some shitstain of a student (on purpose lowkey) and Astarion having to tutor you because he’s the best in the class, which of course he is considering he is a fucking elf. Like why wouldn’t he understand Elvish and Espruar?

And at first, you were genuinely trying to appease him. Every teacher you have ever had has told you that your pronunciation is remarkable, no matter what script you spoke. Really, your accent might actually just be the only thing preventing you from failing this class. And you might also not be failing because Astarion, top of the class (fucking showoff), is tutoring you.

Truly, they could have given you anyone else, even Halsin tried to volunteer (but he was quickly shut down by the teacher). No. Your dear teacher decided to kill two birds with one stone in a very simple manner. By teaching them how to throw. Astarion seemed to severely dislike teaching others what he had so simply been raised with and you were going to probably fail this class.

And at first, you hated it as much as he did. The sneery remarks that he made, as though he was mad at your parents for not teaching you something as simple as Espruar, you would be quick to respond in an indifferent snide comment in infernal. A language that he was, funny enough, not familiar with. Which just seemed to frustrate him even further. 

But then he corrected you, he was right with his correction, but there was still something in that snappy tone and sneering face that made your heart skip a beat.

The assignment was simple, you thought. Send a letter designated to your teacher. The letters' contents could be a memory, a short trip or a fun story you had come up with. And while you were supposed to have said ‘aerister’, a teacher, instead you accidentally said ‘ageas’, a guard.

- - -

Astarion looked at you from underneath a quirked brow and a slightly open mouth as if to ponder if you had finally gone mad or maybe to silently say ‘are you stupid?’, which obviously weren’t the words that came out of his mouth. “You wish to send this letter to your guard?”

You looked back at him with the same sneer, but also intense confusion. Did ageas mean guard? You swore you remembered it meant teacher… Astarion made no effort to tell you what ‘teacher’ was, so you spoke up instead “Obviously not! I know that ageas means guard! What I meant to say was-” You furiously scrolled a couple pages in your dictionary, trying to remember what ‘teacher’ was in Elduran, “‘aethus’.”

Astarion’s face dropped into a plain old sneer, without the look of your stupidity in his mind, and you felt a shit eating grin spread across your face. You were right, you had definitely been right-

“The word you’re looking for is ‘aerister’.” He sneers out, obvious pronunciation when he says it, so that you might repeat it. But there isn’t a moment for you to speak before Astarion snickers and speaks in a playfully condescending tone- 

“Unless you wish to send this letter to a male harper, which I won’t shame you for, it just simply isn’t the assignment.”

And you feel your heart thump. One hard heartbeat that makes all of the air in your lungs metaphorically rip out of your body, makes a tingle shimmy itself up your spine to make all of your hairs stand on edge, makes your heart feel like it has beat its last.

You could feel the muscles around your eyes spasm in small, practically unnoticeable, twitches as you quickly blurt out- 

“Aerister! Anyways, are we done now?”

Before you allow Astarion to sneer something back, you start throwing your pens into their respective places and leave quicker than you ever have. You only feel the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck after you are fully out of view of his gaze. With an exit like that, he must be just feeling…something? You didn’t feel like worrying about it and you head down the hall, heading home to figure out your own thoughts before you worry about his.

[niuniente]

I’m going to tell you a past life related little thingy because why not :3

Since I was very little, I had this obsessive thought of “What would I do if I was locked in a room with no escape, and men storm in with guns and start to shoot randomly?” (mind you this is Finland, gun laws are extremely tight and controlled, and I literally grew up in a rural forest as far away from civilization as one possibly can with a family). I always came into the same conclusion; I would throw myself on the floor and pretend I’m dead and just hope for the best.

When I was 9, we started geography studies. As teacher was showing us a map of East Asia and mentioned Laos, my mind was blown. I literally yelled during the class “Laos! Oh wow, I must go there! Look, it’s Laos!”

Even as a 9yo I understood that I knew nothing of Laos - I didn’t even know such a country existed a second ago - but I had a burning desire to go there. Like, RIGHT NOW. On this second! I found it odd myself but on the other hand, I was just really excited about this discovery of Laos.

Around my teens, I was obsessed with English military words, American military, and Vietnam war movies. I wrote down from an English-Finnish dictionary all military related words I could find - while at the same time thinking that this is absurd, I don’t know why I’m doing this but I MUST do it. I watched all Vietnam war related movies I could find. I also loved guns, I still kind of do but not as much as when I was a younger.

From my childhood to my late teens, I had a white round dot on my stomach. It always confused me because it looked exactly like the scar my father has got when he fell on a motorcycle at age 19. Mine was just smaller. I wondered where I had got it as it clearly wasn’t a birth mark and if I had hurt myself, my gossip loving mother would have told me that story billions of times.

I’ve always disliked Finnish summer, especially in the country side. There’s too much foliage for my taste. I love monoculture forests the best and places where you can see really far.

In my early twenties, when I started to get more into doing readings and meditating, I once decided to see if I could pick up any past lives for myself. What I got was that I was a man during Vietnam war and I died in 1964. That’s all. Over the many years as I mulled this and tried to remember more, I started to have a feeling that I wasn’t hiding from Americans only but from my own people, too. And that there were a group of men, like me, and we needed to hide. Anyone could kill us at any time.

In my early 30′s, I had a vivid dream. I was in a room with other people. American soldiers kicked the door in (3 men) and started to aimlessly shoot at us. I threw myself on the floor on my stomach, pretending to be dead. 3 pullets hit me. I felt them. It stung. I managed to think, horrified “Oh God, I’m hit!” and the next second I was dead. I separated from my body and started to slowly float upwards, feeling really happy, peaceful and serene. Dying was really easy and simple. The dying process - getting shot - that was scary.

I counted 1+1 and concluded that my childhood obsessions were related to this past life in the 1960′s but Laos didn’t make any sense. I knew I wasn’t in Vietnam and the Vietnam war wasn’t the exact thing but I didn’t know what else it could be - nor I bothered to find out.

Recently, I was listening to a podcast of an American man. He said “Everyone knows Vietnam war but how many of you have heard of The Secret War of CIA, which happened at the same time  - except it was in Laos?”

Turns out that while Vietnam War was on, there was the Laotian Civil War in Laos! It lasted almost 20 years, from 1950′s to 1970′s - matching my death decade. Americans weren’t supposed to be there and publicly they weren’t, but in secrecy CIA and American military were involved. I didn’t know!

Suddenly, it made all sense that in the past life, I had to hide from American and my own people, and that the war wasn’t Vietnam War. It was a civil war. Why I don’t still like forests where I can’t see far as the enemy can hide anywhere in there. Sometimes I wonder if my stomach issues are due two of the bullets hitting my stomach. It’s a  very common phenomena that old injuries, especially if the cause of death, carry over as health issues, scars, birthmarks etc. to next lives.

I rarely get official solid proves from past lives as majority of our lives in the past are just ordinary and common ones. Just like you and me today. So, I’m happy about this!

I don’t think I need to visit Laos. Whatever was there has been handled in that life-time. But if I get a chance to go there as “Well, why not!” then definitely well, why not! 

[outercrasis]

Don't Be A Stranger

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Battinson) x gn!Reader

Word Count/Rating: 4.7k // PG-13

Warnings: references to canon-typical violence/injury

Summary: There's no mistaking that silhouette. It's him in your living room. The Batman.

It was pure chance. Anyone in Ms. Atwood's fourth grade class could have ended up with him as their pen pal. You're not sure you believe that the stars aligned just right or that fate was on your side anymore than it being a true, one-in-a-million fluke. Still, you're the one who ended up with Bruce Wayne as their pen pal.

You didn't know it was him at first. You were only given his first name and a non-descript address. The PO box didn't exactly scream the prince of Gotham. Sometimes you wonder if you would have treated him differently if you had known. There's a good chance you would have.

As young as you were, no one could forget the bold, block letters of the Gotham Gazette from early that September. THOMAS AND MARTHA WAYNE DEAD. The editor didn't even attempt to give it any flair. It was shocking enough on its own.

Your father had been devastated, a large supporter of Thomas Wayne's mayoral campaign. Your mother had regarded Martha as a style icon, in shambles over losing her favorite inspiration. You remember reading the byline about young Bruce surviving the ordeal, trying to comprehend what it would mean to suddenly no longer have parents.

It was news that rocked the entire city and the very next day it's all your classmates could talk about. Robbie Carter said his grandpa thought it was all a conspiracy, Monica Gibbs told you her dad was one of the first officers on the scene and that blood had been everywhere, and Avery Parker told everyone to shut up. You were glad Avery did, as the discussion had been making you start to feel queasy.

A few months later though, when your pen pal was assigned, the name Bruce didn't really click. After all, why would Bruce Wayne of all children be writing to someone in the Gotham Public School system?

Blissfully unaware of your pen pal's true identity, you wrote to him like you would have any other kid your age. You introduced yourself, telling him the important details like your favorite ice cream flavor and what you wanted to be when you were older. He was kind enough to not point out that an astronaut chef was an unlikely job.

His responses were a bit muted in comparison, but you didn't mind. It was clear Bruce was intelligent early on with his large vocabulary and varied topics. More than once you had to look up words in the dictionary or pull a reference to understand what he was talking about. Having to look things up sometimes was far better than a boring pen pal – like Andrew Clark who had a pal that only wanted to talk about a specific species of shark.

At the end of the school year with a parent's permission you could send your home address to your pen pal to keep the correspondence going. It took three days to get your mom to grant her approval and worth every extra chore you agreed to. Even more thrilling was that Bruce wanted to keep writing to you too.

Somewhere early fifth grade you figured out Bruce's real identity, not that he'd ever truly been hiding it. The pieces had been clicking together for a while but the clear mention of his bedroom in the Tower cinched it. There's only one capital T Tower in Gotham and everyone knows it belongs to the Wayne family.

You chose to not acknowledge it. Looking back on it you don't know why – it just didn't seem to make a difference. Bruce was Bruce, Wayne name attached or not.

You both kept writing consistently all the way through middle school. Considering the attention span of kids, especially pre-teens, it was a remarkable feat. From what you knew, you were the only one to keep in touch with your pen pal for so long.

For whatever reason your parents never chose to look over your letters and without a teacher's watchful eye, you could say anything. No topic was off limits. There was no judgment between you two. The bond was sacred, sharing every last thought and feeling. You normally made up for where he lacked in the feelings discussion, where Bruce had plenty of thoughts for the both of you.

High school was where things started to slip. You were caught up in keeping your grades high, extra curriculars, and the drama of who’s dating who. You’re not really sure what Bruce got caught up in – as far as you knew he didn’t even attend the posh boarding school for Gotham's elites. 

Needless to say, the established schedule fell apart a little. It certainly wasn’t once a week anymore but you did your best. Even when you didn’t get a reply for a while, you kept sending your letters. Someone had to be clearing out the PO box because none of them were ever returned.

Bruce’s letters came to a complete stop soon after graduation. It coincided with his widely-reported disappearance from Gotham, so you weren’t surprised, but it felt wrong to give up on your correspondence. A pen pal for this long shouldn’t end without a proper goodbye. 

You kept at it – the frequency of your post varying with the ups and downs of life. College brought exciting times but also a fair amount of strife. You kept Bruce up to date about everything. New friends, new partners, new addresses when you moved, celebrations of passing exams, excitement over what was on the horizon, grief at the untimely loss of your father, the burden of bills and low wages. 

While there weren’t any letters being sent in return, Bruce would find a way to pop up in your life from time to time. You’re not sure what he was up to in his world, but it was enough to know he was reading your letters. A surprise delivery of baked goods at your doorstep filled with your favorite confectionaries, a large anonymous bouquet at your father’s wake, a mystery deposit in your bank account when your bills became a bit too tight. 

You'd offer a brief thank you in your next letter, nothing that would embarrass him, but enough that it was acknowledged. After all this time you had a good idea of how to properly toe that line. 

Part of you wished for a real response. Even a short missive emblazoned on impersonal Wayne letterhead. You weren't ungrateful for his little gestures, but you missed his voice, his mind. Bruce had the most interesting way of looking at the world. You missed being privy to it – you hoped one day he would let you back in.

—

It's late when you get home. Clean-up at the volunteer shelter took longer than you expected, meaning your trip home was more nerve wracking than usual. Your apartment isn’t in the Narrows, but that isn’t saying much. Gotham isn’t the kind of city to have a truly “safe” neighborhood – the promise of violence just varies from borough to borough. You’d say yours provides an even 50/50 shot.

The mostly-empty subway cars are uninviting despite being the fastest and safest option. With less bodies crammed inside the tubes it means your chances of being targeted go up. Every squeak of the train track seems louder, every rattle a little more threatening. You keep a tight hold on your bag. The streets themselves aren’t much better. Moonlight barely reaches the street, blocked by the thick clouds, and streetlights are inconsistent at best.

You breathe a sigh of relief when you see your apartment door. Six stories up with two locked doors between you and Gotham's nighttime streets means you can finally relax. It's not really paranoia, more so staying vigilant in a dangerous city.

You flick on your small table lamp and fall into the couch. There's an attempt to fling your bag onto the coffee table, but it hits the side and it slumps onto the floor. Not a big deal. You'll grab it tomorrow. The comfort of home settles in, nearly tempting you to close your eyes right there on the couch when your stomach growls. Food, eating, important. Right.

Rolling off the cushions, you catch a small whiff of yourself. You don’t smell bad, but you’re not sure it can be said that you smell good. Your priorities quickly become apparent. Food, shower, then sleep. Anything else is tomorrow’s problem. 

Deciding what to eat is easy when there isn’t much in your kitchen to start with. Grocery shopping was supposed to happen yesterday, but with how busy your week has been there’s been no time. Luckily, there’s still enough to scrape together a serviceable sandwich. You eat it over the sink, not wanting to deal with a dirty plate and trying to keep the crumbs contained.

By the time you finish your sandwich, your eyes are half-open. Skipping the shower until tomorrow morning is incredibly tempting, but the idea of slipping into your sheets squeaky clean just barely beats it out. 

It takes a little time for your water to heat properly, the result of aging infrastructure and a half-caring landlord. In an effort to keep yourself awake, you pull out a pen and paper and begin to scrawl a new letter to Bruce. 

It's been nearly two weeks since your last one. You've gotten through the simpler details when the water has finally heated, abandoning the letter on the kitchen counter. 

The choice to shower was the correct one. There's immediate relief standing underneath the warm spray, the stress of your day-to-day melting away. The city's grime sloughs off of you, collecting in the tub. It eventually makes its way down the drain – a clogged pipe that you can do nothing about always leads to an inch of water for you to stand in.

You're nearing the end of your shower when a noise catches your ear outside the bathroom door. You quickly write it off. With an apartment six floors up it would take a worthless amount of dedication to find a way into your place. Any smart thief wouldn't enter the apartment with a light on either. It's nothing.

Rinsing your hair, there's another louder noise accompanied by a heavy grunt. There's no mistaking that. Someone has found their way into your apartment.

Panicked, you quickly grab a towel and wrap it around yourself. If someone is going to break into your place they aren't going to catch you completely naked. Looking around the bathroom, you quickly settle on the plunger for a weapon. It's not much but definitely better than nothing. The thought of the baseball bat perfectly nestled under the edge of your bed taunts you.

The shower is still running, but your water bill is the least of your concern at the moment. If you die in the next ten minutes you won't have to pay it anyway.

Inching towards the door, you mentally walk through your gameplan. Throw open the door, plunger raised, run at the intruder yelling, and rain fury down upon them. Hopefully they'll be so shocked by your deranged appearance that they'll immediately frighten and leave.

You only manage to execute the first two steps of the plan – the shock of what you find stopping you dead in your tracks.

There's a man standing there, but it's not some random drophead like you thought. There's no mistaking that silhouette. It's him in your living room. The Batman.

Before you can really process the insanity of the situation he stumbles, landing hard on one knee. You rush over, terrified that the masked vigilante of Gotham is going to die here on your secondhand rug.

He's heavy. With more than half his dead weight falling onto you, it's a shock you don't completely buckle underneath him. 

"Come on, at least get to the couch before collapsing," you grunt, leading him over. 

His eyes are partially closed, clearly struggling to keep them open. He's breathing heavily with his suit half blown to hell. You have no idea what to do.

The most intense medical experience you have is shooting someone full of narcan to help prevent an overdose at the volunteer shelter – an experience you're not exactly eager to repeat. You weren't built for stitching up wounds and preventing infection. Clutching your towel, the realization that there is nothing you can do for him is crushing.

Water is becoming a puddle on the floor beneath you, your breaths becoming more ragged to match his with every passing moment. Something about your fear seems to awaken something in him.

"Front– pocket. Auto– injector. Thigh." Every word is a labor. It takes you a few moments too long for his words to click.

"Now."

The force of his words snaps you into action. You launch forward, frantically flipping through all his pockets to find the right one. Front pocket, honestly. He couldn't have been more vague. Eventually, your fingers wrap around something that looks similar to an epipen.

"Twist. Then–" he breathes in sharply, struggling for the next word. "inject."

You can do that you think. His armor is thick, but the fabric on his inner thigh thins a bit. With his sprawled position, it's easy to access. 

You twist the injector, watching the liquid turn royal blue before stabbing it into his thigh. He cries out slightly, his body tensing, before collapsing back into the cushions.

"Good job."

His eyes slide shut. His chest continues to rise and fall at a slow but steady pace. The mania of the last few moments washes over you, panic transforming into shock and confusion. How did Batman manage to choose your apartment out of millions? What the fuck.

You stand there looking down at him, suddenly realizing you're only in a towel and the shower is still running. A flush of embarrassment courses through you as realization crashes. There's only the barest hope you didn't flash him in all the commotion.

Drying off and changing as quickly as you can, you bring a clean rag and some warm water over to him. You're guessing whatever he asked you to inject him with is some kind of super-serum but you can't imagine being so filthy is doing any favors. The absurdity of this isn't lost on you. You're really about to clean up Batman's wounds.

It's a slow process. You take your time, periodically switching out the water. At some point you grab a different rag to clean up the torn edges of his armor as well, trying to keep everything as sterile as you can. You do your best – you're not exactly an expert at this.

Even as you clean him up it's difficult to come to terms with the fact that this is really happening. Following the aftermath of the Riddler a couple years ago, Batman went from freakish rumor to celebrated hero overnight. He still seemed more myth than real to you, but there's no question now. He is very real and seemingly very human. You hadn't been sure if the bat motif went deeper before.

You finish up and are left with the conundrum of what to do next. You're more exhausted than ever, but leaving him here just seems wrong. In the end you settle on dragging over your moon chair and grabbing a book. This isn't weird right? You're just making sure he doesn't die or convulse or something.

It was foolish of you to think you could stay awake. Between your preexisting fatigue and the adrenaline come-down, you don't make it through a paragraph before falling asleep.

—

The first few rays of sunlight streaming in your windows are what wakes you. There’s a moment of panic before registering that you’re just in your living room, safe and sound. You stretch and rub at the tight spot in your neck. Falling asleep curled up like that is never a good idea. 

Your eyes drift over to the couch and you freeze. He isn’t there. Had you imagined it all? Was last night actually some incredibly vivid dream or hallucination brought on by exhaustion? 

That’s the final straw. No more doubles that roll into volunteer shelter shifts. Your body can’t handle that toll anymore. You give another big stretch, your spine popping, and let out a small yelp when you turn to the kitchen and see Batman standing there. 

If last night seemed ridiculous then you don’t even know what to call this. What is there to say or think when the city’s masked vigilante is standing in your kitchen like he belongs there? And how the hell is he even standing after the condition he was in?

He doesn’t say anything. You’re not sure what you expected. You don’t know what to say either. It doesn’t even feel like he’s trying to psych you out or anything, he’s simply… quiet. His eyes return to your letter that he’s holding. 

“Hey! That’s private!”

You rush into the kitchen, pulling the letter out from his hands. Gotham’s protector or not, he doesn’t have the right to start reading your private correspondence. 

He doesn’t seem all that bothered by your anger. "Sorry, I probably shouldn’t read ahead."

You stare at him in slight confusion and wonder as the pieces click together. Holy shit. How did you not put it together before? It seems so obvious now – like you’re in the fifth grade again realizing your pen pal Bruce is Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne is Batman.

Bruce Wayne is Batman.

His letters stopped years ago, but you would still venture to say you know Bruce Wayne better than anyone else and it all fits. More wealth than he knows what to do with, a desire to continue his father's legacy to improve Gotham, and a deep, dark scar left on his heart all too young. 

You always imagined he would start doing some serious philanthropy work, but you suppose this is in line with that. It's not all that shocking that he wants to do it with his own bare hands. Bruce has always wanted to do things himself.

In the eighth grade he told you about a computer he was working on, going into great detail to explain its complexities. It was going to be one of the most advanced systems ever designed once he was through with it. He also mentioned offhand how he nearly blew himself up with it. Becoming Batman seems right on target with that.

What doesn't make sense is why now? Why tell you at all, this many years in? He's let Batman remain a mystery to you for nearly five years. You didn't do anything new to gain his trust.

“I um, I think I need to sit down.”

You stumble back against your countertop looking for stability. From him showing up unannounced in your apartment to this, it’s all a bit much to take in. You’re grateful Bru-Batm-Bruce doesn’t immediately intrude on your personal space, giving you room to breathe. There’s a good chance you would have fully freaked out on him if he did.

You take measured breaths, careful to not let yourself spiral. Although, if there was ever an appropriate time to do so, this would be it. This is a lot to put on anyone, especially so abruptly. The answer to why Bruce couldn’t use his incredible intellect to plan this better will evade you forever.

Once you can trust yourself to not start panicking again, you look back over at him. You have no idea what comes next. This is not how you ever imagined meeting Bruce. You thought maybe one day he would begin to write back again, leading to the decision to meet for a coffee or dinner. It seemed realistic – a bit more adult. This feels like something out of a dream.

You close your eyes again, trying to take it all in. He’s still there when you crack them back open. To be sure, you give yourself a little pinch on your arm. If Bruce finds that odd, he doesn’t say anything about it. 

Needing to do something before addressing the elephant – or rather bat – in the room, you grab a glass down and pour yourself some water. It feels strange to ignore him, so you offer you uninvited guest water as well, to which he shakes his head no. It at least feels like a semi-normal moment in all of this.

From there, you wander back to your living room, taking up an end of the couch. Bruce follows, politely letting you lead the way. You wonder if he’s told many others or if he just knows this is best for you. You have absolutely no idea of where to begin.

“Um, hi I guess,” you venture.

You’re by no means an expert in the expressions of Bruce Wayne, but you’re willing to bet that’s the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Hello,” Bruce says.

“So you uh, you’re the Batman then? I feel like I should have been able to put that together sooner.”

“I would have been surprised if you did.” You’re not certain on how to respond to that. Your shock must come across clearly on your face, because Bruce is quick to clarify. “I’ve worked hard to keep people from putting the pieces together.”

Not many must know his true identity then. You can’t say it’s surprising, given Bruce’s usual habits about divulging personal information. 

You’re not too proud to admit that sitting across from him in his full suit, even as beat up as it is, is incredibly intimidating. The reason for the bat motif evades you, but looking at him helps you to understand more. He looks large in the suit, an imposing figure by anyone’s standard. His eyes stand out against all the black in stark contrast, the icy blue pinning you in place. It makes it a bit hard to think straight.

“Would you mind um, taking off the–?” You hope you’re not overstepping. He’s trusted you with his identity, but you’re not sure if that also means trusting you with his face.

Your breath hitches as his hands move. The cowl comes off in one fluid motion. 

You’ve seen photos of him of course, even recently, but being face to face is something else altogether. The tabloids have at least one thing right. He’s gorgeous.

His hair is long and in severe need of a brush after a night under the helmet, and yet it works. There’s black makeup hastily smudged all around his eyes, maintaining the contrast of his eyes. Stubble dusts his sharp jawline, drawing your attention to his plush lower lip. You’re not sure if this has calmed your nerves or made them worse. He looks like he was just dragged out of a gutter, which for all you know he might have been, and it’s as though he stepped off the cover of a magazine.

You suddenly realize you should say something more instead of continuing to stare. “I guess I can’t pretend it wasn’t really you after all this,” you half-heartedly joke. You’re not sure if it lands.

Bruce readjusts slightly on the couch, drawing your eyes back to his injuries. Whatever serum he had you pump him full of clearly did its job. The exposed skin still looks angry, but cuts are already stitching back together and there's no longer any active bleeding.

The state of his suit is something else. It looks like he was chewed up and spit back out only to be chewed up again. Massive holes are torn clean through, numerous singe marks across his chest. He's lucky to have not lost the pocket where he was keeping that emergency vial. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, “I was a little worried you’d die on me in the middle of the night.” 

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.” You think that was meant to be comforting.

Once again, you’re not really sure where to go from here. It feels like your life has now been turned upside down from when he first stumbled into your apartment last night. Simply patching up Batman would have been plenty to deal with and process, but now you know his identity too? Calling this whole thing strange is underselling it.

It peaks your curiosity though. 

“Why now?” you ask.

Bruce's eyebrows twitch upward for just a moment. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why tell me now? You've been Batman for a while and I can hardly remember the last time you wrote to me," you explain. "There's essentially no point in telling me so why? How can you even trust me?"

You wish Bruce wasn't so hard to read. It's nerve-wracking, unable to tell what he's thinking or feeling. It's also entirely unfair, knowing that your heart is on your sleeve.

"How long have we been writing to each other?" Bruce asks. You're sure the non-sequitur has a point, so you let it slide.

"Since we were nine. Although I'm not sure the past few years count as actual correspondence." 

"It counts," Bruce asserts, “Trusting you is the easy part. I’m sure my childhood secrets would have fetched a fair price to the right reporter."

Bruce’s mention of selling his letters off is the first time the thought has ever crossed your mind. It makes sense, you suppose. There were definitely times where that extra cash would have come in handy, yet it was never something you considered. You didn't ask for Bruce Wayne as your pen pal and he didn't ask for you – who are you to betray that sacred childhood bond?

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re choosing now to tell me,” you say.

“Your address was the only one I could remember last night.”

You've never been more touched and more concerned at the same time. You caution moving slightly closer to him on the couch.

"You still didn't have to tell me," you say. Bruce looks confused, so you press on. "You woke up first. You could have easily left and told me sometime later."

"Would you have preferred that?"

You think on it for a moment. "Well I guess not but-"

"You deserved to know," he interrupts. "I came here and you cared for me having no idea who I was. The explanation was warranted."

He's not really wrong. The explanation does and doesn't make sense, but what seems to matter most is that Bruce is so certain of it. There's not a single trace of doubt – you're not sure what to do with so much confidence in yourself.

You think back to all the years of silence from him. So many years where you filled him in on nearly everything in your life while learning none about his. Any sane person probably would have stopped writing. Any sane person probably would have changed his PO box and yet, neither of you did.

Sitting across from him now on your well worn couch, you suppose you have an answer for all his unsent letters. You know what he was doing. Sure, the details are missing, but you know and for now that's plenty.

Something more significant than childhood letters are shared between you now. Neither of you are unaware of the shift.

"I need to get back," Bruce tells you. "Alfred is probably worried."

You remember the name of his childhood butler from his letters. It warms your heart to know he's still a large presence in Bruce's life. He always seemed to have the young heir's best interests at heart. 

"Will I see you again?" you ask. You desperately hope this meeting isn't bound for more years of silence from his end.

Bruce slips his cowl back on. "I'll be in touch."

You nod, watching him walk across your small apartment back towards the window. The ever-present clouds in the Gotham sky should provide enough shadow for him to sneak away undetected. He's certainly had enough practice.

Bruce is half out the window when he turns back to you and asks, "Why did you keep writing?"

You don't have to think hard about your answer and give it almost immediately. "I didn't want you to be lonely."

His mask obscures most of his face. You hope that he's touched and not offended – the thought of growing up alone in that Tower just always struck you as empty.

Bruce gives you an almost imperceptible nod and then he's gone. You hope he won't be a stranger.

A week later, there's a letter in your mailbox.

Comments & reblogs are always appreciated 💕

Tagging a few people who seemed interested:) @skeletoncowboys @green-socks @nobodys-baby-now @moonlight-prose @autumnleaves1991-blog @1800-fight-me

[vinamari]

Tokyo Revengers: Fluffvember Day 08

Fluffvember Calendar

summary: Failing grades and confession situations

character(s): Baji Keisuke

The bell had rang five minutes ago, he was still sitting in his chair waiting on the student that would supposedly tutor him. Luckily that student was his age however since Baji had failed the year he had to retake the entire courses.

While patiently waiting he continued to look through his dictionary of words. No one would even consider to believe that he was Baji Keisuke, a captain in Toman mainly because how he dressed. The nicely done ponytail and the glasses that made him look like one of those typical smart kids.

Y/n is considered smart in their own way. The teachers considered you to tutor Baji since you had done so before, and you knew Baji very well. You knew he was a delinquent. However, you just didn't expect him to dress and act like that in school. Maybe it wasn't your business though since it isn't your fault but he just seemed like someone who would pick fights with random students.

"Hey, you must be Baji I saw you in our year, nice to meet you", Y/n said watching as the dark haired male in front of them got startled. "What the hell", he said still a bit startled.

His voice sounded rough, as if he hadn't been speaking with anybody for years.

"Oh you must be blind, why else would someone introduce themselves with my name? Also I think we've met before remember?" You pointed out as he glared back at you.

"Maybe that's why you wear glasses", you mumbled while shuffling your bag.

"What did you say?", he said sounding more agitated.

It took awhile before he realized that he never introduced himself yet, "The names Baji Keisuke", he said.

"Wait a minute, Keisuke? As in like one of the captains Baji Keisuke of Toman?", you said a bit shocked. There was no way in hell this guy is that Baji Keisuke. He looked back you, "You can tell it's me?", he said bewildered.

"Yeah! You're that jackass I tutored last year for like two weeks before you dropped tutoring", you couldn't help but laugh at the situation in front of you. This guy who dressed so differently, here once again in front of you to be tutored.

It was quite funny to you, especially under these circumstances.

He scowled, "Shut up".

You laughed harder at his reaction,"I'm sorry, it's just funny that it happened like this too!".

Baji rolled his eyes, "Well whatever, can we go?". "Yeah, yeah impatient ass". You said as you snickered at his misery. After getting away from school grounds you started walking to where his house was. "It's been awhile since I've seen your mom". Y/n said while trying to think back to when they last talked to Baji's mom. "You're not wrong she asked where you went, after I told her I quit tutoring she was pissed". He couldn't help but sigh exhaustingly. "I don't wanna make her cry after I had to retake my courses because of my shit grades".

You both continued walking until you made it to his house. "Hey mom", he said taking off his shoes before entering. His mom came out from the kitchen, "Why were you so-", she stopped midway in her sentence before looking at you. "Y/n? Oh my-...it's really you, come come". She said happily as she urged you into the living room. "It's been a while since I've seen you, look at you already so different after a year". She said looking at you surprised. "Hi Ms. Baji, how are you?", you asked quite as happy as her. "I'm doing well, I'd love to chat more but I have to prepare dinner, oh and Y/n I will be happy if you stayed over for dinner", Baji's mom smiled before leaving you two alone.

"Your mom practically loves me, see how she ignored your existence after seeing me", you said snickering at him more. "Oh shut up, she was excited see you". "Sure, I'll let you believe that".

He elbowed your side at the response and went upstairs to change. After he changed into a clean shirt, he walked downstairs to find you already seated in the living room. "Ready to pass this year?", "Shut up", "Rude". He stuck his tongue out at you as he started to laugh.

"MS. BAJI, YOUR SON IS BULLYING ME", looking exasperated he shouted back, "NO I'M NOT MOM THEIR LYING", he said panicking. "BAJI, QUIT BULLYING THE ONE PERSON WILLING TO HELP YOU, I UNDERSTAND YOU LIKE THEM BUT I DIDN'T RAISE YOU LIKE THAT". She said shouting from the kitchen.

The awkward silence, before you cleared your throat. "So? You like me", as you looked at him and the kitchen that Ms. Baji was in. "This wasn't how I planned it", he said groaning as his ears turned red from the tip. "I only talked to you a few times which was last year, and then I see you after a while then this happens". "Hm, well let's get to know each other more than after some time perhaps ask me out", you suggested looking at the work in front of you. "So not a complete rejection-".

"Nope, cause your mom loves me, and you may be a complete idiot but uh-". The words were caught in your throat. "But I'm interesting and awesome?", he said as he started grinning, "Hey-...that's not what I said". "You we're implying it". "No I wasn't", you said trying to deny it. "Yes you were", "No-", "Shut up and accept it". "Okay".

"Kids come to the dining room", Ms. Baji called out. "Sure mom", Baji said back. "Same time tomorrow?", Baji asked as he stood up facing away from you. The tips of his ears were red, as well as his face this time. "Sure", you said agreeing.

That idiot was still smiling, but so were you. Who knew failing grades could lead to this.

Taglist: @maehemthemisfit @sonder-paradise @96jnie @komiyaa @scaramouchenumber1fan @linn-a-a @wisteriaflowersss @trash-panda15

[neonmeron]

月曜日　2023/9/25

月曜日　2023/9/25

こんにちは！！　みんなは元気？私はまあまあ。

I know I said I would post over the summer but I didn't. ごめん！

この夏は忙しいですが、ちょっとつまらなかった。たくさん働きたり、運転したり、ビデオゲームをした。たくさん原神インパクトをした。原神が一番好きです。

あのう、あまり日本語は勉強しなかった。韓国語と中国語も。仕事の後、疲れていた。ごめんなさい。今学期、がんばりましょう！

あのう、昨日の夜、ご飯を作ったのですが、どろどろでした。おいしくなかった。

I know we're a bit in the semester already but I missed the first two weeks because of some family stuff and I was playing catch up when I got back. i've just been so busy with work, school, clubs, etc. and then i was going through relationship drama, and was pretty depressed due to that and overworking myself BUT I will try my best to summarize what we've learned so far.　自分が大丈夫だ。（と思います。）

The major grammar points we've learned so far are

たい／たがっています

たりする

ほうがいいです

んです

すぎる

～ので

お／ご+verb stem+します

can't forget to mention the crap ton of kanji and vocab we have to learn on the daily 😀

you know the drill.... lets go over the grammar!!

So たいです／たくないですadds on to the verb stem and it means want/desire for something

I want to eat = (私は）食べたい（です）。(were gonna keep things casual)

i want to drink alcohol = お酒を飲みたい。

I want to skip class = 授業(じゅぎょう）をサボりたい。

I want to climb Mt. Fuji = 富士山（ふじさん）に登（のぼ）りたい。

I want to make a cake = ケーキを作りたい。

I dont want to learn Japanese = 日本語を習いたくない。

(for negative sentences, instead of い you put the くない。）it's the same for いadjectives so im not gonna cover it much. I think you guys can figure it out. (I believe in you!)

Pretty simple. ます form but put たい instead. EZ PEEZEE

Similarly is たがっている。 that's used when you talk about what someone else wants. If I remember correctly, my teacher told us that expressing your wants is childish in Japanese culture? I think it was something like that but i'll have to fact check that.

So, Tanaka wants to work at the library. = 田中さんは図書館で働きたがっている。

You set it up as if your about to say たい but instead of い, you say がっている。もっと練習しましょう。

母は写真を撮りたがっている。It seems my mom would like to take a picture. Both the tanaka example and mom example are correct. They pretty much mean the same thing.

Uno mas

山下先生は風邪（かぜ）をひきたがっていない。Prof. Yamashita doesnt want to catch a cold. (i looked online and through every paper I had and none specified if I used いません or some other way so were gonna go with this for now.

Again, easy peasy. Moving on.

次

たりする is used to list events. Its similar to ～て、but て is more like exact events. たり is used to describe things you did without explaining everything, if that makes sense

パリとダブリンに行ったり、買い物をしたりした。= I did things like go to Paris and Dublin and go shopping.

ケーキを作ったり、 本を読んだりした。

たり is in past て form!!

たり implies you did more than JUST going there and shopping. 分かる？instead of たい，you change the い to り and then when you finished the sentence, you can do たりする、たりした、たりします、たりしました、たりするのは／が。。。です～～～ and so forth.

次

ほうがいいです is should/should not do. Its also called “its better to do…”

You should do something: past+ほうがいいです（ね／よ）

You should not do something: present negative+ほうがいいです（ね／よ）

Por ejemplo,

You should not exercise - うんどうしないほうがいいです。

You should sing - 歌ったほうがいいです。

You should no go out tonight - 今夜出かけないほうがいいです。

You should take medicine - くすりを飲んだほうがいいです。

Its kinda confusing cause theres also どっちのほうがいいですか。which we learned last semester but i guess mean the same thing. “Its better if you do xyz”,,,, “which is better?”

We can then pair this up with んです

Lowkey, im an んです hater. Its purpose it to “add emotion”

For present verbs you do dictionary form + んです　ー　食べる＞食べるんです。

For past verbs you do short て form + んです　ー　食べた＞食べたんです。

For positive い adjectives, you simply add the んです after the い。　ー　かわいい＞かわいいんです

For negative present  い adjectives, you negate it normally and then have the んです the ない　ー　かわいくない＞かわいくないんです

For negative past い adjectives you negate it normallly かわいくなかった and simply add the the んです＞かわいくなかったんです。

For な adjectives, you add なんです。元気なんです、好きなんです、にぎやかなんです。

For past な adectives, its just 元気だったんです、すきだったんです、にぎやかだったんです。

The short form of でした.

I feel like its pretty self explanatory.

Lets combine んです and ほうがいいです

A: ああ、あたまがいたいんです…

B：じゃあ、水を飲んだほうがいいです。

See?! Super easy! 

I’m kinda running out of time so I’ll leave it at that for now. I also don't want this to get too long. Next post will have すぎる、～ので、and　お／ご and then after that I’ll finally tell you all about my summer and things happening in my life lately!! I'm so happy to finally be posting again. I've missed you, reader-chan. I finally have someone to talk to TT

じゃあ、また明日！！！＜３

今日の歌はKumi Koda - Guess Who Is Backです。(I remember listening to this song when I was a freshman in highschool. maybe it was middle school...ah, the memories..)

Notice any errors? Lmk!! I always want to fix my mistakes so I can learn better. ありがとう！

[impetuousdesigns]

Studying Japanese・日本語の勉強

日本に来る前に、ポケット辞書と日本語慣用表現集を買った。その本を読む以外、日本語を勉強したことがなかった。日本での最初の２年間、毎日日本語を使い、学ぶために一生懸命努力した。スーパーに行ったとき、食べ物の包袋紙やラベルに書いてある日本語を読んでみた。学校で英語を教えていたとき、文章の始まりと終わりやよく耳にする言葉の意味などがわかるようになるために先生と生徒の話をじっくり聞いた。このようにして、日本語を理解し始めた。

日本語を学ぶのにとても役に立ったのは人と話すことだった。電車やバスを乗ったとき、ヘッドホンをしていなかったから、人はわたしによく話しかけた。おじいさんやおばあさんはわたしに興味があって、優しい日本語を使いながらゆっくり話してくれた。もちろん、意味がわからなくてポケット辞書で単語を調べなければならない時もいっぱいあったが、面白い会話がいっぱいできた。

ある日、マリンライナーに乗って高松から岡山まで行った。3人のおばあさんと相席になった。おばあさんの1人が私を見ないで「日本語わかりますか」と聞いた。「ちょっとだけ」と返事して、3人のおばあさんを喜ばせた。おばあさんたちが日本の生活について質問して、そして自分のことについて話した。2人はまだ70代後半だったけど、1人はもう80歳になっていた。わたしが学校で英語を教えていると言ったら、おばあさんたちは戦争中、英語を話すのが禁止されていたと言った。80歳のおばあさんが『ポケット』と言う単語はもう使えないと言われたことを思い出した。

日本語を学ぶのは大変だったが、学べば学ぶほど日常生活が豊かになる。バス停や小さなお店のレジで日本人とおしゃべるするなどのちょっとした出会いが、この美しい国に住んでいるわたしを外国人じゃないと感じさせる。

Before coming to Japan, I bought a pocket dictionary and a phrase book, and that was all I used to “study” Japanese. The first two or so years I was here, I tried very hard to use and learn Japanese in my everyday life. When I went to the supermarket, I tried to read food packaging and labels. When I was teaching English at schools, I listened to teachers and students and tried to figure out where sentences start and end, the meanings of words I heard over and over again, and slowly put the language together for myself. 

What really helped me learn Japanese, though, was talking with people wherever I went. I rarely wore headphones on the bus or train, and people often spoke to me. Older Japanese men and women were very curious about me, and kindly spoke slowly and simply. Of course, there were plenty of times I misunderstood something or had to thumb through my pocket dictionary to look up words, but I still managed to have interesting conversations. 

Once, on the Marine Liner from Takamatsu to Okayama, three older ladies sat around me on the train. One of them spoke without really looking at me, “Can you understand Japanese?” I replied that I could speak a little, and the three ladies were so excited. They asked me many things about my life in Japan, and then they told me about themselves. Two were in their late 70s, and the oldest was already 80. When I told them that I was an English teacher, they told me about their childhoods, when they were forbidden to speak English words because of WWII. The 80-year-old in particular remembered being told she could no longer use the English word pocket.

It has been a lot of hard work learning Japanese, but the more I learn the richer my daily life has become. Little encounters like chatting with people at bus stops or cash registers in small shops have made me feel less like a foreigner in this beautiful country.

[discountdemonwarehouse]

Kazoos Are A Special Hell

The short one off inspired by @namelessdrool when I told them about my childhood memory of the school's play about a magical kazoo.

Copia's first day teaching Latin art the Ministry and Terzo the prankster.

Scroll down to read. 1014 words.

~*~*~*~

Kazoos Are A Special Hell

Copia readied himself for his first day teaching Latin at the Ministry. His cassock was perfectly clean and crisp, the leather gloves supple and cared for. The black paint around his eyes and on his upper lip were pristine, and his hair, moustache, and sideburns were behaving themselves for once. Everything was perfect. He packed the last few items into his briefcase and snapped it shut, nodding affirmatively to himself. Everything he needed was in that briefcase – lesson plan, handouts, his copy of the textbook, a Latin dictionary, spare paper and pencils, and of course, his lucky rat-shaped key chain.

“Arrividarci, miei piccoli amori!” ("Until later, my little loves!") He said softly to his pet rats in their cage. “Wish me luck for my first day, eh?”

The rats stared at him with happy little eyes, one squeaking softly to him.

“Ah, there it is, grazie, my babies.” He smiled and left his rooms, locking the door behind him.

He was determined to not be late, but also not too early; he wanted to seem cool for his students. A small amount of nerves had settled in his stomach, but he tried to be pleasant and cheerful as he strode through the halls, attempting an air of confidence as he moved towards the wing of classrooms.

~*~*~*~

Terzo leaned against the desk at the front of the classroom, looking out at the Siblings of Sin gathered before him. There must have been about twenty in the room.

“Thank you so much for coming early. I am aware that I am not your teacher, unfortunate, I know, but I thought it might be nice to do something... special... for Copia’s first day, sì?”

He smiled out at the Siblings, seeing some smiling back. Picking up the small box beside him, he moved towards them.

“I have acquired these just for this moment, you see. I’m so... proud... of Copia, finally taking the steps to teaching in the Ministry beyond sermons and Masses. I thought we should celebrate it with him.”

His leather-gloved hand reached into the box and withdrew a kazoo.

“I have one of these for each of you. I want you to take them and keep them hidden, and then about halfway through the class, wait until he turns his back to the room and then everyone start playing your kazoo. You,” he pointed at a Sibling near the front, “You’re the signal person, capisci? (Understand?) When you look back at your classmates, they’ll know it’s time.”

The Sibling nodded, taking the kazoo handed to them by Terzo. As the box was passed around the room, a wide smile spread on Terzo’s face.

“Copia will love this, trust me. It’s a great way to welcome him to this part of the profession!”

When everyone had their kazoo, Terzo tucked the box under his arm. “Remember what I said!”

Bowing slightly, he left the classroom before Copia would find him there.

~*~*~*~

Before reaching the teaching wing, Copia ran across Terzo heading down the hallway. He bowed his head slightly to his superior.

“Ah, mio fratello del peccato (my brother of sin), how are you today? Heading to your first class?” Terzo beamed at him.

“Sì, my first Latin class!” Copia nodded. “I’m a little nervous, but also excited.”

“You’ve nothing to fear, amico! Everything will go smoothly, I’m sure. Just a little... buzz... of excitement in the air, hm?”

Copia gave him a slightly confused look, as Terzo seemed to be trying to not laugh or grin, but nodded in agreement.

“I should be on my way, I don’t want to be late!”

“Of course, don’t let me keep you!” Terzo clapped him on the back. “Buona fortuna!”

Copia hurried down the hall, giving a quick glance over his shoulder before he dismissed the notion of anything being amiss and headed into the classroom.

“Buon pomeriggio (good afternoon), class. How are we today?”

The gathered Siblings returned his greetings, some also asking how he was.

“As you know, I have been assisting with sermons and masses for some time, but today is my first day teaching. I hope you’ll all be as excited as I am about Latin!”

Copia quickly started passing around the handouts he’d made. “This is our syllabus, and also a few practice sheets for the first lesson. Take one and pass them along please. Everyone has a textbook, sì Bene. Let’s not waste time, I will go over the syllabus while they’re being handed out...”

The class was going smoothly, and Copia smiled to himself as he wrote verb conjugations on the chalkboard. They were almost halfway through this first lesson, and everyone was very attentive. So attentive he could feel their interest and eagerness to learn. It warmed his heart; maybe teaching wouldn’t be so bad. He almost jumped out of his skin when the noise of twenty-three kazoos blared behind him, the chalk in his hand stuttering across the board as he jerked wildly around. Copia stared at the class in horror, all of them grinning back at him as they kept playing the kazoos. He clutched his chest with one hand, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself.

“Class... Siblings... per favore... Why?”

The cacophony of noise slowly died down, mixed with some laughter from both himself and the students. No one answered him as to why, but Copia heard the laughter from the hallway and Terzo walked by the door.

“Well, class, it appears you were recruited to prank me. You got me,” he nodded in defeat as he spoke.

The class continued, every now and then one of the students was unable to resist giving a small doot on their kazoo, getting chuckles and sighs from Copia and the other Siblings. When the class finished, Copia was glad his class was made up of adults – a class of children with kazoos would be a special level of Hell he wanted no part of. As he gathered up a few remaining things, Copia finally noticing a lone red kazoo on the desk by his briefcase. The attached note read: “Happy first day of classes. T.”

My AO3 Account - DiscountDemonWarehouse

[minjuntv]

jeong yunho, 25, cis male, he/him.  ───  3, 2, 1 — action!  everyone, we’re here at jincheon national training center, and this time i have with me our national archery team’s very own choi minjun. you might know them for having achieved a perfect score in the 101st national sports festival, but if not, don’t worry. they’re here to field all your burning questions. let’s dive right in.

hello everyone!! i'm super excited to be here and write with all of you very soon :⁓) i proudly present katniss everdeen reincarnate choi minjun!

upbringing, career.

ever since he can remember, minjun has wanted his parents to be proud of him. in fact, he has always wanted everyone to be proud of him - teachers, friends, acquaintances … if you were to look up 'people pleaser' in a dictionary, you would most likely find his name.

he rarely had an opinion of his own and lacked a backbone growing up, which probably annoyed some people. he was never popular but never really hated. he was always painfully average. at everything.

his mother was always afraid that minjun would never amount to anything, that he would turn out to be a splitting image of his father. she did her best to enroll him in various extracurricular activities, determined that there would be something that her son was good at. it definitely took some trial and error, but soon they found something that minjun excelled in: archery!

the sport wasn't the only thing he was good at, though. he was also very good at following other people's instructions and liked to take orders from his mother and his pr team. even though he didn't even really know why he had a team dedicated to him at the time, he trusted them blindly and did everything they told him to.

as a result, his beloved archery slowly began to fade into the background, and minjun was treated more like an internet personality rather than an athlete. while he was still grateful for all the endorsements and positive media attention, he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on his duties and keep up with his training at the same time.

he pleaded with his team and his mother to slow down on the publicity but his words mostly fell on deaf ears. at least until he failed to qualify for the last olympics and all hell broke loose.

of course people want an explanation as to why his performance has been so lacking in recent years, and of course he can't really be honest with his supporters. all he can do is sit around and wait for someone to give him a manual and tell him what to do with his own career.

personality, reputation.

if anything, minjun is kind. he's always been compassionate, mostly overwhelmingly so, and barely ever had a single bad bone in his body.

his soul was only somewhat tainted when he became successful - as usual. of course, minjun always wanted to be better, more precise, more successful. while this is not a bad thing per sé, it was around this time that he found himself envying others rather than being truly happy for them.

even so, he is known to be easy to get along with. some might still describe him as a doormat while others might appreciate that he has grown a bit of a backbone over time.

it goes without saying that there are many people who believe that his online persona does not match his real personality. some suspect him of being greedy, while others even suspect him of being an asshole in real life. however, there is one thing that all these people can agree on: choi minjun is a marionette.

that would be all for now! please let me know if you would like to plot - i'm available on d*scord upon request (tumblr's shadowbanning problem has gone crrrrazy lately ...) so don't hesitate to ask! <3

[cream-and-tea]

LAY ME DOWN. (tentative) chapter 16 excerpt. 1’252 words. unedited. featuring: pallas’s private reflection on an old train of thought. pretty lengthy discussion of feelings surrounding a deadname. vaguely implied dysphoria. oops all queer kid emotions.

[Transcript under the cut]

quick my english assignment isn’t looking. post pallas genderthoughts.

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-).  @vellichor-virgo​ @nicola-writes​ @doctormoss​ @gerbermatter​ @cactusprincewrites @houndmouthed @muddshadow @aeipathys @just-wublrful @midnights-melodiverse @corkywantstowrite @paradisiacalshroud @andromedatalksaboutstuff @kingsinking

At five years old Pallas had come to The Library with a name sewn into the tag of their jacket, they were thirteen when they went to the Director to have it struck from the book and a new one written in. 

Back then the conversation had terrified them in its finality, they’d written out a script and spent hours practising it in the mirror to iron the waver from their voice. It can be done, it had often been done before, it is a fact of life that even true names could be outgrown and replaced, they were still new to their lesson’s with the Director but she had no reason to deny the request; from what they knew she never had before. That wasn’t what had scared them. It was that once it was done it would truly be done, over, ended. It was putting down in ink and paper that aimless blob of a feeling that seemed to expand in their chest like boiling water whenever they looked in a mirror to long, giving the nameless a name, catching it between their fingers and sanding down the endless bubbling expanse of it into something hard and round to tuck under their tongue like a baby tooth. 

What’s in a name? They had never been overfond of Shakespeare even though Nina ate and breathed it, but they still remember latching onto that line at nine, already hungry in a way they had only just begun to place. A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet. 

In their first years at The Library they had never spared much thought towards the name they had arrived with, they understood vaguely that it was important, that it couldn’t be given out to strangers or else bad things would happen, that it’s existence in the pages of of the ledger was, in some unknowable way, tied to their existence in The Library. But that was the sum of it, they payed mind to the name when it was spoken the same way they payed mind when told to make their bed or brush their teeth in the morning; and in the meantime played an everevolving game with Nina on who could come up with the best alias to give out to the teachers and students that surrounded them. One of them would come across a new name in a story, or a tonguetwisting word in a dictionary, or a new animal neither of them had heard of before, and make a race to claim it as their “name” and be called by it first. They went through tens and twenties of different names in a week, trying to one up each other with the newest and grandest and prettiest ones they could find, keeping the originals folded in their pockets like rare trinkets, taken out only occasionally to be marvelled over and then quickly squirrelled away so as not to be overused. What exactly they had been called, words like he and she and you, didn't seem to matter so far as they knew to respond when they were said. 

It only began to matter once Pallas realized belatedly that it did matter, once they began attending serious classes and learned that words carried meaning beyond what was conjured in the moment by a child’s mind. Words carried weight, they carried history, words set boundaries and above all they defined. There was a word for everything and everything had a word and those words had lexicon and roots that spanned back centuries and were impossible to untangle. It was at once expansive and suffocating, both freeing and constricting, and they remember hardly being able to breathe under the impossible scope of it all. Narrow and yet endlessly wide. Sure, you could be anything you wanted, but you still had to be something at the end of the day. 

Afterwards they began to dissect and analyze literature the same way they began to dissect and anaylze their own reflection. They knew the science of a human body, skeleton and musculature and nervous system, but this was another thing entirely. Suddenly things they hadn’t cared about before, hadn’t noticed before they forced themselves into being known, began to topple out before them like dominos. The sudden feeling of wearing clothes far too small for you and only realizing once you go to breathe and find the collar tight around your throat. There had been something they’d missed, a crucial number skipped over in the equation, something wasn’t adding up. 

The worst of it was that Nina, who until then had almost been able to read their mind in their matching idiosyncrasies, didn’t seem to be able to see this in its fullness the way they did. She would listen and chew the inside of her cheek and ask questions and assure them that whatever they ended up doing was fine by her as long as they were happy. But it wasn’t the same, and she was smart enough to know that. That, above all else, could not stand.

So, naturally, it became an obsession. They tried to concentrate on other things, but the discordant feeling stayed, that itch under their skin they couldn’t shake, an edge almost like hunger sawing slowly away at the back of their mind. They took to rolling their first name over and over in their mind, thinking on it more than they ever had before. They lay on the floor and stared up at their hands, flexing them, closed their eyes tight and tried to name every part of their body from the ground up before considering the whole. Before being he or she had carried the same nonweight as everything else, so long as they knew which word it was correct to turn their head towards when someone was talking about them, and the original name had been the same. After they stared at themself in the mirror and and repeated it until it didn’t sound like a word at all anymore, trying to link the sound coming from their mouth to the face looking back at them, but in those moments both seemed to belong to a stranger.

They read viciously, constantly, they read with the desperation of a drowning man clinging to the last plank of his sunken ship. They found more words, more definitions, and caught themself staring at the blank spaces between the lines. They looked at the marble busts lining the fourth floor hallways and pressed a finger to cool stone lips, traced the sweeping curves of carefully carved brows and icy smooth cheeks. They wrote out the name on sheets and sheets of paper, wondering if pen and ink would reveal something they hadn’t yet been able to see and they had crouched in the bath with water up to their mouth, hair spread in inky plumes around them, and thought about how most ancient Greek statues had once been brightly painted but time and meddling had worn that away until nothing was left but bone white. Scoured and scraped clean. They thought of how anyone could possibly define that, and held their hand up to the light to see the tiny blue veins run through it like mycelium strings. 

And Pallas, thirteen and starving, thirteen and holding the whole what and who and why of themself in the palm of their hand, had curled the pale arches of their fingers into a fist, and pictured an endless, spinning, black hole.

[sweettoothedtrickster13]

Holy

AO3 portal

Summary: "I don’t think native english speakers can ever fully appreciate the emotion i felt when i first found out that the vulnerable spot on the side of your forehead which is arguably the best spot to be kissed is called your temple."

Tags: Poetry

Notes: This is the first in a series of poems I won't be able to use IRL because they're based on random-ass tumblr posts.

Post that inspired this

There are certain things that I will never understand fully.

From either my language, my upbringing, or something else I take for granted.

Some are little.

Some are big.

Sometimes the ‘little’ things become huge things.

Like the time I saw that post- the emotion someone experienced when they found out that, in English, the name for the ‘vulnerable’ spot that’s ‘arguably the best spot to be kissed’. 

Temple. 

A word that means both an anatomical part and a place of worship. 

It’s most likely just a coincidence. 

A simple matter of convergent evolution in language. 

But the human in me finds it interesting, not the word nerd.

I was once called a term that stuck with me. It was a simple, silly matter- being in a college class and knowing what a now-extinct word meant based on its lingering existence in modern words.

I had the fastest answer- three seconds at the most once I finished reading the list of words. Inspect. Spectacle. Spectator. On and on. ‘Spect’ meaning ‘to look’ or ‘to see’.

My professor said that she had never had someone respond so quickly with the right answer.

I was embarrassed at first- I was called ‘teacher’s pet’ a lot as a kid, and sometimes the memory stirs. (I had also immediately said ‘Dungeon Master’ in the same class when asked what ‘DM’ stood for instead of ‘Direct Message.’ Whoops.)

But a classmate who I had struck up an acquaintance with said quietly that I was ‘a word wizard.’ I had to stifle a laugh. 

I read a lot as a kid and learned to not reach for a dictionary pretty quickly. I could figure out from the words that surrounded the unfamiliar word more or less what it meant. I recognized roots and suffixes far before I was taught what they were. I have a whole personal dictionary kicking around in my brain. Unfortunately one without a pronunciation guide so I’d probably pronounce it wrong if pressed.

Word wizard. It stuck with me.

I have always read, so I always had stories within me (as you can tell- I’m on this site after all). 

And instead of the term I had always called myself- word nerd, rather fondly- I was a wizard.

Someone who enchants, not someone who studies.

I once wrote a fragment of a poem I thought I could transform into something publishable down the line. The part I most strongly remember is likening myself to a spider in terms of writing and speaking- spinning a web not out of malice, but of survival. It was based on a separate instance of me being told that I ‘speak as if I am out of time.’ And that’s true- I can vacillate widely from English professor to teenage girl. 

So. Word wizard and unmoored from time. High praise. Combined, this makes for a) conversations with me that are inherently interesting, b) me dissecting words that people use unthinkingly in their personal lexicons, and c) me looking far too into words that people take for granted.

Temple is one of them after I saw this post. 

It makes me wonder if it was more than convergent evolution. If someone was kissed on that then-unnamed part of them and thought of where they went to pray to their gods. If they felt holy and named the spot accordingly. 

Kissing had to be ‘invented’ after all. It’s something humans do that’s not a survival instinct. And we kiss more than mouths. Knuckles. Cheeks. Foreheads. Noses. Eyelids. Temples. 

Kissing is a sign of love. Passionate or friendly or familial, it doesn’t matter- it’s all love, equally weighted. 

Pressing your lips to another’s skin to show love is a lovely concept- ‘I love you, and this is a way to show you and the world that I do.’ 

The temple is an underused spot. It’s thin skin, so it’s thick with feeling.  The kisser is saying ‘I love you, and here is where you can feel it more than normal.’ The kissee is saying ‘I love you, so I will show you this vulnerable part of me and trust you not to hurt me.’

Because that’s a part of what love is- giving someone your heart and trusting them not to break it. Trust is intertwined with love so tightly that love often can’t exist without it, and when it does it’s not quite the same. How fragile and unsteady love can be when you can’t trust the other person, in abuse for example. Love should be kind and easy and freely-given without restrictions or conditions. Not ‘I’ll love you if…’ but ‘I love you.’

Love is more than trust, though. It’s belief in the other person. Love ratchets all parties higher. And belief is another word that can be applied to higher powers. It’s all connected- love is holy. 

[euterpe-of-hesiod]

Chapter Seven from Part Two of The Ballad of a Linnet Bird:

Linnet sets off to Raleigh for a spelling bee with her foster parent. She writes a letter she can't send.

A year passed with Mama Eddie, a full seasons-turn. And as the cold crept over Charlotte again, that wind whipping the sides of those tall buildings, it crept into Linnet too. She was turning over herself, growing taller and getting lonesome. She would look back and wonder if it was just coincidence, or if it was the winter that froze over Linnet’s love for Mama Eddie and Drew just like that– with the snap of frost, the darkening of the days. 

A frozen love was still love though. In fact, frozen love is carefully preserved– set aside where nothing could touch it till the thaw comes. That was how Linnet dealt with her love. She put it to the side because running away from Mama Eddie would hurt too much if she kept the love on her lap.

But she had to leave. Couldn’t Mama Eddie and Drew see? Even a bird singing happily in its cage would still take to the sky if it saw a crack in the door. 

And when Linnet heard of the spelling bee, Linnet interpreted it as a sign from God. Her door was opening. 

Mrs. Jinnouchi, Linnet’s third grade teacher, talked about the spelling bee at the beginning of the year, trying to whip up the class into excitement by dangling the big prize like candy. One lucky student could go all the way to the capital of North Carolina to compete in that state-wide competition and get a chance at $1000. Everyone whooped and hollered at that amount of money, unthinkable to a class of third-graders. Every kid set to dreaming right away about the stuff they could buy: the brand new Xbox, a skateboard, money for college–

Linnet just looked out the window, to that blue sky beckoning. Sapphire. Sapphire, Sapphire, sang out her heart. That was gonna be her chance.

That autumn, Linnet studied harder than ever before. She poured herself over Mama Eddie’s big Oxford Dictionary. While making supper, Mama Eddie would call out words to her and Linnet would chirp out every letter, feeling the music in each one. That was how she started to look at words: each word a little song, each letter a separate instrument. Add them together in that perfect order and you made meaning. The parts were stronger together.  

She had favorite words too. 

Emblem. That was a word for humming. 

Mysterious. That was a tall, regal word, reminding her of Sugar Mountain. 

Tribulation. She liked how that word rhymed with celebration, which was how she remembered its spelling at the end– and remembered that at the end of great suffering, there was strength, even joy. 

Spelling day came, and first Linnet smashed her class. Then she went up against the other third-graders, and she smashed them too. A month later, she’d won the Charlotte Spelling Bee for the third-graders. 

She was set for Raleigh. 

Mama Eddie couldn’t have been more proud of her. On that day, she took Linnet and Drew out to Applebee’s and told them they could whatever they wanted, even sodas, which she normally never bought on account of it rotting kids’ teeth. Drew had a Coke and Linnet got a root beer float. She slurped the whole thing down before dinner arrived, and toward the end, the cool sweetness started to hurt her teeth alright, then settled in her stomach heavy and sour. She couldn’t really enjoy it because she didn't actually deserve it. Because she was a liar. 

But Linnet put that feeling aside too. She was set to Raleigh. By the Ruling Days, she’d have her baby sister in her arms, Charlotte at her back, and Sugar Mountain welcoming her home.

*

Mama Eddie, Drew, and Linnet went to Raleigh by train. As they pulled in, Drew got to singing this song called ‘Wagon Wheel,’ that Linnet had never heard before. It lifted her heart. She wiggled in the seat as she watched that train slow, slow, and then stop. Here they were. Linnet had never been farther from her mountain yet closer to her home at the same time. How could those two things be true? She hopped off the train and twirled there on the platform, hooting at Mama Eddie and Drew to hurry on up! She had a spelling bee to win! 

Mama Eddie wheezed at her to slow her roll. “This ol’ hip’s rustier than the damn train tracks!”

“Shoot, this place ain’t much,” said Drew, putting a hand over his eyes as he squinted at the buildings. 

Linnet also cast her eyes up. She had grown used to the Charlotte skyline, a land of metal mountains. There were skyscrapers here too, but not nearly as many, and not nearly as high. Immediately, Raleigh seemed friendlier to her. It was an approachable kind of city of brick and mortar, old and worn-in like good shoes. Just being here calmed the fear she’d carried with her for over a year now, when Sapphire was taken from her. Maybe Raleigh had been kinder to her sister too. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, even if it wasn’t their land. 

After settling into their hotel, Mama Eddie decided they should see more of the city, considering it was the capital and everything. It was a history lesson. She paid for them to get in the shiniest red trolley Linnet had ever seen. Seriously, it put fire engines to shame, with that deep red polish of brand new paint on it! They got in and chugged through downtown with a sweet old man narrating about places that were lost, and places that still stood strong. 

Mama Eddie kept whistling and saying, “We should go there,” after the old man mentioned the science museum, then the art museum, then the old Capitol, then the Warehouse District.

“Mama Eddie, you wanna go everywhere!” Linnet exclaimed. 

“Well, where do you wanna go, Linnet? You’re the star of the weekend!” said Mama Eddie. “And you too, Drew. You each pick something.” 

“I wanna see the PNC Arena,” said Drew. 

I wanna see my sister, thought Linnet. But she knew better than to say that outloud. So she raised her hand and the old man called on her. “Where do you go if you wanna hear some good music?” she asked. 

“Good question, miss. That’s gotta be the Performing Arts Center. But if you want the good stuff, go find the office of the Pinecone-Piedmont Council of Traditional Music. They’re the ones keeping our music history alive.” 

“Sounds educational,” confirmed Mama Eddie in an approving tone (meanwhile, Drew was groaning. He thought all this history stuff was boring). She set a hand on Linnet’s shoulder. “We’ll see to it.” 

*

Unfortunately, Mama Eddie tired easily due to her age and her hip. After the trolley tour and eating at McDonalds, they had to go back to their hotel room so she could take a nap. Drew went straight to playing games on his phone. Linnet, though, sat by the window and looked out at the city, with a postcard in her hand. While on that trolley, she had started thinking about Paul again

Linnet thought about Paul a lot, but she was good at pulling the blinds on those thoughts too. It was painful as digging at a splinter to linger on him, you see. Because if she thought about Paul– and a lot of those times, those thoughts started as questions, like I wonder what Paul is doing or I wonder if Paul would get on with Drew or I wonder if Paul could spell catastrophe– then those thoughts took her down the river to Sugar Holler. Then she’d start thinking of all her friends, her kin, her maw and her paw, and her lost way of living. She’d get so down it was hard to get out of bed. So when those thoughts started, she had to stop them.

But today, she had thought of Paul, and it didn’t make her heavy. She had hope, she supposed– Sapphire so close now she could allow herself to dream of seeing him and Sugar Holler again.

So right now for the first time in more than a year, she decided to write him a letter using that postcard she’d picked up in the hotel lobby, Mama Eddie giving her the four dollars for it. Linnet took the hotel pen and tried to write as tiny as possible to fit everything she was feeling onto it. 

Dear Paul, 

I’m not sure where to send this postcard, so I don’t think you’ll be getting this. But still, I’m sending my thoughts up into the air for the clouds to catch. I hope those clouds will drift your way and rain all my thinking down on you. First, I wanna say I’m sorry that I haven’t written you until this point. I know it’s been a long time. I know you miss me. I miss you too.

Paul, would you believe I’m in Raleigh? You wouldn’t believe all the places I’ve been, I’m sure. I’ve been up and down between Boone and Charlotte, basically. I’ve seen a ton of different towns, plus the good and the bad. Not a single place compares to our Sugar Holler though. In my mind, I can picture it perfect. The clouds like a hat on top of our mountain. That Sugar Orange and Sugar Yellow in the fall, different from all other oranges and yellows in the whole wide world. The dogwoods in the maker market. Seasons, I miss her so bad.

Is she still our incomparable Sugar Mountain? (You like that word, incomparable? It’s for my spelling bee.) Or has the power plant just ruined everything? I got nightmares about that blue sky turning black with smoke and shit. Sure hope it’s not though. Maybe you fought back and won. I wish I knew. 

Also Paul, I met a boy named Drew who I think you’d like. He is a good brother to me, unlike your brother. If we ever meet again, I’m gonna share him with you. So if you do get this, through a miracle, or the wind, or God, please find me. Though I’m headed to you soon as tomorrow comes and I got the money from this spelling bee. I’ll pick up Sapphire and fly outta here. My tribulations will soon come to an end. You like that word too? I learned it for one thousand dollars. I’ll share what I got left with you, to help you out too.

Love,

Linnet

Linnet slipped the postcard under her pillow and went to bed. For the first time since the winter came, she slept soundly.

[the-lark-ascending69]

russian robin au?

I find russian Robin so interesting because I feel like Robin has this complicated relationship with Russia, or the idea of Russia, that isn't actually relevant to the show but it's very interesting to me specifically. In the podcast, her english teacher gifts her a copy of Anna Karenina in russian because he knew she wanted to learn, and she's very grateful for it. She'd told him she was interested in russian, I think, in the first episode. It's clearly like... the podcast's way of drawing a connection to Season 3, but I also love it because... most people in that sociopolitical and historical context wouldn't have been so excited about anything that came from Russia. It was the middle of the cold war, after all. But Robin doesn't even think about that. It's like she forgot about all of that, and choses to instead focus on classic literature. You can tell she romanticizes Europe a lot as this place of culture and adventure and freedom and if she's looking at Russia exclusively through the lenses of its classical literature, it wouldn't surprise me if she often failed to remember they were technically like the enemy. I'm not saying Robin is the most deconstructed anti-nationalistic anarchist out there, I usually prefer to not go too deep into politics when it comes to fandom stuff, but her interest in russian literature and language is certainly striking. It's like she sees past all of that and chooses to focus on the most beautiful artistic contributions of a country rather than the war. She doesn't join Steve and Dustin in their mission because she wants to be an American Hero, she's just bored and has such a great passion for languages that she saw a chance to approach russian in a real world situation and she took it, entirely and fully because of her love of knowledge, which trascends the war. I find that fascinating about her.

So, knowing that about her, I wonder how she would fit in an alternative universe in which she worked as a spy for Russia. I have several ideas about this.

Idea 1: My first idea is to put her in juxtaposition to El as a victim of the cold war caught in the crossfire, something something innocents paid for their crimes and they took medals home. In the same way they the US made experiments with children trying to create weapons, Russia would have made similar experiments, Robin being one of the kids involved. She doesn't get powers like El, she has no connection to the Upside Down. The results of the experiment are different. She has a much higher IQ than normal, and she can master other languages incredibly fast. They didn't think she'd be of much use until they learned she'd taught herself french with only a book and a dictionary, reaching a C2 level in less than six months. She's also incredibly good at cracking codes. Codes complex enough that would take a professional weeks of work came apart at her hands after a couple of hours. During her childhood, they use her for these purposes. They have her translate communication between their enemies and break secret codes for a few years, while preparing her for her actual mission: go to the States and gather information about the Hawkins Lab. She's 14 when they send her, and her english is so flawless you'd think she grew up in Indiana. Anyone older than her might have drawn more attention, and anyone else her age would still struggle with pronunciation, blowing their cover. She's perfect.

She's taken in by Richard and Melissa, a clueless american couple that thinks they're just adopting an orphaned girl from a nearby town. She enters Hawkins High, learns their ways, keeps an eye on the strange events around her and, at 17, gets assigned to work in the shopping mall with a boy she's identified to be involved with the conspiracy: Steve Harrington. She'll get close to him, earn his trust and, once he tells her everything, report back to her superiors. But then she ends up getting overly attached, and with this boy, she experiences something she's never known before: friendship, trust, love. He seems to care about her deeply and genuinely, and she feels compelled to tell him at least a small and tiny truth about herself, one of the few things they couldn't take from her. She likes women, and that has always seemed unimportant to her because she never thought she'd find love, or that she could ever afford to desire something for herself, but today she feels free with this ragtag group of misfits, and she wonders if maybe, once this is all over and she gets to go home, she'll be allowed to live in a house, not in their lab, go to university and love a girl one day.

Idea 2: she's actually not russian. She's an american girl intercepted by the russians at 15 because she cracked their code and was going to tell the authorities. They planned to kill her, but when she soon proved to be a literal prodigy, they decided to take advantage of her talent. All her parents know is that she went missing for two years and that when she returned, she came back... different. She doesn't remember what is it that they did to her, but she knows she's to rely information to them.

Idea 3: she's not an actual spy, but she's so good at russian that, when they capture her, she convinces them she's a super secret russian spy, so secret not even they know about her because she doesn't trust that they don't have spies among them. And she's actually in the middle of a very important mission with that dingus, so she needs them to release him immediately so she can see where he's going and do her job, thank you.

[solizjose]

Project

How did I save water yesterday?

Yesterday I had a busy day, and I was so busy that I didn't had the chance to take a shower, I was on my computer doing homework and I was so focused that I even forgot to drink water, I didn't felt thirstiy. Maybe that could count as saving water, because I didn't use it for taking a shower and even for drinking it.

Definitions:

Story: a description, either true or imagined of a connected series of events.

Tales: a story, especially one that might be invented or difficult to believe.

Science Fiction: books, films, or cartoons about an imagined future, especially about space travel or other planets

Story:

MISSION: Water-2077

I remember when we used to have water, the world was a beautiful place, but anything broke down in 2060, water scarcity increase and even people fought for water, also there were wars for water, But when it went off, for stopping wars the government look up for a solution, They created kind a "synthetic water" that taste awful, but it was the only way to keep us hydrated, obviously this was a business created by the government to make millions selling the synthetic water. Not only people know about it, but also they moved on like they didn't care, I was the only one who wanted the normal water back, and my teacher Walter White too. We created a time machine and a water multiplier which works great, Mr. White used to be a chemistry teacher so he knows about all that molecules stuff. The plan was the following, we travel to the past and collect a lot of water, come back to the present and finally multiplying water in the future, for having unlimited water. Before I entered on the machine, Mr. White gave me a special gun which can't kill people but they freeze them for an hour, so I can scape if I have trouble and last, but no least Mr. White told me that I only have 12 hours to turn back, otherwise the machine will self-destructs, Mr. White was clearly with the instructions, so I entered in the machine.

-"Hello? Mr. White, Can you hear me?"

-"Yes, I can hear you, your task is simple, you just have to collect some water and that's all, don't forget that you only have 12 hours to come back, I have to hang up, WhatsApp 3.0 wasn't invented in 2023"

-"Wait... 2023?... HEY MR. WHITE"

-......

-"Oh well, I guess I'll CARRY ON alone"

The task was easy, so went to a river for collecting water, but I don't know how the government notice about my plan, because some futuristic soldiers and robots showed up, they started following me trying to kill me, and that's when I use my gun,  I stopped the soldiers, but not the robots, so they captured me and sent me to their boss, and this part was funny because when the boss tried to kill me by punching me, my gun fell off and I accidentally paralyzed the Boss, so I just escaped. then I was walking around with my water, arriving to the machine, but then I notice that I was too far from the machine, and the machine self-destructs in 5 minutes, so I ran as fast as I could, I was like 100 meters far from the machine, and when there were 3 seconds left, I launched the water and the multiplier in the machine, leaving myself in the past, and giving water to the future, I thought I was trapped, but then Mr. White came with a space ship and he took me to the future, then we started multiplying water and subsequently we saved the world, and that is how Me and Mr. White solved water scarcity.

References:

Story. (2023). En traducir al español - Cambridge Dictionary. https://dictionary.cambridge.org/es/diccionario/ingles-espanol/story?q=Story

Tales. (2023). En traducir al español - Cambridge Dictionary. https://dictionary.cambridge.org/es/diccionario/ingles-espanol/tale?q=Tale

Science fiction. (2023). En traducir al español - Cambridge Dictionary. https://dictionary.cambridge.org/es/diccionario/ingles-espanol/science-fiction?q=Science+fiction

Image:

I created this picture using AI, by typing what I would like to see in the image, in this case we can see a futuristic soildier fighting for water, tat's wath I typed in the AI image generator (hotpot.ai), and that is what I got.

Video:

[randomwritingsfortheworld]

Old Art

When Steve was thawed from the ice and had some time to adjust to working for SHIELD, he spent time looking through the internet, hoping to catch up on current events and major events since he went under. What he wasn’t prepared for was how much of the internet there was. Sam gave him recommendations to look into online but Google was overwhelming in how much info it gave him. The most confusing for him was message forums that he ended up finding during his research because a poster would ask a question that he found interesting. That is how Steve ended up learning that he had no clue what half the internet slang was.

He learned that the meaning and usage of certain slang terms change quickly and frequently. Most people don’t use the term Vine anymore, now it’s Tiktok. Steve did like seeing emojis. They looked funny to him. Urban dictionary was a helpful resource for him but Steve quickly learned that the internet didn’t think that site was useful. Regardless he was glad it helped him figure out the meaning of slang and how to decipher texts that were mostly emojis. 

Steve found Wikipedia the most useful and the most distracting. Many nights he’d look up an article about a major event that Sam told him to look into and a few hours later, he’d be reading about something completely different. He’d end up telling Bucky in the middle of the night about what he found out, even though half the time Bucky wasn’t interested. Bucky had a suspicion Steve did it to help distract him when he woke up from his nightmares, but he wasn't going to burst his best friend's bubble by telling him it doesn't work. 

Once the battle of Thanos was resolved, Steve got back into art. With the help of Nat, Steve made an art page. She had to show him how to scan his work to post it digitally but once he started, the support exploded. Steve was taken aback at how many people looked at his artwork and complimented it. It did give him encouragement to do more. In the span of a few weeks, Steve had posted redraws of his old artwork that he made in the 30’s while attending college. The public ate it up which made Steve a bit proud of himself. 

“I had no idea you drew.” Sam hummed as he watched Steve upload the last piece he could remember drawing before going in the ice.

Steve shrugged. “Never asked.”

“I don’t go up to people and ask if they can draw.”

“You should.”

“It might work for you Captain but not me.” Sam lightly punched his arm as he laughed. “Where did you learn to draw?”

“Auburndale Art School.”

“I have no idea where that is.”

Bucky placed a drink in front of Steve before handing Sam his. “It’s in Brooklyn.”

“Did you go too?” Sam eyed Bucky curiously.

Bucky took a drink of his coffee. “We had the same classes.”

“Do you draw too?”

“I went for the ladies.” Bucky glanced at the computer screen. “Do you think Montgomery still has our projects?”

Steve chuckled. “I think she’s dead by now, Buck.”

“I feel like she’d try to outlive us all out of spite.”

Sam watched the exchange as he took a slow drink. “Was she a bad teacher?”

“She was the worst. Always saying my work was shit.”

“Well you never really tried to actually learn how to draw.”

Bucky gave Steve a glare. “I was a decent artist. It wasn’t perfect like she wanted it to be.” 

“She knew you were there just for the nude models.” 

“I turned in my work.” Bucky grumbled as Steve and Sam laughed.

“Why don’t you share your art?” Sam suggested.

Bucky frowned. “I don’t think any of it exists anymore.”

“You can redraw it like I am.” 

Bucky seemed to think it over. “But who would want to see it?”

"You do realize you have a fan base online right?" Sam took a drink as he gave Bucky a skeptical look.

Bucky studied Sam, not quite believing him. "I do?"

"Chicks like the troubled brooding guy now."

"I don't brood."

Steve and Sam gave him a doubtful look. "You do." Bucky scowled at Sam but before he could argue more, he cut him off. "Just give it a try and see where it goes. It doesn't hurt."

Bucky glanced between the two. "Fine."

A few days later, Bucky shared a random drawing on Steve's page and was bombarded with support. It reignited a spark in Bucky and it didn't take long for the team to find the two drawing together occasionally during downtime between missions.