#and it was very interesting! didn’t have any particular way to determine a specific dialect for the Graysons so I just went with Balkan

[arizona-trash-bag]

I can totally explain a bit of my thinking behind seeing lwj as autistic and wwx as autistic/adhd!! Before I get into specifics though, let me preface with where I’m coming from. I first saw CQL and then read the EXR translation of the novel. I prefer MDZS to CQL, but also want to acknowledge that because I do not read/speak Mandarin I am inherently experiencing this story second-hand and therefore am probably missing out on a lot of nuances. I am trying to learn Mandarin, but it will be a long time before I am even a little close to fluent lol.

Another preface- obviously not all autistic people present in the same way, and many of the things that I will mention are not solely specific to autistic people either. It’s one of those things where all of it added up together points towards asd, but each one individually would not on its own indicate asd, you know? Also, I will say that many of the things I picked up on for both characters are autistic traits that many autistic people have vs the clinical characteristics (much like most of the case I could make for wwx’s adhd would be adhd traits he has rather than symptoms that would lead to a real-world diagnosis.) Edit: OH! I almost forgot to say, that also all of these traits I’m listing are from a western perspective, and I would LOVE to read more about how autism presents in different cultures and to see conversations between autistc Chinese people specifically, so as to see if these traits are specific to western autistic people or not, but again, I do not speak Mandarin or Cantonese or any other Chinese dialect, so that’s a little inaccessible for me atm.

Ok, SO, for both characters I would list: strong sense of justice, lack of care for society’s opinion (I feel like it could be argued that lwj does to a certain point, but imo he operates more from what he morally considers to be correct and from a place of familial duty vs catering to the opinion of society at large), and then more vaguely, they both seem to be “nerdy” (this doesnt feel like the most accurate term, especially because it's not like being scholarly is specific to their characters, especially in ancient fantasy China- it’s more that their particular hmmm, flavor?? of love of knowledge feels very neurodivergent to me, vs like, being scholarly because it’s the thing that is expected of a Young Master, if that makes any sense at all- like the difference btwn someone getting an engineering degree because it is expected of them vs because they genuinely love engineering), and lastly for both- I would say that they are canonically kinky, and while I can’t cite any statistics, there’s a pretty high correlation between being autistic and being into kink. Obviously, not every person who is not vanilla is autistic, and not every autistic person is into kink…….but there is a high correlation.

For lwj specifically, the things that made me think he might be autistic are his lack of outward emoting combined with his depth and breadth of emotions, how he seems to thrive in and quite enjoy the very structured environment he grew up in, and then the last one off the top of my head (side note, I feel like a week from now I’m going to randomly think of other examples lol) I’m not actually sure IS an example, because I know (thanks to the awesome post from hunxi that you linked to that I had read previously) that his succintness does not equal autism, but I do kind of feel like it is very autistic to Always be so formal and to Always talk in textbook perfect language.

For wwx, I also think he likely has CPTSD! I’m not going to list anything for adhd or cptsd since we both agree on those :) As far as being autistic goes, there is, of course, the high prevalence of adhd/asd comorbidity. For specifc traits- while autism can show up as lack of facial expressions/tone, it can also show up as being overly exuberant and overexpressive. Especially for younger autistic children this can show up as being overly friendly/no boundaries w/ strangers (just?? going home with a random man who says he knew wwx’s parents???), making unusual connections that others do not can be both asd and adhd, his disregard for social status (disregard might be a strong word, and also I feel like this might be one of those things that got lost in translation and if I had read the original text I might have a different opinon, but what I mean here is the way that often autistic people learn certain social rules and try their best to follow them, but often do not pick up on specifics related to social hierarchy that are not spelled out for them- I think jyl’s take down of jin zixun is a great example of the /oppossite/ of what I’m talking about, and is a very neurotypical interaction. An example also of what I mean by disregard for social hierarchy, but from my own life, is how I’ve reflected on past convos w/ my boss only to realize that what I thought was just an interesting conversation about our opinons on a particular subject was actually them trying to tell-me-as-my-boss something they wanted me to do. We ended up doing things the way I wanted to do them because I didn’t realize that they were telling me to do something because they didnt explicitly say so, and because I just don’t pick up on when people are saying something from a social hierarchy pov. Idk if this makes sense or not, so I’m happy to try to expand if you would like me to. I feel like wwx could be described as having alexithymia, which is very common in autistic people, but could also be due to his cptsd. And then, I don’t feel like this is a true point because it is kind of based on headcanon? but wwx feels very demisexual to me, which is much more common for autistic people than it is for allistic people. But him being demi is not canon, just my perception of him (I see him as demisexual gay w/ massive comphet, but I know lots of people see him as bi, which also totally makes sense!!)

Tbh, I’m having a harder time than I thought I would listing wwx specifics. I might go through the book sometime this weekend and see if there are specific moments that pop out at me, but tbh w/ him its more that he Feels very adhd/asd to me?? Idk, I was diagnosed w/ adhd when I was 8, and all 4 of my siblings plus my father have offical adhd diagnoses. I’m 29 now and was only diagnosed as autistic earlier this year.  All of my close friends have always been either adhd, asd, or adhd/asd. There have been multiple people I have met that I’ve suspected were neurodivergent who have later told me they started looking into it and are now seeking formal diagnoses. I mention these things, only to give full context when I say that I have spent a lot of time observing the differences between interacting with neurotypicals and neurodivergents. I mean, obviously, it’s possible that I could just be projecting, but to me, Wwx gives off late-diagnosed/heavy masker autism/adhd combo vibes. Again, maybe I am projecting, but I did try to analyze whether I was or not previously, and determined that since in the past with other favorite characters (who I probably share more similarities in personality with) I did not feel like they were neurodivergent, so I figured that probably I wasn’t? That feels like a very convoluted sentence, but what I mean is that I have not thought that about other characters who have been my fav, so I figured that while I do project in certain areas that this particular area probably wasn’t one of them. Or, to say it in yet another way, since i did not project any of my neurodivergencies on past favorite characters, I figured I probably didn’t start doing so now.

I would love to hear more of your perspective on this, particularly because I worry that I do not have the cultural touchstones to realize when something wwx or lwj is doing is not actually a sign of being neurodivergent. I try my best to research things I don’t know about and to listen to fans who actually do have that cultural understanding, but there’s only so much I can look into on my own when I only speak/read english. And also, I love mdzs and I love talking about both adhd and autism, so I’m glad to talk about these subjects with someone else who also likes all of those topics :) Sorry for sending a book of a response and also I hope you are having a great day!!

wow wow wow anon THANK YOU for doing your research and acknowledging your blind spots you seriously made my day. I wanted to get to this as soon as I made that rant while sharing cyan’s post bc this is specifically an example of a well researched proposition based on actual lived experience and critical thinking.

I almost want to ask you to come forward so we can take this convo elsewhere for a more nuanced discussion bc you’ve already hit upon an issue that’s been holding me back from making a big blathering masterpost on the matter - that the ND experience is so unique and individual, and no one person can dictate someone else’s experience. at the end of the day, if you personally relate to these characters and gain more understanding of yourself and your experiences from them, who am I to take that away from you?

in a public space though I have to make the discussion very broad in order to accurately contextualize these issues, bc in typical autistic fashion I feel morally compelled to Do My Best and Get It Right even as the masses show no inclination of returning the favor, so apologies for the boring backstories I have to get out of the way before we can approach anything resembling new ground.

first from a diagnostic standpoint, while I recognize the traits you listed (and appreciate your clearly nuanced understanding of ND expressions) and would find value in exploring them in a personal context, they are not unique to adhd and/or autism and wouldn’t constitute a basis for diagnosis in a clinical setting. I know that's probably beside the point for this anon, but there's enough edgy teens hoarding labels out there without tacit encouragement from scientists (yes I am technically a scientist, even though my ideologies these days range from conventional to... wildly esoteric, shall we say)

from a cultural standpoint, it’s important for me to emphasize that the concept of neurodivergence is a uniquely western notion. for those unfamiliar, the term 'neurodiversity' was only coined in 1998. I was born in 1991. I existed for a whole 7 years as an autistic person before the idea of being neurodivergent was even a thing. this ND acceptance thing is very, very new - people were not making tiktok confessionals about their adhd diagnosis journeys when I was growing up.

china, like most asian countries, is about 20 years or more behind on just about every social issue compared with western countries. to better illustrate, the experience of being ND in china falls much closer to the conventional experience of disability (i.e. being eugenicized out of existence) than the tentative ND acceptance movement that’s been kickstarted in the past 20 years in the anglosphere.

safe to say, there is no ND coding going on in chinese media. characters are either explicitly ND or they're not. there's no basis for a creator subtly inducing ND-like traits in a character, because there's no such thing as ND awareness in the cultural context of where mdzs was written and consumed. any resemblance is purely accidental, as they say.

as to how this resemblance could exist - I could go into the layers and layers of historical, cultural, social and religious context that make up these characters and the xianxia genre as a whole. for this anon in particular i'm happy to, because they've done the work. please please get in touch in some way where we can have a fully fleshed out chat if you're interested in taking this further, I realize i’ve basically addressed none of the finer points you’ve raised but honestly it’s another level of discussion to be had that cannot be summarized in one blog post haha.

as for those who would scream 'but special interests!!' at a character whose sect was founded by a literal monk - what would be the point?

PS. to comprise a starting point for why it's possible to see ND4ND everywhere in media if you looked hard enough - I refer you to the seminal red oni blue oni trope 💁‍♀️

#neurodivergence #neurodiversity #actuallyautistic #autism #adhd #danmei #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #mdzs #lan wangji #wei wuxian

[venusofthehardsells]

No Rest for the Wicked [Dea ex Machina part one]

John ConstantinexAngel!Reader Summary: You travel to a remote island to put a murderous spirit to rest, but things get complicated when you run into one John Constantine. Warnings: swearing, mentions of mental illness, blood, smoking, ghosts, pining, is slowburn a warning? A/N: My first Constantine fic on tumblr, yay! This was originally written for a challenge aaages ago, but it got away from me and I couldn’t meet the deadline. I had so much fun with this though, Constantine is a great character to write for! There will definitely be more stories about him and this particular angelic reader in the future ♥

I’ve mixed elements from both the Vertigo comics and the NBC TV series, as well as from the general DC Universe, so don’t expect accuracy when it comes to canon. A special thanks to @nellblazer​​ for support and linguistic aid, you’re the best! ♥ Let me know what you think and if you want to be tagged ~

Contrary to common belief, there had never actually been any ravens on Raven’s Rock. The tiny, windswept fleck of land in the North Sea had been named a few hundred years ago by a fool of a sailor, who hadn’t been able to tell a raven from a severely lost and consequently very confused Scandinavian pigeon. Said sailor had regrettably also been of some importance in his homeland at the time, meaning no one had bothered to correct the unfortunate mistake for fear of losing a head. Even though everyone who since came upon the island only ever managed to find gulls and puffins and various other seabirds, it had still kept its misleading English name.

The Celts, who by rights had been on the island long before the British, had chosen to play it safe and completely forego the bird names (although it had been suggested several times in later centuries to change it to the Gaelic word for seagull, or even pigeon, as a taunt). Instead, they had most likely looked to the ancient ruins that specked the island, jutting up from the rocks like broken teeth and, all things considered, had endured well beyond memory and history and legend. Or perhaps they had still been reeling from the mad determination that had brought them and their wooden ships so far from home. Whichever the case, they had called the stubborn, little rock Innis Seasmhach, “the steadfast island”.

That was its official name to this day, though most people, especially those who didn’t speak Gaelic (which in all fairness are not very many), still referred to it as Raven’s Rock.

The locals shrugged and simply called it “the island”.

There was only one village on the entire island, whose population on a good day might reach a hundred and thirty people. That usually only happened a few times during summer when the ferries from Stavanger and Aberdeen docked at the same time. The tourists came to see the ruins, buy a souvenir fridge magnet of a raven or a puffin, complain about the frightfully bleak weather and leave again on one of the ferries that departed before evenfall, secretly happy they didn’t have to spend any more time on the island.

On the day you arrived, the population on the isle of Raven’s Rock, was an astounding one hundred and forty four, which was quite unheard of in the middle of October.

What was even more unheard of, however, was the reason for all these untimely appearances.

A night ago, a pair of fishermen had discovered the body of a man in a small, secluded cove on the north side of the island. The body was placed so that it could only be seen from sea, unless one were to venture down a rocky and extremely narrow trail into the cove itself. It wasn’t hard to imagine someone slipping and ending up on the stony beach below. That kind of unfortunate death was of course tragic, but it hardly warranted the wide array of policemen and journalists the death had attracted. No, the reason for the sudden interest was the gruesome way the body had been displayed.

The dead man had been stripped bare and splayed out on the rocks like a cross with his arms stretched away from his torso. His skin was almost completely covered in symbols and writing no one could make sense of, though one expert, when consulted by the mystified and slightly desperate police, vaguely suggested it was possibly a rare pre-Arthurian dialect.

The more macabre specifics had so far been kept out of the press.

One was that the writings on the body had been done in blood, the corpse’s own, and another was that it came from where the head had been crudely severed from the rest of the flesh and spiked close by on a piece of driftwood.

Even hypnotised, the young sergeant who had told you, had looked slightly green when he related the information. You had padded him sympathetically on the shoulder before moving on. He wouldn’t remember revealing the details to you, but the information itself was seared into his mind forever.

His, along with the rest of the islanders’, you mused as you continued from the harbour and on into the village.

The locals called it “town”, but in truth it wasn’t really big enough to warrant that title.

It had one store that sold a little bit of everything depending on the weather, a church, a pub, a repair shop (it wasn’t specified what exactly you could get repaired there) and a public building, functioning as city hall, police station, post office, library and school in one. All the police reinforcements from Aberdeen had been moved into the city hall, seeing as the only two policemen permanently stationed on the island had never handled a murder case before. Meanwhile, the reporters and TV crews covering the case were taking up the pub’s five tiny bedrooms, both B&Bs and every single rental cottage Raven’s Rock could boast (nine in total if you counted the back room in the garage of the repair shop). Because you had left for the airport in a hurry and jumped onto the first plane to Norway, you hadn’t had time to secure a place to sleep on the island. You had pondered it on the ferry, but when it came down to it, you didn’t want to stick around longer than a day. If you worked fast, you could probably be on your way back to the mainland in the morning and wouldn’t need to worry about finding a bed. You had spotted a bench down by the harbour; it would have to do.

Besides, you didn’t have any time to waste as long as the murder case was unsolved. You could still hear Madame Xanadu’s words in your head like some annoying ominous echo.

A restless darkness will carry its evil across the water to be unleashed upon the twice-named rocks. The steadfast land will drink the blood of the laughing magician.

Fate was a menace when you had to deal with it like this, grounded and fumbling through the world with nothing but scraps to guide you. Not like in the old days when you had all of Heaven at your disposal… Being a proper angel had really had its advantages. You scoffed and walked faster. At least this prophecy had been pretty straightforward, which was far from what you were usually given to work with, you thought sourly, folding your arms around yourself against the wind.

A malevolent spirit that should have passed on, but hadn’t was easy enough to figure out; it happened all the time and you could deal with that. The location of the spirit had also been a walk in the park with so many hints to go on.

What really worried you was the second part of Madame Xanadu’s little mystic insight.

The steadfast land will drink the blood of the laughing magician.

Blood drinking was never a good omen in prophecies. It hardly ever meant vampires, usually just death. And the laughing magician, well, that one was always the same. The reason Madame Xanadu had called upon you to restore the balance in this place.

John Constantine.

Whenever one of her foresights indicated that the blonde warlock was walking into something he couldn’t handle himself, she sent you after him or, in this case, ahead to clear his path for him. Most times, he didn’t even know you had been there and you preferred it that way.

Like now.

The last you had heard of John was that he was in the States. Sufficiently far away, you thought. Even if someone had alerted him to the murder on Raven’s Rock, it would be at least another day before he could reach the windswept little island and by then you hoped to be long gone. It was best if you two didn’t meet at all.

You chewed on your lip as you thought of him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him, it was just… easier if you didn’t. The things you did, the jobs you took were simply too dangerous if your focus wasn’t a hundred per cent on the task in front of you. And with John around, your newly mortal heart had a tendency to make your better judgement evaporate.

You passed a phonebox on the main (and only) street that looked as though it had seen better days and a small tourist information office/part time bakery with its doors and windows shut for the night, before you reached the seemingly only building in town with light and, admittedly subdued, noise streaming out of it: the pub. Apart from the city hall, you reckoned it must be the oldest building around, but also by far the one in best repair. The wooden sign above the heavy green door was, unsurprisingly, in the shape of a very sinister looking gull and it swayed in the wind with an ominous creak that made a shiver run down your spine, as if trying to dissuade you from entering.

Well, it wasn’t very likely that you would get any information elsewhere. With determination in your steps, you walked the last few cobbled steps to the door and went inside.

Your eyes quickly scanned the room, the patrons, the energies... and you froze on the threshold.

On a stool by the bar sat the very man you had hoped to avoid. He had taken off his signature trench coat and his back was towards you, but it didn't matter; you would recognise him blindfolded. He was so thoroughly cloaked and shrouded in magical protections of all sorts that the space he occupied was practically a vacuum. It was damn near impossible to locate him by magic, you knew. If one weren't looking directly at him, like you were now, no sixth sense or intricate spell would reveal his whereabouts. But his was a vacuum you had come to know very well. So well in fact, that by now you could pin him down by his apparent lack of magic, rather than by his well-hidden magical signature, and yet, there he was, sitting only half a room away from you with a drink in one hand and one of his ghastly Silk Cuts resting between the fingers of the other. And you hadn't noticed. You hadn't even done a quick scan to see if there were other magical presences on the island when you arrived. Worse, you hadn't cloaked yourself as thoroughly as you normally would have done and your own signature reached him before you could even think to try and prevent it.

From the way he straightened his back and immediately snuffed out the cigarette in an ashtray as if someone had shouted at him to show some care, you could tell he knew you were there. He shifted ever so slightly as if making room for you and you sighed. There was no getting out of this one.

Getting rid of your raincoat, you went over and crawled onto the empty stool next to him.

You were met with that wicked smirk of his that made your heart stutter and stumble in your chest.

"Now, there's a pleasant surprise to brighten this hellhole," he greeted, raising his glass at you. "Must confess, I never guessed I'd be running into you on this godforsaken rock, luv."

"Hello John." You did with a nod, trying to keep your voice even. "Can't say I expected this to be your sort of retreat either."

The warm light in the pub shone in John Constantine's dark eyes and his smirk grew into a grin.

"It's good to see you, luv. I've missed that disapproving pout o' yours. The fact that I never know when I'll see it again makes it so much sweeter."

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't attempt to hide your burning cheeks. The bastard couldn’t possibly know exactly how brightly your torch for him was burning, but he always acted accordingly.

"So, what are you doing here then? Odd place for playing tourist, innit?"

He leaned on the counter, his hand moving closer to where yours was resting and there was that little, dark gleam of hope in his eyes that always appeared when he looked at you. As if there was somehow some other reasonable purpose you could have to be in a place like this, at a time like this.

You shrugged, biting down a smile.

"I find the climate rather agreeable."

John threw his head back and laughed at that. Even the barkeep, who had overheard your words, snorted. You caught his gaze before he turned back around and ordered a sparkling water.

"Right. And I just happened by to see the sights, eh?"

"Well, what do you think of them then?"

You raised an eyebrow at him and took a sip of the fizzy water the barkeep placed in front of you. John grinned and gave you an obvious once-over. Your dirty boots and high-neck jumper didn't seem to put him off.

"Much improved since this morning. At this rate, I can't wait to see how they'll look in the night."

"Oh, I ought to slap that smirk off your smug face, wizard," you sighed, feeling how your stomach was practically fluttering at his suggestive tone.

"Is that a promise, luv?"

"You're insufferable."

"Aye, that I am, luv, but you keep coming back for more. Must be doing something right, eh?"

You bit your lip and looked down; he suddenly felt too close. And the general level of noise inside the pub from people chattering wasn't as high as you had hoped. It would be easy for others to overhear anything you said. Given the island-wide unrest over the murder, you were sure ears were perked more than usual and you didn't want to draw any attention to yourself, or John. You would have to gather more information some other way.

"I missed you, too," you confessed, staring at the bottles lining the wall behind the bar as if they were all of a sudden exceedingly interesting. "But I... I thought you were helping out a certain green vigilante overseas these days."

John visibly tensed up.

"Who told you that?"

You shrugged, still not looking directly at him. The truth was that he couldn't really hide from you, not even in your current state. If he found out though, you didn't doubt for a second that his heated flirting would be switched for a literal knife in the back before you could even think the word "portal". Well, perhaps not literal, but you had no doubt the outcome would be fatal for you anyway.

"Who told you to come here?," you countered, raising an eyebrow and John scoffed.

"If you must know, I got a call from an old friend. Looks like she's been scrying on her own and this little spit of land kept drawing all her energy. Didn't seem like something I could ignore."

"You should've," you mumbled, taking a large slurp of your water and doing your best to ignore the persistent little spark of envy starting to gnaw away at you at his choice of words. What old friend? It had to be someone he had slept with, it always was with him. Why couldn't you just not care? "Take my advice, John, leave. Go home and lay low. I'll handle this island."

"Is that concern for old Johnny I hear, luv?," he asked with mock-surprise.

"Maybe. Don't let it get to your head, your ego won't be able to fit into that coat of yours."

He chuckled, but the tension was still there and you didn't know how to break it without giving him the truth, or at least something close.

"Your turn, pretty bird. I don't believe in coincidences like this, so tell me. How'd you know to come here?"

Lying to John Constantine was out of the question. As was being honest with him.

You chewed on your lip a bit, weighing your options. It wasn't like him to accept any kind of help unless he was downright desperate and that was still a long way off. If you challenged him though, he was most likely to flee, that much you knew. But you didn't want to get on his bad side unless you had absolutely no other choice.

"Leave," you repeated. "This one's out of your league, John. Let me take care of it, please."

The way your eyes were pleading with him made him frown and you realised you might have shown too much of your hand.

"I'm not going anywhere, luv." His hand was on top of yours on the bar before you could move it. To anyone looking, it seemed like an affectionate gesture, but he was effectively pinning you in place. "Not until you give me a bloody good reason not to give you the same treatment as whatever beast it is we're dealing with on this island."

"Let go of me."

Your voice wasn't very loud, but you knew he could hear you. He answered by pressing down harder on your hand and you winced.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe I just want to keep you safe?," you all but hissed at him, emptying your drink with a sour expression.

"Oh, I trust you just about as far as I can throw you, luv. Every time I see your pretty little face it means there's trouble brewing just around the corner."

"I saved your life in Tennessee. And in Derry," you tried, but his hold didn't loosen. If anything, John was now gripping your hand so hard no blood could possibly flow to your fingers. "I am trying to do your stubborn Scouse arse a bloody favour, why can't you just for once in your damn life listen to me?"

"Tell me your name then and maybe I will."

Fuck. Somehow it always came down to that.

"Xanadu," you snapped through gritted teeth, eyeing John with what you hoped was an appropriate amount of ire. "Xanadu contacted me and told me about this place. Happy? Obviously, she wasn't going to tell you now, was she?"

John withdrew his hand from you as though you'd burned him. It felt about as pleasant as a punch to the teeth, but you tried not to let it show on your face.

"I suppose you're right...," he admitted. "What did she tell you then? Her usual cryptic nonsense I reckon?"

"For someone in your line of work, you're not at all keen on prophecy reading, are you?," you sighed, forcing a bit of humour into your words.

There was no love lost between John Constantine and Madame Xanadu, that much had been clear to you from the beginning. But even though she couldn't stand the sight of him, she believed John was instrumental in keeping the world safe and had begrudgingly agreed to help you protect him when she could.

"Not really my style. I prefer things more tangible, to the point. Besides, I don't need to worry about divination when I have you."

"You rarely do."

"Not by my choice, luv."

Your eyes flickered back to the empty glass in front of you and you had to take a very slow breath to try and steady yourself. His effect on you was too strong for you to be safe around him. Your job required a clear head - for both your sakes.

"A restless darkness will carry its evil across the water to be unleashed upon the twice-named rocks," you recited, steeling your voice as you averted his unspoken question the way you always did. "It wasn't that cryptic at all for once."

He didn't need to hear the other part. You could feel his eyes roaming your face, trying to figure you out, looking for something without fully knowing what. It was at times like these you missed your wings. Keeping secrets in a human body full of emotions and urges and reactions beyond your immediate control was frustrating at best. It was another reason you were better off keeping your distance.

After a while of searching your features, John sighed and gave up.

"Alright. So it's probably some kind of malevolent spirit then, wreaking havoc. Don't see why you're so worried luv, sounds like any other Tuesday to me."

The barkeep was close enough for you to signal for a refill to you both. He grunted something unintelligible, obviously not too keen on all the Brits suddenly hanging out in his pub. You made sure to send him a grateful smile as he filled your glasses, yours with sparkling water, John's with whisky.

"My weeks are all Mondays," you said and raised the glass to your lips; just as you had hoped, John did the same. "Did you get here in time to see the body?"

"Only after they moved it. Wasn't pretty..." He took another swig while staring at the wall with a distant glaze clouding his eyes that told you he wasn't seeing the wall at all. "Pathologist told me the man had been alive when 'is head was severed. The, er... the inscriptions..." John looked just as sickly green as the constable had done and very gently you put your hand on his shoulder. A small gesture of reassurance. "I'm tired," he whispered suddenly. He turned his head to look at you and your heart ached when you realised how glassy his eyes had become. "I am just so bloody tired. Demons, vampires, curses, spirits, the lot. No matter where I go, there're always more and people die, it never stops. Innocent people, good people... I just want a fucking break, but if I don't stop the darkness from spreading, who will?"

His voice was thin and on the verge of breaking entirely. You wanted nothing more than to lean forwards on the stool and put your arms around him, somehow make him know he wasn't alone, but the risk was too great. You were in too deep already.

"Sometimes I wonder whether it's all worth it..."

"Of course it's worth it, John," you said quietly, clenching his shoulder. "We do what we have to so they...," you gestured discreetly towards the patrons, ”they can go on living their lives and not... not know and see the things we do..."

"I know, luv, I know. I just... I want..." The gloom that was always lurking just below the surface of his existence was spilling into his eyes. He was weary to the bone, deep into his very soul. For a moment, you thought he was going to let the tears burst. "I risk my life every day and it's never bloody enough, is it? A man got his head carved off by some wretched spirit who should have been resting in peace. Fuckin’ Hell..."

He rubbed his eyes hard and you decided then what to do. You didn't like it one bit, but seeing John this worn down, well, you liked that even less. It meant you had been sleeping on the job.

As subtly as you could, you put your hand in your pocket and found the tiny zip-bag with a pinch of purple powder in it. It wasn't something you used often and it had never been meant for John, but you couldn't in good conscience let him go after a rogue spirit in his current state. While he emptied his glass again, you drizzled the powder into your hand and braced yourself.

"John, look at me. It's going to be alright. You are John Constantine and without you this world would have ended twelve times in the last decade, maybe more. And right now you are going to save this island, because that is what you do. So get off your sulking arse and stop feeling sorry for yourself. We have a job here. You're going to find that spirit and put it out of its misery before it hurts someone else, got it?"

He huffed, but even so raised his head and managed a small grateful smile at the reprimand.

"Yes. You're right. Thank you, luv. You always know what to say..." His eyes darted to your lips and for half a heartbeat, you did nothing, just sat there and waited for him to lean in the rest of the way and kiss you. It was far from the first time it had happened, but you still felt at war with yourself. There wasn't a single atom left in you anymore that didn't crave his affection. He was drunk and emotional and between the way he looked at you and the way there suddenly seemed to be less and less space separating your bodies, there was no doubt about his intention. It would be so easy just to finally give in and let it happen.

"Don't thank me."

Before he could lean back or ask you what you meant, you blew the purple powder straight into his face.

His eyes widened in shock, but his body immediately began to turn relaxed and pliant.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me...," he mumbled, but his gaze was already unfocused.

"I'm so sorry, John," you whispered, gently guiding his torso onto the bar.

He tried to say something more, but his words were slurred and within a few seconds, he was gone.

You had gotten the sleeping powder from a dealer in New Orleans, who had told you the effects would last at least four hours. They always oversold their stuff, but hopefully John would be out long enough for you to deal with the entire affair if you hurried up and took a few shortcuts. It was a messy solution, but then again, you hadn't planned on him being here. Desperate times and all that.

"He gonna be lying there all night?," the barkeep grumbled with a raised eyebrow at John when you hopped down from your stool. You put on the best smile you could manage under the circumstances and slid 50 quid across the counter.

"He'll come ‘round soon enough. If not, I'll be back for him in a few."

You practically fled the pub before he could ask you any more questions.

The road outside was deserted and you hoped no one was watching as you marched to the lonely phone box you had spotted earlier. It didn't look like anyone had used it in several years, but when you picked up the receiver the dial tone was there alright.

You took out a stained, battered playing card from the depths of one of your pockets (the seven of diamonds) and slid it into the credit card slot. You didn't own a mobile phone and neither did most of your acquaintances, but still you had memorised the few numbers you occasionally needed.

"Hey Chas, it's me," you said when the answering machine finally picked up. "I'm at the island with John and I haven't got much time. I don’t want to get John involved in this so I need to work fast. There's no need to worry, really, I've got it under control, but... just in case something unforeseen happens, uhm... if I don't call back in let's say ten hours, will you let John know where to find my body? He can't track me in his usual ways, so he'll need your help."

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. What you were about to do was risky, maybe even reckless.

"I'm going to the beach where they found the dead man and work my way from there. If... if I don't succeed..." It was as if your throat was suddenly full of gravel. "Chas, please, just make sure John isn't the one to take on that spirit. He is not ready for that." Too late, you held the receiver away from your face while you tried to suppress a sniffle. So much for convincing Chas Chandler that you had things under control. Forcing your voice to even out, you continued. "I have to go. Just help him if I can’t, okay? And don’t worry too much. I’ll probably see you in a couple of days.”

Before you could say anything even more stupid, you hung up and slid your helpful seven of diamonds back into your coat. Handy little thing to have on you.

You left the phone box in the last light of day and made your way down to the beach. It took you twenty minutes to reach the cove and less than one to sneak under the police tape unseen. There were just two constables standing guard at the scene and they only looked when you wanted them to. For an active crime scene, the site was unusually quiet, but you attributed your luck to the dusk that made searching for clues almost impossible.

Of course, that went for you as well, you thought sourly as you carefully stepped around the little plastic numbers the police forensics had put up all over the little stretch of beach. You could make out the bloody piece of driftwood and the large dark spatter running down the stones where the corpse had lain, but nothing smaller than those. Even if the place was rather secluded, you didn’t dare light a torch with the uniforms standing idly guard so close by.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and concentrated.

The place was tingling with dark energy and it became clearer the more you felt around, using your own magic.

A spirit, just like you had anticipated. A lost soul preying on the living for… revenge? Yes, the bloody traces sang with the mad desire for vengeance that so often kept the dead from their rest. 

Bloodshed, the thirst temporarily quenched. Then what?

The movements of the spirit became blurry after that no matter how hard you tried to focus. The leftover energy had been disturbed and mixed with the signatures of all the people who had been to the crime scene since the discovery of the body and it was impossible to make out without assistance, even for someone as experienced as you.

If you couldn’t locate the soul, you couldn’t send it packing. 

Luring it via séance required more people and it was too risky for everyone involved anyway. Without its name, summoning it was out of the question as well.

You groaned when you realised what you had to do.

Making sure for the last time you couldn’t be seen from the line of police tape above you, you took off your backpack and dark raincoat and shoved both of them under the nearest rock. Next, you loosened your boots and sat them next to the backpack, then your thick scarf and woollen jumper. With short, angry movements, you rolled your trousers down and folded them hastily, ripped off your socks and wriggled out of your top.

“You’re so bloody lucky I love you, John,” you mumbled through clenched teeth that were starting to rattle in your skull. With fingers already numb from the cold, you unclasped your bra and slid down your underwear before you could change your mind, and with a deep breath, you stepped into the waves.

Even before you went into the sea, your body had been covered in goosebumps from the chilly October air, but the surfs rising around your legs now made you heave for breath with every step forward. The rocks under your feet were dull compared to the sharpness of the water. When it reached you mid-thigh you had to stop and wait for the pain to subside enough so that you could get further out. You were too close to the beach and the water was still too shallow for your purpose.

A tangle of seaweed drifted past your ankle, or at least you hoped it was just seaweed. It was hard to tell for sure in the dark.

Your submerged muscles were screaming as you forced yourself out until the water reached your ribs. If only that wretched spirit hadn’t chosen the middle of the bleeding autumn to throw its tantrum.

“Sacred Nanuet, your humble servant speaks to you,” you intoned through gritted teeth and held out your hands on either side of you so the gentle waves touched the palms of your hands. “She beseeches you; allow her the honour of sharing in your wisdom. Blessed goddess, lend her your sight and expand her understanding, your humble servant begs of you, great Nanuet…”

The ancient language you muttered your request in felt strange on your tongue as always, but your flattery worked. You could feel the magic start to sing under your hands and so you took a deep breath and lowered yourself completely into the sea.

The stranglehold of the freezing water somehow got pushed into the background of your conscience and within a beat of your heart your mind was alight with images. Through the water, you could see most of the world, but you focused on Raven’s Rock and the little beach behind you. The water had seen it all. From the depths of the ocean, it rolled onto the sand and sneaked its way under the island’s rocks, seeped into the soil and was drunk by the hungry roots of The Green, stretching into the light above ground…

It wasn’t long before you managed to zero in on the exact event you needed. The Sight of Nanuet allowed your mind to access the memory of the watery abyss, which included as good as all water on Earth and not a lot of people mastered navigating it anymore. You had been forced to use a lot of wordly magic since you lost your wings and so had learned to find what you needed relatively easy.

Through the Sight, you saw the murder of the man on the beach, how the spirit severed his head and lapped at the blood before turning away from the scene. It lost some of its shape then, but through the dewy grass above the cove and the moist air, you managed to follow it away from the beach and across the land.

The spirit held its physical form, or at least the overall contours of it, and it made it easier to trail. From what you could tell, it definitely had been human when it had been alive. Poor thing. If only it hadn’t gone and murdered someone, maybe you could have sent it to rest. 

But would you even be there if it hadn’t?

When the spirit finally settled, you had followed it to an old, abandoned stone house with no windows and a door rotting away on the hinges. The place must have been a farm. There were several small outhouses scattered around the main building and indents in the earth marking former animal pens. The roof had been a thatched one, but now it was more moss than straw and what still remained beneath the heavy green patches had long since turned mouldy and dark. A few shards of glass jutted from some of the window frames like crude, predatory teeth waiting to chew up whoever was unfortunate or foolish enough to get close.

You went after the spirit through the remnants of the front door.

A voice in the back of your head told you it was enough, you should get out of the house and the Sight and the water. You had what you needed for now.

But the way the spirit slumped through the dark rooms and up a ramshackle staircase, as if it had done it a hundred times before, as if it belonged there in that house, intrigued you. It didn't match your original theory, the reason you didn't want John involved.

Curiosity piqued, you followed the lonely ghost up the stairs, where it turned left and went into a room with what had been two alcoves in the wall but were now mostly caved in. The room didn't have any windows and it was hard to make out the details, but the flimsy shape of the spirit trudged towards one of the beds and with motions as if the bedding had still been intact, it lay down and pulled the memory of a blanket over itself.

You slowly got closer, unsure of what to do. The visible shape of the ghost was gone now that it was no longer in motion and the general gloom of the empty house made it near impossible for you to see anything clearly. But the person the ghost had been once seemed so at home here. You couldn't feel any hostility from it at all, not even a trace. Only peace, comfort. Quiet.

This had been its home once when it had lived, you were almost certain of it.

But the desolate little stone house, out of the way even for the island's standard, must have stood abandoned for several decades, maybe even a century or two. If the ghost had lived here it was much older than you had initially thought.

Which meant you might have knocked John out for nothing.

Fuck.

You had to find out more and fast, but it was unlikely the memory of the house before your closed eyes would yield anything further. Even if it was dark and late in the evening, you would have to go there physically. The chances of finding something would be higher, and besides, you couldn't stay in the water forever. You were almost human, after all.

The thought had barely crossed your mind before the reflex to breathe kicked in and you could feel the freezing seawater rush down your throat. One inhale was all it took for your lungs to feel heavy as a pair of burning bricks. A fleeting realisation, that drowning was one of the most unpleasant sensations you’d had the misfortune of experiencing since losing your wings, faintly made it to the front of your perception before the back of your head hit the sand on the ocean floor. Then the only thing you could focus on was the pressure of the water and the way your body grew ever more numb…

The room still flickered before your eyes, slowly losing definition as you lost consciousness. Strange, you mused with your last bit of coherence, that an angel from Heaven should die looking up at it from so far below, in the cold embrace of the sea. It wasn't even painful anymore, the water, but oddly comforting, lulling you to rest, holding you tight.

The only regret you had was leaving John…

The last thing you saw before your eyes fell shut was his face above yours and a faint smile moved your lips. How very considerate of your mind to conjure up his image as the last thing you would ever see.

You could feel his arms around you even, fingers digging into your skin, his body pressed down against your own…

“Bloody fucking Hell, let her go!” The words didn’t make sense to you and they sounded so awfully far away. “She isn’t yours, you stupid paegan relic, let go of her! Let go!”

But you were, you were letting go, there was nothing more you could do.

“Christ, luv, which heathen tosspot did you enlist to drown you?! Yam, Ægir? Tiamat? Nanuet? Nanuet, isn’t it?” At the invocation of her name, you could feel the ancient goddess slacken her hold on you, as if in surprise, and you vaguely realised that the embrace you felt didn’t belong to her or the water, but to John. “Oh, you always were a fickle tart. Let go of this servant or so help me God, I, John Constantine, will destroy you and every last shrine still bearing your blasted name! Let her go!”

With a cry you weren’t sure was even coming from you, your face broke the surface of the waves. You violently coughed up seawater and if it weren’t for John’s arms, you would have fallen right back down into the deep. Your head was spinning. The numbness gave way to a cold so freezing you might as well have been rolling in needles. Everything hurt. Your legs felt unsteady, no, your entire body felt as if someone had replaced your bones with straw and your muscles with jelly.

“J-John…,” you coughed, but he shushed you, keeping you close to him in the water.

“I know, luv, it’s a bloody miracle you aren’t dead, you’re welcome for that. Now let’s get you out of the water, yeah?”

He was really there, drenched in the North Sea in the middle of October at what might as well have been the edge of the Earth, just to save you from drowning. His white shirt and black trousers clung to his frame like film and from what you could make out in the light from the moon, he was shuddering from the cold, too. You had never wanted to kiss him so badly before.

“I c-can’t m-m-move,” you got out through teeth rattling painfully in your skull, suddenly all too aware of your proximity and your own state of undress. As much as you wanted to cling to him for warmth, for closeness, the logical part of your muddled brain was screaming at you to keep your distance. That was what you did, wasn’t it?

“‘Course you can’t. How long were you under for, anyway? Completely off your rocker summoning a paegan goddess alone at night in the middle of the bloody ocean! What were you thinking?”

“I-I saw the g-ghost,” you weakly tried stammering through your clattering teeth. “Saw h-how it killed-ungh!”

You let out a groan as John swiftly picked you up and started carrying you towards shore. Your severely tested heart felt as though it might give out entirely. Never had you been reckless enough to let him touch you like this before, to let him hold you, as if you were a lover who would readily indulge in such intimacy. If it weren’t for the fact that you were very likely about to freeze to death, your cheeks would have been on fire. Every inch of your skin would have been scorching.

As it were, you were too cold and too exhausted for your body to produce that kind of heat. Surrendering to the fatigue in your bones, you allowed your head to rest against him and closed your eyes. He could carry you to shore or to Hell on his hands. You weren’t going to argue. For the first time in all your human life, you completely let your guard down.

#john constantine x reader #constantine x reader #john constantine #constantine #john constantine fanfiction #hellblazer #vertigo hellblazer #nbc constantine #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #dc x reader #dc x you #john constantine x you

[langernameohnebedeutung]

Is it bad to have an accent ? I’m studying English at uni and all my teachers say I have to work on my accent and adopt an RP or GA accent because having an accent is bad and terrible . I have a pretty thick French accent and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to correct it and it’s making me feel very self-conscious so I almost never talk , which affect my performance in class .

Seeeee..........the thing is, there is this ideal. This gold-standard: The accent-free foreigner. (And if you do have an accent it better be from a rich white country and it better be barely noticeable and you won’t mind if someone is creepy about it)  And many learners ascribe to that ideal as well. And honestly, it doesn’t go anywhere, as far as I’m concerned. There are just very little professions where you will profit from not having an accent outside of people being happy about it. There is no practical gain. Unless you want to become an actor or a spy or the Queen’s professional doppelgänger.

So, to make this short, it’s not bad to have an accent as far as I’m concerned and your teachers sound like dicks tbh. 

We often complain about native-speakers who are rude about people’s accents or mistakes when they only know one language themselves. But I think it’s time to address that: ESL-speakers do it too - in fact, I would say that especially among people from countries where fluency in English is expected for  the younger generation, it is very common to lash out against people from the same community who have a thicker accent when they speak English and to make fun of them. And that’s just as rude as when a native speaker does it or when you make fun of anyone else for doing something you excel at.

On the personal note: You can only do something about accent if you speak and if you’re getting berated for the way you speak and that keeps you from speaking - then you’re not going to improve. It’s fair for a teacher to point out how to pronounce a word or to point out if someone’s grammar is wrong - but I study English too and while we had to stick to a specific variety when writing (either American or British), we were never told how to speak beyond pointing out mistakes in classes that were about language proficiency. And most people do improve over time, simply because their studies expose them to a lot of spoken English. I would meet people from my first semesters again in higher semesters and note how they have become more fluent and made less mistakes. Personally, I would try speaking to at least the lecturers you think might react decently about it that you’re working on it (whether you are or not) and that for that you need to speak and right now this kind of feed-back is making you more anxious about speaking and whether they would mine focusing their criticism on more structural aspects of your speaking.

As far as accents or being “accent-free” is concerned-  

I don’t even think it’s something that all speakers should aspire to. And even if someone’s end goal is to speak perfect RP or GA, that should be their personal goal. Many people uphold this strange notion of purity when it comes to people learning a language where everyone should aspire to be “accent-free” or “sound like a native-speaker”. And I guess it makes sense if you’re teaching someone how to speak that language as a beginner. It makes sense to show  them how to pronounce words and how sounds work in that language. If you have a person sitting in front of you who doesn’t speak English, it makes sense to stick to one version instead of saying “wa-t-er” in one lesson and “wadder” in the next or “caahn’t” in one sentence and “cèèn’t”in the next. It gives them a certain structure, helps them tell one variety from the other and to avoid confusion. Not to mention that if someone wants to study English they are expected to write their papers and essays in one variety of English so it makes sense that they know the general rules of telling them apart or recognizing or recognising how a word would be spelt or spelled. 

But when you finally become more fluent, you still have an accent and you still might not be perfect recognising one variety from the other. There are people who live in a foreign country for the majority of their lives but you can still tell where they come from. 

But the question is...who cares?

Don’t get me wrong, if someone wants to put their effort into learning a specific variety perfectly, I don’t see anything wrong with it and if they accomplish that - it’s quite some feat and it’s cool. Commendable. But the truth is that we all have accents. Even in our native languages, we speak in a regional accent, we probably have specific slang-words that are particular to some group. Age, class, sex, gender, education, interests - there are thousands of factors  that determine the way we speak. And it’s the same for native English speakers. There are hundreds of versions to speak English. 

I actually once took part in a public speaking class and the woman who held that class was a logopaedics trainer. And she could tell by the way people spoke and moved their mouth while speaking whether they used to wear braces, which parent they had a closer relationship with and other things. The way we speak - and the way we aspire to speak - is an important aspect of our personality and who we are and where we come from and personally, I don’t see the value of erasing that. It’s like a hand-writing and no one would tell you to alter your handwriting until you write in Times New Roman or Arial.

The thing is, when Anglos complain that they don’t understand a Scottish person or an Irish person or some other regional dialect, that is because that person grew up speaking a particular variety of English in a specific community. But for someone who isn’t a native speaker, they learn English in a community with a different native language - which means we simply speak that language with them (unless it’s for practice or a joke). I learnt English in a German school among kids with German accents and German language-habits - and teachers who had the same accent and the same habits and one who pronounced “wipe” as “whip”. And you probably learnt it in a French-speaking school among kids with French accents and French language-habits. So there is practically no way for any of us to leave school without speaking in that respective accent. But unlike a Scottish person or an Irish person, we didn’t speak that variety of English with our peers. We spoke our our native language. And I think that’s the difference for most people - that one group has a native community to fall back on and the other doesn’t, so the second one should aspire to imitating a native-speaker instead of adding another variety to the mix. 

Also you’re just as likely to speak English with people from any other European country (who also have their own accent and speaking-habits) as with a native speaker, so it’s not like you’re only going to be exposed to people who light you the way to a native accent. I remember when I made this post about “Euro-English” and people from absolutely random countries with different native languages all commented with: “No this is definitely how we speak, this is definitely our variety of English!” - meaning there are also a lot of unifying factors there too, based on our language families and cultural similarities - and how many people are there speaking like that? Hundreds of millions, probably.

Someone once pointed out to me that there are more Germans who speak English than there are Canadians. And you can do that maths  for a lot of countries: There are more Norwegians or Swiss people who speak English than people from the Republic of Ireland. There are more French people who speak English than there are Australians. That means with the exception of Americans, we outnumber people from the countries these “ideal” accents come from. And in fact, how many British people speak RP? How many Americans speak GA? And that’s just looking at western countries. There are so many varieties of English spread around the globe due to colonialism. It’s ridiculous to expect the entire world to sound like the Queen. In the end, each version is their own variety and just because it doesn’t have a native community to fall back on, I think it’s harmful to treat it as something only worth of erasing when a person’s English skills are a factor in professional success and social standing even in the community they come from.

English is the current lingua franca - a language that non-native speakers communicate in. And as I said, it makes sense to teach it in a specific way and to teach it the dialects that exist - because if everyone would just make up their own version of English, we wouldn’t understand each other and might as well not have bothered learning English in the first place. But you don’t need to have a cut-glass accent to accomplish that or aspire to have one.   

And this brings me to what I think should be the central question: 

What do you want to use your English for?

See, I did mention that if you want to become a British spy or play a British role as an actor or be the Queen’s bodyguard slash doppelgänger (a film I would watch) - then it would probably pay off to master a specific native accent as well as possible. (That said, there are enough British actors who get roles as Americans and vice-versa who don’t fool anyone and there are a lot of skills other than a specific accent that you would need to master each one). 

But those are jobs where you actively have to shed your own identity. That’s the point. You have to pretend to be a native speaker. But that’s not what you do in every-day life. In fact, most people you will interact with will probably know you’re French from the social context you are in or because it comes up in conversation, so beyond being a neat party trick, I don’t see what purpose having an RP or GA accent has here.

Of course, you might want to become a teacher, in which case, it would be important to have a specific pronunciation - but also all English teachers I had had German accents and I wouldn’t say that they would have been a million times better at teaching if they hadn’t had that - it’s far more important to know how to teach, to understand the grammar and vocabulary and to help your students to improve themselves and to understand why people speak the way they do.

You might want to be a journalist - if your interview-partner understands you and you can write in English, it’s fulfilling its purpose. If you want to work in a specific field - for example become a doctor in an English-speaking country - it’s important that your patients understand you and that you know your medical terms, but you don’t need Received Pronunciation. If you want to go into tourism, a bit of a foreign accent might actually come across as more authentic and desirable. 

So I think the central question is whether the English you speak right now serves its purpose for what you want it to - or if it is at odds with what you want to do with it.

If your accent wouldn’t pose a problem for you, then my profeschionel opinion is to fuck ‘em haters. Do what you like.  If you want to work on your accent: Do it. If you don’t: Don’t. 

But...if you feel like the way you speak English now would cause you difficulties in your job or every-day life later on - then I think the best thing to do would be to look into the specific skills you need and to invest your energy into acquiring these skills. Whether that is a specific jargon specific to one field or translate very quickly - or whether you really need to learn RP or GA. If you take a professional interpreter for example, many of them do lean to a specific variety, but have accents. It can’t be so heavy that it’s difficult to understand them, but their work requires skills beyond having a specific pronunciation. 

So erm...those where just my 2 cents on accents.

If you do want to change something about your accent - maybe even just to get your teachers off your case - I recommend listening to native speakers and particular, sticking to one variety you prefer. If you are already fluent and you understand them, your brain is very quick to pick up on dialects. (You know the thing where you watch someone speak in a specific dialect and for a while after you find yourself saying things in that dialect? The brain is very fast too do that and it also works in English, even if you don’t internalise it immediately and it feels artificial at first). Also don’t be afraid of speaking to yourself to practice. Obviously, speaking to others is important (and if you’re self-conscious or you are worried about your teacher commenting on it, maybe try asking a friend or sibling or someone to speak English with you or see if you can find a learning buddy) but I think talking to oneself can also be helpful. Because you are not trying to get a point across as you would in a conversation or have to focus on the words you are saying. You can focus on your accent and the way you speak and I think that is an important aspect when it comes to accents: Knowing your accent. Being aware of the way you pronounce words. You know the thing where you try pronouncing a word but you can never quite get there - much less if you’re trying to speak quickly or in a sentence? - It really helps to pay attention to the differences between the way you say it and a native speaker says it. Also if there is word you don’t know or that you aren’t used to hearing out loud  and you encounter it in the wild like a video or a film - it really helps to stop it and to pronounce it to yourself.

But generally, you cannot change the way you speak over night, even if you do it. It’s something that takes time and effort and it might never work completely. So really, I would focus on what you want to accomplish with your English and what future use you see for it - and focus on your strength as well, the things you’re good at. And in the short-term, I would try convincing the teachers that you are working on it but that their current course of action is actually making it more difficult for you.

#nonfandom #languages #Anonymous

[marginalgloss]

summons to the self

Against Everything is a collection of essays by Mark Greif, most of which were originally published in the journal n+1. I suppose you could describe them as essays in the old sense of the world: they are general in the grand way, non-specific and apparently all-encompassing; the momentary focus on a particular subject is only ever a springboard towards a wider point about the nature of music, or food, or even the Meaning of Life (and that one’s a four-parter). 

For Against Everything one might as well read About Everything. Not that there’s anything wrong with that; though I had the sense here, as I often get with broadsheet columnists, that the author is only building a case to support an outcome determined in advance; that they risk nothing in perpetual dialogue with themselves. Which is not to say that this kind of dialectic is without interest: the only risk comes in mistaking one’s own bon mots for profundities.

Greif is an exemplary generalist: you always have the sense that he’s read everything worth reading on any given subject, and that he earnestly wants to tell you something about it without resorting to trickery. He is expressive and emotive without being manipulative. His tone is authoritative without being shocking, so you don’t always notice when his aphorisms take a turn towards the bizarre. His take on exercise, for example, is fairly scathing:

‘Exercise means something other than health to a young person who conceives sexual desirability as the truth about herself most worth defending. And youth is becoming permanent, in the demand that adults keep up an outward show of juvenescence. The body itself becomes the location of sexiness, rather than clothes or wit or charisma. Yet this is probably less true for society — which values personality still — than for the exerciser herself, who imagines an audience that doesn’t exist. Saddest of all is the belief that an improved body will bestow bliss on the unloved.’

There’s a lot to unpack here. The overall argument of this piece is that exercise culture is an unwelcome aberration; gyms are a bizarre ritualised arena in which one of the last private bodily functions is rendered public; keeping fit this way is ‘like a punishment for our liberation…a set of forms of bodily self-regulation that drag the last vestiges of biological life into the light as a social attraction.’ Like all his stuff, it’s well written, and quite funny. And you couldn’t exactly say it’s not true any more than you could say a Seinfeld routine is untrue. The observations are quality.

And yet I read the paragraph above again and my patience begins to slip. The invocation of an imaginary ‘young person’, then ‘society’, then an ‘audience’ — the reader is supposed to know what he’s talking about, I suppose. But who are they? The jibe about ‘the truth…most worth defending’ is contemptuous in that special way that suggests the author is privy to the real order of truth in her world. 

It’s arch, this writing, and it deals in generalisations and simplifications, if only because those things are essential to the generalist. Is he right? I don’t know. Not always, perhaps: was there ever a time when ‘the body’ (whatever that is) wasn’t the location of sexiness (whatever that is); is it really the case that society ‘values personality’? And if that audience for the anxious young woman doesn’t exist, who is it that the author is talking about when he refers to ‘society’?

Perhaps I am being pedantic. But I don’t want to be unfair because I think his point about the ‘outward show of juvenescence’ is well made here, as it is in another essay about the way in which popular culture exemplifies the bodies of young children as the ultimate ideal. He’s perceptive; again, he’s difficult to disagree with, like a poet, or a very good advertising copywriter. But it may be that he is difficult to disagree with because his observations don’t amount to much in particular. And for every well-turned paragraph in this collection, there are two or three which leave me tripping over myself.

Sometimes the author seems to have had the same response to his own work, and there are several addenda here which clarify or even modify conclusions reached years ago. It’s perhaps for the best, for example, that he quietly revises his opinion that it was somehow important for him to start learning to rap since Obama came to the Presidency (‘…it doesn’t sound good to ask what practicing Slick Rick’s “La Di Da Di” had to do with the first American president of African descent…’). 

Actually his essay on rap music is pretty good; despite the author’s puzzlingly literal approach to reading lyrics, there’s some memorable stuff here about the contrasts between gangster rap and white indie music trends in the 90s as being also about a vision of unashamedly aspirational capitalism versus conspicuous ethical consumption; the former built out of necessity, the latter only surviving through the nourishment of a century of accumulated middle-class capital.

Would it be a better essay if it were only about that stuff? Perhaps: though I can’t say I didn’t get a kick out of the story of Greif’s own attempts to rap along with his favourite records on the bus, while covering his mouth to avoid embarrassment and skipping the parts a white man shouldn’t really be caught singing. But how strange that all this should be wrapped up together with the stuff that is actually about the music.

Perhaps that is what writing is now; perhaps readers won’t accept writing about rap music (or anything else) if it isn’t accompanied by the sideshow of a little author living his own little life amongst the text. And that’s fine, I think. It’s probably even good. But combining this with an approach that attempts to wholly encompass a subject that is inherently complex, varied and contradictory as rap music — that seems somewhat over-ambitious.

The best and worst of the writing here comes in the essays which deal with the problem of how to live. The author is adept at pinpointing the causes of contemporary dissatisfaction: we fall into the gap between early promised happiness and total freedom of opportunity towards the disappointing reality of specialisation, mediocrity, and a general deficiency of all the worldly pleasures we’re told we ought to be enjoying. 

His suggested remedy is a combination of aestheticism (seeing everything in life as if it were a work of art) and perfectionism (not as the word is commonly misused, but in terms of weighing everything one might encounter as if it were an ‘example’ of how one should or should not live). ‘Perfectionism thus makes experience total, not by viewing outside people and things as art, but by feeling how each directs its summons to your self, and letting it enter and the self respond,’ he writes. I am not sure this entirely helps, but there you go.

It seems to have taken a year between the writing of that essay and the next instalment on The Meaning of Life for the author to realise that perhaps not everyone might not be able to observe the machinations of their own feelings in this way. Or rather: what if the ‘summons to the self’ is rendered as ‘piercing, grating, intrusive…it is a scourge. All you wish for is some means to reduce the feeling.’ 

The subsequent reflections on the ‘anaesthetic’ solutions to this problem of the scourge of existence are described as if they were literally anti-aesthetic: a reaction against the excess of stimuli that daily life brings. Greif’s catalogue of solutions is broad, wandering, digressive: it ranges from Epictetus and the Stoic philosophers, to campus stoners, to the difference between tragic representation in ancient times and the omnipresent tragedies of our current era. I like this very precise distillation of what it is like to watch a human being actually beheaded on video:

‘…The first showing of the video is bad. The second, fifth, tenth, hundredth, are — like one’s own experiences — retained, recountable, real, and yet dreamlike. Some describe the repetition as “numbing”. “Numbing” is very imprecise. I think the feeling, finally, is something like envelopment and even satisfaction at having endured the worst without quite caring or being tormented. It is the paradoxically calm satisfaction of having been enveloped in a weak or placid “real” that another person endured as the worst experience imaginable, in his personal frenzy, fear, and desperation, which we view from outside as the simple occurrence of death.’

All of this is very true, I think. But as ever with these essays, I’m left with little idea of what the author thinks the reader ought to do with this information. Is the general surfeit of this kind of media what’s making us depressed? Why can we not aestheticise the murder video? Why can’t it be another ‘summons to the self’ that is turned away, as not being a model on which to live? 

No modification to the earlier argument can be suggested because already the author is off tilting at the next windmill. These essays are trapped in the same mindset that considers the person watching the video as if they were only interesting as an example of their type. The essay holds that person — that example of a person — at a distance. It uses them for whatever point that needs to be made; and then it leaves them behind. Fine: it isn’t really about the example of what that one person felt, watching the horrid video, any more than it is about the woman who had to exercise. But what is it about?

#books #mark greif #against everything

[anghraine]

“in tongues and quiet sighs” - fic

Wherein I decided to write a Space Spanish(+ obligatory Space Swedish!) fic after all, once I got to thinking about how interesting the inherent complications are.

This was, incidentally, a monster to write despite being a short Chaucer fic. I think it’s been rattling around my hard drive for a month and a half.

fandom: Star Wars

verse: the “okay but about that earlier script where Jyn and Cassian make it out” continuity (i.e., with threshold of a dream, but not ad astra or any of the others, despite some commonalities)

characters: Leia Organa, Cassian Andor; Jyn Erso, Han Solo, Luke Skywalker (background Han/Leia and Jyn/Cassian)

length: 1k

stuff that happens: I meant it to be about Alderaanian among the Rebels in general, but it ended up being about Alderaanian and Leia, in the context of her relationship with Cassian.

I

“Alderaan has no weapons,” Princess Leia said, and it was true.

In that moment, they had no weapons. In the decades before, they had no weapons. Tarkin had no justification whatsoever for obliterating Alderaan: only the Death Star burning a hole in his pocket, and petty revenge on the princess.

That didn’t mean that Alderaan never had any weapons, of course. They’d voluntarily disarmed a good century before the Clone Wars. But there was a reason that Alderaanian spanned the galaxy, from the Core to the Outer Rim.

II

On the bright side, Leia’s first handler turned out to be a young, quiet, attractive man who shared her native language, if an unfamiliar dialect of it. On the every-other-side, Leia had a handler who didn’t tell her anything. Except to lecture, of course: do this, never do that, avoid that other one if you can.

“Su alteza,” said Cassian Andor, in the tone of strained patience that he always used with her, “no puede—”

“Teniente,” Leia returned, exactly mimicking his tone, “no puedes decirme—”

He was only twenty-two, but to judge by his sighs, twenty-two going on sixty.

And that was when he didn’t make her fight his murder droid.

III

Leia would not have said she cared one way or another about the atmosphere of the Rebellion’s bases. But insofar as she did, she liked the one on Yavin IV, at once their most secure and most expansive. Every day that she spent there, she saw more equipment and protocols and standardization. While she passed on whispers in the Senate, stolen codes, lent her diplomatic immunity to Rebel operations, the refuge at Yavin IV had become a real military base, against the backdrop of the temples and jungle.

She’d thought those magnificent from the first, which didn’t matter nearly as much, but a little: they lent a dignity to the hiding and secrecy, like Aldera. And though it looked nothing like Aldera, actual Alderaanian was everywhere—mostly alderés yavineso, clipped and rapid even to her ears, but also the familiar tones of Alderaan, the drawling alderés del exterior like Andor’s (alderés fiesteno, he always corrected, looking more murderous than usual), countless others, strange but readily comprehensible.

Afterwards, she didn’t know if she regretted that or not.

IV

General Draven had all the spirituality of a rock, but he took one glance at Leia and ordered her to medbay.

“Don’t worry,” he said, with one of his more incomprehensible looks, “you won’t be alone.”

When she saw Cassian Andor unconscious in the next room over, an unfamiliar woman sleeping in the chair beside his bed, enlightenment dawned. So did shock; they all thought him dead on that rogue mission—an infiltration so completely unauthorized and so necessary that after years in intelligence, she’d never respected him more.

Andor stirred and squinted at the doorway, then mumbled, “Infanta?”

The Basic was easier to bear, but Leia refused to flinch; she was still her mother’s daughter, and if la Infanta de Alderán now meant something very different, the image could help the Rebellion.

That was all that mattered.

V

Not long after they settled on Hoth, Han started extending “kid” to Leia as well as Luke. It was more baffling than infuriating; when he said it, he always looked an odd mixture of defensive, stubborn, and uncomfortable.

Since Luke snickered every time, Leia fixed her sternest stare on him and ordered, “Spill.”

“It’s because of what Commander Andor calls you,” he said, to her still greater bewilderment; she and Andor liked each other, but were far too much alike to bother with studied familiarity—comfortably, they stuck with titles.

“Infanta?” said Leia, and of course, she understood as soon as it left her mouth. Han didn’t speak even the clumps of Alderaanian that Luke had picked up—he must think—Force, he thought Andor, rigid at the best of times and attached at the hip to Jyn Erso for the last year, was—he was jealous of Andor?

Nothing, Leia had thought, could ever make the title anything except a splinter in her chest: but for one moment, she smiled.

VI

Leia, for reasons she didn’t care to interrogate, quite cheerfully let Han stew in jealousy of a colleague devoted to another woman. It was Luke who took pity on him and explained that a) infanta was her title, so kind of the opposite of a pet name, and b) Andor had probably never used a pet name for anyone in his entire life.

“Anyway, he’s Erso’s,” Luke said.

“They’re friends, like you and me,” replied Han, though he seemed mollified (as far as Leia, definitely not eavesdropping, could make out).

“Uh,” said Luke, “unless you’re planning on dragging me into a supply closet sometime soon, not really.”

Leia slipped away, satisfied—and the next time she saw Cassian Andor, smiled so broadly that he frowned and said, “¿Está bien?”

“Sí,” she said, and meant it.

VII

Luke liked languages, and somehow or another, he had acquired a smattering of nearly all the widespread ones. Though he tended to forget Alderaanian words around others, with Leia he spoke it near-fluently—which turned it into something of a private language around Han.

Leia didn’t really care, except that it seemed appropriate in some ill-defined way that she and Han reached (and shouted) over a chasm, while she and Luke sat on her bed speaking earnestly of words—he talked circles around the holes in his Alderaanian, and she’d repeat simple Tatooine phrases over and over, mitt namn är Leia, mitt namn är Leia, mitt namn är Leia.

Neither of them, however, expected Jyn Erso to appear in the silent way she had, interrupting Luke’s uhh wait, it should be subjunctive with an air of even greater stoicism than usual.

“Do you need something?” said Leia, curious but no more; she neither liked nor disliked Erso, who was so reserved, and so indifferent to virtually everyone, that people joked (safely out of earshot) that Andor had replaced one murder droid with another.

“Uh,” Erso said, and now she seemed outright uncomfortable, “if … theoretically, I wanted to pick up some Alderaanian, I was wondering if—not you, but if you knew someone who wouldn’t mind…?”

“Nah,” said Luke, and when Leia glared at him, he added, “you’ll have to stick with us.”

Notes!

LOL, this is probably longer than the actual fic, but:

1) Su alteza, no puede—: “Your Highness, you can't—” (formal).

2) Teniente, no puedes decirme—: “Lieutenant, you can't tell me—” Cassian uses the formal tense, while Leia makes a point of using the familiar one. I was imagining that things like 'usted' are prevalent in the more far-flung Alderaanian-speaking planets and nearly extinct in the Core, so partly it's a matter of dialect, but she's also unhappy with her junior position and emphasizing her status.

3) alderés yavineso: Yavinese Alderaanian

4) alderés del exterior: Outer Rim Alderaanian

5) alderés fiesteno: Alderaanian of Fest/Fieste. It's customary to lump all the Outer Rim dialects together, but irritating to the people who speak those dialects; it's a vast area with tons of differences. Leia has quite a few colonial attitudes.

6) Infanta?: Princess? I've mostly seen it in reference to Iberian princesses in particular (e.g., Catherine of Aragón = la Infanta Catalina), so I was imagining it as specific to Alderaan and maybe a few nearby planets.

7) la Infanta de Alderán: "the Princess of Alderaan." Alderaan doesn't seem quite right for Spanish and "Fest" is just... German (and as anyone who has followed me for awhile knows, one of my random pet hates), so I imagined that a lot of the names are approximations in Basic rather than the names they themselves use.

8) ¿Está bien?: "Are you well?" Even outside of their previous dynamic, Cassian persistently uses the formal tense. (I'd actually originally planned another section about the assorted hiccups caused by regional differences in formal/familiar forms—like, Kes Dameron accidentally offends Cassian by using Alderaanian, because everyone is tú in his dialect, but in Cassian's it's incredibly rude to use with a stranger, and certainly a superior officer. But I decided I wanted Han/Leia more :P)

9) “Though he tended to forget Alderaanian words around others, with Leia”: he’s genuinely learning, but I imagine the bond with Leia subconsciously lends an assist, at least when they’re near.

10) mitt namn är Leia, mitt namn är Leia, mitt namn är Leia: "my name is Leia, my name is Leia, my name is Leia" (Swedish). I've been deeply grumpy at fandom slapping on stereotypes and Google Translate onto any and all characters played by Latinx actors, while expending all sorts of energy and creativity on e.g. the Skywalkers (whose originator speaks with a decided Swedish accent). So when I got lured into Space Spanish by thinking about linguistic drift and tenses and other fatal attractions, I was determined to also include the Skywalkers as Space Swedes.

#leia skywalker organa #cassian andor #anghraine's fic #script au #/ #// #/// #//// #///// #jyn erso #han solo #luke skywalker #star wars #otp: welcome home #han x leia #the skywalker twins #i honestly should have a tag just for my leia + cassian feelings #my precious tragic gryffindors living their cause and convictions (and occasionally overlooking actual people. including themselves) #a cause that was worth it #(haha kill me now)

[swipestream]

Gnome Stew Notables – Alex Roberts

Welcome to the second installment of our Gnome Spotlight: Notables series. The notables series is a look at game developers in the gaming industry doing good work. The series will focus on female game creators and game creators of color primarily, and each entry will be a short bio and interview. We’ve currently got a group of authors and guest authors interviewing game creators and hope to bring you many more entries in the series as it continues on. If you’ve got a suggestion for someone we should be doing a notables article on, or want to do an interview with someone send us a note at [email protected]. – Head Gnome John

Meet Alex

Alex

Alex Roberts is a writer, designer, journalist, and roleplayer of boundless enthusiasm. She wants roleplaying to be a site of interior exploration, transformation, and healing. When not hosting her acclaimed interview show 

Talking With Alex

1) Tell us a little bit about yourself and your work. 

Big question! All right, here’s my deal. I’m bright and enthusiastic, and I have a podcast called Backstory where I interview fascinating folks in roleplaying. It’s thoughtful and gentle and even people who don’t like podcasts like it. I write fun stuff for other people’s games, like Sig, Dialect, Threadbare, and Misspent Youth: Sell Out With Me. I do production support and project management and marketing stuff for game publishers; right now with Bully Pulpit Games. And, of course, I make my own dang games! My first was HUGPUNX LIVE, for Pelgrane’s #Feminism supplement. I’m semi-secretly working on a little card-based thing right now. And of course there’s Star Crossed, the two-player RPG of forbidden love, which will be on Kickstarter April 10th – May 10th! That game has been in progress for years and I am losing my mind over how great it’s going to be.

  You’ve probably heard me on podcasts or at cons talking about two player games, or romance and sexuality in game design. These are some of my favourite topics!

Backstory Podcast

2) What project are you most proud of?

It’s hard to pick just one! I do feel a certain special love for my first RPG writing credit, in Sig: the City Between. I had no idea what I was doing; Crystalia just kind of emerged from me. Sig is planar fantasy, and I was moved to write about a beautiful, perfect world of vibrations and lights in glorious pastels. Beings grow in caves and emerge fully formed, and where things are easily broken and impossible to repair. Without my intention, it came to represent this overwhelming fear of making mistakes, of imperfections, of asking for help or accepting nurturing. I still get into that headspace sometimes but I’m at least better at recognizing it, since writing it out as something external to me. I’ll think to myself: whoops, I’m in Crystalia again. Better turn around.

3) What themes do you like to emphasize in your game work?

Queerness, obviously, but also the excruciating joy of being alive.

4) What mechanics do you like best in games?

I like when a game system perfectly matches the real, felt, lived experience of something in the world. Sometimes a game mechanic makes apparent something you only sensed before, but couldn’t express. You point to it and go, “yes! That’s how it is!” Not an external realism, but an internal resonance.

5) How would you describe your game design style?

Intuitive. I am making games to feel my way through what the heck is going on. With me, with the world. Star Crossed is not just about Attraction and Relationships, it’s me making meaning of my experiences of attraction and relationships, and trying to make them into a system that I can comprehend (if not master.) Even “comprehend” is a bit too intellectual, actually. Maybe a word like “integrate” is a bit closer. Really, by making a game I’m going, okay, this is how attraction works, it’s sorta like this, a thing I can see the whole of, and live with. Star Crossed is my little diorama of attraction, with moving parts.

6) How does gender/queerness fit into your games?

I like when my work is very obviously feminine even though I find femininity hard to define. I guess, again, I must prefer to make stuff to understand rather than express. More likely I’m doing both. If pressed I would say that all my games, even when I was working digitally, put harmony, creativity, and grace at the forefront. And of course my games are going to be queer because that’s where I’m coming from. I could never make a game where relationships have a pre-determined path forward which is generally agreed upon by not only the people in it but also their broader community and culture. I’ll keep letting you get into messy, baffling, ecstatically exciting but fraught relationships instead.

7) How do you make sexy games fun?

Star Crossed

Sex is already absolutely ludicrous. And I think sex is one of most adults’ few opportunities to be playful. So, let’s just acknowledge that and make a game where you can tell ridiculous, sexy stories. It’s so much easier than people seem to think. I get the fear around making anything about sex (even in this answer I’m resisting the urge to say something like “Star Crossed doesn’t just tell sexy stories!” which is true but irrelevant) because we’re taught that whole area of life is inherently dangerous. Reflecting the reality of sexuality – that it is honestly just the most ridiculous and interesting thing – is better than trying to deliberately frame it any particular way.

8) How did you get into games?

Like everyone else, I played all the time as a kid. I was just lucky enough to keep doing it. After absorbing the cultural concept of “Dungeons and Dragons” I ran what were essentially ongoing fantasy storytelling sessions, with no rules except total DM fiat, in various treehouses and backyards and slumber parties, until I was a teen and I made friends with some boys who had the actual books and knew the actual rules. It took me a couple of years of trying to get into that to get bored and decide I didn’t like RPGs after all! Then I met a friend who showed me The Burning Wheel. And then organized a game of Fiasco. And then gave me his copy of Kagematsu and asked me to GM it. The rest is history. Thanks, Patrick!

9) What one thing would you change in gaming?

I would like to have a sophisticated culture of critique. “There’s no wrong way to have fun!” is an attempt at kindness, of course. I get that it’s a fallback to avoid a recurring set of self-fuelling arguments. Unfortunately, there are lots of ways to have fun that hurt other people. I’ve seen play used to bully, and game systems that reinforce and re-create much broader systems of harm. Being able to precisely and compassionately critique different games might help us build more fun, innovative, groundbreaking work while also helping us avoid some of those problems.

10) What are you working on now?

I have a little game about a queen’s retinue that I’m specifically cultivating for first-time roleplayers, and it turns out long-time roleplayers have been enjoying it too. It’s been fun so far! It’s been a lifeline of creativity while pushing Star Crossed past the finish line. Those are two different kinds of satisfying that fuel each other.

Thanks for joining us for this entry in the notables series.  You can find more in the series here: and please feel free to drop us any suggestions for people we should interview at [email protected].

Gnome Stew Notables – Alex Roberts published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

[kayawagner]

Gnome Stew Notables – Alex Roberts

Welcome to the second installment of our Gnome Spotlight: Notables series. The notables series is a look at game developers in the gaming industry doing good work. The series will focus on female game creators and game creators of color primarily, and each entry will be a short bio and interview. We’ve currently got a group of authors and guest authors interviewing game creators and hope to bring you many more entries in the series as it continues on. If you’ve got a suggestion for someone we should be doing a notables article on, or want to do an interview with someone send us a note at [email protected]. – Head Gnome John

Meet Alex

Alex

Alex Roberts is a writer, designer, journalist, and roleplayer of boundless enthusiasm. She wants roleplaying to be a site of interior exploration, transformation, and healing. When not hosting her acclaimed interview show 

Talking With Alex

1) Tell us a little bit about yourself and your work. 

Big question! All right, here’s my deal. I’m bright and enthusiastic, and I have a podcast called Backstory where I interview fascinating folks in roleplaying. It’s thoughtful and gentle and even people who don’t like podcasts like it. I write fun stuff for other people’s games, like Sig, Dialect, Threadbare, and Misspent Youth: Sell Out With Me. I do production support and project management and marketing stuff for game publishers; right now with Bully Pulpit Games. And, of course, I make my own dang games! My first was HUGPUNX LIVE, for Pelgrane’s #Feminism supplement. I’m semi-secretly working on a little card-based thing right now. And of course there’s Star Crossed, the two-player RPG of forbidden love, which will be on Kickstarter April 10th – May 10th! That game has been in progress for years and I am losing my mind over how great it’s going to be.

  You’ve probably heard me on podcasts or at cons talking about two player games, or romance and sexuality in game design. These are some of my favourite topics!

Backstory Podcast

2) What project are you most proud of?

It’s hard to pick just one! I do feel a certain special love for my first RPG writing credit, in Sig: the City Between. I had no idea what I was doing; Crystalia just kind of emerged from me. Sig is planar fantasy, and I was moved to write about a beautiful, perfect world of vibrations and lights in glorious pastels. Beings grow in caves and emerge fully formed, and where things are easily broken and impossible to repair. Without my intention, it came to represent this overwhelming fear of making mistakes, of imperfections, of asking for help or accepting nurturing. I still get into that headspace sometimes but I’m at least better at recognizing it, since writing it out as something external to me. I’ll think to myself: whoops, I’m in Crystalia again. Better turn around.

3) What themes do you like to emphasize in your game work?

Queerness, obviously, but also the excruciating joy of being alive.

4) What mechanics do you like best in games?

I like when a game system perfectly matches the real, felt, lived experience of something in the world. Sometimes a game mechanic makes apparent something you only sensed before, but couldn’t express. You point to it and go, “yes! That’s how it is!” Not an external realism, but an internal resonance.

5) How would you describe your game design style?

Intuitive. I am making games to feel my way through what the heck is going on. With me, with the world. Star Crossed is not just about Attraction and Relationships, it’s me making meaning of my experiences of attraction and relationships, and trying to make them into a system that I can comprehend (if not master.) Even “comprehend” is a bit too intellectual, actually. Maybe a word like “integrate” is a bit closer. Really, by making a game I’m going, okay, this is how attraction works, it’s sorta like this, a thing I can see the whole of, and live with. Star Crossed is my little diorama of attraction, with moving parts.

6) How does gender/queerness fit into your games?

I like when my work is very obviously feminine even though I find femininity hard to define. I guess, again, I must prefer to make stuff to understand rather than express. More likely I’m doing both. If pressed I would say that all my games, even when I was working digitally, put harmony, creativity, and grace at the forefront. And of course my games are going to be queer because that’s where I’m coming from. I could never make a game where relationships have a pre-determined path forward which is generally agreed upon by not only the people in it but also their broader community and culture. I’ll keep letting you get into messy, baffling, ecstatically exciting but fraught relationships instead.

7) How do you make sexy games fun?

Star Crossed

Sex is already absolutely ludicrous. And I think sex is one of most adults’ few opportunities to be playful. So, let’s just acknowledge that and make a game where you can tell ridiculous, sexy stories. It’s so much easier than people seem to think. I get the fear around making anything about sex (even in this answer I’m resisting the urge to say something like “Star Crossed doesn’t just tell sexy stories!” which is true but irrelevant) because we’re taught that whole area of life is inherently dangerous. Reflecting the reality of sexuality – that it is honestly just the most ridiculous and interesting thing – is better than trying to deliberately frame it any particular way.

8) How did you get into games?

Like everyone else, I played all the time as a kid. I was just lucky enough to keep doing it. After absorbing the cultural concept of “Dungeons and Dragons” I ran what were essentially ongoing fantasy storytelling sessions, with no rules except total DM fiat, in various treehouses and backyards and slumber parties, until I was a teen and I made friends with some boys who had the actual books and knew the actual rules. It took me a couple of years of trying to get into that to get bored and decide I didn’t like RPGs after all! Then I met a friend who showed me The Burning Wheel. And then organized a game of Fiasco. And then gave me his copy of Kagematsu and asked me to GM it. The rest is history. Thanks, Patrick!

9) What one thing would you change in gaming?

I would like to have a sophisticated culture of critique. “There’s no wrong way to have fun!” is an attempt at kindness, of course. I get that it’s a fallback to avoid a recurring set of self-fuelling arguments. Unfortunately, there are lots of ways to have fun that hurt other people. I’ve seen play used to bully, and game systems that reinforce and re-create much broader systems of harm. Being able to precisely and compassionately critique different games might help us build more fun, innovative, groundbreaking work while also helping us avoid some of those problems.

10) What are you working on now?

I have a little game about a queen’s retinue that I’m specifically cultivating for first-time roleplayers, and it turns out long-time roleplayers have been enjoying it too. It’s been fun so far! It’s been a lifeline of creativity while pushing Star Crossed past the finish line. Those are two different kinds of satisfying that fuel each other.

Thanks for joining us for this entry in the notables series.  You can find more in the series here: and please feel free to drop us any suggestions for people we should interview at [email protected].

Gnome Stew Notables – Alex Roberts published first on https://supergalaxyrom.tumblr.com

[mermaid20348209]

What is your full name? Thomas Paul Anthony Campe

Do I have a nickname or a pet name? Tom 

What do I like about my name? My full name is proper and sensible. A name that a lawyer would perhaps have. Thomas is the name I’d use if I wanted to appear mature. But Tom is the name friends and family, apart from my grandma, use. 

What history does it have? I believe I was called Thomas after the saint, I’m not too sure about the other two names. 

What is your age? I’m twenty. 

How does it relate to your spirit? For a twenty year old I place a lot of pressure on myself, pressure to be disciplined and focused. I know where my priorities are and don’t enjoy nights out or getting drunk in general. I’m careful with money but free with it when a good occasion arises, such as buying others gifts.

How does it relate to your experience in life? I’ve been to many different countries with my family. I have taken part in numerous theatre productions, and I have completed two award schemes. I have had a difficult upbringing and experienced high levels of pressure and stress which most families wouldn’t go through. I am curious about the world which is a standard thing to be at this age, and I’m open minded. I read a lot of books and place a high value on them. 

What is my placement in my family? I’m loved by my family, I make them proud. As a middle child the focus wasn’t always on me, but I never really cared much, and I am fine being independent.

What is your present martial status? I am in a relationship. 

How does this affect or influence you? Being in a relationship has calmed me as a person. I feel secure and no longer fret about my appearance as much. I know that I am loved and so have more confidence in public. I feel like I have an advantage. With this satisfaction comes a strong determination to succeed in other areas of my life - primarily work related. 

What is my greatest responsibility? I am responsible for my leopard geckos life. 

Where do you live? I live on Lexden road in Colchester. 

Do you consider it home? Why? So many memories here, and memories are what we can relate to. I know faces from the past; people have been and gone, friends and neighbours, pets. Marks in the stone of our private lane have been smoothed over by tarmac and reappeared after a few months in a continuous cycle. 

Do you enjoy social life? I’m not a social person, not really. I was once but I have higher priorities now. I do enjoy the odd drink at a pub, or swimming with my girlfriend. I also like hanging out with my few friends but now that they’re at university I don’t do this. 

What is your most comfortable social mix? Knowledgeable people. Mysterious and shy individuals whom I can work out. People with patience and intrigue. Artists and the elderly. Foreign people with accents and experiences of other cultures. 

What is your profession? I’m a student, training to go into the performing arts industry. 

How does it affect your social status? I’ve met a lot of other performers over the few years I’ve been training. At the mercury theatre, at college and university. I keep in contact with a lot of people, although not daily. I think it’s a persons decision to socialise - the profession can only give you contacts. 

How does it affect your mental being? Artists of this industry need a strong mentality in order to stay healthy. That’s the same with any profession at a certain level, but performing in particular requires you to welcome criticism, to let yourself be vulnerable, and to learn from mistakes. I wouldn’t say I’ve experienced what I’m saying as clearly as I’ve just written it down, but I have certainly become strong and focused thanks to my training at least, and definitely inspired; it’s easy to become inspired in this kind of world, that’s something I have plenty of, inspiration. 

How does it effect your physical being? It helps to have energy and stamina during rehearsals, and whilst it isn’t essential to be a Greek god as such, I enjoy looking after my body as I find my mentality and ability to relax both benefit from healthy eating and exercise.

What kind of education did you have? I didn’t have a great experience at secondary school. Certain teachers inspired and motivated me, the English lessons I took in particular I have fond memories of as I didn’t feel as restricted or insecure. Thinking back, I learnt mostly about people at secondary school. I learnt about myself and others, because in any enclosed environment people behave differently; we have to adapt to stay balanced. Most vivid are the memories I have of when people turned neurotic with pressure.

Humour? What kind? I enjoy ridiculous comedy, or dark bitter comedy. There isn’t much of an in between.

What is your laugh like? My laugh is hearty but I often adapt it to shock the person I’m laughing at. 

Energy and vitality? I am energetic when I need to be, but I do struggle to stay concentrated so I fidget. When people are lacking motivation, I know how to raise it. I’m aware like that. 

Temperament? I am quick to anger, but only in situations I feel I’ve been wronged. Mind you, I normally process arguments personally, so mostly I’m to blame for the way I react. If others are upset I am able to stay calm for them.

Intellectual thought process? Hearing people speak I filter words out of sentences and isolate them on one side of my brain. I am able to hear clearly what the person is saying without letting dialect or situational factors that could change the way they’re speaking affect me. With problems, I rely on past encounters with similar problems and how I solved those problems, to guide me rather than taking risks. 

General efficiency? I can get by most obstacles life throws at me by. To do this I keep focused on what I have been asked to do by teachers, or what I need to do for the best interest of my future. I stay aware of opportunities and avoid people and events that could side - track me. 

State of health? I’m healthy physically and mentally. 

How sexual/sensual? I’m experienced sexually, and appreciate the joy and relaxation having a partner can have. 

How sensitive/aware? I’m aware of my behaviour and others too if such behaviour concerns me. I’m sensitive on stage, but try not to take things personally regarding family arguments. I can throw the odd tantrum though.. I’m not sure on this one. 

State of confidence? Always up for anything, I like the idea of facing fears, although I do enjoy being in some sense of control.. What I mean by this; if I was on a rodeo, getting thrown around, I have two forms of comfort. I know that I can use my body to stay on the rodeo, but I also understand that the rodeo is only trying to throw me off. It’s an inevitable outcome that I’ll come off the rodeo. Auditioning from drama school however, I could fail! Not that I’d want to audition however. I’ve been trained enough for now. 

What physical impression do you give? I’m not physically imposing when fully clothed. I am well built and athletic underneath. I go swimming and sometimes get stared at, but I could just be too self aware.

Ambition? Short term, I’d like to complete my degree with a good grade - I’d love a first. I want to understand all that I can about drama and text.  Medium term, I want to get a job that allows me to develop my craft of acting and performing and creating performances. Long term, I’d like to live comfortably in a flat or small house with my girlfriend. I’d like to be in a theatre company, touring or something. Access to theatre and art is most important.

Biggest fear/insecurity? I often feel I’m not good enough for drama school. And yet I don’t know why? I could be insecure about failure which is common enough, but deep down I think it’s fear of the industry I’m going into. Fear of the unknown. I’m also excited though.

Belief in God? I don’t believe in God. 

What would you do if you inherited a fortune? Probably bank it and rarely spend it on myself because I’m picky about what I want, and what I need; the two are very distant. 

What would you do if you found yourself £10,000 in debt? I’d question whether I’m in a lot of trouble and if I was, I’d work to get out of it, whilst being aware of what the worst case scenario could be - I’d probably seek help or at least advice from friends and family. 

Worst thing you’ve ever done? I never used to get on with my sister. We’d fight and I used to hit her sometimes. I’d never stoop that low again. 

Care over personal appearance? I do care about my appearance, I like to look presentable. I’m not fussy about it though, I value intellectual power over physical power.

Are you vain? Not really, I do surprise myself sometimes though. I never used to be strong, but since I’ve gone swimming and done martial arts, I have grown stronger - I’d say its light pride more than vanity. 

Which season best represents you? I’d say winter. I like to take things easy and reflect a lot. Winter is a perfect time to do this, to take walks and sing. Hot drinks are great in winter, and they pair well with a book. I feel in control in winter. If I’m cold I can put on more and more layers until I’m warm. In summer, I can only take so much off - I’d rather not peel off my own skin.

Would you compromise for the sake of an easy life? I don’t believe life should be easy. To be at peace should come in old age, when you’ve given enough to satisfy the world. Hardship can teach you more about yourself than luxury. Becoming miserable is never a good idea, but finding a balance or more specifically a routine, is. 

Favourite topic of conversation/least favourite? I love being inspired and amazed. Always when I’m told a story of a person overcoming the odds I’ll give my respect to that person. Facts I find easy to engage with, for they are solid, chunks of knowledge. Space fact in particular I love, for space is something that we’re always learning and will never stop learning, until we become extinct, about. I dislike listening to people complain and whine about situations they’ve been in which, to me, seem not worth whining about.

Situations in life you find most boring/stimulating? The unexpected will always stimulate me if its on a great enough scale. For example, a shooting star, or a car being swallowed by the tide. Good theatre will always stimulate anyone who’s watching it. I don’t find much boring as I can often find something to stick my mind to, however I suppose, maths has never been my passion.

Secret dreams and desires? Learning metalwork has been a secret desire of mine for about two years now. Creating personal treasures for my family and friends out of bronze, or silver, would be great. I like the idea of being a knight also, but a good knight, one that doesn’t abuse privilege.  

Confidence in future success? I am confident in my work ethic. I know that no matter where I end up, I’ll work hard, and hopefully end up somewhere I enjoy working. 

Most easy in company with own sex or opposite? Opposite. I find girls are less judgemental and more encouraging of honesty over deception. Plus I have a small amount of charm, so I find a way of enjoying the conversation. 

Independent/self sufficient? Yes, mostly. I live at home but do not rely on my parents for anything apart from food which they cook for themselves anyway! 

[kayawagner]

Gnome Stew Notables – Alex Roberts

Welcome to the second installment of our Gnome Spotlight: Notables series. The notables series is a look at game developers in the gaming industry doing good work. The series will focus on female game creators and game creators of color primarily, and each entry will be a short bio and interview. We’ve currently got a group of authors and guest authors interviewing game creators and hope to bring you many more entries in the series as it continues on. If you’ve got a suggestion for someone we should be doing a notables article on, or want to do an interview with someone send us a note at [email protected]. – Head Gnome John

Meet Alex

Alex

Alex Roberts is a writer, designer, journalist, and roleplayer of boundless enthusiasm. She wants roleplaying to be a site of interior exploration, transformation, and healing. When not hosting her acclaimed interview show 

Talking With Alex

1) Tell us a little bit about yourself and your work. 

Big question! All right, here’s my deal. I’m bright and enthusiastic, and I have a podcast called Backstory where I interview fascinating folks in roleplaying. It’s thoughtful and gentle and even people who don’t like podcasts like it. I write fun stuff for other people’s games, like Sig, Dialect, Threadbare, and Misspent Youth: Sell Out With Me. I do production support and project management and marketing stuff for game publishers; right now with Bully Pulpit Games. And, of course, I make my own dang games! My first was HUGPUNX LIVE, for Pelgrane’s #Feminism supplement. I’m semi-secretly working on a little card-based thing right now. And of course there’s Star Crossed, the two-player RPG of forbidden love, which will be on Kickstarter April 10th – May 10th! That game has been in progress for years and I am losing my mind over how great it’s going to be.

  You’ve probably heard me on podcasts or at cons talking about two player games, or romance and sexuality in game design. These are some of my favourite topics!

Backstory Podcast

2) What project are you most proud of?

It’s hard to pick just one! I do feel a certain special love for my first RPG writing credit, in Sig: the City Between. I had no idea what I was doing; Crystalia just kind of emerged from me. Sig is planar fantasy, and I was moved to write about a beautiful, perfect world of vibrations and lights in glorious pastels. Beings grow in caves and emerge fully formed, and where things are easily broken and impossible to repair. Without my intention, it came to represent this overwhelming fear of making mistakes, of imperfections, of asking for help or accepting nurturing. I still get into that headspace sometimes but I’m at least better at recognizing it, since writing it out as something external to me. I’ll think to myself: whoops, I’m in Crystalia again. Better turn around.

3) What themes do you like to emphasize in your game work?

Queerness, obviously, but also the excruciating joy of being alive.

4) What mechanics do you like best in games?

I like when a game system perfectly matches the real, felt, lived experience of something in the world. Sometimes a game mechanic makes apparent something you only sensed before, but couldn’t express. You point to it and go, “yes! That’s how it is!” Not an external realism, but an internal resonance.

5) How would you describe your game design style?

Intuitive. I am making games to feel my way through what the heck is going on. With me, with the world. Star Crossed is not just about Attraction and Relationships, it’s me making meaning of my experiences of attraction and relationships, and trying to make them into a system that I can comprehend (if not master.) Even “comprehend” is a bit too intellectual, actually. Maybe a word like “integrate” is a bit closer. Really, by making a game I’m going, okay, this is how attraction works, it’s sorta like this, a thing I can see the whole of, and live with. Star Crossed is my little diorama of attraction, with moving parts.

6) How does gender/queerness fit into your games?

I like when my work is very obviously feminine even though I find femininity hard to define. I guess, again, I must prefer to make stuff to understand rather than express. More likely I’m doing both. If pressed I would say that all my games, even when I was working digitally, put harmony, creativity, and grace at the forefront. And of course my games are going to be queer because that’s where I’m coming from. I could never make a game where relationships have a pre-determined path forward which is generally agreed upon by not only the people in it but also their broader community and culture. I’ll keep letting you get into messy, baffling, ecstatically exciting but fraught relationships instead.

7) How do you make sexy games fun?

Star Crossed

Sex is already absolutely ludicrous. And I think sex is one of most adults’ few opportunities to be playful. So, let’s just acknowledge that and make a game where you can tell ridiculous, sexy stories. It’s so much easier than people seem to think. I get the fear around making anything about sex (even in this answer I’m resisting the urge to say something like “Star Crossed doesn’t just tell sexy stories!” which is true but irrelevant) because we’re taught that whole area of life is inherently dangerous. Reflecting the reality of sexuality – that it is honestly just the most ridiculous and interesting thing – is better than trying to deliberately frame it any particular way.

8) How did you get into games?

Like everyone else, I played all the time as a kid. I was just lucky enough to keep doing it. After absorbing the cultural concept of “Dungeons and Dragons” I ran what were essentially ongoing fantasy storytelling sessions, with no rules except total DM fiat, in various treehouses and backyards and slumber parties, until I was a teen and I made friends with some boys who had the actual books and knew the actual rules. It took me a couple of years of trying to get into that to get bored and decide I didn’t like RPGs after all! Then I met a friend who showed me The Burning Wheel. And then organized a game of Fiasco. And then gave me his copy of Kagematsu and asked me to GM it. The rest is history. Thanks, Patrick!

9) What one thing would you change in gaming?

I would like to have a sophisticated culture of critique. “There’s no wrong way to have fun!” is an attempt at kindness, of course. I get that it’s a fallback to avoid a recurring set of self-fuelling arguments. Unfortunately, there are lots of ways to have fun that hurt other people. I’ve seen play used to bully, and game systems that reinforce and re-create much broader systems of harm. Being able to precisely and compassionately critique different games might help us build more fun, innovative, groundbreaking work while also helping us avoid some of those problems.

10) What are you working on now?

I have a little game about a queen’s retinue that I’m specifically cultivating for first-time roleplayers, and it turns out long-time roleplayers have been enjoying it too. It’s been fun so far! It’s been a lifeline of creativity while pushing Star Crossed past the finish line. Those are two different kinds of satisfying that fuel each other.

Thanks for joining us for this entry in the notables series.  You can find more in the series here: and please feel free to drop us any suggestions for people we should interview at [email protected].

Gnome Stew Notables – Alex Roberts published first on https://supergalaxyrom.tumblr.com