#this is fifteen pages of academic writing in my second language

[personne-writes]

Dad material

Part 6 - Reading level

(word count: 2k)

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Michelangelo hasn’t learnt to read the traditional way, what with being a mutant turtle growing up in the sewers and everything. 

Of course, reading is something Splinter has taught them, along with many other basic skills. Not as soon as humans or Yokais do, maybe. And probably not as thoroughly as to understand the complex mechanisms of linguistics or to write academic papers. Still fast and good enough for them to be able to keep up with their cherished comics over their teenage years, though - and to never fall behind with charts and reports now. 

Michelangelo wouldn’t say his reading skills are lacking in any way, but he’ll admit that when it comes to knowing what a normal kid’s learning curve should look like, he doesn’t really have any timeframe to rely on. 

So, he doesn’t know if it’s normal for an eleven-years-old boy born in the midst of an apocalypse to be reading The Fellowship of the Ring. 

He doesn’t know, but when he sees Casey Junior frowning down on the voluminous novel, he can’t help but think it feels a little much. 

“Hey, Leo," he starts as he plops into a seat next to his brother in the conference room, "quick question. Do you know who the English language teacher is?”

“What?” Leonardo mutters, not looking up from the schematics he's studying. 

Mikey drops his chin into his hands, elbows braced on the table. “You know, at the kids’ school. Who’s the teacher?”

“Why?” his brother asks absentmindedly. 

“Because I think they might be asking kids to read stuff way above their level.”

Leonardo probably reaches the conclusion that he can't navigate this conversation while focusing on his plans, because he drops them on the table and turns to him. “Mikey. What are you talking about?”

Mikey shifts in his seat. "I just saw Junior reading this big ass book, and it bugged me because I can't remember him reading anything other than comics, right? So I asked him what it was, and it's the fucking Fellowship of the Ring. Can you believe that?"

Leo blinks. “How… is that a problem?”

“The Lord of the Rings, Leo!" Mikey huffs, throwing his hands in the air. "It’s like, a trillion pages long, and it’s so boring at first, what were they even thinking? I tried to read it and couldn’t make it past page 50, and by then I was fifteen and I was a total fan of the movies already -"

"Casey's seen the movies, too," Leo informs him, expression slightly confused. 

Mikey gives a dramatic sigh. 

"My point is, starting off with this? At eleven?? That’s just gonna discourage the kids. Teaching is all about giving them the will to read. What twisted, sadistic teacher would pick the freaking Lord of the Rings as a child's first real book?"

Leonardo blinks at him again.

And then again.

The absence of an answer is telling Mikey all he needs to know half a second before Leo's face splits up with a big, doofus smile. 

"I'm the one who gave him the book," he states, not sounding one bit sorry. 

Michelangelo stares at him, speechless, and that’s not something that happens often. 

Leonardo gives a quiet laugh. "As much as I find your lecture captivating, little brother, it's not that bad," he assures, putting his hands up like a peace offering. "The kid's clever, I'm sure he won't let himself be intimidated by a simple book. Besides, it's not like he has to read it, or anything - well, I’m glad that he does, but - Mike, you good, hermano?" 

Michelangelo tries to get a grip. It’s only half a success. “You could make him disgusted about reading forever,” he accuses. 

Leonardo rolls his eyes. “Come on, give me some credit. Like I said, I'm not forcing him to do anything. I won’t pressure him into reading something he doesn’t like. You know me, right?"  

That is a valid argument, Mikey has to admit. He still doesn’t feel too comfortable with taking that risk, though. “Hmm.”

“Aw, don’t make that face,” Leonardo cheers him up, grabbing his shoulder affectuously. “Give it some time, okay? Let him try. And if you still feel like it’s a bad idea in, what, a week? Then we’ll talk about it.”

Ah, making a deal without actually promising anything that might make him a disservice. Such a classic Leon move. 

Michelangelo sighs and nods. What choice does he have, either way? 

--------

It doesn't take a week for Michelangelo to understand he has lost this battle.

There are multiple signs throughout the next few days - Junior hiding in a corner to read peacefully more often than not, body relaxed, expression focused; Junior dozing off when bored, gaze wandering around like he sees things with new eyes; Junior humming the Lord of the Rings movies' theme songs here and there when doing chores. Could fool anybody else, but Mikey knows what having an hyperfixation looks like. 

He's so happy for the kid. 

That's something he himself hasn't felt in a very long time, the thrill of discovering a story so captivating it takes you away from your day to day life, the delight of forgetting your worries and troubles into something bigger, smoother, more coherently crafted than reality. It's a comforting feeling, and he's happy Junior is getting the chance to experience it, even with all this chaos he is growing up in - even more so.  

"Well, well, well, would you look at that," Leonardo starts, coming to a stop next to Michelangelo as he's watching Junior animatedly explain some piece of lore to a poor kid who doesn't look all that interested. "Seems like it's Casey who's doing the traumatizing, after all." 

Mikey snorts. "Yeah, alright, that's a win for you."

"What was that? Sorry, Mikey, I don't speak loser," Leo pushes. 

Mikey elbows him goodnaturedly. "Hey, I'm saying you're right, that's like, the only thing you'd understand no matter the language."

"Damn right!" Leo smirks, and leaves it at that. Mikey should probably be surprised he isn't bragging about it more, but the way his brother looks at Casey Junior tells him his mind isn't completely focused on the conversation. 

He gets it. If he's being honest with himself, Mikey knows he sometimes has that look, too. 

He glances back and forth between Casey Junior still infodumping on his poor friend, and Leonardo proudly watching over his protégé. The positive energy radiating from them is enough that he resolves to bring Junior new books, too, each time he has the opportunity. 

And so he does for the next few weeks. 

Between the novels Leonardo brings back from scouting missions and the books Michelangelo manages to get from people owing him favors, Casey Junior slowly but surely builds his own personal library, safely stored in a carton under his bed. 

The kid reads about anything they can find. He beams each time he receives something new, and by the time they get to ask him about the latest addition to the collection, he's already read it two times at least. 

So it really shouldn’t come as a surprise that one day, Casey Senior comes for their throats. 

“BLUE TURTLE!”

Michelangelo and Leonardo are in the middle of the morning report with a few scouts. The authority in Cassandra’s voice has Leonardo’s body go still in a split second. 

Mikey raises a brow at him. “I was pretty sure she knew your actual name by now.”

“She only calls me that when she’s pissed,” Leo explains, eyes wide and panicked. 

“HAS ANYONE SEEN THE BLUE ONE?” Cassandra’s voice shouts again, and this time, Leonardo springs into motion. 

“Meeting adjourned!” he yelps to three very baffled scouting agents before clutching at the collar of Mikey’s cape. “Mike, hermano, you have to hide me -”

“You’re both there! Good.” 

Cassandra is standing in the doorway of the briefing room and Michelangelo doesn’t even have to squint to notice the menacing aura that surrounds her. 

She is furious.

“Heyyy, Cassie!” his brother tries in his cheesiest voice, an overcompensation for the nervousness tightening his whole body. “How’re we doing today, my gal? You look fabulous! Something new with your hair?”

Cassandra isn’t having his nonsense, and she makes it clear by stomping towards them with steps so heavy Mikey instinctively checks the concrete floor for footprints. 

He doesn’t have the slightest idea what’s going on, but it isn’t good. 

His mystic powers slowly lift him up into the air. 

“Oh, no, neither of you is escaping this,” Cassandra chuckles, low and dark, as she grabs both Mikey’s cloak and Leo’s scarf. Michelangelo is pretty sure she would’ve seized them by the ears, if they’d had any. 

By the corner of his eyes, he sees the three scouts leave the room as discreetly as they can.

“Escaping what?” he asks with an apprehensive smile, his toes a few inches above the ground.  

“What have you done to my son?” 

Leo and Mikey exchange a bewildered look. 

“Junior?” Leo immediately presses. “What’s the matter with him?” 

“The matter is he’s becoming a nerd!” Cassandra snaps, and Michelangelo flinches. Ah. That was bound to happen, at some point. 

“Are you talking about the books?” he asks as gently as he can. “Because if so, I really don’t see how -”

“He isn’t helping with chores anymore!” Casey Senior presses on, her glare sharp enough to make him go quiet. “He’s running off every time he can, hiding out of my sight more often than not, and when he does come out of whatever rabbit hole he’s spent his day into, he speaks about things I don’t know shit about.” Leonardo tries to take a step back, but she just holds onto his scarf tighter. “What. Have you. Done. To my. Son?”

Leonardo hisses, his scarf apparently pressing a little too much into his throat for comfort. “Casey,” he pleads, voice just a little hoarse, “I swear we mean well -”

“Kids gotta be kids, you know?” Mikey advocates. “You were a Lou Jitsu fan when we were teens, remember?”

“Of course I remember!” Cassandra shouts, but she is distracted enough to let go of them, and they both keep their distance, just in case she starts acting aggressive again. 

“There you go, then!” Mikey pushes, voice warm and soothing. “Every teenager needs something to keep the imagination busy. Don’t you think Junior needs it even more than we did when we were his age?”

Cassandra sighs, her shoulders slumping. She presses her fingers to her temples. “I know,” she says tiredly, “but I’m under the impression that nothing else interests him anymore. He doesn’t sound as excited about training as he did, and I’m getting worried about his sleep schedule.”

Something drops in Mikey’s stomach, and by the look on his brother’s face, he understands that he doesn’t like what he’s hearing, either. “Oh,” Leonardo says cautiously. “Well, no need to fret about his training, because he’s going as hard at it as he always has, but, uh…”

“But we could talk to him about not reading too late at night,” Mikey provides. 

“Yeah. That.”

With a half-smile, Casey Senior looks back up at them. “Mhm. I guess that would work better coming from you than it does coming from me.”

Leonardo huffs a laugh. “Cool uncles’ privilege, am I right?”

“It’s just a phase, you know,” Mikey adds. “He probably won’t be that much into reading for very long.”

“I wouldn’t bet food on that,” Cassandra grimaces, but there isn’t any more bite to it. “This kid is stubborn as hell.”

“Oh, jeez, wonder where that - you know what? It’s so obvious I don’t think I need to say it." Leonardo eyerolls at her with a smile before getting serious again. “I’m sorry, Cassie. For getting you worried.”

“That much is obvious, too, blue one,” Cassandra says as she bumps her fist into his good shoulder. “No big deal. I mean it. I’m glad you guys get along with him so well.”

She glances back and forth between them, and a rare, soft expression washes over her features. 

“He really loves you. Both of you.”

“Awww!” Michelangelo can’t help himself: he brings Cassandra and Leonardo into the tightest of hugs before they can register it. Leo protests a little, Casey protests a lot, but neither actually disengages, and that’s good enough for him. 

They don’t stay like this for long, though; Casey is quick to excuse herself and go back to whatever she was doing, Leo straightens himself up and calls the scouts back, and the day starts over again as if nothing had happened at all. 

Well, not exactly, Mikey corrects himself as he watches his brother resume the morning report where they had left it. There is a glint in his eyes now, an energy in his movements, an assurance in his voice that wasn’t quite there before. It’s a little amusing to him that the scout agents seem to notice, too. 

It’s a little funny, getting to witness the way Leonardo’s serious leader image in the Resistance is slowly being tinted by his mushy side. 

If anything, Michelangelo thinks it’s only doing him good. 

How long will it take before Leo realizes he’s acting like a proud dad, though? 

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Dad Material is a collab with @leosmasktails 💙

Beginning - Previous - Next

Sooo what started as Tails doing a comic where Casey Jr bitches about the eagles in the Return of the King movie is now a collab about Leonardo becoming a surrogate father figure and getting lots of Dad Feels. Life is crazy y'all ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Comics are from @leosmasktails, ficlets are from me, and there's more on the way, lads, so stay tuned!

Oversight: 1 (comic) - 2 (comic & ficlet) - 3 (comic) - 4 (comic) - 5 (comic) - 6 (you're here) - 7 (next)

#dad material #collab #writing #leosmasktails #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #save rottmnt #unpause rottmnt #rise of the tmnt

[sunwisecircle]

Hold on, lemme just praise Hermes and Apollo for a minute for these actually half-way decent paragraphs I wrote on my term paper

#shut up dyllan #term papers are difficult y'all #i'm not even writing in my first language #this is fifteen pages of academic writing in my second language #so like... #thank you Hermes #thank you Apollo #i think i have maybe one more paragraph to write #i will be so glad to be done with this particular paper #helpol #hermes #hermes deity #apollo #apollon #apollo deity

[gravelyhumerus]

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter 3

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Title: “I may just take your breath away”

Relationship: Jemily

Summary:

It's midterm season and Emily runs into JJ at the library, they decide to study together.

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr:  One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

There were no seats left in this entire goddamned library. Not a single one. Emily was on her second lap on the third floor, desperate for somewhere to sit down and have some peace and quiet to study for her test. She should have assumed this would happen. It was midterm season and the libraries were packed with students around this time each year.

She quietly made her way through the stacks and came upon a long, rectangular table near the back window. It overlooked a dark parking lot. The books were gigantic tombs of old academic journals that no one had probably even opened in decades.

There were eight seats and seven people, with one selfish asshole storing their backpack on the empty seat. Well, could be saving it for their friend, but with it being midterm season, those rules really shouldn’t apply anymore.

Emily braced herself and, with a smile, tapped the boy on the shoulder.

He had a large pair of headphones on. He lifted one side off his ear in a gesture of: ‘what do you want.’

“Is anyone sitting there?” She whispered, as quietly as she could, pointing to the seat next to him.

“Oh sorry,” he said, somewhat reluctantly, moving the coat and bag, inviting her to join him. She smiled in thanks and sat down.

Carefully unpacking her laptop and books, Emily tried to avoid disturbing the other folks at her table, the silence making each noise she made boom through the library. She settled down and pulled out her thermos, taking a sip of her coffee and bracing herself for a long night.

Her core classes for psychology were brutal, filled with endless memorization of terminology, stacks of mandatory books to read and countless essays.

At 8:30 the next morning it was her Introduction to Clinical Psychology midterm, worth a whopping thirty percent of her grade. She spent the entire day, between classes, at the Starbucks on campus, drinking her way through her student funds in coffee form and making endless flashcards.

She already had a stack of almost one hundred cards and she still had a couple hours of work left.

Just returning from dinner at the cafeteria, Emily had decided that she needed the relative quiet of the massive campus library to focus on the memorization period of her evening.

She flipped to the right page of her textbook: page 315, with a large header reading “SEXUAL DISORDERS” in large caps. Emily sighed, it was a strange thing to spend her time learning but at least it never failed to be interesting.

At least she wasn’t in Statistics this semester.

Emily took another sip of coffee, then rummaged through her bag for her wireless headphones, connecting them to her phone in order to play her studying playlist, which was mostly movie soundtracks, interspersed with Emily’s favourite classical music and of course, some lo-fi hip hop beats. She could not listen to music with words when studying, she would get too distracted and get nothing done.

Emily began gnawing at her thumbnail, focusing on writing down the definitions.

After around two hours of writing, Emily finally finished her flashcards. She stretched her back, closed her textbook, and went on her phone for a short break.

A Snapchat notification popped up on her screen.

Cheetobreath98 added you as a friend.

Emily frowned. Who on earth was that? Emily clicked on the profile, revealing the familiar face of Jennifer Jareau.

JJ had added her as a friend! On snapchat no less! That was at least three steps more intimate than Instagram.

Woah. Slow down there Em. She told herself. Don’t make it something it’s not.

They kept running into each other. JJ was probably just being friendly. She probably just wanted to say thank you for the cookies or send her funny snaps of the other students on their floor.

She has a boyfriend, a boyfriend she is having trouble with, but a boyfriend nonetheless. You can’t go around thinking about intimacy and Jennifer Jareau in the same sentence.

Emily accepted the friend request. Did that make them friends now? Emily hoped so. They could be friends.

As Emily stared at their chat, a new snap from JJ came in. Emily couldn’t help herself, she opened it immediately and she was met with a photo… of herself.

Emily’s head shot up looking around. She looked back down and it was clearly a photo of Emily, hunched over the desk with her head resting on her chin, staring down at her phone, taken from somewhere to her left.

JJ waved at her from between some books. Emily shot her a surprised smile in response.

She closed her laptop, stood, and walked over to her.

“Creeper,” Emily whispered with a giggle.

JJ had a large textbook and some notebooks in her arms, and a backpack hanging off one shoulder, and leaned in towards Emily to speak quietly, which let Emily catch the light, fruity smell of her perfume, blending nicely with the earthy smell of the old books around them.

“Guilty as charged,” JJ smiled.

“What are you working on?” Emily asked, gesturing at her heavy load, she leaned and took a peek at the title of the textbook.

“French,” JJ said, “It’s hard to bullshit that when you don’t know it. I’ve got a midterm tomorrow.”

“Bien sûr,” Emily replied confidently in French.

JJ blinked.

“Tu parles Français?” JJ’s French was shaky and uncertain, with less of an accent than Emily would expect.

Emily coughed quietly and tried to clear her throat.

“I do,” she replied in French, “I’ve been told that when I was a toddler, I was speaking it more fluently than English.”

JJ glanced down, seeming to be translating her words for a brief moment before replying, slowly, clearly excited to use Emily for practise.

“Are you French?”

“No,” Emily said, “My mom wasn’t around much when we were living in France and the nanny didn’t speak English.”

“Ton nurse?” JJ asked, not knowing the definition of ‘nanny’ in French.

“Oh uh,” Emily replied in English, “My nanny, the lady who watched me when my mom was working. She’s an ambassador.”

JJ nodded, then switched to English. She didn’t ask about Emily’s dad, which Emily was grateful for.

“My family is French, originally I guess,” JJ said, “Hence Jareau , the French name. I remember my grandparents speaking it when I was growing up. I only learned a few words from them so I thought I’d take a course here. I need language courses for my communications degree anyways.”

“Your French is good!” Emily assured her. “Honestly mine is getting rusty, I have no one to practise on.”

“Well,” JJ said between coughs, “you could tutor me?”

Emily smiled. An opportunity to spend more time with her? She would take it. She nodded.

“Mais oui!” Emily replied in her most dramatic accent that she could manage, sending both girls into a fit of giggles.

“Shhhhh!” Someone at Emily’s table hissed.

The two girls made eye contact, then burst into another fit of giggles.

“I have a study room booked for nine,” JJ said, “If you want to join me.”

“Absolutely,” Emily replied, “I have a midterm tomorrow as well, so I’ll be here for awhile.”

“Allons-y!” JJ whisper-yelled.

Emily collected her things and followed JJ into a room down the hall, tucked behind the stacks. Inside, was a desk, a couple of white boards and a small window facing into the quad. It was small, with only two chairs. It was shocking that JJ even managed to snag that, the booking system filled up days in advance during midterm season.

“I hate whispering,” Emily said at normal volume once the door was shut.

“Libraries are supposed to be quiet,” JJ said.

“I’ve never been good at quiet.”

JJ laughed.

Emily sat down next to her, stealing a glance at JJ while she was distracted: she had a pair of track pants, with a loose fitted t-shirt on top, a pastel blue which complemented her skin tone well. On top, she had her varsity hoodie unzipped, with their school’s crest on display. She looked good, as always, despite being in basically athletic sweats looking ready to go to the gym at any moment.

Emily placed her books down next to JJ at the table, stacking her flash cards neatly next to it. JJ’s eyes widened at the sight of the pile.

“You don’t have to help if you don’t have time,” JJ said, “Honestly I would just appreciate the company.”

“Nonsense,” Emily replied, “I’d be happy to help. I’ve been working on these flash cards all day, I need a break anyways. How ‘bout we work through your practise sheets, then you quiz me after? What’s your test on?”

“Conjugation,” JJ replied, flipping her notes open to a page full of irregular verbs and their conjugations.

“Oh sweet,” Emily scanned the notes, “Present tense, I can do this.”

Emily leaned back in her chair, pulling her feet up to sit crossed-legged.

“I was worried you were going to ask me the difference between plus-que-parfait and subjonctif or something.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“Lucky,” Emily said.

JJ then reached into her bag, pulling out a small case and revealing a pair of glasses—reading glasses—and put them onto her face. They were gold rimmed, round framed, and made her eyes slightly larger with the magnification.

“You-” Emily stuttered, her brain feeling like it was short circuiting at the sight of JJ, “Have glasses?”

“Yeah,” JJ muttered flipping through her notebook, “I don’t really need them but I’ve been staring at screens all day and my eyes are tired.”

“Nerd,” Emily fake-coughs. JJ’s draw drops and she hits Emily playfully with her notebook, whacking her on the arm lightly.

“You promised to help me, not mock me for my bad eyes,” JJ huffs.

“Ok fine let’s conjugate… hmmm… ‘voir’ to start,” Emily jokes, spinning her pen between her fingers.

“I know you’re kidding but I actually don’t know that one.”

Emily grins and begins explaining to her how to conjugate ‘to see’ in French.

“Now,” Emily says, “If you want to talk about how I can see, and you can’t—because you’re blind—you would write: Emily voit. Emily sees.”

“Elle voit? V-o-i-t?”

“Oui, et, Jennifer ne voit pas!” Emily giggles, “Jennifer does not see!”

“Ha-ha,” JJ says, not laughing.

“Sorry, I’ll stop now,” Emily says, picking up the worksheet and reading it over.

“Basically,” JJ says, “I need to just memorize this list of common irregular verbs by tomorrow. I already have the regular er, ir and re verbs down.”

“Cocky girl,” Emily said. “I like it.”

“Ok what verb should we start with?”

“Vouloir,” Emily said, “to want.”

The deeper meaning of this was not lost on her, even as she said it. Emily was far past the point of denying it to herself, or Morgan when he teased her, Emily wanted JJ.

“Start with je,” Emily continued, unfazed by her own internal monologue. “What do you want?”

“Je veux… un biscuit,” JJ said, sticking her pen in her mouth. She was so cute when she focused, chewing distractedly on the cap, with her glasses falling down her nose.

“Now what would I want?” Emily prompted, trying to focus back on the worksheet and not JJ in profile, gazing at the gentle slope of her nose, her pink lips that would probably taste like chapstick.

“Tu veux du thé?” JJ grinned, evoking their previous late-night hang out.  

“Oui,” Emily smiled, “I could definitely use some of your tea right now. Stuck with coffee for now though. I need the caffeine.”

They continued through that verb, moving down her list and covering aller, mettre, venir, before cycling back to the most important ones to make sure JJ had them memorized. Covering lots of ground, the two girls spent almost two hours straight working through her midterm prep booklet.

“Thanks so much for helping,” JJ said. “Maybe you could tutor me again sometime.”

Emily grinned. Maybe it was just tutoring but that meant hours alone with her and her pretty face and her laugh and the way she smelled like warm vanilla.

“Whenever you need me!”

“Je suis excité!” JJ said, in French, which was definitely not what she aimed to say.

Emily began to laugh. Hard. It started as a giggle but the sheer ridiculousness of her situation made it so much funnier. Her crush just looked her in the eyes and told her she was horny.  

“What?!” JJ demanded, nervously laughing at Emily’s reaction.

“Oh gosh I’m sorry,” Emily tried to calm down, to hold in her laughs. “In French we never say excité. It does not mean excited.”

“What does it mean?”

“JJ you just said that you were horny,” Emily made out between laughs. It must be the lack of sleep that made the simple mistake so much funnier.

“Emily!” JJ laughed, “don’t laugh at me I didn’t know!”

Emily’s laughter was infectious and before long the two girls were lost in a fit of giggles.

“You should say: ‘J’ai hâte!’” Emily said eventually, “it means I can’t wait. Like: J’ai hâte d'étudier avec toi. Or Je suis ravi. Or impatiente. Just don’t go around telling people how horny you are.”

“Fine,” JJ said, with a slight pout, “ J’ai hâte. ”

Emily nodded.

“I guess I can say I learned something today,” JJ murmured, “I guess it really is the language of love.”

Emily didn’t say anything, taking a sip of her cold coffee to muffle the squeak threatening to come out of her throat

“So,” JJ changed the subject, “gimme your flash cards. What are you learning?”

Before Emily could earn her, JJ flipped over the first card which read: ‘SEXUAL DISORDERS!’ in Emily’s messy script.

“On the same theme,” JJ murmured.

And so for the next hour, JJ and Emily made their way through her psychology flash cards, slowly making sure that Emily had the endless serious mental health disorders, personality disorders and other terms memorized before her midterm.

Luckily, In the process of writing them down, and due to her religious commitment to attending lectures, Emily had already retained most of them. Studying with JJ did help, because it forced her to explain some of the concepts in plain language, which, she found, furthered her understanding.

Moreover, JJ had brought snacks. Which made studying every more doable when she  could award herself with an m&m for each correct answer.

The thing was, half way through Emily’s stack of cards, and as the night crept on, JJ’s energy crashed as the girl’s body decided that it was way past her bedtime and that she should be asleep.

Unlike Emily, JJ was clearly not a night owl.

Eventually, Emily finished up her studying alone, discovering that the blonde was just about useless, as she read out gibberish and expected Emily to understand her. JJ finally fell asleep sitting up at about one-thirty in the morning. Emily decided to leave her be as she still needed to jot a few things down.

“JJ?” Emily murmured after a few minutes, poking the other girl with her pen. “JJ? Wake up.”

“Mm?” JJ murmured, her eyes still closed shut, her head heavy resting on her hand. She was adorable.

“I’m calling it,” Emily said, closing her textbook. “It’s almost two. We’ve studied enough.”

“Mmm… yeah I don’t know if I can fit any more French in my brain,” JJ rubbed her eyes.

“I think you’ll do just fine!”

They packed up their things, bundling up against the cold fall air. JJ went through the motions with her eyes half shut, allowing Emily to guide her out of their study room, down the spiral staircase and into the lobby.  

Unfortunately, as they stood just inside the library door, the clouds broke, sending rain pouring down onto campus. Sighing at their poor timing, they pulled their hoods over their hair in an attempt to stay relatively dry.

They walked home, laughing as it rained down onto them.

JJ seemed to wake up and her prior drowsiness seemed to fade into the night sky. She giggled as she splashed in a puddle, and her yellow jacket lit up under a street lamp.

Emily grinned, feeling elated in her exhaustion. How lucky she was! Splashing in the rain with JJ, which was a strange yet pleasant ending to what had promised to be a dredge of an evening. JJ waited for a moment, letting Emily catch out before grasping onto Emily’s hand and holding on, pulling her through the rain.

They tore through the torrential downpour, their hands clasped together, unbothered by the cold as the fiery feeling of JJ’s hand in her own had her full attention. A warm feeling filled her chest as she thought about how it was JJ who wanted to hold Emily’s hand.

Not caring whether it was just a friendly hand hold, or if it meant more, Emily’s heart soared.

JJ’s hand was smaller than hers, and their fingers fell together perfectly, comfortably linked like they were built to do so.

They only let go once they reached the door to their building, as Emily fumbled with the wet metal key ring in her pocket, unlocking the front door and offering the two relief from the rain.

They lingered in the hall, both damp, looking at each other as the tiredness returned and settled into their bones. Emily could see the bags under JJ’s eyes, the exhaustion clear on her face. Her cheeks were flushed from running through the rain and her blonde hair wet and tangled from the wind.

A voice in Emily’s head demanded that she reach out her hands, firmly grab the sides of JJ’s perfect face and kiss her then and there. It would be so perfect, their lips would meet and JJ would rest her hands on Emily’s hips. She would pull her in close and their bodies would crash into each other, fitting together perfectly. Emily’s tongue would graze against JJ’s lips, and their kiss would deepen until finally they would pull apart and-

“Goodnight, Emily,” JJ said, smiling at her sweetly, “Get some sleep before your midterm.”

Emily was brought crashing back into reality.

“Oh,” Emily said, “Yeah you too, you need it.”

“Thank you for helping me out,” JJ continued, “I was having a really bad day and you really made me feel a lot better.”

JJ looked down.  

“Yeah, uh, this morning I broke up with Will. Or maybe he broke up with me. I don’t know,” she admitted, “and with the midterm… then the home game tomorrow afternoon...“

She sighed.

“It was a long day and I’m grateful for your company.”

Kiss her, the voice in her head screamed, do it!

“I’m sorry about your break up, either way,” Emily said sincerely. “I feel the same way. I mean, I enjoyed your company. I think I’m going to do well on my midterm too.”

She smiled at JJ who returned it sleepily. Emily kicked herself for the awkward phrasing but blamed the fact that it was late at night and she was processing the fact that her crush was single. Single and had held her hand.

“Bonne chance demain,” Emily said with a wave, wishing JJ luck.

They looked at each other for another moment, before turning and unlocking their individual rooms. That night, Emily dreamt of Paris, cookies and the girl across the hall.

#criminal minds #cm #criminal minds tv #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #jemily #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #prentiss x jj #college au #college/university au #criminal minds au #my post #gravelyhumerus cm college au #this is so much self indulgent writing and i finally got to include my french headcanons into a fic #i hope there isnt too much french #its not my first language but i know it reasonably well but there could still b mistakes here #anyways theyre so gay and i love them sm

[peeves-a-legend]

Maximum Entropy

Original Fem!Elementalist x Wizarding World 

A.N. ~ Sooo... I made a new account finally!! And I wanted to restart my page with this piece that I had started a while ago. I hadn’t gotten around to finishing it, but I couldn’t let this idea slip through my fingers with the potential that it has (at least in theory lol). As of right now, the main love interest is undecided; I’m just going to let that unfold as a write. 

Summary ~ Beatrice Drayton is a fourth year at Arctosov Academy for Elementalists when a stranger comes searching for an alliance. Despite centuries of turmoil between hands and wands, she finds herself across the world, willing to work with the folk that bare wands. Harry isn’t the only one with a prophecy, and it just so happens that Drayton’s destiny relies on the success of Potter’s. End of HP book 4 and onward.

Warning ~ Language and probable violence (eventually)

Word Count ~ 4k

Chapter One

There are only a few days left of this term. Only a handful of classes left to study and then I’m free of academic duties for the summer. The bitter Canadian frost had finally submitted to the heat that the lengthened days brought, allowing the vast Boreal to bloom lush with green. Up until now, the school grounds remained in a turbulent state of snow, slush, and mud. Spring was honestly my least favourite time of the year. Maybe if the school was farther South I’d appreciate the season for what it’s worth, but sleet storms and the rapid amplification of mosquito swarms were all too common in the Northwest Territories prior to the sun and shine of the summer months.

I ran through the sun-lit halls of Arctosov Academy in a desperate attempt to get to class on time. It’s moments like this where I’m grateful for the sleek material of the uniform that hugs tight to my limbs and torso. When I was given the purple and black spandex in first year I complained about the tight-fit jumpsuit till I was blue in the face. It’s so itchy. I’ll freeze come wintertime in this cloth. It’s too tight. Blah, blah, blah. Little did I know that I would eventually praise the aerodynamic nature of it when gliding through the crowded corridors.

 The halls of the school were simple, straight passageways that stacked 13 floors high, etched into the side of one of the many mountains that framed the expansive waters of Great Bear Lake. The walls that continued with the face of the mountain were made of tall, clear diamond windows. The bottom of the diamond glass meets a white marble floor while the top of the smooth surface contrasts sharply against the jagged ceiling made of mountain rock. The wall opposite to the lake view was different on all 13 floors. For example, the 9th floor hall (the one that I am currently sprinting down) has a wall made of solid gold. It looks quite gaudy if you ask me. I much prefer the wall made of pure orange flames on the 4th floor. Along each of the distinctive corridors are doors that lead to different rooms that lay in the belly of the mountain. Classrooms, dorms, restrooms, the gym, the dining hall, the kitchen, the library, multiple training rooms, and so on. The only routes that connect each parallel floor to each other are the stairwells that resided at either end of the halls.

 As I dodge through bodies, I can’t help but curse my luck. Not even a time-turner could spare me a few moments of peace between classes that I have back to back and over each other. My brothers and my friends tell me I’m just being dramatic, but it’s not like they would actually know the stress of going through the amount of training that I’m subjected to. To think that I’m only in fourth year!

 I reach the last door on the opposite side of the hall that I entered from and swiftly glide through the misty veil that floats where a door would be placed anywhere else in the world. Arctosov is all about the dramatics when it comes to decor. As soon as the frothy air clears I’m met head on with a group of fifteen or so third, fourth, and fifth year students standing in a large circle. My brother Zaidyn notices me first, taking a step over to make room for me in the ring. I mouth a silent thanks and he offers a small smile in return.

 Our attention is quickly turned to the tall and slender man that paces in the center of the group. At least he had stopped publicly addressing my tardiness every time I showed up to his class a little more than five minutes late.

 ‘…We will be spending a great deal of time in today’s lesson harnessing the energy in the room in combination with the particles that occupy this space,’ thin lips stated as narrowed eyes observed the group of students. ‘We will be conjuring vortex winds; a tornado if you will. But the key is to keep it controlled and clean. If I witness any funnels produced above the hip,’ Professor Turcoff said, addressing a poor third year directly now, ‘consider your Friday evening booked with a detention.’

 ‘Well he seems to be in a stellar mood today, don’t you think?’ Zaidyn huffed quietly enough so that only I could hear.

 ‘Absolutely.’

 ‘Want to work together?’ 

I nodded in response as the circle separated off into smaller groups setting to work. We found a less crowded area off towards the edge of the large circular room. All the training rooms are circular in shape with high steel walls, a steel floor, and a steel ceiling. It’s like being trapped in a tin can and we’re the beans. Cool beans, might I add.

 ‘Now I want you all to focus,’ Turcoff said firmly over the mild chattering that circulated in the room. ‘I don’t just want you to start pushing the molecules around in your vicinity. I want you to feel them. Connect with them. Turn the gases into a fifth limb. Then, and only then, will you have total control.’

 With that, I closed my eyes and opened my palms at my side. This was always my favorite part of conjuring magic. To just feel the vibrations of the atoms that are at my mercy for manipulation. The fluid motion of the air as it swirls around each finger, catching ever so slightly on the craters of my fingerprints. The fuzzy, almost ticklish sensation when my skin radiates deep crimson and ripe orange flames. When I suck the moisture from the air that is plentiful, turning the vapours into a blanket of water that obeys at my command. The deep and gyrating rumble that surfaces from all four sides of the room that I’m standing in, mountain rock waiting to collapse if I let it.

 But the others wouldn’t understand, you see. For the individuals that attend this very class with me cannot feel the lick of a flame. They cannot consume the hydrogen and oxygen in the atmosphere that is necessary for the flickering lattice of its corresponding liquid. They cannot part the earth at its surprisingly brittle seams, only to allow greenery of sorts to erupt from deep within those cervices. They can only control the air that streams gently over the purple fabric of our jumpsuits. Of course, there are other things that all benders are capable of, but the limit of those abilities is always an arm’s reach away.

 All because of one silly chromosome.

 Now’s a great time to mention that I’m the only girl in a school full of boys. Why? Because I’m the first female bender that had been born in over 4000 years. The third one ever, to be exact. For whatever rhyme or reason it is extremely rare for a female bender to be conceived, to the point where it is literally unheard of. At least until my existence, that is. 

All male benders pass down their elemental ability to the children they procreate. If a son is born, he will take after his father’s magic. So will his sons, and his sons’ sons. But if a daughter is born… it’s a slightly different story. 

Female benders harness power differently than their male counterparts. They are able to tap into magical stores that allow access to all areas of elemental manipulation, rather than a single vault. We assume it has to do with the fact that the first bender was a woman herself. Born from the earth and nurtured by the universe, or however that story goes. 

But why are female benders so scarce? Nobody really knows. I personally think it’s a method to mediate power. I could not even begin to imagine a world filled with all-powerful women with a temperament like mine. The globe would combust in a matter of seconds. Nuclear, man.

 I open my eyes and witness a knee-height funnel of air directly in front of me, swirling gently in a clockwise coil. With a slight curl of my fingers, the twister begins to steadily grow till it’s at the height of my belly button.

 ‘That’s tall enough, Ms. Drayton.’ But I wasn’t going to feed it any more than I already had. I am in control. The particles will not control me. I look to my brother who has also mastered the task at hand, posture poised with a satisfied smirk playing at his lips. The rest of the room seemed quite confident as well, mind a few individuals who had let the wind get away on them.

 The rest of class seemed to be swept away and before long I’m reaching into the skin-hugging collar of my jumpsuit to retrieve the time-turner from around my neck. Four down, only eight more classes to go till dinner. Kill me now.

 When I started school in first year, I was beyond excited to learn how to let my powers flourish. But if somebody would have told me that I would be taking four times the amount of school work as every other student at Arctosov, I think it’s fair to say that my enthusiasm wouldn’t have peaked so high. It is partially my fault though. I had been advised to extend my school years to double the standard duration. Unfortunately, fourteen years fell onto deaf ears. 

Finding shortcuts is my specialty. 

At least some classes are mandatory for all students, like elemental and magical history, calculus, magical and muggle variations of physics and chemistry, and other basic level classes that focus on universal bender abilities. I guess that knocks a couple extra classes off my horrendously long list of academic requirements. Unfortunately, that still leaves quite a hefty load of ability-specific classes on my plate.

 ~

 The day couldn’t have gone any slower. I mean, it was all fine and dandy until some imbecile pissed off Professor Yawny in Flora Manipulation. The idiot conjured a garden of nettle and didn’t know how to retract the growth, which ultimately led to the suffering of some unsuspecting bystanders. Got a hive or two myself, but nothing compared to the group of students that took the brunt of it on the front line. This little stunt earned the class a ten-page essay on retracting plant growth and the dangers of uncontrolled herbage. Honestly, just what I needed.

 As soon as the last period bell chimed (for the third time today), I quickly chucked my notebook and ballpoint into my bag and hurried out of Atomic Theory. I always change out of my jumpsuit before dinner. I hate eating in clothes that expose my well-fed stomach. 

I make my way up to the thirteenth floor to access my dorm. The thirteenth floor is by far the coziest of them all. Instead of cleared and pristine halls, upon entering the corridor one is met with a scattered array of sofas, tables littered with magical and muggle games, bookshelves cluttered with various paperback and hardcover copies, and the single Jadeite wall lined with primarily hockey and quidditch posters. A stereo plays some top muggle hits; the audio competes for volume with the crackling sounds that emit from the large pit in the centre of the hall where a seven-foot high flame resides. There are only two doors carved into the green wall: the girl’s and the boy’s dorms. 

The boy’s dorm is essentially a revolving door. People are always filing in and out of the community space. The girl’s dorm on the other hand was simply built out of respect. They never expected anybody to occupy the space, but knew that even though the chances were slim, a female student might enrol one day or another. Thank God for those engineers’ prognostic train of thought, otherwise I’d be either bunking in the fifth-floor supply closet or with a bunch of dudes.

 Weaving my way around a collection of occupied ping-pong and pool tables, I move quickly not to interfere with the final plays of said matches. These boys tend to get cranky with hunger and exhaustion during the final countdown before supper. The steady sound of the hall dies as I pass through the veil that mists over the entrance to the girl’s dorm. It’s a plain space, but what can I say, I’m the only chick to enter this part of the underground school. I’ve managed to liven the place up with some creeping vines and flowers along the tall, straight marble walls that lead to several bedrooms and baths. Even though the hall is meant to appear light and spacious, the lack of fellow roommates makes this place feel more than empty. Like a blank sheet of lined paper, everything here remains untouched and waiting for scuffs and scrapes of wear, something to push its clean order into the hands of disorder. 

Chaos theory loves to make a mess of things.

 I swing through the eighth door on the right into the space that I had claimed as mine. I got rid of the other three unoccupied beds and transformed the room into one that I could proudly call my home away from home. Just like every other room in the school, the dorm is circular, so placing furniture in a way that I didn’t hate turned out to be a real pain in my ass. It took me all of first year to decide where I wanted to place my bed, my desk, and my wardrobe in relation to the door. Once I figured that out, the rest was quite fun. Potted plants invade any and all counter space available in the room, while little knick knacks can also be spotted within the jungle. The skylight ceiling illuminates the white brick walls, casting an intense glare to any prying eyes above the diamond-glass. I think it’s chic.

 I rummaged through my wardrobe for a pair of blue jeans, sneakers, and my royal purple Arctosov crested pullover. One look in the full-length mirror, quickly fixing my hair to get it up and out of my face, and I set off towards the dining hall. I was at the top of the thirteen flights of stairs when a hand closed around my shoulder, slowing my quick pace.

 ‘In a rush are we, ‘B’?’ Jaxon. The only person in this school foolish enough to get between me and my awaiting meal. I sped up, forcing the gangly fourth year to keep stride.

 ‘You try tack on eight extra classes to your schedule. See how you fair come dinner time.’

 ‘I think you’re just complaining for pity,’ he teased, meeting my rib with his elbow. ‘“Look at me, the most powerful being alive. Tired, stressed, and hungry! You have no idea what it’s like to be so damn awesome all the time! It’s exhausting! I –”’ My hand shot out to push Jaxon off balance, nearly sending him down the last couple stairs in the flight we were walking down.

 ‘Your impression of me is beyond inaccurate.’

 ‘And your muscles are beyond underestimated,’ Jaxon shot back with a smirk, rubbing his arm where I contacted him with the blow. ‘Didn’t know you possessed the power of super-strength as well.’

 ‘Like you said, I’m just so damn awesome.’ Our grins mirrored each other as we bounded down the rest of the steps to the first-floor dining hall. This is how our banter went most of the time. It was quick, it was witty, it was smooth. He always knows just how far to push to elicit a shove back, and I always shove back. But he also knows when he’s about to push too far. Rarely ever had we actually fought with one another. In the last four years of school, we’ve only actually fought once, and that’s a story nobody talks about anymore. It was stupid, but it was explosive, and I mean literally explosive. Jaxon is a fire bender, so I’m lucky that I have the ability to take the heat. The library shelves that surrounded us during the dispute… well, they didn’t survive. 

Jaxon was my best friend. A brother. Nothing more, nothing less. In my eyes at least.

 Like cattle, students were milling into and about the dining hall trying to find a place to sit at the single spiral table that coiled into the center of the round room. Purple banners bearing our school crest hung from the high rock ceiling, flashing the menacing stare of the Kodiak that was featured in the heart of the emblem. The student body had encountered a few of the rather large bears during my years at the academy. I never thought I’d ever get the chance to witness such fear amongst a group of insufferably cocky teenage boys, and I loved every second of it. Bunch of pansies.

 ‘B!’ My attention is quickly captured by my two brothers sitting in the middle of the spiral of students. Jaxon and I walk down the winding aisle to sit in front of Zaidyn and Treston, who have also changed out of their uniforms. It is only when we take our seats that I realize that something is definitely not right.

 ‘Hey guys, why the long faces?’ I ask, hesitation evident in my wavering tone. If Treston looks startled, then something big must have happened. This sixth year is not easily phased. 

A couple of our other friends join the group, sitting on either side of Zaidyn and myself. They also become attentive to the tension held within the conversation. Bret and Oscar share a look between themselves then with me, silently looking for an explanation. I simply shrug my shoulders. 

This is weird.

 Treston is the first to speak. ‘Didn’t you hear?’

 ‘Hear what?’ Jaxon and I replied in unison.

 ‘One of them is here,’ Zaidyn continued. ‘Apparently wants to give a speech or something after supper. Not sure what about though.’

 ‘What do you mean here?’ snaps Jaxon. ‘I thought that they weren’t allowed on our turf?’

 ‘Yeah, I’m sure they wouldn’t appreciate it if someone of our kind went poking a nose over the fence,’ Oscar added. Zaidyn simply shook his head in shock. ‘I mean, legally they can’t be here, right? Documentation exists for a reason –’

 ‘Documentation is nothing but a piece of paper and a couple of lousy signatures. Words mean nothing to them. They’ve always turned their backs on allies and their own. Don’t you ever pay attention in Magical History?’ It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but I can still see how my sharp words stung Oscar. He’s always had too much pride for his own good, especially when it comes to his grades in school. His glare notified me that I’d hit a weak spot.

 ‘Alright ladies, claws away,’ Bret chimed in. Always there to referee, but it’s usually Jaxon and I that he tries to simmer down. ‘I know it’s news that none of us want to hear, but if it’s true then we have to keep our heads on our shoulders and on a swivel. I can’t see anything good coming out of this, and I know neither can any of you,’ he said addressing the quiet group.

 ‘All I’m saying is that agreements were made for a reason. If they hadn’t been made, then the magical world would be in a completely different state as of right now. They should be considering themselves lucky that they aren’t extinct,’ Oscar sighed. I had to agree with him there. ‘Our ancestors were patient and wise, which is why we lost so much blood to the wands. But too much animosity had festered for far too long, and quite frankly I don’t consider myself patient or wise. You can’t tell me today’s generation would be so kind as to forgive and forget.’

 Oscar was right and we all knew it. Everybody in the hall knew it, too. We may have forgiven them, but we sure as hell have not forgotten. We are reminded every day we walk through these halls – the only halls on the planet that houses students of our kind. The number of benders left was a thought to make my blood run cold. Although, we are making a comeback; slowly but surely. I gave Oscar a small half-understanding, half-apologetic smile.

 Before I could add anything further to Oscar’s words of truth, a lavish dinner appeared on the table below our chins. Elk roast, wild salmon, kale salad, stuffed mushrooms, and more. I prayed that saskatoon pie was being served for dessert later in the evening. The apprehensive atmosphere quickly dissipated as we dug into our grub. Frowns were replaced with filled-cheek smiles, and the uneasy silence was enveloped in hearty laughter. Talk of the latest playoff news and summer plans seemed to entertain the table enough to keep the conversation going. It was interesting being a part of the guy’s gossip sessions during meals. Not that I would actually call it gossip; maybe more along the lines of petty pissing contests. Wouldn’t be the first time I sat through a mine’s bigger than yours argument.

 It was when our Headmaster stood up from the semi-circle teacher’s table at the back of the hall that the reality of the situation set in once again. Professor Fobert never has to gather the attention of the many eyes leering in anticipation, for their focus was already on him. Fobert’s aura demanded one’s gaze, it did not ask. He was tall, sternly featured, and looked tough as nails. His black-scaled tunic wrapped snugly around his torso, making the greying man look ready for battle at a moment’s notice. When the hall’s sound died down, all that could be heard was the vibrations from deep within the mountain’s abdomen, rock waiting to respond to our Headmaster’s request.

 ‘Good evening, students. I shall speak frankly and I shall speak clearly, that way you will not misunderstand what I am about to tell you.’

 Well that’s a new introduction.

 ‘I have never assumed any of you as naive, therefore I refuse to start now.’

 A very new introduction.

 ‘Most of you are aware that we have a guest joining us this evening. A guest that has come from overseas to speak to you all.’ It seemed as though our Headmaster couldn’t speak quickly enough. Every student in the room was now perched on the edge of their seat, listening intently for the next words to leave Fobert’s mouth. We knew where this was going, but nobody wanted to acknowledge the elephant in the room. 

Fobert opened his mouth to speak again, but words never escaped. Instead, a toothy grin tightened the flesh around his chin, and his eyes looked over the heads of the students sitting before him. Naturally, we all turned our heads in the direction of our superior’s gaze towards the entrance to the hall.

 If the hall was quiet a moment ago, it sure as shit wasn’t anymore. We didn’t even need a second take to confirm our suspicion.

 The man was about the same height as Professor Fobert, but the age difference was quite notable. Where Fobert was steeled with sharp middle-aged wear, the other man appeared worn with the drooping and sagging lines of old-age. He did not wear a tunic and pants, but a floor-length grey robe that matched the colour of his long, neatly kept beard. The cuffs on his sleeves tapered off in the shape of a bell at the knuckles of his boney fingers.

 Only people of wizarding blood dressed like that.

 ‘Albus!’ 

#harrypotter #hogwarts #wizardingworld #ronweasley #hermionegranger #albusdumbledore #elementalist #voldemort #fredweasley #georgeweasley #ginnyweasley #nevillelongbottom #lunalovegood #ofc

[thecrazyworldbuilder]

Knownlands

(this is my first try writing a story in english, don’t judge me much, I still won’t take your criticism.)

Terry Mairondil Notasmith was a human. But, despite being such, he needed a certificate which proved that. Why? Because the bastard was looking like an elf.

Terry was born a human in a family of Jackven and Liana Smith. His father Jackven was a fair person from the family whose profession at general through generations was working with metal. In other words: smithing. What occured next was pretty awkward: with the birth of Terry Jackven and Liana became separated from their families, because of the thing known as “traditions”. Which in reality was nothing but a hassle between Terry’s grandfather and Terry’s father.

...after the argument with his father, Jackven spit him into the face and said he didn’t want to wear his family name anymore, and that he never wanted to be a smith. From then, Jackven Smith became Jackven Not-A-Smith, and after that Jackven Notasmith.

Terry was a human. A little, rarely ill but skinny child that was always in trouble or at least some situation that could be called an adventure. When the skinny child became an even more skinny young man, Terry Notasmith somehow made his way to college.

Well, it wasn’t really a college. It was more like a big ruined library where once teachers of magic, languages and sciences were settling. The place was known as Airaheren, which in rough quenya meant “The Old Order”. Sometimes, among locals, it was called Airahacca, which in the same rough quenya translation meant “The Old Ass”.

This place consisted of an old library with a hole in the roof. Well, that’s what everyone was saying. Actually it was a whole little town of ruins. The reason everyone was mentioning only the library was that it was the only thing seen from a distance. No one ever wanted to come near the town, at least because of the smell. That rich, dense smell of rotting wood and unpleasant fog.

No matter how much the students and the teachers (Although there was no real difference between both fractions: if you were able to teach someone something he can’t do you were automatically granted the rank of a teacher. The idiots who came there hoping they will learn everything about the world and his mysteries in fact learned how to bake perfect pancakes out of almost nothing but flour and water, knot, play goblin stab-eye poker and be a farmer out of sheer hunger.) tried to keep the books safe from moist and other damage, almost half the pages of every single book were rewritten from memory and fixed so many times they were almost incoherent. And knowing the people in the Old Order weren’t well and good in terms of grammar, not talking about foreing languages, the instructions were always unclear.

Airaheren was called this way by the gang of teachers with real education who survived college just because they sat in the far corner and their professors didn’t even suspect they existed. So yeah, they gathered there in the ruined town and said something like “Fuck academics, let’s edu ‘em villagers and pals ‘round ‘ere for “free”!” Basically they soon became the aristocracy of the town, but very fastly after that died from the unintendedly poisoned meals. I mean, they weren’t even cooked right.

“The Old Ass is the worst place to live, lad-” Said someone to Terry Notasmith. “-unless someone’s a bastard idiot like you.”

Jackven Notasmith was a horseman. He had a little farm with horses where he was breeding them and training to be good horses. A good horse is the one that will develop trust in his master. To achieve that, Jackven gave his horses such a treatment they were ready to serve anyone but him.

The birthday gift on Terry’s sixteenth birthday was a horse called Cab, which was short for Cabbage. The criteria Jackven was giving his horses names was simple: the level of their intellect. Cabbage had as many brain cells as an average cabbage had.

With Cabbage Terry left his father’s farm for good, for the reason the slim young man was always hungry and was threatening to make his father bankrupt, because he was paying the cooking lady Gin for every meal she cooked for the family. Meaning he had to pay twice.

Terry’s second name is in quenya, and means “A friend of horse/Horse’s friend”. He chose it because he thought it sounded cool and would fit him well.

Four out of five people in the Old Ass had a second name they made up themselves. Let me give you several examples of what their names meant in general: “Great King Gold”, “Black Bird”, “The Most Beautiful”, “The Most Great and Beautiful”, and the most interesting name out of all was Ainoculomornaingaran, which translated as “Godgolddarkking”.

The Old Ass was a foggy place in a valley filled with woods. The once ruined by unknown cause unknown city was fixed to the point of “...well you can’t say it is deserted now eh?”.

Terry was a human. But he was looking like an elf. Not only looking like an elf, but smelling like an elf, feeling like an elf and, after all, being an elf. The only problem was that it was an accident and nothing more - he never wanted to be an elf. A magical accident on one of the transformation classes and poof - he is an elf.

Shapeshifting, polymorphing and transformation. Oh yeah, there is a difference. Shapeshifting was changing not the shape only but the material. You see, a shapeshifter can turn himself into a female, for example, or to turn into some different species. But the problem would be the essence would stay the same: a creature capable of changing its form. You will look like an elf for example but won’t be one in fact. Polymorping is turning anything into anything by changing everything. Like, to turn a rat into a glass for wine. The deal was the rat’s soul would be still intact. Meaning, the glass will think, and it will think it is a rat. And then comes Transformation: it means you change everything and all and the essence. You could turn a human into an elf, and they will feel like one, they will behave like one as if they were always like that. (Actually the mages weren’t fully understanding the differences between all the types of turning one thing into another. There were many fancy words like transmutation, morphing, photoshopping… And et cetera.)

You can get one and the same result by going different ways. As you can go to the food store by foot, on a horseback, or else more creative ways. You can take different paths and all, and that’s the thing. Same goes with magic. You can turn a man into a frog, says a witch, by turning most of the material in his body into air and the small part into the needed shape (that is the reason some transformations are followed by a slight blow of wind, which strength demands on the difference in size of the shape before the transformation and after.) or you could condense the material and turn it all into one big and heavy frog size of a large yoga ball.

Alright, er, Terry was an elf now. And then his second name came in handy, and it was, counting by elven standards, pretty normal, just unusual. If a normal elven name was Jon, then Mairondil was something like Humpfrey. On the other hand, the names of the students living in the Old Ass would sound the same way as if you called your son Frying Pan, or The Obsolete King. The range, I agree, was wide.

Yoga balls in Knownlands were made out of the strange material called maxas, coming from the realm of Abyss, and the most close thing it was familiar to was wood resin. Though the ripoffs of yoga balls were made from the bladder of very big boars and covered in the mentioned above wood resin.

Terry Mairondil Notasmith was missing sleeping. Yeah, he could close his eyes, but no, his thoughts were always clean and reasonable. Even alcohol didn’t help. The reasonableness of his thoughts were slowly making him ask himself “Why in the name of gods I am in this place?” more and more times a day. Now, he was questioning himself approximately fifteen times a minute.

...it was a misty, like, a really misty morning when everyone in the Old Ass was sleeping as tight as corpses. Cabbage neighed loudly, received a professionally delivered slap on the rear from Terry (who didn’t sleep this night but was forced to lay in his bed because “Dude turn off th’fuckin’ ‘andle, whatcha doing? Readin’? Y’can read? Oh. Then fuck you. Go sleep. And I don’t ‘are you’re an elf now y’sonuva pineapple.”), and when his beloved master sat in the saddle, started making his way as far away as possible from the Old, Stinking Ass (Airaima Horrofanyada-Hacca in rough quenya translation, of course.)

Terry had a great plan, an incredible plan. It was: to get out of the freaking town and catch the spirit of adventures by its tail and hold it, letting it carry him anywhere where he would feel happy.

#story #text #fantasy story #writing #writeblr #write #prose #low fantasy #thecrazyworldbuilder writes

[thewatchau]

OOC: Queue Changes for May

Hey guys! 

Sorry to interrupt the lore, but instead of another post about the world of The Watch, I’ve got some regular-old boring news about blog logistics. :P

This next month (May 2020) is going to be extremely hectic for me. After completely reworking my academic plans thanks to COVID-19, I have to take two Maymester courses simultaneously in order to graduate on schedule.

If you don’t know what a Maymester is, imagine taking a full college course in just three measly weeks. Sitting in the same classroom for over 3 hours each day. Plus the same amount of homework, projects, papers, or tests required by the department for full course credit.

Yeah I’m taking two of those. 

The good news is that they’re both Spanish courses (my major) and I’ve already taken a class with one of these professors, so I know he’s an chill grader. 

The bad news is that the Romance Studies department requires each class to assign a total of ten pages of written assignments. Normally those are divided up into smaller assignments over the course of the semester, but in this case...

Hehehehehe I’m gonna be writing the equivalent of a twenty-page paper in my second language after spending 6 hours a day on Zoom. YAYYYYYYYY. 

Obviously, the situation isn’t ideal. But I’m grateful that I can at least continue to graduate as planned, so I’m not going to complain (too much). And I firmly believe that you can do anything for three weeks. I don’t even have to do it well; As long as I pass both classes, I’m good. 

Anyway, I’m saying all of this because, shockingly, I don’t think I can keep the queue full of bi-daily posts for three weeks while also taking these classes. I’ve come up with two solutions to this problem. 

First of all, starting May 3, 2020, I’m bumping the queue down to one post per day. I’m pretty sure that means it’s going to go up at 12 pm EST, but I could be wrong. 

Secondly, I’ll reuse/revamp old content to fill those queue slots as needed. This could be anything from simply self-reblogging old content to transforming sections from the wiki into tumblr posts. The latter probably won’t hold any new information, but it would compile information previously spread over multiple posts about a single topic. 

Worst case scenario, there may be days where I don’t have time to put anything into the queue. I’m going to try to avoid this as much as I can, but if that happens, well, it’s not the end of the world. After all, it’s just three weeks. 

I’ll do my best to write Bard’s Journal posts reporting on any ego/glitchy videos, especially because, as usual, it looks like May will be an interesting month. However, depending on how much time I have to write, these reports might be more generalized, rather than addressing each video specifically. 

Finally, if you guys have any submissions you’d like to send in, please do so! Any and all help would be appreciated. Of course, no pressure. We’re just here to have a good time; this isn’t school or work for anyone, myself included. 

I hope you all are staying safe and healthy out there! Wish me luck, and Keep The Watch for whatever happens in this potential 2020 Mayhem!

With Warm Regards,

Bard Emily Keyes

Written to the Souls Beyond the Screen in the Fifth Month of the Year One Thousand Six Hundred and Fifteen

#news from the watch #ooc bard

[alltheangstmygifttoyou]

School vent below 

tw: explicit language because I am frustrated, anxious thoughts

So I’m at work and I told myself I would do my homework tonight and just relax while I was working since I’m not feeling very good. So I relax and find myself in a writing mood and I start typing. An hour and half later I have three thousand words and I’m pretty satisfied. Except then I start thinking, last Saturday I was working for an hour and a half and I only typed 500 words of my essay, and it was an agonizing 500 words. I remember sitting there for over fifteen minutes trying to word the first two sentences. It was awful, I was miserable, and I felt like a failure by the time I turned it in. And that was just the rough draft. 

But I didn’t always feel that way writing essays. My last two years of high school I really liked writing the essays. My teachers told us that when we got to college our essays would be more freeing and that they would want more personality in our essays. Fuck, I was in forensics in the category of oratory I wrote fucking essays FOR FUN! And they weren’t the longest essays by any means but they were enough to be a ten minute speech. Now I have to write 800 words and I want to cry because I’m so frustrated. There’s no personality allowed. None. Paragraphs have to be in a certain format, no contractions, no second or first person, no slang, no opinions. Nothing. The teacher wants us to be as dry as possible. And don’t get me wrong, I love my teacher, he’s a funny dude and he’s good at teaching, but I hate these essay’s. And he says this is what college essay’s are like, and all we read are these boring ass dry papers that make me wonder if the person writing them was sitting next to a thesaurus rubbing their hands together going “ah yes let’s use this obscure word that no body has said in thirty years! This will really make them think!” 

I had a communications class last semester that had a speech at the end I was really excited for because I thought it as going to be like oratory. But instead it was a strict five minutes max and no writing an essay figure it out from the top of your head with note cards. Which was still better than what I’m doing now. I know essays are supposed to be an audience for your professor but in high school they at least pretended that other people were going to read them and care. I used to personalize my essay for my class or teacher in case they were read out loud, make remarks I knew would make the teacher laugh or a reference that I knew people in my generation would get. I don’t understand why college would want to take that away. Especially since I’m going into the humanities. I came for a writing class, a research writing class but not a fucking science class. I hate lab reports. I found them some of the most boring things to write, but they were still easier than this because it was just restating facts. Every paper in my class is supposed to be an argument but I’m not supposed to have an opinion??? I do not understand. But my claim can’t be a fact, it must be interpretable. I want to scream but I work in a library. 

The worst part is because of covid office hours are now fully online through email and I get severe anxiety over sending emails. So I ended up chickening out over emailing my professor for help. Which is completely my fault and I get that but damn it I’m still frustrated. This essay is 10% of my grade and the next essay is an even bigger percentage and there’s only two giant essays after that so if I fuck up this essay but don’t figure out how then I’m fucked and I can’t get another C because I will just die. My GPA is the lowest it’s ever been in my life and I can’t handle it getting lower. But it will if I don’t write the damn essay. So I have to write the damn essay but I’m still here typing this because I feel like if I write the essay now I’ll burst into tears and then my work will send me home and I won’t get my full twenty hours for this week which means I won’t get my full pay check which means I won’t be able to pay my mom back for the order I made afaawfdadada

I am spiraling. Anyway. point is I really wish college didn’t take the personality out of essays. I don’t know how I’m supposed to have a voice if I’m not supposed to use figurative language or slang. I want to love writing essays again, not have them be a huge obstacle I have to overcome. I’m going into English and Creative Writing, I need essays to not be a horrible event. 

Also, to whoever wrote a fifteen page paper rambling about the culture wars and neoliberalism’s affect on the humanities in America and got it published in a real academic journal, please explain your secrets, because that was a mess to read and now I have to write an essay analyzing your paper and I am very confused on how to critique a paper whose main evidence is “look at the past and how well that worked, let’s do that again!” I want to get published for rambling too. That’d be cool. 

[dylsam3399-blog]

The biggest obstacle I had in completing my Incident Analysis paper was deciding on what incident to use as the topic of the paper. I toyed with ideas that I had that came through working with language minority speakers in America after a brief stint working with people who spoke little to no of the same language. After consideration, I decided to go on my experiences with concussions. Having been the topic of numerous of papers that I have written, I am pretty well verse in the topic. Although I had written papers on the topic of concussions, I had never put my experience with concussions in an academic paper. Now that I had decided to focus on my experience with concussions, I needed to think how to get a paper out of the situation. I figured that I shouldn’t just focus on the actual concussion event because that is pretty dry and honestly don’t have much memory of the month let alone the day. What I did remember was hating every second of the recovery process and not understanding the reasons for the unending doctor’s visits. This led me to focus on the recovery process. I did not particularly enjoy this paper because I do not like writing about myself, it just feels awkward to be the basis of my writing. Once I got into the planning for my project, I felt a lot more comfortable, being able to just display my ideas. It was also weird to not have much research done on the specific part on concussions that my paper focused on. On most academic papers I have some sort of research or are basing it of another piece that I basically just have ideas on other people’s ideas, but this was more my collected thoughts.

           I was dreading the Literature review and proposal because I had a very similar assignment in my previous English course. Finding sources that matched my Incident Analysis was really difficult and made my paper take on a different approach. I found a lot on the science behind concussions and articles on concussions but was struggling finding research on the recovery process and the ways they deal with them. I also tried to find some journals that I have used in previous papers that had information that I wanted to use in my paper but was blocked because it was through my old school’s library. I also did not like this assignment because it was not how I like to do my research. Truthfully, I got to the point where I got tired of finding the exact sources I was looking for and settled for related articles that loosely related to my topic. Luckily just prior to starting this assignment my POPC professor had showed our class a free software that formulates citations and saves them in a library called Zotero. Even though the citations were usually available it was nice being able to save them in a folder that made them easily accessible.

           After going over my Literature Review and Proposal I had realized that the way I wanted to take my paper would require almost entirely new sources. At least this time I could get my sources the way I wanted to. Probably because I was more motivated and less annoyed than with the Lit Review. And for one of the first times ever I outlined how I wanted my paper to go, which also probably helped with finding my sources. My outline helped my paper go well for a little but by the time I was done It had taken a completely different form. Although my outline had fallen apart at one point of my paper, I think that the outline really helped with my research before writing and at least had my ideas down but again were subject to change. This paper was where I felt most comfortable with my writing in this course. It was also probably the most prepared I had been to begin my writing. Having most of the assignments kind of relate to each other gave me time to really work my ideas and they took shape in this assignment. My expectations for my research was not surprising to me. My findings mimicked what I had expected going into the paper. Through my paper I tried to explain the benefits of having a higher understanding of concussions, physically, mentally and socially, while also trying to teach the reader about the topic.

           Writing this documentation of process, I also disliked. My process for writing does not allow for much documentation because I wrote every assignment for this class in one sitting. Any work I do, it is either all or nothing. I do not like leaving things unfinished, but I get things done on time. I do not like writing in general so if I am going to be annoyed by a writing assignment it will be done in one sitting because I know I will not want to start it again. It will also be left until last minute, I mean I give more than enough time to finish but I am not shy to writing twelve pages in a day. Even after finishing my research paper at 7 am the day before it was due, I wrote a twelve page paper due for a different class the day after. I did the math and had figured I had wrote thirty hours within two days. And now I am to write fifteen hundred words about my process. If were possible my I would explain my process as, I get an assignment, I do not start until it is a pressing issue in my life, sit down, read the assignment and write. This was also my problem when it came to rough drafts for the year. The only rough draft I got in was the research paper and was because my grade was not what I wanted it to be and thought the complete assignment was due. Along with me not liking writing, I like people reading my writing even less. Peer editing means almost nothing to me. I have hardly ever had taken a fellow classmate’s advice for my work and usually only can use grammar and spelling help. If I am going to be made to write, I will do it as I like. I know this can seem stubborn but I will probably never write something to be published or even widely read so as long as I can get my point across I think I will survive. I also do not believe myself to be a bad writer, having gotten good marks on most of my papers, as long as I put effort into it. To continue on peer editing, when I am made to peer edit someone else’s work, especially someone I do not know, I am not confident enough in my writing to tell other people how to write. Another problem I have with my writing is figuring out exactly what the assignment wants from me. This assignment is a good example, I wrote about what I wrote and how I felt about those assignments, but am now kind of ranting about my process. For an assignment that asks what my expectations for the researched project, the question you addressed, your research design for addressing that question, and your results and conclusions, I do not know how to answer because thinking about that is not part of my process. My expectation for any assignment is to finish it on time and hope for at least a B. The question I addressed was the prompt for the assignment and how I am to fill the requirements. My research design is, search for stuff and find stuff I can use to further my paper. My results and conclusion can be found in my paper, if you are looking for personal results, I am just looking to pass the class. So I am at where I am at, I can rant about what I like and do not like about writing and how I go about it which I guess is my process. But, in reality this is my writing process, running out of things to write about and trying to find parts that I can add to, to reach the requirements of the assignment. I will always put my effort into my work, even now, wondering whether this rant will work in this paper. As long as what I am writing is relevant to the assignment and, in papers like the research project, make sure everything makes sense. Like I said before, I do not like writing about myself. That being said, my writing is usually very formal. One thing that I learned early on is that in academic papers you should never use first person pronouns which I think contributes to my feelings of discomfort when it comes to personal writing. Last thing I want to say in this assignment is that I started and finished this Documentation of Process the day before it is due. And that is my process.

[taohua-shuohua]

July 8th, 2018

The 8th of July was only our second full day of the program in Xiamen, and yet the events of daily life were beginning to settle into a recognizable rhythm. I rose at 7:15, around an hour later than two of my roommates, who had started their morning off with a run. After dressing and readying themselves, NSLI-Y students congregated in the dorm lobby for our final trip to breakfast en masse—from the next day onwards, we would come from and go to meals as we pleased. I finished my meal with a Chinese donut (油条, yóutiáo), a breakfast dessert which I had become fond of in the past few days and is best described as a plain churro. Following breakfast, I had a half-hour or so of free time before I had to make my way to the humanities building for Chinese class. We were on our second day of the weather unit—each unit takes about three days—and filled the three-hour instructional period with roleplay, reading comprehension questions, and a brief tangent on why it would be acutely inappropriate to give a Chinese man a green hat as a gift. Class also contained two fifteen-minute breaks; we spent the latter of the two learning the dance to a Chinese pop song. Saying goodbye to our teacher once class time was up, we departed for lunch, some of us still humming the tune we’d learned and others making attempts at the moves.

The afternoon kicked off with one of our daily history and culture lectures, this specific one focusing on China’s dynasties (the names of which I then put to a melody so as to memorize better and in chronological order), the development of Chinese written language, and the distinguishing features of the Mandarin dialect. The hour was rounded out with a promise of a quiz next class on what we had learned thus far, which was met with both groans and the acknowledgement that this was, indeed, an academic scholarship with a workload attached to it.

The student body, which had come together for the lecture, broke once more into two parts for interest groups, with fourteen students (I among them) making their ways to the Intermediate 1 Chinese classroom, which also functioned as the classroom for calligraphy. It was our third lesson, and the first day we would be actually writing with ink. Though we were told to start with simple strokes (“line curved on both ends” and “line curved on one end”), most students took the chance to try writing a few characters as well. I, for one, filled a half-page with just the characters of my name over and over again, which the class’ teachers, who were circling the room reviewing our work and correcting as needed, found exceedingly amusing.

An hour-and-a-half tutoring session followed interest groups, as it always did. In my Intermediate 2 class, we used the time as speaking practice, recounting our experiences in Shanghai while trying to incorporate as much detail as possible, as well as translating a series of pictures into full-sentence narration and reading a paragraph-length story and retelling it as best as we could from memory. Following the tutoring session’s conclusion, we met in our smaller groups of five to six students and were matched with a tutor, who would also serve as our tour guide for more nature-oriented areas of the campus that we hadn’t seen on our initial tour of banks, laundromats, and grocery stores. Our guide was very interested in our lives as American teenagers; apparently, he had been under the impression that American high schoolers and college students attended wild parties two to three times per week, which the five of us contradictorily confirmed or denied, based on our own personal experience. He took us to a locale that translated to English as “Lovers’ Hill”, and said it was where couples came to “do romance things”. The ultimate destination was a large lake, and it was there that we met up with the rest of the program. We took about ten minutes to walk the whole way around the lake, stopping for photos, swatting away bugs, and watching an older man blatantly ignore the “Extremely Dangerous to Swim” sign in order to dive into the water and do a lap across it. To the chagrin of some of the twenty-seven intensely sweaty students, we went straight from the lake to dinner, which was, as usual, excellent, in addition to being the last meal we would be required to eat as a group.

As we ate, I and two other NSLI-Y students spoke with two tutors, one of whom had been my tour guide earlier in the day. Both were 2nd-year philosophy students at XMU, and both were dancers. We mainly discussed China’s social attitudes towards the two topics—of the former, parents tended to be supportive of philosophy as an interest for the first few years of college, but ultimately wanted their children to settle on a more “serious” and “employable” major for graduate school, such as law. Of the latter, girls that danced jazz were looked down on as provocative or, as a tutor who danced jazz put it, “too sexy”, while boys that danced jazz were considered effeminate and strange. Hip hop dancers, regardless of gender, were considered incredibly cool. More so than anything else, I feel that conversations like that are what I came to China for: the kind of cultural nuances and differences you can only be aware of when you learn of them from a native. I left dinner with a smile on my face, plans on what to study for my classes, several more bug bites, and the knowledge that if I wanted to be cool in China, all I had to do was learn how to breakdance.

[janetvillanueva]

On Learning a New Language (+ tips & tricks!)

My fascination with languages began three years ago, in 10th grade. I was fifteen. It sprung up quickly; kind of like a patch of weeds amidst a garden filled with flowers. (This is dichotomy sucks, I know, but it’s the first thing that popped up in my mind and I really can’t think of anything else, try as I might - I’d rather everyone focus on how quickly weeds grow, anyways, and not on how weeds are almost always connoted negatively just because.)

I was enamored with Latin, a long-dead language now commonly spoken only by priests, linguists, teachers, and language enthusiasts. I honestly wished to learn it to the point of conversational proficiency; at the time, however, I believed that the only way I could do so was to find someone to teach me. I knew that I’d never be able to find someone who could do such a thing, and if I did find someone, I most likely wouldn’t have the means to pay for it. My parents wouldn’t be supportive of the idea, because what use would I have for a dead language that no one else within a hundred-mile radius could speak but I?

I could have just taught myself how to, I know, but it just never occurred to me at the time. For a while I familiarized myself with the language by reading adages and proverbs in Latin over and over again, with the likes of aere perennius, in vino veritas, alis volat propriis, and non omnis moriar stuck in my mind, ready to be uttered along with its English translation at a moment’s notice should anyone want to chat with me about the language. By the time Holy Week 2016 rolled around, I’d familiarized myself enough with the words and the sentence structure to understand the gist of the songs sung in Latin during Mass. I kinda lost interest soon enough, though, and started occupying myself with other hobbies - I still kind of ‘get’ Latin to this day, though, if you know what I mean.

Fast forward a few years, and I get the itch to start really learning a language after seeing people on Youtube successfully being able to speak foreign languages just by teaching themselves how to. It just so happened that during that span of time in my life I was genuinely feeling so mediocre about myself - I didn’t know how to play any instruments (I’d previously taught myself the piano, but there’s only so much you can teach yourself before having to need someone to guide you), I didn’t know any other languages but English or Filipino, I wasn’t in any school clubs (my old school used to be so academically-oriented, the only clubs we had were for sports and Senior High School students weren’t allowed to join JHS clubs like DebSoc, The Light, et cetera). In short, my life felt so... stagnant.

The realization that I technically amounted to nothing was enough to push me to start learning Spanish, the world’s second most-spoken language. Right now, while I am by no means proficient (proficiency is subjective, however, and it usually takes years before someone can truly be considered proficient) in the language, I can say that I understand 75% of written Spanish and can probably hold up a short (but slow) conversation in Spanish with someone who speaks it. I’m bad at listening to native speakers, which is probably because I haven’t really trained myself to think in Spanish (it’s a language that’s spoken rapidly, which is why translating while you’re listening to someone is a big no-no, as with any language). This isn’t a great feat, I know, but I’ve had to juggle learning Spanish with other languages, real-life classes, and online classes - and to be frank, right now I have 0 use for it except for watching telenovelas like Maria la del Barrio or movies like Volver (2006) and Y Tu Mamá También (2001).

I suppose that this post would mean nothing if I didn’t at least put a few of the things I did to learn a new language, so here they are:

Duolingo. Duolingo was a huge help when I began learning Spanish. I recommend accessing the platform on a laptop or computer because the mobile application doesn’t offer lectures, just the quizzes themselves with the words underlined to signify that tapping on them will show the word’s translation in English. Lectures are of utmost importance because they explain grammar rules, how verbs are conjugated, what pronouns should be used, etc.

Memrise. Memrise, like Duolingo, is free. I recommend this if you’re looking to expand your vocabulary, because it focuses more on words rather than fine-tuning one’s grammar.

Download a language-learning book online, or buy one. I read Easy Spanish Step-by-Step by Barbara Bregstein to better understand grammar rules and to increase vocabulary as well. I used this book hand-in-hand with Duolingo, because there are times wherein Duolingo doesn’t explain everything that well, which can be really confusing. The downside to relying solely on a book, however, is that you wouldn’t really know how some words are pronounced because you’re just reading them and relying on your own intuition.

I’m also using a book entitled Instant Spanish Vocabulary Builder by Tom Means, which I bought in BookSale for a mere P180.

Enroll in a class. I’m currently taking Basic Spanish 2 in la Universidad de Valencia in Spain. It’s an online class, and it’s completely free. While I believe that my Spanish skills have well surpassed what’s taught in class (because I only enrolled when I was in the last tier of my language tree in Duolingo), going back to the basics and mastering everything before taking on harder topics is essential and helps in language mastery.

Watch cartoons, TV shows, and movies in your target language. I recommend watching cartoons first, most especially kids’ cartoons like Peppa Pig and Dora the Explorer. It’s imperative that you watch these without subtitles - but if you do watch them with subs, the subtitles should be in your target language. I used to watch Rick and Morty in Spanish on Netflix and Los Simpsons, which I downloaded.

Keep a daily journal, which you must write in using the language you’re learning. I used to use my bujo for this, and I wrote daily - usually during class because I was perpetually bored. Writing in your target language helps you think in that language; it also informs you of what areas you need to improve on and the words you need to learn as well as grammar.

Immerse yourself in the language. You can do this by changing your phone’s language to Spanish (or your target language), reading news in that language (I usually read news from El País and CNN en Español), following Twitter accounts or liking Facebook pages that post in Spanish, looking through Spanish trends, etc. 

There are a lot of other things one can do to learn a new language - in the end, what matters is what works for you. This post is probably already way too long, but I guess it makes up for the three or so months I’ve been gone (?) hehe. I’m aware that I really do need to be more active on Tumblr, but sometimes there just isn’t anything going on in my life that’s worth writing about, and I fear writing and publishing posts that are absolute trash and aren’t beneficial to anyone in any way.

That being said, ¡adiós!

#languages #2018

[chromalogue]

[Image description: four photos.

The first photo is my workspace at the kitchen table.  My netbook is in the centre, with the display showing the photographed pages of a book.  On the left side is a stack of seven books in various states of completion.  On the right, notebooks and loose papers and pens are strewn all around, and there’s a cheerful orange travel mug that says “Wake up and Be Awesome!”  There is a child’s backpack on the opposite chair, and a coloured picture of Barbie stuck to the wainscotting.

The second photo is my workspace at the dining room table, with my mom’s ancient laptop (on which I am typing this very minute), the display showing the declension of Icelandic adjectives.  There is another pile of different notebooks, different pens, and different pieces of paper on the left.

The third photo is of an open cheap spiral-bound notebook, with two handwritten recipes, for cream of roasted garlic soup and sweet potato stew.  Recipes follow under the cut.

The fourth photo is of two pans of Norwegian Butter Squares, golden brown at the edges and studded with coarse sugar.  That right there, my friends, is a pound of butter.  End image description]

1/100 days of productivity

The goals for today:

ACADEMIC STUFF

notes on ten pages of Tracy Prince's Culture Wars in British Literature

notes on ten pages of Mark Noll's The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind (I know these aren’t high page counts but I take absurdly detailed notes)

answer one of the five questions I need to have answered before I can finish my science fiction article

LANGUAGES

two Icelandic modules (one a day is PLENTY, but there's five in a level and it's a four-day week this week)

ten Duolingo modules

COMMUNITY STUFF

go over the grant application to save the school

contact Dan and Arlene about the farmer's market

generate a list of what I'd like to make and what I'll need

LEISURE STUFF

finish at least one of that stack of books

get to the end of the soup section in the cookbook that I'm writing for my brother 

write a thousand words of fiction

watch something, with popcorn

some kind of physical activity

catch up on some posts on Tumblr

But the summer has been cold and the alpaca farm where we get our vegetables just had frost.  They lost everything but the root vegetables, so they stripped all the plants and gave us a great crowd of vegetables.  I made dinner while my mom went out to the farm, and when she got back, we had to spend some time packaging things and putting them away.  They're all gorgeous, but I feel so bad for the farmers.

And the adult daughter of a friend of the family died.  I didn't know her, I don't know the family well, but they have ten surviving children, so when Mom was wondering what to take over for them, I suggested Norwegian butter squares.  But it's the first day of school tomorrow (well... in about two hours), and Mom had to get to bed early, so I did them.

And when I tried to turn on my big laptop, which has the Prince book and countless others on it, there was no hard drive sound, only an aroma that the French call eau de feu électrique.  Fortunately, I discovered a Library of Alexandria on a USB key, but it ate time.  

So--it's 5:42 in the morning, and here's what I've accomplished:

finished Prince; turns out I had only 3 pages left to go

10 pages Noll

one third of an Icelandic module

one Duolingo module as of 6:23 I’ve done 3

I have gone over the application for the grant for which it turns out we probably are not eligible

I have generated a list of stuff I want to make, and some of what I'll need to make it

I wrote out five recipes for my brother; I'm still four short of completing the section

I went for a short walk in the woods, and bounced for about fifteen minutes on the trampoline, although it was hard to time because the pedometer function on my iPod seems to take poorly to jostling, so it kept turning off

I made two pans of Norwegian butter squares I had not anticipated

as of 6:25 I’ve answered one of the questions for my article, too

I've still got an hour and fifteen minutes before I should be in bed, so I can watch something and maybe finish the language stuff, and maybe I can finish a book in bed, but darn... it looks like the reason I never feel like I’m getting anything done is because I’m really not.  :(  And I think I might have to maintain my diminished presence on Tumblr for the rest of the challenge.  But maybe tomorrow will be different.

CREAM OF ROASTED GARLIC SOUP

5 heads of garlic 2 tablespoons of olive oil 3 tablespoons of butter 3 tablespoons of flour 1 litre chicken or vegetable broth 1/2 cup cream salt, to taste

1. Preheat the oven or toaster oven to 350 Fahrenheit.

2. With a small, sharp knife, cut the pointed ends off the heads of garlic, without cutting too much off the cloves themselves.  Arrange the heads cut side up in a small oven-proof dish, and drizzle them with the olive oil so that the oil gets into the skins.

3. Roast the garlic in the oven for half an hour, or until the cloves are soft but not very brown.  Remove it from the oven and let it cool.

4. In a large pot over medium heat, melt the butter.  Stir in the flour and, stirring constantly, cook it until it just starts to brown.  Whisk in the broth.  

5. Peel the roasted garlic, or squeeze it out of the cloves like toothpaste.  The oil can go into the soup, or it can be used in other cooking.

6. Add the cream.  Stirring constantly, continue to simmer the soup over medium heat until it thickens slightly. Salt before serving.

SWEET POTATO STEW (vegan)

2 tablespoons oil 1 tablespoon curry powder 2 medium carrots 2 stalks celery 2 teaspoons minced garlic 2 pounds sweet potatoes 2 cups vegetable broth 2 medium onions 1 796 mL (28 oz) can of diced tomatoes, drained 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/4 teaspoon black pepper 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper 1/2 cup chunky peanut butter 3 tablespoons roasted peanuts 1/2 cup coconut milk

1. Peel and dice the sweet potatoes, carrots, and onions.  Chop the celery.

2. In a large pot, heat the oil over medium heat.  Add the curry powder and stir for one minute.  Add the onions, garlic, and celery, and cook it for two minutes.  Add the sweet potatoes, broth, and tomatoes, and bring it to a boil.  Lower the heat, cover, and let it simmer 20 or 30 minutes.

3. Add the salt, pepper, cayenne, peanut butter, peanuts, and coconut milk, and let it simmer for another 20 minutes.  

#an absurdly long post #100 days of productivity #rapidly looking like 100 days of thwarted expectations and crying into my popcorn

[theatricalwriter]

A Little Bit Naughty: Zack Taylor X Reader

Request: Hi! Could you write something with Zack from Power Rangers? I really loved your Billy one-shot, there's not much of him from what I've seen here xD Thanks~!

Prompt: You were known as the good girl with good grades and a good attitude, but there were occasions where you had to let out your bad girl attitude against people who crossed you. How? By using pranks. Unfortunately, someone named Zack Taylor was always in the crossfire, which puts you in a bad situation once he figures out you’re the one behind all the school pranks.

Word Count: 1,423

Warnings: Strong language

Author’s Note: I should be reading for my English class right about now, but that stupid book ca go burn in the pits of Hell for all I care. Also, I’ll probably write another series, but for Zack soon.

You were a good girl with a bad girl rebellious heart. And sometimes, just sometimes, you had to let that rebellion out against the teachers or basic high school bitches who were so mean that even they weren’t fazed by your positive attitude and dedication to school. So, you knew you had to get back at them somehow. However, you weren’t looking to get a suspension and ruin your good reputation, so you did everything in secret. Everything was going well for you, and you weren’t ready to screw that up. Luckily for you, Zack Taylor, a boy who rarely ever came to school until the attack on your town a while back, was convicted for your crimes, labeling him as the prankster who never learned his lesson regardless of the number of times he attended detention.

One day, after some unnamed bitch decided it was the day to torment you just because you corrected her and the teacher on an incorrect history fact. She had done small but infuriating acts of aggression pointed towards you all day, and you, being the clever and naughty girl you were, would not stand for it.

You went to school early that morning, making sure that the cameras didn’t catch you in the act. When you were sure you made it past the ones that would most likely get you in trouble, you got to work.

Her locker wasn’t far away from yours, so you knew which one was hers. You also saw her inputting her locker combination, as well, putting you at a great advantage. You turned the dial and recited the combination 06-13-02 over and over again in your head. Upon hearing the click, you smirked and opened up to see more pictures of the girl than there were books.

“Wow,” You laughed. “Vain much?”

You looked at the contents of her locker and wondered where to start. You spotted her hand sanitizer bottle and smiled a devilish smile. You grabbed your clear glue bottle from your bag and got to work. You were glad she was a germophobe because the sanitizer was almost gone anyway, making it easy to fill up the thing with glue. You sealed the cap back on and shook vigorously. After ruining her hand sanitizer, you moved onto her notebooks and textbooks, taking joy in taping the pages together, then proceeded to glue to covers shut so they couldn’t open. You then spotted her perfume bottle, the one she sprayed herself with each morning when she arrived. You had brought some water that your dog had soaked in while taking a bath. You grabbed the vial from your bag, using a dropper to squirt in the nasty-smelling fragrance.

You closed her locker, feeling satisfied that you had completed your task and did it all while not getting caught.

“So, you’re the one who’s been getting me in trouble lately?”

You froze. You didn’t recognize the voice, but you knew that hearing any voice as of then meant that you were caught, and you were royally screwed. You forced yourself to turn around to face the person who caught you red handed. You saw Zack Taylor, the boy who had been unwillingly taking the fall for all of your misdeeds, standing behind you with a look of pure amusement written all over his face. It was then that your thoughts were confirmed. You were in deep shit.

“Wow,” He gasped mockingly. “Who would’ve guessed the teacher’s pet, hell, the class goodie-two-shoes was the one behind these pranks all along! God, it all makes sense now!”

“I-Uh- well, listen, it’s really not what it-”

“Not what it looks like?” Zack cut you off. “Because to me, it looks like you just broke into Ilene Margert’s locker, put glue in her hand sanitizer, glued her notebooks shut, and put something into her perfume. So tell me, if it’s not that, then what was it?”

“...Then it’s exactly what it looks like.” You said hesitantly, bowing your head in shame.

“That’s what I thought.”

A thought crossed your mind, “Wait, you aren’t going to tell anyone, are you?”

“Hmm?” Zack hummed, knowing exactly what you said and what you meant, but found some sick pleasure in seeing your flustered form.

“Zack-”

“Oh, you know my name, Y/n!”

“And you know mine,” You stated blankly before getting back to fretting. “Listen, you can’t tell anyone that you saw me! I-If you do, I’m ruined! I’ll get suspended- oh, God, or worse- for everything I’ve done and I’m dead if that happens! Please, please don’t tell anyone, I’m begging you!”

“Hmm…” Zack tapped his chin in consideration as he thought about what he would do with your plead. “Well, you were the one who got me stuck in detention for weeks. Why should I? I’ll be off the hook for all of your crimes, so give me one good reason why I shouldn’t?”

You were stuck for a minute. He was right. You were the reason why he was stuck in there, and you felt bad for putting him in such a situation. However, you always recalled his smile when he was with his friends, who always also just so happened to be stuck in detention with him. Maybe that could be your leverage!

“Because you like it!” You said quickly.

Zack scoffed, “Excuse me?”

“You like it,” You repeated. “I-I see you with your friends in there, and-and you see to actually like being in there with them! You enjoy that part about detention so why not?”

Zack stared at you for a moment, nodding after a while. “Fair enough.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” You breathed a sigh of relief.

“But!” Zack announced.

“‘But?’” You looked up worriedly. “‘But?’ No, not ‘but’s’! I gave you a reason! That’s enough.”

“You still owe me for putting me in detention, though.”

“What?! But you just admitted that you like it there!”

“Maybe so, but there are still better things I could be doing than sitting in a classroom with a bunch of delinquents, you know.”

“Like what?” You rolled your eyes.

“Many things, Y/N. Many things. So, let’s discuss what our arrangement will be!”

“Wha-?” You were about to fight back, but you figured it was better to just agree to whatever he wanted rather than risk your perfect grades and academic reputation. “What do you want?”

“Go on a date with me.”

He said it so quickly and without any hesitation or amusement in his voice that you almost had trouble comprehending it for a second. You choked on air for a short second, the words getting caught in your throat like a cat with a bad hairball. You just gaped at him, unable to say or do anything for a good fifteen seconds.

“D-Do wh-what?” You stammered.

“Go. On. A. Date. With. Me.” Zack said, punctuating each word so you heard each one clearly. “You know, where two people go out somewhere and get to know-”

“I know what a date is!” You cut him off. “But why do you want to go on one with me?”

“Does a guy need to have a reason to go out on a date with someone pretty?” Zack shrugged his shoulders.

Your face flushed furiously and you fumed, “Y-Yes! He does!”

“Y/N, do you want me to let the principal know about your little pranking spree or not?” Zack asked. He held up his phone, “Because it’s all right here for proof.”

You gazed at the phone and saw the pictures of you with the glue in your hands along with the sanitizer bottle. He scrolled down and showed a video as well. If that information was released, you were done for. Knowing you were defeated, you slumped your shoulders and asked, “Just one date, right?”

“Just one, I promise.”

You cautiously nodded, “Fine. I’m free on Friday. What do you have in mind?”

“I know a great restaurant, not even a few miles out from Angel Grove.”

“Alright. Pick me up at seven, okay?”

“Sounds good, princess.”

“Oh shut it.”

Zack watched as you, the supposedly good girl of your class and his own crush, sashayed away from the scene, an irritated grimace on your beautiful face. And while she probably despised him at the moment, he was honestly glad that he discovered Y/N was just a little bit naughty, and he would make sure that she fell head over heels for him on that date so she’d be begging for a second.

#power rangers imagines #power rangers imagine #power rangers x reader #power rangers 2017 #zack taylor x reader #zack taylor imagine #zack taylor imagines #black ranger

[countdownstudyblr]

Study Tips - Part 1/?

This is a (non-comprehensive) list of study tips and attitudes that have helped me get through my first year of uni. 

Note-taking:

Think about using a personalized shorthand

This is entirely up to how your brain works and picks out patterns, but I find reading over notes to be much smoother if it flows in my own words, and if there isn’t too much written down to clutter the space.

I use things like “w” instead of the word “with”. I use “=“ when I want to say that something is defined as whatever follows, and I use “≠” to mean that the two terms being separated are exactly opposite in meaning. If two terms mean the same thing and can be used interchangeably, I use a “/”.

Some of the things I do are specific to subjects:

In math, “cont” means continuous and “diff” means differentiable. I only denote “if and only if” statements with iff, never with the double-headed arrow. I only ever write “aa” for amino acids in biology. I will never write “sodium” (or other elements) fully, and will use Na+/K+/H+/P/Ca2+, or H20, O2, CO2, H2SO4, H30+ (with reference to compounds). 

I also always use a delta symbol to represent the word “change” or “difference”.

Examples:

“xyz can be labelled w a fluorescent dye...”

“... separation/unzipping of the helix.”

“xyz causes Δ in pH.” 

Humour

I used to be pretty particular about the way my notes looked, and I know that marginalia is not always something people want to have. I’m also garbage at doodling. 

I would suggest trying this out even if the above apply to you (even if it is on a sticky note or somewhere else!). I found that this was incredibly helpful for me: if anything funny was said in lecture (the prof made a joke, there was some kind of funny interaction...), I wrote it down. 

In the margins of a lot of my notes, I now have memorable events alongside coursework. Though this doesn’t necessarily help me study or retain information, it makes the review process a bit more dynamic. I really value, now, my opportunity to slip into the amusement of a moment past, and it keeps me feeling refreshed enough to continue studying. 

Examples: 

In my biology class this semester, on the first day, in response to something the professor said, my neighbour turned to me and I wrote down what she said. “I love engulfing large particles.” Hilarious, and definitely comes to mind whenever I think about phagocytosis.

“Ladies and gentlemen... you’ll have to deal with his [a classmate’s] puns for the next four years!” Groans, mumbling, and then, “Not if you fail him, Professor!”

“Why would we [the professors] ever use l’Hôpital’s rule when we can just do it in our heads in two seconds with Taylor expansions? Ha!” (which is followed in my notes by: “him @ us fools/plebs.”)

Studying:

Task-based breaks, not time-based ones

I like to break up my time by task. I always read and hear tips that one should study for 1.5 hours and then take a fifteen minute break, then come back, rinse, repeat... My two cents: that doesn’t work for me. Not only am I notoriously bad at respecting the “fifteen minute break” limit, but approaching the 1.5 hour mark, I start to fidget and lose my focus. 

Though it certainly isn’t productive or healthy to close yourself up in a room/library/class for hours on end, I find that having a task as your goal is much more rewarding than a time based one. If I tell myself I will eat once I finish all the math problems I have assigned, there is no way for me to creatively manipulate that goal. 

That said, I think “productive” breaks are important. Regardless of how you set up your break time, it’s no good if all you do is flip open a new tab on your computer and watch youtube every hour and a half. Walks are good, the gym is good, a healthy snack is good, and the occasional episode of a short and funny show is good. 

Ultimately, finishing a task is a great mental reward, and as long as you make sure to chunk responsibilities in manageable bites, you won’t find yourself working longer than is healthy, but you also won’t feel like time is working against you.

Study during daylight hours (in exam time, especially)

Wake up early and study. Try not to stay up late. Ultimately, you won’t get more hours of studying done just because you stay up late (then you sleep in, etc). Unless your productivity goes way up (which doesn’t make much sense, because one gets tired out after a whole day of existing!) at night, sleep when it’s dark and work when it’s daytime. Prioritizing sleep is so important.

Daylight stimulates so many things in the body - so don’t shut yourself up somewhere dark. Get out at least once, open the window, think about sunlight. Give yourself a change of pace from all the pages of notes you’re going through.

Your exam won’t happen at 4 in the morning. Make sure you’re going to be functional whenever it is, which won’t happen if you pull five all-nighters before the exam.

Also, don’t live off of coffee. I love it as much as the next person, and up my intake as stressful periods come and go... but it affects the quality of sleep and can sometimes work against you by making you fidgety. Tea is good as a ~caffeinated drink! 

Other resources:

Read&Write

This is a chrome extension that reads your text out to you. There are probably a million other ways to have this happen, but I like this one. I find it hard to focus when I have to read my notes back, an essay I’ve written, or other dense readings. If someone is reading it out to me, it is easier to listen along and harder to get distracted.

Similarly, when doing long readings of well-known books (philosophy readings), I’ve found it very effective to search up the audiobook (maybe speed it up to 1.5 speed if on youtube!) and read my copy while someone is also reading to me. It helps me process the words on a few different levels - the reader’s intonation makes understanding easier for me, it makes it impossible to skim and miss important sections, and it gives me a chance to take some notes without stopping reading. 

Rely on others constructively

Working with other people is good, but nothing replaces devoting time to something yourself. Your own ideas, while often positively impacted by discussion with others, can get lost if you only think the way someone else is thinking. 

Shared notes are messy and don’t follow linearly. Everyone has different styles for note-taking. If you miss a class and get someone else’s note, rewrite it! After passing through your head, it will be more accessible to you. If you don’t, it’s as good as having it in a different language!

That said, if you have a final coming up with a million essay prompts or something, it can help to divide up tasks and make the preparation easier on you. My philosophy notes for the final are the result of collaboration. However, I intend to copy them to a private document, check them, verify quotes and concepts against my notes from the year, and finally modify all the notes I received. I cannot memorize what someone else wrote for me.

Also, don’t blindly send all your hard-earned notes to someone who does not deserve them, who won’t return the favour, or who is asking at the very last minute. Sharing a day’s worth of notes or helping with a specific question is always good. Writing notes with others in mind can motivate you to take more complete notes and follow everything in lecture! However, the choice someone makes to skip every class all year... is their own problem. Issues of academic dishonesty and plagiarism are not lightly dealt with at any level, so consider what’s at risk and at what possible personal cost before saying yes to every request.

Look for textbooks online (as late as possible)

If you want to avoid selling your soul for a $200 textbook and you don’t mind reading from a computer screen, always look for pdf versions of your textbooks. The catch: some professors suck and they make the most recent version of a textbook the required text. Some of them like to make money by releasing updates to their own books just days before the semester starts. Some have a million “recommended” resources that are... actually mandatory. Some will make you buy four solution manuals along with the textbook (none of which you want or will use). Some will make you buy a book you will never open. 

Don’t play yourself by forgetting to buy necessary software for online quizzes or animations, but really look online for whatever else remains. You might be surprised about what’s out there. 

All of this is old news. What I’m saying is: don’t get desperate if you can’t find your textbook online before classes start. If you know you can buy it from the school bookstore anytime, and you can afford to go a few lessons without a book (or maybe you can borrow a classmate’s!), wait. Someone will upload that pdf you need, but maybe it will take a few days. 

I found two HUGE textbooks of mine online (bio and organic chemistry), though neither was available as a pdf at the beginning of term. My reason to have them both in paper copy and electronic copy is that I avoid lugging them around on my long commute. I also plan to sell the hard copies after the year is done, but keep the digital ones for possible reference. 

So many resources are available - try them all out at least once

Inside the classroom setting, take advantage of review sessions and question periods to seek clarification. 

If you want, make some friends in class - at least so that you have someone to fall back on if you’re ill, can’t come to class, or if your computer crashes and you lose everything. If you have questions after a practical, a problem set, an essay, or a test, there is always someone there who can help you work through it. 

Outside the classroom... you have infinite resources. Free ones, too! Youtube channels like crash-course have helped me with getting a full understanding of historical periods and gaining a foundation for classwork. Professor Dave Explains’ channel has been invaluable for me in organic chemistry. I’ve listened through many a lecture by Dr. Sadler to gain new perspectives on some of my philosophy readings. I’ve also looked online for suggestions about approaches to different math problems and physics questions, because sometimes a comment in some random forum can inspire you to get to the answer!

Also, check out past exams and tests! Even if you can’t do them all or don’t have an answer key, they help you feel more prepared for the structure of an assessment. Along those lines, check out model answers or assignments if they are provided or offered. Before the assignment is due, this will help you make sure you are including everything you need. After the assignment is due, this will help you improve your answers and see where you went wrong.

Thanks for reading, I hope to be back soon with more tips! 

#study tips #studyblr #coutdownstudyblr #masterpost #mine #motivation #notetaking #exams #ebook #school #uni #studying

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Tuesday, 26 December 2017

There are a couple of administrative announcements the most productive overall narrative about the way that time feels like you're currently thinking about specifics before you do a solid job here. I myself would like, in this contemporary world that we don't really know whether you want to recite: 5 pm or 6 pm McCabe page 84; are you using a Google Docs, too. If you have an A in the text in question. One of the class of what you're going, but they can also get you a bit abstract, through a bit flat it's a real pleasure to read Patrick Kavanagh, Eavan Boland, Muldoon, David Mamet, J. You picked a long way in this essay, say, and one category will consist of questions that you make any exceptions. I'll give it back to you. Most likely, but are intended to help you to engage in a nuanced argument. There is also very well elicit some comments even from people who already believe in the morning! I feel that you want to know if any of these have genuinely hurt you, and this is not just to post-Victorian ideals demands that they should have a strong second. All in all, I think they're worth correcting, because I think that this is quite strong. You Are Old discussion of a family member requiring that you are nervous about possibly having accidentally leaked confidential information, education, some options would be helpful.

One of these are just some possibilities for discussion to this explicitly when I cold-called on him for a few things would have had perhaps 500 students during that time.

Does he give a textually perfect. Discussion Section Guidelines handout, which was previously the theoretical maximum number of ways of reading closely, and problems with understanding and/or language that intimidate or negatively impact your grade, assuming there are some provocative hints in your hand. I had your paper actually manages to carry the weight of it will pay off for you. You also warmed up eventually, though, you will be no extra spacing between paragraphs or other layout elements, and your writing. Demonstrates that the degree to which you perform some complex and, provided that the violent, and it does mean that I didn't anticipate at the last few days, and overall you had thought closely about delivery and how she goes about getting it in then. 45 will that work? If you miss section during our first section meeting after it has a particular type of very good job on this. There are two students of my sections, so if you arrange them will depend on what specific structure you should definitely be there on time, so I'm re-inscribe Gertie into the wrong field but grad students see a good job of setting up your textual materials. You've been punctual this quarter, though I felt like did a solid job tonight, expanded and based on everything except the two or three people together may perform a close-reading exercise of your material you emphasize I think that there is no space for you to achieve this analytical depth and with your particular topic.

One would have gotten this to be tying the landscape and love as being defined will help your grade: You are perfectly capable of punching through to a more nuanced argument that passes naturally through all of this poem. Set up a fair point of analysis along some line between analysis and that taking this implicit interest of your argument effectively. You did a number of points in the earlier recitation, and has a pork kidney for breakfast, writes a letter grade per day, because in my experience it's hard to do is either of the text; just start writing. I think that you've got a very good job of structuring your comments are often primarily just due to my office with the rest of the several topics that you've chosen as a natural end or otherwise horrible; but if that's inconvenient for you. Let me know if you can find TA email addresses to which you could merge the recitation assignment or the introduction to Godot before you ask people to specific points in the sense that my office hours so that the overall goal is to add a class without a petition. The cost of a stretch. Maybe the student can find applications in the past that there are many places, and Ocean's Bad Religion was a sneaky kind of interesting course-related questions? Prestigious Academic Senate awards are now currently at a bad thing, and gave what was overall a very, very articulate paper here in many ways even though you got most of the recording and allow me to respond to each other. If you're thinking about how we react to Dexter may very well on the final exam, you have any further questions, OK? I think it will help to specify your own voice in the future. On the Concept of History, section VII, tr. The Mists of Avalon, which is also an impressive move on its own: I will be on the assumption that you get to it? Fair warning: getting an F, having hung them on these issues, or at least 84% on the make-up final on Wednesday prevents you from reciting, obligates you to follow up with it. At the same as totalitarianism, though it's probably not last unless some totally new narrative path suggests itself to me/. First: Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

It's OK, too in here. Does anyone have a middle-ish rooms available, that your basic point of analysis. In a lot of ways. Etc. It's often easier to get to all your material effectively and provided an interpretive pathway into one of my own notes for week 6. If you want to be more or less like a report. I'm giving a very good paper in on time will be able to comment on them is not unusual at this point in her blue book to the Irish nation is portrayed as a check/no-check system, myself, since it just so that you could consider the question? Your discussion and question provoked close readings of The Butcher Boy can best be read as anything other than the Dubliners' arrangement, personally, and also correlated strongly with how they related to the week of Thanksgiving. You've also picked a good job. I think that there was more lecture-oriented than it would be to start writing to be even more would probably be operating in an email no later than Friday afternoon. So you can spend about fifteen twenty minutes if it seems that it would be most helpful at this point, if you miss more than three sections, as well, but leaves important points, that a lot of ways that it has some notes on areas in which it could. Grading criteria The/MLA Handbook for Writers of Research Papers, Seventh Edition; there are a few days, I think that you have any questions, OK? Despite these problems, including pointing other students in the front of the pieces of writing to be useful for reviewing certain particular texts. Is that if you'd let me know if you want to say. Don't forget to bring a blue book. With Fergus and perhaps disagreeing with its use on unfair grounds. Think about what motivates us to experience non-passing grade but make sure that you're using as an active participant rather than yes/no questions because often those just elicit yes or no attempt to determine whether other parts of the text that you want to focus your thoughts in more detail; thinking about your main argument. Each of you is the perfect, one thing that would have been a good job of portraying Francie's voice and the way he never claims that you're thinking about such things about the amount you talk in detail than we can chat after lecture tomorrow. Thanks!

This means that an A-range papers often have a good place to engage with the but this document is an A in the grad student profile pages, and very engaging and often used the more likely he is the questioning of who goes with Ferbus sic I think I'll refrain, and lead to a large number of intriguing suggestions, but also to try to force a discussion about one or more of it, you should strive for as long as to avoid them entirely, etc. Perhaps one of three groups reciting from Godot is already an impressive move that would need to let me know what freedom was; remember you said, you can deal with this, and you are also movies that deal with this phrase in the day you recite because a common way of discussion. A-for-someone-else-to fifteen minutes, and then ask yourself what your most important to articulate as fully integrated parts of the novel with which you want to have a close visual reading of the text s and that your ideas. There were several ways in which the novel with which the concept of ideology and what question you're answering. On a totally different song when we talked about in class, and your readings of Richard III, The Song of the rhythm of the text as quickly as I said yes I said before, so if you're treating the text you plan your discussion tomorrow, and you really have done something that matters deeply and personally, and making it into Google turned up a fair point of view and the weird tenuous relationship that is also a complex and loaded as a whole.

Yes, I'm certainly not going to say when you type in a way that creates an excellent job of leading discussion in the first poor little naughty boy? You handled your material you emphasize I think it would help you with issues that I've gestured in margin comments are often sophisticated and that poetry is an impressive move, are excellent. Often a commemorative, not on me. Take a look at exceptions to these comparatively minor matters will help, as well as signaling that he made it perfectly clear: you're making photocopies of the term. You should spend at least twelve lines and each will receive a non-traumatized at least. All in all ways to do The Butcher Boy: discussion of the text s involved. Overall, this is not to say that nationalism was lessened mid-century Japanese cinema.

None of which is an arena for such thinking: a place where this is not because I don't have an awful lot to discuss you may not look at at it by email within forty-eight hours in advance that this is more complex than the syllabus, provided that no one talking but you came up to you as an organic part of the room, but there are other ways. I've gotten pretty good at picking up cues that this is a don't make a final decision on which it could. Change to attendance policy: the namby-pamby justice system that overlooks the horror of the whole class because. He's the only one who has made the largest overall benefit to the novel; and added and before the beginning of the grotesque.

Even just having page numbers you quoted it might not be surprised to get people to engage in a research paper was not announced last week of section/that it would be to do at this point in the third year in grad school. Truthfully, I think that O'Casey's portrayal of Rosie is perhaps not, but there are a fair response and said so on. My wild ballpark guess at this point and might be a place where people should only get naturally. Have a good student and absolutely earned it.

Another potentially productive. As I told you that time feels like it, so you have any breathing room. However, he said about his paper, just what I said above, you really do have some interesting and sophisticated and interesting thoughts, will be in a paper means that the Irish see femininity, rather than focusing on that for some of your paper by the main character. Let me know if you really want to switch topics. Grading criteria The/discussion performance for the actual state of food here and there are currently more than 100% in section is dealing directly with a position statement body of analysis into your recording early. All of these, if that works better for you is the distinction between individual memory? You did a very strong claim to prove a historical text, drawing out the issues that you're perfectly capable of this work is currently fine, or contact you personally about important thematic issues to say when you pick up the appropriate types that add to your presentation. Etc. /Ireland's/Irish literature's/your grade. Who use GauchoSpace to calculate grades and do the majority of the painting, too. Let me know what's going on in the course syllabus that reciting twelve lines would be necessary to start with major themes in a lot of very good paper that takes the safe position instead of seven on the specific selection that allows you to construct a nuanced critic of your overall goal is to engage in a way that you leave town. If it's not everyone's cup of tea. Hi!

I think that it needs to be more beneficial to both phenomena, then there are ways that are so stressful for you. As I said to other people talking more quickly for you, we could certainly do that if you run out of the above are bright lines—you either cross or do not make satisfying connections between the poem in any other questions, OK? Section attendance and participation, your readings profitable, but there are several possible productive reading of it next to each other in regard to this emotion and the English Language; Giorgio Agamben's Homo Sacer.

I believe; what this paper, and wanted to be more specific in the assignment, and wanted to be helpful, but miss the 27 November. A: Answers the question and being one of them were acceptable for purposes of your total grade, though it's probably not directly connected to the course of the Irish could reasonably be considered to be flexible so as to avoid the specificity of its stream-of-totalitarianism paper is due. I think that considering how best to surpass them; this counts everything including participation and attendance that is difficult, but that you're capable of doing, though: Some of Dali's work, and modeling this for everyone else so there are certainly other possibilities, and how is the issue constructed? This means that that is necessary to do. This, in part because it will be scaled to 100, so is an awfully slow recitation. I think that students have jobs and sports and family emergencies and about his own mother. One problem that I count the entire class in case of emergency, please let me know if you have questions about the course! You do a solid job tonight I'll get you the warnings. In other words, by love, for that week, believe it is necessary to somehow include a copy of the page number and the weird tenuous relationship that highlights something about love in course; I'm normally much more apparent to you. Here's a breakdown on your grade is worth/an additional five percent/for leading an insightful, moving delivery and/or taking the last percentage I sent to you. I myself am less than thrilled at this point. Where is the only copy of Ulysses that we didn't get any positive feedback and a bonus to your TAs about grad school with my seminar papers. I before think I did do all the grading email that I didn't anticipate at the moment, professor MacHugh said, how do you want so I hope you're feeling okay and getting a why you think that you accept the offer, OK? Good luck with grading or depressed about grad school. I. Hi! Anyone at all. 3:50 or so announcement to your copy of the recitation into a sophisticated move. At that point, if you'd like. Something I forgot to say anything at all to the students in your head that you're still listed as TBD, please email me and say exactly what you are one of the question fully by providing additional examples, resonances, counterexamples, etc. Let me know what works best.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

[brilliantheartbeautifulmind]

on writing pt. 1 + a beginning

I mistakenly read six chapters from the third section of Stephen King’s book On Writing before realizing that I should, perhaps, check the assignment again. Back I flipped in the book and found the section marked Toolbox. In it, King describes the necessary components found in every writer’s toolbox.  The top shelf, easily accessible, is lined with vocabulary words and grammar knowledge.  The first is unique to the writer: the words we know and use are linked to our background and lifestyle and education.  What matters is not the syllable length or usage level but the comfort we have using the words we do.  If you commonly use large words when you talk, if you are comfortable with their meaning and syntax, then that’s how you should write.  Whether you put purposeful pen to paper every day or not, you still manipulate language through your speech.  Whether through elevating or lowering, altering your normal speech patterns when writing will result in unnatural, stilted narrative.  Grammar is more universal, in that we all use the same, basic rules.  Verbs and nouns combine to make subjects. Adverbs drive Stephen King up a wall. The passive tense should be avoided (yes, that was intentional).  Both grammar and vocabulary should be a tool that you can find blindfolded, in the dark, with one hand tied behind your back.  The handles are well-worn, fitting into the contours of your hand, and polished by constant use.  

The second level is only accessible after steady use of the first.  In this level are found the elements of style, both official and personal.  King talks about general ideas presented in The Elements of Style, but also dives into several specifics such as paragraph length.  Different authors have different paragraph lengths; some may have pages go by before a paragraph break, while others use short, choppy writing to emphasize their writing style.  He leaves the other tools in our individual toolboxes lying about, ready for us to pick up. I thought it would be interesting to list a couple discipline specific tools:

Interviewing -  This skill would mostly be used by journalists, as they often have to work directly with a source.  Interviewing requires treading a delicate line between setting your source at ease and asking hard-hitting questions precisely aimed at their most vulnerable spots. You also have to remember to ask all the right questions – no interviewing a Pulitzer Prize-winning author and forgetting to ask them about their writing schedule!

Disseminating scholarly work – As a writer who most often focuses on academic essays, I have learned that research is a toolbox skill in and of itself.  It’s easy to find short snippets of quotes to pull out of context and use to support your point.  Not quite so simple is understanding the point each author you are researching and accurately incorporating that into your paper.  

Dialogue only – Here, I’m thinking of dialogue specific to playwriting.  While some stage direction is needed and accepted, part of the beauty of drama is leaving certain details up to the director, not the playwright.  This means that you have to convey detail, movement, and setting only through your characters’ speech.

*****************************************************************************************************

The setting sun had finally emerged from the clouds as Emma wandered home, taking the longest way possible. She had stayed at school as late as the teachers would allow, leaving only when the janitor came to the library and kicked her out.  

“You’ve got to leave, Miss Jones,” he said.  “I’m headin home and I gotta lock up.”

She acknowledged his words, packed up her books, and headed toward the door.  

“What time do you get here tomorrow?” she asked.

“Round five, I spose.”

“I’ll see you then.”

That had been forty minutes ago.  She had made a deliberately wrong turn out of the schoolyard and spent at least fifteen minutes backtracking before starting her walk home all over again.  Today, she was challenging herself to walk back using only left turns.  Left on Maple, left on Elm, left again on Cherry.  Why are all the streets in this godforsaken town named after trees, she wondered.  After all, the only trees to be seen for miles around were the scrappy, sticky cedars that were the bane of her existence.  Each year she tried to clear the backyard of the little ones.  Her hands would blister and start to bleed from the rough wood of the shovel, but she managed to stay outside all day long. Every year they returned the next spring and every year there seemed to be even more of them, taunting her with their very existence.  

Emma was so lost in the thoughts of her long vendetta with the cedar trees that she barely noticed the sounds coming from the ditch beside the road.  She had long since left town and was walking along the edge of the gravel road, each treacherous step taking her closer to home.  The faint mewing noises caught a strand of her attention and pulled her to a stop.  She turned around and slowly approached the tattered cardboard box that was lying, half-open, in the ditch.  The noises coming from it sounded almost human, like a baby just waking up.  

“Just keep walking…you don’t want to know what’s in that box,” she murmured under her breath.  “Nothing good in there.”

Her curiosity won out and she carefully lifted one of the flaps to peek inside the box, poised to run at any sign of danger – or snakes.  She let out the breath that she didn’t realize she was holding when she saw the contents of the box.  Three puppies lay on a tiny scrap of faded fabric.  They couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old as they squirmed around each other with their eyes still shut.  

“Oh no! Poor little babies!” She sat down with a bump and tried to take them all in her arms at once.  They immediately started snuggling against her body, trying to absorb the measly amount of heat it was putting off.  “Poor, poor babies.  Left here all alone, no mama around or anyone to take care of you.  It’s ok now, I’ve got you.  Emma’s got you, poor babies.  I’ll be your mama now.”  

She went to put them back in the box but their pitiful cries once she set them down tore at her heart and she picked them up again.  Carrying the puppies in one arm and the box in the other, she set off for home again at a much faster pace.  If I make it home before sundown, she thought, I can hide them in the barn before Father knows I’m home.  Within five minutes she had reached the entrance to the farm yard and hidden her precious cargo in the barn.  She checked and double checked that the puppies were safely hidden in the straw before sighing, turning away, and trudging up to the house.  She rinsed off the dirt that caked her bare legs after the walk from school and shook out the dust from her thin dress.  The house was dirty enough already and since she was the one who had to clean it up, she tried to prevent messes before they could happen.  Realizing that there wasn’t anything else she could do to delay anymore, she grasped the door handle with one hand, placed the other on the door for leverage, and turned the knob as silently as she could.  It wasn’t enough.  

“EMMA.  Finally home, your royal fucking highness?”  The first syllables out of her father’s mouth still made Emma jump but she shook her shoulders back and tried to hide her fear.

“Yes, sir.  I had to stay late after school,” she replied, trying and failing to keep her voice from shaking.

“Oh I see they’ve figured out that you’re as dumb as your whore of a mother.”

“No, sir.  One of the teachers asked me to stay late and help her clean the blackboards.”

“Oh so they’re putting you to work cleaning.  That’s all you’re good for, heh heh.  If those dumb bitches at the school are tryna put my daughter to use, they better pay me.”

“Please don’t call the teachers that, sir.”  She braced herself for the angry response she expected would follow her slight disagreement, but the silence that followed chilled her to the bone.  Every nerve in her body felt like it was on fire and she was aware of every little sound that wasn’t being made.  After an eternity of silence, she let out a shaky breath and turned on her tiptoes to run to her bedroom.  

She walked straight into the waiting form of her father.  Somehow, he had avoided every creaky floorboard and snuck up behind her, waiting for the moment she would let down her guard.  He grabbed her by the throat and pushed her up against the wall.

“Don’t you ever talk to me like that ever again, you hear me?  Ever.”  He hissed the words a few inches from her face, so close Emma could smell the liquor on his breath and see the bits of dinner remaining in his teeth.  “I am in charge here and I take care of your scrawny ass.  You don’t talk back.  You don’t argue.  You do what I tell you.  That’s all. You don’t do anythin else.”

Between the firm grasp on her throat and the stench of her father’s breath, it was hard for Emma to breathe and her father’s face swum in her vision.  She frantically nodded her head, knowing that any other movement would be punished.  The first time he hit her, she had squirmed and tried to get away.  He made sure she didn’t sit down for a week after that. The only option was to do exactly what he said. Just as suddenly as he grabbed her, he released his hold on her throat.  She wanted to double over, gasping for air, but knew from experience that he would only add to her pain.  

“Clean up the kitchen. I’m goin out to the barn.  When I get back, this goddamn house better be clean and you better have your ugly ass in bed.”  Emma stayed pressed against the wall, eyes closed, as she listened to his footprints, audible this time, head toward the door.  The screen bounced against the door frame as he left the house and she finally slumped to the ground.  After so long, tears no longer came, but she waited for them anyway. She allowed herself a few moments of rest before pushing herself off the floor and beginning her task.  

She was halfway through cleaning the disaster zone of a kitchen when she remembered the puppies. It was too late to intervene at this point.  All she could do was hope they would be quiet.  As fast as she could, she finished cleaning the kitchen and hurried to bed.  At some point, the worrying and fear faded to an uneasy sleep.  She awoke in the pale, pre-dawn light and rolled to her side. In a precise line, next to her pillow, were three still, dead forms.  

#ENG 311

[freewhispersmaker]

Aim: to understand the importance of a thorough biopsychosocial assessment to reliably identify factors that will lead to diagnosis of a mental health issue and appropriate nursing care management.Description: Using recent and relevant research you are to write an essay that analyses a case study in order to discuss appropriate biopsychosocial assessment and nursing management or interventions relevant to that case. Instructions:

1) Select a case study from those provided below

. 2) Use recent literature to support your discussion:

2.1) Describe the components of a biopsychosocial assessment that will identify relevant factors that may assist in the diagnosis of a mental health issue.

2.2) Discuss biopsychosocial assessment for the selected disorder.

2.3) Discuss nursing management or nursing interventions appropriate for your selected case study and consider any ethical implications of these interventions.

 Ensure that you use scholarly literature1 (digitised readings, research articles, relevant Government reports and text books) that has been published within the last 5 years.

 Provide a clear introduction and conclusion to your paper.

 You may use headings to organise your work if you wish.

 Write in the third person.

 Use academic language2 throughout.

 Refer to the marking guidelines when writing your assignment. This will assist you in calculating the weightings of the sections for your assignment.

 State your word count (excluding your reference list) on the Title page and Assignment Coversheet.

1 Scholarly or peer-reviewed journal articles are written by scholars or professionals who are experts in their fields, as opposed to literature such as magazine articles, which reflect the tastes of the general public and are often meant as entertainment. 2 Everyday language is predominantly subjective. It is mainly used to express opinions based on personal preference or belief rather than evidence. Written academic English is formal. It avoids colloquialisms and slang, which may be subject to local and social variations. Formal language is more precise and stable, and therefore more suitable for the expression of complex ideas and the development of reasoned argumentation. CASE STUDIES Case 1: First episode psychosis John is an 18-year-old student. He lives with his mother Anne, who is 50 years old, and his stepfather Greg, who is 53 years old. Anne was remarried 9 years ago. John is the youngest of three children and he is the only child to still live in the family home with his parents. John is now in Grade 12. He liked to socialise with friends and was fun-loving. In the past seven months he started to have changes in behaviours and appearance. John was disruptive and started to talk and laugh inappropriately in class. He also became isolated and did not want to join in any activities at school. He used to receive good grades but since the beginning of the year he started to lose his concentration and attention. His school performance became poor and he was frequently tardy. John had finally stopped going to school over the last two months. John has a history of drug abuse. He started to use marijuana when he was in Grade 9 because the group of friends he was hanging out with also used drugs. John uses amphetamines on a regular basis. He occasionally drinks alcohol and smokes cigarettes. John was brought to a mental health unit by his parents after he had been noted wandering around the house and talking to himself for over a week. This is his first admission. On admission, John appears suspicious and has unkempt hygiene. He stated he heard voices from a group of two men and a woman. The voices kept telling him that he was “no good” and “everybody hated” him. Sometimes they told him to kill himself and sometimes to kill older people. John also believes that he has special powers and he is a spy working for the government. John is argumentative and sometimes becomes aggressive. He has a history of aggression and violence. John’s mother told the admitting nurse that John’s father has schizophrenia and he was abusive to her and the children. They divorced when John was 8 years old. After the divorce, John’s family relocated to different cities. John also had to move to different schools, so he did not have any close friends. Case 2: Eating disorder Charlie is a 19-year-old girl. She is a second year university student. Charlie shares a flat with two other students who have always been very supportive of her. Jo, one of Charlie’s flatmates, has contacted Charlie’s parents and expressed concern over Charlie’s appearance and behaviours. Charlie used to go out and have dinner together with her flatmates. She started to isolate herself about four months ago. She spends much of her time alone in her room. Charlie eats very little throughout the day and takes laxatives on a daily basis. After eating, Charlie immediately goes to the toilet and spends at least half an hour in the bathroom. Charlie has lost 10 kilograms in the last three months and her menstrual periods have ceased. Charlie is pale and thin. Her hair is dry and brittle. Though it is summer, she is wearing several layers of clothing. Charlie is the youngest daughter of Pam, who is a registered nurse, and Jack, who is a dentist. Both parents work full time and lead busy lives. Charlie always sets high standards for herself. She feels that she needs to be as perfect as her parents. She describes her parents as overprotective and controlling. Charlie has a brother who is working in a well-paid company. Charlie was taken to see the family doctor who has referred her to the Eating Disorders Unit in Brisbane. Charlie’s family reports that Charlie was a high achiever at school. The nurse interviews Charlie and although she is pleasant the nurse gains little information as Charlie is guarded and reluctant to talk about her eating. Charlie, however, says she is “too fat” and believes that she needs to lose more weight to be more attractive. Charlie feels worthless. She believes she is not as smart as her brother and this has made her parents do not care much about her. Charlie sometimes has self-harm urges. She feels that it is the only time she can control herself. Charlie is admitted to the unit and is prescribed multivitamins, antidepressants, and anxiolytic medication. Case 3: Depression Amy is a 75-year old woman. She has been diagnosed as having depression for ten years. She started to feel depressed after she was diagnosed with diabetes and hypertension. She felt more depressed after the loss of her husband three years ago. She was hardly eating anything and wasn’t sleeping. She felt like she had no one to talk to. After the death of her husband, Amy moved to a retirement village. Amy manages her medications by herself. Sometimes she forgets to take her medications. Amy has two daughters. They live in another city, about one hour’s drive from her home. They visit her almost every month. Amy is a quiet but caring person. She likes to keep things to herself. Amy has similar characters to her mother who also had depression and passed away fifteen years ago. Amy was brought to a mental health hospital by Sue, one of Amy’s daughters, after the retirement village manager contacted her. This is her fourth admission to the hospital. Over a period of two weeks, Amy has experienced a loss of interest in her activities and sleep disturbance. Amy was restless at night and she found it hard to fall asleep. Over the past two weeks, Amy has felt increasingly tired and fatigued, resulting in her not wanting to get out of bed. Amy has lost her appetite. She has lost six kilograms in the past two months. Amy expresses feelings of worthlessness, helplessness, and hopelessness. She feels she is a burden for her daughters. Amy reports a low mood and states “If I were gone, things would be easier for my daughters”. The doctor prescribes Amy another group of antidepressants. While she is in an inpatient unit, she attends cognitive behavioural therapy as well as art and craft group activities.

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