There’s this girl at my school and she’s really nice and I remember sometime last year at one point she would carry a clicker around and click it everytime she had a happy thought/something good happened/she laughed etc.
It was always kind of cute how you’d just hear the little click every once in a while throughout class it always made me smile knowing that it was bc something made her feel happy idkshe was training herself to be happy oh my god
does it work???? Imagine feeling yourself slipping into depression and you just click a few times and your brain says “wait, this is the sound of happiness I have to release serotonin”
She fucking Pavlov’d herself, the absolute madwoman
Author: cuilpantielthesleepyscribe
tips for writing bilingual characters
- there are different types of bilinguals
- the All Around: speaks, reads, and writes both languages pretty well
- the Conversational: one language is stronger than the other; can speak the other language a lot better than they read/write it (a lot of kids of immigrants are this type)
- the High Schooler: understands what’s being said to them in the other language, can’t really speak it
- don’t have your characters randomly drop words from their other language mid-sentence around people who don’t speak it lol
- languages are a mindset thing. like personally if i’m around english-speakers, i’m speaking english and i don’t really switch to my other language (which is portuguese)
- so like if you’re writing a bilingual character who speaks spanish and have them say something like “hey chad let’s go to the biblioteca” to an english speaker i’ll probably spend 5 minutes laughing and then close your story lmao
- exception: the character is speaking in their weaker language and forgot a word (”where are the…? uh… llaves…. keys! keys, where are they?”)
- otherwise really the only time your character should be randomly switching languages mid-sentence is if they’re talking to another bilingual
- like i don’t speak spanish but i’ve legit never heard a spanish speaker say “ay dios mio” to gringos lmao
- conversations between two bilingual people can take a few different forms:
- Pick One: they pick one language and kinda stick with it for the whole conversation (a conversation i might have with my portuguese-speaking mom: ”you okay?” “yeah, i’m good. how’re you?” “i’m fine, but your dad-”)
- Back-and-Forth: someone says something in one language, the other person replies in the other (”tudo bem?” “yeah, i’m good. how’re you?” “tou bem, mas o seu pai-”)
- Combo: they speak a combo of the two languages, a popular example being spanglish, though basically every bilingual has their own combo language (”tudo bem?” “sim, tou bem. how’re you?” “i’m fine, mas o seu pai-”)
- when in doubt: just ask a bilingual to look at your stuff and tell you if anything sounds weird
- combo languages can look different depending on the bilingual
- me and my cousin (native english speakers) speaking our portuguese/english combo sounds a lot different than my mom and my godmother (native portguese speakers) doing the same thing
- the kids of immigrants usually come up with their own unique way of saying things that are different than native speakers
- if you’re writing a bilingual family the older kids’ll probably be more bilingual than the younger ones
- also, to clarify: bilingual characters might say words in another language on purpose in front of non-speakers
- either to fuck with them or just ‘cause the word captures what they’re feeling more (i use “caralho” a lot)– basically the point is that accidental switching is relatively uncommon
- i know earlier i said that people will forget words if they’re speaking their weaker language but tbh i do it with my stronger language too so really it works both ways
- filler words are weirdly universal
- so like while bilingual people don’t usually switch languages around people who aren’t bilingual we’ll throw filler words in
- “ele me olhou e, like, eu juro que eu quase deu um soco nele-”
- a lot of languages borrow words from english so it’s not too weird to have a random english word in an otherwise non-english conversation (my aunt @ my mom: “lilian você viu meu post no Facebook?”)
- also sounds in general are just kind of a language transcending thing
- you wanna find out what someone’s first language was?? break one of their bones lol
- legit me when i cracked my rib: “AIIIIIII JESUS CHRIST TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAL”
- so if your character gets hurt they might make a sound of pain associated with their native language but will probably still speak in the language of the people they’re surrounded by. probably. it depends on just how much pain they’re in
- if two people start speaking another language in public there’s a 40% chance they’re talking shit and a 60% chance they’re having a conversation like: “where’s the bathroom” “i don’t know, ask the waitress she’s right here” “i can’t just ask-”
this is the most accurate bi/multilingual reference post on here y’all should take notes 👀
Also, in a setting where many people are bilingual in the same two languages (eg the Chinese population in Southeast Asia), that is when you get the stereotypical ‘random words from other languages mixed in together’ as a normal thing. And everyone has their own personal vocabulary of what words they prefer to speak in what language – in my case, if it has to do with my culture, religion, or heritage, I tend to speak Mandarin more.
Drunk people will use their second, third, fourth etc languages more fluidly. It’s such a thing that some people will deliberately take tests on those languages while mildly buzzed.
I have done the impossible, and that makes me mighty.
The Greek gods don’t have a family tree; they have a family subway map.
and zeus is grand central station
I wrote over 2600 words on my thesis today. No i am not joking or kidding. No I am not on any drugs or even caffeine. I just sat down and wrote. This is hands down the most productive day of my life. We will never see it’s like again.
Reblog to give urself the power of productive days. Ignore to still get the power of productive days because you have seen this post it will bless you and your mind anyway. But just know ur a lil shit for not sharing the power of productive days with your pals.
GIVE ME THE POWER PLZ
In ancient times, there were some very unfortunate people who didn’t know what an elephant was until they encountered one in battle
maybe you can write about the night where Asra’s parents didn’t come home,,,,Perhaps maybe smol asra getting dragged out of the house after a few days maybe
anon, this is a terrible, horrible, very bad prompt and u should feel awful for sending it
–
His parents are always back before dinner. Dad had promised to make rajma-chawal for dinner, one of his favorites. They made dinner for him when they didn’t think they’d be back before sunset. But it’s nightfall now, and he’s hungry, and alone. Mom and Dad still aren’t back.
“Where are you?” he murmurs, rising on his tiptoes so he can peer out the window into the street. It’s empty; the last person he had seen walking by hadn’t been Mom or Dad. He falls back to his feet and runs upstairs, hand on the stair guardrail. When he reaches the landing, he goes straight to Mom and Dad’s room, rounding the bed to Mom’s side, carefully avoiding stepping on her prayer rug.
He has to use the stepstool to get into the bed, curling up on Mom’s side, resting his cheek on the pillow. It smells like her, soft and floral. He buries his face in her pillow and waits, hating the silence of the house.
Where are they? They should be home by now…
They’d left him books to read and games to play while they were gone, in place of lessons, but Dad makes the games fun, and the books are boring, anyway.
He doesn’t know how long he waits for them to come home, but he doesn’t move until his stomach growls. The house is dark, because he’s not supposed to light candles without Mom or Dad watching, not after what happened last time.
Asra sits up and cups his hands in front of his chest, sticking his tongue out like Dad does when he’s in his workshop. He furrows his brow, concentrating, and he thinks, Light!
Just like Dad showed him, and the weird fox man.
A small orb flickers to life between his palms, floating up into the air, shining pale yellow. Asra laughs and claps, looking around before he realizes Mom and Dad aren’t there to see him do magic. Then he frowns and turns onto his stomach, carefully sticking his foot out and lowering himself down until he feels the stepstool.
Then he goes to the kitchen, Mr. Light bobbing along behind him, and finds the cookie jar. Cookies aren’t supposed to be eaten til after dinner, Mom always says, but he hasn’t had dinner and he’s hungry.
After he’s eaten every cookie except two (one for Mom, and one for Dad), he sits in the living room, Mr. Light hovering over his shoulder.
“They’ll come home,” he tells Mr. Light, who bobs in agreement. Asra kicks his legs, staring down at his bare feet, tongue poking at the cookie bit stuck between his teeth. After a minute, he uses his fingernail to pry it out, then licks his finger and wipes it on his pants. He looks to Mr. Light. “They’ll be back soon, I just gotta wait for them.”
Mr. Light bobs again.
Asra waits, humming and daydreaming. When he gets tired, he looks out the window again—standing on his tiptoes just to see outside—but he doesn’t see Mom or Dad. “Huh,” he says, and even though he’s not supposed to, he goes upstairs, retrieves the stepstool, and unlocks the doors. He drags the stepstool aside and goes out into the street, Mr. Light accompanying him the whole way.
The streets are empty. He knows it takes a long time to get to the palace. They’re probably just stuck, is all. They’re coming. Satisfied, Asra goes back into the house, closing the door and dragging the stepstool in front of it. He locks all three locks, then, just in case, uses the stepstool to look out the windows.
No Mom. No Dad. But that’s okay. They’ve never been so late before, but they’ll be back in the morning. They always are. Maybe they can have pancakes for breakfast? Or maybe they’ll take him to the Milovan restaurant. He won’t get a bedtime story tonight, but Dad can tell him two tomorrow night, so that’s okay.
“They’re coming home,” Asra says, grunting under the weight of the stepstool as he lifts it up. He has to half-carry it, half-drag it back up the stairs. “They’re just a little late, Mr. Light. It’s okay.”
But he doesn’t want to sleep in his bed tonight, so he brings the stepstool to Dad’s side of the bed. After changing into his favorite nightdress, Asra climbs onto Dad’s side of the bed and crawls under the covers. Dad’s pillow is softer than Mom’s, but it doesn’t smell like Dad, just cotton. So Asra climbs out of bed and grabs one of Dad’s scarves, soft red cotton trimmed with golden tassels. He wraps it around himself and gets back in bed, moving around Dad’s pillow until he’s comfortable.
“Goodnight, Mr. Light,” he says, and Mr. Light bobs once again, sputtering out and leaving him in darkness again. Asra tugs Mom’s pillow closer so he smells her, and pulls the covers up over his head, a shield against the unfamiliar darkness. He doesn’t like how it feels to sleep knowing Mom and Dad aren’t there with him.
They’ll be back in the morning. They will.
He just has to wait for them, that’s all.
He can wait.
I’m crying
FantasyBoudicca 