No Broken Words update this week because the author is currently in the mood for deleting it all, BUT at least a snippet of what is going on for the blorbos (subject to change).

I could not have liked it in my twenties. Wow. What a text to send in the middle of the night. Carl gritted his teeth. and now? In the next few, excruciatingly long minutes that followed, Carl’s brain went wild with possibilities, none of them good. It was a book for stupidly exalted young men, and Akram was of course above that since he was ten. It was disturbing. It was too disgustingly queer. The worst one: it was blend. Now it gives me a new insight. Fuck that guy. Carl could begin an anthology of cryptic statements at this point, maybe sell them as omens for the new year. great review thx. i’ll call you for the ads next time The phone started to vibrate, and Carl almost let it fall on the floor. Akram’s name was gleaming on the screen. “Yeah?” “I hope it is not too late to call?” “I don’t sleep,” he groaned. “I never do.” “I don’t think it is good for you.” “You’re calling in the middle of the night to police my sleeping habits?” “You wanted a better review.” For once, Carl closed his lips before snapping. No, he didn’t want a review. He didn’t want a rating out of five stars, or empty words of appreciation, or a polite, respectful, clean assessment. He wanted Akram to feel the agony of old fractures, and his teeth aching for something to tear into. “This all feels very foreign to me.” Akram’s voice was careful, as if he could cut his tongue on the words.

alone and broken...

but at least that way I won't break others with me,

our brain is doing the thing again. I can’t exactly explain so I’ll just use examples.

((IDK if this is a neurodivergent thing (we’re likely autistic & a diagnosed ADHDer) or just our brain doing a thing, either way it’s distracting))

--

Me: *trying to write*

Me: *types “explain” into story*

Brain: explain. ex. plain. Plain. *pictures the noun version of plain* *remembers plain also means “simple/ordinary”*

Me: I just wanted to write a story--

Brain: Hm. Explain. Example. Ex. Ample. *remembers ample means large/more than enough*

Me:

Me: I didn’t even write that word...

Brain: Ex. No longer. No longer plain. No longer enough. Hm.

Me: *groaning because now I’m completely distracted from writing my story*

--

This happens while reading too. Like...our brain just breaks words apart.

I have a Google doc of them because it happens so often. I can’t focus until I write them down. Like...all of these are in a doc together because brain wouldn’t stop:

con-sequences→ Bad-sequences

Rain-bow→ A bow made by rain ((Bow→ Old English ‘boga’ = ‘bend, bow, arch,’ of Germanic origin; related to Dutch boog and German Bogen, also to bow.))

Entre-preneur (French)→ Literally, “between-taker”

Bank-rupt → erupt+bank, or exploding bank. This means you have no money.

Vani-SHES ~ sounds like van-ih-chaise if you emphasize it right. Chaise is French for “chair”.

Pro-mise —> Pro=positive. Mise=the French verb “to put” as in “to put __ on” or “to put __ back”. So promise= ‘positive placement’

Trink-et —> Trink=brand new. “et” as a suffix means “little”. Trinket= “brand new little”, or “new small thing”

Resurrect —> re = to return; surrect= upright; resurrect= literally “to return to upright”

Balloon —> “Ball” & “oon”; “oon” forms nouns, originally from French words having the final stressed syllable ‘-on’. So...¿“ball (noun)”?

Brief CW d*ad/d*ath word mention

Mort-gage → Literally, “death-offer” (gage=offer/offer of good faith; mort is French for “death”/“dead”). (Used for loans on a house.)

CW over

--

I am scared

Scared to think

I think i am scarred

But why don't I feel like it.

Does love make u go numb?

If it does, then give me strength

To unlove,

I smile but why don't I feel happy

From deep inside

Does deep inside exist?

Or is it just a conspiracy

A theory we can't resist.

I feel like a cave

Hollow and desolate

There is this wall built inside me

That resists love,

How high is it

Maybe there's some passcode

That'll open this door

But you know what

You took it and poof you're gone.

Once again, @fanfictiongreenirises has posted a quite intriguing WIP and asked for others, so here's a teaser for the next part of Broken Words. The final chapter and epilogue should be posted by the end of the week, provided my Stupid Brain allows me to.

“You got laid,” Hardy diagnosed as he opened the door, looking up to Carl. This was a wheelchair day. Carl tried not to dwell on it. It was okay. It was the new normal. Some days were better than others, some days worse. Hardy had accepted it. Carl, as usual, was too slow. But for now, there was much more important to react to. “I have not.” He winced as his own voice. He was going for outraged and had failed miserably between childish frustration and giddiness. “Mate. I watched you by the window. You were whistling.” “I was not.” To be fair, he was not exactly not whistling either. “Aye. Definitely got laid. So, who is it? The IT guy?” “The—” “Rose told me.” Hardy wheeled back, letting Carl in. “You two, and I quote, ‘should fucking get a room and get down to business before the shop explodes.’ ” Despite everyone’s wishes, Carl was rarely speechless. He followed Hardy to the living room without a word. “So?" “I have not got laid.” It was worse. Someone had translated poetry for him.