#English cuisine lol

[kkorechika]

Korechika cooks:

(This is the best fucking thing in the world omg im not kidding)

Sticky toffee pudding

[lazycats-stuff]

Remember when u wrote batbro who's Australian? Now u HAVE TO do Italian! This time with Italian toddler batbro, please little Italian people with their small hand gestures are so funny and so fricking adorable to me I'm tearing up just thinking about it

Yeah, Italians are funny and adorable, but I think it would work better if it's a teen instead of a toddler, so I have to modify that part, I just think it would fit better. Also, 1.3k, thank you guys and yes, I know this is a little bit short, but I do want to get this out for you guys. Also, Italians are my neighboring country lol, so if any Italians are reading this, hi!

Summary: (Y/N) is Italian. The family can't deal with him.

Warnings:

Bruce, yet again, found out he had another biological child. Another son. Bruce loved his sons, but he could get a daughter for once. Someone who was less chaotic to a certain degree. Turns out, when Bruce had a one night stand with an Italian model, she got pregnant and she didn't say anything to Bruce about his son for 13 years.

Bruce found out when she was put in jail. Bruce didn't know what happened, but he was more numb from the news that he has another son. Not to mention, man with a heavy Italian accent calling him in the middle of the night telling him about his son and Bruce having to call his lawyers...

The amount of paperwork that it took for Bruce to bring (Y/N) to America is nuts. Sure, you have to make sure that both governments know where the child is. The amount of connections Bruce had to pull just to get (Y/N) to the USA is actually insane. Thankfully, (Y/N) would soon get his citizenship and he would be able to keep his Italian citizenship.

Thankfully, both the US and Italy allow people to have multiple citizenships so (Y/N) could go back to Italy without any problems. Bruce and the others need to get visas. (Y/N) laughed at them when he heard that.

But hey, when they go to Italy, they will have a translator. And it's incredible to listen to (Y/N) not knowing English really. They weren't mocking him by any means, but they were crying of laughter a few times when there was some English problems.

But there were another things they didn't know about Italians. For example, (Y/N) was touchy in conversations. And he was closer to them, more in their space. None of them minded them, it was actually nice how closer he was to them because Americans prefer to keep their distance it seems.

And a thing that seemed like are they European or gay thing is the fact they have their little pecks on the cheek. It wasn't anything intimate by any means and it's a way to say hi to guests. Men do it as well so it wasn't gay per say... But then again... Bruce knew that Italy had a different way than Americans.

And by God, (Y/N) had so many cultural shocks. So many. The sizes of food in America... And (Y/N) will forever fight the notion that pineapple belongs on the pizza. He shall defend his Italian heritage and cuisine.

Also, while on the topic of the sizes, everything in America is huge. Cars, buildings... (Y/N) thought that in a way it lacked warmth. And (Y/N) didn't even want to think about the prices of medication and healthcare here. He knows that Bruce is rich, but still... My God.

Another thing was the fact that kind of annoyed Bruce and Alfred was the amount of espressos that (Y/N) can drink in a day. Tim loved him a lot for it, but Bruce and Alfred weren't so happy. So many espressos wasn't really helpful. But hey.

But one iconic thing that can make you tell who is an actual Italian or not, is the famous hand gesture. They still remember the time when (Y/N) was talking on the phone with a family member who lives in Italy and it seemed that the entire family was on the other side of the phone.

He was talking fast, phone on his ear while he was going to the kitchen to drink some water and get some snacks. They all watched in silence as (Y/N) talked loudly, even as he was opening the fridge for some snacks.

And that's when they saw it. The famous hand gesture, in between some passionate talk about something and yelling over the phone. He seemed annoyed, but there was a smile on the teen's face as he was talking.

Once he was finished, he joined his family at the table. Jason has decided to learn Italian. Bruce has silently agreed. Damian was already prepared to learn. Basically, the entire family has decided to learn Italian and help (Y/N) with English in return.

Another thing that made adapting to the American culture more difficult was the fact that talking and kind of interrupt one you are talking too. In Italy, that is not really considered rude since they are passionate about talking and just overall talking over.

In America, that is considered rude. He didn't like it that much, but understood. People won't like him that much and he would be considered a rude person if he interrupts other people. His family understood that it's not easy, but hey. You adapt to the culture and move on.

But still, it hurt a little bit.

And (Y/N) never understood one thing as well. Something called Italian Americans. He couldn't comprehend calling yourself Italian American, but you don't speak Italian and you are not connected to the culture of your other part. It was weird to him. No hate towards them, but to him it was weird. How can you call yourself a person who belongs to a certain culture if you don't know it?

But hey, no hate. As long as they don't insult Italy and the Italian culture, no hate.

And one more thing that no one prepares you for is the fact that you miss your home country. Despite Alfred doing the best Italian dishes known to men, but it just didn't taste the same. It didn't have that taste of Italy. Yes, it sounds weird, but it's true. Italy is one hell of a country with a rich history.

Oh the nostalgia is a worst feeling ever. Sure, it makes you feel happy and remember the great times you had., but sad at the same time. Bruce saw it, he wasn't blind.

He was sad for his son. So what does Bruce do? Summer holidays are approaching and Bruce had one great idea for everyone. 2 weeks in Italy, all paid for. He just needed to tell (Y/N) when and where they will be going.

And Bruce told him a few moments later, (Y/N) screamed from happiness and jumped into Bruce's arms, hugging him like a koala bear.

" Grazie Bruce! " (Y/N) screamed. Bruce didn't mind the use of his first name because (Y/N) was still getting used to the fact that he has a dad.

" Ti amo Bruce. " (Y/N) said as he stood back down at the floor. Bruce smile widely as he knew exactly what first two words meant.

" Love you too son. "

(Y/N) let out a woo as he went back to his room. Oh he will stuff himself with all of the Italian food he can eat and find. And he will go to Rome and the Vatican. No one is going to stop him. And not to mention, he will have to visit his family. They would never forgive him by any means and you don't want to piss off an Italian family.

[revrover]

The Stranger - Pt. 2

Part One: The Stranger

Part Three

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 8k (lol whoops)

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Language, PLOT

Summary: Namor isn’t the only one who has been searching for his general. Thanks to you, Namora’s life was saved -- but when your connection to the two strangers brings you face to face with a hostile group of government agents, you find yourself in the crossfire of a much bigger conflict.

A/N: OMG first and foremost thank you for being here, thank your for coming back, and thank you for reading. This has taken me a bit longer to post because I’ve been pouring over it every day for a month, trying to get it just right. Comments, feedback and reblogs mean THE WORLD to me, so feel free to show some love and as always please be kind!

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

There is a growing unrest inside you.

Days have passed since your encounter with Namor after saving the life of his general, Namora. Two mysterious strangers who have left your mind reeling with questions, unrelenting and unquenchable as a flame that dares to spread like wildfire, consuming your thoughts entirely.

You repeatedly play the memory over in your head with no rational way to explain what you witnessed; her blue skin, his superhuman strength; the curious metal that outfitted both of their armor; how they disappeared into the vast open ocean.

"Something on your mind?" A fruit vendor asks, snapping you back to reality. You stand in the middle of the bustling village marketplace, doing your best to orient yourself quickly.

“Your head is — how you say…? — in the clouds, yes?” The vendor asks in her best English, smiling politely at you as she stands next to her cart, eager for you to buy something.

"Is it that obvious?" You joke with a tired laugh. "Two, please."

You scoop up a pair of fresh mangos and hand the woman some change from your pocket. She kindly accepts it with a nod of appreciation. Carefully sliding the fruit into your bag, you return a nod of your own.

You continue to walk through the market, the damp air carrying an aroma of local cuisine and sweat fills your lungs. Weaving your way in and out of aisles created by vendor carts, you feel a sense of calm as you watch the locals interacting with one another. There's beauty to be found in their sense of community.

Typically, you would gather your needed food and supplies and then be on your way back home, but today as your mind wanders, so do your feet.

Meandering down another aisle, your thoughts drift back to Namor, specifically the morning you found him on your front porch. You can practically feel the warmth of that sunrise as you imagine its light illuminating his dark eyes. You picture the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth when you asked him if he would come back, a moment you hold onto tightly. The memory gives you optimism that you will see him again someday and hopefully have the opportunity to ask him more questions.

Lost in thought, you hardly notice a small crate sticking out a few inches further than other accompanying carts in the aisle. Tripping your foot as you walk by, it nearly tumbles you to the ground. You manage to catch your balance and your breath before face-planting into the dirt. Immediately turning to apologize, you find an elderly man seated behind the crate, his back leaning against the wagon behind him and his eyes shut.

The man is slender and his head bald, save for a few wisps of hair above his ears. Most of his body is covered by a knitted green poncho, well-worn and fraying along the hem. To both your relief and surprise, he seems completely undisturbed by your clumsy collision with his crate of goods. Unsure if he’s even awake, you reach down to help reset any items on the crate you may have displaced.

Your jaw drops slightly as you see the contents on display. Spread out on a velvet brown tablecloth sits a small assortment of beautiful books, scrolls, and other documents. Admiring them, you reach out and push back one of the scrolls, revealing a gorgeous hand-sketched portrait of the island.

“Did you draw this?” You ask, impressed by the skill of it.

“Mmm,” He hums, shaking his head, "But I made very good trade with the man who did.”

You find his answer odd, though slightly amusing, considering he never opened his eyes to see which piece you were referring to. As you browse the rest of the items, a particular book stands out to you. It’s different from the rest of the collection — small and bound in leather, although the leather itself is worn and brittle-looking. You pick it up and inspect it closer. The binding is loose, the pages aged and tattered.

“Careful with that one. Very old.” The elderly man says, his eyes remaining shut. “Nearly 400 years. Got it in a trade with a visiting merchant from our southeastern sister islands."

How does he even do that? You wonder as you start delicately flipping through the pages of the book. You make it about midway through when you open to a particular page that makes you freeze, your heart nearly jumping out of your throat. Your eyes widen as you bring the page closer to your face.

It’s a crude drawing — basic, two-dimensional, and very old like the man said, but the likeness is undeniable. Depicted is the figure of a man. He dawns a grand snake-like headpiece and is grasping a spear. His body is adorned with jade and other metals. Sharp ears. Winged ankles.

"Excuse me!” you ask the elderly man with an exasperated breath, practically jumping over the crate as you lean forward and shout, “These!" You flip the book around to show him the open page, pointing excessively at the picture and the glyphs below it. "What do these say?!"

Your voice is eager and desperate, emotions you hardly try to hide.

The man's left eye slowly squints open.

“Only few are still legible.” He says, shrugging.

“Okay, yes, but the ones you can read, what do they say?!” You plead.

He sighs, opening his other eye and leaning forward slightly to get a better look. After a moment, he leans back against the wagon and closes his eyes again.

"King. Serpent. God. Monster."

You hang on to each word he tells you. Turning the book back around, you bring it back up to your face for another closer inspection.

"How much?" You ask, ready to make a deal.

The elderly man cracks one eye open to look at you for a moment as he considers his price, then wordlessly points to your arm with a feeble finger. You follow his gaze down to the small beaded bracelet around your wrist — the last reminder of your life before coming to the island. You hold your arm up to him, making sure you understand correctly. He nods politely, and without hesitation, you untie the bracelet and toss it to him.

"Nice doing business!" He says with a wide grin as he holds up the bracelet. You are already nose-deep in the book as you turn on your heels, quickening your pace as you head home where you can study more carefully.

Maneuvering your way out of the market to the outskirts of the village, you hardly need your eyes to guide your feet home. You take advantage of the remaining daylight to examine the pages as you walk, turning page after page and scanning for any information about Namor and his people. There’s little there, the book seeming to be a very old, mingled account of island history and lore. Seeing as you are not a historian and certainly not a linguist, it’s difficult to decipher. Still, you do your best to piece together what you can from the pictures.

King. Serpent. God. Monster.

The sky begins to dim. You can hear the faint roar of waves as you near the coastline. It’s too dark to see much detail on the pages now, so you carefully tuck the book into your bag as you step over the trunks of palm trees. The path beneath your feet gradually turns from brush to sand, and soon you find yourself walking along the familiar stretch of beach that leads you home. You stare out into the darkness, listening to the rhythmic pattern of ocean waves and breathing in the salty evening air. The moon hovers above the water, burning brightly as countless stars paint the sky behind it.

You continue walking in the darkness, but there’s an uneasiness building in your gut the further you go. You should be nearing home by now, but no lanterns have come into view. You always light lanterns before heading into town. They burn for hours in your absence so, by the time you return, you have light to guide you. All you see now are shadows and silhouettes that dance against the tree line, and every sound and indiscernible movement has you on edge.

It’s not until you are nearly a stone's throw away that the bungalow materializes in the night. Your stomach twists as the wind blows by you, rustling your hair and causing the snuffed-out lanterns hanging from your porch to creak as they swing back and forth. You hear shuffling, and small beams of light sporadically shine through the cracks of lumber that make up the walls of your home.

There is someone inside.

An alarm goes off in your head, screaming at you to get out. As quietly as possible, you begin backing away. Eyes fixed on the bungalow, you take one step back. Then another. Then another. Then — thud.

Your stomach flips and your throat tightens. While you pray you’ve miscalculated and miraculously made it to the tree line in three short steps instead of thirty, you feel the unmistakable presence of a body directly behind you.

“Going somewhere?” A deep voice growls menacingly. It belongs to a man, his tone gruff, although you can’t quite make out his accent. You do, however, feel the blood drain from your face as you slowly turn your head, finding what is quite possibly the largest human being you have ever seen. Dressed in black military-grade tactical gear and armed with enough ammo and firepower to take on a small army, you know there is no fucking way you are getting away from this guy.

The man grabs your arm and forcefully drags you toward the bungalow. Once up the stairs, he pushes you inside and releases his grasp. You rub your arm and look up to find another man standing in your kitchen, his back turned away from you as he stands hunched over your table. He’s dressed in similar tactical gear and has a walkie-talkie hooked to his belt. A lantern burns next to him as he seems to be pouring over some sort of map.

“Sir,” the man behind you bellows.

The man at the table straightens his posture and turns around to face you both. His hair is buzzed and his face is stubbly, with a thick prominent mustache that stretches across his upper lip. He seems a bit older, and by the ‘sir’ formality, you are fairly confident he is in charge.

“Ah, we were wondering when you would be back.” He says in a sly tone, his accent American.

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” You respond in anger to the unwelcome visitor.

The man takes a sweeping look around the place, then his eyes come back to you.

“I think we can agree that “house” is a bit of a loose term.” He responds with sarcasm, a knowing look on his face. You continue to stare him down, unresponsive to his quip. The man loosens his shoulders and smiles at you. “Where are my manners? Agent Barrett.” He reaches his hand out, offering to shake yours.

You don’t move a muscle.

There is an awkward moment of silence, then Agent Barrett’s hand retreats. He turns, beginning to pace around your tiny kitchen. The room is in rougher shape than usual, clearly ransacked by whatever search was conducted before your arrival. The agent picks up a small roll of gauze from off the counter and holds it up.

“Tell me,” he says, inspecting the bandage material closely, “have you had any visitors recently?” His gaze quickly flicks over to you, an eyebrow raised.

Your pulse quickens as your blood turns to ice. Your mind immediately flashes to Namora floating wounded in the water; to Namor breaking down your door; to the two of them disappearing into the night. You put on your best poker face and shake your head.

“There’s no one around here for miles,” you explain, trying to be as convincing as possible. “You should try more inland towards the village. Most tourists, if any, stick closer to town or retreat to the far side of the island where—“

“Oh, she’s no tourist.” Agent Barrett chuckles, cutting you off. It feels insulting as if your suggestion were so preposterous it was borderline humorous.

She. He is looking for Namora.

Setting the gauze down next to the sink, Agent Barrett turns and walks over to you.

“You’re certain you haven’t seen anybody unusual around here in the past few days?”

He’s standing much closer now. Something about him makes your skin crawl. You eye the gun strapped to his hip and doubt it is for self-defense. Again, you shake your head.

Barrett sighs and gives you a disappointed smile.

“Okay.” He says softly while nodding his head. He backs away from you as the room lingers in silence. You allow yourself to take a breath, but the relief is short-lived. “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

On Barrett’s cue, the large man behind you grabs your shoulder and kicks the back of your legs, dropping you hard to your knees. With his free hand, he yanks the bag off your other shoulder and tosses it to another man who emerges from the doorway to your bedroom. He catches the bag and immediately starts rummaging through it.

“Hey—HEY!” You shout, “What the hell are you—“

“A woman!” Barrett yells. “Pale blue skin. Very skilled swimmer. Four days ago, she single-handedly took down three UN-sanctioned vessels in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic! Three! Now where I’m from,” he crouches down to your level, aggressively getting in your face as he drops his voice lower, “that’s what we call an act of terrorism.”

Adrenaline overtakes your body as you feel your heart beat so intensely it threatens to break right out of your chest. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Barrett’s henchman searches your bag. He pulls out the mangos and tosses them on the floor. Then, he grabs the old leather-bound book. Turning it over in his hand, he looks at it for a moment and tucks it into his belt.

“She was wounded,” Barrett continues, calling your attention back to him, “and our intelligence indicates she washed up somewhere along this shoreline. That's where her trail goes cold. And as you said, there's no one around here for miles. No one, except you."

His implication is obvious.

“This woman, where is she?” He makes a last-ditch effort to convey a friendly tone, but you can hear his patience dwindling. "And please don't make me ask again."

You stare at him coldly, lips sealed together. You’re not telling this man a damn thing.

"Mmmm," is all he grunts, his eyes dropping to the ground. He heaves a heavy sigh as he pushes against his knees to stand up. Once on his feet, Agent Barrett stares at you for another moment before nodding his head to the agent behind you. The next thing you know, you are suddenly being pulled up by your hair, the man’s grip tight against the back of your neck as he turns and pushes you out the door.

Your hands clamor to his as you struggle against him to relieve the painful tension pulling on your scalp, attempting to release his grip on you. But the man is too strong and drags you down the stairs of your porch with ease. You make it a few meters down the shore when he shoves you down to your knees. Your legs make divots in the sand as your hands catch the rest of your body’s momentum. Hunched over, your knees and palms sting from the sand's friction.  

You immediately tense up as you feel a gun press against your head, the cool metal barrel hungry to fire. Hearing footsteps approaching behind, you quickly swallow your fear to maintain composure. Agent Barrett walks past, turning to position himself directly in front of you again — only this time, he doesn’t crouch down to your level.

“Look at me.” He demands as he towers over you. His body language makes it clear who is in control. In the only act of defiance you have left in your arsenal, you keep your gaze laser-focused on the water straight ahead of you, refusing to give in to his instruction. Growing impatient, Barrett roughly grabs your chin. He clasps it tightly as he yanks your jaw upward, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“You’re going to tell me about your friend, and you’re going to tell me where she is, right now," he growls.

You stare at him, disdain in your eyes. You momentarily scan your surroundings and count nearly twenty other men on the beach now. It’s enough to make your gaze and your heart sink straight to the ground.

Even if you wanted to tell him, you don't have the answers Barrett is looking for. His face hardens as your lack of cooperation and unwillingness to talk becomes clearer and clearer. Loosening his grip and dropping your chin, Agent Barrett looks at the agent next to you.

“Do it,” he orders, leaving you without another word as he walks back up the beach toward the bungalow.

The gun presses even harder against your temple and you hear the irrefutable sound of it being cocked as a bullet rolls into the chamber. Your heart is heavy as your eyes begin to well with tears. You stare out at the ocean, the night swallowing the horizon save it for the piercing glow of the moon that cuts its way through the sky down to Earth. It’s a better view than most get in their final moments, you suppose. For that, you consider yourself lucky.

Time seems suspended as you feel the ocean breeze blow past you, pouring over your skin and filling your lungs as you deeply inhale these final moments. You savor the way the salty air envelops you like the comforting embrace of an old friend. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try fighting back the tears. Despite your best efforts, one single drop escapes, racing down your cheek as you accept your fate.

Zzzzziiinnng!

Where you expect to hear the split-second ring of a gun firing before getting your brain blasted out the side of your skull, you instead hear a high-pitched whistling through the air and the unmistakable slice of a blade penetrating flesh. The weight of the gun barrel against your head slides limply away, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground next to you.

Your eyes shoot open. You turn to see your executioner now lying dead on his back with a spear pelted through his chest. Your eyes widen in fear, then settle on the spear itself. A spear you recognize — because it’s the same one that was held to your throat only a few days earlier.

Namor.

He's here. Desperately your eyes search the ocean line, scouring the darkness for him.

"We're under attack!" Someone yells frantically from behind you. It is one of Barrett’s men.

"Open Fire! Open fire!" Another one shouts.

You immediately abandon your search for Namor, hitting the deck and covering your head as dueling bullets and spears fly over you. Hearing anguished cries from both sides, you peek out from over your arm and watch in horror as an agent a few meters away looks down at their dart-ridden chest. They drop to their knees, then fall forward onto their face.

Your head whirls around at the sound of another spear making contact with a body and dropping it to the ground. This agent is about ten meters away from you, and while your first instinct is to get the hell out of there — run as far as you can as fast as you can — you notice your little leather-bound book tucked into the belt of the lifeless body.

You tell yourself to leave it. You plead with yourself to leave it.

“Damn it,” you mutter in frustration to yourself. You are getting that book.

Before you can give it another thought, you are already army-crawling through the sand. The sound of gunfire rings in your ears as more weapons return their fire. You scramble to the body, staying low to the ground on your chest and abdomen. Once there, you reach out and grab the book, wrangling it free from the deceased man's belt. You shove it into your waistband when something behind you explodes, causing you to duck your head and shield yourself with your arms.

The battle is deafening and disorienting. The mix of adrenaline and shock threatens to override your entire system as you try to maintain your focus.

Keep moving, you tell yourself.

You lift your head, ready to run, but your breath catches and you freeze. Mere inches from your face, you find yourself staring at someone’s feet and feel the presence of their body hovering over you. You brush the stinging sand out of your eyes, pleading in your mind that this is not the end. Not now. As your vision sharpens, you feel a surge of hope. There in front of you are two winged ankles.

Your eyes shoot up. Standing above you, illuminated by the light of the moon and the rapid sparks of machine guns firing, is Namor.

He looks down at you, his stare intense as his nostrils flare and his chest rises and falls with each breath. Gripping the hilt of the spear, he effortlessly removes it from the body next to you with one pull, his eyes never leaving yours. The ongoing battle on the beach doesn’t deter his attention from you in the slightest. From behind him, a handful of armed warriors with pale blue skin come storming out of the ocean.

“Namora!” He calls, and one warrior immediately splits off from the group. While the others continue to push the team of agents to the far side of the beach, the general comes to Namor’s side and your eyes widen as you take her in. Almost unrecognizable from when you first met her, Namora is a sight to behold. Instead of weak and wounded, she now stands strong and commanding, fully outfitted in her armor of woven jade and metal. Dazzling lionfish spines adorn her head and neck, and she wears the same mesh apparatus over her nose and mouth as before. You are astounded when you squint and barely see a seam remaining where you had stitched her up.

“K'uk'ulkan.” She answers, standing at attention.

Namor’s eyes are still fixed on you. He hands the retrieved spear to Namora and then nods in your direction.

You become nervous, suddenly uncertain if the pair of them have come to you as friend or foe, watching as Namora tightens her grip around the weapon.

“Go.” Namor urges, and a wave of relief washes over you. Friend.

“Where are my goddamn reinforcements?!!” You hear someone shout into a walkie-talkie. You recognize the voice as Agent Barrett's.

“Go NOW,” Namor commands, his eyes flicking up in Barrett’s direction. The expression on his face becomes menacing as he strides past you, his muscles rigid and his pace purposeful. He pulls his own spear out of the larger agent who nearly executed you as he walks past the body, arming himself.

Without hesitation, Namora strides forward and links her arm under your shoulder, pulling you up to your feet and yanking you quickly toward the trees. Before you can reach them, however, more men dressed in black combat gear come pouring out of the thick foliage, ready to attack.

Three surround you as the others rush to provide relief further down the beach. Instead of guns, these agents come armed with batons and other blunt weapons. Namora whips you back behind her, placing herself between you and the approaching enemy. She walks toward the agents, rotating her spear in her hand. You’re surprised by how relaxed her posture is as she waits for the men, each one at least twice her size, to make the first move.

The agent to her right makes the first advance, lunging forward at Namora. She meets him with speed and ferocity, quickly sidestepping him only to grab hold of his shoulders. She uses them as an anchor to whirl herself around him, gracefully landing and her feet and then lodging her spear into his back. The man cries out in pain, but Namora quickly delivers the final blow as she twists the spear in deeper and shoves it upward toward his lungs.

No sooner does his body hit the ground when the two other men charge at her. Like a beautifully choreographed dance, Namora drops to her knees, sliding across the sand between them to duck under their attacks. As she does so, she nimbly summersaults back onto her feet and turns one hundred and eighty degrees. Back on the attack, she runs hard at them. You watch as Namora delivers a combination of charged punches to one agent, then springs back to avoid the swing of the baton from the other. To counter the move, she kicks the man above the kneecap with so much power it sends his whole leg backward and brings him to his knees. She grabs the sides of his head with both of her hands, thrusting it down hard against her knee. You feel the grisly sound of blunt broken bone deep in your core as his skull makes contact.

As the man’s head reels backward, blood pouring from his face, Namora seamlessly transitions between her two opponents, avoiding another attack from the third agent she had previously deflected with punches. Her attention back on him, she trades blows as they fight in more hand-to-hand combat. Between kicks, punches, and counter-punches, Namora strategically inches herself backward until she’s practically standing on top of the first body she dropped. Baiting her current opponent forward, she taunts him with the tilt of her head, exaggerated by her headpiece. It works like a charm. He charges at her, and swooping under him, she wraps around his chest and pulls him over the top of her, flipping him onto his back. In one calculated motion, she pulls her spear from the body of the first agent which is now easily within reaching distance, and drives it into the second.

It all plays out in front of you so quickly when the third agent with the broken nose — well, broken face, really — groans as he gets himself up, ready to have another go at Namora. She engages, but as she moves towards him you see a fourth man emerge from the trees, raising a gun to shoot.

“LOOK OUT!” You yell to warn her, but pure instinct has your feet sprinting forward to stop him.

You don’t process any thought or consider any tactic, you just hurl yourself at him. The two of you collide, crashing to the ground with all the power and momentum you can muster. You scramble for his gun and manage to knock it away, but he barrels you over him and slams your back against the ground. The impact forces the air out of your lungs, temporarily paralyzing you as you struggle for breath. The agent straddles your body, putting more pressure on your chest as he pulls a knife from his hip. With all your strength, you fight to hold his arm back. He breaks through your grasp and takes a swipe at you, but reflexively you deflect it away with your hand. The knife slices open your palm and you cry out as you try to continue pushing his arms back.

When he raises his blade again, a blur of orange lionfish spines come streaking across as Namora flies over the back of the agent and yanks him off of you. They tumble across the sand, but she quickly gains the upper hand by entangling him in a headlock. Clutching your injured hand and still struggling for oxygen, you look on as she tightens her grip around the man’s neck and then abruptly cracks it to the side.  

The sound makes you sick to your stomach, but you also feel a sense of relief. And gratitude. Your chest heaves as you finally start to catch your breath, your entire body buzzing. You turn to see the dead agents Namora has so quickly disposed of, their bodies dispersed across the sand. She unwraps herself from her most recent kill and makes her way to you with haste.

As she reaches you, you hear the chaos and fighting continue further down the beach. Then, the faint sound of a helicopter approaching. Barrett’s reinforcements.

“There are too many of them,” you say in distress as you witness more agents pour out onto the sand to fight Namor’s warriors. Even if each one had Namora’s four-to-one kill ratio, they are still outnumbered. As the chopper blades get louder, Namora looks at you intensely, reaching out her hand.

“Come,” she insists.

She’s gotten you this far. You grasp her hand without hesitation and she pulls you to your feet. You edge closer to the tree line where you hope safety and concealment await you, but as you reach the lush landscape something pricks your ears. It’s not gunfire. It’s not the chopper.

Namora tugs your arm as she tries to usher you into the trees, but your focus is elsewhere. A faint, melodic breeze moves past you like a ghost, causing your mind to become hazy. As the sound grows louder, an indescribable melody rings in your ears that is both euphoric and dreadful. You don’t even notice the tension of Namora’s grip on your hand increase as your feet redirect you toward the water, compelled by its call.

“No!” Namora yells at you as she yanks your arm. The force of it snaps your attention back for a moment, and you watch as the agents who line the beach suddenly cease fighting and instead walk undeterred paths straight into the water. Terror fills you as they wade further and further out, the water coming up to their knees, then their hips, then their chests, until they are completely submerged underneath.

You shoot a glance to Namora, petrified and confused. Whatever is happening, she seems unaffected. Your thoughts and vision begin to cloud again, and you feel like someone else is controlling your body as the ocean summons you along with the others. Every part of you feels entranced by the chorus of voices in the air as their notes overwhelm your senses and leave you disoriented. Namora grabs you, practically throwing you over her shoulder as she runs into the trees. You become hard to carry, so she pulls you both into the cove of a sheltered root system at the edge of the foliage. Huddling next to you, Namora tightly wraps her arms around your head to cover your ears with her hands.

Pupils dilated, you desperately try to hold onto any shred of active consciousness before giving in entirely to the song. Your mind becomes infiltrated by it and begins to process what you see in pieces; men in the water, drowning themselves; gunfire raining down from the night sky; Namor, spear in hand, leaping into the air, taking impossible strides toward a chopper; the chopper spinning out of control.

You feel the heat against your face as the chopper crashes to the ground, exploding on impact. The last thing you remember seeing is Namor in the distance, standing on the sand. Illuminated by the raging inferno that burns behind him from the destroyed chopper, he is fierce, incredible, and terrifying.

A god. A monster.

The haunting chorus melody continues to consume your mind. Even with Namora’s help, you feel your body shift as it involuntarily attempts to get up. Namora squeezes her palms over your ears with even more strength and restrains your movements.

"No." She whispers fiercely.

You squeeze your eyes shut, covering your hands over Namora's as tightly as possible. Blood pours from your hand down hers, trickling onto your shoulder. The noise is too much, and as you feel yourself begin to scream, everything goes black.

——

Your feet drag through the cool sand.

That’s the first thing you see when you finally become conscious again. Your head hangs low in front of you, pounding as it bobs up and down. It’s still dark out, but you find your home lit up by more lanterns as you approach the pathway to your porch.

You glance to your right and left,  discovering you are being assisted by two people on either side of you — Namora on your right and a much taller blue-skinned man on your left. His shoulders are wide and his head is outfitted with an armored hammerhead skull. Arms slung around both of their necks, your body is in a state of pure exhaustion as they get you up the stairs to the door.

As you start to step with your own feet, they are alerted by your recovered consciousness. Quickly, the man unhooks your arm from around him, steadying you against Namora. He retreats as you find yourself gaining feeling back in your body. Namora patiently waits for you to get your bearings, and when you do she opens the front door for you, ushering you to go inside. You follow her instruction, and there waiting for you in the bungalow is Namor.

Namor stands against your kitchen counter, the same place you stood when he first came crashing into your home. His arms are folded across his broad chest. Although his head is down, his eyes are flicked upward toward you, watching your every move. The flame of a lantern on the table glints off his irises, illuminating the dark stare that hovers just below his furrowed brow.

“Please, sit.” He says with a stern voice, his open palm gesturing toward a chair at the table.

As you sit down, you hear the front door close behind you.

Silence.

"Those men," he finally says, pushing himself away from the counter as he stands up straighter, “they were seeking information?"

You only nod, afraid to say too much.

“It’s safe to speak here. I’ve made sure of it.” He promises, sensing your reluctance to engage in conversation.

“They wanted to know about Namora." You answer cautiously.

Namor's expression grows even more serious. He subtly shifts his weight from side to side before settling back into the center of his powerful stance.

"And even with your life on the line, you said nothing."

You are unsure if he is making a statement or a question.

"Why?" He asks through a clenched jaw.

"Why?" You repeat back to him, caught off guard by the question. "Does it matter why?"

"Yes,” Namor says directly, raising his eyebrows. “Because I need to know if I put my spear through the right person.”

The seriousness of his statement hits you like a brick. Your mind flashes back to the beach, you on your knees with a gun to your head as Namor’s spear plows its way through the man next to you. How easily, you wonder, could he have changed his aim by just a few degrees if you had decided to open your mouth and spill what little information you did know to those men?

As you think about it, you also begin to ask yourself why. Why did you keep your mouth shut? Why did you help Namor and his people?

You take a deep breath as you consider your reasons, then lift your gaze to him.

“You barged into my home, broke down my door, and threatened my life. But even then, the motives behind your actions were clear — the love and concern for your people. These men,” your eyes trail away as you feel a wave of anger build up inside, "these men were driven by self-interest and self-preservation. It wasn’t hard to choose a side.”

His face is stoic as he listens to your answer.

“Plus,” you add, “I promised you I wouldn’t say anything. Twice.”

Namor looks at you the same way he did the night you met him. The look that tells you he is debating whether or not you are telling the truth. You are a witness testifying on the stand, and Namor is your judge and jury.

“Well, that is twice now you have saved my people. Again you have my gratitude." He says with a sigh, his expression softening.

You give a small smile, but it disappears when an unrelenting ache pounds inside your head, pulling you out of the moment. You reach up to rub your temple and suddenly feel a surge of pain coming from your hand, instantly reminding you of the injury you sustained from your face off against one of the agents on the beach.

“Shit,” You exclaim, pulling your cut, bloodied palm away from your face and looking at it.

"Here," Namor says, grabbing the roll of gauze off your kitchen counter as he moves in your direction. Pulling up a chair, he sits down directly in front of you so your knees are practically touching. He gestures for your hand. “May I?"

You consider his offer as you stare at the thick veins protruding from his forearm, binding themselves to his defined muscles like vines around a tree. Eyes darting back up to his, you cautiously nod your head to accept his help while simultaneously extending your arm to him.

Namor takes your injured hand gently in his own, cradling it as if it could shatter into a million pieces. Amazed by how his hand dwarfs yours, you feel a surge of energy in your chest when his thumb begins to rub along your wrist. He takes the roll of gauze and begins carefully wrapping it around your palm.

Calmly maneuvering each layer of the bandage, Namor's brow furrows ever so slightly as he slips deeper into a state of concentration. His grasp is firm but gentle, rotating your hand in tandem with the bandage and you take comfort in his touch.

Studying his face, you admire each feature and detail closely. You see the traces of salt against the rich tones of his skin, and soon your willpower gives way to a desire slowly being coaxed inside you as you allow your eyes to trail from his face to his broad shoulders, down his muscular biceps, and finally to his strong hands as they work to take care of you.

Namor begins humming softly as he continues wrapping your hand. There's a warm timbre in his voice that resonates in your ears, drawing your gaze back up to his face.

"That song..." your voice trails off as you grow more entranced by it, unable to find the words to describe its intoxicating melody. But a surge of fear runs through you as you recall another tune, the one from the beach, its haunting cadence prickling the back of your mind.

"My people have many songs," Namor says in a tone equally rich to his humming, calming you instantly. "Each one with a meaning and purpose."

"What is the purpose of that one?" You ask quietly.

Namor’s hands stop as his eyes wander up to yours.

"It's a lullaby, meant to bring the soul peace." His eyes flutter back down as he resumes wrapping the bandage around your hand. "My mother would sing it to me when I was a child."

"It's beautiful." You say reverently.

A smile spreads across Namor's face, but there's a hint of sadness in it. He leans down to your hand and you can feel your heart beat faster as his mouth hovers mere inches above your skin. The warmth of his breath rushes against your wrist, sending shivers through you. With great care, he tears the gauze with his teeth before tucking the loose end into a fold of the bandage.

"It is," he agrees, staring down at your hand which he now holds carefully between his own. "Especially in a world where peace is scarcely found."

His voice is gentle, but there is a bitterness brewing beneath the statement.

"I have spent my life ensuring peace for my people. Protecting it. Preserving it."

Namor looks back up at you, letting go of your hand as he sits up straighter in his chair. The room is quiet as his words sink in and you drop your gaze to think. As you do so, your good free hand migrates to the leather book still tucked in your waistband, your fingers fiddling with the binding.

“What is it?” Namor asks, snapping your eyes back up to his. You swallow nervously, unsure if you should share what is on your mind. Then again, you may not get another opportunity.

Slowly, you pull the book out from against your side, opening it to its marked page before pushing it across the table to him.

“You say you’ve spent your entire life protecting your people.” You preface, hesitating a moment before asking your question. “Is that... you?"

Namor stares at the book in front of him, tracing the outline of his likeness delicately on the open page with his fingertips.

"A version of me." He answers.

"How...." you rub your temple as you do the unnecessary math in your head, already knowing the hundreds of years difference between the book and the man in front of you doesn't add up. "How is that even possible? That book is centuries old, I mean," you are at a loss trying to wrap your head around it all, coming up short with any logical explanation, “who are you?"

Namor looks up at you, then his gaze descends back onto the open book. He gives a sad smirk.

“You are one of very few to ever ask who I am instead of what I am." He strokes his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. "The answer to neither of which will be found in your book." He says, shutting it and sliding it back toward you. You reach for it, only he doesn’t take his hand off the leather cover right away.

"You must always be weary of your authors.” He warns. “The preservation of one's opinion over time does not make it fact, no matter how long ago it was written."

He relinquishes his hold, you finish sliding the book back to your side of the table. Namor searches your face as his eyebrows pull closer together, a rare look of vulnerability in his eyes.

"I wear the mantle of king and am the protector of my people.” He begins. “They are my responsibility by birthright, a charge I’ve dedicated my entire life to upholding.”

Namor proceeds to tell you the story of his people — how they were driven from their home by Spanish conquistadors, and how their gods provided a remedy for a foreign disease that led them to seek sanctuary in the ocean itself. He explains that his mother was among them, pregnant with Namor at the time, and how the remedy herb altered his very being in the womb. Mutant is the word he uses, the reason for his strength and abilities, as well as his slow aging. He then describes the horrors he had seen upon returning his mother’s body to the surface world after her death, and the vow he took to keep outsiders away from his people and his beloved city he calls Talokan.

"So you see," he says leaning forward as he places his forearms on his knees, his face even closer to yours now, "I am no god. Nor am I a man. What I am is a leader who loves his people. If that makes me a monster, so be it. I will see the world burn before I subject my people to its sins and savagery.”

It’s a lot to take in. You study Namor’s expression as his stare now lingers away from you, his mind somewhere in the past. You can’t even begin to comprehend all that he has seen or experienced, but you do feel a clearer understanding of why he is the way he is. Filled with compassion for him, you cautiously reach up and cradle his face with your non-bandaged hand.

"You're not a monster." You reassure him gently.

This brings Namor’s attention back to you immediately, his dark eyes searching your face earnestly as he takes a deep breath through his nose. The bristles of his scruff are rough against your palm, creating a warm friction when he leans into your touch. Namor closes his eyes and lets out a sigh so deep it's as if he's releasing a weight from his shoulders, one that he has been carrying for far too long. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it deeper against his cheek.

“K’uk’ulkan,” a voice calls from behind you. You drop your hand back down to your lap as Namor glances over your shoulder. The man with the metal hammerhead skull stands at attention in the front doorway, his body so large it consumes the space entirely. Namor nods at him, then looks back at you.

"It's time," he says, pushing himself up to his feet. “More men will be coming. Namora is outside — collect what you need quickly, she will take you to a safe place.”

The realization sets in, and your heart sinks. Your home is no longer safe and you can’t stay here.

Namor offers you his hand, helping you out of your chair and onto your feet. In doing so, he pulls you into him and tucks his hand delicately under your chin. He’s impossibly close as he tilts your face upward toward his own.

"I am sorry." He whispers, a soft and apologetic tone in his voice. He gives you a remorseful look, but all you can think about is how little space currently exists between his lips and yours. Namor’s gaze flutters down from your eyes to your mouth, but the moment is fleeting as he drops his hand from your chin and takes a step back.

“Go.” He says, encouraging you to get your things. It’s his last word before walking past you and exiting out the front door.

Left alone in the empty bungalow, you make your way over to your bag still on the floor from earlier that evening. You take it and march into your room, grabbing some clothes, your toothbrush, and other small essentials. You don't have much in terms of possessions in the first place, so it doesn’t take long for you to collect what you need.

As you exit your bedroom, you get ready to leave when you look over at the small book on your table. Namor insisted it held no answers for you, but you go to retrieve it anyway, stuffing it in your bag along with the rest of your belongings.

You take one last look around your home, once an unfamiliar broken place that over time became your haven and sanctuary. It breaks your heart to leave, but you know you must.

“Thank you,” you quietly whisper to the room, hoping in some way its energy or spirit or anything can hear you. You make your final exit, walking out to the front porch just as the dawn is starting to break over the horizon. Warm hues cast shadows of orange and red across the island, and you breathe in the early morning air. As you look out across the beach, you are surprised by what little evidence remains of the night’s events. No bodies. No fires. Just large divots in the sand and some smoke along the tree line from a few singed palms.

Namora is standing at the edge of the pathway leading to your porch, waiting for you. Descending the stairs, nerves prompt you to tighten your grip on the shoulder strap of your bag as you brace yourself for the unknown.

“I’m ready,” you say when you reach her.

Namora looks at you seriously, then nods her head. Reaching up to her face, she carefully removes the apparatus from over her nose and mouth. It is the first time you have seen her whole face, unobstructed by the peculiar covering. She’s just as striking without it, and you notice a beautiful jade ring pierced through her septum, echoing Namor’s. She turns the mask in her hand and guides it onto your face, sealing it against your skin.

“Come,” she tells you, turning toward the ocean.

You take one last look back at your home, then fall into stride behind Namora as the two of you walk into the water.

-- -- -- 

Tag List (I think this is how you do it? Sorry if not, still figuring this whole Tumblr-thing out): @looneylikesbooks @omgsuperstarg @chixkencxrry @vainillasmil157 @demoiseller @sodonuthideout @shoutaaizawas @stany0url0calwh0res111 @hjjks @duckwithsunglasses

[veenus777]

◜Dad! Jason Headcanons ◞

          ┊ ᝰ﹕Characters : dad!jason todd x latino vigilant! Reader

          ┊ ᝰ﹕Summary: recently I saw a post from @super-marvel-dc here on Tumblr where she said her headcanons of Jason being a father of a big family, and it inspired me a lot! So I decided to share some of the crazy things that had been on my mind for a while about this. If you like this maybe it could become a series

(Link to the initial post by @super-marvel-dc, )

          ┊ ᝰ﹕Theme : nothing but fluffy and google translate english

- You and Jason had already been married for about two years, things were stable and happy for both of you, taking into account your busy vigilante lives.

- The first child to be adopted was Naomi, who was found when she was just 3 years old abandoned in the alley of crime, and since then you and Jason have had her as your daughter

- Shortly afterwards, things got complicated with a completely unplanned and surprising pregnancy, after all, after the incident, Jason thought he could not even have biological children,and nine months later you had twins Holden and Skyler

- Shortly after two years, a little boy named Austin had been rescued by the Gotham police after a major attack caused by the Black Mask, having arrested the culprit Jason felt the responsibility of taking the boy in

-And then came the twins Savannah and Aspen, who were adopted after a Wayne gala in support of Gotham Orphanage, the big surprise for everyone was Jason and Y/n adopted two of the children instead of Bruce

- After that came Hazel, a little girl who had been purposely abandoned at the mall by her mother.

- and then we had river, a boy from a troubled family who lived in the alley of crime, and with him little darcy who was protected by river while her parents were too busy spending all their money on drugs

- And that was how the simple routine maintained by two people over five years together, in less than three years multiplied, becoming a family of eleven people

- At first things were chaotic but over time a routine was established, Fridays were reserved for friends, Saturdays for meetings and Sundays for family.

- Jason despite initially being terrified of fatherhood and literally shaking with fear, things changed in a short time, this man read every book on pregnancy, fatherhood and positive parenting he could find, he watched vlogs and tips on YouTube and Instagram from mothers and fathers on how to care for and educate their children, and I say with conviction that he has become an incredible father and making it his personal mantra to become the father he wishes he had had

- because you have children of different ethnicities, you reserved one day a week with us. traditional cuisine dinner, holidays with foods typical of each place, you made sure your children knew about their respective cultures and origins

- As a Latina by blood and raised in a Latin neighborhood in Gotham, you made sure your children learned your native language (Portuguese or Spanish, you choose lol), in addition to obviously the house being always filled with cultural music and food

- Speaking of home, in a short time you had to exchange your beautiful industrial loft in the center of Gotham for a large farm-style house that was about 40 minutes from Gotham, after all, you refused to raise your children in the chaos that was that city. by the way, don't tell bruce but you and jason had to accept many jobs in addition to surveillance and batman's rules to be able to pay for everything, but for the comfort of your children it was worth it

- Since the family grew abruptly, visits to the mansion became less frequent, but you and the children still visited at least once a month, especially when you needed a free babysitter. It is worth mentioning that for a long time they will be the butt of jokes on family holidays due to the large number of children

- You keep the life of vigilantes away from the children's reality, they don't even know about their second identities because you feel better knowing that you are keeping them away from this world, despite this you both agree that you will bring the truth to light when they are old enough

- Despite not wanting anyone anywhere near a gun or robin uniform, they all know self-defense and some type of fight or sport.

- An additional thing is that Jason sees himself on the river a lot, especially when he was younger, and that's why he always tries to be a present for him.

-Meanwhile Austin is the little version of Dick which makes Jason wish for death many times while you just laugh at the whole situation finding it hilarious, and all of this gets worse after I give Austin gymnastics lessons which results in Jason taking his son away from him. you from the roof of the house after ending up stuck in one of the tiles.

.˚｡  💋 .˚｡ 💌

[venriliz]

10 random facts about me

got tagged by @druidberries @alientown @papermint-airplane TY <3

u literally tagged the most boring person but that's probably what half of all people think of themselves, huh? °-° i might regurgitate some of the facts i used for my introduction post in the sims of tumblr community. i wrote a lot so i'll put a cut with the facts below here. °-°

my birthday is the 4th of july and when i was a kid (prolly like 5 or 6) i saw an american parade on the news on tv. after i asked my dad why these people are celebrating he literally told me that they're celebrating my birthday °_° i believed for several years that americans celebrated my fucking birthday bc i wasn't aware of independence day existing lmfao. my dad just loved fooling me V.V he might be dead but i'm still holding that grudge lol.

i'm kinda lucky to be alive i guess? when i was a kid i was hit by a car in what we in germany call "Spielstraße" which is kinda like a street in dense neighborhoods where kids are allowed to play freely and cars aren't allowed to go faster than 7 kph/4.3 mph. i don't now how fast the driver was but it probably was something around 30 kph/18 mph. i didn't have very bad injuries but still °-° i could've died.

i was a typical horse girl as a kid (i still like horses but i'm not riding anymore because i'm a very old 20-something with knee problems lol) and i was fucking INSUFFERABLE abt it.

i don't want to have kids or get married. i'm not one of those people who hate children like i love my nieces and my nephew BUT i have a lot of mental health issues and can't possibly take care of another life if i can barely take care of myself properly, right? marriage to me is just a weird concept. i can totally respect people getting married and if i'm invited to a wedding i'm obviously attending but i personally can't really subscribe to the idea of binding myself to someone with a piece of paper and it then being such a stupid process when it doesn't work out. also... it costs too much money lol

i have kind of an affinity for finding missing pets (i also photograph every missing poster i see so i guess that helps with recognizing them?)

i was NOT good at school like i kinda sucked and i can probably blame a mixture of mental health issues, trouble at home and also being a lazy teenager that just wasn't really built for school life lol. i barely managed to get the "Mittlere Reife" (if you're german u know what i mean. i could explain what that means but explaining the german school system would take years). english, german and biology were my only good classes. i absolutely hated math like we're lifelong enemies.

speaking of germany, i am from germany or to be more specific from the most northern region nearest to the danish border and i LOVE living here. the north and baltic sea are close to me and people here are usually quite chill. the only thing i don't like that much abt living here is kind of the regional cuisine bc a lot of it is fish and i don't like eating fish T.T

i HATE going shopping (i'm an online shopper °-° EMP my beloved) and my friends just don't take me with them on shopping trips bc they know i'll kill the mood by complaining like a child and wanting to go back home lmfao

the first sims game for me was the og Sims and i almost fried my dad's old ass pc playing it. my first vivid memory of the game was noticing that here and there random houses appeard out of seemingly nowhere. the goths got a new house that didn't fit their vibe for example lol. years later my dad told me that he used to play the game when i was sleeping and just built these houses lmfao. so i guess my dad was an og simmer oO.

i remember 9/11 (yes i'm old enough don't age shame me T.T). i was in kindergarten at that time and just came home from a friends house when the towers fell. i saw it on tv and even though i was very young i understood that a lot of people were getting hurt. definitely had an impact on me as a kid.

yeah that's it. i rambled a lot but yeah °-°

tagging @landgraabbed @olli-online @living-undead @moonwoodhollow @microscotch @crazy-lazy-elder-sims @aniraklova @tiallussims @skaterboi108 @faerun-s @cristalviper @none-of-these-days @fadingforrest @acuar-io @elderwisp @lilamausmaus @simpleratattack @azeterna @butteredfrogs @mmonetsims and everybody else who reads this! HA!

[tiktowafel]

Headcanons for Neito Monoma?

yup here you go! tagging @fabpops1 because she also asked for Monoma headcanons

no coloring today because the one i made two years ago sucks and i don't feel like remaking it :'D honestly i feel like Horikoshi and I both half-assed his casual clothing sketch lol

him and his parents were all born in Japan but he has some relatives in Belgium, whom he really enjoys visiting. it's the main reason why he seems so interested in european culture (his profile page states he likes french cuisine and franco-belgian comics)

he can also speak french very well thanks to that

he's also fluent in english (though he has trouble understanding Pony sometimes - he's much better at reading and writing than he is at listening) and has a basic knowledge of several other languages. he doesn't really expect it to come handy at any point in the future, he just learns them because he finds it fun

besides that he also likes history, classic literature, theatre... yeah this guy is a huge humanities-leaning nerd and i don't accept criticism

nor do i accept the fact that he's supposed to be a bad student in canon?? like, he's so smart and also competitive, no way he isn't top of the class... he may not be as good in science and math as he is in japanese and history, but nothing an all-nighter can't fix

in middle school he was part of the drama and debate clubs. and while hero course students aren't supposed to join clubs because they should focus on hero work, he managed to argue his way into the same clubs in UA by saying that his theatrics and speeches are an important part of his hero persona. Kuroiro joined the drama club alongside him (didn't contribute to the argument at all, just nodded wisely every time Monoma presented a point)

class 1-B's culture festival performance being a stage play was actually his idea! it didn't really go the way he intended (he did NOT expect it to turn into a four-way crossover more ambitious than infinity war) but he greatly enjoyed performing in it anyway! maybe even too much

his knowledge of quirks rivals Midoriya's. he researches them a lot mostly to help his copy quirk but also out of genuine curiosity

he often helps his classmates with training their quirks and comes up with new techniques to try out. he's particularly good at it because he can actually try other people's quirks himself, which gives him a better understanding of how they function and what their limitations are

^ which is why i believe he'd make an awesome hero course teacher!! (in all might's role - i don't think making him anyone's homeroom teacher would be a good idea, he'd be just as biased towards his class as he is now lmao) it's definitely one of my favorite "future" headcanons

he praises his classmates' quirks a lot and says he considers them all great, but he does have preferences when it comes to copying them

his favorites are Yanagi's poltergeist (somewhat boring, but easy to understand and very versatile both in battle and everyday life), Tokage's lizard tail splitter (he almost died when he copied it for the first time because he barely managed to put his body back together before his quirk's time limit ran out, but that didn't stop him - he always found Tokage's quirk very fun and useful, so he put a lot of work into fully figuring it out and now he uses it pretty often), Shoda's twin impact (Monoma's physical strength.... leaves a lot to be desired, and the second impact always being significantly stronger than the first helps make up for it) and Kuroiro's black (you can move around very fast and it's fun :) )

quirks he does not like copying Honenuki's softening (fun, but quite difficult to control and avoiding collateral damage with such a destructive quirk is a pain in the ass. Honenuki understands that perfectly) and Shishida's beast (just... really not his thing lol)

for some reason i see a lot of people headcanon that he has pet ferrets, and you know what? i agree. he does seem like a ferret person

prefers smart clothing, a polo shirt is the most casual he'll go. he only ever wears tshirts for exercise (which he hates doing lol) and probably doesn't own a single hoodie

in general i think he has a good eye for elegant design... his dorm room is very stylish and nicely coordinated too. i think one of the light novels also describes it as "vaguely french" and yeah that fits

while he tries to keep his room neat and tidy on the outside, all his drawers and cabinets are horribly messy

he's that one kid who has like 17 different allergies and is completely useless if he forgets his meds on a spring day (spring is his least favorite season due to this. i think winter would be his fave)

luckily he is not allergic to dairy so he can eat as much stinky french cheese as he wants 👍

speaking of food i think he's a pretty good cook actually

prefers listening to older (and mostly foreign) music and is a huge snob about it

honestly he probably acts the same about movies and books too

arguing with people on the internet is one of his favorite ways to spend his free time. if there are no 1-A students around, you can always show off your impressive vocabulary by bullying random internet strangers with bad taste in movies!

almost everyone in 1-B considers him a friend despite his... anti-1a bullshit, because he's just really nice and helpful to people he likes + he's a great leader! however he's closest to Kuroiro (friendly drama king rivals! they're constantly arguing about dumb shit using the fanciest words they can think of and they're always trying to outperform each other in the drama club meetings they both attend, but they love each other trust me <3 also Monoma helps Kuroiro with studying because he sucks at school), Pony (when he's not trying to trick her into insulting 1-A he can be pretty helpful with japanese, he also likes listening to her talk about her home country), Honenuki (he's Pony's best friend, so you usually befriend them both at once, but Monoma thinks he's also interesting to talk to by himself) and Tetsutetsu (they don't share many interests but Monoma hates exercising so he has Tetsutetsu force him to do it. his positive energy certainly helps a lot)

ever since they got to know each other during their joint training fight, Monoma's been using 100% of his persuasion skills to convince Shinso to join 1-B instead of 1-A. Shinso is conflicted to say the least

aaand that's all i have for him! hope you enjoyed these!!

[novemberhope]

Soooo… guess here are my current obsessions One Piece OCs

@auxiliarydetective I did give it a try… not everything is final yet. Might not be a great introduction like this but it was fun to do and if anyone has different questionaires (or whatever they're called) just tag me.^^

Ideas, criticism, inspiration, all is welcome :) I've never so openly done this tbh

Animal Resemblances Neri: Betta Fish Niara: Emerald Swallowtail Azura: Arctic Fox Cordelia: Bombay Cat Ellaria: Splendid Fairy Wren (Not 100% sold on that yet but it will be a beautiful bird) Ginny: Leopard Seal (looks cute but could actually kill you)

Specific Numbers Neri: 5/1/4 (ka – i - yo) (her last name) Niara: 22 (ni - a) Azura: 26 (a - tsu - ra) (eh, close enough^^) Cordelia: 5 10 0 2 (Ko - da - lei - a) (lol again close enough - but the many numbers look weird, this one might definitely change in the future?) Ellaria: 3-6-1 (Mirai = future) (it's a vision thing - but might also change if her name happens to fit better when she eventually gets one) Ginny: undefined yet

Specific Colors Neri: turquoise, light blue Niara: pale green, pale pink Azura: white, gold Cordelia: black, red Ellaria: white, grey, silver, very pale colors Ginny: a fiercy, angry red

Specific Smells Neri: ocean breeze, salt water Niara: apple & honeysuckle Azura: citron Cordelia: amber Ellaria: jasmine Ginny: honey & rose

Favourite Type of Island and Season Neri: summer on a spring island Niara: spring on a summer island Azura: winter on an autumn island Cordelia: autumn on an autumn island Ellaria: spring on a winter island Ginny: spring on a spring island

Favourite Food Neri: Seafood Niara: icecream, watermelon, blueberry pancakes, cupcakes Azura: oysters, shellfish, salad, filet mignon Cordelia: sunday roast, fried shrimp, spicy food Ellaria: Mushrooms, coffee, asian cuisine Ginny: strawberries, meat, soup

Least Favourite Food Neri: greasy food, meat, alcohol Niara: most vegetables Azura: fast food, cheap food, candy, cake Cordelia: lentils, fish sandwiches, anything with pumpkin Ellaria: fried foods, asparagus, ketchup Ginny: rhubarb, olives, brussels sprouts, eggplant

As a Family Neri: the adopted sister that comes from an entirely different culture Niara: cheerful youngest sister, always getting into mieschief Azura: the wine aunt Cordelia: oldest sister, often annoyed at her younger siblings but quick to defend them/come to their rescue Ellaria: the mother Ginny: (distant?) cousin

Real-World Nationalities Neri: Danish (as Denmark is associated with the little mermaid) Niara: Dutch (the Netherlands are described as the country of flowers and her devil fruit power is flower-based, so…) Azura: English-Irish (the latter shines through when she's drunk…) Cordelia: Italian Ellaria: Japanese Ginny: Scottish

Inner Brain Neri: probably lot's of excitement over various things that are happening around her or that she wants to give a try Niara: having fun with her friends, pretty things she likes, crushes (well one crush in particular) Azura: is annoyed at stuff and/or people half of the time so that's in her head a lot. Also, training. Cordelia: work hard, party harder, looking hot while doing both Ellaria: the fate of the world, secrets Ginny: training, anger, distrust, more anger

Suited Flower Neri: water iris Niara: sunflower Azura: white lily Cordelia: amaryllis Ellaria: tall garden larkspur Ginny:

Are they Strawhats? Neri: yes Niara: joins after the timeskip The others: no Azura: is a warlord of the sea Cordelia: works at a bar - it would be a different bar in cannon but she could keep her overall story I guess - might have to join a crew at some point though otherwise the characters would move on without her Ellaria: is with the revolutinary army (at least for some part of her story) Ginny: is with the revolutinary army

Ideas that first popped into my mind when certain OCs came to exist… Neri: it's a show about pirates, there's GOT to be a mermaid Niara: I want a character that uses a devil fruit mmmh what about plants/flowers (strangely enough, none of my pokemon oc's ever cared much about the grass type lol) Azura: I want a cool sword fighting lady Cordelia: I want a hot fierce type of character that looks good in black and that doesn't take anyone's crap Ellaria: came into the picture much later, I only recently decided somewhat on her looks, only things I know for sure is pale green eyes and can sort of see the future. Might never make it into any kind of story but she popped into my mind so here we go. Ginny: falls into the category "looks cute but can probably kill you".

Made some Picrew of them coz I saw other creators doing that

Neri:

Niara: (fun fact, she's currently one of my favorites)

Azura:

Cordelia:

Ellaria: (I'm almost certain I'm gonna keep the color palette and probably the hair...)

Ginny: (not her final look probably but I kinda want to keep the scars idk)

I took her pictures out because I decided on a different look for her. She will be a redhead now. She definitely has a scar or two on her face.

Bonus: A picture drawn by @indig0pearl featuring Neri and her own OC, Sora, as well as Nami, Robin, Chopper, and three of our friends (here also draw as OCs - yes the alpaka is one of them, she ate a devil fruit^^)

[tastesoftamriel]

I'm sure you're entirely sick of talking about this bc that initial anon was... dumb as hell and I too would like to forget about it if I were you lol, so feel free to ignore this ask!! but I just wanted to throw in my two cents as a fellow non-white non-American fantasy writer. cause fantasy as a genre is so insanely whitewashed, and even in settings like TES that have multiple different fantasy-cultures that are meant to draw inspiration from lots of different real-world-cultures, they tend to be shallow and lacking and let's be real, TES isn't getting any awards for being politically correct. I for one always get insanely hyped when I see more diverse takes on fantasy, whether thats in original fiction or fanfiction, cause 1) it just vastly improves the quality of the world building and 2) it creates more welcoming spaces for other bipoc to create more cool stuff. and also, it's just fun as hell to project your own culture into dope fantasy settings. I do it all the time and I fuckin love when other people do it.

I feel like that anon was just looking for a fight and intentionally trying to interpret your comment in the most bad faith way possible (classic tesblr behavior ngl). and like I get it, orientalism sucks ass, but I've followed you for a couple years now and I've only ever known you to be a super chill, super respectful person who (like I said before) creates a welcoming space for other bipoc in the fandom.

tldr: anon is a clown, representation is fun, your blog slaps

❤ from @reachfolk

Yes yes YES I could hug you! Inclusivity and breaking away from whitewashed fantasy is one of my main goals with this blog! My recipes and worldbuilding have me neck deep in exploring global cuisine and culture, but as soon as it's a picture then people go off about cultural insensitivity. Because reading comprehension is low here so most people barely glance at the worldbuilding posts.

Growing up in the 90s and early 2000s, as far as Asian actors in Hollywood went, you had Lucy Liu and Jackie Chan. There was that show about Imperial Chinese cats called Sagwa (傻瓜 shagua literally means "dumb melon" which is what you call a certified idiot). Mulan (forever my favourite). Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon? But that's it. Seeing Michelle Yeoh winning everything recently makes me feel proud to be Asian. I cried when I saw Over the Moon.

If just ONE person looks at this blog and goes "cool, I learned something" or "cool, my culture is being recognised and represented as a form of inspiration", then I have done something right. Other Chinese/East Asian people in the past have applauded me for bucking the western "Asian" stereotype, simply because I express my love for my culture differently.

I'm no less Chinese for being fluent in English (which is actually my mother tongue btw thanks colonialism), or being a goth, or an author who happens to be atrocious at math. I just am. And I want everyone to just be too. To embrace their otherness, to rejoice in the diversity of the human experience, and to learn to live together. And most of all, I wanna see more awareness in writing (especially fantasy) about non-Global North cultures and the people who represent them. I'm sick of being a media cliché.

If you're a POC and you're looking for your sign to delve into fantasy worldbuilding, this is it. Go write. Create. Destroy. Build the world you've always wanted to see through the lens of your heritage, use your history as a lesson, use your language as a weapon. ~Tal

[scarlet-abyss]

About me

name: it's for me to know and for you to (never) find out

what you can call me: scarlet, dumbass (because i am one)

race: indian

age: 16

bday: sep 19

fun fact (or not so fun if you're bri'ish): queen lizzy's funeral was held on my bday

fav colour: i don't have one, each and every colour has its own allure

likes: rum chocolate, fanfiction, funny banter, cute gestures in romance, ice cream, north indian cuisine, pizza, basically junk food

dislikes: assholes, ppl who always think they're right, being forced to listen to something boring for hours (go figure, i hate school), not being allowed to do things my own way, ppl who're emotionally insensitive

where do i live: for me to know, for you to (never) find out

country: singapore

languages known: fluent in english, tamil, kannada and dumbassery

can write, read and speak: english, tamil

can write read and speak (but on a highly shitty level): german, B2 proficiency

can speak: kannada

fav quote: "it's trash can, not trash cannot"

ama if you have any questions lol.

[illegally-blind-and-deaf]

Meet the writer tag!

I was so kindly tagged by the lovely @emeraldhazeart, thank you

Rules: use this Picrew to make yourself and answer the questions

HEEHEE IT'S MEEEEEE-

Moving on

Three facts about me:

I am immune to cholera. Not through the vaccines or through getting cholera, but through genes. It's complicated.

I have moderate-moderately severe hearing loss, but I've gotten top of my music classes 3 years in a row, play several instruments, have almost perfect pitch, I conduct my church congregation and the junior school choir and I'm weirdly good at accents. Rather ironic, isn't it?

I can't see stars. Okay, that's a bit dramatic, but I genuinely cannot see most stars. Even in the countryside I can still only see a couple. Only the really bright ones (Venus?) are visible; everything else is just a dark canvas mostly. That's on having a rare genetic disorder :D

Favourite season: Autumn or Winter. Where I live the majority of native trees don't change colour, so when I finally see a cluster of beautiful autumn trees I get ridiculously happy. Summer here is also hell (quite literally, a third of the country burnt in the summer of 2019-2020) or it's flooding, so I hate it. I adore the way the sunlight is so golden and warm in the colder months and how the shadows are always long. It's sonoretty and refreshing and I don't get dehydrated or heat exhaustion, which is nice.

Continent where I live: Australia/Australasia/Oceania whatever it's called idk anymore (no I do not walk on the ceilings here, in fact, I would go so far to argue that I'm not upside-down because there is no up or down in space, there is just space. "But Bea, there's a North pole and a South pole" GUESS WHAT IT CHANGES EVERY HUNDRED MILLION YEARS OR SOMETHING YES THE POLES FLIP AND THERE'S ACTUAL EVIDENCE THAT THEY MIGHT BE DOING THAT NOW SO YOU COULD BE UPSIDE-FOWN AND WE'LL RIGHT SIDE UP)

How I spend my time: mostly school because school, or doing extra-curriculars like music and ballet, but in my spare time I like to think about people and the world and humanity and behaviour and minds and life and many deep things that often intimidate people. Oh, and I write. Obviously.

Are you published? Not yet. I'm currently writing a book that I'm really really proud of and I want to finish and publish. The only thing is that it's technically a fanfic, but the only thing that really makes it that is the character, so if I change a name or two and maybe switch up the outfits, then it will easily pass as another historical fiction book

Introvert or extrovert? Introvert, all the way. Sometimes I'm an extrovertedbintrovert, which confuses people when I say I don't have the social energy because I'm "usual l y so bubbly and full of energy" yeah that's honestly a bit of a play I'm like that when I'm at 5% social battery, when I'm at 0 I'm either laughing my head off like a madman or completely blank and dead

Favourite meal: honestly no clue. I like a lot of food, I like a lot of Asian foods, but I think my favourite would be a lot of European cuisine, especially French and Italian and German and English. I'd love to try some Russian because that's not very common here. Honestly, my current craving is apple juice and a juicy, cool cucumber

No pressure tags: @kaslynspeaks @navstarlikestaylorswift (honestly tempted to tag Neil Gaiman lol) @speckleddandelionicecream-blog @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @laneynoir

[lazycats-stuff]

I had read a fic of yours where Batson was Australian, I don't know if you have other requests like this but if you accept, make one with Batson being Brazilian and he likes football, carnival and who likes to listen and dance to music by the great diva Anitta

Okay, that's cool. I never really knew a lot about Brazil, but I love learning more about it. Bruce is really mister worldwide lol.

Summary: (Y/N) is Brazilian.

Warnings: none

According to Jason, Bruce has become mister Worldwide. Why, I might hear you asking? He, as a playboy, sleeps with a lot of women. One of those women was a Brazilian model and the two had a son together. Bruce took a DNA first because he didn't want to take any type of chances.

It wouldn't be a first time that a woman tried to claim that a kid was his, but wasn't. Turns out, DNA came back telling him that (Y/N) was his son. Thankfully, the woman was very understanding and Bruce sent her money every month and he would visit when he could.

Unfortunately, (Y/N)'s mom passed away when he was a teen and he came to live in the USA with his father and half brothers. It was a little bit weird at first, a new city, a father who is a vigilante, his brothers too, a butler who is their handler so to speak...

Either way, it was weird, but he was happy to be here with his family. That was something that he thought that Americans were lacking sometimes. That feeling of tight nit love and family. His family, including grandmas, grandpas, aunts and much more lived within a walking distance from him.

Okay, that may sound like Americans don't share that same sentiment about family, but (Y/N) didn't really see it. It may that in Brazil that is just amplified by 10 or it could be something else of course. However, his family is tight knit and very loving.

(Y/N) didn't think that he would have that here in America, but hey, he can't really complain can he.

However, there is a single thing he will fight until the day he dies. His fellow Brazilian men and women, his brothers and sisters would agree. Soccer is not football. Football is football, you play with your feet. That's why is so popular.

And that's why Europeans and Latinos went nuts for it. Honestly, (Y/N) watches every game with Brazil's national team, even if Bruce had to pay more for the program. He has the money. He can't let his son suffer, can he?

Also, American Football should be named American Soccer, because the ball is never on the ground. (Y/N) will die by that statement and he will fight everyone he needs to fight with to prove it.

Until his last breath and last drop of blood.

One thing he loves more than anything, alongside the football of course, is the famous Rio de Janeiro carnival. He made Bruce and the rest of the family go every single year with him. Thankfully, he still has his Brazilian passport with him.

And the family has a translator for when they go, because not a lot of people speak English, only in bigger cities and popular tourist sites. It's fun to see (Y/N) speak his native language with so much passion and everyone has decided to learn it to talk to (Y/N).

(Y/N) was proud and nothing but supportive, even though at times they were butchering the language, but it's always the thought that matters. And Portuguese is an easier language to pick up. (Y/N) even had some rewards for them.

Every time they could hold a some what correct conversation when it comes to grammar and vocabulary, they would get a dish from the Brazilian cuisine. It's the famous Feijoada and it's just (Y/N)'s favorite. Everyone loved when (Y/N) made it and it was with his grandma's recipe.

That's what motivated them to learn, because even Damian swore by that dish and he loved it the most. Bruce and the rest loved it, it was different then the rest of the American cuisine. Of course, (Y/N) introduced them to another dishes, but everyone loved the Feijoada.

(Y/N) knew it.

One thing he loves is listening to Anitta. He loves her music and they would often find him dancing while he was cleaning, dusting, vacuuming and other times. It made him happy and Bruce found (Y/N) humming the melody and the lyrics every day.

Everyone soon knew the lyrics to the songs and the melody. And besides, they are all learning Portuguese and it was fun to learn it that way. Dick found her songs great and listened to it during his workouts and Dick loved it.

And one thing that Bruce was proud of was the fact that (Y/N) didn't decided to assimilate. He still has his values and he wasn't afraid to say that he is Brazilian. If he has an interview he is often found correcting people and he is not afraid to say it.

Due to the fact that he is not afraid to say he is from Brazil, people of Brazil have claimed him and whenever he comes, they just shower him with love. He is extremely popular and Bruce knows he shouldn't worry about it, but still.

Bruce worries about his children all of the time, especially when they are in another country, especially on vacation. (Y/N) often told him not to worry and did Bruce listen?

No.

One thing more thing that made Bruce love Brazil more than anything in this world is the fact that they take their hygiene more than some Americans do. (Y/N) said to everyone that during the summer he would take 3 showers per day sometimes.

Damian found that interesting. Brazil is a humid and hot country, considering that it's a tropical country and the heat is often unforgiving.

(Y/N) said that the shower made him slow down and think about relaxing. He often clears his head and feels less stress afterwards. He has explained the shower routine, but still, the family they don't really understand it, but hey, as long (Y/N) is happy.

And one thing that Brazilians love doing that Bruce found nice was the way that they are affectionate. Kisses, hugs and touching. Of course, with consent. (Y/N) understood that not really liked it, but his family loved it.

Damian would often get picked randomly and hugged from behind. Damian would often grumble about it, but he loved it. Bruce loved the hugs and the rest loved the hugs too.

Bruce was just happy that one of them was normal emotionally. (Y/N) was trained in martial arts to protect himself, like everyone, but decided to not be a vigilante. He just couldn't be and Bruce respected it.

(Y/N) was their safety net and nobody would have it any other way.

[iamacolor]

i'm on that episode of poirot when he says the english have no cuisine, just food. i can't believe i completely forgot about this iconic scene! that's worse than forgetting who the killer was djdjdhdh

omg wait I know the line but I can't remember which episode that is?? but so true of him lol I love whenever he criticizes england and the english (especially since they can never come up with accurate criticism of his country because they usually think he's french)

[motto-chanto-itte]

4, 6 ,15 from the not from us ask game? no pressure though ^^"

OK FINALLY GETTING AROUND TO ANSWERING THIS ASK BC ME FROM 19 APR RAMBLED ON FOR TOO LONG AND DECIDED TO JUST GIVE UP I GUESS

not from us ask game

6. most hated song in your native language?

my native language is english and i don't listen to any local songs so.... my most hated song in english is probably unholy by sam smith and kim petras... (unless this is asking abt a nationally hated song then idk JJSHS)

15. a saying, joke, or hermetic meme that only people from your country will get?

I LOVE THIS QUESTION because. there's literally a wholeass LANGUAGE that only the people in my country get. singlish is basically english but bad plus singaporean. my favourite term to use nowadays is this one:

i laughed so much reading that wikipedia page because i actually use it a lot in my daily life and so does nearly everyone else! including the teachers and adults!! so irl you won't catch me speaking coherently like i do online lmao (if i even do). there's this word i learnt recently, jelak, which can refer to a dish that you can get sick of easily or after a few bites, like cheesecake. i like that word it's pretty useful

4. favourite dish specific for your country?

yayy i love this question!!! imma be real where im from is a very multiracial country, so a lot of our iconic dishes don't really originate from here but they're well-known and super common in hawker centres. my favourite ones.... hainanese chicken rice and hokkien mee and carrot cake and char kway teow and chee cheong fan....

fun fact! carrot cake here is not actually carrot cake, it's a savoury dish apparently called chai tow kway(?) but everyone just calls it carrot cake anyway lol. according to google, it's stir-fried radish cake in cubes served with egg and stuff. there's black and white and a mix of both! personally i like the mixed kind the most but that's probably because i like black and white equally. if you visit asia you should totally try it!!! anyway that's why when people mention carrot cake, this is the first dish i think of lol <- has never eaten actual Carrot Cake

anyway yeah sorry this is so long but thank you for asking about two of the topics i evidently enjoy talking about very much (languages and my local cuisine) 😔🖐

[oh-cawsh]

9 people to get to know better

thanks for tagging me @ghostradiodylan !!

1. Three ships: Rylan my beloved they do no wrong. theyre the epitome of awkward bashful and honest gay summer teen romance with the perfect contrasting note of horrific life threatening monsters which is unsurpassable genre peak. and yeah ngl its pretty rare that i get behind a ship but two others i can think of are amity/luz from the owl house (but mostly in season 1 because they do cute anxious crushing stuff and after that they just kind of turn into supportive gf A and supportive gf B), and legosi/louis from beastars because how do you just gloss over neurotic homophobe slut ptsd theatre twink x weird brooding puritan loser freudian pervert and the fact that it does WORK too like hello

2. First ever ship: i wanna say gregg and angus from night in the woods?? i remember i was in that weird sexual orientation puberty where you literally know you're gay but it's not like a consciously meaningful part of your identity so i remember seeing them and thinking wow that's cool that they're boyfriends i guess idk. also i'm inexorably drawn to their existence for some reason and my lockscreen is them cuddling with the lazy morning light peeking through the curtains

3. Last song: My Kink is Karma - Chappell Roan, im a sucker for moody electronic pop and that album DELIVERS

4. Last film: i watched the first three movies in a pirates of the caribbean marathon with some friends which ngl after the first one feels like trying to suck sugar water out of a sock 😶 the last film i personally chose to watch was the 1976 Carrie! it was nice being able to watch it and appreciate it as an adult with an education and not a teen recluse going "yeah carrie you show those villain highschoolers what's what"

5. Currently (re)reading: Shakespeare's Twelfth Night! i have my old copy from highschool open next to me and the 2012 shakespeare's globe production up and i just sit and sift between watching and reading and analysing it, just like when i first learned it in class. i'm not really sure why i wanted to reread it again in the first place, but i find it kind of soothing to read older texts where the language and culture's a little ways off from its modern successors. i find it calming to kind of pull those stories back in a way we can understand with its old contexts and writing, and see more and more of that timeless human experience shine through. sudoku for english nerds i guess LOL

6. Currently watching: my watcher's stamina has actually gotten so shit im ngl like i actually haven't watched a show in months 😭😭😭 the last show i watched was bluey (which was pretty good! (and pretty indicative of the kind of attention span ive got these days 😂👌))

7. Currently consuming: this horrible like nutraloaf nightmare bowl i made because my appetite was really poor today and at 5 pm or so i was like ugh well id better eat something quick and dense if im not gonna have a proper meal so i insulted God and put together reheated smashed potato (in the microwave so they lost all their crunch and flavour) + dried roasted edamame beans + peanut butter + regular butter + cheddar + yoghurt + whole salted almonds in a bowl and had a slice of walnut fig cake as a side. that thing needed a censor bar like i was in the trenches trying to get that down im ngl. eating that meal took more energy out of me than what it gave back like i knew i made something unholy and then immediately paid for it like it was so frankenstein and his monster right there on that kitchen counter

8. Currently craving: literally anything after that like god damn 😭😭😭😭😭 otherwise ive been hankering for a good chana masala and naan combo cus there's literally never a day where i'll turn south asian cuisine down like aw man i shouldve just gone out and got some of that to eat today ugh god damn it

also im ngl i don't really know who to tag cus i only started having a presence on tumblr like barely a month ago and ive only meaningfully interacted with like 3 people since then so um!! whoever's out there lurking around on my blog if ya wanna participate feel free! and either way, thanks for readin my ramblings regardless :)

[3milesup]

For the ask game:

☠️🍙💗

☠️ - What's one of your most controversial ships you like?

Oof, i can't really think of a controversial one! i am so basic lol. What i usually like are niche pairings, often very niche, which can be a hell xd but they have a special vibe to me^^

🍙 - What's a food you've always wanted to try?

Hmm. i like discovering cuisines as i go. Like "oh a Nepalese restaurant, curious, let's see" - and i ended up going to any Nepalese restaurant i have seen, since, because i loved it. International street food festival? You can see me oscillating between the stands trying in vain to pick just one or two... My bf took me to eat sushi that to me used to mean raw fish=not gonna eat, but it is so much more and i truly enjoy having some every now and then^^ (still no raw fish though xd but i've tasted that as well) so, this goes to say, i love trying new food when the occasion presents itself, i like ethnic restaurants a lot (i heard of an Eritrean one i'd like to visit someday, it's not too far!) but i don't research cuisines enough to say "oh, this is something i want to try!", i just do when i see it... idk if that makes sense! xd i'm trying to think of some specific food but it just won't come to me, sorry...

💗 - Name an accent you love to hear

Hehe, nice one! i love accents, fun fact i pick them up easily, involuntarily even, so people back home often struggled to understand where i was from and couldn't believe me when i told them xd i had any accent except for that of my hometown which, though, i love and miss, so i like to hear that one when i talk to my folks^^ and another fun fact, being faraway and mostly only talking to myself and to them in my mother tongue, my accent resurfaced, now no one would have any difficulty placing me on the map, i guess... xd

The accent of where i live now is considered rather obnoxious i think xd but i don't dislike it at all, it is amusing, and i have learnt much of the dialect, i could speak it if i wanted but i only do at home, and to very little extent, as it is not my language and my dialect and idk, something about respect and cultural appropriation, call me silly... but i do throw in a line or two often, because certain words or phrases just come to me more naturally in dialect... but i'm straying from the question, so:

As for English, both British (that i hear a lot at work) and American (that i hear in the media), i struggle to distinguish them for places they are from, to be honest, so i won't be risking saying something stupid and just say, randomly, i adore the Finnish accent xd i really do!

Omg this has gotten long xd sorry and thank you so much for the ask!! ❤

[sarenhale]

Watching an international culinary competition on Netflix and the difference between the English competitors and the international ones is killing me.

Brazilian guy cooking a typical recipe: this food reminds me of my childhood, and my mom's recipes and all the time spent together in my garden surrounded by the smell of fruit and flowers

English guy cooking his typical recipe: Yeah mate this is a typical hangover plate. I eat this when I'm piss drunk. This reminds me of me mum shouting at me lol

Scottish guy when talking about his non- knowledge of Asian cuisine: I don't know much about Japan really. I've never traveled much. When I was young I was busy thinking about cars and women.