#I deeply apologize to any Germans reading this

[monstercollection]

Starting Gentlemen Prefer Blonds while I’m still having respiratory symptoms from Covid was a mistake because now, on top of coughing violently, I’m laughing too hard to breath over München Kunst jokes”.

When I die, they’re gonna have to put “München Kunst” down as the cause of death.

Edith Wharton called this the Great American Novel and she was right.

[obsessioncollector]

Hi friends! Inspired by @librarycards I wanted to make a post celebrating Women in Translation Month! Anglophone readers generally pay embarrassingly little attention to works in other languages, and that's even more true when it comes to literature by women, so I will jump at any chance to promote my faves 🥰 Here are some recs from 9 different languages! Also, I wrote this on my phone, so apologies for any typos or errors!

1. Trieste by Daša Drndić, trans. Ellen Elias-Bursać (Croatian): An all-time favorite. Much of Drndić's work interrogates the legacy of atrocities in Europe, particularly eastern Europe. Trieste is a haunting contemplative novel centered on an elderly Italian Jewish woman whose family converted to Catholicism during the Mussolini era and were complicit in the fascist violence surrounding them in order to protect themselves.

2. Cursed Bunny by Bora Chung, trans. Anton Hur (Korean): A collection of short stories that are difficult to classify by genre–speculative fiction in the broadest sense. The first story is about a monster in a woman's toilet, which sounds impossible to pull off in a serious, thought-provoking manner, but Chung does so easily—these are the kind of stories that are hard to explain the brilliance of secondhand.

3. Sweet Days of Discipline by Fleur Jaeggy, trans. Tim Parks (Italian; Jaeggy is Swiss): Another all time favorite! The cold, sterile homoerotic girls' boarding school novella of your dreams.

4. Toddler-Hunting and Other Stories by Taeko Kono, trans. Lucy North (Japanese): I think I read this in one sitting. Incredibly unsettling—these stories will stay with you. They often focus on the unspoken psychosexual fantasies underscoring mundane daily life.

5. The Complete Stories by Clarice Lispector, trans. Katrina Dodson (Brazilian Portuguese): I think Lispector is the best known writer here, so she might not need much of an introduction. But what a legend! And this collection is so diverse—it's fascinating to see the evolution of Lispector's work.

6. Our Lady of the Nile by Scholastique Mukasonga, trans. Melanie L. Mauthner (French; Mukasonga is Rwandan): Give her the Nobel! Mukasonga's books, at least the ones available in English, are generally quite short but so impactful. Our Lady of the Nile is a collection of interrelated short stories set at a Catholic girls' boarding school in Rwanda in the years before the Rwandan genocide. These stories are fascinating on many levels, but perhaps the most haunting element is seeing how ethnic hatred intensifies over time—none of these girls would consider themselves particularly hateful or prejudiced, but they easily justify atrocities in the end.

7. Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972 by Alejandra Pizarnik, trans. Yvette Siegert (Spanish; Pizarnik was Argentinian): Does anyone remember when my url was @/pizarnikpdf... probably not but worth mentioning to emphasize how much I love her <3 Reading Pizarnik is so revelatory for me; she articulates things I didn't even realize I felt until I read her words.

8. Flight and Metamorphosis: Poems by Nelly Sachs, trans. Joshua Weiner (German): Sachs actually won the Nobel in the 1960s, so it's surprising that she's not better known in the Anglosphere. Her poems are cryptic and surreal, yet deeply evocative. Worth mentioning that this volume is bilingual, so you can read the original German too if you're interested.

9. Frontier by Can Xue, trans. Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping (Chinese): Can Xue is another difficult-to-classify writer in terms of genre. Her short stories are often very abstract and can be puzzling at first. I think Frontier is a great place to start with her because these stories are interconnected, which makes them a bit more accessible.

[starleska]

Dollface - the Toymaker x Real Toymaker!Reader

As a toymaker, you are delighted when you stumble across MR EMPORIUM'S TOYSHOP. But when you meet its eccentric owner - one eponymous 'Toymaker' - you enter into an impossible game with higher stakes than you ever imagined…with the risk of your deepest fantasy coming true. Rating: Mature. Tags: Dollification; Toyification; Truth or Dare; Reality-Bending; Humiliation; Psychological Torture; Fluff; Teasing; Touching; Forced Dancing; Mentions of Neglect; Cosmic Horror; Horrible Fake German. Reader is presumed female, but has a complicated relationship with gender and enjoys feminine terms of endearment. requested by the lovely @chronicbeans!! whilst this was originally meant to be a few-paragraphs long headcanons bit...but then it sprawled into a 13,000 word fanfic. my apologies to yourself, and to any German speakers in the audience 🙈💖 you can also read this on AO3. i hope you enjoy!

Toys are your life.

For as long as you can remember you have been fascinated by all manner of toys: everything from teddy bears to zoetropes; spinning tops to yo-yos. As a child you weren’t just interested in playing with toys—you wanted to reach inside of them, pick them apart, and understand every little detail about how they worked. Much to the chagrin of your parents, you spent more time trying to put your toys back together than you did actually playing with them. 

But all of your alternative playtime paid off. Now, as an adult, you run a modest yet successful local toymaking business, with your own vendor stall at the market and a popular online shop. Much of your work is custom, using vintage materials to replicate toys of the past, and you occasionally trade and sell real old toys too. As a result, you have something of a monopoly on the local toy scene, and feel you know every single toymaker and toy-collecting enthusiast in a fifty mile radius.

That’s why it’s a real shock when you stumble across MR EMPORIUM’S TOYSHOP late one night. 

The storefront is a gorgeous assault to the senses. Parked in the middle of the cold, grey street, the toyshop beams out crimson and gold onto the snow drifts, with all manner of classic toys peeking out at you through the windows. You are delighted to see an assortment of downy plush bears and hand-painted model motor cars crowding the shelves: so many it feels like the toyshop itself might burst at the seams. Your giddiness only increases as you get closer to the window. You can make out all sorts of fun, bright shapes within: countless colourful toys beckoning you and begging to be taken home. 

Yet it isn’t these treasures which catch your eye the most. Right at the back of the shop, near the counter, you spy a shelf lined with dolls. They are beautiful even at a distance: likely from the early 20th century, masterfully painted and wearing a fine rainbow of little dresses. Even from your vantage point you can see the impeccable craftsmanship. There’s immense detail in their delicate hands, and if you’re not mistaken, each doll has a crop of real human hair.

Perhaps most intriguing of all is the eyes. Their glass sheen looks so sad and wistful…far more emotion than a doll should be able to communicate.

If you didn’t know any better, you would believe the dolls were alive.

Oh, I shouldn’t , you tell yourself. I’m much too old now to be playing with dolls…and I keep all my old ones locked up anyway. I shouldn’t deprive some kid of a toy. This is a deeply silly excuse, and a hypocritical one. The vast majority of your clientele are adults, as are the brilliant toymakers you’re proud to call your friends. This is the perpetual double-standard you constantly believe and are always trying to rally against: that you are uniquely strange, and deserve to be ridiculed for your interests. 

The curious thing is that this idea doesn’t apply to toys more broadly…only to dolls. You have made countless dolls throughout your career, and yet owning dolls and enjoying them is something you’ve long nursed a hang-up over. But that is a can of worms you refuse to open up today. No , you decide, today I am going to be a normal adult who is confident about their interests and doesn’t feel an ounce of shame! I am going to go into this toyshop and look at those dolls, and that’s that! With your mind made up, you shift your backpack onto your shoulder, take a deep breath, and push through the toyshop’s door. 

The door slams shut behind you with the tinkle of a bell. You are immediately enveloped in warmth, and the delicious scent of varnished wood enrobes you like a fine dress. You can’t help but close your eyes and inhale: somehow, the toyshop smells just like your childhood.

“Hallo, meine kleine Mädchen! Komm in, komm in, be ge-removings yourselves from dee kalt! It is ein horrid evenings, is it not?”

You open your eyes in surprise, and see an older, greyish-blond-haired man leaning against the counter. He’s dressed in a most whimsical fashion, wearing a soft white work shirt coupled with a maroon waistcoat, and a brown apron stuffed with woodworking tools. A spotted ascot around his neck and a pair of pince-nez balanced at the end of his nose complete the look.

The man smiles at you like he’s known you all his life. You feel like you’ve been transported to another time.

“It is,” you agree, as you shake the snow drifts from your boots. “So sorry for dropping in so late—I’m surprised you’re still open.”

“Ah, but I am always having times for dee beautiful Fräulein,” says the man with a coy wink. “But vot is it zat is ge-bringings you here?”

You have to stifle a giggle. You know enough of the language to know the man’s German is terribly off, and his accent is borderline offensive. However, you also know that folks in the toymaking community tend to be eccentric, and you can forgive a corny, theatrical accent for the wonderful atmosphere of this shop. Who are you to judge if he wants to LARP as a Bavarian thespian?

Before you can reply, the strange man is suddenly beside you…although you don’t recall seeing him move. He has also removed his pince-nez. You blink, a little taken aback. How did he move so quickly? You wonder if you’ve eaten enough that day.

“I’m…a toymaker,” you say, trying not to sound freaked out. “I’ve never seen your shop before, and I thought I knew everyone in town who makes toys. What’s your name?”

The man’s eyes are blue, you notice—terribly blue, and sparkling in the soft light with unspoken mischief. “You are beings ein toymaker? Vy, zat is a coincidence…” He taps the side of his nose. “Many peoples ge-calls me by many names. But zey most oftens call me the Toymaker, und nothing else. It be gettings dee point across, nein? Und was ist your name?”

You tell him, and the Toymaker’s mouth splits open in a wide grin.  

“Das ist ein schöner name!” he says enthusiastically. “Truly, a magnifizent fit. It is not often zat I am gettings other toymakers in mein shop…I vonder, vot does your eye ge-fallen upon? Could it be mein cuddly collection of teddies? Oh, ja, I sees you are ge-needings ein soft companion for dese frosty nights. Or could it be mein train? Choo-choo! it goes, round and round all dee livelong day! I am ge-havings many customers mit ein eye for dee train.”

The Toymaker’s voice is smooth as butter, rich and inviting, and each word he speaks seems to add a little more colour to his delightful environment. You look around in awe at all of the toys, unable to comprehend the sheer scale of the place. Just moments ago the shop seemed so small, with the abundance of toys seriously crammed in on the shelves, but now it looks impossibly vast: a veritable sea of playful delights. The little choo-choo train in question chugs along on its rails and moves past the doll shelf, drawing your eye back to their pretty little figures.

��Ah, dee Katze hast gotten your tongue,” says the Toymaker. He gestures to the dolls, and the gold ring on his right pinkie finger catches the light. “I too ams often becomings stricken by dee beauty of mein dollen…zey took me many nights to make, ja. Oh, but ge-look! Eins ist out of place. Zose fingers are so fiddly! Und dee hair…zo many eveninks ge-spended brushing out zeir tiny curls."

You watch as the Toymaker reaches up and begins deftly rearranging the dolls. His fingers are long and nimble, and they move with such care and attention, placing each doll’s tiny hands neatly in their laps and smoothing down their dresses. When you’re a toymaker, you grow to appreciate a pair of well-practised hands, and there’s something undeniably… charming , about this Toymaker and his cartoonish whimsy. It’s silly, but you feel a little heat rising in your cheeks. The attention he’s paying to such small, delicate objects…

…well, it’s only natural that your mind should wander to more practical applications of such hands.

“The dolls are gorgeous,” you say. “Do you offer any toymaking classes? The dolls I make have a bit more of a modern touch.”

That’s when the Toymaker laughs, and it is a strange laugh: it tinkles out of his mouth like a jingle, in a musical, ‘Ha ha ha HA ha ha ha!’

“Oh, mein dollen are sehr modern…moreso zan you sink,” says the Toymaker. He gives you another wink, as it seems he likes to give them out for free.

That’s when you feel the little clench in your chest. Oh dear, he really is quite handsome. This wouldn’t be the first time you’d caught feelings for a quirky, attractive stranger, and they were often not as well-dressed as the Toymaker. You have a tendency to get caught up in the realms of imagination, and have thought up more than a few daring trysts with pretty-faced people with whom you’d only exchanged a couple of words. You ought to grab a doll, leave, and have a quiet little panic attack about this interaction at home.

You force your eyes away from the handsome man and back to the shelf.

That’s when you spot her.

Somehow, a doll had escaped your notice. Right in the middle of her sad-looking rainbow sisters is another doll, simply and prettily done up in a powder-blue be-ribboned frock. Unlike the other dolls, this one is smiling in a dimpled way, and her eyes sparkle with a magical sheen not unlike that of the Toymaker’s. You note with some amusement that the doll has the same eye colour as you—hair colour, too. This isn’t strange on a doll, but it gives you the same jolt of satisfaction and déjá vu you get when meeting someone who shares your name.

“Ah,” says the Toymaker (now on your other side). “Dee dollen…zey speak to you, ja? Zey are ge-having ein chitter-chatter, all high up on dee shelf. Vot fun games zey have ven I ge-leaves the shoppen!”

Dollen isn’t even the German word for dolls, you know—it’s Puppen. But you get the sense that the Toymaker’s German accent is less an earnest recreation (and it’s certainly not his natural accent), but a pantomime version intended to amuse and entertain.

“I’m sure they do,” you say, but you’re distracted from the Toymaker’s little act. The longer you look at the doll, the stranger you feel.

You move closer to the shelf to get a better look, and are startled by what you discover.

It isn’t just that the doll on the shelf has similar hair and eyes to you: they’re both the exact same shade, even down to the imperfect flecks in your irises. 

You study the doll intently for a moment, blink, and— what? The doll’s hair is now the same length as yours. Was it always? No, you could have sworn just a moment ago it was not just a completely different length, but style.

You rise up on your tiptoes to get a better look at the doll, and are baffled by what you see. It’s as if detail is stacking on the doll right before your eyes, the way some video game maps load in piece-by-piece. You watch as texture is added to her hair, and light pools in her eyes. This level of craftsmanship is uncanny; it’s as if the Toymaker went out of their way to create a doll which resembles you.

“How did you do that?” You turn to the Toymaker, confused. “Did you know I was coming here?"

The Toymaker’s mouth contorts into an offended pout. “Now, you ge-vounds me. It is ein special privilege, having another Spielzeugmacher in mein shop. Tell me, vot do you sink of her hair? Es ist pretty, ja?”

“But that doll looks exactly like me,” you say.

You can feel your heart hammering in your chest. Suddenly the warm, cosy atmosphere of the toyshop feels more claustrophobic and oppressive. The Toymaker looks unbothered; he rests his chin on his hand and contemplates the shelf. 

“Zere ist ein…certain resemblance,” says the Toymaker, with an unusual, almost French affectation on the last word. “But you are just ge-havings, as zey say, ‘von of zose faces’. Ja, das ist richtig: ein dollface. Puppengesicht. All smooth und sveet. Vy, vot a lucky lady you are! She simply must be goings home vith you.”

You’re scrambling to work out what kind of practical joke this is, and how the Toymaker was pulling it off. You’d met a few eccentric toymakers with God complexes before, as they tend to go hand-in-hand: you’d briefly dated one who designed escape rooms in his spare time. But this is on another level…creating a doll which can be imperceptibly altered to resemble a person in real-time? You’d never heard of such a thing, and you can’t think of a non-creepy reason why someone would go to the trouble of making one.

Oh, hang on a minute, you think. This guy might just be a genius. “This is a marketing trick, isn’t it?”

You pull away from the Toymaker and lean against his counter, feeling terribly smug for having figured it out.

The Toymaker puts his head on one side, quizzical. Playing dumb, you think.

“I am not ge-followings you,” the Toymaker says. 

“You make dolls of the people you see ahead of time,” you explain. “People you know who will come in here at some point…collectors, other toymakers. Then you wait and put them on the shelf when they come in, maybe behind some hidden panel so you can spin them around when they get close. Then when they come in, it’s like they’ve found the perfect toy!” 

You’re so proud of yourself for having cracked the case, you want to pump your fist in the air. For a moment, you envision yourself wearing a deerstalker hat and smoking a pipe. Go me! But your victory is short-lived. During your diatribe, the Toymaker’s bright, childish grin had frozen on his face, and remained in place even during your brief mental celebration. But now the smile slowly slips like a mask peeling away from too-tight skin. In its place sits a stormy frown: one which clenches the muscles and wrinkles of the Toymaker’s face into an expression which says ‘insulted’.

“For shame,” says the Toymaker. “That’s twice you’ve accused me of cheating now. You really do me a disservice. I am bound by the Rules of Play, and would never resort to such cheap tricks.”

What the hell…? The Toymaker’s accent is completely different. Where before his voice was a thick soup of faux German, now it is a soft British breeze: a proper, formal accent which speaks the way trees rustle. You gape at him, dumbfounded. 

“Your accent is different,” you can’t help but say. You’re no longer just leaning against the counter—you’re actively pushing into it, with the edge of the countertop pushing into the small of your back.

The Toymaker raises an eyebrow at you, and smirks. “You are not half as stupids as you are ge-lookings,” he says, slipping the German back on like a heavy cloak. “But zen, I know you are playing ein game mit me, aren’t you?” 

You stare at the Toymaker. Something has shifted: the air is thick with a tension you cannot identify, but which you want to run away from. You keep staring, thinking that if you look away from those too-blue eyes for even a moment, you might just lose your grip.

You know for a fact that if you look back at that doll on the shelf, it will look even more like you than before.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, and you wish you weren’t lying.

The Toymaker laughs his musical laugh and wags his finger in your face. “Sehr naughty!” he says. “Oh, how natürlich dee lies kommen to sie, mein Schatz. You be ge-knowinks how to play games…zis ist ein lecker human mind game, und you are ge-tryings to deceive me.”

His voice slips smoothly back into the British:

“Do you think I don’t know all about your little fantasy?”

Your eyes go wide, and a choked noise escapes your mouth. No. There is no way that this man…this impossible toymaker could possibly know. You were always so careful, so sure to keep it all to yourself! Familiar shame and embarrassment wash over you in a hot wave as the Toymaker looks at you, looks into you, as if he can see the inner workings of your mind. Your mind grabs at the old, familiar justifications the way one might grab a newspaper for modesty if they found themselves naked on a bus. It’s perfectly normal to have fun little flights of fancy. Everyone plays make-believe sometimes, right? “But zey are embarrassing, zese thoughts of yours,” the Toymaker giggles. “Not dee kind of thoughts you can share mit deine Mutter. I am not ge-thinkinks zat you have shared your desires mit ein Partnerin…” There goes the eyebrow again, cocked sardonically to match the wicked curl of his lips. “Is zis true?” You feel nauseous. The firm pressure of the countertop underneath your palms is all that stops you from shaking. It feels as if the Toymaker is probing the inside of your skull, and using those skilled fingers to strip back the whorls of your brain and grab at the fleshy thoughts inside. 

“Get out of my head,” you say quietly.

“Oh, but zis is dee game I ge-likes!” says the Toymaker. “Humans mit zeir internal struggles. Desires mit dee most fun ideas, but you are too ge-frightened to say vot you vant. So you play games mit dein loved ones…dee hunting und dee exasperation. Oh, you simply vill not communicate!"

You don’t know when the Toymaker got so close to you, but now he’s towering over you, with his hands firmly planted on either side of the countertop. You’re close enough to count the spots on his ascot, and examine the year-lines etched around his mouth and eyes. When he smiles those lines crinkle, but not naturally: it’s the way a puppet’s arms reach for the stars when the marionette twists them upwards.

“Okay, you’ve had your fun,” you whisper. “I’ll buy the doll and leave.”

This close, the Toymaker radiates heat. He smells like rose petals and Christmas.

“You could…but zat vould be no fun,” says the Toymaker. “I propose ve solve zis in a more interesting vay…”

The Toymaker waves his hand across your field of vision…and transforms the centre of the toyshop. A small wooden table complete with chairs has popped into existence just in front of the counter. You gape at the sight. How did he do that?! “Let us play ein game,” he says. “If you vin, you can take dee doll free of charge. But if I vin…”

The Toymaker’s smile cracks like the earth preceding a quake.

“You vill stay vith me und play mein games forever!”

You have to give yourself credit for reacting as well as you did. Most people, if they were faced with a crazy fake German man who seems able to read your mind, may have had a breakdown or made a run for the door. But you’ve seen a lot of anime, and you understand that if you are challenged by a handsome, powerful man with magical powers and a delightful hairstyle, you cannot refuse the call. Your brain has shifted from This should be impossible, to It’s game time.  “Alright,” you say slowly. “You’re clearly very powerful. It seems like if I play a game with you, you have far more to gain than I do. A doll isn’t a good enough prize.”

The Toymaker smiles at you. “Ein girl after mein own heart,” he says. “How about zis: if you vin, I vill show you exactly how I make mein dollen, complete vith a demonstration. Zat is generous of me, nein?”

His words are laced with sinister venom, and it’s all you can do not to be poisoned.

“And I’m guessing that if I refuse your game, something terrible would happen to me?”

The Toymaker hums low in his throat. “Hm…not accepting mein game is always ein option…ja, you could do zat. Und yet…” 

You inhale as the Toymaker brings his face terribly close to yours. The skin of his cheek brushes your own. You can feel his soft breath as he whispers into your ear, British once more:

“I know you are so curious as to how I make my dolls. If you leave now, you’ll never know. And I think if you wanted to leave, you would have done so already.”

The Toymaker pulls away from you, leaving you with your face on fire. He’s right. In less than ten minutes, the Toymaker has sussed out your fatal flaw: your damned unstoppable curiosity. There have been countless times where your life would have been improved if you’d kept your nose in your own business…but this is different. The Toymaker isn’t just dangling a carrot: he’s already dug his hooks in you, and you are being reeled in with every second you spend looking into those impossibly blue eyes.

When you next blink, the Toymaker has moved again. He is sitting in one chair, his hands folded primly in front of him.

“Name your challenge,” he says.

You weren’t expecting this: you thought he would have a game in mind. “Any game at all?”

“There isn’t a game I don’t know,” says the Toymaker coolly. “It is common courtesy to allow the guest to pick the party game.”

You can’t help a nervous giggle. “This is a weird kind of party,” you say. 

The Toymaker acknowledges this by inclining his head. “Choose.”

Your mind scrambles over dozens of options. There are so many games…board games, card games, strategy games. Do we need equipment? How long does the game have to be? What games can you play with just two people? That’s when your brain starts to run in a very different direction, and a variety of… game positions …flash through your imagination with impunity.

A flush scalds up your neck. You look at the Toymaker, who raises his eyebrows in a knowing way.

He knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You want to scream.

“Truth or Dare!” you blurt out.

That gets his attention. The Toymaker leans forward, his eyes quizzical. “Zat is non-traditional…yet apt,” he says. “Could it be zat you are ge-vantings me to force zat fantasy out of you, meine Liebchen?”

“No,” you lie. “I want you to tell me what you are, and why you’re doing this to me.”

“Then let’s get down to business,” says the Toymaker. “We take it in turns to ask each other Truth or Dare. A Truth corresponds to a question which must be answered truthfully, and a Dare is an action which must be carried out. The player earns one point for each Truth or Dare successfully completed.”

The Toymaker steeples his fingers together. You can’t pull your eyes away from them.

“If you refuse to complete a Truth or a Dare, or you contravene the rules of the game, you lose a point…and must complete a forfeit.” 

The way he says ‘forfeit’ sends a shiver down your spine. “What kind of forfeit?”

“Oh, dee usual,” says the Toymaker casually. “Somesing difficult or humiliating. I do not ge-liken to pre-plan zese things…I am preferings to be spontaneous.”

You are starting to regret your choice of game. This is a man who knows more about you than you’ve ever told your closest friend…surely a game like Truth or Dare would be pointless for him? So you ask: “Why would you want to play this if you can already tell what I’m thinking?”

The Toymaker frowns. “A good question,” he says. “The Rules of Play prevent me from having any unfair advantage over an opponent. Although my abilities will remain intact, anything which would tilt the game in my favour is out-of-bounds. I am physically incapable of cheating, and would thank you not to bring it up again. There are only two states of being which matter: winning, or losing. I intend to win.”

Fair enough , you think. “And what if I cheat?” you say. “I have a pretty good poker face. If you can’t look inside my head during the game, what if I just lie to you? How could you tell?” 

The Toymaker chuckles, bearing his mouth wide. To your horror, you see there are far, far too many teeth in his mouth.

“I can always tell when someone is lying to me.” 

“Six turns,” you counter, voice trembling. “Whoever has the most points at the end of those turns is the winner. And…you can’t choose Truth or Dare more than twice in a row.”

The Toymaker seems impressed by your game-making skills. “Agreed,” he says. “Let us begin.” 

He snaps his fingers, and all the lights in the toyshop go out. Above, a stagelight snaps into existence, pouring heat and light onto your scalp in a cascade. The Toymaker’s striking features are illuminated by this shift in lighting, casting the lines of his face with the severity of stage makeup. You swallow: he looks divine.

“Would you like to go first?” he asks politely.

“...No,” you say after a moment. “I think that honour should go to the house.”

Your gamble pays off: you realised that the Toymaker is a man with great respect for the rules of the game, and this offer makes him smile.

“How generous,” says the Toymaker. “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” you say. 

The Toymaker taps his finger to his lips, considering. Then, he says, “Destroy something precious to you.”

It takes a few seconds for you to really process the Dare. When it hits, you are baffled. What kind of Dare is that? you want to say…but you don’t bother saying it aloud. What kind of toyshop is this—and what kind of ‘toymaker’ is he? All you need to know is reflected in the sadistic gleam in the Toymaker’s eye. This wouldn’t be an ordinary game, and contesting his requests would be fruitless. All you can do is make your move.

You take a deep breath, and reach down into your backpack. You didn’t leave the house this morning planning to bring anything precious to you, but you are a sentimental person by nature, and know you have one item which fits the bill. It’s with great sadness that you pull out a small, ratty teddy bear and place him on the table. The bear is old and beige and dressed in a crimson band leader’s outfit, complete with a hat and red-laced riding boots.

“Oh, ein teddy bear!” laughs the Toymaker, delighted. “How charming. He is quite dee looker, isn’t he?”

“He’s the first bear I ever made,” you say. “I was listening to some 90s British pop music, and the idea for his design just…popped into my head. I scribbled it down and pulled him together from scraps of fabric and repurposed stuffing in just a day. His name’s Neil…I keep him with me for good luck.”

Something about what you said is terribly amusing to the Toymaker, but you don’t know why. “Ein handsome name indeed,” says the Toymaker. “But I am afraid zat vill not be enoughs to ge-save him. Poor Neil. Now…vill you complete your Dare?” 

You take a deep breath. There was no turning back now; you’ve accepted the Toymaker’s game, and the predatory sheen in his eyes tells you that you can no longer just walk away. So you pick up Neil, grab hold of his little teddy bear ears—

And tear his head off, sending stuffing careening all over the table. 

“Oh!” says the Toymaker with a false gasp. “Vot an unfortunate end for poor Neil. I did not know zat you have such ein cruel streak.” 

“Shut up,” you say, trying not to look at Neil’s decapitated corpse.

Even though he’s just a teddy bear, you feel like you’ve just killed a defenceless animal. Neil’s lifeless button-eyes gaze up at you imploringly, as if asking why you’d do such a thing. You knock Neil’s head off the table and focus back on the Toymaker.

“That’s one point to me,” you say. “Truth or Dare?”

The Toymaker grins at you like a shark. “Dare.”

There are a thousand questions ricocheting around your head, but you ask the one which you know will keep you up at night: “Tell me how you did that thing with the doll.”

The violence of the Toymaker’s laughter makes you jump. He actually covers his mouth to quieten himself, but his shoulders shake even so. “Oh nein, nein, nein, you are ge-makings ein mistake!” he says. “You cannot be askings a question ven I have chosen Dare. Oh, meine Schatz, you have your lost your point…and must receive ein forfeit.”

Your veins run cold. “What? No! That was never in the rules!” 

“It is a common rule,” says the Toymaker, suddenly serious. “What is the point of distinguishing between a Truth or Dare, if a Dare can be a Truth?”

You want to protest…but his logic is infuriatingly sound. It’s exactly the kind of argument you could see yourself making if you were playing the game against a friend. You try to think of some other get-out-of-jail-free card—anything which would allow you learn how the Toymaker made that doll look exactly like you—but you come up short. You slump in your chair, and resign yourself to waiting for the next round.

“Oh, do not ge-look so sad,” says the Toymaker. In mock sympathy, he makes a little tutting sound against his teeth. “Now, about zat forfeit…ah! I am ge-knowings just dee sing.”

The Toymaker snaps his fingers…and your clothes burst into a flock of doves.

You scream and leap up from the table, batting away at the birds scrambling over your skin. They coo and and flap in your face before struggling upwards and flying into the rafters. Shocked, you look down to find yourself still fully clothed…but with a wardrobe change. You are now clad in a beautiful, powder-blue dress. The fabric is inhumanly soft and threaded through with white ribbons.

“Oh my God!” you yell. “What did you do?!”

The Toymaker is doing his best to stifle a giggle behind his hand. “Do you like it?” he asks. “I think the colour is rather fetching on you.” 

You clutch at the skirts of your dress, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. There is no way this is possible…you hadn’t felt anything, not even a shift of your own clothes or the sliding of new fabric against your skin. One moment you were wearing your own clothes, and the next you weren’t. It’s as if your clothes were merely a covering, and when they transformed into doves and flapped off, they left only your dress behind. 

You move your legs under the layers of fabric, and blush when you discover you’re wearing a pair of frilly stockings. As you stick out your feet, you can see your feet are clad in a shiny pair of Mary Janes. It’s with a sick feeling in your stomach that you realise what the dress is.

It’s the same dress that the doll on the shelf is wearing.

"You're sick," you hiss.

The Toymaker cocks his head to one side. “Indeed?” he says. “How odd. I thought I was being rather generous, giving you a helping hand towards becoming your true self.” He snickers at you. “If I am sick, then I do wonder what that makes you. My mind is full of games, but the inside of your head is full of so much more.”

You ignore the Toymaker and hold your own arms, shrinking back down into your chair. Yet as you look down at the dress, you can’t help but feel a pang of longing. The dress is a perfect fit, one which could have been custom-designed, and the fabric is truly stunning in appearance and quality. With its puffy sleeves and shapely waistline, you know if you were alone you would have given your new skirts a twirl.

But you can’t let yourself get lost now. This is as much a mind game as it is a real one, you realise. The Toymaker is eyeing you like a piece of meat, and it’s clear that he is capable of so much more than a costume change. You must press on with the game. 

“I want to keep playing,” you say.

“Wonderful,” says the Toymaker. "We’re currently still at zero points each, with two turns down. Unfortunately, your turn was taken due to the forfeit. I must ask you: Truth or Dare?” 

You don’t allow yourself time to think about it: “Dare.” 

The Toymaker’s smile is knowing. “It is a fool’s errand, trying to delay the inevitable. I believe my initial suspicions were correct…you do want the Truth to be pried from you, don’t you? Perhaps that makes the shame a little less potent. After all, the mean, scary Toymaker made you dress this way. It wasn’t your fault…you couldn’t help it. Am I getting warmer?”

Your face is getting warmer, and it’s getting increasingly hard to meet the Toymaker’s gaze. “It isn’t my fault that my opponent is insane,” you say, with venom. 

Somehow, the Toymaker’s laugh is German. “Ah, zere is zat fire. You are quite dee entertaining playmate, meine Liebling. I am not ge-xpectings you to verstand games of dee mind…but I do find zem exhilarating. Dee expressions ge-crossing your face right now…I vish you could see zem.”

You scowl at the Toymaker. “Just give me your Dare.”

The Toymaker shrugs at you. “If you insist. I Dare you…to perform a dance befitting a fine young lady such as yourself.”

Oh, God, no. This is a nightmare of a Dare. “I—I’m not a dancer,” you say. You can feel your blush crawling up your neck. You envision yourself prancing around in your new dolly-dress, and the embarrassment makes you physically cringe.

“Oh, zat is not ein problem!” The Toymaker beckons you to look under the table. When you do, he taps his own shoes against the floor, performing a rhythmic tap-step. “Zose lovely Schuhe I gave you vill ge-helpen sie along. Provided you are villing to perform dee dare, your tanzen is all taken care of. All you are ge-needings to do is stand up, und take drei steps backwards.”

The Toymaker leans back in his chair and looks at you expectantly. The list of excuses which blossomed into your mind when he first suggested the Dare are dwindling rapidly, each one seeming more pathetic than the last. But…maybe there is a way out of this?

“What about music?” you ask. “Surely you can’t expect me to dance without music.” 

The Toymaker shakes his head at you. “Do not ge-worry about dee musik! I have it all covered. Unless…you vish to forfeit once more?” The idea of any other part of your body spontaneously transforming into an animal is enough to make you scramble to your feet. Immediately, you are self-conscious: the dress is equal parts beautiful and ridiculous, and is so poofy and frilly that it gives your lower half the shape of a bell. You haven’t felt this kind of embarrassment since you were in school: the dry throat and sweaty palms before getting up on stage for assembly. Feeling like a silly child, you can’t help but look at the Toymaker, searching those mirthful eyes for guidance. But the Toymaker simply shoos you, indicating for you to step back.  Hesitantly, you take one step away from the table. Then another. Then, one final, gentle step.  Without warning, the floor of the toyshop erupts! From beneath your feet a wooden stage springs up, unfurls around you and traps you like a box. You shriek and try to stumble away, but your new dancing shoes root you firmly to the spot. A spotlight bursts into being above your head and illuminates your frozen self in all your newfound frilly glory.  You look down from your new height to see the Toymaker sitting in what is now the front row of a vast auditorium; the toyshop’s interior has vanished. He whoops and grabs a fistful from a cartoonishly large bucket of popcorn. You open your mouth to yell at him, and maybe call him some horrible names you haven’t thought of yet. But before you can, music starts blaring from all sides of the auditorium. It’s a grating, repetitive tune: some ghastly combination of twee guitar and twinkling piano…and it’s so familiar . You know this song, but what is it? And why does it sound so…childish?  The music hits a powerful note. Your mouth opens unbidden, and from your vocal cords a voice which is decidedly not yours belts out the opening lyric to a familiar nursery rhyme:  “I’m a little teapot, Short and stout!” Your voice is loud and beautiful, and you project better than any Broadway singer. You can do nothing but watch yourself in abject horror as your knees bend in time with the music, and your shiny shoes send you toppling along the stage in time with the song.  “Here is my handle Here is my spout!” You try to scream and stop, but your body is no longer in your control. Your arms bend at frightening angles, and your hips send your neck careening to the side with a crack . A rictus grin is firmly plastered onto your face, and your mouth stays open and singing: “When I get all steamed up, Hear me SHOUT!…” Your hands flap and your toes point and you screaming on the inside, begging for this to stop, stop, STOP ! But the infernal music is inside of your head and it’s pushing in on all sides, and no matter how much you cry and beg and plead your mouth won’t work except to belt out the final words of your song. “TIP me over and POUR. ME. OUT!” At the last line, your knees give out and you collapse face-first onto the stage. A grand cheer goes up from the auditorium. You twist around, trying to see if the Toymaker has conjured up an audience to witness your humiliation—but he is the only one present. The Toymaker is on his feet and giving you a standing ovation. “Vunderbar!” the Toymaker cries as he claps enthusiastically. “Oh, you are dee most darling little teapot, ja. Zis is a fine game we are ge-havings!”

“What—did—you—do?” you gasp on the floor. You feel like your lungs have been crushed. Something the Toymaker did seized up everything inside of you and folded them up like paper. Now it’s as if you really are a doll: crumpled up and discarded in the corner when your owner is finished playing with you. Although you’re quite sure the music has stopped, the melody is blasting in your head in a maddening loop. You try to move, but your legs won’t work. 

“Oh, don’t be zo dramatik. Eversing I ge-make brings viele fun,” says the Toymaker. “Herzlichen Glückwunsch …das ist ein point to you.”

You don’t see the Toymaker get up on the stage, but the next thing you know, he’s crouching down next to you. Without warning, the Toymaker lifts you up under the arms and pulls you to your feet as if you weigh nothing at all. You try to stand but your rigid muscles struggle with the task and you stumble, falling right into the Toymaker’s chest. He chuckles, and you hear it rumbling softly in his chest. His skin is impossibly warm…and you can’t hear a heartbeat.

The two of you stand like that for a long moment, with you enveloped in the Toymaker’s arms. When pressed against his waistcoat, the maddening song infesting your brain quietens, and is replaced with an easy sort of calm. It’s strange…all the questions and anger and terror seem to just burn away. They’re forgotten in the simplicity of being held like a doll.

Eventually, your senses kick in. You manage to pull yourself away from the Toymaker, and you refuse to look at his face. “I just want to get on with the game.”

“Of course.”

The Toymaker waves his hand and the stage and auditorium vanish. You are transported back to the interior of the toyshop, with its familiar cuddly audience and the table taking centre stage. You sit back down at the table shakily. You know when you look up the Toymaker will already be sitting across from you…and you’re right, even though you didn’t see or hear him pull back his chair. His eyes are bright and curious. 

“Okay…Truth or Dare?”

The Toymaker places his hand on his chin and pretends to be deep in thought. After a while, he says, “Truth."

You very nearly ask him the same question you were denied just before: how was he able to make that doll look exactly like you? But the momentary calm offered by the Toymaker’s embrace has had a quieting effect on your mind, and a spike in your critical thinking skills. You have to think strategically; if you want to win, you need to ask him a question which will throw him off-guard. Asking him about the doll wouldn’t be a challenge because he likes to gloat, and to tease. But if you win, you can have your answer to that question and an actual demonstration…

…plus, you get to keep your freedom. Don’t forget that.

So you stare at the Toymaker and wonder…what causes a man (creature, entity, etc.) to end up this way?

“Tell me about your childhood,” you say.

The smile is wiped from the Toymaker’s face in an instant. His mouth twists in discomfort and anger. For the first time since you’ve met him, you feel a pleasant curl of satisfaction in your guts. The game is on, you think.

“What’s wrong?” you ask out loud. “Do you have a problem with the question? Because you can always forfeit—”

“I. Will. Not. Lose.”

The Toymaker’s fists are on the table now: they’re clenched and shaking. Although he’s looking at you, his mind seems far away, trapped somewhere else. After a beat, he leans forward, grabs your head and brings your foreheads together so they’re just barely touching.

“You asked for this,” says the Toymaker gravely. “I will do more than give you the answer to your question. I will show you. Close your eyes.”

The closeness is invigorating: the Toymaker’s hands are strong against the sides of your head, and you wonder for a second if he could pop your skull like a balloon. You consider saying no and demanding he just tell you the answer, but the look on the Toymaker’s face is so intense that you cannot refuse. It’s that terrible curiosity in you, willing you to stand at the edge of the universe and take a step off the cliff.

So you do as your bid, and close your eyes…

…only to awaken in a void.

To say there is nothing around you is an understatement. Your idea of nothingness is very particular: blackness; emptiness, an absence of sound and light. But this is something else entirely. You can’t even feel the lack of something in this place because there simply isn’t anything to feel. From the moment you open your eyes you feel the contradiction of yourself as a physical being, standing in this vacant not-space. There is less than nothing here. There is zilch. There is negative zero. There is null.

You try to get your bearings by looking around, but there are no bearings to get. This is a nothingness which exists beyond your comprehension. Just standing in this nothingness makes your jaw tighten and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. This is a phobic realm which is the antithesis to life.

And it is so, so cold. 

“This is where I grew up.”

You jump. The Toymaker is standing beside you, arms folded behind his back. He surveys the nothingness with humble respect, the way a weary sailor surveys the ocean.

“How?” You try looking around again, but without anything to anchor gaze on, your eyes just swing back round to the Toymaker. “There’s nothing here.” 

“Nothing except for me.”

The Toymaker sits down on the emptiness, cross-legged. Feeling discombobulated in the lack of space, you sit down too, next to him, and wonder how that’s possible. You hug your elbows, trying to fend off the omnipresent cold.

“We are outside of your universe,” says the Toymaker quietly. “Below it, as a matter of fact. We are in a pocket realm, like the hollow in a tree branch. Here there was nothing for a very long time…so long, that I do not know how to count it. The void is indifferent to such concepts.

“I was a child for an eternity, and many more eternities after that. Merely a conscious speck suspended in forever. At the time I had no form. No body, no face, and not really a mind. I was a collection of distant ideas and fraught, base emotions. There was no reason for me to have either a solid shape or a brain. I existed only in relation to the void, and the void went on forever. All I had to entertain myself were my games.”

With a flick of the wrist, the Toymaker conjures a ball into existence. Then another. Then another. He does this over and over again until he is juggling at least twenty balls. His hands move in a blur as he juggles the balls effortlessly. He tosses them higher and higher, so high that you have to crane your neck to see. Eventually you lose sight of the balls in the nothingness.

But then, the Toymaker sighs…and you notice that the balls are disappearing. This continues for about a minute, the balls growing fewer in number until he’s down to just three…and then there’s only two, so he’s not really juggling at all.

Finally, the Toymaker catches the last remaining ball and holds it up to your face. A frost has grown along its leathery side.

“Playing games can keep you warm,” says the Toymaker, “but only for a little while. Eventually, the cold gets in. And the cold devours everything."

“How did you survive here?” you ask quietly. You can’t raise your voice above a whisper: it feels disrespectful.

“Death isn’t something I am capable of experiencing,” says the Toymaker. “I can never die from the cold. But I can still feel it.” 

The Toymaker looks at the ball in his hand, and it catches fire. You gasp and pull away, but the fire only burns for a few seconds: the flames are quickly extinguished by a new crop of frost, growing over the ball’s surface like a disease.

In moments, the Toymaker is holding nothing but a ball of ice.

“I’m…sorry,” you say.

It’s a feeble reply, and you know it. The cold here is wrapped into the environment itself. This no-space could well be made of nothing but a creeping, insidious chill. It’s worse than the kind of cold which slams into you, like the jump from the shower to a towel on a winter night, or the way your cheeks are slapped when stepping outside on a snowy day.

This cold is sinister. 

It waits.

It seeks out warmth wherever it can, wraps itself around that spark of heat, and crushes it frozen.

The Toymaker runs hot, you remember with a shiver.

No wonder. The Toymaker fends off your weak sympathies with a shake of his head. He stares off into the nothingness, and continues to speak.

“I thought it would just be me and the void forever. But then one day, I heard laughter! It was a sound utterly foreign to me. I was so frightened, I spent millennia curled tight up into a ball, cringing away from the sound. But I could hear them now…beings, with shape and light and thoughts. As the epochs stretched before me and the void remained still, I found myself drawn to their laughter.”

The Toymaker’s eyes glitter with recollection. “I learnt how to poke small peepholes into the fabric of the void, and peer through at the shapes. And oh, the things I saw! These beings, they played games , just like me! Games which used pieces and strategies and all manner of wonderful toys. I wanted to have them all. Needed to have them. So I did. I fashioned myself fingers, and with those fingers I fashioned toys and toys and toys, enough to fill up every child’s toy room in every universe!"

You watch as the Toymaker trembles with excitement. His voice has swollen to fit the void: a rallying cry against the darkness. He looks so proud of himself…but only for a moment. 

“After a while, my toys grew old,” he says sadly. “They say a boy becomes a man when he must throw his toys onto the fire in order to keep himself warm...and the cold never stops. I realised that wood and string were all well and good, but they had no personality of their own…and I had no opponent.”

The Toymaker turns to you then. There’s a manic look in his eye. “So I began to lure in the flesh-and-blood creatures,” he says. “It was easy enough once I learned to assume their shape…especially the early ones, who weren’t so bright. And what shapes I would become! I enjoy this shape so much that I’ve decided to keep it permanently, with the odd touch-up every half-century or so. Being handsome helps bring in the players.”

There goes that easy wink again, smooth and charming and drawing you in like the lure on an anglerfish.

“And…that’s why you’re here today?” you ask. “You just want to play games with us?” 

The Toymaker’s laugh is mean. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says. “All that exists is to win, or to lose. I don’t want to play games with you. I simply want to win.”

The two of you stand in silence for a while, contemplating the nothingness. The longer you stay, the more you can feel the chill sliding its icy fingers over your flesh. It crawls up your socks and settles into the gaps behind your knees. It causes wet, cold dew to form at the edges of your eyelashes. It even seeps into the spaces between your skin and fingernails.

You wish you hadn’t asked for this Truth.

“One point to you, Toymaker,” you say through chattering teeth.

The Toymaker starts: clearly he’d forgotten all about you. The void has a sobering effect on him, it seems. How did a little boy manage to have any imagination in this place at all? “Yes,” says the Toymaker with a worn smile. “One point each.”

The next time you blink, the void is gone. You are returned to the familiar warmth of the toyshop, and are still sitting at the table across from the Toymaker. But now, even as the cold sloughs off your skin and your cheeks begin to heat up again, you can see the toyshop for what it is. The bright lights and colourful attractions are nothing more than decorative wallpaper for a frozen, ephemeral darkness, ever-creeping in on the corners of your vision.

When the Toymaker speaks again, his German is back in full force, and you wonder if he’s trying to stave off how frightened he really is.

“Zat is vier turns down,” he says. “Mit only zwei to go. I ge-believe it is my turn, ja?”

Oh, hell: he’s right. You’d gotten so caught up in the impossibility of the Toymaker’s mind that you’d forgotten you’re playing a very dangerous game. But the Toymaker’s smile looks fake now, and the way his eyes glimmer seems less like mischief, and more like withheld tears. For the first time you want to stop this game…not just for you, but for the Toymaker too.

But that’s not how this would be played. The rules are fixed, and you’ve seen what the consequences could be. Worse, you only have one response left to give. By the way the Toymaker is grinning at you, you know he’s remembered this rule too.

“Truth or Dare?” he asks.

You swallow, before giving the only answer you can: “Truth.”

The Toymaker laughs a little too loud. “Now, you had better nots ge-try to get out of zis one,” he says. “I vant you to tell me dee truth: vot exactly is your fantasy? I vill be requiring details.” 

There it is: the question this whole game has been building up to. This situation is impossible and ridiculous. Here you sit, surrounded by beautiful toys in your gorgeous dress, playing a game with an unbelievable, broken man who can rewrite your entire reality with nothing more than a thought. Yet you still can’t just open your mouth and give him the answer. Somehow, even in the face of impossible adversity, you are still beholden to your human embarrassment.

“If I tell you…” you say slowly. “...Do you promise not to laugh?” 

The Toymaker’s eyebrows knit together. He looks distressed by the question. “All players should be treated with respect,” he replies.

That’s not the answer I want, but it’s the only answer he can give , you think. But maybe that’s the key here. You would never willingly part with this information…but the Toymaker just did the same thing for you. He didn’t have to show you where he came from. He could have talked around it, given you the crib notes, and you would have been none the wiser. The Toymaker showed you vulnerability just by allowing you into his history.

You owe him that same level of respect.

“I didn’t get much attention when I was growing up,” you say. “It wasn’t a bad upbringing, but I was just kind of…left, a lot of the time. I wasn’t looked after. There was always some sort of problem that needed fixing, and my parents never had time for me. No one bothered to check on me, so I just had to figure things out for myself. I spent most of my time alone in my room…just me and my toys.”

“That sounds familiar,” says the Toymaker, and the sympathy in his voice is real. “How did you pass your time?”

“I took my toys apart,” you say. “I think my parents felt guilty for leaving me alone a lot, so there was never a shortage of toys. But I wanted to figure out how they worked. That seemed much more interesting than actually playing with them, you know?” 

The Toymaker smiles with approval. “Dee keen eye of a toymaker is a gift,” he says. “But I sense you are delaying your real story…” 

You curse inwardly: again, he’s right. You cannot hide any longer.

“I took apart all of my toys…except for my dolls.”

That gets the Toymaker’s attention: those bright blue eyes light up with interest. “Go on.”

“I had a set of five dolls,” you say quietly. “Generic dolls. Sparkly, brushable hair, and little swappable outfits. Nothing special. But even when I was really small I couldn’t hurt them. I was terrified of damaging them in any way. There weren’t any other kids around to talk to, and my parents weren’t home, so I just…talked to the dolls instead. I knew it was weird, but in my head the dolls were more sentient than my other toys. I thought they could really understand me.”

The Toymaker starts back up in his German voice: “Ah, zere is nothing more ge-saddening zan a lonely Kind. Zat is why decapitating poor Neil vas being no problem for you, zen?” 

“Yeah. It still hurt, but not for the reasons it would hurt most people.” You swallow; this is the really difficult part. “The older I got, the more toys I had, but I never added to my doll collection. My parents would joke all the time about how I was becoming a ‘little lady’. When I became a teenager there was so much pressure to be pretty, and girly…and it made me feel sick. So I tried to fight back against it. I cut my hair, I swore off pink, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress.”

The words stick in your throat. You look up at the Toymaker, hoping for some kind of mercy, but you don’t find it. But he isn’t mocking you, either: he just sits and waits for you to continue.

“I locked my dolls away,” you say. “I pretended I had thrown them out…but secretly, I’d sneak them out, and play with them. I’d brush their hair, and mend their dresses. I still do.”

The Toymaker leans in. “Why?”

“I…I wanted to be like them,” you whisper. “They are so pretty. The long, flowing dresses and the perfect makeup…they’re dazzling in a way I could never be. I can never, ever be that beautiful.”

You twist the fabric of your dress between your fingers fitfully, and force yourself to say it: 

“I always wanted to be someone’s favourite doll."

There’s silence in the toyshop. You stare down at your lap, your heart pounding and your face flushed. Stupid, stupid…! Your eyes well up with hot tears. You can’t bring yourself to look at the Toymaker.

“Und zen you arrive here,” he says. “Meine beautiful dollen drew you in.”

“Yes,” you say quietly. “If I can’t be loved like a doll, then at least I can give them love instead. If I were a doll, maybe things would be easier, you know? Maybe…”

You can’t help the little choke-sob which escapes your lips.

“...maybe someone would take care of me."

The tears fall freely into your lap now and stain the beautiful fabric of your dress dark. You feel disgusting: worthy of ridicule. I deserve whatever happens to me now, you think, your brain awash with old, dark feelings you’ve kept locked up just like the dolls in your closet.

But it’s the Toymaker who snaps you out of his reverie. You didn’t hear him move, but you flinch when his fingers slide under your chin and tilt up your face towards him. Your tears cast him in a watery halo.

“Mein Liebling, stop ge-crying,” he says. “I have made sehr many dollen over dee years, und many of zem have been beautiful. But you are somesing else entirely entirely. Ein living, breathing, villing doll, so cute und poseable. Oh, you und I vill have zo many adventures together! You could be mein prized possession, und I vill hold you and play vith you from dawn zu dusk.”

The Toymaker’s words send a shudder through your body. Blood thrums at the surface of your skin and pools in your cheeks and neck. The Toymaker leans in until your noses are almost touching. He’s so very close to you now…close enough that he could kiss you. 

But just before he reaches your lips, the Toymaker moves to the side and whispers into your ear:

“Dee game is not yet over, meine schöne dollen. You have one final question to ge-ask of me. Do it, und zis vill all be over…one vay or another.”

You can feel him smiling gently against your hair, and it makes you want to sob. Oh, please let this torture end…! But you’re in the Toymaker’s grasp now, in the final throes of his game, and you know you have to finish this or your suffering will never be over. There is only one turn left. You have to try, one last time, or you would spend the rest of your life at the beck and call of this madman.

“Truth or Dare?” you manage to croak out.

The Toymaker lets your face go. “Dare."

You take a deep breath. This is your last chance.

“Let me go.”

The Toymaker takes a long, long moment to process your answer…and then he starts to laugh. Really, really hard. The tinkling arpeggio of his laughter builds and builds until it seems to shake the very walls of the toyshop. For a moment, you are terrified that it’s all going to come crumbling down like a house of cards.

“Oh, perhaps becoming ein dollen hast eroded deine brain, ja?” says the Toymaker, the arrogance flashing in his teeth. “I am not ein genie you kann outsmarts. I am afraid zat since letting you go ist your prize, you cannot request it of me. So, you have lost ein point, putting us at a tie…und you must complete ein forfeit once more.”

No. No. NO! “That’s not fair!” you yell. The tears are streaming down your face in earnest now; all of the distress of this game and the Toymaker’s psychological torment can no longer be contained. 

“Oh, und here comes dee tantrum,” says the Toymaker with a sigh. “I hates it ven zey get like zis. You must have ein forfeit…und I think I have dee perfekt idea to stop your ge-crying.”

The Toymaker snaps his fingers again. You open your mouth to scream at him…but nothing comes out.

You try again, but your mouth just flops open like a fish, with no sound attached to it whatsoever.

The Toymaker has stolen your voice. 

“I have assisted you in another core aspect of your doll transformation,” says the Toymaker, the British swooping in over his tongue with ease. “I do not think most dolls can talk, do you?”

You awful…! But the words can’t even die on your tongue, because they never reach your tongue in the first place. There is a total disconnect between your mouth and your brain. Although you can fashion your lips into the correct shapes and try to push the air into forming syllables, none of them can escape your mouth.

The Toymaker has silenced you, taking away perhaps your only remaining asset in this game.

You mentally tally up the points, and realise he’s right. You are now tied, and six turns have passed. 

“But I cannot tolerate a tie. Dee rules dictate zat ve must perform a tie-breaker challenge…” His accent ripples between the German and British easily, as if he can’t decide between childish delight and cool professionalism. “Do you have any suggestions for a tie-breaker?"

The devastation of losing your voice almost made you look over this detail. Yes, he’s right: for all of your suffering, the Toymaker hasn’t actually managed to get a point over you. That means all is not lost.

That means you still have a chance to win.

But you cannot strategise in a vacuum: much less when you can’t speak. The Toymaker looks at you in amusement, as if expecting you to try and talk anyway. You could have written a message down on a piece of paper, or typed it on your phone, but you decide not to give him the satisfaction. The Toymaker has already gotten you on the rules twice: you are going to play within his boundaries and win fair and square. 

You don’t see where he produces the hat from. A flourish of the arm, and it’s suddenly in his hands: a beautiful top hat which would have gone perfectly with a tuxedo. The Toymaker flips the hat over and proffers it to you.

“Ladies first,” he says with a sly smile. 

You reach into the hat and are surprised to find a variety of small, paper tickets. After some rustling around, you pull one out and read it. When you do, your eyes go wide.

WHOEVER HOLDS THEIR BREATH THE LONGEST IS THE WINNER.  “Vot fun!” exclaims the Toymaker, clapping his hands together in excitement. “I must ge-varn you, I am a very gut schwimmer, and kann hold mein breath for ein long time.” 

But do you even have a lung capacity?! is what you would have asked if you could. How was this fair? The Toymaker is clearly an extradimensional being, and his physical body doesn’t seem to conform to the laws of physics, space or time…anything that would put a real challenge to this game. But you can’t say so: you have no way of telling him.

Besides…is it cheating if that’s just how he is? Is it cheating if he’s just better at the game?

A loud tick-tocking draws your eye to the right side of the toyshop. Against the wall (where it definitely didn’t exist before) is a grandfather clock. Both of the clock’s hands are almost at the 12. This was news to you; you’d arrived at the toyshop sometime around 8pm.

“Ve vill begin when ze clock strikes twelve,” says the Toymaker. “Zere are no fancy rules…ve just start ge-holdings our breath, until eins of us cannot anymore.”

The grandfather clock ticks closer to your demise. You look at the Toymaker in desperation, clasping your hands together in a silent plea…but he just looks at you coolly. Now, you are nothing but an opponent to defeat. You are an obstacle ready to be demolished. 

Well, I am not helpless. If anyone is going to decide the winner of this game, it’s going to be me. With only thirty seconds remaining, you fish around in the pocket of your backpack and pull out your phone. You set up your video camera, prop the phone up against a toy monkey holding a pair of cymbals, and hit the record button.

“Ah,” says the Toymaker. “In case of ein photo-finish. Gut idea.”

There’s a cold fire in his eyes now: something which ignited when he took you into his personal void. You have no moves left, and no gameplay strategies to implement. It is clear that he is the master of games, and you may as well already be his doll. 

But hell, you are going to try your best.

The grandfather clock strikes twelve with a loud, booming chime, and you suck in the largest breath of your life. You don’t balloon out your cheeks: instead you opt for a subtle approach learnt from musical training, where you draw in the oxygen deep into your lungs and will it to sit there for as long as you can handle.

By comparison, the Toymaker doesn’t look like he’s holding his breath at all. You merely hear him stop breathing. He looks totally at ease.

The first ten seconds are child’s play.

The first twenty seconds are fine.

The first thirty seconds are acceptable.

But by the forty-second mark a playful fire start to burn in your chest, and the urge to take a breath begins to beg. Inside you curse yourself, wishing that you’d practised— but why on earth would I have practised such a useless game?! You look at the Toymaker. Big mistake. He waggles his eyebrows at you silently, rippling them in an over-the-top-sultry manner. You feel your lips quirking up into a smile…You can’t believe it! He’s trying to make you laugh!

So much for respecting the rules, you think to yourself. Your chest is really starting to hurt now. But then you wonder, is that really cheating? If the Toymaker can try to make you laugh, what if you can make him laugh too? But you shut down that idea immediately: if you prancing around in a frilly dress singing I’m A Little Teapot didn’t make him laugh (just clap!), you didn’t have a chance in hell.

Oh no. What is he doing now? While trying to focus on holding your breath, the Toymaker had conjured two familiar puppets on the ends of his hands: Punch and Judy. With a final, victorious wink, the Toymaker begins a silent, over-the-top slapstick routine with the puppets. Even without dialogue you recognise the beats of the show; Mr Punch is a mess of a man, overwhelmed by the demands of his wife and baby (the latter brought into being with a tiny, adorable puppet the Toymaker wears on one of his thumbs). His hands move with such finesse that the puppets almost look real.

Such a gaudy routine wouldn’t have been enough to make you laugh by itself, but the Toymaker brings a whole new dimension with his wonderfully expressive face. Each time the long-suffering Judy begins a voiceless tirade of her husband (i.e., throwing little puppet-objects at his face), the Toymaker supplements Punch’s depression with a frown worthy of a theatre mask. When Punch manages to land a hit on his wife or baby (My God, were these shows always so violent?), the Toymaker grins with such deranged glee that you can’t help but find it hilarious.

Oh no. You look at the clock: it’s been a minute, and your chest is really starting to hurt. The Toymaker and his puppets make your cheeks puff out with the effort of not laughing.

He smirks at you as Punch picks up his wife and baby and tosses them into the air, punting them like footballs. It’s so absurd and ridiculous that you can feel the giggle rising up in your chest. You desperately want to open your mouth and suck in oxygen but you can’t, you simply can’t, because if you do you’ll lose the game and he’ll keep you here forever…!

As your remaining seconds tick closer to your inevitable failure, you close your eyes. You want to have one last moment to remember yourself as you are, because you are sure whatever the Toymaker is going to do to you will not be pleasant.

Your chest aches. Your cheeks bulge. Your will starts to unravel.

And then, you have the idea.

It’s a stupid idea, and with barely any seconds left to execute it, you have no guarantee that it will work. But as you open your eyes and look at the Toymaker’s smug ‘I’ve already won!’ expression, you know you have no choice but to follow through with your mad plan.

So, holding on to every last bit of breath you have, you lunge at the Toymaker—

—and envelop him in a bone-crushing hug.

Several things happen at once:

The first is the Toymaker exclaiming in surprise, his breath clearly lost, and dropping his puppets, which dissolve into ash as soon as they hit the floor. 

The second is your desire to breathe finally overpowering you as you collapse against the Toymaker, and the two of you tumble to the floor. 

The third is the grandfather clock exploding. Just as you hit the ground the clock bursts apart, firing out wooden shrapnel with a horrifying bang! On reflex you huddle yourself against the nearest form of safety, which in this case happens to be the Toymaker’s chest.

You weren’t expecting him to hold you back.

The two of you stay like that for some time: you and the Toymaker, on the floor together, breathing heavily and wrapped up in each other’s arms. Despite your own adrenaline, you can’t understand the Toymaker’s terror: surely he caused the clock to blow up? He certainly wasn’t in any danger.

But then you hear a sound you couldn’t hear before. It’s the thrumming of the Toymaker’s heart, loud and insistent and desperate to survive. You hear it through the fabric of his waistcoat, and feel it in the pulse of his neck. For just a moment, the Toymaker seems to be just as human as you.

You wonder if the Toymaker’s mortality is contextual.

Eventually, you manage to disentangle yourself from the Toymaker’s limbs. You peek at the smoking remains of the grandfather clock, and are relieved to see that nothing has caught fire: there’s just a scorched, black mark where the clock once existed. The shards of wood which exploded out from the clock have disappeared.

Thankfully, your phone is untouched! You pick it up, pause the recording and watch it back. A smile stretches across your face.

“Oh, Toymaker!” you say, and you are so very pleased that your voice has returned. “You’re going to want to take a look at this.” 

When the Toymaker climbs to his feet, you are immensely amused to see that his perfect curls have been knocked a bit by the explosion. For the first time since you met, the Toymaker is dishevelled and confused. It’s a cute look on you, you think.

“You broke my game,” says the Toymaker incredulously. “How did you do that?”

“No idea,” you grin. “Maybe it was an unexpected outcome. Still within the rules, still a valid way to win, just…unorthodox.”

You show the Toymaker the recording. You watch as his expression turns from bafflement, to despair, to outright blazing anger.

“No!” the Toymaker cries. “You can’t have beat me!”

But the camera never lies. The footage on your phone clearly picks up the Toymaker gasping in shock as soon as you hit him with your hug…whilst you don’t gasp for air until a few seconds later, just before the grandfather clock explodes.

“Seems like I have!” you say happily.

“But I…you…” The Toymaker’s fingers flex in the air meaninglessly, as if looking for a straw to grasp. “But that’s cheating!” 

“No it isn’t,” you say with confidence. “There was nothing in the rules about us not being able to make each other lose our breath. If you making me laugh was a valid strategy, then me hugging you was too. Either we both cheated, or no one did.”

The Toymaker looks like he’s been slapped, and it is a delicious feeling. You almost want to pinch his cheeks. With a pout fixing his lips, the Toymaker snaps his fingers…and your clothes return to normal. Your dress is gone, replaced by the clothes you entered the shop with.

(Is it a little silly to be regretful of that fact…?)

“I still say that shouldn’t count,” says the Toymaker sullenly. “That was an underhanded tactic. I’ll be writing that into the rules next time.”

But you’ve turned away from the Toymaker now—he obviously needs to work through his sore-loser feelings in his own time. You trot over to the doll shelf, pick up the beautiful doll in the powder-blue dress and cradle her in your arms. She truly is a wonderful prize.

When you turn back around, the Toymaker is sitting on the floor with his hands hugging his knees. You feel a pang of sympathy for the man…it seems this really is his whole life.

“But why did you hug me?” the Toymaker asks, baffled. “That’s not a winning strategy. You just surprised me. You were so…”

The Toymaker looks up at you with shining eyes. This time, his eyes really are wet with tears.

“...Warm,” he whispers.

The triumph of your win quickly sours on your tongue. The way the Toymaker is looking at you gives you a powerful feeling…and it’s not one that you like. Even though every part of you is telling you to make a run for the door while you have this post-win window…you don’t.

Instead, you sit down cross-legged on the floor next to the Toymaker, just like you did when in the void. You even bump your shoulder against his.

“I’ve been sad a lot in my life,” you say. “But I’ve never felt as much sadness as I did in your void. And it made me wonder if…you’d ever been held before.”

The Toymaker looks at you with flashing eyes. His bottom lip trembles as if he’s trying to hold back a lifetime of grief. He doesn’t say anything, but those eyes tell you all you need to know. 

“I wouldn’t mind coming around here sometimes,” you say gently.

The Toymaker looks at you like you’ve got two heads. “You would voluntarily subject yourself to my life-or-death games?”

“Maybe not the life-or-death part,” you say hastily. “But I had fun today. Weird, horrible fun. You’re kind of a weird and horrible guy…and I’m pretty weird too.”

To your surprise, the Toymaker actually laughs at that. “You are unique, meine Liebling,” he says, German once more. “To out-ge-smart me, you must be.”

“Well…maybe it’s a good thing we met,” you say. “Maybe you don’t need to keep luring in suspecting people to your shop, Toymaker. Some of us might actually want to stick around and play. And maybe…”

You rest your head against the Toymaker’s shoulder.

“...Maybe I could help keep the cold out for a while.” 

The Toymaker and you sit in silence for some time, listening to the gentle whirs and clicks of the toys going about their business. You keep your new doll tucked between your legs, and your cheek resting against the Toymaker’s shoulder. He’s so warm that you find your eyelids fluttering: you could easily fall asleep right here.

It’s a surprise when you feel the Toymaker’s fingers sliding into your own. You look at him, and see those telling blue eyes alive with fresh excitement.

“It’s a deal,” says the Toymaker, with an enormous, brilliant smile.

You let the Toymaker pull you to your feet. To your amusement, he grants you a deep, formal bow.

“Run along now, meine Schatz…today must have been ge-xhausting for you. But I shall be seeing you again soon, ja?"

Other people would not have caught it, but you know what loneliness sounds like: you hear the edge of desperation at the edge of the Toymaker’s voice. You take a step back and return the bow with a curtsey.

“Ja, genau,” you grin.

The Toymaker’s smile could have outshone the sun.

That night, when you return home, you take all of your dolls out of your closet. You line them up with care on your shelf, making sure to pose them prettily and smooth out the creases in their frocks.

But you keep your new doll in your hand, and clamber into bed with her. Before you turn out the light, you look one last time at her perfect, dimpled face.

Oh, what games will you and the Toymaker play next?

[frukmerunning]

How do you reconcile the Nazi-apologia aspects of Hetalia as a Jewish fan (I presume you are Jewish because you made a Passover headcanon, if you are not, apologies). I don't mean this as a callout or accusation or anything, I'm asking for advice. I'm also Jewish, and I want to enjoy Hetalia, like, I stumbled on this fandom and this anime and I want to enjoy it! But I can't get the guilt and shame out of the back of my head.

I don't think Himaru intentionally meant Hetalia to be anti-Semetic. I'm not accusing anyone of being a Holocaust denier for engaging in this fandom. But it doesn't change the fact that this anime is about the Axis Powers during WWII and they're portrayed as good guys. Like, you can't even argue they're villain protagonists or anything they're just straight up lil cinnamon rolls. And it is fucking adorable, but it makes me feel so dirty! Like, its not intentional but when I'm watching any WWII episode or reading one of the WWII strips I'm watching it feels like Nazi apologia. And when these characters' fascist uniforms are their standard designs, when the imagery of fascism is used without context, it unintentionally erases the real, extremely fucked up, and personally traumatizing, history.

So how do you personally find a balance? Like how do you engage in a way you feel like doesn't cause further harm? How do you reconcile canon, history, and your own thoughts on these characters? And do you have any advice on how I can?

I've thought a lot about this question since I got it, and I have a lot of thoughts but I don't know if I can organize them very well. （also yes I am Jewish you assumed right)

So I guess the first thing I'll tackle is that my own thoughts on the characters trump everything in canon, especially with Germany. For an American, I have a pretty strong connection with Germany. I've had a German penpal since I was 13, I've visited Germany, one of my favorite professors was German, and right before I started typing this I spent almost 3 hours talking with the German students that come to the music camp I work at. I've met a LOT of Germans in my relatively short life, so I have that personal connection to influence my thoughts on the Hetalia character. And I've completely separated my view on the German people from my view on that time in their history. I think then it was easy for me to separate the character Germany from that time in history.

Bouncing off from that, Hetalia isn't REALLY about WW2. Yes, the catalyst for Germany, Italy, and Japan being friends is WW2, but there's nothing in the anime that is explicitly WW2. The "battle" scenes take place on a deserted island, their "war meetings" amount to nothing, and no specific dates or events are really mentioned when WW2 is involved. Now in the manga, however, I kinda just steer clear of the specific WW2 stuff?? But even then the only example of Hima explicitly mentioning something that happened in WW2 I can actually recall is an old strip about the Anschluss. That strip is from very early Hetalia though and Hima has definitely shifted his focus to other aspects of world history and culture.

Another thing about Hetalia is that pretty much everyone is a "good guy". There are no real antagonists or villains. There are literally only protagonists, with the main protagonists being the axis powers.

From your ask I kinda gather that you're very new to Hetalia and maybe you have the wrong impression of the anime and fandom from people who hate it. But honestly, Hetalia is not inherently antisemetic or even about WW2 when you really get down to the meat of it. Hetalia is a comedy anime and it doesn't take itself or the things it's presenting seriously (with some exceptions). Hima doesn't really doesn't delve too deeply into ANY of the history he potrays, so it would be a little out of place to see him addressing the very serious war crimes committed by those countries.

Also idk where to fit this in, but the countries in Hetalia are not representative of their government, but their people. Which I think is how Hima avoids talking about serious war crimes committed by governments. He's more interested in talking about culture, rather than history. Or he uses historical settings to talk about fun facts or culture.

I understand feeling guilty though. Personally, I avoid the historical hetalia side of the fandom, just so I never run the risk of seeing something weird (not saying that people regularly write that kind of stuff). In my own art and thoughts about the show, I'm more interested in portraying the characters as real, modern people, based on my own experiences with people from those countries. I also do a lot with my favorite character Austria, who is jewish coded. My favorite characters in the series are the axis affiliated ones, countries I've visited and met people from and built a connection with. But I've also been in the fandom for 10+ years at this point, so it's much easier for me to entirely change Hima's characters and morph them into something that fits what I want.

I'm really tired because I've been working a music camp all week, so I hope this makes sense. I definitely have more thoughts and I'd love to talk to you more about this, please feel free to dm me here and we can exchange discords or something. I always like talking to other jewish hetalia fans, and I think it's nice to have these kinds of conversations so we can help each other.

But to answer your question in a short way - I just don't think about it. Maybe that makes me a bad person but it's what I have to do at this point, because I can't not like hetalia

[abovecalamity]

In school I’ve had this subject called “values and norms” which was my favourite, for one because taking it meant I could stop taking religion as a subject and because it was a fascinating mix between language, anthropology, philosophy and psychology.

I just had to think about the time we’ve spent arguing or passionately discussing different language models and how many things matter when it comes to how we intent things we say and how others receive them. How one person could receive what I say as a joke and another could be deeply offended. How I could mean something as a serious compliment and how the recipient could receive it as a mockery of them because it’s what they’re insecure about. How I could be truly sincere about an apology but that doesn’t mean it has to be accepted or received as sincere.

And because none of you can even listen to my rambles in my voice, look at my expressions or gestures while I text you virtually, the only thing left to determine intent and reception are the words that we choose.

No one knows I giggle when I write “fuck off” unless we’ve established a room for that lighthearted meaning mutually.

No one knows I just used a word for the first time and anticipate a response in agony because FUCK English is my second language.

Look, there are plenty of texts I’ve read about this, varying in complexity and all of them in German but I’ve just had the urge to talk about this.

We can never truly KNOW how someone will receive something we say and ESPECIALLY not when we don’t even get any other clues, when we don’t hear it a certain way, see it.

I’ve also had a blast with the concept that each language creates its own universe and that we can’t TRULY translate stuff and how that means I can mean something with an English phrase and never really get what it means to a native EVEN though I think I do because I utilise the language differently in my brain and—

I should cut it._.

[ladyvictoriadiana]

Why the "good faith" argument doesn't work for HP/ JKR

TL; DR: JKR has, even though the discussion of racism and anti-Semitism in Harry Potter has been around for decades, never shown any support for a good faith interpretation of her works by acknowledging and apologizing for her "mistakes" - quite the contrary.

As the upcoming Harry Potter HBO series will undoubtedly, as has the publication of the latest Wizarding World Videogame, lead to an influx of "good faith" arguments by liberal HP fans who want to find reasons to watch the show without feeling guilty for compromising on their values. And I just want to help debunk these arguments*.

To break it down: Many liberal fans I've seen argue against a boycott of Rowling's works or related franchises use the following argument: "JK Rowling didn't know what she was doing, we should consider her works in good faith and not project our modern sensibilities on it" - this is basically a version of the "They are just a person of their time" argument that gets used all the time. However, this just doesn't work - especially in 2023.

Why? Well, because JKR has never shown any support for this argument herself. The arguments of racism and anti-semitism being present in the books (published 1997-2007) and movies (released 2001-2011) have been around for quite a while - just by searching for the keywords on Google and specifying the articles to be released between 1997 and 2001 I found a variety of articles on both topics which mentioned the portrayal of goblins as anti-semitic stereotypes [1] and discusses how race is portrayed in the book [2]. By widening the search parameters to include the end of the movie releases, I found more articles in a similar vein, arguing both sides of the aisle.

This means that JKR, at this point, has had over 22 years to address these concerns and clarify her stance both on racism and anti-semitism**. If she were acting in good faith, she would have done so. She would have, at some point between now and 1997, put out a statement along the lines of: "I have been made aware that my books/movies contain racist and anti-semitic stereotypes that harm the marginalized communities. I was not aware of how much harm I was causing because of the privileges I have experienced as well as a lack of critical thinking skills at the time of writing these books. I am deeply sorry for any harm that I have caused and will ensure that future publications will do their best to minimize this damage. Furthermore, I will endeavor to educate myself further on both of these topics and will, additionally, donate x amount of money to charities that support anti-racist and Jewish causes." Now, I am sure that JKR and her agency would be much better at formulating such a statement than me, but you see what I mean.

Now, concrete measures would, of course, have depended on when precisely such a statement was published and how it was published - in collaboration with publishers or Warner Brothers or only by JKR herself. But the fact that such a statement was never published and that JKR seems to have taken no measures to support those communities she has harmed to me suggests that she is fine with what she wrote/produced. And that, to me, suggests that she is, at best, ignorant and, at worst, racist and/or anti-Semitic.

I can understand making mistakes and being blinded by your privilege - I myself for the longest time did not realize why certain tropes in German fairy tales (and Harry Potter) as well as a variety of other books I read as a child/teenager are anti-semitic and/or racist and also had to be educated by other, better-informed people (largely online but also at uni). Making mistakes is understandable - but how you deal with them shows your true character and intent. And JKR, in my opinion, has not dealt with her "mistakes" (if you are willing to extend her enough good faith to call them that) in a way that shows she has matured, educated, and informed herself.

On the contrary, as her latest release within The Wizarding World shows, she is still using anti-semitic tropes literal decades after people first brought to the public's attention how problematic this is and how she is harming vulnerable communities with her works and her seal of approval on related franchises. Rather, she seems to be doubling down, which shows her lack of concern for the Jewish community and her lack of willingness to change.

This is what should turn any liberal HP fan off the works and any, especially official, related works forever - not that JKR lacked critical reading and thinking skills in 1997 when she first created the goblins from pre-existing folklore and created a world that claims to be race-blind but has an entire creature-race of slaves but that she still has not made any changes in her attitude or her work to show that she is aware that she made mistakes and caused harm.

Please feel free to add additional commentary, especially if you are part of communities hurt by JKR, as well as sources or opinions to this post. If I have said anything that you consider wrong or problematic, please do contact me via this post or via DMs - I have tried, in the last years, to educate myself as best as possible but I am aware that I am not perfect. I also hope it provides some arguments when coming across remaining HP fans.

*Just to clarify: I myself am neither Jewish nor am I a person of color and I would ask you to not just read my post but also read content by members of both communities discussing their concerns with Harry Potter/ JK Rowling. I will also not argue against these points from the perspective of either of these groups (because I don't belong to them) but rather wish to provide a general argument.

[1] https://www.nytimes.com/2001/11/26/movies/potter/readers-comment-on-harry-potter-and-the-sorcerers-stone.html

[2] https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2000/07/31/under-the-spell

** I am aware that JK Rowling, in the early 2000s, visited a Holocaust Museum and compared the ideologies of Deatheaters and Voldemort to the ideologies of the Nazis - however, this does not address the issue of her using anti-semitic stereotypes to portray the goblins in both her books and movies (and just always felt a bit icky to me personally).

[sweetpiccolo-blog]

hii, here about the mashups

what i like to do as hobbies are reading novels (especially romance), watching movies, dancing and workout.

i have asian features, my height is 161 cm. have a brown hair that reach my lower back and also a very dark brown eyes.

i speak fluent indonesian and english, because i am from indonesia. also speaks German since i am currently studying in Germany. can also understand some mandarin (bcs i'm half chinese) and korean.

I am actually an ambivert but my mbti says that i am leaning more towards the extrovert side (ENFJ) 😂. always shy around some new people that i met, but can be really talkative and "crazy" if i am comfortable with them. my zodiac sign is Leo.

i like to cook and go for a walk around a lake or just enjoying the nature. really like to travel to new countries and cities. also love Dogs and been a Ferrari and Redbull fan since i started watching F1.

i really dislike chemistry with a passion and insects.

thank you in advance 🫶🏻

Hi fellow ENFJ!!! How are your studies in Germany? I find it very impressive that you study so far away from your home. Hope you like these matches!💙: D

A/N: Hey guys, I want to apologize for the wait. I deeply appreciate your asks and I want to write them, but I kinda have to balance school, sleep and work. I could write faster but I do not want to half-ass the asks. I enjoy answering them and I wanna be sure I do my best on all of them. It might take longer for me to answer you, but do not worry, I see your requests and I will write for you. Thank you for the patience&lt;3

This is only my opinion, so be sure to let me know what you think about it later : )

LET US GET STARTED!

Header by @dvluc

Your match is...

☆ Daniel Ricciardo☆

Even though you are shy at first with strangers, I feel like you and Daniel would instantly click together. With his charm, you would feel yourself loosening up and letting out your playfulness in a short while. He would match your “crazy” energy and get into trouble together with you. There is nothing on your job atm? You bet he is taking you along to do with him whatever he had planned without telling you what it is.

You want something? You get it. He is willing to do literally anything for you. Because you give him enough support by just being with him. His cheeks hurt from how much he smiles when you are together, but its not like he minds.

Spending time in nature… expect to get dirty. Hikes, road biking and swimming are on the programme. Even a walk can turn into a whole day adventure, because you had such a heated conversation that you didn’t notice you got off the track. A common activity would be taking the dogs from nearby shelter for a walk, even into the nature, since you can´t have a dog- Daniel travels a lot and he doesn’t want to leave not only you but your furry child as well.

I think everyone has seen Daniel dancing, so he is no stranger to grooving. When your favourite song plays, he jumps up and starts spinning you around. Don’t expect some professional moves from him though. It is just for fun to get the blood pumpin´!

You would travel a lot together. Its more fun like that. Getting to know new places together, enjoying the atmosphere and various cultures. I feel like going to countries which languages you can speak is on your to-do list. Showing Daniel where you study/studied in Germany, visiting Indonesia together and so on. You hating insects would make you not want to stay for long in Australia but Daniel swears to protect you from any creature that crawls into a 5 meter radius to you so no worries there. He’s your hero!

Of course there are days when you two don’t feel like doing much so just simply staying at home and binge watching a show or movies and cooking yourself something would do the magic. Even the most energetic people need to recharge sometimes.

BONUS: He constantly asks you what books you are reading, what they are about, how far did you get, how did it end and so on. He knows you like them and he even sometimes tries to act out certain scenes from the books and even if it doesn't work out, at least he got to make you laugh : )

[nichtspizzamitlinkemglitzer]

It is deeply important to me to let you guys know that I am Physically Incapable of reading the wird "Queer" Any other way than you would read the german word "quer".

My apologies to the community.

[woahjo]

https://www.tumblr.com/woahjo/760751446252765184/cabaret-was-genuinely-incredible-absolutely-jaw?source=share

The history undergrad anon back at it. Could you elaborate a little more if you're okay with it? I wanna hear about your experience or just your thoughts in general!!

hi again!!! and yes I would love to!! this will be long, i apologize. (i wrote an essay MY BAD) (for anyone else reading this, there are probably spoilers to the show cabaret if u are not familiar with it, beware) also i focused mainly on the production rather than the plot LOL

so unfortunately, i couldn't take any pictures since they were prohibited upon entering the theater, but in order to enter the theater we had to walk down this neon lit alley where we could hear music from the other side of the wall. it very much gave underground night club vibes. when we walked in, we were offered a free shot of schnapps and were led into the main "reception" area of the "kit kat club". "dulling the senses" which (regardless of if a shot gets u drunk LOL), served as a nice metaphor for complacency in practice.

the entire interior of the theater had been renovated to look like the interior of a 1930's bar or nightclub, including certain signage (which was in german). there were three bars inside of the theater serving drinks in glasses and eating and drinking was permitted (and arguably encouraged) during the show. i'll be real and say the theater looked unlike any other i've seen before. just the reception area was incredible, with lounge areas for you to enjoy your drinks and socialize before the show began. there were dancers and performers meandering around the theater, performing little tricks and teasing patrons before the show began (a separate cast, if im not mistaken) and even three separate musicians (not orchestra members) playing music for the dancers to perform to. it was SUPER immersive and really gave off the impression of being inside of the kit kat club.

the actual theater was MUCH smaller than expected (i think they cut over 200 seats in the renovation) and the stage was in the center of the room, with seats set up in "front" and "behind" it. the first three rows were tables (complete with phones on them because at the kit kat club "the girls call you"). i didn't get to sit in those seats, but i was a few rows behind them in the orchestra and probably about 50 feet or so from the stage itself.

since the stage was in the round (and very small, probably five - six steps across), the performers had to move through the aisles frequently in the performance and there were many moments in which they felt very "in your face". super great set up, imo. performers felt both like voyeurs of the spectacle and a part of it and it made for a VERY intimate feel through the entire show.

eddie redmayne's emcee definitely leaned more towards creepy than alluring, but that actually ended up having it's own draw as the story progressed and as the audience grew more comfortable with the sexual nature of the first act. gayle rankin's sally was energetic and deeply saddening and she played her as being very caught up in the splendors of the cabaret in an almost manic way (she made some really great choices that heightened the eerie feeling you begin to get in the second act when the nazi's become a central aspect of the story).

ANYHOO, the most notable part of the show BY FAR though, was that there came a point where i felt VERY STRANGE at being in the audience. as the characters come to recognize that the nazi's COULD rise to power and are given the choice of continuing to live in the "fantasy world" that is the cabaret or take action, there was a distinct feeling of discomfort at even being in the audience of the show. it was clearly deliberate and the immersive aspect from start to finish (including the way the theater staff behaved) really made YOU PERSONALLY feel complicit in the show's story. it was almost as if the audience was held as responsible as the characters are for political ignorance and escapism.

eddie redmayne played up on this a lot. he didn't mind the actors on stage as much as he minded the audience and the way he addressed us in these moments of high tension felt VERY sinister. his performance (for me at least), simultaneously welcomed us into the cabaret and asked us to turn a blind eye, while also chiding us for our presence there. it was great, very eerie and VERY relevant.

the whole thing felt very dream-like from start to finish. there was a lot done to intentionally make the audience feel comfortable within the setting of the show, only to slowly hit us in the idea that by being here, WE are complicit as well. like peeling a bandaid off only to realize that the wound has festered beneath it.

compared to the beginning and intermission, where the actors and dancers are directly playing with and performing for the audience, the final bows and ending had NONE of that playful tone. the bows were done in complete silence, wearing suits of muted colors. there was no smiling, no fan fare, no music, no hands to the heart, and they lasted two minutes at most, after which all of the actors fled the stage. all of the sensuality present in the beginning of the story was gone and it felt like the actors and club had been stripped to it's bare bones. the only noise was that of the crowd clapping which i found incredibly uncomfortable (in a positive way). kind of like a final way of saying "you're part of this too".

overall, the experience was really really great. cabaret in general has always been a show that intends to make you uncomfortable, both in it's splendor and in it's messaging, but the immersive aspect of the theater really heightened the former. the production was definitely a show that you are meant to "experience" rather than watch and i think it did a really beautiful job of making the audience a real part of it (something you don't typically see on broadway). it hit especially hard given the current political climate of the US (where i am from), because a lot of the conversations had in the show were also ones that i have had with people i know. ofc though, cabaret is genuinely a timeless classic and it's message continues to hold up.

i haven't actually had the pleasure of seeing other live productions of cabaret, so i don't have much in the way of the show's production history to compare it to, but as someone who appreciates more subtle choices that slowly layer on to become a very prominent and in your face message, i really appreciated the show.

[n0stalgicv0id]

Hello Angel ! I’m sorry it took so long for me to reply, I just woke up actually 💔🍓 !

I’m not studying German no, I’m studying English actually ! That’s really sweet how curious you are about me, I’m the same towards you really since I’ve rarely heard of someone who was into literature, especially such specific types in the same way I was- It’s refreshing ! And it makes for good conversation!

I’m happy you find comfort in Otello. It’s truly particular but a undeniable masterpiece- What is the book about ? Tell me everything 🍓 A dear friend of mine loves Moomins so I know what it is ! It looks extremely cozy, I should give it a watch / read !

Gothic literature is amazing, one of my favorite genres probably. My favorite book happens to be Wuthering Heights actually, I don’t know if you’ve read it ? 🍓

Don’t apologize for the pics really, I’m already grateful you took the time to show them to me, they’re perfect ! Do you happen to study music ? Or have any plan in doing so ? Please do tell me, if you want to of course !

Mmmh as French artists I listen to I would recommend "Trop beau" by Lomepal and "Je suis Malade" by Lara Fabian, two of my favorite songs 🫶 Do recommend me some music as well, I’m not too well versed into the emo genre haha !

Don’t worry, I was sleeping myself and I just opened my eyes.

When I was younger I didn’t appreciate literature, I started getting more into it after seeing and reading Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. At the time there was this girl in my class who was extremely smart, she was deeply into pink floyd and queen. I clearly remember how hungry she was for black and white movies, her passion towards science and I liked to listen to her. But clearly that at some point the madness won over her. She changed school and in general people misunderstood her, you know how vicious children can be. After that event I decided to improve myself and start reading more. I don’t have a certain reason but maybe to some extent she inspired me to improve.

The book it’s mostly a summary of the life of these two women who live together, it talks about their daily life in Finland. Both of them are eccentric, one is an artist who has tons of ideas/hobbies but never finish anything. And the other one is deeply into movies. All the chapters tell a different story and I found it extremely curious and refreshing, even though I prefer other genres but I like reading all kinds of books.

Of course I know Wuthering heights! I love Emily Brontë, especially her poetry. I always have with me a tiny book with her poems when I need to refresh my mind when I’m in the midst of creating. But my eternal appreciation for Oscar Wilde and Edgar Allan Poe is greater than anything else.

I study music to some extent. I have a vocal coach and I’m taking piano classes. Actually with maestro I was referring to my mother’s fiancé. He’s a well affirmed lyrical singer and I enjoy to talk to him when I feel troubled. As we are both artists in our own way we understand each other. I have a lot of questions and I think he’ll resolve all my current concerns. After I finish my current studies I want to try to enroll in a music conservatory. Maybe I’ll become like the Phantom of the Opera and start living under a theater - obviously a joke, I’m just having fun.

Thanks for your recommendations, I’ll let you know when I listen to them! <3

[lov3nerdstuff]

Hi Kay!

I just wanted to take a moment and say how deeply moving (and overall comforting) I find your writing to be! I've gone through almost the entirety of your masterlist twice in the past month alone and have found myself returning more often to the pieces of literature/poems your reference sometimes. (Especially that one poem by Benedict Smith! I've read a few more by him because of you and they're just wonderfully lovely 💛 so I'm eternally thankful to you for including it.)

I may be wrong in assuming, but I believe you may have studied/are currently studying a degree involving literature. I hope this isn't too foreward of me but I was wandering if you have any other works of literature that you'd recommend? (I'd love to read anything you recommend from poems to plays 💛) I'm slightly embaressed to say but the works I've read are quite limited to a highschool level and since I'm currently studying Pharmacy, there are very few people who can recommend me such moving works. :)

I also feel like I should apologise for writing such a large ask, so please accept this apology as well hehe 💕🥺

Sincerely,

Bek 🌻

Hey there Bek 💚💕✨

First of all... I'm incredibly sorry for how long it took me to reply to this ask, I know you sent it weeks ago and I'm honestly just ashamed of myself for only replying now! I've been taking a bit of a Tumblr break again, or rather a break from literally everything, and I guess not having written anything in a while made me feel guilty whenever I opened Tumblr, so... All I can say for myself really is that I'm sorry you had to wait so long! Again, I never ever ignore anyone, I promise! It just sometimes takes a while for me to reply 😅🙈

Now, I'm so happy to hear that you've been enjoying my writing! 🥺🥰 Hearing that it's comforting and inspiring to you is honestly such a relief and indeed does make me happy more than I can say 💚 It's so cool that you're checking up on all the references I make aaahhh 🥺🥺🥺 I love it 😁 You're always more than welcome, love! I don't think I could stop including references to literature, culture, history and the science around it even if I tried 😅☺️

And yeah, I did study classics and newer literature as a minor for my undergrad degree 😄 But tbh I still work with literally a lot even now (I'm in grad school for media and cultural studies) even though it's technically not something I've been properly taught ☺️ I'm just a nerd who likes to learn on her own, and with media and culture you can pretty much delve into almost anything you want 😂😅🤷🏻‍♀️

Now, it's not forward at all to ask me for literature recommendations! 😁😃 I truly love recommending stuff!!! I have a few up my sleeve, even though you've probably heard of a few already, for obvious reasons: A lot of what I truly enjoyed reading was something Tom Hiddleston has worked on in one way or another! It's truly a magnificent guideline for picking new literature... Just look up the literary origins of his films/shows/plays and you will be in for quality literature most of the time! I don't think I've ever mentioned it on here, but me reading High-Rise (JG Ballard) because I heard Tom would be partaking in the film adaptation was actually what sparked my love and passion for literature!!! Yep, it's that good. Now on to the recommendations though 😁(This... got rather long):

Plays

Anything by Harold Pinter really, but for obvious reasons you'll find a lot of additionally fun stuff for Betrayal, which is lovely and truly funny if you're in on the kind of humour btw

Medea by Euripides (a classic, but I love it nonetheless... You can find translations in almost every language) ((and pls stay away from Seneca's Medea, because ugh... Euripides is far better AND the og story, as much as anyone can say that for Greek mythology)

La Bohème by Puccini (I know, this is technically an opera, but if you read the libretto it's honestly just like a play... And if you're up for it, the og story is in prose and written by Henri Murger... It's better than the opera, but oftentimes more difficult to find) ((this one is hilarious and basically explains an entire cultural subgroup in the 19th century)

Faust by Goethe (many people hate it, but I LOVE this one!!! It's also been translated into any and every language, and it's so interesting philosophically!!! It's also referenced SO freaking often literally everywhere, and the operas and ballets based on it are always my fave) ((there's technically Faust I and Faust II, but you're good to go just reading the first one)

Anything by Shakespeare, obviously... Though I do love me my Hamlet like every other literature enthusiast (Yes, I can do that one famous soliloquy in act 3 scene 1 by heart as well...)

Poetry

Again, anything Shakespeare for the win, but I LOVE the sonnets and keep a copy of them with me most of the time (Yes, I own multiple copies of the sonnets...) ((My faves are 116 and 91, but there's always so much truth to be found in there!!!))

A lot of the stuff William Blake wrote is amazing, though you have to pick carefully with him if certain religious motives aren't your thing... I love The Tyger, which is an individual poem, and the collection of works called Tyger, Tyger which does have many good ones and a few ones that are a little more on the mediocre side

Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas (I know this one by heart as well... It's beautiful, and there's a version of Hiddleston reading it on YouTube, which gives you even more goosebumps than the poem does anyway)

Invictus by William Ernest Henley (same for this one, also read by the one and only) ((I love to read this when I'm feeling down or powerless))

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot (This is another wow piece with many quotable lines and truths... I love it a lot and keep coming back to it! It's also a great example of how literary modernism tried to condense the complexity and passing of time and history into a single frame that had to be intrinsically poetical in nature... As in, this poem could've been a short story in any other period, but modernists loved to make everything a poem so here you go)

Der Zauberlehrling by Goethe (This one sucks in all English translations I’ve found, poetically speaking, but in German it’s such a fun piece! If you’ve ever seen the Disney ‘The Sorcerer’s Apprentice’ with Mickey Mouse or listened to the orchestral piece by Paul Dukas, then this poem proves very useful in truly understanding either! But again, the English translation should only be taken for informational value... The German one is also worded hilariously)

Prose

Short edited by Alan Ziegler (This is a collection of short prose forms that honestly is a must for me... I love this book to pieces and have had it for years now! It’s an international anthology, so you’ll find more and less famous authors from all around the world represented with short stories, prose poems, short essays and just curious and interesting snippets of writing! I draw a lot of inspiration from this book)

High-Rise by JG Ballard (As mentioned above, I owe this book part of my personality... I don’t think I would be the same person without having read it. It’s not necessarily full of wisdom, but if you’re interested in a different kind of portrayal of the human condition, then this is the read you need to take a look at)

The City of Dreaming Books by Walter Moers (This is another piece that changed my perception of literature, even though this is a more ordinary and ‘fun’-value read... It’s one of my favourite books and it’s endlessly entertaining! So if the classics are a bit heavy for you, this one is perfect for casual readers as well! Its value really does lie more in the realisation of how fun literature can be, and the freedom you have as an author... So really, I could recommend everything by Moers, his style is amazing both in the German original and in the English translation. Yes, I’ve read both.)

Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett (This is comedic gold, stylistic gold and generally a bloody perfect book. Also a ‘fun’-value read, but it also does a magnificent job at showing you what you can do with literature, and how well-developed characters are supposed to be written)

The Penguin Book of the Undead (Penguin Classics) edited by Scott G. Bruce (This book is basically an education on fifteen hundred years of supernatural encounters and how culture wrote, used and perceived them. You get introductory texts for different periods and social groups, explaining how and why ghost stories were written and used, followed by passages of the prime source texts (eg. ancient necromancy shown on The Odyssey). Really, this book is just for cultural history nerds)

The Earthquake in Chile by Kleist (This isn’t necessarily one of my faves, but it has helped me understand what studying literature and culture can do for you. In case anyone remembers my insistence in Wicked Game that you gotta know what a pomegranate symbolises... this novella is such an instance where this knowledge would prove useful. Generally, it gives many opportunities to think about privilege and circumstance)

The Symposium by Plato (You’ll probably not want to read the entire collection of speeches tbh... But the concepts introduced mainly here and in some of Plato’s other work are well worth looking into! For example, the ‘double being’ introduces a concept that in modern fiction is called soulmates... Just sayin’)

[biskael]

since we're yet to hear what he sounds like in the anime i'm curious to read / hear your take on what his voice sounds like. does his voice remind you of anyone in particular and how thick is it?? how about the way he pronounces english words as well as him switching back and forth between english and german?? i am also wondering if he's fluent in any other languages?? and last, but not least, i was wondering if you had any plans / intentions on discarding his "canonical" voice, so to speak, if you feel like it doesn't suit your take on quilge??

i remember you talking about his voice once or twice but thought i'd ask anyways! i apologize for playing 20 questions i'm just inherently curious.

random meta asks / / literally accepting any time ! thank you , shin ! @oftagetes

hey there ! i appreciate your question a lot , it's really kicking me into gear this evening . 👀💖 this is honestly a question i've ... somewhat been avoiding , just because it's a little more complex to me than the usual headcanon . i have trouble describing and explaining voices , honestly . in real life , i am not the best speaker , nor can i sing , so a lot of the terminology or nuances about a person's voice can be lost on me . but i'll do my best and hope I get ... something across , at least !

one thing that's sort of tricky ... and at least inspires a lot of DISSONANCE on my behalf , is that i headcanon quilge as german , with german being his first language . so naturally , he has an accent when he speaks any other language . i studied the german language for a few years ( something i deeply wish i could've continued ! ) & practiced my accent during that time . i had friends who were exchange students , too ! i've watched german films & listen to german music , so i think i'm quite attuned to how some of it sounds ! however , i am not the best at it , but i do think i know a bit to speak on some of it ! so ... i tend to read & write quilge's dialogue with a german accent in mind , personally . i don't phonetically spell it out , though , i think that would be confusing to the readers . so in my head , he speaks english with a german accent as i read or write dialogue . i can only wonder what sort of performance yamadera will give us ( and i'll admit : i've only seen VERY FEW anime where he was acting in it , so i am not ... the MOST familiar with his performances ) ! honestly , i'm looking forward to it . i am also looking forward to hearing quilge in english , and if there is a german dub , that , as well ! any and all languages , please !

quilge's accent is very noticable . you actually can't avoid it . neither can he . the thing about german accents is there are a lot of dialects , and most of them are regional / depending on where you live / were born , etc . so that's another reason why i was simply a bit hesitant to name anything too specific . so that exact details , i'm holding onto for the time being until i devote some more time & thought to the matter . in terms of how he speaks, a lot of his "w"s sound like "v"s , his "v"s sound like "f"s , his "j"s become "y"s , many words ending in "g" have a bit of a harsher "k" sound to them , etc . . . he isn't ... amazing with english . he doesn't use it when speaking with other sternritter unless if they need to . he mostly communicates with them in german . it's a combination of who he's with & what's going on, really . i assume some sternritter would prefer one language over the other , though . in terms of quilge just casually throwing in german words into his english sentences , he does so for a few reasons . he LIKES to speak german & will just sort of ... default to it ? it's his language of choice , if possible . he also does it to fuck with people . when he's mad , he'll just spout off a string of german . when he wants to insult someone to their face , it'll PROBABLY be in german . like , why did he just start speaking german ? just because ? who knows !

i'm not the best at ... voices. i don't keep up with VAs. i don't know many actors. but i listen to a few musicians , so i think that can be a good starting point .

now , i could ( & very obviously , i might add ) headcanon that , in my head , quilge's voice claim is till from rammstein , mister du hast himself . i've seen a couple of other headcanons and choices of people claiming that is how they imagine quilge to sound like . and i , as a fan , appreciate the reference ! but also , that ... wouldn't be exact . for me , anyway . as much as i love till's voice ( speaking & singing ------ baritone , i believe , when he sings , albeit a very strong & commanding one ) , he comes across as a bit ... too powerful for quilge , imho ( 🎵 music : the studio version of los , simply because it has a great vocal performance & kinda underrated in their songlist ngl ) . speaking , however , is a bit softer from what i could hear from interviews . although probably one of the first go-tos for an example of a german accent , it doesn't exact fit my quilge ( not that i would complain if someone was doing an impression of him for dubbing purposes , of course 😏✨ ) .

more music-based example , but i do think a singer like chris pohl from blutengel is ... a bit more CLOSE to my idea of what quilge sounds like ( hell , he even looks MORE like quilge than till does ! get this man some red-circle glasses ASAP ! ) . more even-toned , but still quite deep , has the ability to pull off a more intimidating sound ( 🎵 music : reich mir die hand ) . but still ! not quite what i have in mind , but close !

i do not play a lot of video games , but i have heard of the medic from TF2 . i personally love his voice , but it seems a bit too shrill for quilge ! great performance from the VA , though ! i can't exactly name too many other characters that would be a good ... sort of sense for what i have in mind . maybe i should dig around some more .

perhaps i'm too picky ? MAYBE I AM ! and so what ? but it's just hard to find something that's , to me , what i hear when i type ! 🤪 maybe i just don't have a lot of examples to pick from . this post is already long as it is , nearing 1K words !

anyway , in terms of languages that quilge can speak , he knows a few . he has been alive for centuries & has either taught himself , or had elected to take hours of study and education in specific topics . he can speak german, french, & english fluently . however , his accent always kinda ... remains . he knows japanese , but has problems reading it . knows some spanish, russian & polish . languages are not really his main concern in his wealth of knowledge . he is smart in manners of history , world folklore , the arts ( typically performance art like opera & theater ) and literature , aside from hunting / outdoors survival . there are many other things he would rather do than study languages , although he knows it's extremely useful . not on the top of list of things to learn , but he does know something .

i hope this answers your questions , shin ! thank you for sending in a bunch of curiousities for me to answer ! as you can see, i have a lot on my mind in regards to this topic . i know it was kinda scattered , but i hope i got something across ! voices , accents & language are indeed a broad & vast topic .

EDIT : and if the anime voice didn't align to what i think quilge should sound like , back to the drawing board for me ! but i do think that they chose a good VA for him , from what i heard !

[tf2-hellhole]

MERCS having nightmares and their s/o is just their for them because damnit they need love and support to-

I kind of imagined that this is the first time the mere had a nightmare while sharing a bed with their S/O

I kept in mind that you shouldn’t wake someone from a nightmare unless they’re moving so much they could hurt themselves.

Scout:

When he has nightmares, they’re usually about his childhood bullies coming for him and hurting him. They don’t happen very often.

He shifts a lot during a nightmare, and he sometimes mutters things like “Please…” or “Leave me alone…”. So they’re not super intense, and they’re not enough to wake up his S/O.

But he eventually does wake up on his own. He sits up with a whimper and tries to stop trembling, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to wake up his S/O, but eventually gives in and nudges them awake.

“Scout? What’s wrong?” they ask while looking up at him. He doesn’t answer, he just lies down against them, throws an arm over their stomach, and nuzzles into their neck with a sniffle. They can feel his hot tears against their skin. They cuddle him close and kiss his cheek. After a short while they can feel his shaking fade, and he falls asleep again soon after.

Soldier:

Soldier has PTSD from his time in Europe. It obviously doesn’t affect him in battle, but it sometimes has an effect on the domestic parts of his life. Obviously he wasn’t a part of the military but he was often in or near American bases and camps anyway. Around once every two weeks, he has vivid nightmares about seeing the dead American soldiers bodies being carried away, or soldiers on the edge of death crying out in pain as they lay in the dirt.

When in a nightmare, he usually just balls his fists and mutters softly, so it doesn’t wake up his S/O either.

But at some point, he’ll jolt upright with a loud yell, which startles his S/O awake too. He freezes up in terror until he feels his S/O’s hands on his shoulder and cheek, and hears their worried cries. He looks up at them for a moment before pulling them close. His S/O never forgets the look of fear in his eyes after a nightmare; it’s the only time he’s ever scared of anything.

They sit up for a while with the lights on to let him calm down, while his S/O comforts him and strokes his back. After 10-15 minutes, he slowly crawls back into bed and holds his S/O to his chest for comfort.

Pyro:

Pyro had some sort of traumatic experience with fire when they were young that scarred a lot of their skin. They never explain what the incident was or how they were hurt to their S/O, and they politely don’t push for Pyro to share. They have nightmares about it every once in a while.

They toss and turn a lot and accidentally wake up their S/O, but they’re not moving around enough for them to have to wake Pyro. It hurts to have to watch them writhe in the sheets and whimper softly.

The eventually wake up on their own. They sit up, and their S/O can hear them crying in their mask. Pyro turns to them, and the moment they realize their S/O is awake, they practically throw themselves on top of them and bury their head in their chest.

Pyro needs a lot of cuddles and kind words for them to calm them enough to even try to sleep again. They eventually do like an hour later, but they need their S/O wrapped around them to feel safe enough.

Demo:

Demo has nightmares about a lot of things, but most involve his family. He nightmares are often about his parents and the harsh way they would treat him. Sometimes they’re also about losing his S/O and his mother (despite the way his mother treats him, he still loves her dearly). And every once in a while, they’re about when he lost his eye as a kid.

He mutters a lot when he’s having a nightmare and squirms every once in a while, but it’s not enough to wake his S/O. Eventually he jolts awake with tears stinging his eyes. He reaches over to gently touch his S/O’s hand until they wake up.

He waits until they sit up to pull them into a tight hug and explains what happened. His voice is breaking when he explains what he saw. His S/O grabs him some tissue and sits with him until he finally calms down and gives them a weak but appreciative smile. He’ll probably try to calm his nerves with alcohol, but he doesn’t protest if his S/O stops him

He needs his S/O to spoon him for him to fall back asleep. If the dream was particularly bad he’s not going to be able to fall back asleep, so he asks his S/O if they can stay up to cuddle and watch TV until morning.

Heavy:

Out of all of the mercs, he’s definitely one of the guys that is most prone to nightmares. He has nightmares about his father’s death. He didn’t actually see his father’s execution, so he dreams about what his last hours must have been like. He also has nightmares about losing the people he cares about. It’s canon that he has nightmares about losing Medic, but he also sees the loss of his S/O, his sisters, or his mother. He has nightmares fairly often.

One wouldn’t be able to tell he’s having a nightmare unless they’re looking really closely. He furrows his brow and might mutter softly from time to time, but that’s it. Obviously this doesn’t wake his S/O.

He wakes up on his own. He’s not crying or anything, but he’s very shaken up. He carefully and slowly gets up while trying not to wake his S/O, but lifting his weight off the bed wakes them up anyway. If they get up to see what’s wrong he’ll try to gently push them back down but they refuse to.

They’ll sit up with him and ask him if he needs anything. He says no but pulls them into a hug. They can feel that he’s shaking a little.

He knows he’s not going to go to sleep again that night so he makes himself a sandwich (his S/O offers to do it but he insists on making it himself) and stays up reading with his S/O cuddled to his side.

Engie:

Engie doesn’t have regular nightmares due to any trauma but he does sometimes have random nightmares as a result of stress. They don’t happen very often.

During a nightmare he generally moves vary little, but he might lash out. He’s not gonna pull force punch what’s in front of him, but he’s probably gonna whack his S/O’s arm in his sleep, which wakes them up. His S/O sits up to make sure he doesn’t whack anything hard and hurt his hand.

He wakes up on his own with a little jolt and a shaky gasp. He looks up at his S/O and apologizes a ton when he realizes that he’d woken them. They tell him he doesn’t need to apologize and pull him close. He sniffles softly as he leans into the comforting hug and wraps his arms around his S/O’s waist.

The nightmares never shake him up too badly, so he can fall back asleep easier than the other mercs, but he does need contact with his S/O to be comfortable enough to fall asleep. He probably spoons them (or gets spooned) or pulls them to his chest with their face against his chest.

Medic:

You wouldn’t think Medic gets nightmares, but he does on rare occasions. They are caused by a combination of stress and childhood trauma. Like I’ve mentioned in the past, I headcanon that Medic’s parents were aristocrats who were very neglectful of him. To them, he was their annoying little heir and nothing else. He sometimes has nightmares about how cruelly his parents would treat him; They never beat him but they would often withhold food or his belongings and berate him if he misbehaved.

Medic talks a lot during nightmares. It quickly wakes his S/O and they hear his side of the conversation with his parents. He is pleading with his parents for food or his belongings, all in German. Even if his S/O doesn’t speak it, they can tell what’s going on by the tone of his voice.

They can tell he’s woken up when he goes quiet and they hear a sniffle from his curled up form. They lean over him and softly call his name. He doesn’t move or say anything, so his S/O just lays back down and rubs his arm to comfort him. 

He eventually flips over to face them and softly whispers, “Liebling?” to see if they’re still awake. When they look up at him, he just scoots closer and wraps them in his arms. He apologizes for ignoring them, he was just shaken up and had needed a moment. He doesn’t fall asleep that night, he just cuddles his S/O.

Sniper:

Sniper, like Heavy, is very prone to nightmares. They vary wildly in what they’re about. Sometimes he has nightmares about being caught by a Spy, or the death of his parents, or being shot in New Zealand, or losing the only person he has left, his S/O. On rare occasions they’re also about the children who would bully and beat him in school. He’s one of the mercs who’s had the most emotional trauma, so that plus stress gives him nightmares very often, sometimes a few times a week.

Sniper trembles a lot when he’s having a nightmare, but it’s not enough to wake his S/O up yet. After a while the nightmare wakes him, and it shook him up so badly that he has to sit up and rub his face while trying to slow his breathing. He tries to sit up slowly but the movement of the mattress wakes his S/O anyways. They sit up and ask what’s wrong. He only says, “Just a nightmare, nothing to worry about.” If they ask if he wants to talk about it, he shakes his head.

He’s pretty shaken, so he has to sit up for a while. His S/O just sits with him quietly, rubbing his back with one hand and holding his hand with the other. He knows he’s not going to be able to go back to sleep, but he still lays down and pull his S/O onto his chest to cuddle them until they fall asleep. Even though he won’t sleep, feeling their warm body on top of his still makes him feel a lot better.

Spy:

Spy would never ever admit it but he has nightmares every once in a while. They’re sometimes about his early years as an assassin, but they’re often about losing the people he loves. They’re often about his enemies finding out about his S/O, Scout, and Scout’s ma (he is no longer attracted to Scout’s ma but he still cares deeply for her) and taking them to torture or kill them.

He doesn’t move or anything during a nightmare, but after a while he jolts awake. He immediately rolls over to check if his S/O is next to him, and lets out a sigh of relief when he sees them curled up in the blanket. He slowly gets up and leaves the bedroom to have a smoke; He growls in frustration when he notices how much his hands are shaking when he tries to light the cigarette.

But after a minute, his S/O walks out of the bedroom, rubbing their eyes and yawning. They had been slowly woken up by Spy rolling over to check on them, slow enough that he didn’t realize they were waking up. Spy tells them to go back to bed, but they approach him to ask what’s wrong only for him to turn towards them and coldly repeat himself. He immediately regrets what he’s done when he sees the offended look on their face, but doesn’t say anything when they hiss “Fine,” in response and go back into the bedroom.

He feels bad about being rude, but he doesn’t go back to apologize until that morning. He spends the rest of the night reading and smoking to get his mind off the nightmare.

[thessaliah]

Going to reply to you briefly because I'm super busy.

Subject: Romani. Roman never went to the Clock Tower. There was a possibility he did base on Lev's ambiguous statements, but now we do have his backstory and outline (it's one of those things Nasu retcons and changed, like how Olga was initially the Director when Mash experiments took place in the game prologue and was soft retconned later), and he walked to the world after Fuyuki. I mean he's not a mage and has no magic circuits (also he doesn't resemble Solomon at all; he looks more like his father David tho funny that lol). Judging by Initium Iter, he simply went to an uni in Germany (the textbook he reads are in German, afaik). Let's assume, he peeked a bit on this timeline during the 2000s, there's no reason for him to follow and dig into the information of random redhead medicine student. It's not as if he knows things unless he researches them deeply. And like I pointed out, the Tri-Hermes also didn't know Romani was Solomon. If it fools something like that... If he finds out, its post-morthem. There's also the possibility, he refuses to observe it because, well, it's one timeline he does this, the normal-event occurance is "Lev kills himself." So that may be the locked event.

  Subject: The Crisis. Zelretch is aware of other timelines, but not only the info is purposefully investigated, but also there's reasons to assume he didn't have the whole picture when the enemies really obfuscated themselves from the World itself. The attacks come from blindspots: Singularities work to block a lot of things since aren't part of the normal space-time continuum (actually the method to observe them in Chaldea is very particular, but in general, singularities act like "black spots" in a tapestry - he could be aware they exist, but not how bad it is or what happens). Lostbelts are covered there as outside "Operation Parallel Worlds." And the contents of Chaldeas is another planet. Plus Chaldea HQ location is the "Void." It's something super vague but alluded in several material, an observatory that watches humanity "from the Void."

Even if he knew something was off, he can’t longer manifest when the timeline is on fire or the surface bleached since there is no jewels for him to construct his body. What is around are not located on ‘real time’ so to speak and so he’s locked out if he wasn’t too incinerated in the past or swapped over. It’s not as if he could intervene anymore even if he later realizes something is “wrong” there.

Plus, there's certain narration of "you can't face your father"  ("our fathers are monsters") introduced in LB5, with Kirschtaria Wodime's backstory, and his own inability to defy Marisbury fully, IMO.  While he is not biologically related to Marisbury, the guy is his 'father' in a mentor sense as mage, as his successor in a way, although he tries. Solomon is this to mages in general but most in particular to those he taught himself, so (this is my interpretation, just as a bonus) even assuming he catches the whiff of Solomon being active, in any and all aspects, he will stay away and look to the other side IMO. While Kirschtaria was called unmage like in his mentality (and sought but failed to confront Marisbury), Zelretch is very much a mage (a magician too, but a mage at core). This is more my personal take here, I believe that he would purposefully avoid "Solomon" (both Goetia and Romani).

However,  there is funny fanart of them (Headmaster and Zelretch) dropping on Chaldea to give Marisbury the stink eye after the infodump of their connection was revealed, though. It always makes me laugh.

Also don't apologize. You weren't rude at all. It's an ok theory, I just feel there are aspects about the circumstances that made it impossible for him to anticipate the attacks (this type of attack was stated to be like this, btw) and to participate after the attacks happened, assuming he wasn't affected (he doesn't have IM, after all, if happened when he wasn't on his workshop, he got affected too).

I think it’s fucking hilarious that in theory Zelretch, former student under Solomon, would know Romani’s identity. And likely knows about the Grand Order before it happens. But instead of actually doing something he just goes “oh lol” and that’s it.

No tipping Romani off that he knows. Nothing. Not supporting Marisbury and Chaldea. No helping at all. Just a “lol” and peaces off to his observatory

[fancyfearful]

Towelette (A cursed BtD fic featuring Strade x GenderNeutral!Reader)

(I’d like to take this time to apologize to the BtD community, and Strade fans/stans everywhere. But you know I had to do it to him.

And a special thank you to the person who inspired me to write this detailed shitpost. You know who you are.)

------------------------------

WARNING/DISCLAIMER: This fic contains detailed descriptions of gross things, and no sex scenes (Sorry Strade fuckers!). Do NOT eat while reading this.

------------------------------

Three weeks.

It had been roughly three weeks since Strade had claimed you as his newest pet, forcing you to live under the same roof as him and his ‘roommate’, Ren. Coincidentally, that was also how long it took for you to finally give up on trying to escape. But you decided to make the best out of it.

After all, it wasn’t like you had a choice. Seeing the glass as ‘half-full’ kept you sane, to some degree. And spending your free time with Ren helped too. He was usually your go-to form of comfort after your private sessions with Strade.

At the moment, the two you were in the kitchen helping yourselves to a snack while Strade was entertaining himself with some poor soul in the basement. His limit of ‘two pets only’ guaranteed that whoever was downstairs wouldn’t live to see tomorrow, and it was nights like this where you were somewhat grateful for being spared.

You were just about to help yourself to a handful of microwaved popcorn before the booming sound of Strade’s voice called your name. You couldn’t help but wince; being called by Strade during one of his sessions was usually a bad sign.

“H-Hey, maybe he just wants you to get something for him.” Ren said reassuringly. You gave him a small smile, showing that you appreciated his concern.

 “Don’t worry, I’ll be back up here before you know it. Maybe you should wait upstairs in your room in the meantime?” you suggested, causing Ren to nod. He grabbed the bowl of popcorn with one hand, before patting your shoulder with the other, and turned to leave the kitchen.

“And try not to eat all the popcorn while I’m gone!” you said jokingly. You could hear Ren giggling a little as he went up the stairs and took it as a sign that he was less worried.

But hearing Strade call your name even louder reminded you of your task, and you gulped nervously, hurrying down the basement steps. He was already waiting at the bottom of them, his face twisted into an irritated expression while his hands were resting on his hips. By the time you were face to face with him, his irritation was the last thing on your mind…

 Perhaps if you had noticed the dark green armpit stains on Strade’s crinkled up shirt earlier, you would have been spared your current fate. It took everything you had not to immediately crinkle your nose at the offensive odor that wafted off from his bulky body, or to stare at the glistening beads of sweat rolling down the side of his head and neck. Even the ends of his shaggy, frizzed-out hair had little droplets dangling off them, and you spotted a few smaller stains from other body fluids on his clothes too.

You tried to focus on maintaining eye contact with Strade, but even then, the veil of moisture covering every inch of his body was difficult to ignore. 

You silently hoped that whatever he wanted from you involved little to no physical contact.

“What, did you get lost on the way here? Next time I call for you, pick up the pace.” The greasy German scolded, eying you up and down. However, Strade’s expression changed into something more curious once he realized that you looked more uncomfortable than usual.

“Something wrong, haustier? You look a little green.”

To your dismay, he leans even closer, and the stench radiating from his body starts to burn the inside of your nose. You quickly shake your head and clearing your throat, struggling to hold back a cough. Aside from the usual brand of stink naturally produced by Strade’s body, you also picked up on the coppery scent of fresh blood, motor oil, dirt, and old cum. But for whatever reason, his scent was even less bearable tonight.

“I-I’m fine. It’s just a little stuffy down here, that’s all.” You lie, clearing your throat again.

But Strade’s much more observant than he looks, especially when it comes to body language, and a mischievous grin creeps onto his face once he finally pieces everything together.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be down here for too long. But maybe this will help…”

You gasp in surprise as Strade suddenly pulls you into a bear hug, wrapping his beefy arms around your torso. The leftover sweat from his body is quickly absorbed into your clothing, tainting the fabric with Strade’s fatal fumes, and you find yourself struggling to breathe. Tears begin to well up in the corners of your eyes, and the next sound you make is somewhere between a choke and a gag, causing Strade to chuckle deeply. And just when you think it can’t get any worse, he starts to nuzzle you, his sweat-soaked hair rubbing along the side of your face.

You whimper as your tears finally spill over, mixing in with the other bodily substances decorating Strade’s body, and the sadistic monster hugs you tighter, pressing his overly warm figure up against yours. With a happy hum, the greasy German makes it his mission to leave as little space between you as possible, all while you fight the urge the vomit from the sheer nastiness of it all.

“Hugs are supposed to make people feel better, so I hope you enjoyed that one!” Strade taunts, leaning back a bit. “But I actually called you because I need to borrow something.”

He lowers his hands before sliding them under the hem of your shirt, only to start pulling upwards. And there’s nothing you can do to stop Strade from eventually pulling your shirt up and over your head, leaving you half naked before him.

“Wow, you’re all marked up! I had no idea I left that many scars behind.” Strade boasted, obviously proud of his work.

Your captor was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes darting between the varying scars and bruises on your torso from previous sessions. But you only dwell on those memories for a few seconds before Stade takes your shirt to use as a towel, wiping it all over his face and neck. And much to your horror, he even pats down his hair, making sure to take his sweet time with it before tossing your shirt back to you.

“Ahh, much better. Thanks for your help!” Strade exclaimed. He leaned over to give you a few hearty pats on the head before looking down at the shirt in your hands. 

“Well, don’t just stand there, put it on! You don’t want to get cold, right?”

 Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing.

 But unfortunately for you, this wasn’t a battle you could win, and Strade watched as you begrudgingly put the ruined shirt back on. It reeked so badly that you feared you would pass out, but thankfully, Strade dismissed you for the time being. You thanked him before making your way up the stairs, and held your breath the moment you turned away from him until you had finally made it onto the main floor, quickly closing the door behind you.

With a loud gasp, you quickly scrambled up to the second floor, bolting past Ren’s room to get to the washroom. You were so busy starting up the shower that you didn’t even bother answering him when he knocked on the door, asking if you were okay.

Snack time and chill with Ren would have to wait until you finished taking two full showers back to back, and a forty-five minute bubble bath.

[jeonjk0504]

why didn’t you say anything about the racism bts have faced these past days :(

Hey anon!

I actually haven‘t been online here because of the racism debate. I was on twitter and was supporting it there on two accounts nonstop! if you want to follow me, my @ is also jeonjk0504 :)

You are completely right though, i should have spoken up on my platform here sooner, to educate my followers on this really important matter!

If i make mistakes or should word things differently, please let me know, as you can tell i‘m not native.

The short version:

Credits to @ squishykosmos (twt)!

What happened?

3 days ago, the german radio host Matthias Mattuschik from the station Bayern3 spew racist remarks about BTS because of their MTV Unplugged cover of coldplay. He is a fanboy of coldplay and only wanted to introduce their song ‚Fix you‘ but somehow it was necessary to explain to his listeners why it was an utter insult that BTS had an MTV unplugged concert (he called it paradox, because it‘s a boyband) where they were allowed to cover his favorite song. Coldplay allowed the cover by the way and even commented on it positively.

Here are two links from his original rant, translated in english:

https://twitter.com/bts_updates_ger/status/1365211269133971458?s=21 (Part 1)

https://twitter.com/atinystrawbery/status/1365052883771785219?s=21 (Part 2)

As a german i know that to other people our language sounds quite agressive in general, but this is a whole different level. This isn‘t said in a jokingly way, it‘s pure hatred.

He called BTS a virus against which hopefully there will be a vaccine soon, that their cover of coldplay is blasphemy and that they are little pisser who should get a 20-year vacation in North Korea. Considering the rising violence against Asians all over the world because of Covid, his speech is extremely harmful and normalizes hate against Asians apart from the fact that it was racism in it’s purest form. Why the wish for a South Korean Group to have vacation in the North Korean dictatorship is inhumane and racist, i hopefully don‘t have to explain further. He even said, he can‘t be xenophobic, because he drives a korean brand car (which turned out to be japanese). The new ‚i can‘t be racist, i have a black friend‘.

This also hasn‘t been the first time, in 2018 he made an antisemetic comparison between smoker and jews for which he got a little attention, but no consequences.

Furthermore ARMY dug up a picture on his instagram from 2020 with the caption ‚ Is more evidence needed?!?,‘

A short note:

What makes this even more infuriating is that the radio station is regulated by public-law and german citizens are OBLIGATED to pay for it. We literally are forced to pay money to a radio station that broadcasts openly racist slurs! And no, it‘s not allowed. They have policies that explicitly say they are not allowed to discriminate, they have to support diversity and have to be politically and economically independant.

Do they give a fuck? Apparently not really.

Did Bayern3 answer the hashtags and the pressure?

They did, first came a short nonpology where they said that the show, which Matthias Matuschik is broadcasting, is known for his direct and honest opinions and that he could have worded it better. They are sorry if anyone felt insulted, which is excusing the feeling of the fans, but not the act in itself.

After Army answered with the hashtag ‚Racism is not an opinion‘ and various media coverage surfaced, they posted a second ‚apology‘, where they -again- said that they are distancing themselves from what was said and Matthias has always been an avid supporter of refugees so he is very far away from being a racist. (Supporting refugees doesn’t excuse you from saying racist things though.) Matthias stated that he is shocked from the reactions, that he is ‚sorry if people felt what he said was racist‘ and that his family is getting death threats. (which is in no way acceptable of course.) They would review what was said so it doesn‘t happen again.

Here you can read the statements in german and translated in english:

First statement: https://twitter.com/bts_updates_ger/status/1365087239756259330?s=21

Second statement: https://twitter.com/bts_updates_ger/status/1365305564050382849?s=21

This would have probably been the beginning of a conversation, if Matthias wouldn‘t have went to facebook after his second apology to like a supporting post that basically stated that the topic is way overhyped and in the 80s you were allowed to say your opinion without people getting butthurt (this is a short form.) He completely revised his remorse literally the same day after the updated apology and supported a statement that was gaslighting the people who critized him. You can read the facebook post here:

https://twitter.com/traveltomyrm/status/1365321397342461957?s=21

Since then: Nothing. My mom told me yesterday they‘re playing dynamite a lot, i told her to switch the channel.

News Coverage

Thankfully, we got a lot of support from I-ARMY and K-ARMY, otherwise we wouldn‘t have been able to trend the hashtags day and night and kept them in the top categories in germany and worldwide. We also got a lot of support from international media who called out the racism and put them into context in really amazing articles. (Also K-Media and J-Media but i only have screenshots, no links) Here are a few of them:

https://rollingstoneindia.com/xenophobic-german-presenters-comments-about-bts-are-just-the-tip-of-the-racist-iceberg/

https://www.forbes.com/sites/bryanrolli/2021/02/26/bts-were-once-again-the-subject-of-racist-on-air-remarks-and-received-a-pathetic-non-apology/

We even got celebrities like halsey, max, lauv, steve aoki, JJ Ryan, DJ Swivel, Liam McEwan, Zara Larsson, MTV UK, Columbia Records and some more bring attention to the issue and show their support for BTS in the face of racism.

This support was probably the reason why we even got a second ‚apology‘, because guess what? German media ain‘t having it. Since the beginning of our protest, i think i saw 2 articles in total which actually called it racism, various newspapers and online magazines were downplaying it by talking about ‚insults‘ and concentrating on Matthias calling BTS pisser instead of quoting the actual racist remarks he made. We got no TV news whatsoever. So naturally, german locals looking at this protest think that Fans are going on a rampage because their favorite boygroup got insulted.

It has been maddening. The radio station and host have been trying to sit this whole thing out for days, in hope we lose energy over the weekend and it‘s draining to not be heard or taken seriously. For me it‘s still a priviledged perspective, because i don‘t have to bear consequences when this thing is over, one way or another. But for Asians in our country, also some of my friends, this horror in times of covid will continue. The lack of serious German Media coverage has been frustrating and embarrasing to say the least, but also shown again, that the topic gets overshadowed by prejudices against KPop, the fanbase and Asians as part of satirical fun (which it isn‘t).

Why is that?

This is my personal take and not a deep analysis, just my personal observations: Germany might be progressive in a lot of aspects, but they still have deeply ingrained every day racism against asians and they have a huge problem realizing and admitting to that. We don‘t have a lot of asian representation and there is a huge alieniation from asians for a lot of german 50+ (also less, but those are the ones in power mostly). Racism against Asians is not seen enough and people don‘t empathize, partly because they‘re white privileged people who don‘t have to live with certain stigma, partly because they simply don‘t care to educate themselves about minorities in their own country. This ignorance is widespread, if it doesn‘t happen in front of your doorstep, it‘s probably nonexistant. It‘s also not only reserved for Asians, january 2021 we had a talkshow where 5 white german people talked happily about what minorities such as Romani people think as insulting or racist. They did get a lot of backleash because obviously they talk about matters, without letting minorities be part of the discussion, but real consequences? Nope.

I doubt that this protest will get Matthias Matuschik fired (which it should if you are openly racist on a public platform), because the pressure is too low and the radio station has shown with their first statement that they thought it‘s rather funny than problematic. But i don’t know what‘s going to happen. Apart from being an ARMY, i am an adult who condemns racism in any way or form. Why german media chooses to overlook the essence of the debate and makes it a hystercial fanbase issue is beyond me.

If you want to have a look yourself, you can follow German Fanbase accounts, such as @ BTS_UPDATES_GER for updates in german and english.

And at last, here is a thread on how german media reproduces Anti Asian Racism : https://twitter.com/storiesbythuy/status/1366073706817196046?s=21

German Armys are trying to come up with a plan to gain more attention for the topic at the moment, so we‘ll see how things turn out! Please support us if possible!